David Robbins - Citadel Run

“I’m sorry, sir,” Captain Rice said.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Colonel Jarvis snapped, watching the two soldiers. “The driver will be reprimanded when we return to headquarters.”

“Should we tie them up, sir?” Rice inquired, nodding at Blade and Geronimo.

“Yes,” Jarvis nodded. “You’d better. It wouldn’t look too good on our records if another one were to escape.”

“I hope we haven’t ruined your day,” Blade said pleasantly.

“Not at all,” Jarvis assured him. “It’s you who will have his day ruined very shortly.”

“How’s that?” Blade asked as two troopers secured his arms behind his broad back.

“When we reach our destination,” Colonel Jarvis declared.

“The Citadel?” Blade fished for confirmation.

Jarvis shook his head. “No, dear boy. Much, much closer than the Citadel.”

“Can you give us a hint?” Geronimo interjected.

Jarvis glanced at both of them. “Do either of you play golf?”

The burial detail completed, Yama was relaxing on the front porch, leaning against one of the porch posts, when Adam emerged from the Mason house. Seth and Gail were inside, Seth preparing a sketch of the Citadel and Gail fussing in the kitchen.

“Mr. Yama,” Adam said, “can I talk to you a minute?”

“Didn’t I say to call me Yama?” Yama questioned him.

“I’m sorry. My folks always say to be polite.” Adam sat down on the top step.

“The place I’m from,” Yama told him, “we’re not allowed to call each other mister or miss.”

“You’re not? Why not?” the boy inquired.

“The man who founded my Home didn’t believe in a lot of phony politeness and servility. He wanted everyone to enjoy equal social status in our Family. Everyone is given a title according to the work they do, whether it be Warrior, like myself, or Tiller, for those who tend the soil, or Carpenter or Artist or Empath or whatever. And, like I said earlier, we get to pick the name we want to use for the rest of our lives when we turn sixteen. So everyone has one name and one title and that’s it. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Adam said thoughtfully. “It sounds like the way you do it is fair to everybody.”

“It works for us.”

“It’s not that way here,” Adam said. “In the Civilized Zone everybody is always bossing everybody else around. You saw those mean soldiers. My dad says it’s even worse in the cities like the Citadel. He says that’s why we live on the ranch, so we don’t have to beg or…” Adam strived to recall the word his father had often used. “Or grovel.” He grinned.

“Your family will never grovel at the place I’m taking you,” Yama promised him.

“If we get there,” Adam stated.

“Why do you say that?”

“I heard my mom and dad talking,” Adam elaborated. “They aren’t too sure well make it, especially my mom. She doesn’t think you’ll come back from the Citadel.”

“I intend to return,” Yama pledged.

“I hope so,” the boy said affectionately. “I don’t have a whole lot of friends, living way out here on the ranch and all.”

“You’ll make a lot of new friends at my Home,” Yama informed him. “I think you’ll like it there very much.”

“Can I ask you something?” Adam ventured tentatively.

“What?”

“About all those guns and stuff. What kind are they?”

Yama held up his machine gun. “This is called a Wilkinson Carbine, converted to full automatic and adapted to hold a fifty-shot magazine.” He touched the pistol under his right arm. “This is a Browning Hi-Power 9-millimeter Automatic Pistol. The revolver under my other arm is a Smith and Wesson Model 586 Distinguished Combat Magnum.”

“Wow!” Adam enthused, impressed. “You sure know an awful lot about guns. What’s that funny sword called?”

“It’s called a scimitar,” Yama explained, “and my survival knife is called a Razorback.”

“Someday I’m going to have guns and knives just like yours,” Adam vowed earnestly.

“You should grow up to be like your father,” Yama said, frowning.

“Become a tiller of the soil. Put constructive purpose into your life. Don’t fill it with death. Don’t become attracted to the darker side of human nature.”

“Having a ranch is boring compared to what you do,” Adam declared.

Before Yama could respond, the screen door swung open and Seth walked outside, a piece of paper clutched in his left hand. “Here,” he said.

“I’m finished.”

Yama took the paper and studied the crude sketch.

“It will give you some idea of what’s in the Citadel,” Seth mentioned.

“The city isn’t like what it used to be before the war. Cheyenne is much bigger now. The population swelled to over a million people after the Government forced evacuations from elsewhere in the country, mostly back east and up north. I think the Citadel is the third largest population center in the Civilized Zone. At least, that’s what they tell us. Denver is the largest, but then it’s the capital.”

“Thank you,” Yama accepted the map. “It will expedite my business in Cheyenne immensely.” He didn’t reveal he already had a detailed map of the Citadel, meticulously drawn by a recent addition to the Family, a creature once belonging to the Doktor’s Genetic Research Division.

“I still wish we could talk you out of going,” Seth said.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” Yama divulged.

“So soon?”

“I must,” Yama disclosed. “I want to enter the Citadel at night. The cover of darkness will augment my chances of success. If I leave soon, I should be there within four hours.”

“When will you get back here?” Seth inquired anxiously. “The longer we stay here, the greater the danger to my family.”

“I intend to spend only one night in the Citadel,” Yama revealed. “If all goes well, I should be here by tomorrow noon at the latest.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Seth stated. “We don’t have any other choice.”

“I can imagine how you must feel,” Yama said sympathizing. “You’re about to abandon the work of a lifetime, your home and relatives and friends. Don’t despair. Considering the alternative, you are doing what is best for your loved ones.”

“I certainly hope so,” Seth said, his worry etched in his features.

“You shouldn’t be in any great danger while I’m gone,” Yama opined.

“They probably won’t send out another patrol to search for the one I terminated until tomorrow, possibly later if this patrol had others stops to make. I’ve hidden all of their weapons in your barn. Can you shoot?”

“We all can,” Seth answered. “I have two hunting rifles and a revolver hidden under my bedroom floor. They’re illegal to own.”

“Good. So the M-16’s will come in handy if you are attacked. But like I said,” Yama added hastily, hoping to alleviate Seth’s evident anxiety, “it’s very unlikely they’ll send anyone else out here for at least a day.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Yama slowly stood. “I’d better change. Will you watch over my own clothes while I’m gone?”

“I’ll do it,” Adam eagerly volunteered.

“Are you planning to take your own guns or one of the M-16’s?” Seth inquired.

“Why?”

“Well, you’d be less likely to draw attention if you’re carrying an M-16.”

“I know,” Yama acknowledged, “which is another reason I’m going in at night. My skills are at maximum effectiveness using versatile arsenals. I can hide my revolver and pistol under the uniform shirt, no problem. In the dark, my Wilkinson shouldn’t be too conspicuous if I carry it close to my leg.”