“Blabbermouth,” Lynx said.
“Barney is telling the truth then?” the Superior asked, addressing Lynx.
“Barney is a wimp,” Lynx replied.
The Superior looked at Barney. “You will return to your post immediately. You will perform your duties as instructed.”
Relief washed over Barney’s face. “Of course!”
“You may be questioned by Intelligence tomorrow,” the Superior stated.
Barney started to turn, then gazed up at the Superior. “This won’t go on my record, will it? I mean, my wife and I are up for procreation approval next year. I hope this won’t prevent us from being okayed.”
“Your file is without blemish,” the Superior said. “You have always met your production quotas, and adhered to all directives. You are rated as an AA-1 Citizen. I do not foresee this incident posing a problem. But if it should come to a hearing, I will personally appear and vouch for your integrity.”
Barney beamed in appreciation. “Thank you! Thank you, sir!” He jogged south on Serling, returning to work.
“What a moron!” Lynx cracked. The Superior stared at Lynx. “The three of you will come with us. Resistance will be useless.”
Lynx chuckled. “You ain’t takin’ us without a fight, chuckles!”
The Superior scrutinized Lynx from head to toe. His gaze rested on Lynx’s forehead. “Where is your O.D.?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Lynx rejoined.
The Superior glanced at Ferret and Gremlin. “None of you have an O.D. implanted in your forehead as required by directive. How is this possible?”
The ring of humans and mutants in black uniforms never uttered a word. They waited, motionless, the truck and street lights gleaming off the silver disks in their foreheads.
“You will voluntarily enter the truck, now, or suffer the consequences,” the Superior said to Lynx.
“Give it your best shot, dimwit!” Lynx stated.
The Superior sighed. His right hand flicked downward, and the ten-foot whip uncoiled and dropped to the asphalt.
Lynx’s eyes narrowed. There was something funny about that whip.
He’d seen whips before, leather affairs with a lash on the tip. But this one was different. It appeared to be metallic, and the handle was exceptionally large, seemed to be plastic, and contained two red buttons.
“You will not comply with my orders?” the Superior demanded.
Lynx snickered. “Shove it up your ass!”
The Superior’s right hand lashed out, the whip arcing through the night air, crackling as it swung toward Lynx.
Lynx ducked under the first strike. He felt the whip miss his back by a hairsbreadth, and his fur tingled as the whip passed.
The Superior calmly swung the whip around, over his head, and snapped his right arm forward.
Lynx saw the whip coming and twisted to the right, seeking to evade the blow. His feline reflexes enabled him to avoid the brunt of the stroke, but not all of it. The very tip of the whip brushed against his left shoulder.
Lynx expected to feel a mild stinging sensation. Instead, his entire body was lanced by an agonizing spasm as… something… coursed through him, jolting him to the core. He twitched and staggered to the left.
“Lynx!” Ferret cried.
Lynx saw the Superior aim another swing of the whip in his direction, and he dodged to the left, his legs sluggish.
The whip bit into Lynx’s right arm.
Lynx snarled as his diminutive form was speared by another excruciating surge. Whatever it was, the damn thing was devastating! His arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, his torso jerking, as the whip made contact.
“Lynx! No!” Gremlin shouted, taking a step toward him.
Lynx almost fell. His knees wobbled as he doubled over, stunned by the onslaught.
A fourth time the Superior struck, and the whip looped around the cat-man’s neck and held fast.
Lynx stiffened as every fiber of his being was racked by an overpowering force, a force capable of knocking him from his feet and slamming him onto his back. His body bounced and flopped. He attempted to collect his wits, to form coherent thoughts, but failed.
The Superior slowly coiled the whip in his right hand.
Ferret ran to Lynx’s side. He glared at the Superior. “What’d you do to him, you bastard? You’ve killed him!”
“Your companion has not been terminated,” the Superior said. “My Electro-Prod was set on Stun, not Kill. He will recover in an hour or so.”
Lynx was shuddering, his eyelids quivering.
“Now,” the Superior stated in a loud voice. “Will you come with us peacefully, or do you desire to share your friend’s fate?”
Ferret glanced at Gremlin. He wanted to aid Lynx, but there was nothing he could do. If they resisted, they would be overwhelmed. One of them might be able to escape, but that would mean deserting Lynx. “What do you say?” he asked Gremlin.
Gremlin frowned, his worried eyes on Lynx. “We have no choice, yes?”
“Yes,” Ferret confirmed.
Gremlin’s shoulders slumped dejectedly.
“We’ll go with you peacefully,” Ferret told the Superior.
“A logical decision,” the Superior said. He waved his left arm, and two of the men in black stepped forward and lifted Lynx in their arms. They carried him toward the rear of the truck.
“You will follow your friend,” the Superior directed.
“Where are you taking us?” Ferret inquired as he moved past the silver man.
“You will be taken to Containment and held there until Intelligence interrogates you,” the Superior disclosed.
“Did you say Containment?” Ferret asked.
“Yes. Why?” the Superior said.
“Oh, no reason,” Ferret declared, then burst out laughing.
The Superior watched, perplexed, as the mutant with the long nose climbed onto the bed of the truck, laughing all the while. The third one, the mutant with the gray skin and red eyes, was grinning. Odd behavior, he mentally observed, considering they were probably Malcontents and would be lobotomized within 24 hours. The lower orders were becoming more bizarre every day.
Chapter Eight
The young guard in the black uniform, a tray of food in his hands, entered Stasis Cell 43 and paused, puzzled.
The one in buckskins was still unconscious.
The guard advanced to within four feet of the prisoner. Any closer and the stasis bubbles would effect him. He peered at the captive’s face. Why was the man still out like a light? he wondered. The prisoner should have recovered hours ago.
The man in the buckskins was suspended in midair between two of the humming black bubbles. His chin was slumped on his chest.
The guard lowered the tray to the floor. Perhaps the prisoner had sustained an internal injury, he speculated. He knew the captive’s file indicated a head blow was the cause of the unconsciousness. Should he call Medical and have them send over a Med-Tech? The guard decided he wouldn’t. If he phoned up a Med-Tech, and the prisoner wasn’t seriously injured, it would make him look foolish.
So what should he do?
The guard was in a quandary. He was required to feed the prisoner.
The usual procedure was to deposit the tray near a captive, then deactivate the stasis field and quickly step back, his hand on his baton, and wait until the meal was consumed. But this prisoner could hardly eat his meal while unconscious.
There was only one feasible recourse.
The guard elected to rouse the captive himself. He walked to the left wall and pressed a black button situated at shoulder height. Immediately, the humming emanating from the stasis bubbles became fainter and fainter, finally ending altogether. As the humming decreased in intensity, the prisoner gradually slumped to the floor. He wound up on his forehead and knees, his arms splayed from his sides.