David Robbins - Dallas Run

Blade discerned the skepticism in her tone, and knew she suspected him of withholding information. “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

“It’s not here to pick you up?” Jenny asked.

“I don’t know why the jet is here,” Blade insisted. “Id better go find out.” He took a step.

Jenny moved in front of him, preventing him from advancing. “What if they want you to accept another assignment?”

“We don’t know if they do.”

“Why else would a Hurricane arrive at the Home unexpectedly? A crisis must be brewing somewhere and they need you to ride to the rescue like you always do,” Jenny said bitterly.

Blade placed his hands on her shoulders and spoke tenderly. “What if they do need me? Would you have me refuse?”

“You could.”

He frowned and stared at the ground. “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” Jenny demanded. “Why must you always be the one? Why can’t one of the other Warriors go instead? You don’t need to lead every mission.”

Blade looked at her, his brow knitting. “I can’t run from my responsibilities. I’m the head Warrior and I’m the head of the Force.

When they need me, I must go.”

Frustration formed in the lines of her lovely face and she clenched her fists. “It’s not fair, Blade! It’s just not fair! We’re finally back to normal as a family again. Gabe will be brokenhearted if you leave.”

“We don’t know if I have to,” he reiterated, and took her into his arms.

For several seconds she angrily resisted his embrace, and he could feel the tenseness in her shoulders and arms. Gradually Jenny relaxed, her left cheek pressing against his chest, her right arm draped around his broad back.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized huskily.

“I understand.”

“It isn’t fair for me to take out my resentment on you,” Jenny said.

“Believe me, I understand,” Blade reiterated, as always sensitive to her innermost thoughts and emotions. They had been sweethearts since childhood, and over the years an intuitive bond had developed between them, an almost clairvoyant perception of each other’s sentiments and desires. His sensitivity made him all the more distressed whenever his duties required him to leave the Home on extended runs. To him, being separated from Jenny and Gabe qualified as the ultimate torture. “Say—”

he began, and coughed.

“Yes?”

“How would you react if I quit the Warriors?”

Jenny pushed back and glanced up. “What?”

“It’s been six months since I flew off in one of the Hurricanes on a mission, and you’re as upset now as you were back then. If my leaving is that much of an ordeal, if my position as the top Warrior and the head of the Force is having such a terrible effect on Gabe and you, then maybe I should seriously consider retiring from both,” Blade proposed, and kissed her on the forehead. “Your happiness is more important to me than anything else in the world. I won’t allow anything or anyone to ruin our marriage, to put a rift between us. I’d rather sacrifice my job than lose you.”

Tears suddenly welled in her eyes, and she threw her arms about him and squeezed him tightly. “Oh, dearest!” she said. “I never meant for you to give up being a Warrior!”

Blade stroked her hair, waiting.

“Plato and the Elders believe you’re the best Warrior the Family has ever seen, and I know in my heart they’re right,” Jenny went on. “Being a Warrior fits you to a T. You’re perfect for the job, and you could no more stop serving the Family as a Warrior than you could stop breathing.” She paused and took a breath. “The problem isn’t your being the top Warrior.

The problem is the Freedom Force post.”

“I know,” Blade said softly.

“Then just disband the Freedom Force permanently.”

“The decision isn’t mine to make,” Blade replied, gazing at the Hurricane. “The leaders of the Federation formed the Force, and any final decision rests with them. I doubt they’d agree to disband the Force on a permanent basis. We have too many enemies who would gleefully grind the Federation into the dust. There’s the Russians, the Technics, the Superiors, the Lords of Kismet, and others. We can’t afford to be caught off guard. Freedom, as Plato would say, is only preserved through diligence.”

“Then ask the Federation leaders to pick someone else to head the Force,” Jenny suggested. “Hickok, Geronimo, Rikki, Spartacus, or Yama could handle the job, no problem.”

“Any one of them could,” Blade agreed.

“Will you ask?”

“In due time. I have six months in which to make up my mind about whether I’ll stay on the Force or not. Until then, if an emergency should arise, I’ll have to go.”

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re stalling?” Jenny asked.

“I might be,” Blade conceded. “Sometimes the best way to solve a problem is to let it resolve itself.”

“And sometimes the problem just becomes worse,” Jenny noted.

“True,” Blade said, and stared at the jet again. The aircraft was descending slowly. As a VTOL, a jet with vertical-takeoff-and-landing capability, the Hurricane did not need a lengthy runway to land or take off. Much like a helicopter, the VTOL could drop to the ground or rise straight up. Once airborne, the unique aircraft could attain supersonic speeds on sustained flights. The Free State of California possessed a pair of Hurricanes, perhaps the only such aircraft in existence.

“You’d better go,” Jenny said, moving aside, nervously wringing the towel.

“Be seeing you,” Blade said, and kissed her lightly on the lips. He hastened westward, hoping that there was a logical, mundane reason for the presence of the VTOL. The two aircraft were frequently utilized to shuttle the Federation leaders to periodic conclaves, but the next conclave wasn’t scheduled to be held for another two months. The jets were also used to run a monthly courier service between the Federation factions, and the last regular courier flight had been ten days ago. So the purpose behind the VTOL’s visit must be something out of the ordinary.

“Hey, pard! Wait for us!”

Blade halted and turned to find Hickok and Geronimo jogging toward him.

“We dropped off the young’uns at my cabin,” the gunfighter stated as they came within a few feet and stopped. “My missus will feed their faces, then get Jenny and Geronimo’s squeeze and they’ll all come find us.”

“My squeeze !” Geronimo said. “She has a name, you know. And I’d wish you’d make up your mind.”

“About what?” Hickok asked.

“About your vocabulary. One minute you’re using that ridiculous, phony Wild West talk you like so much, and the next you’re using everyday slang.”

“What’s wrong with that?” the gunfighter asked.

“It bugs me. You sound even more idiotic than usual.”

Hickok made a snorting noise. “Excuse me for living. It’s not my fault you can’t recognize eloquence when you hear it.”

“Eloquence? Shakespeare was eloquent. Lord Byron was eloquent.

Joseph Conrad was eloquent. Compared to them. you’re mentally defective,” Geronimo said, and paused. “Actually, compared to a toad you’re mentally defective.”

“I can palaver as good as the next bozo,” Hickok said.

Geronimo looked at Blade. “I rest my case.”

“Let’s go,” Blade directed, and headed for the west wall, knowing the VTOL would land in the cleared field outside the drawbridge. While the Founder had wisely foreseen many of the Family’s needs and constructed and stocked the compound accordingly, Carpenter had not anticipated they would require a landing area for visiting aircraft. The eastern portion of the Home was preserved in its natural state or devoted to agriculture.