Overhead, the tannoy yodelled a fifteen-second screech, the word "Malcolm" then something that sounded like a coughing fit.
Johnny took the stairs two at a time and was rewarded with a sudden sense of utter calm. The walls were gunmetal grey. He had found the human section at last.
A long line of doorways stretched out ahead. Each was dark and open, the private ward behind it empty and lifeless. Only one, at the far end, was occupied. Rays of yellow light streamed out through the half-closed blinds in the observation window. A tall, humanoid figure was silhouetted outside, its arms folded. It looked up at Johnny as he crested the top of the stairs, and the hands went slowly to its hips in a "don't-sneck-with-me" stance. Security.
Perhaps it was the sudden return to acceptable décor. Perhaps it was the realisation that his goal had been reached. Whatever it was, Johnny suddenly felt good. At last things were going right. Ruthie's disappearance might be a mystery, but there was, quite literally, light at the end of this tunnel. And while the Tammerfors cops might have been too dumb to post the right information with the Doghouse, at least they had been smart enough to put muscle at the door. Nigel was in safe hands.
"Hi," yelled Johnny as he marched towards the guard. "I'm a Search/Destroy Agent," he added, as if his armour and badge was not enough. "I'm here to see Nigel Less."
The guard waited in silence, the hands ominously perched on the hips. As Johnny neared, he spied a topknot of silvery hair and a pug-faced, snub-nosed visage. Just his luck - curse Tammerfors and its open policy on alien immigrants.
"You may be here for that," bellowed the guard imperiously as Johnny slowed his pace, "but I, the great Blarg, may not be in a position to allow it."
Johnny was close enough to see the guard's skin colour for himself. It was an unmistakeable green. He was stuck dealing with a Betelgeusian.
"I just want to ask him a few questions," he said, feeling the tense coils of annoyance gathering once more.
"Everyone wants just one little thing," said the guard absently. "A taxing load for the wondrous Blarg, righter of wrongs, pursuer of criminals..."
"And guardian of...?" prompted Johnny.
"Yes, guardian of the witness," said Blarg, magnanimously, as if Johnny had just scored a point on a test. "I am his guardian, his protector, the last line of defence between him and his enemies."
"That's what I'm here about," said Johnny. He could see Blarg staring surreptitiously at his SD badge.
"It's not a fake," Johnny added.
Johnny pulled his badge off his sash. The guard stared at it with one eyebrow raised.
"Johnny... Alpha..." he said carefully.
"That's right."
"Well, Mister Alpha, you are the first to arrive."
"Good."
"I expect there will be more after you. The gangs round here are doing such a good job of killing each other... I doubt there are any other crimes to investigate at the moment."
"Mister Blarg?" called a male voice from inside the room. "It's okay, let him in."
Thinking like a Gronk, Wulf shied away from coffee trolleys with squeaky wheels. He ducked away from public arguments and scary-looking nurses; at least, what he imagined the Gronk would consider "scary". The route took him halfway across the hospital floor and down a quiet stairwell, until he was stopped dead by a crossway. Four corridors led away from a central information desk. There were chairs for outpatients, but none of them were occupied. The loudest thing in the area was the wallpaper.
Wulf leaned on the information desk and tried to look as unlike a Viking raider as possible. A human woman was tapping on a keyboard, her long dark hair falling over one side of her face.
"Excuse me, cucumber," said Wulf. "Have you seen a little white furry thing?"
She looked up and stared at Wulf without comment.
"A what?"
"A little white furry thing. Perhaps it has been eating the scalpels?"
The nurse at the desk kept her eyes locked on Wulf.
"Dr Malcolm," she called, a little too loudly.
"You look out of place," said a voice.
Wulf turned to see a balding, bespectacled human wearing a white coat. He was pulling a lump of cotton wool from his ears.
"David Malcolm," he said, proffering his free hand. "Are you here about reconstructive surgery?"
"No," said Wulf. "I was looking for der Gr-"
"Good," said Malcolm, "coz you're in the wrong section for your species. You want the annex on the eleventh floor. You can't miss it - it has '15' written on the signs."
Wulf blinked unsteadily. The nurse at the workstation got up, clutching a sheaf of printouts. She headed off down the corridor with a polite smile to Dr Malcolm. As she passed, Wulf caught a glimpse of the side of her face that had been previously hidden. It was a sickly, necrotic purple, puckered and covered with ridges and calluses.
Dr Malcolm clicked his fingers in front of Wulf's eyes.
"Hey," he said with a practised smile. "You know it's rude to stare. Take a seat."
Wulf wasn't in the habit of taking orders from anyone except Johnny. But something about the white coat and the clipboard made him do as he was told.
"She's saving up," said Malcolm.
"Is she?"
"Uh-huh. Janice there is working double shifts, and in about two months' time, she'll have enough creds."
"Creds for what?"
"For me to get rid of those lesions for her."
"She's a mutie."
"Mister...?"
"Sternhammer."
"Mister Sternhammer. She makes the best of what she's got." Malcolm's voice was calming, almost hypnotic. Wulf felt warm and fuzzy just listening to him, as if everything was going to be all right. "We all make the best of what we've got, right? And since you found this place, I'm guessing you want to make the best of what you've got, too."
"No," said Wulf. "No, I am looking for der Gronk. It is a small, furry thing. Very irritating."
"Mister Sternhammer, this is a xeno level. The only human medicine we do here is on this floor because our clients don't want to make a big thing about it."
"I'm sorry, I don't-"
"Janice grows her hair long to cover it up. But she's only got lumps and swirls. I can get them off her and graft some better skin. Now, what's your problem?"
"I don't have one."
Wulf saw a Tammerfortian orderly pushing a gurney towards them. It was empty, but the unmistakeable outline of a Gronk could be seen clutching at the support struts. The Gronk was getting a free ride and it was heading back his way.
"As you wish," said Dr Malcolm. "I understand. It takes a lot for most people to even come here for their first consultation. But Mister Sternhammer, please remember, there is nothing wrong with you."
"Jah, that is what I just told you."
"It is society that is biased against the genetically different. If you want an easier life, I can help you."
"I am not a mutant," said Wulf, his voice echoing down the halls.
Dr Malcolm cringed noticeably.
"Sure," he said placatingly. "None of us are. We're all just people."
The room was bare but clean. A screen above the bed showed rolling coverage of the Tammerfors stock market, the sound muted. There was water by the bed, a receiver for a screenphone and a few magazines. A nervous man sat up in bed, his fingers drumming nervously on the tray on his lap.
It was Nigel, all right. The temples were greyer, but this was still the wiry investment banker that Ruthie had snagged for herself all those years ago. The bandages were clean, no bloodstains showing weeping wounds. But Johnny could see patches of skin showing through the hair. Nigel had been beaten badly enough to require shaving and stitches. Someone had roughed him up, but that had been some time ago. A Search/Destroy Agent would have been up and about long ago.
"Johnny?" said Nigel hoarsely.
"It's me, Nige," said Johnny. "Wanna tell me what this is about?"
"Johnny Alpha
?"
"You're looking good, Nige," said Johnny, instinctively checking the window. He stood in the corner, shielded from view and facing the door. Blarg may have been outside "on guard", but Johnny wasn't the kind to take chances.
"Better than I was expecting, in fact," added Johnny. "The Doghouse has you down for major wounds."
"I was beaten up," said Nigel. "It looked a lot worse than it was."
Johnny nodded, and waited in silence.
"It still hurts if I do this," said Nigel, raising his left arm above his head.
"Don't do it, then," said Johnny.
Nigel put his arm down again.
"I'm glad you came..." he began.
"What the hell happened?" said Johnny. "Where's Ruthie?"
Nigel nibbled nervously at his lip. His eyes darted meaningfully at the door. Johnny came over, knelt down by the side of the bed, and whispered gently in Nigel's ear.
"What's happened to my sister?" he hissed.
"Nobody knows," whispered Nigel, "that she's your sister."
"I should hope so," said Johnny. "That was kind of the idea."
"Yeah," said Nigel. "Nobody knows she's Nelson Kreelman's daughter, either."
"Excellent," said Johnny. "That's the way we want it."
"Ruthie's safe," added Nigel. "I think."
"What do you mean you think she's safe?"
An announcement came over the corridor tannoy in Tammerfortian birdcalls. The two men waited patiently for it to finish.
"Johnny," said Nigel, his ears still ringing. "We had a good life together, you know. I was a good husband. I am a good husband!"
"So what happened?"
"It was time to move on," said Nigel. Johnny took a deep breath. "For both of us!" added Nigel, hastily. "We're still together, Johnny. Everything's great between us."
"That's good to know," said Johnny.
"We had a house. I had a good job..."
"Investing?"
"Sure, sure. Bonds are bonds anywhere in the galaxy. You just need a good planet. Tammerfors was great for that. They don't have hang-ups about aliens here and there's a lot of interplanetary trade."
"A lot of people moving around," agreed Johnny. "Good place for criminals to hide."
"A good place for anyone to hide," said Nigel. "At least it was. But we were getting worried."
"What about?"
"People were snooping around. Press, private investigators, I really don't know who, but they were asking questions. Someone was trawling through the Lesses in the phone book. They were getting closer."
"Where are you heading with this?"
"Offworld" said Nigel. "Before someone found out who we were..."
"Who Ruthie was?"
"Yeah," said Nigel. "Can you imagine what would happen if the Patriot Party found out that you-know-who's daughter was here?"
Johnny's eyes narrowed.
"Her family history catching up with her?"
"Ruthie wanted to forget it. She wanted to forget all about her damn family!" said Nigel fiercely. Johnny waited, expressionless, his white eyes unreadable. "Well," Nigel hastily backpedalled, "not all of them, of course."
The Gronk clung excitedly to the gurney's underside, its face awash in ecstasy. The Tammerfortian orderly continued to wheel the trolley along, oblivious to his stowaway, nearing the chairs where Wulf sat.
"I told you," said Wulf. "I was looking for der Gronk. And I've just found him."
"As you wish," said Malcolm, digging in his top pocket for a card. The tall guy with the Viking complex might take weeks to make an appointment, but he'd make one. Secretly, Malcolm began hazarding guesses of what Mr Sternhammer's mutant problem was. He sure looked human enough from the outside. He figured that maybe the beard was hiding something. Beards normally did.
"Wheee!" said the Gronk as its impromptu ride picked up speed.
Wulf plucked the Gronk from the passing gurney.
"Mister Wulf," it said. "Did you see?"
"Yes Gronk," said Wulf wearily. "I saw."
"This creature is yours?" said Malcolm with some surprise.
"In a manner of speaking," said Wulf.
"Oh, I see. Then maybe you are in the wrong place!" said Malcolm, smiling uneasily. He wasn't used to dealing with people who were healthy.
"Aren't you in der wrong place, too?" asked Wulf.
"Who me?" smiled Malcolm. "No, I work here."
"On the humans?"
"The human cosmetic stuff is just a sideline. And we keep it down here for discretion's sake. My day job is domestic medicine." He rose to his feet. If this guy wasn't a potential surgery ticket, he was wasting his time.
"Patching up bird-people?"
"Taking them back to nature, more like," said Malcolm. He leaned against the glass front of a drinks machine, his shoulders slackening.
"What do you mean?" asked Wulf.
"Sometimes with these guys," said Malcolm, rolling his eyes at another passing Tammerfortian orderly, "I get the feeling that evolution took 'em by surprise." He played idly with the dirty lump of cotton wool in his hand. "One day they're flying on the wind, happy as, well, birds. Then all of a sudden, they're grounded."
"You means der hands?" said Wulf. "But hands are great. Without them you could not swing der axe or sail der ship, or-"
"Or pretty much do anything," agreed Malcolm. "But the locals, a lot of them just want to go back to nature and live like the good old days."
Wulf's eyebrows rose in surprise. The nurse with the strange hair-do had returned to her workstation, and she found the Gronk awfully cute. The Gronk sat in her lap and cooed happily while she played with its fur.
"They want to be...?"
"Devolved. Lose the hands, get their wings back, go and live up on a clifftop somewhere and fly around all day looking for worms."
"For Vulf Sternhammer," said Wulf, "that would get very boring very fast."
"Get this," said Malcolm. "It gets boring for them, too. We get forty per cent re-admissions. Anyone with any cash left wants the operation reversed, but most of them blew their wad getting the snip in the first place."
"What happens to them?"
"They end up on welfare, moaning about what a snecky deal they got."
A bing-bong noise heralded another approaching tannoy announcement. Malcolm swiftly stuffed the cotton wool back in his ears. Wulf had to make do with his fingers.
"But if they have the money," yelled Wulf over the noise. "You can help them, jah?"
Malcolm shrugged.
"Here? No. You want someone to put hands back on or reverse a devolution, you need the big boys."
"And where are they?"
A beeping noise issued from Malcolm's pocket.
"Look," he said. "I'd better take this, you set?"
"The annex?" added Wulf, quizzically.
Malcolm was fishing a small black pager from his pocket. He waved down a corridor to the left and made an upward jerking motion with his hand.
"Straight down," he said, partly distracted by the message on his pager. "And up the first flight on the left. Hmmm..."
"Come on, Gronk," said Wulf. "Play time is over."
Wails of frustrated delight rose from both the Gronk and his new friend.
"Now," said Wulf, already fretting over what Johnny was doing. "Before der others get here."
"See you around," said Malcolm. "I've just got a goodie. Some nut in the ER thinks he's half-man, half-squid."
Behind him came the sound of a surprised squeal, as a Gronk was snatched and dragged bodily up the corridor. Heavy Viking footfalls sprinted for the annex.
"We were going to Mars," said Nigel. "We wanted to run. But it's been ten years, Johnny. Ten years since we quit Earth. Our passports were up."
Johnny shook his head in disbelief.
"Is that it? This is about your damn passports?"
"Ruthie's still has her maiden name on it!" hissed Nigel. "Do you honestly think someone at the Terran embassy wouldn't dr
op a dime when they saw it?"
"Why didn't you come to me?"
"It's not as easy as you think," said Nigel.
"I know people."
"You arrest people."
"For Ruthie, I would call in favours," said Johnny.
"Johnny, Ruth is pure. We both are. I know that a lot of you... er... genetically different people change their names at will, and travel in steerage and all kinds of sneck, but we can't do that."
"Third-class travel not good enough for you?"
"Johnny, please. We were planning something a lot lower-grade than that."
"There's nothing lower than third class, dufus, not unless you were going in the hold."
"Bingo," said Nigel, sounding almost pleased. "I got her a stasis pod."
"You were sending her as cargo?"
"I think she was going as coffee. Or plywood or something."
"You snecking idiot."
"It seemed like a good idea at the-"
"You need someone you trusted at this end, and someone you trust at the other end, otherwise you end up chump-dumped. Did you think of that?"
"Of course," said Nigel, indignant. "I was still awake. I made sure she was okay."
"Oh yeah? You did a bang up job by the looks of it!" growled Johnny. Nigel was lucky he was already in a hospital bed. Otherwise Johnny would have put him in one himself.
"The deal went wrong," said Nigel.
"With who?"
"I found some guys."
"Some guys? What? Did you put an ad in the paper?"
"Friends of friends of friends," said Nigel, unhelpfully. "Listen, it doesn't matter."
"Oh, I think it does."
"They said they would smuggle us offworld. I wanted to watch them put Ruth under, you know, so I could be sure."
Johnny's mouth hung open. "How could you be so stupid?"
"I was desperate, okay."
"Desperately stupid, more like."
"The deal went wrong and I got hurt in the struggle. When the cops arrived, I told them that Ruthie did it."
Ruthless Page 6