Blade merely gazed absently at the grass, contemplating the pertinence of Plato’s remarks to his own life. Toland wasn’t the only one stuck in a rut. Six months ago he’d reached the same conclusion, and he was no closer to resolving the dilemma. Some problems, evidently, were universal and decidedly difficult to overcome. He glanced at Plato and smiled. Ever since his father, the previous Family Leader, had been killed by a mutation, Blade had looked up to Plato for seasoned counsel. The sage had become a substitute father, in a sense, and the two had developed a deep bond of affection and friendship.
They were within 20 yards of the gigantic concrete bunker containing the hundreds of thousands of volumes personally selected by the Founder.
Kurt Carpenter had attempted to envision the hardships the Family would face, and to stock books instructing his followers and their descendants on how to deal with those hardships. One of the largest sections in the library consisted of hundreds of books pertaining to survival skills. There were also reference books on every conceivable subject, as well as volumes on military strategy, history, hunting and fishing, gardening, woodworking, metalsmithing, weaving and sewing, natural medicine, geography, religion and philosophy, and many, many more. The library functioned as the Family’s prime source of tutelage and amusement.
Plato stopped and faced their visitors. “Would you care for refreshments? You must be hungry after your long flight. I can send for some food before we begin.”
“No,” President Toland said. “I’m not hungry, and our business here is extremely urgent.”
“Then let’s get to work,” Plato suggested.
In single file they entered the library and moved to a table in the northwest corner virtually surrounded by six-foot-high wooden shelves crammed with books. Plato took a seat at the head of the table with Blade, Hickok, and Geronimo to his right. President Toland, General Reese, and Captain Laslo sat on the left. Those Family members seated nearby courteously shifted to tables farther away to give the Family Leader and the three Warriors more privacy.
Plato rested his chin in his right hand and locked his inquisitive scrutiny on the president of the Civilized Zone. “What can be so urgent that a special trip to the Home is necessary?”
“I don’t know where to begin,” Toland replied, frowning and exchanging a worried glance with General Reese.
“I’ve seldom seen you at a loss for words,” Plato mentioned. “What is the nature of the emergency?”
President Toland looked at Plato, then each of the Warriors.
“I hope I’m wrong. The evidence isn’t conclusive, but there’s a possibility we have a plague on our hands.”
For a full ten seconds no one spoke. Blade felt his mouth go dry and licked his lips. Now he understood why Toland had displayed such an interest in the Family Healers.
“Can you elaborate?” Plato requested.
“Certainly,” President Toland said. “It all began three days ago when two of our sentry posts in northern Texas were attacked. Sentry Post 17 and Sentry Post 19 are both located within twenty miles of the city once known as Dallas. Sentry Post 17 is approximately fifteen miles north of Dallas on Interstate 35. As you know, we have a network of sentry posts all along our borders. Raiders and scavengers are a constant problem, and our armed forces do an excellent job of defending our boundaries.”
“What transpired at the two posts near Dallas?” Plato queried.
Toland looked at General Reese. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have the general give you the same briefing he gave me.”
“Be our guest,” Plato said.
The Civilized Zone’s Chief of Staff cleared his throat, his brown eyes betraying an uncharacteristic anxiety. “At ten minutes before noon on April twelfth, Lieutenant Garber, the officer in charge of the sector in which Sentry Post 17 and Sentry Post 19 are located, received a call on the radio from the sergeant at Post 19. The sergeant reported that a naked woman on a black horse was approaching his position—”
“A naked woman?” Hickok interjected, and laughed. “You’re pullin’ our legs, right?”
“I assure you I am serious,” General Reese responded indignantly.
“That was the last report we received from the sergeant. Lieutenant Garber tried to raise Post 19 after five minutes elapsed and there was no follow-up, per regulations. When the communications man couldn’t reach Post 19, Garber went to investigate. You’ll never guess what he found.”
“The sergeant and the naked lady eloped?” Hickok quipped.
Plato glanced at the gunman. “Nathan, please. This is a grave matter.”
“Sorry, old-timer.”
“Please continue,” Plato urged the general.
“Lieutenant Garber found nothing,” General Reese revealed. “No sergeant, nor the private who was supposed to also be on duty, and no naked woman.”
“What about the black horse?” Hickok asked.
“No horse either,” General Reese said gruffly. “There was no indication of a struggle. It was as if they vanished off the face of the earth.”
“Most peculiar,” Plato commented.
“It gets stranger,” General Reese declared. “About two hours later, while Lieutenant Garber and a platoon were at Sentry Post 19 conducting their investigation, the communications man at headquarters received two odd calls from Sentry Post 17. The sergeant at that post, Sergeant Whitney, first called in to report loud screaming very close to the sentry hut. A few minutes later he radioed in again, this time to report that a naked woman riding a white horse had shown up at the checkpoint.”
Hickok snorted.
“Sergeant Whitney was cut off in midsentence,” General Reese detailed grimly. “When the message was relayed to Lieutenant Garber, he went immediately to Sentry Post 17. There was no sign of Sergeant Whitney, the private assigned there with him, or the woman on the white horse.”
“Wow! This is serious! We’ve got a passel of females traipsin’ all over the countryside in their birthday suits and turnin’ folks invisible,” Hickok remarked.
General Reese leaned forward. “What is your problem?”
“You’ll have to excuse Hickok,” Geronimo interjected. “He’s been this way since birth.”
“He has?” the general responded.
“I have?” Hickok asked.
“Yep,” Geronimo answered. “Hickok is the only Family member who was ever born with a vacuum between his ears.”
“Mangy Injun,” the gunfighter muttered.
Preoccupied with his concern over Jenny’s probable reaction should he need to travel to Texas, Blade had sat staring at the table, absorbed in his dilemma. Now he swiveled in his chair and looked at Hickok and Geronimo. “I want to thank the two of you,” he said.
“For what, pard?” Hickok asked.
“We’ve been close friends since childhood, right?” Blade asked.
“You know we have,” Geronimo answered suspiciously.
“And we’ve been working together in the same Warrior Triad for most of our adult lives, right?”
“Yeah. So?” Hickok said.
“So I want to thank you for all of the practical experience in child rearing you’ve given me,” Blade said. “Working with you two clowns is the same as working with a pair of four year olds, and I think I’m a better father because of it.”
“Didn’t he bring this up once before?” Geronimo asked Hickok.
“Some folks have a one-track mind,” the gunman said.
“If either one of you interrupt again, I’ll have to inflict the worst possible punishment,” Blade told them.
“Extra wall duty?” Hickok asked.
“You’ll assign us to the detail that clears the outer fields,” Geronimo guessed.
“Wrong. I’ll tell your wives that you’ve been acting your mental ages again.”