David Robbins - Houston Run

Barney blanched. “You don’t leave me much choice. Just remember I tried to talk you out of it.”

Lynx shoved Barney toward the north end of the loading dock. “Lead the way, chuckles! And no tricks, hear?”

Lynx, Gremlin, and Ferret stayed on Barney’s heels.

“What if we’re spotted, yes?” Gremlin asked.

“So what?” Lynx said. “This wimp says there are mutants like us all over the place. No one will pay any attention to three more.”

“I hope you know what we’re doing,” Ferret mumbled.

“Trust me,” Lynx stated.

Ferret groaned.

The Servile hastily crossed the lot. They passed over a dozen parked vehicles.

Lynx studied the vehicles, impressed. He’d seen scores of conventional cars, trucks, and jeeps in Denver and elsewhere.

They were completely different from the vehicles in the lot. The Androxian conveyances were sleeker, slimmer, with smaller tires and low-slung carriages. They reminded him of rockets on wheels.

“That’s Blish Avenue ahead,” Barney said, indicating a thoroughfare on the north side of the lot.

Lynx could see sparse traffic flowing on the avenue. “How do we get across it?”

Barney used his left hand and pointed at the northwest corner of the lot. “We can cross there, once the light is green.”

The quartet hurried to the northwest corner of the parking lot. They reached a sidewalk bordering Blish Avenue, and 15 yards to the west was an intersection with traffic signals.

“That’s Serling Boulevard,” Barney said. “We can take it to Intelligence.”

“Then let’s go,” Lynx urged him.

Barney walked to the intersection, then patiently waited for the light to change.

An Androxian car came through the intersection, its motor purring.

The interior of the vehicle was lit by a pale blue glow. Behind the steering wheel was one of the silver giants. The Superior glanced at the four figures on the sidewalk, displaying no interest in their presence, and kept going east on Blish Avenue.

“See?” Lynx gloated. “I told you we wouldn’t have any trouble.”

“We’re not there yet,” Ferret noted.

“Worrywart,” Lynx rejoined.

The traffic signal suspended above the center of the intersection changed from red to green.

“We can cross,” Barney said, and started to do so.

Lynx walked to Barney’s left, his green eyes scanning Serling Boulevard.

The sidewalks contained few pedestrians. “Where is everybody?” he inquired as they reached the far side of the intersection and proceeded north on Serling.

“It’s night,” Barney replied. “Serviles aren’t allowed out at night unless they have a pass, or they’re on the night shift. Same with the mutants.”

“What is the population of Androxia?” Ferret asked.

“Three million, I think,” Barney said. “At least, that’s what I heard.”

“How many Serviles are there?” Ferret questioned him.

“I don’t know,” Barney admitted.

“What about the Superiors?” Lynx chimed in. “How many of them are in Androxia?”

“I don’t know,” Barney said. “They don’t tell us stuff like that.”

“They don’t tell you much, do they?” Lynx remarked.

“They teach us all we need to know,” Barney stated.

“Oh? Says who?” Lynx retorted.

“They do,” Barney said.

“Real decent of ’em,” Lynx cracked sarcastically.

“The Superiors don’t mistreat us,” Barney mentioned.

“What do you call that Orwell Disk?” Lynx countered.

“Everyone has one,” Barney said. “It’s no big deal.”

Lynx glanced at Ferret. “Nice bunch of sheep they’re raisin’ here, huh?”

Barney looked at Lynx. “I don’t understand. Why are you so hostile towards the Superiors?”

“I don’t understand why you’re not,” Lynx declared.

Barney shrugged. “They provide us with our homes, our clothes, even our food. They don’t beat us or anything like that. And they even allow some of us to breed.”

“Breed?” Lynx snorted. “You mean they let you poke your squeeze now and then?”

“Squeeze? I don’t understand,” Barney said.

“You have a wife, dimples?” Lynx asked.

Barney smiled. “Yes. She was my reward for ten years of faithful service to Androxia. We might be permitted to have a child next year. We can hardly wait.”

“The Superiors must give the okay for you to have a kid?” Lynx queried.

“Androxia has a population problem,” Barney responded. “We must regulate our population numbers.”

“You mean the Superiors must regulate the Serviles,” Lynx said.

“The Superiors only want what’s best for us,” Barney said. “What is best for all Androxia.”

“Now I know why your eyes are brown,” Lynx quipped.

They covered a quarter of a mile in silence, drawing ever closer to the Intelligence Building. A few vehicles passed on Serling Boulevard.

“Barney, what kind of work do you do, yes?” Gremlin inquired at one point.

“I’m night foreman at the Herbert Hangar loading dock,” Barney answered.

“You like your job, yes?” Gremlin queried.

“Yeah. I like it a lot,” Barney said. “There are a lot worse.”

“What kind of work do the mutants around here do?” Lynx questioned.

“Whatever they’re bred for,” Barney said.

“Bred?” Lynx repeated.

“Yeah. The mutants are assigned to whatever type of work they’re bred for. Some are manual laborers. Some work in the Science Section. Others do other jobs,” Barney stated.

“Tell me,” Lynx said. “Who breeds your mutants?”

“The Superiors, of course,” Barney revealed.

“Of course,” Lynx said dryly.

“I’d like to know something,” Ferret mentioned. “Do the Superiors allow the Serviles to attend school? Did you receive an education?”

“I sure did,” Barney said proudly. “I went through all six grades. That’s standard. Some, like courier pilots, go longer.”

“Six grades? That’s all?” Ferret asked.

“Who wants more?” Barney replied. “They teach us to read and write, and math, and whatever other skills we need for our jobs.”

“No history, or geography, or any courses like that?” Ferret probed.

“Who needs those?” Barney responded. “The Superiors teach us all we need to know.”

“They sure don’t teach you to think,” Lynx muttered.

“Think? The Superiors take care of all the thinking,” Barney said.

“They’re smarter than us. They know what’s best for us.”

“So you keep sayin’,” Lynx stated.

“Do all of the Serviles feel the same way you do?” Ferret inquired.

“Sure,” Barney said, then corrected himself. “Well, not all of them.

There are a few who like to cause trouble. They’re called Malcontents.”

“What happens to them?” Ferret asked.

“The Superiors don’t allow troublemakers to disrupt anything,” Barney said. “The Malcontents are usually sent to the Science Section. When they come out, they’re ready to accept their status, to work for the good of all Androxia.”

“Why? What happens to ’em in the Science Section?” Lynx queried.

“Are they tortured?”

Barney laughed. “No. Of course not! They undergo a simple operation.”

“What type of operation?” Ferret said.

“An operation on their brain,” Barney said. “To remove the bad cells, I’ve heard. I think they call it a partial lobotomy.”

“A lobotomy, no!” Gremlin declared, aghast. He vividly remembered the experimental lobotomies the Doktor had performed on him, resulting in his aberrant style of speech.

“They’re no big deal,” Barney said. “Lots of people have them.”