Houston Run

Chapter One

A bright red pinpoint of light appeared in the center of the Clarke Model 2001 Computer, the navigational console for the Klinecraft Hover jet.

“One hundred miles and closing,” AS-1 announced. He occupied the middle seat in front of the control console, his seven-foot frame erect in his chair, his blue orbs scanning the digital display above the red light.

“Ready for target identification and isolation,” IM-97 declared from his cushioned green seat to the right of AS-1.

In the contoured chair to the left, OV-3 flicked a silver toggle switch on the large console and a square screen before him brightened. His right hand moved across a bank of typing keys below the seven-inch-wide screen, his fingers stabbing individual letters with astonishing rapidity.

“ACTIVATED” flashed onto the screen in black block letters.

OV-3 typed his request into the computer. As a last-minute addition to the retrieval crew, he wanted to review the target data once again.

“SUBJECT: BLADE,” the Clarke responded at the top of the screen, and immediately the display filled with the subject’s background and peripheral data. OV-3 scanned the material.

OV-3 pursed his thin lips. The file on Blade was unusually thin. His hands raced over the keys, accessing the correlative material.

OV-3 read the last section twice. Such degenerates deserved to be exterminated. Why would Primator deal so mercifully with these biological organisms? The genetics might be useful for menial functions, but otherwise they were hopeless. He stared at the monitor. The information on the Family as a whole, like that on Blade, was singularly sparse. He decided to punch up the report on the Home, and promptly did so.

OV-3 glanced at AS-1. “Intelligence has not compiled an adequate file on our target,” he stated.

AS-1, his attention on the 2001 console, nodded. “Did you view the data on the Home?” he asked.

“Affirmative,” OV-3 replied.

“And did you note the Prominence Rating?” AS-1 inquired.

“A zero,” OV-3 noted.

“Which explains our lack of information,” AS-1 said. “The Family is so low on the list, they were deemed inconsequential. Intelligence has been concentrating on the primaries, on the Technics, the Soviets, and the Civilized Zone.”

“I understand that,” OV-3 commented. “I do not understand why we are expending precious fuel to fly to a small, inconsequential outpost merely to retrieve one organism.”

“Primator wants this organism,” AS-1 mentioned.

“Did Primator elaborate on his rationale?” OV-3 asked.

“No,” AS-1 responded.

“I can supply a secondary reason,” IM-97 chimed in.

“What is it?” OV-3 questioned.

“Clarissa,” IM-97 revealed.

OV-3 gazed out the canopy of the Klinecraft Hoverjet at the stars in the night sky. “Most odd,” he remarked. “What does Clarissa want with this organism?”

AS-1 shook his head. “I was not told.”

“Nor was I,” IM-97 said. “But I do know Clarissa petitioned Primator for the organism, and Primator assented.”

AS-1 leaned over the console. “Initiate target identification and isolation,” he ordered.

“Engaged,” IM-97 said, and pressed a white button near his right hand.

A small screen, laced with an overlaid grid, hummed and glowed with a diffuse pink light.

AS-1 studied the digital display above the red light. “Ten miles to target,” he informed the others.

“What if this Blade resists?” OV-3 inquired.

“We take him alive,” AS-1 said. “Primator was specific in his instructions. Any harm to the organism will result in dismantlement.”

“And if the other Warriors interfere?” OV-3 probed.

“Any intervention is to be summarily negated,” AS-1 stated.

“Understood,” OV-3 said.

“Commencing deceleration,” AS-1 declared.

The Klinecraft Hoverjet slowed to a mere fraction of its cruising speed.

“Two miles to target,” AS-1 told them.

OV-3 reached over and depressed a brown lever. “External lights extinguished.”

“Activating Stealth Mode,” AS-1 stated, and punched a black button. In the Stealth Mode, the Hoverjet’s engine operated with a muted whine detectable for a range of only 25 yards.

IM-97 peered at the illuminated grid. The Burroughs Infra-Sensor Module, an optional attachment on the 2001 Computer, required several minutes to attain peak functional capability. He rested his hands on a pair of knobs below the grid, waiting for the word from AS-1.

The Hoverjet continued to wing slowly toward their destination. A minute passed in relative silence. Two minutes.

AS-1, his eyes locked on the digital display, nodded. “We are over the south wall.”

“Infrared operational,” IM-97 said, twisting the knob in his left hand.

Dozens of red blips materialized on the grid. “Multiple possibles within range.”

“Adjust the sensors,” AS-1 directed, “Scan for physical dimensions, respiratory rate, and gross bulk. Our target is one of the few humans our size. He should literally stand out head and shoulders above the rest.”

“Scanning,” IM-97 responded.

With AS-1 handling the maneuvering of the Klinecraft, and IM-97 immersed in isolating their target, OV-3 was left with nothing to do. He elected to maximize his time by learning additional details concerning the Family. His fingers flew over the keys, and a moment later the name of another known Warrior appeared on the screen.

OV-3 looked at AS-1. “I trust Intelligence will upgrade the files on the Family in the near future.”

“If Primator so wills,” AS-1 answered. “Evidently, the Doktor had accumulated an extensive file on the Family and the Warriors, but it was destroyed when his headquarters was obliterated. Samuel II also kept a complete dossier on them, but our spy has not been able to locate it. After Samuel II’s death, his successor, the new President of the Civilized Zone, confiscated all of Samuel II’s files. This President Toland allows only trusted subordinates to view the files.”

“Where did Intelligence acquire our information?” OV-3 asked.

“Here and there,” AS-1 replied. “Clarissa provided much of it from her memory. Some of it was obtained from monitored Soviet and Technic broadcasts. The rest came from miscellaneous minor sources. Our data on the Family is far from complete.”

“That’s an understatement,” OV-3 commented.

IM-97 suddenly interrupted. “We have him,” he declared.

“You have isolated the target?” AS-1 inquired.

“Affirmative,” IM-97 affirmed. “And he has unwittingly made our retrieval easier.”

“Explain,” AS-1 said.

“The Infra-Sensor reveals the majority of the Family is congregated in the western section of their Home,” IM-97 elaborated. “But two individuals are in the southeast quadrant. One of them must be our target. He measures out at seven feet tall and weighs 240.”

“There are just two of them?” AS-1 asked.

“Just two,” IM-97 confirmed.

AS-1 stared at the digital display. The Hoverjet was hovering 200 yards above the surface. He angled the Klinecraft in the direction of the pair in the southeast quadrant. “Parabolic,” he ordered.

OV-3 straightened, switching a toggle to his left and gripping a round lever in his right hand. “Parabolic activated.”

The Hoverjet drifted toward the southeast quadrant.

Sounds began emanating from a four-inch speaker mounted on the console near OV-3. Leaves rustling. The wind whispering.

OV-3 slowly moved the round lever back and forth, up and down, searching.

“…be a piece of cake,” a male voice abruptly filled the cockpit.

“You think so?” responded a lower, more resonant speaker.

“I may have them,” OV-3 said.

“They are the only ones in that area,” IM-97 averred. “It must be them.”

“I’ve whipped your butt two times so far, pard,” the first voice stated.

“We’ll try one more time,” the speaker with the low tone remarked.

“Then can we call it quits for the night?” asked the first man. “I promised my missus I’d be home to tuck Ringo in. That young’un will be traumatized if his fearless papa ain’t there to kiss him nighty-night.”

The man with the low voice chuckled. “Sure, Hickok. This will be our last one for tonight.”

“Thanks, Blade,” Hickok said.

“We have him,” AS-1 remarked.

“Do we take him now?” OV-3 queried.

“We will wait for a better opportunity,” AS-1 said. “We do not want to arouse any suspicions. We might be able to take him when he’s alone.”

“…don’t see why the blazes we have to do this anyway!” Hickok was saying.

“Practice makes perfect,” Blade responded.

“After all we’ve been through,” Hickok muttered, “we still got to play these games!”

“They’re not games, and you know it,” Blade corrected him. “These night drills are essential to our readiness.”

“Okay. I get your drift. And I don’t need no lecture,” Hickok said. “Let’s get this blamed nonsense over with, so we can mosey on back, tuck in the young’uns, and rustle up some grub.”

“I’ll be the stalker this time,” Blade said.

“Fine by me,” Hickok replied.

“Mosey? Grub?” AS-1 repeated, puzzled. “This Hickok employs a peculiar dialect.”

“All biological organisms are strange,” OV-3 asserted.

“Blade is moving away from Hickok,” IM-97 disclosed, his eyes glued to the grid.

“What are they doing?” OV-3 asked.

“Whatever it is,” AS-1 speculated, “it has something to do with their Warrior training.”

“I have a strange reading here,” IM-97 announced, his interest piqued by a trio of bluish-red blips on the grid.

“What sort of reading?” AS-1 demanded.

“I’m picking up all of the Family members within range,” IM-97 replied. “As expected, they all register red.”

“All bipedal humanoids register red,” AS-1 remarked.

“True,” IM-97 conceded. “But I’m also registering three bluish-red life readings, about one hundred yards to the northwest.”

AS-1 glanced at IM-97. “Bluish-red?”

“See for yourself,” IM-97 said, waving his right hand toward the blips.

AS-1 bent to the right and peered at the grid. “But blue is for organisms lower than human, for the animal life, the mammals and reptiles and such.”

“I know,” IM-97 agreed. “Which is what makes these three so strange.”

“They appear to be stationary,” AS-1 observed.

“They are,” IM-97 confirmed.

“Pulse rate?” AS-1 inquired.

IM-97 turned the right-hand knob below the grid, then studied the small figures appearing at the bottom of the screen. “Definitely not human.”

AS-1 reflected for a moment. “The Burroughs unit must be malfunctioning. We know the Family maintains this half of their Home in a natural state. Perhaps the unit has detected several horses or deer and is registering a composite signal. You know how precise the calibration must be on these units. Did you calibrate it yourself?”

“No,” iM-97 answered. “The craft was serviced by the technicians before our departure.”

“They may have miscalibrated,” AS-1 stated. “Concentrate on Blade and Hickok. We must monitor them and wait for Hickok to leave, or for them to separate.”

“And then we pounce?” OV-3 interjected.

“And then we pounce,” AS-1 affirmed.