"Peace, love, harmony brother. That's what we're about," he explained.
"For being so keen on peace you sure maintain a big stock of weapons," Arnold replied. His tone was light, joking, but he had some misgivings about the truthfulness of the man's words.
"Yes brother, peace is not what our hippy friends once preached. Sometimes violence is only suppressed by threat of violence." A frown formed on his already wrinkled face. The two corners of his lips dipped smoothly. The pose was familiar to him.
Arnold picked up a rifle and ran his finger along the barrel. "Yes, it seems most people don't love enough to live in harmony. A greater force has always been necessary." His finger paused on the opening at the end of the barrel. "I will join you Rob. I'll do it."
The frown was erased, replaced by a "I knew it all along" smile. Arnold would be a great asset to their team, and Robert knew it.
The Foundation was not some backwoods militia. They were well organized and trained intensively in tactical maneuvers. Not all had come from military backgrounds; they ranged from big rig mechanics to investment bankers. But it wasn't their histories that brought them together, rather their view of the nation. They saw America as a protectorate, a weak territory needing someone stronger to make sure nobody inside or out could do too much damage.
Robert Margers had a master's degree from UCLA in global economics but spent most of his time teaching philosophy at a local city college. During the summers he used his free time to work on his supposed literary masterpiece, a composition based on his original concept of man's place in the universe. It took him 13 years to finish the book and almost as many to get it published. There weren't too many agents willing to push his manuscript. They told Margers that it just wasn't what publishers were looking for and that he should try again later. Maybe things would change, they said.
Things did change for Robert Margers in a big way. One summer as he made his usual round of rejection, a voice at the other end of the line finally said, "Ya, why don't you send it my way?"
I'm too tired to keep going. I think I like this one way better than I like last night's work. Like I explained before (sort of), I have no story board and I've written no notes. This is all just straight off the top of my head. It felt good to write this one. Maybe I'll actually keep going with it.
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