Ruthless (2 page)

There were plenty of reasons not to like him. He came from old money, for a start. The school was even named after his grandmother. Walk in to the entrance hall and you'd see her picture scowling down at you; Amy Bunker with her blue eyes and her mannish blonde crew cut. But some people hated John more for Amy's son and John's father, Nelson Bunker Kreelman, the politician.

People called his house "The Toad" or the "Black Spider." It was a bomb-proof geodesic close to the school, built on land that had been with the Bunkers for decades. The building was super-modern, like a multilayered black blancmange. People who'd been inside it said it was like a palace. The Kreelmans even had servants; normal human servants of course, not muties like some of the middle-class people had, squirrelled away in the attic.

John was a year older than most of the other kids in his class, except the ones who'd been kept back. He was twelve, and he'd never been to a school before. Typical rich bastard - he had private tutors, don't you know. He'd got to do kinds of stuff that the other Bunker High kids never even dreamed of, like clay pigeon shooting out on the plains, and even learning Greek! Who needs Greek? Sneck off, Alpha Beta boy.

When he turned up at Bunker, some of the teachers already knew him by name since they'd been going to his house after-hours for years. People said his family were running out of money, and now he had to slum it with the poor kids. Others said he was only going to Bunker so he could see how the other half lived before he took his rightful place with the elite. Nelson Kreelman was angling to become Baron Salisbury and the chances were high that by the time John Kreelman reached eighteen, he'd be a peer-in-waiting and called to the court of Clarkie. He wasn't going to have to work for much in life, that was clear. People hated him even more for that.

People knew who he was, and a lot of them suspected there was something wrong with him. It's not like his family had been abroad; his sister had been at the school for four years, so why was he only starting now? Ruth Kreelman was the most popular girl in the third year, and some of her circle had seen him from a distance when they were at a party or a sleepover. They'd never been able to get too close since their butler, Jarrett would always whisk him away again, like he was the family gimp.

Vicious tongues will wag. Everybody knew that Ruth Kreelman had a little brother who hardly ever left the house. Kids could be cruel.

Geography was the last class of his first day, but John Kreelman didn't rush off with the others. He waited until all the other kids had gone and then slowly began packing his stuff. One jog, one wrong move, one hockey stick sticking out of someone's bag and jabbing in the wrong direction, and he could lose his eyesight. Only the jet-black lenses protected his eyes from sunlight. They never came off, except when the inner and outer doors were locked in his room, and the inner and outer blinds were drawn. Then he could turn on the twenty-watt red light and slowly take the goggles off.

John kept his head down so people didn't see the glasses. When he tramped down the staircase in the central hall, he didn't even stop to look up at the portrait of Granny Bunker. She'd never liked him very much.

It wasn't far from Bunker High to the Kreelman residence, but John still had to observe special precautions. Only cross at the pelican crossings, wait until the man is green, then wait a little longer in case there's some colour blind mutie idiot on the road in a pick-up truck. No games after school, no sports, no hanging around with the other kids and kicking a ball around. If John went anywhere, he'd go to the library. A book never hurt anyone, after all.

He'd been going more often lately, because he had a reason to read. His mother was very ill, and John liked to read to her. She said she wasn't, but she was always in bed by six, claiming she was tired. There were a lot of hospital check-ups, and she was relying more and more on Jarrett and the help.

John got to choose the books, too, and Diana Kreelman just lay back with her eyes half-closed, staring dreamily at John like he was the only other person in the world. It made John feel special, and he found himself reading to her every day. Classical myths, mainly; stirring stories from Homer and Hesiod. Achilles fighting Paris at Troy, the cunning of Odysseus. Even John's gruff father would almost crack a smile when he heard his son reading Plutarch's biographies to Diana - all those Roman generals with their schemes and strategies. What a leader John would have made one day, his father thought to himself before stomping from the room and shouting at the help.

John tried not to think about it as he shuffled home through a Salisbury afternoon. Mutie beggars clutched at him, but he shied away from them. He was invisible to the adults in the shopping precinct, but he tried to keep away from them anyway. When he was too close to people, he got a ringing in his ears, like he could hear voices whispering. He could never hear what they were saying, but he got moods, desires and feelings, and most of the time, he didn't like what he saw.

He couldn't tell anyone because then they'd lock him up for sure. Lock him up and throw away the key.

Kreelman's a little snecker.

There was no mistaking that one. The hairs on the back of John's neck began to tingle. Someone was looking at him. Someone was following him.

He picked up the pace. It wasn't far to his home now. Maybe he could-

"Oi, Kreelman."

It was Batesy. The voice was unmistakeable. John kept walking. There was nothing Batesy had to say to him that he wanted to hear.

But now John could hear three pairs of footsteps gaining on him, as three boys walked with increasing urgency up behind him.

"Oi, Kreelman, I'm talking to you."

John kept going. He didn't look back. Whatever Batesy wanted, it wasn't worth risking his eyesight over. Was this how it was going to be every day from now on? Was this how his life was going to be? He'd only spent a day out in everybody else's world, and already he was in fear for his life. Things weren't going to improve. His eyes would never get better. He would have to wear these goggles for the rest of his life, and every waking moment would be a knife-edge of fear: being petrified of unshielded light, always terrified of the strap snapping and blinding him. Killing him. This was how it was going to be. He was going to die every day until he died for real.

John turned a corner and made a swift left into an alleyway, but Batesy's gang were on his heels and they followed him in. John turned a second corner and found his path blocked by a new chainlink fence.

"Oh, so now I've got your attention," said Batesy, walking round to face John.

"What do you want?" breathed John without looking up.

"I wanna see eye-to-eye," said Batesy. "I wanna see what's so special about them peepers of yours."

"You can't," said John. "Please, you mustn't."

"Come on, Kreelman, we wanna see those eyes," said Batesy. "Just for a moment."

Without a word, John spun around to walk back the way he'd come, but his path was blocked by two other boys: Fat Lee and Tinfoil Tony.

"Please," said John. "If I take these goggles off, the light could kill me."

"Snecking bullshit," said Batesy. "Rich bastards like you just don't wanna see what's really going on around you."

"No," said John, "I'm telling the truth."

"Think you're a movie star, do ya?" taunted Batesy.

Tinfoil Tony and Fat Lee laughed along with Batesy, their hands reaching over to John's eyes, grasping at the goggles.

John craned his head to escape, and struggled fitfully, but he wasn't getting anywhere. A lucky elbow smacked into Fat Lee's ribs and the boy let go of him with a sharp outrush of air, but as John tried to run, Tinfoil Tony lashed out. It wasn't a trip so much as a kick to the leg, and John was thrown to the ground.

With a yelp of fear, he snatched at his face with his own hands, cradling the precious goggles as he fell.

There was a sharp pain in the side of his head and one of his hands felt warm and wet. He was bleeding, and his attackers were all around him. Whimpering, John kept his hands screwed tight to the front of his face as he heard the shoes of his three tormentors scuffle closer.

"Get up, you snecking tosser." shouted Fat Lee. "Or I'll kick you where you are."

"Get up and fight like a man, pansy!" yelled Tinfoil Tony.

"I'm gonna count to three," said Batesy with an evil grin. "One, two..."

Someone kicked John hard in the arm. A second blow stomped on the back of his leg. He screamed with the third.

"Oh yeah, three," snickered Batesy. And realising that their opponent wasn't even going to stand, the boys did what any self-respecting kids would do, and started kicking him some more.

In the dirt under a hail of blows, John curled into a tiny ball, his hands still pressed intently to the protective goggles that were now filling with tears as his attackers hit him repeatedly.

Suddenly there was an almighty
THWACK
that didn't have a connecting pain attached to it. Instead, John heard Fat Lee yelp in surprise, and the sudden sound of a commotion that didn't centre on him. The blows had stopped but the noise went on, as the three boys yelled and screamed not at him, but at someone else.

And then he heard her voice, shrill with anger.

"Get away from my brother."

There was the fearsome swish of a hockey stick, and the beautiful sound of it connecting with the side of Batesy's head.

John risked a peek through his bleeding fingers and saw Ruthie, berserk with rage, chasing the boys from the alley. Fat Lee was favouring one leg like he'd sprained something, and Batesy was yelling for help. Like anyone would believe he'd been attacked by a girl.

Ruthie marched back to John.

"Come on," she said. "Get up."

But John simply sobbed. He felt so helpless beneath the goggles and he could hardly see with them anyway. They had filled up with tears and it was like trying to see underwater. For just a fraction of a second, he toyed with the idea of closing his eyes and just lifting the goggles off his face for a moment to let the tears flow away. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Ruthie, I can't see..." whispered John through his sobs.

Ruthie sat next to him on the ground. He felt her arm tenderly rest across his shoulders.

"It's okay, Johnny," she said soothingly. Only Ruthie and Mum called him that.

"They didn't get the goggles. It's probably just tears."

She drew him to her and hugged him gently.

"Let's get you home," she whispered.

"I can't do this," said John. "I can't go on like this."

"Poor Johnny," said Ruth, rocking him gently. "I know it's tough for you right now."

"I can't go through my life like this," sobbed John.

"You won't have to," said Ruth. "We'll find something. Some way for you."

"I don't think there is a way," said John.

"There will be," said Ruth, helping him to his feet and handing him his bag.

"Like what?" asked John, as they headed out of the alleyway towards home.

"Surgery? I don't know. Gene therapy. A house on a planet where it's always night. John, whether your eyes recover or not, there will be a place for you, I promise."

"Thanks, Ruth," sniffed John. He didn't believe her, but she always made him feel better.

There was silence for a moment, save for their feet scuffing on the pavement.

"They said I was a mutie," said John.

Ruth sighed.

"It's just your eyes, Johnny," she said. "When you're old enough, Daddy'll get them fixed and you'll be fine. You will have an active life. A normal life."

"That sounds nice," said John.

The pair fell silent again.

John resumed his customary bowed walk, staring at his shoes. Ruth looked sidelong at the goggles on her brother's head and bit her lip. She wasn't deaf. She knew what people were saying. She knew...

"I will always be your sister and I will always love you," said Ruth, suddenly. "No matter what."

John smiled.

"Now you're just being mushy," he said shyly.

The next day, his life changed forever. A lot can happen in fourteen years.

FEARLESS: 2176

Johnny Alpha peered over the top of his sunglasses at the five gunmen.

One shuddered at the sight of Johnny's featureless, milky eyes, and took a backward step. The men on either side of him took nervous sidelong glances at their companion.

It was late in the Vaara day, but a Vaara day was forty hours long and the heat had been building for a while. A long shadow stretched out from the rectangular jet-black monolith behind the gunmen. Black Rock, the locals called it, because it was black and made of rock.

Heat shimmered off the sands into the purple sky and the tarmac of the single straight road was soft under Johnny's feet. He kept his eyes on the central gunman and his strange hostage. He would make the first move and the others would follow.

"Drop the gun, Alpha."

For emphasis, the leader pressed his Huntley and Palmer into the head of the struggling furball clutched to his chest.

"Mister Johnny," squealed the Gronk. "Make it stop."

"Drop the gun, or the Gronk gets it!" said the gunman.

Johnny spat thoughtfully, not taking his eyes off the leader.

"It's only a Gronk," he rasped. "I can get another one."

The creature in the leader's arms squirmed frantically, its four prehensile arms slapping against the unmoving body of its captor.

"Mister Johnny. No. Mister Johnny, don't lets them shoot me."

The leader's eyes widened as he met Johnny's gaze.

"You're bluffing," he stammered, after a time.

"Try me," said Johnny. His right hand hung at his side, his grip tightening on the bulky Westinghouse blaster it held. His thumb massaged the selecter at the top of the haft. It was set to number two chamber, normal rounds, and there was no way he could change it from here. This was going to have to be precise.

The Gronk twisted in the gunman's grasp, its mournful cries now muffled by the gunman's left hand over its snout.