“Hello, Julian.”
“Sir,” Schonfeld responded, halting and giving a snappy salute. “I bring bad news.”
“Let me guess. It’s happened again.”
The general nodded. “Another patrol has been attacked. Five bodies were recovered, but there was no sign of the sixth patrol member, a Corporal Lyle Carson.”
“The Shadow again?”
“Yes, sir. Ballistics confirmed the same type of weapon was used, an antiquated firearm called a Wilkinson ‘Terry’ Carbine. There’s no doubt it was the Shadow.”
Sagging in his plush chair, the Minister idly rubbed his chin and said, “And am I to understand he took a prisoner this time?”
“It’s a possibility. But Carson might have survived the attack and fled into the forest. For all we know a mutation got him.”
“I doubt it,” the Minister stated. “Only one man has survived an attack to date, and Malovich was extremely lucky. From the evidence I suspect the Shadow deliberately left Malovich alive to inform us about his presence.”
“We’ve sent in three Elite Squads to scour the area. If anyone can find the Shadow, they can, sir.”
“They haven’t had any success yet,” the Minister noted dryly. He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the arm of his chair and bitterly went on, “One man and he ties Technic City in knots. We never know where he’ll appear next, which gives him a decided tactical advantage.
Trading parties, patrols, you name it, he goes after anyone departing or entering, leaving corpses as his calling card. We can’t allow this to go on much longer. Already rumors are spreading among the people.”
General Schonfeld smirked. “With all due respect, sir, who cares? Rumors are no threat.”
“On the contrary, Julian,” the Minister said softly, “the right rumor could spark widespread rebellion. With the Resistance Movement spreading its lies and deceptions to all corners of Technic City, the masses have become uncharacteristically restless. It wouldn’t take much to make them rise in revolt against us.”
“They know better,” Schonfeld declared bluntly. “The military would suppress any such treason.”
The Minister swiveled his chair to look out at the metropolis critically.
“What chance does a drop of water have of stopping a tidal wave?” he asked, his voice so low as to be inaudible.
“Sir?”
“Nothing. What else do you have to report?”
“The Science Division reports the Cy-Hounds will be ready by the day after tomorrow.”
His interest piqued, the Minister looked at the officer. “So soon?”
“The project was given a rush priority, remember? The bioengineers have been working on them for three weeks now.”
“Three weeks?” the Minister repeated in disbelief.
“Yes, sir. Time flies, doesn’t it? The Shadow first appeared thirty-four days ago, if you’ll recall. That’s the night he killed the Director of Intelligence.”
“Poor Morris.”
“A good man, sir. I agree,” Schonfeld said, moving closer and lowering his voice. “I thought for certain the Tracking Teams we sent after the son of a bitch would take care of our problem. Those German shepherds and their handlers are top-notch.”
“Were, you mean.”
“Well, yes, sir. The Shadow did wipe out all three Teams. Frankly, I’m beginning to suspect the guy might be part mutant.”
The comment brought the Minister out of his chair. “On what do you base this assumption?”
“The obvious, sir. No human is as good as this joker. Consider his tally so far. He’s eliminated the three Tracking Teams for a total of six prime dogs and six handlers, plus he’s slain fifty-eight of our troopers. No one man could do all that.”
“Blade could.”
General Schonfeld’s surprise showed. “The head of the Warriors? Do you suspect it’s him?”
“No, not really.”
“In the long run it doesn’t matter. The Cy-Hounds will fix his ass but good.”
“You place a lot of confidence in their performance?”
“I do, sir. I’ve seen several demonstrations of their capabilities, and there’s no stopping them. The technology incorporated into their biochemical forms is staggering. We’re talking infrared for night missions, enhanced hearing, computerized scent identification, the whole works.
They’ll track the Shadow down in no time and put an end to our little problem,” Schonfield said.
“Let’s hope they have more success than their natural counterparts,” the Minister remarked, turning to the window once more.
“Will that be all, sir?”
“Not quite.”
“Yes?”
“I want your honest opinion, Julian.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“I know. Which is why I’m relying on you to tell me the truth now and not simply tell me what you believe I want to hear, like so many of the lower bureaucratic sycophants do.”
“How can you compare me to them, Marcel?” the general asked, his tone conveying his annoyance.
The Minister turned toward him. “I meant no insult. You know that.”
“What is it you want?”
A profoundly thoughtful expression marked the Minister’s countenance as he gazed around the ornate chamber. “I want your assessment of the computer projection issued by the socialtechs.”
Schonfeld chuckled. “Which one, sir? They issue so damn many. Sometimes I think all those sociologist-types do is sit around on their butts devising farfetched reasons for the latest social trends.”
“You know which one I mean.”
The general pursed his lips and gazed at the polished tips of his black shoes. “I believe I do, yes. The Freedom Scenario.”
“And?”
“Computers make mistakes too. So although our newest and best model has predicted the majority of our citizens will rise in a great revolt and sweep all Technic administrators from power in seventeen-point-two years, I’m inclined to doubt it will ever happen. The masses are sheep, waiting to be led around by the collective hand by those with the wisdom to guide them properly.”
“I don’t share your cynicism.”
“Oh?”
“Except for the Romans of antiquity and a few other long-lost empires, name me one world power that has persisted for more than a few hundred years at most.”
Schonfeld’s brow knit. “I can’t offhand. But again, so what? Empires and world powers have crumpled for a variety of reasons. We won’t share a similar fate because we’re better than they could ever have hoped to be.
Our society is perfect.”
“Is it?”
“Most certainly. To think or say otherwise is a legal offense, the highest treason.”
“I know,” the Minister stated rather sadly. “Well, I was curious about your opinion. Thank you, Julian, for the update.”
Saluting again, General Schonfeld did an about-face and briskly departed.
The Minister gazed at the closed door for a full minute before he took his seat and pressed a button on the intercom. “Grade?”
“Yes, sir,” the secretary promptly answered.
“Contact the Bioengineering Depeartment and have them send up a complete disk on their Cy-Hound project.”
“Right away, sir.”
“And inform the head of the project that I want a personal demonstration tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Send in Ramis.”
“Immediately.”
Releasing the button, the Minister leaned to the right and opened the middle drawer of his desk. Inside was the microrecording machine, its tiny spools still turning slowly. He stabbed the off button and removed them.
A knock sounded, and a skinny man wearing a red uniform with silver trim came in. “You requested to see me, Minister?”