David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

“You’ve got your nerve, jackass!” Spartacus angrily retorted. “You’re the traitor here, not me! As usual, you’ve got everything butt backward.” The broadsword made small circles in the air as Spartacus glared at Napoleon.

“Did you really believe I would betray the Family, that I’d go against everything I was ever taught, against everyone who cares for me, my own family and friends, to feed your insane ambition? Did you really think I bought your stupid scheme? And Jenny! What kind of man do you think I am? I would never take a woman against her will. What good is a relationship without love? Didn’t you learn anything from your parents or in school?” Spartacus paused, sadly shaking his head. “Why bother! Everything I say goes in one ear and out the other.”

“You traitor!” Napoleon growled.

“See what I mean!” Spartacus said. “You made mistakes, Napoleon. You assumed I was as dissatisfied with the system at the Home as you are, and I’m not. I don’t have any beef with Plato. He’s a good Leader. I’m not an airhead, Napoleon, despite what you might believe.”

Rikki was viewing the proceedings with intent fascination. They seemed to have momentarily forgotten his presence. Napoleon’s face was an infuriated marble mask. Seiko, strangely enough, was calmly standing to one side, his arms folded across his chest. What was going through his mind? Rikki wondered.

Napoleon looked at Seiko. “Why are you just standing there? Don’t tell me you’re turning against me too?”

Seiko grinned. “Turning against you? Not exactly. But I will confess I wasn’t very keen on your takeover idea. I was going along with you for one reason, and one reason only. I never hid that fact from you. It really doesn’t interest me one way or the other as to who is in charge of the Family. There is only one thing I want out of this.” He deliberately stared at the katana in Rikki’s hands.

Rikki raised the sword to waist level. “Is this really that important to you?” he asked quietly.

“Let me ask you,” Seiko rejoined. “How would you have felt if you lost our match and I was awarded the katana? How would you have dealt with such a tremendous loss of face?”

To carry such a burden all this time! Rikki selected his words judiciously. “Can there be a loss of face between friends, between brothers, between fellow Warriors?”

Seiko’s brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“You know the Family has a huge firearms collection,” Rikki went on, “but our supply of certain other weapons is limited. We only own the one katana. You and I both wanted it. The Elders did what they thought wisest. If your loss bothered you, why didn’t you come to me afterward and tell me? I thought we were close when we were younger.”

Seiko gazed into the distance, frowning. “We were close,” he said in a husky voice.

“Then why allow Napoleon’s poison to taint you?” Rikki inquired.

Seiko raised his right hand and rubbed his palm against his forehead.

Rikki gestured with the katana toward Seiko. “If it means so much to you, my former and future friend, you may have this.”

Seiko’s astonishment at the offer was plainly visible. “You mean that?”

“I do,” Rikki affirmed. “If it will repair the rift between us, and bring you fully back into the fold, then I will relinquish the katana to you.”

“But I know how much the katana means to you,” Seiko objected. “It means as much to me.”

“Can a mere sword mean as much as a living, breathing brother in the Spirit?”

Seiko bowed his head. His voice was barely audible when he finally spoke. “I am shamed to my core, and I have brought dishonor to my name and my family.”

“Will you lighten up?” Spartacus interjected. “We all make dumb mistakes. Don’t make such a big deal out of it!”

Seiko looked at Rikki, his eyes mirroring his self-torment. “There is no apology adequate to equal the injustice I have done you. I will return to the Home and submit to whatever discipline the Elders decree.” So saying, he wheeled and departed, his head hanging low.

“Go with him,” Rikki said to Spartacus. “Keep an eye on him. He may try to commit seppuku.”

“Seppu… what?”

“Ritual suicide. It was practiced by ancient samurai, especially when they suffered what they considered an irretrievable loss of honor.”

“What’d they do?”

“They disemboweled themselves by slicing open their abdomen,” Rikki clarified.

Spartacus began to leave. He paused and glanced at Napoleon. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you brought it on yourself.”

Napoleon’s eyes were livid pools of hatred.

Spartacus shrugged and hurried after Seiko.

Rikki moved closer to Napoleon, holding the katana in chudan-no-kumae, the middle position, with the hilt located near his navel and the blade at a slight upward angle.

“So what’s it to be?” Napoleon arrogantly demanded. “A swift execution? Or do I have some say in the matter?”

“You are going to die,” Rikki said coldly.

“You always were a smug son of a bitch,” Napoleon said, intentionally insulting Rikki. His right hand was inches from his revolver, and he debated whether he could draw and fire before Rikki reached him with the sword. Probably not. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was lightning fast. Psychology was called for. “So what about it? Are you going to give me a fighting chance?”

“No.”

“What? Doesn’t the condemned get a last meal or a final request?”

Rikki shook his head. “This is an execution, Napoleon, not a negotiation.”

Napoleon’s left hand slowly circled his waist, reaching for a pouch attached to his belt. His right hand hovered near his revolver, distracting Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’s attention.

“What if I changed my mind?” Napoleon stalled as his left hand stealthily opened the flap on the pouch. He had one chance to escape. His life depended on an untried, untested, antique capsule. “What if I repent and pledge never to instigate a rebellion again?”

“Do you expect me to believe you?” Rikki was carefully closing on Napoleon, keeping his eyes on Napoleon’s right hand, knowing the Gamma Triad leader would not submit without a fight.

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” Napoleon said, smiling broadly.

Why was Napoleon so… relaxed… about his fate? It wasn’t in his nature. Something was wrong here. Rikki expected Napoleon to resist, he even welcomed the conflict, not wanting to simply murder Napoleon in cold blood, so he fixed his gaze on that right hand, expecting Napoleon to make his draw any second. With his focus on the right hand and the revolver, it took him a moment to realize the left hand was appearing from behind Napoleon’s back, holding a metallic cylinder the thickness of a finger and the length of a hand. In that instant, Rikki realized he’d been guilty of a Warrior’s ultimate folly: overconfidence.

Rikki was throwing his shoulders into a swing of the katana when Napoleon’s thumb depressed a red button on the cylinder.

A stream of odoriferous greenish fluid shot from a small hole in the tapered end of the cylinder and struck Rikki in the face.

Rikki instinctively backed away, his left hand clutching at his face as the liquid burned his eyes, blurring his vision, and filled his nasal passages, constricting his throat and cutting off his air.

What was it?

A foot slammed into Rikki’s stomach, doubling him over. Another blow crashed against the side of his head, dropping him to his knees.

“You won’t be needing this, bastard!” Napoleon declared.

Rikki felt the katana being wrenched from his right hand. He gripped the hilt, striving to retain his grasp. His lungs seemed as if they were on fire, and he was gasping for breath and wheezing.