Seven-six-five.
He halted, wrenching the pin loose.
Four-three-two.
Blade hurled the grenade with all of his prodigious strength at the fuel tank, then spun toward the chopper.
There was the retort of a muffled explosion from under the roof, and the entire top of the Prime Complex seemed to sway, the roof vibrating violently as smoke billowed from the mail chute.
Blade nearly lost his footings, but he forced his pumping legs to respond, to keep going, racing for the helicopter. He vaulted onto the concrete landing pad, making for the inviting open door. He was only seven feet from his goal when the oval fuel tank detonated. Blade felt an invisible wave of force slam into his back, and he was lifted from his feet and hurled against the copter, sprawling over the lip of the cargo door. He caught a glimpse of a flaming ball spiraling heavenward, and then strong hands gripped his shoulders and he was abruptly hauled into the helicopter as the chopper rose several feet and sped toward the south side of the Prime Complex.
Another tremendous blast rocked the roof.
Blade, on his left side on the floor, saw Roger struggling with the stick as the craft bounced and shook. A brilliant streak of light flashed past the cargo door, and he realized one of the roof lasers had opened up.
The helicopter suddenly banked to the left and dived, plummeting over the south rim of the edifice.
Blade could still see a portion of the roof, and he saw a sheet of red and orange erupt skyward as yet another explosion shattered the southern rim.
Roger was laughing inanely. The chopper leveled off, swinging wide to the west of the Complex.
Blade slowly stood. The top of the Complex was engulfed in flames.
Hickok was lying on the floor near the boxes, several of which had fallen on him when the copter descended. He pushed the boxes from him and rose. “I knew it’d be a piece of cake.”
Blade closed the cargo door, then moved to the front and sat down across from the pilot.
Roger glanced at the hulking figure in the black vest and the fatigue pants. “Thanks.”
“For what?” Blade asked.
“I wouldn’t admit it to myself,” Roger stated, “but I’ve wanted to pay them back for a long time! Telling me I couldn’t get married! The sons of bitches!”
Hickok came up behind Blade’s seat. “How would you like to live somewhere else, somewhere you could marry any woman who’d say yes?”
Roger looked at the gunman. “Are you putting me on?”
“Nope,” Hickok assured the pilot. “We’ll take you there if you’ll help us get out of Androxia.”
“I can help,” Roger said. “If I stay as close to the ground as possible, radar won’t be able to pick us up. They might not find us.”
“What about your blasted disk?” Hickok questioned.
“They can track me with that, all right,” Roger said.
Blade rose, drawing his right Bowie. “Don’t move.”
“What are you doing?” Roger inquired nervously.
Blade leaned over the pilot, examining the edge of the Orwell Disk. He found a minute crack between the disk and the flesh on the right side and gingerly inserted the tip of his Bowie. “Brace yourself.”
Roger, his knuckles white as his fingers clutched the stick, blanched.
Blade’s right arm bulged.
Roger flinched, his mouth contorting in torment.
There was a loud, squishy popping noise, and the Orwell Disk plopped from Roger’s forehead into Blade’s left palm. A trickle of blood seeped from the circular identation left in Roger’s forehead.
“Did you remove the damn thing?” Roger asked hopefully.
Blade held the disk out for Roger to see.
Hickok uttered a derisive snort. “If the blamed things are that easy to pry off, why didn’t you take it off yourself?”
“The penalty for removing an O.D. is death,” Roger replied.
Blade handed the Orwell Disk to the gunman. “You know what to do with it.”
Hickok nodded. Seconds later, the disk was sailing out a narrow opening in the cargo door.
“I’m in your debt for this,” Roger said to Blade. “I’ll do my best to get us out of here.”
“First things first,” Blade remarked.
“What do you mean?”
Blade peered out the canopy at the buildings zipping past. “Where would the Superiors take a mutant to be neutered?”
Chapter Eighteen
“What do you want?” Lynx asked the Superior, doing his best to imitate the floor supervisor’s voice. Tom had been the same size, but his voice had been slightly higher.
“I want to check on your new arrival,” the Superior said.
“New arrival?” Lynx repeated, wondering if the android meant him.
“His name is Lynx,” the Superior stated. “We brought him over early this morning, before you arrived. I dropped his dossier on your desk, on your Incoming tray. But with all the paperwork on your desk, I was concerned you might not see it.”
“I saw it,” Lynx lied.
“This one is a troublemaker,” the Superior mentioned. “If you require guards, I will have a detail posted.”
Lynx nodded toward his former room. “We won’t need guards. He’s locked up safe and sound.”
The Superior stared at the door to the room. “I’d like to see him.”
“You can’t!” Lynx blurted out.
Melody anxiously licked her lips.
The Superior studied the feline mutant. “Why can’t I see Lynx, Tom?”
“Because…” Lynx responded hastily. “He did give us some trouble when we tried to feed him, and he had to be sedated. He’ll be out for four, maybe six hours.”
The Superior nodded knowingly. “I knew he would be a problem. I will order a guard detail posted, and no one will be permitted in the room other than yourself and Melody.”
Lynx nodded enthusiastically. “That’s an excellent idea, now that I think of it. Don’t let anybody in his room. He’s too dangerous at that.”
“Report to me if he creates another disturbance,” the Superior ordered.
“Without delay,” Lynx responded.
The Superior wheeled and walked away.
Lynx headed for the stairwell, Melody on his right side. “Who the hell was that?” he whispered.
“WW-60,” Melody answered. “He handles administrative coordination for this section.”
“Do you think we fooled him?” Lynx queried.
“If we hadn’t,” Melody replied, “we’d be in custody right now.”
They walked to the stairwell door, deliberately conveying a casual air, but once in the stairwell they increased their pace, speeding up the steps as rapidly as their legs would carry them. They reached the door to Floor 45 without mishap.
Lynx hesitated, his left hand on the knob. “How do we play this? Won’t we be suspicious if we march on in and ask to see my buddies?”
Melody reflected for a minute. “What are their names?”
“Gremlin and Ferret,” Lynx said.
“I have an idea,” Melody stated. “Follow my lead.”
Lynx opened the door, then unexpectedly halted.
A Superior was standing not six feet away, leafing through a handful of papers. He looked up and saw them. “Hello. May I assist you?”
Melody moved past Lynx, smiling sweetly. “Sorry to bother you, but I believe you have two new arrivals here for testing. Their names are Gremlin and Ferret.”
The android nodded. “They’re in 45-C taking the written portion of the Psychological Profile Examination.”
“The Examination will need to be interrupted,” Melody said.
The Superior lowered the papers. “Why?”
“We’ve subjected their companion, the one called Lynx, to a routine medical exam,” Melody said. “WW-60 sent us up as soon as he saw the results.”
“What results?”