“This world has never known true peace,” Plato said. “And in the prewar societies, only the rich knew prosperity.”
“True. True,” Captain Wargo said. “But you must admit it was safer for the general populace before the war than it is now.”
“Perhaps,” Plato allowed.
“Anyway,” Captain Wargo continued. “You know as well as I do that everyone is barely scraping by today. There’s never enough food or ample clothing or medical supplies.”
“Do the Technics intend to remedy the shortages?” Plato asked.
“With your help,” Captain Wargo replied.
“How?”
“Follow me on this,” Captain Wargo said. “Before World War III, there was an eastern branch of the Institute of Advanced Technology.”
“Located in New York City?” Plato guessed.
“Exactly. Shortly before the war they succeeded in perfecting a new strain of seeds. Fruit and vegetable and grain seeds, radically different from anything seen before. These new seeds could grow in barren soil and required absolutely minimal amounts of water. They were designated the Genesis Seeds. Can you imagine what those seeds could do today? They would be a godsend! Farmers everywhere would be able to grow crops again in abundance! Starvation would disappear! Once we’ve reestablished the food supply, we can devote our attention to meeting other essential needs. It would be fantastic!” Captain Wargo stopped, his face flushed with excitement.
“And I take it you want Alpha Triad to travel to New York City and retrieve these Genesis Seeds?” Plato deduced.
“Precisely!” Captain Wargo answered.
Hickok laughed. “You’re out of your gourd!”
Plato held up his right hand for silence. “This is a very grave matter, and some clarification is needed. Let’s consider your statements. You say these Genesis Seeds would deliver us from our agricultural bondage to a land contaminated and polluted by massive amounts of radiation and chemical toxins. Let us suppose for a moment these seeds really exist.
Even if they are found, and they can do all you claim, they won’t necessarily make the world a safer place in which to live.”
“But it would be a start!” Captain Wargo said. “If ue don’t have to devote so much time and energy to food, we can channel them to our other problems like the mutants and the degenerates.”
Plato pursed his thin lips. “The scenario you paint sounds encouraging. But look at the reality of your request. Wasn’t New York City hit during World War III?”
“It was,” Captain Wargo admitted. “We know the Soviets used thermonuclear devices sparingly during the war, apparently with the intent of conquering the U.S. instead of wiping us off the face of the earth.
They preferred to use neutron bombs and missiles on most of the populated centers they struck. But New York and a few others were exceptions. New York was hit by a hydrogen-tipped ICBM.”
“We understand the Soviets still control some of the country,” Plato mentioned.
“True. They occupy a belt in the eastern U.S., but New York City is not included in the area they control,” Captain Wargo said.
“So getting back to New York City,” Plato stated, “how do we justify sending our Warriors into a contaminated zone, into a potential hot spot?”
“New York isn’t hot anymore,” Captain Wargo said.
“You’ve verified that fact?” Plato demanded.
Captain Wargo nodded. “Let me explain.” He paused. “You said you’re familiar with prewar history?”
“Extensively,” Plato affirmed.
“Good. Then you must know about the two Japanese cities hit by nuclear weapons during World War II, way, way back in the 1940s. I think their names were Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”
“They were,” Plato declared.
“Like Hiroshima and Nagasaki, New York City was hit by an airburst of incredible magnitude. It obliterated a huge area and razed most of the buildings within a twenty-five-mile radius. But because it was an airburst, the fallout was minimal.”
“Why was that?” General Reese interrupted.
“Fallout,” Captain Wargo elaborated, “is produced when a nuclear explosion takes place on the ground. The blast sucks up tons and tons of dirt and carries it into the atmosphere. All of this dirt then becomes radioactive, and when it falls back to the ground you get your fallout. But in an airburst, because the blast takes place up in the sky, no dirt is sucked up, and without the dirt there’s nothing to fall back down. So no fallout.” He cleared his throat. “Hiroshima and Nagasaki were hit, all right, but within thirty years of the strike you would have been hard-pressed to find any trace of the explosions. Both cities were densely populated. Both had lush landscaping and many flowering gardens. And if Hiroshima and Nagasaki were completely safe a few decades after the nuclear bombs were dropped, then New York City, from a radiation-contamination standpoint, is safe by now.”
“Hmmmm,” Plato said, reflecting.
“So you won’t need to worry about your Warriors getting radiation poisoning,” Captain Wargo told the Family Leader.
“Then let’s tackle another issue,” Plato said. “What makes you think the Genesis Seeds are still there?”
Captain Wargo smiled. “Because we know the building the seeds were stored in is still there.”
“How do you know this?” Plato inquired.
The Technic frowned and gazed at the wooden floor. “We’ve already tried to retrieve the Genesis Seeds.”
“You have?” Plato asked in surprise.
“Yes. We’ve sent in a few teams.”
“How many?” Plato broke in.
“I can’t remember, offhand,” Captain Wargo said. “A few.”
“What happened to them?” Blade queried.
Captain Wargo sighed. “They failed. The first squad didn’t even make it to the site of the building. The New York branch of the Institute of Advanced Technology was destroyed in the blast, all of it except for the lower levels. And the Genesis Seeds were placed in a vault deep underground. That’s another reason we feel the Genesis Seeds are still there.”
“What happened to your other teams?” Blade asked.
“The second squad reached the site and radioed they were going underground,” Captain Wargo answered. “That’s the last we heard from them.”
“No idea what happened to ’em, huh?” Hickok chimed in.
Captain Wargo’s thin lips twitched. “Oh, we have an idea. In fact, we know what probably got them. The Zombies.”
Plato straightened in his chair. “The Zombies?”
Captain Wargo’s eyes seemed to glaze slightly, and there was a hint of horror in his voice. “New York City is inhabited. We think a lot of the poor slobs stayed on after the war, not having anywhere else to go. They undoubtedly took to the sewers, the subways, and whatever other underground tunnels existed. Over the years the radiation took its toll on their bodies, on their genes.”
“But I thought you said there wasn’t any fallout,” Hlade interjected.
“No radioactive fallout,” Captain Wargo said. “But there still was some radioactivity, enough to produce the inevitable mutations. And those mutations now roam New York City at will, killing every living thing they encounter.”
Blade felt a shiver run up his spine. He found himself fervently hoping Plato would decline the Technics’ request.
“You call these mutations Zombies?” Plato asked.
Captain Wargo nodded. “Yes. Our last two teams were able to penetrate the lower levels, but none of them came out alive. The Zombies ate them.”
“Ate them?” This came from Geronimo, his tone shocked.
Captain Wargo looked up. “Oh? Didn’t I tell you? The Zombies are cannibals.”
There was a moment of strained silence.
“What makes you think our Warriors would fare any better than the teams you sent in?” Plato demanded.
Captain Wargo brightened. “Your SEAL. You see, we do have a manufacturing capabili
ty, and we can produce some rather sophisticated weapons, but nothing on a large scale. No tanks, nothing like that. And even if we could manufacture a tank, where would we obtain the fuel to operate it? And without a tank, or a similar vehicle, there’s no way to guarantee our squads can reach the site in one piece. But with this SEAL
I’ve heard tell about, we could get our people there intact. Then, all they’d need do is make it to the underground vault and retrieve the Seed canisters.”
“Is that all?” Hickok chuckled.
Blade ran his right hand along the cool hilt of his right Bowie. Wargo was lying again. He was sure of it. His mind flashed to his run to St. Louis, and he remembered being told interesting information concerning the Technics: they ruled Chicago, they were technologically superior to anybody else, and they had formed a pact with the bikers running St.
Louis. One provision of the pact called for the Technics to supply the bikers, known as the Leather Knights, with unlimited amounts of fuel for their bikes. And if the Technics could provide vast quantities of fuel to the bikers, then they also had enough to fuel a tank. Or a dozen tanks.
So what the hell was Captain Wargo up to?
“Our proposal is this,” Capain Wargo said. “Our Minister would like your Alpha Triad to transport a retrieval squad to New York City. In exchange, we will share the Genesis Seeds with you.”
“Share them?” Plato repeated.
“Yes. Our Minister will give your Family half of all the Seeds recovered.
You can do with them whatever you like. Keep them for yourselves, or share them with your allies in the Freedom Federation.”
“Your Minister is most… generous,” Plato said.
“If the Genesis Seeds are recovered, we can afford to be,” Captain Wargo remarked. “We won’t need all of them. If you ask me, it’s a pretty good deal.”
“The Elders will discuss it,” Plato told him.
“Fine by me.” He rested his elbows on the table, then glanced behind him as if suddenly recalling something important.
Lieutenant Farrow was still behind his chair.
“I almost forgot,” Captain Wargo said, facing Plato. “Our Minister wanted to prove his honorable intentions. He thought you might not trust us, or wouldn’t believe our offer. So he authorized me to present a token of his sincerity.”
“What sort of token?” Plato inquired.
“Lieutenant Farrow.”
Plato’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
Captain Wargo spread his hands on the table. “It’s simple. Lieutenant Farrow will be our insurance.”
Plato stared at the woman officer. “I don’t see how—”
“Lieutenant Farrow will be your hostage,” Captain Wargo detailed.
“The proof of our performance, as it were.”
“Our hostage?” Plato and Blade exchanged glances.
“Sure. She stays here until your Warriors return. We’re putting her life in your hands as an example of our good intentions. If your Warriors don’t return, kill her,” Captain Wargo stated matter-of-factly.
“You can’t be serious,” Plato countered in amazement.
“Very serious,” Captain Wargo said. “Our Minister is a man of his word, and this is his way of demonstrating the fact.”
Plato opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of the idea. He glanced up at Blade, his face expressionless except for his eyes.
Smoldering contempt flashed briefly, then vanished as he gazed at the Technics. “And how does Lieutenant Farrow feel about this hostage business?”
Captain Wargo looked at Farrow. “Tell him,” he ordered.
“I am a Technic,” Lieutenant Farrow dutifully intoned. “I do my duty.”
“I see.” Plato stared at the table for a minute. “This has been most interesting,” he said at last. “I must discuss your offer with Alpha Triad and the Family Elders. In private.”
“I understand,” Captain Wargo said. “Would you mind if we took a tour of your Home in the meantime?”
“Be my guest,” Plato said.
“We’ll supply a guide for you,” Blade quickly added.
Captain Wargo stood. “That won’t be necessary.”
“We don’t mind,” Blade informed him.
“But we don’t want to impose—” Captain Wargo began.
“It’s no imposition,” Blade said, cutting him off. He glanced at General Reese. “Would you escort our guests to the west wall?”
“Certainly,” General Reese replied.
“Relay a message to Rikki for me,” Blade directed. “Tell him to have Yama conduct Captain Wargo and Lieutenant Farrow on a tour of the Home.”
“Will do,” General Reese said. He motioned toward the cabin door.
“I almost forgot!” Plato abruptly exclaimed. “What about your refreshments?”
“We can eat later,” Captain Wargo said.
“As you wish,” Plato commented.
General Reese, Captain Wargo, and Lieutenant Farrow departed the cabin.
“Your reactions?” Plato immediately asked.
“White man speak with forked tongue,” Geronimo said somberly, then grinned. “But what else is new?”
“My nose was twitching the whole time he was yappin’,” Hickok declared.
“Your nose was twitching?” Plato reiterated.
“Yep. That dude reeked of unadulterated manure!” Hickok stated.
“And if anyone knows about manure,” Geronimo said, “it’s Hickok.” His face suddenly displayed deep shock, and he gaped at the gunman. “Did I hear you right? Unadulterated? Have you been reading the dictionary again?”
“And your assessment?” Plato asked Blade.
Blade shook his head. “I don’t trust these Technics one bit. When we were in St. Louis I discovered a few facts concerning them.”
“On the run the Chronicler refers to as the Capital Run?” Plato said.
“That one. Captain Wargo was lying to us. From what I learned, the Technics could easily fuel a whole squadron of tanks. And what about those other sophisticated weapons he mentioned? So why do they need the SEAL?”
“Mystery number one,” Plato said.
“And do you really believe the Genesis Seeds exist? Even if they do, why should the Technics generously share them with us?” Blade inquired.
“Mystery number two,” Plato said.
“And how do they know so much about us?” Blade went on. “Granted, they might have learned a lot while in the Civilized Zone. But they obviously knew about us before they showed up in Omaha. Did they really hear about us from passing travelers in Chicago?”
“Mystery number three,” Plato said.
“And who is this Minister? How does he fit into the scheme of things?”
“Mystery number four,” Plato said, waiting for Blade to continue. When the huge Warrior stayed quiet, he surveyed the three members of Alpha Triad. “You’ve each broached salient points,” he said, “but you’ve failed to stress the most perplexing mystery of all.”
“What’s that?” Hickok queried.
“Specifically, what type of individual offers one of his own people as a hostage, as a token, as a sacrifice, treating her life as callously as you or I might regard a mere fly?” Plato asked them.
“He must not think too highly of her,” Geronimo speculated.
“Or he thinks too highly of himself,” Plato opined. “Either way, I received the distinct impression this Minister is a calculating, cold-blooded person. I don’t trust their offer either.”
Blade breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Then you’ll recommend to the Elders we reject their proposal?”
“On the contrary,” Plato responded. “I will recommend we accept the Technics’ offer.”
“But you just said you don’t trust them,” Blade exclaimed.
“I don’t,” Plato admitted. “Which is precisely the reason we should take them up on it.” He saw the looks of confusion on the trio of Warriors. “
My rationale is simple. If these Technics have concocted some sort of devious design, if they pose a threat to our Family and our Home, then it is up to us to ascertain the nature of their threat and eliminate it as speedily as possible. We could attempt to force the information from Wargo and Farrow, but they might not cooperate. Indeed, they might be unaware of the Minister’s plans. So what does that leave us? Only one recourse. We must, as they say, play along with them until we can discover their true motives and, if necessary, thwart any hostile maneuvers.” He paused. “You can see I’m right, can’t you?”
“Sounds peachy to me,” Hickok commented.
“I agree with you,” Geronimo said.
Blade hesitated. He definitely didn’t want to go on another run. Sooner or later, the odds would catch up with him and Jenny would find herself a widow. Still, as head Warrior, his primary responsibility was to the Family. If the Technics were a menace, then they must be eliminated. He sighed. “I agree too.”
“Good.” Plato smiled. “I will call a gathering of the Elders and we’ll discuss the situation. I’m positive they will concur with my conclusions.”
Hickok happened to glance in the direction of the kitchen doorway. He straightened and placed a finger over his lips.
Everyone turned.
Plato’s wife, Nadine, was framed in the doorway, a tray of sizzling venison soup in her frail hands. Her hair was gray, her eyes a compassionate brown, her face wrinkled and conveying a sense of noble character. She wore a blue denim dress, sewn together from the remains of a dozen pair of jeans. Her eyes were watering. “Is there no end to the violence?” she asked her husband.
“How long were you standing there?” Plato inquired.
“Long enough,” Nadine said. “Must you send Alpha Triad out again?”
“How else can we learn the Technics’ true motives?” Plato responded.
“There must be another way.”
“If you know of one,” Plato told her, “I’m open to suggestions.”
Nadine stared at the Warriors. “I feel so sorry for them. They are always going off somewhere or another, fighting for their lives. What about their families? What about their children? Don’t they have the right to a peaceful life like the rest of us?”
New York Run Page 5
