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The bank robbery ends miserably for the bandits thanks to the barrkepp, a small
teargas-like device of Graax’s and the town fighting back. The brrkup makes the person with the brainclip follow the Golden Rule and pursue the course of action that would do the greatest good for the greatest number of people.
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Episode 29
I bit into my well-done steak thirty minutes later at the Contention Café. Everyone clipped and unclipped kept telling me what a good job I was doing. They mainly spoke to me, probably because Graax was alien and unapproachable.
"Sounds like they're happy we're their sheriffs," I said to Graax. "Are you?"
"Yes. But I'm even happier I found those wonderful ants. We have insects like them but different."
"And the bees too?"
"Yes."
"You're a pretty strange creature yourself Graax! Nobody but you would give a damn about some ants!" I said, clopping him on the back.
Nobody in law enforcement then or since has had an easier job than mine when I lived in Contention City. There wasn't an outlaw anywhere who could stand up to Graax and his devices, eggheaded, weird and alien as he was.
"Is everything all right?" Edith asked that Friday night, lying in bed next to me the night after Haby's confession. We snuggled under the fine heirloom log cabin quilt that had traveled all the way from Virginia fifty years ago. "You're having fits tonight."
"I'm fine," I said, not wishing to say any more. If I told her what I was thinking of, it would get easier to tell a second person. The third would be even easier. "Nothing's wrong. Go back to sleep."
"What do you mean by 'back' to sleep?"
"I'm just having trouble sleeping," I said.
"And there's a reason. I know when you're not telling the whole truth, Buck. There's something wrong," she said, attempting to pry the whole story out of me. "You've kept to yourself all day."
I stayed silent.
"You can't hide anything from my Feminine Intuition."
I still lay silent.
"Do what you need to do, okay? But if you need to talk about it, I'd love to hear what you have to say."
"Okay," I said. I did my best to lie still so as to let her fall asleep as my mind continued to churn. If all I cared about was saving my hide, I'd be packing us up and moving out of town. Why I wasn't motivated enough to do that was either a denial problem or sheer stupidity.
Saturday morning I had a chicken coop to build. I decided to keep the family in town temporarily, figuring
that no matter what I did, I'd get what was coming to me in the end. That was no more or less than what I deserved.
The bespectacled Rev. Rollins nonchalantly walked up to our house, paused at the gate, and called out, "Beautiful morning, eh?"
"It would be even more beautiful if I had a plate of scrambled eggs right now," I said, yawning from a lack of sleep. "Or an omelette. How you doing Reverend? Out for a walk?"
"Yes. Going to be raising chickens?"
"Yup," I said. "Turkey, maybe a few pigeons too eventually. Going to make a number of coops. You walk a lot?”
"Walking is when I do my best thinking for sermons," he said, nodding. "You got some time to talk?"
"Sure," I said, eager for a distraction. "If it's about the church-building fund, you can count on us."
"That's fine. I'm glad to hear it, Buck—I came to talk about tomorrow. I don't want to make you uncomfortable in church. As I've always said, the church ain't just for the
minister; it belongs to the congregation too. That's why I'm telling you about what I'm planning for my sermon."
We'd joined his church two Sundays ago. It felt good to be part of a congregation again.
"Rev., you don't tell me how to be a sheriff, I don't tell you how to be a minister. It's your pulpit. You can talk about whatever you please. I'll listen either way."
"I know. But, like I said, it's your church too. Further, I don't want you taking anything I say as a personal condemnation. It isn't. Actually, I admire you. You do a rough job and do it well," he said.
"Thank you," I said. I put down my hammer, laid it next to the nail can, picked up my hat and scratched my head.
"Buck, I consider myself to be perceptive when it comes to understanding a man's character. Your heart is in the right place. I like you for that. I'd rather have you and your alien friend in the sheriff's job more than anybody else. You were the answer to the congregation's prayers."
"Thank you, Reverend," I said, smiling.
There's a temptation to use ministers for confessors, especially one who's praising you. I did my best to avoid it. I picked up the hammer again and examined it for signs of wear. It was fine.
I reminded myself how I had the unwanted duty to the brainclipped innocents to not divulge their secrets. If I did, the peacefulness we knew in the town would vanish. Still, I felt guilty of some crime I didn't have a name for.
"Everything all right with you Buck?" the minister asked seriously.
"Sure, Reverend. I'm fine. Just was checking out the hammer. My pa always said a man is as good as his tools," I called out, starting to pound on a nail.
The minister waited until my burst of work was over until I paused to catch my breath.
"Getting used to city life?" he said expansively, making more small talk.
"Sure. Sure. We're all doing just fine," I said, starting to hammer again, wishing he would walk on.
During another pause, he said: "Like I said, I know you're trying to do good, but I'm not so sure about the brainclip. I'm going to urge the brothers and sisters to talk to the City Council and have them ban the use of the device," he said.
I stopped. "Sure. You go and do that," I said, staring at the ground so I wouldn't meet his eyes. I halfway meant what I said. The brrkup had done some good, but I was tired of the guilt.
I turned back to examine my work closely, but, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him start in surprise. He'd been expecting me to defend myself. Now he didn't know what to expect.
"That's your right," I said.
"There's something you want to talk about?" he asked.
"Nothing," I replied. "My mind's just on the chickens."
"I'm going to talk about Paul's Letter to the Galatians," he explained. "I'm going to tell people how instead of having this device in their head they should go and trust in the power of the Holy Spirit. Jesus died for their sins. He paid the price. They're already forgiven. They've got to forgive themselves."
"I absolutely agree," I said, looking him in the eye. "I'll tell anyone who asks for one to go talk to you."
"You were putting these things in people's heads if they asked for it," he said. "Why not now?"
"I thought about it," I said, thinking quickly. "I got worried about the factory box. The brainclip might poop out. It's a far way to Squaattoos to get another one."
"That's fine, but you should leave everyone alone. They should be able to find their way toward God freely," he said.
"That's where you and I disagree, Reverend. You think we're all supposed to wait for these bad people to grow a conscience?"
"Yes, if one can be said to 'grow a conscience.' Grow spiritu . . . "
"We've already tried that, Reverend. Most of the time it doesn't work. Why don't you talk about waiting to my predecessor? You can pray to him in heaven. Jesus on the cross hasn't anything to do with the Thomas Brothers Gang or Skinner Alexander's old friends. They all had the chance to be good, work honest jobs. They didn't see fit to do that. Work is boring and too hard for them. What do we do about that?"
"You can pray for them. In the Bible it says . . ."
"Have you ever thought that maybe our prayers have been answered? Maybe God doesn't want us to waste a whole bunch of time praying for them."
"I don't see how you can presume to speak for God."
"I don't see how you can either. The easiest way to take care of them is to insert a brainclip. Can't you see that? We didn't always have them to use. Now we do.
"You say I'm doing a good job?" I said. "That's only because I've got the tool no other Earth lawman has ever had. There's nothing else special about what I do or who I am. You wouldn't be saying that at all, if it wasn't for the brainclip. I ain't even worked in law before this. Anyone can be sheriff to people who don't break laws."
Rev. Rollins held up his right hand as if to silence me. "You don't give yourself enough credit. And I beg to differ with much of what you said. Everything human has to do with Jesus on the cross. Jesus died for all of our sins. It is up to us to accept or reject forgiveness. He's the God of everyone and wants them to choose to follow him on their own."
I wiped my brow, grinned and interrupted him, "Ha! That's worth a laugh. I'd like them to be Bible people too and join us in church! I'd like you to think really carefully before you go whipping up a bunch of fools who'll get out and set out to change that!"
The minister was unperturbed. "There have been good people—saints even, like Thomas Aquinas—who've lived sinful lives before they chose to follow the Lord."
I shook my head in disbelief. "You're comparing Sol Thomas and the rest to a saint? There's one thing to drinking and wasting your life, but there's another when you murder dozens of innocent people."
The minister continued as if I hadn't said anything. "St. Thomas could have never made a choice on his own if he'd been living in Contention City right now with you and Graax putting brainclips in him.
"There are people just like the saints in town right now—but they won't get a chance to follow God on their own because the brainclip has taken away their free will. That is wrong. If God wanted us to make sure we always did the right thing, he wouldn't have given us free will. He wants us to find our way with his help so we can get to know him."
I stared at him, dumbfounded. I respected him as a minister, but he was talking about some far-off ever after, not the trouble-filled world I lived in. I'm not a man who can pay much mind to such things. I think in terms of black and white, the here and now.
"I don't see what all this has to do with murdering, killing and raising hell or with making Contention City a safe place to live in! The Thomas brothers put a bullet in a bunch of people's heads in Dodge and they bled to death. Where was the victims's choice in that?"
Rev. Rollins held up his hands expressively as if to stop me from saying that. "Everything happens for a reason. We don't necessarily know what the reason is," the minister said.
"Know what? I think you need to pull your head out of your . . . ," I said, stopping to censoring myself. "The clouds. Come back down here to Earth."
Rev. Rollins must not have been used to people disagreeing with him, or maybe it was my slip. He got red in the face, flustered, "Just because you can do something doesn't make it right!"
I gave him all the time I was going to give him. I said, "I've got work to do."
"It is part of the great choice. To use or not to use. That is the whole problem and interesting thing about the freedom of will . . ." Rev. Rollins said in his Sunday sermon voice.
"Excuse me, Reverend," I said, picking up my hammer again. "I'll hear the preaching tomorrow. I don't have any more time for these deep conversations. I've some coops to build. I need to get back to work."
"Have you brainclipped yourself yet?"
"Haven't seen the need to."
"And I don't see why you need to brainclip anyone else."
"Maybe," I replied. "It depends."
I believe in attending church. It does people good to hear the Bible and join in singing with others. There's something elementally good about godly people gathering in a confederation, but if the minister was going to start talking nonsense, my family and I would leave. I didn't care if he really was a graduate of a Bible college. I've better things to do with my time than listen to someone's rantings.
The shame of it all was that I had looked forward to living close to a church. It was going to be a nice part of living in a town, I'd thought.
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