400 Boys and 50 More Read Online Free PDF

arrival!
    They have apparently fled before him. The corridors are empty and silent, crackling with the energy of anticipation. The walls are smeared and gleaming, perhaps with the blood of his foes. There has been an earlier flash-attack on this sector: a flushing of the rabbits from their warrens, with humble garden hoses replaced by the searing whitefire of dissembler-grenades. He smiles at the thought, grinning from a nearly toothless mouth.
    Vile pig-things, stinking scrambler bastards. Imagining my approach, you wet your pants with fright ! Ho, triumph!
    For an instant he tries to stand, basking in his power but it is a hopeless endeavor. His chubby thin legs are unstable, the muscles lacking all but the faintest vestiges of tone.
    Somewhere, he hears a ticking.
    Then the clatter of footsteps. Footsteps!
    No, it is too soon!
    He scrambles for all he is worth, at last sighting an adjoining corridor. His training becomes reflex and he hurl himself toward the opening, into shadows, rolling like a ball. At the last instant before slamming into the wall, he drops open like a pink flower and presses into a corner.
    The steps pound louder. Voices:
    “—attack on 9. We'll need every unit in there."
    "That's cutting it too close. If we weaken the other sectors — "
    "They’re not exposed, damn it! 9's been peeled paper-thin."
    The footsteps are thunder all around him, the voices tumbling from high above. Squeezing back into the shadows, he glares up at the giants who have come into view. They are red-faced, panting, turning into the corridor where he is hidden.
    So, must I make my stand here? Then I shall take you down with me, you filthy—
    The looming figures start toward him, high, so high above. Their eyes, hidden behind shining grey lenses, do not detect him among so many shadows, but now they are moving in his direction, stalking like a storm down the corridor.
    You too will die! Yah!
    He leaps. He will fight until his strength is drained. He is ready to fight and die with only his small nails and nearly nonexistent teeth as weapons.
    But his body betrays him. His leap, though packed with all the power he can summon, takes him a matter of inches. He falls short of the tromping enemy heels and sprawls flat, gasping for air, tears starting at his eyes, his head throbbing in a halo of pain, his little pink face twisting up.
    As the footsteps fade away, he realizes that they did not even see him.
    Defeated, he begins to cry.
    Damn them, damn them, damndamndamnthebastards!
    When the sobs die down, he is breathless and shivering. He consoles himself with the thought that soon enough, his time will come. They will feel terror then. Yes! Terror! Then!
    He is moving again, once more taking up the rhythm of reflexes for which he was trained. He is a hunter, yes! Mighty conqueror, strength and champion of his own people.
    Crawling, he riffles the list of his weapons and defenses.
    Nails, yes: finger and toe.
    Limbs? No, they are not yet strong enough. None of them.
    Head? For butting, perhaps? Unfortunately not. The circular scar is still tender, the bones of his skull not fully reset; they have been expanded by surgery to accommodate his new brain, and they strain at the skin. Besides, his neck is infirm . . . wobbly.
    Teeth? No, they are but a few pale slivers on his gums.
    What else? What else? There is not much, true, but he does not doubt that his training will see him through. The enemy stands no chance before me!
    Now he slinks, his eyes devious slits, his pink mouth twisted with clever determination. His little fists clench as if holding knives. The concentric pain rings at his skull for just a second, and again the ticking sound seems to grow. Both of these irritations soon subside. He moves on.
    From behind, enemy tread sounds again. They are coming on to challenge his might.
    This time you'll not escape! Prepare to die!
    He feels no need to seek shadows. In the center of the corridor, he turns on hands and