Citadel Run

by David Robbins

  Still no trace of the man in the white frock.

  Yama reached the first vat and gazed inside. Although the liquid in the vat was clear, along the sides it was somewhat foamy, compelling the Warrior to squint as he looked within the vat. It took several seconds for the sight he was viewing to register.

  It couldn’t be!

  Ordinarily, Yama was one of the more stoic Warriors, refusing to allow his feelings to show. It usually took quite a shock to elicit a reaction from him, and this time his mouth dropped, his eyes widened, and he inadvertently took two steps backward. Sheer disgust overwhelmed him and he suffered a nauseous sensation.

  The grisly scene he beheld struck the Warrior to the very core of his being. As with every other Family member, Yama was deeply religious.

  The Founder of the survival retreat called the Home, Kurt Carpenter, had himself been a religious man. He had developed a program of religious instruction for Family members starting when they were yet infants.

  Carpenter had recognized that religion was indispensable to moral and spiritual growth, but he had wanted to avoid the formalized dogmatic doctrine, the perpetuation of fossilized creeds, so prevalent in pre-war society. Consequently, every Family member was permitted to cultivate exclusively personal spiritual beliefs, and the establishment of a Family religion was strictly forbidden. Despite the injunction against formalization, a certain generalized consensus did exist. Everyone in the Family believed there was a God, a Supreme Being, a Divine Light, the Way, Allah, or whatever term the individual Family member decided to use in describing the Maker and Shaper of the cosmos. Each Family member also accepted the fact every mortal was spiritually related to everyone else, was a son or daughter in one vast universal family.

  Consequently, the Family viewed life itself as especially precious, to be treated with the ultimate respect. Yama’s reverence for all life was particularly keen, and consequently he was exceptionally unsettled by the contents of the vat.

  It was a baby, no more than six months old, floating in the liquid in the vat, attached to a half-dozen intravenous tubes!

  Yama couldn’t bring himself to take another look. His utter revulsion sickened him. What was it Seth Mason had said? That the Doktor drank blood? Wasn’t that the rumor? Well, one of the tubes running from the infant to the machine in the middle of the chamber was carrying a reddish substance!

  What did it all mean? What was the Doktor…

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  Yama turned to his left. The man in the white frock was standing three feet away, his hands on his hips, glaring in obvious anger at the Warrior.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” the man repeated. “You know damn well this area is off-limits to everybody except authorized personnel! Let me see your pass!”

  “Certainly,” Yama replied sheepishly. He stepped over to the man and held out the Wilkinson. “Would you hold this for me?”

  The man took the gun, closely scrutinizing Yama.

  “I know I have it here somewhere,” Yama said, reaching in his left pants pocket with his left hand while he scratched his head with his right.

  “Hurry it up!” the man snapped, stamping his right foot.

  Yama eased his right hand behind his neck and undid the leather strap securing his scimitar. He gripped the hilt before the sword could slide any lower. All the while, his left hand was groping in his left pocket.

  “Do you have it or don’t you?” the man demanded.

  Yama removed his left hand, holding a coin. “I have this.”

  “A dollar?” the man scoffed. “Listen, buddy! You’d better produce your pass, and fast, or you’re going to lose your head!”

  “I believe you have it reversed,” Yama said quietly, and dropped the coin.

  The man in the white frock was distracted by the falling coin; he watched it land on the floor and roll a foot before falling onto its side.

  “You’d better pick that…” he began, looking up at the silver-haired soldier.

  Yama, the scimitar already held aloft over his head, swung, the razor-like blade arcing downward and connecting, slashing into the man in white, into his neck, and nearly severing his head from his body.

  The man gasped once, his arms flapped against his sides, and he toppled to the floor, blood gushing from his ruined throat, covering him and the carpet both.

  Yama wiped his scimitar on the white frock and replaced the sword in its scabbard, under his shirt, securing the hilt to the leather strap.

  What could he do with the body?

  He scoured the chamber for a plausible hiding place and came up empty. The closets were too small to hold a grown man. He considered tossing the body into one of the vats, but that would be too obvious.

  Finally, he dragged the dead man behind the machine in the center of the room.

  It would have to do.

  Yama went through his victim’s pockets and found a set of keys attached to a metal ring. There was a handful of coins in the pants, some imprinted with “In the Name of Samuel” and others with “In Samuel We Trust.” Different numbers were stamped onto the metal, some coins with a one, others with a five, and a few with a ten. He also found a wallet, which he stuck in his left back pocket until he could find sufficient time to examine its contents.

  What should he do about the infants in the vats?

  Yama thoughtfully walked to the front of the chamber and retrieved his Wilkinson. There was nothing he could do for the babies, he decided, not now anyway. He wiped the Wilkinson on the rug to remove some spattered blood. If he continued to search, he told himself, he might discover a room where records were stored. Surely somewhere in the Biological Center there had to be documents detailing the reason for this horrible room!

  Vigilantly, he exited the chamber and locked the door. The hallway, for the moment, was deserted.

  The next door was unmarked and unlocked.

  Yama eased through the door, silently closing it behind him. This chamber was filled with tables loaded with cages. Cage after cage, each housing an animal of some sort. Mammals: mice, rats, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, raccoons, bats, and even some small cats, bobcats and domestic types. Reptiles: snakes, lizards, turtles, and several aquariums containing young alligators. Amphibians were also included: frogs by the score, salamanders, newts, and toads. In the rear of the room were large cages, towering above the rest, easily visible from the door.

  The chamber was filled with animal sounds and a readily detectable odor.

  Yama slowly walked down aisle after aisle, observing the wildlife and speculating on its purpose in the Biological Center. How did all these creatures fit into the Doktor’s scheme of things? He approached the large cages in the back of the chamber. Two of them were empty, one contained a black bear cub, and the last one held an unusual cat. Yama stared at the feline, curled up on a bed of straw on the floor of the cage, and tried to identify it. Its coat was a thick grayish-brown, its ears were pointed, and it lacked a tail. As he was viewing it, the cat abruptly opened its eyes, startling, penetrating, vividly green orbs, and glared at the man.

  There was nothing in here of major interest.

  Yama turned toward the door.

  “Going so soon, chuckles?”

  The Warrior spun, his finger on the trigger of the Wilkinson, thinking he’d overlooked a rear door.

  “You’re the nervous sort, huh, ugly?” The voice was high pitched, the words spoken with a bit of a lisp, and they were coming from… the… cat!

  Yama gawked as the cat rose to its feet, standing on two legs and defiantly staring at the Warrior.

  “Cat got your tongue?” the thing asked, and laughed at its own joke.

  Yama saw he was mistaken. It wasn’t a cat after all, it was a man resembling a cat, about four feet in height and not weighing more than sixty pounds, if that. The thing must be one of the Doktor’s genetically engineered creations. It wore a leather loin cloth, but the metallic collar normally w
orn by the deviates was missing.

  “Well, let’s get this over with!” the cat-man snapped.

  “Get what over with?” Yama inquired, curious.

  “Don’t play games with me, soldier boy!” the cat-man said harshly. “Get the execution over with!”

  “Execution?” Yama repeated questioningly.

  The cat-man made a show of gazing around the chamber. “There must be an echo in here!” He-it frowned at Yama. “I know why you are here. The Doc told me tonight would be the night. So let’s gt it over with! I’m tired of rotting in this damn cage!”

  “I’m not here to kill you,” Yama informed the… thing.

  The cat-man’s eyebrows arched. “You’re not? Then what the hell are you doing here, bub? I thought only the Doc and his zombies were permitted in here?”

  “Zombies?” Yama reiterated.

  The cat-man chuckled. “Boy, you jokers in uniform are still as brainless as ever! Zombies, idiot! That’s what I call any of the Doc’s little pet monsters.”

  Yama grinned. “Excuse me for saying this, but aren’t you one of the Doktor’s little pet monsters? Littler than most, I’d say.”

  The cat-man hissed. “If I wasn’t behind these bars, bozo,” he warned, “I’d tear you to shreds! These aren’t just for show, you know!” So saying, he held up his hands. All eight fingers and both thumbs were tipped with tapered claws.

  “What are you doing in that cage?” Yama asked.

  The thing eyed the Warrior quizzically. “You don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Then the Doc didn’t send you to execute me?”

  “Why does the Doktor want you executed?” Yama queried.

  “Because I’ve been a bad kitty,” the cat-man said sarcastically. “I tried to waste the son of a bitch!”

  Yama took a step toward the cage. “You tried to kill the Doktor?”

  The thing nodded. “Would have succeeded too, if that bitch Clarissa hadn’t shouted and given me away! I’ll get her, someday!”

  “I don’t understand,” Yama admitted. “I thought the Doktor could control all of his creatures by using a metal collar of some sort.”

  The cat-man shrugged. “It works most of the time. But every now and then he produces one like me, one who won’t take his crap, one who won’t listen no matter how many times the bastard threatens us with the collar.

  If he can’t keep us in line that way, he uses us for experiments or has us executed.”

  Yama nodded, comprehending. “And you thought I was your executioner.”

  “Say,” the thing said, moving to the bars and gripping them in both hands, “there’s something about you, chuckles. Something different.” The cat-man sniffed the air several times. “I can’t put my claw on it, but there’s something strange about you.”

  Yama mentally debated the wisdom of revealing his identity to the creature. Was it likely the thing was lying about the reason it was confined in the cage? “Do you have a name?” he asked it.

  The cat-man nodded. “I’m called Lynx,” he said proudly. “Does the name mean anything to you?”

  “No,” Yama confessed. “Should it?”

  “I’m famous,” Lynx boasted. “My name was in all the papers and on every newscast for days. Whenever anyone tries to kill the Doc, or any of the bigwigs for that matter, it’s news, chuckles. I took out fourteen of the bastards before they bagged me with a damn tranquilizer dart. Pricks! They thought I was one of the rebels!”

  “What do you mean?” Yama probed. “Who are the rebels?”

  “There’s an underground movement,” Lynx detailed, “an organized resistance to the Government, a group dedicated to the overthrow of Samuel and the Doktor. Everybody knows about the rebels.” Lynx paused.

  “Except you, bub. And you didn’t know about me either. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you weren’t from the Civilized Zone.”

  I’m not.

  Lynx pressed against the bars, intently studying Yama as if he were striving to perceive the nature of his very soul.

  Yama nodded. “It’s been nice talking with you.” He took a step away.

  “Wait!” Lynx yelled. “Don’t leave!”

  Yama stopped. “Why not?”

  “You’re going to take off and just leave me to rot in this stinking cage?” Lynx demanded angrily.

  “I’m on a mission,” Yama replied. “Freeing you would complicate my assignment immensely. Besides, I’m still not completely positive I can trust you. For all I know, if I set you free you might try to kill me.”

  “What’s your name, chuckles?” Lynx requested.

  “Yama.”

  “Well, Yama, baby, I’ll tell you what. You let me out of here, and I give you my word as a gentleman I won’t cause you any grief. Fair enough?”

  “No,” Yama responded.

  “No? What’s wrong with my word?” Lynx asked, peeved.

  “What if we run into some soldiers or other beings like yourself?” Yama pressed him.

  Lynx snorted. “I’ll rip ’em to shreds!”

  “That’s what I thought,” Yama said. “It’s not good enough.”

  Lynx cocked his head and uttered a peculiar trilling sound. “Sharp one, aren’t you, bub? Okay. Let’s hear your conditions.”

  “I’ll release you from the cage,” Yama stipulated, “if you will agree to my terms. One. You will assist me and guide me on a tour of the Biological Center…”

  “A tour?” Lynx laughed. “You want the deluxe or the tourist rate?”

  “Two. You will follow my instructions implicity. Three. You will not attack anyone unless I give the word. Agreed?” Yama asked.

  Lynx hesitated before answering. “You sure drive a hard bargain, pal,” he finally said. “I don’t see where I’ve got much choice so, yeah, I agree.

  Satisfied?”

  Yama walked up to the cage and stared into Lynx’s eyes. “If you cross me I will kill you,” he stated in a low, soft tone.

  Again Lynx made the trilling sound. “Yes,” he said after a long moment.

  “I suppose you would. Don’t worry, Yama. You have my word.”

  Yama nodded and produced the key ring taken from the man in the white frock. There were over a dozen keys on the ring, and he was on the seventh one before the lock clinked and the cage door swung open.

  For a tense moment the pair eyed one another.

  “Orders, boss?” Lynx asked.

  “Follow me,” Yama directed, and led the way to the door. Many of the animals displayed extreme fright as Lynx passed their cages, screeching and snarling or moving as far away from him as they could.

  “Must be my breath,” Lynx remarked at one point.

  Yama peered into the hallway just in time to see two men in white disappear around the corner of the junction with the other corridor.

  Hurriedly, Lynx right behind him, he crossed the hall to the deserted office he’d found earlier.

  “This is Clarissa’s room,” Lynx said as Yama closed the door. “The bitch who saved the Doc from my claws. What are we doing in here?”

  “I require information,” Yama mentioned. “We’re less likely to be disturbed in here than the cage chamber. Do you know what’s in the room next to the cage chamber?”

  Lynx frowned. “We call it the Baby Room, the room with all those babies in the vats. I take it you’ve seen it?”

  “What purpose does it serve?” Yama inquired.

  “It has something to do with the Doc’s rejuvenation technique,” Lynx divulged.

  “I don’t follow you.”

  Lynx leaned against the desk. “Do you know much about the Doc?”

  “Very little,” Yama admitted.

  “Do you know how old he is?” Lynx questioned.

  “How old? No. But I saw him outside earlier. I’d estimate his age at forty, forty-five tops. Why?”

  Lynx snickered. “The Doc is one hundred and twenty-seven years old.”

  “That’s impossible
,” Yama countered.

  “You can stand there and look at me and talk about impossibilities? I tell you the Doc is one hundred and twenty-seven, almost one hundred and twenty-eight.”

  “But that would mean the Doktor was alive before World War III.”

  Yama protested. “I don’t see how…”

  “Look!” Lynx said impatiently. “You wanted to know about the Baby Room and I’m telling you. It has something to do with the Doc’s longevity.

  Don’t ask me what, because I’m no scientist. But everybody knows the Doc has an inordinate interest in babies with Type O blood. You want to know more, then ask him!”

  “Those infants in the vats,” Yama stated, almost shuddering at the memory, “are they alive or dead?”

  “I think their bodies are alive,” Lynx disclosed, “but I heard the Doc say once they’re brain dead, whatever that means.”

  Yama thought a moment. “How does the Doktor create things such as yourself?”

  Lynx shrugged. “Beats me. All I know is it involves genetic engineering.

  Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Doesn’t anyone know?”

  “The Doc. And he doesn’t share his secrets with open arms. Clarissa knows a lot, but I don’t know how much. Sorry I can’t be of much help,” Lynx apologized, “but I was one of the Doc’s assassins until I saw the light. I didn’t work in the lab.”

  Yama sighed in frustration. “It’s all right. Do you happen to know where the Doktor might have a records room, a room with his personal notes and computations?”

  “Sure do, chuckles. Two floors up. Want me to take you to it?”

  “Let’s go,” Yama said, opening the door to the office.

  They left Clarissa’s private office and walked along the hallway to the junction.

  “Which way?” Yama needed to know.

  “That way,” Lynx said, pointing to their right. “There’s a flight of stairs at the end of the hall we can take.”

  “Remember what I told you about attacking others,” Yama reminded the diminutive, feisty creature.