David Robbins - Dakota Run

“So what are we going to do?” Hickok queried. “Wait for them to attack us in force?”

“What else can we do?” Plato inquired. “Our vastly inferior number precludes any major offensive move on our part.”

“We can’t just sit on our butts!” Hickok mumbled.

“I’m open to any viable suggestions,” Plato said.

“What about sending one of the Warriors to assassinate the Doktor and Samuel?” Hickok recommended.

Plato gazed at the gunman, half expecting he was joking. “Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

“Intriguing concept,” Plato acknowledged, “but hardly feasible. Even if we could actualize the logistics, the results aren’t necessarily guaranteed to achieve our goals.”

“Could you say that again in English?” Hickok wryly requested.

“Even if we did kill Samuel and the Doktor,” Plato elaborated, “it wouldn’t insure our safety.”

“Why not?”

“For all we know, someone else would come along and fill their shoes.

We’d be right back where we started.” Plato shook his head, his gray beard swaying. “No, that isn’t the answer.”

“What is?”

“We must amass sufficient strength to effectively repel the Watchers or successfully invade the Civilized Zone.”

Hickok chuckled. “Now you’re talkin’ my kind of language!”

They were abreast of the cabins. A dozen or so Family members were clustered nearby, watching. “Is everything under control?” one of them called to Plato.

The Family Leader waved and smiled. “Everything is fine! Our Warriors have the situation well in hand. Resume your activities.”

They walked a little further.

“So how are we going to ‘amass sufficient strength’?” Hickok asked, grinning, stressing the last three words.

“We may engage in a treaty with the Moles,” Plato said.

Hickok chuckled. He’d encountered the Moles while Blade and Geronimo were in Kalispell, Montana. The Moles lived in a huge earthen mound approximately one hundred miles southeast of the Home. They survived by raiding other communities and stealing whatever they required. He’d offered a pact to the head of the Moles before he’d departed their company. “If you’re waiting to hear from them,” Hickok said to Plato, “I wouldn’t hold my breath!”

“What about the people in the Twin Cities?” Plato asked.

Hickok stopped and scowled at Plato. “What about them?” he demanded, annoyed. “Blade, Geronimo, and I were there months ago. We told those people we’d return in thirty days and look at how long it’s been!

They wanted to join us, to come here and live, if not in the Home then one of the abandoned towns nearby. They wanted to be our friends and we deserted them.”

“We haven’t deserted anyone,” Plato disagreed. “We couldn’t help it if other, more important matters arose. May I remind you we finally retrieved the scientific and medical equipment and supplies we needed in Kalispell?”

“So you’re going to allow Alpha Triad to return to the Twin Cities?”

Hickok pressed him.

“Yes,” Plato stated. “As soon as Geronimo re…”

“That could be weeks!” Hickok snapped. “Who knows how long it will take me to find him if he isn’t back here in a week?”

“It can’t be helped,” Plato said. “Can it?”

“No. I reckon not,” Hickok ruefully concluded.

“In the meantime,” Plato went on, “I have another plan concerning the Doktor and Samuel II.”

“Oh?” Hickok’s interest piqued. “Like what? I thought my assassin idea was a good one.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a spy,” Plato revealed.

“A spy?”

“Affirmative.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?” Hickok prodded him.

Plato thoughtfully stroked his beard as they moved toward the Blocks.

“I’m considering sending one of the Warriors to infiltrate the Civilized Zone. It wouldn’t be an easy task, granted, and would be fraught with risk, but if it’s successful, if the Warrior manages to return to the Home, we could learn invaluable information concerning their strengths and, of critical significance, their exploitable weaknesses.”

“Just anywhere in the Civilized Zone?” Hickok inquired. “Or do you have a definite destination in mind?”

Plato grinned. “Very astute, Nathan. Yes, I am thinking of sending the Warrior to infiltrate the Citadel at Cheyenne, Wyoming, using one of the vehicles confiscated from the Watcher patrol. Which is another reason I had them ambushed.”

Hickok whistled. “That’s quite a challenge, Plato. I volunteer.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

“Why?”

“Because this mission is so dangerous, because the odds against its successful completion are so overwhelming, I’ve decided to have the Warriors draw lots. Short straw wins. Or loses, depending on how you look at it.” Plato grimaced, bothered by a painful twinge in his left thigh.

“Sounds fair to me,” Hickok commented. “When does this spy mission get off the ground?”

“If we used one of the jeeps we’ve confiscated from the Watchers, we could send our spy out at the same time Alpha Triad leaves for the Twin Cities,” Plato proposed.

“That would leave the Home mighty short of Warriors,” the gunman pointed out.

“Not if we select the new Triad and the new Warrior for Gamma,” Plato noted.

“As usual, old-timer,” Hickok complimented him, “you have this thought out to the smallest detail.”

“When you are responsible for the lives of so many people,” Plato stated, “you realize how crucial every detail is.”

“So when will we hold the swearing in for the new Warriors?” Hickok questioned him.

“The induction ceremonies will be held as soon as Blade makes his final recommendations,” Plato replied. “The Elders will review Blade’s suggestions and scrutinize the candidates. If Blade makes his selections within the next couple of days, as expected, we’ll hold the induction ceremonies within the week.”

“Fine by me,” Hickok commented, wondering if Sherry would be one of the final candidates.

They were in the center of the cleared space between the Blocks, and they finished their trip to C Block in quite reflection.

Many Family members were gathered in front of the infirmary, engaged in animated conversation, discussing the fight and its implications. A chorus of voices was raised as Plato and Hickok approached.

“What’s going on, Plato?”

“What happened to Blade?”

“What was all the shooting about?”

“What’s that thing Hickok’s carrying?”

Plato stopped and raised his arms aloft.

The crowd grew quiet.

“Brothers and sisters! We have been subjected to another attack from the Civilized Zone. None of the Family has been killed, although several have been injured. In one hour, after I have conversed with those involved and consulted with the Healers concerning the extent of their injuries, we will hold a Family conclave on the commons. Kindly save your questions until then.” Plato smiled at them and led Hickok into the infirmary.

Of the four Healers, only three were on duty. Jenny was absent, and there was no sign of Blade. Gremlin was lying on one of the dozen cots in the room, unconscious. Two of the Healers were tending to his wounds. In a far corner of the spacious chamber, on two cots in the corner, were the two captured Watchers guarded by Spartacus and Seiko.

“Here’s a present for you, Nightingale,” Hickok said to a young woman.

Nightingale glanced up from her treatment of Gremlin and mopped at her sweaty brow with the back of her left hand. Her brown hair was disheveled and her clothes in disarray. “Thanks. Just what we needed! Leave it to you!”