David Robbins - Green Bay Run

“Your people are industrial drones who can’t escape because Technic City is ringed with mines, wire, and machine guns.”

Darmobray grinned. “Our elaborate security precautions prevent scavengers and mutations from infiltrating our fair city.”

“You can joke all you want to, but sooner or later the millions of people who have had their minds and souls enslaved by the Technic system will rise up in rebellion. There’s an old adage. What goes around, comes around. Eventually, the populace you have oppressed will turn on their masters,” Blade forecasted.

The Director unexpectedly halted and scrutinized the Warrior’s features. “So you heard, eh?”

“Heard what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Blade said.

Darmobray appeared surprised. “Then you really don’t know about the Resistance Movement?”

Insight dawned and Blade smiled. “Another ten years or so and the Technic society will be history.”

“Actually, our computer projections indicate seventeen-point-two years, to be precise.”

“What else did you expect? Your system has taken basic human drives and warped them out of all perspective,” Blade remarked.

“Give me an example?”

Blade thought back to his previous experiences in Technic City, to the one revelation that had disturbed him the most. “How about your surrogate parenting program?”

“You know about that?”

“All about the perverted system you’ve established. Technics believe that the government knows what’s best for children, not the parents, so all children are taken from their natural parents at birth and dispensed to surrogate parents to be raised according to the dictates of the Technic doctrine,” Blade said.

“Biological bonding inhibits the effective functioning of our devoted citizens. They can’t be totally devoted to our Technic order if they’re devotion is vitiated by loyalty to their natural parents.”

“So the children are yanked from the arms of their parents and given to strangers. They begin compulsory day-care at the age of six months. By twelve years of age they’re holding down full-time jobs,” Blade related.

“The system is disgusting. You deprive your children of the joy of being children.”

“An interesting perspective, but I doubt it fully explains the problems which have arisen,” Darmobray stated. “A few mal-contents have started to stir up the more gullible, ignorant strata of our society against the rulers, against the Technic system itself.”

Blade smirked. “And in seventeen-point-two years those malcontents will bring your system tumbling down.”

“So our computers assert,” the Director said solemnly. “But there is another old adage I’m rather fond of. To be forewarned is to be forearmed.

Now that we know the lid is about to be blown off the kettle, so to speak, we can take the necessary steps to ensure the kettle never explodes.”

The implications of those words bothered Blade. He glanced at the building they were approaching and felt apprehension gnaw at his nerves.

“Is that why you’re here in Green Bay?”

Darmobray chuckled. “Excellent. Your powers of deduction rival my own.”

“But why come to Green Bay to do whatever you’re doing? There are excellent scientific facilities in Technic City.”

“The best. Unfortunately, given the nature of the top-secret project in which I’m involved, the Minister and I were afraid there might be a leak. If our citizenry were to learn of my operation, they might rebel en masse before I can complete my studies and implement our plan,” Darmobray said.

“So you came here to avoid a security leak?”

“Partly. Green Bay is far enough away from Technic City that I can do my work in private, and it’s close enough for the supplies I require to be sent on a moment’s notice. This university once included several outstanding labs, and it was a simple task for us to move in and renovate the buildings.”

“What is this plan you mentioned?” Blade asked.

“A project so unique, so expansive in scope, and potentially rewarding that we have poured millions of dollars into this operation. My research has received the highest priority from the Minister.”

“Which tells me nothing.”

The Director grinned and nodded at a green door they were only several yards from reaching. “Why tell you when I can show you?”

“Why bother showing me when you know I’m your inveterate enemy?”

“I’ll save that as my final surprise,” Darmobray said smugly. He opened the door and motioned for the Warrior to precede him. “After you.”

Blade strode into a brightly illuminated corridor. Incandescent lights were suspended overhead. Both the walls and the ceiling had been painted white, and the floor consisted of white tiles. There were a half-dozen doors along each side.

“This is quite a treat for me,” Darmobray mentioned. “The only other person to whom I gave the grand tour was the Minister.”

“Lucky me.”

The Director ignored the crack. “Follow me,” he said, and moved to the first door on the right, which was closed. “Now try not to let your preconceptions distort your judgment.” He nodded at the six soldiers, who were standing mere feet away. “If you permit your emotions to get the better of you, they’ll shoot.”

“Is that a threat?” Blade inquired, mimicking the Director’s earlier tone.

“Yes,” Darmobray stated. He turned the knob and stepped within.

Bracing himself—or at least believing he was braced for the worst—Blade entered, then stopped, stunned to his core, his mind reeling at the grisly sight he beheld. “Dear Spirit!” he breathed.

“Now don’t start with that religious nonsense,” Darmobray said, and smiled. “What do you think of my experimental subjects?”

“If I had my Bowies, I’d castrate you,” Blade responded harshly.

“Then I’m in no danger, because Colonel Hufford took your weapons to his office in the dorm the troopers are using as a barracks.”

Blade registered the news for later use, gaping at the hapless men and women strapped onto tables covered with rubber mats or sheets. There were ten unfortunates, arranged in two rows of five apiece. All ten were unconscious and attached to life-support systems. They wore white hospital gowns. And every one had been subjected to the same surgical procedure. The tops of their heads had been shaved and sliced into, then peeled back much like an orange peel from an orange, exposing their brains. Oblong black boxes rested on metal stands alongside each table, and a series of multicolored wires connected to the boxes had been inserted into the brain of each victim.

“This sort of reminds me of high school biology class,” Darmobray mentioned.

“You’re sick, do yo know that?” Blade snapped.

“This is where my research started. This is where I first began conducting my elaborate tests on the human brain, where Project Automaton was launched.”

“Project what?”

“Automaton. The term describes my operation precisely. An automaton is someone who acts in a routine or monotonous manner and lacks active intellect. An automaton is also a machine designed to act under its own power, such as a robot.”

Blade’s mouth slackened and his skin tingled as he realized the ulterior motive behind Project Automaton. “You’re making human robots?”

“Close, but not quite,” Darmobray said. He walked to the nearest table and placed his left hand on the chest of the supine woman in the detached manner of someone who had no regard for human life whatsoever. “Allow me to elaborate. You see, once we realized that discontent was spreading among our populace, we decided to nip the rebellion in the bud.”