David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

“You did not agree,” Rikki commented, glancing at Plato.

“Was it necessary? You know I wouldn’t tell another soul.”

“Why are you so sad?” Rikki probed. “You know what must be done.”

Plato sighed and gazed into the distance, his features mirroring his melancholy. “The knowing doesn’t make the doing any easier to take. Do you realize the implications? If Napoleon is so dissatisfied with the status quo, there may be others. If not now, then later.”

“I don’t see how you can prevent it,” Rikki observed.

“But don’t you see?” Plato stared at the Warrior. “Perhaps the fault isn’t in Napoleon, perhaps it’s in our system. Kurt Carpenter meticulously established the Family organization and set forth our rules and regulations. His legacy has sufficed for one hundred years, maintaining harmony in the Family and ensuring our success as a functional unit. But what if there is a flaw in our system? What if we failed Napoleon in some way? Maybe we overlooked some aspect of his education or personal development. Maybe there is something we can do to prevent another Napoleon from arising in the future.”

Rikki, touched by the Leader’s distress, tried to reassure Plato with a broad smile. “There is nothing you could have done. Look at the Trolls.

Some people can not be helped, no matter what you do. It was inevitable, I suppose, someone would come along to challenge the Family order. You should view it as a tribute to our Founder the challenge was a century in coming. It shows how well Carpenter did, the wisdom the man possessed.”

Plato grinned slightly. “Looking at the positive side.”

“Just as one of my teachers always advocated,” Rikki said.

The Family school was taught by the Elders, and Plato was responsible for several of the classes.

“Will you come tell me when it’s over?” Plato requested.

“Of course.”

“I think I’ll retire to my cabin,” Plato remarked, slowly, painfully, rising to his feet. “Nadine will be worried if I stay out too late.”

“I will follow shortly,” Rikki promised. “You needn’t fear for your safety. I will be outside, guarding you tonight. But lock your doors, just as an added precaution.”

Plato fondly glanced at Rikki. “Thank you. I know I’m in good hands. Blade thinks very highly of your skill.”

“He told me, you know.”

Plato, about to leave, stopped in midturn. “What?”

“Blade told me about a power-monger in the Family. He didn’t know who it was, because you hadn’t told him.”

“But I instructed him to keep the information to himself,” Plato said, surprised. “And he told you?”

“He wanted someone aware of the situation,” Rikki explained. “He needed me to keep an eye on things until he returned.”

Plato absently nodded and walked away. Blade had deliberately disobeyed him! Incredible! It had never happened before. And yet, it made sense, didn’t it? Blade was thinking of the welfare of the Family. Just as a future Leader should.

A sharp cramp rocked his left side and he stopped, waiting for the pain to subside.

His body was falling apart at the seams, and his mind apparently wasn’t faring much better. He’d jeopardized the entire Family because of an emotional reluctance to harm one Family member. What had happened to his judgment?

It was time to seriously consider retirement.

The spasm eased and Plato resumed his trek.

If Alpha Triad failed to return with the equipment they needed to isolate the cause of the senility, he would relinquish his command to Blade. Oh, the Family would need to vote their acceptance, but never in the Family’s history had they refused to accept a Leader’s chosen successor.

How much longer did he have?

Plato shuffled homeward, troubled by the question, one he’d avoided until now. The premature senility was a progressive disease, exhibiting distinct stages, and he knew he was entering the advanced state of senility.

It was just a matter of time.

And the irony of it all!

After all those years of being alone, without his beloved Nadine!

And now, she was home, rescued by Alpha Triad from the Trolls.

Together again, at last, for a few fleeting months before he passed on to the other side.

Plato paused and glanced up at the darkening sky, spotting several pinpoints of light, the first visible stars.

The Family records revealed Family members were living shorter and shorter lives with each passing generation. Not every member experienced a reduced lifespan and suffered the attendant premature senility, but in the past two decades the number had increased dramatically.

Why?

Why? Why? Why? Why ?

For the umpteenth time, Plato mentally screamed at the heavens, berating their fate. To have survived the Big Blast, to have perservered for a century despite the constant threat from clouds and mutates and other hostile forces, only to be gradually eliminated from the face of the earth by a mysterious disease, was positively frustrating, not to mention a profoundly inequitable destiny.

There had to be an answer! Some element the Healers had overlooked as they struggled to ascertain the cause of the senility. But what?

Plato felt his eyes moisten. It couldn’t end like this! It simply couldn’t!

His precious Family, snuffed out with a whimper from the pages of mortal history.

Everything depended on Alpha Triad. This time, they had to return with the scientific and medical items the Healers needed. Time was running out.

Please, O Spirit, he silently prayed, protect your children, Blade and Geronimo, and see them safely back to the Home.

Please!

As Lieutenant Angier dove for his M-16, Blade reached overhead and grabbed the boat hook.

Angier swept the M-16 up and around, his finger tightening on the trigger. He caught a motion out of the corner of his left eye, and agony exploded inside his head.

Blade swung the handle of the boat hook a second time, slamming it against the Watcher’s ruptured left ear. Blood flowed down Angier’s neck as the soldier slumped to his knees, then slid to the wooden planks. The M-16 slipped from his hands.

Perfect!

Blade retrieved the rifle and crouched beside the door-way. The coast seemed clear. The other Watchers were probably concentrating on the road, and Gremlin was fast asleep. If his luck held, he’d be able to sneak along the shoreline and return to Kalispell. Geronimo must be worried silly by now.

The bushes and trees nearest the boathouse were shrouded in the shadows of twilight.

Just the cover he needed.

Blade cautiously stepped from the boathouse and moved to his left, bearing north.

Just as a Watcher rounded the corner of a building twenty yards away, carrying a cup of juice and a tin of hash, bringing supper to Lieutenant Angier.

Damn!

Blade heard the man shout “Stop!” then the Watcher hastily dropped the food and clutched at his M-16, slung over his right shoulder.

Not now!

Blade raised the M-16 and fired, the slugs ripping into the Watcher’s midsection and throwing him to the ground.

Another Watcher came into view from behind a tree, his rifle already pressed against his left shoulder, and he sighted on the giant Warrior and squeezed the trigger.

Blade flattened and rolled toward the doorway to the boathouse. He heard the bullets striking the boathouse wall and splinters stung his face.

Yet another Watcher joined the fray, opening up from a stand of bushes thirty yards to the northeast.

Blade crawled inside the boathouse, keeping low, as more and more slugs tore through the walls. He twisted, peered around the door jamb, and aimed at the Watcher alongside the tree. The M-16 burped, and the soldier crumpled.