by Reed, N. C.
“Safeguards,” Clay repeated. “Mister George, this is starting to sound a lot like the kinds of things I've fought against my entire adult life. The kind of 'safeguards' you're talking about include someone deciding for me, and for everyone else here what we're allowed to hear, or read, or maybe participate in. That absolutely will not work for me in any form. The Constitution gives people the absolute right to engage in whatever they please so long as it doesn't harm others or infringe on their rights. I swore an oath to uphold and defend that Constitution and the fact that this nation is currently on its knees does not in any way negate that oath. What you're suggesting is something I've seen in Communist and Islamic nations where a central organization controls everything.” He paused for a moment to collect himself before he said something he couldn't take back.
“We will never have that here.”
“You're putting words in my mouth,” Franklin shook his head, becoming agitated. “I'm not suggesting any such thing. I am just talking about nonsense such as this,” he lifted the machine with the recording in it. “We can't allow this kind of thing to be heard!”
“Who decides what we can hear, then?” Clay asked, his voice dangerously calm.
“Well, we need a committee to decide what is proper and what isn't, I suppose,” Franklin said uneasily.
“So, like Communism then,” Clay nodded, as if Franklin was making his point for him.
“No, it's not like Communism at all!” Franklin insisted.
“The use of 'central committees' to determine what other people are allowed to do is textbook Communism, Mister George,” Clay pointed out. “And it will not happen here. Ever.”
“You're still putting words in my mouth!” Franklin was becoming upset. “I never mentioned Communism!”
“Fidel Castro didn't mention it until the revolution against the Batista government was complete,” Clay told him flatly. “Once the revolution was over he just said 'by the way, we're Communists now' and made himself President for Life, or whatever he called himself,” he waved away the irrelevancy.
“You're standing here telling me we need a committee to decide what people can hear,” Clay continued. “What's next? Do you comb through books to make sure no one is reading something you disagree with? Do you start listening in on people's private conversations to make sure that no one is saying something you don't care for? Censorship and 'central control' are a slippery slope, Mister Franklin. They never lead anywhere good.”
“I never said anything about books, or censorship!” Franklin felt like a boxer being battered against the ropes.
“Restricting what can be heard is the definition of censorship, Mister Franklin,” Clay replied. “Did you or did you not say just a minute ago that we needed a 'committee' to decide what could be heard or not?”
“You're twisting my words!” Franklin was angry now.
“I'm repeating what you said,” Clay refused to budge. “You wanted a committee to decide what we hear. The answer is no.”
“I don't think that's a decision you should get to make,” Franklin drew himself up.
“Think what you please,” Clay shrugged as he went back to work. “We're still not doing it.”
-
Clay wasn't surprised when Leon 'summoned' him later that afternoon. The more he played over his conversation with Franklin George, the more uncomfortable he became. The others might not see it, but he had seen it far too many times over the years. It wasn't going to happen here.
He knocked twice before opening the door and walking into Leon's home. Franklin George was sitting there with his CD player, along with Clay's father, Gordon. Brick was leaning against the door frame to his bedroom, an amused look on his face.
“You wanted to see me?” Clay asked his grandfather.
“No, but I figured I had better,” Leon sighed. “What kind of horseshit is all this about Communism?”
“Have to ask Mister George,” Clay nodded to the other man. “He's the one that brought it up.”
“See?” Franklin almost crowed. “What did I tell you!”
“Clayton,” Gordon started, but Clay held up a hand to silence his father.
“I'm not supporting censorship of any kind, before you start,” he told them all. “I will never do it and neither will my men. You're talking about taking away the right of people to make their own decisions, and I will never support anything even remotely like that. That idiot 'reverend' isn't even breaking any laws unless it's some kind of FCC regulation. The Constitution guarantees the right to practice your religious beliefs and even to assemble peacefully in the practice of such. Period. There's no provision in there for restricting information based on what Mister George thinks is 'appropriate'.”
“I never said that!” Franklin objected.
“Did you not say we needed a committee to decide what people could hear?” Clay asked him.
“You're still twisting what I said!” Franklin insisted. “I said we needed a committee to decide on something like this,” he pointed to the small player.
“That is textbook Communism,” Brick spoke for the first time. “Deciding what the masses are allowed to hear. Next is reading material. After that is speech. A very slippery slope indeed, Mister George.”
“You've already talked to him about this,” Franklin accused the big man.
“Haven't spoken to him since day before yesterday, in fact,” Brick shook his head. “If we're saying the same things then it's because we're seeing the same things. Censorship for any reason is still censorship, Mister George. You don't have the right to stop people from hearing something just because you don't like it, or it offends you. No one has the right not to be offended.”
“Why in the hell are we even having to discuss this?” Leon asked tiredly. “Franklin, I know you don't like it, but you're wrong. Ain't got a leg to stand on, here. They're right. As much as you may not like whatever it is, you don't have the right to stop people from hearing something. America don't work like that and never has. Not properly, anyway.”
“This poison is dangerous,” Franklin indicated the CD player once again. “Our young people shouldn't be exposed to it.”
“You're taking the wrong approach, Mister Franklin,” Brick weighed in again.
“How so?” the older man demanded.
“If you think what's being said is wrong and may negatively influence the younger generation, then give them a counter point to it.”
“Yes,” Clay nodded at once. “I don't disagree with you that this guy is nutty, Mister George. I believe the same thing. Remember that I told you we were monitoring him to try and get information precisely because we think he's a possible threat. All of the kids consider him a possible threat as well. But instead of trying to censor what they hear, offer them a counter argument. Oppose his teaching with proper and actual bible teaching.”
“Exactly,” Brick agreed. “Make your argument in opposition to what he is saying. Better yet, don't mention him at all. Just teach the truth as opposed to his distortion of it. Don't let his voice be the only one. Make sure your voice is heard instead.”
Franklin George looked stunned for a moment, absorbing what the two younger men had said.
“I... I actually never considered that,” he finally admitted. “I just. . .I heard him spewing that garbage and I… I thought about the effect it might have on those children...”
“'Children' is a bit misleading considering that Janice is eighteen and the twins are sixteen,” Clay said into the silence. “While JJ is only fourteen his IQ is equal to most small towns combined, so I don't think he's going to be fooled by this idiot,” he pointed to the CD player “none of them are. In fact, we're very fortunate here to have people at every age that are smart, capable and in no way gullible. They aren't going to fall for this crap. But,” he raised a finger, “I still like the idea of your teaching in counter point to his garbage. In fact, we ought to be having worship services ourselves.”
“We had t
alked about that before,” Gordon nodded thoughtfully. “Just a few weeks ago, in fact. Around the time of the luau,” he used the word the younger people had chosen rather than 'cookout'.
“So, do it,” Clay encouraged. “Start teaching the truth. There's more than one or two people here who know the bible well enough to be teaching it, the two of you included,” he indicated both his father and Franklin George. “I know Mom can teach the kids, and I'd be willing to bet Miss Malitha can as well. There's no reason whatsoever for us not to have church services ourselves. In fact, we need to have them. I'm pretty sure everyone here is at least leaning toward Christianity.”
“I'm actually a practicing pagan,” Brick said, his face stony. “I've been meaning to ask you if you can find me a goat to sacrifice for the autumnal equinox.” The others looked at him, stunned, until Leon began laughing.
“Just kidding,” Brick grinned.
“I didn't even know you had a sense of humor,” Clay snorted.
“I just don't use it often,” Brick chuckled. “I even own a bible.”
“Look, getting back to the point, why not do this?” Clay asked his father and Franklin George. “It's a good idea, and every community needs something like that. It might help further tie us together. At least until you start arguing over details,” he added with a wry grin.
The two older men looked at each other for a moment before Gordon spoke.
“I think it's a fine idea,” he said finally. “And it's something we need as a community. We had already talked about it, so it's not like it's a foreign idea.”
“We need to try and find some material,” Franklin mused. “I’ll speak to Malitha about it,” he told Gordon.
“I’ll go now and speak to Angela,” Gordon promised. “We’ll get together tomorrow say? Talk over what we need to do to make this work?”
“We’ll be down after lunch,” Franklin said.
“Just come on for lunch and we’ll work afterward,” Gordon urged. “We’ll just make an afternoon of it. Let these younger people handle the chores for a day or so,” he chuckled.
“Sounds good,” Franklin nodded. He looked at Clay and then at Brick.
“I appreciate your input,” he told them. “Your idea is much better than my knee jerk reaction. And you're right. We need to counter this stupidity. Be nice if we had a way to counter him on the air as well.”
Clay thought about that for a minute before replying.
“Let me talk to the Duo and the others,” he said finally. “If there's a way we can get you on the air, I’ll make sure you have it. I'd like to have someone opposing that jackass. It might save a few lives.”
-
“A radio broadcast?”
“If we can,” Clay nodded. “To oppose Reverend Nutworth. Your grandfather and Mister George are going to start teaching bible lessons here so if we can get the things we need to build a broadcasting outfit, I'd like to do it. But I know zip all about broadcasting. You guys got anything?”
“Have to be on bands that might still be working,” Deuce was chewing his lip. “Well, the bands are all working, so have to be on bands where the receiving equipment might have survived.”
“Have to be AM probably,” JJ looked equally contemplative.
“Wait,” Leanne said, holding up her hand. “We need to talk to Uncle Robert about this, but I have an idea.”
“I didn't even think of Robert,” Clay's exasperation with himself showed. “I'm just too used to running to you guys when I don't know something.” All three teens almost preened at that admission while Janice just blinked.
“We can use Citizen's Band radio for a start,” Leanne said. “And Shortwave ham transmissions. A lot of them will have survived because the people who use them will have protected them. Meanwhile, we need to figure out what we need to start broadcasting on an AM frequency. I don't know that anything useful around here would have survived, so we may have to make it ourselves. And there is one problem that no one has thought of yet,” she finished, a sour look on her face.
“Antenna,” JJ got if first.
“Right,” Leanne nodded firmly. “You want the signal to travel, you need a tower. More tower, more power is what the radio jocks used to say. What?” she looked at her uncle who had started grinning.
“I happen to know where we can find a tower.”
-
“Well, yeah. It's usable I guess, but you'd have to be real careful getting up and down,” Abby said, wondering what her Uncle Clay wanted with an old fire tower.
“We only have to go up and down a few times, I imagine,” Clay told her. “I want to attach an antenna to it, that's all. If we can rig a repeater with solar power then we can hit that from here and boost the signal a lot further.”
“Oh, yeah,” Abby nodded. “There was a repeater up there for the Forestry Service that we used, and one up there for the park, too. And I think the troopers had one. You can ask Greg but I think the county had an antenna there as well, and they would have had repeaters on them. Probably none of…” she trailed off, lost in thought.
“What?” Clay asked.
“Well, I just had a thought,” Abby replied. “If the actual repeaters were in something to protect them from weather events, like lightning...”
“Then they may have survived the Storm!” Clay finished and his niece was nodding.
“Right.”
“Okay. Back to the Duo I go.”
-
“We would have to change the broadcast frequency,” JJ said, doodling on a scrap of paper.
“And we still have to get the signal from here to there,” Leanne mused. “It's too dangerous to stay around that Forestry office after what they found when they went to get Abby's plow.”
“We could use a repeater ourselves, too,” Deuce added. “Boost our own signal.”
“Good idea,” Clay was enthused. “I will leave this in your hands, so if you get a list of things you need let me have it. If I can find it and we can get it safely, I’ll do it.”
“Okay,” all three said at once, forcing Clay to roll his eyes.
“It's contagious.”
-
“That won't work,” Robert shook his head slowly as the twins finished.
“Why not?” JJ challenged.
“Those repeaters use a buffer packet to store and re-transmit short radio transmissions. They aren't designed or even capable of handling long term radio broadcasts like you're wanting to do. It won't work. The buffer just can't handle it.”
“But if we could reprogram one that still works then we could at least use it ourselves, right?” JJ asked.
“Well, yes, but we don't really need it,” Robert told him. “If you can reach the fire tower, then you can reach the ranch itself. If you're here already then you don't need it.”
“What if we were trying to talk to someone else?” Deuce asked.
“Then they would have to have the same transmit and receive frequencies you're using or it still wouldn't help,” Robert crushed that idea as well. “Look, if all you're trying to do is rig up better communications for trying to reach outside our area, then just use what's already there; Citizen's Band and ham frequencies. Shortwave transmissions in particular can travel. . .well, pretty much anywhere, really. You are more likely to find someone with a working unit using those methods than finding someone who just happens to have your radio frequency tuned in. What you're trying to do is strictly hit or miss. While it can be made to work, I doubt we can scrounge what we need for it.”
“What would we need?” Leanne asked.
“If you want to try and reach someone on a common frequency then you have to transmit on another frequency and let the repeater use the common frequency to re-transmit it. And honestly, I doubt that any of the equipment on that tower that might have survived would suit your purposes.” He paused a moment, thinking.
“There is one thing that might help us, but we don't need it on the fire tower.”
“What?�
�� all three said at once.
“There was a GMRS repeater on that tower,” he told them. “If it survived, and that is a big if,” he warned, “then taking it down and setting it up here with an antenna would make the hand-helds we're using a lot more efficient. We're talking about extending their range all over the ranch without any trouble at all. We can set it up on Tower One and run it up above the trees. That would improve our non-security radio use dramatically. But again, I seriously doubt it would have survived. They're really not that well protected since it's just cheaper to replace them.”
“I guess the first thing then is to see if anything is left,” Deuce said. “No point in planning anything else until we can see about that.”
“Have them check the Amateur Radio Association repeater, too,” Robert suggested. “A new battery and a solar panel charger might be all it takes to get it back up and running, and that will let you talk a very long way and won't be so restrictive on the amount of transmission time you’ll have. And those repeaters tend to be better protected. Doesn't mean it survived, but I imagine a fire tower is a good grounding cable.”
-
“Oh, hell no,” Titus Terry said at once, looking up to see the antennas and boxes at the very top of the fire tower. “No, no, no, no sir,” he was shaking his head. “Mister Terry's son is not into heights whatsoever.”
“Don't be a wuss, man,” Kade bumped his shoulder into his friend. “God hates a coward.”
“I am not a coward,” Titus objected. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with a healthy respect for falling from a great height. And that,” he jabbed a finger at the top of the fire tower, “is a great height. I am not going up there. No sir. Uh-uh.”
-
“Oh, I hate you,” Titus said as he clung to the rail along the steps going up the tower. “All of you. I hate every one of you bastards. And I will get you back for this.”
“Shut up and keep moving,” Kade told him. “Hell, I don't like it either you big wuss.”
“I don't care for it myself, but orders is orders,” Mitchell Nolan was not looking down because he shared Titus Terry's healthy respect for heights. “Abby says we should be able to access everything from inside the tower, but she warned that the catwalk might be shaky.”
