Dakota Run

Chapter Thirteen

The sun was rising above the eastern horizon in a cloudless sky, the birds chirping and singing as they greeted a new day, when Blade walked from B Block and lazily stretched. He wore green fatigue pants and his leather vest and was armed with his Bowies in their respective sheaths on both hips. He decided he would visit C Block and check on the two prisoners. They were being held in the Family infirmary under Warrior guard. One of the captured soldiers, the officer, had sustained a broken nose. The other trooper, according to the Healers, suffered from a mild concussion. Blade was anxious to interrogate the pair, but Plato wouldn’t allow any questioning until the soldiers were somewhat recovered from their ordeal.

Blade turned left, toward C Block, casually scanning the wide cleared space between the concrete bunkers. His gray eyes passed over the SEAL, then immediately returned to the vehicle, aware that something was amiss.

The SEAL was the Founder’s pride and joy. Kurt Carpenter had spent millions of dollars on its development and construction, wisely foreseeing that his beloved Family would require an exceptionally durable and versatile vehicle to travel across the dramatically altered post-war terrain.

SEAL was an acronym for Solar Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle. The green van-like transport was powered by the sun, a pair of solar panels attached to the roof collecting the sunlight and a bank of six revolutionary batteries mounted under the vehicle serving to store the converted energy. The SEAL’s body was an impervious plastic, its four enormous tires composed of a unique, indestructible synthetic. To the Family, the SEAL was a virtual godsend, enabling those who used it to travel vast distances protected from the numerous lethal denizens proliferating unchecked across the entire land.

Ordinarily, the SEAL was kept locked to deter a theft or worse. Two months ago a saboteur had attempted to demolish the transport with explosives, and Blade readily recalled his timely intervention and fight with the mysterious intruder. Since that disturbing incident, the Warriors were instructed to scrutinize the vehicle at every opportunity, and Plato personally verified the SEAL was secure each night before retiring. The night before, Blade had observed his mentor standing beside the transport and tugging on the driver’s door handle, guaranteeing the door was fastened shut.

Now that same door hung wide open.

Was Plato up this early and working on the vehicle?

Unlikely.

Blade ran toward the SEAL, his big hands on his Bowies. Who else would be in the transport this time of the day? No one he could think of.

Only Alpha Triad knew how to drive the SEAL, and Hickok was still asleep.

With Geronimo absent, there wasn’t anyone else authorized to be inside the vehicle.

So who was it?

Ten feet from the open door Blade reduced his speed and crept forward, prepared to draw his Bowies at the slightest hint of danger.

If it was another damn saboteur, Blade vowed, he’d gut the bastard on general principles.

Blade was five feet away when he heard the humming and relaxed, releasing his knives. What in the world was she doing in there?

The hummer was a young girl of twelve dressed in homemade buckskins, buckskins made by her deceased mother. She was huddled under the dashboard, her beautiful black hair obscuring her face and falling to her waist. Her name was Star and she was, so far as anyone knew, the sole survivor of the Flathead Indians of Montana. The rest of her tribe had vanished after a confrontation with the soldiers from the Cheyenne Citadel. Plato and his wife Nadine had adopted the girl and accepted her as their own and she had adapted marvelously to Family life.

Blade leaned against the SEAL, grinning. He saw Plato’s keys lying on the dash and realized how Star had gotten inside.

The interior of the transport was spacious. Two bucket seats were positioned in the front with a console between them. Behind the bucket seats was a single seat running the width of the vehicle. A large storage area completed the interior design.

Silently, Blade eased toward Star until his head and shoulders were inside the SEAL.

“Boo!”

His shout terrified the poor girl. She involuntarily jumped, cracking the top of her head on the dash-board. Her dark eyes swung around and caught sight of Blade.

“Owwww! My head!” Star frowned, rubbing her bruise, and glared at the strapping Warrior.

Blade began laughing.

“What’d you do that for?” she demanded, annoyed. “I could have been hurt!”

“It would serve you right,” Blade countered, chuckling.

“What do you mean?” Star asked.

“It would serve you right for swiping Plato’s keys and sneaking into the SEAL without permission,” Blade explained to her.

Star’s mouth fell open. “How did you know?”

“It didn’t take a genius to figure it out,” Blade retorted. “The question is why.”

“Why am I here?”

“You got it,” he confirmed.

Star jerked her left thumb toward the dashboard. “I’m looking for clues.”

“Clues?”

“Clues,” she nodded. “Something that might tell us about the toggle switches.”

The toggle switches! Blade’s brow knit as he stared at the four switches in the center of the dash. Each was labeled with a single letter below it: M, S, F, and R. Mystery surrounded the toggle switches because their function was unknown.

Kurt Carpenter had buried the SEAL in a specially fabricated underground chamber with explicit orders that the transport was to remain untouched until a critical situation developed and the Family Leader decided the vehicle was needed. After a century, Plato had been the Leader who had finally opted to uncover the chamber and retrieve the SEAL. Inside the chamber the Family had also found detailed instructions, an Operations Manual, explaining every aspect of the vehicle with one glaring exception: the toggle switches. Plato had given specific directions to Alpha Triad, advising them to avoid even touching the switches until their purpose was discovered.

Only one person had violated Plato’s edict.

Star.

While in Montana, during a battle with Government troops, she had inadvertently bumped one of the switches, the one marked with an R.

Although the soldiers had seen what transpired next, unfortunately none of them had survived to tell anyone else. Blade and Star had been inside the vehicle at the time, and they vividly remembered the SEAL lurching, followed by a tremendous explosion. The Citadel troops had been destroyed in the blast.

But why?

What had caused it?

“Why are you so interested in the toggle switches?” Blade asked her.

“Curiosity,” Star responded.

“What makes you think you’ll find something in here?”

Star straightened and reclined against the console. “It’s the logical place to look.”

“How do you figure?” Blade inquired.

“Your Founder planned everything so well,” Star said. “He laid out the Home and stocked all the provisions. He had this vehicle built for your future use. Carpenter left nothing to chance. There must be instructions about these toggle switches somewhere.”

Blade resisted the temptation to dispute Star’s logic. For a twelve year old, she was extremely bright, even by Family standards. The girl was a voracious reader; since arriving in the Home she had spent every spare minute in the Family library.

“Don’t you agree?” she asked him.

“What you say makes sense,” Blade concurred, “but there may be an explanation for the missing directions.”

“What?”

“As you probably know,” Blade began, “Carpenter was afraid someone might be tempted to steal the SEAL if he left it above ground. That’s part of the reason he hid it in the underground chamber. The Family Leaders have passed on the news of its existence by word of mouth from one Leader to another. Isn’t it possible one of the Leaders neglected or was unable to pass on the information about the toggle switches?”

“Hmmmmm.” Star tapped on the console, eyeing the switches, her fertile mind weighing the probabilities.

Blade had to admire the young firebrand. He wondered which vocation she would choose for her career. Her natural vitality tended to exclude any of the less exciting options like Weaver or Librarian. He could easily envision her as a Warrior, or possibly she would devote her life to one of the sciences.

“I don’t think so,” she finally stated.

“To tell you the truth,” he admitted, “I don’t think so either. Carpenter obviously spent a considerable amount of money converting the SEAL, modifying it, and incorporating armament into the body. If he went to all that trouble to install the equipment, he’d want to be certain the Family knew it was there.”

“And there’s no mention of it in the Operations Manual?” Star probed.

Blade spotted the Manual on the back seat. He picked it up and tossed it to Star. “See for yourself. I’ve read the whole book three times and there’s no mention of the toggle switches.”

Star opened the Manual to the first page, the Table of Contents.

Twenty-five chapters were listed, covering the solar panels, the engine, the batteries, the transmission, and everything else in the transport down to the windshield wipers. “I don’t understand very much of this,” Star acknowledged.

“Neither did we until Plato explained it,” Blade informed her.

“Why’d you do this?” she asked, running her right index finger across the page.

“Do what?”

“Mark the page up this way.” She glanced up, puzzled.

Blade, equally perplexed, extended his left hand. “What are you talking about?”

“Here,” she said, offering the Manual. “See for yourself.”

Blade took the Manual and examined the page. “What? It’s just a list of the contents.” He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“Look real close,” Star prompted him.

“I’m looking,” Blade said, confused.

“Do you see it?”

“See what?” Blade snapped impatiently.

“Whoever heard of dotting an H?” Star inquired, mystified.

Dotting an H? What did she…

He suddenly saw what she meant.

“Damn!” he inadvertently exclaimed. Right in front of their faces the whole time! The first H on the page had a tiny black dot above it, so small it would be overlooked as a speck on the paper. In the next line an E was below one of the dots. Further along two different L’s were dotted, as was an O in the following line. The dots were even smaller than the ones used to dot the L’s and wouldn’t attract attention unless you were looking for something unusual. Let’s see. He mentally ticked off the first five dotted letters. HELLO.

“Hello,” he said aloud.

“Hello to you.” Star grinned. “Do you think we’re on to something?”

“I think if you were ten years older Jenny would have some serious competition,” he told her.

Star giggled. “Don’t tell Jenny. She might get jealous!”

Blade closed the Manuel and gave the book to her. “Take this to Plato right this instant.”

Star started to clamber over the console toward him. “What if he’s still asleep? He isn’t feeling too good lately, what with having the senility and all.”

Blade assisted her in exiting the transport. “Wake him up. Insist. Tell him it’s important and show him the Operations Manual. He has plenty of paper and pencils in his cabin. He’ll be able to decipher the message in no time.”

Star stood next to him, staring at the book. “You think it will tell us about the toggle switches?”

“I’d bet on it,” Blade nodded.

“But why did the Founder leave a secret note? Why do it this way?” she queried.

“My guess would be he wanted it kept a secret,” Blade reasoned.

“Maybe one of the early Leaders knew about it but passed on before revealing what he knew. Who can say?” He spun her around and patted her on the back. “Get going!”

Star began running.

“Wait!” Blade abruptly called.

She stopped and faced him. “What’s wrong?”

Blade picked up the keys from the dash and locked the door. “We wouldn’t want anyone to sneak into the SEAL, would we?” He flipped the keys to her and watched as she raced toward the cabins.

“Much excitement, yes?” shouted someone off to his left.

Blade twisted, smiling. Gremlin was standing at the entrance to the underground chamber used to store the SEAL. He walked in Gremlin’s direction as the creature approached him.

“Good morning, no?” Gremlin greeted him. “Catching worms, yes?”

“Catching worms?” Blade repeated, then grinned. “You must be hanging around Hickok too much. Your jokes are getting as corny as his.”

Gremlin chuckled. “Bad news, yes? It means Gremlin’s brain functioning like Hickok’s, no? How awful!”

The mention of a brain reminded Blade of a conversation he had had with Gremlin in Montana, one they had never satisfactorily resolved.

“Gremlin, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk.”

“About Hickok’s brain?” Gremlin retorted. “Small subject, yes?”

“No, not about Hickok’s brain,” Blade said. “About you.”

Gremlin’s levity vanished. “We must, yes?” he asked, frowning.

“We must.”

“Why?”

Blade placed his right hand on Gremlin’s left shoulder. “You must see my position. I know you don’t like to talk about your past, but it can’t be helped or delayed any longer. I’m head of the Warriors, as you know, and I’m responsible for the

Family’s security. I think you have information critical to the welfare of the Family. I’ve postponed questioning you because I was reluctant to disturb you, but we’re going to talk now. There’s no one else up yet so we can enjoy a heart-to-heart without interruption. Is it okay?”

Gremlin sighed. “If we must, we must, yes?” His expression saddened.

“Does hurt, though.”

“Then we’ll begin with a painless question,” Blade said. “Like what were you doing in the underground chamber?”

“Sleep there, no?” Gremlin responded.

“You sleep down there?” Blade’s surprise showed. “Why? You could use a bunk in B Block.”

Gremlin shook his head. “Gremlin know some of Family afraid of him, yes? Not want to upset their sleep, no? So sleep by self.”

Blade knew better than to argue. While most members of the Family, especially the children, were fond of Gremlin, there were a few who were uneasy in his presence. Blade decided to change the subject. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you. I shot you in Montana, remember?”

“Gremlin not forget little things like that, yes?” he sarcastically quipped.

“You healed so quickly,” Blade stated. “I know I missed a vital organ, but your recovery was still remarkable. And the wound on your neck where the collar used to be also healed incredibly fast. How?”

Gremlin tapped his chest. “Accelerated repair, yes?”

Th^y absently began strolling as they talked, heading on an easterly course.

“I don’t understand,” Blade confessed. “You’ll need to tell me everything.”

“Everything?” Gremlin repeated. “Not serious, no?”

“Completely serious,” Blade assured him. “Listen. What do I know about you? Very little. I know you’re from the Cheyenne Citadel, and you were in a unit called the Genetic Research Division, or G.R.D., as it’s known. This G.R.D. is operated by the man they call the Doktor. You also told me you talk the way you do because part of your brain was removed by this Doktor. And you said you were once a man. Am I right? Did I get all the facts straight?”

Gremlin, downcast, nodded.

“I must know more,” Blade urged him. “I believe the Family is in deadly danger from this Doktor and Samuel II. The more I can learn about them, the better.” He paused, touched by regret, sorry he was distressing Gremlin. “Let’s take the items one at a time. What do you mean by saying you were once a man? A man like me?”

“Almost a man, yes?” Gremlin detailed. “Would have been, no?”

Blade shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Doktor…” Gremlin said, his expression tortured. “Doktor change human embryo, yes? Make Gremlin. Understand, no?”

“You mean,” Blade stated, “the Doktor took a human embryo, a perfectly normal embryo, and somehow made you?”

Gremlin slowly nodded.

Blade’s mind whirled, staggered by the implications. Tampering with an innocent embryo! The very idea was obscene! “The Doktor is capable of such an atrocity? He has the skill and the means to accomplish such a feat?”

Again Gremlin nodded. “Doktor is living evil, yes? But very smart man. Genius, no? Scientist. Expertise in chemistry, electronics, radiology, and genetics. Much more, yes?”

“And there are others like you?” Blade inquired.

“Fifteen hundred, yes? More or less, no?”

Fifteen hundred! That tallied with the figure Blade had learned in Montana. “Were all of them created from an embryo like you?”

“No,” Gremlin answered. “Some, yes? Not all, no. Others made by Doktor in his laboratory.”

“What else does the Doktor do?”

“Experiments all the time, yes? Uses living subjects, no?”

Blade stopped. “He experiments on living people?”

“Yes. Especially babies. Doktor likes babies, yes?”

Blade, stunned, continued moving toward the cabins. “And he gets away with it? Why don’t the people in the Civilized Zone stop him?”

“How, yes?” Gremlin gestured hopelessly, uplifting his palms and shrugging. “Doktor’s lab is fortified, yes? Has personal bodyguards from his creations, no? Army also protects. Nothing people can do.”

“I was told by a soldier in Montana,” Blade said, “that the Doktor and Samuel II are very close. Is that true?”

“True, yes? They work together, plan together, to reconquer United States for themselves. Gremlin hopes it never happens, no?”

“We’ll do our utmost to insure it doesn’t,” Blade pledged. “You told me before that the Doktor maintains his headquarters in the Cheyenne Citadel. How long has he been there?”

“Since right after the war, yes?” Gremlin gazed ahead. They were abreast of the row of cabins and still bearing east.

“Right after the…” Blade repeated, then laughed. “You’re pulling my leg, or else you misunderstood. I asked…”

“Gremlin know what you asked,” Gremlin snapped, cutting him off.

“And Gremlin gave right answer, yes? Doktor has been in Cheyenne Citadel since right after war.”

“The Third World War was a century ago,” Blade reminded his companion.

“Gremlin know that,” Gremlin stated indignantly.

“Are you trying to tell me the Doktor is almost one hundred years old?”

Blade questioned skeptically.

Gremlin shot Blade an annoyed glance. “Gremlin not trying to tell you anything, yes? Gremlin is telling you Doktor is over one hundred years old, no?”

“Impossible,” Blade flatly disputed him.

“You can look at Gremlin and say that, yes?” Gremlin retorted.

Blade absently stared at the trees ahead, reflecting. Was it really possible? Could this Doktor be that old? If so, how? Life expectancies were markedly reduced since the Big Blast, an inevitable consequence of the harsh struggle for existence, an invariable result of reducing the state of society to the survival of the fittest. Gremlin must be mistaken. It simply wasn’t feasible. But what about the rest of the information? The experimentation and the Genetics Research Division, the babies and removing a portion of Gremlin’s brain. How did it all tie together? What was the Doktor’s purpose?

Gremlin was rubbing the fingers of his left hand over a scar on his neck.

“Want to thank you again, yes? For removing the collar from Gremlin and giving me freedom. Can’t thank you enough, no?”

According to the story imparted to Blade in Montana, the collars were the Doktor’s effective technique of compelling compliance, of forcing his genetic deviants to obey his commands. The collars evidently contained highly sophisticated electronic gadgetry linked to an orbiting satellite.

They permitted the Doktor to monitor the G.R.D.’s and, if they violated his edicts or incurred his displeasure, to electrocute them on the spot.

“Can you tell me more?” Blade asked. “I…” He stopped, hearing footsteps behind them.

In unison, Gremlin and Blade glanced over their respective shoulders.

Sherry, attired in a newly repaired pair of faded jeans and a clean white blouse, ran up to them. “Morning,” she smiled. “I saw you out here and wanted a word with you. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Not interrupting, yes?” Gremlin replied. “Gremlin will leave.”

“No need for that,” Sherry said, grabbing his right wrist. “What I have to say to Blade isn’t private. You can stay.”

“What’s up?” Blade queried.

“Have you made your decisions about the new Warriors yet?” Sherry inquired.

“Not yet,” Blade told her. “But soon. Why?”

They were idly sauntering due east.

“Because Hickok and I have reached an agreement. He may not be too crazy about the idea, but he won’t oppose my becoming a Warrior if that’s what I really want, and it is. But we have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Blade asked.

Sherry was watching Blade’s face closely, attempting to assess his reaction. “Candidates for Warrior status usually have sponsors. Hickok previously agreed to sponsor Shane and he won’t renege on his word, which leaves me high and dry. Unless you’ll help.”

“How can I…” Blade began, then saw what she was getting at.

“I want you to sponsor me before the Elders,” Sherry declared.

“I don’t know…” Blade hedged.

“Why not?” Sherry demanded. “Have you already said you’d sponsor someone else?”

“No…”

“You don’t believe women make good Warriors?” Sherry pressed him.

“That isn’t it…”

“Then what? Because I’m an outsider?”

“A Warrior from outside the Family would set a precedent,” Blade admitted, “but it’s not a major stumbling block.”

“Then how about it?”

Blade stopped and faced her. “It’s not possible.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one who must make the final recommendations to Plato and the Elders,” Blade stated. “I can’t express any favoritism whatsoever. If I sponsored you, it might reflect badly on the other candidates.”

Sherry’s disappointment was conveyed in her quavering voice. “But I’ll never have a chance if I don’t have a sponsor! Hickok is going to stand up before the Elders in council and vouch for Shane. All the candidates will have sponsors except me. I’ll never be picked!”

“There is a way out,” Blade suggested.

“What?” Sherry eagerly inquired, her countenance lighting up.

“Find another sponsor,” Blade advised her.

“Another sponsor? Who? I don’t know anyone else here all that well.”

She frowned, her hopes prematurely dashed.

“Try Rikki.”

“Rikki-Tikki-Tavi? I’ve only talked to him once or twice. What makes you think he’ll sponsor me?” Sherry asked doubtfully.

“Trust me.”

Now it was her turn to balk. “I don’t know…”

“Well, if you won’t ask Rikki, then try Yama,” Blade proposed.

“Yama? Are you nuts? He scares me!”

Blade shrugged, grinning. “It’s up to you. If you want to become a Warrior badly enough, you’ll ask one of them to sponsor you.”

Sherry was about to comment when her gaze strayed past Blade. Her green eyes unexpectedly widened, her expression registering shock.

Blade spun, his hands on his Bowie handles.

There were two of them, standing at the edge of the trees only ten feet off. A huge blue thing and a short furry thing.

Gremlin suddenly hissed, sounding enraged. “You!”

“Yeah, Gremlin, us!” the smaller of the pair responded in an unusually low voice. “You were expecting maybe Santa Claus?”

The big one laughed. “Santa Claus! That’s a good one, Ferret!”

“Who are you?” Blade demanded. “What do you want?”

“Why don’t you ask your friend Gremlin?” Ferret rejoined.

“Are those two friends of yours?” Blade asked without turning his attention from the duo.

“G.R.D.’s, yes?” Gremlin said. “Not friends now, no?”

“How did you get in here?” Blade asked. “What do you want?”

Ferret snickered disdainfully. “Your vaunted Home isn’t so difficult to break into, not if you can swim. As to why we’re here, Warrior, we’ve been asked to relay a message to Gremlin.”

“What message?” Blade queried.

The one called Ferret looked up at the large blue hulk and they grinned at one another.

“What message?” Blade repeated.

“Oh, it’s not very long or anything,” Ferret finally replied. “It’s simply this.” He paused, smiling. Without warning, he snarled and crouched on the grass. “Die!”

The two creatures charged.