David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

“There’s no one else here,” Napoleon informed the other two men, and walked nearer to the fallen tree. He was wearing his customary garb, consisting of an old Air Force uniform with the holes patched and the seams resewn. Napoleon had added a personal touch, bright silver buttons and a red sash around his stocky waist.

Cindy crouched lower behind the tree. The three men were on the other side of the trunk, unaware she was so close.

“The sentry on the west wall can see us,” commented the second man, a tall Warrior with light, closely cropped hair and sparkling blue eyes. He wore buckskin pants and a brown shirt, the shirt pieced together from several discarded pillowcases. Strapped to his waist was a long broadsword.

“So what if he does, Spartacus?” Napoleon said. “He’ll assume we’re conducting a training session, or holding a private meeting. It’s not against Family rules to have private meetings,” he added bitterly. “Yet.”

“I just don’t like it,” Spartacus stated.

“Where else can we talk?” Napoleon asked harshly. “There are very few places in the entire Home where a person can go to be truly alone. It’s just another of the many reasons I detest this place!”

Cindy eased her body to a prone position.

“We know how you feel,” the third Warrior threw in, his tone conveying a slight impatience. “We’ve listened to you often enough.”

Napoleon glared at the third member of Gamma Triad. “If I didn’t know better, Seiko,” he said icily, “I’d swear you’d lost your enthusiasm for our little enterprise.” His right hand drifted to the revolver he wore on his right hip.

Seiko laughed. He was one of the half-dozen Family members with an Oriental lineage. His complete wardrobe—his shirt, pants, and even his shoes—was black, fabricated from a soft, yet durable, material. He did not appear to be bearing any weaponry. “Yon know I could care less about your little enterprise,” Seiko said to Napoleon.

“Ahhh, yes.” Napoleon smiled sardonically. “You have loftier motives. You simply want Rikki dead.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi dead? What was going on here? Cindy knew she would be in serious trouble if they caught her. Why did Seiko want Rikki dead?

Rikk-Tikki-Tavi was the head of Beta Triad, and in Blade’s absence he was also the chief of all the Warriors. Cindy liked Rikki. He was friendly and supportive to everyone he met, and well liked by the entire Family. Well, almost the entire Family. Rikki took his name from a creature called a mongoose in one of the books in the library. Strange name, but she had asked him about it once and he had told her it was fitting for his role as a guardian of the Home and the Family. He had suggested she read the book. She never had.

The Gamma Triad was another story. Cindy hardly knew them.

Napoleon was courteous, but distant, although she did observe him on several occasions conversing with her brother Tyson.

Spartacus was an unknown entity. She’d seen him plenty of times as he went about his business, and once he had even said hello to her. Beyond that, he was a virtual stranger.

Seiko she knew only by reputation. He was one of the better martial artists in the Family, almost as skilled as Rikki. Nine years ago, so the story went, Rikki and Seiko had fought in a friendly contest to see who would have the honor of owning the only genuine katana the Family possessed. The katana was one of the many unusual weapons Kurt Carpenter had stocked in the Family armory. In addition to hundreds of firearms, and the ammunition to go with them, Carpenter had included weapons from around the world in the collection.

“I don’t want Rikki dead,” Seiko was saying.

“No,” Napoleon replied. “You just want the katana, and the only way you will get your hands on it is if Rikki is dead.”

Seiko crossed his arms and stared thoughtfully at the ground. “It is unfortunate, but true,” he said regretfully. “I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. The Elders bestowed the katana on Rikki after our bout.

They ignored my protests. They disregarded the fact he won by a fluke.

And to this day, they refuse to permit another match. Plato insists the matter was decided years ago, but it wasn’t! I should have won! I was shamed before the whole Family! Honor dictates a rematch.”

“You will get your chance to claim the katana,” Napoleon promised.

“All well and good,” Spartacus interjected. “Seiko is in this for his dignity, and gets the stupid sword…”

“The katana is not merely a stupid sword!” Seiko angrily countered. “In the Code of Bushido, the katana is an extension of the samurai, as essential to the samurai as the air you breathe is to your very life.”

“Give me a break!” Spartacus mocked Seiko. “You’re about as much a samurai as I am a gladiator. It’s just a concept you picked up from one of the books in the library.”

Seiko took a step toward Spartacus, his face clouded in anger. “You are mistaken! I am samurai!”

“Grow up!” Spartacus cracked.

Seiko crouched, his legs bent, his stance firm, and raised his hands to chest level, his fingers formed into rigid claws. “I am samurai!” he stressed menacingly.

Spartacus gripped the hilt of his broadsword. “If it’s a fight you’re looking for…”

Napoleon stepped between the two. “Both of you, stop it! We are allies, remember? We have more important considerations than your petty squabbles.”

“No one insults the way of the samauri,” Seiko said, glaring at Spartacus.

Napoleon smiled broadly. “No one is insulting you. Spartacus meant no offense. You know very few Family members take the way of the samauri as seriously as you do, or give it the respect it is due. Don’t take his comments personally.”

“You’re too touchy,” Spartacus stated, grinning at Seiko. “How long have we been together? Don’t you know me by now?”

Seiko relaxed and straightened. “You are right. I apologize for my behavior.”

“There you go again,” Spartacus pointed out. “Relax! You take life too damn seriously!”

“I know no other way,” Seiko replied.

“Well, now that that’s settled,” Napoleon sighed, “maybe we can get to why we came here today.”

“Before we do that,” Spartacus interrupted, “I still have something I need to get off my chest.”

“What is it?” Napoleon asked.

“Seiko is in this for the katana,” Spartacus noted. “You want to be Family Leader. But what’s in this for me? For years now, you’ve been trying to win us over, to persuade us to join you. At one time, I even thought of turning you in to Plato as a power-monger. But I kept my mouth shut. We’re a Triad, after all, and we should stick together through thick and thin. So you’ve finally won Seiko over, but I’m still not completely convinced. What’s in this for me?”

Napoleon draped his left arm across the gladiator’s broad shoulders.

“You, dear Spartacus,” he said, “I can promise a prize more precious than any sword, a treasure comparable to the fabled Helen of Troy.”

“What are you talking about?” Spartacus demanded.

Napoleon’s grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear. “I am referring to Jenny.”

Spartacus appeared stunned.

Napleon laughed. “What? You thought I wouldn’t recall how you vied for her affection? How you tried to persuade her to like you instead of Blade?” Napoleon paused. “Let’s see. Wasn’t it when you were in your late teens? I never did understand why you wasted your time on her. Everyone knew she loved Blade, and had loved him since childhood. And, like me, everyone saw how she rudely rejected your sincere devotion and preferred that musclebound lout. I must confess, women have always been something of a mystery to me. They are so illogical, so… strange. Don’t you agree?”