“I have some last words for you,” he told Jarvis.
Jarvis was surprised by the statement. “For me? What?”
“Did you clear it?” Blade asked.
Colonel Jarvis was confounded by the question. “Clear it? Clear what?”
Blade nodded at the Commando. “That. Did you clear it? The last time I used it, the thing jammed on me.
Jarvis snickered. “Fool! Do you think I’m that gullible? Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Blade slowly nodded, smiling.
Jarvis turned red and pulled the Commando trigger.
Nothing happened.
“That answer your question?” Blade said mocking him.
Jarvis was frantically pulling the trigger.
Blade rose to his knees, the Bowie in his right hand.
Colonel Jarvis pounded the Commando on the ground, then stared at the Warrior, wide-eyed, his mouth moving soundlessly.
Blade closed in. “I only regret I can’t give you everything you have coming to you,” he stated, his voice hard and low, “but this will have to suffice.”
Jarvis tried to bring his hands up, to feebly save himself from his doom.
The hulking Warrior ripped the Bowie blade into the officer’s stomach and twisted. Jarvis made a choking sound and clutched at the knife.
“This,” Blade said, “is for all those innocent people you murdered today!” He steeled his arm and wrenched the knife upward.
The last sight Jarvis saw before he toppled into the long night was the sight of his own guts spilling over the ground.
Blade wrenched his Bowie free and stood. The clamor of shouts and shots outside drew him back to reality.
Hickok!
Blade knelt by the blanket and armed himself with the A-1, the Vegas, and the Bowies. He stuck the Dan Wesson .44 Magnum in his belt for added measure. He rose and saw the Commando at his left.
“Colonel Jarvis!” someone outside was yelling. “Colonel Jarvis!”
Blade knelt again and examined the Commando. He extracted the magazine and found the jammed bullet in the clip.
“Colonel Jarvis!”
Blade quickly reloaded the Commando, thankful the A-1 and it used the same caliber ammunition.
“Colonel Jarvis!” The voice was very close.
Nodding in satisfaction, Blade stood, the Commando held snugly in his right arm, the A-1 in his left.
“Colonel Jarvis! Sir!”
A soldier reached the tent and flung the flap to one side. He spotted the Warrior and attempted to bring his M-16 into play.
The Commando roared, bucking in Blade’s arm, and the slugs caught the trooper in the chest, his back exploding outward as he fell.
Blade emerged from the tent.
Both the sentry tower at the north end of the stockade and the tower on the west side were demolished, spewing fire and smoke. The SEAL was stopped in the center of a circle of soldiers, and they were pouring everything they had at the vehicle.
Blade advanced across the field. He fired as fast as soldiers appeared, the Commando and the A-1 tearing them apart before they knew what hit them. Four troopers directly ahead were engaged in replacing the magazines in their M-16’s. One of them spotted the Warrior and warned his companions; all four spun and were caught in a withering hail of fire.
He downed nine more in five seconds.
Something plowed into Blade’s left shoulder, stunning him and drawing blood. He knew he’d been hit, but he ignored the wound for the moment as he concentrated on wrapping up this operation. A group of soldiers suddenly appeared to his left, charging over a small rise.
Blade crouched, aiming the Commando, doubting he could hold them all off with just one good arm.
There were at least ten of them, and as they passed near the front of the SEAL there was a hissing and a puff of blue and the entire group was engulfed by a sheet of flame. Their death cries were awful.
Blade scanned the area, surprised to discover the troopers were gone.
The ones still alive, anyway. The ground was littered with dozens and dozens of bodies, some oozing blood from multiple perforations and others fried to a fine crisp.
The stench was staggering.
Blade rose to his feet, his ears ringing from the conflict. He could hear moans and groans coming from every direction; the sound was eerie.
During his time as a Warrior, he’d seen a lot of fights, a lot of killing, but nothing like this. This was his first taste of all-out warfare, and he was feeling oddly uncomfortable as he faced the SEAL.
The driver’s door flew open and Hickok emerged, his Pythons in his hands.
“Glad to see you could make it,” Blade said. “I was beginning to think you were on vacation.”
Hickok warily walked over to Blade, his eyes alertly seeking any indication of hostility from the bodies on the field. His lips were compressed, his expression drawn and haggard.
“Something wrong?” Blade asked him.
Hickok nodded. “I didn’t like it.”
“Didn’t like what?”
Hickok motioned with his left arm toward the SEAL. “It wasn’t a fair fight! These slobs never had a chance! All I had to do was sit there and flick a switch and I’d wipe out a dozen of them at a crack! Did you see the flamethrower? Those boys never stood a chance!” he repeated, sounding stunned. “I like it when I can face an enemy and go one-on-one. That’s my ideal of a fair fight. This was… was nothing more than outright slaughter.”
Blade knew what the gunfighter meant and agreed with him.
There was the thump of a door closing, and Joshua jogged into view around the SEAL. “Blade!” he shouted. “You’re okay!”
Blade rubbed his injured shoulder as Joshua reached them. “Not quite,” he said. “I took one.”
“I’ll tend it immediately,” Joshua stated, turning. “My medicine bag is in the SEAL. Did you see it?” he inquired, grinning, sweeping the field with his right hand. “Did you see it?”
“See what?”
Joshua, continuing toward the SEAL, glanced over his right shoulder.
“Did you see Hickok? Wasn’t he magnificent? He handled the SEAL like an expert! All that shooting and the explosions and everything and they never even touched us! Amazing!” And with that he entered the SEAL.
Blade eyed Hickok quizzically.
“Don’t look at me, pard!” the gunman protested. “It’s all his doing. Josh has decided he likes me.”
“He likes you?”
“Yep. Just the way I am.” Hickok saw a body nearby twitch and stopped talking, waiting to see if it would move again. Nothing. “How’s the wing?” he asked Blade.
“Seems to be a clean hit, in and out,” Blade replied, inspecting his left shoulder. “How about you?”
“Like Josh said,” Hickok responded, “they never laid a glove on us. The Founder did a great job on the SEAL. Whatever he forked out was well spent. That plastic body must be practically impenetrable. The M-16’s didn’t even faze us. We could hear the slugs ricocheting, kind of like the buzzing of a bunch of angry hornets, but they didn’t put a nick in the buggy.”
“There were some bigger guns in the sentry towers,” Blade mentioned.
“Yeah. I noticed them,” Hickok said. “They rocked the SEAL real good, which is why I took ’em out first. We were lucky. If they’d had grenades or a bazooka it might have been a different story.”
Blade gazed at the SEAL, wondering what was delaying the Empath. “I still can’t believe Joshua was excited over a fight,” he commented.
“I think he’s faking it,” Hickok confided.
“Why?”
Hickok looked around to insure Joshua was still in the SEAL. “I reckon he’s on a campaign to show us how helpful he can be. I think he knows he’s been a monumental pain in the butt, and this is his way of making amends. Shhhh. Here he comes.”
Joshua was running toward them, his leather medicine bag, supplied by the Family Healers, clutched in his
right hand. “I finally found it!” he exclaimed as he rejoined them. “In all the commotion it slid under one of the seats. Let’s have a look at your shoulder.”
Except for wispy tendrils, most of the smoke had drifted from the field of conflict.
Hickok stared at the stockade. “Is she there?”
“She’s there,” Blade confirmed. “She’s looking forward to seeing you.”
“Maybe we can leave ’em in there another night,” the gunman proposed. “We’ll make like we’re too busy checking bodies to pay them any mind.”
Blade chuckled, then inadvertently flinched as Joshua probed his wound. “I don’t think it would work.”
“Why not?” Hickok wanted to know.
Just then, a loud male voice shouted at them from within the stockade.
“If a certain party doesn’t get his fat buns over here this instant and release us, then I’m going to tell another certain party some news the first certain party doesn’t want the second certain party to know about a third certain party who shall remain nameless! If you get my drift!”
“That dingblasted Injun!” Hickok fumed, and stormed toward the stockade.
Joshua, in the process of cleaning Blade’s gunshot with a clean compress and an herbal remedy developed by the Healers, grinned. “Was that who I think it was?”
“It was,” Blade affirmed.
Joshua laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Blade asked.
“I never realized it before,” Joshua replied, “but you guys are a lot of fun!”
Chapter Eighteen
First observation: no guards.
Yama hesitated inside the Biological Center doors, astonished at discovering the lack of security. On reflection, though, it seemed eminently logical; who would be foolish enough to invade the lair of the Doktor and his Genetic Research Division?
Second observation: judging from ground level, the building must be a virtual maze. Eleven hallways branched off from a small reception area. A desk and a chair were positioned a few feet inside the doors, but the post was vacant.
So were the hallways.
Where was everyone?
Something whined to his left and Yama turned.
Third observation: never again judge Civilized Zone society by Family standards.
A row of four wide doors lined the walls to his left, doors lacking knobs or handles. Above each door was a lighted strip containing four letters and seven numbers: S-B-G-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-R.
What did it all mean?
The G in the lighted strip above the second door suddenly lit up, there was a slight rumbling sound, and the door slid open.
A genetic deviate stepped out.
Yama noticed a bulletin board on a wall to his right and he headed toward it, forcing himself to stroll naturally, to avoid betraying any inkling of nervousness.
This G.R.D., as Gremlin had informed Yama they were called, was six feet in height. Its skin was covered with brown scales, and the spaces between its toes were webbed. A pair of huge, red eyes glared at the world from under a protruding brow. Its mouth was small, its lips thin and constantly twitching.
Yama reached the bulletin board and aligned his body go he could keep track of the G.R.D.
The thing walked to the outside doors and looked out. It frowned and glanced at Yama. “Did you see the Doktor leave?” it asked in a sibilant voice.
“You just missed him,” Yama courteously responded, hoping his tone and inflection were normal.
“Damn it!” the thing hissed. “I’ll have to catch him after he returns from the banquet tonight.” It whirled and vanished down one of the hallways.
Banquet?
An announcement on the bulletin board drew Yama’s attention:
“TO ALL PERSONNEL: THIS IS YOUR FINAL REMINDER! YOU ARE ENCOURAGED TO ATTEND THE FORMAL BANQUET TONIGHT AT 2100 IN HONOR OF OUR GLORIOUS LEADER. THE RECEPTION LINE FORMS AT 2000. SEATING MUST BE ACCOMPLISHED BY 2030. THE PLACE: THE CONVENTION CENTER. BE THERE!”
Yama read another announcement tacked to the board below the first:
“TO ALL PERSONNEL: PARADE AT 0600. IN HONOR OF SAMUEL II’s VISIT, AS PART OF THE PREPARATION FOR THE CAVALRY DRIVE, ALL MILITARY PERSONNEL, INCLUDING ALL BI CEN AUX, ARE REQUIRED TO PARTICIPATE IN A FULL-DRESS PARADE AT 0600. BE THERE!”
Yama thoughtfully stroked his chin. If he comprehended these messages, Samuel the Second was in Cheyenne for a banquet at the Convention Center. His visit was linked to the big push against the Cavalry commencing the next day. If the personnel in the Biological Center were encouraged to attend, it might mean the Doktor’s den was understaffed.
With fewer people—or whatever—crowding the halls, it increased the probability of a successful mission.
But which way should he try first?
He happened to look out the front doors, and immediately tensed.
That meddling policeman was returning with six armed soldiers. They were halfway up the steps already.
Yama moved to the reception desk, thankful the doors were tinted in the same fashion as the SEAL. If inside, you could see out, but those outside could not view the interior.
Which way should he go?
The decision was taken from his hands.
Yama walked to a hall on his left, then stopped as the clamor of a loud conversation carried down the hallway.
Others were coming!
The Warrior found himself hemmed in: in front of him, a confusing network of hallways; behind him, the policeman and the soldiers he had summoned; to his right, the bulletin board; and to his left, the…
The what?
Yama edged toward the four wide doors without knobs. The second door was still open, the G above the door flashing yellow. A memory tugged at Yama’s consciousness, a recollection from his childhood, from his schooling years. He recalled lessons dealing with life before World War III, in particular a study of the mechanized marvels mankind had developed before the Big Blast. One of the books from the Family Library was spread open on the teacher’s desk, revealing photograph after photograph of wonders of the scientific age: planes and jets, buses and trains, cars and trucks, motorcycles and snowmobiles, and something really incredible.
Portable closets.
Yama absently snapped his fingers, attempting to remember the proper name. It began with an E…
Elevators!
Yama hurried into the open elevator. To his right was a series of letters and numbers corresponding to those on the lighted strip above the door, with each letter or numeral stamped onto a square white button. The buttons were arranged in a vertical row.
How did the elevator operate?
Yama glanced at the front doors.
The policeman and the six soldiers were only three steps from the top.
Yama quickly pressed the bottom button, the one marked with an S.
Instantly, the door slid shut and the elevator rocked slightly as it began to descend.
Where was it taking him?
The elevator’s descent was quiet, the motion smooth. As the door had closed, the button labeled with a G became very bright. The G grew dark after a few seconds, however, and the next button, the one marked with a B, lit up. After the elevator continued to drop, the next button, the S, flickered and illuminated.
What did the G, B, and S stand for?
The elevator abruptly stopped and the door rolled Yama raised the Wilkinson, alert for trouble.
A solitary hallway extended from the elevator, running straight ahead for twenty-five yards before it branched in two directions. The walls were constructed of cinder blocks, the ceiling of white tile, while the floor was covered with a thick red carpet.
The hall was deserted.
Yama edged from the elevator. There were closed doors on both sides of the hallway, four on his left and three on his right. The first door he passed was identified by a small sign reading: “Janitorial Closet.”
Not exactly what he was looking for.
The
next door bore a sign stating: “Bio Lab.” Yama tried the doorknob and the door swung slowly open. Cautiously, he peered around the door, not knowing what to expect.
The chamber was huge and filled with table after table of scientific, medical, and chemical apparatuses. Dozens of workers, the majority of them from the Genetic Research Division and the rest human, were engaged in a variety of technical and experimental tasks. Some were toiling over smoldering test tubes, others mixing chemicals, and a group of four near the door was dissecting a dog, a collie.
Yama quietly closed the door before the occupants noticed him. He realized he must be in the very heart of the Biological Center, in the Docktor’s inner sanctum.
The next door opened into a small office containing a desk, two chairs, and a file cabinet. No one was inside. The sign on the door revealed this office evidently belonged to someone named Clarissa.
Yama padded along the hallway and reached the next door. This door was locked and a bright red sign was posted at eye level. It read: “Keep Out!”
Now what could this be?
Yama knelt and examined the lock. He could shoot it open, but the shot would attract unwelcome attention to his presence. Trying to pry it open would take too long and leave marks.
The sound of cheerful whistling suddenly reached his ears.
Yama rose and hurried into Clarissa’s office, leaving a slight opening between the door and the jamb so he could view the hallway.
A man in a white frock appeared at the junction, holding a glass bottle filled with a red liquid. The man reached the locked door, produced a key, and walked inside.
Yama waited a moment, then left the office, crossed the hall, and carefully entered the room. There was no sign of the man in the frock. This chamber, like the Bio Lab, was enormous, and like the Bio Lab it contained row upon row of tables. On these tables, however, were large glass vats filled with a clear liquid and something else.
What were they?
Yama moved closer to the nearest vat, observing at least a half-dozen tubes emerging from the vat and running along an overhead rod until they reached a massive piece of equipment positioned in the middle of the room. This latter item rose almost to the ceiling. Dozens upon dozens of tubes ran into it near the top, and the bottom third was a confusing array of switches, knobs, and blinking lights of varied colors.
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