Mack Reynolds - Rolltown

He sat down at Armanruder’s desk, activated the TV phone and said into the screen, “New Woodstock, General Call.”

And then, “Please hear this. This is Bat Hardin, your town police officer. With the concurrence of Mr. Armanruder, I strongly make the following suggestions. That all of us who are armed, ride with our weapons in hand. Women should drive, when possible. If fired upon en route, return as heavy a barrage as possible. Even if you do not see an immediate target, fire in the direction from which the attack came. I want as large a display of firepower as we can muster. Even if you have a weapon of no larger caliber than a twenty-two, have it in hand. If you have only a shotgun, load it with as heavy a load as you have, either slugs or buckshot would be best. If you do not have a weapon, try to borrow one from those among us who have more than one.

“We shall proceed with several of our younger single men in the lead vehicles. If we run into a roadblock, it shall be their duty to clear it, even under fire. We’ll want volunteers for the lead vehicles. Please contact me. When we move, it will be bumper to bumper and no stragglers will be allowed. In case of breakdown, the mobile home involved must be abandoned and its occupants taken in by its neighbors. We’ll send mechanics back for it from the next Mexican city which has suitable garages. If the house is destroyed, the owner will later be recompensed from the town treasury. If there are any questions, please consult with either me or Mr. Armanruder.”

He paused for a moment, and could think of nothing else. He finished with, “For the time, that is all,” and flicked off the set.

He sat there for a moment, thinking out further plans, then came to his feet and left. He didn’t see Nadine Paskov on his way out, which was all right with him. She was possibly embarrassed after having promised to put out for him if he’d let her ride in his car, and then having him turn her down. He hated to have someone as nervous as she in the convoy. Fear is contagious. They needed to keep their cool, especially if they actually did run into grief.

He walked over to Al Castro’s house and found his deputy talking to Luke Robertson, standing in front of Al’s mobile home. They cut short their conversation at his approach. He gave them a quick rundown on his plans and they nodded agreement.

Bat said to Al Castro, “I’m going to let you take my usual place in the column. I’ll precede the town by about two kilometers. We’ll be tuned into each other all the time. You do the same as everyone else, that is, let Pamela drive and you have your Gyro-jet pistol ready in your hand. Keep in continual touch with both me and Luke, here. Luke, you bring up the rear. Have young Tom Benton riding with you. My phone and Al’s will be continually open to you; we’ll be on a three-way hookup.”

They were both nodding.

He bit his heavy lower lip and hesitated before adding, “Boys, once we’re under way, ignore anything from Mr. Armanruder or anybody else on the executive committee, until we get to the Pan American Highway. Once we’re underway, we’re in command.”

Al said, his voice slightly hesitant, “Have you checked this out with Armanruder?”

“No.”

Luke Robertson said, “And don’t. But we’re not in command, Bat, you are.”

“Yeah,” Al said.

“Okay,” Bat said. “There is no democracy when you’re in combat. If anything happens to me, you take over, Al.”

He gave them the information about their leaving at first dawn and told them to spread the word. They took off immediately on the task.

Bat turned and headed for the camper of Ferd Zogbaum. However, on the way he passed the mobile home of Diana Sward, and found Ferd there idly talking with the feminine artist who was cleaning paint brushes.

They gave him the standard friendly greeting and he explained the plans for the following morning to them.

Di said, “Look, if you can round up some kid or woman who can drive my electro-steamer, I’ll help ride shotgun on this convoy, Bat. I’ve got a deer rifle.”

“You can shoot?”

“Friend,” she said. “I told you I was the daughter of a Grafin. A German aristocrat is trained to ride and shoot as well as balance a teacup, the pinky correctly arched. I’ll lay you two to one I can zero-in on a bull’s eye just as well as you can, military training or not.”

“No bet,” Bat said. “I’ll take your word for it. I suggest that when we take off in the morning you station yourself behind some home such as Jim Blake’s. I have a sneaking suspicion that even if Jim has a gun he couldn’t hit the side of a barn from inside.”

Bat turned to Ferd and said, “Ferd, you’re cool when the bets are all down. I’d like you to take second place in the column behind Al Castro. If they hit us…”

Ferd said, “I don’t have a gun, Bat.”

“Oh.” Bat Hardin rubbed the side of his face. “Well, there are a lot of homes in New Woodstock with more than one. Some of our people are hunting buffs. Seek one out and…”

Ferd Zogbaum, looking into his face, said, “I can’t carry a gun, Bat.”

Bat scowled lack of understanding. He had seen Ferd Zogbaum in action the night before and couldn’t have done better in the clutch himself.

“How do you mean?”

Ferd Zogbaum’s lips were white. “I’m not allowed to carry a gun.”

Bat looked at him in amazement.

Ferd said, “I’m a felon, Bat.”

“A what?” Diana Sward blurted.

He looked at her emptily. “I’m a paroled convict, Diana.”

The three of them held a long silence.

Finally, Bat said, uncomfortably, “Well, nevertheless, this is an emergency. There are women and children involved. You’re a good man. We need you.”

Ferd sucked in air and made a face. “You don’t understand. I can’t carry a gun. You see, I’ve got a bug planted in my skull.”

That made no sense to either Di or Bat.

Ferd said doggedly, “I mean an electronic bug. Everything I say is monitored. If I have a gun, or if I get into violence, I get a splitting headache and have to report immediately to my parole officer#longdash#by TV phone, of course.”

“Holy smokes,” Bat said in protest.

“It’s better than being in a prison cell, Bat. There have been recent changes in penology that a lot of people don’t know about. Today, most convicted… criminals aren’t kept in prison. Even lifers, such as myself.”

“Life?” Di said.

“Yes, I’m a three-time loser, Di. For the rest of my life I’ll carry this bug. If I have a gun in my possession, or if I participate in violence, my head aches unbearably until I report. They have a continual fix on me, always know exactly where I am. They don’t even care if I leave the country. If they wanted, they could drop me in my tracks, any place in the world. But at least I can carry on a reasonably normal life. It’s not like the old days, when you had to spend your time in a jail cell. Of course, if I wish to do certain things, take a job, or get married, for instance, I have to report in. Then my parole officer decides if I can do it or not. A woman is warned that I am a felon, a boss is also so informed.” He added wryly, “Few woman wish to marry a felon, and few bosses want one to work for him. However, we’re eligible for NIT.”

Bat said, uncomfortably, “What are you… well, what were you sentenced for, Ferd?”

Ferd, his lips white again, said, “Are you asking me as a police officer?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Di said.

Bat said, “Of course not, primarily as a friend.”

“You have to ask me as a police officer, so I can explain later to my parole officer.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”