Blade darted to the closet and tried the knob, which turned readily, and a moment later he stared happily at the Commando, propped against the right side, and his Bowies and the Dan Wesson on the floor. He stooped to scoop up the knives, and as he did the double doors were flung outward and in came Colonel Hufford and Captain Perinn.
Chapter Nineteen
“Dear God!” Melissa exclaimed in horror. “What do we do now?”
“You shouldn’t take the name of the Lord in vain,” Samson said.
“More to the point,” Yama remarked, “why are the Automatons returning now? The guards weren’t expecting them back to soon.” He closed and locked the gate.
“Automatons?” Samson repeated quizzically.
“That’s what those things are called,” Yama disclosed. He stared at the legion of the dead, now 75 yards distant, and remembered the comment the Technic named Ted had made about the transmitter in the building to the north, the structure next to the strange spire. If the transmitter somehow controlled the Automatons, then perhaps the transmitter could be used to stop them.
“Let’s get the heck out of here!” Melissa proposed.
Yama glanced at the Nazarite. “Can you hold this gate?”
“Until Hell freezes over.”
“Hopefully, I won’t be gone quite that long,” Yama said. He pointed at the building housing the transmitter. “I have reason to believe I might be able to stop them from there.”
“Then go. And may our Lord guide your hand,” Samson stated sincerely.
“What about me?” Melissa blurted.
“You can help Samson hold the gate.”
“Against all of them?”
Samson caught Yama’s eye and shook his head just once, so that Melissa wouldn’t notice. “I’ll hold the gate by myself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go. Time is wasting.”
The man in blue glanced at the Automatons, nodded grimly, and jogged to the north. “I won’t desert you. I promise.”
“I know,” Samson responded.
Yama held his Wilkinson at waist height and stayed close to the fence, scrutinizing the small structure. On the south side a solitary window, covered inside by a white shade, cast a diffuse ring of light around its rim.
“What do you want me to do?” Melissa whispered.
“Exactly as you’re told.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
The Warrior ignored the question, concentrating on a tree that had materialized approximately 30 feet from the transmitter building. He angled toward it, casting a quick look over his left shoulder.
Only 40 yards separated the Automatons from the gate.
Yama speculated on whether the transmitter operator might have seen him dispatch the guards and had ordered the walking dead to return to slay him. He crouched down as he neared the tree, and was gratified to observe Melissa do the same. The woman learned quickly. She had brains as well as beauty, and a feisty temperament to boot. What more could a man ask for?
What the hell was he doing?
Thinking about her at a time like this!
They came to the tree and knelt on the grass.
Yama gazed back at the gate and the road. The lead row of Automatons was just passing under one of the perimeter lights the Technics had positioned at 40-foot intervals along the fence. They were 30 yards from Samson.
“Look!” Melissa declared softly, and indicated the building.
The Warrior swung around and saw a door on the west side. Someone had left it hanging open about an inch. “Stay here,” he directed her, and hastened to the structure. He paused at the corner to survey the campus grounds for troopers, and once satisfied there were none nearby, he eased to the door and stood listening.
“—very dangerous, sir,” a man was saying.
“I don’t give a damn,” snapped a deep voice.
“With all due respect, Director, we’ve never attempted to work them into a killing frenzy before. Only the renegades have killed. If we drive all of the Automatons over the edge, they may go berserk and slay us as well,” stated yet another person.
A five-second silence ensued.
“Now you listen to me, you quislings,” the man with the deep voice declared. “You’ll do exactly as I say, or I will personally report this to the Minister and persuade him to ship you both to work at a worm farm.”
“We have your welfare in mind too, Director,” said the first man. “The procedure is extremely dangerous. What’s to stop the Automatons from killing you?”
“Are you hard of hearing?” the Director thundered. “I want you to increase the power, and I want you to do it now! As the Director of the Science Division, I command you to obey me!”
The Director of the Science Division? Yama peered into the building.
There was only one room. Occupying half of it, and situated against the opposite wall, stood a rectangular metal cabinet containing an array of dials, switches, and meters. Two men, both wearing green smocks, were busily manipulating the controls while a third man watched, an imposing white-haired figure attired in a white uniform, his back to the door.
“As soon as you have made the proper adjustments, we will join our soldiers who are grouping at the southwest gate,” the white-haired man said, and his voice identified him as the Director. “Colonel Hufford and his men will protect us. We’ll abandon the Research Facility until the job is done.”
One of the men in green glanced around. “And all this for just one man, sir?”
“Not just any man, Epson. We’re talking about the man who has become the greatest threat to the existence of our Technic order since Technic City was founded. One of his colleagues brutally murdered our previous Minister. And he has caused us no end of grief. Well, it all stops here. Now we have him trapped, and I want him dead within the hour.”
Yama had tensed at the mention of the previous Minister. Since Hickok had been the Warrior, the Director must be refer-ring to Blade!
“We’ll draw the Automatons onto the campus,” the Director was saying.
“With the transmitter at full power, they’ll be impelled into a killing rage.
They’ll range all over the university, going from room to room, hunting for victims.” He paused and cackled. “And the only one left on campus will be Blade!”
Yama had overheard enough. He flung the door inward and stepped inside and to the left so he wouldn’t be framed in the doorway, the Wilkinson leveled at the man they called the Director. “Don’t touch that transmitter!”
All three men spun to face the Warrior.
“Who the hell are you?” the Director demanded.
“Raise your arms,” Yama directed, wagging the Wilkinson. The two technicians complied, but the Director simply glared.
“Who are you?”
“I’m the man who is going to put a hole between your eyes if you don’t do exactly as I tell you to do,” Yama warned, and took a bead on the center of the man’s forehead.
Glowering, the white-haired man obeyed. “Do you know who I am?”
“Ask me if I care.”
“I’m Quinton Darmobray, fool. The Director of the Technic Science Division. And you, if I’m not mistaken, must be another Warrior.”
“Yama.”
“Damn! You sons of bitches are crawling out of the wood-work.”
“Where’s Blade?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Darmobray said. “Your giant friend escaped a short while ago.”
Yama looked past the trio at the transmitter, his gaze roving over the bewildering complexity of the controls. “How do you turn that thing off?”