Out of the Ashes ta-1

by William Wallace Johnstone

“Young man,” Clayton said acidly, “we do have some knowledge of protocol.”

  Badger grunted his reply and Judith laughed at her boss’s expression.

  None of the newspeople knew exactly what to expect of Governor Raines. But some of the younger newspeople had a preconceived image of a military man who would be dressed in full uniform, dripping with medals, armed with at least two pistols, and possibly carrying a swagger stick, tipped with a shell casing. When Ben and Salina appeared, most were mildly astonished.

  Ben was dressed in blue jeans, a pullover shirt, and cowboy boots. Salina wore white Levi’s, a blue western shirt, and tennis shoes.

  They shook hands all around while flashbulbs popped and cameras rolled, many of them directed at Badger, who scowled appropriately. For half an hour the press corps sipped coffee or cold drinks and munched on hors d’oeuvres.

  “I’d like to take some pictures of you two together,” a photographer said to Ben and Salina, “and of the house. Do you mind?”

  “No,” Ben said, after looking at Salina and receiving a slight nod of agreement. “Fire away—figuratively speaking, of course.” He smiled.

  Out of the corner of his eye, the photographer noticed Badger’s hands tighten on the AK-47. Badger made many of the press people very nervous.

  The camera crews wandered around the house, taking pictures of this and that: the home, the lawn, the garden, the neighborhood. Governor Raines was a hero to many Americans, having stood up to the government, formed his own state over its objections, and now governed the only area in America, and probably the entire world, that was free of crime and poverty. That much had leaked out of Tri-states. Practically anything about the man, his family, and his way of life would be of interest to someone.

  After a short time, an informal press conference was under way.

  “Before the questions start flying,” Ben said, “I’d like for you all to meet my daughter, Tina Raines. She works part-time at the western reception center. The one closest to Vista.” He turned just as Tina opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out.

  The press was silent for a few moments, looking at each other, putting it all together. Each waited for the other to ask the first question. Finally, Judith did. “We were at that reception center, Governor. How many Tina Raineses are there in Tri-states?”

  “Only one that I know of,” Ben said. “I gather from your expressions you were there when Tina had her… small altercation with one of your colleagues.”

  Barney looked at the ground, thinking: of all the people I pick to get cute with, I pick the governor’s daughter. Great move, Weston. Super timing.

  “You know we were there,” Clayton said.

  “Yes,” Ben agreed. “Not much goes on in this area I don’t know about.”

  A photographer from the World News Agency was snapping away as Tina walked out onto the patio. He took two quick shots of her and smiled.

  “Hello, again,” Tina said.

  “You’re a very lovely young lady,” he complimented her. “Very photogenic.”

  She blushed, then sat down beside her mother, on the patio, just behind and to the right of where Ben stood behind a podium.

  Ben looked at the press people. “One word of caution before we begin. Be careful what you print, broadcast, or ask about people living here in the Tri-states. We don’t have scandal sheets here; yellow journalism is not allowed.”

  Barney tore several sheets from his notepad and crumpled the pages, thinking as he did so: if I ever get out of this wacko state, I’ll never come back!

  “Governor—General; what do we call you?” a reporter asked.

  “Either one. Ben—whatever. We’re not much on pomp here.”

  “All right, Governor. But that’s a pretty stiff warning you just handed us. What can we report on here?”

  “Anything you see, as long as you present both sides of the issue. Isn’t that fair journalism?”

  What it’s supposed to be, Judith thought. But seldom is.

  “Oh, come on, Governor! People are opinionated no matter how hard they try not to be. Reporting objectively has been a joke for decades.”

  Clayton smiled outwardly at the reporter and inwardly in admiration for Ben. He had gone back and read as many of Ben’s books as time would allow before coming to the Tri-states. He said, “I recall you writing, Governor, that the press enjoyed sending a black man to report on KKK meetings and an avowed liberal to report on the National Rifle Association’s yearly strategy meeting. You haven’t changed much—if any. I also remember your writing that the press is stacked with liberals and not balanced with conservatives and middle-of-the-roaders.”

  “I still feel that way,” Ben said. “You people are supposed to be neutral, but you’re not. You haven’t been for decades.”

  “I’d like to debate that with you sometime.”

  “Maybe. I’ll give you a reply when I see what you’ve reported about us.”

  Each man gave the other a thin smile of understanding.

  “General,” Ben was asked, “for the record, sir, just what are you people attempting to accomplish in this new state?”

  “We are not attempting. We have created a society where the vast majority of citizens—I’d say between ninety-five and ninety-eight percent—are content with the laws they live under.”

  “Constitutionally?”

  “According to our constitution, yes.”

  “A gunpowder society, void of human rights.”

  “That,” Ben said, “and pardon my English, is pure bullshit. Law-abiding people have every right they voted to give themselves.”

  “General, do you believe the United States could be a world power if dozens of groups like yours splintered off to form their own little governments?”

  “Since the bombings, there are no world powers—anywhere. With the exception, perhaps, of the United States. Yes, I believe the U.S. could be built back into a power. Tri-states has not broken with the Union—just with many of its laws.

  “I have written to President Logan, telling him we will pay a fair share of taxes to his central government—and it is his. Our share won’t be much, since most of the money will remain here, doing what we feel is right and best for the citizens of Tri-states. We will not ask the federal government for anything, and we will not tolerate their unrequested interference. We will fly the American flag alongside our own flag; we will live under the American flag, and if necessary, fight for it, as a friend and ally. Our borders will be open for all to pass through.

  “However, there are certain things we are not going to do. We are not going to give up our weapons or disband our army. We are not going to change our laws to pamper thugs, punks, and social misfits who cannot or, as in most cases, will not live under the most basic of laws. We are not going to be ruled—totally—by a distant government in Virginia, or abide by the mumblings of your Supreme Court. Make no mistake about this, too, ladies and gentlemen: we are fully prepared to fight for our freedoms and our beliefs—right down to the last person.”

  Ben tapped the podium with a fist, rattling the microphones. “Now let’s clear the air on a few more points. When we pulled into this area, it was chaos—that’s the best one could say about it. The people were confused, disorganized—and that disorganization was partly the fault of the people, but mostly the fault of the federal government. The federal government wouldn’t allow home militias without their so-called ‘guidance.’ But the federal government wasn’t in here helping the people. We were. The federal government didn’t send in doctors, food, medicines. We did it. We did it all, and did a damned good job.

  “You won’t find one person in this state suffering from hunger. Not one! We’ve eliminated it; wiped it out in less time than it takes some bills to get out of committee in your Congress. Your government has been attempting to wipe out hunger for decades, with only partial success. Think about that. Write about that. That says a great deal for our system.

  “When we got
here the elderly were living—most of them—in squalor. Existing might be a better word. Their possessions had been taken from them; they were neglected; and utterly terrified in their own homes, living in fear of punks and thugs and slime you people have, for years, been moaning and sobbing over. Hell, what else is new? Old people have been living in fear for their lives for decades, but you people haven’t done anything about it, except moan and sob about the rights of street punks. We rounded up the punks, shot or hanged them, and helped the elderly put their lives back in order. Now, if that makes me a dictator or a man lacking in compassion, as has been written about me, then I’m proud to be just that.

  “And for your information, most doors in the Tri-states aren’t locked at night, or at any other time. The lock on my back door doesn’t even work, and hasn’t for four years. That’s got to tell you something about the way we live; the peace we all feel here. And we are at peace here, wanting trouble with or from no one.

  “While you are here, by all means visit our hospitals and research centers and day-care centers and community centers and villages. Talk to anyone you wish to talk with. Visit our schools and see what we’ve done. Then compare what you see with what you’ve just left—out there”—he pointed—“in your United States.

  “Visit our planning offices here in Vista, see what we’ve got on the tables for the future. You’ll be surprised, I’m sure. But don’t just report on a society that comes down hard on criminals; one where they are not pampered at taxpayer expense. For once, just once, you people report on both the good and the bad; weigh the rights of decent people against those of criminals. But by all means, do report that the life expectancy of punks is very short in the Tri-states.”

  A reporter raised his hand. “Governor, all you say may be true—probably is true—I’m not disputing your word. It’s easy to see that you and your people have done a great deal of good in this area, but the fact is, you stole all the material you brought into this area. That’s something you can’t deny.”

  “I have no intention of denying it,” Ben said. “We took from dead areas, transplanted what we took here, and put those materials to use. You people could have done the same—but you didn’t. You people left billions and billions—probably trillions of dollars’ worth of valuable materials to rot and rust, and do absolutely no one any good at all. That is the crime.”

  “Governor,”—Judith stood up—“on another topic—or maybe, really it isn’t—on the way here, Mr. Oliver said you don’t have police, but peace officers. Would you explain the difference and why their powers are limited?”

  “Peace officers keep the peace,” Ben said simply, and with a smile. “And folks out here—myself included—seem to prefer the name to cops. As to their limited powers, I’ll try to explain, but here is where we veer off sharply from your society and its laws.

  “First, and lastly, too, I suppose, a person has to want to live here. You’ll hear that a dozen times before you leave. We are not an open society. Not just anyone can come in here to live. I have no figures to back this, but I would be willing to wager that probably no more than one out of every ten people in America could live under our laws or the type of government we have. Hucksters, shysters, con men, ambulance-chasing lawyers, cheats, liars… those types cannot last in this society. Everything is open and aboveboard in this state. Some of those types have tried to live here. We’ve buried a few; most left.

  “Our laws on the books are few, and they are written very simply and plainly. Our laws are taught in our schools, our young people are brought up understanding the do’s and don’t’s of this society. Any person with an average intellect can draw up a legal document in the Tri-states, and it will be honored in a court of law simply because the people in this state are honorable people. That sounds awfully smug, but it is the truth. Here, a person’s word means as much as a written contract. That’s why so many people can’t live in our society. And here, as strange as it seems to you people, all this is working. Working because of one simple, basic fact: one has to want to live here.

  “Our peace officers don’t have much to do other than occasionally break up a family fight.” He smiled. “And yes, we do have domestic squabbles here. Or they might issue a traffic ticket; occasionally have to investigate a shooting or a theft. But those are very rare. The army is constantly on patrol, so they pretty well take over most law-enforcement jobs in a preventive manner, so to speak. We’ve found their presence to be a deterrent.”

  Barney looked at Badger and could damned well understand why that would be so.

  “Now as you probably realize by now,” Ben said, “in the Tri-states, it is not against the law to protect yourself, your loved ones, or your property. That is written into our constitution just as it is in yours… but we enforce it. And there have been killings and woundings. All justified under our laws.

  “Now, I’m going to tell you something all of you will find very difficult to believe. But it is the truth. The Tri-states take in approximately three hundred and thirty thousand square miles of territory. Per capita, we have .025 percent crime. I don’t know how in the Lord’s name a society could get any lower statistics than that. We’ve had one mugging in the Tri-states in the past two years.”

  “What happened to the mugger?”

  “Twenty-five years at hard labor,” Ben said calmly.

  “Twenty-five years!” a reporter jumped to his feet. “My God, General Raines—what kind of laws do you people have in this state?”

  “I just told you. Tough ones.”

  Several of the press people shuddered. Some smiled in disbelief.

  “We have very tough drinking laws in this state,” Ben said. “And they are enforced to the letter. No exceptions. If you doubt that, take a drive up to the state penitentiary and ask to speak to a Mr. Michael Clifford; he was our secretary of finance until two years ago. He got drunk one night and ran over a young girl. She was badly injured. Mr. Clifford is serving a ten-year-to-life sentence. Had the girl died, the charge would have been murder. Not manslaughter—murder. And he would have spent the rest of his life in prison, at hard labor. No probation, no parole.

  “We are not a teetotaling society; we don’t care if a person gets stinking drunk in his or her own home. That’s not our business. Just don’t drive drunk.

  “There are bars and lounges all over the Tri-states. But none outside of a town limit, and there is a two-drink limit, or a three-beer limit. It’s all on an honor system: no cards to punch, no undercover people sneaking about. And so far, it’s working. There again, we have to go back to what has been preached to you people since you got here. One has to want to live in this type of society. And not everybody can.”

  Juno chose that time to wander out onto the patio, take a look around, yawn, and then drop to the ground and go to sleep. He was getting old, almost nine years old, and blind in one eye, but still a beautiful animal.

  “That’s a wolf,” someone whispered.

  “Malamute,” Ben corrected. “I found him in Georgia, years ago. Or rather, he found me. Juno’s harmless, for the most part. Just leave him alone; that’s all he asks.” Ben smiled. “That’s all we ask here in the Tri-states.”

  “Governor…” A woman rose. “I’m an atheist. Could I live in this area?”

  “Of course; but your children would still be taught the Bible, our creation, in public schools—and there are no other kinds of schools. And won’t be.”

  “Suppose I don’t want my children subjected to that superstitious drivel?”

  “Then you could leave.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Your form of government is not very fair, General.” She slurred the “General.”

  “It’s fair for the people who choose to live under it. And that is what Tri-states is all about. And I’m beginning to sound redundant.”

  “You stress the Bible, General,” she retorted, “but it seems to me there is a definite lack of com
passion in this state. And I really can’t correlate the Bible with legalized prostitution.”

  Ben had taken an immediate dislike to the woman. Bad chemistry, he supposed. “I don’t stress the Bible, lady. We have great compassion for the old, the sick, the homeless, the young, the troubled, the helpless, those in need. Our system is such that no one needs to steal. That is why we are so harsh with lawbreakers. The churches are for those who wish to attend. The whorehouses are for those who would like a quick piece of ass.”

  Behind him, Salina suppressed a groan and Tina giggled.

  The woman sat down, angry.

  Half of the press people laughed, the other half frowned at Ben’s loss of composure.

  “Some would say you have a cult here, Governor.”

  “No.” Ben shook his head. “I’d have to argue that. I was afraid of it, I will admit. At first. But we have no clear and fast ruler here. I know the people of the Tri-states would fight and die for their system of government. I am equally convinced they would not blindly die for me. That’s the difference. All of us are the architects of the system—not just me.”

  “What does it take to move into this state?” Judith asked. Her colleagues looked at her in surprise. She sounded as if she meant the question for personal reasons.

  “There has to be a job for you, and you have to want to move in very badly. You have to agree to become a member of the standing militia, and to support the Tri-states’ philosophy—war or peace.”

  “You suppose there might be a job for me?” Judith asked.

  “I would certainly imagine so. We’ve opened a number of radio stations and installed a number of TV stations. In our check on your people, you came out very high. You’re a fair reporter in all aspects.”

  A reporter jumped to his feet. “What do you mean: a check on us?”

  “Just that. You were all checked by our intelligence people before coming in here.”

  “How? I mean… well, how?”

  Ben smiled. “That, son, is something you’ll never know.”

  The Tri-states had a fine intelligence-gathering network with sophisticated computers and databanks. Their microwave equipment was the finest in the world. Dozens of technicians, formerly employed by the CIA, NASA, NCIC, the FBI, and others, worked for the Tri-states’ military—both inside and outside the state. They had taps into many computers around the nation.