Although you’re tempted to go explore the small lodge, you instead force yourself to take a nap. You figure it’s all you can really do at this time without exerting yourself too much. You’re not exactly keen on meeting anyone new while half-tired. Especially if they represent an entire community of people.

You also decide to switch to your last batch of clean clothing. Though you can’t shower and thoroughly scrub your body, you do your best to clean yourself up as much as possible. Mostly you wipe yourself down and get whatever excess dirt and dried blood off you.

So when Frank comes by to wake you and meet the town’s Mayor, you find yourself incredibly refreshed.

The mid-morning sun presses down, its heat already oppressive even this early in the day. Despite that, there are still a number of people out and about doing their business. Some of them even greet you jovially as you walk over to Town Hall, as though it isn’t a million degrees out here.

You can practically feel yourself cooking under the sun’s direct gaze, especially without your hat and poncho to protect you. Thankfully, the walk is incredibly short and you’re back in the shade in no time.

Frank leads you upstairs, down a short hallway, and through a pair of stately doors that are halfway ajar. He greets the Mayor inside, who’s seated at her desk and is engrossed in what you presume is mayorly paperwork.

She flashes you a wide smile and bids you to come closer, even as Frank hops off to go do whatever it is he does.

You step into the Mayor’s office, and take a seat at one of the chairs in front of her desk. Neither of you have to speak to understand that the both of you are psionic. You had felt her energies the moment you stepped into the building itself, and she has likely felt yours in return.

“Chief Frank tells me you’re called Nomad,” she tells you.

“That’s me,” you reply. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Everyone calls me Mayor Lisa, and I hope you do as well.”

You nod in response.

“Welcome to our town,” she continues. “Frank also tells me that you’re here because you wish to start a trade relationship with the town, yes?”

“Eh, yes and no. I’m actually just passing through, and could maybe have something to trade, specifically for some water. I’m not part of another town looking to continue trading or anything like that. Assuming that’s what you mean.”

“Ah, I see, I see.”

The Mayor leans back in her chair as she re-appraises you. You however get the sense that she isn’t reassessing how useful you are as a trader, but rather as a psion. You can almost feel her energies poke and prod at you, as though to test your capabilities.

“He didn’t tell me you’re a psion,” she continues.

“He didn’t ask,” you reply. “And this isn’t exactly the kind of thing lone travelers like me talk about freely. Anyone who does, I imagine, is liable to… get taken advantage of.”

“That’s fair to assume. Who knows what’s out there, right?”

“Exactly.”

You glance at the room around you, particularly at the town’s seal emblazoned on the wall behind the Mayor. It, and she, are flanked by flags, specifically that of the nation this whole place used to belong to. Before things collapsed, anyway.

You find it incredibly tacky and distasteful, though you certainly keep this thought tamped down and far from the surface. Whatever pride the Mayor wishes to revel in is none of your business, no matter how foolish or wasteful it seems.

“I suppose it don’t much matter if you’re here to trade once or lotsa times,” the Mayor eventually says. “The whole town’s looking to gear up and move anyhow.”

“That’s a surprise,” you reply. “Frank gave me the impression that you’re all well and settled, with livestock and farm plots and whatnot.”

“Oh, we’re certainly settled, just not fully. This place works well for us, sure. But we also ain’t growing as a community, if you know what I mean.”

You’re not exactly sure what she’s talking about - her community appears to be thriving. There’s commerce, there’s food, there’s leadership. They seem to have a thriving future ahead of them. And then it dawns on you that she’s perhaps talking about birth rates. You haven’t seen anyone young in the town.

Not that you’ve seen every part of the town, anyway.

“Our youngest couple is post-menopausal,” the Mayor continues, confirming your realization. “And that bodes real bad for the community. No new babies, no new kids… Means no real future for the town.”

“Why’re you telling me this?” you ask. “Hope you’re not going to ask me to stay or anything. Not interested in any of that.”

The Mayor laughs lightly.

“I just meant,” she begins to say, but never finishes. Instead, she fishes around in one of her drawers and pulls out a little pin. She puts it on the edge of her desk right in front of you, then invites you to pick it up and put it on.

The pin itself is nothing special - just a smaller version of the town’s seal.

“Anyone who wears that’s free to trade with anyone else in town,” she continues. “All it is, is a sign that we’ve had a chat, and that you’ve been okayed. Just keep in mind that if you do come back at some point in the future, we might not be here at all.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

You pick up the pin and affix it to your shirt’s breast pocket.

“You all thinking of moving or something?” you ask absentmindedly.

“Maybe. We’re a bit divided on what to do,” the Mayor replies. “But we’ll work it out eventually.”

The Mayor gets up once your pin is in place, then walks around to where you’re sitting.

“Has anyone given you a tour of the town yet?” she asks, to which you shake your head in the negative. “In that case, follow me.”

She leads the both of you out, though she stops at a hat rack before leaving the building altogether. She puts on one of the wide-brimmed straw hats that hang there, and hands you one of the others. You happily accept it and place it on your head just as you step outside.

It’s not quite as rigid as your conical hat, but it does a good enough job of keeping the sun off you, of keeping you in its shade.

“You always give random visitors a tour of your town?” you ask.

“It’s a small town and there’s not always a lot to do,” she replies. “And besides, I wouldn’t be much of a Mayor if I didn’t treat visitors well. It’s part of my job, after all.”

She leads you down one corner of Town Square first, pointing out the lodge that you’re staying in. She claims it is as old as Town Hall itself, along with a handful of buildings around the Square. They’ve changed walls and roofs and windows and doors countless times since the beginning of it all, but their spirit still remains. At least, according to her.

You don’t exactly distrust her - there’s no reason to lie about a building’s history in the end. It’s just that you’re not terribly interested. Still, you show her a modicum of politeness in what she’s showing you.

The Mayor mostly shows you the numerous shops that are around Town Square first, then the handful of other shops in the streets beyond.

Of course, they’re far from busy. This is a small town, after all. They aren’t going to have a great amount of commerce during any old day like today. Instead, you see the shopkeeps either idling away in their stores, or tidying up for the 100th time, or engaged in something other than shopkeeping. Such as playing solitaire on the counter, that sort of thing.

The Mayor introduces you to every shopkeep by name, and makes sure to show off the fact that you’re wearing a town trader pin. You’re certainly excited to meet with everyone, and this kind of introduction is already giving you ideas as to which shops to visit first, at least once you’re done with the tour

Beyond the shops, the Mayor leads you through town and imparts whatever historical significance happens to be in front of the two of you. For the most part, the town is well-put together and laid out somewhat logically. Most of the houses are south of Town Square, with most everything else north of it.

It’s divided similarly to the previous town, where people live and work in separate sections of town itself. There are a few shops or garages or homes in the ‘wrong’ part of town, but they’re outliers and rather rare. Not that they’re even in use, so it hardly matters what they’re classified as in the end.

One of the larger buildings at the eastern edge of town has been repurposed into what seems to be a barn. Or, perhaps more accurately, whatever building it was has been emptied out and torn down. In its place is a kit barn, which the residents no doubt worked together to build.

Though you don’t get to go inside, you do see a number of townsfolk tending happily to the few animals inside. You can see clear through to the open back, which leads out to a fenced grassy area where a couple dozen chickens seem to be roaming.

Beyond the chickens there are also a handful of goats as well. They too are out in the grassy open area, doing whatever it is goats do. Romping or wandering or grazing or whatever. You have no idea.

Flanking the barn is a fenced field where rows and rows of corn stalks seem to be growing. They seem to be tall and fat, and happily soak up the excessive amounts of heat surrounding them. There’s another field beyond that one, but you can’t make out what crop it is. It’s definitely not more corn.

You recall Frank telling you that they’re also growing green beans, so you safely assume that’s what’s out there.

It’s noon by the time you and the Mayor get back to Town Square, and the heat begins to climb ever higher as a result. But instead of going straight back to Town Hall, the Mayor instead leads you to the southwestern corner of the Square, exactly opposite of the lodge where you’re staying.

This is also a relatively large building, at least in comparison to the shops flanking it. But instead of a lodge, it looks more like a theater to you. More than that, it’s the classical kind with a stage rather than just a screen.

And judging by how incredibly busy it is outside, you assume that everyone in town comes here for their noontime break. The townsfolk are clustered around the entrance, both inside and outside, where they chat with each other in little groups.

They all greet the Mayor as she passes, as well as yourself considering your proximity to her. Everyone seems rather genial, except perhaps for a few groups that seem to carry more anger than the rest. You note that Carl is among these disgruntled groups.

Not that you give them any attention whatsoever, and simply follow after the Mayor. Once inside, she veers to the side and up the steps to the second floor, where she leads you to box seats. She settles herself into one of the comfortable chairs inside, and welcomes you to take one of the others. You do so happily.

“Are we about to watch a show or something?” you ask. “You all don’t put one on for every visitor, right?”

The Mayor grins at you.

“Naw, ‘course not,” she says. “But we meet in here every noontime to listen to the Sheriff. He’s broadcastin’ from the far South, and well, some of us likes what he’s got to say. Have a listen, maybe you’ll like what you hear, too.”

A ton of questions suddenly hits you - who this person is, and why they’re broadcasting. You even begin to wonder how they’re broadcasting in the first place. After all, most power stations are pretty much dead these days.

You decide to hold your questions for later, and instead focus your attention on what’s happening on stage.

There, someone’s setting up some radio reception equipment. From what you can tell, it’s basically a cobbled-together group of radio equipment, from CB to home system type stuff. They all seem to be linked together to the same power circuit, as well as an array of various speakers.

Another person adjusts those speakers individually, pointing them at various sections of the audience. They all emit a kind of a squelch, along with what sounds like triumphant, martial-sounding music. That seems to be the signal that some broadcast is about to start, which causes the two technicians to speed up their work. They tweak their final calibrations, then run off the stage.

At the same time, more people come and file in below, taking whatever seat they want.

About a minute later, a relatively calm, but very stern voice comes on the air through the speakers. They clearly sound authoritative and knowledgeable. But it’s not because of what they say, not particularly.

No, you realize that whoever this person is, they’re using their psionics, and transporting it through radio waves. Somehow. The very fact that it’s happening alarms you greatly.

It’s not a lot of psionic energy, and are merely traces of it. In fact, they’re too miniscule for you to tell exactly what those energies are doing. Or perhaps you’re simply not knowledgeable and experienced enough to tell.

“Well met, Survivors,” says the voice. “It’s the Sheriff again, coming at you from the Southern Fortress, the only safe bastion left for humanity. And today, I wanna talk to you about all the deranged things assaulting our future, our traditional ways. And of course, I wanna talk about how we can fight back against it all.”

The crowds beneath you are mixed in response - some audibly groan at the Sheriff’s words, clearly tired of what he’s saying. Perhaps rightfully so. But most simply don’t react negatively at all. Many seem rather eager to hear more. In fact, there are a few who practically cheer on the broadcast, and you note that Carl is among them.