David Robbins - Seattle Run

“So you named them out of the goodness of your heart,” Hickok interjected.

“It was a fluke!” Manta declared. “I had just started my Humarium and had captured twenty or so humans. One of those humans was a belligerent savage who vowed to escape and lead the humans against me. I ridiculed him. I told him I was quaking in fear at the prospect of being attacked by those human… sharks! But I meant it as an insult!”

“They didn’t?”

“No,” Manta said in frank amazement. “That savage I mentioned escaped. He was the only human to ever escape from my Humarium. And shortly thereafter, those fools began referring to themselves as the Sharks. Can you believe it?”

“Indirectly, then, you were responsible for giving them their name,” Hickok mentioned.

“Yes!” Manta replied angrily. “I think they did it deliberately. They took the name as an affront to me! To offend me!”

“Why would anyone want to offend a sweet, lovable guy like you?” Hickok quipped.

“One day I shall make them pay!” Manta vowed.

“Hey. Wait a minute,” Hickok said. “You fibbed.”

Manta stared at the Warrior. “ I do not lie! As a superior being, I have no need to resort to petty subterfuge.”

“Then maybe it was an honest boo-boo,” Hickok remarked. “But you said only one human ever escaped from your Humarium.”

“So?”

“So what about the guy I talked to on the radio?” Hickok inquired.

“Remember him? Dale was his name. Captain Nathan Dale. He escaped, didn’t he?”

“Only temporarily,” Manta replied. “The savage I referred to was never recaptured. Dale was.”

“Is he still alive?” Hickok asked.

“Yes,” Manta verified. “And I thank you for bringing him up.”

“Why’s that?”

They were nearing a junction in the corridor. The intersection was brilliantly lit.

“Because,” Manta said, smirking, “you are about to meet him in person and behold your future home, your residence for the rest of your short life span.” So saying, Manta walked ahead of the gunman and the Shark and turned the corner to the left, motioning for them to join him.

Hickok walked around the corner and was shocked speechless.

It couldn’t be!

But it was.

“I trust this is satisfactory,” Tiger stated.

Blade nodded, gazing over the table at the food. Six feet long, four feet wide, and nearly every square inch loaded with succulent dishes. Seafood was in abundance; there was crab meat, lobster, clams, and several varieties of fish. There was a heaping plate of steak, not the venison Blade was accustomed to at the Home, but genuine beefsteak. There were even fruits and vegetables, as well as three different types of bread.

“Dig in,” Tiger suggested.

“I can’t get over this,” Blade said. He was seated at the west end of the table, Tiger at the east. The Shark leader had personally escorted the Warrior from the room with the bed to this huge chamber, which was even more ornately decorated with artistic masterpieces.

“What?” Tiger prompted, appearing quite pleased with himself.

“Where did all this food come from?” Blade asked. “Do the Sharks always eat this well?”

“I do,” Tiger stated. “And my captains and lieutenants. As for the rest…” He dismissed them with a wave of his right hand.

“What about the others?” Blade pressed him.

“They forage for their meals,” Tiger said. “They eat what they can find, what they can catch.”

“How is it you eat so well?” Blade inquired politely.

“I am their leader,” Tiger declared, as if that explained everything. “But enough of this talk about food. Let’s eat some.”

Blade’s stomach was growling, his mouth watering, his nose delighting in the fragrant scents. He decided to enjoy a meal, then sound Tiger out for more information.

Tiger watched Blade dig into a juicy slab of beef. He scanned the table, frowned, and clapped his hands.

The young blond woman Blade had met earlier, the one bearing the book on Poe, materialized through a doorway located to the rear of Tiger.

She hurried up to Tiger, on his left. “Yes?”

“Isn’t something missing?” Tiger queried stiffly.

The woman looked at the sumptuous spread in consternation.

“Missing?”

“I see the food I ordered,” Tiger said, “and I see the gold silverware I wanted. But I don’t see our liquid refreshment or any of the crystal glasses.

Where are they?”

“I forgot!” the blonde blurted.

Tiger looked at Blade. “She forgot! This is Lenore. She attends to my physical needs. All of them.”

Blade paused in his eating with a fork of steak halfway to his mouth.

Lenore’s cheeks turned crimson.

Tiger suddenly lashed out, backhanding Lenore across the mouth and sending her stumbling backwards. “The wine!” he snapped. “And the water! Now!”

“Right away,” Lenore mumbled, her right hand on her chin. “Right away.”

Tiger sighed. “The bane of the superior man. Inferiors!”

Blade abruptly lost his appetite. He lowered the fork to his plate.

“I try to impress upon them the necessity of excellence,” Tiger said, “But their limited intellects are incapable of grasping the finer points of life.”

“I read some of the sections you’d underlined in the book on Poe you lent me,” Blade commented.

“Poe! Now there was a man!” Tiger exclaimed passionately. “As far above his peers as the stars are above our planet!”

“Is Poe your hero then?” Blade asked.

“My hero? No. I admire the man, but I can’t claim him as my hero. Remember what Poe himself had to say about heroes?”

“What was that?” Blade inquired.

“No hero-worshipper can possess anything within himself,” Tiger quoted from memory. “That man is no man who stands in awe of his fellowman.”

“You know Poe well,” Blade said, complimenting the Shark leader.

“Poe might not be my hero,” Tiger said, “but I can identify with him. I share the affliction he had, the curse of superiority.”

“Is any person superior to another?” Blade questioned.

“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you subscribe to that equality nonsense prevalent in this country before the war? The notion that all men and women are created equal is sheer bunk! You and I are living examples of how wrong Thomas Jefferson was.”

“How do you mean?” Blade asked.

“Look at us!” Tiger said. “We stand out above the rest, and not just physically. Our intellects are vastly superior to the majority of our fellow humans.”

“I don’t agree with that…” Blade began, then stopped.

Lenore had returned, walking into the chamber bearing a silver tray containing sparkling crystal glasses, a pitcher of water, and a flagon of wine. She hastened to Tiger’s side. “Here it is.”

Tiger glanced at the tray and smiled. “At last. My throat is parched,” he exaggerated.

“This won’t happen again,” Lenore assured him.

“It had better not,” Tiger declared ominously.

“Where do you want the tray?” Lenore questioned.

“On the ceiling,” Tiger rejoined. “Where do you think?” he snapped, and indicated a clear space to his left. “Place the tray there.”

Lenore complied. “Will that be all?”

“Yes,” Tiger said imperiously. “Now leave us.”

The woman quickly departed.

“A veritable dunce,” Tiger mentioned, grinning. “But a wildcat in bed.”

Blade’s gray eyes narrowed. His initial fascination with the Shark leader was rapidly being replaced by an intense dislike.

“Now what were you saying?” Tiger inquired.