Ruthless (14 page)

"Thank you, Johnny," he said. "It is just a hammer, but it means a lot to me."

Johnny said nothing, but drove like a racer against the clock. As he slalomed between the late-night Tammerfors traffic, the car rocked with the buzzing sounds of interlocking repulsor fields. Without magnetic buffers, he would be leaving a demolition derby in his wake. As it was, he was spilling a lot of commuters' coffees into unsuspecting laps.

"But how are you going to get it back?" asked Wulf.

"We're not going to get it back," said Johnny.

"Oh," the Viking was crestfallen.

"We can't afford it. Squid blew up all our money."

"You have enough of the money for der
Sherman
tickets."

"That was it, Wulf, that was everything we had."

"We can't buy a snack at der-?"

"No, we can't. But I'm gonna talk to this pawnbroker guy."

"Isaiah?"

"Isaiah. I'll try to talk him into not putting the Happy Stick on the market."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Then we'll put in a bid of our own for the auction and hope we bring in a big enough bounty before he asks us to pay up."

Wulf said nothing, clearly unhappy with the arrangements, but not so foolhardy as to complain. But something still niggled at him.

"What if he says no?" he asked.

"Then I'll shoot him and steal it!" shouted Johnny. "What do you want me to do?"

"Okay, okay. Just as long as there is a plan," said Wulf.

Johnny drove in silence. Wulf folded his arms and looked out at the night lights of Tammerfors. Despite the Baltic affiliations, he still hated it for being a city. Wulf preferred being outdoors, even if the sky was the wrong colour and the gravity too weak. He even missed the simplicity of life out on the Vaara frontier. Too many machines made the Viking feel homesick, and now his Happy Stick was being held hostage.

Of course, Wulf understood the importance of family. He, too, would pillage and destroy for his sister's honour. In fact, on several occasions in medieval Denmark, he had invented a sister whose honour he could avenge, purely for that reason. And Johnny was family, as much family as the Gronk. Wulf wondered if the Gronk would be all right on a strange space ship with Johnny's brother-in-law.

"Did you say something?" said Johnny gruffly. Their car was in the middle of the local red-light district where traffic slowed to a kerb-crawl. Johnny's face was a cascade of lights from the street advertising excitement for aliens of all races: strip clubs, nude bed shows, feather-plucking, beak rubs, and even something unspeakable involving eggs. The signs played across Johnny's face in rainbow neon, but even the bright colours could not hide his mood.

"No," said Wulf.

Hookers, both Tammerfortian and offworld, knew better than to talk to two men in a car. They were left alone as they sat waiting for the traffic to move. Johnny nudged the car forward, causing a crackle in the repulsor field in front of him. He looked up but the vertical exit was blocked by the long bulk of an aerial bus. Luckily, the vehicle in front took the hint and eased forward until its rear repulsor stopped fritzing with Johnny's. It created a space just wide enough for Johnny's to take the next turning. They were on Isaiah's street, the giant dark slab of the
Mannerheim
still floating in the night sky above the town.

"What is that about?" said Wulf, leaning out of the window to gawp at the huge vessel.

"In case there are any pirates left," said Johnny.

"But the news, it says that Alnitak's gang are gone. The ships all destroyed."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, not taking his gaze off the road. "Maybe," he said.

"Der pirates have no ships left," said Wulf.

"I guess Tammerfors isn't taking that chance," said Johnny, steering the car into a parking space. "That warship is escorting us all the way to the jump point tomorrow." He flung open his door and dropped the five feet or so to the pavement. Someone's hatchback was blocking the lowermost parking spot. On the other side of the car, Wulf was having considerably more difficulty getting down.

Johnny left him to it and walked up to Isaiah's. It was very shut.

The sign said CLOSED, the door was locked, the windows were shuttered, and a steel grating had been locked down over the door. Johnny wove his fingers into the meshing and pulled himself closer, scowling with his alpha vision, but the lights were truly out, and nobody was home.

"Wait for me," said the Gronk, but Mister Nigel wasn't listening. He strode through departures, paying no heed to the limitations of the small Gronk stride. The Gronk suspected that if it were to take its eyes off Mister Nigel for the briefest moment, it wouldn't get to see him again until they were onboard and in the cabin. The Gronk wasn't prepared to let that happen - it preferred reluctant human company to none at all.

The Gronk knew this attitude. Mister Johnny and Mister Wulf sometimes had it if the Gronk ate something small and metal that was supposed to be used for something else, such as holding up Mister Wulf's trousers, or opening a bank vault. But Mister Nigel seemed to display it all the time. The Gronk had resigned itself to temporary outbreaks of this condition in
homo sapiens
, but it was not sure how it could take several days stuck in a room with someone like him. Mister Nigel had finally reached the queue for the
China
. Only a couple of gates over, a much shorter line could be seen for the
Sherman
.

The difference between the ships was obvious, even from the outside. The
China
had some semblance of a new paint-job, and some impressive radiator fins that gave it a sleek, traditional rocket ship look. The
Sherman
was built on the same basic frame, but it was lumpier and bulkier, augmented with auxiliary cargo areas welded and bolted over lesser airlocks. The
Sherman
was a camo-pattern of textures, and overlapping surfaces; the product of several years of upgrades and bodged hold extensions. It was good for carrying cargo, but you would have to be desperate if you sought to be a passenger.

Nigel wouldn't trust the
Sherman'
s life support system as far as he could throw it. Luckily, Ruth Less wouldn't need it. She was safe in her cocoon. Nigel buried his nose in his magazine, trying not to hear the swift pattering of approaching Gronk feet.

The Gronk's steps were drowned out by the squeak of a buckled wheel as something rolled past the rest of the queue. Nigel looked up for a moment and saw a mutie in a wheelchair pushed by a sulking youth. As the wheelchair rolled past, Nigel turned back to his magazine, willing himself not to turn the pages too quickly.

The Boy was big-boned. His relationship to the man in the wheelchair was not clear, but he was following orders with all the churlish reluctance of a son. He had a satchel thrown over his shoulder while the old man just carried a long, heavy artefact wrapped in a cloth. Nigel overheard the old man say that it was the only luggage they were going to need.

The Boy pushed his charge towards the front of the gate, overtaking the queue, and smiled inwardly at the thought of getting on the ship first. It would be great. Thanks to the dude in the wheelchair, he would get to choose wherever he sat. Such choices were important. It was like the difference between Colapeps and Colacola. To many people, they were just coloured sugary water with bubbles. Only a true connoisseur appreciated that one was cool and one was not. Except the Boy had forgotten which was which.

The human stewardess waved them through with a strange
t'ai chi
motion, as if her attention was helping push the chair herself.

"Straight down the tube," she said, gesturing at the docking connector. "My colleague will show you to your cabin."

Dammit, thought the Boy. He forgot this was a cabin deal. It looked like he was going to be stuck with the cripple for a while.

"I don't want to sit near you, Dad," he growled.

"Don't be such a chump," said Isaiah. "We get a bigger cabin because of the chair."

"We do?"

"Yeah, I'd like to see you cram yourself into a standard seat," said Isaiah. "Fat-arse," he added affectionately.

The Boy rolled his father along, entertaining thoughts of cliffs and wheelchairs with no brakes. And what with that big hammer thing that his dad was keeping on his lap, the chair would probably build up great speed before it went over. Yeah, thought the Boy, that would be so cool.

Back in the line of travellers without wheelchairs or infants, someone poked Nigel in the back and he winced at the pressure on one of the cuts from the previous night's explosion. He turned round to give the Gronk a warning kick.

The Gronk was in plain sight several feet away, peering in mutual delight at a baby in a pram. Instead, Nigel came face to face with something else.

"Going somewhere, Less?" said Sick Squid. His face was glistening and in his hand, he clutched a newly filled bottle of water.

"Yes," said Nigel.

"Us too," smiled Squid in fake enthusiasm, jerking his thumb behind him at the towering green-skinned figure of Blarg.

"Mr Blarg," said Nigel in stoic greeting, still somehow regarding the Betelgeusian as a figure of authority. Behind Squid, Blarg scanned the surrounding crowds for potential troublemakers he could admonish.

"Where's Johnny?" asked Squid.

Nigel wrestled with an appropriate answer. "I don't know," he said.

"Is that so?" said Squid, pointedly staring at the Gronk.

"Look," said Nigel, cutting to the chase. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

"Hey," said Squid. "That's just business, right? What the hell is going on, anyhow?"

"It's a long story," added Nigel.

"Luckily we have several days to hear it," said Squid with an intensely irritating smile.

"Whatever," said Nigel.

The line shuffled forward and several travellers began hunting for their papers though they shouldn't have bothered. Anyone without the proper documentation would have set off the proximity alarms some time ago.

"This is what I am thinking," intoned Blarg, loud enough for Squid, Nigel, and a bemused group of businessmen to hear quite clearly. "Mr Less is leaving town, bound for Mars."

"Yeah," said Nigel. "It's a cheap flight. Direct to Earth orbit is another thousand creds, so-"

"And here," added Blarg, "is the interesting thing. My associate, Mr Squid..."

"That's me," said Squid.

"Mr Squid and I have just collected a sumptuous bounty on two criminals with outstanding warrants for kidnapping."

"They were dead, but, you know," said Squid.

"They were wanted for earlier crimes, but I deduce they were in that warehouse as part of a new one," said Blarg smugly.

"I really don't want to talk about this," said Nigel. He forced a smile at the stewardess by the gate and hurried down the docking tube. The Gronk sped after him as did Squid and Blarg.

"We know what's going on!" said Squid, rushing to keep up. "Sneck knows how it started, but those low-lifes had your wife and you want her back! Word is they used to be in Alnitak's gang. They were going it alone. I guess you were their first investor."

"Leave me alone," said Nigel. But Squid grabbed his shoulder at the edge of the
China'
s airlock.

"Here's the thing," said Squid, sprays of spittle misting Nigel's face. "There's still a bounty on your wife. When we find her, I'm gonna collect. Know where she is?"

"Sneck off."

"You lied to me. What's the betting you lied to the cops?" said Squid.

"That's a felony all of its own!" said Blarg menacingly.

"You get to be a criminal, too," said Squid.

"We collect," added Blarg.

Nigel tore himself away, snatching up the Gronk and half-running into the ship. Squid and Blarg chuckled at each other and strolled along after them.

"Hey, let's do lunch," called Squid after Nigel's retreating back.

"Bring your brother-in-law," added Blarg sarcastically.

"What the hell," added Squid. "Bring your whole snecking family."

"The man is an imbecile," said Blarg to Squid after Nigel was out of sight.

"He's our meal ticket," said Squid. "You stick with me, I know what I'm doing."

"Yes," said Blarg, since it was impolite to laugh.

A pulse of thunderous sound rolled through every item in the entryway, followed by another. It was a deep, infrabass throb that made the entire spaceport shake. Even the
China
, insulated by thick walls of steel and superceramics, vibrated in reaction.

"What the sneck is that?" shouted Squid.

"Our escort," said Blarg, checking his ticket and heading for a corridor. "We should get to our cabin. We're launching soon."

Another quake of pure power welled through the ship, causing Squid's teeth to rattle. As Blarg dragged him by the hand away from the porthole, he saw the
Mannerheim
begin to move.

The ship's engines could hold it up in the air for decades with only a slight murmur of a sound. But when the time came for the
Mannerheim
to leave, the city knew about it. The mighty turbines thumped into action with a rumble that shook most of the city. On some worlds, naval vessels were kept strictly in orbit for that reason. On Tammerfors, they were a public relations exercise to remind the populace who was still boss. Once a week, a bunch of old ladies would moan that the
Mannerheim
had dislodged their crockery, and the local news could report that something very big and very tough was in the sky, protecting them all from the last remnants of Alnitak's gang.

The
Mannerheim'
s engines left no glow in their wake. They used only the darkest of light. To anyone from Aldebaran, the lift-off would have been unbearably, blindingly bright. But to anyone with senses in the normal range, there was nothing to see at all. The vortices streaming from the edges of the saucer were invisible, and yet the power was palpable as the giant bulk of the
Mannerheim
rose speedily into the sky.

Far below, the Tammerfortians paused to stare at the sky. In the spaceport, wide-eyed children from several disparate species were united in their wonder as the
Mannerheim
climbed higher, receding until its bulk seemed like a pebble hanging in the sky.