Chapter 5
Backroom Deal
Bonnie enjoyed six hundred and eighty very smooth horsepower even when all she did was maneuver to park. Loren's restored and updated 1940 sedan engine and transmission are straight from latest Cadillac designed power car production models, which are modified Corvettes. Brakes, suspension and other high performance components reflect what Loren considers best and affordable. Though the body sheet metal is heavier than modern designs, the frame is light gauge and the coach itself is smaller than it looks at first glance. Bonnie was very impressed with the car. Everything works perfectly and it hugs the road like a magnet on steel. They parked directly across the street from the Guadalupe restaurant.
Car doors swung outward from the front on those early sedans. Such automobiles are from the times of a slower, more casual and genteel way of life; a time when opening the car door with the door handle toward the front mimicked the way horse pulled carriages were built. No one in 1940 could imagine opening a car door the wrong way and being yanked out of a 680 horsepower gangster car traveling at modern racetrack speed.
Gaston was wondering about old car doors opening the wrong way as he stepped out of their safely parked getaway car. He raised his eyes from 1940 hinges when the first busload of nonviolent unarmed state troopers stopped and unloaded. The street between Gaston and the restaurant across the street filled with troopers as he gratefully stomped his feet on solid ground. "Loren and Bonnie are both highly skilled operators of many kinds of machines. Loren has a wider range of machine experience and is a fearsome driver when he treats a race car like a machine and Bonnie had not been required to exhibit her best driving skills. "Even so, I'm totally glad that is over," Gaston thought as he moved his feet feeling the solid ground.
The bus continued forward and parked in an empty lot as soon as the state troopers were also standing on solid ground in the street. The second bus load of troopers then stopped and unloaded. Half of that busload sprinted to the back of the restaurant. That bus also continued forward and parked at the empty parking lot.
Two busloads of farmworkers accompanied the empty bus. Most of the farmworkers stayed in the parking lot watching over the buses as well as a state communication truck and miscellaneous supply trucks as they arrived. An evening meal and then clean up for a small army filled one fourth of the formerly empty lot. The lot extended to an entrance on the next street, a block away from the restaurant. Bonnie, Gaston and Loren noticed that trucks and buses could come and go while avoiding congestion in front of the Guadalupe restaurant and realized the first ten had chosen this location well.
United farm workers have a lifetime of cooperating as team members raising food within a system of socially imposed wage slavery, they were strong survivors in a hard life but not trained as state troopers with practiced responses to anticipated scenarios projected from off shore war games. It was on the job training with and most farmworkers, at all times, remained at the parking lot guarding supplies and maintaining equipment. Even so, farmworkers also sent quite a few people to directly accompany the troopers during two-way training. They were there so they could readily assist the nonviolent troopers however they might be needed. Farmworkers rotated between the field kitchen and dining area to training and guard duty right along with the state troopers. They all new war games are serious games that toyed with people's lives and minds.
Ernesto Cáceres, the young man who had stopped their caravan from Oxnard and led them to the Guadalupe restaurant then led Bonnie, Loren and Gaston from the car to the restaurant. A dozen troopers and two farmworkers insisted they enter the restaurant first to inspect for safety. Ernesto smiled and waved them forward. Six troopers and a farmworker asked for access to the roof. They raced upstairs with a key in hand. The front desk person asked Ernesto what to do next.
"Lead the troops to the back room," Ernesto said, "We will follow."
"So this is what young creators are like," Gaston mused as he looked at Ernesto more closely in brighter light. Ernesto is a strong and handsome young man who the light revealed to be more of an indigenous mixture than had been apparent in the car; a blushing earthy mocha java colored his perfect skin. All three newcomers could clearly see Ernesto moves smoothly with confidence and grace. They all liked what they saw, including Ernesto. He hid a broad grin.
"How old are you, Ernesto?" Gaston asked. "If you don't mind me asking."
"Twenty eight," Ernesto replied, with a straighter yet still smiling face. I became part of the creators lab after graduate school. The others are younger. I started college older than most and am still the oldest."
"No; You are not the oldest," Evers interjected. "We are exactly the same age." Evers had opened the back room door and was waiting as the rest of the dinner party arrived. She smiled and bowed in greeting. Everyone walked in, including Evers and the front desk clerk. The latter being an energized and vivacious young Latina. The troopers and farmworker went in first.
The Guadalupe restaurant back room is large enough for tables arranged into a rough square so all at the table looked inward facing each other. A slightly square round table. There was sufficient space for the new arrivals plus the first ten and the pilots, one man and one woman. An additional two men were tied and gagged in chairs positioned in a corner away from the roundish table.
Ernesto indicated they should sit in four empty seats. The font desk clerk was purposefully invited so that she could tell new arrivals what was happening based on actual witness. Though no new arrivals were anticipated, she held a portable electronic front desk bell just in case and would tell the entire town everything she witnessed, in detail, tomorrow morning at the latest.
Each of the first ten then stood, introduced themselves and quickly thanked Gaston, Bonnie and Loren for risking their lives to rescue them. Tamara, the white house office intern who had flattened the president with one blow was presented next to last. Her introduction was as brief as the others. Evers was the last to introduce herself.
"Hello to our three rescuers," Evers said and then nodded to the troopers. "I also wish to add about 60 troopers plus 60 united farm workers to our list of rescuers. Additionally, there were also 30 - 40 united farmworkers that helped us escape before pentagonian soldiers arrived at the farm." She explained these items first to list numeric detail. "The soldiers came with weapons and were riding in helicopters," a look of dismay crossed her face as she said this.
Evers cleared her throat and continued; "I was the spokesperson for the president's white house staff and the first ten have appointed me as temporary spokesperson and discussion facilitator here and now so we can proceed as quickly as possible. Ernesto has already extended to you our invitation to join with us. We are called 'the first ten' and we will eventually find or be given a new name as you and the pilots would make us a group of fifteen should we all unify in an effort to establish a new way of democracy able to focus human intelligence on global environmental collapse, austerity and eternal war."
"Plus a bunch of good stuff; more than one person can know."
Evers then sat down and asked Aleida to introduce herself and the two men who were tied up and sitting alone in chairs away from the table.
Aleida stood and introduced herself again, "I am Aleida Castro from Venezuela. The US has destabilized our country and the situation has become so violent and ugly my parents sent me to live with my aunt and uncle in Corvallis, Oregon, where I attended the university of Oregon. The US pressure is still heavy bot we have persevered. I went on to graduate school at Cal and was one of the group of eight who were called to assist Tamara after the president found out she was an illegal alien, a person without proper citizenship papers. The person who sent us to help Tamara had no idea that we are all illegals. Neither did we.
Aleida walked to the two men bound and gagged in chairs. "These two posed as mechanics who came to fix something they said was reported by the airport control tower. They pulled guns out of their tool boxes and ordered the pilots to remain quiet until refueling was completed. There was nothing wrong with the airplane and the control tower hurried us on our way after the US jets landed to refuel. West coast based jets landed to refuel right along with national jets in the order set by the control tower. An order that had nothing to do with anything other landing control technology running smooth.
Aleida noticed one of the bound men wished to speak. She looked at the others for guidance and saw her same interest so she turned and untied his voice muffling bandana.
"Don't believe a word she says, " he shouted. "That woman is an illegal alien. She is here stealing jobs and living on welfare."
That outburst prompted Bonnie to stand up. "I've heard stories all my life about black welfare queens driving around in pink Cadillac convertibles. Are you telling us that people mooching off welfare are stealing your jobs?"
The man looked at Bonnie and for the first time clearly saw her as a chocolate brown sun kissed amazon warrior woman. He became speechless for a moment. "We are paid to say that," he responded meekly.
Aleida looked at the now speechless man. "If you stay quiet, I will leave the bandana off. Will you remain quiet?"
The bound man looked at Aleida and then Bonnie. He nodded, "Yes."
Aleida then turned to the second bound and gagged man. "Will you follow along with your partner if I remove your bandana?"
The second man nodded, "Yes."
Aleida removed the bandana from around his mouth and head. She then looked both of the tied men in the eye and told them to behave for they were among an expanded group of fifteen and outside over two hundred nonviolent troopers and farmworkers.
"Please do what we say and remain quiet so we can continue." She said. "We are guarded by a nonviolent army serving the richest economy on Earth." It did not occur to her that her speech would soon be transmitted around the world from the communication center set up in the parking lot. "The north American Pacific coast economy is number three in the world and it is at peace with every country. The US is forcing our hand and making us decide between peaceful free trade or endless war. Will we be able to help the third largest economy unite for peace? And if it does, Can we prevail? This is the topic of our meeting. Remain quiet and you may stay." Aleida then walked back to the round table arrangement that was closer to square than round.
"Tamara," she said, "Tell our new friends what happened after we zig zagged south and skimmed low over the Rocky Mountains. Start after we turned back north, crossed the Grand Canyon and slammed down on the beach. Your turn, Tamara; tell what happened when the tire hit soft sand and the plane swerved straight into the dunes.
Tamara blushed proudly, her golden brown sugar skin glowed. She stood and quick curtsied. Everyone clearly saw Dorothy of Oz quick curtsey as if wearing a blue gingham dress and a white embroidered apron.
"That's exactly how she started with the president," Evers laughingly called out.
Tamara grinned at Evers remark. She slowly turned around the circle of faces watching her. Then she danced with pretend castanets and for a moment the room seemed as if filled with the music of a dancing guitar while she danced. "That is my art," Tamara said before breathing deep;y to continue.
"When the plane hit dry sand and spun toward the dunes, I could no more move than anybody else. I assure you, I am a performer and not a witch." Then she pantomimed the lurch of a high speed airplane suddenly changing directions.
"But I did look into Evers' eyes and saw what we could do together." Tamara continued. "I reached out to her in full cooperation and she reached out to me as twins. We locked hands to wrists as I gripped the seat in front of me. When the spin of the plane was mostly finished, I stood and hurled Evers as ice skaters do in a hockey match. She crashed into the gunman next to the pilot. The recoil of me hurling Evers slammed me backward into the gunman threatening us from behind, just as the plane stopped. He actually mostly slammed into me and was briefly knocked unconscious. I took his gun, removed his belt and helped Evers tie up her guy. We took that guy's gun and belt and tied up my guy. Ernesto opened the door and we all ran for the dunes. Why we took the gunmen with us I still cannot say. They are worthless servants of endless war. We should have left them behind," she mused.
"That's about it for my part;" Tamara concluded, "Evers and I did the ice skater's whirl. It was Ernesto who knew the way to the farmworkers. Tell them what happened when we reached the field, Ernesto."
Ernesto was surprised people wanted to hear his part of the story again. He was also proud that friends and associates appreciated him. And so he related how he had played hide and seek with childhood friends in the dunes of Oceano. His parents and grandparents worked where the Arroyo Grande farm fields meet the dunes. The first ten, the pilots and the captured gunmen left few tracks as they followed the most invisible trail on the fastest route to the farm fields. Ernesto had reverted to his childhood, a time before he had grown enough to join his family and work full-time in the fields.
"Tell them how the farmworkers know your grandparents!" Tamara interjected as she leaned forward in rapt attention to listen again.
"Yes. It's true," Ernesto said in character with his name; earnestly. "The oldest workers remember my grandparents, my parents, and even me as a young boy."
Gaston felt his slow grin grow wide. He was happy listening to Ernesto's story and thought back to his youth and other stories from not so long ago; There was a time when migrant farmworkers were not treated as disgusting illegal beings as they followed the seasons up and down the north pacific coast. Migrant farmworkers were honored and encouraged in olden times. They often earned more than a dollar per hour when candy bars were 5¢. There are memories still passed along of a time when a person stood in front of a candy rack with a dollar in hand and cried out, "I cannot eat this much. I am rich!"
Gaston knew Ernesto was actually a life-time Californian. A son of the land and people. He realized the story of Ernesto Cáceres is not much different than that of Gaston Gravier. He knew that his more ancient name could very well have been, "Gravure;" one who etches plates so they can accept ink for printing. Gaston Gravure, a man living a brand new story in order to make it happen. An engraver spreading ink for printers.
Ernesto's family has worked hard while following north Pacific seasons for several generations. They have worked in the farm valleys of California, Oregon, Sonora and Washington since before passports were invented. Somehow they were always too busy raising food for the people in the towns to fill out the newly required citizenship forms. Now they had produced on offspring who is a university student unable to stop exploring the world as he had explored the Oceano Dunes in his youth, along with other wonderlands of Washington, Oregon and California. The wild child, Ernesto Cáceres was like a wild salmon who had made it to the river's headwaters. He became one of the first adventuresome eight from the creators lab. Now they were ten creators on the run. Ernesto knew his grandparents would give anything to be here.
"So what if he is as illegal as the rest of them," That became the propaganda hue and cry. "What have they created? What are they creating?"
News outlets asked this question daily, many times a day. Monopoly news knew Ernesto had transferred from the University of Washington at Seattle to the University of California at Berkeley. That was it. He had no records other than his grades in school. If questioned, he could not even prove his grades were his. Ernesto is illegal in the United States yet he is a valued young citizen with a bright future on the north pacific american coast. With many situations like his, north american national government bullying and endless war. That is what is pushing north american western states toward creation of a self protection league. The third largest economy and most wealthy socioeconomic region on Earth turns its attention more fully to, surprise, the Pacific.
The back room fell silent as Tamara, Lila, Ernesto, Aleida, Evers, Bakku, Syria, Palestine, Felicia d'Haiti, pilot one, Pilot 2, Prisoner 1 Michael, Prisoner 2 Kevin, Gaston, Bonnie and Loren. Everyone together briefly mulled over the strange situation of valuable citizens being hunted by the government and protected by the people. It's not a new story though usually somewhere else, until lately.
The spokesperson for the nonviolent troops and the farmworkers chose this moment to step forward and fill the silence, "There is one point the nonviolent forces need clarity on," she said; "How did the airplane land in fog so dense that driving a car was dangerous? This information is required for our planning purposes. We believe something is about to happen yet cannot surmise what that event might be. without more information."
One of the first ten who had been mostly silent answered. "I can tell you something about that. My name is Bakku."
"First tell us a little more about yourself, Bakku," Bonnie interjected.
Bakku bowed with a divine prayer motion and beaming smile.
"Thank you for asking," he began. "My family and entire district are refugees from Tibet. India gave us refuge. From there I became an escaped slave from a shrimping ship that supplies wall market discount stores with cheap frozen shrimp."
Bakku is a strong young man with a ready smile, sun reddened brown tone skin and bright eyes. His smile is beatific during meditation, that's how he survived slavery.
"I was captured by slave traders as a fourteen year-old schoolboy walking to school. After that; I did not walk on land for over a year. I did the jobs I was told to do or I would be whipped. Sometimes I was whipped lightly for no reason other than to let me feel the whip at work.
"One day an american yacht became entangled in our nets. I was sent swimming into shark infested waters to untangle the boat. I succeeded in untangling the propeller just as sharks arrived. They were big sharks moving fast. The good people on the yacht did not hesitate, they helped me out of the water.
"One of my school classes had been english. 'Why do I study this crazy new language?' I often thought during english class. That day I was grateful for those english classes. I was again a young boy crying as I said, "I am a slave. I was captured by slave traders on my way to school."
"That yacht is fast. We made a U turn and were soon a safe distance away. The slave shrimp ship lumbered on without changing course. The bosses on that ship were no doubt angry at losing a valuable young slave already trained by the lash. The family that rescued me proved the heart of america is willing and good. The family had rented the yacht and were on a retirement celebration dream trip with children and grandchildren. They reported the slave ship by radio and then took me all the way from from the asian Pacific to Seattle, Washington.
"Even then I spoke enough english to understand I did not have a passport and that paperwork might prove impossible as my case was considered unique. Additionally, I am not white.
"Then, luckily, I won a scholarship to a school that could also tutor my english and use my native languages when I needed clarification in almost any subject. I started school within a few days of docking in Seattle..
"The only papers I have are my school records, and, like Ernesto, I probably can't prove my records are mine.
"Regarding the airplane landing, I can tell you how the instruments work, but it is better for you to talk with a pilot about the landing details."
"How did the plane land in dense fog?" Loren asked the pilots.
The female pilot answered, "The navy sent a landing barge with a portable airport control tower. We heard on the radio it was complete with a man an top attempting to see the airplane approach after it landed and was on the ground."
"There are military war games going on as we speak." The male pilot added. "Their instrument landing station is very advanced. Landing was easy."
"We were going to put the first ten on the landing barge and deliver them to Ice." One of the prisoners called out from across the room.
"No. No." Bakku replied. "Don't send me back to the slave ship!"
"We are sorry!" The second prisoner exclaimed. "The idea of sending Bakku back to a slave ship to help a wall market take over small town markets by selling cheap shrimp makes me sick. I am very sorry. I see what is going on now. Thank you all for helping both of us see the world better."
"Are you by any chance half Irish?" Bonnie asked the prisoners.
"That's a tad off the wall," prisoner number one said.
"Wat'sit tuya?" the second prisoner asked.
"It's for a sociological record Bonnie is interested in," Gaston reported with a smile and a matter of fact voice. He pretended to tap a judge's gavel.
"We're both from northern Ireland," the first prisoner said.
"We are hired mercenaries." The second prisoner said. "Hired off the docks of Liverpool, merry ol' England."
"Are you legal?" the creators asked in unison.
"Not exactly," the prisoners grinned. "This kind of work is short term contract work. We actually don't even have passports as we were illegal aliens in Liverpool, though our new boss did not ask. We have never done anything like this. We were busted flat in Liverpool. Didn't have a dime. In merry ol' England and we needed groceries. Then along along came this job in the nick o' time. We played every song we ever knew then landed here with you. Wow! we are so oh oh sorry. Can we be friends with you? From now on looks like a newer happy song by me and my brother McGee." They bowed as best they could sitting in straight back chair bondage.
Tamara stood up and started laughing as she strode toward the prisoners. Though her laughter was not at all maniacal, they had seen her in action during the attempted phone confiscation imbroglio. Both prisoners flinched and, even though tightly bound, instinctively tried to draw back as she laughingly approached.
With still humorously fun laughter, Tamara deftly untied the prisoners.
"You are as ridiculous as everyone here." she said. "You might as well choose; You are nominated by me to be included so we are the first seventeen. On the other hand, we can return you as bargaining chips to Liverpool, merry ol' England. You choose. You are invited to join the discussion, it's up to you." Tamara invited them and then, still chuckling, returned to her chair at the table. "Bring your chairs," she said as she sat down.
The two former mercenary captors brought their chairs to the squarish round table and became part of the first seventeen, plus the completely committed nonviolent troopers and nonviolent farmworker.
I'm Michael," one mercenary introduced himself. "And I'm Kevin," the second said. "We're brothers. Why did you ask if we are half Irish?" They both wanted to know.
"Gaston and I discovered we are both half Irish," Bonnie answered. "Then we found out some of the Latino farm workers are half Irish. Beautiful golden glow brown half Irish.
"The idea has become sociologically interesting and fun by chance." Bonnie continued. "The idea just popped into my head when you two said how sorry you are. And you are both full Irish. This unintended sociology has been kinda fun. Even our governor is half irish."
"Okay." Gaston interjected. "Where are we? In the back room of Guadalupe restaurant. There is a large nonviolent army around us; some are official, and some are official nonviolent farm workers unified.
"Off shore their is a US practice war going on. Pentagonians attempted to catch the first ten and our car. That army has guns. Why do they want us so much? All I ever did to make the president angry was save a few beaver families, for example."
Gaston's last statement relieved some of the tension in the room, most everyone laughed a little.
"Beaver man is bad!" Loren called out with humor still on his voice. "I've known him since we were youngsters. Believe me when I tell you, beaver man is bad." Loren lightly slapped his hand down on the table for emphasis.
"Sounds to me like you all are on the run with us whether you like it or not." Aleida and Evers both said in their own way.
"What about our army escort?" Bonnie asked the unarmed nonviolent troopers silently standing guard in their blue jump suits and light-weight black combat boots. Troopers of every skin color from dark chocolate through mocha java and vanilla. Every one was big and strong and knew it. The women troopers were equal amazons with Bonnie. She, their questioner standing before them her her stylish though unofficial urban camouflage jumpsuit and light-weight boots stood as a respectful equal as well..
"Bonnie is at home here," Gaston marveled and wondered again, "What other jobs have Bonnie and the nonviolent troopers done with the governor. "What do they usually do for governor Robin Starbeam?" He asked himself.
The spokeswoman they had met in Oxnard stepped forward one step and replied to Bonnie.
"I am the spokesperson. Two of us in this group are observing bus coordinators. The other three are unencumbered nonviolent commandos." She smiled at Bonnie when she said that, "Do not turn them on without good reason," she wryly mentioned.
Then the spokesperson turned directly to Gaston. "Governor Starbeam has hired you to be our General. We recognize you are not a military general and are more like a general manager or a general contractor. Even so; you are the general coordinator of highly trained nonviolent troopers backed up by an emerging geopolitical region of Earth during difficult times. You are our General and are very different from an ordinary general business manager." The spokesperson said this to Gaston and then moved forward one more step.
"The first ten, pilots and captured mercenaries have not yet heard our mission statement," she continued, "I repeat it now for them; Gaston, Bonnie and Loren put their lives on the line for you and so do we troopers. We welcome the united farmworkers as our surprise reinforcing allies. We have learned the united farm workers are organizing to prepare for a general strike throughout pacific coast food production facilities and fields. So says Governor Starbeam. He is personally helping establish alternate food markets throughout the Pacific in order to mitigate inconvenience to farm owners, large metropolitan areas an every one in small towns. That has become the Governor's main job."
"See what I mean?" Loren stood up and spoke with a singing voice; "Ba Ba bad to the bone. Gaston is bad to the bone." Loren sat back down, "I know this is serious," he said, even as he kept his mirth about him.
Gaston looked at the soldiers looking back at him. He was surprised by this new idea but not surprised that he knew what he wanted to do next.
"Please rotate one person on the roof with someone from here. Send one person on the roof and one from this room back to our base parking area so they can report what they have seen and heard. Replace the two who left your line here with two farmworkers. Add another farmworker to the roof and set up a regular rotation so everyone stays informed." He started to ask if this was the kind of generalized work the governor had in mind but everyone was already doing exactly as he had said.
"Being your general is not an idea that has ever occurred to me," Gaston said. "This General has no idea what to do until we all together develop some kind of rough starting plan. Yes, at times I may lead like a musician playing a riff, but so will you. My idea of general responsibility is to help us accomplish what we decide to do as a unified band of musicians playing well together. You will help me know when to riff and I will do the same for you."
Gaston had barely finished describing his position as a helpful general rather than a dictator determined to accomplish his own ideas and plans when the booming blades of several large helicopters began to shake the room. It quickly became impossible for any one to speak and Gaston motioned them all toward the front door.
Everyone from the back room walked through the main restaurant dining area and out onto the wooden front porch of the Guadalupe restaurant. The front porch was roofed and much like being on an elevated wooden walkway with tables set outside in front of a wild-west saloon in Tombstone, Arizona. A line of troopers stood between them and the street. Fifty or sixty farmworkers watched from across the street as four large helicopters landed on the limited open street space between.
Masked soldiers with automatic weapons exited the helicopters and faced the restaurant as well as the farmworkers across the street. Several smaller helicopters moved in and began patrolling the air above the town. The noise and bright lights attracted hundreds of Guadalupe residents who gathered as close as they could. Both ends of the main street were filled within moments after the pentagonian soldiers had assumed their positions. A small group of united farm workers went to the two groups of townspeople now blocking both ends of main street and explained there was nonviolent confrontation with military empire going on right now in downtown Guadalupe.
One of the masked soldiers stepped forward with a megaphone. She instructed everybody to remain calm and nobody would be hurt.
"We are here to arrest a group of ten illegal aliens and those who are helping them evade the laws of the land. This is a nation of laws and you are expected to live by those laws. Send the group of ten and their supporters to us immediately or you will be treated as outlaws and suffer the consequences. You have one minute to comply with this request which comes direct from our commander in chief."
Gaston glanced both directions at their small group lined up on the porch behind the nonviolent state troopers. He was about to step down the stairs and through the line of troopers when his eyes locked with Tamara's and he saw exactly what he suspected. He was looking into questioning eyes that expressed every kind of life on Earth. There was no strange mystery in her eyes. She was front and center here and now. A regime change refugee who's eyes said she was glad to be alive in a very unique and powerful way.
Tamara had noticed Gaston subconsciously begin to move even as he was still deciding what to do. She smiled and reached out to grasp his hand for encouragement. When their hands touched and without speaking, they walked together down the stairs and through the line of nonviolent troopers. They let go of each other's hands and stood in silence facing the military empire's masked soldiers. Patrolling helicopters had pulled back to facilitate communication as the entire gathered mass of humanity surrounding the military grew silent.
Gaston glanced again at Tamara and then looked at the masked army. Tamara put one hand on Gaston's shoulder as he began to speak. Her hand was hot.
"Please relax," Gaston said. "History tells us exactly what happens every time a nation's military begins a war with the taxpayers; the end is near. Let's not go there now, please."
Gaston stepped forward one step and Tamara let her hand drop relaxed to her side.
"We were not assigned here to negotiate," the field commander responded. "You are ordered to do something and we are here to enforce that order. You and everyone on that saloon porch are under arrest. You are ordered to place yourself under our control immediately. Please walk slowly to us one by one and nobody will be hurt."
And here is where the stuff of legends springs from mundane daily reality. Hundreds of united farm workers and town residents had quietly packed the main downtown street in both directions. Gaston did not attempt to suppress his grin, and it was a contagious grin. He saw the field commander and the troops slowly become transfixed and staring into Tamara's eyes, He turned to see her and found himself looking into the depths of eyes that communicated the same message from every species that has ever been on Earth.
"Give peace a chance," her eyes implored the soldiers. "Give peace the wings of flight. Or will you bomb? Will you destroy and fight?"
Gaston grinned wider as he looked into Tamara's limpid eyes. "This is a way scary kind of fun," he said softly so that only she and the nearest nonviolent troopers standing behind her could hear him. Even so; he felt victory within reach. He turned back to the masked military and addressed them once more.
"Some of you must be our neighbors, or neighbors of our friends and relatives. Please stand down. Recognize that we are a union of your neighbors and neighborhoods. Do not return to your quarters with the blood of friends and family indelibly printed forever on your mind. Stand down. Line up. Take off your mask and hand over the firing pins of your weapons. You will be acting according to international law, the Geneva conventions and the Nuremberg principles that grew out of the atrocities of world war two. Turn in your firing pins and weapons and you are free to go where ever you choose. You are accepted here. Go back to your helicopter if that is what you really want."
The first ten, Bonnie, Loren, the pilots and the mercenaries then walked down the restaurant stairs and through the line of state troopers. Then the spokeswoman and bus coordinators dressed in blue and black also stepped forward. The spokeswoman was listening intently to her communication channel as her walk turned into a rapid trot. Then she spun and waved her arm in a sweeping motion back to the restaurant.
"Governor Robin Starbeam," she announced as his image flashed with perfect pacific coast focus on the irregular building surface.
"Good evening," he began in a somber tone. "You have obeyed your orders and invaded this peaceful coastal region with weapons in hand. You have also presented me with an unsought opportunity to welcome new citizens here." His tone of voice then became welcoming; "Please honor Gaston's request and turn in your firing pins so that you may leave eternal war behind and become part of the world's hapiest and richest societies. The pacific states add up to the very richest society on Earth. Universal health care and totally free education are part of the deal. Your families are welcome."
Everybody loves governor Robin Starbeam. The soldiers began removing their firing pins and their masks when he smiled and his eyes crinkled into their own smile followed by a gradual wink. It happened quickly. Not one pentagonian soldier returned to their helicopter. Even the helicopter pilots handed over their keys. One hundred percent chose peace over eternal war. People were dancing in the streets purposefully yet temporarily forgetting the dark forces of black gold were not ready to quit. No celebrating soul actually expected insatiable greed to relax with what it had already acquired. Still, parties are fun and happiness is a specifically stated national goal. "Which side are you on?" Governor Starbeam had asked. Every person there chose happiness and fun.
Gaston was as much into the fun as every one there. Yes, cosmic powered biology expressed as human really is full partner with planets, suns, and beings so large light cannot escape their gravity. And, Yes, for some sad and strange reason, a few people are afflicted with the so far incurable disease of insatiable want. Such people are ill, they will do anything to get more.
“Only a new story that everyone agrees is possible can describe a better way,” Gaston thought, knowing they we seventeen plus a growing public army saying the same. He hoped many people would write new stories about a fun way to live while healing Earth. He knew such stories would change the world even while they are at first dismissed as either unpatriotic or political fantasy. Most people thought it would be quite some time before a national president would risk the embarrassment of sending military into pacific states and then helplessly watch them lay down their weapons and switch sides. Others cautioned an opposite view. Either way; almost everyone in Guadalupe did not stop smiling until very late that night.