“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Dr. Singh said. “I know for an indisputable fact that the Lords of Kismet aren’t mutations. They are…." He would have gone on but just then the Indrian snapped at him. Bowing, he said, “No more discussion, I am afraid. Therga demands that we proceed to the interrogation. You will follow me, please.” Turning, he made for a corridor that branched off from the lab.
Blade caught Hickok’s and Yama’s eye and stepped up behind the scientist. They fell in behind him. All of the demigods trailed after.
“Soon, I hope,” Hickok whispered.
“Real soon,” Blade said.
“Good. I’m tired of playin nice with these varmints.”
They passed more labs and various other rooms and at last came to a closed door. Dr. Singh opened it, then moved aside so they could precede him. The only furniture was a metal chair bolted to the floor, with leather straps to restrain a person’s wrists and ankles. Next to it was a small table lined with syringes, and vials in a rack.
“Let me guess,” Blade said. “Truth serum?” He had read about it in the Family Library.
“Not quite, but close,” Dr. Singh said. He proudly held up one of the vials. “An improvement of my own invention. I combined amobarbital with other compounds so that when injected, it induces a near-catatonic state in which the subject’s mind is susceptible to electronic extraction.”
“Electronic?” Yama said.
Dr. Singh replaced the vial and moved to the metal chair. He pressed a black button on the side, and up in the ceiling there was a loud click. A panel opened, and from it descended a metal helmet to which eight colored wires were attached.
“What in the world is that?” Hickok said.
“Why, the extraction device, of course,” Dr. Singh said. “Do you know anything about computers?”
“A little,” Blade said. He had used one for a while when he was in charge of the elite tactical unit the Freedom Federation had set up.
“Good. That will make the explanation easier.” Dr. Singh gripped the helmet as it came to a stop above the chair. “The Extractor treats the human brain much as hard drive. It uploads, if you will, every memory you have. In the process it also wipes your mind clean and leaves you in a vegetative state, but that can’t be helped.”
“The hell you say,” Hickok said.
“And if you’re thinking of resisting,” Dr. Singh said with a smile, “save yourself the effort. Once the psychotropic compounds are administered, you’ll be helpless.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” Blade said.
Dr. Singh swelled his chest in pride. “I try my best. I live to serve our masters, after all.”
“Your masters, mister,” Hickok said. “Not mine.”
“Be that as it may, in a very short while your head will be as empty as if your brains had been removed, and you’ll be good for nothing save as food for the great lady or for her demigods should she deem it fit.”
“How do you sleep at night?” Hickok said.
“Spare me your thinly veiled insults,” Dr. Singh said, bending to open a leather strap. “What do you know, anyway? You come from from a foreign land.”
“I know your precious Lords are monsters,” Hickok said.
“How childish.” Singh turned to the table and selected a vial and a syringe. “For your information, many of us regard the Lords as our saviors, to use a Western term. After the war, everything was in chaos. Food was scarce. The bombs and chemical weapons had poisoned the environment. Toxins were in the very air. Raiders killed and plundered. In short, life was a living hell.” He pointed the syringe at Hickok. “The Lords restored order out of the chaos. They took control and saved us from ourselves, as it were. Which is why I am happy to serve them in any capacity I can.”
Therga interrupted with another command.
“Time to begin,” Dr. Singh said. “Which one of you wants to go first?”
Holding his hands close to his waist so it wouldn’t be obvious, Blade balled his fists, nodded at Hickok and Geronimo, and grimly declared, “Now.”
Hickok beamed. “About blamed time.”
CHAPTER 47
Hickok was itching to kick demigod butt. To say nothing of his revulsion at Dr. Singh. That a human being could do what Singh had done to other people—he’d seldom yearned to do someone in as much as he did the vile doctor.
So when Blade finally unleashed them, Hickok exploded into motion like a spring that had been wound too tight. Clenching his manacled hands, he pivoted at the hips and clubbed the Batuan across the face. The green creature was jolted back a step. Hickok went after him, clubbing again and again. Out of the corner of an eye he glimpsed Blade springing at the Indrian and Yama spin-kick a Ganairab. Then he only had eyes for his own foe.
The Batuan had one arm free; the other was laden with weapons. The creature grabbed for the sword at its hip but didn’t quite have it out when Hickok kicked it in the knee. As thin as Batuan limbs were, Hickok figured the leg would break like a stick. But all the thing did was back up another step. Batuans were thin, yes, but their bones must be as dense as those of their red cousins, the Ganairabs.
Hickok drove his fists at the creature’s chin but it jerked away and all he did was clip its jaw. Undaunted, he lowered his shoulder and slammed into it, seeking to topple it to the floor with him on top. But the Batuan wasn’t so easily defeated; its knee caught him in the gut and he was levered up and over.
Hickok came down hard on his back and scrambled to regain his footing. He needed his Colts, needed them quickly if he was to help his friends. Yama was battling three Ganairabs while Blade was up against the Indrian and the rest of the red guards, who had rushed to
