"First I wanted to say thanks, for the food and beer."
"My pleasure."
"But I also want to make clear that this mission is not going to be one long happy barbecue."
Asdoel Zo puffed on his cigar and looked at Johnny. It was fully night on SG977 and one of the planet's three moons had come out from behind a wide bank of cloud. Its cold bone-coloured light shone on Johnny Alpha's unearthly eyes. Asdoel Zo sucked at his cigar until its tip glowed. He studied the glowing cigar tip instead of Johnny's disquieting eyes. "I'm aware of that," he said.
"You may be aware of that," said Johnny. "But I'm not sure the rest of my team are."
"They're all top professionals," said Asdoel Zo.
"They're top professionals all right. But if we want them playing at the top of their game we're going to have to keep them sharp. And you aren't helping by creating a party atmosphere like you did tonight."
"Party atmosphere? What are you, Mr Alpha? Some kind of neo-Puritan?"
"Call me anything you like," said Johnny.
"It's just some beers and a barbecue. A bit of fun."
"A bit of fun that could dull the reflexes, slow the reaction time and get somebody killed." Johnny turned and walked back up the stairs, leaving the billionaire smoking his cigar in his cactus garden. As Johnny crossed the balcony he paused at the corner where Slim, Middenface and HMK were sitting. "I want everyone to hit the sack soon."
"Hit the sack?" said HMK.
"And make sure you get plenty of rest," said Johnny. "I have the feeling tomorrow is going to be a tough day." He turned and walked into the house, heading for the guest wing where Asdoel Zo was providing rooms for the Strontium Dogs. HMK watched him go. "Mr Party Fun," she said.
Middenface sighed. "Johnny may not be a party animal, but he knows what he's talking about." Middenface rose from his chair to follow Johnny. "And if we all want to stay alive, we'd do well to listen to him."
CHAPTER THREE
LUNAR SHOOTOUT
Dawn painted the desert as a man sat prodding at the ashes of a campfire. The man was Charlie Yuletide. He had his blanket wrapped around his shoulders to protect him from the morning desert chill. He squatted awkwardly and poked at the grey ashes of his fire until he found a glowing fragment, and then he began to rebuild the fire, using blunt chips of kindling that he took from a paper sack in one of his saddlebags.
He stacked the kindling in a pyramid and blew on the red coal until the kindling caught and flames rose from the fire. Charlie Yuletide sighed and set a battered coffee pot in the centre of the flames. Then he picked up his banjo and began to sing.
"Johnny and friends went off in search of a siren. But before they knew it, guns was a-firin'."
Twelve hours later Johnny and his team were on a small moon called Disraeli 4.1.
The next name on their list was Stella Dysh. Johnny and the others knew Stella by reputation and all agreed that she would make a valuable addition to their elite group...
"Why don't we call it a posse?" said Middenface. Johnny frowned at his friend. "What are you talking about?"
"This team we're putting together. Why don't we call it a posse?"
"A what?"
"A posse," said Middenface. "You know, like in a western. The bad guy has to be hunted down, so they form a wee posse and go after him."
Johnny shook his head. "You've been hanging around Asdoel Zo too long. He's got you cowboy crazy."
"But it's exactly what we're doing. It's the perfect name."
"It's from the Latin posse comitatus," added Hari Mata Karma.
"She sure is one smart lady," said Slim Drago, gazing worshipfully up at HMK's space-suited form. Slim was in his own oversized vacuum suit, which gave him the appearance of some kind of giant teddy bear. Slim was proving a placid and amiable character when he was not on a junk food binge. In fact, Middenface had concluded that he was downright dull.
"I don't give a damn what we call it," said Johnny. "But we're not going to have a team or a posse, or anything else, unless we manage to get some more Strontium Dogs to join us. And Stella Dysh isn't exactly proving easy to contact. In fact, if Asdoel Zo wasn't so willing to throw his money around we wouldn't have come here looking for her. We would have crossed her off and moved on to the next name on our list."
"But we couldn't have that," giggled HMK. "Because then there wouldn't be seven of us, and seven is such a western number!"
"Why is that?" said Slim Drago in his adoring voice.
"Oh, it's just tradition," said HMK. She was hunched over the communications console in the crawler, which was situated in a small bubble cockpit in the roof of the vehicle. There wasn't room in the cockpit for two people; indeed there was hardly room for one full grown person, which is why HMK had volunteered to man the communications. Johnny stood under her in the main section of the vehicle, staring up at the diminutive woman in the bubble dome.
"Is she not answering?" said Johnny.
HMK shook her head. "Still no reply," she said. "Maybe she's just left her phone switched off."
"Maybe," Johnny said sceptically.
"Maybe she's just not at home," suggested Middenface.
"No," said Johnny. "If she'd left her base she would have notified the Dog House." Stella Dysh was notoriously scrupulous about such details. She liked money and never wanted to miss an opportunity for paid work. "She makes sure she's always available," said Johnny.
"Yes, that's what I've heard too," said HMK dryly.
"Keep trying," said Johnny.
"Yes boss," said HMK. Johnny moved forward to the front section of the vehicle where Middenface was sitting in the driver's seat in another transparent dome, this one vertically mounted on the face of the crawler and considerably larger than the communications cockpit. Large enough for two people - though not if one of them was Slim Drago. Slim had been assigned to a position in the rear of the crawler where it terminated in another dome, which housed the controls for the mechanical arms mounted on the sides of the vehicle.
The crawler was painted bright orange, for maximum visibility on the ashen dust of the moon. The orange cylinder had bubble cockpits at the front and rear, and another, for communications, mounted on the roof. The vehicle crawled along the lunar surface on three pairs of caterpillar treads that pivoted to accommodate even the most dramatic changes in the terrain. It made good speed and would bring them to the settlement where Stella Dysh lived in less than three hours' travel from the mining base where they landed. It was one of a small fleet of such vehicles designed for prospecting and ore gathering. The mine's manager, a woman with a set of ill-fitting steel teeth, had rented it out to Johnny and the others for an extortionate sum. But Asdoel Zo was footing the bill. It was the only way to get to Stella Dysh, who refused to respond to any attempt at communication.
"How far is it to the shite hole, anyway?" said Middenface.
"You're the one who's driving," said HMK.
"Well according to the map that steel-toothed bitch sold us, it was supposed be just ahead, at the foot of that bluff or tor or whatever the damned thing is called. Maybe old steel snappers lied to us... Ah, hang on. I'm doing her a disservice. That looks like it just up ahead."
The crawler was rounding the base of a huge outcrop of rock that threw a giant shadow on the white lunar terrain. Just as they emerged from the shadow they saw a cluster of buildings at the foot of the outcrop, gleaming in the pitiless glare of the sunshine pouring down from the black sky with no atmosphere to filter it. The buildings were seven or eight small domes and cylinders that could house fewer than a hundred people. It was a tiny community. As the crawler approached the buildings it passed a variety of ruined machinery, junked vehicles and other trash that had been dragged from the settlement and just dropped on the ground.
"They're some kind of lunar trailer trash," said HMK. "What kind of girl is this Stella Dysh anyway?"
"You said you knew her," said Johnny.
"Knew of her," HMK corr
ected him. "Like everyone else, I've heard about her special, ahem, talent and that she's not shy about using it. But I didn't expect to find her living in redneck squalor."
"Redneck? Aren't you being just a touch snobbish?" said Middenface.
HMK ignored the remark. "I mean just look out there," she said.
"I am," said Middenface. "I'm only steering the vehicle."
"Then while you're steering it, take a look at all those little gleaming objects strewn across the landscape. Do you see them, twinkling in the sunlight?"
"Yes, I see them," said Middenface. "What are they, deposits of valuable minerals?"
"Not quite. Beer cans."
"Good God," said Middenface.
"That's right. Thousands and thousands of beer cans, scattered here by the high class indigenous population. Like I said, redneck squalor. Or maybe I should say redneck heaven."
"What's that gleaming in the sun?" said Slim Drago, as if just waking up to the conversation.
"Beer cans. She told you," said Middenface. "For heaven's sake man, pay attention."
"No. Not those. That thing glinting over them. Looks like it's on the roof of one of those buildings."
Johnny threw himself into the cockpit, staring over Middenface's shoulder. "Shit," he said.
"What's the matter?" said Middenface.
"Everybody seal your suits!" said Johnny. "And grab your weapons. Hold on tight and brace yourself."
"Why?" said Middenface.
"Because," said Johnny, "that thing on the roof of the building is a-"
Middenface, hastening to obey Johnny's orders, already had his helmet sealed shut on his space suit and he was listening to Johnny, who was also now sealed into his helmet, on the intercom unit. The intercom buzzed as it came to life, obscuring Johnny's last two words. Middenface heard Slim Drago chuckle on the intercom. "That's funny, Johnny. I thought you said rocket launcher."
The side of the crawler exploded as a projectile tore through it, screaming and twisting and sending fat, white sparks tumbling through the interior of the vehicle and blasting out into the lunar vacuum.
The impact of the missile knocked the crawler onto its side, then onto its back. But orientation was irrelevant since the rush of escaping air created a suction strong enough to tear Middenface from his seat and throw him out onto the moon's surface. He hit the ground gently and bounced in slow motion, raising a confusing swirl of dust. As he spun, he got intermittent glimpses of the bright orange crawler lying on its side, tractor treads spinning and twisting in a futile attempt to get a grip, like a beetle on its back. There was an ugly gash in the cylindrical body of the vehicle and Middenface glimpsed another space-suited figure tumbling out into the void. It was a tiny figure, so Middenface knew it was HMK. As she hit the ground and skidded in a slowly rising plume of dust, another figure appeared in the hole in the side of the crawler. The figure was so large it had to squeeze its way out. Slim Drago's considerable bulk had saved him from being sucked out like Middenface, HMK and Johnny.
Johnny. Where was he? Middenface looked around for his friend, but he couldn't see anything, he was still spinning with the momentum of his fall and dust was still rising all around him, blotting everything out. Middenface stuck his arm out to break his fall and he hit the ground softly, his spin slowing. He put his other arm out, grabbing at the lunar dust with his clumsy space suit gloves and bringing himself to a halt. He knelt there for a moment, listening to the confusion of chatter from Slim Drago, squeals from HMK and a shocked voice cursing in the vilest possible terms that he gradually recognised as his own. There was no sound from Johnny.
Middenface rose unsteadily to his feet and then he saw Johnny, who was already up and running, back towards the wrecked crawler. "Take cover," shouted Johnny.
"Where?" demanded HMK in a voice that Middenface was pleased to note was more pissed off than frightened.
"Over here," said Johnny. "Behind the crawler. Keep it between you and the settlement as you move."
"Okay boss," said Slim obediently. He had been loping away from the crawler in great, distance-devouring, low-gravity lunar strides. Now he slowly brought himself to a halt and turned around to begin loping back in the other direction, towards the crawler. Middenface was already there, at Johnny's side, when first HMK and then the hulking Slim Drago joined them. He sidled up to Johnny and peered through the transparent curve of the abandoned cockpit. He took one quick look then ducked with comical haste. "It's a rocket launcher all right," said Slim.
"Yes, I think we'd gathered that," said HMK.
"Keep your head down," Johnny said sharply.
But he was too late. Slim had bobbed up for another look through the cockpit canopy that exploded all around him in a shower of glass fragments that looked like ice flakes. "Get down!" shouted Johnny. They all ducked low behind the crawler and the glass of the cockpit settled on them in a slow motion shower. It was being chewed away by some kind of projectile weapon. A machine gun, maybe. "And stay down," snarled Johnny.
"Yes, sir," said a chastened Slim Drago.
"Middenface, make sure these two don't get themselves killed in the next ten minutes."
"These two?" said HMK in a scandalised tone, "I hope you're not lumping me in with this careless oaf here."
"I am a careless oaf," said Slim over the helmet mikes in a tearful voice. "A careless, careless oaf."
"The next ten minutes?" said Middenface. "Where will you be, then, Johnny?"
"I'm going to drop back about a hundred metres, in a straight line, using the crawler for cover," said Johnny Alpha. "Then I'm going to cut left for those rocks near the base of the butte. I'll use them for cover and make for the shadow of the butte. Once I'm in shadow I'm going to flank the settlement, or at least that one building housing the sniper."
"Or snipers," said HMK, stressing the plural.
"Or snipers," agreed Johnny. "Now keep your heads down."
"Wait Johnny," said Middenface desperately. "Take me with you."
"Somebody's got to stay and look after these two," said Johnny, slipping back from the vehicle and beginning his run for the rocks.
"That's ridiculous," howled Middenface.
"It is ridiculous," echoed HMK. "How do you expect to deal with those snipers on your own?"
"It's too late, save your breath," said Middenface. Johnny's figure was already dwindling in the distance, moving swiftly in the low lunar gravity. He ran gracefully, floating slightly above the ground, dust rising under his boots as he cut left towards the rocks at the base of the butte.
"He's a very stubborn man," said HMK.
"You're telling me," said Middenface.
"He's the boss," said Slim placidly.
Ten tense minutes ensued as they waited to hear from Johnny. Middenface managed to work out a crude system of mirrors, using glass fragments from the shattered cockpit, which allowed him to keep an eye on the rooftop sniper. Not that he could see much. There appeared to be a small group of figures with an assortment of weapons, including the projectile gun and the rocket launcher, which had so dramatically demonstrated its power earlier. But no detail was visible at this distance. The cheap space suits that Steel Teeth had rented them with the crawler had not come equipped with anything more sophisticated than UV filters. There was any amount of sophisticated image enhancement equipment inside the crawler, which would have brought the snipers into clear and detailed view, but it was impossible to get at any of it. When Middenface made a tentative attempt to re-enter the vehicle through the hole in its side he was met with a blast of bullets that tore new perforations in the crawler's orange skin and angled savagely into the moon's surface on the far side, sending up spouts of dust dangerously close to the crouching Strontium Dogs.
Thereafter, Middenface and the others stayed put. Middenface used his crude mirror system to keep an eye on the rooftop while Slim hummed, and HMK fumed and fretted. "What can he be doing?" she said.
"He's flanking them."
"
I know that. But, having flanked them, what exactly does he then intend to do?"
"Whatever the situation demands, I imagine," said Middenface.
"What, like single-handedly gunning them all down in a blaze of glory, or a glorious blaze or something?"
"Yes, maybe something like that."
"I don't get it," said Slim Drago. "Why is Miss Stella Dysh firing at us anyway? She's supposed to be our friend, isn't she? Our fellow Strontium Dog?"
"We don't know that it's Stella Dysh who's shooting at us," snapped Middenface. He couldn't believe he'd ever thought that this big lout was intelligent.
"But that's where she lives," insisted Slim. "The place where they're shooting at us from."
"The place where they're shooting at us from," echoed HMK, laughing. "You really must remind me to buy you a grammar implant for your frontal lobe, Slim."
"That's a really kind offer, Miss Hari Mata Karma," said Slim adoringly. "Thank you."
"Look," said Middenface impatiently, "just because that settlement is where Stella Dysh lives, it doesn't necessarily follow that it's her shooting at us. There could be scores of other people living there."
"Scores?" said Slim in confusion.
"Dozens, then," said Middenface.
"Dozens?"
"A score is twenty, a dozen is twelve," explained HMK.
"Oh, so there could be lots of other people there besides Stella Dysh who are shooting at us," said Slim.
"Precisely," said Middenface.
"So what you're saying is that there's lots of people there."
"Right."
"And there could be lots of snipers."
"Right."
Slim Drago painfully puzzled it out. "So... what you're saying is that... Miss Dysh... she's just one of the snipers."
"No!" said Middenface in exasperation. "That's not what I'm saying at all. We don't know that Stella Dysh is shooting at us. In fact, the people who are shooting at us may have taken her prisoner."
"Oh," said Slim. "I see. So Miss Dysh is being held hostage and we have to go in to rescue her."
Day of the Dogs Page 5