Ruthless (4 page)

It miserably continued to watch the inverted scene. It saw the dust, blood and particulates hanging in the air, and the parodic posture of the three dead men, who still had yet to hit the ground, their bodies in various stages of collapse. The Gronk observed the long smoky trail of the rocket-propelled grenade drawing a fine, grey line through the air...

Wait a minute, thought the Gronk. Where was the bang?

It stared along the smoke trail, past the mutilated, falling corpse of Beardy, through the random patterns of blood and bone that wheeled in a treacly track in the air behind him.

Far in the distance, the Gronk saw the grenade, still intact, resting gently against the flat surface of the monolith. It was still moving, forging diligently onwards, pressing the steel of its spike harder and harder on the unyielding black stone. The long point began to crumple with exquisite slowness.

As the Gronk's tumble took the gunmen out of view, showing it nothing but the sky once more, it gave tentative thanks. The grenade was going to go off. The gyve was going to give way and trigger the explosive. The gunmen would have to contend with a massive explosion at waist level almost directly behind them. It was sure to throw off their aim at the very least. For a few subjective moments, the Gronk permitted itself to be happy. Its view of the world righted again and it saw Wulf Sternhammer much more clearly now, hunkered down in the rocks, flat against the ground, peering after the progress of the grenade he had launched, unaware that it was just about to do that thing that grenades were designed to do.

A flash of light made the rocks glint for a split-second. Somewhere behind the Gronk, the relay had been triggered and the grenade had gone off. Right now, snickered the Gronk to itself, the old-school explosive in the shell was throwing up a storm of heat and metal shards, creating a tidal wave of destruction directly behind the gunmen who wished to hurt Johnny Alpha.

The Gronk's tumble brought it upside-down again, and facing the gunmen once more, it saw their plight in a way that they never could. Even as their faces contorted in rictus snarls and their narrow eyes were focussing in hatred on Johnny Alpha, they were doomed. Just behind them was a ball of advancing orange fire and at the very least it was going to throw them off their feet. The Gronk sighed in satisfaction and permitted itself the closest thing to a smile that it could manage. Deep down in its bloodstream, the flow of juddermine eased a little, and the Gronk started to relax.

It was thus almost back to normal when it was caught in the full-force of the explosion.

"EEK!" said both its mouths, unhelpfully.

Destructive heat pressed on the fur of the Gronk's back, an unseen force propelling it higher and faster in the air. Unable to scamper or crawl, its four arms and two legs flailed helplessly. It was heading up, up higher than any Gronk should be, and what goes up must come down.

Its eyes swivelled in terror, focussing on the myriad sharp points of rock that jutted up from the ground. It was going to fall. It was going to come hurtling out of the sky onto the forbidding, jagged edges of the shattered rocks below. It was going to die horribly, flattened like a pancake and sliced like cheese. The mere thought released enough juddermine into its system to kill a Shetland pony. The Gronk floated in a world of torment and had plenty of time to think about how much it was all going to hurt.

POINTLESS

Everything looked very different to Wulf Sternhammer. He had hardly noticed the last two seconds pass at all. He had been busy. It had been a long day.

While Johnny had duly headed along the straight road, visibly "alone" for the meeting with the gunmen, Wulf had set off early. He had taken the long route out into the wilderness, and then began the slow crawl through the rocky terrain. The monolith was an ideal reference point. A regular shape set on high ground, it could be seen for miles around. Wulf found it strangely comforting, as if some ancient aliens had set a featureless runestone in the wilderness purely to entertain passing Vikings. When this was all over, Wulf might add some runes of his own to the rock. Maybe something like "Wulf Sternhammer smote his enemies here."

He diverted himself during the long trek by thinking of extra phrases to add. Perhaps he would mention the Gronk, although he wouldn't call it a Gronk, of course. He would have to give it a
kenning
, a poetic turn of phrase - the fearful furry one, thought Wulf with a chuckle. And as for Johnny Alpha, well, there were too many possibilities for him.

By the time Johnny met the five bandits, Wulf had been crawling for over two hours, his knees and elbows swathed in pre-emptive bandages, his face and beard dusty with Vaara dirt. It was the price of surprise. If they were going to save the Gronk, it was necessary. Wulf's planned rune carving had extended to virtual saga-length by now. He had a whole stanza about how it felt to crawl over hot rocks all day, and another one about how he missed snow.

Wulf had sneaked through the rocks as stealthily as a giant Viking was able. He hoped that by crawling on his belly like a Saxon worm, he would get close enough to use the sniper rifle. But things had kicked off sooner than expected.

Wulf had never been that good with rifles. He preferred the comforting heft of his mace-like Happy Stick; a
hammer
, he would have told his Viking associates, a hammer that he used among the stars. A
stjärn hammar
. How they would have laughed and stamped on the floor and called for more mead. It was a very funny joke for any Vikings left around, but a thousand years of both time and distance had depleted the audience. Now, the only Viking left to laugh at it was Wulf himself.

Wulf was on his own and he owed his life to Johnny Alpha. Johnny was counting on him, and from the sound of things, trouble was approaching.

Wulf couldn't see anything from behind the rocks. He knew it would be unwise to poke his great big Viking head up and see. But he could hear the Gronk squealing and struggling.
Jävlar,
sneck it, damn and
skit
, thought Wulf. That was all he needed. He cursed himself for not starting earlier in the day. Just half an hour longer and he could have been in position. But now the voices were raised and the Gronk was struggling and there was sure to be trouble.

"It's only a Gronk," he heard Johnny saying. "I'll get another one."

That was the phrase they had agreed. Wulf had just run out of time and the sniper rifle was still wrapped up on his back like the world's worst Christmas present. It was time to improvise.

Wulf grabbed the first thing that was handy, which turned out to be the Day-series RPG bazooka. With only the most cursory glance to ensure it was pointing the right way, Wulf edged up against a flat piece of rock and instantly regretted it.

Baked in the Vaara sun for several hours, the slab was a veritable hot plate. Wulf said another rude word in Old Norse and elbowed his way swiftly up into sight. He manhandled the bazooka into position and squinted down the sight at the five gunmen. There was a big enough rock behind them and it would have to do.

Even as Wulf pulled the trigger, he saw Johnny going for his gun.

The bazooka kicked hard against Wulf's shoulder, a jet of hot exhaust flaming across his back and legs. The projectile screamed towards the gunmen as the sound of gunshots erupted in the air. Wulf was already clambering to his feet, spitting and cursing at the excess heat and dust.

Wulf wasn't looking when the grenade struck home. Instead, he was fumbling for the sniper rifle, shucking it off his back and tearing off the warm oiled paper in which it had been slowly cooking all morning. Not caring any more that he presented a large Viking-shaped target, he snapped back the old-fashioned bolt and lifted the gun to his shoulder.

The gunshots had fallen silent, replaced by the muffled, dying echoes of the explosion, and an intermittent hail of pebbles and dust reached Wulf where he stood. He looked up, not trusting the gunsight, preferring instead to squint into the distance with his own eyes. Nobody was standing at all by Black Rock.

Black Rock itself was looking distinctly smaller than before.

Wulf sensed something in the air. It was a whining noise; an approaching, loudening keen of ear splitting proportions. The single, high-pitched shriek several octaves above high C was getting nearer by the second.

Wulf looked up and saw a quivering white-furred shape hurtling towards him. It was quite definitely the source of the terrible "
Eeeeeee"
noise, an unending "
eek"
that had somehow lost its "
k"
in transit.

"Gronk?" said Wulf.

Instinctively, he dropped the rifle and held out his arms. The furball tumbled into him with the crushing mass of a medicine ball. But Wulf was a big man and he could take it. It was the Gronk, warm to the touch, slightly singed, and shaking uncontrollably.

"Gronk?" said Wulf with a smile. "I am glad to be seeing you!"

The Gronk just kept shivering, its eyes darting wildly in their sockets.

"My," it stammered after a while, "poor... heartses..."

The Gronk, Wulf observed, was busy having some sort of epileptic fit, but at least it was safe. He tucked the thrashing alien under his arm, bent to pick up the falling rifle, and ran as best he could across the sharp field of rocks. The terrain was precarious but there was no time to lose. Wulf was worried about Johnny.

Back on the road, Johnny was getting slowly to his feet. Bits of melted tar clung to his hair and armour from the sun-warmed asphalt. His ears still rang from the sudden exchange of gunfire. Clutching his Westinghouse ready to shoot, he advanced slowly on the fallen bandits.

None of them were moving. Johnny prodded the last two with his foot but they were as dead as the others.

"Johnny," called Wulf.

Johnny glanced up for a moment. He knelt beside one of the bodies.

"What..." said Johnny quietly, "the sneck... was
that
?"

Wulf finally reached the road, letting the quivering Gronk fall to the asphalt.

"Are you all right?" said Wulf.

"Yeah, Wulf, I'm fine."

The Gronk mumbled something to itself, a stammering litany of torment. Johnny and Wulf ignored it.

"I had to use der bazooka," said Wulf.

"Yeah," said Johnny. "I got that part."

He turned to look at the shattered remnants of Black Rock, an irreplaceable geographic feature that had a seriously bad day.

"Vulf sorry," said Wulf. He looked at the ruined monolith, sighing at the thought of another lost opportunity to treat an alien world to a little rune-carving.

"It's okay," said Johnny. "You did what you had to do."

"I crawled," protested Wulf. "I crawled for hours across the-"

"I said it's
okay
," lied Johnny.

He couldn't resist a thin smile. That was it, the end of the line. These men were too dead to tell him where to find Tuka. And without Tuka, there was no Alnitak. No ultimate big boss. No Alnitak with the giant reward. No chance to take in the sector's biggest body-shark, pirate and kingpin, all rolled into one handy, expensive package, with a bounty that was a king's ransom. No more leads meant no chance of finding Alnitak, wherever he was. So much for early retirement.

"Der reward is dead
or
alive," said Wulf. "We still have some of the bounty money, jah?"

"I'll get the jeep," said Johnny, tramping off towards his rental car.

"Thanks you, Mister Johnny," said the Gronk meekly, but Johnny didn't say anything.

The gunmen had a jeep of their own, a rental model, just like Johnny's. It was even from the same dealer. If things had been a little different, the gunfight at Black Rock could have taken place at Bob's Autos when both sides arrived to pick up their cars. It would have saved a lot of time. The cars were snecky as hell; regular repulsor models, but with gravity magnets whose charges were long gone. Instead, the cars rolled along on their primitive emergency wheels like antiques. Johnny doubted the cars had floated in the air for a decade. But this was Vaara. The nearest repair shop was probably a long way off and beggars could not be choosers.

There was no reward without a body. Johnny figured the gunmen were too dead to haggle over their deposit, so the their jeep was the nominated hearse. They dragged the five bodies over and piled them in a grisly jumble of stiffening limbs.

The sun was barely half an hour past Vaara noon when the two jeeps left the scene of the gunfight. Realising that Johnny and Wulf would be driving separate vehicles, the Gronk's loyalties were torn. In the end, it voted to sit with Johnny since Wulf's had five dead men in the back seat. It was twenty minutes back into town and the Gronk couldn't think of much to say.

"You can stop thanking me," said Johnny after it yelped for the fifth time. "Forget it."

The jeep's vestigial wheels bumped and skidded across a road designed for slow-moving horses and carts. The rear left wheel was in serious need of oiling and screeched on a regular basis.

The Gronk looked back at Wulf's vehicle, tailing at a respectful distance.

"Are you angry?" said the Gronk, after a time.

"No, Gronk."

"You are not happy," observed the Gronk.

Johnny didn't take his eyes off the road ahead. Without operational repulsor fields, a driver had to pay a lot more attention. Johnny could do with something to take his mind off things. Things like an interplanetary network of kidnappers, organ-leggers and pirates, and a trail he had been following for weeks.

"Don't worry, Gronk," he said. "It's not you."

"Is it Mister Wulf?"

There was a pause. Johnny down-shifted the primitive gears and kept the car pointing in a straight line.

"No, Gronk. He did fine." He did fine and now the trail was stone-cold dead.

A cluster of sheds, pre-fabs and shanties could be seen ahead. The town of Black Rock, if you could call it a town, no better than it ought to be. Few of the buildings made it above two storeys. Space was not at a premium on a desert world like Vaara, so people just tended to build outwards. The sheriff's office comprised several bungalows built one next to the other, joined by suspect attachments of corrugated iron, plywood and other bodges.