“Hey, chuckles!” someone called, and there was Lynx in the stairwell doorway, holding a circular object in his right hand. “Duck!”
Yama obeyed, flattening as Lynx lobbed the metallic object in an overhand motion toward the troopers.
The hallway rocked with a deafening detonation and concussion.
Smoke choked the corridor and the agonized cries of the soldiers filled the air.
Yama rose and sprinted to the stairwell.
Lynx was waiting for him. “About time,” he said. “I know you said you wanted a tour, but I had no idea you were going to take the scenic route!”
Yama looked over his left shoulder.
No indication of any pursuit.
“What was that?” Yama asked Lynx.
“A grenade,” Lynx replied. “There’s a munitions room one flight up for the auxiliaries. Only contains M-16’s, some pistols, ammo, and a few grenades.”
Yama noted that Lynx was still unarmed. “Why didn’t you get an M-16 for yourself?”
“Not my style,” Lynx answered, grinning. “Besides, guns make me nervous.”
“Your choice. Now get me to that records room, and fast!” Yama directed.
Lynx started up the stairs, the Warrior right behind him. “You did pretty good back there,” Lynx commented.
“Lots of practice,” Yama responded.
“Not as good as I would have done,” Lynx said amending his compliment.
Yama smiled and stayed on his newfound companion’s heels as they jogged up the stairwell and reached the desired floor.
Lynx paused at the door. “This place will be crawling with enforcement types, human and otherwise. We’re outnumbered, but we have two elements working in our favor. These morons will be running around like chickens with their heads chopped off without the Doc to direct ’em, and I happen to know he’s out, attending a big feed with Sammy. And also, I know this place better than most. So stick with me, pal. I’ll hold your hand until we’re out of this mess.”
“Just get me to the records room,” Yama stated.
“Here we go.” Lynx winked at the Warrior and eased from the stairwell into the hall.
Yama kept his back to the wall as he stepped out. This corridor was forty yards in length. At the opposite end was clustered a crowd consisting of humans and creatures from the Genetic Research Division.
“Bluff the bozos,” Lynx suggested, and boldly walked into view in the middle of the hallway.
Yama stayed by his side, expecting one of the group at the end of the hall to suddenly voice an alarm. Several of them did look his way, but they resumed their conversations without evincing any concern. Why should they? he reasoned. To them, Lynx and he seemed like any ordinary genetic deviate and soldier.
At the fourth door they reached Lynx stopped and grasped the doorknob. “Gee, chuckles, I forgot my key. Did you bring yours?” Without waiting for a reply, Lynx twisted the knob.
Yama heard a sharp snap and a grating, crunching noise as Lynx twisted the doorknob, and the lock mechanism, into scrap metal.
“After you, Mommy,” Lynx said, flicking on an overhead light.
Yama entered the room. “How strong are you?” he inquired as he passed Lynx.
“If I don’t bathe for a week,” Lynx rejoined, closing the door after them, “I can down a fly at ten paces.”
The records room wasn’t very spacious, about twenty feet by twenty feet. File cabinets lined all four walls and a sturdy oaken desk occupied the center of the room.
Lynx’s nose was twitching. “The Doc’s scent makes me want to puke!”
he said, grimacing in disgust.
Yama walked to the desk and examined the papers strewn over its top.
Personal correspondence, magazine and newspaper clippings, classified intelligence reports, and sheets of mathematical calculations littered the desk.
Lynx pressed his right ear against the door. “Don’t take all night,” he advised.
Yama picked up a sheet marked “Top Secret.” The paper contained a report on suspected rebel activity in a small Wyoming town. It also said a wanted rebel leader, a man called Toland, was believed to be hiding in the town. He stuffed the paper into his right pants pocket and scanned the room. His attention was attracted by a black leather pouch lying on a file cabinet behind the desk. He unsnapped the flap and drew out the contents, four thick hardbound notebooks with blue covers.
“I think we’ve got company, chuckles,” Lynx reported.
Yama flipped the pages on the notebooks and discovered all four were filled, longhand writing covering each page. He searched for a name identifying the owner but couldn’t locate one.
“They’re going door to door,” Lynx announced.
Yama thoughtfully stared at the notebooks. He had an unusual feeling about them, as if he sensed they were important in some respect. Acting on his vague premonition, he replaced the notebooks in the pouch and snapped the flap.
“Afraid our time is about up,” Lynx said, his ear still against the door.
Yama hefted the pouch by its carrying strap and slung it over his right shoulder. He joined Lynx by the door.
“I can hear ‘em,” Lynx whispered. “They’re about two doors off. When they open this one I’ll make my move. Don’t lose me.” He paused. “Where did you want to go next?”
“With the whole Biological Center on the alert,” Yama answered, “it would be useless to remain in the building. Can you get us outside?”
“Then what?”
“We’ll play it by ear,” Yama said.
“Fair enough, pal.” Lynx sighed. “Too bad all I could get my hands on was a grenade! I’d like to bring this building down around their ears! Now if I just had a thermo…” He stopped and motioned for silence.
Yama recalled hearing the word “thermo” before. What was a…
The door abruptly flew open and all hell broke loose.
Lynx sprang, his movements so quick it was difficult for the eye to follow, leaping into the midst of four soldiers standing outside the door. His arms flashed and flailed, his claws ripping and shredding, and the troopers were out of commission before they even knew what hit them.
Lynx went for their faces, for their eyes and throats, growling and snarling as he attacked, his keen claws drawing blood with every savage swipe.
Yama slammed into one of the staggering soldiers, flinging him against the far wall.
Other troopers and members of the Genetic Research Division were to their left.
“Get them!” someone bellowed.
Lynx suddenly grabbed Yama by the left wrist and pulled him down the corridor toward the stairwell.
Three of the soldiers Lynx had jumped were on the floor, two of them screaming and thrashing.
There was the crack of a pistol report and a bullet buzzed over Yama’s head.
They reached the stairwell and plowed into the door. Lynx began up the steps. “Come on, slowpoke!” he urged.
“Don’t hold back on my account,” Yama told him.
Lynx glanced over his right shoulder. “Yama, ol’ buddy, if I went at top speed you’d never catch up. I don’t want to lose you just when I’m starting to grow fond of you!” He laughed.
They were two flights above the floor with the records room when their foes burst into the stairwell.
“Which way did they go?” a trooper asked.
“Half go up,” another proposed, “the rest go down.”
Boots pounded on the steps below them.
Lynx immediately left the stairwell, leading Yama along a vacant passageway. About halfway down this corridor Lynx opened another door and they found themselves in another, smaller stairwell.
“I was right,” Yama commented. “This place is a maze.”
Lynx led the Warrior on a dizzying, circuitous route through the mammoth Biological Center, first up one stairwell, then down another, always moving, going in one direction along one hallway and then reversing direction down another, selecting corridors he knew were infrequently used. When they did encounter others, on the stairs or in a passageway, they would stroll along, acting as innocently as they could, even greeting the people and genetic deviates they passed along the way.