David Robbins - Atlanta Run

Our moral values and ethics are not limited by childish concepts of right and wrong. There is no right and wrong. There is only the good life, what we feel is best for us at any given moment. The quest for the good life is good for all.”

“And you really believe all that garbage?”

“Wholeheartedly,” Sol responded. “Our society is perfect. Our citizens can satisfy their every need and interest. If it doesn’t harm others, they’re free to do whatever they want consistent with their civil liberties. Sexual expression, abortion, birth control, divorce, you name it.”

“So long as the people obey your laws, there’s no problem,” Blade said.

“Every civilized society has laws,” Sol noted.

“But not every civilized society uses laws to enslave its people.”

“I can see this is getting us nowhere,” Sol declared. He glanced at the other Peers. “We should proceed to the formal disposition of the subject.”

“At last,” Merely commented.

“Give him to Orientation,” Lilith proposed. “We’ll probe his mind, uncover his innermost secrets.”

“I say immediate termination is best,” Morley suggested.

“We should learn more about him first,” Alec Toine said. “Where does he come from? Why did he want to see Llewellyn Snow? What connection does he have to Richard Snow?”

“I agree,” Sol declared. “This man is a mystery, and I don’t like mysteries.” He smiled at the giant. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to answer all of our questions.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to jump off this building,” Blade responded.

Sol reached down and produced the Bowies. “The Storm Police found these when they were binding you. You must have a fetish for large knives.”

“The better to gut you with, Grandma,” Blade quipped.

Diekrick hefted the twin knives. “You won’t cooperate with us. We could use drugs to elicit the information I want, but someone with your willpower and constitution could resist indefinitely. I don’t intend to wait.”

“What will we do?” Lilith asked.

“There is a better way,” Sol said, smirking at the Warrior. “You will tell me everything I want to know.”

“What makes you think so?” Blade countered.

Sol Diekrick leaned over the lip of the wall, grinning wickedly. “Let me put it to you this way. How do you feel about weenie roasts?”

“Are you sure those two will take good care of the princess?”

“Scarlet and Jane will protect Chastity with their lives.”

“Have they ever baby-sat before?”

Locklin looked at the gunfighter in annoyance. “Will you give me a break? Chastity is in good hands.” He hurried ahead, muttering. “You’d think you were her father, the way you act!”

“Now what in the blazes got into that yahoo?” Hickok asked.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, walking on the gunman’s right, grinned. “You like the child, don’t you?”

“I reckon I’m a mite fond of her,” Hickok confessed. “She saved my hide yesterday.”

“So you’ve said,” Rikki mentioned. “About three dozen times.”

“I was tickled pink when I saw you walk into the clearing,” Hickok said.

“Another ape would’ve driven me bananas.”

Rikki glanced at his friend. “Have you made your decision yet?”

“She told you?”

“Last night, when we were sitting around the campfire,” Rikki disclosed. “She calls me Uncle Rikki now.”

“Well, Uncle Rikki, I need your advice.”

“ You are asking for advice?” Rikki responded in surprise.

“What’s the big deal?”

“You never ask for advice,” Rikki said.

“I’m askin’ now.”

“The decision is yours,” Rikki stated.

Hickok frowned. “Remind me to never ask for your advice again.”

“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes,” Rikki added.

“Are you tryin’ to cheer me up or depress me?” the gunman asked.

“I just want to help.”

Hickok made a snorting sound. “If you call this helpin’, I’d hate to see it when you’re being wishy-washy.”

“Will you two clowns keep the noise down?” Locklin snapped over his right shoulder.

“Cranky cuss, isn’t he?” Hickok said. He scanned the forest ahead, noting the point men 30 yards away, then stared along their back trail at the 32 men and women in green trudging toward the metropolis. Periodic breaks in the foliage enabled him to see the skyscrapers several miles distant.

“We should be there before nightfall,” Locklin announced.

Hickok gazed at the afternoon sun. “We should have gone in this morning.”

Locklin heard the comment and slowed to hike alongside the Warriors.

“Trying to enter the city in broad daylight would be suicide.”

“I hope this plan of yours works,” Hickok said.

The rebel leader’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you like me?”

“Why would you say that?” Hickok responded.

“You’ve been so critical of every decision I’ve made,” Locklin mentioned. “You didn’t like the idea of leaving Chastity with Scarlet and Jane, and you griped about my plan to wait until an hour before the Civil Council meeting to enter Atlanta.”

“It’s nothin’ personal,” Hickok assured him. “I’m worried about my pard, is all.”

“If your friend, Blade, is still alive, we’ll find him,” Locklin promised.

“If Blade isn’t alive, the Peers will regret the day they were born,” Hickok said.

They reached a field.

Locklin double-checked to insure the sky was clear of planes before giving the signal to advance.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask you something,” Hickok said as they started to cross.

“What is it?” Locklin responded.

“We have this gigantic library at our Home. When I was knee high to a whippoorwill, I spent many an hour readin’ all kinds of books. Westerns were my favorite, but I read other kinds. And one of them was about this gent who lived centuries ago in England. He was famous for robbin’ from the rich and givin’ to the poor. Like you, he was partial to the bow and arrow. Like you, he wore green all the time. And like you, he had a band of—what were they called?— happy hunters who would follow him anywhere.” Hickok hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. “Any connection?”

Locklin had listened with a smile spreading over his countenance. “You surprise me. Very few people know about Robin Hood.”

“Then there is a connection?”

“I came across a book on him and decided to emulate his style,” Locklin detailed. “Robin Hood was a master of the hit-and-run, a true guerrilla fighter. I patterned my band after him, and I gave each of them a code name based on the book. The Peers don’t know who some of us are, and there’s no reason to make their identification of us an easy job. Many of us have relatives living in the city, and to protect them we screen our true identities.”

“What’s your real name?” Hickok asked.

“Matthew. Matthew Brody.”

Hickok looked over his left shoulder at the one they called Big John.

“And him?”

“His real name is Harold Cridlebaugh.”

“I should’ve known,” the gunman said.

“Speaking of questions,” Rikki interjected, “there is an issue we haven’t discussed yet.”

“What is it?” Locklin responded.

“What will happen if you slay the Peers?”

“The people of Atlanta will finally be free,” Locklin said. “There will be celebrating in the streets.”

“Will there?”

“I don’t follow you,” Locklin stated.

“Is your small band representative of the populace of Atlanta?” Rikki probed. “Do you speak for a majority of the people, or are you in the minority? If you kill the Peers, what next? Will the people rise up to support you? Will new Peers arise? How will the Storm Police react? Will they stand idly by, or will they be actively involved in the redistribution of power?” He paused. “What will happen?”