The man took the gun, closely scrutinizing Yama.
“I know I have it here somewhere,” Yama said, reaching in his left pants pocket with his left hand while he scratched his head with his right.
“Hurry it up!” the man snapped, stamping his right foot.
Yama eased his right hand behind his neck and undid the leather strap securing his scimitar. He gripped the hilt before the sword could slide any lower. All the while, his left hand was groping in his left pocket.
“Do you have it or don’t you?” the man demanded.
Yama removed his left hand, holding a coin. “I have this.”
“A dollar?” the man scoffed. “Listen, buddy! You’d better produce your pass, and fast, or you’re going to lose your head!”
“I believe you have it reversed,” Yama said quietly, and dropped the coin.
The man in the white frock was distracted by the falling coin; he watched it land on the floor and roll a foot before falling onto its side.
“You’d better pick that…” he began, looking up at the silver-haired soldier.
Yama, the scimitar already held aloft over his head, swung, the razor-like blade arcing downward and connecting, slashing into the man in white, into his neck, and nearly severing his head from his body.
The man gasped once, his arms flapped against his sides, and he toppled to the floor, blood gushing from his ruined throat, covering him and the carpet both.
Yama wiped his scimitar on the white frock and replaced the sword in its scabbard, under his shirt, securing the hilt to the leather strap.
What could he do with the body?
He scoured the chamber for a plausible hiding place and came up empty. The closets were too small to hold a grown man. He considered tossing the body into one of the vats, but that would be too obvious.
Finally, he dragged the dead man behind the machine in the center of the room.
It would have to do.
Yama went through his victim’s pockets and found a set of keys attached to a metal ring. There was a handful of coins in the pants, some imprinted with “In the Name of Samuel” and others with “In Samuel We Trust.” Different numbers were stamped onto the metal, some coins with a one, others with a five, and a few with a ten. He also found a wallet, which he stuck in his left back pocket until he could find sufficient time to examine its contents.
What should he do about the infants in the vats?
Yama thoughtfully walked to the front of the chamber and retrieved his Wilkinson. There was nothing he could do for the babies, he decided, not now anyway. He wiped the Wilkinson on the rug to remove some spattered blood. If he continued to search, he told himself, he might discover a room where records were stored. Surely somewhere in the Biological Center there had to be documents detailing the reason for this horrible room!
Vigilantly, he exited the chamber and locked the door. The hallway, for the moment, was deserted.
The next door was unmarked and unlocked.
Yama eased through the door, silently closing it behind him. This chamber was filled with tables loaded with cages. Cage after cage, each housing an animal of some sort. Mammals: mice, rats, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, raccoons, bats, and even some small cats, bobcats and domestic types. Reptiles: snakes, lizards, turtles, and several aquariums containing young alligators. Amphibians were also included: frogs by the score, salamanders, newts, and toads. In the rear of the room were large cages, towering above the rest, easily visible from the door.
The chamber was filled with animal sounds and a readily detectable odor.
Yama slowly walked down aisle after aisle, observing the wildlife and speculating on its purpose in the Biological Center. How did all these creatures fit into the Doktor’s scheme of things? He approached the large cages in the back of the chamber. Two of them were empty, one contained a black bear cub, and the last one held an unusual cat. Yama stared at the feline, curled up on a bed of straw on the floor of the cage, and tried to identify it. Its coat was a thick grayish-brown, its ears were pointed, and it lacked a tail. As he was viewing it, the cat abruptly opened its eyes, startling, penetrating, vividly green orbs, and glared at the man.
There was nothing in here of major interest.
Yama turned toward the door.
“Going so soon, chuckles?”
The Warrior spun, his finger on the trigger of the Wilkinson, thinking he’d overlooked a rear door.
“You’re the nervous sort, huh, ugly?” The voice was high pitched, the words spoken with a bit of a lisp, and they were coming from… the… cat!
Yama gawked as the cat rose to its feet, standing on two legs and defiantly staring at the Warrior.
“Cat got your tongue?” the thing asked, and laughed at its own joke.
Yama saw he was mistaken. It wasn’t a cat after all, it was a man resembling a cat, about four feet in height and not weighing more than sixty pounds, if that. The thing must be one of the Doktor’s genetically engineered creations. It wore a leather loin cloth, but the metallic collar normally worn by the deviates was missing.
“Well, let’s get this over with!” the cat-man snapped.
“Get what over with?” Yama inquired, curious.
“Don’t play games with me, soldier boy!” the cat-man said harshly. “Get the execution over with!”
“Execution?” Yama repeated questioningly.
The cat-man made a show of gazing around the chamber. “There must be an echo in here!” He-it frowned at Yama. “I know why you are here. The Doc told me tonight would be the night. So let’s gt it over with! I’m tired of rotting in this damn cage!”
“I’m not here to kill you,” Yama informed the… thing.
The cat-man’s eyebrows arched. “You’re not? Then what the hell are you doing here, bub? I thought only the Doc and his zombies were permitted in here?”
“Zombies?” Yama reiterated.
The cat-man chuckled. “Boy, you jokers in uniform are still as brainless as ever! Zombies, idiot! That’s what I call any of the Doc’s little pet monsters.”
Yama grinned. “Excuse me for saying this, but aren’t you one of the Doktor’s little pet monsters? Littler than most, I’d say.”
The cat-man hissed. “If I wasn’t behind these bars, bozo,” he warned, “I’d tear you to shreds! These aren’t just for show, you know!” So saying, he held up his hands. All eight fingers and both thumbs were tipped with tapered claws.
“What are you doing in that cage?” Yama asked.
The thing eyed the Warrior quizzically. “You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Then the Doc didn’t send you to execute me?”
“Why does the Doktor want you executed?” Yama queried.
“Because I’ve been a bad kitty,” the cat-man said sarcastically. “I tried to waste the son of a bitch!”
Yama took a step toward the cage. “You tried to kill the Doktor?”
The thing nodded. “Would have succeeded too, if that bitch Clarissa hadn’t shouted and given me away! I’ll get her, someday!”
“I don’t understand,” Yama admitted. “I thought the Doktor could control all of his creatures by using a metal collar of some sort.”
The cat-man shrugged. “It works most of the time. But every now and then he produces one like me, one who won’t take his crap, one who won’t listen no matter how many times the bastard threatens us with the collar.
If he can’t keep us in line that way, he uses us for experiments or has us executed.”
Yama nodded, comprehending. “And you thought I was your executioner.”
“Say,” the thing said, moving to the bars and gripping them in both hands, “there’s something about you, chuckles. Something different.” The cat-man sniffed the air several times. “I can’t put my claw on it, but there’s something strange about you.”