Out of the Ashes

“You don't know?” Voltan wore a surprised look. “No, I guess you don't.” He smiled. “I'm a murderer, Mr. Raines. Oh, yeah. This"—he waved his hand at the expanse of land—"belonged—belongs—to me. My ranch. I was doing pretty good, me and my wife, until some modern-day rustlers started runnin’ off my beef. My wife, she used to like to ride in the mornings, she come up on them. They raped her, left her after they used her—pretty badly. Well, I went on the prowl for them; thought I recognized the tire tracks. I was right; I did. There were three of them. I found ’em in a bar one night—called their hand. One of them was just drunk enough to admit what they'd done. They said—right out in public—that my wife had offered it to them. All three of them backed each other up. I knew they were lyin’ for a number of reasons. Mainly ‘cause my wife—and they didn't know this—had lost her mind. The doctors told me that most women can cope with the emotional stress of rape. Alice—that's my wife—couldn't. I gut-shot all three of them, right there in that bar; then stood there and listened to ’em squall and die.” He laughed, but it was a rueful bark of no humor. “Good old straight Voltan, believing in the system. I'd never even had a traffic ticket before then. Sure ... the law put murder warrants out on me. I ran for about a year, then joined up with the western-based Rebels. After the war, I went to the institution where my wife had been confined. Found her—dead of course. Buried her.”

“Do you ever feel you were wrong?”

Voltan thought about that for a few seconds. “No, sir. I don't. I think rape should carry a stiff sentence. I think that if rape is proven, beyond any doubt—lie detectors, PSE machines, even hypnosis—I think the rapist should not only have to serve a tough sentence, but should be gelded like you would a bad stallion.”

“I agree with you,” Ben said.

“We gonna have soft laws in this area, Mr. Raines?”

“I hope not. Clint? Why is everybody asking me these questions? No one has elected me to anything.”

The rancher-Rebel smiled. “Well, you have been, kind of, in a secret way.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You're it, Mr. Raines.”

And the words of Cecil came to him. “You're going to look up one day, Ben, and the job of leader will be handed to you. Like me, you won't want it, but you'll take it.”

“All right, Clint,” he heard his voice say. “If I'm elected, I'll serve.”

“You'll be elected, Mr. Raines.”

“I'll be a tough law-and-order man.” He looked at the rancher. “Better warn the people of that.”

“'Bout time somebody got tough in this country.”

“Two thirds of the world's population dead,” Cossman said. “They think that's final. Here at home, over a hundred and fifty million, and still climbing.” He and his crew had been monitoring government bands.

“What's the population of our three-state area?” Ben asked.

“That, I can tell you precisely,” an aide said to Ben.

Ben had been governor of the three-state area for almost six months, and he could not get accustomed to the title or the attention paid him.

“Sixty-seven thousand, four hundred and twenty-two people,” the aide said. “Our final head count was completed yesterday afternoon.”

“Umm,” Ben said. “I thought the preliminary figures were somewhat higher?”

“They were. We lost twenty-seven thousand people in the first two months of ... ah—”

“My taking office,” Ben finished it.

“Win some, lose some, el Presidente,” Ike said. Outwardly, the only thing Ike took seriously was Megan and his farm/ranch. But Ike took the new government of the three-state area very seriously. He desperately wanted it to work. And he believed it would—given time. Time.

“They just didn't believe they could conform or adapt to the tough law-and-order system we advocate,” Dr. Chase said. “And they didn't like what we're setting up in our schools, either.”

“But"—the aide spoke—"on the other hand, we've got almost ten thousand people on the outside who want to come in. And the number is growing by a hundred a day. A decision has to be made on that, sir. Quickly.”

“How many can we screen a day?”

“If we really hump it ... maybe fifty. And that is pushing it.”

“I don't want the screening relaxed. Each new person must be given a lie-detector test/PSE test as to background, criminal record, conformity. And the aptitude tests must still be given verbally, by race opposites. We've culled a lot of would-be troublemakers and bigots that way.”

“Those lawyers with what's left of the ACLU are really raising hell about those tests, sir. And our laws.” The aide looked uncomfortable, for he knew only too well how Ben felt about the ACLU.

Ben glared at him. “I thought I told you to get those bastards out of here.”

The aide shuffled his feet. “Sir—they say we'll have to use force to get them out.”