Fire in the Ashes

“You all know where we stand on issues. The people have voted on them, all over this three-state area. We've been holding town meetings since early last winter on the issues and laws we'll live with and under,” Ben said. “Now, ninety-one percent of the people agreed to our system of law. The rest left. And that's the way it's going to be or you all can take this governorship—that I didn't want in the first place—and I'll go back to writing my journal."

“Ben—” Doctor Chase said.

“No!” Ben had stood firm. “I came into this office this morning and there was a damned paper on my desk asking me to reconsider the death penalty for that goddamned punk over in Missoula."

“He's sixteen years old, Governor,” an aide said.

“That's his problem. His IQ is one twenty-eight. The shrink says he knows right from wrong and is healthy, mentally and physically. He is perfectly normal. He stole a car, got drunk, and drove a hundred fucking miles an hour down the main street. He ran over and killed two elderly people whose only crime was attempting to cross a street ... in compliance with the existing traffic lights. He admitted what he did. He is not remorseful. I would reconsider if he was sorry for what he'd done. But he isn't. And tests bear that out. He has admitted his true feelings; said the old people didn't have much time left them anyway, so what the hell was everybody getting so upset about? Well, piss on him! He's a punk. That's all he would ever be—if I let him live—which I have no intention of doing. If he puts so little emphasis on the lives of others, then he shouldn't mind terribly if I snuff out his."

Ben glared at the roomful of silent men. “So, Mr. Garrett,”—he looked at a uniformed man standing quietly across the room—“at six o'clock day after tomorrow, dawn, you will personally escort young Mr. Randolph Green to the designated place of execution and you will see to it that he is hanged by the neck until he is dead. The day of the punk ... is over."

“Yes, sir,” Garrett said. “It's about time some backbone was shoved into the law.” He left the room.

Ben looked around him. “Any further questions as to how the law is going to work?"

No one had anything further to say.

* * * *

“And you felt that was the right and just thing to do?” Roanna asked.

“I did and do."

“And that is the type of justice you plan to prescribe for the entire nation? If you are victorious against Lowry and Hartline?"

“Oh, we'll be victorious, Miss Hickman. I have no doubts about that. But as to your question, no, that is not the type of justice I plan for the entire nation."

“But your Tri-States..."

“Was for the people who chose to live under those laws. Not for everybody. No, Miss, once the battle is over, my people will return to the site of the old Tri-States—or wherever they choose to set up, and there we shall live out our lives, under our system of law, all the while paying a fair share of taxes to whatever central government you people happen to set up."

Reporter studied soldier. Roanna slowly nodded her head in understanding. “You could set up your ... Tri-States right now, couldn't you? You don't have to do this thing—this battle, do you?"

“No, Miss Hickman, we don't. It's just that ... I believe that a people should live as freely as possible, and not under a dictatorship, such as the one Lowry and Cody and Hartline now seem to have."

“General, you are not ... you have ideals and, I guess, a certain amount of compassion that was not reported about you when you opened your borders a couple of years ago."

Ben shrugged. “I've always maintained, Miss Hickman, the press doesn't always report the truth, or do it fairly. They report what they perceive as the truth.” He looked at Ike. “Ike, would you take Miss Hickman and have her tested?"

Roanna looked at Ben. “General, what happens if I fail the test?"

“You will then be questioned under drug-induced hypnosis."

“And if I fail that?"

Ben's smile held no humor. “Why ... you won't wake up, Miss Hickman."

The reporter shuddered.

* * * *

“VP Lowry's got the hots for you, baby,” Hartline told Sabra. “I showed him the film of you going down on me and it got him all worked up."

They lay on tangled sheets in Hartline's Richmond townhouse. Sabra had not asked what had happened to the occupants of the townhouse. She felt she knew. She fought back a shudder and lit a cigarette. Even after all these years since the world blew up, the cigarettes still tasted like shit. “And what did you tell him?"

“Nothing, yet, baby.” The mercenary's fingers were busy between her legs.

Respond—respond! she told herself. Get into the act and make it good. She closed her eyes and pictured her husband, Ed, making love to her. She felt a warmth begin to spread down her belly. “Do I make brownie points by fucking the VP?"

Hartline laughed. “You're all right, baby, you know that? I never miss with gals. I can peg ‘em right first time, every time. I knew you fucked your way to the top."