David Robbins: Houston Run

IM-97 peered at the illuminated grid. The Burroughs Infra-Sensor Module, an optional attachment on the 2001 Computer, required several minutes to attain peak functional capability. He rested his hands on a pair of knobs below the grid, waiting for the word from AS-1.

The Hoverjet continued to wing slowly toward their destination. A minute passed in relative silence. Two minutes.

AS-1, his eyes locked on the digital display, nodded. “We are over the south wall.”

“Infrared operational,” IM-97 said, twisting the knob in his left hand.

Dozens of red blips materialized on the grid. “Multiple possibles within range.”

“Adjust the sensors,” AS-1 directed, “Scan for physical dimensions, respiratory rate, and gross bulk. Our target is one of the few humans our size. He should literally stand out head and shoulders above the rest.”

“Scanning,” IM-97 responded.

With AS-1 handling the maneuvering of the Klinecraft, and IM-97 immersed in isolating their target, OV-3 was left with nothing to do. He elected to maximize his time by learning additional details concerning the Family. His fingers flew over the keys, and a moment later the name of another known Warrior appeared on the screen.

SUBJECT: HICKOK.

Hickok is another Warrior in the Family. (Correlation: see Home & Family.) Hickok and two other Warriors, Blade and Geronimo, are believed to constitute one of the Triads comprising the Warrior class. The name of their Triad has not been ascertained.

Hickok is known to specialize in the use of Colt Python revolvers. He is an expert marksman with handguns and rifles. Considered extremely dangerous.

Little else is known about this organism. His marital status is unknown, although one unconfirmed report claims he is married to a Warrior woman named Sherry and has one young son. Height: about six feet.

Weight: estimated at 180-190. Build: lean. Hair: blond. Worn long. Also has a blond mustache. Eyes: blue. Distinguishing marks: none known.

END OF REPORT.

OV-3 looked at AS-1. “I trust Intelligence will upgrade the files on the Family in the near future.”

“If Primator so wills,” AS-1 answered. “Evidently, the Doktor had accumulated an extensive file on the Family and the Warriors, but it was destroyed when his headquarters was obliterated. Samuel II also kept a complete dossier on them, but our spy has not been able to locate it. After Samuel II’s death, his successor, the new President of the Civilized Zone, confiscated all of Samuel II’s files. This President Toland allows only trusted subordinates to view the files.”

“Where did Intelligence acquire our information?” OV-3 asked.

“Here and there,” AS-1 replied. “Clarissa provided much of it from her memory. Some of it was obtained from monitored Soviet and Technic broadcasts. The rest came from miscellaneous minor sources. Our data on the Family is far from complete.”

“That’s an understatement,” OV-3 commented.

IM-97 suddenly interrupted. “We have him,” he declared.

“You have isolated the target?” AS-1 inquired.

“Affirmative,” IM-97 affirmed. “And he has unwittingly made our retrieval easier.”

“Explain,” AS-1 said.

“The Infra-Sensor reveals the majority of the Family is congregated in the western section of their Home,” IM-97 elaborated. “But two individuals are in the southeast quadrant. One of them must be our target. He measures out at seven feet tall and weighs 240.”

“There are just two of them?” AS-1 asked.

“Just two,” IM-97 confirmed.

AS-1 stared at the digital display. The Hoverjet was hovering 200 yards above the surface. He angled the Klinecraft in the direction of the pair in the southeast quadrant. “Parabolic,” he ordered.

OV-3 straightened, switching a toggle to his left and gripping a round lever in his right hand. “Parabolic activated.”

The Hoverjet drifted toward the southeast quadrant.

Sounds began emanating from a four-inch speaker mounted on the console near OV-3. Leaves rustling. The wind whispering.

OV-3 slowly moved the round lever back and forth, up and down, searching.

“…be a piece of cake,” a male voice abruptly filled the cockpit.

“You think so?” responded a lower, more resonant speaker.

“I may have them,” OV-3 said.

“They are the only ones in that area,” IM-97 averred. “It must be them.”

“I’ve whipped your butt two times so far, pard,” the first voice stated.

“We’ll try one more time,” the speaker with the low tone remarked.

“Then can we call it quits for the night?” asked the first man. “I promised my missus I’d be home to tuck Ringo in. That young’un will be traumatized if his fearless papa ain’t there to kiss him nighty-night.”

The man with the low voice chuckled. “Sure, Hickok. This will be our last one for tonight.”

“Thanks, Blade,” Hickok said.

“We have him,” AS-1 remarked.

“Do we take him now?” OV-3 queried.

“We will wait for a better opportunity,” AS-1 said. “We do not want to arouse any suspicions. We might be able to take him when he’s alone.”

“…don’t see why the blazes we have to do this anyway!” Hickok was saying.

“Practice makes perfect,” Blade responded.

“After all we’ve been through,” Hickok muttered, “we still got to play these games!”

“They’re not games, and you know it,” Blade corrected him. “These night drills are essential to our readiness.”

“Okay. I get your drift. And I don’t need no lecture,” Hickok said. “Let’s get this blamed nonsense over with, so we can mosey on back, tuck in the young’uns, and rustle up some grub.”

“I’ll be the stalker this time,” Blade said.

“Fine by me,” Hickok replied.

“Mosey? Grub?” AS-1 repeated, puzzled. “This Hickok employs a peculiar dialect.”

“All biological organisms are strange,” OV-3 asserted.

“Blade is moving away from Hickok,” IM-97 disclosed, his eyes glued to the grid.

“What are they doing?” OV-3 asked.

“Whatever it is,” AS-1 speculated, “it has something to do with their Warrior training.”

“I have a strange reading here,” IM-97 announced, his interest piqued by a trio of bluish-red blips on the grid.

“What sort of reading?” AS-1 demanded.

“I’m picking up all of the Family members within range,” IM-97 replied. “As expected, they all register red.”

“All bipedal humanoids register red,” AS-1 remarked.

“True,” IM-97 conceded. “But I’m also registering three bluish-red life readings, about one hundred yards to the northwest.”

AS-1 glanced at IM-97. “Bluish-red?”

“See for yourself,” IM-97 said, waving his right hand toward the blips.

AS-1 bent to the right and peered at the grid. “But blue is for organisms lower than human, for the animal life, the mammals and reptiles and such.”

“I know,” IM-97 agreed. “Which is what makes these three so strange.”

“They appear to be stationary,” AS-1 observed.

“They are,” IM-97 confirmed.

“Pulse rate?” AS-1 inquired.

IM-97 turned the right-hand knob below the grid, then studied the small figures appearing at the bottom of the screen. “Definitely not human.”

AS-1 reflected for a moment. “The Burroughs unit must be malfunctioning. We know the Family maintains this half of their Home in a natural state. Perhaps the unit has detected several horses or deer and is registering a composite signal. You know how precise the calibration must be on these units. Did you calibrate it yourself?”

“No,” iM-97 answered. “The craft was serviced by the technicians before our departure.”