David Robbins - Green Bay Run

“Really?” Melissa responded, leaning forward. “That’s nice to know.”

Samson glanced from the stony Yama to the admiring woman, and chuckled. “I just hope I’m invited to the binding,” he said under his breath.

Yama shifted smoothly and the jeep headed for Green Bay.

Green Bay turned out to be no different from countless other postwar cities and towns Blade had seen in his travels.

Most of the structures were in varied stages of disrepair. Over a century of neglect and abuse by the elements had resulted in collapsed roofs, buckled walls, and missing or cracked windows. There were exceptions, homes and business establishments maintained in passable condition, but even these appeared to have been recently deserted. Dust and dirt caked everything. Rats scurried in the alleys. Pigeons and other birds flew overhead or perched on poles. A crucial element to any city, however, was missing.

“Where are the people?” Blade asked.

Captain Perinn, sitting in the front passenger seat, glanced back at the Warrior, who sat with an armed Technic on either side, their Dakon II’s pressed against the giant’s ribs. “Most of the populace are housed at our Research Facility. The others left for a healthier climate.” He snickered at a private joke.

“You provide housing at your facility?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Why are you in Green Bay?” Blade inquired.

“Ask the Director.”

“I intend to,” Blade promised, wishing he could pound his fist into the smug Technic’s face.

“You’re about to receive a singular honor,” Perinn commented.

“How do you figure?”

“Very few outsiders have been invited into our Research Facility. The Director is treating you as someone special.”

“I’m all chocked up.”

“We know you Warriors usually travel in threes. You won’t be so cocky after we capture your companions,” Perinn predicted.

“Never happen.”

“Why not?”

“They’re smarter than I am. They won’t let themselves be caught,” Blade said.

“We’ll see,” Captain Perinn responded.

The jeep convoy had entered Green Bay on State Highway 54, which they had followed all the way to Monroe Avenue. On Monroe they’d driven northeastward to University Avenue, and from there they’d taken Danz Avenue to the East Shore Drive. Now, as they rolled along the south shore of Green Bay, they could see the blue-green water and gulls wheeling in the air.

“Our Facility,” Perinn announced, and pointed.

Blade shifted his gaze from the bay to the ten-foot-high barbed-wire fence completely surrounding the University of Wisconsin at Green Bay campus. Two-man Technic patrols walked at regular intervals along the inside of the fence. The lawns beyond had been neatly trimmed, and the buildings repaired and painted where needed. A gate at the southwest corner afforded access to the campus.

“We put a lot of work into refurbishing the university,” Perinn mentioned.

“Planning to stay a long time, are you?”

The officer glanced at the Warrior. “Don’t you ever give up?”

“No.”

“One of these days you’ll push too hard, buster.”

The vehicles slowed as they neared the gate, where four soldiers stood with Dakon II’s at the ready. One of them saluted the lead jeep and Perinn returned the gesture. In moments the gate swung inward and the convoy entered the Research Facility.

Blade glanced at a sign on the barbed-wire fence as they passed within:

Captain Perinn stretched as the jeeps angled toward a stately building on the south side of the campus. He checked his uniform to ensure his buttons were properly fastened and his insignia were on correctly.

What was the officer doing? Blade wondered. Preening? Or did Perinn’s grooming indicate the officer was afraid of what would happen if the Director noticed a dress-code violation? He stared at the three-story building and counted six guards standing outside the entrance.

“A word of advice,” Perinn said.

“What?”

“If you should meet my superior officer, don’t speak unless spoken to.”

“I’ll speak when I damn well feel like it.”

The officer snorted. “Suit yourself, asshole. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

All six guards snapped to attention when the five jeeps pulled up near the stately structure.

“At ease,” Captain Perinn stated as he slid to the ground. He smoothed his shirt and waited for the Warrior to be ushered from the vehicle.

Blade glanced at his weapons, lying on the seat next to the driver, and contemplated making a grab for the Commando. But the pressure of two Dakon barrels rammed against his chest stopped him.

“Bring him,” Perinn said to the two soldiers, and led the way into the building.

Expecting to find a laboratory, Blade felt a twinge of surprise at the luxurious accommodations he found inside. Plush blue carpet covered the floor. The walls and ceiling had recently been painted mauve, and the walls were adorned with handsomely framed paintings. A wide corridor led to a pair of closed mahogany doors in front of which were four more guards.

“This Director of yours must be paranoid,” Blade quipped.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Perinn warned. He nodded at the guards. “I believe the Director is expecting us.”

“Yes, sir,” responded a youthful Technic. “Colonel Hufford is with him.

They said to admit you as soon as you arrived.”

Blade noticed the captain tense slightly at the mention of the colonel.

Interesting. So it wasn’t the Director, after all.

The guards opened the mahogany doors and stepped aside.

“Come in, Captain,” boomed a deep voice.

Perinn led his party into the inner sanctum, a spacious chamber elegantly furnished with polished furniture, with bookcases lining the walls, and distinguished by a huge desk situated in the very center. Next to the desk, his arms crossed over his stocky chest, stood a scowling officer, gold insignia on his collar.

Blade barely glanced at the glowering Technic. He found the person seated behind the desk to be much more intriguing.

Even though seated, the man at the desk conveyed an impression of immense size. A mane of white hair framed leonine features. His green eyes returned the Warrior’s scrutiny fearlessly. He wore a one-piece silvery uniform devoid of insignia or emblems. “Greetings,” he declared in his deep voice. “My name is Quinton Darmobray.”

“I take it you know who I am,” Blade said.

The stocky officer snickered. “So this is the famous Warrior. He doesn’t look so tough to me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Colonel,” Darmobray stated coldly. “For instance, someone gazing upon your countenance might mistakenly assume intelligence existed in your cranium.”

Blade grinned when the man who must be Hufford straightened and studiously avoided looking at Darmobray.

The white-haired man looked at the Warrior. “To answer your question, yes, I know who you are, and I have been anticipating this meeting with keen relish.”

“I didn’t realize I was so popular.”

Colonel Hufford lowered his arms and took a step toward the giant.

“You’ll keep your trap shut unless told to talk.”

“Or what?” Blade asked. “Are you going to throw a temper tantrum?”

Hufford raised his right fist, as if about to strike the Warrior in the face.

“That will be enough,” Darmobray stated coldly. “Colonel, you will leave us alone.”