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…