Out of the Ashes

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 goddamned 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.”

“Then you admit your form of government could not work in the other states, Governor?”

“Oh, it could work, but it would take a lot of education and a lot of conforming to make it work. But I’m not concerned with the other states. Just this area.

“Let’s wind this down and get it over with. Our bank interest rates are low—lower than they’ve been in the United States for almost twenty years. We have full employment, almost zero crime. Our pay scale is excellent, and we do it all without the threat of unions hanging over the businessman’s head.”

“Do you plan to keep unions out?”