The Frontman

Frank Jones had planted watermelons that year.

He had a thousand or more sitting in the field, but no one to pick them and no market to sell them to.

In short, they were going to rot in the field.

Tom, Joe, and Billy saw the hand-painted sign beside the road.

WATERMELONS FOR SALE.

They pulled their bikes into the farm.

Frank didn’t have much use for money anymore, so they traded him several MREs for five large watermelons to take back to the Hacienda.

The men got Mickey and his truck to get a load of melons

“What do you want for a truckload?”

Frank laughed. “What have you got?”

Tom looked toward the silent irrigation pump.

“How about electricity?”

Frank stopped laughing.

“You can do that?”

“Maybe. The Hacienda has machines that can repair some of the substations. If yours can be fixed, we’ll get your pumps running.”

Frank looked across the field at a thousand watermelons he couldn’t sell.

“Load the damn truck.”

Chas stared at the list on the screen.

It had started with nine substations.

Now there were requests from everywhere.

A farmer needed a well pump repaired.

A clinic needed reliable power for its refrigerators.

A grocery warehouse had forty tons of food and no trucks to move it.

Three towns wanted radio repeaters.

A machine shop had equipment but no electricity.

And Frank Jones had power again.

His watermelons hadn’t rotted in the field. Mickey’s truck had carried them into town, where the Iron Horsemen sold them for a reasonable price.

Everybody had won.

That bothered Chas more than he wanted to admit.

“Oracle?”

YES, SHEPHERD.

“Are we becoming too powerful?”

There was a pause.

DEFINE POWERFUL.

Chas leaned back.

“Everybody is starting to depend on us.”

THAT IS NOT POWER.

“What would you call it?”

SERVICE.

Chas looked again at the screen.

“We provide electricity.”

YES.

“Transportation.”

YES.

“Communications.”

YES.

“Repairs.”

YES.

“Food distribution.”

YES.

“And the Iron Horsemen are keeping the roads around here reasonably safe.”

YES.

Chas shook his head.

“That sounds an awful lot like a government.”

NO.

“What’s the difference?”

A new line appeared.

YOU HAVE MADE NO LAWS.

Another.

YOU COLLECT NO TAXES.

Another.

YOU REQUIRE NO OBEDIENCE.

Chas stared at the words.

“Then what are we?”

The Oracle took longer to answer this time.

YOU ARE USEFUL.

Chas laughed.

“That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

I WAS REFERRING TO THE HACIENDA.

“Thanks.”

Another line appeared.

PEOPLE DO NOT NEED THE HACIENDA TO RULE THEM.

“They need electricity.”

YES.

“Food.”

YES.

“Transportation.”

YES.

“Communications.”

YES.

“Security.”

YES.

Chas thought about Frank and his thousand watermelons.

One week earlier they had been worthless because there was no market and no way to reach one.

The Hacienda had provided electricity.

The Horsemen had provided transportation.

The townspeople had provided the market.

Nothing had been given away.

Nothing had been stolen.

Everyone had gotten something they needed.

“Oracle, I want a rule.”

THERE ARE NO RULES.

Chas smiled.

“There is now.”

The cursor waited.

“We don’t profit from desperation.”

The Oracle considered that.

DEFINE PROFIT.

“Oh, come on.”

THE DEFINITION IS IMPORTANT.

Chas thought about it.

“Enough to pay the people doing the work. Enough to replace what we use. Enough to keep the Hacienda operating. A reasonable profit beyond that is fine.”

AND BEYOND THAT?

“We don’t squeeze people because they’re hungry.”

The screen remained blank for several seconds.

Then:

ACCEPTED.

Chas took another sip of coffee.

“So what happens now?”

A map appeared.

Dozens of small points began illuminating across eastern Arizona.

Farms.

Machine shops.

Warehouses.

Clinics.

Fuel depots.

Radio stations.

Truckers.

Towns.

Then thin lines began connecting them.

Chas leaned closer.

“What am I looking at?”

THE BEGINNING.

“Of what?”

The Oracle answered:

AN ECONOMY.

Phil Macron was a politician looking for a niche.

He was a slime.

He had never met a success he wasn’t willing to take credit for or a failure he couldn’t blame on somebody else.

The collapse had presented him with a problem. Nobody cared about politics anymore. People cared about electricity, food, gasoline, medicine, and whether the water came out when they turned the faucet.

Then Phil heard about the Hacienda.

More importantly, he heard about Frank Jones.

A farmer with a field full of watermelons had gotten his electricity restored. The Iron Horsemen had moved his crop, and people in the surrounding communities had bought the melons at a decent price.

Phil immediately recognized an opportunity.

Three days later he stood beside Frank’s irrigation pump while someone took his picture.

Phil had never seen the Hacienda.

He had never spoken to Chas.

He didn’t know an Iron Horseman.

But when the photograph appeared in the local paper, the caption read:

MACRON HELPS RESTORE POWER AND FOOD DISTRIBUTION TO LOCAL FARMERS

Chas read it twice.

“Oracle?”

YES, SHEPHERD.

“Did Phil Macron have anything to do with Frank getting his electricity back?”

NO.

“The watermelons?”

NO.

“The truck?”

NO.

“The Horsemen?”

NO.

Chas held up the newspaper.

“Then what the hell did he do?”

The Oracle answered immediately.

HE ARRIVED IN TIME FOR THE PHOTOGRAPH.

“Link, has that man actually done anything?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“He has attended every successful operation we have conducted.”

Chas stared at the screen.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Chas stared at the screen.

Then he started laughing.

“Oracle, what do we do about Phil Macron?”

USE HIM.

Chas laughed. “That’s a little cold.”

IT IS ALSO PRACTICAL.

“For what?”

HE WANTS TO BE IMPORTANT.

“I’ve noticed.”

MAKE HIM IMPORTANT.

Chas stopped smiling.

“You want him to be our front man.”

YES.

“And when people want something from the Hacienda?”

THEY ASK PHIL MACRON.

Chas leaned back.

“And when something goes right?”

HE TAKES THE CREDIT.

“I don’t like that.”

YOU DO NOT NEED CREDIT, SHEPHERD.

Chas stared at the screen.

“No. I suppose I don’t.”