“I recall an outsider who made mention of such a name once,” King Dercyllidas said.
“The Federation is an alliance of seven factions that are trying to salvage what’s left of civilization from the ruins of World War Three. Each member has signed a mutual defense treaty, agreeing to aid any other member whenever the need arises,” Blade related. “I’m here to extend an invitation to Sparta to join.”
King Agesilaus came out of his chair again. “What? Sparta has no need of allies. What presumption! Perhaps we should send your head back to this Federation as a symbol of our independence and strength.”
“Let’s hear him out,” King Dercyllidas suggested. “I’m interested in the offer. We should learn all we can before we dismiss it out of hand.”
Agesilaus sighed. “Very well. Suit yourself.”
“What are these seven factions?” Dercyllidas inquired:
“The faction I’m from is called the Family. The others are the Free State of California, the Civilized Zone, the Cavalry, the Clan, the Moles, and the Flathead Indians,” Blade disclosed.
“So the state of California survived the war?” King Dercyllidas said.
“We’ve heard about the Civilized Zone, but not the others. Where are they located?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Why not?”
“The exact locations of the Federation factions must remain a secret until we’re satisfied we can trust your people.”
King Agesilaus took a stride and glared at the giant. “Trust us? Why, you miserable swine! Who are you to sit in judgment on Spartans? You’re not fit to tie our shoelaces.”
“Calm down,” Dercyllidas told the co-ruler. “I’m certain he meant no offense, and I admire this Federation for possessing the foresight not to trust anyone blindly.”
“You would,” Agesilaus snapped.
“As Captain Chilon explained, we’ve come here in peace,” Blade went on. “As official emissaries we expect to be treated accordingly. If we should be harmed, the Federation will respond accordingly.”
“Is that a threat?” Agesilaus demanded sternly.
“No, a promise,” Blade responded, refusing to be intimidated by the pompous chief of state. “The Federation has successfully withstood attempts by the Russians, the Technics, the Superiors, the Peers, The Debtor, and many others to destroy it. We can field a combined army of over ten thousand troops, plus tasks and aircraft, on short notice. If need be, twice that number could be conscripted into service.” He paused and surveyed the chamber. “I reveal these factors not to threaten you or to try and put fear into your hearts, because I’ve learned that Spartans fear nothing. Rather, I tell you this so you can appreciate the gravity of the situation should you decide to oppose the Federation. Sparta might boast the bravest army on the planet, but bravery is no match for tanks and vastly superior odds. Consider these facts. Consider that the Federation would be honored to have Sparta as a member. And bear in mind that once you’ve joined, your enemies would be our enemies. Anyone who would try to crush you must first crush us.”
“Tanks and aircrafts?” King Dercyllidas said, sounding impressed by the news.
“I bet they don’t have a single measly tank,” King Agesilaus stated.
“He’s just making these absurd claims so we’ll agree to his proposal.”
“And what if you’re wrong?” Dercyllidas replied. “Would you sacrifice Sparta on the altar of your vanity?”
Agesilaus turned livid and clenched his fists.
Blade held up his right hand. “Please, I don’t want to be the cause of contention between you. Would king Agesilaus be satisfied I speak the truth if I provided proof?”
The dark-maned monarch glowered at the Warrior. “What sort of proof? Did you bring a tank with you?” he asked, and laughed.
“We brought something better than a tank,” Blade stated. “And if you’re willing, we’ll provide a demonstration that should convince you of our sincerity.”
King Dercyllidas smiled. “I, for one, would like to see this proof.”
At least ten seconds elapsed before King Agesilaus spoke. He was deep in thought the whole time. Finally he nodded and said, “All right. I’d like to see the proof also. But mark my words, Blade. Should this be a trick, you’ll live to regret it.”
Captain Chiton cleared his throat. “My lords, before we conduct the demonstration there is another matter that must be brought to your attention.”
“Haven’t you done enough for one day?” King Agesilaus quipped.
The officer pointed at Grennell. “This Helot has been arrested for possessing a firearm.”
“Did you confiscate the weapon?” King Dercyllidas inquired.
“Yes, sir,” Chiton responded, and snapped his fingers. The last soldiers in his squad brought forward the Martin 30-30. “Here it is. He’ll be turned over to the Ephors for disposition of his case.”
King Agesilaus swaggered to the rim of the dais and bestowed a mocking gaze on the bound Helot. “Planning a little insurrection, were you, scum?”
“No, your lordship,” Grennell responded in a pathetic whine. “I’d never think of rebelling against our wonderful masters.”
“Did you use the rifle for target shooting, then?” Agesilaus taunted.
“My family used it for hunting, that’s all, your lordship.”
“Of course, my dear Helot.”
Grennell looked at the rope binding his arms, then at Captain Chiton.
His expression transformed into a mask of hatred and his lips twitched.
He impulsively took several steps, until a Spartan stopped him, and blurted out, “Would you grant me leniency, good kings, if I tell you the truth?”
“Do you really think we care?” Agesilaus rejoined.
“Your fate is in the hands of the Ephors,” Dercyllidas said. “We can’t influence the verdict of the judges.”
“But I have important information,” Grennell insisted.
“Sure you do,” declared King Agesilaus, and pressed his left palm to his forehead. “Your prattling is giving me a headache. Will someone shut him up?”
Grennell cried out shrilly, “But I do have information you’d want I know the name of a Spartan who is breaking the law by—”
Acting more in impulse than logical judgment, Blade spun and delivered an arching haymaker to the Helot’s chin. The punch lifted Grennell from his feet and sent him sailing for two yards before crashing to the floor.
No one else moved. Everyone appeared bewildered by the startling development.
Captain Chiton stared at the unconscious Helot, then at the Warrior.
“Why did you do that?” King Agesilaus demanded.
“You wanted him to stop prattling,” Blade noted.
“Yes. But what was that business about a Spartan who has broken the law?”
“I have no idea,” Blade answered, lying to save the officer. “And I’ll confess, I’ve wanted to lay him out ever since he tried to kill us.”
King Dercyllidas came halfway down the steps. “You say this Helot attempted to take your life?”
“Yes. He tried to shoot us.”
“I can substantiate that,” Captain Chilon interjected. “I spoke with a witness to the attack.”
“This is most serious,” King Dercyllidas said. “I trust you realize, Blade, that the Helot’s action wasn’t sanctioned by the Spartan government.
Helots aren’t permitted to own firearms. Do you know the reason he attempted to kill you?”
“No.”
“Well, the Crypteia will get the truth out of him,” Agesilaus stated, and nodded at two Spartans standing at the base of the dais. “Take him to General Agis. Inform the general he is to use every means at his disposal to wring this Helot dry, then turn the wretch over to the Ephors. I want to be informed of every word he utters. Understood?”