David Robbins - Houston Run

The gunman’s deduction was accurate.

Blade slowly started into the interrogation room, his huge hands hanging loosely at his sides.

RM-14 gazed at a window situated high on the south wall. “It will not rain today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky.”

Blade paused, looking at the same window. “I guess you’re right,” he agreed.

Hickok knew Blade was about to make his move. He could tell by the way Blade stood, by his wide stance, and by the way Blade surreptitiously glanced to the left and the right. The gunman studied the positions of the Superiors, girding himself. RM-14 was directly across from him at the table. Two androids were to the right of the open door, one of them standing in front of the other. Another android was to the left of the door, actually standing slightly behind it. And yet another was just crossing the threshold. Hickok rested his hands on the edge of the metal table and smiled at RM-14. “I reckon this means it’s back to the calaboose for me,” he said, hoping to distract the interrogator.

RM-14 looked at the gunman. “Yes. You will be held there until Primator determines your disposition.”

Blade went into action. He’d spent his hours in the stasis field in his cell reviewing his capture and the events since his arrival in Androxia, and he’d decided to attempt an escape at the first opportunity. He didn’t know if Primator would let them live, and he wasn’t about to wait and find out.

Even if Primator did decree their lives would be spared, they might be neutered. And undoubtedly those disks would be implanted in their foreheads. At any rate, except for an earlier meal presided over by a trio of armed Superiors, this was his first time out of the stasis field.

He was not going back.

Blade whirled and lashed out with his left foot and his right hand simultaneously, his left foot driving into the door and slamming the door into the Superior behind it, knocking him into the wall. His right hand, formed into a mallet-like fist, smashed into the nose of the nearest android on the right, sending the Superior reeling backwards into the second android to the rear.

Now came the tricky part.

The android crossing the threshold grabbed for his Gaskell Laser, but before his fingers could close on the weapon the strapping Warrior’s right foot came up and connected with his left kneecap. There was a crunching sound, and the android’s left leg buckled.

Blade closed in, spinning and ramming his right elbow around and in, into the Superior’s rib cage, knowing the blow would not disable the android but hoping it would at least double the Superior over. It did. The android clutched at its ribs, momentarily shaken, neglecting to draw its Laser, and Blade’s right hand dropped to the Gaskell and pulled the gun clear of the holster. He pivoted to the right, raising the Laser, his finger tightening on the trigger, hoping there wasn’t a safety on the weapon because he wouldn’t have time to find it.

The two androids to the right of the door had regained their balance and were going for their Gaskells.

Blade shot the first one in the forehead, the Laser instantly burning through the artificial flesh, searing through the cranium, and scorching a hole out the backside of the android’s head. To Blade’s amazement, the beam of light also struck the second android, catching him between the eyes and dissolving his nose in a bright flash of light, penetrating his head and frying his circuits to a crisp.

RM-14 started to rise, reaching for his Gaskell.

Hickok launched himself across the table, his left shoulder plowing into RM-14’s midriff and causing the Superior to topple backwards over the chair it had been using. They fell to the floor in a tumble of arms and legs.

Blade turned to the left, and there was the android behind the door with his Gaskell already out and aimed. There was a sizzling crackle near Blade’s right ear, and he returned the fire. His shot burned out the android’s right eye and charred a route through its head.

RM-14 rose off the floor, struggling to move his legs, impeded by Hickok’s arms around his ankles.

The Superior in the doorway charged, lunging at Blade with arms extended.

Blade caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and managed to twist, jamming the Gaskell barrel against the android’s right cheek even as the Superior’s arms closed on his waist. He squeezed the trigger as the android lifted him into the air, and he felt the Superior stiffen. The arms about his waist released their grip, and he droppsd to the floor, whirling.

Hickok was clinging to RM-14’s ankles for dear life, preventing the Superior from moving.

RM-14, his attention diverted by the gunman’s tactic for a few precious seconds, perceived his danger and tried to draw.

Blade blasted the Superior through the forehead.

RM-14 quivered for an instant, his eyelids fluttering, then he pitched onto the table, his arms outspread.

Hickok, flat on his stomach, looked up. “Did you get them all yet?”

“They’re all down,” Blade said.

“Finally!” Hickok rose, reaching for RM-14’s Gaskell. “I thought maybe you were tryin’ to see how slow you could waste ’em.” He pulled the Gaskell from RM-14’s holster and examined the gun. “It ain’t a Python, but it’ll do.”

Blade moved to the doorway and peered into the corridor. “I don’t see any more.”

Hickok crossed to the prone android behind the door and removed its Gaskell from its stiff fingers. He stood, a Laser in each hand, smirking.

“Now let the bastards come!”

Blade took the guns from the pair to the right of the door. He stuck one under his belt, and kept the second one in his left hand.

“What now, pard?” Hickok asked.

“We get the hell out of Androxia,” Blade said.

“Sounds good to me. What’s your plan?” Hickok inquired.

“We find Lynx and the others and split,” Blade stated.

“That’s it? That’s your whole plan?” Hickok queried in mock disbelief.

“If you can do any better, I’m open to suggestions,” Blade said.

“You’re the head Warrior,” Hickok rejoined. “Don’t expect me to do your work for you.”

Blade walked to the doorway. “Let’s get out of here before we’re seen.”

“We may have been seen already,” Hickok said, joining his friend at the doorway.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember all of those thingamabobs on Primator?” Hickok asked. “You know. Those monitors or televisions or whatever the dickens they were? Primator uses those contraptions to spy on everybody in Androxia, doesn’t he?”

Blade frowned. He’d completely forgotten the monitors, a careless oversight for a professional Warrior. “Primator does use them to keep tabs on everyone,” he agreed, “but there weren’t more than four or five dozen. I doubt Primator can watch everything all at once. He must have to shift from one spot to another. And maybe he isn’t watching this particular room right at this moment.”

“Maybe,” Hickok said skeptically.

“Even if he is, so what? We’re committed. Now let’s get out of here before reinforcements can arrive.” Blade hurried from the room, taking a right, heading for the stairwell at the end of the hall.

“We can’t leave this building just yet,” Hickok declared.

Blade glanced at the gunman. “Why not?”

“We’ve got to sneak on down to the floor below the lobby,” Hickok stated.

“What? Why?”

“Wouldn’t you like to get your hands on your Bowies?” Hickok queried.

Blade halted so abruptly the gunman almost ran into him. “You know where they are?”

“Yep. My Pythons too. I’m not about to leave without my irons, pard,” Hickok asserted.