David Robbins - Citadel Run

“What is it?” Yama was concentrating on his driving.

“After we blow the Biological Center, and if we can get out of the Citadel, what are your plans?”

“I intend to pick up some friends and return with them to the place I came from,” Yama revealed, still unwilling to impart any information concerning the Family and the Home.

“If we get out of this alive,” Lynx said, “the Civilized Zone will be too hot for yours truly. Do you think…” he began, and paused. “Do you suppose I could…”

“Spit it out,” Yama prompted when Lynx inexplicably balked.

“Do you think I could come and stay with your people for a spell? Would they mind?”

Yama perceived that his companion had been embarrassed to pose the question. For what reason? Was Lynx afraid of rejection? “Do you know a G.R.D. by the name of Gremlin?” he asked.

Lynx appeared surprised by the query. “Yeah. I know him. We’re not the best of friends, but we’ve talked a few times. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him in some time. Why?”

“Because Gremlin is living with my people,” Yami elaborated. “We actually think of him as one of our own.”

“Gremlin? Living with you?” Lynx shook his head. “No way,” he stated emphatically. “The Doc removed my collar because he knew I’d try to remove it and wind up committing suicide. But the Doc never removed Gremlin’s collar. I would have heard about it. And if Gremlin turned against the Doc, the Doc would have fried him with a flick of a switch.”

Yama glanced over his right shoulder at Lynx. “I don’t make it a habit of lying,” he said, his tone low and hard.

“I never called you a liar,” Lynx replied quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by what I just said. I find it hard to swallow, is all.”

“Then you’ll find this next tidbit even harder,” Yama predicted.

“Gremlin isn’t the only G.R.D. residing with us. There’s also one called Ferret…”

“Ferret!” Lynx exclaimed. “He’s a pal of mine! I heard he was dead.”

“You heard wrong. Both Gremlin and Ferret are living with us and neither have their collars.” Yama neglected to mention that Ferret was being held under house arrest because the Family wasn’t certain they could trust him. Yet.

“Gremlin and Ferret… free,” Lynx said, his voice abnormally soft and expressive. “It’s my dream come true.” He looked up and found a bright star overhead. “Maybe there is a God up there, after all,” he mused.

“How much farther?” Yama inquired, snapping Lynx back to reality.

Lynx suddenly gripped Yama’s right shoulder. “Turn! Turn right! Now!”

Yama spun the steering wheel, the jeep turning right into a quiet cul-de-sac devoid of other vehicles. The cul-de-sac ended in a small park, and even at this time of the night dozens of people were using the park, some strolling arm in arm, other walking and talking, and still others seated on the park benches, savoring the cool night air. The park-goers idly looked around as the jeep approached, and hastily glanced away once the occupants were identified.

Yama parked against the curb and switched off the motor.

Lynx put his left hand on Yama’s shoulder. “Before we make another move, chuckles, let me give you some advice. If something should happen to me, head for the west wall of the Citadel. They will probably lock Cheyenne up tight as a drum after we play with our fireworks here, but you may be able to shoot your way through the west gate, or talk your way past the guards since you’re in that officer’s uniform, or…” Lynx gazed at the tactical unit, an idea forming. “Or you could bluff ’em. Pull up near the gate and tell ’em to open up or you’ll launch a thermo into the wall. Believe me, they’ll think twice before they open fire on you.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Yama told Lynx, “but it’s a bit premature. We’re going to get out of here together.”

Lynx climbed down and lifted the tactical unit from the jeep. “Bring the wooden crate, sunshine,” he said, and walked to the grass.

The people nearby studiously ignored him while many of them started to edge away.

Yama carried the wooden crate over to Lynx.

“This is the spot,” Lynx announced, depositing the tactical unit on the ground. “I’ll set it up here, but first…” He scanned the park and pointed at an elderly couple sitting on the bench fifteen feet away. “Hey! You two! Yeah, you! Come here!”

“What are you doing?” Yama inquired.

“Leaving our calling card,” Lynx replied.

The elderly duo drew near, doing their best to hide their obvious terror.

“Yes, sir?” the man timidly inquired. “How may we help you, sir?”

Lynx grinned, displaying his sharp teeth. “Citizen, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Whatever you want,” the man promised.

“Thought you’d see it my way. Listen up. I’d like you to go back to that bench and sit down. Stay there. After we leave, some soldiers are going to show up and ask everybody a lot of questions. I want you to give them a message for me. Will you do that?”

“What is it?” the woman asked.

Lynx winked at Yama. “I want you to tell them this. Say to them: Lynx and Yama send their love. Got that?”

“Lynx and Yama send their love,” the man repeated verbatim. “I’ll remember it,” he pledged.

“Fine, Citizen. Thanks. Now go sit on that bench and watch the fireworks.”

“Oh! There’s going to be fireworks?” the woman said excitedly.

“The loudest and the brightest you’ve ever seen,” Lynx confirmed. “Now go and sit down.”

“Anyone ever inform you that you have a warped sense of humor?”

Yama commented as the elderly couple departed.

Lynx laughed. “Let’s get crackin’!” He knelt and began assembling the tactical unit.

Yama looked to the southeast. The Biological Center was clearly visible, rising above most of the surrounding structures.

Lynx worked quickly, his task facilitated by the light from a nearby street lamp. First, he unfolded a collapsible tripod from underneath the rectangular metal box and elevated the unit to a standing position. He swiveled the box, aligning it in the general direction of the Biological Center. The top of the metal box housed a retractable tube, or barrel, and Lynx extended this tube to its full three-foot length. The side panels on the metal box flipped outward, revealing vents on both sides of the unit. Lynx unhinged a panel covering the bottom third of the unit, displaying a miniaturized control board complete with colored lights, meters, silver switches, and buttons.

“Looks complicated,” Yama remarked.

“Keep your fingers crossed, chuckles.” Lynx twisted a button and the meters lit up and a loud hum emanated from the unit.

“You’ve done it,” Yama congratulated him.

“Not yet,” Lynx corrected. He picked up the wooden crate, his claws digging into the wood along one edge, and strained. With a resounding crack, one side of the wooden crate split open. Lynx placed the crate on the grass, removed the remnants of the splintered side, and extracted a gleaming missile. The thermo was two feet long and six inches in diameter. Four fins extended several inches from the base of the missile.

“This is it!” Lynx stated. “We only get one chance.”

“What’s next?”

“We lock it on target.” Lynx handed the thermo to the Warrior. “Place it in the tube with the pointed end up. Those fins fit into special grooves at the bottom of the tube.”

Yama held the thermo aloft and peered down the tube on the tactical unit. He could barely distinguish the grooves at the bottom. Slowly, he eased the missile into the tube and aligned the fins with the slots. “Done,” he announced.