Houston Run

Chapter Seven

“Where are we, yes?” Gremlin asked in awe, gaping at the sight before them.

“It certainly isn’t Oz,” Ferret mentioned.

“Oz?” Lynx repeated.

“A fictional land I read about in one of the books in the Family library,” Ferret disclosed. “You should read the book sometime. I think you’d like it.”

“What’s it about?” Lynx inquired.

“It’s about this girl and her dog,” Ferret revealed. “They arc transported by a tornado to the mystical land of Oz, where they encounter witches and munchkins and wizards and magical slippers.”

“Magical slippers?” Lynx reiterated.

“And a tin man, a talking scarecrow, and a cowardly lion,” Ferret explained.

“A cowardly lion?” Lynx said skeptically.

“Yeah. It was a terrific book,” Ferret said. “You really should read it.”

“Weren’t you the one who said I should read that other book, the one about Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail?” Lynx inquired.

“I figured you might learn something from it,” Ferret commented.

“I did,” Lynx said.

“Oh? What?” Ferret responded.

“Never, ever to read another book you recommend,” Lynx stated.

“Please!” Gremlin interrupted. “Forget about your books, yes? There are more important matters, no? Like, where are we, yes?” He waved his right arm to encompass the panorama surrounding them.

They were outside the huge hangar. They’d waited inside the aircraft until the coast was clear, then darted behind a nearby stack of crates.

From there, they’d dashed through a side door onto a loading dock covered with more crates and boxes. Now, as they crouched in concealment in back of a pile of boxes, they gazed at the city lights stretching to the far horizon in rapt fascination.

“It sure ain’t Denver,” Lynx deduced. “There are too many lights, too many big buildings. And they all look so new!” he marveled.

“Look at all the skyscrapers!” Ferret declared.

“Maybe we’re in Chicago,” Lynx proposed. “Blade told us about the people there, the Technics. They’re supposed to have a real advanced city.”

“This doesn’t look like Blade’s description of Chicago,” Ferret said, disagreeing. “And Blade didn’t see any of those Superior types in Chicago.”

Gremlin was deliberating on the immensity of the city. “How will we find Blade and Hickok out there, yes? The city is too large, no?”

“We’ll find ’em,” Lynx promised.

“Look!” Ferret whispered, pointing.

The north end of the loading dock terminated in a sloping ramp, and the ramp was a mere ten feet from their hiding place. Approaching from the base of the ramp was a man in orange overalls and an orange cap.

“He’s normal-sized!” Ferret said. “He must be human.”

“Look at that funny doodad on his forehead,” Lynx stated.

The loading dock and the ramp were illuminated by lamps affixed to the hangar walls at 30-foot intervals. In the center of the advancing man’s forehead, clearly visible, reflecting the light, was a glistening silver circle.

“What do we do, yes?” Gremlin queried anxiously.

Lynx motioned for them to drop from sight. “Leave it to me,” he advised.

They heard the man’s footsteps as he reached the top of the loading dock, then paused. “Now where’s that damn consignment?” the man mumbled.

Lynx cautiously eased his head above the nearest box.

The man in orange was eight feet away, examining the crates and boxes, idly scratching his pointed chin.

Lynx scanned the ramp to insure the man was alone. No one else was in sight.

“Ahhhh! There!” The man exclaimed, and walked toward some crates to his right.

Lynx vaulted over the box screening him, his padded feet landing noiselessly on the cement dock. He took three supple strides and sprang, his arms encircling the man’s ankles, his momentum bearing the startled human to the cement.

“What the hell!” the man in orange blurted, and suddenly steely fingers were fastened to his throat, and a pair of feral green orbs blazed into his own brown eyes.

“Don’t move, bub!” Lynx threatened. “Or I’ll tear your neck open!”

The man in orange froze, petrified.

Ferret and Gremlin quickly raced to join Lynx.

“Give me a hand,” Lynx directed, and the trio lifted the human and carted him to their hiding place.

The man in orange gawked as they deposited him on the cement, prone on his back, the cat-man still gripping his throat.

Lynx leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the human’s.

“I’m gonna let go. But you’d better not squawk, if you know what’s good for you! Do you understand?”

The man in orange nodded. He sported a mustache and shallow cheeks.

Lynx released his hold, then knelt on the man’s chest. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

“Barney,” the man blurted out, panic-stricken. “Barney 137496.”

“137496?” Lynx said. “What’s that?”

Barney seemed confused by the question. “How do you mean?” he replied nervously.

“What’s the number for? I asked your name,” Lynx stated.

“But that is my name!” Barney stressed. “Barney 137496.”

“Your last name is a number?” Lynx queried.

“Of course,” Barney answered, bewildered. “Every Servile has an I.D. number.”

“Servile? What’s a Servile?” Lynx interrogated the human.

Barney was obviously flabbergasted by the cat-man’s ignorance. “You don’t know what a Servile is? Where are you from?”

Lynx’s tone hardened. “I’ll ask the questions, pal. What’s a Servile?”

“All the workers are Serviles,” Barney replied. “All the human workers, that is.”

“What other kind of workers are there around here?” Lynx asked.

“There are mutants, like you guys, and…” Barney began, then stopped as the cat-man voiced a trilling sound.

“Mutants like us?” Lynx said. “There are mutants here like us?”

“Sure,” Barney declared. “Lots of them. But they’re in a class all by themselves. They’re never called Serviles.”

Lynx glanced at Ferret and Gremlin. If there were other mutants in this strange city, where had they come from? The mutations prevalent since World War III were derived from three sources. The first type, the wild mutations found everywhere, were deformed creatures produced by the saturation of the environment with incredible amounts of gene-altering radiation. The second sort, labeled mutates by the Family, were former mammals, reptiles, or amphibians, transformed into pus-covered monstrosities by the chemical toxins unleashed during the war and still prevalent in the environmental chain. And the third form, of which Lynx, Ferret and Gremlin were prime examples, had been deliberately developed in the laboratory by the scientists like the Doktor, genetic engineers intent on propagating new species. But so far as Lynx knew, all of the Doktor’s genetic creations had perished. If there were indeed mutants in this city, how had they been produced? Lynx looked at Barney. “What do you call these mutants?”

Barney did a double take. “Mutants,” he said.

Ferret snickered.

“Where do the mutants come from?” Lynx inquire.

“From the D.G. Section,” Barney revealed.

“What’s the D.G. Section?” Lynx wanted to know.

“Deviate Generation Section,” Barney elaborated. “Over in Science.”

Lynx reflected for a moment. He reached out and tapped the silver circle in the middle of Barney’s forehead. “What do you call this gizmo?”

“It’s my O.D.,” Barney said.

“O.D.?” Lynx repeated quizzically.

“Orwell Disk,” Barney told them.

“What’s it for?” Lynx queried.

“Every Servile has one,” Barney elucidated. “The mutants too. The Superiors use them to keep tabs on us. They can monitor our activities with them.”

Lynx straightened, frowning. He recalled the collars the Doktor had utilized to keep his Genetic Research Division in line. Every mutant the Doktor had developed in his lab had been required to wear the metal collars, collars containing sophisticated electronic circuitry enabling the Doktor to instantly know the location of his test-tube creatures, and to eavesdrop on their conversations. “Can the Superiors hear what you’re sayin’ with that Orwell Disk?” he asked Barney.

Barney shook his head. “No. They can tell where we are, though, and they know right away if we’ve strayed into an unauthorized area or are trying to escape Androxia.”

“Androxia? Is that the name of this city?” Lynx questioned.

“Sure is,” Barney confirmed.

“Where is Androxia?” Lynx queried.

“Where?” Barney said, puzzled.

“Yeah. Where? What state is it in?” Lynx asked.

“Oh. You mean like the old-time states they had before the war?”

Barney asked.

“Yep. What state is this?” Lynx said, prompting him.

“It’s Androxia,” Barney responded. “It’s been called Androxia for almost a hundred years, I think.”

“But you just said this city is called Androxia,” Lynx observed.

“City. State. They’re both the same,” Barney said.

“You mentioned the old-time states,” Lynx stated. “Do you know what this city was before it became known as Androxia?”

Barney pursed his lips. “An old man did tell me a story once, but I don’t know how true it is. He said this was once the city of Houston, in a state called Texas. But he was drunk when he told me. Maybe he made the whole thing up.”

“Have you ever been outside of Androxia?” Ferret interjected.

“Nope,” Barney said. “I was born here. I’ve always been here. The Superiors don’t permit us to leave Androxia.”

“And haven’t the Superiors ever mentioned anything about Androxia’s history?” Ferret inquired.

“No,” Barney answered. “Why should they?”

Lynx gazed at the city lights. “Do you know where the Containment Section is located?”

Barney nodded. “In the Intelligence Building. In the lower levels.”

“Is it far from here?” Lynx queried.

Barney pointed toward a skyscraper to the northwest. “That’s it right there.”

Lynx calculated the distance. Not more than a mile, by his reckoning.

“Good. Get up. You’re gonna take us there.”

Barney slowly stood, his frightened brown eyes expanding in alarm. “I can’t!” he objected.

“Want to bet?” Lynx countered. He flicked his right arm up, his claws grabbing Barney’s coveralls.

“Believe me!” Barney whined. “You don’t want me to take you there!”

“Yes we do,” Lynx retorted. “We need to get there as fast as possible, and you’re our ticket. If you’re a good little boy, I’ll even let you live, sucker. But we’re going, and we’re going now, before you’re missed.”

Barney blanched. “You don’t leave me much choice. Just remember I tried to talk you out of it.”

Lynx shoved Barney toward the north end of the loading dock. “Lead the way, chuckles! And no tricks, hear?”

Lynx, Gremlin, and Ferret stayed on Barney’s heels.

“What if we’re spotted, yes?” Gremlin asked.

“So what?” Lynx said. “This wimp says there are mutants like us all over the place. No one will pay any attention to three more.”

“I hope you know what we’re doing,” Ferret mumbled.

“Trust me,” Lynx stated.

Ferret groaned.

The Servile hastily crossed the lot. They passed over a dozen parked vehicles.

Lynx studied the vehicles, impressed. He’d seen scores of conventional cars, trucks, and jeeps in Denver and elsewhere.

They were completely different from the vehicles in the lot. The Androxian conveyances were sleeker, slimmer, with smaller tires and low-slung carriages. They reminded him of rockets on wheels.

“That’s Blish Avenue ahead,” Barney said, indicating a thoroughfare on the north side of the lot.

Lynx could see sparse traffic flowing on the avenue. “How do we get across it?”

Barney used his left hand and pointed at the northwest corner of the lot. “We can cross there, once the light is green.”

The quartet hurried to the northwest corner of the parking lot. They reached a sidewalk bordering Blish Avenue, and 15 yards to the west was an intersection with traffic signals.

“That’s Serling Boulevard,” Barney said. “We can take it to Intelligence.”

“Then let’s go,” Lynx urged him.

Barney walked to the intersection, then patiently waited for the light to change.

An Androxian car came through the intersection, its motor purring.

The interior of the vehicle was lit by a pale blue glow. Behind the steering wheel was one of the silver giants. The Superior glanced at the four figures on the sidewalk, displaying no interest in their presence, and kept going east on Blish Avenue.

“See?” Lynx gloated. “I told you we wouldn’t have any trouble.”

“We’re not there yet,” Ferret noted.

“Worrywart,” Lynx rejoined.

The traffic signal suspended above the center of the intersection changed from red to green.

“We can cross,” Barney said, and started to do so.

Lynx walked to Barney’s left, his green eyes scanning Serling Boulevard.

The sidewalks contained few pedestrians. “Where is everybody?” he inquired as they reached the far side of the intersection and proceeded north on Serling.

“It’s night,” Barney replied. “Serviles aren’t allowed out at night unless they have a pass, or they’re on the night shift. Same with the mutants.”

“What is the population of Androxia?” Ferret asked.

“Three million, I think,” Barney said. “At least, that’s what I heard.”

“How many Serviles are there?” Ferret questioned him.

“I don’t know,” Barney admitted.

“What about the Superiors?” Lynx chimed in. “How many of them are in Androxia?”

“I don’t know,” Barney said. “They don’t tell us stuff like that.”

“They don’t tell you much, do they?” Lynx remarked.

“They teach us all we need to know,” Barney stated.

“Oh? Says who?” Lynx retorted.

“They do,” Barney said.

“Real decent of ’em,” Lynx cracked sarcastically.

“The Superiors don’t mistreat us,” Barney mentioned.

“What do you call that Orwell Disk?” Lynx countered.

“Everyone has one,” Barney said. “It’s no big deal.”

Lynx glanced at Ferret. “Nice bunch of sheep they’re raisin’ here, huh?”

Barney looked at Lynx. “I don’t understand. Why are you so hostile towards the Superiors?”

“I don’t understand why you’re not,” Lynx declared.

Barney shrugged. “They provide us with our homes, our clothes, even our food. They don’t beat us or anything like that. And they even allow some of us to breed.”

“Breed?” Lynx snorted. “You mean they let you poke your squeeze now and then?”

“Squeeze? I don’t understand,” Barney said.

“You have a wife, dimples?” Lynx asked.

Barney smiled. “Yes. She was my reward for ten years of faithful service to Androxia. We might be permitted to have a child next year. We can hardly wait.”

“The Superiors must give the okay for you to have a kid?” Lynx queried.

“Androxia has a population problem,” Barney responded. “We must regulate our population numbers.”

“You mean the Superiors must regulate the Serviles,” Lynx said.

“The Superiors only want what’s best for us,” Barney said. “What is best for all Androxia.”

“Now I know why your eyes are brown,” Lynx quipped.

They covered a quarter of a mile in silence, drawing ever closer to the Intelligence Building. A few vehicles passed on Serling Boulevard.

“Barney, what kind of work do you do, yes?” Gremlin inquired at one point.

“I’m night foreman at the Herbert Hangar loading dock,” Barney answered.

“You like your job, yes?” Gremlin queried.

“Yeah. I like it a lot,” Barney said. “There are a lot worse.”

“What kind of work do the mutants around here do?” Lynx questioned.

“Whatever they’re bred for,” Barney said.

“Bred?” Lynx repeated.

“Yeah. The mutants are assigned to whatever type of work they’re bred for. Some are manual laborers. Some work in the Science Section. Others do other jobs,” Barney stated.

“Tell me,” Lynx said. “Who breeds your mutants?”

“The Superiors, of course,” Barney revealed.

“Of course,” Lynx said dryly.

“I’d like to know something,” Ferret mentioned. “Do the Superiors allow the Serviles to attend school? Did you receive an education?”

“I sure did,” Barney said proudly. “I went through all six grades. That’s standard. Some, like courier pilots, go longer.”

“Six grades? That’s all?” Ferret asked.

“Who wants more?” Barney replied. “They teach us to read and write, and math, and whatever other skills we need for our jobs.”

“No history, or geography, or any courses like that?” Ferret probed.

“Who needs those?” Barney responded. “The Superiors teach us all we need to know.”

“They sure don’t teach you to think,” Lynx muttered.

“Think? The Superiors take care of all the thinking,” Barney said.

“They’re smarter than us. They know what’s best for us.”

“So you keep sayin’,” Lynx stated.

“Do all of the Serviles feel the same way you do?” Ferret inquired.

“Sure,” Barney said, then corrected himself. “Well, not all of them.

There are a few who like to cause trouble. They’re called Malcontents.”

“What happens to them?” Ferret asked.

“The Superiors don’t allow troublemakers to disrupt anything,” Barney said. “The Malcontents are usually sent to the Science Section. When they come out, they’re ready to accept their status, to work for the good of all Androxia.”

“Why? What happens to ’em in the Science Section?” Lynx queried.

“Are they tortured?”

Barney laughed. “No. Of course not! They undergo a simple operation.”

“What type of operation?” Ferret said.

“An operation on their brain,” Barney said. “To remove the bad cells, I’ve heard. I think they call it a partial lobotomy.”

“A lobotomy, no!” Gremlin declared, aghast. He vividly remembered the experimental lobotomies the Doktor had performed on him, resulting in his aberrant style of speech.

“They’re no big deal,” Barney said. “Lots of people have them.”

“Not just the Malcontents?” Ferret asked.

“No. The mutants, in particular, are operated on a lot. But it’s for their own good. The Superiors are only doing what’s best for us.”

“Do you lick their boots for ’em?” Lynx said sarcastically.

“No,” Barney replied. “Why would I want to do that?”

Lynx motioned at Ferret, and they dropped several paces behind Barney and Gremlin.

“What do you make of this garbage?” Lynx inquired.

“The Superiors, whatever they are, totally control the human population here,” Ferret stated. “The humans are given a minimal education, just enough to enable them to properly complete their assigned work, and are duped into believing their lives are terrific. Perhaps some form of brainwashing is involved, some psychological techniques we’ve never heard about. The humans seem to possess no freedom whatsoever, and if Barney is any example, they don’t seem to mind.”

“Barney is an idiot,” Lynx commented.

“But a content idiot,” Ferret noted.

“I guess if you don’t know you’re an idiot,” Lynx reasoned, “then you never realize there’s more to life than your own stupidity.”

Ferret grinned. “Why, Lynx! I’m impressed! That was almost profound. I didn’t think you had it in you!” he joked.

“Barney ain’t the only dummy around here,” Lynx retorted.

The Intelligence Building loomed directly ahead, to the right of the sidewalk. It was an imposing edifice, 40 stories in height, its sides constructed of an opalescent synthetic substance.

Ferret scrutinized their destination. “How are we going to get inside? There are bound to be guards.”

“I’ll think of something,” Lynx asserted.

A small park, consisting of little more than a narrow strip of grass and a row of deciduous trees, separated the sidewalk from the Intelligence Building. As they neared the park, Lynx caught up with the man in orange.

“You’ve done real fine so far,” Lynx said to Barney. “But your job ain’t over yet.”

Barney slowed. “What do you mean? You wanted me to bring you to Intelligence, and we’re almost there. My job is done. Let me go back to the loading dock. Please.”

A large vehicle was coming their way, bearing south on Serling Boulevard, its headlights resembling the baleful glare of a gigantic, prowling creature.

“You ain’t going back to the dock,” Lynx said.

“Please!” Barney pleaded. “Let me return to my work.”

“Not on your life,” Lynx stated.

The large vehicle, evidently a truck, was 50 yards to the north on Serling.

“If I let you go,” Lynx said, “I know you’ll run to the Superiors and rat on us.”

“I won’t!” Barney averred. “I promise!”

The truck was 40 yards away.

“Do you expect me to trust you?” Lynx demanded, grinning. “How dumb do you think I am?”

“I can answer that one,” Ferret volunteered.

The truck was 30 yards off.

“Don’t bother,” Lynx said to Ferret.

Barney glanced at the approaching truck. The corners of his mouth twisted upward. “Don’t ever say I didn’t warn you,” he mentioned. “I tried to tell you. You shouldn’t have brought me along.”

“You got us here, didn’t you?” Lynx stated.

“You made a big mistake,” Barney declared.

“Oh?” Lynx responded smugly. “How so?”

At 20 yards distance, the truck began to slow.

“You remember me telling you about my Orwell Disk?” Barney asked.

“Yeah. So what?” Lynx said.

“I told you the Superiors use the disks to monitor us,” Barney remarked.

“So?” Lynx snapped. “If they’re millions of you dorks livin’ in Androxia, there’s no way the Superiors can keep tabs on everybody at once.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Barney said. “They use computers, and the computers can keep tabs on everyone. Every single one of us. And the minute one of us strays, the minute one of us enters an area we’re not supposed to be in, the computer alerts the Superiors.”

At ten yards, the truck started to drift across the boulevard.

“Lynx!” Gremlin yelled.

Lynx spun, realizing their peril too late.

The truck angled across the highway, its headlights focusing on the four figures on the sidewalk. Its brakes screeched as it lurched to a halt. The cab was plunged in darkness. The rear consisted of a long, canopy-covered bed. As the truck stopped, its occupants began piling from the back, their black boots smacking on the asphalt as they jumped from the bed. They raced around the cab, converging on the quartet on the sidewalk, fanning out, encircling them.

Barney was smiling triumphantly.

Lynx turned from right to left, debating whether to make a run for it, seeking a way out. But they were surrounded within seconds, hemmed in by a ring of humans and mutants wearing black uniforms and wielding steel batons. There were 12 of them, each one conveying an air of wickedness, each one with a hard, cold expression. Whether human or mutant, neither betrayed the slightest hint of emotion in their eyes. Their black uniforms fit snugly, and their pants were tucked into their black boots. The mutants resembled those in the infamous Doktor’s Genetic Research Division, displaying a variety of animalistic traits. Some were decidedly reptilian, others mammalian. Lynx glared at a tall, frog-like form six feet away. He raised his hands and clicked his tapered nails.

“Come and get it, sucker! I’m in the mood for frog legs!”

The frog-man didn’t respond.

There was a loud click, and the door of the cab swung open. A Superior stepped to the ground. His hair was blond, his face pale, and he wore the typical silver uniform. But clasped in his right hand was a not-so-typical weapon, a coiled whip.

“Oh! We are in trouble, yes!” Gremlin moaned.

The Superior strode toward them, stopping a few feet off. He stared at the dockworker. “Barney 137496. You will explain this unauthorized action, please.”

Barney walked up to the Superior. “I’m sorry! I really am! I know I left my post without permission. But I didn’t have any choice! These three made me bring them here. They said they had to get to the Intelligence Building.”

“Did they use violence on you?” the Superior asked.

“Yes,” Barney answered. “That one”—and he pointed at Lynx—“threatened my life.”

“Blabbermouth,” Lynx said.

“Barney is telling the truth then?” the Superior asked, addressing Lynx.

“Barney is a wimp,” Lynx replied.

The Superior looked at Barney. “You will return to your post immediately. You will perform your duties as instructed.”

Relief washed over Barney’s face. “Of course!”

“You may be questioned by Intelligence tomorrow,” the Superior stated.

Barney started to turn, then gazed up at the Superior. “This won’t go on my record, will it? I mean, my wife and I are up for procreation approval next year. I hope this won’t prevent us from being okayed.”

“Your file is without blemish,” the Superior said. “You have always met your production quotas, and adhered to all directives. You are rated as an AA-1 Citizen. I do not foresee this incident posing a problem. But if it should come to a hearing, I will personally appear and vouch for your integrity.”

Barney beamed in appreciation. “Thank you! Thank you, sir!” He jogged south on Serling, returning to work.

“What a moron!” Lynx cracked. The Superior stared at Lynx. “The three of you will come with us. Resistance will be useless.”

Lynx chuckled. “You ain’t takin’ us without a fight, chuckles!”

The Superior scrutinized Lynx from head to toe. His gaze rested on Lynx’s forehead. “Where is your O.D.?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Lynx rejoined.

The Superior glanced at Ferret and Gremlin. “None of you have an O.D. implanted in your forehead as required by directive. How is this possible?”

The ring of humans and mutants in black uniforms never uttered a word. They waited, motionless, the truck and street lights gleaming off the silver disks in their foreheads.

“You will voluntarily enter the truck, now, or suffer the consequences,” the Superior said to Lynx.

“Give it your best shot, dimwit!” Lynx stated.

The Superior sighed. His right hand flicked downward, and the ten-foot whip uncoiled and dropped to the asphalt.

Lynx’s eyes narrowed. There was something funny about that whip.

He’d seen whips before, leather affairs with a lash on the tip. But this one was different. It appeared to be metallic, and the handle was exceptionally large, seemed to be plastic, and contained two red buttons.

“You will not comply with my orders?” the Superior demanded.

Lynx snickered. “Shove it up your ass!”

The Superior’s right hand lashed out, the whip arcing through the night air, crackling as it swung toward Lynx.

Lynx ducked under the first strike. He felt the whip miss his back by a hairsbreadth, and his fur tingled as the whip passed.

The Superior calmly swung the whip around, over his head, and snapped his right arm forward.

Lynx saw the whip coming and twisted to the right, seeking to evade the blow. His feline reflexes enabled him to avoid the brunt of the stroke, but not all of it. The very tip of the whip brushed against his left shoulder.

Lynx expected to feel a mild stinging sensation. Instead, his entire body was lanced by an agonizing spasm as… something… coursed through him, jolting him to the core. He twitched and staggered to the left.

“Lynx!” Ferret cried.

Lynx saw the Superior aim another swing of the whip in his direction, and he dodged to the left, his legs sluggish.

The whip bit into Lynx’s right arm.

Lynx snarled as his diminutive form was speared by another excruciating surge. Whatever it was, the damn thing was devastating! His arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, his torso jerking, as the whip made contact.

“Lynx! No!” Gremlin shouted, taking a step toward him.

Lynx almost fell. His knees wobbled as he doubled over, stunned by the onslaught.

A fourth time the Superior struck, and the whip looped around the cat-man’s neck and held fast.

Lynx stiffened as every fiber of his being was racked by an overpowering force, a force capable of knocking him from his feet and slamming him onto his back. His body bounced and flopped. He attempted to collect his wits, to form coherent thoughts, but failed.

The Superior slowly coiled the whip in his right hand.

Ferret ran to Lynx’s side. He glared at the Superior. “What’d you do to him, you bastard? You’ve killed him!”

“Your companion has not been terminated,” the Superior said. “My Electro-Prod was set on Stun, not Kill. He will recover in an hour or so.”

Lynx was shuddering, his eyelids quivering.

“Now,” the Superior stated in a loud voice. “Will you come with us peacefully, or do you desire to share your friend’s fate?”

Ferret glanced at Gremlin. He wanted to aid Lynx, but there was nothing he could do. If they resisted, they would be overwhelmed. One of them might be able to escape, but that would mean deserting Lynx. “What do you say?” he asked Gremlin.

Gremlin frowned, his worried eyes on Lynx. “We have no choice, yes?”

“Yes,” Ferret confirmed.

Gremlin’s shoulders slumped dejectedly.

“We’ll go with you peacefully,” Ferret told the Superior.

“A logical decision,” the Superior said. He waved his left arm, and two of the men in black stepped forward and lifted Lynx in their arms. They carried him toward the rear of the truck.

“You will follow your friend,” the Superior directed.

“Where are you taking us?” Ferret inquired as he moved past the silver man.

“You will be taken to Containment and held there until Intelligence interrogates you,” the Superior disclosed.

“Did you say Containment?” Ferret asked.

“Yes. Why?” the Superior said.

“Oh, no reason,” Ferret declared, then burst out laughing.

The Superior watched, perplexed, as the mutant with the long nose climbed onto the bed of the truck, laughing all the while. The third one, the mutant with the gray skin and red eyes, was grinning. Odd behavior, he mentally observed, considering they were probably Malcontents and would be lobotomized within 24 hours. The lower orders were becoming more bizarre every day.