Out of the Ashes

“Living here is very simple on the one hand, and very difficult—if not downright impossible—if you're the type of person who likes to spread malicious gossip, if you're lazy, if you like to browbeat others. If you're inclined to cheat and lie ... you won't make it in this society.”

“What happens to them?”

“Well,"—Bridge grinned—"you start spreading lies about somebody in this society, you're liable to get the shit beat out of you. It's happened a few times.”

“And the law did what to the parties involved?”

“Nothing,” Bridge said flatly. “I don't know of anyone, male or female, who doesn't gossip; that's human nature. Just don't make it vicious lies.”

“I'm surprised there haven't been any killings, if that's the kind of laws you people live under. If you want to call it law, that is.”

“There've been a couple of shootings,” Bridge admitted. “But not in the past three or four years. We're all pretty much of one mind in this area.”

“Who shot whom, and why?” Clayton questioned.

“One fellow was messin’ with another man's wife. He kept messin’ with her even though, as witnesses pointed out, the woman told him, time after time, to leave her alone. She finally went to her husband and told him. The husband warned the man—once. The warning didn't take. The husband called the man out one afternoon; told him he was going to beat the hell out of him. Romeo came out with a gun in his hand. Bad mistake. Husband killed him.”

The press waited. And waited. Finally Clayton blurted, “Well, what happened?”

“Nothing, really.” Bridge's face was impassive. “There was a hearing, of course. The husband was turned loose; Romeo was buried.”

“Are you serious?”

“Perfectly. I told you all: this is not an easy place to live. But that's only happened three ... yes, three times since the Tri-states were organized. There is an old western saying, sir: man saddles his own horses, kills his own snakes. And if I have to explain that, you'd better turn this bus around and get the hell out of here.”

The bus driver chuckled.

The press corps absorbed that bit of western philosophy for a moment ... in silence. Clayton broke the silence by clearing his throat and saying, “Let's return to the people controlling their own lives, if we ever indeed left it. Elaborate on that, please, without the High Noon scenario, if possible, and I'm not sure you weren't just putting us on about that.”

“I believe that Sergeant Roisseau told Mr. Barney Weston that this is a one-mistake state and he'd had his—right?”

Barney felt his face grow hot. “Mr. Oliver, maybe I was out of line, but I just got mauled and humiliated. Don't you think that's going a bit far?”

“Would you do it again?” Bridge asked.

“Absolutely not!”

Bridge laughed. “Well ... you just answered your question.”

“Mr. Oliver?” Judith said. “Are you taking us on a preselected route? I've seen no shacks or poor-looking people. No crummy beer joints. No malnourished kids. Nothing to indicate poverty or unhappiness.”

“I'm not qualified to speak on the unhappiness part of your question. I'm sure there must be some unhappiness here. But I can guarantee you there is no hunger or poverty. We've corrected that—totally.”

The newspeople had just left an area—America—where people were still dying from the sickness caused by the bombings: cancer-related illnesses from radiation sickness; where people were starving and out of work; where gangs of thugs still roamed parts of the nation; where the sights of devastation were still very much in evidence. Now, for Bridge Oliver to tell them that here, in the Tri-states, there was no poverty, no hunger ... that was ludicrous.

“Oh, come now, man!” Clayton's tone was full of disbelief. “That is simply not possible.”

“Perhaps not in your society, but it certainly did happen here. You'll be free to roam the country, talk to people. The only hungry people you'll find in Tri-states will be those people who might be on a diet.”

“Well, would you be so kind as to tell us just how you people managed that?”

“By ripping down any slum or shack area and building new housing, and not permitting a building to deteriorate. We have very tough housing codes, and they are enforced....”

“I can just imagine how,” Barney muttered, his face reddening at the laughter around him.