David Robbins - Houston Run

But if the helicopter launched another rocket before he reached the drive…

“We’re doomed, yes!” Gremlin wailed.

Blade wondered if there were more of the silver men in the helicopter.

Probably. The silver giants seemed to hold every position of authority in Androxia.

The copter descended another ten feet closer to the avenue, maintaining its intercept course.

The transport was now a mere 20 yards from the drive.

Blade held his breath in anticipation. Fifteen yards. Ten. Five. Now! He wrenched on the steering wheel, sending the truck into a treacherour right turn.

Just as the helicopter fired.

Blade almost evaded the rocket. Almost, but not quite.

The truck rocked and bounced as the rear of the bed was blown to smithereens.

Blade’s arms were nearly torn from their sockets. The steering wheel locked, despite his herculean efforts to turn it, to direct the course of the truck, and the transport slewed to the right, leaving the driveway, plowing through a row of shrubs, and grinding to a halt on the grass not ten yards from the front doors. “Out of the truck!” he ordered. “Get into the building!”

Gremlin threw open the passenger door and leaped to the grass, followed by Lynx and Ferret.

Blade was out the driver’s door in an instant, Hickok right on his heels.

All five of them raced to the front doors. They could hear the helicopter hovering overhead, its blades whirring.

Blade reached the glass doors first. He tugged on one of them, expecting it to be locked, but the door opened. “Inside!” he bellowed, and darted into the gold edifice. He spun, holding the door wide, as the others quickly entered. They turned, staring out the doors, exhilarated by their escape from the copter.

“We did it!” Lynx exclaimed and laughed triumphantly.

“It was a piece of cake!” Hickok declared.

“Is one of you hungry?” inquired a deep, resonant voice to their rear.

Blade whirled, his right hand clutching the whip handle.

“That would not be wise,” said the speaker. He was one of twelve silver men, spread out in a semicircle around the front doors. Five of the silver giants carried whips, but the rest held unusual handguns, pistols with a conical barrel but lacking sights.

Hickok had his whip in his right hand. “I’ve never been known for bein’ too bright,” he stated defiantly. “Come and get it!”

The speaker wagged the pistol he held. “Stupidity is not a quality worth bragging about,” he said calmly. “You will drop the Electro-Prod, or I will terminate you with this Gaskell Laser.”

Hickok hesitated. “Why should I?” he countered. “What’s so special about that funny-lookin’ hardware of yours?”

“You have never seen a laser pistol before?” the Superior inquired.

“Nope,” Hickok admitted. “What’s the big deal?”

“Observe and learn,” the Superior stated. He pivoted, aiming the Gaskell Laser at a potted fern to the right of the glass doors. His trigger finger moved, and a brilliant beam of light shot from the laser. There was a pronounced hissing noise, and a smoking hole suddenly appeared in the pot containing the fern. The Superior ceased firing and turned to the gunfighter. “I trust the exhibition was informative?”

Hickok stared at the hole in the pot, astounded. “How does that popgun of yours work?”

“It would be useless to elucidate,” the Superior replied. “The Gaskell’s operating principle is beyond your limited conceptual capacity.”

“I think you’ve just been insulted,” Lynx said to the gunman.

Hickok glanced at Blade. “You’re the boss. It’s up to you.”

Blade dropped the whip on the floor.

Hickok frowned, shook his head, and released the Electro-Prod.

The Superior moved forward. “You will accompany us. You will not resist.”

Ferret sighed. “Here we go again. Back to Containment.”

“You are not going to Containment,” the Superior informed them.

“Oh? Where are you takin’ us, dimples?” Lynx queried.

“You have an audience with Primator,” the Superior stated.

“Who is Primator?” Blade asked the silver giant.

“Primator is… Primator,” the Superior said. “Any questions you might have will be answered soon. You will now form a single file.”

Blade obeyed, taking the lead, followed by Hickok, Lynx, Gremlin, and Ferret. They stood in a line, awaiting further instructions.

The Superiors took up positions on both sides, ringing the Warriors and the mutants. The giant doing all the talking stepped up to Blade.

“Your audience with Primator will be on the Sturgeon Level. Follow me.”

“The Sturgeon Level?” Blade repeated quizzically.

“The top floor in the Prime Complex,” the Superior said.

“How far is it to this Prime Complex?” Blade asked.

“You are standing in it.”

“What?”

“You are in the Prime Complex,” the Superior revealed. “We will conduct you to the upper level.” He started walking toward the south wall, toward a glass-enclosed platform resting on the floor.

Blade walked after the Superior, surveying his surroundings. The lobby for the Prime Complex was furnished in an opulent fashion. The plush red carpet underfoot, the polished wooden paneling on the walls, the ornate maple furniture, and the shimmering chandelier suspended above the center of the lobby combined to produce an aura of great wealth. Even the four standard elevators along the east wall had gold doors. “This Primator of yours must like his luxury,” Blade commented.

The Superior looked at the Warrior. “Primator is indifferent to luxury.”

“I don’t see him living in a dump,” Blade mentioned.

“What purpose would be achieved by residing in a dump?” the Superior countered.

Blade refrained from responding. Debating with a Superior, he noted, was as stimulating as debating with a brick wall. He gazed at the platform they were heading for, estimating the circular base was 50 feet in circumference. The glass—or was it plastic?—enclosing the platform formed an oval shell 30 feet in height.

The chief Superior opened a clear door in the side of the oval shell and stepped onto the black platform, moving to the middle.

Blade walked to the Superior’s right side.

Hickok, the three mutants, and their escort of Superiors all came onto the platform.

Blade craned his neck, staring upward. A tremendous shaft or tunnel reared aloft. The vertical tube seemed to be endless, and its dimensions, Blade realized, corresponded to the size of the platform.

The last Superior stepped aboard and closed the door.

“Brace yourself,” the Superior in charge said to Blade. “Your human musculature will experience extreme strain.”

“Strain from what?” Blade wanted to know.

He found out.

Without any advance warning, the platform unexpectedly shot upward at an incredible speed. The floor vibrated slightly as the entire platform was propelled up the vertical shaft at a mercurial pace.

Blade nearly lost his footing. The platform accelerated so swiftly, going from being completely motionless to a quick-as-lightning rate instantaneously, he felt like huge hands were bearing down on his shoulders, striving to flatten him on the floor. The enigmatic force did not appear to affect the Superiors; they stood with an almost casual indifference as the platform leaped upward. Blade saw Hickok fall to his knees, as did Gremlin, but Lynx and Ferret retained their balance, although Ferret tottered several feet.

“The Prime Complex is two hundred ninety-nine stories tall,” the Superior disclosed. “The McCammon Null Tube is the only practical means of vertical ascension for the upper floors. The elevators only reach the hundredth floor.”