all over the world to help struggling people in their local area however they can, consistent with the military mission and security, until the economic crisis is over,” Patrick said. “Joint Air Base Battle Mountain will be one of the first to implement the policy.”
“All persons who are able to work will be asked to work,” Givens went on. “If paid jobs are available, they’ll be paid, and some of the money used to defray expenses; otherwise, everyone able to work will be asked to contribute their skills and abilities to do jobs around the base that need to be done. The Department of Defense will provide subsidized food, shelter, utilities, education, job training, and health care.”
“We have to start thinking about one community rather than separate civilian and military ones,” Patrick said. “The separate communities only cause distrust and resentment.”
“Won’t some soldiers resent having outsiders on their base, eating their food and using their facilities without having to swear an oath, put on a uniform, or pick up a gun?” Paulson asked.
“Perhaps,” Patrick said. “But I don’t see the people in your community as malingerers — they seem ready to work if a task is needed. The military respects hard work and dedication. If everyone pulls together, this can work.”
Paulson half turned toward the technical behind him. “I assume things such as that won’t be allowed.”
“You’ll be treated like every other soldier and civilian employee on base,” Givens said. “Legal firearms on base must be registered and stored in our armory, and will be fitted with an identification and tracking tag that assures they’re not kept or carried on base; illegal or unregistered weapons won’t be allowed. You will be allowed access to your firearms at any time as long as they are immediately taken off the base, and the ID tag will monitor that.”
“What other limitations to personal freedoms will be imposed on us by the government?” Paulson asked.
“I don’t know, Reverend — we’re just starting this thing tonight,” Givens said honestly. “We’re starting from the standpoint that civilian residents on base will be given all the responsibilities and freedoms afforded to military residents. Our military members do give up a lot of their constitutional freedoms in the interest of base security and accomplishing the mission.”
“This will be a work in progress, Reverend,” Patrick said. “But the idea is not to limit your freedom, but to support you during tough economic times. You are free to leave at any time if you feel the loss of your rights outweighs the benefits extended to you by the government.”
“I don’t think this will be of much interest to the members of this community, General,” Paulson said. “Living out here means freedom for these people, even if the conditions are sometimes harsh.”
“We think they might be worse than harsh, Reverend,” Patrick said. “We’ve noticed that two of your crop circles are dying.”
“How would you know this, General?”
“I have been conducting aerial surveillance of about three thousand square miles around the air base, including this compound,” Patrick replied. “My sensors detected the dying crops and the malfunctioning irrigation sprinklers.”
“More of using whatever devices are at hand for your own purposes, General McLanahan?” Paulson asked suspiciously. He straightened his shoulders. “I do not approve of this, sir, and I do not approve of you,” he said acidly. “General Givens, I thank you and the president for your offer, and I will present the idea to the people of this community tomorrow morning at community breakfast. If anyone wishes to move, they will be allowed to do so at any time. I will place them in contact with you and arrange a time for the transfer.
“But I will also advise them of General McLanahan’s use of this combat technology and surveillance operations,” Paulson went on, “and I will be candid with them: I believe General McLanahan to be as much an extremist as the others who roam this state and harm law-abiding citizens, and placing yourselves under his protection is the moral equivalent of endorsing his anticonstitutional actions. He is violating his oath to serve and defend the Constitution, and as such is a criminal in the eyes of the people and of God almighty.
“If anyone wants to leave this place, they are welcome, but I believe
“Well, I think that went swimmingly,” Charlie Turlock deadpanned in her electronically synthesized voice from inside the Cybernetic Infantry Device. After Paulson and the technical departed, the CID assumed the dismount position, and Charlie climbed out and ordered the CID to fold itself up for transport. “Think anyone will take us up on the offer?”
“And be excommunicated from Paulson’s church? I don’t think so,” Whack said. He helped Charlie stow the CID in the back of the pickup. “Are you sure the FBI was wrong about these people, Patrick? Paulson’s definitely got a one-track mind — and it’s not a very peaceful track.”
“I’m not a cop — I could be completely wrong about them,” Patrick said. “Paulson may be a zealot and even an extremist, but a homicidal maniac using planes and radiological dirty bombs? I don’t know.”
“He could have an entire faction within his community doing the attacks, with Paulson’s blessing,” Whack said.
“I suggest we get out of here before we find out Paulson’s watch is running fast,” Buzz said. They climbed into the pickup and headed off back to Battle Mountain.
Ron Spivey made liberal use of his employee discount to buy energy drinks to help stay awake during these graveyard shifts working at the convenience store outside of town. Well, he thought, only a couple more months of this, and then I’ll concentrate on the new path. He was anxious to get started on it.
The night-shift manager, a woman named Matilda, was behind the counter. Ron took a broom and dustpan and headed out the door. “I’m going on parking-lot patrol, Matilda,” he said.
“Bathrooms must be next, Ron,” she said.
“Okay.” Matilda insisted on spotless bathrooms, so he was sent back to do them after almost every customer used them. Another good reason to get the heck out and start a
It was a perfect summer evening — clear as a bell, not too hot, not too cold, no thunderstorms, and gentle breezes. The store was pretty quiet, but the truck stop about a quarter of a mile down the frontage road seemed busier than usual. Another sign that the economy was turning around? You wouldn’t know it by business at the convenience store, but more truckers seemed to be on the road these days. The express shipping business was definitely hiring, so maybe things were starting to look up?
Ron laughed at himself. Sheesh, when did he ever think about stuff like the economy before? Maybe having a baby and a future wife changes a guy’s perspective — even a brainless skirt-chasing jock’s.
Finally, a customer. The car pulled up to the gas pump island farthest from the store, the one with the burned-out overhead fluorescents — he would have to get the big ladder out to change those. One guy got out, while the other guy stayed in the car. They were talking to each other through the windows, but Ron couldn’t make out what they were saying. The parking lot was in pretty good shape, no broken beer bottles or the puddles of vomit that were more common on the weekends. The two guys’ voices over on the far island were getting a bit louder. Uh-oh, he thought, boyfriends having a little late-night to-do? At last, some entertainment…
… and just then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it — the gesture made by the guy pumping gas, his hand like a knife, jabbing at the guy in the car… exactly like the guy he saw in the car that hit Brad had been doing! Holy shit, he thought, could it be
Sweeping as he moved, Ron casually moved across the front of the store, trying to take his time but anxious to get a look before these guys drove off. It took him almost two minutes to move around, and it was a little hard to see because of the burned-out lights, but he finally saw it — the cracks in the windshield where he had hit it with his football helmet! Jesus Christ, they’re
“Hello?”
