"I don't believe it," Athena declared.

  Filling the vast subterranean grotto were hundreds of stone mounds, pillars, and arches, a tangled maze of naturally formed edifices. Scores of openings indicated doorways into rock buildings or rooms. A dazzling array of neon lights shone continuously over business establishments. And moving about in a boisterous flow of rowdy humanity were 200 to 300 men and women, all from various gangs, all enjoying themselves to the hilt.

  "This is the perfect hideout for people like us," Claire said. "None of the city-states we raid or the organized territories would think to come looking for us inside a mesa."

  "It's amazing," Havoc said.

  Somewhere in the throng a woman laughed lustily and a man cursed a blue streak.

  "If you think this is something, you should scope out the place during the games," Claire said. "Everybody gets soused to the gills and humps like foxes in heat."

  "My, what a way with words you have," Athena remarked.

  "Lighten up, sister. You'll never make friends here if you waltz around like you have a broom handle shoved up your butt."

  The bearded guard pointed at another tunnel barely visible on the far side of the cavern. "Through there is another area just as big and a lot of smaller ones. This is just the business district. Death Master's home and the arena are all in the next cavern. Unless the games are in progress you're not allowed in there."

  "Yeah, the last clown who wandered off limits was skinned alive and fed his own gonads," Claire said and laughed.

  "We won't accidentally stray into the off-limits area," Blade promised.

  Luther gestured and led them onward. "The boss is usually at the Club Royale at this time of night. We'll go there first."

  "Is he still seeing that tramp?" Claire asked.

  "Lolita? She might have slept with half of Mesaville, but unless you want your tongue cut out you'd best not bad-mouth her in public again. Some guys wouldn't think twice about turning you in."

  "I just can't understand what he sees in her."

  "You've got to be kidding."

  Soon they were among the lively crowd, wending among the stone structures. Many of the passersby stopped and stared openly, often in hostility, at the newcomers.

  "It takes a while for newbies to be accepted," Luther explained.

  They climbed stone steps to a huge dome and entered a wide doorway. Strident music blared mixed with the hubbub of loud voices punctuated by harsh mirth. Revealed in the dim light were men clad in coarse clothing mingling with women clad in scanty apparel. Drinks were guzzled greedily. Despite the merrymaking the place had a hard atmosphere; there was a hint of underlying menace in the air.

  Along the opposite wall ran a stone bar, and dancing on stone platforms positioned nearby were three naked women. Patrons leered and pawed at them, and they took it all in playful stride.

  "This is the best joint in Mesaville," Luther said, shouting to make himself heard above the din.

  "I can believe it," Blade responded.

  To the left were a dozen tables crammed with customers. Against the wall was a table three times the size of the others, and seated with his broad back to the cool stone was the biggest man in the club, a man even taller than the Warrior, a man wearing a black leather jacket with a high collar.

  The guard nodded and said, "That's the main man himself."

  Blade's eyes narrowed as he approached. With a start he realized the colossus wasn't entirely human.

  Death Master was aptly named. His head qualified as a grotesque caricature of terrifying proportions. A third larger than it should be, the left half resembled a human face except for the eye, which was the size of a walnut and possessed a tiny black pupil. The right half displayed reptilian characteristics, with brown, scaly skin, a deformed slit of a nostril, thin lips perpetually curled back over tapered teeth, and a small red orb. On the right side of his head he was bald; on the left grew a wild shock of long black hair that curled down to his back.

  There were five women at Death Master's table, each wearing practically nothing. There were also five men, all tough types who wore black leather and were armed with handguns. Ringing the table were four more men, each wearing sunglasses even though they were inside, each carrying either a shotgun or an assault rifle.

  Luther slowed as he neared them and grinned nervously.

  One of the gunners barked out, "Halt!"

  Incredibly, all activity in the Club Royale ground to a halt. The music stopped blaring, the dancers stopped dancing, and the crowd fell silent and gazed at the newcomers.

  Blade halted and met the unflinching stare of the titan known as Death Master.

  "Sorry to disturb you, sir," Luther said, "but you left standing orders that newbies are to be brought directly to you."

  "And so they are," responded the lord of Mesaville, rising slowly to his full height of seven and a half feet. His voice was consistent with his appearance: humanish, but tinted with a sibilant accent.

  Luther indicated the Razor. "You remember Claire Steiger, sir? One of the Razors?"

  Death Master studied the blonde until she squirmed uncomfortably. "Yes, I do. And I had forgotten how beautiful she is." He nodded at one of his seated men, who promptly rose. "Sit here, my dear."

  Claire's terrified expression betrayed her feelings, but she bravely steeled herself and sat down.

  "Where is Ajax?" Death Master inquired.

  "Dead. Sand rays," Claire answered weakly, her lips scarcely moving, her eyes locked on the bizarre visage looming over her. "All the Razors."

  "How unfortunate. Ajax was a man after my own heart. He brought in some prime merchandise and pet food from time to time."

  "Yeah, he was a peach," Claire said and placed her left hand on one of the extra revolvers tucked under her belt. "We collected all the Razors's weapons and we were hoping you'd take them in trade."

  "We?" Death Master repeated, turning to the three Force members. "Introduce me."

  "The big guy is Blade. The hunk is Mikey. And the bitch is Athena. They're from a gang called the Bombers," Claire said.

  "Are they indeed?" Death Master came around the table and stood in front of the Warrior. "You're almost my size. Think you could take me?"

  Blade hesitated. What was this? A challenge? A test? He didn't want to take on the titan—yet. Not until after he found Grizzly. "I didn't come all the way here to fight you. Our leader sent us to see if we can trade at Mesaville on a regular basis."

  "And what's the name of this leader of yours?"

  "Lobo," Blade said, hoping Havoc wouldn't give everything away by laughing hysterically.

  "Never heard of him. For that matter, never heard of the Bombers either. Where are you based?"

  "We usually raid along California's southern border."

  "How many are in your band?"

  "Eighteen," Blade responded, feeling oddly uneasy. Gazing into those eerie, mismatched eyes at close range was like gazing into the face of a living nightmare. They never blinked, those eyes. They simply bored into him with the palpable force of thrust daggers.

  "And how did you hear about our fair town?"

  "Lobo heard about you from another gang."

  "Which gang?"

  "The Devils of Baja," Blade said, referring to a band of raiders the Force had wiped out in a pitched battle in Mexico. The Devils had operated for decades, conducting dozens of rapid strikes into California and escaping before the military could overtake them. Given their longevity, they must have been acquainted with Mesaville. Or so he hoped.

  "Ahh, yes. El Diablo and his bunch. How are they? He hasn't paid us a visit in years?"

  "I haven't seen him in some time."

  Death Master glanced at Havoc, then Athena. "How strange."

  'What is?" Blade asked.

  "Both of your associates are wearing new fatigues. California government issue fatigues, if I'm not mistaken." Death Master looked at Blade again and his mouth curled in a sinister smile. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear they must belong to a California Army unit."

  Blade grinned. "You're very perceptive. Yeah, they're wearing Army uniforms. As well they should be."

  "How so?"

  "We ambushed an Army patrol a week ago and took all their gear and clothing."

  "Interesting," Death Master said, as he scrutinized the officer and the journalist. "Tell me. Should I have all three of you killed now or later?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It took all of Blade's self-control to keep his countenance unchanged when he answered, "Why would you want to kill us?"

  Death Master reached out a long arm and touched Athena's shoulder, his smile widening when she shuddered. "I find it improbable that these uniforms belonged to an ambushed patrol. Why, there isn't a drop of blood or a bullet hole on them."

  "Give me a break. Don't soldiers carry extra uniforms in their backpacks when on extended patrols?" Blade countered casually.

  Everyone in the Club Royale seemed to tense in expectation of trouble.

  "Give you a break?" Death Master said, moving a few inches closer to the Warrior. For seconds he simply stared. Finally he cocked his head. "Yes, I suppose I should. Your reason is plausible."

  "So what do we tell Lobo when we get back?"

  "Not so fast, my friend. There will be plenty of time for us to discuss trade matters. You won't be leaving for a week at least."

  "But we'd hoped to head back in a day or two," Blade said, hoping his lie would elicit a reaction.

  "I wouldn't hear of you departing so soon. I'm afraid I must insist that you stay in Mesaville as my special guests until I decide otherwise."

  "There's no need to go overboard on our account."

  "But there is. Allow me to show you the full extent of my hospitality so your leader will better appreciate the realities of dealing with me."

  "In that case," Blade said, feigning capitulation, "we'll be happy to stay as long as you want."

  "I figured you would." Death Master pivoted and addressed a muscular subordinate whose spiked, slick hair had been dyed a bright red. "Horatio, you're responsible for making certain our guests are treated with every courtesy. Any lapses and we will have a heart-to-heart discussion. Do you catch my drift?"

  Horatio nodded. "Got you, boss."

  The colossus jabbed a finger at two other men. "Take all of the weapons they wish to barter to the armory. Make a complete list of every item."

  "Yes, sir," one of the pair answered.

  Death Master glanced at Blade. "With your permission, of course."

  "Be our guest. We trust you."

  "As well you should. Just ask around. You'll discover that my word is law and I never cheat a customer."

  The three Force members gave the extra arms to the two men, both of whom grunted under their heavy loads as they departed.

  "Now you can eat, drink, and revel in life," Death Master said and encompassed the crowd in a sweeping glare. "Who ordered the music to be switched off and gave permission for the dancers to a take a break? I am not pleased."

  Immediately the club swung into high gear with the discordant music and the rowdy customers competing to be heard.

  Blade leaned toward the titan. "You have them well trained," he said, almost having to shout to be heard.

  The most malevolent expression imaginable came over Death Master's visage. "Don't I though? It's a point worth keeping in mind."

  "I most definitely will."

  Death Master returned to his seat and reached out to stroke Claire's chin. She seemed frozen in place, petrified into docile submission.

  Pivoting away from the table, Blade took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. Total revulsion sparked a surging impulse to empty his M-16 into the fiend's head. He inadvertently started when a heavy hand fell on his left shoulder and Horatio stepped in front of him.

  "What would you like first, big guy? Some brews maybe?"

  "A drink would be nice."

  "Then follow me." Horatio wheeled and strode toward the bar.

  Blade nodded at his companions, and they stayed in their escort's wake. He was acutely conscious of the many eyes raking his form. Don't fly off the handle, he told himself. Tolerate everything until you find Grizzly. The resolution provoked a train of thought.

  Death Master, he realized, was a hybrid, a being embodying both human and bestial traits. He'd known many others in his time, mutations produced either by radiation scrambling the genetic components of embryos in the womb or by deliberate design in the case of those genetically engineered by warped scientists. He guessed Death Master to a be a product of the first type since the genetically engineered variety possessed clear-cut physical characteristics of the animals they resembled. Cat-men looked just like walking cats. Dog-men would be mistaken for canines if they didn't walk on two legs. But Death Master exhibited a grotesque combination of traits that suggested embryonic deformity.

  "Barkeep, give us beers all around," Horatio ordered as they neared the bar.

  "Do they have any water?" Blade asked.

  "You're kidding me, right?"

  "We just crossed the Burn Belt. What do you think?"

  Horatio chuckled. "I see what you mean." He placed his elbows on the bar and addressed one of the bartenders. "Frank, baby, change that order to water. These folks are parched after crossing the desert."

  "Comin' right up."

  Blade placed his back against the bar and surveyed the fun and games. He saw a man fondling a woman's breasts and another guy with his hand up a willing partner's skirt.

  "Fun place," Athena cracked, standing on his right.

  "Reminds me of every diye I've ever been in," Havoc commented, standing beside her.

  "Been in a lot, have you?" Athena responded.

  To Blade's surprise, he saw Death Master stand and pull Claire erect, clasp her tightly, and begin dancing slowing despite the frenzied beat of the music. She moved mechanically, her face blank.

  Horatio noticed the direction of the Warrior's stare and chuckled. "Looks like the boss is going to get himself a new piece tonight."

  "Does he get a piece often?"

  "He beds his main squeeze, Lolita, just about every night, and then screws one or two others. The guy ain't human."

  "I've noticed."

  "Claire will have the time of her life, and she'll be well paid."

  "He pays those he beds?"

  "Yep. Not Lolita, of course, or any of the other regulars. Just the new snatch he picks up on the side."

  "Regulars?"

  "Yeah. Those other bimbos sitting at his table and a few others live at his house. They're his harem. They take the pressure off Lolita, if you get my drift."

  "He must need a lot of vitamins."

  "Nope," Horatio said, taking the remark seriously. "The boss don't eat nothing but raw meat." He paused. "Maybe I should try his diet some time."

  "I hear there are other hybrids in Mesaville," Blade said conversationally.

  "Other what?"

  "You know. Men and women who are part animal or whatever."

  "Oh, them. Yeah, there are a bunch of freaks here."

  "Do you ever refer to your boss as a freak?"

  Gulping air, Horatio looked all around to see if anyone had heard, then sidled closer and said out of the corner of his mouth, "Don't ever make a crack like that in public again unless you want to lose your head. The boss can't stand being called that. He considers himself different from the other freaks, special in a way."

  "Thanks for the tip."

  The bartender brought a tray bearing three glasses of water and a mug of greenish-yellow liquid reeking to high heaven.

  "Thanks," Horatio said and lifted the mug to his lips. He drank deeply and sighed when done.

  Athena sniffed loudly. "What are you drinking?"

  "A brewski, lady."

  "Do you mean a beer?"

  "Yep. Mesaville has its own brewery. We put out ten thousand gallons of this stuff a month."

  "What are the ingredients?"

  Horatio peered into his mug. "I don't know. Who cares? The stuff tastes great and really hits the spot. Everybody drinks it."

  "I'd imagine constipation isn't much of a problem in Mesaville?"

  "Huh?"

  "Never mind."

  A commotion erupted at the front entrance, and suddenly a man sailed through the air and crashed on top of a table, knocking glasses in all directions. Into view stalked a pair of hybrids. They paused just inside the doorway and arrogantly surveyed the club, causing another general hush to descend.

  "Uh-oh," Horatio said softly. "This could be trouble."

  Both hybrids were the same size, six feet tall and approximately 200 pounds. Both wore black loincloths and nothing else. On the right stood a creature combining the physical characteristics of a man and a wild boar. Short, bristling hair covered him from the top of his head to his feet. His nose resembled a snout. His eyes were dark and beady. And jutting upward from his lower lip were two tappered tusks, one below each cheek. He snorted and glared in ill-concealed contempt at the assembled patrons.

  On the left was a being whose essentially hairless, pinkish skin bore wrinkle after wrinkle. His dome of a head glistened in the light, as did the long ivory tusks hanging six inches down from his chin.

  Blade knew they had been created in test tubes by a skilled genetic engineer. He recognized the hybrid on the right as a boar-man, but it took longer for him to identify the traits of the second figure as being the commingled features of a human and a walrus.

  "The boar is called Slasher," Horatio revealed. "The other one is named Blackjack. They get their kicks by stomping humans into the dirt."

  "Death Master allows them to indulge in such behavior?"

  "So long as they don't go around killing people right and left, they're permitted to do as they please. The boss rarely has a hybrid killed because the damn things are real crowd pleasers at the games."

  Slasher and Blackjack stalked forward. Customers in their path hastened to get elsewhere. The pair kicked chairs aside and knocked tables over as they made a beeline for the bar, but they only covered a dozen feet before a low, cold voice brought them to a halt.

  "I trust the two of you plan to behave yourselves."

 

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