One of the trio was a veritable giant, standing seven feet in height and muscled like a latter-day Hercules. His black leather vest, green fatigue pants, and black leather boots seemed unable to contain his bulging sinews. A shock of dark hair hung above his probing gray eyes. Attached to his brown belt over each hip was a Bowie knife in a leather scabbard.
The second man was six feet tall, and while he lacked his companion’s massive physique, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his wiry form. His long hair and handlebar moustache were both blond, his eyes blue. Buckskins clothed his frame, and moccasins covered his feet. Strapped around his slim waist were a matched pair of pearl-handled Colt Python revolvers.
The third member of the threesome was an elderly man with shoulder-length gray hair and a flowing gray beard. His blue eyes scanned the terminal and the crowd, and he noted the advancing duo. With the temperature in the low 70s and bright sunshine, his heavy flannel shirt, patched at the elbows, and his faded corduroy pants felt uncomfortably warm.
“Will you look at all this, pard!” the man in the buckskins said to the giant, marveling at the hustle and bustle of the airport.
“It certainly is the busiest airport I’ve ever seen,” the giant conceded.
“And considering the extent of your travels,” chimed in the elderly one, “that says a lot.”
“We haven’t seen all that much, Plato,” commented the man with the Pythons.
“Really, Hickok?” Plato responded.
“We’ve seen a lot of Minnesota,” Hickok stated, “and some of the Civilized Zone. I’ve been to Washington, D.C., and Chicago, or Technic City as they now call it. And Blade here has seen St. Louis, New York City, and Philadelphia.” He paused, smirking. “Then again, I reckon we have seen a sizeable chunk of landscape.”
“I’d say so,” Plato agreed.
“We’d better join General Owens,” Blade said, and together they walked down the stairs to the tarmac and the waiting officer.
Hickok gazed up at the aircraft. “I can’t believe we got here so fast.” He glanced at the gray-haired general. “What’d you call this contraption again?”
“A VTOL,” General Owens answered, grinning.
“What do those letters mean?” Hickok inquired.
“VTOL stands for vertical take off and landing,” General Owens explained. “It describes the capabilities of the aircraft.”
“All those fancy words just means this buggy can fly like a jet, but it can take off and land sort of like a helicopter, right?” Hickok said.
General Owens nodded. “You’ve described it precisely.”
“Too bad we don’t have one of these at the Home,” Hickok observed.
“They’d come in right handy.”
General Owens looked at the VTOL. “We could use more of these. We only have two still in service. They use less fuel than a conventional jet, and fuel is a precious commodity.”
“There has been a chronic shortage of fuel since World War Three,” Plato mentioned. “You are fortunate in one respect. The Free State of California has several operational refineries.”
“California has been very lucky,” General Owens agreed. “The state sustained only two nuclear strikes during the war. San Diego was obliterated, and March Air Force Base at San Bernardino was hit. San Diego is south of here and San Bernardino is to the east, so the prevailing winds blew the fallout away from Los Angeles.” He paused. “Frankly, I’ll never understand why the Russians didn’t toss more warheads at California. The state had over two dozen primary and secondary targets when the war began, not to mention all of the tertiary sites.”
Plato thoughtfully scratched his head. “Only two nuclear strikes? I take it, then, your mutant problem has been minimal.”
General Owens made a snorting sound. “I wish! Enough radiation polluted the environment to drastically affect genetic transmission, although the damn mutants didn’t appear in any numbers until about a decade after the war. They reproduced at a fantastic rate, and the rural areas of California were practically overrun before the Army brought the mutants under control.”
“You’ve eradicated the mutants?” Plato asked skeptically.
General Owens shook his head. “No, damn it! We’ve tried, but it’s impossible. We have managed to clear them away from the urban centers and the smaller towns and communities. But it’s not safe to travel in some parts of the state, particularly the mountains, unless you’re well armed and with others.”
“The mutants are everywhere,” Plato noted. “I’m of the opinion we will never rid ourselves of the genetic deviates. The mutant population will serve as an ever-present reminder of humankind’s ultimate folly.”
“Or putting it in basic English,” Hickok quipped, “once a bunch of dummies, always a bunch of dummies.”
“Speak for yourself,” Blade said to the gunman.
“I knew it was too good to be true,” Hickok cracked.
“What?” Plato inquired.
“Since we left Geronimo at the Home,” Hickok said, “I figured nobody would be gettin’ on my case this trip.”
Plato looked at Blade and winked, then glanced at the gunman.
“Unfortunately, Nathan, you invite ridicule by your outlandish behavior.”
“What outlandish behavior, old-timer?” Hickok countered.
“Do you really want me to enumerate your bizarre traits?” Plato asked in feigned surprise.
“Name one,” Hickok said.
Plato extended his right forefinger. “For starters, there’s your peculiar propensity for conversing in that strange Wild West idiom.”
“So I’m a mite creative with my palaver,” Hickok commented. “What’s wrong with being creative?”
“Is that what you call it? Being creative?” Blade interjected.
“What would you call it?” Hickok demanded.
“Being a ding-a-ling,” Blade said, straight-faced.
Hickok stared at General Owens. “I can’t get no respect, I tell you. This is the way they treat me all the time. Except for my pardner Geronimo, and he treats me worse.”
“We have company,” Blade announced.
A hefty man in a brown suit, his congenial features uplifted in a broad smile, and a petite blonde in a green dress reached the stairs.
“I’m Governor Melnick,” the man in the brown suit said, greeting them.
He offered his right hand to Plato. “And you’re Plato, the leader of the Family, correct?”
“I am,” Plato confirmed, shaking Melnick’s hand.
“I am honored to meet you, sir,” Governor Melnick said sincerely, his brown eyes conveying his pleasure. “Your legend precedes you.”
“My legend?” Plato asked.
“The Family’s Legend. The envoys President Toland sent to propose this summit meeting told us all about your Family,” Governor Melnick revealed. “You are very highly regarded by the other members of the Freedom Federation, and I look forward to having you as a staunch ally.”
“You’ve decided to join the Federation then?” Plato asked hopefully.
Governor Melnick nodded. “I won’t be making the formal announcement until tomorrow at the summit meeting, but yes, we have decided to become a member of the Freedom Federation.”
Plato smiled, genuinely delighted at the news. “President Toland and the other leaders will be pleased to learn of your decision.” He paused.
“Has President Toland arrived yet?”
“Not yet,” Governor Melnick said. “He’s due to arrive in about three hours. The other leaders are all here. They’ve been transported to the summit site in Anaheim.”
Plato glanced at the VTOL. “I want to thank you for agreeing to fly all the Federation leaders to the summit. As you are aware, traveling overland is a hazardous venture.”