Ruthless (31 page)

Johnny and Wulf hit the ground in the jammed street as bullets sang off the metal of the cars around them.

"Cover me!" yelled Johnny, advancing in a crouch. Wulf leapt up momentarily, emptying a full-auto spread of bullets at the gunmen before dropping behind the car again as Johnny reached the next vehicle. Wulf crouched behind the civilian car, checking his magazine for rounds remaining, trying not to listen to the wailing child inside the car beside him.

More bullets smacked into the trunk of the car, and Wulf realised that it was better for all concerned if he didn't hide behind a car with a kid in it. Ahead of him, Johnny's Westinghouse popped above the next car's hood and let off five rounds of its own. Wulf took his chance and ran for cover behind some dustbins, hoping they were full of something that would impede bullets.

"Get back," someone said.

Wulf peered up, hoping to see police cavalry. But no, it was one of Malcolm's rescuers, a pistol in one hand and something that looked like a torch in the other. The device burst into bright red light with a fizzing noise.

"Johnny!" shouted Wulf. "He has a laser knife."

Wulf heard an irritated "Sneck" from somewhere among the cars in the road, and the clunking sound of a new cartridge being loaded into a Westinghouse. But the man by the truck wasn't hanging around for Johnny to reload. He jammed the laser knife into the rear-door lock, melting through the thin metal with the sound of chips hitting hot fat. The door sprang open and Malcolm jumped out, brandishing his cuffed hands for the man to slice the chain in two.

Wulf jumped up with his own Westinghouse ready to fire, but the two gunmen by the getaway van were onto him, spraying his location with machine-gun fire. Wulf ducked down behind the dustbins as a hundred mini-slug rounds pinged and smashed against nearby windows, walls and apartment steps.

Malcolm and his rescuer didn't run back for the white van. Johnny saw the man with the laser knife give a signal to his compadres. Immediately, the other men began running back to their own van, still shooting at Wulf's last known position. One of them took a shot in the knee and fell to the ground. His fellow bandit hesitated a moment too long as Wulf leapt out from behind the cans and shot his head off.

Malcolm and his rescuer, however, were running to the front of the police truck. They were going to steal a getaway vehicle with the fastest engine of the lot.

"No snecking way," said Johnny, shoving his Westinghouse back into its holster. As Malcolm slammed shut the passenger-side door, the police transport truck roared into life again, its repulsor field smearing a rolling cloud of red dust out from underneath it.

Johnny sprinted for the truck as it rose into the air, vaulting onto the trunk of a police car and reaching for the sky. The police officers below him stared in surprise as he jumped off their car and grabbed hold of the transport van's forward bumper. Mistaking him for another bandit, they took aim.

"Odin's cheese!" shouted Wulf. "He is a Strontium Dog."

It was too late. The Martian cops sent a salvo of pistol fire after the departing police van as it spun above the legal area of the upper flying lane. It was heading for open air with Johnny Alpha dangling from the hood, hanging on with one hand while his other fumbled to retrieve his blaster from its holster.

"Don't shoot him," said Wulf, waving a Search/Destroy badge at the police officers. "Hold your fire."

Johnny clung to the front of the truck, his legs swaying wildly as they were buffeted by the edge of the repulsor field, his hair blown hotly by the warm breath of the forward radiator. He raised his head and glowered with white rage at the two men inside, a grinning driver and a surprised-looking Malcolm. Johnny's free hand pulled his Westinghouse out of his holster and levelled it at Malcolm's driver.

"Stop the snecking truck," he said above the noise of the engine. "You are under arrest. Again."

Malcolm flipped Johnny the finger, saying something to the driver. The driver laughed as he spun the truck up above the rooftops, the streets of Lowell City now far below. He waggled the steering column experimentally, and the truck swung from side to side.

"Sneck you," said Johnny, and fired. Malcolm's mouth formed a wide "O" of utter shock as Johnny's bullet smashed through the windscreen and into the head of the driver. Even as Malcolm struggled to push the newly dead man away from the controls, the police truck began to lean dangerously to the side. Its nose pointed down and it began to spiral with increasing speed towards the ground.

"You snecking psycho," said Malcolm.

"Who's laughing now, Malcolm?" shouted Johnny, as the truck's left side skittered on a rooftop. The repulsors bounced it once, smashing the top of a skylight. It leapt over a deep drop between two buildings, and then slammed into the roof of another, gouging deep holes in the concrete.

Johnny dropped free as the downed truck spiralled across the rooftop, hitting the hard stone and rolling. The repulsors cut out with a final fizz, causing the entire weight of the vehicle to succumb to gravity. The tortured metal screeched and carved its way across the roof, heading inexorably towards the low railing that surrounded it.

The railing was there to protect people from falling over the edge. It wasn't designed to stop trucks. The police transporter smashed right through it, finally coming to a rest, teetering on the edge of the building as chunks of brickwork tumbled down to the street below. Everything was quiet again but for the sounds of distant sirens and the creaking of the precarious wreck. Someone gulped for air inside.

"Malcolm," said Johnny, running to the edge. "Tuka. Whatever. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney."

"Sneck off," said Malcolm. His head was bloody, but he was still conscious enough to be unpleasant.

"It's over," said Johnny. "Your boys are dead."

"You're a snecking head-case," said Malcolm.

"Give me your hand," Johnny, reaching over the wall. The truck creaked louder, swaying in the strong Martian breeze. Johnny extended his reach as far as he could, holding out his left hand. Malcolm looked around himself desperately, snatching at the buckles that held his seatbelt.

"Move it," said Johnny, as Malcolm's trembling hand extended through the smashed window. Gravity took hold with a final agonised scrape, and the truck pitched over the edge. Malcolm, however, dangled from Johnny's outstretched hand, staring angrily up at his captor and saviour. Martian gravity was light, but Malcolm was still a dead weight. Johnny couldn't hold him there indefinitely.

"Pull me up," he said. A wash of blood dropped from his side - he had been impaled on something in the van and was bleeding heavily.

"I want answers," said Johnny.

"Pull me up."

Johnny wasn't going to let him die. For a start, it made the paperwork more difficult. He hauled the man up and back onto the roof. Malcolm immediately tried to run for it, but his legs couldn't carry him. He dropped to the rooftop and lay there gasping, a pool of his own blood slowly spreading out beneath him.

"What's the deal?" shouted Johnny. "What does this have to do with Kulta? Where is Alnitak?"

Malcolm smiled to himself, his eyes closing, his breath wheezing.

"That idiot Nigel Less," whispered Malcolm. "He handed it to us on a snecking plate."

"Handed what?"

"You know who his snecking wife is?" Malcolm laughed weakly.

"Yeah," said Johnny quietly. "I know who she is."

"She is worth a fortune to me," said Malcolm. "Sneck Alnitak, she is worth a fortune to
me
."

"Ransom?"

"Ransom." Malcolm chuckled, wincing with the effort. His blood spurted onto the roof, moving sluggishly in the red dust. "I can get more for her in TV."

Johnny raised his fist. "You sick sneck," he breathed. "You were gonna sell her to a snuff channel."

"Whatever," wheezed Malcolm. "There are mutants all over the galaxy who would love to see Nelson Kreelman's daughter get..." he coughed, unable to finish the sentence as blood trickled from his mouth. The sirens were getting nearer now, but Johnny could see that Malcolm was past saving. "Alnitak had a better plan," whispered Malcolm, and then he chuckled weakly. "He was... always... the smart... one..."

"Where's Alnitak?" growled Johnny, grabbing the dying Malcolm by his lapels. "Where the sneck is he?"

"Oh," mumbled Malcolm, his voice fading, his eyes misting. "You won't find him..."

"He's seven foot tall with a big horn on his head," said Johnny. "I'll find him."

Malcolm smiled, his eyes slowly closing. "That was a long time ago," he said. "He was young. We were young. We were showing off."

"We? What do you mean,
we
? He wanted to look like Kulta?"

Malcolm's voice was a hoarse whisper. "No," he said, strangely content. "He
was
Kulta..."

Consciousness had left Malcolm, but there was still one way to grill him. Johnny grabbed the dying doctor's head and scowled with the full force of his alpha eyes, looking right into his brain.

He dropped the dying Malcolm in shock.

No, not Malcolm. Dr David Malcolm had died months ago. This was just his body. He had been the handsome Tuka, but before that, he was someone else. And before that...

The door to the rooftop burst open and Wulf ran out.

"Johnny," he panted, having taken the stairs all the way up. "Is he dead?"

Johnny nodded. "This time," said Johnny. "He really is."

RUTH LESS

Ruth opened her eyes. A machine by the bedside made beeping noises that told her she was alive. A weight in her belly told her that she was still pregnant. Her hands instinctively went to her stomach, cradling the infant that was still inside her. Her husband sat by her bedside, smiling.

"Hello darling," said Nigel. "It's good to have you back."

Ruth frowned, blearily shuffling herself up into a sitting position. She began coughing and Nigel carefully poured her half a glass of water. She drank it greedily and set it down on the table.

"Well," said Nigel, "here we are."

Ruth slapped him as hard as she could. "What the hell is this?" she croaked, her voice hoarse from weeks in stasis.

Nigel shrugged nervously.

"We're on Mars," whispered Ruth. "We're on snecking Mars."

"It's for the best," said Nigel carefully.

"I never wanted this," she snarled, her face suddenly looking like her brother's. "The baby's going to be what it's going to be."

"Be reasonable," said Nigel.

"You be reasonable," said Ruth, her voice finding itself at last. "I didn't agree to this! You said we didn't have to-"

"Just deal with it, okay," snapped Nigel. "It's for the best."

Ruth opened her mouth but Nigel held up a warning hand. "Not another word," he said. "The baby is going to be the best it can be. We can live somewhere on Earth. In England. Go back to the family."

"This is just
wrong
," said Ruth. She felt so helpless, stuck in this bed in a stupid smock. Where were her clothes?

"I even got a proper cure," said Nigel, holding up a shank of long, straggly hair. It was still encrusted with a little Kajaani mud, but it was all there.

"What the hell is that?" asked Ruth.

"DNA," smiled Nigel. "Very special DNA that can be used to predispose our baby for... later treatment."

"It doesn't need
treatment
," hissed Ruth.

"I say it does," said Nigel, meeting her gaze without blinking.

Ruth stared tearfully at her husband. "I don't know who you are any more," she sobbed.

The door suddenly flew open and Johnny Alpha charged in, his Westinghouse at the ready and trained on Nigel. A giant Viking and a diminutive furry creature were right behind him.

"His name is Alnitak," snarled Johnny Alpha, "and he is under arrest."

"Johnny," said Ruth, her eyes wider than a Gronk's.

"What now?" growled Nigel.

"You're walking evidence, Nigel," said Johnny, not taking his eyes off his brother-in-law for a minute. "Or Alnitak, or Kulta, or whatever dumb name you thought up for yourself."

"Now is not the time..." said Nigel, getting to his feet, his hands held out in supplication.

"That's because time is something you've got plenty of," said Johnny. "You don't have to get old. You just switch your brain over when you need a new body."

Ruth was confused. "What?" she asked tremulously.

"Sorry, Ruthie," said Johnny. "Wish I had better news, but your husband is dead."

Nigel laughed at Johnny. "Ignore him, darling," he said to Ruth.

"Nigel Less died the day he went looking for help to smuggle you offworld," said Johnny. "He picked the wrong friends. He was always too trusting."

Ruth's mouth hung open in shock. Perhaps she was dreaming, she told herself.

"Times are tough for the body sharks, right, Alnitak?" said Johnny. "You lost your ships, you were down to your last couple of dozen minions, and you figured it was time to lay low for a generation."

"I don't know what you mean," said Nigel, uneasily.

"Johnny," said Ruth. "What is this about?"

"It's about marrying money," Johnny told her. "It's about marrying
you
."

Nigel looked around him, but the window was secure. There was only one exit and a big Viking was blocking it.

"You are under arrest," said Johnny to Nigel. "For everything in the Doghouse logs, for the kidnapping of Ruth Less, for the murder of Nigel Less, and for two counts of conspiracy to commit murder!"

"Johnny," said Ruth. "This is stupid."

"If only you could see with my eyes, Ruthie," said her brother. "You'd see right into this sick sneck's head."

"Stay away from me," shouted Nigel, backing away, his face reddening.

"You'd see his little plan, the one he discussed with his old buddy Tuka."

"Shut up."

"It takes two because each has to operate on the other. They're a pair of doctors who go right back, right Alnitak?"

Nigel said nothing.

"They meet up every few years to operate on each other. You put Tuka's brain into Malcolm's body. Then Tuka sticks yours into Nigel's."