“Not my idea,” Mildred said, “but it fits.”
“Yes. Quite appropriate.”
“Did all your seed heralds return?”
Boldt leaned back in the throne. “Most but not all. Never all. That is a vicious world awaiting us out there.”
“How many didn’t return by their own choosing?”
Boldt’s smile was cold, cruel. “None. They were given an inducement to return. Before any of them left, an explosive device was implanted deep into muscle tissue by med-bots under Merlin’s watchful eye. If, after sufficient time for their journey to have elapsed, they did not return, the devices exploded. Managed by an internal clock.” He paused. “I am quite thorough.”
“Yes.” Mildred felt the presence of the guards at her back even though they stayed out of her sight.
“More of the human race survived the bombing and the nukestorm than my father had anticipated.”
“Your father knew the war was going to happen?”
“You were there,” Boldt said. “Given the circumstances, was there any other way for things to end?”
Mildred held her tongue. There were dozens of other ways events could have gone. But they hadn’t.
Boldt waved to encompass the room. “My father planned to restock the world after it destroyed itself. Using the money he borrowed through his contact with Colonel Walker, who was also in agreement, with enough biological material set aside to continue the future of this planet.”
“Only they wanted things to be different,” Mildred said. She looked into the lean man’s eyes and saw the fanatical lights burning there. For a moment she lost herself in her imagination, wondering what it had been like for a nine-year-old child to wander through the complex by himself. She found herself wanting to know when he’d first had human companionship again.
“Of course they wanted things to be different. The human race, such as it was, was a cancerous growth on this planet.”
“Was he a Celt?”
“No. My father was my father.” The lack of reply indicated that the nine-year-old boy had never known his father at all. “He chose the Celtic way of life for his people. All of the ones who were fast-grown in the vats were imprinted with the beliefs and values of the Celts. They revered nature, and wanted to be one with her. Not like the generations spawned afterward.”
“Not overly appreciative of your father’s grand designs.”
Again the cruel smile flashed. “They shall be sorry, though, in the end. And it is nearer than they think.”
Mildred didn’t like the ominous sound of that at all, and when Boldt continued, she liked it even less.
Chapter Seventeen
As fast as the striking vine was, Ryan Cawdor was faster. He avoided the flashing thorn dripping ichor, and seized the attacking plant limb just behind the scabrous attachment. It bucked in his hold, stronger than he would have thought possible.
Gehrig guffawed with laughter, nearly doubled over at the table. “You know, that shit usually gets everybody the first time.”
Ryan eyed the raider captain coldly. “You want to have somebody put this thing away before I decide to pass it along?”
At least ten or a dozen other vines had leaped from the confines of the wicker basket and wound their way around the table, chair legs and other men. Two of the waitresses screamed, and the hypnotic trance created by the naked brunettes working the double-headed dildo on the stage was rudely shattered. The shrills of a faked mutual orgasm petered out.
Gehrig waved the knife he’d been using to carve bite-size hunks from the meat in front of him.
Three of his men responded at once, grabbing the rooted pod in the wicker basket and fighting the tentacles back into place.
“Effing tree-huggers call those things tanglers,” Gehrig said. “They’re a combination pet, watchdog and source of food and clothing. That’s what we’re getting out of our little raids,” Gehrig said. “The tanglers have poison in them, you see. Harsh stuff. Takes long minutes to kill a man, and there’s no antidote that we’ve been able to come up with. We’ve got some predark body armor that comes in handy for capturing these little gems.”
Ryan watched as one of the hard thorns suddenly stabbed into the back of a man’s neck. He cursed hoarsely in response, his face blanching white with the pain and shock of it. Another man reached out a gloved hand and plucked it from his flesh. A thin stream of blood threaded its way down into his collar. Back on stage, the two women were moving against each other again, and the crowd had turned away from Gehrig and his men.