David Robbins - Yellowstone Run

“You do that,” Star said coldly. “But for right now, you must abide by my wishes and the treaty we signed. Is this clearly understood?”

“Of course,” Iron Wolf replied.

Plato placed his right hand on Blade’s arm. “I’d like to talk to you for a minute in private.” He looked at Star. “If you’ll excuse us?”

“Certainly.”

The Family Leader walked to the south, the giant right beside him, and clasped his hands behind his thin back. He waited until they were out of earshot before turning to his protege. “What was that all about?”

“He just rubbed me the wrong way,” Blade answered.

“I know better. You never provoke anyone without a valid reason,” Plato said, studying the Warrior’s face. “I took you under my wing when your dad was killed, remember? I can safely assert that the only one who knows you better than I do is your wife. So what was that all about?”

Blade rested his hands on his Bowies. “I suspect Iron Wolf is a power monger.”

Plato glanced at the War Chief, thinking of the edicts laid down by Kurt Carpenter against permitting power mongers to flourish in the Family.

The Founder had considered power-mongering politicians to be the scourge of the prewar society and strictly outlawed their existence. If any man or woman displayed a tendency to lord it over other Family members, that person was to be cast out from the Home. “What makes you think so?”

“Little things.”

“Be specific.”

“The way he talks, the way he acts.”

Plato snickered. “Do you call those specifics?”

“I’m serious. I suspect he intends to take control of the Flatheads from Star.”

“Perhaps he does,” Plato said. “Is that any of our business?”

Blade displayed surprise. “Of course it is. The Flatheads are our allies. If there’s a power monger in their midst, we owe it to them to weed him out.”

“Do we?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“You’ve rightfully pointed out that as head of the Force you have the right to deal with external threats to the security of the Federation as you see fit,” Plato said. “But I would question whether you have the right to meddle in the internal affairs of each faction unless those affairs posed a threat to the Federation as a whole.”

“Are you saying we should mind our own business?”

“What do you think?”

Blade looked at Star and Iron Wolf. “I think you’re wrong. How can you stand by and do nothing when the woman you helped raise could be in jeopardy?”

“We don’t know that she is. For all we know, Iron Wolf could simply have an attitude problem. He might be prejudiced, might be a bigot. But that’s not ample justification for one to jump down his throat every time he opens his mouth.”

The Warrior shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m hearing you say this.”

“And I’m beginning to wonder if your position as head of the Force hasn’t gone to your head.”

Blade did a double take.

“You must be careful not to overstep your bounds,” Plato advised. “You must walk a tightrope of responsibility, with the safety of the Federation on one hand and the rights of each Federation member on the other. An unwarranted mistake, such as an unauthorized interference in the internal business of any member, could well endanger the very existence of the Federation.”

The giant stared thoughtfully at his mentor. “I never gave that aspect of the Force position much consideration.”

“Then it’s time you did so.” Plato smiled and nudged the giant. “Now let’s rejoin our visitors. And please, for my sake, resist any temptation to pound Iron Wolf to a pulp. Extend the man the benefit of the doubt until you uncover concrete evidence that he’s a power monger.”

“I’ll try.” Blade pledged. “Just be thankful I’m not Hickok.”

Plato laughed at the notion. “One Hickok per planet is quite enough, thank you.”

The strolled slowly toward the Flatheads.

“You know what I have to do about the attacks, don’t you?” Blade said.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be leaving within the hour. The sooner we reach Yellowstone, the better. Laslo will fly us there.”

“Who will you take along?”

“Hickok and Geronimo,” Blade replied, then grinned” And two others.”

“Yama and Rikki?”

“No. I was thinking of Achilles.”

Plato abruptly halted and pivoted. “Achilles? He’s not a Warrior.”

“But he wants to become one. And the only way he’ll ever be accepted is if he proves himself to everyone’s satisfaction. I’d like to take him with me to give him the chance to do just that.”

“This is a most unusual request,” Plato said. “Only full-fledged Warriors have gone on runs in the past.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

“Anything. You know that.”

“Call an impromptu meeting of the Elders. Present my request and get their consent.”

Plato absently stroked his mustache, reflecting. After half a minute he nodded. “Consider it done.”

“Thanks.”

They resumed walking and had gone five yards when Plato stopped again.

“Wait a minute. You said you wanted to take two others on this mission. Achilles and who else?”

“The last person you would ever expect.”

“Is this a guessing game? Who is it? Lynx?”

“No.”

“Helen again? After all the trouble she gave you the last time, I wouldn’t expect you to take her along.”

“It’s not Helen.”

“Then who?” Plato asked impatiently.

Blade stared al the Flathead War Chief and grinned. “Mr. Personality himself.”

Plato gazed at Iron Wolf and shook his head. “Perhaps I was mistaken about knowing you very well.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re more of a glutton for punishment than I thought.

“There goes our ticket home,” Geronimo commented.

Blade gazed skyward at the Hurricane streaking to the east, a gleaming arrow in the azure sky, and hefted the Commando Arms Carbine in his left hand. “Pete will be back to pick us up at this exact spot in one week.”

“I just hope we can get the job done by then,” Hickok mentioned.

“These Bear critters might not be easy to track down.”

“Never fear, my fellow Warrior. We shall persevere and triumph because the Spirit is with us,” declared the handsomely proportioned man to their left in his resonant voice.

“Whatever you say, Achilles,” Hickok responded dryly.

Blade looked at the aspiring Warrior, hoping he had done the right thing in bringing the man along.

Before his Naming, before the formal ceremony all Family members went through at the age of 16 when they were permitted to pick whatever name they wanted as their very own—a ceremony instituted by the Founder in an effort to insure his descendants maintained a historical connection to their past—Achilles had been known as James Cooper. He’d chosen his new name because of his abiding passion for the works of Homer, particularly The Iliad , a work he had read from cover to cover 24 times, corresponding to once for every year of his life.

Achilles stood six feet in height and possessed a muscular physique. A golden halo of blond curls adorned his head, and eyes the color of turquoise regarded the world at large with frank fearlessness. In keeping with the Family tradition of encouraging every man and woman to wear whatever clothing they felt best expressed their individuality, Achilles had prevailed on the Weavers to construct a special one-piece garment for him, a knee-length black tunic girded at the waist by a brown leather belt six inches wide. He wore heavy sandals, except in the winter when he preferred moccasins. The item of his apparel that drew the most attention was his flowing red cloak, which fell almost to his ankles and billowed in the wind from the northwest.