“If we should perish, don’t blame yourself,” Joshua advised. “Remember, even if our bodies are torn to pieces, our souls will still depart this world to where we go from here.”
Plato made a snorting sound. “Small consolation for the guilt I’d bear for the remainder of my earthly life.”
“The Spirit will guide us,” Joshua confidently stated. “If we do not return, simply consider it the will of the Supreme.”
“There is nothing simple about the will of the Supreme,” Plato corrected.
“Who among us can presume to perceive the purpose of the Spirit?”
“At times we can,” Joshua replied. “If we remain loyal to the Spirit and apply our souls to acquiring the perfection we were instructed to attain, we can periodically glimpse the outworking of the Spirit in our daily lives.
Not frequently, at first, but more clearly as we become more spiritual.
Surely you have enjoyed moments where the will of the Spirit seemed startlingly apparent?”
“There have been moments…” Plato agreed, marveling, again, at the wisdom Joshua constantly displayed, belying his evident lack of years and experience.
“I think the Egyptian summed it up best,” Joshua said.
“Egyptian?” When it came to religion, not even Plato was as sagacious and profound as Joshua. Plato’s expertise embraced philosophy and extended to the sciences, all of them.
“The Circles in the library makes reference to one called Amenemope, a sage in an ancient time. He believed that consciousness of the Spirit within us should be our paramount concern, eclipsing all others.”
Plato remembered perusing the book, years ago. “I’d wager Amenemope enjoyed sufficient leisure to augment such an achievement. Unfortunately, our continual struggle for our very existence precludes adequate opportunity for strictly spiritual pursuits. Most of the Family, although devoted to the Spirit, can’t find the time to spend in worship and prayer on a daily basis.”
“A little water, each day, is better for the nourishment of a plant than a sudden deluge,” Joshua stated.
“True. But how little is sufficient? Blade is a case in point.”
“Is he aware of your motivation for sending me with the Alpha Triad?” Joshua asked.
“I endeavored to explain my reasoning, but he doesn’t completely comprehend. He doesn’t fully appreciate that an aspect of his character is inadequately developed. I’m hopeful that prolonged exposure to your beliefs might influence his thinking, might ameliorate his harshness.”
Plato stared into Joshua’s eyes. “Do what you can with him.”
“What about Geronimo and Hickok?” Joshua inquired.
“Hickok?” Plato chuckled. “I seriously doubt whether Hickok is at all concerned with his spiritual growth. That one is a fighter. I expect he will remain a Warrior as long as he lives.”
“And Geronimo?”
Plato’s brow furrowed. “Geronimo is a puzzle. There is more to him than is initially apparent. He prefers to be a Warrior, but he occasionally displays aptitude for a higher calling. I don’t know what to make of him. Do you?”
Joshua shook his head. “He doesn’t talk much, and keeps to himself most of the time. He’s polite when approached, but he seldom initiates a conversation with me. I’ve noticed he is quite open with Blade and Hickok.”
“They’re his best friends and his Triad partners. It’s to be expected that they would be close.” Plato watched the diggers fling the dirt to one side of the now-gaping pit.
“Do you suppose the reason they relate so well is because all three of them have lost both parents? They’re the only Triad who’ve experienced such a profound personal loss.”
Plato was surprised by Joshua’s observation. “It never occurred to me,” he admitted. Wasn’t it amazing how things right in front of your nose could escape your notice?
A sudden commotion commenced at the pit.
“We’ve hit something hard!” someone exclaimed.
So soon? Plato hurried to the edge and looked down. They had indeed reached the surface of the entrance ramp.
“What is this?” a Family member asked.
“It is an opening,” Plato answered. “You must completely uncover it. The dimensions should be approximately thirty feet by thirty feet. After it is clear of dirt, search for three iron rings encased in the concrete. In the interim, someone fetch as much stout rope as we can muster. We will require it when the rings are found.”
The digging continued at a faster clip. The rope was brought and piled near the hole.
Plato remained at the edge of the pit. He glanced around, noting Joshua had departed. Blade, Geronimo, and Hickok were also gone, probably still collecting their supplies for the journey. Plato gazed at the entranceway.
He speculated, again, on whether the thing would function after all this time. Had it been preserved in serviceable condition? If otherwise, it availed them naught. Top scientists, brilliant men and women, had erected this chamber. If it was humanly possible to accomplish the task, they would have succeeded.
“We’ve found one of the rings!” someone shouted. Others clustered around to catch a glimpse of the iron imbedded in the concrete wall.
The Family was visibly excited, the diggers renewing their strenuous efforts, the spectators goading them on.
“Here’s another one!”
The second ring had been discovered.
Plato studied the rings. The first was in the center of the northern rim of the wall, the second in the center of the eastern edge. That left only the ring in the western edge. The southern edge did not include a ring; it was the hinge by which the door would swing open.
The sun was still ninety minutes from the far horizon.
Plato gazed over the compound. The Omega Triad had closed the drawbridge after the Family emerged from the survival chambers, and they now manned the lookout positions on the wall. All three of them, despite an obvious temptation to watch the excavation, were scanning the surrounding countryside for possible enemies. Vigorous Warrior training eventually resulted in ingrained reflexes, in strict adherence to duty and discipline. Security was a paramount Family concern, and only the ablest members were designated as Warriors, as guardians of the Family welfare.
“Here’s the third one!” came the cry.
All three rings had been revealed, and the diggers hastened to completely uncover the opening.
Soon, Plato knew, it would be soon. They were about to ascertain if the Family had any hope for continued survival, or whether they were doomed to bleak extinction, a minuscule dot on the passing page of human history.
Plato felt his stomach muscles tighten.
Chapter Five
After his conversation with Plato, Blade located Geronimo and Hickok in the crowd and led them to Block A, the Family armory.
“Hickok, you’re our firearms specialist. Any suggestions on what we should take?” Blade asked.
The gunman surveyed the huge chamber, the walls lined with rack after rack of assorted weaponry, rifles and shotguns, pistols and revolvers.
Crates of ammunition were piled up to the roof. Kurt Carpenter had known his precious Family would become engaged in a desperate struggle for existence after the nuclear holocaust, and he had prudently recognized that their ability to defend themselves, to persevere in a world where survival of the fittest was the norm, would be predicated on the firepower they possessed. Unlike food and medicine and even clothing, weapons, if kept sheltered from the elements, would endure the test of time and last generation after generation. Carpenter had selected arms of every sort, stockpiled ammo, and provided the equipment for gun repair and cartridge reloading.
“There’s no telling what we’ll go up against,” Hickok said thoughtfully.