“The first step is to get inside,” Yama said softly.
“Do you have a brainstorm on how we can accomplish that little feat?”
Melissa cracked.
Yama gazed at the backs of the walking dead, then at the gate, and smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied, and began removing his weapons.
“What are you doing?” Melissa asked, perplexed.
“Watch and learn,” Yama advised her. He placed the Wilkinson, the Browning, and the scimitar next to Samson. “Don’t let anything happen to these.”
“I’ll guard them with my life,” the Nazarite responded, and he meant every word.
“Are you planning to surrender?” Melissa asked sarcast-ically, and received a shock when the man in blue nodded.
“Yep,” Yama said, and crawled closer to the road, his eyes on the Technic quartet at the gate. They had turned and were staring at a small building approximately 50 yards to the north of their post. Only then, when he glanced at the same structure, did he spot the tower. Surprise made him pause. Why hadn’t he noticed the thin metal spire earlier?
Two hundred feet in height, the strange spire had been painted to blend into the sky, to be invisible on the skyline. Only six inches wide at the base and less than an inch from the 100-foot mark on up, the tower was an engineering marvel, reminding the Warrior of a sewing needle, an enormous sewing needle.
What purpose did it serve? Yama wondered, and stood, allowing his arms to hang limp at his sides. He adopted the blankest expression he could, widening his eyes and letting his mouth droop open, and plodded forward onto the road, making a beeline for the gate.
One of the guards happened to look over his shoulder. The Technic pivoted, his forehead furrowing in bewilderment, and blurted, “What the hell is this action?”
His three companions swung around.
“Look at that geek!” the heaviest of the soldiers said, and snickered.
“They are the biggest bunch of morons on the planet,” chimed in another.
“This one doesn’t have the brains of a shrimp. He’s going in the wrong direction.”
“They don’t have any brains, stupid,” declared the first guard. “That’s why they’re called Automatons.”
“Well, what the hell does this one want?”
“Maybe he has to take a leak,” the heavyset soldier joked.
Ignoring their taunts, Yama shuffled right up to the gate and halted.
“Get lost, freak!” snapped one of the men.
“Yeah,” added heavy butt. “Go the other way, damn your hide!”
The first guard, who seemed to be in charge of the detail, moved closer to the man in blue. “He can’t understand you. The things get their instructions from the Director.”
“Oh yeah? How, Mr. Scientist?” demanded the heavy trooper.
“I don’t know all the details, but the transmitter has something to do with it,” the leader said, and gestured absently at the building to the north.
Interesting news, Yama thought, his visage a stony, hopelessly stupid, mask.
“Why don’t you shoot the jerk, Ted?” suggested the heavy Technic.
“Oh, sure, Yoder,” Ted replied. “And have my ass hauled in front of Colonel Hufford? Are you crazy?”
“So what do we do with it?” Yoder inquired. “Turn it around and give it a boot in the ass?”
“It couldn’t hurt,” said another.
“Whatever we do, we can’t harm the thing,” Ted stated. “You know the orders. No wasting these Automatons unless they’ve turned renegades.”
Yoder came to the gate and peered at the Warrior. “How do we know this freak hasn’t gone over the edge?”
Ted chuckled. “When they blow a fuse, you know it. They go wacko. This one would be clawing at the fence or trying to climb over to get us.”
“Maybe so,” Yoder said. “But I still don’t like them. The Automatons give me the creeps.”
“Hey, Yoder,” spoke up one of his fellows, “did you ever think that the feeling might be mutual?”
Everyone except Yoder enjoyed a hearty laugh.
“Have your fun, dipshits,” Yoder snapped. “You’ll all get yours one day.”
Ted reached for the lock, produced a key from his fatigue pants, and sighed. “What worries me is the rumor that the Director plans to create more of these things.”
“What the hell for?” Yoder asked. “Aren’t there enough already?”
“I wish I knew. The whole project is hush-hush,” Ted remarked. He inserted the key, twisted, and the lock snapped open.
“Tell us about it,” muttered the leanest Technic. “How come they won’t let us contact our wives? I’d like to write Martha, but we’re not permitted to send letters until the Director gives the okay.”
“Which could be next year,” Yoder said.
“I’ll tell you this,” Ted mentioned as he pulled the gate inward. “This is the last damn time I volunteer for a special assignment. I know they promised us extra pay if we took this rotten duty, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Hell. I’ve been here since day one and I still don’t have any idea.”
“Join the club,” Yoder declared.
Digesting the information they were inadvertently revealing, Yama stood perfect still. Let them come to him. Under his blue uniform his arms tensed.
Ted motioned for the silver-haired Automaton to enter. “Come on,” he beckoned. “This is what you want, right?”
The Warrior didn’t budge.
“I still say we should shoot the thing,” Yoder cracked.
“Maybe we should let the Director know,” suggested the lean trooper.
“I’d rather call Perinn. At least he’s decent,” Yoder said.
Ted stepped out and grabbed the Automaton’s left wrist. He tugged, then tugged again when his first effort had no effect. “Come on. Let’s go,” he prompted, and yanked hard.
“What’s the matter? Can’t you handle one of these freaks?” Yoder baited him.
“I’d like to see you do any better.”
“Oh, hell. Let’s do it, fellas,” Yoder proposed, and they converged on the man in blue. Yoder took hold of the thing’s right arm, his mouth scrunched up distastefully. “I just hope whatever this geek has got isn’t contagious.”
“I can safely say that’s the least of your worries,” Yama told him, assuming his normal poised posture, and in the seconds it took them to react to the startling development, before they could unsling their Dakon II’s, he went into action. The tip of his right boot slammed into Ted’s crotch, doubling the trooper over, even as he whipped his right arm free of Yoder’s grasp and knifed the rigid tips of his fingers into the heavyset soldier’s throat.
The remaining two Technics went for their weapons.
Yama leaped into the air, wrenching his left arm loose from Ted in the process, and kicked, lashing out with his right foot. The sole caught one of the troopers on the chin, snapped the man’s head back, and sent him stumbling backwards. In midair Yama twirled, driving his left leg down and out, and rammed his foot into the last soldier’s chest, knocking the Technic to the pavement.
Ted tried to connect with an undercut aimed at the Warrior’s groin.
But Yama twisted, evading the punch, and alighted in the cat stance, coiled to strike. A swordhand chop into Ted’s nose flattened the trooper’s nostrils and flipped Ted onto his back. A snap kick spiked Yoder under the chin, lifted the heavy man from his feet, and toppled him to the ground.
Still game, the other two were clutching at their Dakon II’s.
Yama took a stride and delivered a spin kick to the head of the Technic on the pavement, flattening his foe. The only soldier in any condition to fight had managed to unsling his Dakon and attempted to point the barrel. With a slight hop and a vaulting leap, Yama reached his adversary, his right foot connecting against the trooper’s sternum.