Out of the Ashes ta-1

by William Wallace Johnstone

  “Are you interested in joining?” Ben asked the young woman. “I believe your mother and father were killed by burglars, before the war—were they not?”

  Judith nodded. How had he discovered that? “Yes, I am very much interested.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” her boss whispered. “What are you trying to prove?”

  Judith shrugged her reply.

  “You people prowl around for a few days,” Ben said. “We’ll meet again for more questions and answers.” He wheeled about and walked into the house, Salina and Tina behind him.

  Badger blocked the way, the AK-47 at port arms. And the first press conference in Tri-states’ short history was over.

  FIVE

  “Dr. Chase and Legal Officer Bellford are waiting for you people downtown,” Badger informed the press corps. “Tell your drivers to take you to district HQ. It’s just a couple of miles from here. That way.” He pointed. “There are vehicles waiting for you—Jeeps.”

  “For free?” a reporter asked.

  “Sure,” Badger said. “Why not? You thinkin’ about stealin’ one?”

  The man laughed. “After what we just heard about your form of justice?”

  Badger smiled. “Yeah. That’s something to think about, isn’t it?”

  The auditorium in the Hall of Justice building was large and comfortably furnished. Charles Bellford and Chief of Medicine Lamar Chase were waiting for them.

  Dr. Chase did not particularly like the press—those from the outside—but he agreed to meet with them. His dislike was evident with his opening remark.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “I’ve got important things to do.”

  “You don’t consider meeting with us important?” he was asked.

  “I consider it a waste of valuable time, and cannot see that anything constructive will come from it. You each get one question directed at me.” He looked at the reporter who had asked about the importance of the meeting. “You’ve had yours. Next?”

  The reporter sat down, muttering. “I don’t believe this place.”

  “Dr. Chase, how do your medical facilities differ from those of the… outside?”

  Chase smiled. “Good question, son. I can sum it all up in one statement, then get the hell out of here.

  “We have the finest research center in the world here in the Tri-states. I should know, I helped steal most of the equipment.”

  The room echoed with laughter.

  “Our facilities are excellent, and seventy-five percent free to the public. The state pays the first seventy-five percent, the patient the remainder, and that can be paid by installments or by a state loan. But no one is denied medical care—ever.

  “We have doctors from the outside begging to come in here. Here, a physician may not become wealthy, but he or she will, in most situations, work regular hours. Ob/gyn people are exceptions. We don’t have malpractice suits in the Tri-states. Not as you people know them. A doctor might amputate the wrong leg and get sued—he should be sued. But it has to be something major for a lawsuit in the Tri-states.

  “Here, doctors see patients who need to see a doctor, well-trained paramedics take care of the rest. That eases the load quite a bit. You people could have done the same had not the majority of your doctors been mercenary and the people they served sue-happy.

  “We have the finest organ bank in the world. I have preached for years that it should be against the law for a person to be lowered into the ground with precious organs intact. That is not permitted here in the Tri-states. Every part of the human body we can use, we take at the moment of death.”

  “The patient has no choice in the matter?”

  “None.”

  “Death with dignity, doctor—is that allowed in this semireligious society?”

  “I’ll let the sarcastic ‘semireligious’ part of your question slide, sonny. I am not a religious man, personally. Yes, euthanasia is allowed in this society. And it’s nobody’s business but the patient’s—as it should be anywhere. Not all doctors agree with it, naturally; we have diverse philosophies in this society just as you do in yours. Those doctors that don’t like the idea don’t take part in it. But the right to die, with or without dignity, is a personal choice and right. And no one else’s goddamned business.” He walked out of the room.

  “Very blunt man,” someone observed.

  “But a compassionate one,” Charles Bellford said.

  “Mr. Bellford, you used to be a federal judge. You don’t look like a judge now.”

  Bellford was dressed in ranch pants, western shirt, and cowboy boots. He smiled. “I don’t have all those lofty decisions to hand down here, Mr. Charles. I’m a rancher/farmer first, legal officer second. Lawyers and judges don’t have much to do in the Tri-states.”

  “Sir…” A reporter stood up. “I don’t mean to appear ignorant… but I just don’t understand your system of justice here. Surely you have decisions to weigh.”

  Bellford shook his head. “I realize this state must come as a shock to most of you. But I have very few decisions to ponder. The people we allow in here are almost always amazed at how smoothly our system runs. It almost runs itself. And it’s easily explained: we simply brought the law back to the people.

  “You see, I believe—and have for years—that the legal profession tried to keep the law, and themselves, on a plane far above the average person’s level of understanding. And they—we—did it deliberately. Gods on high, so to speak, uttering pronouncements in a verbiage beyond the grasp of the nonlegal-educated majority. It was arrogant of us, and that is not the way it is done in the Tri-states. Governor Raines believes that lawyers perpetuate lawyers. I agree with him.

  “Our trials are different from those on the outside, but I assure you, one and all, they do not make a mockery of justice.

  “You see, we don’t believe it’s fair or just for the state—as in your system—to throw millions of dollars, highly trained investigators, and fine legal minds into a case, when the defendant is left out in the cold with one attorney and all the bills. That is not justice for all. Even if the accused is proven innocent, beyond the shadow of a doubt, in your system, many times he or she is ruined financially and publicly humiliated—by the press. We just don’t believe that is true justice.

  “There are no fine points of law here; no tricky legal maneuvering; no deals; no browbeating of witnesses. If a question cannot be fairly answered by a simple yes or no reply from the witness stand, we allow that person to elaborate. Or, one of the judges may stop the witness and take him or her into chambers, along with the attorneys; they’ll hash it out there.” He laughed. “You can all see I’m rusty with legal jargon. And so very happy about it.

  “As you all know, polygraph and PSE machines are much more accurate than, oh, say ten years ago. And they are used in every case in the Tri-states. Every case. If they leave any doubt, we use drug-induced hypnosis. But a case will seldom go that far.”

  “What if I don’t want to be subjected to that type of treatment?” he was asked.

  “You don’t have a choice,” Bellford replied. “By your very refusal, you’re admitting a certain amount of guilt. Look, we’re dealing, in some cases, with human life; certainly with careers, with families, with dignity, and we want to be certain the right person is punished. And I know, and you people should know, that eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable. I wish we had a case being tried somewhere in the Tri-states so you could all see our system in action.”

  “Sir… are you telling us that in all of the Tri-states, you aren’t trying someone?”

  “That is correct. Sorry.”

  “That’s impossible!”

  Bellford laughed. “Perhaps incredible—to you people—but certainly not impossible. Sociologists, psychologists, psychiatrists, and social anthropologists have been preaching for years that the death penalty and harsh laws would not be a deterrent for criminals. Many people believed them; I never did. Our society proves they
were wrong. One day a week—this day—I come in in the afternoon to hear cases. I usually read a book to pass the time. Obviously, we are doing something right.”

  “But you are selective as to the caliber of person you will allow to live in the Tri-states?”

  “Oh my, yes.”

  “Then how do you know harsh laws would work in the other states?”

  “I don’t. But you don’t know that they won’t, because you people have never tried them. Probably never will. But that’s your problem; we’ve solved ours. Understand this: in the Tri-states, murder, kidnapping, armed robbery, the selling of hard drugs, and treason, are all punishable by the death penalty. And lesser crimes—and that is a paradoxical statement—are still treated in a very harsh manner.”

  “Your system of justice does not allow much leeway for human error, Mr. Bellford.”

  “More than you might realize, sir. We have counselors ready and willing to talk with anyone who might have a problem—twenty-four hours, around the clock. And our people do use them. We do not have a pressure-free society. But it’s as close as we could come to it.”

  “Be that as it may, Mr. Bellford. I don’t think I’d like to live in your society.”

  “Your choice,” the reporter was informed. “And ours.”

  Barney and his crew drove through the countryside as the press scattered over the thousands of miles of the Tri-states. They admired the neat, well-kept homes, the tidy fields and meadows, and the open friendliness of the people. No one seemed to be in any great hurry to get anywhere, and the press people realized then that the pace was indeed slower in the Tri-states. They were invited into homes by people they did not know, for coffee and cake and pie and home-baked bread. Homes were open, with doors unlocked; keys left in the ignitions of vehicles.

  “Don’t let a good boy go bad,” one of Barney’s crew said sarcastically. “I always did think that was a bunch of shit. Good boys don’t steal cars. Punks steal cars.”

  Barney glanced at him. “I never knew you felt that way, Jimmy.”

  “You never asked me.”

  Toward the end of the second day, Barney and his crew stopped to sit in silence for a time, digesting all they’d seen.

  Barney sighed and shook his head. “Ted, we haven’t seen one shack in two days. I have seen no signs of poverty. I have not seen anyone who looked poor or unhappy about anything. Why is everyone so contented in this wacko place?”

  “Because they have what they want. I couldn’t live here; I’ll admit that. I like to whore around too much.” He grinned. “I’d get shot for fooling around with someone’s wife. O.K., so I couldn’t live here—I haven’t been invited, have I? But these folks like it here. Hell, why doesn’t the government just leave them alone and let them live the way they want to live. They’re not forcing their way of life on anyone. It’s none of President Logan’s business.”

  Jimmy said, “I agree with you, Ted. But I’ll admit something: I’d like to live here. Man, these people have something good going for them.”

  Barney glanced at him. “The death penalty, Jimmy? Hard laws? I never knew you felt that way.”

  “You never asked me.”

  Charles Clayton and his crew pulled to a halt at the northernmost edge of the western part of the Tri-states. They had been following a chain-link fence for miles. The fence had stopped abruptly, turning straight east. Inside the fence was a desolate-looking stretch of almost barren land, cleared and stripped of most vegetation. It looked to be about a thousand yards wide.

  “Looks like a no man’s land,” Clayton said, gazing at the second and third fences in the open area. “I’m beginning to understand why they have so few police. Once a person gets in, he can’t get out! The entire damned place is a jail.”

  The minicam operator consulted a booklet. “This is the strip, as it’s called. Jesus, can you imagine the wire it took to build this thing?”

  “Warning signs every few hundred yards,” Clayton said. “I wonder if that area inside is mined?”

  A military Jeep pulled up beside the van. It had driven up so swiftly and silently it startled the men. The two soldiers were dressed in tiger-stripe field clothes, jump boots, and black berets. Armed with pistols and automatic weapons, they were neither hostile nor openly friendly—just curious.

  “Something the matter?” one asked.

  “Are you police?”

  “No, army patrol. Border security.”

  Clayton nodded. “What would you do if I had an urge to walk around in there?” He pointed toward the strip. “Just climb the fence and go in there?”

  “Nothing,” the soldier replied blandly. “You’re an adult; you can read the warning signs. If you want to run the risk of getting hurt or killed in there, that’s your business.”

  “So it is mined,” Clayton said.

  “That’s the rumor.” The soldier lit a cigarette.

  Clayton did not see the wink that passed from one soldier to the other. The area was not mined, but could be in a very short time.

  “You people take death and injury very casually,” Clayton said.

  “No,” the soldier contradicted, “not really. We love life, love freedom. That’s why we chose to live here. We just figure any intelligent man or woman would have enough sense or respect for warning signs to keep out of any area marked ‘Keep Out.’”

  “There is still the matter of small children,” Clayton said, his face hot and flushed.

  “Yes, that’s right. That’s why we’re here, sir. But our kids are taught to respect warning signs, fences, other people’s property, and things that don’t belong to them. How about your kids?”

  Clayton glared at him for a moment, then smiled. “I have been properly chastised, soldier. Thank you.”

  “You’re sure welcome, sir.” The driver put the Jeep in gear and drove off.

  Clayton sighed. “This is a tough one, people. I don’t know how I’m going to report it. What they’ve done is bring it all back to the basics. That’s all it is. The simplest form of government in the world. But goddamn it!” he cursed. “It’s working!”

  The press roamed the Tri-states, top to bottom, east to west for a week, some of them trying their very best to pick it apart and report the very worst. They talked with a few people who did not like the form of government, the harsh laws, and death penalty. Some people felt they had a right to get drunk and drive—they could drive just as well drunk as sober. They had a right to bully and browbeat. Laws were made to be broken, not followed.

  But do you obey the laws in the Tri-states? they were asked.

  Goddamned right! You’d better obey ’em in this place.

  Has anyone mistreated you?

  I got punched in the mouth one time; called a man a liar. Busted my tooth—right here—see it?

  But when the talk shifted to hospitals, general health care, nursing homes, day care centers, rescue squads and other emergency services, employment, working conditions, housing, recreational areas, and day-to-day living… well, that was kind of a different story. Yeah, things are pretty good, I guess.

  The press picked the state dry; then, in an informal meeting among themselves, talked of what they’d seen and heard.

  “There is gun law here.”

  “Anybody seen anyone get shot?”

  No one had.

  “There is no hunger here, and most people seem content.”

  “A person can get shot for stealing a car.”

  “But no slums or inadequate housing.”

  “I can’t figure out whether dueling is legal here, or not. I think in a way, it is.”

  “The medical care is the best I’ve ever seen, available to all.”

  “Capital punishment is the law of the land.”

  “But there is full employment and the wages are good. This state is full of craftsmen who are proud of their work.”

  “There sure isn’t any crime.”

  “Of course, there isn’t. Everybody packs a goddamn
ed gun! Would you steal if you knew you were going to get shot for trying or hanged for the actual crime?”

  “It’s a dictatorship.”

  “No, it isn’t. Governor Raines was elected by the people. I don’t know what the hell it is. The only thing I know is… it’s working.”

  “General,” a reporter said, “we’ve been here a week, looking around, asking questions. I can’t speak for the others, but if this is your concept of a perfect society—you can have it, sir.”

  The Raineses’ back yard. Not as many press people as before; a full quarter of them having made up their minds—one way or the other—and left to file their stories.

  “We’re not striving for a perfect society. That is impossible when imperfect human beings are the architects. We just want one that works for us; for the people who choose to live here.

  “No, we’re far from perfection. Even within our own system there have been instances of injustice. No one will make any excuses for it except to say we’ve fought ignorance and prejudice and superstition… and I believe we’ve beaten it. Some of the people, who couldn’t take our form of government, left—and we bought their lands and property from them; we didn’t steal it—they had sat on their asses and done nothing but bitch and complain and criticize everything we were attempting to do, at the same time taking advantage of our food, medicines, and other help. They could not understand—or refused to understand—that black and white and red and tan and yellow all bleed the same color.

  “There is no discrimination in the Tri-states, and there is no preference for color. Any person qualified to do a job can do it. If a person is not qualified, the job goes to someone else. You have all interviewed the lieutenant governor and the secretary of state; you all know they are black. The woman in charge of central planning is Sue Yong. Mr. Garrett, the chief law-enforcement officer in the Tri-states, is a Crow Indian. So on down the line. It would be grossly unfair to accuse us of being racially biased, but we are very selective.”