Ruthless (19 page)

"One last-ditch job?" suggested Isaiah. "Grab what you can and run for the hills."

"You would have to," said Johnny. Once the news got out that the pirates had turned hijacker, every ship for twenty parsecs would be crawling with marshals. It was the type of trick someone would only get away with once. Looking back at the silhouette of Wulf in the door, Johnny smiled. Actually, the pirates hadn't even got away with it once.

"Get the radio online. Sweep the channels," said Johnny. "Find us human habitation or a passing warship. Anything you can."

Isaiah began flicking switches on the panel in front of him. He looked perplexed and began slowly nudging the channel selecter through a series of points.

Wulf looked up at the
Sherman
on the video wall, willing it to make some sign of life. A spark of bright light threw the freighter into sharp shadow as the local sun began to crest the horizon of the ice planet.

"Something's not right," said Isaiah, looking up at Johnny.

"
Jah
," said Wulf, "you can say that again." He gazed at the troubled star, glowing an angry red. It was riddled with darker sunspots like a heavenly pox and a dozen wild loops of fire reached out from the surface.

"What is it?" said Johnny to Isaiah, unaware of the image on the screen.

"Let me put it like this," said Isaiah. "Channel one." He switched the audio from headphones to speaker and the bridge was suddenly full of screaming static. "Channel two," said Isaiah, nudging the dial one notch onwards. There was a momentary pause in the white noise before it returned. Not the empty hiss of dead air, this was the rolling, thrashing noise of stellar torment, the ether inundated with charged particles of dying sun. "And channel three," said Isaiah, twisting the dial once more.

"Every single one?" asked Johnny. He didn't have all day.

"Every one," nodded Isaiah. "Emergency channel, hailing frequencies, sub-orbital communication lines, the lot."

"Forget der radio," called Wulf. "Der sun is looking very unhealthy."

Isaiah took his eyes off the control panel for the first time and looked up at the star on the screen.

"Oh sneck," he breathed. "It's Kajaani."

CLUELESS

"What do we do now?" asked Blarg. The crowd that had assembled in one of the China's many bars turned to look at Johnny, much to Squid's annoyance.

"We don't have to
do
anything," said Squid. "We've saved the ship. Let's log in a course for Mars and get the sneck out of here."

Murmurs of assent rose up from the crowd amid scattered pockets of applause and some relieved cheers. Wulf looked across at Johnny, fully aware of what was on his mind. Of
who
was on his mind.

"No," said Johnny. "There are innocent people on the
Sherman
. We can't just abandon them."

"Oh please," scoffed Blarg. "They are already dead. We all know that."

"No we don't," insisted Johnny.

"Actually, Johnny-boy," said Squid, "we do. The
Sherman'
s just a cargo ship. There's no passenger there worth rescuing."

"If there are any," agreed Blarg, "they are already dead!"

Johnny tried hard to think of what to say. He was used to taking chances, used to fighting for what he wanted. Civilians weren't like that. They relied on their governments to do their fighting for them. They were waiting, even now, for the
Mannerheim
or a ship like it to come charging out of warp to save the day. Heroism was something that they subcontracted.

"My luggage," suggested Nigel. He went to stand by Johnny's side. "You know, I don't know anyone on the
Sherman
," Nigel lied. "But my luggage is there. All my worldly goods. I mean, you know, I'm sorry about the people that may have died, but everything that is my life is on that ship." His eyes flashed with passion for just an instant and Johnny realised that Ruthie had made a good choice.

"Right," said Johnny. "Anyone else?"

He scanned the crowd and saw a few nods and hands half-raised.

"People moving house?" he asked.

There were more nods. Johnny felt something leap inside him and he remembered the person he used to be. There was a time between John Kreelman and the Strontium Dog when he was just plain Johnny Alpha. Men looked to him for impossible decisions. They looked to him for the assurance that somewhere in the battle was a man who knew what needed to be done. There were times when words could accomplish more than the most daring deeds, and with the right leader, even a group of schoolgirls could defeat an army. But that was all a long time ago. Right now, he needed to let everyone know that he was boss, and that as long as he was, everything was going to be all right.

"Listen," said Johnny. "I know a lot of you are poor. You're gambling everything on a fresh start. You need an operation. You need a new place to live. I don't know, maybe you want to see Earth and a Mars flight is the only affordable option."

That struck a chord; there were more nods. Johnny saw Squid and Blarg tutting in indignation at the sidelines. Johnny had the floor and he had to make this count or they were going to take the coward's way out.

"You know what we did here today?" said Johnny. "It's passenger action. You saved the ship.
You
did."

There were a few scattered cheers and more applause. The realisation that they were safe was starting to set in, and it was making emotions run high. Johnny glanced aside at Nigel and saw his brother-in-law beaming. Squid started to complain that the passengers hadn't helped all that much, but thought of throwing stones in glass houses and said nothing.

"You should be proud," Johnny said enthusiastically.

"
Jah
," called Wulf in agreement.

"You stopped the pirates in their tracks."

"That we did," smiled Isaiah. Nigel nodded.

"Do you have any idea," yelled Johnny, his voice rising to override the growing chorus of voices, "how much that is worth?"

The crowd was suddenly very silent. The cooing noise of an excited Gronk was the only sound that could be heard.

"Newspaper exposés, movie tie-ins, reward money!" he said, kicking the body of a hijacker for emphasis. "And what about the insurance?" he added, saving the best till last. "Anyone think about that?"

Squid and Blarg looked at each other in surprise.

"We can warp out right now and run for home, but if we get the
Sherman
back, we save an entire extra ship. That's gonna be worth millions." Now he knew he had them. The crowd was still unsure, but Johnny could see the sudden attention on the faces of Squid and Blarg.

"The
Sherman'
s gonna be held to ransom. The insurers are gonna pay out either way. If they pay us on salvage, then they save money, and you still get your stuff back. Now, I'm not saying it's not going to be dangerous. But I don't want you people to put your lives on the line again. All I want is for you to give us a little time to take on the
Sherman
."

"Sounds risky," said somebody in the crowd.

"Come on," said Johnny. "Risky? How many do you think are on board? A dozen pirates, tops. You want your stuff back, right?"

"Yes," yelled a couple of people at the rear.

"You want a piece of the reward!"

"Yes."

"Then give me the time to take on the
Sherman
."

"I'm with you, Johnny!" shouted Wulf, raising his recovered Happy Stick in support.

"Let's get 'em," cheered Squid. Blarg eyed his associate with one eyebrow raised.

"If we must," he consented, with considerably less enthusiasm.

On the screen above, the
Sherman
fired its jets in short bursts.

"A signal," said Wulf. "It is signalling." There was no way that radio communication could be made in this system and for that Johnny was thankful. It would help him maintain his cover for a little while longer.

"Isaiah," said Johnny over the bar's intercom system. "Flash them back. Morse code. Tell them: Ship secure, send coordinates."

Back on the bridge, Isaiah began tapping out the message. Johnny turned to face the others.

"What coordinates?" asked Wulf.

"I don't know," said Johnny. "Either this is just a rendezvous point or we're heading somewhere on the planet."

"Sneaky, Johnny-boy," said Squid approvingly. "Keep it vague and see what they say."

"I don't mean to add rain to the parade," said Blarg archly. "But what if they don't tell us everything we need to know?"

"I got that covered," said Johnny. He turned to look at the hijacker Blarg had captured alive now slumped in a sullen crouch against the wall. He walked straight towards the pirate who carefully avoided any eye contact.

"Yes, you," said Johnny sternly. "I am looking at you." Johnny hauled him up and into a chair. "So what's the deal?"

"Sneck you," came the reply.

"Fair enough," said Johnny. "I don't have time for this."

He pulled the man's face close staring straight into his eyes. His alpha vision sunk deep, pushing aside anger and confusion, and surprisingly little in the way of fear. This was a man already ready for death. As Johnny pushed further, his quarry realised what was happening. Sensing the invasion in his very mind, he began to panic. Johnny saw his own face staring back at him, tinged with silver spikes of fear, the white-on-white eyes drilling into the man's soul. The hijacker began to struggle, shivering and twisting. His body could spasm and twitch as much as it wanted, Johnny had his eyes.

"What's he doing?" asked Nigel, wide-eyed in astonishment.

"Fascinating," Blarg whispered.

"This can be quite handy," said Wulf.

"What is? What's he doing?" demanded Nigel.

"Some mutations," said Blarg thoughtfully, "can be benign."

"Depends which end of them you're on," said Nigel with a shiver.

Johnny saw a childhood spread out on a number of worlds in the region. He saw a mother with burned skin calling irritably for her son to come to dinner. Erik. His name was Erik. A failed farm on Vaara. Shift work on Tammerfors. A bunk in a Tammerfors flophouse, Erik's home for eight hours a day. Erik's face staring back at him out of a mirror, scarred with terrible, warty volcanoes of suppurating flesh. Johnny saw Erik's naked body in a shower room mirror, covered with similar pox-like abrasions. He saw the price list at the Tammerfors hospital. Full treatment, unavailable on Tammerfors, consisted of gene therapy and a new full-body skin graft, custom-grown. If you got it done on Mars, it would cost you a fortune. Lesser treatments were a lot cheaper. Erik had taken the cheapest option available locally. Laser surgery was done to remove the worst of the infected nodes; he still remembered the searing pain and the burning flesh. Then complete removal of the skin on his hands, and its replacement with baby-soft new skin grown from a vat. His face was more trouble. They did what they could with the sides up to the cheekbones. The nose was easy, and the lower face, jaw and neck were a picnic. But not even Dr Malcolm would go near the eyes.

He saw a younger Dr Malcolm with a lot more hair, in the distance, kissing a beautiful blonde goodbye at a door. He remembered the blonde had been an ugly hag when she first arrived. He loved Dr Malcolm for his skill, but hated him for his price. He remembered the one conversation they had had, when Malcolm assured him in his calming, bedside way, that he could be helped, but not here, not with his insurance.

Erik was a mutant; he didn't have insurance! All he had was cash, but not enough of it. He worked two shifts a day, and then three, buying time in a sleep machine instead of a real bed. The high sleep costs hardly seemed to make the extra work worth it, so one day he did the maths. He was still years away from the operation - years away from standing a chance of passing for pure, of being a real human. Mutie girls liked him. They loved him when all they saw was his hands and neck. Publically, he passed as human, but not in private. He wanted it all. He wanted to be human. He wanted a social security number and a day-job and two point four children with the right number of fingers. And as time went by, he realised that the only way to achieve this goal was to live for a while on the other side of the law.

Tuka was the main man. Tuka was the source. He had to deal drugs for two years before he got to meet him, but Tuka was the sneck. Way Tuka told it, he had a hotline straight to Alnitak himself.

So this was Tuka. The information was crystal clear. Years after Erik first shook his hand, the memory of meeting him was present in his mind like it was yesterday. It had been the high point of Erik's life to date. Erik knew he was on his way, and he had replayed it over and over again in his mind. Tuka was a man with supermodel looks: tall, gorgeously handsome, with a curtain of fine blonde hair falling over his deep blue eyes. Tuka with his perfect skin and his six-pack abs. Erik wanted to be him. Erik wanted to be him big-time and Tuka told him that anything was possible. He had smiled and offered him fine wine and delicacies modelled on those of old Earth. There were drugs and pastries on offer from far-flung corners of the galaxy, and he'd eagerly accepted a place in the organisation. Tuka got him better deals and stronger dope. Tuka made him enemies in high places, and congratulated him when he dealt with them with extreme prejudice. He had participated in hotel room stings where rich clients woke up minus a kidney. Wholesale transplants and gene alterations were on sale to help muties like him trying for a better life.

The insight was almost enough to break Johnny's stare, but he stayed locked on Erik's eyes while his own body twitched involuntarily, recoiling as if from something painful. For him it was. Even for Erik it was, as Johnny dredged up memories Erik had left forgotten. He had laughed at them in the bars with his shipmates, or doped them away with shots of illegal substances, but they were still there, lurking deep in the recesses of his mind. A weeping girl, her dress ripped just enough to show the scales on her back that identified her as a mutant attempting to pass. She was banging her fist on the window of an airlock, her eye make-up in black streaks down the pink skin of her face, begging silently for mercy through the thick metal hatch. Johnny could see a hand, Erik's own, throwing the outer button, the blackness of space opening behind her. She clung on, gasping for air for maybe a second while the other airlock occupants were sucked out into the vacuum, before one hand clutched at an eye in pain, and the other eye exploded out of its socket. She lost her grip and tumbled out into the void, tailing a red mist of boiling blood.