“You get your names from books?”
“Our Founder didn’t want us to forget our historical roots. He was afraid we’d be tempted to ignore the lessons to be learned from a study of history. So he implemented a procedure, a ceremony we call our Naming.
When all Family members turn sixteen, they are permitted to select any name from any book in the library as their very own. Years ago, we only used the history books. But now we adopt our names from practically any volume in the library. That’s how I received mine,” Plato elaborated.
“Hickok, for instance, took his from a revered gunfighter of ancient times. Geronimo took his from an Indian he admires and respects.”
Captain Wargo looked at the giant Warrior alongside Plato. “And you. Blade?”
Blade patted his twin Bowies. “I couldn’t find a name I wanted in any of the books, so I picked a new one.”
“One based on his preference in weapons,” Plato added.
“I see.” Captain Wargo glanced at Lieutenant Farrow, then resumed speaking. “I don’t mind telling you, and I’m not attempting to flatter you by saying this, that your reputations have preceded you. As General Reese noted earlier, you’ve achieved some small measure of fame over the past few years.”
Blade studied the Technic. “I can understand them talking about us in the Civilized Zone,” he said. “After all, we fought a war with them some time back and won. But how is it you’ve heard of us clear in Chicago?
Chicago is outside of the Civilized Zone. It’s even outside of the Freedom Federation’s territory. It must be hundreds of miles from here.”
“About eight hundred,” Captain Wargo offered.
“Are you telling me you’ve heard of us in Chicago?” Blade demanded.
Captain Wargo nodded. “Think about it for a moment. From what I was told, the Warriors have fought in the Twin Cities, in Montana, in the Dakota Territory, and in the Civilized Zone. You were responsible for destroying Cheyenne, Wyoming, too, I believe. Did you really think all that would go unnoticed?”
Blade thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip. Verrrry interesting! First, Wargo said he’d heard about the Warriors from General Reese. Now he says he learned about them in Chicago.
“General Reese only confirmed the stories,” Captain Wargo said, as if he could read Blade’s mind. “Chicago isn’t isolated from the rest of the world. We get travelers passing through every day. We were bound to hear about you sooner or later.”
“I see,” Blade said. Why was it he still felt as if Wargo were lying through his even white teeth?
“Actually,” Captain Wargo said, “the Warriors are part of the reason I’m here.”
“They are?” asked Plato.
“Yes,” Captain Wargo confirmed. “The Warriors, and the SEAL.”
Blade’s steely eyes bored into the Technic. The SEAL was the Family’s mechanical pride and joy, their main means of travel. The Founder, Kurt Carpenter, had spent millions of dollars developing it prior to World War III. His scientists had been instructed to construct an indestructible vehicle, and they’d nearly succeeded. Van-like in configuration, the SEAL
was green in color and designed with a versatile array of special features.
It had originally been called the Solar-Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle. Carpenter had later hired mercenaries to incorporate devastating armaments into its body. Its sturdy structure was composed of’ a shatterproof, heat-resistant, super-plastic, deliberately tinted to prevent outsiders from viewing the interior but enabling the occupants to see in all directions. Four enormous tires provided a rugged means of locomotion. Two prototypical solar panels on the roof and a series of six revolutionary batteries positioned in a lead-lined case under the SEAL served as the key components in its power system. “You know about the SEAL too?”
Captain Wargo nodded. “A little. We knew you owned it, and our leader, the man we call our Minister, realized you might be able to assist us in a desperate enterprise. We knew the Family was connected with the Freedom Federation, but we didn’t know exactly where to find you. So the Minister proposed sending us to President Toland and requesting his aid in contacting you.” Wargo grinned. “It worked.”
“One moment,” Plato said. “What is this desperate enterprise you’ve mentioned?”
Captain Wargo’s grin widened. “Our Minister would like your permission to send Alpha Triad and your SEAL on a mission.”
“A mission? To where?” Plato inquired.
Captain Wargo scanned the room before responding. “Why, to New York City, of course.”
Blade felt his abdominal muscles inadvertently tighten.
Chapter Four
The four soldiers in the jeep, three men and a woman, were five miles from the Home, hidden in the woods to the east of Highway 59.
“So what’s the scoop, Sarge?” asked the woman irooper.
“We sit tight until we receive the signal,” the sergeant advised her.
“This is boring,” commented one of the men, seated in the back beside the woman.
The sergeant turned in his seat next to the driver. “You’re a Technic, Johnson. I don’t want to hear that kind of shit again!”
“Yes, sir, Sergeant Darden, sir,” Private Johnson said. “My apology, sir.”
Sergeant Darden stared at his subordinate for a minute, trying to determine if Johnson was being his typically sarcastic self.
“What’s the name of these dumb hicks?” inquired the driver.
“They’re called the Family,” Sergeant Darden informed him.
“The Family?” The driver snickered. “What a corn-ball name!”
“Don’t underestimate them,” Sergeant Darden warned.
“Give us a break!” Johnson said. “You don’t expect us to get worked up about a bunch of dirt farmers, do you?”
“They’re not dirt farmers,” Sergeant Darden responded. “Only about a dozen or so actually till the soil. The rest perform other duties. Besides, the ones you need to worry about are the Warriors.”
“The Warriors?” Private Johnson snorted derisively. “Give us a break! How bad can they be?”
“The baddest,” Sergeant Darden said.
“Says who?” demanded Johnson.
“Says the Minister,” Sergeant Johnson stated.
“So why are we wasting these hicks?” asked the woman.
“Because those are our orders, Rundle,” Sergeant Darden remarked.
“But why?” Rundle pressed him.
Sergeant Darden shrugged. “What’s it matter? We do as we’re told, no questions asked. You know that.”
“Just wondered, is all,” Rundle commented absently.
“We were lucky we received that warning about Halma,” mentioned the driver. “Another mile and we’d of blundered right on ’em.”
“Who were those people in that town?” asked Rundle.
“Don’t know,” Darden told her. “But I’d imagine they’re friends of the Family’s if they live so close to their Home.”
“Say, Sarge,” Private Johnson said. “What’s with the beeper?”
Sergeant Darden studied the black box in his lap. “It’s still stationary.
They haven’t moved.”
“Do you think this Family will get wise to us?” asked Private Rundle.
“No way,” Sergeant Darden declared.
Private Johnson yawned. “Who cares if they do or not? One way or the other, this Family is history!”
“Fine by me,” said Rundle. “I could use some action.”
Chapter Five
“New York City?” Plato repeated in astonishment. “You can’t be serious!”
“I’ve never been more serious,” Captain Wargo declared.
Hickok laughed. “Who does this ding-a-ling think he is? He waltzes in here and tells us to go to New York City, just like that?” He snapped his fingers.