Houston Run

Chapter Eleven

Blade tensed as the helicopter dropped toward the transport. The copter’s spotlight swept over the truck cab, bathing them in a white light.

“They’ve found us, yes!” Gremlin cried.

Blade swerved the truck to the left, reacting instinctively, feeling exposed in the light.

There was a loud blast from the direction of the helicopter, a pronounced whump, and the avenue to the right of the transport erupted in a spray of asphalt and dirt. The concussion from the explosion rocked the truck.

Blade fought to maintain control as he began swerving the transport from side to side, striving to present as difficult a target as possible.

“The suckers have a rocket on that copter!” Lynx shouted.

Blade had lost sight of the helicopter. “Keep your eyes peeled!” he ordered. “Tell me where it is.”

“It went over us after firin’ the rocket,” Hickok said. “It might be comin’ up from behind.”

It was.

The helicopter was swooping toward the transport like a great bird of prey. The pilot was adroitly maneuvering the craft in the airspace above the avenue, precariously flying the copter between the tall structures on either side.

Blade spun the steering wheel for all he was worth, keeping the transport lurching from right to left, from left to right, hoping the tactic would hinder the helicopter pilot and would interfere with the launching of another rocket. His hope, though, was in vain.

The road in front of the truck abruptly exploded, showering dirt and chunks of the avenue on the windshield.

Blade felt the transport’s front wheels leave the ground as the force of the detonation nearly flipped the huge truck over. But the front wheels slammed to the road again, jarring everyone in the cab, and the transport swerved to the right as Blade struggled with the steering wheel.

“There it goes!” Ferret yelled.

The helicopter flew past the truck and arced upward, preparing for another strafing run.

Blade gritted his teeth. They’d been lucky twice. It was unlikely the copter would miss a third time. There was no other recourse than to abandon the truck. But they needed cover, somewhere they could hide, protection from the helicopter.

The gold building arrested his attention.

The transport was only a hundred yards from the enormous golden skyscraper. Blade could see a driveway leading from the avenue to the front doors. If he could reach those doors, if they could seek shelter inside, it was doubtful the copter would press its attack. He angled the truck toward the drive, his eyes sweeping the sky for sign of the helicopter.

Where was it? Had it already turned? If only…

“Look!” Lynx shouted, pointing straight ahead.

Blade saw it.

The helicopter was 300 yards in front of them, not more than 30 feet above the avenue, drawing near at top speed.

Blade could deduce the copter pilot’s strategy. The pilot was going to get so close to the truck, breathing right down its throat, as it were, that the next rocket would be assured of hitting the transport.

But at what range would the copter fire?

That was the crucial question.

Blade had the accelerator flooded. The conflict was now a race against time. If he could reach the drive before the copter fired, the truck would easily get to the front doors before the copter could turn for another try.

But if the helicopter launched another rocket before he reached the drive…

“We’re doomed, yes!” Gremlin wailed.

Blade wondered if there were more of the silver men in the helicopter.

Probably. The silver giants seemed to hold every position of authority in Androxia.

The copter descended another ten feet closer to the avenue, maintaining its intercept course.

The transport was now a mere 20 yards from the drive.

Blade held his breath in anticipation. Fifteen yards. Ten. Five. Now! He wrenched on the steering wheel, sending the truck into a treacherour right turn.

Just as the helicopter fired.

Blade almost evaded the rocket. Almost, but not quite.

The truck rocked and bounced as the rear of the bed was blown to smithereens.

Blade’s arms were nearly torn from their sockets. The steering wheel locked, despite his herculean efforts to turn it, to direct the course of the truck, and the transport slewed to the right, leaving the driveway, plowing through a row of shrubs, and grinding to a halt on the grass not ten yards from the front doors. “Out of the truck!” he ordered. “Get into the building!”

Gremlin threw open the passenger door and leaped to the grass, followed by Lynx and Ferret.

Blade was out the driver’s door in an instant, Hickok right on his heels.

All five of them raced to the front doors. They could hear the helicopter hovering overhead, its blades whirring.

Blade reached the glass doors first. He tugged on one of them, expecting it to be locked, but the door opened. “Inside!” he bellowed, and darted into the gold edifice. He spun, holding the door wide, as the others quickly entered. They turned, staring out the doors, exhilarated by their escape from the copter.

“We did it!” Lynx exclaimed and laughed triumphantly.

“It was a piece of cake!” Hickok declared.

“Is one of you hungry?” inquired a deep, resonant voice to their rear.

Blade whirled, his right hand clutching the whip handle.

“That would not be wise,” said the speaker. He was one of twelve silver men, spread out in a semicircle around the front doors. Five of the silver giants carried whips, but the rest held unusual handguns, pistols with a conical barrel but lacking sights.

Hickok had his whip in his right hand. “I’ve never been known for bein’ too bright,” he stated defiantly. “Come and get it!”

The speaker wagged the pistol he held. “Stupidity is not a quality worth bragging about,” he said calmly. “You will drop the Electro-Prod, or I will terminate you with this Gaskell Laser.”

Hickok hesitated. “Why should I?” he countered. “What’s so special about that funny-lookin’ hardware of yours?”

“You have never seen a laser pistol before?” the Superior inquired.

“Nope,” Hickok admitted. “What’s the big deal?”

“Observe and learn,” the Superior stated. He pivoted, aiming the Gaskell Laser at a potted fern to the right of the glass doors. His trigger finger moved, and a brilliant beam of light shot from the laser. There was a pronounced hissing noise, and a smoking hole suddenly appeared in the pot containing the fern. The Superior ceased firing and turned to the gunfighter. “I trust the exhibition was informative?”

Hickok stared at the hole in the pot, astounded. “How does that popgun of yours work?”

“It would be useless to elucidate,” the Superior replied. “The Gaskell’s operating principle is beyond your limited conceptual capacity.”

“I think you’ve just been insulted,” Lynx said to the gunman.

Hickok glanced at Blade. “You’re the boss. It’s up to you.”

Blade dropped the whip on the floor.

Hickok frowned, shook his head, and released the Electro-Prod.

The Superior moved forward. “You will accompany us. You will not resist.”

Ferret sighed. “Here we go again. Back to Containment.”

“You are not going to Containment,” the Superior informed them.

“Oh? Where are you takin’ us, dimples?” Lynx queried.

“You have an audience with Primator,” the Superior stated.

“Who is Primator?” Blade asked the silver giant.

“Primator is… Primator,” the Superior said. “Any questions you might have will be answered soon. You will now form a single file.”

Blade obeyed, taking the lead, followed by Hickok, Lynx, Gremlin, and Ferret. They stood in a line, awaiting further instructions.

The Superiors took up positions on both sides, ringing the Warriors and the mutants. The giant doing all the talking stepped up to Blade.

“Your audience with Primator will be on the Sturgeon Level. Follow me.”

“The Sturgeon Level?” Blade repeated quizzically.

“The top floor in the Prime Complex,” the Superior said.

“How far is it to this Prime Complex?” Blade asked.

“You are standing in it.”

“What?”

“You are in the Prime Complex,” the Superior revealed. “We will conduct you to the upper level.” He started walking toward the south wall, toward a glass-enclosed platform resting on the floor.

Blade walked after the Superior, surveying his surroundings. The lobby for the Prime Complex was furnished in an opulent fashion. The plush red carpet underfoot, the polished wooden paneling on the walls, the ornate maple furniture, and the shimmering chandelier suspended above the center of the lobby combined to produce an aura of great wealth. Even the four standard elevators along the east wall had gold doors. “This Primator of yours must like his luxury,” Blade commented.

The Superior looked at the Warrior. “Primator is indifferent to luxury.”

“I don’t see him living in a dump,” Blade mentioned.

“What purpose would be achieved by residing in a dump?” the Superior countered.

Blade refrained from responding. Debating with a Superior, he noted, was as stimulating as debating with a brick wall. He gazed at the platform they were heading for, estimating the circular base was 50 feet in circumference. The glass—or was it plastic?—enclosing the platform formed an oval shell 30 feet in height.

The chief Superior opened a clear door in the side of the oval shell and stepped onto the black platform, moving to the middle.

Blade walked to the Superior’s right side.

Hickok, the three mutants, and their escort of Superiors all came onto the platform.

Blade craned his neck, staring upward. A tremendous shaft or tunnel reared aloft. The vertical tube seemed to be endless, and its dimensions, Blade realized, corresponded to the size of the platform.

The last Superior stepped aboard and closed the door.

“Brace yourself,” the Superior in charge said to Blade. “Your human musculature will experience extreme strain.”

“Strain from what?” Blade wanted to know.

He found out.

Without any advance warning, the platform unexpectedly shot upward at an incredible speed. The floor vibrated slightly as the entire platform was propelled up the vertical shaft at a mercurial pace.

Blade nearly lost his footing. The platform accelerated so swiftly, going from being completely motionless to a quick-as-lightning rate instantaneously, he felt like huge hands were bearing down on his shoulders, striving to flatten him on the floor. The enigmatic force did not appear to affect the Superiors; they stood with an almost casual indifference as the platform leaped upward. Blade saw Hickok fall to his knees, as did Gremlin, but Lynx and Ferret retained their balance, although Ferret tottered several feet.

“The Prime Complex is two hundred ninety-nine stories tall,” the Superior disclosed. “The McCammon Null Tube is the only practical means of vertical ascension for the upper floors. The elevators only reach the hundredth floor.”

The platform came to an abrupt, yet amazingly smooth, halt, seemingly decelerating in the space of several seconds. One moment the platform was hurtling upward, and the next it was at rest on the top floor.

“Disembark,” the head Superior directed.

Another Superior opened the door, and they exited the platform one by one.

The hallway Blade found himself in was equally as lavish as the lobby, with green carpet and gleaming silver walls.

“We will escort you to the audience chamber,” the Superior said to Blade.

Hickok, standing behind his strapping companion, overheard the remark. “Shouldn’t we put on our fancy duds for this shindig?”

The Superior glanced at the gunman. “Has anyone ever told you that you employ an eccentric vocabulary?”

“Practically everybody,” Hickok admitted.

The Superior slowly shook his head. “I will never, ever, comprehend biological organisms.”

“Aren’t you a biological organism?” Blade interjected.

“I am not,” the Superior stated with a trace of indignation. “Follow me.” He began walking, proceeding down the corridor to the left of the platform.

Blade mused as they strolled toward the audience chamber. What were the Superiors? he asked himself. He recalled the one he’d stabbed in the chest. He had even chopped off its left hand, and the Superior had reacted as if nothing had happened, with a detached air, unruffled, emotionlessly.

Come to think of it, the Superiors rarely exhibited any emotion. Why?

The corridor ended at a pair of large gold doors. A Superior stood in front of each door, and both were armed, each with a Gaskell Laser in a leather holster on the right hip.

The Superior in charge of the prisoners nodded at the silver giant near the right-hand gold door. “Inform Primator that the Warriors and the three foreign mutants are here.”

The giant guarding the door nodded, wheeled, opened the right-hand gold door, and vanished inside.

“You are receiving a great honor,” the chief Superior said to Blade. “An audience with Primator is not a common occurrence.”

“I was just born lucky, I guess,” Blade rejoined sarcastically.

“You must treat Primator with due respect,” the Superior advised.

“You don’t need to worry none about that,” Hickok chimed in. “I intend to give Primator all the respect I owe him.”

“Have a care, human,” the Superior warned. “Primator is not to be trifled with.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Hickok rejoined, smirking.

The Superior stared at Blade. “You would do well to accept your fate.

Don’t compound your stupidity by causing more trouble. I know you are a biological organism, and you can’t help being the way you are, but exercising self-control would minimize the risk of your being terminated.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Blade said.

“Heed my advice, human,” the Superior stated. “You will be better off if you do.”

The guard emerged from the audience chamber. He nodded and stepped aside. “Primator will see them now.”

“Heed my advice,” the Superior reiterated, and motioned for Blade to enter the gold doors.

Blade cautiously advanced past the right-hand gold door, Hickok and the mutants right behind him.

The Superiors, suprisingly, stayed outside.

“Hey!” Lynx exclaimed. “The silver dorks ain’t comin’!”

“What is this, yes?” Gremlin asked. “This is not the audience chamber, no.”

They were in a small room, not more than 20 feet by 30 feet, with gold walls and a gold ceiling. The carpet was brown.

“This must be an antechamber,” Blade commented. He pointed at another pair of gold doors on the other side of the room. “The audience chamber must be through there.”

“Gremlin is worried, yes,” Gremlin mentioned. “This Primator might have us killed, no?”

“If the bastard tries messin’ with us,” Lynx said, “I’ll cut him to ribbons.”

“Maybe he can hear us talking right now,” Ferret remarked.

“Who cares?” Lynx retorted. “I don’t care if the bozo is listening. I’m not scared of him!”

“You don’t have the brains to be scared,” Hickok quipped.

“Are you scared?” Lynx queried the gunman.

“Of course not,” Hickok replied resentfully.

“Cut the chatter,” Blade ordered. “Let’s get this over with.” He crossed the antechamber to the second set of gold doors. Tentatively, he raised his right hand to the gold latch.

“If this Primator does try to rack us,” Lynx said, “we’ve got to be sure one of us wastes the sucker first.”

“You can go for the balls,” Ferret suggested. “They’re your speciality anyway.”

“Quiet!” Blade commanded. He twisted the latch and slowly pulled the door open.

“Will you look at that!” Ferret exclaimed, peering under Blade’s right arm.

The audience chamber was the biggest room any of them had ever seen, immense beyond belief, enormous in the extreme. The walls and floor were solid gold, adorned with thousands upon thousands of scintillating gems: rubies, sapphires, opals, diamonds, emeralds, topaz, and many others in abundance. The ceiling was lost far overhead in a diffuse golden glow.

Blade vigilantly entered the audience chamber, his eyes darting right and left, seeking Primator.

Most of the audience chamber, approximately two-thirds, was occupied by a gargantuan, symmetrical, electronic machine or apparatus. The contrivance was square at the foundation, but tapered into a shining, opaque sphere. Innumerable digital displays, dials, knobs, buttons, toggle switches, and blinking and steady lights covered the face of its green surface. In the center of the machine was a wide screen, 50 feet by 50 feet.

Smaller screens extended in two rows on either side of the larger one. All of the screens displayed constantly shifting scenes; some were of humans engaged in various jobs, others of mutants, still others of humans and mutants, and there were dozens more showing silver giants involved with varied tasks. But the huge screen was the focus of attention for the two Warriors and the mutants.

“Look!” Lynx blurted.

“Unbelievable, yes!” Gremlin stated.

“That’s us!” Hickok declared.

Blade gaped up at the wide screen, stupefied by their image.

“Enter!” boomed a thunderous voice.

Blade scanned the audience chamber. Where had the voice originated?

Except for themselves, the gigantic machine, and a row of ten black cushioned chairs aligned in front of the machine, the chamber was empty.

“Please! Come in!” the voice thundered.

“Where the blazes is that comin’ from?” Hickok asked.

“More to the point,” Ferret said, “who is it?”

“Let’s go,” Blade directed. “Stay close together.”

They advanced across the audience chamber until they reached the row of chairs.

“Please be seated!” the voice bid them.

Blade was still endeavoring to ascertain the source of the rumbling voice. It seemed to be coming from the apparatus. But how was that possible?

“MUST I CONTINUALLY REPEAT MYSELF?” the voice demanded.

“HAVE A SEAT!”

Blade moved to the central chair and sat down. The others imitated his example, Hickok sitting to Blade’s right, while the mutants went to the left, with Lynx next to Blade, then Gremlin, and finally Ferret.

“WELCOME!” the voice greeted them.

Blade’s ears pinpointed the source. The voice was emanating from a bulky green speaker situated below the wide screen.

“ARE YOU MUTES?” the voice asked. “I SAID WELCOME!”

Blade, feeling decidedly awkward, responded, “Hello.”

“AT LAST! A GLIMMER OF INTELLECT! HELLO!”

“I’m Blade,” Blade introduced himself.

“I’M COGNIZANT OF YOUR IDENTITY, WARRIOR,” the voice said.

“Then you’re one up on me,” Blade conceded. “Who are you?”

“I RETRACT MY STATEMENT CONCERNING YOUR INTELLECT,” the voice declared.

“How am I supposed to know who you are?” Blade rejoined.

A protracted sigh emitted from the speaker. “DEALING WITH LOWER ORGANISMS IS A STUDY IN FUTILITY.” The voice paused. “WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

“We’re here to see Primator,” Blade said. “You must know that.”

“AND WHOSE AUDIENCE CHAMBER IS THIS?”

Blade fidgeted in his seat. “Primator’s.”

“EXCELLENT! NOW APPLY LOGIC TO YOUR QUESTION.”

“What is this?” Blade snapped. “Some kind of game?”

The speaker sighed again. “BEAR WITH ME. APPLY LOGIC TO YOUR QUESTION.”

Blade glanced at Hickok, and the gunman shrugged. “Okay,” Blade said.

“I’ll play along with this nonsense. I asked who you are, right?”

“YOUR BRILLIANCE OVERWHELMS ME.”

Blade’s jaw muscles twitched. “We’re here to have an audience with Primator,” he mentioned.

“KEEP GOING. YOU’RE ON A ROLL.”

“And this is Primator’s audience chamber,” Blade said, and suddenly insight dawned. His eyes widened in astonishment. “So you must be Primator!”

“AND THE SUPERIORS BELIEVE BIOLOGICAL ORGANISMS CAN’T THINK FOR THEMSELVES!”

“Then you are Primator?” Blade inquired.

“ONE AND THE SAME.”

Blade examined the vast apparatus. “I don’t get it. Why aren’t you here in person? Why are you talking through this machine?”

“Yeah,” Hickok added. “What’s with this bucket of bolts anyhow?”

For several seconds the speaker was silent. The voice, when it returned, shook the room, “BUCKET OF BOLTS? MACHINE? HERE IN PERSON? YOUR IGNORANCE IS TRULY ABYSMAL!”

“Excuse me,” Ferret said, leaning toward Blade. “But this isn’t a machine.”

“Then what is it?” Blade asked.

Ferret gazed at the apparatus, surveying it appreciatively. “It’s a computer. The biggest damn computer I’ve ever laid eyes on, but a computer. I know. The Doktor was real fond of computers. There were many in his lab at the Citadel.”

“He’s right,” Lynx affirmed.

“I’ve read about computers in the Family library,” Blade said.

“Computer? Machine? What’s the difference?” Hickok asked. “It’s still a bucket of bolts, as far as I’m concerned.”

The image on the wide screen abruptly changed. Instead of the Warriors and the mutants, it displayed a pair of sparkling red orbs. “DO I STILL APPEAR AS A BUCKET OF BOLTS, HUMAN?” it bellowed.

“Where’d the eyes come from?” Hickok questioned in surprise.

“THEY ARE MY EYES!”

“A computer with eyes?” Blade stated. “Is this some kind of trick, Primator? Why don’t you show yourself?”

The red orbs became brighter. “I AM SHOWING MYSELF.”

“What do you…” Blade began, then stopped, his mouth hanging open.

“I don’t get it,” Hickok commented. “What’s this computer got to do with Primator?”

The “computer” responded, and when it answered, the very floor quaked. “STUPID ORGANISM!” The red eyes intensified. “I… AM… PRIMATOR!”