Shakedown

by Terrance Dicks

  Chris and Roz spent the next few days in a prolonged pub, club, beer-hall and bar crawl. As Chris said, it was a tough job but someone had to do it.

  They visited big flashy casinos where hundreds of punters threw their money away in well-rigged games of chance, or rather of no chance.

  They spent hours and credits in over-priced underground bars where they could hardly see each other, let alone their quarry.

  They were offered a wide variety of strange drinks and drugs, and the opportunity to indulge in a wide variety of perverted pastimes, some of which made even Roz Forrester blush.

  It soon became clear that despite any reassurances Garshak might have given, their presence in Megacity was still far from welcome. Heavy hints had been dropped that travel would be good for their health. Generous offers had been made to cover their travelling expenses to the distant planet of their choice.

  The general opinion seemed to be that they would, in any case, be leaving Megacity soon, by space shuttle or by body-bag.

  Other kinds of persuasion had been tried as well. They were checking out a beer-hall in one of the poorer quarters when four burly miners swaggered in. They spotted Roz and Chris drinking quietly at a corner table, bought themselves beers, and went into a prolonged huddle.

  ‘Over there, by the door,’ said Roz quietly.

  Chris glanced up. ‘Half-drunk. Looking for trouble.’

  ‘Looking for us,’ corrected Roz.

  Chris yawned. ‘Same thing. Want another beer?’

  ‘Why not?’

  When Chris went up to the bar to fetch more beer, the miners moved close to Roz’s table. They began a loud conversation about the depraved sexual habits of off-planet tourists, who only came to Megacity to meet virile miners who knew what a woman needed.

  ‘Ain’t that so, sweetie,’ said the biggest. Suddenly he grabbed Roz’s arm and pulled her to her feet. He looked across at Chris. ‘I reckon sonny-boy over there’s outgrown his strength. Or did you wear him out?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ said Roz sweetly.

  ‘Sooner find out for myself,’ he said, pulling her closer.

  Roz brought up her knee hard and he screamed and doubled up, no longer much interested in anyone’s sex life, even his own.

  Two of the remaining miners made a grab for Roz, and suddenly felt Chris’s big hands gripping the backs of their necks.

  ‘Really, gentlemen,’ he said reprovingly, and slammed their heads together with a clunk that echoed through the bar.

  Dropping the limp bodies he turned to the fourth and last miner, but he was already half-way to the door, with Roz’s victim hobbling painfully after him.

  Chris went back to the bar, returned with two beer-mugs and sat down. He glanced down at the two remaining miners, both still unconscious. ‘Who do you think set these clowns on to us?’

  ‘Who knows? One of Garshak’s worried fat-cats probably.’

  ‘I thought Garshak was going to tell them they needn’t worry about us?’

  ‘You think they trust Garshak? An endorsement from him’s probably as good as a death sentence.’

  ‘Shall we wake them up and ask a few questions?’

  ‘Why bother? They’re strictly small fry – and so is anyone who’d employ them.’

  Chris nodded and took a swig of beer. ‘Might as well move on when we’ve finished these beers. This isn’t the Ripper’s kind of joint anyway.’

  This, however, definitely was, thought Roz Forrester, later that night. She was sitting in yet another sleazy joint, sipping yet another filthy cocktail, and thinking that all nightclubs everywhere were pretty much the same.

  The same surly, but bribable, heavies on the door, the same steep, smelly stairs leading up, or down, to the same hot, smoky, dimly lit room. The same overpriced booze and filthy food, the same fools throwing their hard-earned credits away, and the same smooth operators raking them in. The same crowded floor and the same tiny stage displaying some sordid attraction.

  True, the drinks, the drugs, the games and the life-forms varied from planet to planet. All the same, nightclubs were like police stations, more alike than they were different.

  Roz turned to communicate this amazing insight to her partner Chris. He was sipping happily from a tall glass of clear green fluid in which a number of minute alien creatures were swimming, and watching the gyrations of an over-endowed exotic dancer with an expression of childlike enjoyment.

  Telling herself that even idiots deserved their moments of pleasure, Roz went back to scanning the crowd – which was supposed to be why they were here.

  All they had to go on was the Ripper’s established pattern. He’d already committed his first more or less routine murder to give him operating credits. Next he’d be going for the big score, the one that would get him off-planet and on the way to wherever he was heading.

  The nightclub proprietor, a smarmy little butterball in an expensive white silk dinner-suit, was one of the most likely candidates. He caught her eye and came over, bowing and smiling and rubbing his hands.

  ‘Everything all right, sir, madam? You enjoy your evening?’

  His name was Raggor, and he was reputed to control a major slice of the drugs and gambling in Megacity. He was also a ruthless killer, who had personally garrotted several rivals with the white silk handkerchief overflowing his breast pocket. Most important of all, he dealt largely in cash and was rumoured to keep vast sums in his office safe.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ said Roz. ‘Isn’t it, Chris?’

  Chris dragged his attention away from the dancer. ‘Oh, yes indeed. Most entertaining!’

  ‘I send you over nice bottle of wine, compliments of house.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Any friend of Chief Garshak, hey?’ He hurried away to greet some newly arriving customers.

  If they had no luck here, thought Roz, there were only a couple more places to try. She knew that it was long odds against their being in the right place at the right time. But it was all they could do.

  If it didn’t work they’d have to wait for the next crime to be committed, and set off yet again on an already-cold trail.

  A flurry of movement at the door caught her eye and she saw a distinguished-looking humanoid coming into the club. He was very tall with long silver hair and a neat pointed beard, and he wore expensive-looking silk robes.

  He was obviously a valued customer. The proprietor was baring rows of shining teeth in welcome, bowing and rubbing his hands and showing the newcomer to a reserved table close to the stage.

  Foaming wine was poured into a tall crystal goblet by an obsequious rodent-like waiter, and scantily clad humanoid hostesses hurried to the table.

  Roz studied the newcomer with fascination. She had never seen him before, but she was familiar with every detail of his appearance. He wore the shape of the late Mr Sakis, murdered proprietor of a change bureau on Spaceport Boulevard.

  In reality he was Karne, the Ripper, the quarry they had sought for so long.

  She gave Chris an elbow in the ribs that made him choke on his drink. Spitting out a small, still-wriggling worm he said indignantly, ‘Hey!’

  She glanced briefly across the room.

  Chris, who was efficient enough once his attention was engaged, looked hard and then gasped. ‘It’s him.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Roz. ‘It’s him.’

  ‘After all this time,’ breathed Chris. He started to rise, reaching for his blaster.

  Roz grabbed his arm to restrain him. ‘Wait.’

  ‘But this is the closest we’ve ever been. Let’s take him now, before he moves on.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘We don’t take him, remember, not to begin with. We follow him, make contact without alarming him and offer him our help. We escort him off the planet, protect him, pay his fare to wherever he wants to go – as long as he agrees to talk to the Doctor first. If he doesn’t agree, then we take him in – if we can.’

  Chris looke
d at her in consternation. He’d forgotten the Doctor’s original instructions in the excitement of the hunt. ‘But he’s a killer.’

  ‘That’s not our concern. We’re not Adjudicators any more. The Doctor wants us to bring him back alive, so that’s what we do.’

  The visitor and the manager were deep in conversation. After a final warm handshake, the manager turned away and disappeared through an inconspicuous door on the other side of the room.

  Chris was slumped sulkily into his seat, glaring angrily across the room.

  ‘Stop staring at him like that,’ hissed Roz. ‘Keep it down to the occasional glance, just to make sure he’s still there. When he leaves we’ll follow.’

  The silver-haired man stayed at the table for some time, drinking, watching the dancers, chatting to the hostesses. To Roz, he looked like a ghastly parody of life, an automaton with jerky movements and frozen smile, having a ghastly parody of a good time. How could anyone think he was really human, really alive?

  The hostesses seemed happy enough. Maybe if you spread enough credits around, no one cared if you were a zombie.

  ‘He’s leaving,’ said Chris.

  The tall silver-haired man had risen and was leaving his table. He headed not towards the exit but towards the door at the back of the room.

  As he reached the door, a massive Ogron bodyguard loomed up to bar his way. The silver-haired man spoke briefly, the guard stepped aside and the man went on through the door.

  ‘Got an appointment with the boss,’ said Roz. She sat waiting for a moment, and then rose. ‘Come on.’

  ‘I thought you said –’

  ‘Never mind what I said. Remember the change bureau?’

  Threading their way between the tables they made for the little door. As they reached it, the Ogron bodyguard appeared, barring their way.

  Arguing with Ogrons is a lengthy process at best, and Roz felt that she just didn’t have the time. She delivered a ferocious elbow-strike to the Ogron’s midriff. The blow would have paralysed most humanoids for several hours. The Ogron just grunted and doubled over a little.

  Chris slammed it behind the ear with his blaster, using all his strength. The Ogron’s eyes glazed and it staggered back against the wall. Roz and Chris caught the massive body between them and lowered it gently to the ground.

  Roz opened the door and went inside, and found a scene of nightmarish horror.

  The manager was spread-eagled on his back on the floor, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A glowing shape crouched over him. Even as they watched, a thin fiery tentacle extruded itself, and sliced the tubby little man open down the middle like a surgeon’s laser-scalpel, spilling out his intestines in a welter of blood, turning the white silk suit scarlet, and splitting open the breastbone to reveal the still-beating heart.

  7

  Slaughter

  ‘No!’ shouted Chris. He raised his blaster and fired.

  The glowing shape seemed to repel the energy blast in a brief crackle of electricity, and then flowed swiftly towards them.

  Roz flung herself back and down. Swinging her legs round in a semicircle she swept Chris’s ankles from under him, bringing him crashing to the ground.

  The glowing sphere flashed over their heads and out into the big, crowded room beyond. Crackling fiercely, it hurtled through the nightclub like a fireball, flinging aside everyone in its way through the sheer power of its energy.

  Those who were brushed by its passing were thrown back shocked and burned. People screamed as their clothes burst into flames.

  There was, not surprisingly, a panic-stricken rush for the exit.

  Roz and Chris scrambled to their feet and saw the glowing sphere trying to force its way free of the crowded room. The way out was already blocked by a terrified crowd of patrons, all trying to leave at once by the same narrow stairway.

  Some tried to fight back. Many of the nightclub’s patrons were armed, and the room echoed with the fierce crackle of blaster fire.

  The sphere glowed brighter, seeming to repel the blasts. At the same time it reacted angrily to the attacks. Long fiery tentacles lashed out from the central shape, slicing through whatever they touched.

  Roz saw a severed arm, the hand still clutching a blaster, fly through the air, while its owner stared unbelievingly down at the stump.

  She saw a headless Ogron bodyguard take several stumbling steps as its still-snarling head rolled away across the nightclub floor.

  The room seemed drenched in blood and the air was filled with the shouts and screams of the wounded and dying. It was as if someone had fired off a rocket-projectile in a crowded room.

  By now people were desperately hurling themselves away from the glowing sphere and a path through the packed crowd opened magically before it. The glowing shape moved swiftly across the room and floated up the staircase.

  Forcing their way through the bloody shambles left by its passing, Roz and Chris hurried after it.

  As they burst out of the door at the top of the stairs, they saw the hovering sphere surrounded by a semicircle of cloaked and hooded figures. Fierce red eyes glowed beneath the hoods and they saw long muzzles and the flash of sharp white fangs.

  ‘Wolverines!’ whispered Roz.

  Laser carbines appeared from beneath the cloaks, all trained on the glowing shape that hovered before them. Laser-fire crackled from a dozen carbines. Sizzling with energy, the glowing sphere grew larger, brighter. It whirled into the semicircle of Wolverines like a wheel of knives, the deadly tentacles lashing out and cutting them to pieces. Arms and legs flew in all directions, and they saw one Wolverine sliced totally in half.

  Leaving dead and dying Wolverines in its wake, the sphere vanished down the alley in a storm of energy.

  Silence fell on the alleyway, though you could still hear muffled screams and shouts from the nightclub below. Half a dozen Wolverines were still alive and on their feet – and their laser carbines were trained on Roz and Chris.

  ‘One has escaped us, but we can still carry out two-thirds of our contract,’ snarled their leader. ‘Kill them.’

  Roz glanced quickly at Chris. They had blasters in their hands but they were seriously outnumbered. They’d take a few Wolverines with them, but they’d be lucky to survive.

  There was a sudden fierce crackle of blaster-fire – but it came from behind Roz and Chris – behind them and over their heads. One of the Wolverines staggered and fell. Chris and Roz – who managed to shoot straight for once – shot down two more. The three survivors turned and fled down the alleyway – only to find it blocked by an Ogron police patrol.

  Two of the Wolverines opened fire and were immediately shot down. The third, their leader, veered to the left, ran straight up a rough stone wall, and disappeared over the top.

  Roz and Chris swung round to look at their unknown rescuer. To their astonishment it was the Ogron they’d knocked out and left by the door.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Roz. ‘We don’t deserve it, but thanks.’

  She turned to Chris. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get after Karne.’

  The blaster in the Ogron’s hand swung to cover them. ‘No. You stay.’

  ‘But we must go –’

  ‘On the contrary, dear lady, you must stay,’ said a familiar voice behind them. ‘You’re both under arrest. Good work, Murkar.’

  They turned and saw the approaching police squad was led by Garshak himself.

  ‘Well, well, quite a night out,’ said Garshak.

  It was some time later and they were back in his office, only this time there were no tea and cakes.

  ‘A nightclub wrecked, half a dozen dead citizens, a dozen more shocked, seared and wounded and poor old Raggor gutted like a Fugora-fish. Oh, and about a dozen dead Wolverines, though they’re no loss. What have you got to say?’

  ‘Not guilty,’ said Roz.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Chris ‘We didn’t commit any crimes, we were trying to prevent one.’

  ‘There’s always ass
ault on the police,’ said Garshak. ‘You two laid out one of my officers.’

  ‘We didn’t know he was one of your officers when we laid him out,’ said Chris. ‘What was he doing there anyway?’

  ‘Looking for this criminal of yours. I put someone in all the places on that list I gave you. Apparently Sakis – or whatever that thing was that looked like Sakis – started coming to the club a few nights ago, spread a lot of credits around, and convinced Raggor that he had some shady scheme that was going to make them both rich. He had an appointment to discuss it tonight.’

  ‘The only scheme was the one he used in the change bureau,’ said Roz. ‘To get into his office and rob him.’

  ‘Old Raggor had plenty too,’ said Garshak. ‘Richest crook in Megacity. No use to him now, with all his insides outside.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Roz urgently. ‘You‘ve got to let us get after him. We stopped him from robbing the nightclub manager, so his resources are limited, and he won’t have changed his disguise. It’s the best chance of catching him we’ve ever had.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re already too late,’ said Garshak. ‘I checked. Someone answering Sakis’s description turned up at the spaceport right after that business at the club. They noticed him because he looked odd. He booked passage off-planet on the first ship that was leaving. Didn’t seem to care where it was going.’

  ‘Where was it going?’ asked Chris.

  ‘Place called Space Station Alpha. It’s a way-station somewhere out in deep space. Transit point for a lot of the transgalactic lines.’

  Roz groaned. ‘He could go anywhere from there.’ She looked appealingly at Garshak. ‘Please, you’ve got to let us go after him.’ She hesitated. ‘I imagine you realize we haven’t been telling you the whole truth about all this.’

  Garshak gave her an impassive look. ‘The thought had occurred to me.’

  ‘Well, I still can’t – and even if I could, you probably wouldn’t believe me. But if we don’t find Karne the consequences will be terrible. Not just more killings, but a war that could devastate all the galaxy – this planet included.’

  Garshak sat for a moment, drumming his long hairy fingers on his desk. Then he looked up. ‘I’m going to do something very stupid. I suppose that’s what you’d expect from an Ogron. I’m going to believe you, and let you go. But I want you off this planet – and don’t come back.’