David Robbins - Houston Run

Lynx stared up at the wide screen, his feline features contorted in fury.

“Clarissa was scum, but she didn’t deserve that!”

“I FAIL TO COMPREHEND YOUR RESENTMENT. YOU DISLIKED HER, DIDN’T YOU? SHE LOVED THE DOKTOR, AND THE DOKTOR WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR TORMENTING YOU AND ORDERING YOUR EXECUTION.”

“But I’m still kickin’, chuckles,” Lynx responded belligerently. “And if it’s the last thing I ever do, I’m gonna bring you down!”

“IMPROBABLE,” Primator said. “YOU WILL BE TOO BUSY RECOVERING TO BOTHER ME.”

“Recovering? From what?” Lynx asked.

“FROM YOUR NEUTERING, OF COURSE,” Primator stated.

Lynx crouched, his green eyes flaring.

“You will not move, Lynx!” ordered a deep voice to their rear.

Blade glanced over his right shoulder.

Twelve Superiors were lined up ten feet from the chairs. Seven of them were armed with Gaskell Lasers.

Blade looked at Lynx. He sensed the mutant was on the verge of going berserk, and he quickly stood. “Lynx! Don’t do it! Now is not the time!”

Lynx scowled at the Superiors, clenching and unclenching his fingers.

“Don’t do it!” Blade reiterated. “You’d be throwing your life away.”

Lynx regained his self-control with a monumental effort. He slowly straightened, then grinned. “You’re right, Blade. I’ll let these suckers sweat a bit before I rack ’em.”

The Superior in the middle of the line walked up to the row of chairs.

He stared at the wide screen, then raised his right fist and touched it to his chest. “What is your will, Primator?”

“THE MUTANTS WILL BE TAKEN TO THE DEVIATE GENERATION SECTION,” Primator commanded. “I WANT LYNX NEUTERED AND ASSIGNED TO THE SANITATION DETAIL. THE OTHER TWO MUTANTS WILL BE TESTED AND DEALT WITH AS PER PRESCRIBED PROCEDURE.”

“As you will,” the Superior said. “And the two Warriors?”

“RETURN THEM TO CONTAINMENT. INSURE THEY DO NOT ESCAPE AGAIN. INSTRUCT INTELLIGENCE TO INTERROGATE THEM THOROUGHLY. I WANT THE DATA OBTAINED RELAYED TO ME IMMEDIATELY.”

“As you will,” the Superior stated. “And their final disposition?”

“WILL BE DETERMINED AFTER I HAVE REVIEWED THE RESULTS OF THEIR INTERROGATION,” Primator declared.

“As you will.” The Superior motioned for Blade and the others to move around the chairs. “Form a single file,” he directed.

Blade was the first in line. He glanced at the Superior in charge. “Aren’t you the same one who brought us?”

“I am,” the Superior confirmed.

“How did you know Primator wanted you to enter?” Blade inquired.

“There is a panel above the outer audience door,” the Superior disclosed. “It contains a light which comes on when our presence is required.”

“Primator doesn’t miss a trick, does he?” Blade observed.

“Primator is infallible,” the Superior said.

“Only the Spirit is infallible,” Blade said, disagreeing.

The Superior studied the Warrior for a moment. “Have you ever undergone a lobotomy?”

“No,” Blade replied. “Why?”

“Just asking.”

The sun had been up for hours.

Lynx paused in the midst of his constant pacing and stared up at the barred window in the south wall of his cell. In addition to the thick, unbreakable steel bars, the window contained a pane of clear, shatterproof plastic. He measured the distance to the windowsill for the umpteenth time, calculating the sill was eight feet above the blue tiled floor. He knew he could reach the window with a running leap; he’d already done so twice. But the steel bars had resisted his powerful muscles, and his claws could not penetrate the plastic pane.

He was trapped, confined with no way out!

Those bastards were going to pay! he mentally vowed.

Lynx resumed his pacing, going from one side to the other of the 15-foot-square cell. He wanted to find a Superior and sink his claws into the android’s neck! He needed to do something to vent his pent-up wrath.

What was that?

Lynx halted in the center of the room, gazing at the door on the east side.

A key was turning in the lock!

They were coming for him! They were coming to lop off his nuts!

Lynx scanned the cell for a weapon. There was a green cot along the west wall, and a sink at the foot of the cot. A toilet in a small cubicle was in the middle of the north wall. And that was it. Nothing he could use to defend himself against the silver pricks!

The doorknob was turning!

Lynx darted behind the door, next to the east wall.

They weren’t taking his balls! He’d die before he’d let them castrate him!

The door opened, swinging inward, almost touching Lynx.

“Hmmmmm,” a low voice said.

Lynx tensed. He heard someone take a step forward, into the cell, and he pounced, bounding around the door and grabbing a brown, furry arm.

He yanked on the slim arm, pulling the newcomer into the room and extending his left leg simultaneously, tripping the astonished arrival and sending the newcomer sprawling onto the floor near the cot. Lynx spun toward the new arrival, intent on slashing his adversary to shreds. But he stopped in midstride, flabbergasted.

“Well, I never!” exclaimed the newcomer in a low, yet decidedly feminine tone. “Is this any way to treat a lady?” She slowly stood, her features reflecting her annoyance.

Lynx was shocked to his core. The figure before him was an exact copy of his own: the same pointed ears, the same slanted green eyes, the same curved forehead, the same color fur. Everything. But with a notable difference. “You’re a woman!” he blurted.

She brushed at an attractive white smock she wore, appraising him critically. “And is this how they treat women where you come from? By manhandling them?”

“I didn’t mean…” Lynx started to say, his mind whirling. He was stunned, intoxicated by her beauty. “That is, I don’t… but then, you…”

She shook her head. “Pathetic! A handsome hunk like you, and it’s all a waste. There must be a vacuum between your ears.”

“I…” Lynx mumbled. “You…”

She grinned. “I see that witty conversation is not one of your strong points.”

Lynx took a step toward her. “Who are you?”

“Melody,” she answered. “Melody 741950.”

Lynx suddenly realized she wore an Orwell Disk on her forehead.

“And your name, I believe, is Lynx?” Melody asked.

Lynx nodded.

Melody pointed at his loin cloth. “Why aren’t you wearing any clothes? That… diaper… barely covers you.”

Lynx glanced down. “This ain’t no diaper, sweets.”

“Sweets?”

“All us wear ’em,” Lynx said.

“All of whom?” Melody inquired.

“All the mutants the Doc created wore loincloths,” Lynx explained.

“Ferret, Gremlin, and I are the only three left, and we still wear ’em.”

Melody scrunched up her nose distastefully. “How barbaric,” she commented.

“Do all the mutants here wear clothes?” Lynx queried, eager to keep her talking, to do anything to keep her angelic presence in the room.

“What a silly question!” Melody stated. “Of course! All civilized mutants wear clothing. We don’t traipse around in our underwear.”

“This isn’t my underwear, gorgeous,” Lynx declared.

“Gorgeous?”

Lynx took another step toward her. “Look! I don’t get any of this! I thought those silver bastards were comin’ to whack off my…” He abruptly stopped, appalled by his blatant crudity.

“Whack off your what?” Melody asked, and then looked at his loincloth.

She hastily averted her eyes, pretending to be interested in the toilet. “Oh, my!”