side. Several spotlights were trained on him. “You’re on private property,” a man with a bullhorn spoke. “You are trespassing. Turn around and go back to the main highway immediately.”
“My name is Patrick McLanahan. I want to speak with Reverend Paulson.”
“The reverend doesn’t speak with strangers in the middle of the night. Go away.”
“Tell the reverend that I was responsible for the FBI pulling out of the surveillance of your property,” Patrick said. “Tell him I want to talk and make an offer to the residents of this compound to terminate the hostilities between you and the government.”
There was silence for several minutes; then a different voice on the bullhorn said, “Say your name again, stranger.”
“McLanahan. Patrick McLanahan.”
There was another long pause; then the first voice said, “Is there anyone in the car with you?”
“Yes.” Patrick turned toward the pickup. Brigadier-General Kurt Givens emerged from the right-rear passenger seat… and Wayne Macomber, dressed in the Tin Man battle armor, got out of the front passenger side.
“Wayne insisted on coming along, as my bodyguard,” Patrick said. “There is a Cybernetic Infantry Device, a manned robot, out there as well. Her job is to destroy the technicals and machine-gun emplacements if fighting breaks out. This is General Givens, the commander of Joint Air Base Battle Mountain.”
“You want to start a war, mister, you’ve come to the right place! Now go away!”
“The general and I want to talk with Reverend Paulson,” Patrick said. “Face-to-face. No one wants to start a war. I want to talk to Reverend Paulson about uniting our two communities.”
There was another long pause; then the second voice said, “Bring out the robot and have it join you at the entrance.” A few moments later they heard car horns beeping and floodlights illuminate all around the north side of the compound, and Charlie Turlock aboard the CID ran around the perimeter fence and joined Patrick and Whack.
“Is this how the government deals with fellow Americans?” the first voice blared angrily over the bullhorn. “Is this how—” And the voice abruptly cut off.
A few minutes later, Patrick saw a technical — a pickup truck with a heavy-gauge machine gun mounted in back, manned by a standing gunner — drive to the compound entrance, and a man emerged from the passenger side. He was tall and very thin, with long silver hair, wearing a black suit, white shirt, bolo tie — and, Patrick noticed, what appeared to be an Uzi slung on his shoulder. “Mr. McLanahan?” he asked.
Patrick stepped forward. Wayne moved forward with him. Patrick could feel dozens of gun muzzles swing in his direction, and he could see the technical on the pickup truck nervously switching aim between him, the CID, and the Tin Man. He held out a hand. “It’s okay, Whack.”
“That wasn’t the deal, General,” Wayne said, his electronically synthesized voice booming. “We agreed I was going to come with you at all times or we weren’t going to do this.”
“ ‘General’?” the newcomer called out. “General Patrick McLanahan?”
“Yes.”
The newcomer moved away from the compound entrance, stepped over to the Wrangler, and held out a hand. “I’m happy to meet you, General,” the man said. “I am Reverend Jeremiah Paulson.”
Patrick shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too, sir.”
“Your reputation precedes you, sir.” Paulson extended a hand to Givens. “We met many years ago, General, when you first took command of the base,” he said. “You held many community forums every year to address issues between the local area and the base, and you’ve hosted many open-house and other events for the community.”
“I think an important part of being base commander is open and frequent dialogue between the base and the community, Reverend,” Givens said, shaking hands. “Unfortunately, those kinds of activities had to be curtailed as our funding was cut, our operations were reduced, and the people lost interest in the base. But I intend to reverse that.”
“That is long overdue, General Givens.” Paulson looked up at the CID and shook his head. “Such incredible technology,” he said in a low voice. “Too bad it’s being used against innocent American citizens.”
“That was the FBI’s idea, sir,” Patrick said. “The White House authorized their use because of the radiological attacks in Reno. The FBI is gone now.”
“But the robot and this man remain?”
“Yes, under my command.”
“And what is your ‘command,’ General?” Paulson asked. “Why were you sent to Nevada to talk to me?”
“I wasn’t sent, sir — I live here,” Patrick said. “I’ve lived on the air base since January. I previously commanded the air wing here.”
“Indeed? I was not aware of it. A man such as yourself, living out here in obscurity… interesting. What is it you do at the base?”
“I’m retired,” Patrick said. “I fly volunteer missions for the Civil Air Patrol, mostly search-and-rescue missions; I fly volunteer charity medical missions for Angel Flight West; and I raise an eighteen-year-old son.”
“Very good,” Paulson said. “Being a responsible, God-fearing parent and serving your community are two of the most noble things a man can do. But why is a retired military officer given devices such as these? Under what authority do you use them?”
“At first I wasn’t given any authority to use them, Reverend Paulson,” Patrick replied. “They’re here; my community and friends are in danger; I know how to employ them — so I acted. I’ve recently been given limited authority to use them by the president of the United States.”
“Against the residents of this community?”
“Against threats to
“Otherwise the war between us will continue.”
“Reverend Paulson, I’m willing and ready to do whatever it takes to safeguard my home,” Patrick said, “and I’m willing to battle anyone who wants to take away our freedom. So far, I haven’t seen any evidence that you are an enemy. You have weapons, you have a stronghold, you have followers ready to take up arms and defend their home… well, so do we at Joint Air Base Battle Mountain, and we’re not an enemy to the community either. We need to join together to find the common enemy and eliminate it.”
“I am a minister, a spiritual leader only,” Paulson said. “The people of this community came to this place and built their homes around my original church because they felt safer living together. We are all sovereign citizens, followers of the original U.S. Constitution and the laws of God. I don’t give orders.”
“I have no followers, Reverend,” Patrick said. “As I said, I’m retired. I have no command or hold any office. But I am going to use the tools available to me to protect my family, my home, and my community. We share that goal. We should work together to accomplish that mission.”
Paulson looked Patrick up and down, then nodded. “What do you propose, General McLanahan?”
Patrick turned to Givens. “Kurt?”
“Come live with us,” Givens said to Paulson.
“Live with you? On the air base?”
“There’s plenty of room for everyone,” Givens said. “The base used to house almost six thousand, and we were in the process of expanding it to seven thousand — we have fewer than one thousand now. We have medical facilities, shopping, fitness, and recreation venues that are hardly used.”
“I think that is a very generous offer, General Givens,” Paulson said, “but most of the members of this community are distrustful of the government already — they won’t want to move right into its lap by moving onto a military base.”
“For those who don’t want to move, they can stay out here,” Buzz said. “But for those who are living in tents or those with young children, the base facilities might be better, at least temporarily. And even if you don’t choose to move, the base’s facilities will be open for everyone.”
“But… how can this be possible?” Paulson said. “We have no money for any of this.”
“President Kenneth Phoenix has issued a presidential order, directing the commanders of military installations
