They stopped and whirled in concert, charging, not missing a beat. Tall forms dressed all in silver.
Blade braced himself, amazed the one he’d stabbed was still erect. They plowed into him in unison, one from the left, the other from the right, lifting him from the ground and slamming him onto his back, the brutal impact causing the air to whoosh from his lungs. He gasped and swung his left fist, clipping one of the silver men on the chin, expecting his foe to be knocked aside.
Instead, the silver man shook his head once, then stared at Blade and grinned.
Blade’s mind was screaming a silent warning. Something was wrong here. Terribly, terribly wrong. He sensed it, his intuition blaring, and he surged against his adversaries. They were on their knees, one on each side, attempting to clamp their hands on his arms, to restrain him.
Concentrating as they were on his arms, they failed to pin his legs. Blade took instant advantage of their neglect, sweeping his legs up, touching his knees to his chin and then lashing his legs out and down, catching the two silver men off guard, his legs clubbing them in the chest and sending them sprawling. He scrambled to his feet.
“Get him!” AS-1 ordered, still standing near the rise.
The two silver men came up in a rush, arms outstretched.
Blade twisted to the right, avoiding the nearest antagonist, and executed a wicked slicing arc with his right Bowie. The keen blade bit into the left wrist of the closest silver man, into the wrist and through the wrist…
The silver man’s left hand dropped to the ground.
One out of the way! Grinning, Blade began to turn toward the second figure.
That was when the first assailant straightened and raised his severed forearm to his face, calmly examining the injured limb.
Blade, stunned, froze. He could see liquid pulsing from the ruined arm, but there wasn’t enough of it, not the copious quantity there should be, and the silver man was reacting too placidly, was actually gazing at Blade with an air of serene resignation. Blade abruptly realized the silver man with the severed hand was the same one he’d stabbed in the chest. But that was impossible! No man could take such punishment, could receive two potentially fatal wounds, and be so unruffled by the injuries! What were these silver men?
“You were told not to resist,” said a voice behind the Warrior.
Blade pivoted, knowing he’d blundered by forgetting the one near the rise, the one with his other Bowie. He attempted to bring his own knife into play, but something smashed into his right temple, staggering him, sending waves of agony rippling over his consciousness. He tottered, and almost fell. With a supreme effort, he was able to stay on his feet. But not for long. Another blow descended on his temple, and he felt his knees buckle as he collapsed, sprawling onto his hands and shins. The world was spinning. He struck out wildly with his Bowie, but missed.
A hard object collided with his temple for yet a third time, and the Family’s head Warrior toppled forward into the dirt.
“He is ours,” AS-1 stated.
Chapter Three
Hickok heard the three voices before he saw the speakers. He recognized the distinctive vocal traits instantly.
“…agreed to drop the subject, yes?” said the first speaker.
“I didn’t agree to drop nothin’!” snapped the second speaker in a lisping, high-pitched voice. “You bozos did all the agreeing!”
“We had to,” asserted the third speaker, his tone low and raspy. “We knew we’d never hear the end of it otherwise.”
“You still ain’t heard the last of it!” stated the second speaker angrily.
Hickok was traveling a well-defined trail toward the western half of the Home. He walked past a row of pine trees and there they were, seated in the center of a small clearing, so involved in their argument, so wrapped up in the heat of their dispute, that their normally acute senses hadn’t detected his approach. But they spotted him the moment he stepped into view, and one of them jumped up.
“Hickok! You startled Gremlin, yes?” the nervous one exclaimed.
“Howdy, Gremlin,” Hickok said, greeting him, then nodding at the other two. “What are you yahoos doin’? Holdin’ a powwow?”
“Powwow? Gremlin has never heard of a powwow, no,” Gremlin said.
He stood about five feet ten, and his skin was a leathery gray. Except for a brown loincloth, he was naked. His facial features were hawk-like, his noise pointed, his ears small circles of flesh, and his mouth was a mere slit. The eyes in his bald head contained eerie, stark red pupils. “What is a powwow, yes?”
“He means shootin’ the breeze,” stated the second of the three in his high-pitched voice. This one, when standing, stood under four feet in height, and he weighed only 60 pounds. His bony physique was covered with a coat of short, grayish-brown fur, and his face was decidedly feline in aspect: green, slanted eyes, pointed ears, and a curved forehead, just like a cat’s. His fingernails were long and tapered to points. Like Gremlin, he wore a loincloth, but his was gray.
“So what are you guys doin’, Lynx?” Hickok asked the cat-man.
“What’s it to you?” Lynx retorted.
“Ignore him, Hickok,” advised the third member of the trio. “He’s in a bad mood. Again,” he added in his low tone.
“What’s got Lynx riled this time, Ferret?” Hickok inquired, moving over to join them.
Ferret was only an inch taller than Lynx. He wore a black loincloth. His whole body was encased in a coat of brown hair, three inches in length.
His head resembled that of his namesake, with an extended nose and tiny brown eyes. His nose constantly twitched. “The same thing he’s been upset about for months,” he answered.
“What’s that?” Hickok questioned.
“Fitting in,” Ferret said.
“I don’t follow you,” Hickok mentioned.
“What’s to follow?” Lynx interjected, annoyed. “I want to fit in around here, is all.”
Hickok glanced at Gremlin and Ferret. “But you guys do fit in. Has anyone in the Family given you a hard time ’bout livin’ here?”
“No,” Lynx responded. “But they wouldn’t pipe up even if they didn’t like us. Your Family is so sicky-sweet and lovey-dovey, spreadin’ kindness and love all over the place, they wouldn’t say anything to hurt our feelings.”
The gunman studied the cat-man. “If no one’s objected to you bein’ here, what’s the beef?”
Lynx’s feline features rippled as he struggled to repress his surging emotions. He was obviously furious over something, and was striving to keep his fury in check. “Would you really like to know what’s buggin’ me?”
Hickok nodded. “I’d really like to know,” he answered sincerely.
Lynx pointed at Gremlin and Ferret, then tapped his furry chest. “We’re not like the rest of you. Or ain’t you noticed?”
“You’re mutants. Big deal,” Hickok said. “The world is crawlin’ with mutants since the Big Blast.”
“We’re genetically engineered mutations!” Lynx stated angrily. “And that makes us different than all the rest.” He swept his right arm in a wide arc. “All the other mutations out there are the result of all the radiation and chemicals and who-knows-what-else dumped on the environment during World War III. But we came from a test-tube, Hickok! A lousy test-tube! The damn Doktor created us in his lab! Took ordinary human embryos and turned ’em into us!” Lynx clenched his hands into compact fists. “Freaks! That’s what we are! Nothin’ more than freaks!” He paused.
“You know, I heard test-tube babies were a big deal before the war. I heard the scientists were experimenting with all types of genetically engineered creatures. Slicing genes and all kinds of crap like that. The Doktor just took their work one step further. He wanted to create his own little personal assassin corps. Intelligent pets to do his bidding! That’s why the bastard made us!”