Houston Run

Chapter Fifteen

“Now let’s go over this data again,” the Superior said patiently.

“Whatever you want, cow chip,” Hickok stated pleasantly. He was seated at a table in a large room on the third floor of the Intelligence Building. Two Superiors had escorted him from his cell on the lowest level of Containment up to the interrogation room a half hour before.

“There are discrepancies in your account,” the Superior in a brown chair across from the gunman said.

“What kind of discrepancies?” Hickok asked innocently.

The Superior studied a clipboard in his left hand. Two other androids were ten feet away, one on either side of the closed interrogation room door.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Hickok facetiously asserted.

“Then how can you explain the discrepancies?” the interrogating Superior queried.

“Like what?”

“Like everything,” the Superior said. “You say your Home is in northeast Minnesota, but we already know the Home is in northwest Minnesota. You say there are only eight Warriors defending the Home, but we know there are a minimum of twelve, perhaps even fifteen. You claim the Warriors are poorly armed, but we possess information to the contrary. You allege the Family keeps to itself and avoids conflict, but we are aware of the war you waged against the Doktor, and we know you have fought the Technics in Chicago and the Soviets in Philadelphia.”

“I was never in Philadelphia,” Hickok interrupted.

“We have monitored Soviet transmissions reporting the presence of Warriors in Philadelphia last October,” the Superior revealed.

“Yeah. So?”

“One of the Warriors was referred to as a ‘gunman’,” the Superior stated.

“But it wasn’t me,” Hickok said truthfully. “That was Sundance.”

“Sundance is a Warrior too?” the Superior said, scribbling on a pad attached to his clipboard.

“Yep. He fancies himself a gunfighter.” Hickok leaned over the table and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “But just between you and me, he couldn’t hit the broad side of your butt if you were sittin’ on his face.”

The Superior lowered the clipboard to the table. “This is a waste of time.”

“I’m havin’ fun,” Hickok said.

“I was told you had promised Primator to cooperate with us,” the Superior mentioned.

“I didn’t promise beans!” Hickok retorted. “Blade did all the promising.

If you want information, you should talk to him.”

“We will,” the Superior said. “He is on his way up here right now. His escort will return you to your cell.”

“And what then?” Hickok asked.

“Your fate is in Primator’s hands,” the Superior stated.

Hickok chuckled. “I was told you jokers are smart! Don’t you morons know a computer doesn’t have any hands?”

“The Superiors are Primator’s hands,” the Superior said. “Whatever Primator wants done with you, we shall do.”

“I’ve been wonderin’ about that,” Hickok commented. “How come you Superiors let yourselves be bossed around by a bucket of bolts?”

“Primator is not our boss,” the Superior said, disputing the gunman.

“What else would you call him?” Hickok countered. “He bosses you around, doesn’t he? Tells you what to do and when to do it. He sure sounds like a boss to me.”

“Primator directs us because he is endowed with a greater intelligence,” the Superior mentioned. “Logic dictates we adhere to his mandates.”

“Call it whatever you want,” Hickok said, shrugging. “But from where I sit, it looks like you Superiors are slaves to a measly machine and your own intellect.”

“What a peculiar observation,” the Superior remarked.

Hickok glanced at the door. How soon before Blade arrived? he wondered. He was looking forward to seeing his friend again. They’d been placed in separate cells in Containment after the audience with Primator, held fast by those blasted black bubbles. He needed to concoct a scheme to get together with the big guy, so they could devise a means of escaping from Androxia. The thought of an escape attempt prompted a question.

“Do you know where my hardware is?” he asked the Superior.

“Your hardware?”

“My handguns. My revolvers. My Colt Pythons,” Hickok explained.

“Your antiquated firearms,” the Superior stated.

“Where are they?” Hickok reiterated.

“Why should I reveal their location?” the Superior rejoined. “You wouldn’t answer one of our questions correctly.”

“I admitted I wasn’t in Philadelphia,” Hickok reminded the android.

“So you did,” the Superior conceded. “Very well. I sec no harm in such a disclosure. Your Pythons, and Blade’s Bowies, are in the Weapons Room downstairs.”

“My Colts are in this building?” Hickok queried, suppressing his excitement at the news.

“On the level below the lobby, in the middle of the corridor,” the Superior detailed. “They were locked inside upon your arrival. Firearms are not permitted in Androxia.”

Hickok nodded toward the two androids guarding the door, both of whom were armed with Gaskell Lasers, each with a Laser in a holster on their right hip. “What do you call those Lasers of yours? Ain’t they firearms?”

“Not in the conventional sense,” the Superior replied. “The Gaskell Lasers are state-of-the-art weaponry, and only a Superior may carry one. Conventional rifles and pistols and other firearms are illegal to own. Occasionally we apprehend a Malcontent armed with a conventional firearm, and the firearm is confiscated and locked in the Weapons Room.”

Hickok found that tidbit of information very interesting. He looked the Superior in the eyes. “There’s something that’s been puzzlin’ me about you bozos.”

“Only a biological organism would find a life of logic puzzling,” the Superior said.

“Are you gonna hear me out or insult me to death?” Hickok asked flippantly.

“What puzzles you?” the Superior inquired.

“Just this. I’ve noticed a strange trait you have. Last night, every time Blade asked one of you guys a question, you told him the answer, straight out. The same deal with me. What is it with you varmints? Do you always tell the truth?” Hickok queried.

“Superiors are not humans,” the Superior responded with a touch of indignation in his tone. “We do not deliberately falsify. We are not chronic liars, like so many of you biological organisms. We relate the truth as we perceive it.”

“As you perceive it,” Hickok repeated thoughtfully. “Which may not be as others see it.”

“What others? Humans?” The Superior scrutinized the Warrior.

“Surely you’re not suggesting that human perception of reality is more acute than ours?”

“Could be, buckaroo,” Hickok said.

“Impossible!” the Superior declared.

“Seems to me there’s one thing you keep forgettin’,” Hickok remarked.

“I forget nothing,” the Superior stated. “What are you talking about?”

Hickok smirked. “There’s a fact you conveniently overlook. Namely, if humans are so blamed inferior, then how come humans created the Superiors?”

Before the Superior could reply, the interrogation room door opened.

Hickok glanced up.

Another android was framed in the doorway. He wore a Gaskell Laser on his hip. “RM-14, we have brought the Warrior Blade,” he announced.

RM-14 swiveled in his chair. “Bring the human in.”

The android in the doorway entered and stepped to the right, beckoning for the prisoner to come inside.

Hickok grinned at the sight of the head of the Warriors.

Blade hesitated in the doorway, looking in both directions, then at RM-14, and finally at Hickok.

“Howdy, pard!” Hickok greeted him. “I’m glad to see your ugly puss again.”

Blade smiled. “Same here. Looks like it’s a nice day for some rain.”

Hickok tensed. Over the years, the Warriors had developed a complex system of secret signals, consisting of everything from whistles to body movements to code phrases. A low whistle meant danger. The words “Code One” indicated an emergency existed. And the phrase “nice day for some rain” was a means one Warrior could cryptically alert another to an impending critical situation. And there was only one critical situation, given the circumstances, Hickok could associate Blade’s use of the phrase with: Blade was about to make a bid for their freedom.

The gunman’s deduction was accurate.

Blade slowly started into the interrogation room, his huge hands hanging loosely at his sides.

RM-14 gazed at a window situated high on the south wall. “It will not rain today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky.”

Blade paused, looking at the same window. “I guess you’re right,” he agreed.

Hickok knew Blade was about to make his move. He could tell by the way Blade stood, by his wide stance, and by the way Blade surreptitiously glanced to the left and the right. The gunman studied the positions of the Superiors, girding himself. RM-14 was directly across from him at the table. Two androids were to the right of the open door, one of them standing in front of the other. Another android was to the left of the door, actually standing slightly behind it. And yet another was just crossing the threshold. Hickok rested his hands on the edge of the metal table and smiled at RM-14. “I reckon this means it’s back to the calaboose for me,” he said, hoping to distract the interrogator.

RM-14 looked at the gunman. “Yes. You will be held there until Primator determines your disposition.”

Blade went into action. He’d spent his hours in the stasis field in his cell reviewing his capture and the events since his arrival in Androxia, and he’d decided to attempt an escape at the first opportunity. He didn’t know if Primator would let them live, and he wasn’t about to wait and find out.

Even if Primator did decree their lives would be spared, they might be neutered. And undoubtedly those disks would be implanted in their foreheads. At any rate, except for an earlier meal presided over by a trio of armed Superiors, this was his first time out of the stasis field.

He was not going back.

Blade whirled and lashed out with his left foot and his right hand simultaneously, his left foot driving into the door and slamming the door into the Superior behind it, knocking him into the wall. His right hand, formed into a mallet-like fist, smashed into the nose of the nearest android on the right, sending the Superior reeling backwards into the second android to the rear.

Now came the tricky part.

The android crossing the threshold grabbed for his Gaskell Laser, but before his fingers could close on the weapon the strapping Warrior’s right foot came up and connected with his left kneecap. There was a crunching sound, and the android’s left leg buckled.

Blade closed in, spinning and ramming his right elbow around and in, into the Superior’s rib cage, knowing the blow would not disable the android but hoping it would at least double the Superior over. It did. The android clutched at its ribs, momentarily shaken, neglecting to draw its Laser, and Blade’s right hand dropped to the Gaskell and pulled the gun clear of the holster. He pivoted to the right, raising the Laser, his finger tightening on the trigger, hoping there wasn’t a safety on the weapon because he wouldn’t have time to find it.

The two androids to the right of the door had regained their balance and were going for their Gaskells.

Blade shot the first one in the forehead, the Laser instantly burning through the artificial flesh, searing through the cranium, and scorching a hole out the backside of the android’s head. To Blade’s amazement, the beam of light also struck the second android, catching him between the eyes and dissolving his nose in a bright flash of light, penetrating his head and frying his circuits to a crisp.

RM-14 started to rise, reaching for his Gaskell.

Hickok launched himself across the table, his left shoulder plowing into RM-14’s midriff and causing the Superior to topple backwards over the chair it had been using. They fell to the floor in a tumble of arms and legs.

Blade turned to the left, and there was the android behind the door with his Gaskell already out and aimed. There was a sizzling crackle near Blade’s right ear, and he returned the fire. His shot burned out the android’s right eye and charred a route through its head.

RM-14 rose off the floor, struggling to move his legs, impeded by Hickok’s arms around his ankles.

The Superior in the doorway charged, lunging at Blade with arms extended.

Blade caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and managed to twist, jamming the Gaskell barrel against the android’s right cheek even as the Superior’s arms closed on his waist. He squeezed the trigger as the android lifted him into the air, and he felt the Superior stiffen. The arms about his waist released their grip, and he droppsd to the floor, whirling.

Hickok was clinging to RM-14’s ankles for dear life, preventing the Superior from moving.

RM-14, his attention diverted by the gunman’s tactic for a few precious seconds, perceived his danger and tried to draw.

Blade blasted the Superior through the forehead.

RM-14 quivered for an instant, his eyelids fluttering, then he pitched onto the table, his arms outspread.

Hickok, flat on his stomach, looked up. “Did you get them all yet?”

“They’re all down,” Blade said.

“Finally!” Hickok rose, reaching for RM-14’s Gaskell. “I thought maybe you were tryin’ to see how slow you could waste ’em.” He pulled the Gaskell from RM-14’s holster and examined the gun. “It ain’t a Python, but it’ll do.”

Blade moved to the doorway and peered into the corridor. “I don’t see any more.”

Hickok crossed to the prone android behind the door and removed its Gaskell from its stiff fingers. He stood, a Laser in each hand, smirking.

“Now let the bastards come!”

Blade took the guns from the pair to the right of the door. He stuck one under his belt, and kept the second one in his left hand.

“What now, pard?” Hickok asked.

“We get the hell out of Androxia,” Blade said.

“Sounds good to me. What’s your plan?” Hickok inquired.

“We find Lynx and the others and split,” Blade stated.

“That’s it? That’s your whole plan?” Hickok queried in mock disbelief.

“If you can do any better, I’m open to suggestions,” Blade said.

“You’re the head Warrior,” Hickok rejoined. “Don’t expect me to do your work for you.”

Blade walked to the doorway. “Let’s get out of here before we’re seen.”

“We may have been seen already,” Hickok said, joining his friend at the doorway.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember all of those thingamabobs on Primator?” Hickok asked. “You know. Those monitors or televisions or whatever the dickens they were? Primator uses those contraptions to spy on everybody in Androxia, doesn’t he?”

Blade frowned. He’d completely forgotten the monitors, a careless oversight for a professional Warrior. “Primator does use them to keep tabs on everyone,” he agreed, “but there weren’t more than four or five dozen. I doubt Primator can watch everything all at once. He must have to shift from one spot to another. And maybe he isn’t watching this particular room right at this moment.”

“Maybe,” Hickok said skeptically.

“Even if he is, so what? We’re committed. Now let’s get out of here before reinforcements can arrive.” Blade hurried from the room, taking a right, heading for the stairwell at the end of the hall.

“We can’t leave this building just yet,” Hickok declared.

Blade glanced at the gunman. “Why not?”

“We’ve got to sneak on down to the floor below the lobby,” Hickok stated.

“What? Why?”

“Wouldn’t you like to get your hands on your Bowies?” Hickok queried.

Blade halted so abruptly the gunman almost ran into him. “You know where they are?”

“Yep. My Pythons too. I’m not about to leave without my irons, pard,” Hickok asserted.

“We stand a better chance if we find an exit from the Intelligence Building now,” Blade remarked. “If we take the time to retrieve our weapons, we could wind up trapped inside.”

“I’m not leavin’ without my Colts,” Hickok repeated adamantly.

Blade hesitated, debating the wisdom of going for the Colts and the Bowies. Foolish as it was, he’d become attached to those knives. They’d saved his life time and again. The Bowies might be inanimate steel objects, but he viewed them as indispensable essentials to his life as a Warrior, as much a part of him as his arms or his legs. “Okay. We find our weapons.”

Hickok started toward the stairwell door 20 yards away. “Don’t worry none. We’re only on the third floor. That means we only have to go down four floors.” Hickok grinned. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

Without warning, a door on the other side of the corridor and 15 yards to their rear unexpectedly opened, disgorging a veritable swarm of black-garbed storm troopers led by a Superior armed with a Laser.