David Robbins - Houston Run

“But what?” Hickok prodded.

“But what have we done since?” Lynx demanded. “We do some huntin’ for you, and odd jobs now and then, and play with the munchkins. That’s it!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Hickok asked. “Sounds to me like you’ve got it easy.”

“We do,” Lynx admitted. “But I’m tired of havin’ it easy. I was bred for action, Hickok. I’m a natural-born fighter, just like you and Blade and Rikki and the rest of the Warriors. And part of me is human, and my human part wants to do something constructive with my life. Something worthwhile. I want to contribute my fair share to the Family, repay you for your hospitality. I want to fit in.”

“So that’s what you meant,” Hickok said.

Lynx took a step toward the gunflghter. “You can help us, Hickok.”

“How?” Hickok asked. He could guess the answer. Blade and he were both aware of the ongoing dispute the mutants were having over Lynx’s not-so-secret desire. And, as Blade had rightly pointed out, it was up to the mutants to broach the subject first.

“Shhhhhh!” Gremlin suddenly hissed, glancing skyward.

“What is it?” Ferret inquired.

“Gremlin heard something, yes,” Gremlin told them.

Hickok looked at the tallest genetic deviate. Gremlin was the antsy type, highly emotional. But he was loyal to a fault, and his eyesight and hearing were superb. During Gremlin’s youth, while at the Citadel in Cheyenne, Wyoming, the Doktor had performed an exploratory operation on Gremlin’s brain as part of the Doktor’s continual upgrading of his medical knowledge and expertise. The Doktor had removed a portion of Gremlin’s brain as an experiment. The result was Gremlin’s unorthodox speech pattern.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” Lynx said.

“You were talking,” Ferret noted. “And I was listening to you. Did you hear anything, Hickok?”

The gunman shook his head.

“Gremlin heard something!” Gremlin insisted. “We must investigate, no?”

“You investigate,” Lynx said. “I want to finish talkin’ to Hickok.”

“If Gremlin goes,” Ferret stated, “we all go. Isn’t that what we pledged? You were the one who read The Three Musketeers in the Family library, remember? One for all and all for one. Right?”

“Yeah,” Lynx responded, frowning. He gazed at Gremlin. “What did you hear?”

“Gremlin’s not certain, yes?” Gremlin replied, his red eyes staring to the east. “Funny kind of buzzing, no?”

“Maybe it was a giant mosquito,” Hickok quipped, only partially in jest.

Certain insect strains had developed tendencies toward inexplicable giantism since the war, growing to immense proportions.

“Not mosquito, no,” Gremlin asserted. “Something different, yes?”

“Let’s go find the damned thing!” Lynx snapped. He faced the gunfighter. “Why don’t you come along? I’d like to talk with you some more.”

Hickok hesitated, thinking of his waiting wife and son.

“Please,” Lynx persisted.

Hickok’s eyes narrowed. He’d never heard Lynx ask anything so politely before. Lynx must consider it very important indeed. And he could hardly refuse Lynx, because he still owed all three of the mutants for saving his wife’s life. “I’ll stick with you a spell,” he declared. “But let’s get this over with. I’ve got to get home.”

Gremlin led them into the trees, bearing to the east. Lynx came next, then Hickok and Ferret.

Hickok marveled at their incredibility silent passage through the vegetation. He was only a few feet away, but couldn’t hear a sound.

Gremlin increased his speed, and Lynx kept pace.

Ferret caught up with Hickok and nudged the gunman’s right elbow.

“You’re not mad at Lynx, are you?” he whispered.

“No,” Hickok answered softly. “Why should I be?”

“Lynx has a way of getting people upset,” Ferret said. “He can be too blunt at times, too inconsiderate. Especially when he’s in a bad mood, like now.”

“I’ll hear him out,” Hickok promised. “If he needs my help, I’ll do what I can. I’m not forgettin’ what you guys did for my missus.”

“That was last October,” Ferret mentioned. “This is April.”

“A debt is a debt,” Hickok stated. “Any hombre who doesn’t pay his debts ain’t much of a man in my book. The same holds true for women.”

“We could use your assistance,” Ferret remarked. “We want—”

“Shhhh!” came from Gremlin, ten yards ahead.

Hickok, crouched. Ferret passed him, stooped over, and he followed.

They reached a cluster of bushes and found Gremlin and Lynx on their knees, gaping at an object in a large clearing beyond. Hickok peeked over the top of the bushes, wondering if it was a wild animal, or one of the bizarre ravenous mutations, or even raiders who had somehow managed to scale the outer wall and swim the inner moat. His mind contemplated every possibility in the space of several seconds, his hands on his Colts, thinking he was prepared for anything.

He was wrong.

The gunman’s mouth dropped at the sight of the enormous craft in the clearing, a huge black aircraft of advanced design. Hickok racked his memory, attempting to recall the books in the Family library dealing with aviation. He’d read many of them as a child, entranced by the technological accomplishments of prewar society. The Family’s Founder had stocked the library with hundreds of thousands of volumes on every conceivable subject. The books containing photographs were especially prized by members of the Family, fascinated as they were by any glimpse of their ancestors’ civilization. Although many of the old volumes were faded or yellowed with age and required diligent care when handled, the Family members perused them avidly. Hickok had seen dozens of photographs of ancient aircraft. He’d even seen a functional jet once, and helicopters. But never a craft like the one before him.

“What is it?” Ferret blurted, amazed.

“It ain’t no mosquito,” Lynx said.

Gremlin turned toward Hickok. “You are Warrior, yes? What we do is up to you, no?”

Hickok peered at the aircraft. The strange vehicle was more than 20

yards away, too far to discern much detail. What was the craft doing there? he asked himself. Why was it in the Home? And who was flying the thing? Why had they landed in the dead of night? Sabotage? A spy mission? What?

“Come on, chuckles!” Lynx urged him. “Let’s check this sucker out!”

“I should let Blade know about this,” Hickok whispered.

“Can’t any of you Warriors take a leak without Blade aimin’ your pecker?” Lynx retorted.

Hickok slowly stood. The craft was quiet, and no one was in sight. He could see a doorway of some sort near the nose of the craft. The door was ajar, permitting a greenish light to illuminate a rectangular area under the nose.

“Are you makin’ up your mind, or did you fall asleep?” Lynx queried sarcastically.

“We’ll take a look,” Hickok said, “but you three stay behind me.” He drew his Pythons.

Lynx rose. “We don’t need you to baby-sit us!” he said indignantly.

Hickok spun. “I’m the Warrior here! And in times of danger, the Warriors are in charge! For all we know, that thing could pose a threat to the Family! So if you want to come, come! But you do what I say, when I tell you! Got it?”

Lynx grinned. “Anyone ever tell you how cute you are when you’re pissed off?”

Hickok turned toward the craft, then carefully advanced through the bushes to the clearing. He distinguished three immense wheels supporting the aircraft, one under the nose, and one under each wing. The wings were configured differently from those on the jet he’d seen. They began about a third of the distance from the nose, then flared out to form a gigantic triangular shape. They vaguely resembled those on a military craft in one of the books in the library, and he recalled a term he’d read: delta wing. A faint greenish light was visible under the canopy. And big white letters had been painted on the side.