Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds (30 page)

Terri shook her head in amazement. “I wonder about you sometimes. It’s almost like you want the recovery to fail.”

“Nope,” he responded, glancing at the slow-moving cue. “I just don’t want to repeat the same mistakes, and by the look of things here today, we’re well on the road to doing just that.”

A row of several booths was servicing the anxious queue, Bishop noting that despite the early hour, many of the Alliance workers already appeared tired and frustrated.

“There’s supposed to be a reporter here to snap pictures of us going through the process,” Terri whispered. “You’re going to be famous.”

“I’m sure they’ll edit me out of the frame,” Bishop teased back. “It’s your gorgeous face everyone wants to see.”

“You think?” she grinned. “But I forgot my low cut top and mini-skirt,” Terri continued, striking a model’s pose.

Bishop smiled at his wife, still delightful and charming after the endless waiting. “You, my darlin’, are always a beauty.”

Bishop watched several residents as they approached the booths. Some folks seemed to breeze right through while others appeared to be frustrated with the process. One man was arguing with a raised voice, clearly unhappy with the new rules.

There was also a substantial law enforcement presence in their general vicinity, two of the officers idling in the corner while keeping a keen eye on the massed citizenry. Bishop was reassured by their presence. During their time in line, he had spotted at least a dozen people with pistols and assumed practically everyone was armed. For sure, Terri and he both were toting iron.

A well-dressed woman appeared next to them, her badge indicating she was a supervisor. “Are you two the famous Bishop and Terri?”

“Yes, that’s us,” Bishop replied. “My name is Terri, and this is my wife, Bishop.”

The woman didn’t get the joke, her brow knotting in confusion.

After throwing her husband a dirty look, Terri straightened out the introductions. “He’s nervous around all these people,” she explained in a hushed voice. Then cupping her hand as if to share a secret, she added, “He’s a bit of an introvert.”

“Ahhh,” smiled the public servant, casting a worried look at the Texan. “That’s understandable…. I suppose. Anyway, you two don’t have to wait in line. I’ve been instructed to expedite your claim in my office. There’s a reporter here from one of the resurrected Houston newspapers who wants to take a few pictures and ask you both a couple of questions.”

“Thank you for the offer, but we really don’t want any special treatment,” Bishop interjected. “We’ll stand and wait like everyone else.”

“Oh,” the surprised woman responded. “Are you sure? It might be a while before it’s your turn.”

Scanning the multitudes, Bishop lowered his voice to share his own secret, “We really don’t want any special favors. It wouldn’t be fair to everyone else. We’ll be fine.”

Shrugging her shoulders, the supervisor responded, “Up to you,” and then disappeared through a door marked, “Employees Only.”

An hour later, it was finally their turn.

Bishop had a copy of the bank mortgage, several old utility bills, and, of course, his new Alliance-issued driver’s license. Terri had her original “State of Texas,” version as well.

The woman serving them was polite and seemed relieved that the couple had presented reasonable documentation. The entire registration took less than 10 minutes.

After signing three different forms, the lady behind the counter produced two official-looking pieces of paper. She penned in their address, stamped them with a loud “thud,” and then informed Bishop that he should keep one on his person and display the other in a window visible from the street at the referenced address.

Miss Supervisor magically appeared again, this time waving for them to follow her into the hallowed halls of Alliance bureaucracy.

“We’re important,” Bishop whispered as the couple followed. “I feel like a VIP.”

“Just imagine if I’d worn that low-cut top.”

“How do you think I have been entertaining myself the last two hours?” he responded with an eyebrow waggle.

They arrived at a small, government-issued office where a man waited next to an empty plate of what had been cookies. Bishop noted nothing but crumbs remained and instantly regretted not cutting the line when it had been offered. The municipal coffee pot was empty as well. “Damn those budget cuts,” he whispered to Terri.

The newshound asked the anticipated questions, covering what the couple thought about the claims process, recovery, and local progress. Bishop kept his mouth shut, allowing the more diplomatic Terri to handle the inquisition.

Then the fellow produced a cell phone. “There’s no signal or working towers just yet,” he explained, “but it still has a great camera.” The photo shoot was over quickly, the couple posing with their certificates. Hunter fussed, wanting desperately to hold the reporter’s flashing gadget.

After shaking hands and thanking all involved, the family exited the inner sanctum only to run into Chase McQuire.

The ambassador was talking to a huddled group of residents, all smiles and chuckles. Another man was with him, typing furiously on a laptop computer as the U.S. representative asked questions.

Looking up and spotting the couple, Chase said, “There you are! I’d been told you would be here today. I’m glad I caught you.”

Bishop bristled. Terri was confused.

As they approached the ambassador, Bishop bent and whispered another secret in Terri’s ear. “I thought I’d never utter these words, but now I’m glad you didn’t wear that top.”

“I’m here conducting a survey of the people who are making claims,” Chase bubbled after receiving a cool hug from Terri and a reluctant nod from Bishop. “We’re collecting some very interesting data about how people are reacting to the new law.”

“Oh, really,” Terri responded, obviously puzzled by not only the man’s presence but his quest.

“Remember,” Chase smiled, sensing her confusion, “the United States is probably going to implement a similar process in the future, and I want to document how this first attempt could be improved.”

To be polite, Terri pretended to be interested. “And what are your findings so far?”

Indicating the man with the laptop, Chase said, “It’s early yet, but we have collected enough data for some preliminary results. You should take a few minutes and go over it with me. I’ll be presenting my findings to the president in a few days.”

Bishop interrupted, glancing at his watch. “We really should be going, hun. Remember, we’ve got to make it to Diana’s presentation in Amarillo this afternoon, and that’s a long drive.”

The ambassador, however, was insistent. “I promise… it will only take a few minutes. I was really looking forward to your participation, as I don’t want to give my boss any inaccurate information.”

Terri’s eyes darted between the two men and the laptop, torn between her civic duty, and a strong desire to be done with the entire affair.
Diana asked me to take this job and keep Chase out of her hair
, she considered. Responsibility won the internal debate.

Peering up at Bishop, she said, “It won’t take long.”

The Texan didn’t like it, nodding in frustration as he took Hunter from his mother’s hip. “Hurry. Remember, Diana is expecting us at the town meeting, and we still have to go back to the house and spend
gov
-
time
posting this official certificate.”

Grinning with satisfaction, Chase motioned for the family to follow. He led them to the building’s lobby where several vacant chairs and two empty vending machines resided.

Bishop managed to tolerate the discussion about five minutes, Hunter having expressed his boredom before that. “I’m going to take our son for a walk,” the father announced, interrupting a mind numbing conversation that including such highlights as participation rates, satisfaction indicators, and the mean age of those registering a property.

Both father and son were relieved to get outside and into the fresh air. Bishop had spotted a park nearby, complete with overgrown playground equipment. Perhaps Hunter and he could salvage the slide, or trample down the weeds enough to use a swing.

It was over an hour before Terri finally appeared. Her mood, already in a low place, hadn’t improved.

“He just droned on and on and on,” she declared. “Even after all that, he was still pissed when I got up to leave. I thought he was going to order one of his men to hogtie me to the chair so he could bore me to death. Get me out of here before I pull my gun and kill that man,” she insisted.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They rushed back to their home, Bishop displaying the required document in a street-visible window while Terri hustled to pack the personal items she wanted to take back to West Texas.

The Texan headed for the garage, his reloading equipment in high demand in their new hometown
. This will fetch enough at the Meraton market to keep me in bacon for years,
he mused. Next came the boxes of books his wife and he had accumulated. They would make a nice contribution to the repository.

When Terri reappeared a short time later, Bishop could tell her efforts had further deepened an already impressive funk. “I made room in the truck’s bed for your treasures. How much are we taking back?” he said in a cheery tone.

“Just this,” she responded, holding out two photographs, one of her mother, the other taken on the house’s front stoop the day they had moved in.

“That’s it? No clothes? Shoes? Nothing else?”

“None of my clothes fit anymore, and insects have damaged a lot of our stuff. I took my best shoes with me the first time, besides, I don’t have much need for heels anymore. There’s just not much here that we really need.”

Rubbing his chin, Bishop didn’t know if his wife’s statement was positive or negative. Throwing another glance at his watch, he decided they didn’t have time to discuss the issue anyway.

“Okay, you’re the boss. Let’s head west.”

While Bishop and Terri drove headed for Diana’s meeting, a pair of well-dressed men approached the property claims counter in Midland Station.

Seeming unaffected by enduring the long wait, the older of the two hefted a briefcase onto the counter and popped the twin locks. He then began withdrawing several large stacks of documents. “I’m here as the representing attorney for Mr. Cameron James Lewis. These are our property claims,” he stated, shoving across the massive amounts of paperwork to the clerk.

“We claim all buildings noted, including the hospital and elementary school that bear Mr. Lewis’s family name. In addition, we demand compensation for the use of these assets, most specifically the petroleum refinery and distribution facilities listed within, as well as the fair reimbursement for the oil and other products processed through that location.”

The bewildered clerk began thumbing through the mountains of paperwork, unsure of how to handle such a massive task. No sooner had the first briefcase been emptied, than the second man plopped his leather attaché onto the counter and began producing a similar-sized pile of documents.

“In addition to the real estate listed, we are seeking compensation amounting to 9.7 trillion dollars,” he said with a serious expression.

“I beg your pardon?” the clerk stated, sure she hadn’t heard the figure correctly.

“Mr. Lewis has the right under the new law to make such a claim, as his personal property was used by the Alliance for several months. By the well-established legal precedents regarding ill-gotten gains, the value of any automobile, truck, or other machine that performed while consuming our property is rightfully ours. Also, numerous critical employees were killed in the illegal seizure of our client’s resources, and we have the right to demand compensation for the loss of those human assets as well.”

Stunned, the woman behind the booth called over a supervisor. The lawyer repeated his speech.

“That’s ridiculous,” the supervisor responded, scanning the piles of documents. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to bankrupt the entire Alliance.”

“I assure you, madam, that we have dissected the new law thoroughly. Our claims are legitimate and well founded. We’ll accept payment in gold or other hard form of currency,” the attorney replied with a straight face. “If the Alliance can’t pay, then I’m afraid we’re going to have to let everyone in Texas know that their government is insolvent.”

“This will have to go before the special review board,” the supervisor replied. “We’re not set up to handle anything like this here.”

“We’re well prepared for that contingency,” the lawyer stated with confidence. “Very well prepared.”