Synthezoids: Endworld #30
Author: David Robbins
Date: 2018-06-30 19:26:29+00:00
Description: Three Warriors have fallen, stricken by a mysterious malady. To save them, another Warrior must lead four green trainees into the last place on Earth any sane person would venture....the Valley of Shadow. Once the domain of a madman, the fog-shrouded stew of virulent toxins harbors creatures born of nightmare. To make it there alive is the ultimate challenge. To make it out again is a feat few have achieved. The 30th book in the long running ENDWORLD series, SYNTHEZOIDS is chock full of the action, excitement and humor fans have come to expect.
Publisher: Mad Hornet Publications

Copyright © 2017 David Robbins

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or introduced into a retrieval system, by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Any such distributions or reproductions of this publication will be punishable under the United States Copyright Act and the Digital Millennium Copyright Act to the fullest extent including Profit Damages (SEC 504 A1), Statutory Damages (SEC 504 2C) and Attorney Fees and Court Costs.

DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional work. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Mad Hornet Pub.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-0-9977390-8-4

Dedicated to Judy, Joshua and Shane

CHAPTER ONE

They were so hungry, so thirsty. They stood on a rocky ridge, the eleven of them, surveying the dark valley below. The pale light of the full moon cast the blistered landscape in an eerie luminescence.

Unable to hide the fear that all of them were feeling, Big Bill said in a hushed tone, “Lord help us. The Valley of Shadow.”

Several of the scavengers shifted uneasily. Others fingered weapons. One hulking brute nervously gnawed on his bottom lip.

“The stories they tell,” the gnawer said.

Scragg, their leader, scratched at his filthy shirt. “Go around or go on through? That’s what we have to decide. And it can’t be just me who does. Everybody has a say.”

Rilletta hefted her spear and placed her other hand on the hilt of her machete. “What choice do we got? It’s thirty miles if we go around. Only five if we cut straight across. And on the other side is the lake.”

“The trick is make it there alive,” Orin said. He was tall, lanky, and whipcord tough.

“The Valley of Shadow,” Big Bill said again. “People say there are....things....down there.”

Rilletta’s stomach growled. She was so hungry, her gut hurt. So thirsty, she would drink a cup of pee were it handed to her. “Have any of us ever seen one of those things?”

“How can anybody see anything?” another scavenger said, and gestured.

A thick yellow fog shrouded the Valley of Shadow. From out of it writhed yellow tendrils, as if alive. The only visible object along its entire winding length were the upper reaches of the Tower, as it was widely known, a gigantic darkling needle that thrust at the sky as if striving to pierce the heavens.

Scragg put his huge hands on his hips and grunted. “They say the Dark Lord is gone. They say he was killed by the Warriors from that compound up north.”

“The Home, they call it,” Orin said.

“Damn them, anyhow,” Big Bill said. “Some of those Warriors killed friends of mine.”

“I can’t believe they ghosted Thanatos,” another scavenger said. “The Dark Lord was supposed to be unbeatable.”

Rilletta took a step and turned to face the rest. “We’re wasting time jawing. We need food, bad. We need water even more. At the lake there’s both. So what’s it going to be? Straight through? Or the long way around?”

The other scavengers looked at Scragg. “I told you,” he said. “It can’t just be me who decides.”

“I’m for cutting across,” Rilletta said. “I can’t last much longer without something to eat.” As if to accent her point, her stomach let out with a louder growl.

“Where you go, babe, I go,” Orin said.

That was when Gawl came up to Scragg. A spiked mace draped over his wide shoulder, his big frame covered in bear hide, he nudged Scragg and said, “She’s right, brother. We need to reach the lake country. Let’s get to it. I’m going through. Anyone wants to take the long way, good luck to them.” Wheeling, he started down.

“You heard my brother,” Scragg said. “Make up your minds quick. Mine is already made up.” He followed Gawl.

A man named Hinks crossed himself and muttered something under his breath, then trailed after them.

Rilletta, with Orin at her elbow, did likewise.

One by one, so did everyone else.

The slope was practically barren, stripped of all plant life save for a few straggly weeds. Over a century ago, Armageddon had fallen with devastating finality on the whole planet and many areas had never recovered.

Worry dug at Rilletta like a cold knife. She sensed something evil about the Valley, something so vile, she swore she could feel it in her bones. She tried to make light of the feeling, tried telling herself it was nerves. After all, stories about the Valley of Shadow had been the stuff of late night campfire scares since she was little.

Orin’s hand was on his revolver. He was one of only three scavengers with guns. “Once we reach the lake, how about we strip down and skinnydip.” He grinned and winked.

“Is that all you ever think of?” Rilletta said.

“Woman, you’re the only pleasure I have in this world,” Orin said. “The only thing I care for besides me.”

“Don’t get mushy,” Rilletta said, but she was mightily pleased.

Gawl reached the bottom and stopped a stone’s throw from the heavy yellow mist. He waited until everyone else had caught up, then said, “Who wants to go first?”

Scragg extended a thick finger. “Hawkins, that would be you.”

The scrawniest of the men blanched. “How come?”

“Because I say so,” Scragg said.

A redhead named Aretha snorted and said, “That’s telling him, leader man.”

Hawkins swallowed and drew a rusty sword from its rusted scabbard. “I always get the dirty work.”

“If you pulled your weight more, maybe you wouldn’t,” Aretha said.

“Go in a few steps and stand there until I say to come out,” Scragg commanded.

“That’s all?” Hawkins said in obvious relief.

Rilletta smothered a laugh. The fool didn’t realize that was more than enough to establish whether the fog was poisonous.

“The rest of you will cover me, right?” Hawkins said.

“You bet,” Scragg assured him.

His face twitching from fright, Hawkins edged forward. “Always me, always me, always me,” he said over and over. On the verge of entering the unnatural vaporous soup, he stopped and looked back. “Hey! How come it doesn’t spread more?”

“What?” Scragg said

“Why does this stuff stop right here?” Hawkins said, indicating where the fog rose like a yellow wall. “Why doesn’t the wind carry it more?”

“How the hell would we know?” Scragg said. “Quit stalling and get on with it.”

Hawkins swallowed hard and inched his left foot forward. When his toes touched the fog, he jerked his foot back. Nothing happened, and he stuck his whole foot in, waited a few seconds, and pulled it out. “It’s safe!” he said cheerfully.

“Your foot ain’t you,” Scragg said.

Muttering, Hawkins inserted most of his left leg. He moved it up and down and from side and side and then stepped back and examined his pants. “I’m fine.”

“Your pants ain’t you either,” Scragg said.

Hawkins wasn’t taking chances. Holding out his left arm, he eased it into the fog until the vapors reached his elbow. Quickly moving back, he gave his arm a shake and examined it. “Still nothing.”

“Keep this up and I will by-God beat you,” Scragg said.

Gawl and others laughed.

“Hey, I’m doing my best,” Hawkins said. Straightening, he took a loud, long breath, held it, and took a single step into the fog, immersing his whole body. They could still see him as he quaked and gazed about in sheer terror.

Rilletta bet herself he wouldn’t last a minute. She was right. Half that, and Hawkins backpedaled out and gulped breaths of fresh air as if his life depended on it. When he finally subsided, he gave a little bark of joy. “I’m still alive!”

“Go deeper,” Scragg said.

“Do I have to?” Hawkins complained. He didn’t wait for an answer. Taking another deep breath, he marched in anew. After three or four steps, they lost sight of him.

Rilletta tensed, anticipating a shriek or the roar of some beast but all she heard was the sibilant whisper of the fog.

“Hawkins?” Scragg called out.

There was no answer.

“You hear us in there?” Orin yelled. “Let us know it’s safe for the rest of us!”

A tendril snaked out of the mist near where Hawkins had entered and uncoiled toward the sky.

“Spooky stuff,” Aretha said.

“He must be dead,” Big Bill said. “Looks like we’ll have to go around.”

The fog parted and out came Hawkins, strutting as if he were the king of the world. Placing the tip of his sword on the ground, he leaned on it and declared, “I guess I showed all of you who has a pair.”

"A pair of what, sweetie?” Aretha said, and cupped her bosom. “These babies?”

Even Rilletta laughed at that.

“It must be safe, then,” Scragg said. “But we go slow. Single file. Stay close to whoever is in front of you. And try not to breathe too much if you can help it.”

“We should hold hands,” Orin suggested, “so none of us ends up separated.”

“Like hell,” Scragg said. “The only one who ever holds my hand is Aretha.”

Rilletta liked the idea. There were too many tales about the Valley of Shadow. Old tales, true, from when the Dark Lord, Thanatos, ruled the Valley, before the Warriors did him in.

Rilletta had gone up against the Warriors once, at that place they lived, the Home. This was back when the band of scavengers numbered over forty, back when their leader was a nasty piece of work called Bronk. Bronk got it into his head that they should assault the walled compound. Rilletta and Orin had spoken out against the idea. They reminded Bronk that there were fifteen or more of those Warriors, and they had a rep for being the toughest mothers around. Bronk overruled them. He said that forty was a lot more than fifteen. That they might lose a few but it would be worth it. The people in the compound—-the Family, they called themselves—-supposedly had food and clothes to spare, as well as a wealth of rare goodies from the days before the world went to hell.

Bronk’s idea was for their band to creep up on the compound in the dead of night and hide in the surrounding forest. Bronk wasn’t daunted by the high brick walls or the fact that only way in was across a drawbridge that was nearly always up. Nor did it worry him that there was a cleared space between the forest and the walls. Bronk was confident that if the drawbridge were lowered, the scavengers could charge out and get across before the Family raised it. And once inside, they would wreak havoc.

Along about the middle of the morning, Bronk got his wish. The drawbridge clanked down and out came half a dozen women and several children. Some of the women carried baskets. A lone man escorted them, a Warrior, presumably, a small guy dressed in a black outfit and armed with a sword he had stuck through a sash around his waist.

Bronk was crafty. He waited until the women and kids were a good distance from the drawbridge so they wouldn’t be able to scurry back in before the scavengers reached them. At his bellow, the whole band burst from concealment and attacked.

Rilletta was in the middle of the pack, howling along with the rest. She figured the women and children would panic and run but they surprised her. They hurried toward the compound but stuck together in good order, ushering the children along. The small man in black stood between those he was protecting and the onrushing scavengers  and drew his sword.

Stupid, Rilletta had thought at the time. But only until the first of her band reached him and the small man exploded into motion. She never saw anyone so fast. Too quick for her eyes to follow, he delivered death strokes right and left. Four scavengers went down in half as many seconds.

Up on the wall, a rifle began booming. At each shot a scavenger dropped.

Not seconds later, out of the Home rushed more Warriors. Four of them, as Rilletta remembered. A guy in buckskins with pearl-handled revolvers, an Indian in fatigues, a big guy dressed all in blue, and an even bigger guy in a leather vest carrying what looked like an old Thompson, with a pair of Bowies strapped around his waist.

At a yell from Bronk, a lot of the scavengers veered off from trying to catch the women and kids to confront the newcomers. Fortunately, Rilletta wasn’t among them.

The guy with the pearl-handled revolvers was incredible. When his hands flashed, death boomed. Ambidextrous, alternating his shots, he fired with astounding rapidity. His Indian friend opened up with a heavy-caliber rifle, the first round taking off most of the head of a charging scavenger. The guy in blue resorted to an SMG, while the even bigger guy with the Thompson or whatever it was cut loose with lethal efficiency.

The attack became a slaughter.

Barely twenty of them were left when Bronk began shouting to break it off and, “Run like hell!”

Rilletta did, looking back as she reached the trees in time to see Bronk sliced open by the small guy with the sword. Then she was in the forest and running and panting and sweating and praying the Warriors wouldn’t come after them.

“Hey, sweetness! Pay attention.”

Rilletta was brought out of herself by Orin touching her arm.

“You all right, babe?”

“Sure,” Rilletta said.

“I don’t care what Scragg says. Let’s hold hands.”

“Fine by me,” Rilletta said.

They were about to enter the fog.

CHAPTER TWO

Hickok was bored.

Alpha Triad had night duty, and it was his turn to make a sweep of the walls. Ambling along the south rampart, his thumbs hooked in his gunbelt, he stifled a yawn and idly gazed at the sparkling stars overhead and then out over the Stygian expanse of dark wilderness. “Where’s a mutate when you need one?” he grumbled.

Hickok lived for action. He would be the first to admit that he craved excitement like his younguns craved sweets. Over a month had gone by since Alpha Triad returned from a mission in Asia that went terribly wrong. Over a month of ordinary routine, of peace and quiet for everyone in the Home.

It was driving him nuts.

“Please make something happen,” Hickok said to the sky. “A chemical cloud. A rabid rabbit. Anything.” He wasn’t serious about the chemical cloud. A lingering horrific legacy of the warfare that ravaged the world, chem clouds devoured everything in their path, eating away living tissue down to the bone. Being caught in one was the worst fate imaginable.

Such abominations were all too common. The biological weapons unleashed during Armageddon had reacted with the chemical weapons and elevated levels of radiation from nuclear fallout to produce a legion of monstrosities.

As for the rabid rabbit, Hickok hadn’t seen a rabbit in so long, he wondered if there were any left. A lot of species had gone extinct, crushed under the heel of the harsh environment.

Hickok came to the north wall and stopped to scan the forest. A faint howl perked his interest, but whatever made it was too distant to pose a threat. He continued on to the west rampart above the drawbridge, where his two best pards in all creation were waiting.

Geronimo was clad in his usual fatigues, a .45-70 slung over his shoulder. “Look who’s back already,” he teased. “White Man must be so scared of the dark, he ran.”

“Ornery Injun would know about scared,” Hickok said. “He runs from his own shadow.”

A few yards away, a seven-foot giant in a black leather vest turned. “Anything out of the ordinary?”

“I wish, big guy,” Hickok said. “If it were any more peaceful, we could trade in our weapons for knittin’ needles.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of all the dangers we face?” Geronimo said. “I know I do.”

“A little excitement is good for the circulation,” Hickok said. “Keeps a gent on his toes.”

“You’re warped,” Geronimo said. “I don’t want to always have to worry  about my wife and family and friends. I’d like us to be able to live like people did before the Big Blast. They didn’t need to always be on the look-out for something or someone out to kill them.” He paused. “How about you, Blade? Do you agree with doofus, here?”

The giant placed his calloused hands on the hilts of his twin Bowies. “I’m as sick of the threats as you are.” He let out a sigh. “But things are as they are.”

“I hear that,” Hickok said. “What good is wishful thinking? It’s not our fault the world is a mess. We didn’t set off all hose nukes over a century ago. We didn’t fire all those missiles filled with chemical canisters. We were born into this madhouse. The best we can do is take it one day at a time and wipe out any and all critters and creeps and whatnot that might do us or our loved ones in.”

“I’m impressed,” Geronimo said. “That was almost profound.”

“I have a brain, you know,” Hickok said.

“News to the rest of us,” Geronimo said.

Blade snorted.

“Are you taking this mangy redskin’s side?” Hickok said.

“Don’t involve me in your silliness,” Blade said. “At times you both act like you’re ten-years old.”

“I resent that,” Hickok said. “Eleven or twelve, maybe. But definitely not ten.”

“Speak for yourself, whitey,” Geronimo said. “I’m fourteen and proud of it.”

Blade tiredly rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I bet Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and Spartacus never have to put up with antics like yours from the Warriors in their Triads.”

“Getting along as well Geronimo and me do is a fine art,” Hickok said.

Geronimo nodded. “We’ve had years of practice. Been at it since we were old enough to talk.”

“Which in your case was three days ago,” Hickok said.

Blade grinned. At moments like these, he was supremely grateful the three of them had been together since childhood. Good friends—-sincere friends—-true friends—-were hard to find, anywhere, anytime.

Hickok wiped a hand across his brow and said, “Awful warm night, huh?”

“It’s not that warm,” Geronimo said.

“Feels pretty warm to me,” Blade said.

“What’s with you two?” Geronimo said. “Are you coming down with something? It can’t be much over sixty degrees.”

Blade shrugged. “I haven’t felt all that great since we got back from Thailand.”

“Me either,” Hickok said. “I’ve had a diker of a time sleepin’. Used to be, I was out like a rock when my head hit the pillow. Now I toss and turn and sweat a lot.”

“Strange,” Geronimo said.

Hickok chuckled. “Maybe we shouldn’t have drunk any of the water over there.”

“You’ve been back, what, almost five weeks?” Geronimo said. “If it was something you drank or ate, you’d have come down sick long before this.”

“Maybe it was that blamed machine that zapped us there,” Hickok said. “I never did trust that contraption. We had to be out of our noggins, using a doohickey our worst enemy cooked up.”

“Doohickey?” Geronimo said, and laughed.

Blade stepped to the inner edge of the rampart and thoughtfully regarded the moat flowing along the base of the inner wall. “You have me wondering.”

“About?” Hickok said.

“What if Yama was affected, too? He was the third member of our party. That would mean you might be right.”

“Hickok? Right?” Geronimo said. “The mind boggles.”

Blade turned. “Do me a favor. Go to Yama’s cabin. Ask him to report to me right away.”

“In the middle of the night?” Geronimo said. “I’ll have to wake his whole family.”

“Can’t be helped,” Blade said.

“If you ask me, pard,” Hickok said, “you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Geronimo?” Blade said.

“On my way.”

Hickok and Blade watched him hasten down the ramp and jog in among the gigantic concrete Blocks. Well beyond were the cabins for individual families.

Hickok ran a palm across his cheek and muttered, “Speaking of hot spells, mine is gettin’ worse.”

“We’ll need to see the Healers in the morning,” Blade suggested.

A growl from out of the benighted forest caused the pair to move to the corner of the rampart and scan the open space that Family had cleared as a precaution against attack.

“Sounds kind of close, whatever it is,” Hickok said. “Could be a mutate.”

“Could be anything,” Blade said.

“One of us should go have a look-see.”

“No need,” Blade said. “Whatever is out there can’t get in. We’ll wait until daybreak and scout around.”

“I don’t mind going,” Hickok said.

“No.”

“It’d be easy peasy for me to lower a rope and climb down instead of going to all the trouble to lower the drawbridge.”

“No, I said.”

Hickok frowned. “What does a fella have to have a little fun around here?” He started to grin but instead put a hand to his brow and bowed his head. “Damn.”

“What?” Blade said.

“I feel plumb terrible.”

“Sick to your stomach?”

Hickok swayed slightly. “It’s like I’m burnin’ up. I can’t hardly think. What the dickens?”

“We should get you to a Healer right away,” Blade said.

“And leave the walls unprotected?” Hickok shook his head. “Go fetch your missus. She’s one of the best Healers we have. I’ll wait here.” Hickok was about to say something more but gave a sudden lurch and took a staggering step.

“Nathan?” Blade said.

“Somethin’ is goin’ on inside me,” Hickok got out. “It’s as if my innards are movin’ or shiftin’.” He ran a sleeve across his face. “I’m so hot now, I’m fit to explode.”

Blade wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Hickok looked down at himself. “The funniest thing. Now I’m startin’ to feel icy cold. It started in my feet and it’s slowly spreadin’ up my legs. What is this?”

“I’m setting you down and going for help,” Blade said.

Hickok tried to respond but all that came out was a strangled gurgle.

Blade began easing him down.

His face rippling and contorting as if in the grip of convulsions, all Hickok did was grunt.

“Talk to me, Nathan, if you can,” Blade said. “What are you feeling now?”

Hickok’s mouth moved but no words came out. His body was growing rigid, his arms and legs stiffening rapidly. Blade got him on his back, and stood.

“I’m going for my wife.”

Hickok reached out, or tried to. His fingers opened and closed, and then froze half-curled.

“Nathan?” Blade said. Bending, he placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I won’t be long. Hang in there."

Hickok struggled to move. His arms flopped and his body twisted, and then his face and body froze as his hand had done.

“Dear Spirit, no,” Blade said, and whirled and ran.

CHAPTER THREE

In Rilletta’s opinion, the Valley of Shadow was the worst place on earth. For starters, it was scary as anything. Strange sounds were always wafting out of the vile fog. Or from the Tower itself. Blubbering and screeches that put the hair on end.

This was where Thanatos, the Dark Lord, once reigned supreme. A being of immense power. A creature who possessed an insatiable appetite for inflicting cruelty on others.

But Thanatos was dead, or so rumor had it. Which should mean the Valley was safe to cross.

With every fiber of her being, Rilletta hoped that was the case. At the moment, with the strangely writhing fog hemming her and the other scavengers, the entire valley was as still as a corpse.

The last thing Rilletta wanted was to be set upon by something slavering for her blood.

The truth was, if she wasn’t so godawful hungry and so terribly thirsty, no way would she tempt fate by doing this.

Their band was forever struggling to survive. Game—-meat a person could eat, that wasn’t contaminated—-was hard to come by. The same with water that was pure enough to drink. But seldom had they been in such need as they were now. Simply put, unless they reached the lake country, and soon, many of them might very well die.

So damn the valley, and on they went.

Rilletta’s mouth was so dry, when she tried to swallow, it hurt. Orin was beside her, their shoulders brushing. She took comfort in that. Orin was the only one she truly cared for. Big Bill was nice but he was as dumb as a stump. Hawkins was a jerk. Gawl barely paid any attention to her. As for Scragg, he was a better leader than Bronk had been but he had a nasty temper when he was ticked off.

“I hate this,” Orin said so only she could hear. “We could have used a rope to hold onto so we won’t get separated.”

“None of us have a rope,” Rilletta reminded him. “And we didn’t have the time to go looking for one.” She was trying her best not to think of the horrors they might confront. Not thinking about them gave her the courage to keep going.

“Are we even headed in the right direction?” Orin wondered, peering ahead. “I can’t see anyone but us.”

Rillletta tilted her head back. “Scragg? You still up there? Everything cool?”

“If it wasn’t,” came his rumble out of the fog, “you’d know it.”

“Getting spooked, girlie?” Aretha called out, and laughed.

“Bitch,” Rilletta muttered. Aretha was always putting down the other women to build herself up in Scragg’s eyes.

Orin looked at her, the fog lending him an insubstantial quality. “You ever give any thought to striking off together? Just the two of us?”

“On our own?” Rilletta said. “We wouldn’t last a week.”

“We could find an old cabin or house in the woods somewhere,” Orin said, slowing. “Live like they used to in the old days.”

“Oh, sure. We’d eat grubs and leaves and have two or three kids and live happily ever after.”

“I’m serious.”

Squeezing his hand, Rilletta said softly, “I know you are, hon. Deep down, you’re sweet. It’s why I picked you to lock lips with and not anyone else.”

“Making me the luckiest guy alive,” Orin said.

Rilletta nearly laughed at the absurdity of talking about romance, given where they were and what they were doing. “As much as I might like the little cabin in the woods idea, there’s strength in numbers. If we ever did leave Scragg’s band, it would be to join a bigger one.”

“What if we went and lived with the Moles?”

Rilletta snickered. “Are you serious? Those misfits? They live underground, in a big mound. I couldn’t stand it under the ground. No sun. No fresh air. No thanks.”

“We could live with the Cavalry, then. Those people with the horses, up on the north plains.”

“What do we know about horses? And I hear they’re not all that friendly to strangers.”

“There’s the Clan,” Orin said hopefully. “That small bunch we heard about. I don’t know a lot but....”

Rilletta cut him off with, “They’re refugees from the Twin Cities. Mutant-lovers. I want nothing to do with them.”

“That leaves the Civilized Zone, way off in the Rockies,” Orin said. “I hear they take people in.”

“I don’t know,” Rilletta said uncertainly. “It’s awful far. And besides. You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“Rumor has it that some of those groups aren’t around anymore. We could spend weeks getting there and find they’ve been wiped out.”

Orin was about to respond when he cocked his head and glanced to their right. “Did you hear something?”

“Only you,” Rilletta said.

Orin raised his voice. “Scragg, you and the others still with us?”

From up ahead, but farther away than Rilletta expected, Scragg bellowed, “Sounds like you’ve strayed some. Damn it. I told you to keep close.”

To their left somewhere, Big Bill hollered, “I must have strayed some, too. Where is everybody? I thought I just heard a funny sound. Was that one of you?”

Orin swore.

“Did any of you hear it?” Big Bill said. “A clacking kind of sound?”

“What the hell does clacking even mean?” Hawkins called out. He appeared to be the closest to Rilletta and Orin.

Big Bill answered, “It’s like sticks being hit together.”

“I heard it, too,” Aretha said.

Goose bumps rippled down Rilletta’s spine.

Orin drew his revolver. “I hate this, hate this, hate this. We should have gone around.”

Rilletta was about to caution him not to shoot unless he was sure what he was shooting but the words caught in her throat when a piercing screech rent the night, a screech that rose to a keening pitch of sheer terror and ended in a choked-off gasp of life being extinguished.

“Aretha!” Big Bill shouted.

“Close up, everybody!” Scragg roared. “Back to back!”

Rilletta looked every which way for the others. Orin was doing the same. “There!” he said, and pointed.

Out of the yellow soup came Hawkins, trembling with fear. “Did you hear that?”

“We all heard,” Orin said.

Positioning themselves with their backs to each other, the three of them cautiously advanced. Two other men—-Pritchard and Link—-materialized. Then Gawl reared like a mountain, his spiked mace poised to smash and rip.

“Anyone see anything?” Gawl said.

“Not yet,” Orin said.

Hawkins, who kept bobbing his long neck and head like some scared-to-death bird, exclaimed, “Hey! Is it me or is the fog thinning? I can see all of you better than before.”

So could Rilletta.

“Haven’t heard any clacking,” Pritchard whispered.

Rilletta exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The fog faded to where she could see torn and blasted ground, twisted shrubs and stunted trees.

“They say a war was fought here,” Link said. “Thanatos against the Warriors.”

“We all heard the story,” Orin said.

Rilletta could make out Scragg and Big Bill and others over a hundred feet away.

“I don’t see Aretha anywhere,” Hawkins whispered. “Or what’s left of her.”

Rilletta had been looking for her, too. She thought she had the vicinity of Aretha’s cry pegged; a patch of bare ground with a stub of rock that rose from the middle.

“Get over here!” Scragg shouted, shaking a fist in their direction. “When I say to close up, I mean it!”

“Coming, brother,” Gawl said.

Now that more of the valley was visible, Rilletta’s spirits rose a little. They would have risen higher except for Aretha. “Where could she have gotten to?” she wondered aloud.

“Carted off,” Orin said. “It’s the only explanation.”

“But where?” Rilletta said.

As if drawn by a magnet, they looked toward the Tower, its needle tip seeming to pierce the very stars.

“Too far,” Orin said. “Whatever took her couldn’t have gotten there already.”

Rilletta realized they were falling behind. Snagging his arm, she said, “Come on. We should keep up.”

“This place is too weird for words,” Orin said, and shuddered.

Rilletta didn’t blame him. She was afraid, too. Firming her grip on her machete, she caught up to the rest.

Scragg and Gawl were now in the lead. Hawkins was in the middle, with Big Bill, Pritchard and Link. After them came an older man named Henry and another woman who liked to be called Jellyroll and who never said much. Beside her was Sally.

“Shouldn’t we spread out and hunt for Aretha?” Hawkins said in his usual timid fashion.

“Nothing doing,” Scragg said. “She knew the risks, the same as the rest of us. We don’t stop until we’re on the other side.”

“And her his squeeze,” Hawkins said bitterly.

Rilletta jerked her head skyward. She was sure she had heard the flapping of wings, high above. She saw nothing to account for it. The stars and the crescent moon were undisturbed.

“What?” Orin said.

“Nothing.”

That was when clacking sounds erupted from all sides.

To Rilletta, it did indeed sound as if sticks were being beaten together, a lot of them, and loudly. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, and she nearly collided with Jellyroll.

“What’s doing that?” Hawkins mewed in terror.

Jellyroll pointed into the night. “They are!” she said, and a shrill wail issued from her lips.

CHAPTER FOUR

In all the years he had been a Warrior, there were few occasions when Blade felt such sheer fear as he did when he lowered Hickok to the rampart.

To see Hickok lying there, his body rigid and as hard to the the touch as petrified wood—-a man who was his brother in every sense of the word, even if they weren’t linked by blood. They had grown up together, trained to become Warriors together, their friendship incalculably strengthened in the indelible forge of subsequent combat. Brothers-in-arms wasn’t a mere figure of speech. They shared a special bond that true warriors everywhere and in any time understood.

Blade’s fear for his friend was compounded by the realization that whatever struck Hickok—-was happening to him. He could feel feel something going on inside of him, a sickening sensation, as if his organs were moving around of their own accord.

Blade fairly flew down the ramp. He hated leaving the walls undefended but it should be safe to do in the short time it would take him to reach his cabin, and his wife. Jenny was a Healer. Her knowledge of medicine was second to none. If anyone could help Hickok and him, it was her.

On reaching the bottom he ran faster and instantly began sweating profusely. Worse, the nausea gnawed at him like termites at wood, and bitter bile rose in his gorge.

The Blocks he was passing between were spread out over a wide area. In the shape of a triangle, A Block, the Armory, stood at the southern tip. Northwest of it was B Block, where single adult Family members lived. C Block served as the infirmary, D Block was their construction center and science lab, while F Block was devoted to food preservation and storage. E Block was their Library.

No one else was abroad. Not at that hour. Unlike the olden days when people could stay up to all hours and have light to spare thanks to electricity, since the Big Blast only the Free State of California and the Civilized Zone enjoyed that luxury. At the Home, nighttime was for sleeping. A few Family members might stay up late reading by candle light but most were tucked under their bedcovers by ten o’clock.

To Blade’s alarm, his legs started to give him trouble. He became aware of intense prickling in his feet that spread up his legs with worrying rapidity. Along with the feeling came great heat.

His legs slowed but through sheer force of will, Blade kept going. He still hoped to reach Jenny. A few moments more, though, and he found that he couldn’t take a breath. His lungs weren’t working right. He sucked air into his mouth in huge gulps, thinking that might help, but no. He commenced to gasp like a fish out of water.

Blade staggered and weaved. He was losing all strength, all energy. Lowering his head like a bull, he propelled himself forward. He spied the cabins in the distance, among them his own.

“Jenny!” Blade gasped. He was losing his ability to move. He tried to shout, to draw attention, but his vocal chords were paralyzed. All that came out was a huffing cough.

Blade tripped, recovered. Unable to control the direction he was moving, he lurched wildly, as if drunk. He managed a few more steps, then his legs give out entirely. He barely felt striking the ground. From his neck down, the heat had been replaced by the most frigid ice.

Blade refused to give up. He clawed at the grass, at the earth, and moved forward inch by laborious inch. He thought of Jenny, the wonderful woman who had willingly shared the many hardships and trials of his life’s journey, and his heart swelled with love for her. He thought of Gabe, his son, so young, and a chip off the old block in so many ways. Tears welled from the corners of his eyes.

Blade didn’t want to die. Not like this.

As a Warrior, Blade had always imagined he might one day fall in combat. Death by gun or knife or sword or bow was to be expected in his line of work. This was hideous. Laid low, with no chance to defend himself. Stricken by God-knew-what, and left helpless in the dirt. It was an empty, meaningless, perverse death, a death no warrior should suffer.

Through a shifting haze of images, Blade saw his cabin. He reached toward it and tried to say Jenny’s name but his face grew so stiff, he might as well be made of stone.

Then all sensation ceased.

*    *    *

Her name was Sibyl. She chose it at her Naming Ceremony when she was sixteen. At birth her parents named her Mary and she liked the name. But as she grew and her unusual abilities manifested, she did extensive research in the Family Library on women of previous eras who possessed the same ability she did, and chose a new name that she felt did them honor.

Sibyl was an Empath, a rarity among the Family. Her genetic makeup was different than most. As a result, she possessed an enhanced capacity for subconscious or superconscious awareness. Often out of nowhere, she experienced impressions or mental associations she was unable to explain. She could feel what others were feeling. She could share their thoughts as if they were her own.

Even more uncanny was her elevated consciousness of the continuum in which humankind existed. Now and then, she would sense things at a distance. Bad things. Such as when Family members were in danger, or when a dire menace threatened the Home. A deep uneasiness would come over her, a feeling so strong, it often startled her.

Like now.

Sibyl jerked awake and sat upright. She was in her bed in the singles dorm. Around her, other women slept peacefully. Sliding her legs over the side, she felt uneasiness knife through her like a stab to her brain. Closing her eyes, she tried to isolate the cause but couldn’t.

Troubled, Sibyl stood. She smoothed her shift and padded on her bare feet to the entrance to B Block. The door had been left open to admit the air. What with the Home’s high walls and the Warriors always on guard, It was safe to do.

Why, then, was she so uneasy? Sibyl asked herself as she stepped into the night. She surveyed the compound. All was quiet. All was still save for trees rustling to the breeze. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

Sybyl gazed to the west at the rampart over the drawbridge but didn’t see anyone, which puzzled her. Everyone knew the Warrior Triads took turns on sentry duty. Everyone knew that while Warriors were constantly patrolling the ramparts, there was always one stationed above the drawbridge. Always.

Her uneasiness growing, Sibyl moved toward the drawbridge. The grass was cool on the soles of her feet. Toward dawn it would also be wet with the morning dew. Absently swiping at a stray bang that fell across her eyes, she scanned the south rampart.

Again she saw no one.

Sibyl went faster. She ran to the base of the ramp, and hesitated. It would embarrass her no end to go running up there and find everything was fine. But no. She must trust her special sense. It seldom failed her.

“Anyone around?” Sibyl said. When she didn’t get a reply she started up, the wood under her feet worn smooth by the passage of countless others over the decades.

“This is Sibyl,” she announced. “Warriors? Hello?” She thought that maybe the sentry on duty had sat down and she simply couldn’t see him or her from below.

Pausing, Sibyl half-turned and stared out over the Home. It couldn’t be more peaceful. “What am I sensing?” she said to herself, and resumed her climb. She was almost to the top when she saw a buckskin-clad figure sprawled in a strange posture.

“Hickok?”

Sinking to a knee, Sibyl pressed a hand to the gunfighter’s face. It felt like the wood under her feet. She pressed his neck, trying to find a pulse, and couldn’t. Nor could she see a wound. He didn’t appear to have been shot or stabbed. It was if he had simply keeled over.

“How can this be?” Sibyl exclaimed. Rising, she raced down the ramp. Should she sound a general alarm? she wondered. Inform the Family’s Leader, Socrates? Contact other Warriors?

She debated for all of five seconds and then flew to the east, making for Blade’s cabin. He was the head Warrior and belonged to the same Triad as Hickok. If he wasn’t there, his wife would be, and Jenny was a Healer.

Her shift impeded her somewhat, clinging to her legs as it did. A chill breeze fanned her hair.

Sybyl wasn’t much of a runner but she did the best she could. It seemed surreal, the serenity of the night contrasted to her turmoil. She sought to calm herself but her special sense wouldn’t stop goading her to make the utmost haste.

Too late, Sibyl realized something was on the ground in front of her. She tried to stop but struck hard and pitched forward on top of a motionless man. In a flash she took in his size, his black vest, glimpsed a Bowie at his side.

“Blade?”

Sliding off, Sibyl probed. His skin felt the same to her touch as Hickok’s. Once again she felt for a pulse. Once again she failed to find one.

“Dear Spirit, no.”

All Sibyl could think of was to get to Jenny as quickly as possible. In less than a minute she was pounding on their door and shouting Jenny’s name, not caring if she woke their neighbors. She heard the rasp of a latch and the door opened to reveal Jenny, bundling a robe about her and blinking confusedly in the moonlight.

“Sibyl? Is that you?”

Sibyl gasped out a yes.

“What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

“Blade!” Sibyl got out. “Hickok!”

Jenny grabbed the front of Sibyl’s shift. “Blade? What about him?”

“I don’t know,” Sibyl said. She was going to explain but an anxious yell came from further in the cabin.

“Mom? What’s going on? Who is that?”

“Get out here, Gabe,” Jenny replied to her son. To Sibyl she said, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Coughing to clear her throat, Sibyl said, “I think our husband and Hickok are dead.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Fear ate at you and ate at you. No matter how hard you tried to suppress it, it never went away. It lurked and festered deep inside, and should that which you feared come to pass, it burst out like a roaring lion bursting from a cage and clawed you to emotional ribbons.

For more years than Jenny cared to think about, her biggest fear was that some day, something terrible would happen to the man she loved. Blade was a Warrior. He was dedicated to protecting those he cared for. And as an adage from the olden times had it, those who lived by the sword were prone to die by the sword. Or be shot. Or ripped apart by a mutate. Every time Blade left the Home on a run to who knew where, her fear surfaced anew.

Ironic, Jenny thought, that when her husband was finally laid low, it was at the Home. On guard duty. She had long imagined that if he were to go down, it would be in the violent heat of combat.

Now, standing in the infirmary in C Block, her arms wrapped tight around her chest, Jenny anxiously watched as Clara, the chief Healer and her mentor, examined her husband. Jenny had already examined him and was at a loss.

The Family’s top Scientist, Tesla, was there, too. Clara was pressing a stethoscope to Blade’s neck while Tesla was using a syringe to take a blood sample.

“Peculiar,” he remarked to Clara. In his middle years, he was as thin as a broom and sported a wild tangle of shoulder-length hair. “We can’t feel a pulse yet his circulatory system still functions. His blood is flowing, if ever-so-slowly.”

“Hold on,” Clara said, and motioned for quiet. She was in her late fifties and wore her white hair in a bun. She listened with the stethoscope, then said, “I think there is a pulse.”

“You think?” Jenny said, grasping at the hope.

Clara held up a finger to enjoin silence and adjusted the stethoscope. She listened for what seemed an interminable interval, then smiled and nodded. “Yes! No doubt now. It’s weak but it’s there.”

“How weak?” Tesla asked.

“A beat every two minutes,” Clara said.

“Impossible,” the chief Scientist said. “No heart can function at that rate.”

“I know how to take a pulse,” Clara said. Removing the ear tips, she held out the instrument. “Listen for yourself.”

Jenny, overcome with joy, tried to make sense of the implications. Earlier, when she had seen Blade lying in the grass, so very still and seemingly lifeless, her own heart had caught in throat.

Tesla was adjusting the stethoscope. He listened, and after a while shook his head in puzzlement. “You’re absolutely right. I don’t understand how this can be.”

“Here,” Clara said, holding out her hand. “I’ll recheck Hickok and Yama. They must be in the same state.”

Jenny glanced at the other two Warriors. They had found Hickok on the west wall. Yama had succumbed while in bed. His wife, Melissa, had discovered he was comatose when Geronimo pounded on their cabin door to inform them about Blade and Hickok, and woke her up.

“Altered is right,” Tesla was saying. “This is beyond anything I’ve ever heard of.”

Jenny placed her hand on Blade’s brow. His skin felt unnatural, as if he were made of stone instead of flesh and bone. “What could cause something like this?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Tesla said. “Yet.” He held up the syringe. “The lab results will tell us more.”

“Perhaps I may be of assistance in that regard, sir,” chirped a voice tinged with mechanical nuance.

Jenny frowned, and turned.

The Family’s newest addition—-known as an Artificial Living Veraform Intelligence System—-hovered not an arm’s-length’s away. She hadn’t heard it approach. Created by Thanatos, the demented Dark Lord and ruler of the Valley of Shadow, the synthetic being—-which preferred to be called A.l.v.i.s—-was shaped like a bullet or torpedo. As long as a yardstick and as round as a pie pan, it possessed unnerving red ‘eyes’ and a row of tiny lights lower down that never stopped blinking.

“How can you be of help, A.l.v.i.s?” Tesla said.

The synthezoid floated to the table. “Don’t you remember, sir? My internal processors are capable of performing over a quarter of a million functions. I can analyze the blood for you much more quickly and comprehensively than you can using old-fashioned methods.”

Tesla nodded. “I tend to forget how efficient you are. But then, you haven’t been with us long enough for me to learn the full extent of your capabilities.”

“My Master, Thanatos, once remarked that I was his jack-of-all-trades,” A.l.v.i.s said. “To put it succinctly, I’m the most sophisticated artificial entity to ever exist.”

“Humble, too,” Jenny said before she could catch herself.

“I state a fact, Jennifer,” A.l.v.i.s said. “Hyperbole was not incorporated into my programming.”

“What do I do?” Tesla said.

A small opening appeared in A.l.v.i.s’s shiny body and out slid a tray. “Deposit a few drops, if you would.”

“That’s all it takes?” Tesla said as he slowly pressed the plunger.

Jenny wasn’t squeamish by nature. If she were, she would never have become a Healer. But the sight of her husband’s blood dripping onto that tray made her gut churn.

“It is quite sufficient, sir,” A.l.v.i.s said. The tray slid back in. “Now if you will excuse me, I must focus my AI.” His red eyes dulled slightly.

“AI?” Jenny said.

“Artificial Intelligence,” Tesla said. “A prewar term. We are fortunate to have such an exemplary model at our disposal.”

“If you say so.”

“Your mistrust is unwarranted, Jenny,” Tesla said. “A.l.v.i.s is incapable of harming human beings.”

“So it claims.”

“A.l.v.i.s is a marvel, really,” Tesla said. “Thanatos might have been mad but he was undeniably a genius.”

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Jenny said bluntly. “The world is better off.”

A faint whirring sound emanated from A.l.v.i.s, followed by several distinct clicks. Its eyes brightened and it rose a little higher into the air. “My analysis is complete.”

“So soon?” Tesla marveled.

“I have a diagnosis, if you care to hear it.”

“Of course we do,” Jenny said anxiously. “What’s wrong with my husband and the others?”

“All three Warriors suffer from a condition my Master described as Matter Displacement Syndrome. It…..”

“Wait,” Tesla interrupted. “You’re saying it’s a result of their using the time machine?”

“Technically, sir,” A.l.v.i.s said, “the device you took from God’s Needle is no such thing. As I have made plain from the beginning of our acquaintance, my Master called it MABEL. Which stands for Matter Alignment by Energy Light-Phase....”

Tesla cut him off a second time. “Hold on. God’s Needle?”

“My Master’s name for his edifice.”

“But everyone else had always called it the Tower. It’s also known as the Black Tower.”

“My Master once told me that he regards the edifice as a needle poking at the eye of God, if you will,” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “He saw all religion as superstition. To him, science was the be all and end all. So when he built an edifice as high as the reputed Tower of Bable, it amused him to call it God’s Needle.”

“We had no idea,” Tesla said.

“You are probably also unaware that my Master’s real name is not Thanatos,” the synthezoid chirped.

“How’s that again?” Tesla said.

“You have a practice here at the Home. The Naming Ceremony., I believe you call it. When Family members turn sixteen, they are encouraged to choose the name they will be known by from that time forward.”

“Yes. So?” Jenny said impatiently. She wanted to turn the talk back to Blade and his condition.

“My Master’s birth name is Varnum. Whether that is his first or his last, he never revealed. He did inform me that when he was in his twenties he decided to adopt a new one. As both a name and a title. Something that suited his nature.” A.l.v.i.s paused. “He was fond of Greek mythology, and chose the name of their personification of death.”

“Thanatos,” Tesla said. “My word. What that says about him.”

“Enough about his stupid name,” Jenny said angrily. “What was that business about the time machine and some kind of syndrome?”

“As I have been trying to make plain,” A.l.v.i.s said, his tone reminding Jenny of a teacher seeking to enlighten backward students, “time, as you conceive of it, has no bearing on MABEL’s operation. Basically, the machine converts matter into light and then projects the light particles into the time-space continuum at a predetermined point.”

“I knew Thanatos was brilliant,” Tesla said in awe. “But to defy the basic tenets of physics!” He shook his head in amazement.

“Tenets are never ironclad, as my Master used to say,” A.l.v.i.s chirped.

“Explain, if you would,” Tesla said.

Jenny lost her patience. “Enough! My husband is lying there at death’s door! The same with our friends!” She jabbed a finger at A.l.v.i.s. “You say it’s a result of their using that damnable device? In what way? More importantly, how do we restore them to normal?”

A.l.v.i.s fixed those eerie red eyes on her. “The human body was never intended to undergo the transformations they experienced. Envision it as being akin to taking a lump of clay and converting it into a flashlight beam.”

“And?” Jenny goaded.

“My Master experimented endlessly before he perfected the operational parameters to his satisfaction. He discovered that the stress on a living organism is severe. In his early experiments many of his test subjects perished. Some had their constituent elements rearranged. Others underwent a delayed reaction. Their bodies shut down.” A.l.v.i.s turned toward the three tables. “My assessment is that Blade, Hickok and Yama are experiencing the latter syndrome. Their tissues and sinews are petrifying. Eventually, their internal organs will cease to function.”

“Dear Spirit!” Jenny exclaimed in horror.

“Why didn’t you warn us this might happen before the Warriors used the device?” Tesla said angrily.

“If you will recall, sir,” A.l.v.i.s replied, “I mentioned more than once that using MABEL was not entirely safe. You expressed no interest in the specifics. Blade insisted the Warriors needed to confront the Lords of Kismet, and you requested I do all in my power to aid them in achieving their goal.”

There was only one thing Jenny wanted to know. “Is there a cure? Is there some way of making them whole again?”

“My Master created a serum that can reverse the effects of the transmutation effect. He always carried a vial with him whenever he used the device himself. Bear in mind that in his later experiments, MABEL performed quite well. Perhaps when you brought the unit here you failed to reassemble it exactly as it should be constructed. Even the most minute divergence could be the cause of the conditions they are in.”

Jenny didn’t care about any of that. She only cared about one thing. “What do we have to do to save my husband? Recreate the serum? Can you do that yourself?”

“I am afraid I can’t,” A.l.v.i.s said. “My Master never shared the formula. He was prone to keep secrets.”

Jenny clenched her fists in frustration and dismay. “Damn it!” she snapped.

“Take heart,” A.l.v.i.s said. “All is not lost. The formula for the serum should be in among the journals my Master kept on all aspects of his experiments.”

“Where do we find them?” Jenny asked, knowing full well before she spoke.

“Where else? My Master’s abode,” A.l.v.i.s said. “You must send someone to the Valley of Shadow. To my Master’s edifice. I will provide detailed instructions on where to find the journals.”

“All well and good,” Tesla said. “Except there’s no guarantee whoever we send will make it out again.”

“True enough, sir,” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “But if I may be so frank, what other option do you have?”

Jenny tenderly placed her hand on her husband’s wooden arm. “No choice at all,” she said.

CHAPTER SIX

Geronimo felt as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. With Blade and Hickok at death’s door, he was senior Warrior.

He had called a meeting of the Triads. They were to gather on the west rampart above the drawbridge at noon. It was a few minutes till, and the last of the Family’s defenders were coming up the ramp.

Normally, there were six Triads made up of three Warriors each. But a a vicious clash with a reptilian shapeshifter a while ago had reduced their ranks drastically, from eighteen to fourteen. Now, with Blade, Hickok and Yama stricken, they were down to eleven.

Geronimo cleared his throat. “Everyone get settled. We have a lot to talk about.”

“Do we ever,” said a Warrior who had chosen the name Spartacus.

To Geronimo’s right stood Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. Of Asian lineage and small in stature, he was the Family’s preeminent martial artist and next in succession should Geronimo be slain. Slung across his back was his ever-present katana. “As I am sure all of you can appreciate,” he remarked, “the situation is dire.”

Several Warriors grimly nodded.

“We’re losing so many,” Shane said, a pearl-handled pistol high on his hip.

“Don’t count Blade, Hickok and Yama out yet,” a black woman called Bertha declared. “They’re tough as anything.”

Geronimo surveyed the rest of them, gauging their expressions. There was Teucer, whose preferred weapon was a bow. Ares, who wore his hair in a mohawk. Lynx and Gremlin, hybrids brought into being through genetic engineering. Samson, the strongest of them next to Blade. And finally Sherry, Hickok’s wife.

Every eye was on Geronimo as he said, “First things first. We can’t adequately defend the Home with only eleven of us.”

“Which is why he and I propose speeding up the selection process for the three trainees,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said.

“Are any of them ready?” Spartacus asked.

“We’ll return to them in a bit,” Geronimo said. “Of equal concern, as all of you are well aware, is doing what we can to save Blade, Hickok and Yama.”

“Glad to hear you say that,” Sherry said dryly.

“Our chief Scientist tells me there is a chance we can,” Geronimo continued. “It involves great risk, and would further cut our numbers.”

“Define ‘great’,” Lynx growled.

“It means making a run to the Valley of Shadow,” Geronimo enlightened them. “To the Tower.”

Bertha had been leaning against a rail. Now she straightened sharply. “The hell you say. Thanatos’s place?”

Glances were exchanged. Ares ran a hand across his Mohawk and remarked, “We never get a break, do we?”

“It’s like this,” Geronimo said. “A.l.v.i.s claims there’s a cure for whatever has laid our friends low. All we have to do is find the records Thanatos kept of his experiments.”

“Is that all?” Spartacus said.

“As Hickok would say,” Shane said, grinning, “Piece of cake.”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?” Shane said.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi spoke up. “A run like that, we’d have to send at least three Warriors. Any less, and the odds of them making it back....” He stopped and shook his head.

“We hear that,” Teucer said.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi went on. “Unfortunately, that would leave eight Warriors to protect the Family. And eight isn’t nearly enough. We’d have to pull double shifts on wall duty. Should the Home be attacked by a force of any size....” Again he stopped and shook his head.

Geronimo said. “We have to do what we can to save our friends.”

“At that great a risk to the the entire Family?” Spartacus said. “Not on your life. I want to help as much as anyone but that would leave the Home too vulnerable.”

“We haven’t been attacked in months,” Geronimo reminded him. In the early days, the years right after the Big Blast, assaults had been more frequent.

“It only takes one,” Spartacus said, “by a vastly superior force.”

“Who were you thinking of sending on the run to the Valley of Shadow?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi wanted to know.

“Myself....,” Geronimo began, and got not further.

“Not on your life,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said. “You’re in charge now. The head Warrior. You’re needed here. I’ll go in your stead with whoever else you pick.”

“You can handle things here as well as I could,” Geronimo said. “I have no compunctions about leaving you in charge.”

“You’re letting your emotions get the better of you,” Rikki said. “The Family’s welfare comes before all else.”

“Hear, hear,” Spartacus said, and others nodded.

Mildly resentful that his decision was being challenged, Geronimo said, “As you pointed out, it’s my call. I was thinking of taking Samson and Shane.” His reasoning being that they might need Samson’s great strength, and Shane because he was almost as quick as Hickok with that pearl-handled revolver of his.

“I reiterate,” Rikki said. “I’m against it.”

“Me too,” Spartacus said. “We should take a vote. Show of hands. Who here thinks it’s a mistake to deplete our ranks even more?” He raised an arm.

So did Ares, Gremlin, Lynx, Teucer, and Bertha.

“You see?” Spartacus said. “Over half of us.”

“It’s my decision,” Geronimo said indignantly. “I don’t see any way around it. Some of us have to go to save our friends. End of discussion.”

Several voices were raised at once but fell silent when Sherry practically shouted, “Enough! The last thing we need is all this bickering. If you’ll permit me, I believe I have a solution that will be acceptable to everybody.”

“Say what’s on your mind, sister,” Bertha said.

“Hold on,” Shane said. “You two aren’t related.”

Bertha let out a snort. “Hush, pup. Let the lady speak.”

Sherry looked at Geronimo. “We have to act and we have to act quickly. Tesla told me that he doesn’t know exactly how much time we have, but each hour, each and every minute, brings my man and the others closer to death’s door.”

Geronimo already knew that. “Go on.”

“You’re right in that we have to send someone to the Valley of Shadow. But Rikki and Spartacus are right, too, in that if we send three Warriors, there won’t be enough of us left to ensure we can safeguard the Home. So I propose we only send one Warrior.....”

“Just one?” Samson interrupted.

“Do you realize the odds of him or her making it back?” Spartacus said.

Geronimo, too, considered the idea preposterous. The perils of the wasteland were as numberless as the stars.

“I wasn’t done,” Sherry said. “We send one Warrior—-and the three trainees.”

Geronimo’s initial reaction was to tell her to forget it. Yes, three young Family members—- none of them out of their teens—-were in training to become full-fledged Warriors. The training was intense, deliberately so, but not one of them, in his estimation, was ready to assume the mantle and the responsibilities of a Warrior.

Some of the others, clearly as skeptical, went to comment but Sherry held up a hand.

“Hear me out. Please. We have to send someone. We can’t just let Blade and the others die. I’m not saying that just because one of them is my husband. We would do the same for any of us. But for the welfare of the Family, it’s obvious we can’t spare three active-duty Warriors. We’re stretched too thin. One, though, we can spare.”

Everyone was listening attentively.

“Since one isn’t enough, we send the three trainees as backup.” Sherry glanced around. “I know what some of you are thinking. The trainees don’t have enough experience. This run is how they can get it. Out there in the real world, the warped world, the toxic, blasted, deadly world that we have all gone out into at one time or another, they’ll learn just like we did. Through experience. And if they make it back, it will show they’re ready to be admitted to our ranks.”

“You want to throw three green kids to the sharks?” Lynx growled.

“You’re don’t like the idea?” Sherry asked.

“On the contrary,” Lynx said. “I like it very much. Survival of the fittest. It’s how I learned.”

“The forge of battle,” Teucer said. “The anvil of necessity.”

“Huh?” Shane said.

“How many of you like the idea?” Sherry said.

Heads bobbed in agreement. Several smiled.

“What about you?” Sherry said to Geronimo. “You have the final say.”

Geronimo had been mulling it over while she talked. “Given our situation,” he replied, “I think you’ve come up with the best solution. Except for one thing. I won’t order the trainees to go. I won’t throw them to the sharks, as Spartacus put it. It has to be their decision.”

“Sounds fair,” Ares said.

More nods from nearly everyone, and then Shane said, “But which of us goes with them?”

As much as Geronimo would like it to be him, the others were right. He was head Warrior now. His first duty was to the Family. “Since it can’t be me, it should be someone who has been a Warrior almost as long as I have. Someone we can completely rely on. One of the best of us. One of the wisest. One of the deadliest.”

Everyone looked at Rikki-Tikki-Tavi.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Family’s Armory in A Block lived up to its name. Weapons lined every wall. Dozens of cabinets and cases housed more. Even the ceiling was used. From imbedded hooks hung razor whips, blowguns, nunchaku and others.

At the front was a small office. An inventory of all their weapons was kept on file, along with manuals and books from before the Big Blast on how to do everything from disassemble various firearms to how to hone an edged blade until it was razor sharp.

Sparsely furnished, the furniture consisted of a desk and two chairs. As a result, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi stood in a corner with his arms folded while Geronimo sat tapping his fingers on the tomahawk he had slid from under his belt and placed on the desk when he sat down.

Rikki could tell his friend was troubled. Small wonder, given the challenge they faced, and the cost to the Family if they failed. “You made the right decision.”

“It should be me going,” Geronimo said.

“We’ve been through that,” Rikki said. “Don’t you trust me to lead the run?”

“There is no one I trust more,” Geronimo said. “But this is the Valley of Shadow we’re talking about. And it will just be you and the apprentices.”

“Yea, though I walk,” Rikki quoted, and smiled.

Geronimo leaned back, his chair squeaking loudly. “The times Alpha Triad went there, we were lucky to make it out alive.”

“Cup full,” Rikki said.

Chuckling, Geronimo said, “You always do tend to look at the bright side of things.”

Rikki shrugged. He had learned at an early age that to always be critical and negative about everything and everyone was immature. Besides, true warriors didn’t whine. They took what life threw at them and met it the best they could.

A sound from out past the open door drew their attention to a figure approaching.

“I’ve set up the interviews one after the other,” Geronimo mentioned, “half an hour apart. Should be more than enough time to lay it out to each of them.”

“Kanto first, I see,” Rikki observed.

“You sponsored him to become a Warrior,” Geronimo said. “He shows a lot of promise.”

Rikki didn’t say anything. ‘Promise’ was no guarantee a prospective candidate would pass muster. All the training in the world was no substitute for actual combat. The proof, to paraphrase another old saying, was in the bloodletting.

A tall young man stopped in the doorway, gave a slight bow, and said, “May I?” He wore an outfit fashioned for him by the Family Weavers based on his specifications. Dark purple, with flowing sleeves and loose-fitting pants, it was trimmed with yellow at the throat. His black hair hung in thick curls to his shoulders.

Geronimo indicated the empty chair in front of the desk. “By all means. Thank you for coming.”

“When a Warrior is summoned, a Warrior obeys,” Kanto said as he crossed to the chair and lightly sank down, his every movement unusually fluid. He smiled at Rikki. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir. Why have you sent for me, if I may ask?”

Rikki gestured. “Geronimo did. He’s head Warrior now.”

“Not by choice,” Geronimo said.

“We are all of us praying for Blade and the others,” Kanto said. He possessed a deep, mellifluous voice. “May the Spirit preserve them.”

Rikki could tell Geronimo was deeply disturbed by the mention of their plight. “To the matter at hand. It’s not common knowledge yet, but our chief scientist thinks there’s a chance they can be saved.”

Geronimo took up the explanation. “It involves sending Warriors to the last place I’d ever want to send anyone.” He paused. “The Valley of Shadow.”

“I’ve read the Chronicler’s account of the Family’s battle with Thanatos,” Kanto said. “He was a formidable enemy.”

“None more so,” Geronimo said. Opening a drawer, he took out a manila folder. “Let’s review your background before we get to the run.” He opened the folder and ran a finger down the first page. “You’re seventeen years old. Genealogy, Italian. Given name, Caesar Cardinale. A year ago, at your Naming ceremony, you chose Kanto.” Geronimo looked up. “Why?”

Kanto acted surprised by the question. “Our Founder started the practice. I was following tradition. Most pick names from history, like you did, as a way to keep in touch with the past.”

“No,” Geronimo said. “I meant, why did you pick the name ‘Kanto’? I chose mine because there is Apache blood in my lineage. Blade chose his because he likes big knives. Rikki, there, picked the name of a mongoose.”

“A what?” Kanto said.

“A small animal, like a weasel or a ferret,” Geronimo explained, and motioned at Rikki. “You tell him.”

“It’s from a story by a man named Rudyard Kipling,” Rikki said. “About a mongoose that comes to live with a human family and protects them from poisonous snakes.”

“Ah,” Kanto said, smiling. “The mongoose was a protector.”

“So why Kanto?” Geronimo persisted. “What does the name mean to you?”

Rikki was curious, too. It would give them insight into the younger man’s personality. His frame of mind, as it were.

“Well,” Kanto slowly began, “all my life I’ve heard about Italy and what it means to be Italian. From my parents. To be honest, I didn’t much care when I was little. For all we know, Italy no longer exists. A lot of countries don’t.”

“How does that tie in with your name?” Geronimo said.

“My parents were always giving me books from the library,” Kanto continued. “About Italy and it’s history. One of them had to do with the assassini from way back in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.”

“The what?”

“Assassins,” Kanto said. “A special kind. They were courtly. Worldly. They dressed well, ate well. Killed well. To them, assassination was a craft.” He grinned warmly at the remembrance. “An art, you might say. And they were artists at it.”

“Assassins?” Geronimo repeated.

“Does that matter?” Kanto said.

“You admire professional killers. And you want to be a Warrior?”

Kanto appeared confused by the question. “Isn’t that what the Warriors do? Kill?”

“To defend the Family and the Home,” Geronimo said.

“Of course,” Kanto said. “But I remember Yama saying once that when you get right down to it, Warriors are death-dealers. Exactly like the assassini.”

“Yama has always been fascinated by death,” Geronimo said. “Which is neither here nor there.” He glanced at the file. “Was Kanto the name of one of those assassins you admire?”

“No. In Italian, it means ‘I sing’,” Kanto said. “I love to sing. My mother was always teaching me new songs. In Italian, of course. She wanted me to keep the language alive.” He smiled. “I also love a painting I saw in an art book. A painting called ‘I sing of death’. So I thought, if dealing death is to be my profession, why not sing of it with my very name?”

Rikki almost laughed at the expression on Geronimo’s face.

“Is something wrong?” Kanto said.

“Just when you think you’ve heard everything under the sun,” Geronimo said.

Kanto said. “I can change my name if you don’t like it. I’ll do anything to become a Warrior.”

“No, you’re name is fine,” Geronimo said a trifle dubiously. He turned a page, and coughed. “It says here you’re proficient in the martial  arts....”

“Fairly so, thanks to Rikki,” Kanto said.

“....and you’ve earned exceptionally high grades with knives and swords,” Geronimo noted. “In particular, you are superb with stilettos.”

“I worked very hard to become so,” Kanto said.

Geronimo bent closer to the file. “Plus you scored highly in marksmanship. You have a knack with SMG’s.”

“He has great hand-to-eye coordination,” Rikki deemed it appropriate to point out.

Geronimo closed the folder and thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the desk. “All right. You have skills enough. How would you like to put them to the ultimate test? I’ll assign you to go with Rikki on the run to the Valley of Shadow, but only if you want to. You must volunteer.”

“Gladly!” Kanto said.

“Not so fast,” Geronimo cautioned. “It won’t be a cakewalk. There’s a very good chance that you might not make it back. Do you understand that?”

Kanto nodded. “I do,” he said, “and I still want to go. When do we leave?”

“In the next day or so. Rikki will let you know,” Geronimo said. “If you’re smart, you’ll spend the time with your family and friends.”

Beaming, Kanto stood. “Thank you.” To Rikki he said, “I won’t let you down, sir. I’ll show you I’m worthy. And when the killing starts, I’ll do you proud. I’ll deal death like nobody’s business.” Wheeling, he happily departed.

“You made his day,” Rikki said.

“Sing death?” Geronimo said.

They both grinned.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Geronimo was replacing the file in the drawer when a young woman strode into the office.

Of medium height and stocky build, her waist-length flaxen hair hung in a thick braid worn over her left shoulder and down her front. She had eyes of sparkling blue. Her attire consisted of a grey leather vest, grey leather pants and black boots. Slung across her back was a sword, the hilt jutting above her right shoulder, the bottom of the scabbard almost to the back of her knee. On her left hip was a short sword. On her right, incongruously, a machine pistol in a brown holster. Her belt was fitted with loops for half a dozen magazines.

Smiling warmly, the young woman came up to the desk and bowed her head. “May the Lord guide both of you and watch over you.”

“Eleanor,” Geronimo said. He indicated the chair. “Please take a seat.” He took out another file. “You’re early.”

Eleanor sat with her hands folded in her lap and her back straight. “I was waiting my turn and saw Kanto leave so I presumed to come in. Would you rather I wait to be summoned.?”

“We admire your initiative,” Rikki said.

“I strive to be as perfect as I can be,” Eleanor said.

“Pardon?” Geronimo said.

“Be perfect as our Father in heaven is perfect,” Eleanor quoted. “As his handmaiden, I can do no less.”

“Yes, well,” Geronimo said, opening the file. “It was Lynx who sponsored you, wasn’t it?”

Eleanor nodded. “He and I get along great. Back when he first joined the Family, he took a shine to me. I was little then, and he used to rub my head and say my hair was the prettiest he ever saw.”

“Lynx is a hybrid,” Geronimo said. “Half human, half feline. He was born in a test tube.”

“So?” Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “What does that have to do with him sponsoring me?”

“Nothing,” Geronimo said, and moved on with, “I haven’t talked to you much and I’d like to get to know you better. I’ve heard, and it’s obvious, that you’re very religious.”

“Deeply so,” Eleanor said. “I was going to choose Joan of Arc at my Naming but then I found out that there was another female Warrior with that name, years ago.”

“Yes,” Geronimo said, saddening at the memory. “She and Hickok were in love. She died in our fight with the Trolls.”

“So I was told. I decided to not to take Joan as my name out of respect for her and for him.”

“Considerate of you,” Geronimo said.

“We’re all part of the Family, and should do what we can for each other,” Eleanor said.

Geronimo agreed.

“I’ve always liked strong-willed women,” Eleanor continued. “Real women, not make-believe. It’s no boast to say I’ve read just about every history book in the Library. There’s this one, about a lady called Eleanor of Aquitaine. Her son was Richard the Lionhart. She wasn’t the warrior Joan of Arc was, but she came close. She actually led soldiers into battle. So I picked her name instead.”

“How do you view your duties as a Warrior?” Geronimo was curious to learn.

“That’s simple. I’ve devoted my life to doing the Lord’s will and helping to keep the Family safe.”

“You see yourself as a defender?”

“I see myself as a swordwoman in the service of my Maker and the Home.”

Geronimo was impressed. He scanned the information on her, saying as he did, “It says here you’re only sixteen. That you won’t turn seventeen for, what, another two months?”

“Yes,” Eleanor confirmed. “I applied to be an apprentice the day after my Naming. I’ve been in training a considerable while now.”

“You’re rated as proficient with that broadsword on your back,” Geronimo said.

“Not so,” Eleanor said.

“Eh?”

“It’s not a broadsword. It’s a longsword.”

“What’s the difference?”

“May I show you?” Eleanor said, and without waiting for a reply, she stood and moved away from the chair to give herself room. Reaching over her shoulder, she pulled her sword free with surprising ease, given that it was nearly as long as she was tall. Gripping it in both hands, she held it so the blade reflected the lamp light, and said with affection, “The Blacksmiths forged it for me. I call it Wrathbringer.”

“You named your sword?”

“Why not?” Eleanor held it toward him. “Do you see the end? How it tapers to a point? That’s how you tell a longsword from a broadsword. A broadsword is for cutting and slashing.” She angled the blade toward the ceiling and pumped her arms. “Wrathbringer can cut and slash but also pierce, like a spear. I can drive it through Kevlar or old armor if I have to.” Shifting her grip, she showed him the hilt. “This round pommel? It keeps my hands from slipping off. And the brass guard?” She reversed the sword so the tip was pointed at the floor and held Wrathbringer close to her chest. “It resembles a cross, does it not?”

Geronimo admitted that it did. “You can put it away and take a seat again.”

With a smooth motion, Eleanor swung her longsword up and over her shoulder and slid it into its scabbard. As she sank down,she patted the short sword on her hip. “I call this one Dragonfang.”

“What do you call your machine pistol? Geronimo wondered.

“Naming a gun would be silly.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Geronimo saw Rikki-Tikki-Tavi grin. “I need to be clear on something. Do you honestly believe you can kill if you have to?”

“I’d be a useless Warrior if I couldn’t,” Eleanor said. “Why ask such a thing, if I may be permitted?”

“By your own admission you’re uncommonly spiritual,” Geronimo said, “and I seem to recall something about ‘Thou shalt not kill’.”

“One of my Teachers told me that in the original language it actually says we shouldn’t commit murder,” Eleanor said. “Regardless, even God has warriors. The Bible is full of accounts of angels in battle. And then there are those judges and others in the Old Testament who killed in the Lord’s name.”

“Then you have no qualms about sticking that sword of yours into someone else?”

“I assure you. Should the need arise, I will prove worthy of your trust. And of the Lord’s.”

Geronimo turned the subject to Blade, Hickok and Geronimo. He explained about the Valley of Shadow, and God’s Needle, as Jenny had told him the Tower was rightfully called.. “I can’t stress enough the dangers involved. Which is why I’m leaving it up to you whether you go on the run or not. Take some time to think it over and get back to me.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Eleanor said. “I want to be included. It will enable me to prove my mettle as a swordwoman.” She beamed with joy. “The Lord’s will be done,” she said, and bowed her head.

Geronimo excused her, and she cheerfully left. As the door closed, he swiveled his chair toward Rikki. “I don’t know about this one.”

“We should give her the chance to show she has what it takes,” Rikki said.

“First Kanto, who is all about the killing. And now Eleanor, who is all about her devotion to God.”

“Warriors come in many guises,” Rikki said.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Geronimo said.

A knock on the door nipped their conversation in the bud. Suspecting who it would be, Geronimo said, “Come in!”

The newcomer was powerfully built. Incredibly so. His chest, shoulders and arms, in particular, were thick with muscle. His waist, though, was thin. A shock of black hair hung loose around his ears and down his forehead. His eyes were green. All he had on were a pair of shorts and thick sandals with leather straps crisscrossing up his legs to his knees . On his right hip, wedged under a wide leather belt, was a war axe. On his left hip, worn butt forward, was an Astra .44 Magnum. Over his shoulder he had slung an M87R .50-caliber bolt action rifle.

“Geronimo, Rikki,” the young man said, and took a seat without being asked. Lacing his fingers together, he cracked his knuckles noisily, then said, “What’s up?”

“Crom,” Geronimo said, rummaging for the trainee’s file.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Crom said, and laughed.

Geronimo found the folder. “I see you’re almost eighteen, which makes you older than Kanto and Eleanor.”

“Those kids?” Crom said, and chuckled.

Under ‘Personality Profile’, Geronimo found notes that interested him. “It says that initially you wanted to be a Hunter. You’re an outstanding tracker and bring in more game than anyone else. About six months ago, though, you asked Spartacus to sponsor you to become a Warrior.” Geronimo looked up. “Why the change of heart?”

“It’s no secret I like the wilds,” Crom said. “Always have. My love of barbarism, I guess.”

“Barbarism?”

“When I was little, I liked to read stories. The sword and sorcery kind, I think they were called. There was this one writer. He was great. I liked his stories best. Especially his stories about a barbarian from an age in the dawn of time. A guy who didn’t think much of civilization. Who lived by his own rules, his own code. I loved that.”

“So you took the name of this barbarian?” Geronimo guessed.

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I took the name of his god.”

“Excuse me?”

“Crom was the name of the barbarian’s deity. The god he prayed to. Not that he prayed much.”

Geronimo glanced at Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. “Were you aware of this?”

“I was not,” Rikki said.

“What’s the big deal?” Crom said. “The name is cool, is all. It’s not as if I think I’m a real god or anything.”

“Why didn’t you take the barbarian’s name?” Geronimo said.

“I could never fill his sandals. Never be as magnificent as he is. So I did the next best thing.”

“You named yourself after his God,” Geronimo said, trying hard not to laugh.

“Cool, huh?” Crom said.

“Well,” Geronimo said.

“What?”

“I have a question,” Rikki said. “How do you reconcile your love of barbarism with serving as a Warrior?”

“That’s easy,” Crom said. “The barbarian had his tribe. I have the Family. They’re my tribe. My people. I’ll defend them with my life if I have to.”

“Commendable,” Rikki said. “And how do you feel about killing?”

“I’ve killed more animals than I can count.”

“I meant human beings,” Rikki said.

“No problem.”

“You think it will be easy for you?” Geronimo said.

“I know it will. We’re not talking just anybody. We’re talking enemies of the Family. Pukes who would harm us and those we care for.” Crom made a fist of his big right hand and shook it. “Enemies are to be crushed! Their skulls split! Their brains splattered! Let the lamentations of their women rise to the clouds!”

“Uhh,” Geronimo said.

“Your enthusiasm is to be commended,” Rikki said. “But it should be tempered by prudence.”

“I doubt I have any,” Crom said lightheartedly.

“You’ve earned extremely high scores in long-range marksmanship,” Geronimo read from the report. “Ares was your firearms instructor, and he made a note in your file that in the old days you would have made a great sniper.”

“Comes from all the hunting I did,” Crom said. “Animals don’t let you get close unless they’re careless. I had to learn to shoot straight to keep food in the supper pots.”

“I’m going to give you the opportunity to apply those skills as a Warrior,” Geronimo said, and launched into another recital about the need for the run to the Valley of Shadow.

“Sign me up,” Crom said, and patted his war axe.

“Just like that?” Geronimo said, snapping his fingers.

“Anything I can do for the Family, I’m there.”

“Fair enough. Rikki will contact you shortly.”

Crom stood and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

Geronimo shook, noting the other’s strength. As their last addition left, he sighed and said to Rikki, “Do you believe this? An assassin, a swordwoman, and a barbarian?”

“It should prove interesting,” Rikki said.

“Well, we’re done here,” Geronimo said, and opened the drawer to put the files away.

Just then there was a knock on the door.

CHAPTER NINE

Geronimo had been about to suggest that they go check on the condition of Blade and the others. His big worry, a worry that ate at his soul like acid, was that the three stricken Warriors would die before Rikki-Tikki-Tavi returned with the serum that might save them. He looked up, thinking maybe Crom had come back for some reason. But no.

The young man framed in the doorway was as thin as a broom, his black hair slicked back, his features resembling the predatory aspect of a bird of prey. His clothes consisted of a tweed overcoat with a tweed cape, tweed pants, a white shirt, and a tweed deerstalker hat. He carried a hardwood cane with a curved metal handle. Wagging it jauntily, he said, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Come in, Sherlock,” Geronimo said, at a loss as to what their visitor might want.

The young man smiled and came over but didn’t take a seat. His eyes roved around the office, stopping here and there, and finally focused on Rikki. “A pleasure to see you again, sir. It’s been, what, two months and eleven days since my last lesson.”

“Lesson?” Geronimo said.

“About a year ago he came to me and asked for lessons in the martial arts,” Rikki said.

“Him?” Geronimo said. From what he had heard, their visitor was more interested in science than combat.

Sherlock gave his cane a twirl. “My namesake was proficient in baritsu. And although there is evidence to suggest his creator confused it with bartitsu, I deemed it fitting to become proficient myself.”

Unsure where this was leading, Geronimo said, “Everyone should know how to defend themselves.”

“It’s more than that, I assure you,” Sherlock said. “If I’m to ply my craft outside our walls, I must be at peak performance.”

“Your craft?” Geronimo said, and realized he kept  repeating what Sherlock said.

“As you are no doubt aware, the Family being as small as it is, and given the human propensity for spreading gossip, I chose my name because of my fondness for the greatest detective in all of human literature. Before the Big Blast, he was known around the world. Think of that! The entire world! His characterization resonated with me like no other. Hence, I dress like him. Hence, I’ve studied the same subjects he studied. Hence, I’ve mastered the same skills he mastered.”

“Hence?” Geronimo said, and wanted to kick himself.

“And now I’m ready,” Sherlock said.

“For what, exactly?” Rikki asked.

Sherlock grinned. “Why, to go to the Valley of Shadow, of course. It’s why I’m here.”

Geronimo’s mouth dropped open in sheer surprise. He quickly recovered and said, “You can’t be serious.”

“Never more so,” Sherlock said. “Of what use am I, of what use are my various skills, here at the Home? It’s not like the British Isles of long ago, where there were countless crimes to solve. There’s no crime at the Home. No worthy tasks to which I can devote my intellect.” Sherlock sighed. “Let’s face it. Except when we’re under attack or some other crisis arises, most of our days are frustratingly mundane. In short, nothing much happens.”

“We like it that way,” Geronimo said.

“Yes, of course, for the common welfare,” Sherlock said. “But you wouldn’t be a Warrior if peace was all you cared about.”

“Now hold on....,” Geronimo began.

“No offense,” Sherlock said. “But it occurred to me a while ago that if I want to break free of the drudgery, and if I’d like to use my skills for the betterment of the Family, I should give serious consideration to becoming one of you.”

“You mean....?”

Sherlock nodded vigorously. “I certainly do. I want to become a Warrior.”

Geronimo sat back and looked at Rikki.”

“Your skepticism is transparent,” Sherlock said. “I realize I’m not a trainee. And I realize I’m older than most apprentices. I’m twenty-two, in case you didn’t know. Which should be a plus in my favor, in that I’m more mature.”

“Sherlock...,” Rikki said.

“Please. Let me finish.” Sherlock stared in appeal at each of them. “I would make a great Warrior. I’m keenly intelligent....”

“Humble, too,” Geronimo said.

Unfazed, Sherlock went on. “I know how to fight. I’m a fair shot. And I possess observational skills that far surpass anyone else in the Family. In addition, I’m a first-rate chemist versed in forensic and related sciences.”

“Sherlock....” Rikki said again.

The younger man didn’t seem to hear him. “But how to prove my worth to you and the rest of the older Warriors? The answer is simple. Let me go with you to the Valley of Shadow. Let me pass muster. When I have, one of you can sponsor me to become a Warrior on our return.” He twirled his cane and rested it across his shoulder. “What do you say, gentlemen?”

“I think you’re nuts,” Geronimo said.

“That’s a little harsh,” Rikki said.

“You heard him!” Geronimo said. “He thinks he can waltz in and be assigned to the run without having to go through the training the rest of the apprentices did. As if he’s special. As if his intellect means he can take shortcuts no one else can.” Geronimo was insulted by the very idea. He stared hard at Sherlock. “It’s not that easy.”

“I never suggested it would be,” Sherlock said quietly. “Quite the contrary. The Valley of Shadow, based on all I’ve heard, is one of the most perilous places on earth. It would serve as a supreme test of my worthiness.”

“Forget it,” Geronimo said.

“I beg you to reconsider,” Sherlock said. “You need someone with some degree of scientific expertise, which neither either of you nor the trainees possess.”

“No means no.”

Sherlock appealed to Rikki. “And you, sir? You’ve seen how competent I am. Would you refuse me, too? When in your heart you know I’m right.”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said. “Geronimo is head Warrior. It’s his decision.”

Frowning, Sherlock tapped his shoulder with his cane. “This has turned out as I had surmised it might. Pity.”

“You tried,” Geronimo said.

“I’m not done trying,” Sherlock said. “Since a personal appeal didn’t work, I must resort to the influence of others.”

“To what?” Geronimo said.

Sherlock turned and called out, “Tesla! If you please!”

To Geronimo’s consternation, the Family’s chief Scientist entered and placed himself beside the young man in tweeds. Tesla nodded at Rikki and then said to Geronimo, “Sherlock first broached his idea to me. He also predicted you would refuse. I offered to come talk to you on his behalf but he preferred to try first himself. He did agree to keep me in reserve, just in case. And here I am.”

“This is Warrior business,” Geronimo said more gruffly than he intended. “You have no say.” Only the Family’s Leader could override the head Warrior.

“I should hope my expertise would count for something,” Tesla said.

“How so?”

“Bear with me,” Tesla said. “You’ve been to the Valley of Shadow. To the Tower or Needle, as we’re calling it now. It’s a repository of scientific marvels. The time machine we helped ourselves to, or whatever the device might be, is but one example. There’s A.l.v.i.s., for another. And who knows how many more Thanatos dreamed up.”

“So?” Geronimo said.

“My point is that Sherlock, here, is endowed with more scientific acumen than most in the Family.  That being the case, he would be of great benefit on the run. Additionally, he can fight. Taking all that into account, I’m asking as a personal favor—-and to increase the likelihood of success—-that you let Rikki take him along.”

Geronimo shook his head. He refused to bend the rules. Blade seldom did, and Blade was one of the best Warriors in the entire history of the Family.

“Maybe we should reconsider,” Rikki said.

“Give me one good reason,” Geronimo countered.

“Tesla already has,” Rikki said. “The scientific aspect. I’m the first to admit that during my schooling years, I had zero interest in science. We could use someone who knows a little about the stuff.”

“A.l.v.i.s has told us where to find the journals,” Geronimo reminded him. “He’s even drawn a map so you can get in and out, quick. There’s not much science involved.”

“You still refuse to let me go along?” Sherlock said.

“I do,” Geronimo said.

“I was afraid you might. You have long evinced an obstinate streak.”

“A what?”

“Which is why I took a step that might displease you but which I deemed crucial.” Sherlock urned and said loudly, “You can come in now, sir.”

The Family’s Leader strolled through the door, his long grey beard down to his waist, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a robe with a high collar and a wide belt. “Everyone,” he said to the four of them.

Geronimo stood. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said angrily to Sherlock. “You brought Socrates into this?”

“Now, now,” Socrates said. “All he did was present his case for going along. I listened with an open mind. And I agree with Tesla that taking Sherlock is the wise thing to do.”

Geronimo was close to boiling over. To him it was underhanded to go to the chief Scientist and their Leader behind his back. “And if I still say no?”

“May I remind you,” Socrates said, “that except when the Home is under attack, the Warriors are subject to my wishes the same as the rest of the Family?”

“Only if you make it a direct order,” Geronimo said.

“See?” Sherlock said to no one in particular. “Obstinate.”

“I do make it an order,” Socrates said. “This young man is to accompany the other trainees to the Valley of Shadow, and that’s final. Rikki, you will see that he does. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Rikki said.

“And you, Geronimo?” Socrates said. “Will you do as you’re told? Yea or nay?”

“You’re the boss,” Geronimo said. But deep down he wanted to hit someone. Specifically, someone holding a cane.

CHAPTER TEN

Except for the three Warriors on wall duty and the Healers who were in attendance on Blade, Hickok and Yama, the whole Family turned out to see the SEAL off.

The Solar Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle was the brainchild of Kurt Carpenter, the Family’s Founder. He spent a fortune on the prototype, which was constructed and brought to the Home shortly before the world went to Hades in an orgy of nuclear, chemical and biological destruction. To disguise its true purpose, in the records it was described as a ‘recreational’ vehicle. That was Carpenter’s little joke. The SEAL was anything but.

Outwardly, nothing revealed its true purpose. It looked like an ordinary, if oversized, van. The outer shell was composed of the most advanced polymer available at the time. Tinted, it enabled those inside to see out in all directions. Solar panels on the roof were its main source of power.  Its huge tires were puncture-proof. A spacious interior allowed for bucket seats at the front, a long seat in the middle, and a large storage area at the rear.

On the dashboard were four toggles that activated military-grade hardware acquired on the black market at great cost. Each was labelled with a single letter. ‘M’ stood for a pair of .50-caliber machine guns hidden in recessed compartments under the headlights. ‘S’ designated a surface-to-air missile that Carpenter picked up from contacts in Russia. The third toggle was marked ‘F’ for a flame thrower mounted behind the front bumper. And finally, an ‘R’ triggered a rocket launcher rigged to fire through a tube in the grill.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was versed enough in the SEAL’s operation and mechanics that he was confident he could traverse any terrain they encountered. At the moment he was standing under an elm tree with others, watching Eleanor, Kanto and Crom load the last of their supplies and ammunition into the storage area.

“You’re almost set,” Socrates stated the obvious.

Rikki had loaded his own gear earlier. He was wearing his usual black uniform. His katana, as always, was at his waist. “I’ll keep in contact for as long as I can.”

“Those radios we got from the Civilized Zone are coming in handy,” Geronimo mentioned. “Too bad we lost contact.”

Blade’s and Hickok’s wives were wending through the onlookers. The two women had been inseparable since their husbands were stricken.

“Jenny. Sherry,” Rikki greeted them.

Jenny gave Rikki a hug, saying in his ear, “Take care out there, you hear? Stay safe and bring back what I need to save my man.”

“I’ll do my best,” Rikki promised.

Sherry clasped his arm. “The same goes for me. That goof of mine dies, I won’t take it well.”

Tesla chose that moment to join them. “You have the map A.l.v.i.s provided? And you’ll remember his description of the journals and where to find them?”

“I do and I will,” Rikki assured him.

“Who knows what you’ll run into?” Tesla said. “Not even A.l.v.i.s was privy to all the Tower’s secrets.” He paused. “Oh. Sorry. The Needle.”  He looked around. “Where is our synthezoid friend, anyway? I wanted him to be here to offer any last minute advice or instructions he might have.”

“Speaking of being here,” Geronimo said. “Where’s Sherlock?”

Rikki was wondering the same thing. He’d told the apprentices to be at the SEAL half an hour before departure time, which was set for eight a.m.. “Maybe he changed his mind.”

“We should be so lucky,” Geronimo said.

“Now, now,” Socrates said. “Your antipathy is unfounded. In his way, he’s a brilliant young man. I expect that he will prove essential to your mission.”

Rikki hoped so. During the time he had trained Sherlock in hand-to-hand combat and the use of the cane Sherlock preferred, he had seen nothing to indicate the younger man was all that extraordinary. Competent, yes, but Sherlock wasn’t as skilled as, say, Eleanor with her sword or Kanto with his stilettos or Crom with his war axe and rifle. Sherlock did seem to notice more things than most, but of what use that would be remained to be seen.

“Speak of the devil,” Geronimo said.

Sherlock was bustling toward them wearing a large backpack and holding a smaller pack in his left hand. In his right was his cane. Slung over his shoulder, to Rikki’s surprise, was an SMG with a folding stock.

“Sherlock! Good to see you,” Socrates said.

Tesla said. “We’re counting on you on this trip.”

Paying no attention to them, Sherlock addressed Rikki. “Sorry I’m late. It occurred to me that we would be remiss in not taking certain equipment so I paid a visit to the lab.” He gave the large backpack a tap with his cane. “I have a geiger counter, a chemistry kit, a microscope, a portable blood analyzer and the best air tester I could find.”

“What in the world for?” Geronimo said.

“I should think it would be obvious,” Sherlock said. “The Big Blast was over a hundred years ago but there are still hot spots we must watch out for. Hence, the geiger counter. Chemical and biowarfare toxins are rife in the ecological chain. Hence, the chemistry kit and the microscope. Airborne particulates are also a hazard. Thus, the air tester. The blood analyzer should be apparent. How else are we to ensure we remain in good health?”

Rikki admired his initiative, and decided not to mention that he had already stored a geiger counter and an air tester in the SEAL. Besides, he was more interested in the SMG. “And that?” he said, pointing.

“A BXP,” Sherlock said. “The only one in the Armory. Manufactured in a country called South Africa. 9mm. Magazine capacity is 32 rounds. Rate of fire, a thousand rounds a minute. No fire selector. The trigger controls the rate.”

“You almost sound as if you know what you’re talking about,” Geronimo said.

“I should,” Sherlock said, unfazed. “Hickok taught me how to use it.”

“The hell you say,” Geronimo said.

“When I need instruction, I go to the best,” Sherlock said. “It’s why I asked Rikki to teach me unarmed combat. Hickok, bar none, is the best shooter. So I went to him for firearm instruction.”

“He never told me that he trained you,” Geronimo said.

“I asked him not to say anything. In return I gave him some pointers.”

Geronimo couldn’t hide his disbelief. “You taught Hickok something?”

“How to read involuntary muscle movement and to gauge another’s intent by their saccadic rhythms.”

“Their what?”

“Eye movements.”

“What interest would Hickok have in any of that?” Geronimo said skeptically.

“As he put it, so he could tell what other hombres are up to that much sooner and plug them that much quicker.”

“Sounds like my man,” Sherry said proudly.

“Load up,” Rikki said to Sherlock to forestall more quizzing by Geronimo. Motioning at the latter, he said, “Will the rest of you excuse us? We have a few things to discuss.”

Geronimo waited until they were out of earshot to say, “We do?”

“What’s with you?” Rikki got right to it. “Why are you being so hard on Sherlock?”

“Do you mean besides the fact he went over our heads and behind our backs to force us to do something we wouldn’t have done just so he can prove he’s Warrior material?”

“So he bent the rules a little.”

“No. He broke them. You need to open your eyes. He’s a loose cannon, the last thing you need on this run, what with three kittens to look after.”

“Kitten with claws,” Rikki said.

“They’ll follow your orders, as they’ve been trained. But Sherlock hasn’t had Warrior training, has he?”

“If he wants to be one of us so much, he’ll do as I tell him,” Rikki predicted. “There’s more going on here than you’re letting on. You’re not usually this down on someone without cause.”

Geronimo looked toward the SEAL and the three young apprentices, and Sherlock. “I don’t like adding an outsider to the mix.”

Rikki placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What will be, will be. All the worry in the world can’t change that. The important thing, the only thing that matters, is that come what may, we make it there and back with what we need to save the others.”

“Hickok,” Geronimo said softly, and bowed his head.

“It is only natural you’re worried about him. Since the two of you were little, he’s always been there for you and you’ve always been there for him. Blade, too, but your bond with Hickok runs deeper, I think. Your bond with him is of the soul.”

Geronimo chuckled. “Don’t ever tell him that. He’d think you were—-what’s that word he uses? Loco.”

They made for the SEAL. Crom, Eleanor and Kanto were hugging their parents and siblings and saying their goodbyes.

Rikki noticed Sherlock by himself by the rear fender, and went over. “No one to send you off?”

“Have you forgotten?” Sherlock said. “My parents were killed by a mutate when I was eight.”

“Friends, then?” Rikki said.

Sherlock shifted his weight from one leg to the next. “I find it hard to make them. Something about me, about my nature, is off-putting.”

“You’ll make friends on this run,” Rikki said, with a nod at the three trainees.

“How can you be so sure? They might not like me.”

“Battle brings out the brotherhood in men and women.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Sherlock said. “I should think we’d be mostly concerned with staying alive.”

“That too,” Rikki said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Kanto would never admit it to anyone but secretly he was elated that this opportunity had arisen. Not that he wished the stricken Warriors to die or anything, but thanks to their illness, he was finally doing what he had longed to do since he threw his first knife. He was going out in the real world and might get to kill. Not wild beasts. Not poisonous snakes or scorpions or mutates. But possibly real, live, enemies.

Kanto couldn’t wait to find out if he had it in him to fulfill his life’s longing. He often wished he had been born back in the sixteenth century. What a great time to be an assassin! He would have excelled, he was sure. Been the best there was at what he loved to do.

Seated in the front passenger seat of the SEAL, he gazed out over the plain ahead and caught sight of his reflection in the side mirror. Kanto grinned. He liked looking at himself in mirrors. His curly hair, his impeccable fashion sense, he was the perfect picture of an Italian gentleman from the era he loved.

Kanto glanced down at himself. No one would guess that under his billowy sleeves, strapped to each forearm, were sheaths. On his left forearm were throwing knives. On his right, stilettos. He also had knives on his belt and strapped securely above each ankle. He was passionate about knives. Were it up to him, they were the only weapon he’d use. But he was the first to admit that a knife against a gun was often impractical, which was why he carried a Bernardelli P-018—-Italian made, what else?–on his right hip, and a Beretta AR 70—-also of Italian manufacture before the war—-slung over his left shoulder.

Reaching up, he adjusted his round Italian cap, then looked down at his Italian-style boots.

“Something the matter?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi asked.

“Not a thing, sir,” Kanto replied. “I couldn’t be happier.”

“You keep looking at your clothes.” Rikki smiled. “Or should I say costume?”

Kanto grinned. “I confess to being a tad flamboyant. I like to think I honor my heritage.”

From the middle seat, directly behind him, came a bleat of mirth. “Dude, you look like you should be in one of those dress-up plays the teachers made us do when we were kids,” Crom said. “Why can’t you dress normal like the rest of us?”

“Says the guy who runs around half-naked half the time,” Kanto reminded him.

“Shorts aren’t naked,” Crom said.

“To each their own, I say,” Eleanor spoke up. She was in the center, her longsword unslung, the point resting on the floor, her hands on the hilt above the crossguard. “The Good Lord made each of us different. We should be true to who we are.”

Crom stared at her. “You’re the religious wench, aren’t you?”

“I’m a swordwoman, not a ‘wench’,” Eleanor said. “I’ll thank you to remember that.”

“A touchy wench, too,”  Crom said.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eleanor said.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi cleared his throat. “Enough bickering. This run is a test of how mature you can be, not how childish.”

“Give me some heads to bash with my war axe and I’ll show you mature, Warrior style,” Crom said.

Kanto started to shake his head in amusement but caught himself. To his way of thinking, Crom was the most  childish of them all. Swaggering around the way he did, always flexing his muscles and acting as if he were God’s gift to Creation.

“Nothing to say, Sherlock?” Rikki said.

The fourth member of their would-be Warrior quartet had been staring out his side of the SEAL, his deerstalker cap pulled low. “Only that we are being followed.”

*     *     *

Eleanor did the same as everyone else. She stiffened and glanced over her shoulder out the rear but saw only the flat plain with its sparse vegetation and occasional boulders. “I don’t see anything.”

“Me either,” Crom said, “and I’ve got eyes like a hawk.”

“I’m partial to glass, myself,” Sherlock said.

“Eh?” Eleanor said. She could tell that Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was studying Sherlock in the rearview mirror.

“I don’t see anything, either,” the older Warrior said.

“There are two of them,” Sherlock said. “They’re hiding behind the large boulder approximately a hundred yards behind us, on this side of the SEAL. They broke out of the trees about half a minute after we did. I expect if you slow down, sir, and keep a close watch, one or the other will give itself away.”

Eleanor shifted in the seat and watched intently as the SEAL lost speed. The boulder in question resembled a spear-point in shape and was wide at the base. Suddenly a furry, cat-like head poked out, stared at them, and pulled back. “What was that? A mountain lion?”

“A mutation derived from Puma concolor stock, I should imagine,” Sherlock said. “When you see the whole creature, you’ll agree.”

Eleanor thought of something. “Hold on. How did you know they were back there? I didn’t see you ever look behind us.”

“Mirrors, fair lady,” Sherlock said.

“Explain,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said.

“Certainly, sir,” Sherlock said, and removed his deerstalker. Holding it so they all could see, he pointed at several small reflective squares attached under the cap’s rim. “These are mirrors, strategically placed so I can see anything that comes at me from any direction. With a lot of practice they have proven quite effective.”

Crom gave out a belly laugh. “Aren’t you the tricky dude.”

“Remarkable,” Kanto said.

Eleanor would never have dreamed up such a thing. “You’re quite clever, Sherlock,” she complimented him. To her amusement, his cheeks colored ever-so-slightly.

“It’s nothing, really,” Sherlock said.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi spoke up. “You saw them and didn’t tell us?”

“I was waiting to see if they kept following,” Sherlock said. “They pose no threat, what with us in the SEAL.”

“From here on out,” Rikki said, “each and every one of you will inform me right way of anything out of the ordinary. I don’t care what it is or whether you think it’s a threat or not. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Kanto said.

“You got it,” from Crom.

“As you wish,” Eleanor said.

“If I did wrong, I apologize,” Sherlock said.

“Mistakes are how we learn,” Rikki said, increasing speed again. “And yes, we’re safe enough in the SEAL. But we’ve only come about a mile from the Home. What if those things decide to stick around? They might attack a foraging party.”

Sherlock, plainly crestfallen, said, “I didn’t consider that.”

“No harm done,” Rikki said, “because we’re going to take care of the things ourselves.”

*     *     *

Crom was eager to show the others what he could do. Leaning forward, he said to Rikki, “Let me out and I’ll deal with them. The rest of you can sit in here where it’s safe.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Kanto said.

“Me either,” Eleanor said.

“Never said you do,” Crom responded. “But I’m the best shot with a rifle. Stop, and I’ll put those cats down and we’ll be on our way.”

“With that .50-caliber of yours, yes, you could drop them at a distance,” Rikki said. “But the others will get out and support you. You’re to work as a team, remember? As you would if you were part of a Triad.”

“Sure,” Crom said while thinking that the day he needed backup would be the days cows learned to fly.

“Here we go, then,” Rikki said, and applied the brakes.

The SEAL had barely stopped when Crom was out the door and ran around to the rear. Throwing himself flat, he unfolded the bipod on his .50-caliber and stretched out with the stock pressed to his shoulder. He loved his rifle. According to the Family’s records, it was made by a company called Harris way back in the 1990’s, and was in perfect condition. The magazine held five rounds. He worked the bolt to feed a cartridge into the chamber and was about to put his eye to the scope when he noticed three long shadows.

Kanto, Eleanor and Sherlock were ringed behind him, Kanto with his autorifle leveled, Eleanor with her longsword in the ready position, and Sherlock leaning on his cane.

“Watch and see how it’s done, people,” Crom said. He focused his scope on the boulder Sherlock had mentioned just as two creatures came bounding around it and streaked toward them.

“Man, they’re fast,” Kanto said.

The pair were flowing side-by-side over the ground. Crom chose the one on the left and tweaked the amplification on his scope. It was if he were right in the creature’s face. The head resembled a mountain lion’s but one eye was higher than the other and it had a short snout instead of nostrils. Its body was at least ten feet from nose to tail tip, and was covered with sores and pus-oozing pustules.

“You might want to cover yours ears,” Crom said. Centering the crosshairs, he took a deep breath and held it. He lightly curled his finger to the trigger and was on the verge of squeezing when the mutates unexpectedly separated, one weaving left, the other right, almost as if they knew what he was about to do.

“Better hurry,” Eleanor said.

The things had already covered half the distance. At the speed they were moving, the creatures would reach them incredibly quick.

“Yes, you really should,” Sherlock said, pointing with his cane. “Because here come two more.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi had stayed in the SEAL to assess how well the four worked together. Combat skills were essential to being a competent Warrior but so was being able to get along with others, with your brothers and sisters in arms. Meshing well, performing as a unit, was just as essential. He stayed in the SEAL to give the four free reign. It was a risk, he knew, and he was ready to intervene should it prove necessary.

When the creatures behind the boulder burst into view, Rikki marveled at their speed. If the trainees didn’t take swift action, the mutates would be on them in no time.

Still, Rikki stayed put. The four trainees should be able to hold their own against two mutates. No sooner did that thought cross his mind than movement in the woods to the north alerted him to two more of the creatures. Bounding into the open, the beasts sped toward the SEAL. His window was down, and he was about about to call out and warn the recruits when Sherlock spotted the new threat.

Crom hadn’t taken his eye from the big .50’s scope. “Cover me!” he shouted, and fired.

The boom of his rifle was like a cannon.

The head of one of the onrushing mutates exploded. Momentum sent the thing into an ungainly tumble and sprawl. Its mate didn’t slow, didn’t even look over. It just kept coming, its fangs bared.

Kanto and Eleanor moved to put themselves between the new pair and Crom.

Strangely, Sherlock stayed where he was.

Crom was trying to fix a bead, moving his rifle to track the second creature’s movements.

The new pair were halfway to the SEAL. Kanto leveled his AR70 and cut loose but his rounds fell short, kicking up dirt in front of them.

Eleanor, instead of resorting to her machine pistol, suddenly ran toward the creatures. Planting herself, she raised her sword on high and uttered a piercing cry.

“You’re in my way!” Kanto shouted. “I need a clear shot!”

Sherlock still hadn’t moved.

Rikki put his hand on the latch, intending to leap out and help. He saw Crom still trying to center his sights on the other creature but the thing was moving much too fast. Crom must have realized the futility of it and jumped up, unlimbering his war axe as he rose. He uttered a loud shout of his own and tensed his arms to swing just as the mutate sprang.

At the same instant, Sherlock finally sprang into action. With a flick of his wrist, he yanked on the handle of his cane, whipping it up and out, revealing that it was actually a sword cane. He let the shaft drop even as he shifted his grip on the sword and threw the blade as if it were a spear. Flashing past Crom, the sword caught the leaping mutate in the chest, piercing deep. The next moment, Crom’s war axe crashed down on the thing’s skull.

The other two creatures were almost on Eleanor. Kanta had jerked his AR70 to his shoulder but still didn’t have a shot.

Sherlock spun, his hand darting under his tweed overcoat. Taking several quick steps to one side, he threw what appeared to be a small glass ball at the onrushing mutates. Or, rather, at the ground in front of them. There was a flash of light and a muted crump sound, and smoke spewed, filling the air.

The creatures ignored it and plunged on through, only to lurch up short and begin to hack and wheeze.

“Now, Eleanor!” Sherlock shouted.

She didn’t need the urging. Her longsword arced once, arced twice, and with each swing a severed head thudded to the earth. Green blood sprayed, spattering every which way.

Eleanor stood over their twitching bodies, looked at her longsword, and smiled.

Rikki climbed out of the SEAL.

“We did it!” Crom exclaimed. “Four of the suckers, and we kicked their butts!”

“Wrathbringer cut right through them,” Eleanor said proudly. “Did you see?”

Rikki slammed the door and put his hands on his hips. “I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw mistakes. Crom, you should have gone down on a knee instead of lying flat. You can’t move as quick when you’re on the ground. Kanto, you fired from the hip when you opened up instead of taking aim. No wonder you missed.”

“Sorry, sir,” Kanto said. “It won’t happen again.”

“I can steady my rifle better when I’m prone,” Crom said. “Isn’t that more important?”

Rikki pointed at the creature lying near Crom’s feet. “Fat lot of good it did you.”

“What about me, sir?” Eleanor said.

“Is your pistol broken?” Rikki said. “Why did you let the other two get so close when you could have brought them down sooner?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I’ll tell you why. You wanted to use Wrathbringer. You’re so fond of that sword, you put yourself at heightened risk.” He sternly finished with, “A Warrior can prefer one weapon over another. That’s natural. We all have our favorites. But in combat, in a fight to the death, you use the weapon that will get the job done best, not your favorite all the time.”

Eleanor averted her gaze. “You’re exactly right. I apologize, and humbly beg your forgiveness.”

Sherlock hadn’t said a word. He stood patiently waiting, his hands folded.

“As for you,” Rikki said, “you did everything exactly right.”

“What?” Crom said.

“Sherlock held himself in reserve, ready to back the rest of you up,” Rikki said. “He threw his sword at just the right moment, then bought Eleanor the seconds she needed with.....” He paused. “What was that thing you used? A smoke bomb of some kind?”

“A gas bomb,” Sherlock said, “of my own making. I’ve studied every text our library has on chemical warfare and was able to concoct a solution that makes it hard to breathe. I reasoned it would slow them enough that Eleanor could dispatch them.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor said.

“Well done,” Rikki said, and clapped Sherlock’s shoulder. “Now collect your sword cane and we’ll be on our way.”

“Right away, sir.”

Crom was wiping his war axe on the body of the dead mutate. “I can’t believe you think he did better than us.”

“Is that pride talking?” Rikki said.

“I went into action first,” Crom said. “Maybe I didn’t do what you would have done but I dropped one of them and would have stopped the other without any help from Mr. Perfect.”

Rikki was disappointed. Expert shot or no, expert woodsman or no, Crom displayed an unfortunate lack of maturity. Unless he showed improvement in that regard—-unless he grew up fast—-his dream of becoming a Warrior was in jeopardy.

Rikki turned to climb back in but stopped when Sherlock said his name.

“You might want to look at this. It’s most unexpected.”

Sherlock had squatted and was bent low over the neck of the mutate with the crushed skull. Running his fingers into the loose hair, he said more to himself than to them, “How marvelously intriguing.”

Rikki went over. “What is?”

“Would you believe,” Sherlock said, moving the creature’s hair to show what he had found, “that these nightmares are wearing collars?”

“Impossible,” Rikki said, and squatted beside him. Mutates were savagery incarnate. Their sole purpose in life was to kill, kill, kill. But a thin wire encircled the severed stump. Attached under the neck was a triangular tag made of hard plastic or a similar substance.

Incredulous, Rikki plucked at the wire. He tapped the tag and mused aloud, “I wonder what this does?”

“My surmise is it’s either a tracking mechanism or a controlling device,” Sherlock said.

“No one can control mutates,” Crom said. “I’ve run into more than my share on my hunts. They’re the most fierce things out there.”

“Obviously someone controlled this one long enough to put the collar on it.” Sherlock said. Rising, he went to the nearest of the pair Eleanor had beheaded, and probed with his fingertips. “Another wire,” he said, exposing it. “Another tag.”

Rikki shook his head in bewilderment. “Who would do such a thing?” he marveled. “Who could do such a thing?”

“Whoever it is,” Sherlock said, “possesses considerable technological expertise.”

“Just our luck we came across them,” Kanto said.

“Or was it?” Crom said. “How do we know whoever was controlling those things didn’t sic them on us?”

Rikki gave a mild start. The idea hadn’t occurred to him. Maybe, just maybe, whoever controlled the creatures had been spying on the Home, seen the SEAL depart, and sent the pack after it. “Good thinking, Crom.”

“Nice to know I can do something right,” Crom said.

Sherlock was examining the last of the mutates. “Yet another collar,” he said. “I agree with you, Crom. Your assessment is more than plausible. We all saw how fast these things were. Were I to hazard a surmise, I would say they are a genetic mix between a mountain lion and an African cheetah. Which is absurd, I realize. But not if they were genetically engineered. And certainly no more bizarre than the collars they’re wearing. Yes, Crom, a most perceptive insight.”

“Well, thanks, dude,” Crom said.

Rikki saw that Crom was greatly pleased. Secretly, he wondered if Sherlock had done it on purpose.

“We’re off to a strange start,” Eleanor said.

Sherlock slid a hand into an inner pocket of his tweed coat and produced needle-nose pliers. “I would like to take one of these collars with us so I can examine it in the laboratory when we return. Is that all right, sir?”

“Go for it,” Rikki said. He appreciated being asked. The more he saw of Sherlock, the higher his estimation rose.

Presently, they were underway.

Rikki studied them as he drove. Kanto seemed to be brooding. Crom had taken a cloth from a hip pouch and was wiping down his .50-cal. Eleanor was using a whetstone on her longsword. Sherlock, after reaching into another inner pocket, was examining the collar with a magnifying glass.

Rikki was pleased their first clash had gone so well. Their mistakes aside, they had slain the mutates. He’d been hard on them for their own good, and would continue to ride roughshod to keep them on their toes.

Soon the plain came to an end. Dense forest spread ahead, a mix of evergreens and deciduous trees, not all of which were in existence before the Big Blast. Radiation and other toxins had transformed the plant world as well as the animal kingdom.

Rikki had been through these woods before. The Warriors used this route whenever they traveled south in the SEAL. A residue of broken limbs and crushed plants showed where the vehicle had plowed its previous course. On the lookout for obstacles like fallen trees and for wild beasts and other mutations, Rikki came to a clearing he remembered. Glancing right and left, he started across.

“Look out!” Eleanor yelled.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi tromped on the brakes. He half-expected another mutate or some other abomination. Instead, a familiar gleaming form was hovering directly in their path.

“A.l.v.i.s?” Kanto blurted.

“We almost hit it,” Eleanor said.

“What’s that robot doing here?” Crom said.

“Technically, A.l.v.i.s is a synthezoid, not a robot, per se” Sherlock said.

“Technically,” Crom said, “Ask me if I care.”

“There is a considerable difference.”

“All that counts is that it’s not human.”

Rikki shifted the SEAL into Park.

A.l.v.i.s continued to hover, its red eyes glowing bright. Lower down on its bullet-shaped housing, its tiny lights blinked.

“Stay put,” Rikki said. Opening his door, he slid out. Instinctively, his hand went to the hilt of his katana. Like Crom, he was never entirely at ease around artificial lifeforms. In the many weeks A.l.v.i.s had been at the Home, he’d only talked to it on a few occasions. “A.l.v.i.s?” he said as he came  around the front of the SEAL.

“Affirmative, sir,” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “Forgive my abrupt appearance. It was imperative I reach you before you had gone too far.”

“How did you get here?” Rikki said.

“My usual means of propulsion,” A.l.v.i.s responded.

“No,” Rikki said, remembering that when addressing the thing, he needed to be precise. It tended to take words literally. “I mean, what are you doing here? Does Socrates have a last-minute message for us?”

“A message and more,” A.l.v.i.s. said. “I have been sent to accompany you to the Valley of Shadow.”

“What?”

“I am to escort you and serve as your guide.”

“Hold on,” Rikki said. “No one said anything to me about bringing you along. Why didn’t you leave the Home when we did?”

A.l.v.i.s floated closer, its lights blinking faster. “It was a last minute decision, sir. Made by Socrates and Tesla shortly after you departed. I mentioned to them that it was a shame I was not going along since I know the Needle from top to bottom and could be of great use in assisting you in locating the crucial journals. Socrates and Tesla talked it over and Tesla said that although he originally wanted me to stay at the Home to help with trying to keep your friends alive, on second thought he believed I would be of more use aiding you on your run. Socrates considered and said that, yes, he agreed, it was an oversight on their part not to have sent me. Socrates asked if I would be able to overtake you and I assured him I could.” A.l.v.i.s made a whirring sound. “And here I am, at your service.”

“They should have thought of it sooner,” Rikki said.

“If you require confirmation, contact them by radio,” A.l.v.i.s said.

“It’s not that.” Rikki had been told that the synthezoid was incapable of telling a falsehood. Or so Tesla claimed. And he had to admit that the thing’s help could prove invaluable. “Glad to have you with us,” he said. “But just so we’re clear. I’m in charge.”

“I am under your complete command,,” A.l.v.i.s said. “You have only to express a wish and I shall strive my utmost to fulfill it.”

“Good,” Rikki said. “Then let’s get under way.” He glanced at the SEAL. “Would you prefer to ride inside with us?”

“I can be of better use out here,” A.l.v.i.s said. “With my sensors at optimum range, I can warn you of potential dangers. And with my internal G.P.S., I can chose the most direct route.”

“Lead the way, then.” Rikki climbed back in.

The trainees stayed silent for all of half a minute. Then Crom placed his big hands on the top of the passenger-side bucket seat and leaned forward. “What’s going on? Why did that bucket of bolts show up?”

Rikki explained, ending with, “Having it along should save us a lot of time when we reach the Tower. Or Needle, rather. A.l.v.i.s can lead us straight to the journals. Plus it will know where the booby-traps are.”

“Booby-traps, sir?” Eleanor said.

“Thanatos rigged a lot of nasty surprises for anyone who invaded his sanctuary,” Rikki enlightened her. “Blade, Hickok and Geronimo ran into a few the last time they paid the Needle a visit.”

“Wonderful,” Kanto said.

As usual, Sherlock was the last to speak up. “Shouldn’t we contact the Home and let Socrates know we’ve linked up with A.l.v.i.s?”

“Good idea,” Rikki said. Their Leader and the others would be relieved to hear it. He switched on the radio and took the mic from its clamp on the dash. Pressing a large stud, he said, “SEAL to Home. SEAL to Home. Do you copy?”

Static crackled loudly.

Rikki tried again. Interference wasn’t unusual. During the Big Blast there had been severe disruptions across the entire electromagnetic spectrum, and ever since, long range and often short range communications proved problematic.

More static spewed from the speakers, along with intermittent beeps and strange whistles.

“Sounds almost spooky,” Kanto said.

“Puts my teeth on edge,” Eleanor said.

“More mechanical crap,” Crom said. “We should have brought messenger pigeons.”

“Out last pigeons died a long time ago,” Eleanor said. “Everyone knows that.”

“It was a joke, wench,” Crom said.

“I’m a swordwoman, I’ll have you know,” Eleanor said, “and I’ll thank you to remember that and address me accordingly.”

“Sure thing,” Crom said.

Rikki tried to raise the Home again, but couldn’t. Replacing the mic, he looked in the rearview mirror and noticed a peculiar expression on the face of the least talkative trainee. “Something bothering you, Sherlock?”

“I’m computing probabilities, sir.”

“You’re what?” Crom said.

“I dislike indulging in assumptions. You have undoubtedly heard the common parlance regarding doing so.”

“The par-who?” Crom said.

“When you assume,” Kanto said, “you make an ass of you and me.”

“Exactly so,” Sherlock said. “A surmise is infinitely preferable. Yet there have been many instances where I don’t have sufficient data to form one. In which case I must determine the probability factors of the different scenarios and base my actions on those I deem highest.”

“God Almighty,” Crom said. “Do you ever talk like normal people?”

Eleanor placed her hand on Sherlock’s arm. “Pay him no mind. I’d love to hear more about how you....how did you put it....compute things?”

“There’s no set formula,” Sherlock said. “Often there are too many variables to be precise. Take the static we just experienced. You have to ask yourself if it was coincidence or happenstance and assess accordingly.”

Eleanor chuckled. “That’s way over my head. Give me an enemy to cleave with my sword and I’m happy.”

“I feel the same way about my axe,” Crom said. “Good to know we agree about something.”

Rikki was focused on A.l.v.i.s, who was ten yards ahead and about ten feet up in the air. Suddenly the synthezoid stopped and a metallic arm slid out of its bullet body and a metallic pincer motioned for the SEAL to do the same.

Rikki brought the vehicle to a halt and poked his head out. He heard nothing, saw nothing.

A.l.v.i.s stayed stationary, making beeps and chirps. Its metal arm retracted and another extension appeared, a circular bowl-shaped object that began slowly spinning.

“What do you suppose that is?” Kanto said.

“A listening device,” Sherlock said. “It resembles the parabolic microphones popular before the Big Blast although it’s smaller than any I’ve seen pictures of.”

“Is there anything you don’t know, bookworm?” Crom said.

A.l.v.i.s turned and floated to the SEAL. Reaching Rikki’s window, the synthezoid dipped lower so they were eye-to-red-eye. “I have detected life forms approximately one hundred and fifty meters to the south of our position.”

“There’s life all over out here,” Rikki said. Not just mutations and other horrors. A lot of species—-amazingly—-had survived the nuclear holocaust, if in greatly reduced numbers.

“I have brought it to your attention because based on their heat signatures, they appear to be bipedal.”

“They’re people?” Rikki said. “How many are we talking about?”

“My sensors count three. I wouldn’t rush to an assessment, however. Not if by ‘people’ you mean human. Based on my readings, I would venture that they decidedly are not. Not unless human beings now have multiple arms and heads.”

Rikki jerked up in his seat. “Multiple?”

“Their thermal silhouettes suggest at least one of them has several arms,” A.l.v.i.s reported, “and two heads.”

The image the synthezoid’s description conjured sent a tingle of apprehension down his Rikki’s spine. “How big are these things?”

“The largest is over four meters tall.”

“Giants!”

“The Lord help us,” Eleanor said.

“We have to get out of here,” Rikki said. “Right now.” He pressed on the accelerator and their speed rapidly climbed but not fast enough to suit him. Twenty-five miles an hour. Thirty. Then thirty-five. It was the best he could do given they were threading through woods. A recently fallen sapling barred their way and he went over it without pause, the SEAL’s huge tires more than equal to the obstacle although the van rocked and bounced, forcing the others to grab for support.

A.l.v.i.s kept pace alongside Rikki’s window. “Am I correct in stating that these creatures worry you?”

“They’re giants,” Rikki said. Which should be enough of an explanation. Giantism had run rampant after World War Three, thanks to the unpredictable mix of chemical, biological and radioactive toxins. There had been everything from giant insects to birds to mammals. Of late the Family had encountered fewer and fewer instances, much to their relief. Tesla was of the opinion that perhaps giantism had run its course. Apparently he was wrong. “We need to make ourselves scarce.”

“Too late for that,” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “I regret to report that they are already after you.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Eleanor liked to think that she was a warrior through and through. Since the age of twelve she had devoted herself to becoming the perfect swordwoman.

The first time her parents took her to the Family armory, she had been thrilled to her core. She vividly remembered gazing rapturously at a wall covered from top to bottom with swords of all kinds. Inside her, something stirred. It was as if she had fallen in love—-with a weapon.

From that day on, she was hooked. Her parents gave her a short sword, and she practiced every spare minute, even in her room at night when she was supposed to be asleep. By the age of fourteen she had experimented with every sword in the Amory and selected the longsword as her weapon of choice. Her parents and friends thought she was crazy, that a longsword was too big, that she could never wield it effectively.

She proved otherwise.

There was never any question of what she would be when she came of age. What else would she be—-but a Warrior? Her father was all for it but her mother had reservations.

Eleanor couldn’t blame her mom, given the perils. She told her mother not to worry, that she possessed complete confidence in her ability to prevail over anything that came along. What she couldn’t kill with her sword, she would turn into Swiss cheese with her machine pistol.

But now, gazing in stupefied wonder at the three enormous creatures chasing the SEAL, Eleanor doubted any of her weapons would do more than annoy them.

She had seen a giant bobcat once, years ago, deformed and nearly hairless. And a giant snake with two heads and two tails. But they were nothing compared to the monstrosities in pursuit.

It was well known that giantism nearly always resulted in abominations. These three were hideous in the extreme. The tallest was over twelve feet in height, the shortest about eight. The shortest was so thin as to be gaunt. The middle one was stocky but with gangly limbs. The biggest rippled with muscle, and had two heads and three arms. Only one of the heads housed a brain, though. The other was little more than a slack sack that flipped and flopped with every step the giant took.

Their faces were demented caricatures. Eyes where eyes shouldn’t be, noses that were twisted and bent, great maws with huge teeth. The largest giant’s tapered to points, and when he spread his mouth wide, he resembled nothing so much as a great hungry shark eager for the taste of human flesh.

“Can we outdistance them?” Kanto anxiously asked.

“I’m trying,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said.

The SEAL swept around a turn. Ahead was a log. Rikki swerved to avoid it, too late. The SEAL hit the log going over forty and the van tilted and canted, nearly throwing Eleanor from her seat.

Rikki regained control but the mishap had let the giants gain.

A.l.v.i.s, keeping pace. boomed loud enough to be heard over the SEAL, “I will seek to stop the creatures.”

“No!” Rikki shouted.

Disregarding him, the synthezoid slowed and moved to place itself between the SEAL and their pursuers.

“What does that dumb buckets of bolts think it’s doing?” Crom bellowed. “We need it to find the journals.”

Twisting, Eleanor saw an arc of electricity burst from A.l.v.i.s toward the giants. They didn’t even break stride. The largest swung a keg-sized hand, as someone might swat a fly, and A.l.v.i.s went flipping end over end through the air, and into the trees.

The SEAL raced around another bend. Ahead, a large clearing opened up.

Spinning the steering wheel, Rikki shouted,, “Hang on!”

Eleanor gripped her seat just in time. The van slewed wildly. She didn’t realize what Rikki was doing until they lurched to a stop with the front end facing back the way they had come.

“Get set for a fight!” Rikki said.

*     *     *

Kanto watched in rising horror as the giants came charging around the last bend. At sight of the SEAL, they gave voice to lusty roars and shrieks of maniacal delight.

In his many daydreams about becoming a Warrior, Kanto never imagined anything like this. Always, he was the consummate assassin, dispatching human enemies with ruthless precision. The key word being human.

It was his grandfather who first filled his head with exciting tales of ancient times, of stories about Italy when the country was a hotbed of intrigue and treachery. The heyday of the assassini, who slew efficiently and secretly and were seldom brought to justice.

Kanto remembered those tales as if it were yesterday. The dark nights, the furtive escapes, stilettos sheathed in chests or garrotes slipped around throats. That was his ideal of how to kill. He enjoyed the slaying, or at least the thought of slaying, since he hadn’t actually killed anyone yet. He understood there was more involved with being a Warrior than killing, but that was all right so long as he got to do what he imagined he loved most.

But now, as the three gigantic abominations bore down on the SEAL, Kanto began to question the wisdom of his decision. The assassini of long ago never faced anything like this. He was debating whether to stay put or leap out and open up with his AR 70 when someone beat him to it.

*     *     *

Crom saw the giants pound into view, and laughed. Here were foes worth proving his mettle. The mutates earlier had been ordinary. Anyone could kill a mutated cat. But giants! They were creatures of legend and myth and literary fiction made real. In one of his favorite stories about his childhood hero, the barbarian had pitted his might and skill against a pair of giants who assumed he would be easy prey. They were wrong.

As Rikki brought the van to a stop facing their pursuers, Crom threw his door open and sprang out. He heard Rikki shout his name but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the oversized ogres. Jerking the M87R to his shoulder, he sighted the .50-caliber on the middle giant, who was slightly ahead of the others. He jammed the stock tight, braced for the recoil, held his breath, and fired.

The big .50 thundered. At the blast, the top of the stocky giant’s grotesque head exploded in a volcano of brains, blood, bone and hair. Defying all logic, the creature was able to take several more strides before it’s body caught up with the fact it was missing most if its brain. Tottering, it pitched against the skinny giant and they both crashed down.

The largest was almost on top of the SEAL.

Crom heard a whirring sound and glanced over his shoulder to see the front headlights swiveling out and up.

“Move!” Rikki yelled.

Taking several long bounds, Crom dived flat.

The chug of the twin heavy-caliber machine guns mounted in the front of the SEAL drowned out the thump of giant footsteps. Swiveling, Crom yipped for glee at the outcome.

The largest giant was met head-on by a hailstorm. Round after round after round riddled its massive body, causing it to jerk and jiggle and thrash in a macabre dance. Blood streamed from gaping holes as it howled its fury to the heavens.

Crom laughed.

The giant began to sink to the ground, its pseudo head flopping, its razor maw bared in elemental defiance. As it sank, the rounds from the SEAL stitched a pattern of ravaged flesh from its navel to its throat. The thing was still howling when its functional head disintegrated in a spectacular spray of bits and parts.

Crom was so intent on the hilarious spectacle that he didn’t see the third giant hurtling toward him until it loomed against the glare of the sun, and reached down. He clawed for his .44 Magnum but fingers like iron closed on his wrist.

There was a flash of metallic light and suddenly a throwing knife was imbedded in one of the creature’s mismatched eyes. Screeching in rage, the giant stumbled back and flailed at its face. Then, gripping the hilt, the thing wrenched.

Out came the knife—-and the eye.

There was another flash, and the other eye was transfixed. Too witless to learn from its mistake, the giant grasped the second knife in its huge hand, and yanked.

Crom glanced around.

Kanto had jumped out and was standing and staring at the giant as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had done.

“Thanks!” Crom said. Angling his M87R, he cored the giant’s chest below the sternum.

The giant looked down at itself. Or would have, if it had eyes. Swaying like an uprooted oak, the creature managed to take a partial step, and collapsed.

Crom cackled and offered his hand to Kanto. “You saved my bacon, buddy.”

“I did, didn’t I?” was Kanto’s reply. He shook, then moved toward the body. “I need to collect my knives.”

Crom climbed into the SEA and beamed at the others. “Did you see that?” he crowed.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi jabbed a finger at him. “What did you think you were doing?”

Confused, Crom said, “I killed two of of them, didn’t I?”

“You jumped out without so much as a word to let us know what you intended.”

“There was no time to waste,” Crom said. “They were almost on us.” He looked at the others, seeking their praise.

Eleanor frowned.

Sherlock simply said, “Nice shooting.”

“You need to get it through your head, Crom,” Rikki said, “that you’re expected to perform as you would if you were part of a Triad. Not as a lone wolf.”

“I was doing what a Warrior is supposed to do,” Crom defended himself. “I was trying to keep those things from harming any of you.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’s features softened. “I realize that. But you put yourself at unnecessary risk. Why do you think I turned the SEAL around? So I could bring its armaments to bear. There was no need for you to do what you did, however well-intentioned.”

The front door opened and in hopped Kanto. “Got them,” he said, holding up a  pair of gore-splattered throwing knives.

When Rikki didn’t say anything, Crom grumbled, “Aren’t you going to get on him for jumping out, too?”

“I told him to,” Rikki said. “To help you.”

“Oh.” Crom tried hard not to show his feelings were hurt. Here he’d thought he was doing right and he was being taken to task. “I can take a hint. From here on out, I won’t do a thing unless I get your okay first.”

“A wise decision,” Rikki said.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Weaving the SEAL around the bodies, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi started back through the woods.

“Aren’t we going the wrong way?” Eleanor said. She was elated the giants were dead. Although perfectly willing to pit her sword against them, she was under no illusions about how difficult they would have been to slay.

“You’re forgetting something,” Rikki said.

“Oh, goodness,” Eleanor said, as she realized what he meant. “A.l.v.i.s! May the Lord grant that he be unharmed. We need him to help us when we get to the Valley of Shadow.”

“Don’t you mean ‘it’?” Crom said. “That thing isn’t a person like you and me. Thanatos made the thing in his lab. Which is why I don’t trust it any farther than I can heave the SEAL.”

Eleanor was growing irritated by Crom’s attitude. ”A.l.v.i.s is our ally,” she reminded him.

“So it claims,” Crom said. “If you want to take the word of a talking machine, go right ahead.”

“No matter what A.l.v.i.s is,” Kanto said, “we need it. We should treat it with respect.”

“Respect for something put together in a lab?” Crom said. “That will be the day.”

“You’re a barbarian, do you know that?” Eleanor said in annoyance.

“Duh,”  Crom said. “It’s not as if I’ve made a secret of what I like.”

Sherlock broke his long silence by pointing and calling out, “There it is! Functioning, it seems.”

A.l.v.i.s was winding through the forest toward them. Its lights were blinking, as normal, but there was a dent in its bullet-like casing. A casing that was supposed to be well-nigh indestructible.

Rikki braked and stuck his head out. “I was worried you had been put out of commission.”

Coming to a stop, A.l.v.i.s chirped, “I have never been struck so hard. Fortunately, my baffles absorbed most of the force. I presume they are dead?”

“As dead as they get,” Rikki said. “Let’s keep going. Take the lead, like before.”

“Certainly, sir.”  A.l.v.i.s tilted toward the sky. “We have ample daylight left and can cover a lot of ground. Will you stop for the night or drive on through?”

“We’ll push on until midnight, catch some sleep, and start again at first light,” Rikki informed the synthezoid.

“It is unfortunate your biological organisms are so frail,” A.l.v.i.s said. “I never need to sleep or rest. My internal processors convert light to energy to keep me fully charged.”

“Sunlight or all light?” Sherlock wanted to know.

A.l.v.i.s swiveled toward him. “Ambient light in any environment is sufficient. Why did you inquire?"

“Curiosity,” Sherlock said.

Their journey resumed.

Eleanor sat back and tried to relax. Her own curiosity had been aroused, and she regarded their quietest companion with interest. “You don’t say a lot, do you?”

“I beg your pardon?” Sherlock said.

“Is it that you’re shy?” Eleanor said. “You don’t strike me as the timid sort, though. There must be another reason.”

“I speak when there is need. Otherwise, yes, I tend to keep my thoughts to myself,” Sherlock said.

“Too bad females aren’t like you,” Crom said, and chuckled. “My girlfriend never stops yakking. It’s like being with a chipmunk.”

“There’s a girl who actually likes you?” Eleanor said.

Kanto cackled.

Crom snorted. “I’ll have you know several wenches are interested in me.”

“Wenches again,” Eleanor said.

“A word that fits women to a T,” Crom said.

“So does ‘ladies.”

“Some are, most aren’t.”

“That’s insulting,” Eleanor said. “How did you get this way?”

“What way?” Crom said.

Eleanor glanced at Kanto and he rolled his eyes. She looked over at Rikki-Tikki-Tavi but he was concentrating on his driving. Sherlock had turned to stare out the window. “And where do you stand on females, good sir?”

“I generally have little interest,” Sherlock said.

Eleanor arched an eyebrow. “Surely you must. You’re of an age. Nearly everyone at the Home marries. Our Founder encouraged unions, did he not?”

“In order to perpetuate the Family’s population, yes,” Sherlock said. “Without adequate numbers, we could hardly defend our walls.”

Eleanor was mildly miffed that he went on staring out the window instead of paying attention to her. “Have you no manners? I was raised to look at people when I talk to them.”

Sherlock shifted. “My apologies. Social conventions have never been my strong suit. I have long surmised that rules of conduct were invented by simpletons so they can get along without killing each other.”

“We agree on something else, then,” Crom threw in. “Civilization was invented to keep simpletons from having their heads bashed in by those of us who live true to our natures.”

“You forget that certain  rules of conduct were bestowed on us by our Maker,” Eleanor set him straight. “Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not bear false witness. Thou shalt not steal. Honor thy father and thy mother. And the rest.”

“Where’d you get all that?” Crom said.

“From the Bible. Where else?”

“I never read it.”

“How is that possible?” Eleanor said. “Everyone has.”

“Not me,” Kanto unexpectedly said. “Parts of it, yeah. When I was younger. My parents are Catholic and they’ve never read much of it either.”

“The Bible?” Eleanor said in amazement. She turned back to Sherlock. “And you?”

“I read it when I was seven,” Sherlock said. “For a while I considered devoting myself to the Family’s spiritual improvement. But the allure of solving mysteries proved stronger.”

“That’s a shame,” Eleanor said.

“Parts of it comport with a statement my hero made,” Sherlock mentioned. “A statement I’m very fond of.”

“Which statement is that?”

Sherlock’s face creased in a rare smile. “Consider the rose,” he quoted. “Did it evolve specifically to be a thing of beauty? And to be so fragrant? Or is it evidence of intelligent design? Something extra for us to enjoy.” His smile widened. “Flowers, my dear swordwoman, are proof of the existence of a Power well beyond our own.”

“Wait a minute,” Eleanor said. For some reason his words ‘dear swordwoman’ caused her pulse to quicken. “Did I hear you right? You read the Bible when you were seven? The entire Bible?”

“Only once,” Sherlock said.

“You must like books with a lot of words,” Crom said, and laughed.

“What I like,” Sherlock said, “is to apply the razor of my intellect to seemingly unsolvable problems. The Valley of Shadow, and in particular the secrets and dangers of God’s Needle, promise to present us with formidable challenges.”

“In other words,” Crom said, “it’s not going to be easy. You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know, junior.”

“I believe I’m older than you are,” Sherlock said. “That would make me your senior.”

Crom shook his head, and chortled. “Has anyone ever wanted to kick you in the ass?”

Eleanor wasn’t bothered by Sherlock at all. Fact was, she found him fascinating. He was so different from other young men at the Home. “I like your analogy, Sherlock. And I like that you believe there is a Higher Power. I believe the same and I call that Power my Lord.”

“God,” Crom said. “Are we going to talk religion now?”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi turned his head. “Let’s talk about working as a team instead. I realize you didn’t have time to get to know one another. But if we’re to make it back alive, you need to learn to cooperate. To that end, I want you to do everything in pairs. We’ll switch the pairs later, but for now, you’re not to go anywhere or do anything without your partner. Is that understood?”

“Let me team with Sherlock,” Crom said. “He wears that damn silly cap and talks funny but he thinks a lot and we’d be good together.”

Eleanor quickly said, “It should be Sherlock and me. He respects a lady, and I like that.”

“It will be Crom and you,” Rikki announced, “and Sherlock and Kanto. Later, we’ll switch.”

“Me and the wench?” Crom said, and laughed. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“He’s pairing us with our antithesis,” Sherlock said. “A commendable strategy.”

“Our who?” Crom said.

Eleanor was bitterly disappointed by Rikki’s decision. Crom was a simpleton. She had nothing to learn from him, and it was highly doubtful he would stoop to learn anything from her. She was about to object when Rikki brought the SEAL to a stop.

A.l.v.i.s was hurrying toward them, the synthezoid’s red eyes glowing bright. “You asked to be warned,” he said to Rikki. “My sensors have picked up an anomaly that might pose a threat.”

“Might?” Rikki said.

“I calculate it is traveling at a rate of thirty-seven miles per hour, approaching from the north. I have never encountered one of these before. The study might prove beneficial.”

“What are we talking about here?” Rikki said.

“Oh. My apologies.” A.l.v.i.s chirped, then said, “I am referring to gaseous formations that dissolve human flesh like acid. I believe you call them chemical clouds.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Chemical clouds were once the bane of the Family’s existence. The very first cloud the Family encountered nearly wiped them out. This, despite the fact that, thanks to their Founder’s meticulous planning, the Home was located well away from military installations and large urban centers.

Kurt Carpenter had hoped to spare his compound from the worst of the fallout, and in that he succeeded. He also stockpiled hazmat suits as a precaution against chemical attacks. But the first chemical cloud appeared months after the Big Blast. Since the radiation levels were not in the danger zone, the Family was going about their daily routine in ordinary clothes.

No one foresaw that the mix of nuclear, chemical and biological toxins would result in a catalyzing stew that brought about not only widespread genetic derangement in humans and animals, but also warped Nature itself.

On that terrible long-ago day, Carpenter had received word from a Warrior on the west wall that something strange was approaching the compound. Hurrying from his study, Carpenter climbed to the rampart and was handed binoculars by the Warrior, Soren Anderson.

“I don’t like the looks of it,” Soren said, pointing.

Carpenter hadn’t known what to make of what he saw; a roiling cloud that clung close to the ground, the main mass a vivid green, the outer areas lighter in shade.

The aberration was about a hundred yards from the Home, and closing.

Word had spread and other Family members were gathering to witness the spectacle.

Soren Anderson pointed out several deer grazing in the open space between the Home’s high walls and the forest. None of the deer showed alarm as the cloud bore down on them. They raised their heads and stared, and then it enveloped them and they were lost to sight. There were no bleats of pain or panic.

Anderson mentioned that it was strange how the green cloud was moving against the wind. He advised that everyone should seek shelter in the bunkers.

Carpenter agreed.

The Founder and Soren Anderson hurried people from the wall and the ramp, then separated to gather up Family members scattered throughout the commons.

Soren Anderson wrote in his diary that he was ushering a group of eleven adults and children into C Block when he looked around and spied Kurt Carpenter with a woman and her child, moving toward B Block. The child tripped and the mother stopped to pick her up. Carpenter tried to get them to move faster but they were enveloped by the green cloud.

To Soren Anderson’s horror, he saw their clothes and flesh literally eaten away in the blink of an eye. They dissolved so rapidly, they had no chance to scream or cry out.

All this filtered through Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’s memory as he lifted his head to the north and set eyes on a vaporous green mass coming in their direction. “Can we outrun it?”

“I calculate that at the speed the cloud is moving, it will be on us in less than a minute,” A.l.v.i.s said. “Do not worry about me. Chemical clouds are corrosive to living tissue. Since I am artificial, I am impervious. But as a precaution I will seal my exterior ports. I suggest that you secure your vehicle.”

Rikki didn’t need urging. Quickly, he rolled up the windows and flicked a switch that closed the SEAL’s air vents. The SEAL was supposed to be air-tight. He could only hope the instruction manual was right.

“We’re just going to sit here?” Kanto said uneasily.

“No choice,” Rikki said. To try to drive through a cloud was to court disaster. Should the SEAL smash into a tree and become crippled, they couldn’t possibly reach the Valley of Shadow and return to the Home in time to save Blade, Hickok and Yama.

“It’s almost on us,” Sherlock said.

The forest to the north was shrouded in green. Like a fog bank spilling from a river, the cloud was rapidly spreading.

“Do we hold our breath in case some gets in?” Eleanor asked.

“You can try.” Rikki didn’t think that would do any good. The cloud didn’t need to get into a person’s lungs. It dissolved tissue from the outside in.

“Nice knowing all of you,” Crom said, chuckling.

The green cloud washed over and above and around them, and a sibilant hiss filled the van.

Rikki checked the window and door seals, alert for leaks that could prove fatal. Kanto and Eleanor were doing the same. Crom wore a lopsided grin. Sherlock had his face close to his window and was intently studying the cloud.

The hissing grew louder.

Something came running toward them. It was a bear, a large black bear that was being eaten away right before their eyes. Most of its hair was already gone and now its skin and flesh were disintegrating into nothingness. It staggered to a stop, raised what remained of its face to the heavens, and uttered a yowl of torment and despair. It managed a tottering step, one eye hanging by a stem, its nose melted away.

“The Lord have mercy!” Eleanor gasped.

“Be glad it’s not us,” Kanto said.

“It would be a quick way to go,” Crom said.

“There’s no good way to die,” Eleanor told him.

“Shows how much you know,” Crom said. “Give me fast over slow any day.”

All that was left of the black bear were a few stringy sinews clinging to white bone. At they looked on, the last sinew disappeared and its bones collapsed into a pile. Then even that was gone.

“Fascinating,” Sherlock said.

The hissing lessened. Trees and brush appeared, untouched, pristine, somehow invulnerable to the acidic chemicals.

The cloud was now past them.

“I hope I never see another one of those as long as I live,” Eleanor said.

Outside, A.l.v.i.s blinked to life. A metal antenna slid from a recess and rose into the air.

The SEAL’s radio crackled and the synthezoid’s voice came through loud and clear.

“It is safe for organics to breathe again. I detect no harmful residue, chemical or otherwise.”

Rikki pressed the switch to his window and let it down a few inches. “Are you sure?”

“My processors are state of the art,” A.l.v.i.s chirped.

“What’s that mean?” Crom said.

“My maker designed me to function flawlessly. You can rely on me where science is involved.”

To Rikki’s mild surprise, Sherlock said, “Blade, Hickok and Yama might disagree.”

A.l.v.i.s retracted the antenna and swiveled toward Sherlock. “I repeatedly warned your head Warrior and your Leader and your chief Scientist about using my Master’s device. They refused to listen.”

“Maybe you should have told them everything,” Sherlock said.

“Everything?” Rikki said, puzzled.

“I can do no more than I am programmed to do,” A.l.v.i.s said to Sherlock.

“Stupid machines,” Crom said.

“Enough chatter,” Rikki said. “We have a lot of ground to cover before midnight. Take point, A.l.v.i.s. You’re doing fine so far.”

“Thank you, sir,” the synthezoid said.

Putting the SEAL into gear, Rikki pressed on the accelerator. Midnight couldn’t come soon enough to suit him. He could use some rest. “It’s been one thing after another since we left the Home,” he remarked. “The mutates, the giants. Now a chemical cloud. What are the odds of running into all three in so short a time?”

“You would almost think it was deliberate,” Sherlock said.

“God must be mad at us,” Crom said, and laughed.

Eleanor shot him an annoyed glance.

Rikki focused on Sherlock in the rearview mirror. “Are you suggesting it was more than random chance?”

“The probably factor is at least a million to one,” Sherlock said. “Much too high to be mere coincidence.”

“What else could it be?” Kanto said.

Rikki saw what Sherlock was getting at, and grew troubled. Since the radio had just worked when A.l.v.i.s let them know it was safe, he tried to reach the Home again but couldn’t. All that came out of the speakers was static.

“Another coincidence, sir?” Sherlock said.

Rikki frowned. “From now on, we’re not to let A.l.v.i.s out of our sight. One or another of us is to always be with him.”

“How come?” Crom said.

“A.l.v.i.s is indispensable to the mission,” Rikki hedged. “We can’t let him be damaged.”

“It’s a sad day when a bucket of bolts counts for more than we do,” Crom said.

Rikki let the comment pass. He had more important matters to worry about. For starters, reaching the Valley of Shadow.

“I wonder if our loved ones at the Home are thinking about us right now,” Eleanor said. “I miss my parents terribly and it hasn’t been a full day yet.”

“Focus on the mission,” Rikki said.

“Haven’t you ever been homesick on any of the many runs you’ve been on?” Eleanor asked.

“Of course. But you learn to contain your feelings or they’ll crop up when you least want them too.”

“We can’t help how we feel,” Eleanor said. “Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Rikki gave it to her straight. “They can get you killed.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When Rikki-Tikki-Tavi announced that according to the SEAL’s GPS they were less than ten miles from the Valley of Shadow, everyone broke out in smiles. Except Sherlock.

Eleanor playfully nudged him and said, “Why so glum? The sooner we get there, the sooner we can return to the Home.”

“I’ll celebrate after we’re safely back,” Sherlock said.

“Do you even know how?” Crom said. “You too serious all the time. You need to learn to lighten up.”

“Is that what barbarians do?” Eleanor teased.

“A flagon of ale, a wench on my knee, and I’m there,” Crom replied with a smirk.

“Will you stop with the wench talk,” Eleanor said. “And you shouldn’t pick on Sherlock. We’re supposed to try and get along, remember?”

“Are you his mother now?” Crom said.

“Crom,” Rikki said.

“You heard her,” Crom responded. “I can’t hardly say anything without her getting on my case. You ask me, she has something against my barbarian ethos.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Eleanor said.

“See?” Crom said to Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. “I try to play nice but she’s always putting me down. Not her boyfriend, though. He can’t do anything wrong.”

“Sherlock isn’t my boyfriend,” Eleanor said indignantly.”

“There’s someone else?”

“For your information,” Eleanor said, “I’ve given myself to the Lord, heart and soul.”

“How’s that working out?” Crom said. “The two of you go on a lot of dates, do you?”

“Enough,” Rikki said, then suddenly sat straighter. “What’s A.l.v.i.s doing?”

They were following a highway, or what was left of one after over a century of neglect. Cracked and pitted and worn by erosion, the road climbed toward the crest of a low ridge.

A.l.v.i.s had reached the summit and then turned and floated back down a short way. Moving to the side of the road, the synthezoid hovered and waved its pincer at them.

Rikki braked and stuck his head out. “Something?”

“Over the ridge,” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “Whatever it is, It defies my attempts at analysis. I suggest you come take a look. And I further suggest you leave the SEAL here.”

“Why?” Rikki said. “We’re safer in here than out there.”

“The object might pose a threat to the vehicle. You need to see and evaluate for yourself.”

Rikki picked up his katana from off the console and opened his door. “Sherlock, you’re with me. The rest of you stay put. I mean that, Crom. Don’t step foot out of the SEAL.”

“I know how to follow orders,” Crom said.

Rikki stuck his katana through his belt, then reached back in for his Howa Type 64 auto rifle. Manufactured in Japan long before the Big Blast, it was specifically developed for shooters who were small in stature, and was fitted with a special muzzle brake to lessen the recoil. Rikki rarely used firearms, but when he did, he preferred the 64.

Sherlock checked his BXP and worked the bolt. “All set.”

Rikki grabbed the binoculars, then started up the grade. He was impressed by how silently Sherlock moved at his side. The younger man was a continual source of unexpected ability.

Near the top, Rikki dropped to his hands and knees. At the summit, he flattened.

Sherlock imitated him.

A.l.v.i.s had followed them, and hovered. “What do you make of it?”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was at a loss. Raising the binoculars, he adjusted the focus.

Below, the highway ran straight for more than a mile. At one time, heavy forest had flanked both sides. Now most of the trees lay in decayed heaps, their leaves long since withered away. It was as if a gigantic blast of wind had flattened them at a single stroke.

Half a mile off, in the exact center of the highway, sat the object A.l.v.i.s had alluded to. It was a metallic container roughly the size of the SEAL. There were no external parts, no visible seams. It looked for all the world like a giant silver box.

Rikki racked his brain for an explanation, then held the binoculars out to Sherlock. “Here. Give me your assessment.”

Raising the binoculars, Sherlock studied it, then said as if to himself, “Fascinating.”

“Is it me or do you say that a lot?” Rikki said.

“Habit, I suppose.” Sherlock tweaked the diopter. “I can’t tell much. Obviously, it’s an artificial construct. Equally obvious, it was placed in that location either as a lure or to block the road or both.” Sherlock scanned the toppled forest on both sides. “I draw your attention to the state of the adjoining woodland, which makes it impossible for vehicles coming either way to give the construct a wide berth. We’ll be forced to drive right by it.”

“To what end?”

“That I can’t say beyond the supposition that I suspect it poses some sort of threat.”

“Tell me,” Rikki said. “If you were in charge, what would you do?”

“Is this a test?” Sherlock said, and motioned. “No. I have no right to ask.” He stared at the silver block. “Our options are limited. We can’t avoid it if we go on. We can turn around and seek another route but that would delay us and time is of the essence. I would advance with the utmost caution, keeping A.l.v.i.s on point, as before. If the mystery box should prove hostile, it will focus on the AI first, giving us a slight warning.”

“Need I remind you we need A.l.v.i.s to help find the journals his lunatic master kept?”

“As A.l.v.i.s keeps reminding us, the synthezoid is largely impervious to harm.”

Behind them, A.l.v.i.s chirped,  “From most conventional weapons, yes.”

Rikki gave the strange silver object in the distance a last scrutiny, and turned. “A.l.v.i.s, stay here and watch that thing. We’ll bring the SEAL up.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Rikki waited until they were almost to the van to pose a question that had been nagging at him. “What do you think of our synthetic friend? Be honest.”

Sherlock gazed toward A.l.v.i.s, then slid a hand into an inner pocket on his tweed coat and pulled out a notepad and a pen. He wrote something and held the pad up for Rikki to see. “I suspect he can hear us. Are you sure you want me to say?”

Rikki took the pad and pen. “Write it, then,” he replied.

Nodding, Sherlock wrote at some length. “I do not entirely trust A.l.v.i.s. Based on the string of seeming happenstances we have suffered, a logician like myself can’t help but infer that something is amiss.”

Rikki wrote, “Happenstances?”

“A.l.v.i.s showing up of its own accord, claiming our Leader decided to send him after we had already left the Home. Then not being able to contact the Home, although until A.l.v.i.s showed up, the radio worked fine. Then there were those mutated felines. And the giants. To say nothing of the chemical cloud. Coincidences? Possibly. Even probably. Yet there remains another possibility, namely, that A.l.v.i.s led us into their vicinity.”

“Hold on,” Rikki said aloud,, and wrote, “We ran into the mutates before we ran into A.l.v.i.s”

“My suspicion stands. Taking all these events into account, I have to wonder if A.l.v.i.s has our best interests at heart.”

Rikki thoughtfully rubbed his chin, then wrote, “Keep a close eye on it. If the thing has turned against us, our entire mission is at risk.”

Sherlock nodded and slid the notepad into his pocket.

They climbed in. Rikki threw the SEAL into gear and drove to the crest. He instructed A.l.v.i.s to take point and let the synthetic get well ahead before he started down the other side.

“What is that thing?” Eleanor marveled, pressing between the bucket seats for a better view. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Join the club,” Kanto said.

“Be ready for anything,” Rikki cautioned, his hand close to the toggles that would activate the SEAL’s armaments.

“Let me out and I’ll go have a closer look on foot,” Crom offered, and patted his .50-caliber. “Any trouble, and I’ll turn it into a sieve.”

“We stick together,” Rikki said. While he appreciated the younger man’s enthusiasm, once again Crom wanted to do it all himself instead of meshing as a team.

“Kind of you to want to protect us,” Eleanor said to their barbarian.

“Kind nothing, wench,” Crom said. “I’m bored.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi sighed.

*     *     *

Kanto was beginning to wish they never brought Crom along. The man had no sophistication. Apparently it didn’t take much intellect to be a good Hunter.

Kanto was longing for a chance to show the others what a true killer could do. He would particularly like to impress Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. It had bothered him when Rikki took Sherlock to the top of the ridge instead of him. Now that he thought about it, he realized Rikki hadn’t said much to him the entire trip. Could it be, he reflected, that Rikki didn’t like him?

As the SEAL neared the giant container, Kanto put all else from his head. Someone had clearly placed it there on purpose. What that purpose might be was anyone’s guess.

The short hairs at the nape of his neck began to prickle as they sometimes did when he intuitively sensed a threat.

Crackling loudly, their radio flared to life.

“My sensors are still unable to penetrate the object,” A.l.v.i.s’s voice came over the speakers. “This is most unusual.” The synthezoid stopped and swung toward them. “I could attempt to breach the housing using my diamond drill or acetylene torch.”

“Do nothing for now,” Rikki commanded. “I’m coming out.” He reached for his 64.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Kanto said before he could think better of it. “One of us should go instead of you. Anything happens to you, none of us can drive worth a damn.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“Why not?” Kanto said. If nothing else, it might put him in Rikki’s good graces.

“Be careful,” Eleanor sai.

Throwing his door open, Kanto wedged his AR 70 to his shoulder and stalked past A.l.v.i.s. He slowed as he neared the object. Up close, it was unnerving. There were no openings, no slits, no apertures or holes. No buttons or switches or toggles. Warily, he made a complete circuit, and it was the same all around.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi stuck his head out his window. “Anything?”

Shaking his, Kanto edged close enough to reach out and touch the silvery surface. It wasn’t metal. It was something different. He ran his fingertips up and down. The sensation reminded him of running his hand over glass. More puzzled than ever, Kanto carefully pressed an ear to the side. Nothing. No sounds at all.

Taking a several steps back, Kanto turned and called out, “Beats me! It seems to be harmless, though!”

Inside the SEAL, Eleanor suddenly shouted “Behind you!”

“Look out!” Rikki bellowed.

Kanto whirled, his mind screaming at him that he made a mistake in turning his back to the strange whatever-it-was.

His mind was right.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jenny was losing sleep and losing weight and didn’t care. Her man, the love of her life, the one with whom her heart was entwined, hung on the cusp of death, and there was nothing she could do but wait, and pray.

Jenny never felt so helpless. As a Healer, she had dedicated herself to saving others. Whether a patient was stricken by illness or a wound, she was always ready and able to go the extra mile to see them healed.

In this instance, the most important of her life, she was unable to do a blessed thing—-except wait. Normally, she was a patient soul, but since Blade was laid low, her patience seemed to have flown with the wind. She fretted constantly. During the day she seldom left the Infirmary. When she wasn’t hovering over Blade, she was checking and rechecking Hickok and Yama in the desperate hope that one or the other might show some degree of improvement, which would hold promise for Blade doing the same. At night she tossed and turned and couldn’t get to sleep. Eventually, through sheer exhaustion, she would succumb for a few hours. Always, she woke up with a start, and as often as not, covered with sweat.

Over the years, worrying about Blade had become a matter of course. He was a Warrior, after all. Early in their courtship, one lovely evening near the moat, he had mentioned his belief that everyone was their brother’s keeper. Curious, Jenny had asked where turning the other cheek fit into his philosophy. To which Blade replied that turning the other cheek was well and good, but not if it got you brutally murdered or those you cared for ripped to pieces.

“In a perfect world,” Blade had said, “everyone would live in peace. No one would ever try to hurt anyone else. But this isn’t a perfect world. And those who do want to live in peace need to protect themselves from those who don’t, or those who don’t will wipe them out.”

“So you’re a Warrior because you care for others?”

“Can you think of a better reason?”

Now, checking her husband’s vitals for the umpteenth time, Jenny bit her lower lip and fought down an upsurge of tears. She must be strong, she told herself. It was how Blade would want her to be.

Since Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and the trainees left, the hours had crawled by. That radio contact had been lost with the SEAL added greatly to her unease.

“Any change?”

Jenny nearly jumped out of her shoes at the question. Pressing her hand to her throat, she exclaimed, “Socrates!”

“My apologies.” The Family Leader smiled warmly. His long hair and beard, and the robe he favored, lent him the aspect of the historical figure whose name he’d taken. “I didn’t intend to sneak up on you. You were engrossed in your work. ” He stood next to the table and stared down at the immobile giant figure of her true love. “Still the same?”

“Unfortunately,” Jenny said, struggling with tears again. “Any news at your end?”

Socrates frowned. “For some reason we still can’t contact them. Tesla doesn’t understand it. The SEAL’s radio was checked before they left and it functioned flawlessly.”

“Any word on A.l.v.i.s?”

“Alas, no,” Socrates said. “The Home has been searched from top to bottom, but no sign of it. We know A.l.v.i.s. didn’t use the drawbridge or someone would have seen it leave. Which leaves us with the likelihood that A.l.v.i.s went over a wall.”

“Why? Did he go after Rikki, do you think?”

“That’s Tesla’s supposition,” Socrates said. “As to the reason, we can only speculate. Either A.l.v.i.s believed he could help Rikki survive the Valley of Shadow and find the journals that much sooner, or.....”

“Or?” Jenny prompted when he didn’t go on.

Socrates hesitated, then said, “Who can say?”

Jenny gestured at the next table, where Hickok lay. “Nathan never did trust that thing. He said A.l.v.i.s was too friendly for its own good.”

“As A.l.v.i.s was programmed to be,” Socrates said. “Without it, we could never have reassembled Thanatos’s transport device.”

“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Jenny said bitterly. “It used to be a time machine.”

“That was our chief Scientist’s assessment based on your husband’s account of his earlier clash with the Dark Lord. Now, to be honest, we don’t know what it is. A.l.v.i.s tried to explain but even Tesla says the concept is beyond him.”

“Blade should never have used the damn thing,” Jenny said angrily.

“He thought he was doing the right thing.”

“For the Family, yes,” Jenny said. “He always puts the rest of us above all else.”

“He was our best Warrior ever.”

“He still is.”

Socrates coughed, then said, “No one could have foreseen this. The complexities of the device are beyond our ken. Tesla has confided in me that he thinks Thanatos was the single most intelligent hybrid to ever live. Perhaps the most intelligent being this planet has ever seen.”

“And we tinkered with his toys.”

“What choice did we have?” Socrates said, not without sympathy. “The Lords of Kismet are as dire a threat as any the Family has ever faced. Blade gambled he could use Thanatos’s device to stop them. Alas, he was wrong.”

A lump formed in Jenny’s throat and her eyes moistened. “I hope you’re right about A.l.v.i.s. I hope it hasn’t turned on us.”

“That would be a calamity of the first order,” Socrates said. “The chances of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi succeeding would be markedly reduced.” He caught himself, and said softly, “I’m sorry. I keep putting my foot in my mouth.”

“That’s all right,” Jenny said.

But it wasn’t. She began to cry.

*     *     *

Rilletta snapped awake. She was prone on her back, a black emptiness around her. The last she remembered was being attacked by....things....in the Valley of Shadow. She tried to sit up, and couldn’t. She tried to move her arms, her legs, only to find they were held fast. “Oh, God,” she said, and shivered in fear.

The sound of her voice triggered a reaction. Lights came on, rectangles of illumination so bright they hurt her eyes. She squinted to reduce the glare.

Somewhere there was a loud hum. Then a clang and a buzz.

Rilletta tried to lick her lips but her mouth was too dry. “Orin?” she croaked. “Scragg? Big Bill? Anyone?”

A series of beeps punctuated the humming.

Rilletta squinted to her right and then her left, and ice formed in her veins. Tables were to either side. On them, clamped as she was, were some of her fellow scavengers. None responded when she called their names. She couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead.

Rilletta closed her eyes. This was a nightmare beyond nightmare. The things that attacked them, she realized, must have brought them to this place. But where was it? In an instant the answer popped into her head: the Tower. It had to be. Her fear became raw terror.

Horrifying stories were whispered around campfires at night about the vile edifice and its demented overlord. Stories so hideous, they weren’t to be believed.

Rilletta always thought the tales were exaggerated. No one could be so sadistic and cruel. Not to that degree.

A new sound fell on her ears, a sound that caused her breath to catch in her throat. The unmistakable tread of heavy steps, ominously approaching.

Rilletta closed her eyes and pretended to be unconscious. The heavy steps came closer. The creature making them came abreast of her table, and the steps stopped. She sensed that whatever made them was right next to her.

“Foolish human. I know you have revived. Open your eyes.”

Rilletta couldn’t help herself. She gasped. The voice was deep, sonorous, and unnatural.

“I won’t tell you again.”

Rilletta kept them shut. She was too afraid to open them.

“If you do not do as I say right this moment, I will pluck your eyeballs from their sockets and make you eat them.”

Rilletta didn’t doubt the speaker would carry through with his threat. Fearfully, she cracked her eyelids.

Beside her loomed a being seven to eight feet tall, broad at the shoulders, cloaked in a dark brown robe with a high hood. The robe hung loosely, suggesting he must have a thin build. From under the hood poked tufts of reddish hair, a shade that paled in comparison to the blazing red pupils of his eyes.

Rilletta whimpered.

“Do you know who I am?”

Rilletta tried to nod but her muscles were frozen.

“Speak, or I will rip out your vocal chords.”

Desperately, Rilletta attempted to swallow and finally managed to breathlessly sputter, “Everyone…says……dead."

“Ah. Yes. The reports of my demise were premature. How do you terminate a consciousness that isn’t bound by the form it occupies?”

“Wha.....what....?” Rilletta got out.

“That’s all right. No need to answer. I shouldn’t expect you to possess a shred of intelligence.”

“Please,” Rilletta said. “Don’t hurt me.”

“The inevitable pathetic plea,” her captor said. “Unfortunately, the process you and your friends will shortly undergo involves a considerable degree of pain. The bonding process takes a while.”

“Bonding?” Rilletta said in total confusion.

“Yes. Here. Perhaps it will help you to comprehend if I permit you to gaze upon me.”

Rilletta saw him reach up, saw the hood pulled back. Her heart beat wildly and her head whirled and she did the only thing she could do: she screamed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Kanto liked to think he possessed more self-control than most. An iron will, after all, was the mental whet stone on which an assassin honed his lethal skills.

He had taken the clash with the mutates in stride. The giants were unexpected but didn’t rattle him all that much. The chemical cloud frayed his nerves when it enveloped the SEAL but he didn’t give in to his fear.

He’d kept his cool. He always kept his cool.

Until now.

When the huge metallic rectangle began to move, Kanto stood riveted in disbelief. Cracks or seams appeared in its smooth sides, and quickly widened. For a few harrowing moments he thought it was going to explode. Instead, whole sections shifted, some rising, some lowering, while openings appeared and appendages as thick as his legs extended from within and formed into definite shapes.

“Kanto, get out of there!” Sherlock shouted.

Galvanized into backpedaling, Kanto kept his eyes on the bizarre block as it continued to shift and move and transform into.....what? It was like watching a jigsaw puzzle come to life, the pieces sorting themselves to create a whole new image.

Six long extensions now protruded, three from either side. At the end of each were thick circles of seeming metal, ringed by serrated talons or claws. Feet, evidently. Each slammed to the asphalt with a loud thump. At the same time, the rest of the outer shell was reshaping into overlapping scales, much like chain-mail. From out of the rear of the thing slid a tail that rapidly grew until it was longer than the ‘body’, with a curved stinger at the tip. As if that wasn’t enough, the end facing Kanto coalesced into insectoid features with multifaceted eyes and a mouth  fringed with sawtooth fangs.

“Run!”

This time it was Rikki-Tikki-Tavi who bellowed. Wheeling, half-turned, Kanto thrust his AR 70 at the monstrosity and opened fire. The ping of his rounds was like the ping of hail on a metal shield. Sparks flew every which way. But none appeared to do more than nick the shiny surface.

The SEAL burst into motion.

Simultaneously, Crom’s head and shoulders appeared, and he took aim with his .50-caliber. “Get down!” he bawled.

Kanto threw himself flat. He heard the boom of the M87R, saw the mechanical monster jolted by the impact. A large dent appeared in the chain mail. But the round failed to penetrate.

Raising its tail high into the air, its legs pounding like pistons, the construct lumbered toward him.

Kanto scrambled erect and ran for all he was worth. He was fleet of foot and confident he could reach the SEAL before the thing reached him. Then he looked back.

The thing was gaining.

Rikki wheeled the SEAL broadside. The wide passenger door flew open and Eleanor was there, holding the door and frantically beckoning.

On the fly, Kanto leaped for the open door. He caught the rim and sought to pull himself inside but didn’t get a good grip. He would have fallen if not for Eleanor, who grabbed his wrist and practically flung him at the seat.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi shifted and sent the SEAL racing backward.

The gleaming scorpion—-for that was how Kanto regarded it—-gave chase, rapidly picking up speed.

The speedometer climbed to thirty, forty, fifty miles an hour, with Kanto marveling at how Rikki was able to drive so fast in reverse. The seasoned Warrior’s hand shot to the toggles, and the SEAL’s machine guns opened up. A leaden rainstorm struck the scorpion full-on, with little effect. The construct continued to gain. Rikki flicked a second toggle and sheets of flame erupted, yet the thing might have been made of solid rock for all the good the flames did.

The SEAL swerved, and steadied, and Rikki applied the brakes. The instant they came to a stop, he stabbed another toggle.

A rocket flared from out of its recessed housing behind the front grill. A streak of brilliance, it struck the scorpion in the head.

The resultant explosion lifted the SEAL off its front wheels.

Kanto clutched the dash to keep from being spilled. Crom was thrown against his door, and swore. Eleanor banged against the bucket seat. Sherlock, who was holding tight, grabbed her to steady her.

When Kanto looked out again, the scorpion lay sprawled on the road, a large jagged hole in the center of its head. Out of the hole came sparks and arcs and tiny lightnings.

Destroyed! Kanto thought, elated, until the thing shook itself like a wet dog and slowly rose.

“The rocket did no good!” Eleanor cried. “May the Lord preserve us!”

“I’ve got your Lord right here,” Crom said, and pushing his door open, he jumped out.

“Crom, wait!” Rikki said.

Crom didn’t heed. His .50 up and trained, he fired as fast as was humanly possible.

Kanto pushed on his door handle and jumped out to help.

Someone beat him to it. From around the other side of the SEAL rushed Sherlock, one hand under that tweed cape of his. He threw something into the hole the rocket had made.

Kanto braced for a blast but instead there was a muffled krump and black smoke poured out, rising in thick coils.

Lurching to a stop, the scorpion was racked by a series of convulsions. Its scales and sides shifted and flowed, as if it were seeking to reform. It took an unsteady step. Then another.

Sherlock was watching as if mesmerized. Apparently he didn’t see the creature’s tail rise to strike.

Kanto did. Taking a long bound, he sprang, his arms spread wide. He caught hold of Sherlock about the waist and both of them tumbled and rolled.

Rising into a crouch, Kanto prepared to sell his life dearly.

But the scorpion was sinking to the highway, all motion stilled except for the shaking of its tail.

Breathlessly, Kanto waited to see if it would rise again.

Crom let out a whoop. “We took the sucker down!” Pumping his .50-cal, he walked up to the scorpion—-and kicked it.

Sherlock rose and held out his hand to Kanto. “You put yourself in danger to save me. Thank you.”

“It’s what Warriors do,” Kanto said.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and Eleanor emerged, Rikki going up to the thing and tapping his katana against its scales. “Even my blade couldn’t penetrate these.” He glanced at Sherlock. “What did you use?”

“Acid. I injected a glass sphere with certain chemical compounds. When the glass shatters and the chemicals are exposed to air, the mixture produces the acid.”

“You have quite the bag of tricks, my good sir,” Eleanor said.

“Doesn’t he, though?” Rikki said, and smiled at them. “Well done. All of you. Crom, you delayed it long enough that Sherlock was able to act. Kanto, you saved him or that act would have been his last.”

“I didn’t do much,” Eleanor said, frowning.

“You pulled Kanto inside when that thing was almost on him,” Rikki said. With a flourish, he slid his katana into its scabbard. “All of you acted as a team. As a unit. As a Triad.”

“Technically, we’re a quartet,” Sherlock said.

Everyone looked at him.

“Please excuse my obsessiveness,” Sherlock said.

“My point,” Rikki said, “is that you’re starting to mesh. Keep it up. Always be there for each other. It must come naturally to you, as natural as breathing.”

“What I’d like to know,” Crom said while reloading his .50-caliber, “is what the hell is that thing? How did it change shape like that?”

“More importantly,” Rikki said, “was it placed here specifically to stop us?”

“Ask A.l.v.i.s,” Sherlock said.

Crom looked up. “Say, where did that bucket of bolts get to, anyhow?”

“I am here,” the synthezoid announced, and floated into view from behind the SEAL.

“Where were you in all this?” Rikki demanded. “We could have used your help. You have weapons systems.”

“None of which would have been of any more use than your sword,” A.l.v.i.s chirped.

“Have you ever seen anything like it before?” Rikki asked.

“Prototypes,” A.l.v.i.s said. “My former Master was constantly creating new artificial lifeforms. He believed that all the creatures on this planet flourish in cycles, and the next cycle would be the age of the hybrids.”

“How’s that again?” Crom said.

“Are you unfamiliar with the evolutionary timeline? There was the age of the trilobites, the age of fish, the age of amphibians, the age of dinosaurs, of mammals, and so on,” A.l.v.i.s recited. “The most recent age, the human age, has run its course. Eventually humankind will be replaced by superior beings.”

“Such as your Master,” Sherlock said.

“Yes,” A.l.v.i.s said.

Rikki turned to Sherlock. “What do you make of this thing?” he said, and pointed at the scorpion. “Share everything that crosses your mind.”

Kanto was as interested as the rest in hearing what the weirdo had to say.

“I surmise,” Sherlock began, “that this wasn’t random. Our every move is being monitored, perhaps remotely.” He gazed skyward. “I remember Blade saying that the Free State of California had control of a  satellite left over from before the Big Blast. Perhaps someone else has access to another.”

“Someone is using a satellite to keep track of us?” Rikki said. “But who? It would have to be someone familiar with prewar tech.”

“Thanatos was a technological genius,” Sherlock said.

“But he’s dead.”

Sherlock said a strange thing. “Rumor has it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The humming was driving Rilletta mad. Above her, a bright light blazed. Under her, the operating table was as cold as ice. Strapped down as she was, she could do nothing as her captor gave her a series of injections. The first made her woozy. The second made her hot. The third killed most of the sensation in her body.

“For your own good,” the tall creature in the brown hood said. “Otherwise the pain alone would kill you.”

“Please,” Rilletta pleaded. “You don’t want to do this.”

“What a ridiculous assertion. Of course I do or I wouldn’t be doing it. You and these other scavengers will be added to my menagerie, as I like to think of it..”

Rilletta stared into those blazing red pupils and said in heartfelt appeal. “How can you do this to people? What kind of monster are you?”

The creature straightened to his full imposing height. “For that remark I should remove your brain and feed it to my pets. But it has been a long while since I conversed with anyone. Someone fully human, that is. It might prove entertaining to do so while I operate.”

“You were human once, people say,” Rilletta made bold to mention.

“Never!” the creature bristled. “I was born a mutant, woman. With intellectual capabilities far beyond your lowly species.” He reached up and swept his hood back and she saw his face fully for the first time.

Rilletta gasped.

“A pretty picture, yes?” He smirked at her. “Before we get to the procedure, introductions are in order. You said earlier that you know who I am.”

“Than....Thana.....Thana....” Rilletta was so terrified, she couldn’t get it out.

“Thanatos, yes. Or that is how most know of me. Years ago I deemed it fitting to adopt the name of the Greek personification of death since I intended to inflict it on every human in existence.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “The vagaries of youth. We make erratic decisions when we’re young. Now I’m older, and wiser. Theatrics no longer interest me.” He paused. “Let’s continue, shall we? And kindly stop stuttering or I will gut you and feed  your intestines to some of my more organic creations.”

“Oh God,” Rilletta said.

“Human religious writings and delusions to the contrary, there is no such entity,” Thanatos said. “I’m the closest thing to a god you will ever encounter.”

Before Rilletta could stop herself, she said, “You’re not the Almighty. You’re just a mutant.”

Thanatos stared at her for so long that she grew deathly afraid and tried to change the subject. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“You mentioned that before. You’ve heard the story then? How the formidable Warriors from the Home did me in?” He laughed a cold laugh. “As you can plainly see, the truth is to the contrary. Constructs do not experience the same death you do.”

Rilletta had no idea what he was talking about. But ‘construct’ sure fit him. He was only part flesh and blood. His face, for instance—-his cheeks, his chin, part of his brow—-appeared human, but the rest was some sort of plastic-like substance. His left hand was perfectly normal but his right was metal, the fingers and thumb longer and thicker than they should be and gleaming like the steel in a well-honed knife.

“Don’t lie there like a lump,” Thanatos chided. “Introduce yourself.”

“Rilletta,” she got out with an effort. “Rilletta Sparks.”

“How quaint,” Thanatos said. “Shall we get on with it?”

He clapped his hands and suddenly the table was ringed by other creatures. Artificial things of metal and plastic, one with an oval ‘head’ and another with a square one and a third with no head at all. A fourth, more robotic than the rest, had multiple extremely thin limbs.

“What....?” Rilletta blurted.

“My nurses. They are programmed to assist in the transformation.”

Stark panic tore at Rilletta. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m going to improve you. Remake you in my image, so to speak. When the operation is over with, you will be a whole new being. Obedient to my every whim.”

“God help me,” Rilletta whimpered.

“Stop with the fantasy. Where was this God of yours when the world was dying in flame and upheaval? Where was God when billions of your fellow humans perished?”

“I don’t have the answers,” Rilletta made bold to reply. “No one does. Maybe things just happen.”

“A convenient if feeble excuse,” Thanatos said. “Now let’s get to it. The procedure is quite lengthy, I’m afraid. But you’ll thank me when I’m done.” He reached under the table, drew out rubber gloves, and put them on.

Despondent, Rilletta closed her eyes but snapped them open again when she felt pricking and other slight sensations in her midriff. Thanatos and the other things were bent over her, Thanatos with a scalpel and a pair of surgical scissors.

“I’ve opened you up,” Thanatos commented. “Next we start exchanging parts.”

Rilletta had no time to wonder what he meant. One of the ‘nurses’ lowered an ‘arm’ and then moved back holding a dripping organ. “What....?” she croaked, her sanity teetering on the brink.

“You might not want to watch,” Thanatos advised as he delved with his scalpel again. “Humans are notoriously squeamish.”

Then, to her amazement, he commenced to hum.

Wishing she could black out, Rilletta closed her eyes and shuddered. Or tried to, but the restraints held her still. “God, no. God, no. God, no.”

“Didn’t you pay attention before?” Thanatos said, and resumed humming.

He hummed while he cut. Hummed while he snipped. Hummed while he handed her body parts to the nurses. Hummed when they gave....things....to put inside of her. He was enjoying himself. Happy as could be at what he was doing.

It went on for hours.

Rilletta lost all sense of time. All sense of herself. She yearned for it to end but no such luck. Belatedly, she realized someone was humming along with her tormentor. To her complete shock, she was the one doing it.

Catching herself, Rilletta looked up to find the mutant’s red eyes fixed on hers.

“That’s the spirit.”

Humming merrily, he bent to his demented work.

*     *     *

By Sherlock’s best estimation, the SEAL was less than two hours from the Valley of Shadow when Rikki-Tikki-Tavi pulled over under bizarrely shaped trees and announced they should get some rest. “We’ve been driving nearly all night. Rest up. At sunrise we’ll move on. By this time tomorrow, we’ll either have the journals and be on our way back to the Home, or.....”

“We’ll be dead,” Crom said, chuckling.

“How can you possibly find that funny?” Eleanor said.

“You learn not to sweat the small stuff, wench.”

“Dying is hardly a small thing.”

“We all go, sooner or later,” Crom told her. “Worrying about it won’t stave it off or do our heads any favors. So why bother?” He patted his axe. “Live each day as it comes, and when your time is up, go out swinging.”

“Is that your philosophy on life?” Eleanor said.

Crom pursed his lips. “I’ve never really thought about it much, but I guess so, yeah.”

“Mine is to serve my Maker, a task I take very seriously.”

“Here we go again,” Crom muttered.

Sherlock smothered a grin. Placing his hand on the door latch, he said to Rikki, “Is it all right if I get out and stretch my legs? We’ve been cooped up in here so long, I might have forgotten how to walk.”

“Did you just make a joke?” Kanto said.

“You can get out but stay close,” Rikki said. “No telling what’s lurking around here.”

Sherlock opened the door and slid out. Stretching, he admired the spectacular array of stars, then moved to the rear of the SEAL, and stretched again. A chill breeze rustled the trees. He was glad he had his tweed coat. He twirled his cane and leaned on it, and was turning his mind to the problems they would face once they reached God’s Needle when he became aware that he wasn’t alone. “You shouldn’t sneak up on us like that, A.l.v.i.s.”

The synthezoid floated around in front of him. “My apologies. It was not my intent. I merely desired your company. I miss interaction with other sentients.”

“Do you ever miss Thanatos?” Sherlock asked.

“He is my creator,” A.l.v.i.s chirped.

“So yes,” Sherlock said.

“No one has ever asked me that before.”

“Am I being too personal?”

The synthezoid rotated and gave the impression it was staring off into the night. “I do not possess the same self-awareness humans do. That which you deem personal is of no consequence to me because I do not think of myself as an entirely discreet entity.”

“Interesting,” Sherlock said.

A.l.v.i.s swung around to face him. “You have a probing nature, I have noticed. Mysteries are to you what food and drink are to other humans.”

“Astute of you.”

“My personality algorithms are extensive,” A.l.v.i.s said. “My Master programmed into me the ability to look past the surface appearance of humans to their underlying motivations.”

“And you a machine,” Sherlock said.

“Technically, I am much more. Specifically, the pinnacle of artificial intelligence."

“Did you Master program conceit into you, too?”

A.l.v.i.s clicked and whirred. “Another concept with which I have no frame of reference. I simply state facts. Human feelings, the emotions you experience, are as far beyond me as Alpha Centauri from our own solar system.”

“I seem to recall Alpha Centauri is the closest.”

A.l.v.i.s made a buzzing noise. “ I am well aware of that. I assure you I am incapable of uttering a falsehood.”

Secretly pleased that he had verbally maneuvered the synthezoid where he wanted him, Sherlock said, “Commendable. But tell me. Are you also incapable of concealing a falsehood?”

“You credit me with traits of which no one has ever accused me.”

“No,” Sherlock said. “I credit your maker with traits that would compel him to create a synthezoid as devious as himself.”

A.l.v.i.s did more chirping and whirring. “Do you play chess? I would imagine that, for a human, you are unusually competent.”

“Are you as I think you are?” Sherlock bluntly asked.

“No. Not to my knowledge, at least.”

“Ah,” Sherlock said, a light dawning. “If that’s the case, you can be a danger to us without realizing it.”

“I would hope I’m not.” The synthezoid rose a little higher. “Free will is a luxury you humans enjoy. Artificial entities are only as free as the parameters of our programming.”

“You have my sympathy,” Sherlock said.

A.l.v.i.s started to float off, and stopped. “For what it is worth, you are a most intriguing human. You penetrate dimensions most miss. Take your companions. Crom, Kanto and Eleanor would never think to probe where you have. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi is more focused but he, too, misses much of the tapestry because his attention is on the threads.”

“I have trained myself to pick up on the smallest of details,” Sherlock said. “Where others might see, say, someone wearing a blue shirt, I see not only the color but the number of buttons and the type of fibers and if there are threads loose and worn areas and every mark and tear.”

“Fascinating,” A.l.v.i.s said.

“Right back at you,” Sherlock said. “Until you came along, my life was pretty much checkers.”

An almost musical warbling issued from the synthezoid’s internal speakers.

“Are you laughing?”

“Those were my pleasure circuits. I appreciate you immensely, Sherlock of the Home,” A.l.v.i.s said. “It will be a shame.”

“What will?”

“Should you not make it out of God’s Needle alive.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“The Lord preserve us,” Eleanor said softly. “That’s the scariest place I’ve ever seen.”

“I hear that,” Kanto echoed.

The SEAL was parked on a rise overlooking the Valley of Shadow. By the dashboard clock it was a few minutes after noon. The sky was a rare bright blue, with not a cloud to be seen. The sun beamed bright over the stark, blasted landscape.

Except in the Valley of Shadow.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi somberly surveyed the thick yellow fog that covered the valley from end to end. Off in the center of the valley rose God’s Needle, piercing the fog like a spear, its obsidian surface seeming to absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it.

Crom gave an amused snort. “Doesn’t bother me any. “We’re here to get a job done and kill anything that gets in our way, so let’s get to it.”

“Your enthusiasm is commendable,” Rikki said. “So long as it is wedded to discretion.”

“I’m wedded to spilling blood,” Crom said, and laughed.

Eleanor didn’t hide her annoyance. “There is more to being a Warrior than killing. We’re protectors, not slayers.”

“Slaying is how we protect,” Crom said good-naturedly. “If you don’t think you’re up to it, maybe you should take up knitting and be a Weaver instead of a Warrior.”

“Killing is our duty,” Eleanor said. “It shouldn’t be our abiding passion.”

To forestall an argument, Rikki said, “Enough.” Starting slowly down the rise he called out his window, “A.l.v.i.s! Go as far as the fog and wait for us. Warn us of any danger.”

The synthezoid floated on ahead.

Kanto slid his right hand up his left sleeve and then his left hand up his right sleeve, checking the forearm rigs that held his knives. “This will be our big test, won’t it?”

“Test?” Rikki repeated.

“Whether we’re fit to become Warriors,” Kanto said.

“This entire run is a test.” Rikki nodded toward the eerie fog. “That’s the final exam. Anything can happen down there. And I do mean anything.”

“You sound a little nervous,” Kanto said.

“Who wouldn’t be?” Rikki said. To give them food for thought about unrealistic ideals, he added, “Even seasoned Warriors can get the jitters.”

“It’s just that I never saw you nervous before,” Kanto said. “You’re always so calm, so under control.”

“Don’t let this place get to you,” Rikki cautioned.

Eleanor said anxiously, “How can we not?”

“Mitra, Set and Ymir,” Crom exclaimed. “Listen to yourselves. Who’s afraid of a pukey fog?”

The SEAL reached the bottom of the grade and Rikki stopped and shut the vehicle off. Opening his door, he slid out, taking his Howa Type 64 from where he had placed it between his bucket seat and the console.

A.l.v.i.s hovered close to the fog. An antennae with a small ball was slowly rotating around and around on top of his casing.

“Are you picking up anything?” Rikki asked.

After all of half a minute, A.l.v.i.s chirped, “Negative, sir.”

Call it a hunch, call it a gut feeling, but Rikki didn’t believe A.l.v.i.s told the truth. He remembered Sherlock’s warning about whether they could trust their ‘guide’, and frowned. Turning to their self-styled detective, he remarked,  “You’ve been awful quiet.”

As usual,” Crom said before Sherlock could answer.

Sherlock was scratching his chin, his brow puckered. He moved to within an arm’s reach of the fog, commenting, “Too bad we don’t know the chemical composition of this substance. We might be able to concoct a dispersant.”

“A what, big brain?” Crom said.

“Obviously, this fog isn’t natural,” Sherlock responded. “Equally obvious, it was created by Thanatos as his first line of defense. That it remains stationary is baffling. The wind is quite strong today. I would estimate gusts of between fifteen and twenty miles an hour. Yet the fog isn’t affected. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t disperse. The genius required to invent it is intimidating.”

“You ask me,” Crom said, “The Dark Lord is as yellow as they come.”

A.l.v.i.s rotated and chirped, “Your assertion is ridiculous. Are you not aware that my Master fought the entire Freedom Federation and brought them to their knees.”

“How much of the fighting did he actually do?” Crom said. “From what I hear, not much. He had his zombies and mutations and robots and things like you do the fighting while he hid in his tower too afraid to show his face.”

“That is patently absurd. You have no inkling what you are talking about.”

“Is that so, metal head?” Crom gestured with his war axe at the yellow soup. “Sherlock, there, says this stuff is genius. I think your Master made it so he can hide in there and no one can get to him. If he was a true fighter, if he had a pair, he’d wouldn’t need this stupid fog.”

“A pair?” A.l.v.i.s chirped.

“Gonads, bullet head,” Crom said, and made a show of snapping his fingers. “Oh. That’s right. You wouldn’t know what they are. You don’t have any.”

“I am as I was created to be,” A.l.v.i.s responded. “Reproductive potential is not one of my functions.”

“Good thing,” Crom said. “One of you is enough.”

“I detect a certain degree of animosity toward me,” A.l.v.i.s said.

“You detect a bunch,” Crom said. “And if you want to know why, look in a mirror. You’re not human. Neither is that Master of yours, I hear.”

“He was born a mutant,” A.l.v.i.s said. “Parts of him are human. Some parts he made over to suit his needs. He is largely a composite of elements and components.”

“Interesting,” Sherlock said.

“That my Master, as he once referred to himself, is a refined blend of the best of all lifeforms?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “That you keep using the present tense.” He started to slide his free hand under his tweed coat. “Perhaps you would care to explain?”

In the blink of an instant, A.l.v.i.s was gone. Streaking into the yellow fog, he was lost to view.

“What the hell?” Kanto said.

“Where’s he going?” Eleanor said.

Sherlock reached into a pocket and brought out a small glass tube. He raised it as if to throw it but shook his head and put it back. “I don’t want to waste this. And I can’t hit him if I can’t see him.”

“What is it?” Rikki asked.

“A special compound that might eat away A.l.v.i.s’s housing, exposing his vitals, such as they are.”

Kanto motioned at the fog. “What was that all about? Why did he desert us like that?”

“God, you’re slow,” Crom said.

“Since A.l.v.i.s is incapable of improper grammar, using the present tense gave him away,” Sherlock said. “A.l.v.i.s wouldn’t do it unless his Master were still alive.”

“No!” Eleanor said.

Sherlock nodded. “This whole time we have evidently had a traitor in our midst.”

The other three looked at Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, who stared grimly at the Needle.

“What now?” Kanto said. “We go on in there, they’ll be expecting us.”

“They already were,” Sherlock said. “I speculate that the Dark Lord has been monitoring our progress from the moment we left the Home.”

“Back in the SEAL,” Rikki directed. He was at a loss as to how Thanatos was still alive. Blade, Hickok and Geronimo swore they saw him die. Either they were mistaken—-and those three were rarely wrong about anything—-or some arcane science or alchemy was involved.

If true, then they weren’t just up against the Dark Lord’s minions, in themselves formidable. They were pitted against the vile personification of evil itself.

The trainees were quiet as they climbed back in.

Rikki ran a quick weapons check to verify that the SEAL’s armaments were loaded and primed.

In the middle seat, Eleanor placed her longsword with the point on the floor and hilt and the cross-guard in front her, as if it were a cross. Bowing her head, she closed her eyes and prayed, her lips moving silently.

Crom smirked but for once didn’t tease her.

Sherlock was deep in thought.

As for Kanto, he was tapping his fingers on his Beretta AR 70 and peering intently at the yellow murk. “This is it,” he said.

“The moment of truth,” Rikki agreed. Or a succession of moments that would result in either success or failure.

At the pressure of his foot on the pedal, the SEAL lurched into motion. He switched on the headlights although he didn’t expect them to do any good. He also turned on the spotlights on the roof rack.

Eleanor ended her prayer saying aloud, “And watch over us and protect us, your humble servants, Amen.”

“Speak for yourself,” Crom said. “I don’t need watching over.”

“We all do, whether we admit it or not,” Eleanor said softly.

Rikki focused on the GPS display on the dash. It showed where they were in relation to the Needle.

The wall of yellow fog loomed before them,

Rikki involuntarily gripped the steering wheel tighter as the SEAL nosed into the murk. It reminded him of the chemical clouds, only yellow instead of green. There was no hissing, only a preternatural quiet, a silence as thick as the silence of the grave.

“Bring on the monsters!” Crom said.

A large red object flared to life on a screen close to the speedometer, and rapidly grew in size.

“You’re about to get your wish,” Rikki said.

“How so?” Crom said.

Rikki indicated the red shape. “That’s a heat signature. Something is bearing down on us.”

Something big.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Eleanor clutched her sword and watched in tense unease as the large creature on the dashboard screen closed on the SEAL. Whatever the thing was, it moved incredibly fast. She saw Rikki-Tikki-Tavi spin the steering wheel in an effort to evade whatever was charging them. He didn’t succeed.

A tremendous blow struck the passenger side. A blow so powerful, it knocked the entire SEAL sideways.

Something huge hurtled by in the fog.

Kanto recoiled and cried out.

Crom swore.

Eleanor was pitched against Sherlock. Disentangling herself, she was taken aback to see thin spiderweb cracks in the supposedly shatterproof glass.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi gunned the engine, shouting, “Hang on! It’s coming at us again!”

The shape on the screen was behind the SEAL, and rapidly gaining.

Eleanor twisted around. She didn’t know what to expect but it certainly wasn’t the monstrosity that appeared out of the gloom.

A head of immense proportions loomed out the rear. A head that reminded Eleanor of photos she had seen in a book in the Family library of a creature called a cape buffalo, from long ago in Africa. Yet grotesquely different.

Possessed of a broad protruding brow, its face was composed of flesh and synthetics in roughly equal proportions. The left cheek was skin and sinew, the right a plastoid substance. Its nose was metallic. From it spewed gouts of vapor or steam. The eyes were orange, its lips obscenely thick, its bared teeth as long as her thumb.

But it was the aberration’s horns that appalled Eleanor the most. They were enormous. Curved up rather than forward, their darkened tips came to wicked points.

“Brace yourselves!” Rikki shouted.

Eleanor tried. She gripped the back of his bucket seat and clung fast just as the bull lowered its massive head and slammed into the SEAL so hard, the SEAL’s rear wheels came off the ground.

The van slewed wildly.

Spinning the wheel, forced to slow, Rikki regained control.

“Where did it go?” Kanto yelled.

The bull had vanished into the fog. On the dash, the red shape was looping around for another attack.

“How do we fight something like that?” Kanto said.

“ Let me out,” Crom said. “I’ll take it on.”

Crazy fool, Eleanor thought.

“Stay put!” Rikki commanded. He was weaving the SEAL back and forth, and suddenly turned at a right angle.

A gigantic bulk pounded past.

“Just missed us!” Kanto shouted in elation.

Rikki spun the steering wheel the other way.

Eleanor was glued to the red shape on the screen. So far they had been lucky. The bull’s wicked horns might yet tear into the SEAL’s body. Or, if it caught them just right, the beast might flip the van all the way over.

Kanto bent toward the infrared screen. “Look out! It’s almost on us again!”

Rikki furiously worked the wheel. There was a bump and a jolt and then the bull was past and circling for another charge.

“We can’t keep this up forever,” Kanto said.

“Let me out, damn it!” Crom bellowed.

“No!” Rikki said, and performed a maneuver that Eleanor never could;  he swung the SEAL entirely around and brought it to an abrupt stop.

The monster bull was now in front of them, and once again closing.

“It’s all or nothing,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said. He flicked the toggle marked with an ‘R’.

Eleanor glimpsed a flash of metal as a rocket roared from its recessed housing. Not a heartbeat later the fog lit with a brilliant burst of light and an accompanying blast of thunder. Instinctively, Eleanor raised her hand to shield her face. When she lowered it, the light and din were fading.

The red shape was still on the screen, but motionless.

“Did we nail that thing?” Kanto said.

They waited, the SEAL purring quietly.

“It still hasn’t moved,” Kanto said.

“The brute must be dead,” Crom said. “I can hop out and check if you want.”

“Give it a rest,” Eleanor said.

“Everyone stays inside,” Rikki said. He slowly drove forward, virtually crawling until the image of the SEAL and the red shape were about to merge on the screen. Veering, he brought the van alongside a massive form shrouded by the fog.

“Can anyone see it clearly?” Rikki asked, braking.

Forgetting herself, Eleanor moved closer to Crom’s side, bumping him inadvertently.

“You sure smell nice, wench,” Crom said. “What is that you're wearing? Lilac water?”

“Grow up,” Eleanor said in disgust. “And shut up.”

Just then the fog parted, shutting both of them up.

The giant bull lay on its belly, its tree-trunk legs splayed to either side. It’s body was a mix of flesh-and-blood animal and scientific construct. The rocket had caught it square in the head. Wires and fluid that wasn’t blood and real blood dripped and oozed from the hole.

“Not so much as a twitch,” Kanto said. “It’s dead!”

Sherlock, who hadn’t uttered a word during the attack, placed his hand on Rikki’s seat. “With your permission, sir, I would like to get out and examine it.”

“Too risky,” Rikki said.

“I don’t dispute your judgement but we might glean crucial intel,” Sherlock said.

Rikki shifted and looked at him. “If you consider it that important, then go. But I’ll go with you to watch your back.”

“No, let me,” Eleanor found herself saying. “We can’t afford to lose you. Remember, you’re the only one who can drive the SEAL.”

“All right,” Rikki immediately made his decision. “But if I yell for you two to get back in, you obey right away.”

“Understood,” Sherlock said. He smiled at Eleanor, slid his door open, and hopped out.

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor followed. Holding Wrathbringer at the ready, she placed herself at his elbow as he moved to the dead hybrid’s head, and squatted. “What are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure but I believe I’ll know it when I find it.” Sherlock reached a hand into the gaping wound.

Eleanor peered into the fog, alert for movement and sound. It was like trying to peer into pea soup.

Sherlock was groping about in the head. “It has to be here somewhere,” he said, more to himself than to her. “It would defy logic to place it anywhere else.”

“It?” Eleanor said.

“The control mechanism,” Sherlock said. “I very much doubt the bull possessed independent will. Our adversary likes to exercise complete control over his subordinates, humans and hybrids and otherwise.”

“You think he sicced that thing on us?”

“If he’s alive, as we conjecture, there’s no doubt of it,” Sherlock said, inserting more of his arm. “Unless...” He paused. “Unless it operated automatically. Perhaps it was programmed to attack intruders.” He bent lower. ”The complexity involved is incredible. Thanatos must have discovered a chemical, or invented one, that reduces the resistance factor.”

“Sorry?” Eleanor said, embarrassed that she had no clue what he was talking about.

“The melding of flesh and blood with artificial parts,” Sherlock said. “Before the Big Blast it was done on a limited scale. Hearts. Lungs. Limbs and what have you. This bull is unprecedented. I stand by my assertion that our enemy is a genius.”

“You ask me, so are you,” Eleanor said.

“Hardly.”

“I’m serious. Those gas bombs of yours. The acid whatsis. The other things you’ve done. You’re smarter than the rest of us combined, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

When Sherlock didn’t respond, Eleanor glanced over and saw him staring up at her with the strangest expression. “What?”

“I thank you for the complement. I didn’t realize.”

“Realize what?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock said, and bent to the bull’s head. “I believe this is it! Removing it might take some doing, but....” He wrenched and grunted and twisted.

“We have a toolbox in the SEAL,’ Eleanor remembered.

“Not necessary,” Sherlock said breathlessly, and strained, his face in a grimace.

Eleanor heard a popping sound and Sherlock unfurled holding a spherical object the size of an apple, with a lot of thin filaments hanging loose.

“Eureka,” Sherlock said, holding it up. “I was right. This is the brain.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi had rolled down his window and been listening. “Back inside, both of you. I’m picking up movement in the direction of the Tower.”

“Don’t need to tell us twice,” Eleanor said. Making sure Sherlock stayed behind her, she stepped to the SEAL, climbed in, and reclaimed her seat. He entered and closed the door.

“Mission accomplished,” Sherlock said, showing what he held to the others. “I need to examine it.”

“That will have to wait,” Rikki said, and tapped his finger to the infrared screen. “Hostiles are heading our way.”

Eleanor slid up for a better look. The images weren’t red, as the bull’s had been, but orange, and so thin, they made her think of pencils. Moving pencils.

“Whatever they are, they’re spreading out,” Rikki said.

“Here we go again,” Kanto said. “And we’re not even to the Tower yet.”

Crom laughed and said, “The fun never ends.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Kanto liked excitement more than anything. To use Old Time parlance, he was addicted to it. He liked the thrill of putting his skills and ability to the ultimate test. Or he used to think he did. Now he wasn’t so sure. There was a limit to how many perils  a person faced before they decided enough was enough.

Since leaving the Home, it had literally been one thing after another. Threat after threat after threat. Enough was enough.

Yet here they were, not even halfway into the Valley of Shadow, and new dangers were being thrown at them right and left.

Kanto hid his unease behind a mask of concentration on the stick figures converging on the SEAL He was so intent on the dash screen, as was nearly everyone else, that he jumped when Sherlock let out a rare yell.

“The fog! Look at what’s happening!”

The yellow soup was thinning and fading from around the SEAL.

“That can’t be natural,” Crom said.

“Agreed,” Sherlock said, pressing his face to his window. “It suggests our next opponents rely on sight as much as we do.”

“You’re saying the fog is being cleared to make it easier for them to attack us?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said.

“Such is my surmise,” Sherlock said, “although the data is hardly sufficient to fully justify the contention.”

“That will work both ways,” Kanto said. “If they can see us, we can see them.”

“Whatever they are,” Crom said.

“Movement!” Eleanor cried, and pointed.

There was a hint of motion at the inner edge of the fog. Something was circling them. Something tall and thin that moved in an odd manner.

Crom gripped the door handle on his side. “Let’s get out and see what they are.”

“Stay put,” Rikki said curtly. “No one is to do anything until we find out what we’re up against.”

“I can easily find out,” Crom said.

“You’re too reckless by half,” Eleanor said.

“Excuse me for wanting to get this over with so we can return to the Home and save Blade and the others,” Crom said. “True warriors do what they have to do to get the job done.”

“Are you saying I’m not?” Eleanor said.

Kanto detected more movement. By the blips on the screen, there were eight of the things.

“Here they come,” Sherlock warned.

Creatures were emerging from the fog. They came from all directions, spacing themselves so they surrounded the SEAL.

“What on earth?” Crom blurted.

“Fascinating,” Sherlock said.

Kanto always thought he had a good imagination. He read a lot. These days, it was mostly anything and everything having to do with assassination and assassins. But when he was younger he read all sorts of books, including science fiction and horror. He liked to think it had developed his mind to where he could pretty much imagine anything. But he had never conceived of something like the mechanical scorpion or the hybrid bull, and he certainly in a million years wouldn’t have imagined the creatures he now beheld.

They were as tall as an average person. There, any similarity ended. Instead of a head and body, from top to bottom they were shaped like a thin tree. They resembled nothing so much as saplings, each with four arms shaped like tree limbs. Instead of hands, they had long digits much like spikes. Their legs—-three to a creature—-supported the things as a tripod would.

“If I wasn’t seeing them with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it possible,” Eleanor said.

Kanto shared her amazement. The things were entirely synthetic, the same as Alvis. They had eyes, so to speak, consisting of a single egg-shaped lattice that glowed a bright green.

“Run the suckers down!” Crom yelled.

As if they heard him, the creatures rushed the SEAL, scuttling like so many spiders.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi flicked a toggle and flames leaped from the van. Two of the things were engulfed and turned into moving bonfires. But they kept coming.

Kanto gaped, aghast. One gave a bound and landed on top of the grill. Its feet, like its hands, had three spikes which sheared into the SEAL as if the van were so much paper.

The second creature threw itself at the windshield.

“They’re trying to bust in!” Crom roared.

The second creature rammed its spikes at the glass. More spider webs spread from the point of impact but the glass didn’t shatter.

Involuntarily, Kanto drew back and raised an arm to shield his face.

The creature slammed the windshield a second time, and the tip of its spike punched through.

Sliding a stiletto from under his sleeve, Kanto slashed at the tip. His blade pinged as if metal had met metal, and his stiletto glanced off without so much as nicking the thing.

A tremendous crash resounded on Sherlock’s side. A creature had thrust an entire arm through Sherlock’s window and was trying to rake him with its spikes.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi gunned the engine. Erupting forward as if hurtled from a catapult, the SEAL smashed into another of the things, sending it flying into the fog.

Then the SEAL was in the fog, too, and Rikki began swerving in an effort to shake off the clinging creatures. The thing on the grill went tumbling but the one trying to burst through their windshield was able to hold on.

Kanto heard the crack of autofire from Sherlock’s BXP and the creature trying to force entry through the side toppled.

On the windshield, the other one cocked a tree limb arm to strike yet again.

Rikki was still swerving. “What are you waiting for?” he shouted. “Get it off!”

Kanto leveled his AR70. He was half worried some of the rounds might ricochet but no, they peppered the glass, and the creature. The thing was knocked back. Otherwise unfazed, it drove its entire arm through the windshield, straight at Kanto.

Kanto jerked back, too late. Pain seared his face as his cheek was opened, and blood flowed. Pointing the AR70 at the creature’s eye, he emptied the magazine.

The thing erupted in violent tremors, and at the next swerve of the SEAL, it went flying.

Rikki slowed.

“Where are they?” Kanta twisted every which way.

“The screen!” Eleanor said.

The thin blips were hastening toward the Needle. Several—-apparently damaged—-moved slower than the rest.

“We beat them!” Kanto exulted.

“They weren’t much,” Crom said.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Rikki said, and turned the wheel.

Kanto tensed. The SEAL was heading straight for the Dark Lord’s lair. “We don’t get a breather, do we?”

“The smart move is to get inside before they send something else out after us,” Rikki said. “We can’t afford more damage to the SEAL. Next time it might be worse.”

“Fine by me,” Crom said. “I’m tired of sitting on my rump. Warriors tackle their enemies head on.”

“Warriors should use strategy, too,” Kanto said as he ejected his spent magazine and inserted a fresh one.

“My strategy is simple,”  Crom said, and patted his axe. “Come and get some.”

Kanto very much doubted that Crom would make it past the trainee stage. The guy was as rash as anything. “Tactics count for more than brawn,” he reiterated.

“Says the guy who doesn’t have much muscle,” Crom said.

On the dashboard, the image of the Needle filled the screen. Suddenly Rikki slammed on the brakes and skewed the van sideways.

Kanto braced for another onslaught but it wasn’t a creature. They had nearly driven into the Needle. This close, its obsidian sheen reflected the image of the SEAL as a mirror might.

“We almost crashed,” Crom said, and laughed.

“Gear up,” Rikki said. “Everyone out.”

Kanto reset the stiletto in his forearm rig, then hopped out and joined the others.

An immense door towered before them. Twenty feet high and more than half that wide, it was made of wood and sported a large brass knocker.

“How peculiar,” Sherlock said. “This doesn’t fit with the Dark Lord’s previous predilections.”

“Meaning?” Kanto said.

“I would expect a futuristic door, not ordinary wood,” Sherlock said. “How ironic if our adversary has a maudlin streak.”

Kanto was spared from having to ask what that meant by Rikki-Tikki-Tavi unlimbering his katana and advancing.

“Here we go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Crom was fit to explode. To say he was bursting inside with the need for action would be an understatement.

Crom had been that way since he could remember. He loved adventure. Excitement. The thrill of the kill. Unfortunately, most days at the Home were downright dull. Life inside their high walls was nearly always peaceful; so peaceful, it bored him to tears.

Oh, there had been a few exciting times. Like when chemical clouds appeared. Or scavengers attacked. Or that time the Civilized Zone sent an army to wipe them out.

But those were few and far between. Most days, ordinary days, consisted of run-of-the mill routine not much different than those before the Big Blast. The Family went about their tasks safe and secure, thanks to their walls and the Warriors.

Crom hated it. Even as a boy. Small wonder he found thrills, such as they were, in the sensational exploits of fictional characters. One, in particular, riveted him like no other. A big, brawny barbarian who roamed a savage world where wizards and monsters were around every bend in the trail.

That was Crom’s idea of the ideal life. Never dull. Never boring. Adventure after adventure, unending. Where a man’s sinews and combat prowess were constantly put to a life-or-death test.

At the Home, only two occupations appealed to him. Hunter and Warrior. The former left the Home each day to find meat for the Family’s tables, venturing into a world every whit as savage as his favorite barbarian’s. Mutants, zombies, genetic deviants, the scavengers, killer gangs, predators and more—-a Hunter never knew from one day to the next if he would make it back to the Home that night.

Warriors, though, didn’t leave the Home that often. Not most of them, anyway. Most of their time was taken up in perpetual training and wall duty. They saw action, and sometimes a lot of it, but they weren’t in daily peril, like the Hunters. Which was why Crom initially chose to be one of the latter. To be able to go out into the savage world each and every day was a dream come true.

At first, anyway. Tracking down and slaying game filled his need for action until he became so good at it that it became almost too easy. Sure, now and then he ran into a mutate or some other peril. And occasionally he lucked out and stumbled on the kind of challenge he thrived on.

Take those raiders.

There had been nine of them, lounging in a camp adjacent to an old highway they were following. They were armed with swords and knives and spears and a few had old guns scrounged from who-knew-where.

The glow of their campfire drew him. He’d crept close, then closer still when he saw they stupidly hadn’t posted sentries. They were eating a deer they had crudely butchered and were drinking from canteens and flasks and  talking and joking. A pack of slayers, at ease.

Crom had leaned his .50-caliber against a tree, squared his shoulders, clutched his war axe in his right hand, his .44-Magnum in his left, and strode into the firelight.

The raiders gaped and glanced at once another, and then the largest, their leader, dressed in ragged leather and boots, shoved a woman off his lap and rose. “Who the hell are you and what the hell do you want?”

Crom said nothing. He merely waited.

At a sly grin from a man with puss oozing from open sores, they began to spread out.

“Nice weapons you’ve got there, mister,” puss-face said.

A grungy woman with stringy hair and a wart on her nose shimmied her hips and said, “Maybe you see something you like? Maybe we could trade you for that revolver?”

Still Crom made no reply. He knew how this would end. But he would let them make the first move.

“Cat got your tongue?” one said, and laughed.

“Maybe he’s mute,” another said.

“Big ‘un,” said yet another.

“So?” their leader gruffly declared, his fingers folding around a sword on his hip. “We’ve done in bigger.”

A fidgety runt in rags had been sidling closer the whole time, and now he screamed as ferociously as he knew how, whipped a curved knife from behind his back, and sprang.

Crom shot him in midleap in the chest. At the boom of the .44-Magnum, the little man flipped completely over and thudded to the ground. He didn’t move, after.

The raiders froze, if only for a few seconds. Then, uttering curses and bellows of rage, they rushed him.

Crom shot a raider raising a rifle in the forehead and the top of the man’s head exploded. He shot a female raider going for a small pistol and she catapulted into the dirt. He shot a man nocking an arrow to a bow, and then shoved the Astra into its holster and met the rest head-on with his war axe. Sidestepping the leader’s sword, he severed the man’s head with a single stroke. He buried his axe between the stringy-haired woman’s breasts, splitting her wide. Pivoting, he evaded a spear thrust and rent the man’s head down to his ears. Wresting his war axe loose, he tucked at the knees and swung his axe in a circle with his arm at full extension. As neatly as a razor slicing through paper, he cut off the right leg and the left leg of the last two raiders, respectively. They collapsed, keening and wailing. He finished each with swift strokes.

Just like that, it was over.

Crom never told anyone what he’d done. He never mentioned it to their Leader at the time, Plato, or to Blade or any of the Warriors. He kept it to himself, reliving the fight again and again in his mind. The experience was the pinnacle of his existence, and the main reason he decided to switch from being a Hunter to being a Warrior.

Sure, Hunters got to leave the Home more. But when it came to combat, to the raw and pure essence of the  excitement he lived for, the Warriors engaged in much more than the Hunters.

Now here he was, about to dare the dangerous secrets of the Needle, invading the sanctuary of the Dark Lord himself. He pushed on the great wooden door.

Let the slaying begin!

*     *     *

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was braced for the worst. He had slung his autorifle and slid his prized katana from its scabbard. The katana was his weapon of choice, as much a part of him as his arms or his legs. In his mind, his katana was more than a sword. It was a symbol of every noble quality a warrior should aspire to. It was his soul, forged in metal.

Moving past Crom and Kanto as they swung the giant door open, he took a few steps and adopted the Ko Gasumi No Kamae stance, ready for the attack he expected. But nothing happened.

A spacious chamber spread before them. Its walls were as black as the Needle’s exterior, and seamless except for doorways here and there. The air seemed to pulse with an eerie green radiance that was discomfiting to gaze upon. From somewhere far below came muted rumblings, as of massive machinery at work. There was also a strong chemical scent and an occasional faint pitter-patter, as of bare feet moving quickly.

“The Lord help us,” Eleanor breathed, her own sword raised high. “This place is vile. I can feel the evil in my bones.”

“Where are the Dark Lord’s minions?” Crom said. “I want something to kill.”

“Bloodthirsty much?” Kanto said, looking every which way. “Me, I wouldn’t mind if we get in and out without a hitch.”

“Fat chance,” Crom said.

“Focus,” Rikki said. “Close those doors before something outside gets in.” He advanced a few strides, his head cocked to hear better, his every sense alert.

The lack of opposition puzzled him. The wisest tactical move for the Needle’s maker was to greet them en masse and overpower them by sheer numbers before they could go any further. It wasn’t like the Dark Lord—-if in truth the madman still lived—-to let let the opportunity pass.

Sherlock sidled next to him. “I’m half surprised they didn’t put out milk and cookies.”

Without dropping his guard, Rikki said, “So you do have a sense of humor?”

“I was being facetious,” Sherlock said.

Rikki flicked his left hand in a signal and the other three fanned out. Warily, he moved toward spiral stairs that led below. Nearby was a metal door with a pair of red buttons beside it. One button bore an arrow pointing up, the other button an arrow pointing down. Above the door was a row of numbers.

“An elevator, isn’t it?” Eleanor said. “I’ve never seen one in real life before.”

Suddenly the numbers above the door started to light up, one after the other. Simultaneously, a low whine emanated from within.

“Someone’s using it!” Kanto said.

Rikki placed himself a sword’s-length from the door and gestured to the trainees to take positions to either side. He was certain they were about to be attacked, and flexed his arms, ready to deliver a thrust to the first enemy that emerged.

The whine stopped and there was a loud ping and the door slid open. “Hi,” said the elevator’s occupant. “Please don’t kill me. My Master has sent me to meet you.”

She stood at the back, her hands folded in front of her, her chin slightly bowed. She was human, or partly. Half her face was black skin, with a slender nose and a green eye. The other half was a purple plastic substance, with an oversized red eye that brought to Rikki’s mind the kind of eye A.l.v.i.s had. When she smiled, half her teeth were human, the rest ivory fangs. Her body was humanoid but composed of more synthetic material than flesh, and oddly misshaped. Her left shoulder was higher than her right, the right half of her torso thicker than the left. One leg appeared shorter than the other. She was dressed in a white smock that came down to her knees.

“Who in the world?” Kanto said.

“I am to ask you to come with me,” the woman informed them.

“Do you have a name?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi asked.

She hesitated, then said almost in a whisper, “I was once called Rilletta. Back when I was human. Now I’m hybrid number 917. ”

“Who did this to you?” Eleanor said.

“I believe you know,” Rilletta said. “And we don’t want to keep him waiting.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Eleanor’s reaction on hearing the creature in the elevator was a sense of horror. There was something about the woman—-or part woman. Maybe it was the downcast expression on the human part of the woman’s face. Or maybe it was the tenor of sorrow in the woman’s voice. Eleanor felt horror, and sympathy.

“You expect us to trust you?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said to Rilletta.

“Do or don’t, it’s up to you. I was sent to fetch you. Not to harm you.”

“So you claim,” Crom growled, giving the lobby of the Needle a look of pure scorn. “I don’t trust a damn thing about this place.”

“We should take the stairs,” Kanto said. “There could be a bomb rigged to explode the moment we step in that thing.”

Eleanor was making up her mind what to do when Sherlock spoke up.

“Might I interject a few pertinent comments”

“You don’t need to ask,” Rikki said.

“I deem it unlikely we will be slain on the way down....” Sherlock paused and turned to Rilletta. “Am I correct in my surmise that you are to take us down and not up?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

Sherlock nodded. “As I was saying, this is the only elevator I see. Elevators are complicated mechanisms. To destroy it would force our host and his underlings to use the stairs until a new elevator could be built, if one even can. Nor would it be logical for our host to recklessly destroy a creation of his in which he has invested a considerable amount of time and effort.”

“Creation?” Kanto said, and looked at Rilletta. “Oh.”

“So you think it’s safe to go with her?” Rikki said.

“I would rate the danger low,” Sherlock said. “Then again, it could be Thanatos will flood the elevator with gas and lay us low that way so no harm comes to his hybrid or the elevator.”

“I vote we risk it,” Eleanor said. In her estimation, the time factor overrode the risk. Every minute they delayed brought Blade and the others that much closer to the grave.

“You always side with him,” Crom said.

Rikki regarded the elevator, and Rilletta. “You get your wish. We’ll go with you.”

Everyone filed in.

Eleanor, the back of her neck prickling as it sometimes did when she was confronted by danger, moved to the left side.

Rilletta stepped to a control panel and pressed a button and the door closed. She pressed another, and with a low whine, the elevator began to descend.

Sherlock was standing next to her. “How long have you been this way, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Can’t say exactly,” Rilletta said. “Don’t know day from night anymore. Haven’t seen the sun or the moon since I was taken captive.”

“I take it you didn’t volunteer for the procedure?”

“Ask to be turned into this?” Rilletta said, and gestured at herself in disgust.

“I am truly sorry,” Sherlock said.

“Makes no never mind,” Rilletta said, although her sorrow made plain otherwise. “I am as I am now, as my new Master keeps telling me.”

“Our Warriors thought they’d killed him.”

“According to him, he can’t be killed.”

“Is that so?” Sherlock said. “Interesting.”

Eleanor heard a thunk from somewhere in the building. She braced herself but they continued to descend unhampered. “I’m Eleanor,” she said to their escort. “Pleased to meet you, sister.”

“We’re not kin, girl,” Rilletta said. “Don’t be playing me to win me over.”

“We’re all children of the Almighty,” Eleanor said. “Everyone is a sister or brother to everyone else.”

“That’s a damn fool notion, girl,” Rilletta said. “My days as a scavenger taught me there’s no one we can count on except our own self. Brothers? Sisters? Hell. Everybody is our enemy unless they prove different. Even then you can’t let your guard down or you’re liable to get a knife in the back.”

“I share Sherlock’s sympathy for you,” Eleanor told her. The woman’s account made her realize how fortunate she was to have been raised in the Home among the Family. To be loved and nurtured her whole life instead of thrown to the wolves.

“Eighth floor and dropping,” Kanto announced. “This thing moves fast.”

The control panel, Eleanor noticed, had buttons with numbers on them. A whole lot of buttons. If she understood right, the Tower must have twenty-five levels or stories above ground and an equal number below.

In the silence that fell, the low whine of the elevator was punctuated by a distant scream that didn’t sound entirely human. It rose to a frantic pitch, then ended in a warbling gasp.

“Did you hear that?” Kanto exclaimed.

Eleanor was rattled, too. She could imagine all sorts of terrors in this place. They were venturing into the very heart of vile darkness.

“Steady does it,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said. “Don’t let your nerves get the better of you.”

“Easier said than done,” Eleanor mentioned under her breath. She was sure no one could hear her but Rilletta looked over and the human half of Rilletta’s mouth tweaked in a half-smile.

“How many levels down must we go?” Rikki asked.

“To the very bottom,” Rilletta said.

“That won’t do, I’m afraid,” Sherlock said, and before anyone could guess what he was up to, or why, he jabbed his cane at the control panel and shouted, “Brace yourselves!”

*     *     *

Sherlock would never let his emotions show but he was enjoying himself, immensely. At long last his many talents were being put to a real test. To have his mental capacities challenged as never before was a delight in itself. He relished every moment.

Life at the Home, Sherlock had often reflected, could be dull to the point of tedium. The Family stuck to the same routine, day in and year out. The Tillers went about their tilling, the Weavers their weaving, the Warriors guarded the walls, the Healers tended the sick.

Except when under attack, or on those rare occasions when wild beasts got into the compound or chemical clouds appeared, life was ordinary. Predictable. Woefully so. Especially for someone like him. Someone who thrived on mysteries. On enigmas. Someone who loved nothing more than to have their mind stimulated in new and challenging ways.

Ever since he was little—-and well before he stumbled across books on a certain consulting detective in the Family Library—-he took great enjoyment in solving mysteries and puzzles. Unfortunately, as he grew older, challenges that might stimulate him proved elusive.

Then came word that the Warriors were planning a run to the Valley of Shadow. Eagerly, he arranged things so they would have no choice but to take him. And now here he was, pitting his intellect against a being many acknowledged to be a genius. There might never be another opportunity like this his whole life long.

Thanatos. A madman who styled himself after the Greek personification of death. A depraved lunatic, who also happened to possess one of the greatest scientific minds ever seen on planet Earth.

To take Thanatos on, to beat him at his own demented game, would be an exquisite exercise. Especially here. In the Needle. The Dark Lord’s lair. Where a legion of lethal pawns carried out his every whim. Where Thanatos could toy with intruders at his leisure, secure in the knowledge there was no escape.

Sherlock was counting on his adversary being  overconfident. He had read the reports filed by Blade and other Warriors concerning their early encounters with Thanatos. The Dark Lord had quite the ego. Thanatos believed himself to be as far above the common herd as the stars above terra firma. He also possessed a sadistic streak. He liked to toy with his enemies as a cat toyed with mice. He liked to make them suffer. Crushing a foe wasn’t enough. They must wail and gnash their teeth, to phrase it in Biblical terms.

Well before the SEAL arrived at the Valley of Shadow, Sherlock had decided that the only way to beat Thanatos was to do the unexpected. To keep him off his guard by doing what someone as frighteningly intelligent as the Dark Lord would not expect them to do.

Thanatos clearly wanted to confront them before he killed them. Perhaps to brag. To taunt. Why else send Rilletta to greet them? Once she persuaded them to enter the elevator, Thanatos no doubt counted on them staying in the elevator until it reached the bottom floor. They were safe while they were descending.

No sane person would jeopardize that.

Unless the journals they needed to effect a cure for Blade and the others were—-according to A.l.v.i.s—-on an intervening floor.

The elevator was between the eleventh and twelfth floors when Sherlock took a quick step and pressed his cane to the button for the twelfth. He shouted for the others to brace themselves but it did little good. The elevator stopped so abruptly, it was like slamming into a wall. Sherlock was flung to the floor so violently, it was a wonder he didn’t break a bone. Kanto cried out. Eleanor pitched to a knee, cutting her forearm on her sword. Crom tumbled.

Only Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and Rilletta stayed on their feet.

Sherlock was picking himself up when the door hissed open—-and all hell broke loose.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was the only one not caught off guard when Sherlock stabbed the button to stop the elevator. He hadn’t forgotten that the journals they were after were supposed to be on the twelfth floor. So when Rikki saw Sherlock’s body tense and the cane start to rise, he suspected what the younger man was about to do.

The abrupt deceleration drove the trainees to their knees or knocked them flat, but not him. He was the only one standing—-besides Rilletta——when the elevator door hissed open. A lifetime of martial arts training, including endless hours in the horse stance, had strengthened Rikki’s calves and thighs to where, as some of the other Warriors liked to joke, he had ‘legs of iron’.

A.l.v.i.s had warned them the twelfth floor was well guarded. According to the synthezoid, Thanatos had an army of diverse creatures and mutations at his beck and call, and rotated them on various duties throughout the Needle. In short, A.l.v.i.s couldn’t predict what they would be up against.

Rikki thought it might be hybrids or more of the bizarre abominations that attacked the SEAL in the fog. But no.

The corridor was filled with....things. Two rows of them, standing in silent ranks, their heads bowed, their thick arms at their sides. They weren’t much over a meter in height, with stocky builds. Their features were impossible to discern because they were covered, from crown to toe, with long russet hair.

Rikki only had a moment to take the sight in, and then, as if a switch had been thrown, each of the things raised its head and opened feral green eyes. Wide mouths, barely visible behind the long hair, parted to reveal glistening fangs.

A.l.v.i.s had made mention of such creatures once. Morlocks, he called them. Spawned in test tubes by his Master. Of low intelligence, they lived for one purpose, namely, to carry out every command of their dark maker.

Rikki didn’t hesitate. Swinging his katana, he plunged into them. At each stroke he partially severed a neck or opened a throat. Four of the things were dead before the rest could react.

Giving savage voice to snarls and growls, the Morlocks swarmed forward—-and it was all Rikki could do to stay alive. Sharps nails clawed at his face and jugular. Fangs snapped right and left.

In a whirlwind of martial expertise, Rikki cleaved wrists, chopped arms and sliced more necks.

Undeterred, the Morlocks pressed in. The din of their beastly fury rose to a crescendo. Rikki swung and swung but it wasn’t enough. The Morlocks were on the verge of overwhelming him by sheer force of numbers when a war axe flashed to his left and a longsword to his right.

Crom’s battle cry rose to the ceiling. Eleanor, normally so reserved, let out with a shout of her own.

Black nails raked at Rikki’s eyes and he separated the fingers from the hand. Another creature leaped high, a shoulder tilted to block the katana so it could close on him with its arms and teeth. Pivoting, Rikki speared the blade into its throat. He wrenched to free his blade but it stuck fast. The weight of the Morlock threw him off-balance. He staggered and nearly fell.

Taking advantage, other Morlocks closed in.

“Hit the floor!” Kanto bellowed. “All three of you!”

Rikki did. To either side, Crom and Eleanor likewise dropped.

Kanto and Sherlock had planted themselves side by side, Kanto with his autorifle to his shoulder, Sherlock with the BXP leveled. They opened up simultaneously. Lead poured into the Morlocks, mowing down the foremost ranks like wheat being cut by scythes.

Kanto’s AR70 went empty and he ejected the spent magazine and inserted a fresh one, smoothly as could be. Instants later, Sherlock did the same.

Rikki brought his Howa to bear. Firing from flat on his back, he stitched hairy attackers scrambling over the bodies of the slain to get at them.

Eleanor thrusted with Wrathbringer.

Crom added his .44-Magnum to the killfest, its thunder nearly drowning out everything else.

The Morlocks died in droves. Their crumpled forms were piled three and four deep when the last was cored in the head and toppled into the heap.

In the sudden quiet, Rikki’s ears rang. Pushing upright, he slung his Howa and gripped his katana.

Hairy limbs twitched.  Bodies convulsed. A gurgling snarl was smothered by death.

“Man, that was fun,” Crom said. He was spattered with blood and gore, and swiped a hand at drops on his brow.

“We were lucky,” Kanto said.

Rikki agreed. The fight could have gone either way. All it would have taken was for one of them to fall, allowing the Morlocks to pour through the gap to overrun the rest.

Rikki wiped his dripping katana on the hair of a dead creature. Only then did he realize he had overlooked someone in the frenzy of the melee. “Hope these weren’t friends of yours.”

Rilletta stood in the elevator, her hands clasped at her waist. She gave the piled Morlocks a look of distaste. “They were ugly suckers. Brutes. Nothing more. Made for only one purpose.”

“To kill,” Eleanor said.

“For the fun of it,” Rilletta said bitterly.

“How’s that again, lady?”  Kanto said.

“When he was.....working.....on me,” Rilletta said slowly, “the Dark Lord told me that a lot of the creatures he makes in his lab, he does it to amuse himself. His very words. He likes.....how did he put it? He likes to have power over life and death.”

“The sick bastard,” Crom said.

Rilletta  looked down at herself. “I was a woman once. A human woman. And he did this.” She stopped, too choked to continue, and a tear trickled from her real eye.

“I’m sorry for what he did to you,” Eleanor said.

“You said that before. Why? You don’t know me.”

“No human being should have done to them what Thanatos did to you.”

Rilletta looked at Eleanor and her voice broke. “I can’t hardly feel anything anymore. The parts he fused to me, you can touch them and I won’t feel it. I’m not a person. I’m not even female. I don’t know what I am.....” She started to softly cry.

Sherlock peered along the shadowy corridor. “As heartless as it will seem for me to say, we should move. Thanatos knows by now that we didn’t do as he wanted. He’ll throw everything he has at us.”

“A.l.v.i.s told us the journals are in room 1217,” Rikki reminded them. “Let’s head out.” He paused to ask Rilletta, “Where do you stand? Are you going to try and stop us?”

“You have to ask?” Rilletta said. “I could have attacked you while your backs were to me but I didn’t.” She emerged from the elevator. “I want away from this place. Promise to take me with you and I’ll help you.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Crom said.

“I vote we do,” Eleanor said.

“It’s not up to you,”  Crom said.

“It’s up to me,” Rikki said. He had a thought. “Rilletta? Can you stop your master from using the elevator? Is there a way to disable it?”

“There’s an emergency button,” Rilletta said. “It keeps the car from moving. He told me about it when he was giving me his grand tour.” She reentered and stood before the control panel. “This red one.” She pressed it. “That should keep the car here.”

“We’re in your debt,” Rikki said. “Now let’s go.”He motioned at the others and quickly threaded through the dead Morlocks to where the corridor was clear. The number of the nearest room was 2001. 2017 would be a ways in. He broke into a jog. “Crom, bring up the rear. Anything comes out of those rooms, give a yell.”

“Shouldn’t we check them?” Eleanor said.

“No time.”

Sherlock caught up to Rikki, his deerstalker pulled low, his cane stuck through his belt. “You said to share my observations.”

“I’m listening.”

“The Dark Lord must know what we’re after. A.l.v.i.s would have told him. If that’s so, the Morlocks were a poor choice to stop us. Thanatos is aware of how well-armed we are. He should have chosen more formidable guards.”

“Your point?”

“They were meant to slow us, not stop us. Cannon fodder, if you will. He’s playing with us.”

Rikki digested that as they drew abreast of an alcove. In it stood a tall statue. Suddenly stopping, he pointed and said, “What in the world is that?”

Cloaked in a dark brown hood and robe, the statue was at least eight feet tall. Broad at the shoulders, thin below, a hand that was exposed appeared to be made of metal. The hood framed an inhuman face with dull red eyes.

“That,” Rilletta said, “is Thanatos.”

“What?” Kanto said, jerking his AR70 up.

“He calls them his suits, for some reason,” Rilletta said. “There’s one on every floor. All of them exactly the same.”

“He puts up statues of himself?” Crom said, and cackled.

“How very strange,” Sherlock said.

“Let’s keep moving,” Rikki said, and jogged on. Rilletta fell behind. They passed 2012, then 2013. Around a bend was 2014. A few more doors and he came to 2017. The door was old fashioned wood.

“Another incongruity,” Sherlock said.

Rikki tried the knob. He expected it to be locked but it wasn’t. Firming his hold on his katana, he entered. He was certain someone or something would be waiting for them, and he was right.

A.l.v.i.s.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Crom was having the time of his life. He had slain so many Morlocks, he lost count. It was glorious, pitting his war axe against their claws and teeth. He relished the memory of the battle as recent as it was.

Now, looking over Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’s shoulder, he was startled to see the Artificial Living Veraform Intelligence System—-a fancy name for the bucket of bolts—-waiting for them. Gliding to the left and keeping his back to a wall lined with cabinets and bookcases, he hefted his war axe and gauged the distance.

A.l.v.i.s swung toward him. “Please restrain yourself,” it chirped.”I am not here to harm you. Attacking me will accomplish nothing.”

“Says you,” Crom said. He wasn’t sure his axe could dent the thing’s casing but he could damn well jar its insides with enough solid whacks.

The others were fanning out except for Sherlock, who boldly approached it. “We should hear what A.l.v.i.s has to say.”

“Why bother?” Crom said. “You’re the one who said we can’t trust this tin rat.”

“Really, now,” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “I am not constructed of tin and I am certainly not a rodent.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi joined Sherlock. “What are you doing here, A.l.v.i.s? You deserted us back when we could have used your help.”

“Only to prove myself to you,” A.l.v.i.s chirped.

“This should be good,” Crom scoffed. He had never been a big fan of  technology. What had high-tech ever given the world except the Apocalypse?

“Explain,” Rikki said. “And make it quick. Your Master won’t waste time sending more of his abominations after us..”

“Is that how you regard me?” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “As an abomination?”

“I’m waiting,” Rikki said.

The little lights on A.l.v.i.s’s bullet-shaped body blinked and flashed and it uttered a sound that in a human would be a sigh. “It’s quite simple. I became convinced I wasn’t in complete control of my own circuits. I suspected that an outside force or intelligence, if you will, was using me to monitor your progress, and in other ways. For your own safety, I elected to separate and go my own way.”

“Elaborate, if you would,” Sherlock said.

Crom glanced at the corridor. He thought he’d heard a sound. Were it up to him, they would grab the journals and get the hell out of there.

“Your observation, that we were encountering too many threats for random chance to be a factor set me to reflecting,” A.l.v.i.s chirped at Sherlock. “I reasoned that Thanatos might be tracking my GPS chip, and thus always know where we were. Even more disturbing was the possibility that at times he could take me over without my being aware of it, and employ me for his own ends.”

“You mean he could make you act and say what he wanted?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi interrupted.

“That was my concern, yes. So, again, I left you. Perhaps I should have said something.”

“You should have,” Rikki said.

Kanto stepped to the doorway and stared back the way they had come. “Should we be standing around talking like this? What if he’s trying to delay us so we’ll be caught?”

“I’m thinking the same,” Crom said.

“I agree that haste is of the essence,” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “To that end, come over here, if you would.” The synthezoid floated to a nearby cabinet, extended a pincer, and opened the middle drawer. “Here are the journals that contain the formula for the serum. Secure them, and I can lead you safely out of here.”

“Safely?” Rikki said.

“I know the Needle, as you would say, like the back of the hands I don’t have. Hallways that are seldom used. Corridors that don’t have cameras installed.”

“Do we dare trust him?” Eleanor said to no one in particular.

“Not me,” Crom said. “Not ever.”

“You stricken me, young human, with your lack of faith,” A.l.v.i.s said.

“Give me an excuse,” Crom declared, hefting his war axe, “and I’ll stricken you a lot worse.”

Rikki stepped to the cabinet and quickly removed half a dozen thick journals which he placed on a small table. He flipped through one and said, “This is beyond me. Sherlock, do these look right to you?”

Sherlock hurriedly examined one and then another. “The science is beyond me, as well. The math, especially. I’ve studied algebra but not advanced calculus.”

“Cal-cu-what?” Crom said.

“These could be the ones,” Sherlock said to Rikki. “We’ll just have to take A.l.v.i.s’s word for it.”

Rikki frowned. “All right. We have no choice. Find something to put them in and we’re out of here.”

“Finally,” Crom grumbled. He noticed a tall stand in a corner with a white coat hanging from it, as well as a couple of large leather bags with long straps. “How about one of these?” he said, going over.

“We’ll use both bags” Rikki said. “Divide the weight.” He took one of them and placed half the journals inside. The rest went in the other.  Eleanor offered to carry one but Rikki shook his head and gave the first bag to Kanto and held out the second to Crom.

Crom slung the strap over his shoulder. The bag wouldn’t impede him much so long as he kept it slightly behind him, on his hip.

“Now we can head out,” Rikki announced.

“No,” Sherlock said. “We can’t.”

*     *     *

So much was happening, so fast, Eleanor was scarcely able to catch her mental breath. The fight with the hairy creatures had filled her with fear but she had done as she always did when a crisis reared; she composed her soul and called on the Lord to give her the strength she needed to prevail.

Now, eager to leave the Needle and put the Valley of Shadow behind them, she didn’t know what to make of Sherlock’s comment. “Excuse me?”

Sherlock was staring at A.l.v.i.s. “The ingredients for the cure,” he said. “They are chemicals, I presume?”

“Yes,” A.l.v.i.s said.

“Do you know what these chemicals are kept?”

“Yes.“

“Are they easily obtainable?”

Was it Eleanor’s imagination or did A.l.v.i.s hesitate?

“They are not.”

“What’s all this?” Rikki said.

“I have been giving it considerable thought,” Sherlock said. “The journals aren’t enough. There’s no guarantee we can replicate the chemicals we need. It occurred to me that Thanatos must have a stockpile of any and all chemicals he uses. Including those for the serum.”

“Ah,” Rikki said.

“You can lead us there,” Sherlock said to A.l.v.i.s.

“I can,” A.l.v.i.s said. “They are in a laboratory on the tenth floor. I warn you, though, that it will be impossible to reach it undetected.”

“Never imagined it would be easy,” Sherlock said.

Kanto had been watching out the door, and now he called out, “Here comes that woman or hybrid or whatever she is! She’s in a hurry!” He changed position so he covered the doorway with his autorifle, his finger curled around the trigger.

Rilletta entering, moving with an awkward gait, the result of her mismatched legs. “The elevator,” she said anxiously. “There must be an override. I heard it start moving.”

“Thanatos,” Sherlock said.

“Then we take the stairs,” Rikki said, and turned to the synthezoid. “Lead the way.”

Eleanor filed out with the rest. She had a bad feeling about their change in plans. In an out, quick as could be, was the original idea. This delay could cost them dearly. Who knew what they would find themselves up against?

“If you will permit me,” Rilletta was saying to Rikki, “I will continue helping you. I hate Thanatos. I hate what he has done to me. He claimed I would get used to it, but no one could. I think he likes the idea of me suffering. I think he gets off on sick stuff like that.” She raised the artificial hand Thanatos had grafted to her forearm and flexed her metallic fingers. “All I want is a chance to wrap these around that bastard’s throat.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay at our side,” Rikki said.

“I can’t move all that fast, though,”  Rilletta said. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,”  Rikki assured her. “A.l.v.i.s, you take point.”

Eleanor fell in behind Sherlock. Sounds from the direction of the elevator warned of possible pursuers.

Kanto materialized at her elbow. “Between you and me,” he said quietly, “I don’t like this one bit.”

“We owe it to Blade and them to try,” Eleanor said.

“They never should have used that device Thanatos made,” Kanto said. “They were asking for trouble.”

Eleanor was about to remark that his nitpicking was annoying when they rounded a bend and came to a metal door.

“The stairs are on the other side,” A.l.v.i.s said.

Rikki stepped to a long handle and and pulled. When nothing happened, he tried to push the handle up, and then down. “It’s locked,” he said. “We can’t get out this way.”

“In other words,” Kanto said as the sounds behind them grew louder, “we’re trapped.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Perhaps not,” Sherlock said. It all depended on the thickness of the door. Acutely aware that their pursuers were growing closer, he examined the bottom edge. There was a gap, perhaps an eighth of an inch. Quickly, he reached into one of the many inner pockets on his tweed overcoat—-pockets he had sewn himself—-and produced a glass globe.

“What’s that?” Eleanor said.

“An explosive, would be my guess,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said before Sherlock could answer.

Sherlock nodded. “I can’t guarantee it will work. The formula I used is from an old chemistry book in the Family library. I only recently made a couple of these, and I haven’t had a chance to test them yet.”

“No time like now, brain-boy,” Crom said.

“Everyone back,” Sherlock said. He was unsure of the blast radius, so to play it safe, he had them retreat to the last bend. He went partway, and stopped.  “You might want to cover your ears,” he advised them.  Then, poised on the balls of his feet, he threw the glass ball at the bottom of the door. Even as the ball left his hand, he whirled and ran and dived around the corner, throwing himself down and placing his hands over his own ears.

The explosion was everything Sherlock hoped. Even with his ear covered, the blast was thunderous. He felt the floor shake as if to an earthquake. Wisps of smoke swirled over him, bringing an acrid odor.

Grabbing his cane and his BXP, Sherlock heaved to his feet. He started to turn and glanced back down the hall—-and his blood froze in his veins.

‘Things’ were shuffling rapidly to overtake them. More of the Dark Lord’s demented experiments in grafting, in blending the natural with the artificial. They filled the corridor, a phalanx of horror, looking for all the world like an unholy mix of zombie and android. They moved in jerky, uncoordinated fashion, as if whatever was left of their brains wasn’t enough for simple coordination.

The others saw them, too.

“Lord in heaven,” Eleanor said.

“Get to the door,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi commanded.

Instead, Crom took a few steps toward the approaching undead. “I’ll hold them off.”

“You’ll do as you’re told,” Rikki said. “To the door. Now.”

Sherlock was the first to reach it. Crouching, he smiled in satisfaction. His concoction had worked, although not to the degree he had hoped. He wanted to blow the door off its hinges. Instead, the blast had crumpled the bottom half into twisted ribbons, leaving a gap wide enough for a person to squeeze through on their hands and knees.

“Eleanor, you first,” Rikki said.

She obeyed without question.

“Kanto. Crom. Then A.l.v.i.s”

“Damn,” Crom said, but he went too.

“Rilletta,” Rikki said.

Their new ally looked at the hole and down at herself. “No,” she said. “You go.”

“I’ll go last,” Rikki said. “Please. Hurry.”

“I would, gladly,” Rilletta said. “But I can’t move as fast as you. And I have trouble bending my legs.”

“Then we’ll go through and pull you after us,” Rikki said. He flicked a finger at Sherlock.

Swiftly, Sherlock scrambled to the other side. The others were on their feet. Beyond, were stairs. He slid to one side, and after Rikki came through, he held out his hands to Rilletta.

She didn’t move.

“What’s the hold up?” Rikki said.

Sadness tinged Rilletta’s voice as she said, “There’s isn’t time. They’re almost here. I’ll stand in front of the door and block it best I can.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Rikki said.

Neither did Sherlock. “Will those things harm you?” he asked her.

“Maybe not,” Rilletta said. “I think Thanatos has them trained or conditioned or what it is so they only attack outsiders.”

“You think?” Rikki said.

“Go, before it’s too late,” Rilletta urged. “If I can’t go with you, at least I can help you get the better of that sick son of a bitch.”

From over by the stairwell, A.l.v.i.s chirped, “Might I suggest an expeditious departure? My sensors indicate other entities approaching from above and below.”

Rikki stood and went over.

Reluctantly, Sherlock followed. He dearly desired to help Rilletta. He hardly knew her, but her sorrow at being turned into a hideous caricature of anything human had touched him, deep down. Others liked to think of him as a cold fish, and perhaps he was in a certain respect. But evil brought out the same aversion in him that it would bring out in anyone, and pity for those who suffered its blight.

“What is coming after us now?” Rikki was asking.

“I am not entirely certain. They are at the limit of my scanning ability....,” A.l.v.i.s stopped.

“What?” Rikki said.

New sounds filled the stairwell, issuing from the other side of the door. Sounds of conflict, of Rilletta trying to stop the zombie-like creatures.

Sherlock ran to the hole and peered through. She was down, and the things were holding her fast. Her arms and legs were pinned. But she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking at the hole in the door.

“Run!” she yelled. “Don’t waste your chance!”

A hand fell on Sherlock’s collar and clamped tight.

“Do as she says!” Rikki said, and pushed him toward the stairs.

*     *     *

Kanto started up, Eleanor and Crom close behind. Things were going south and threatened to become a lot worse if they didn’t move their butts.

A.l.v.i.s came flying up beside him. “I urge greater speed,” the synthezoid chirped. “I have been monitoring the Needle’s frequencies and a Destructo is en route to head us off.”

“A what?” Rikki said.

“A special android,” A.l.v.i.s said. “Constructed to be indestructible. My Master’s ultimate soldiers, you might say. Against one of them, even I would be hard pressed to maintain my sentience.”

“You mean it can kill you?” Kanto said.

“Is that not what I just told you?” A.l.v.i.s responded.

Kanto never much liked their A.I. guide, and he liked it less as time went by. First, it had showed up out of the blue. Then it bailed on them. Now the thing claimed to be working on their side all along and wanted them to trust it to lead them to safety. Not on Kanto’s life.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi caught up. “Stay frosty. These Destructo’s sound tough.”

“You have no idea, sir,” A.l.v.i.s chirped.

“How are you holding up?” Rikki asked Kanto.

“Never better.”

“Do you still want to be a Warrior?” Rikki asked with a grin.

“What else would I do? Be a Baker or a Weaver?” Kanto joked.

“Might I suggest a candlestick maker?” A.l.v.i.s said.

“Huh?” Kanto said.They came to the eleventh floor landing, and stopped. A.l.v.i.s moved to the bottom of the next section of stairs, its lights blinking rapidly.

“Something?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said.

“The Destructo,” A.l.v.i.s said.

Kanto expected maybe a synthezoid similar to A.l.v.i.s. or a mishmash of human and other parts like Rilletta.

The creature descending toward them was entirely new. It was humanoid in that it had a head and wide shoulders and a torso and arms and legs. About seven feet tall, it was entirely grey from head to feet, and also, from head to feet, as smooth as plastic. There were no features of any kind. No hair, no eyes, no nose, no mouth. No wrinkles. Or sex organ. Which was easy to tell because it wasn’t wearing clothes. It came to a stop above them.

“How can it see us ?” Eleanor said. “How can it even breathe?”

“Who cares?” Crom growled.

Kanto agreed. Whether the being had eyes or lungs was irrelevant. There was only one thing that mattered. That thing stood between them and their return to the Home.

He shot it.

The three-round burst caught the Destructo in the chest. Everyone saw the slugs hit. Everyone saw holes blossom—-and everyone saw the holes close up again as quickly as they formed.

“Uh-oh,” Eleanor said.

Kanto took aim at the thing’s head. It was do or die time again, and he intended to live.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Crom charged up the stairs. He wasn’t about to let the thing tear into his friends. A Destructo, Thanatos called it. Yet another example of the Dark Lord coming up with stupid names for his creatures. It didn’t look all that dangerous.

Uttering a battle cry, Crom swung his war axe at the thing’s leg. He figured that would bring it crashing down and he could dispatch it with ease. He barely registered the flash of its arm but he definitely felt the excruciating blow that smashed into his chest and sent him tumbling back to the landing.

Guns exploded in sound, and Crom looked up to see everyone pouring lead into the android. Even Eleanor, who rarely used her TEC-9. He stayed down to keep out of their line of fire.

The slugs found their mark. Holes stitched the Destructo’s torso—-but had no effect. The thing absorbed the punishment like a sponge. Anything else would have been blasted to pieces but no sooner did a hole appear than it closed again and the spot where the slug had struck was as smooth and undamaged as it had been before impact.

Their magazines went empty and they grabbed for new ones, Kanto bellowing, “How the hell?”

“It should be dead!” Eleanor marveled.

The Destructo hadn’t moved. In the momentary lull, A.l.v.i.s. chirped, “My Master told me they are invulnerable to small arms fire. You could shoot it a thousand times and it would continue to function.”

“Let’s see how cold steel does,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said, and whipping out his katana, he bounded up the stairs.

Crom pushed to his feet to help.

The Destructo blocked Rikki’s swing with its forearm. To Crom’s astonishment and disbelief, there was a loud clang and the katana was deflected. By rights, it should have shorn clean through.

Rikki drew back and looked at his weapon in consternation.

The Destructo just stood there.

Over by the wall A.l.v.i.s chirped, “I should warn you. These particular androids are capable of transmuting themselves.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Crom snapped.

“They can alter their physical density,” A.l.v.i.s explained, “so that parts of them becomes as hard as, say, a diamond. As you just witnessed.”

“How quickly?” Sherlock asked.

“I never observed that put to a test,” A.l.v.i.s said.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi shot Sherlock a glance and must have picked up on something Crom missed because the next instant Rikki tore into the Destructo as if possessed. His katana was everywhere, flashing high, low, left, right. The Destructo became a blur, blocking the swings with the same ringing sound as before.

Rikki stopped and moved back out of reach, saying over his shoulder to Sherlock, “No good.”

The android straightened.

“How do we stop that thing?” Kanto said.

Eleanor pointed and exclaimed, “Look!”

On the android’s right thigh a large cut was slowly closing.

Crom smiled. So Rkki had connected!  “The thing can be hurt!”

“Now we know what to do,” Sherlock said.

“We do?” Kanto said.

Sherlock motioned at Crom, at his war axe. “If one blade can damage it, think of what two can accomplish.”

In a rush of insight, Crom sprang up the stairs to Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’s side.

“Together,” Rikki said. “You go high. I’ll go low.”

“Suits me,” Crom said.

“Lookout!” Eleanor shouted. “It’s doing something!”

The smooth surface of the Destructo’s right arm and hand were rippling and shifting. It’s fingers melted into a giant fist, which in turn became a large mace from which long spikes began to extrude.

Rikki fell into a crouch. “On me,” he said, and attacked.

Crom drove in. He swung at the android’s chest and felt the jar of metal striking diamond. Ducking under its mace, he swung at its midriff. Again metal rang. He shifted, going high, for the thing’s neck.

Simultaneously, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi arced his katana at the Destructo’s legs. Once more metal pinged.

“Keep at him!” Rikki yelled.

Crom did.

War axe and katana were in ceaseless motion. So was the android. Exhibiting incredible reflexes, the thing countered their blows. Its mace swept at Crom’s face and Crom brought his axe up, saving himself. So immense was the creature’s strength, though, that his axe was slammed broadside against his forehead, and he almost lost his footing.

Out of nowhere, Sherlock’s sword cane streaked between Crom and Rikki. Thrown like a spear, it struck the android in the center of its chest—-and sank in to the hilt.

The Destructo swayed, and a heartbeat later a stiletto imbedded itself in the thing’s head.

Out of the corner of his eye, Crom caught movement. It was Eleanor, moving in a crouch along the rail. Before he could guess her intent, she thrust Wrathbringer into the android’s crotch—-or where a crotch would be if it had one—-and with a grunt, drove the long double-edged blade up and in.

Some sort of green goo spurted from the wound onto her head and shoulders, and she recoiled.

The android gave a violent lurch and froze in place. Its smooth surfaced rippled. But instead of hardening, it seemed to soften. So much so, in several places its ‘skin’ drooped.

“What now?” Kanto said. “Did we hurt it?”

“We did more than that,” Sherlock said.

Warily, Rikki pressed the tip of his katana to the thing’s neck. There was no reaction. His sword sank in a couple of inches, but still nothing.

“I detect no evidence of internal functions,” A.l.v.i.s chirped. “I believe you have, as human parlance would phrase it, put the Destructo out of commission. A remarkable feat.”

“Of interest to me,” Sherlock said, “is why it didn’t try harder to harm us.”

“Are you nuts? It tried to take my head off,” Crom reminded him.

Rikki was pulling his katana out. “We’re wasting time. More of those things could show up. Collect your weapons and fall in behind me.”

Kanto yanked on his stiletto and it came right out. The same with Sherlock’s cane. But when Eleanor tugged on her longsword, it wouldn’t budge.

“Something is wrong. Wrathbringer is stuck.”

Squatting, Rikki added his strength to hers. The longsword came out another inch or so but then wouldn’t slide any further. “Again,” Rikki said, and together they strained until they were red in the face.

“It’s stuck fast,” Rikki said.

“We have to get it out!” Eleanor said. “I refuse to leave Wrathbringer behind.”

Crom moved next to them. “Allow me, swordwoman.” With all the power in his shoulders, he sank his war axe deep into the android. More green goo spewed. Twisting, he extracted his axe and leaned it against the rail. “Step back,” he said.

Thrusting both hands into the cleft he had made, Crom pushed outward to either side. Whatever substance the thing was made of, resisted. He pressed harder, the muscles on his arms and neck bulging. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow. Sucking in deep breaths, he slowly but surely began to force the android’s body apart.

“Dear Spirit, you’re strong!” Kanto said.

“He reminds me of Blade or Samson,” Eleanor said, and she wasn’t being sarcastic.

Crom kept pushing. His arms ached but he refused to give up. The gap spread until finally her sword was visible, the blade wedged between components that must serve as the equivalent of bodily organs. Holding the body wide, Crom said, “Get it out! Quick! I don’t know how long I can hold this!”

Quickly, Eleanor and Rikki twisted Wrathbringer free. Hugging it, heedless of the slimy goo, Eleanor beamed and said, “You saved my sword, Crom! I can never thank you enough.”

Stepping back, Crom swiped at his brow and grunted. “Glad to help. Next time, try not to wedge your precious  blade so far up your enemy’s ass.”

Eleanor’s eyes flashed. “I’ll thank you to....,” she said, and stopped.

“What?” Crom said.

“Nothing.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi scooped up his katana. “Once again, people, focus. Remember Thanatos? The Tower? The chemicals?” He resumed climbing the stairs. “A.l.v.i.s, I want you on point. Use those sensors of yours. Any nasty surprises, let us know in advance.”

“I will strive my utmost,” the synthezoid said, and floated ahead.

Crom fell in. He glanced over as Sherlock passed him to join Rikki, and listened with interest.

“Another observation,” the brainy-boy said.

“I’m listening.”

“Something wasn’t right back there,” Sherlock said. “The Destructo hardly lived up to its name.”

“It matched us blow for blow.”

“That’s just it,”  Sherlock said. “I had the impression it was holding back.”

“Why?”

“I’m unsure,” Sherlock said. “There is more at play here than I initially surmised. It could be that Thanatos has something special in mind for us. Something I can’t predict.”

“Maybe so,” Rikki said. “The best we can do is try to be ready for whatever he throws at us.”

“I’ve never been a big fan of fingers crossed,” Sherlock said.

“Worrywarts,” Crom said, and laughed. “Me, I can’t wait to tangle with Mr. Genius one-on-one.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Sherlock said.

CHAPTER THIRTY

They reached the tenth floor. Eleanor emerged from the stairwell last and saw that everyone else—-including A.l.v.i.s—-had frozen. Kanto and Sherlock had cocked their heads as if listening. “What?” she whispered.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi signaled to enjoin silence, then said quietly to the synthezoid. “What do your sensors show?”

Eleanor realized the entire floor was ominously still.

“My sensors aren’t detecting any forms besides our own,” A.l.v.i.s reported.

“The entire floor can’t be deserted,” Rikki said.

“Perhaps they are shielded,” A.l.v.i.s chirped.

“Shielded?” Eleanor said.

“Electronically,” Sherlock said. “Before the Big Blast, they could shield aircraft and even entire ships.”

“My Master always shields himself,” A.l.v.i.s said. “He can also shield his creations when he wants to.”

“Wonderful,” Eleanor said under her breath. She wanted to get the mission over with and get out of there. The Needle was one giant death trap. Every which way they turned, a new threat arose.

Slowly advancing, they passed another alcove with another statue of Thanatos.

Eleanor shivered.

“The laboratory we want is farther down,” A.l.v.i.s. informed them.

Keeping one eye on the hall behind them, Eleanor held Wrathbringer ready to swing. Intent on their surroundings, she didn’t realize someone had slowed as she could catch up to him.

“This doesn’t fit,” Sherlock said, keeping his voice low. He had his cane in one hand and his BXP in the other.

“I don’t understand,” Eleanor said. staying alert. To let herself be distracted was an invitation to an early grave.

“This empty corridor,” Sherlock said. “Thanatos has to know exactly where we are.”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Eleanor said. “We should count our blessings we’re not being attacked.”

“But we should have been,” Sherlock said. “Reinforcements should be pouring in.”

“Maybe Thanatos doesn’t want to lose any more of his minions,” Eleanor said.

“I would imagine that the Dark Lord doesn’t give a good damn about those under him.” Sherlock shook his head. “No. This is something else. He‘s changed his tactics for some reason.”

“Lucky us,” Eleanor said.

“Luck is often the residue of design.” Sherlock leaned toward her. “Be extra vigilant. I wouldn’t want any harm to come to you.” He paused. “Or to any of the others.” Smiling, he moved ahead.

Eleanor nearly broke stride. He’d made a deliberate effort to warn her. Why? Because she was bringing up the rear, and vulnerable? Or did he perhaps....care...more than she imagined? No, she thought, and shook her own head. She would not permit herself to go there. The very idea was preposterous. He was all logic. He lived by his mind. He wouldn’t grow attracted to her. Would he?

Up front, A.l.v.i.s chirped, “This is it. Lab 1014.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi put his ear to the closed door. Crom flanked him on the other side while Kanto took up a position close to the opposite wall to protect his back.

Eleanor moved in closer to guard Rikki’s near flank.

“What can we expect in there?” Rikki whispered to A.l.v.i.s.

“Impossible to say,” the synthezoid said. “My Master does not think in normal channels of human thought. He used to boast that the only altar he would ever worship at was that of Lord Chaos.”

“Were those his exact words?” Sherlock said.

“Verbatim, yes.”

“Curious,” Sherlock said.

A.l.v.i.s wasn’t done. “Thanatos believed that to be predictable was indicative of mental illness. He claimed most human minds are trapped in a matrix of conditioning that prevents them from thinking clearly and originally. He said in my presence that if he ever thought for a moment that he was becoming predictable, he would take drastic steps to remedy the condition.”

“What a weirdo,” Crom said.

Sherlock turned to Rikki. “Thanatos’s unpredictability was to a limited degree itself predictable. But now I have to wonder if we’re not being played on a whole new level.”

“Huh?” Kanto said.

“I swear,” Crom said. “If brainy boy ever talks like the rest of us, the shock will kill me.”

“Enough, both of you,” Rikki said to them. To Sherlock he said, “What do you expect when we open this door?”

“At this point?” Sherlock said, and gave the lab a speculative look, “I have absolutely no idea.”

“Let’s find out,” Rikki said. Working the handle, he shoved.

Eleanor tensed, dreading the worst, but the ominous silence continued. She anxiously waited as A.l.v.i.s, Rikki, Kanto and Sherlock filed in.

“After you,” Crom said with a flourish.

“Be careful,” Eleanor teased. “You’re behaving like a gentleman.” Grinning, she slipped by him.

“Damn. I just did, didn’t I?” Crom said. “I won’t make that mistake again.” He closed the door behind them.

Eleanor drew up short. The sheer expanse of the lab, and the many scientific wonders it contained, dazzled her. Equipment and machines the likes of which she couldn’t begin to conceive their purpose. From huge contraptions with a multitude of gauges to small gadgets with knobs and dials and meters.

“I have died and gone to heaven,” Sherlock said He stepped to a device that looked to Eleanor to be a large microscope with extra tubes and a box-like affair attached.

“Where is the cure we’re after?” Rikki demanded of A.l.v.i.s.

“This way.”

The synthezoid led them toward the back. Cabinets and cases lined the wall. Shelves were filled with hundreds upon hundreds of beakers, flasks, tubes, and vials, all neatly arranged, each appropriately labelled.

Eleanor peered at one of the labels and couldn’t make sense of it. The writing was so much Greek to her.

Sherlock was scanning the cases, his face lit with rapture. “Fascinating!” he exclaimed. Another time it was,“Marvelous!” Then, “Superb!” Once he stopped and placed his face flush to a glass cabinet and declared, “Incredible!”

“Marry the place, why don’t you?” Crom said.

“The cure,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said to A.l.v.i.s.

“Certainly, sir.”

The synthezoid floated along the wall to a high cabinet and hovered. “How odd. I saw my Master place the serum on this very shelf. But it’s not here. My memory must be faulty.”

“Impossible,” Sherlock said. “You told me yourself that you were programmed for total recall.”

“Which is why I suspect my Master has moved it,” A.l.v.i.s said. The synthezoid moved to the next case, and then a third, and suddenly stopped. “I was right. He did move it. Here it is. The green beaker on the second shelf from the top, ninth from the left. The remedy for the stasis affliction.”

Forgetting themselves, they all crowded close.

To Eleanor, the beaker wasn’t any different than the scores of others. The label contained chemical jargon she couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“The cure for Blade, Hickok and Yama,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said in great relief. “The prize we have come so far to find.”

“Why are we just standing here looking at it?” Crom said.

“Good point,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said, and tried the latch. It  wouldn’t turn. He tried harder, rattling the glass door. “Locked.”

“I’ll smash it,” Crom said, raising his war axe.

“And risk breaking the beaker?” Kanto said. “Please. Allow me.” He flicked his right wrist and a stiletto slid into his hand. Inserting the tip into a thin gap between the lock cylinder and the plunger pin, he jimmied and pried until there was a slight rasp and the door came open. Smiling, he bowed and said, “A stiletto is good for more than slitting throats.”

“Do you use it to cut your toenails?” Crom said.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi yanked the door wide and reverently took the beaker down. Holding it carefully in both hands, he declared, “We can’t let anything happen to this. The lives of those we care for depend on it.”

“Hope we can get it there without breaking it,” Kanto said.

Eleanor shared his qualm. They still had to escape from the Needle and reach the SEAL. To say nothing of the long ride to the Home, with all its attendant dangers.

“A.l.v.i.s,” Sherlock said. “Surely there is something we can put it in to safeguard it?”

“Follow me, if you would, sir,” A.l.v.i.s said.

The synthezoid headed up a different aisle, passing bench after bench covered with apparatus.

Eleanor crinkled her nose at the odors wafting from some of them. She grimaced as they passed a vat containing a darksome fluid in which body parts floated. Among them was a human hand. “The Spirit preserve us,” she breathed.

“Hear, hear,” Kanto said.

Hovering beside a large cabinet, A.l.v.i.s said, “Inside you should find the answer to your request.”

Sherlock quickly located a metal case that, when opened, contained soft foam inserts. Taking the beaker from Rikki, he gently nestled it snugly into the foam, then slowly shut the case and flipped a pair of fasteners. “There,” he said happily. “This should keep it safe.”

“You hold onto it,” Rikki instructed. “Protect that thing no matter what.” He gestured at Eleanor. “Take point. We’re heading for the surface.”

“Yes, sir,” Eleanor said, pleased to be called on. She hastened to the front and was making for the door when without warning it was opened from the other side and a tall being filled the doorway. She remembered the statues, and stark horror filled every pore.

A.l.v.i.s confirmed the worst with a loud squeal. “Thanatos!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi felt a rush of adrenaline so potent, his every nerve seemed to explode with vitality and awareness. He had never encountered the Dark Lord personally. Which was probably just as well, because according to Blade, Thanatos was the single-most formidable enemy the Warriors ever went up against. And now, seeing him standing there, Rikki felt a certain intimidating presence, a vague but definite ‘something’ beyond the range of his ordinary senses.

“If you could only see your expressions,” the ruler of the Valley of Shadow said, and laughed. His voice was an eerie combination of human and otherwise. Unique, deep, and powerful.

Crom swept his war axe on high and took a step, only to be brought up short when Sherlock thrust out an arm, stopping him.

“No,” Sherlock said.

“Get out of my way,” Crom growled.

Thanatos took a step into the lab. The head under the brown hood shifted and a long artificial finger pointed at Crom. “Listen to your companion, boy. From observing you, I gather that you respect strength above all else. Given your youth and your musculature, that is understandable. But I tell you in all honesty that if you presume to attack me, I will lift you over my head with one hand and shatter every bone in your body when I throw you to the floor.”

“Big talk,” Crom said, and tried to push Sherlock’s arm away.

“Stand down,” Rikki intervened. He moved past them and adopted the chudan no kamae stance. As their leader, he should bear the brunt of Thanatos’s onslaught.

“Ah, yes,” Thanatos said. “The martial artist. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, is it not? An amusing choice in names. I presume you loved the Kipling tale? And as the mongoose protected its family in the story, you protect the Family, yes?”

This wasn’t what Rikki expected. “Yes,” he conceded. “I loved it as a boy.”

That same long finger pointed at his katana. “Your weapon, I believe, was fashioned in Japan centuries before the Big Blast. An interesting culture, the Japanese. They appreciated the importance of duty more than most.”

“You talk too much,” Crom said.

Rikki didn’t take his eyes off Thanatos as he gruffly declared, “When I told you to stand down, Crom, I meant it. We need to find out what is going on here.”

“Intelligent of you,” Thanatos said. “To provoke me without cause is the height of arrogance.”

“Without cause?” Eleanor said. “You’ve been trying to kill us ever since we left the Home!”

“Are you still breathing, young woman?” Thanatos said.

“What?” Eleanor blinked. “Yes, of course. Or we wouldn’t be talking.”

“Then I suggest I wasn’t trying as hard as you seem to believe,” Thanatos said.

“You expect us to accept that?” Kanto said.

Thanatos shifted his fiery eyes to Sherlock. “How about you, silent one? Have you nothing to say? Of the five of you, you are the only one to impress me with your intellect.”

“Should I be flattered?” Sherlock said.

“Sarcasm? Really?” Thanatos said.

Rikki was becoming more confused by the moment. He couldn’t understand what Thanatos was up to. Why talk to them when he should be trying to wipe them out?

“My apologies,” Sherlock was saying. “But you must admit. Your behavior is most unexpected.”

“To ants our own behavior must be inexplicable,” Thanatos said.

“I concede you possess an intriguing mind,” Sherlock said. “Your genius is undeniable. A pity you devoted it to conquest.”

Thanatos came nearer. He was clearly relaxed, almost casual in his movements. “Have you seen the state of the world these days? Thanks to you humans, savagery claims much of the globe. The very environment has been deranged beyond repair. Should I be faulted for wanting to restore some sense of order to our poor planet?”

“With you as its ruler.”

“Someone has to oversee affairs. It might as well be someone of superior capacity.”

“Genius does not give you that right,” Sherlock said.

“What does? Being human?” Thanatos countered. “What did humankind’s mediocrity bestow on the world? Armageddon. Before that ultimate folly, they spent their days squabbling over which of them should control the rest, and kept the general populace in a perpetual state of stupidity.”

Rikki couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They were debating politics, of all things! He reminded himself yet again that every minute they delayed increased the likelihood they would reach the Home too late. “‘We didn’t come here to talk about your genius or the sorry state of the world. We came to save our friends. And we’re leaving, now, whether you like it or not.”

Thanatos sighed. “I’ll overlook your threat. Just this once. But only for the greater good.”

Crom snorted. “What do you know about good?”

“Children,” Thanatos said wearily. “The Family sends children to oppose me! I should be insulted, but what else can be expected of mere humans?” He moved to one side and folded his arms across his chest. “I weary of this nonsense. You are free to leave.”

“What?” Rikki said.

“Are you hard of hearing?” Thanatos replied. “I give you my consent to take your children, and the serum, and depart. Neither I nor any of my creations will seek to stop you.”

“Just like that?” Rikki said, incredulous. “After all you’ve put us through?”

“Whose fault was that?” Thanatos said. “If you’ll recall, I sent Rilletta to escort you in safety into my presence. Instead, you chose to strike off on your own. It’s a wonder any of you reached this lab alive.”

“Hold on, gruesome,” Kanto said. “You’re saying you didn’t want to wipe us out?”

Rikki had the impression that the Dark Lord grew somehow in stature as his voice became rife with menace.

“You are fortunate, boy. Under normal circumstances I would terminate you for the effrontery of addressing me in an insulting tone. I very much admire an old human saying that applied to infants like yourself. Speak when spoken to.” Thanatos raked all of them with a glare. “None of you have the slightest conception of the game of life and death you and your precious Family are involved in. You think you know what you are doing but you don’t. You are pawns, all of you. Unwitting dupes, pathetically easy to manipulate.”

“Now who is being insulting?” Eleanor said. “You don’t know us.”

“On the contrary, girl,” Thanatos said. “I’ve monitored your little group since you left the Home. At times I have listened to your conversations, boring as they were. I know all that is pertinent about each of you.”

“Listened?” Rikki said.

“Through my Artificial Living Veraform Intelligence System,” the Dark Lord said, with a nod toward A.l.v.i.s, hovering silently to one side.

“I suspected as much,” Sherlock said.

“I know,” Thanatos said. “But lest you judge A.l.v.i.s too harshly, it truly believed me to be destroyed. It doesn’t know my secret of secrets, and never will.”

“Secret?” Rikki prompted, but Thanatos ignored him.

“I am able to take control of A.l.v.i.s without it being aware. I hear what it hears. I see what it sees. I can even control its actions. Which is why I let Blade and the others take A.l.v.i.s to your Home. He became my unwitting spy in your very midst. And through him I was able to help you in your feeble attempt to oppose the Lords of Kismet.”

“Help us?” Rikki said skeptically.

“Listen closely, martial artist. Heed my words.” Thanatos straightened. “As Blade discovered, the so-called Lords of Kismet are Reptilians. A species as old as time. Their goal is to subjugate this planet. To lord it over everyone. Including myself.”

Rikki’s every instinct told him that Thantos was telling the truth. “But if that’s the case.....”

Thanatos held up a hand. “I’m not done. The Reptilians have tried a number of times to eradicate me, and failed. I struck back, but I am greatly outnumbered, and their technology and scientific acumen is the equal of my own. Plus, they are shapeshifters, Currently we are at a stalemate. A situation I loathe. I refuse to have their constant threat hanging over my head. I need allies. But they have decimated the so-called Freedom Federation. Of that alliance, only your Family survives. Only the Family stopped the Reptilian sent to destroy all of you. Only your Family has proven worthy of my consideration.”

“I see where this is leading,” Sherlock said. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Exactly,” Thanatos said. “But I couldn’t very well show up at the Home and offer my hand in friendship. None of you would have believed me. So when Blade came here seeking the device he took to be a time machine—-,” Thanatos stopped and laughed, “—-in order that he could take the fight to the Reptilians in Asia, I decided to work behind the scenes, as it were, to facilitate his effort and thus prove I am sincere.”

“Wait a minute,” Eleanor broke in. “You knew how your infernal device would affect anyone who used it. Blade, Hickok and Yama are at death’s door because of you.”

“I didn’t force them to use it,” Thanatos said. “They brought it on themselves. And it was I who had A.l.v.i.s inform you of the serum, knowing that would bring some of you here. Thus enabling me to demonstrate my good will by giving you the serum personally. But you thwarted my plan by going off on your own. And now here we are.” Thanatos gestured. “You have what you need. Return to the Home and inform the Warriors that I desire to work together against the Reptilians.”

“I don’t trust you one bit,” Crom said.

“What about you, martial artist?” Thanatos said to Rikki. “Are you a fool, like this one? Or will you convey my offer? Because I tell you this next truly. If we don’t join forces, we will be crushed, your Family and I. Even together, there is only the barest chance we can prevail. But it is better than no chance at all, yes?”

“I fully understand at last,” Sherlock said.

Thanatos was concentrating on Rikki. “So, again, what will it be? Do we continue as enemies? Or do we call a truce until I hear your Family’s decision? For my own part, to show my sincerity, I offer my hand in friendship.” Thanatos held out his. His real hand, not the artificial one.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi stared at it and then up at the terror of the wasteland. He barely hesitated. Holding out his own, he said, “I will do as you want and convey your message.”

“Excellent,” Thanatos said. “Also convey to them my pledge to be completely honest with you in all matters related to the impending conflict. With that in mind, let them know that if they think they have seen the worst this world can throw at them, they are mistaken. The Lords of Kismet will not give up until your Home is in rubble and the Family extinguished.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

So much was happening so fast that Kanto was having a hard time wrapping his head around it all. To confront the Dark Lord, one of the Family’s worst enemies, a being every bit as vile as the Doktor had been and twice as crazy—-and then do nothing but shake hands and agree to work as allies? It boggled his brain.

Kanto kept quiet as Thanatos escorted them up to the main entrance. The others were also unusually subdued. Eleanor kept shaking her head. Crom glowered at Thanatos but kept his lips zipped. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi seemed troubled, as if he wasn’t sure he had done the right thing.

The lone exception was Sherlock. No sooner did they enter the elevator and it started to rise than he boldly made a remark that astonished Kanto.

“I must commend you, Thanatos, on the efficiency you’ve demonstrated. You possess a keen mind.”

Thanatos cocked his head. “A compliment? You continue to mildly surprise me, detective.”

“I am hardly that,” Sherlock said.

“I know of your infatuation with Doyle’s literary creation. I happened to be listening through A.l.v.i.s. when it was brought up.”

Behind the pair, the synthezoid’s lights flashed a few times.

“So you didn’t monitor us twenty-four-seven?” Sherlock said.

“What need? I have little interest in the inane chatter of monkeys.”

“Is that all we are to you? We’re fellow primates?”

“Fellow?”Thanatos said in a mocking tone. ‘You misconstrue badly. There is no commonality between us. My parents were both mutants. With a difference. Most mutations produce physical changes. They alter the body. The mutation my parents experienced altered their minds. From birth, their intellects were well above average. My birth manifested the same mutation but to the ultimate degree.”

“That explains your intellect,” Sherlock said.

“It also explains why to regard me as human is absurd. I am a whole new species. Mutationem Suprema, if you will.”

“Yet our Warriors defeated you.”

“Correction. It took the entire Freedom Federation to best me, and even then, they only succeeded because I was weakened from a clash with the Lords of Kismet.”

“Speaking of which,” Sherlock said, “am I safe in surmising that the device Blade used to reach southeast Asia is definitely not a time machine?”

Thanatos laughed. “Hardly.”

“What is it, then, if you will forgive my asking?”

Kanto perked up. He was interested to find out, himself. So were the others, he noticed.

“A portal capable of breaching the time-space continuum,” Thanatos said.

Sherlock waited, and when the Dark Lord didn’t elaborate, he said, “That tells me very little.”

“As it is intended to,” Thanatos said. “Did you think I would describe its operation in full? I doubt you could comprehend. Blade blundered badly in appropriating it. Had I not been otherwise engaged, I might have stopped him.”

“Might?”

“Some lessons, detective, are only learned the hard way.”

The elevator pinged and came to a stop.

As he emerged, Kanto glanced anxiously around, half-expecting the Dark Lord had tricked them and more of his creatures would be waiting to tear them apart. But no. The spacious lobby was empty.

The elevator closed and descended.

Thanatos led the way to the wide door and opened it. Beyond, the yellow fog writhed and glowed. Instead of moving aside to let them leave, he turned and faced them, barring their way.

Here it comes, Kanto thought. Sliding his hand up his sleeve, he gripped a stiletto.

“Before you go, there is more I must convey,” Thanatos said to Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. “You and your Family must be perfectly clear on the nature of the threat we face, and the magnitude of the challenge the Reptilians represent.”

“I think we have a pretty good idea,” Rikki said. “One of them infiltrated the Home. It killed our Leader and several of our Warriors and came as close as anything has to bringing us down.”

“A harbinger of things to come,” Thanatos said. “Your Family needs to spread the word. Contact what is left of the other Federation factions. Human and mutants must unite against this common threat or none of us will survive more than a few years.”

“Even you?” Sherlock said.

“There are limits to even my abilities,” Thanatos said grimly. “And as I noted previously, the Reptilians possess technology that in some respects surpasses my own.”

“I will relay your message to the Family,” Rikki said. “We will do what we can.”

“It is the best I can expect, I suppose,” Thanatos said. His hand slipped under his brown robe.

Kanto tensed.

“Take this as a token of my good will.” Thanatos held out his palm, revealing a small cone-shaped object with a grid-like cap.

“What is it?” Rikki asked as it was placed in his hand.

“You are aware, I trust, that the resonant frequency for the human body is generally between nine and sixteen hertz?” Thanatos said.

“I am now,” Rikki said.

The Dark Lord sighed. “Then be furthered enlightened to learn that the resonant frequency for Reptilians is thirty hertz.” He nodded at the object he had given Rikki. “That device enables you to detect them by their resonant frequency. Point it at anyone, or anything, and press the black button in the middle. The meter above it will indicate the frequency. Should it rise to thirty, you will hear a hum. In which case I advise you to kill whatever you are pointing it at as quickly as you can.”

“It’s a Reptilian detector?” Sherlock said in delight. “We can’t thank you enough.”

“Which brings us to one last matter and then you can go,” Thanatos said. “A.l.v.i.s stays behind. You have no further use for it.”

“Fine by me,” Rikki said.

“Then off you go,” Thanatos said.

“A moment, please,” Sherlock said. “Now that we’re allies, Thanatos, or soon will be if our Leader and the Warriors agree, shouldn’t we keep in touch? You can communicate with us through A.l.v.i.s, can’t you? And monitor things at our end?”

Kanto had to admit that for all Sherlock’s weirdness, he did come up with good ideas.

“A useful observation,” Thanatos conceded. “It should have occurred to me. Very well. A.l.v.i.s will accompany you to the Home and from time to time I will use a satellite relay to keep in touch, as you so quaintly phrased it.”

“I suspected you had access to a satellite,” Sherlock said.

“I’m not the only one,” Thanatos said. “The Reptilians have control of several they use to keep the planet under surveillance.”

“The entire planet?” Eleanor said.

“Be serious, child,” Thanatos said. “They would have little need to surveil the Amazon jungle or the Sahara Desert. But, yes, thanks to their computers, they can train their high-altitude cameras and electronic ears on any spot they so choose. All they need do is feed the GPS coordinates to the satellite.” Thanatos gestured. “My Needle. Your Home. Their prying eyes can be anywhere.”

“I have a question about that,” Sherlock said, but he never got to ask it.

Out of the yellow fog heaved a massive bulk. As long as the SEAL, it was round, like a worm, and like a worm, it had no eyes or nostrils or ears but it did have a gaping mouth ringed with tentacles that writhed and whipped about seeking prey to devour.

In pure reflex, Kanto recoiled and swept up his AR70. A Crawler, the thing was called. Yet another vile mutation spawned by the toxic mix of chemical and radioactive elements unleashed during the Big Blast. Crawlers lived underground, borrowing where they pleased, now and then coming to the surface to feed. Breaching like whales in the sea, they would burst up out of nowhere and enfold their quarry with their tentacles.

Word was that Blade and other Warriors had encountered an adult Crawler in the Valley of Shadow a while back. Now here was another, a younger one, but still it dwarfed them, it dwarfed even Thanatos, who whirled as the Crawler arched toward the entrance.

Kanto had a clear shot, and fired. His rounds stitched the Crawler just above its mouth but had no effect.

Thanatos raised his right arm and a gleaming bolt of white light shot out, slicing into the Crawler like a knife might do. The next instant, with lightning speed, the Crawler’s tentacles wrapped around Thanatos and lifted him, struggling mightily, into the air. Thanatos’s other hand flicked and a small sphere flew into the Crawler’s mouth and down its gullet. There was a crump, and the Crawler shuddered.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, Eleanor and Crom charged forward side-by-side. Katana, war axe and longsword sliced deep, and a foul fluid spewed from the wounds.

The Crawler reared high as if to escape their blades. Before another move could be made, before another weapon could be buried, the creature shoved Thanatos, still struggling, down its maw. Its mouth closed, there was a loud crunch, and a pair of feet dropped to the floor, shorn at the ankles.

“Thanatos is gone!” Eleanor exclaimed.

For a few hopeful heartbeats Kanto imagined that the Crawler would retreat into its burrow now that it had fed, but no. He had forgotten. Crawlers were notoriously insatiable. This one heaved further into the entrance, its tentacles reaching out in several directions at once.

Rikki, Crom and Eleanor frantically darted out of reach, or tried to. Eleanor cried out as a tentacle whipped around her left foot and brought her crashing to the floor. Tucking at the waist, she swung Wrathbringer with both hands, severing the tentacle, Then, pumping her elbows, she propelled herself backward. Other tentacles came after her.

Rikki and Crom closed in to help.

Kanto was raising his AR70 when he glimpsed someone or something coming out of a dark recessed alcove to his left. Dreading it might be a new threat, he spun.

It was Thanatos.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Eleanor was dodging a tentacle when she caught sight of Kanto as he glanced over his shoulder and reacted as if he were in shock. She glanced around, and was riveted in shock herself.

Thanatos was striding toward them. Thanatos, alive! As tall. As imposing. His eyes blazing. Dark brown hood and robe and all. Alive, and advancing with his left arm raised. From between his fingers protruded a metallic tube.

Her distraction proved costly.

Suddenly Eleanor felt a tentacle enclose her legs and she was slammed to the floor. She tried to bring her longsword to bear but another tentacle wrapped around her forearm. She saw the Crawler’s great mouth yawn wide and sensed she was on the verge of being crammed down its gullet.

Then Thanatos loomed above her. The tube in his hand glowed. An intense beam of red light shot out. A light that could cut like her sword. With a sweep of his wrist, Thanatos severed the tentacle that held her legs and then the tentacle holding her arm. Stepping over her, he put himself between her and the Crawler.

Astounded, Eleanor lay there as Thanatos swung his arm back and forth. With each swing, the red light carved deep into the Crawler. Again and again and again Thanatos swung. Into her head popped the word laser, from something she had read long ago.

The Crawler uttered a cry and reared on high. The red beam crisscrossed its abdomen, and where the beam struck, goo and fluid spurted. Belatedly, the Crawler tried to turn and escape, but as it moved, whole chunks separated from the rest and fell with loud plops and splashes.

Before Eleanor’s very eyes, the creature was being sliced to pieces. One of them fell near her shoulder, spattering her with gore. Still, she didn’t move. Part of her wanted to. But she was transfixed by the spectacle.

The Crawler stiffened, convulsed a few times, and what was left of it oozed to the floor and lay still.

The red beam seemed to withdraw into Thanatos’s hand, and he lowered his arm and turned.

“You saved me!” Eleanor exclaimed.

“I slew the Crawler,” Thanatos said.

“You cut me free first. Then put yourself in harm’s way so the Crawler couldn’t pull me into its mouth.”

“You make more of it then there was, child,” Thanatos said. “The Crawler had aroused my ire. I was unusually careless, and let it seize me.....”

“And kill you,” Eleanor said breathlessly.

“There is death, and there is death,” Thanatos said. “Blade thought he had killed me once but he was wrong. The Reptilians thought they had slain me a while ago, but they were wrong. I do not die as others do. I am Thanatos. I am unique.” He offered his human hand to her.

Too bewildered to refuse, Eleanor reached up and let him pull her to her feet. “Thank you. I’m in your debt.”

“Nonsense,” Thanatos said.

“I am a swordwoman, Dark Lord,” Eleanor informed him. “A warrior. As such, I am obligated to you for saving my life. Should the opportunity arise, I will return the favor.”

“You’re serious, child?” Thanatos said.

Eleanor went to respond but Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and the others had converged and several spoke at once.

“How are you alive?” Kanto wanted to know.

“We saw you killed with our own eyes,” Crom said.

Rikki looked the Dark Lord up and down and said simply, “Explain, if you would.”

Thanatos smoothed his sleeves and flicked a speck of gore off. “How I am able to achieve what no other can is a secret I will carry with me for as long as I exist.”

Sherlock had hung back but now he came up and said, “My surmise is that you possess the ability to transfer your consciousness from one body to another.”

“That’s impossible,” Kanto said.

Rikki thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Those statues we saw?”

Sherlock nodded. “They aren’t what we thought. I suspect they are bioengineered forms. In a manner I can’t fathom, he can go from one to another. Inhabit them, if you will. Don them, as we put on a new set of clothes.”

“Give me a break,” Kanto said.

Eleanor had assumed the statues were meant to feed the mutant’s ego. But Sherlock might well be right. As crazy as it sounded, as preposterous as it was to imagine, the evidence of her own eyes compelled her to say, “You can cheat death? You have such power?”

Thanatos seemed loathe to respond, but finally he said, “Science, girl, can achieve the impossible. It unlocks the secrets of the universe for us to exploit as we deem fit. You say I cheat death. But what if death is but a portal unto itself? A means of transferring our consciousness from this level of reality to another? If that is so, it is no great feat, once the dynamics are fully understood, to transfer our consciousness to another form here, instead of into what is euphemistically called the hereafter.”

“Can it be?” Eleanor marveled.

“I have said it,” Thanatos said. He moved aside and motioned. “But we have been delayed long enough. I must be about my own affairs, and you must depart and get the serum to your Home. As we discussed, I will permit A.l.v.i.s to go with you. In due course I will be in contact.”

Rikki nodded and headed out, Crom and Kanto following. So did the synthezoid.

“You are a true wonder,” Sherlock said to Thanatos. “I am glad we met.”

“And you, detective,” Thanatos said, “are one of the few humans I’ve encountered who aren’t a complete waste of atoms.”

Sherlock chuckled as he walked off.

That left Eleanor. “I want to thank you again.”

“No need, girl. I made my motive plain.”

“Still, should you ever need my help, you have but to ask,” Eleanor reiterated.

“You help me?” Thanatos said, and smirked. “I can’t conceive of a contingency where that might come to pass, but I thank you. I must confess. Next to the detective, you amuse me the most. I have almost enjoyed making your acquaintance.”

“Almost?”

”Ever remember, child. We are who we are. Do not project your humanity onto me. As I have made plain, I am not human. I’m a mutant, and proud to be so.”

“Even mutants have feelings,” Eleanor said. She smiled and gave a slight bow and went around him to the entrance.

The others were waiting.

“What was that all about?” Kanto asked.

“We were exchanging pleasantries,” Eleanor said.

“You’re getting to be as weird as Sherlock,” Crom said.

*     *     *

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi had lost count of the number of times he had to tell the trainees to focus. He did so again as they hurried to the SEAL. “Sherlock, I want you in up front with me.”

“Yes, sir,” the younger man said, sounding surprised.

They quickly climbed in.

Rikki gave charge of the metal case that contained the serum to Eleanor, who sat in the middle of the back seat, as before. “I don’t need to stress how important this is. Don’t let anything happen to it.”

“We have the journals with the formula, and the chemicals,” Kanto reminded him.

“Yes, but we can’t be certain of mixing them exactly right,” Rikki said. “So I repeat. We protect the serum with our lives. All of us.”

“Perhaps we’ll be lucky enough not to be attacked between here and the Home,” Sherlock said.

“Keep dreaming,” Crom said.

Turning the engine over, Rikki looped the SEAL around to leave the Valley of Shadow the same way they came.

A.l.v.i.s. floated alongside.

With the yellow fog so thick, Rikki relied on the dash screen. It occurred to him how easy people had it before the Big Blast, what with GPS and computers and phones that were virtual computers themselves.

To his great relief, they reached the border of the valley unmolested.  Rikki wasted no time in climbing the grade to the ridge where he briefly slowed to look back at the obsidian edifice that spiked at the sky.

“I am so glad to be out of there,” Eleanor said. “The Lord be praised.”

“Good riddance,” Kanto said.

Rikki made for a belt of woodland. “Keep your eyes peeled.” He didn’t relax until they reached the old highway and he brought the speedometer up to fifty.

“You wanted me up front with you for a reason?” Sherlock remarked.

“For your observations,” Rikki said. “What were you up to back there, complimenting Thanatos?”

“You acted like you two were best buds,” Kanto said.

“If he thinks that, so much the better,” Sherlock said. “Although I seriously doubt he’s that naive. He was using us to his own ends. Playing us.”

“You don’t think he needs our help against the shapeshifters?” Rikki said.

“On the contrary. I do. It’s the only reason we’re still alive. He didn’t let us leave out of any sense of decency. To Thanatos, the only thing that matters is Thanatos. Were it up to him, he would gladly let Blade, Hickok and Yama die. But they, too, are a means to his end. Namely, winning us over so we’ll fight at his side. I suspect his master plan is even more complicated. There are layers within layers to his schemes. If we’re not careful, and by we I mean the entire Family, we could find ourselves becoming collateral damage in his war with the Reptilians.”

“How’s that again, big brain?” Crom said.

“If he’s truly as intelligent as the evidence of our own eyes suggests, it wouldn’t surprise me if he arranges things so that we’re wiped out in the process of wiping out the Reptilians, leaving him in control.”

“Last man standing,” Eleanor said.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Rikki said. “First we reach the Home and help Blade and the others. Then we worry about Thanatos and the Lords of Kismet and whatever else life has in store.”

“Yay, us,” Kanto said.

No one laughed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

If there was one thing Crom had learned to hate, it was being cooped up in the SEAL. The seats weren’t comfortable for someone his size. And while he didn’t mind a little discomfort, hour after hour of having nothing to do but sit there staring out the window got to him.

He craved more action. The run to the Valley of Shadow had given him a good share but not nearly as much as he had hoped. Like his childhood barbarian hero, he lived for battle. Some Family members would call that immature. If so, better that, than to sit around all day weaving or be out tilling the fields or working at the forge. He would get so bored, he’d want to pull his hair out.

Since leaving the Valley, he had suffered through ten hours of monotony. Rikki was retracing their route, and absolutely nothing had happened. They hadn’t been attacked once.

Stifling a yawn, Crom remarked, “I hope the next run I go on is more exciting than this one.”

At the other end of the middle seat, Kanto bent his head to peer past Eleanor. “Are you crazy? We nearly lost our lives.”

Crom shrugged. “There were a few hairy moments, yeah. But we’re all still kicking.”

“Speaking for myself,” Kanto said, “I’ll be perfectly happy if we reach the Home without any more trouble.”

“Me too,” Eleanor said.

“Wimps,” Crom muttered.

A full moon shone bright and a myriad of stars sparkled. There was enough light that the crushed brush and flattened grass the SEAL had left in its wake on their first pass through these same woods was easy to follow.

Eleanor placed her hands on the container for the serum, which she kept in her lap. “I only pray this works. I like Blade and Hickok, very much. Blade’s wife, Jenny, is always nice to me.”

“She’s nice to everybody,” Kanto said. “And what about Yama? You forgot him.”

“He scares me,” Eleanor said.

Crom snorted. “He’s a Warrior. One of the best. He’s protected the Family for years. What is there to be scared of?”

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said. “There’s something about him. They say he’s fixated on death. That he’s all about killing.”

“That what Warriors do, wench,” Crom said. “We have to be the best we can at....” He got no further. The SEAL suddenly braked so hard, he was flung against the front seat, nearly cutting himself on his war axe. “What the hell?” he blurted as he straightened.

“A heat signature,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said, pointing at the dash.

The silhouette on the screen suggested an animal of immense proportions.

Up ahead there was a large clearing. On the far side something loomed, something dark and massive against the background of benighted forest.

“A moose, you think?” Eleanor said uncertainly.

Crom almost laughed at her. “I killed one once when I was out hunting. They’re not a third that big.”

“Perhaps it’s a mutation,” Sherlock piped up. “Bovine, if the shape is any indication.”

Crom was trying to remember what bovine meant when the blip on the screen moved.

“It’s coming this way!” Eleanor said.

The massive shape was indeed crossing the clearing in their direction.

“Turn off the headlights!” Kanto urged. “The light might be drawing it to us.”

“The SEAL’s engine is hardly silent,” Sherlock said. “Whatever that is, it heard us long before it saw us. I advise keeping the headlights on so we can see what we’re up against.”

“Agreed,” Rikki said.

The thing was enormous. Larger by far than the giants they had encountered. Larger, in fact, than any animal Crom ever ran across on his many hunts. He was as mesmerized as the rest as the gigantic form lumbered to within a spear’s-length of the area lit by the SEAL’s headlights, and stopped.

“What on earth?” Eleanor said.

The thing came closer. A pair of eyes appeared. Huge, slightly slanted, glowing a copper hue.

“Want me to hop out and see what it is?” Crom said.

Everyone looked at him.

“What?” Crom said.

“You’ll stay put with the rest of us,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said. “A Warrior must learn when to fight and when to use caution. Something that big could damage the SEAL.”

“Look!” Eleanor cried.

The thing had moved into the light. Or at least part of it, a gigantic head. The eyes, it turned out, were the only part of the thing that were normal. The rest was grotesquely misshapen, the muzzle twisted as if bent, one cheek bulged, the other was shaped like a bowl. One ear was long, the other short. Splotches of hair stuck out here and there from a hide covered with pus-oozing sores.

“A mutate!” Eleanor gasped.

Crom grinned. Mutates were the scourge of the wastelands, perpetually rabid, constantly seeking prey. They would have to fight to get past it.

“It would have attacked us by now if that were the case,” Sherlock said.

“Just our luck it hasn’t,” Crom said.

*     *     *

Kanto was beginning to have serious doubts about their companion’s state of mind. Only a lunatic would want to go up against a monster that size. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit, when it came time for their final evaluation, if Crom’s wish to become a Warrior was denied.

For that matter, Kanto wondered about his own status. Had he done well enough to impress Rikki? Or would he have to give up his dream and be something else? Not that any other profession appealed to him.

“Here it comes,” Eleanor said.

The behemoth advanced in a ponderous motion, moving as slow as a turtle. From either side of its wide brow curled horns as long as Crom’s arms. The horn on the right was bent upward, the horn on the left twisted toward the ground. Snot dribbled from its nose and drool dripped from a corner of its open mouth.

“I was right,” Sherlock said. “Definitely bovine.”

“How’s that?” Kanto said.

“A cow of some kind,” Sherlock said.

The creature seemed fascinated by the SEAL. A mountain of deformed flesh, it lumbered up to the grill and nosily sniffed.

Eleanor giggled.

Kanto smiled at how ridiculous the thing was, but his smile faded when the monster nudged the SEAL with its thick brow. A slight bump, no more, yet the entire SEAL shook.

“Any harder and that brute could cave in the hood,” Crom said.

The thing drew back its head, and snorted.

Kanto held his breath. To have gone through so much, only to have their vehicle destroyed by an oversized four-legged lummox! Surely not, he thought!

The creature nudged the SEAL a second time, with more force. The front end lifted, then slammed down.

Kanto was half-pitched from his seat. He only stopped himself by thrusting his arm against the back of Rikki’s. The cow pressed its muzzle to the grill, then did the last thing Kanto expected. An obscenely long and thick tongue curled out of the creature’s mouth and it licked the hood all over.

“It must think we’re food,” Eleanor said.

Kanto would have laughed, except that the mutation started to rub a shoulder as thick as a wide tree against the van. Up and down, ever-so-slowly.

With each rub, the SEAL swayed and jounced.

“We shouldn’t sit here and do nothing,” Crom complained. “Will you let me get out now?” he said to Rikki.

“I have a better suggestion,” Sherlock said. “Try the horn.”

“We risk agitating it,” Rikki said.

“There’s always the flame thrower,” Crom suggested. “We could take enough meat back to the Home to feed the Family for a month.”

“We have no time to waste butchering something that big,” Rikki said, and pressed the heel of his left hand to the middle of the steering wheel.

The SEAL’s horn was military grade, the kind used on old army trucks. It blared loud enough to be heard half a mile away. At the blast, the animal recoiled several steps and stood tossing its head from side to side.

“Uh-oh,” Eleanor said.

Kanto braced for a charge. He had no illusions about how well the SEAL would hold up.

A door opened and closed, and suddenly Crom was in front of the SEAL, his war axe held high.

“What does he think he’s doing?” Eleanor said in horror.

“He disobeyed me!” Rikki said harshly, and jerked his door open to climb out. “Stay here, all of you.”

“Wait!” Sherlock said.

The cow had stopped tossing its head and was sniffing again. Coming up to Crom, it towered over him like a living mountain.

Crom tensed but didn’t swing. He appeared to be waiting to see what the thing would do.

Lowering its muzzle, the cow sniffed his head and shoulders.

“That brute can crush him like a flea,” Kanto said.

For a few tense heartbeats the cow just stood there. Then its dripping wet tongue slid slowly out and licked Crom. Not a little lick, either. Its tongue slithered down over Crom’s head and face to his chest. The mere pressure caused Crom to back up a step. He partially turned, his features curled in disgust, as the tongue slowly slithered up his chest and again over his face and hair.

Crom practically glistened with thick drool.

“Oh, yuck,” Eleanor said.

The cow let out a loud grunt, wheeled, and departed into the night.

Crom looked at them. Scowling, he wiped at the goo, but he only managed to get it all over his hand and forearm.

Kanto, Eleanor and even Rikki-Tikki-Tavi laughed.

“Eww,” Eleanor said. “That’s just gross.”

“Oh well,” Kanto said. “We could all use a bath. He just got his first.”

They laughed harder.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The mood in the infirmary in C Block was so grim, you could have heard a feather flutter to the floor. Or so Jenny reflected as she anxiously waited for some reaction in the man she loved more than life itself.

The serum had been administered over an hour ago. Over an hour of breathless waiting, of her nerves frayed to where she wanted to scream in frustration. Over an hour, and no change whatsoever in Blade, Hickok and Yama.

Jenny wasn’t alone. The infirmary was jammed with worried Family members. Sherry was there, Hickok’s wife. Yama’s devoted Melissa. Socrates, Tesla, Clara and the rest of the Healers, all the Warriors not on wall duty, and more.

Her son, Gabe, and Hickok’s boy, Ringo, were over by a wall with others their age. She has asked them to keep out of the way, pointing out that the Healers might need to work fast should complications arise.

No one knew what to expect. Not even A.l.v.i.s. The synthezoid hovered at the head of Blade’s table, motionless except for its blinking lights.

Jenny hated the thing. From the moment Blade brought it back from the Valley of Shadow, she had argued against the idea of letting A.l.v.i.s show the Warriors how to use Thanatos’s infernal device. Blade had countered that it was the quickest way to transport him, Hickok and Yama to Thailand and take on the Reptilians in their home territory. She’d argued passionately and bitterly, to no avail. For once, Blade wouldn’t listen to her.

And there he lay.

Jenny placed her hand over his and felt her eyes moisten. How many hours had she spent standing in that exact spot, waiting for Rikki-Tikki-Tavi to return? She’d refused to use a chair. She had stood and held Blade’s hand and longed with all her soul for Rikki to make it back safe with a cure.

Now, as Jenny rubbed Blade’s hand, she gave a mild start. Before, his hand always felt wooden, his skin and flesh so stiff, it was like rubbing the top of her dresser. But this time his skin gave ever so slightly to the light pressure of her fingers. Elated, but worried she might be imagining it, she rubbed harder, and to her immense joy, his skin was indeed softer. She didn’t say anything to the rest. Not yet. It would crush Gabe were she to say Blade was recovering, and he didn’t. With bated breath she continued to rub, not just his hand but his wrist and forearm, and everywhere she touched, his skin grew softer by the heartbeat.

Over at Hickok’s table, Sherry let out an exuberant cry. “Something is happening! His body is changing!”

“Yama’s, too!” Melissa said.

Everyone crowded closer.

Jenny motioned and asked some of them to move aside so Gabe could reach the table. He hurried to take Blade’s other hand. Giving a start, he looked up.

“Is he really going to live, mom? Is he really going to live?” A tear trickled from an eye.

Jenny had to cough to clear her throat so she could say, “We’ll soon know, son.”

A.l.v.i.s made a beeping noise and his lights blinked faster. “Attention, please. The heart rates of the three subjects are increasing. The blood flow to their extremities is being restored. Their body temperatures are rising. Estimated time to full rejuvenation, two minutes.”

To Jenny, they were an eternity. Bending low, she intently watched her man’s face for any sign of returning life. For a flicker, a crease, a flutter of an eyelid, anything.

“Why isn’t something happening?” Gabe said.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Blade’s eyes snapped open. He looked about him in puzzlement and said in a hoarse whisper, “Where? What?”

Jenny had no voice to answer. She pressed herself to his chest and hugged him, tears of joy flowing unhindered. She hugged him and kissed him and hugged him some more.

Gabe had likewise thrown himself on his father, and was crying unashamedly.

From the other tables came similar sounds, and then Hickok’s voice saying, “What the dickens is this? I wake up from a little nap and you’re all makin’ a fuss.”

Blade looked around, his brow knit. “I remember passing out,, and then nothing.”

“We thought you were done for,” Gabe sniffled. “But Thanatos sent medicine.”

“Thanatos?” Blade said.

Jenny felt his body grow tense. “Relax,” she said, kissing his chin. “It’s nothing to worry about. There’s a lot to tell you but we’ll wait a while. You need to take it easy. To rest.”

A.l.v.i.s. beeped and chirped, “To the contrary, madam. My master has informed me that it is best if the three Warriors rise and move around to restore full bodily function.”

“You heard that gizmo” Hickok said to his wife and son. “Let me up, you two. You’re gettin’ my buckskins all wet with your blubberin’.”

“The world is back to normal,” Geronimo said.

*     *     *

A meeting was called in the common area between the Blocks. Every Family member except the three Warriors on wall duty were required to attend. They sat in a wide circle, every man, woman and child, listening in rapt attention as Socrates related, briefly, the news already spread by word of mouth. That the run to the Valley of Shadow had gone well. The stricken Warriors, as everyone could see, were back on their feet.

The Family clapped and cheered, quieting again when Blade rose.

“You’re all aware of the threat the Lords of Kismet pose,” Blade began. “You’ve also heard by now that Thanatos is alive and well, and has offered to ally himself with us against them. We have a decision to make. Do we or don’t we? For myself...,” and Blade stared directly at A.l.v.i.s., “....I don’t trust the Dark Lord as far as I can throw the SEAL. And I don’t care if he’s listening. Because the truth is, we can’t defeat the Lords of Kismet alone. You saw what happened when just one of their Reptilians infiltrated our compound. Eventually, their superior numbers, and superior technology, will tell. So against my better judgement, I’m proposing we accept the Dark Lord’s offer. But it can’t be my decision alone. Nor our Leader’s. Every one of you deserves a say. We’re going to take a vote. A show of hands. If you agree that the Family should accept an alliance with Thanatos, raise your arm. We’ll give you a bit to talk it over and decide.”

When Blade called for the vote, it was unanimous.

“So it’s come to this,” Geronimo said in an aside to Hickok. “Allied with our worst enemy.”

“No sweat,”  Hickok said. “And when we’re done with the lizards and their high-and-mighty lords, it’ll be his turn.”

“Why are you grinning like that?” Geronimo said.

Hickok patted his Pythons. “I’m thinkin’ of all the lowlifes I’ll get to shoot.”

Blade turned to Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and bobbed his chin and stepped aside, and Rikki came forward. Everyone grew quiet. “There is another important announcement to make,” he began. “I don’t need to remind you that not long ago we lost four Warriors. We have grieved ever since. Now the time has come to replace those who fell, and restore our Warrior ranks.” He paused. “Would the trainees who took part in the run to the Valley of Shadow step forward.”

Out of the crowd came Eleanor, Kanto, Crom and Sherlock. They wore serious expressions except for Crom. He winked at a girl his age and laughed at a baby that wriggled its fingers in his direction.

“Line up in front of me,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi said. After they complied, he raised his voice. “It is my great pleasure to announce that our Warriors will soon be at full strength. These four you see before you are to be formally inducted at a special ceremony in three days time.”

Applause broke out. Rikki let it subside before he continued. “Time and again on the recent run they proved themselves. Time and again they were put in peril, and survived. Time and again they showed their courage and dedication.”

More applause followed.

Rikki stared at each of the four in turn. “To be accepted as a Warrior is a great honor. With that honor comes great responsibility. The fate of the Family, the lives of everyone around you, is often in your hands. Yes, you are inexperienced. Yes, you have have much to learn. But I have every confidence, after having seen you perform, that you will be equal to our trust.”

Some of the Family started to clap but stopped when Sherlock stepped forward and said loudly, “Not me, I’m afraid. You’ll need to find someone else.”

In the stunned silence that ensued, Blade stepped up next to Rikki. “What are you saying?”

“That I must respectfully decline,” Sherlock said. “I thought being a Warrior would best suit my abilities. I was mistaken. Warriors are all about fighting and combat. My talents are best devoted to mysteries and more cerebral challenges.”

“For someone who is so smart, you have it exactly wrong,” Blade said. “To be a Warrior is to be about protecting others. It’s about safeguarding the family and the home and the society you are a part of. To be a Warrior is to be the ultimate servant.”

“Granted,” Sherlock said. “But there is a terrible amount of fighting involved. And while I enjoy the thrill as much as the next person....”

“Not as much as me,” Crom interrupted.

Sherlock continued. “To spend so much time on the battlefield, as it were, would affect my ability to be of benefit to the Family in other ways. I am, after all, as devoted to science as I am to anything else. Even more so. Which is why I feel that I can put my abilities to better use by making myself available where needed. Should Tesla, say, need assistance with a scientific or technical problem, I might be able to help. Or should the Warriors encounter a situation that needs unraveling, I would relish putting my mind to the task.”

“Do you bake cookies, too?” Crom said.

Hickok chuckled.

Blade was appraising Sherlock. “Very well. No one is ever forced to be a Warrior. We all have freedom of choice. You can do as you please, and no one will hold it against you.” He held out his hand.

Shaking, Sherlock said, “Thank you. I’m sincerely sorry. But to spend hours patrolling the walls when I could be working with my microscope and chemicals....”

“No need to apologize. We all have our purpose, and everyone’s is important.” Blade moved to the next candidate, Kanto, and offered his hand again. “Congratulations. I hear we have something in common.”

“Sir?” Kanto said.

“A fondness for knives. You with your stilettos and me with my Bowies.”

“I hope I can live up to the trust being placed in me,” Kanto said.

“You will.”

Blade moved to Crom, who shifted his war axe from one hand to the other so he could shake. “Rikki says you’re a bit impulsive and headstrong. That sometimes you don’t think before you act.”

“I’m glad that didn’t stop me from being picked,” Crom said.

“I know someone else who was a lot like you when he was your age,” Blade said, and glanced over at Hickok. “He turned out to be one of the best Warriors we’ve ever had.”

Crom grinned and waggled his axe. “Bring on the bad guys. I’ll show them what they get when they mess with the Family.”

Blade grinned. “Yes. Rikki is right. You’re just like him.” He moved on to Eleanor, who thrust her hand out and clasped his firmly. “Rikki tells me you’re quite adept with that longsword of yours.” He indicated Wrathbringer, which was slung across her back.

“I do my best, sir,” Eleanor said. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“Thank me if you reach old age,” Blade said, not entirely in jest. “Few Warriors do.”

“The Lord is our shepherd, yes?” Eleanor said, grinning happily. “Surely He will see us through.”

“Time will tell,” Blade said.

FINI

Did you miss the previous two ENDWORLD books?  Order them today!

ENDWORLD #29

THE LORDS OF KISMET

The Warriors decide to carry the fight to their new enemy. There’s only one problem. Those who would destroy them are half a world away. How to get there is the least of their worries. Making it back alive is the real challenge. Especially since those they are going up against claim to be living gods!

ENDWORLD #28

DARK DAYS

The science fiction series that sweeps its readers into a terrifying Apocalyptic future continues. The Warriors of Alpha Triad face their greatest threat yet. Their survivalist compound, the Home, has been invaded. Not by an enemy army. Not by the horrifying mutates. This time a shapeshifter is loose among the Family. Able to change into anyone at will, it is killing like there is no tomorrow!

Be on the lookout for more great reads by David Robbins!

A GIRL, THE END OF THE WORLD AND EVERYTHING

Courtney Hewitt lived a perfectly ordinary life. Then several countries let fly with nuclear missiles and chemical and biological weapons and her life was no longer ordinary. Now Courtney has chemical clouds and radiation  to deal with. To say nothing of the not-so-dead who eat the living. A lot of people might give up in despair. Not Courtney. When the going gets tough, the tough kick butt.

(ENDWORLD fans! This is a prequel! It ties directly into the Endworld Universe!)

BLOOD FEUD #2

HOUNDS OF HATE

Chace and Cassie Shannon are back. The feud between the Harkeys and the Shannons takes the twins from the hills of Arkansas to New Orleans, where Chace has a grand scheme to set them up in style. But if the Harkeys have anything to say about it, they’ll be ripped to pieces.

THE WERELING

The original Horror classic. Ocean City has a lot going for it. Nice beaches. The boardwalk. Tourists. But something new is prowling Ocean City. Something that feasts on those tourists. Something that howls at the moon, and bullets can’t stop. The Jersey Shore werewolf is loose.

HIT RADIO

Franco Scarvetti has a problem. His psycho son has whacked a made man. Now a rival Family is out to do the same to his son. So Big Frank comes up with a plan. He sends his lethal pride and joy to run a radio station in a small town while he tries to smooth things over. But Big Frank never read Shakespeare and he forgets that a psycho by any other name is still....a psycho.

WILDERNESS #67

THE GIFT

Evelyn King is sixteen and in love. She is also headstrong. She conspires to run away with the warrior she loves. But they haven’t gone far when they discover four killers are on their trail. Now love will have to wait. Staying alive is more important.

WILDERNESS #68

SAVAGE HEARTS

Nate and Winona King thought they were doing the right thing when they rode deep into the Rockies to return a little girl to her people. Little did they realize: some good deeds are fraught with perils.

WILDERNESS #69

THE AVENGER

Zach King has given up the ways of the warrior. His wife is about to have their baby, and he looks forward to family life. Only unknown to him, the past is about to rear its violent head in the form of a man out to do Zach in for killing his kin.

ANGEL U

LET THERE BE LIGHT

Armageddon is a generation away. The forces  of light and darkness are preparing to clash in the ultimate battle. To prepare humankind, the angels establish a university of literal higher learning here on Earth. A young man and a young woman meet, and begin to fall in love. Only to be caught up in demonic warfare when the ruler of Hell decides that Angel U must be destroyed at all costs.

ANGEL U

DEMIGOD

Gilgamesh the Destroyer. Demon Slayer. Giant. Son of the Moon. Seeker of Immortality. Two parts god, one part human. He wants nothing to do with the war between Heaven and Hell. Then Gilgamesh learns that he is not who he thought he was. He is not what he thought he was. To uncover the truth, Gilgamesh will venture where few have ever dared.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

PREVIOUS TWO ENDWORLD BOOKS

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