President Toland glanced at the terminal. “There’s a room on the second floor ideal for our purposes.”
“Excellent. Would you relay the word to the others?”
“Of course. Since I must bear the burden of responsibility for the flight, and since Denver is my capital, I’ll chair the meeting unless you would rather have the chore.”
“The honor is all yours,” Plato said.
Toland snorted. “Some honor. The innocent blood of forty-five people is on my hands.”
“You exaggerate, dear friend.”
“Do I? We’ll see if you change your mind later,” President Toland said.
“Should we start the meeting in five minutes?”
“The sooner, the better,” Plato said. “The Warriors and I will proceed on ahead.”
“Be my guest. Take the south stairs to the second floor, and you’ll find the room you want behind the third door on the right.”
“We’ll meet you there,” Plato stated.
President Toland hurried along the row of VIP’s.
“What did he mean about changing your mind?” Blade asked Plato.
The head of the Family pursed his thin lips. “Perhaps he has pertinent information to reveal,” he speculated.
“Let’s mosey to the meetin’ room,” Hickok suggested.
“What’s your rush?” Geronimo wanted to know.
“I need to tinkle.”
Geronimo made a show of surveying the area. “Looks like you’ll have to hold it in.”
“Why?”
“There isn’t a tree in sight.”
Plato was staring at the throng. “Perhaps five minutes is not enough time. How will we ever get through this crowd?”
“Allow me,” Blade said, and forged into the assemblage. “Excuse us!” he declared in his deep voice. Those in front of the Warrior glanced at him and quickly parted to permit his passage.
Plato, Hickok, and Geronimo followed.
“It’s like I’ve always said, pard,” Hickok mentioned to Geronimo.
“Never argue with a mutant, an angry buffalo, and a guy seven feet tall.”
“I’ve never heard you say that.”
“Well, actually, I just made it up.”
“Do tell.”
“Why the dickens are you pickin’ on me, anyway?” Hickok inquired.
“I’m a sucker for an easy mark,” Geronimo said.
“Are you insulting my intelligence again?”
“I’d never belabor the obvious.”
“What?”
“Forget it.”
“What’s a woman havin’ a baby got to do with this?”
Geronimo smirked. “Just forget it, will you?”
Plato looked over his left shoulder at the pair of bickering Warriors.
“Gentlemen,” he said sternly.
“What’d we do now?” Hickok queried.
“I know you are trained to adjust readily to adversity, to take misfortune in stride,” Plato commented. “I know the Warriors are trained to employ humor to relieve stress—”
“Yeah? So?” Hickok interrupted.
“This is definitely not the time or place,” Plato observed harshly.
Hickok and Geronimo gazed around them at the slowly dispersing audience, most of whom were emotionally ravaged by the explosion.
Morosely, conversing in subdued tones, many sniffling and dabbing at their eyes, the people were shuffling toward the terminal, through which they would have to pass to reach the parking lots beyond.
“Sorry, old-timer,” Hickok said.
Blade glanced back at the gunman and glared.
“Sensitivity, Nathan, is a trait even Warriors should cultivate,” Plato advised Hickok.
“A Warrior can’t afford to be too mushy,” Hickok responded.
“Mushy?”
“We go up against mutants or lowlifes at least once a month,” Hickok mentioned. “We’ve got to be on our toes every minute of the day, and we’ve got to be ready to shoot first and ask questions later. If Warriors get too sensitive, they start lettin’ their emotions get in the way of their better judgment. And when that happens, they’re as good as dead.”
“I’m fully aware of the psychology of being a proper Warrior,” Plato said. “The Founder created the Warrior class to protect the Home and safeguard the Family. He intended the Warriors to be superbly efficient fighters, to be the best at their craft. But he never intended the Warriors to forsake all emotion in order to function effectively. Do you remember your Schooling years?”
“Of course.”
“And what was the paramount teaching of the Elders?”
Hickok sighed.
“What was it?” Plato prodded, staying on Blade’s heels as the giant continued to press toward the terminal.
“To love the Spirit and our brothers and sisters on this planet,” Hickok answered in a restrained tone.
“Have you forgotten the supreme teaching?”
“Nope. Just amended it.”
“In what manner?” Plato asked.
“I’m all for lovin’ other folks,” Hickok explained. “This old world would be a heap better off if everyone really did try to live the supreme teaching, but everyone doesn’t. There are a lot of nasty types runnin’ around, ready to blow your head off for no reason at all. Look at what just happened to that jet.” He paused and frowned. “As a Warrior, I can’t go waltzin’ around with a smile on my puss and love in my heart like Joshua does all the time—”
“Joshua is our Family’s spiritual counselor,” Plato interjected. “He has realized the living of the supreme teaching in his life.”
“Yeah, but Josh doesn’t go around killin’ mangy varmints for a livin’. I do. It’s my job to make sure no one harms any of our Family, and I’ll admit I’ve plugged my fair share of cow-chips. I know we all pass on to the higher mansions sooner or later, but I don’t much cotton to the notion of being sent there before my time by some wacko. I have a missus and a young’un I’m rather fond of, and I intend to spend the next twenty or thirty years with them. So I tend to keep a tight rein on my emotions, except around my loved ones. I try to give everyone else the benefit of the doubt, to treat them as my spiritual brothers and sisters, unless, of course, they look at me crossways.”
“And then?”
“I shoot ’em in the head.”
Plato stared at the gunfighter. “One of these days we must discuss your outlook on life.”
“Is there something wrong with it?” Hickok asked.
“Not at all,” Plato said. “Your attitude is ideal for a Warrior. But I must confess that I’m troubled by your lack of remorse over the lives you’ve taken.”
“Give me a break. Do you expect us to get all misty-eyed every time we blow away a scavenger or a raider?”
“Don’t you feel any compassion for the enemies you’ve slain?”
“Heaps of it,” Hickok assured the Family leader. “Why do you think I shoot the coyotes in the head? I don’t want them to suffer.”
“I was under the impression that you shoot your foes in the head because a shot through the brain is more likely than any other to instantaneously slay the…cow-chips.”
“Well, that too,” Hickok admitted.
Plato smiled. “Nathan, you’re a pip.”
The Warriors and the Family’s leader reached a point 20 feet from the terminal doors.
“Where are Toland and the others?” Hickok inquired, surveying the throng to their rear.
“They’ll catch up,” Geronimo said.
Plato abruptly halted, turning to gaze at the lingering vestige of the fireball. “Most extraordinary,” he commented.
“What is?” Geronimo queried.
“Did you observe any debris descending to the ground?”
“No,” Geronimo said. “But the 757 was bearing to the west. The debris may have fallen into the center of Denver.”
“Did you see any fall?”
“No.”
“Most extraordinary.” Plato repeated, and walked after Blade.