James Axler – Stoneface

He bent over, inserting the end of the baffle silencer into the man’s ear. Over a century had passed since the crazy bastard should have been welcomed by Father Death, but it was better late than never to force him to accept the invitation.

Just as Ryan’s finger tightened on the trigger, the Commander moved. He convulsed beneath him, his hand streaking up, closing tightly around the barrel of the SIG-Sauer and yanking it to one side. Ryan tried to wrest it away, but it was like wrestling with an iron vise.

The Commander’s expression was calm, almost serene, his icy eyes placid. “Killing me will serve little purpose. My death will not affect this place. The work will go on.”

For an instant Ryan believed him, and he almost stopped trying to free the blaster from the man’s grasp. Then a boiling anger came fountaining up out of him, and he erupted in a flaming, murderous fury.

His left fist smashed with all his weight behind it into the pale, unlined face below him. The head bounced against the floor, the nose flattening, blood splattering bright against the white skin. He kicked him in the groin, and as the Commander curled around his foot, he loosened his grip on the blaster.

Ryan snatched the pistol away, slashed sideways at the groping hand with the barrel, stooped over and shot the Commander through the forehead.

The man shivered, spasmed and went limp, hands dropping lifelessly to the carpet. The fingers scrabbled at the nap for a moment, then froze, curved like talons.

Breathing hard, Ryan stepped away from the corpse. His lips were dry and his face was damp. When he wiped away crimson droplets on the baffle silencer, he saw his hand was trembling.

He rubbed a drop of the Commander’s blood between thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t hot, warm or even tepid. Ryan grinned savagely and said, “Doesn’t that just figure.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught a shifting movement behind him. He whirled, the blaster leading the way. One of the tall double doors was opening, pushed from the outside.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mildred cocked her pistol and her head at the same time. “What?”

The lean, scaled figure before her capered impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other. “My brains, you were supposed to bring me my brains.”

“I don’t have your brains,” Mildred said, not able to repress a smile despite the situation. “Don’t you have any of your own?”

The figure blinked its huge eyes at her owlishly. “If I did, I wouldn’t be waiting for you to bring them to me, now, would I?”

Nerves on edge, Mildred laughed shortly. “Logical answer. What kind of brains do you need?”

One of the bony shoulders heaved in a half shrug. “Yours will do. Yes, as a matter of fact, a woman’s brain is preferable. It will balance out my own.”

“What will you do with it if I give it to you?”

“Pop it out, of course, cook it over the fire in its own blood and juices. Then eat it.”

Mildred, staring at the gaunt, scaled, sexless creature, felt clammy sweat bead her forehead. “Why?”

“Like I said,” it replied, “to balance me out. I’m leaning too far in the direction of a single gender.”

Mildred cast her eyes up and down its body. “Not as far as I can see.”

It blinked at her again, and said, “Watch.”

An awful groan came from its lipless mouth. Parts of the scaled body stirred and shifted, muscles crawling and sliding beneath the scaled flesh. The figure reeled backward, and Mildred, watching it, felt the marrow of her bones turn to water.

The muscles on the creature’s arms and thighs thickened, and a fleshy pseudopod at the groin suddenly sprouted, like the bud of a flower. A testicle sac swelled beneath it. Mildred nearly cried out in horror, though the scientist in her was fascinated. She stared, spellbound.

The thing was a physiological gender bender, a hermaphrodite that could switch sexes at will. She knew that human hermaphrodites occurred naturally, if infrequently, though they were usually nonfunctional as both males and females. The genetic differences between men and women were very slight, only a matter of certain genes being switched on or off. In this creature’s case, it could apparently switch them on and off, back and forth, at will. She had never heard of a mutie with this kind of ability, and she guessed that this thing was a product of genetic engineering. It wasn’t clear in her mind why anyone would wish to deliberately produce hermaphrodites.