Dakota Run

by David Robbins

  Blade twisted, smiling. Gremlin was standing at the entrance to the underground chamber used to store the SEAL. He walked in Gremlin’s direction as the creature approached him.

  “Good morning, no?” Gremlin greeted him. “Catching worms, yes?”

  “Catching worms?” Blade repeated, then grinned. “You must be hanging around Hickok too much. Your jokes are getting as corny as his.”

  Gremlin chuckled. “Bad news, yes? It means Gremlin’s brain functioning like Hickok’s, no? How awful!”

  The mention of a brain reminded Blade of a conversation he had had with Gremlin in Montana, one they had never satisfactorily resolved.

  “Gremlin, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk.”

  “About Hickok’s brain?” Gremlin retorted. “Small subject, yes?”

  “No, not about Hickok’s brain,” Blade said. “About you.”

  Gremlin’s levity vanished. “We must, yes?” he asked, frowning.

  “We must.”

  “Why?”

  Blade placed his right hand on Gremlin’s left shoulder. “You must see my position. I know you don’t like to talk about your past, but it can’t be helped or delayed any longer. I’m head of the Warriors, as you know, and I’m responsible for the

  Family’s security. I think you have information critical to the welfare of the Family. I’ve postponed questioning you because I was reluctant to disturb you, but we’re going to talk now. There’s no one else up yet so we can enjoy a heart-to-heart without interruption. Is it okay?”

  Gremlin sighed. “If we must, we must, yes?” His expression saddened.

  “Does hurt, though.”

  “Then we’ll begin with a painless question,” Blade said. “Like what were you doing in the underground chamber?”

  “Sleep there, no?” Gremlin responded.

  “You sleep down there?” Blade’s surprise showed. “Why? You could use a bunk in B Block.”

  Gremlin shook his head. “Gremlin know some of Family afraid of him, yes? Not want to upset their sleep, no? So sleep by self.”

  Blade knew better than to argue. While most members of the Family, especially the children, were fond of Gremlin, there were a few who were uneasy in his presence. Blade decided to change the subject. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you. I shot you in Montana, remember?”

  “Gremlin not forget little things like that, yes?” he sarcastically quipped.

  “You healed so quickly,” Blade stated. “I know I missed a vital organ, but your recovery was still remarkable. And the wound on your neck where the collar used to be also healed incredibly fast. How?”

  Gremlin tapped his chest. “Accelerated repair, yes?”

  Th^y absently began strolling as they talked, heading on an easterly course.

  “I don’t understand,” Blade confessed. “You’ll need to tell me everything.”

  “Everything?” Gremlin repeated. “Not serious, no?”

  “Completely serious,” Blade assured him. “Listen. What do I know about you? Very little. I know you’re from the Cheyenne Citadel, and you were in a unit called the Genetic Research Division, or G.R.D., as it’s known. This G.R.D. is operated by the man they call the Doktor. You also told me you talk the way you do because part of your brain was removed by this Doktor. And you said you were once a man. Am I right? Did I get all the facts straight?”

  Gremlin, downcast, nodded.

  “I must know more,” Blade urged him. “I believe the Family is in deadly danger from this Doktor and Samuel II. The more I can learn about them, the better.” He paused, touched by regret, sorry he was distressing Gremlin. “Let’s take the items one at a time. What do you mean by saying you were once a man? A man like me?”

  “Almost a man, yes?” Gremlin detailed. “Would have been, no?”

  Blade shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Doktor…” Gremlin said, his expression tortured. “Doktor change human embryo, yes? Make Gremlin. Understand, no?”

  “You mean,” Blade stated, “the Doktor took a human embryo, a perfectly normal embryo, and somehow made you?”

  Gremlin slowly nodded.

  Blade’s mind whirled, staggered by the implications. Tampering with an innocent embryo! The very idea was obscene! “The Doktor is capable of such an atrocity? He has the skill and the means to accomplish such a feat?”

  Again Gremlin nodded. “Doktor is living evil, yes? But very smart man. Genius, no? Scientist. Expertise in chemistry, electronics, radiology, and genetics. Much more, yes?”

  “And there are others like you?” Blade inquired.

  “Fifteen hundred, yes? More or less, no?”

  Fifteen hundred! That tallied with the figure Blade had learned in Montana. “Were all of them created from an embryo like you?”

  “No,” Gremlin answered. “Some, yes? Not all, no. Others made by Doktor in his laboratory.”

  “What else does the Doktor do?”

  “Experiments all the time, yes? Uses living subjects, no?”

  Blade stopped. “He experiments on living people?”

  “Yes. Especially babies. Doktor likes babies, yes?”

  Blade, stunned, continued moving toward the cabins. “And he gets away with it? Why don’t the people in the Civilized Zone stop him?”

  “How, yes?” Gremlin gestured hopelessly, uplifting his palms and shrugging. “Doktor’s lab is fortified, yes? Has personal bodyguards from his creations, no? Army also protects. Nothing people can do.”

  “I was told by a soldier in Montana,” Blade said, “that the Doktor and Samuel II are very close. Is that true?”

  “True, yes? They work together, plan together, to reconquer United States for themselves. Gremlin hopes it never happens, no?”

  “We’ll do our utmost to insure it doesn’t,” Blade pledged. “You told me before that the Doktor maintains his headquarters in the Cheyenne Citadel. How long has he been there?”

  “Since right after the war, yes?” Gremlin gazed ahead. They were abreast of the row of cabins and still bearing east.

  “Right after the…” Blade repeated, then laughed. “You’re pulling my leg, or else you misunderstood. I asked…”

  “Gremlin know what you asked,” Gremlin snapped, cutting him off.

  “And Gremlin gave right answer, yes? Doktor has been in Cheyenne Citadel since right after war.”

  “The Third World War was a century ago,” Blade reminded his companion.

  “Gremlin know that,” Gremlin stated indignantly.

  “Are you trying to tell me the Doktor is almost one hundred years old?”

  Blade questioned skeptically.

  Gremlin shot Blade an annoyed glance. “Gremlin not trying to tell you anything, yes? Gremlin is telling you Doktor is over one hundred years old, no?”

  “Impossible,” Blade flatly disputed him.

  “You can look at Gremlin and say that, yes?” Gremlin retorted.

  Blade absently stared at the trees ahead, reflecting. Was it really possible? Could this Doktor be that old? If so, how? Life expectancies were markedly reduced since the Big Blast, an inevitable consequence of the harsh struggle for existence, an invariable result of reducing the state of society to the survival of the fittest. Gremlin must be mistaken. It simply wasn’t feasible. But what about the rest of the information? The experimentation and the Genetics Research Division, the babies and removing a portion of Gremlin’s brain. How did it all tie together? What was the Doktor’s purpose?

  Gremlin was rubbing the fingers of his left hand over a scar on his neck.

  “Want to thank you again, yes? For removing the collar from Gremlin and giving me freedom. Can’t thank you enough, no?”

  According to the story imparted to Blade in Montana, the collars were the Doktor’s effective technique of compelling compliance, of forcing his genetic deviants to obey his commands. The collars evidently contained highly sophisticated electronic gadgetry linked to an o
rbiting satellite.

  They permitted the Doktor to monitor the G.R.D.’s and, if they violated his edicts or incurred his displeasure, to electrocute them on the spot.

  “Can you tell me more?” Blade asked. “I…” He stopped, hearing footsteps behind them.

  In unison, Gremlin and Blade glanced over their respective shoulders.

  Sherry, attired in a newly repaired pair of faded jeans and a clean white blouse, ran up to them. “Morning,” she smiled. “I saw you out here and wanted a word with you. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “Not interrupting, yes?” Gremlin replied. “Gremlin will leave.”

  “No need for that,” Sherry said, grabbing his right wrist. “What I have to say to Blade isn’t private. You can stay.”

  “What’s up?” Blade queried.

  “Have you made your decisions about the new Warriors yet?” Sherry inquired.

  “Not yet,” Blade told her. “But soon. Why?”

  They were idly sauntering due east.

  “Because Hickok and I have reached an agreement. He may not be too crazy about the idea, but he won’t oppose my becoming a Warrior if that’s what I really want, and it is. But we have a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?” Blade asked.

  Sherry was watching Blade’s face closely, attempting to assess his reaction. “Candidates for Warrior status usually have sponsors. Hickok previously agreed to sponsor Shane and he won’t renege on his word, which leaves me high and dry. Unless you’ll help.”

  “How can I…” Blade began, then saw what she was getting at.

  “I want you to sponsor me before the Elders,” Sherry declared.

  “I don’t know…” Blade hedged.

  “Why not?” Sherry demanded. “Have you already said you’d sponsor someone else?”

  “No…”

  “You don’t believe women make good Warriors?” Sherry pressed him.

  “That isn’t it…”

  “Then what? Because I’m an outsider?”

  “A Warrior from outside the Family would set a precedent,” Blade admitted, “but it’s not a major stumbling block.”

  “Then how about it?”

  Blade stopped and faced her. “It’s not possible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m the one who must make the final recommendations to Plato and the Elders,” Blade stated. “I can’t express any favoritism whatsoever. If I sponsored you, it might reflect badly on the other candidates.”

  Sherry’s disappointment was conveyed in her quavering voice. “But I’ll never have a chance if I don’t have a sponsor! Hickok is going to stand up before the Elders in council and vouch for Shane. All the candidates will have sponsors except me. I’ll never be picked!”

  “There is a way out,” Blade suggested.

  “What?” Sherry eagerly inquired, her countenance lighting up.

  “Find another sponsor,” Blade advised her.

  “Another sponsor? Who? I don’t know anyone else here all that well.”

  She frowned, her hopes prematurely dashed.

  “Try Rikki.”

  “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi? I’ve only talked to him once or twice. What makes you think he’ll sponsor me?” Sherry asked doubtfully.

  “Trust me.”

  Now it was her turn to balk. “I don’t know…”

  “Well, if you won’t ask Rikki, then try Yama,” Blade proposed.

  “Yama? Are you nuts? He scares me!”

  Blade shrugged, grinning. “It’s up to you. If you want to become a Warrior badly enough, you’ll ask one of them to sponsor you.”

  Sherry was about to comment when her gaze strayed past Blade. Her green eyes unexpectedly widened, her expression registering shock.

  Blade spun, his hands on his Bowie handles.

  There were two of them, standing at the edge of the trees only ten feet off. A huge blue thing and a short furry thing.

  Gremlin suddenly hissed, sounding enraged. “You!”

  “Yeah, Gremlin, us!” the smaller of the pair responded in an unusually low voice. “You were expecting maybe Santa Claus?”

  The big one laughed. “Santa Claus! That’s a good one, Ferret!”

  “Who are you?” Blade demanded. “What do you want?”

  “Why don’t you ask your friend Gremlin?” Ferret rejoined.

  “Are those two friends of yours?” Blade asked without turning his attention from the duo.

  “G.R.D.’s, yes?” Gremlin said. “Not friends now, no?”

  “How did you get in here?” Blade asked. “What do you want?”

  Ferret snickered disdainfully. “Your vaunted Home isn’t so difficult to break into, not if you can swim. As to why we’re here, Warrior, we’ve been asked to relay a message to Gremlin.”

  “What message?” Blade queried.

  The one called Ferret looked up at the large blue hulk and they grinned at one another.

  “What message?” Blade repeated.

  “Oh, it’s not very long or anything,” Ferret finally replied. “It’s simply this.” He paused, smiling. Without warning, he snarled and crouched on the grass. “Die!”

  The two creatures charged.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Die!”

  He towered above the others in the expansive chamber, this lean, brooding skeleton of a man. His broad shoulders, covered by a knee-length white smock, were set arrow straight, his delicate fingers clasped behind his back. The small speaker on the console in front of him conveyed the sounds of the conflict and he smiled, revealing two rows of tiny teeth, teeth curiously thin and pointed. His eyes were placed deep in their sockets and seemed to blaze with fiery inner light, although in reality they were an unfathomable black. The top of his sloping head was completely bald, but the sides still retained long wisps of fine white hair. His figure presented an amazing paradox; it appeared incredibly ancient and yet immensely powerful simultaneously.

  A young man in a green uniform dutifully approached and stood at attention.

  The eerie one in the smock slowly turned. “Yes, Captain?” he asked, his voice a resonant rumble in his chest.

  The frightened captain swallowed hard. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you, sir.”

  “Quite all right,” the tall man stated. He nodded at the speaker. “You’re not interrupting anything important.”

  The captain could distinctly detect the sounds of combat emanating from the speaker in the bank of electronic equipment and his eyebrows arched.

  “What you hear,” the first man continued, “is the end of a nuisance, the termination of a particularly troublesome thorn in my side.” He stared into the captain’s brown eyes. “And we both know how I deal with those who oppose me, don’t we?”

  The captain was too wise to reply.

  “Now, what may I do for you?” demanded the one in the smock. His right hand flicked a switch on the board and the speaker went dead.

  The captain cleared his throat. “I’m from Communications, sir.”

  “I know,” affirmed the tall man. “Captain Miller, isn’t it? You’ve been at the Citadel only two weeks, correct?”

  “Yes, Doktor,” Captain Miller replied. How did the fiend do it?

  Scuttlebutt had it the Doktor was endowed with a startlingly efficient photographic memory. Rumor also was that he read the new Personnel Report for the entire Citadel each week and memorized its contents!

  “I’m waiting,” the Doktor said.

  The captain raised the message in his left hand.

  “What have we now?” the Doktor muttered and took the message.

  Although the typed copy on the yellow teletype paper was twenty lines long, the Doktor read the contents in the time it took the captain to blink once.

  Captain Miller felt his skin crawl. He fervently wished he were anywhere but in the freak room at the moment.

  The Doktor abruptly hissed and crumpled the message into a ball.

  “Damn infantil
e idiot!” he snapped. “He is positive proof that stupidity is genetically inherited!”

  A clammy sweat broke out all over the captain’s body.

  The Doktor glared at the officer. “Does the fool think I make these suggestions for my health? He doesn’t realize the danger!”

  Mustering his courage, Captain Miller ventured to speak. “I was told to await your reply, sir.”

  “I’ll provide you with a reply,” the Doktor growled. “You will transmit a one word response to him.”

  “What word is that, sir?”

  “No!” the Doktor roared.

  Captain Miller recognized the symptoms. The Doktor was in one of his infamous rages, and the slightest upsetting remark, no matter how innocuous, might trigger his violent wrath.

  “Are you familiar with the Family?” the Doktor unexpectedly inquired.

  “I believe so, sir,” Captain Miller politely answered. “I’ve seen dispatches on them from time to time. Aren’t they the outfit in Minnesota?”

  “They are indeed,” the Doktor said. “And they constitute a supreme threat to the Civilized Zone.”

  “The Family, sir? They only have six or seven dozen members. We could crush them easily,” Captain Miller commented, and instantly regretted his blundering indiscretion, appalled at the sheer fury displayed on the Doktor’s visage.

  “You sound exactly like that fool Samuel!” the Doktor bellowed, livid. “I can’t seem to impress upon his pitiful semblance of intelligence how grave the danger is!” The Doktor checked himself, making a mighty effort to control his surging emotions.

  “What is so hard to comprehend?” he asked Miller. “The threat the Family poses to our system, to the very fabric of our society, isn’t predicated on their relatively few numbers. Instead, the source of the danger is their value base, their moral and spiritual orientation. Do you see it now?”

  Captain Miller timidly shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t see what you mean, sir.”

  The Doktor sadly gazed at the cement floor, his shoulders slumping.

  “I’m surrounded by incompetents! Once, just once, I’d enjoy encountering a person of true intellect.” He looked at Miller. “I will sum up their danger as succinctly as possible.” He paused. “The Family believes in God.”