Out of the Ashes

“Our laws on the books are few, and they are written very simply and plainly. Our laws are taught in our schools, our young people are brought up understanding the do's and don't's of this society. Any person with an average intellect can draw up a legal document in the Tri-states, and it will be honored in a court of law simply because the people in this state are honorable people. That sounds awfully smug, but it is the truth. Here, a person's word means as much as a written contract. That's why so many people can't live in our society. And here, as strange as it seems to you people, all this is working. Working because of one simple, basic fact: one has to want to live here.

“Our peace officers don't have much to do other than occasionally break up a family fight.” He smiled. “And yes, we do have domestic squabbles here. Or they might issue a traffic ticket; occasionally have to investigate a shooting or a theft. But those are very rare. The army is constantly on patrol, so they pretty well take over most law-enforcement jobs in a preventive manner, so to speak. We've found their presence to be a deterrent.”

Barney looked at Badger and could damned well understand why that would be so.

“Now as you probably realize by now,” Ben said, “in the Tri-states, it is not against the law to protect yourself, your loved ones, or your property. That is written into our constitution just as it is in yours ... but we enforce it. And there have been killings and woundings. All justified under our laws.

“Now, I'm going to tell you something all of you will find very difficult to believe. But it is the truth. The Tri-states take in approximately three hundred and thirty thousand square miles of territory. Per capita, we have .025 percent crime. I don't know how in the Lord's name a society could get any lower statistics than that. We've had one mugging in the Tri-states in the past two years.”

“What happened to the mugger?”

“Twenty-five years at hard labor,” Ben said calmly.

“Twenty-five years!” a reporter jumped to his feet. “My God, General Raines—what kind of laws do you people have in this state?”

“I just told you. Tough ones.”

Several of the press people shuddered. Some smiled in disbelief.

“We have very tough drinking laws in this state,” Ben said. “And they are enforced to the letter. No exceptions. If you doubt that, take a drive up to the state penitentiary and ask to speak to a Mr. Michael Clifford; he was our secretary of finance until two years ago. He got drunk one night and ran over a young girl. She was badly injured. Mr. Clifford is serving a ten-year-to-life sentence. Had the girl died, the charge would have been murder. Not manslaughter—murder. And he would have spent the rest of his life in prison, at hard labor. No probation, no parole.

“We are not a teetotaling society; we don't care if a person gets stinking drunk in his or her own home. That's not our business. Just don't drive drunk.

“There are bars and lounges all over the Tri-states. But none outside of a town limit, and there is a two-drink limit, or a three-beer limit. It's all on an honor system: no cards to punch, no undercover people sneaking about. And so far, it's working. There again, we have to go back to what has been preached to you people since you got here. One has to want to live in this type of society. And not everybody can.”

Juno chose that time to wander out onto the patio, take a look around, yawn, and then drop to the ground and go to sleep. He was getting old, almost nine years old, and blind in one eye, but still a beautiful animal.

“That's a wolf,” someone whispered.

“Malamute,” Ben corrected. “I found him in Georgia, years ago. Or rather, he found me. Juno's harmless, for the most part. Just leave him alone; that's all he asks.” Ben smiled. “That's all we ask here in the Tri-states.”

“Governor...” A woman rose. “I'm an atheist. Could I live in this area?”

“Of course; but your children would still be taught the Bible, our creation, in public schools—and there are no other kinds of schools. And won't be.”

“Suppose I don't want my children subjected to that superstitious drivel?”

“Then you could leave.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

“Your form of government is not very fair, General.” She slurred the “General.”

“It's fair for the people who choose to live under it. And that is what Tri-states is all about. And I'm beginning to sound redundant.”

“You stress the Bible, General,” she retorted, “but it seems to me there is a definite lack of compassion in this state. And I really can't correlate the Bible with legalized prostitution.”