None other than Kurt Carpenter had instituted the Naming ceremony.
At the age of sixteen all Family members were formally christened. They were permitted to retain the name bestowed on them at birth by their parents, or encouraged to select a new name, any name they wanted, hopefully from prewar history. Carpenter had worried that subsequent generations would eventually forget their historical antecedents, that they would shun any reference to World War Three and prior eras. This conviction was partially borne out by the reluctance of Family members to refer to the holocaust as exactly that; most preferred the colloquialism
“Big Blast” instead. Carpenter had wanted to insure that Family members never lost touch with their roots, with the causes and circumstances resulting in their current predicament. He had urged his followers to have their children search through the history books and choose the name of any historical figure they so desired as their very own. Henceforth, they would be known by that name. Family members were not forced to subscribe to this practice, but most adhered to it. A few kept the names given to them by their parents. Even fewer selected an entirely new name.
To discourage formality, Carpenter had dictated that surnames were taboo. In his eyes, last names bred a sense of false respect and fabricated civility. Family members were entitled to one name, and one name only.
The practice persisted. Sixteen-year-old Nathan, the budding gunman, chose Hickok. Sixteen-year-old Lone Elk selected Geronimo. Dark-haired Michael picked an entirely new name, consistent with his affinity for edged weapons, and became Blade. Robert, already envincing a decidedly spiritual nature, was designated Joshua. And an inquisitive sixteen-year-old formerly known as Clayton became Plato. The Naming became a ritual, the cognomen chosen predicated on personal preference.
Titles, however, were another matter. While Carpenter considered surnames hypocritical, he viewed titles as socially significant. Every member of the Family received an official title, whether it be Tiller, Empath, Healer, Warrior, or another. The title received was based on the area in which the greatest ability was demonstrated. Carpenter had detested the servile attitude adopted by many of his peers towards “Mr. President” or “Mr. Senator” or “Your Honor.” Every individual in the Family was to receive equal social status, and to insure this belief Carpenter had decreed that every Family member would receive a title.
Titles were badges of social distinction, and everyone had one. This tended to preclude any inclinations towards lording it over one another. As an added safeguard, Carpenter had prohibited the existence of professional rulers, or politicians. If any member exhibited a craving for power, an eagerness to rule, that member was to be immediately expelled from the Family, never to return. Those designated as Family leaders must receive a vote of agreement from a majority of the Family before any decisions could be implemented. One of the few exceptions concerned life-threatening situations, during which the Warriors could order others for their own safety and the defense of the Home.
This review passed through Plato’s mind while he waited for the digging equipment.
“Here they come,” someone announced, shattering his reverie.
The shovels and several picks were distributed, and Plato directed them to the proper spot for excavation. At least, he hoped it was the correct spot. This was one of the few secrets Kurt Carpenter had kept from his friends and followers. His diary did not contain any reference to it. The Family Leaders passed on the information from one to another verbally.
Fortunately, Blade’s father had relayed the information to Plato before the mutate claimed his life. Leaders were required to select their successors within three months of their installment as head of the Family, a practice designed to insure a smooth transition should the Leader be unexpectedly terminated. The Family was not obligated to vote the hand-picked heir in as the new Leader. It could pick another candidate if it wished, but in the one hundred years of Family history not one successor had been rejected.
Plato had already made it public knowledge that his desired replacement was Blade, and he knew Blade resented the prospect. Plato suspected Blade recalled the turmoil and stress, the constant pressure his father had been under. Leadership necessitated numerous daily decisions, many of which placed the entire Family’s welfare at stake.
Plato had been Family Leader for four years. Shortly after his official installment, he had taken Blade aside and cryptically informed him, in case it should become necessary to travel an extended distance from the Home, to dig in front of E Block. Blade wanted to know more, but Plato hedged, a trifle uncertain. Blade was young, and youth was prone to hasty, impetuous action. The temptation might be more than Blade could resist.
Plato wondered if Blade remembered his instruction. He glanced at the Warrior and was pleased to detect the glimmering of dawning understanding reflected in Blade’s facial features.
The Family was denied knowledge of the secret for the same reason Plato had refused to completely confide in Blade: fear that the temptation would be irresistible, that someone would be compelled to use it before the proper time.
The digging was continuing at a frantic pace, the Family excited and intrigued by what might lie below the surface. When one member tired, the shovel or pick was passed to another.
Plato gazed upward at the late afternoon sun, squinting. Yes, if they continued at this rate, they would uncover the hidden chamber with an hour or so of daylight left. Ample time to open the door and inspect the contents.
Blade approached Plato. “What’s under there?” he asked.
“Wait and see,” Plato answered, his eyes twinkling.
Blade stretched, his huge biceps and triceps bulging. The day was hot, and he was wearing a torn, faded brown shirt, short-sleeved, his usual green pants, patched together from the remnants of a torn canvas, and the typical Family footwear, moccasins. His finely muscled body glistened in the sun, his brawny development the result of a rigorous dedication to a daily exercise regimen. Only two or three others came close to matching his superb physique. Twin Bowies hung suspended from either hip.
“It’s a vehicle of some sort, isn’t it?” Blade inquired.
“You’ll see,” Plato said.
“You’re enjoying every second of this,” Blade commented, grinning.
“Wouldn’t you?” Plato smiled. “I haven’t seen them this enthused in ages!”
“They’re not the only ones,” Blade said. “Hickok is chomping at the bit to be off on this great adventure.”
“Which reminds me,” Plato mentioned. “Perhaps you should find Hickok and Geronimo and select your provisions. You’ll require sufficient firepower and ammunition to defend yourselves, food, and water. We possess several compasses that are functional. Take one, and whatever else you feel you need.”
“Let’s see,” Blade deliberated. “A Block and F Block should contain most of it. We’ll get right to it.” He walked off, scanning the crowd, searching for the other two-thirds of his Triad.
The minutes passed, turned into another hour.
Joshua came up to Plato, the gold chain and cross he always wore gleaming in the sun. “Did you broach it to Blade?” he asked.
“I did,” Plato confirmed.
“And the result?”
“You will be leaving with the Alpha Triad tomorrow, probably around midday.”
“Then I will spend tonight in prayer to the Spirit that our expedition will be a successful one,” Joshua said in his quiet, reserved style of speech.
“Just pray you all return to the Home safely,” Plato amended.