First Strike Read online

  "That's true," Blade concurred. He gazed heavenward, thinking of

  Thunder, hoping the Flathead had recovered. If the Indian had sustained brain

  damage, every moment they delayed in getting him to civilization, where he

  could receive the proper medical attention, was critical. But what other choice

  was there? Blade sighed. He couldn't call off the mission, not now, not when

  Sergeant Havoc and Kraft were prisoners or worse, not when the Kingdom was

  close at hand and their assignment nearly completed.

  "You know," Grizzly commented, "at the rate things are going, if every job

  the Force is sent on is as dangerous as this one, then you'll be replacing Force

  members on a regular basis."

  "I hope not," Blade said. "But if so, there's nothing I can do about it.

  Everyone on the Force is supposed to be a volunteer. They know the risks

  involved."

  "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes," Grizzly mentioned.

  "Oh?"

  "You're the head of this outfit," Grizzly said. "When you get down to the

  nitty-gritty, our lives are in your hands. You make all the decisions. We have to

  follow your orders." He paused. "And I don't know as how I like that." "Why? Because you don't like me, or because you don't like taking orders

  from a human?" Blade questioned.

  "I never said I didn't like you," Grizzly stated. "Matter of fact, I admire

  you. You're the only human I've ever met capable of holding his own against me.

  But, no, I don't like taking orders from a human." Blade stared at the mutant.

  "Listen, Grizzly, your service in the Force isn't set in concrete. If you want out,

  say the word. You can do whatever you want. You're not a slave like the women

  the Spider holds in the Kingdom."

  "I'll stay for the time being;" Grizzly declared. "I'm enjoying myself." "I wish I could say I was," Blade mentioned.

  "You're not?" Grizzly asked, sounding surprised.

  "No."

  "But why not? You're good at what you do. I saw you in action. You're

  one deadly son of a bitch," Grizzly said.

  "Just because I'm good at killing doesn't mean I like to kill," Blade

  clarified. "You might laugh, but when I was younger all I ever wanted out of life

  was to live in peace and harmony with all creatures." Grizzly laughed. "And then

  what happened?"

  "I grew up," Blade stated soberly.

  "Yeah," Grizzly philosophized. "Life does have a way of kicking you in the

  mouth every now and then, just to keep you in line."

  Blade glanced down at the base of the cliffs, reflecting on the poor

  woman who had been killed, speculating on how his wife might react if he should

  suffer a similar fate. He shook his head, peeved by his morbidity, and stood. "I

  hope Athena hurries up," he commented.

  "You don't know much about women, do you?" Grizzly joked, chuckling.

  Athena was on her way to rejoin Blade and Grizzly, still 30 yards into the

  undergrowth, when she detected a rustling noise to her left. She paused,

  fingering die trigger of her M-16. Had the wind made the sound? No. The breeze

  had temporarily abated. An animal then? She was inclined to attribute the

  rustling to a nocturnal denizen of the forest, a fox or a skunk or a raccoon,

  because she knew the Spider did not post sentries above the cliff. But what if she was wrong? What if the Spider had changed his defensive setup? Or—and this thought produced goose bumps all over her flesh—what if it was one of the numerous wildmutants prowling the countryside, endowed with a ravenous

  appetite and inclined to attack anything moving?

  She'd better get to Blade and Grizzly.

  Athena hurried toward the rim of the cliffs, moving around and between

  all the obstacles in her path: trees, boulders, and impenetrable stands of brush. The soft rustling was repeated, closer this time.

  Athena searched the landscape to her left, but nothing was moving.

  Should she call out to Blade?

  Definitely not. She wasn't about to look like a wimp. Grizzly would never

  let her hear the end of it! She squared her shoulders and continued. A boulder appeared ahead.

  Athena purposefully skirted the boulder to the right, mentally chiding

  herself for a case of bad nerves, for creating monsters where none existed. But one did.

  She was alongside the boulder, not two feet away, when a squat shadow

  detached itself from the bottom and lunged at her. Athena tried to bring the M16 to bear even as she opened her mouth to yell to Blade, but she was thwarted

  on both counts. A pair of hairy hands tore the M-l6 from her grasp and flung the

  gun aside as another pair damped on her, one hand covering her mouth while

  another applied pressure to her throat.

  "Not a word!" snarled a tinny voice.

  Athena could feel talons digging into her neck. She repressed an impulse

  to resist, to scream, knowing she would be dead in an instant.

  A Hatchling had her!

  "Do not move!" the hybrid hissed. It quickly stripped her of her pistols,

  then the knife in her right boot. It examined every pocket, every fold in her

  clothing, for a concealed weapon. Once convinced she was unarmed, it hauled

  her to her feet. "You will come with me! If you shout or try to warn your friends,

  I will kill you! Nod if you understand!"

  Athena nodded, shocked not only by her capture but by discovering the

  Hatchlings could talk! During her years of captivity, the Hatchlings had not

  associated with the women prisoners, except to haul the captives off to the

  Tower now and then—and usually the guards discharged that responsibility in

  addition to their other duties. The women were the Spider's property, and his

  exclusively. While the human guards could mistreat the women with impunity,

  they were not allowed to seriously harm the women or abuse them sexually.

  Even to the Hatchlings the women were taboo. Athena had seen the Hatchlings

  on countless occasions while she was a prisoner, yet not once had a Hatchling so

  much as acknowledged her existence. Several times, she had seen them from

  the window of her hut, shambling off into the night to abduct another

  unfortunate wretch, and heard them clicking their talons. So for seven years she

  had mistakenly believed they were mute, despite the testimony of some of her

  fellow prisoners who had claimed the hybrids could speak.

  The Hatchling holding her throat pulled her to the west, deeper into the

  forest, away from the cliffs. After traveling 50 yards he halted and released his

  grip. "What I said still holds!" he threatened. "Make a peep and you're dead!" Athena swallowed hard.

  "I recognize you!" the Hatchling stated. "You're the bitch who escaped!

  What's your name?"

  "Athena," she replied.

  "Well, Athena, you must be as stupid as they come! You were free, yet

  you came back. And you've brought others, professional soldiers! The Spider will not be pleased," the mutant noted.

  "The Spider will be dead before morning," Athena predicted. Snarling, the Hatchling grabbed her throat once more and led her in the

  direction of the valley. Athena pondered whether to knock the Hatchling's arm

  aside and scream. She knew Blade and Grizzly would hear her, but she also

  knew the hybrid would make good its promise to slay her before they came to

  her aid. What should she do? Common sense dictated silence, and she opted t
o

  keep her mouth shut. The Hatchling hurried down the west slope of the ridge,

  one hand always on her neck. At the sight of the Kingdom Athena stiffened and

  tried to drag her heels.

  "Move your human ass, bitch!" the Hatchling snapped.

  Athena broke out in a cold sweat. What the hell had she done? What if

  the Hatchling took her directly to the Tower? To the Spider? Anyfate would be

  preferable to confronting that hellish monstrosity again!

  They readied the field bordering the timber and headed for the middle of

  the valley. The Hatchling, confident so close to home, released his hold. "I am

  Syph," he disclosed. "And I will ask Father for the honor of being the first to feed

  on your miserable body." He abruptly stopped and faced her, scowling,

  displaying his fangs. "Where are they?"

  "Who?" Athena blurted.

  The Hatchling slapped her across the mouth. "Don't play games with me,

  bitch! Where are my three brothers? Siad, Rehpes, and Sonnpec were to stop

  you from reaching the Kingdom, yet you and your two colleagues showed up."

  He waved the talons on his two right hands in front of her eyes. "Where are my

  brothers?"

  "Two of them are dead," Athena answered arrogantly. "I don't know

  about the third."

  "Damn you rotten humans!" Syph fumed. "You'll pay for this? All of you!" "You're the ones who will pay!" Athena ventured to respond. Syph hissed and clutched her left wrist, hauling her after him as he

  stomped toward the huts.

  "Where are you taking me?" Athena queried in a sudden panic. "What a dumb-ass question!" Syph said contemptuously. "Where do you

  think?" Athena gawked at the lofty structure harboring the vilest fiend alive. "Not

  the Tower!"

  Syph cackled devilishly.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "Drop your weapon!" the Hatchling nearest the entrance commanded.

  "You have until the count of three."

  Havoc hesitated, bewildered by the unexpected turn of events. The HK94

  was in his left hand. All he would have to do was elevate the gun, sweep his

  right hand to the trigger, and fire.

  "One," the Hatchling said.

  Four of the thirteen hybrids were likewise armed with HK94's. "Two," the Hatchling counted.

  Havoc frowned. All four were pointing their weapons at him. "Thr—" the Hatchling began.

  Havoc dropped his HK94 and raised his hands into the air. "Is this any

  way to greet a visitor?" he quipped.

  "You don't like our welcoming committee?" the Hatchling rejoined,

  smirking triumphantly.

  "I was hoping for a brass band and some cheerleaders," Havoc cracked.

  The Hatchlings beamed. "I always have appreciated the human sense of humor."

  He paused. "Which is why my brothers think I'm somewhat strange." "You knew I was coming," Havoc said.

  "Of course," the Hatchling confirmed.

  "But how?" Havoc wanted to know.

  "Father felt you," the Hatchling revealed. "Felt me?" Havoc responded,

  perplexed. "How? And who are you anyway?"

  "Where aremy manners?" the Hatchling asked rhetorically. "My name is

  Chanc."

  "Where do you guys get your names?" Havoc queried facetiously. "Do you

  pull them out of a hat?"

  "We do not wear hats," Chanc said. "Our names are bestowed on us by

  the Spider."

  "I don't get it," Havoc stated. "If this Spider is your old man, why do you

  fruitcakes keep referring to him as theSpider?"

  "Our father prefers to be addressed as such," Chanc explained. "A great honor," Chanc replied. "You will meet our father. Follow me." He

  peered past Havoc. "You too, brother."

  Sadist whined and retreated a step. "No! It wasn't my fault! He made me

  bring him!"

  "The Spider is aware of the situation," Chanc said. "He wants to see you." "Please! No!" Sadist begged.

  Chanc motioned with one of his right arms, and immediately two other

  Hatchlings walked from the Tower and moved behind Sadist.

  "You will come, won't you?" Chanc requested politely.

  Sadist appeared to be having trouble breathing. He weakly nodded. "Excellent!" Chanc commented, looking at Havoc. "And what is your

  name?"

  "Havoc," the noncom responded. "Sergeant Havoc."

  "An appropriate name for a military man, yes?" Chanc remarked. "Come

  along, won't you?" He turned and headed off.

  Havoc entered the Tower, his skin tingling. Now he was in for it! Trapped

  in the lion's den, with no angels of mercy to yank his fat out of the fire! Blade

  and the Force might arrive at any second, but he was doubtful. Who knew where

  they were?

  "Father is in his chambers," Chanc mentioned, walking to the right,

  toward a spiral stairwell. "It's a bit of a climb, I'm afraid."

  Havoc's forehead creased in confusion. What was with this hybrid? Was

  Chanc trying to smother him with kindness? "Are you the head Hatchling?' he

  asked.

  "Dox is," Chanc answered, "by virtue of being the eldest. But he's not

  here at the moment." He stopped and glanced at Havoc. "You wouldn't happen

  to know where he is, would you?"

  "How should I know?" Havoc lied. Chanc nodded knowingly and started

  climbing the stairwell. Havoc examined his surroundings, flabbergasted. The

  interior of the Tower was immense, spacious enough for an army, and the decor

  left something to be desired. From a human perspective, anyhow. Colossal

  beams latticed the edifice, projecting from the walls and crisscrossing the air

  space. Many of the beams came to an abrupt end in midair. Illumination was

  provided by lanterns suspended from hooks in the walls. Havoc's boots clumped

  on the stairwell as he ascended. Gazing upward, he spied the underside of a

  floor approximately 20 feet above his head. Why had they situated the lowest

  floor so far from the ground? Was the Tower only partially completed? Or did the

  beams serve a purpose?

  "You are in for a treat," Chanc said over his left shoulder. "You are the

  first human male to lay eyes on the Spider in four decades."

  "Lucky me," Havoc retorted.

  "Sarcasm is so unbecoming," Chanc said.

  "Why are you being so damn polite?" Havoc demanded.

  "I attribute my courtesy to my genes," Chanc replied. "Your genes?" "Certainly. As you are no doubt aware, we are the offspring of a mixed

  mating. Human and mutant. And our parentage is displayed in our genes. Some

  of us possess slightly more human attributes than the others. Some, if you will,

  take more after our father's side of the family, while others tend to be like our

  mothers, more human. I am such a one," Chanc divulged regretfully. "You don't sound too happy about it," Havoc noted.

  "I'm not," Chanc admitted. "But I must bear the pollution in my

  bloodstream as best I can."

  "What did you mean down there?" Havoc asked. "When you said the

  Spider felt me coming?"

  "I don't quite know if I can explain it," Chanc said.

  "Try," Havoc prompted.

  "Are you familiar with mental telepathy?" Chanc queried.

  "I know a little about it," Havoc stated. "Isn't it the same as mind

  reading?"

  "Close, but not quite," Chanc replied. "Telepathy is a communication

  between minds, sort of like talking to someone else but conducting the

  conversation in your head instead of with
your vocal apparatus."

  "And the Spider is telepathic?" Havoc inquired. "In a certain respect, yes,"

  Chanc confirmed. "The Spider can communicate with us, with each Hatchling,

  telepathically." A dozen questions fitted Havoc's mind. "Is this communication

  constant? Are you talking with him now?

  And what's the range?"

  Chanc glanced over his right shoulder, grinning. "You possess a curious

  nature. What a pity."

  "What is?" Havoc asked,

  "Never mind," Chanc said, sighing. "No, the communication is not

  constant. The sensation is not easy to describe. When Father wants to contact

  one of us, we feel his thoughts in our head. By the same token, he can feel our

  thoughts."

  "How close do you have to be?" Havoc probed.

  "Father can project his thoughts to us up to a distance of fifty yards, and

  he can feel our thoughts at the same range," Chanc detailed. "Beyond fifty

  yards, we can not communicate telepathically."

  "Can he do the same thing with humans?"

  "No," Chanc revealed. "I don't know why. Perhaps human minds are too

  feeble. Perhaps humans lack the glands or whatever is necessary for telepathy.

  But the Spider can not project his thoughts in a human mind, although he can

  register the presence of a human up to the edge of the fields."

  "How do you mean?" Havoc requested clarification.

  "I'll use you as an example," Chanc said. "As soon as you entered our

  village, as you drew near to the first hut, the Spider felt your presence. He knew

  you were coming, even though he could not read your mind. He felt you. That's

  the best way I can explain his ability."

  "And once he was aware of my presence, once he felt me coming, he had

  you prepare your welcome wagon," Havoc deduced.

  "Exactly," Chanc verified.

  They had attained the lowest floor. Walls and doors appeared to their left.

  The walls, though, were bizarre, designed with sharp angles and slanting upward

  instead of being aligned vertically. The material used in the construction was a

  dark wood.

  "Are these your quarters?" Havoc idly asked.

  "Our sleeping quarters, our storage rooms, our library…" Chanc said,

  itemizing them.

  "You have a library?" Havoc queried in surprise.