“That critter wanted you dead in the worst way,” Hickok said, and chuckled.
Blade didn’t see the humor. “We lost Plato and too many of our fellow Warriors.”
“To a talkin’ iguana who was mad you killed her mate.”
“It made her careless, thank God,” Blade said. “Otherwise she would have destroyed the Home.”
“All the Lords sent was that one. Probably because, compared to the Civilized Zone and the Free State of California, we’re small potatoes,” Hickok said. “A single lizard couldn’t have done that to them.”
“We don’t know what tactic the Lords of Kismet used against them,” Blade said, frowning in exasperation. “The plain truth is, we have no idea what they’re capable of.”
Hickok nodded at the time machine. “I reckon we’ll find out soon enough if that gizmo does what Tesla claims it will.”
“Did I hear my name?” the scientist said, joining them.
“Tell us true, Einstein,” Hickok said. “Now that you’ve had a few months to palaver with that artificial egghead, what are chances of makin’ it back alive?”
“First off, my childhood hero was Nikola Tesla, not Albert Einstein. It’s why I chose his name at my Naming.” Tesla paused and thoughtfully regarded the cage. “And secondly, you’re asking me to compute the odds of using a time-warping device invented by one of our enemies to transport you halfway around the world so you can confront beings who allegedly possess god-like powers and command the loyalty of what might be a legion of reptilian assassins able to change their appearance at will.”
“When you put it that way,” Hickok said.
CHAPTER 9
The sky was overcast, and not just from clouds. Countless tons of dust and ash had been hurled into the atmosphere by the many global-wide nuclear explosions during the Big Blast. Missiles had flown fast and furious, triggering seismic disturbances that resulted in a proliferation of volcanoes in the years after the war. For the longest time, according to the Family’s chronicles, they hardly ever got to see the sun.
Heat lightning crackled in the distance as Blade emerged from D Block for a breath of air. He tried not to dwell on Tesla’s remark. He was well aware of the risks. But they were worth taking. First and foremost, above all else, he was devoted to the safety and welfare of his loved ones and friends, and the Home as a whole. That was part of the reason he became a Warrior. To serve and protect, was how the law officers of old put it, and they were exactly right.
Blade strolled about, smiling at children, nodding at Family members. He couldn’t help but notice the looks some of them gave him. They were well aware of the stakes, too. The Family’s very survival depended on the outcome.
Blade closed his eyes and rubbed them. Some days, it seemed as if he had spent his whole life fighting to safeguard the Family from one threat or another. He would give anything to put an end to the ceaseless strife, to have the world be a place of peace and harmony. But that was a pipe dream, as they used to say. The real world wasn’t like that. The real world was a festering pit of hates and prejudices enflamed by power mongers out to control everyone and everything.
The Lords of Kismet were a case in point. All he knew about them was that they were an ancient race that once mingled with humankind but for some reason, ages ago, they had retreated underground and bided their time for millennia, waiting for humanity to weaken enough that they could rise up and take over.
Many of their Machiavellian machinations were carried out by shapeshifters known as Gualaons. If the one that infiltrated the Home was to be believed, they had been around since the days of the dinosaurs. Where their shapeshifting ability came from, he couldn’t begin to guess. They were formidable creatures. That they served in thrall to the Lords of Kismet must mean the Lords were even more formidable. That in itself was deeply troubling.
Blade tossed his head to dispel his gloomy thoughts, and walked on. For a short while, at least, he would try to forget his troubles. Maybe go to his cabin and spend time with Jenny and Gabe. He hadn’t seen much of his wife and son these days.
About to turn, Blade heard his name called. A boy of twelve or so was running toward him. Lean and gangly, the boy sported a crew cut and upper front teeth a beaver would envy. “Howard, isn’t it?” he said when the boy came to a stop.
“Yes, sir,” Howard answered, puffing slightly. “My father sent me to find you. He’d like to speak to you, sir, if you have a minute.”
Blade’s brow puckered. The boy’s father was the Family Chronicler, whose job it was to record the Family’s ongoing history for posterity, just as the Chroniclers before him had done. To be chosen for the post was quite an honor.
Everyone at the Home had a title, thanks to their founder, Kurt Carpenter. In order to avoid the social inequality that resulted when one group of people set themselves above others, as had happened in the old days when those who called themselves ‘politicians’ lorded it over everyone else.
Carpenter sought to make everyone socially equal. Accordingly, everyone was given a title tied to their line of work; as Warriors, as Tillers, as Blacksmiths, as Librarians…..the list went on. And no one group was to exalt itself over the
