work and could work, were encouraged to do so. They could work until they tired, then they went home. Nothing was said whether they worked one hour or eight. No children’s games were played among the adults; no needling or pushing. There was nothing to prove. The knowledge of older citizens is vast and valuable; older citizens can teach so many things—if only the younger people would listen. In Tri-States they listened.
In order for this to work the pace must be slowed, the grind eased, the honor system restored; the work ethic, in both labor and management, renewed. It was.
In Tri-States, there was no such thing as the three-martini lunch and an hour’s nap. In Tri-States, management worked just as hard as labor, or they got out. Permanently.
Here, for the first time in decades, there was no welfare, no ADC, no WIC, no food stamps, no unemployment; but what took its place was jobs for all, and all adults worked. Those who would not because they felt the job was beneath their dignity, or because of laziness, apathy, and/or indifference, were escorted to the nearest border and given a good boot in the butt. They were told not to come back. If minor children were involved, the kids were taken from their parents and immediately adopted by a family in Tri-States.
Harsh treatment? Yes. Totally unconstitutional by American standards? Yes.
But it worked.
TWO
“Al Cody will never sit still for this,” Ben told his personal contingent of Rebels two days after the ambush of FBI agents. “We’ve got to move and do it quickly.”
Doctor Chase stood on the fringe of the group, glaring disapprovingly at Ben. The old doctor muttered something about Ben’s ancestry and walked away. “Man ought to be flat out on his back in bed,” Chase growled.
Ben said, “Order all units to shift positions immediately. They know the drill. We’re moving out of here
Jerre touched his arm. “Ben… you’re not strong enough for this trip. You…”
“I have to be, Jerre. We’ve got to move. This may be all it takes to push Cody off the deep end. You know what our intelligence people are reporting.”
Ike McGowen took it from there. “Torture, rape, physical humiliation; those are words right out of the last report we received, Jerre.” The ex-Navy SEAL chewed reflectively on a blade of grass.
“I can’t believe President Addison would go along with anything like that,” she said. “He’s… hell he’s a liberal. He was heavily into human rights in South America back in the early ‘80’s—so I’m told,” she blushed.
“Mere child,” Ike grinned.
The Medal of Honor-winning SEAL had been with Ben for a decade; one of the men who helped form Tri- States.
Ben grinned at him.
“What are you grinning about, El Presidente?” Ike asked.
“Remembering the first day I met you.”
“Long time back, partner.”
Ben had been traveling down the coast of Florida, spinning the dial on his truck radio when the music rolled from the speaker. The voice followed. Startled, Ben pulled off the highway onto a shoulder and listened.
“Bright beautiful day here in the city with the titties,” the voice said. “Temperature in the mid-seventies and you’re listening to the SEAL with the feel, Ike McGowen.”
Ben drove on, looking for a radio tower. He spotted what had to be the shakiest tower he’d ever seen, leaning precariously by an oceanside house. Ben, accompanied by Juno, a malamute who had adopted him outside of Jessup, Georgia, walked up to the house. They were met by a gaggle of scantily clad females, all carrying automatic weapons.
Ike’s radio station, Ben learned, was KUNT.
Ben wintered with Ike and his female companions. Not only did he winter with them, he married Ike and Megan Ann Green. The ceremony might not have been legal, but it was the best any of them could do at the time.
And Ike, Ben found, had been part of the Rebels long before the bombings of ‘88. Part of the group under the command of Ben’s old CO in Vietnam, Bull Dean.
Ben had heard of the Rebel movement—had been approached by a member of the group in ‘84—but had discounted the movement; laughed it off.
But as he traveled the country, he saw billboards reading: BEN RAINES—CONTACT US 39.2. When he finally did contact the mysterious party at frequency 39.2, he was astonished to learn that he had been placed in charge of all the Rebels.
Ben refused it.
Then Ike had told him, “Go on, General. Hell, I’m not going to push you. Travel the country. Your duty will come to you after a time.”
After the group in Florida broke up, each going their own way, Ben traveled many more miles, but the signs kept popping up: BEN RAINES—CONTACT US 39.2.
Ben finally “saw his duty.”
“Any individual found supporting the Rebels, actively or passively,” the network commentator intoned, “will be charged with treason. Highly placed sources within the Justice Department have told our reporters this move is necessary to stem the flow of arms and equipment to the Rebel movement currently operating in the United States. Ben Raines, the commanding officer of the Rebels has been placed at the top of the FBI’s most wanted list. The…”
President Addison clicked off the TV set and punched a button on his desk.
“Yes, sir?”
“Tell the vice president I want to see him—now!”
“Right away, sir.”
VP Lowry was standing in the Oval Office within five minutes. Weston Lowry could see the rage in Addison’s eyes—the man was making no real effort to conceal it. And the VP was making no attempt to conceal his contempt for the president.
The two men disliked each other intensely.
“Whose idea was this treason business for citizens who imply support for Raines?” Addison questioned.
“I don’t believe imply was ever mentioned in the…”
“Goddamnit, you know what I mean!” Addison slammed his hand on the desk top. “What in the hell are you people trying to do, start a civil war? We’re still struggling to get our balance from the battering we took eleven years ago.”
“Mr. President, we sampled the views of Congress—all the key members…”
“I wasn’t told of that.”
Lowry ignored that. “…and they believe the only way this country will survive is to destroy Ben Raines and his Rebels. They…”
“The British tried that in Northern Ireland for years. It didn’t work there, and it won’t work here.”
“…also believe this threat is so serious as to fully warrant the term treason. If they have to, Mr. President, they have the votes to override any veto should it come to that.”
Addison was so angry he was trembling, his cheeks mottled with white flecks in the flush. “Lowry, I am going to call a press conference. During that press conference, I am going to disassociate myself from this scheme and publicly and categorically express my opposition to it.”
“That is certainly your privilege, sir.” Lowry maintained his composure.
“That will be all,” Addison said.
“Yes, sir.”
