David Robbins - Chicago Run

Someone spotted him and shouted a warning.

Yama whirled and darted onto the landing, pressing the door closed with one hand as he scooped up the Dakon II with the other. He flattened a heartbeat before one or more of the troopers blistered the door at chest height.

With a loud whomp! the grenade went off.

That should delay them a bit, Yama reflected, shoving upright. He took several steps, making for the tenth floor, but he’d only covered half the landing when he saw the huge creature bounding down the stairwell toward him and he drew up short in amazement.

The thing was a dog.

The Warriors of Alpha Triad and their captive had covered five miles by eight in the morning. Hickok took point, strolling along as if he didn’t have a care in the world, ten yards ahead of Blade and Geronimo, who were walking side by side and discussing the fate of Isabel Kauler.

“Why don’t we just let her go?” Geronimo suggested, keeping his voice down so she couldn’t hear him.

Blade glanced over his right shoulder at the woman, who trailed ten feet behind. Let her go? He’d like to, but he felt oddly responsible for her welfare. Her dejected posture hadn’t improved any since the night before; if anything, it had worsened. She hadn’t made any attempt to escape, which puzzled him. Perhaps it was because she had to squint against the light and tears were constantly in her eyes. “Hickok thinks we should kill her,” Blade’ mentioned. “He’s even volunteered to do the job.”

“Nice guy.”

“I can see his point,” Blade said. “She’s too dangerous to let go. She might kill someone, might eat them, and we would indirectly be responsible because we had the chance to eliminate her and didn’t.”

“Eliminate her,” Geronimo repeated distastefully. “You make it sound so clinical, like you’re performing a surgical operation.”

“In a sense it is.”

“Maybe so, but there is something else we could try.”

“What?” Blade asked.

“We could try to change her,” Geronimo proposed in all earnestness.

“Rehabilitate a cannibal?” Blade said skeptically. “I don’t know if it’s ever been done.”

“Is that any reason not to try? We could take her to the Home, let the Elders decide,” Geronimo said. He added wistfully, “If they vote for execution, then Hickok or Ares or Lynx will be more than willing to handle the chore and not have a qualm doing it.”

“You sound jealous.”

“I am,” Geronimo freely admitted. “Nathan and a few of the others can terminate anyone without a twinge of conscience. Me, I’m different. I’ll kill in the line of duty, but there are times when I’m lying in bed at night that I’ll see the faces of those I’ve slain in my mind’s eye. It bothers me a little.”

“We all go through the same thing at one time or another,” Blade said.

He pondered his friend’s idea. At first thought it was patently ridiculous, but the more he debated the pros and cons the more it appealed to him.

He had reservations, though, about taking Isabel to the Home. What if she harmed a Family member? There were dozens of young children there, including his own son Gabe.

Perhaps the issue boiled down to one thing: Did the woman deserve a second chance? The answer had to be yes, but only if she wanted to change. And as far as the Family was concerned, they’d shown a remarkable, commendable adaptability to admitting new members, even when those seeking permission to live at the Home were potentially dangerous. After all, Lynx had been a genetically engineered assassin created by the vile Doktor, a man who’d tried to destroy the Home and wipe out the Family, yet the cat-man had been welcomed and accepted with open arms.

“How do you deal with it?” Geronimo inquired.

Engrossed in reflection, Blade barely heard the question. He blinked and looked at him. “What?”

“How do you deal with the ghosts of those you’ve slain?” Geronimo elaborated.

“I try not to dwell on them,” Blade replied. “We’re Warriors. Killing is just part of our job, a grisly part that has often meant the difference between life and death for each of us and the Family. You have to put it behind you, file it in a part of your brain where it’ll remain buried, or the memories will eat at you and ruin your ability to get the job done right.”

“Easier said then done.”

Blade saw Hickok suddenly glance at them, wheel, and hurry back. “Did you see something?” he asked.

“I sure did, pard,” the gunfighter responded, and smirked.

“What’s so funny?” Geronimo wondered.

“You two clowns.”

“Meaning what?”

Hickok chuckled. “Meaning that while the two of you were gabbin’ like hens the cannibal flew the coop.”

Startled, Blade spun.

Sure enough, Isabel Kauler was gone.

At eight a.m. the first explosions rocked Technic City.

Four barracks housing several hundred soldiers were destroyed simultaneously, followed seconds later by ten strategic police stations that were scattered about the city.

The Technic Broadcasting Station, situated in a seven-story skyscraper a mile north of the Central Core, was going about its daily routine when dozens of blue-garbed rebels poured into the lobby, overwhelming the meager force of security guards without firing a shot.

Falcone led this detachment personally. While fifteen rebels remained downstairs, the rest took control of one floor after another. The stunned broadcasters and journalists offered no resistance.

Beaming out over the metropolis from Studio Five was the popular Exercise with Marsha show. Seductive, rapier-thin Marsha and her four leotard-clad assistants were demonstrating how to do tummy tucks when in burst the Resistance Movement. They froze in the act of tucking.

Falcone marched over to the camera, pointed his Dakon II at the operator, and declared, “Keep it on me or else.”

“Yes, sir,” the shocked cameraman said.

“People of Technic City,” Falcone began, having memorized every word of the speech the night before, “I’m the leader of the Resistance Movement. At this very moment the revolt against tyranny for which you have long waited is in full swing. We now control the television station.

The army and police forces are in disarray. There will never be another chance like this again.

“If you have longed to know true freedom, if you’re fed up with the government, with the Technic elite dictating every aspect of our lives, then you should join us. We desperately need your support. With your help we can establish a new, democratic government in our fair city. With your help we can create a brand new future.

“Listen out the window of your home or business. Listen wherever you are. Those explosions and the gunfire you hear are the chimes of liberty for all of us. Join us in overthrowing the dictators who oppress us at every turn.

“Those who want freedom must fight for it. If you, like I, value freedom as the most precious gift our Creator has bestowed on us, then prove your devotion by joining our cause.

“Our government has become a model of tyranny because we have let it. We are taxed to the breaking point, our property subject to confiscation without due process, our children taken from us and raised by unfeeling government drones. The government presumes to tell us how we must live, to dictate every aspect of our lives from the food we eat to the clothes we wear. They even go so far as to tell us how we must think .

“Enough is enough! It is time to throw off the yoke of civil slavery! Rally around us! Flock to your banner, and by this time tomorrow Technic City will belong to the people again. We can form a new government, a government of the people, for the people, and by the people.”