"Every one," nodded Isaiah. "Emergency channel, hailing frequencies, sub-orbital communication lines, the lot."
"Forget der radio," called Wulf. "Der sun is looking very unhealthy."
Isaiah took his eyes off the control panel for the first time and looked up at the star on the screen.
"Oh sneck," he breathed. "It's Kajaani."
CLUELESS
"What do we do now?" asked Blarg. The crowd that had assembled in one of the China's many bars turned to look at Johnny, much to Squid's annoyance.
"We don't have to do anything," said Squid. "We've saved the ship. Let's log in a course for Mars and get the sneck out of here."
Murmurs of assent rose up from the crowd amid scattered pockets of applause and some relieved cheers. Wulf looked across at Johnny, fully aware of what was on his mind. Of who was on his mind.
"No," said Johnny. "There are innocent people on the Sherman. We can't just abandon them."
"Oh please," scoffed Blarg. "They are already dead. We all know that."
"No we don't," insisted Johnny.
"Actually, Johnny-boy," said Squid, "we do. The Sherman's just a cargo ship. There's no passenger there worth rescuing."
"If there are any," agreed Blarg, "they are already dead!"
Johnny tried hard to think of what to say. He was used to taking chances, used to fighting for what he wanted. Civilians weren't like that. They relied on their governments to do their fighting for them. They were waiting, even now, for the Mannerheim or a ship like it to come charging out of warp to save the day. Heroism was something that they subcontracted.
"My luggage," suggested Nigel. He went to stand by Johnny's side. "You know, I don't know anyone on the Sherman," Nigel lied. "But my luggage is there. All my worldly goods. I mean, you know, I'm sorry about the people that may have died, but everything that is my life is on that ship." His eyes flashed with passion for just an instant and Johnny realised that Ruthie had made a good choice.
"Right," said Johnny. "Anyone else?"
He scanned the crowd and saw a few nods and hands half-raised.
"People moving house?" he asked.
There were more nods. Johnny felt something leap inside him and he remembered the person he used to be. There was a time between John Kreelman and the Strontium Dog when he was just plain Johnny Alpha. Men looked to him for impossible decisions. They looked to him for the assurance that somewhere in the battle was a man who knew what needed to be done. There were times when words could accomplish more than the most daring deeds, and with the right leader, even a group of schoolgirls could defeat an army. But that was all a long time ago. Right now, he needed to let everyone know that he was boss, and that as long as he was, everything was going to be all right.
"Listen," said Johnny. "I know a lot of you are poor. You're gambling everything on a fresh start. You need an operation. You need a new place to live. I don't know, maybe you want to see Earth and a Mars flight is the only affordable option."
That struck a chord; there were more nods. Johnny saw Squid and Blarg tutting in indignation at the sidelines. Johnny had the floor and he had to make this count or they were going to take the coward's way out.
"You know what we did here today?" said Johnny. "It's passenger action. You saved the ship. You did."
There were a few scattered cheers and more applause. The realisation that they were safe was starting to set in, and it was making emotions run high. Johnny glanced aside at Nigel and saw his brother-in-law beaming. Squid started to complain that the passengers hadn't helped all that much, but thought of throwing stones in glass houses and said nothing.
"You should be proud," Johnny said enthusiastically.
"Jah," called Wulf in agreement.
"You stopped the pirates in their tracks."
"That we did," smiled Isaiah. Nigel nodded.
"Do you have any idea," yelled Johnny, his voice rising to override the growing chorus of voices, "how much that is worth?"
The crowd was suddenly very silent. The cooing noise of an excited Gronk was the only sound that could be heard.
"Newspaper exposés, movie tie-ins, reward money!" he said, kicking the body of a hijacker for emphasis. "And what about the insurance?" he added, saving the best till last. "Anyone think about that?"
Squid and Blarg looked at each other in surprise.
"We can warp out right now and run for home, but if we get the Sherman back, we save an entire extra ship. That's gonna be worth millions." Now he knew he had them. The crowd was still unsure, but Johnny could see the sudden attention on the faces of Squid and Blarg.
"The Sherman's gonna be held to ransom. The insurers are gonna pay out either way. If they pay us on salvage, then they save money, and you still get your stuff back. Now, I'm not saying it's not going to be dangerous. But I don't want you people to put your lives on the line again. All I want is for you to give us a little time to take on the Sherman."
"Sounds risky," said somebody in the crowd.
"Come on," said Johnny. "Risky? How many do you think are on board? A dozen pirates, tops. You want your stuff back, right?"
"Yes," yelled a couple of people at the rear.
"You want a piece of the reward!"
"Yes."
"Then give me the time to take on the Sherman."
"I'm with you, Johnny!" shouted Wulf, raising his recovered Happy Stick in support.
"Let's get 'em," cheered Squid. Blarg eyed his associate with one eyebrow raised.
"If we must," he consented, with considerably less enthusiasm.
On the screen above, the Sherman fired its jets in short bursts.
"A signal," said Wulf. "It is signalling." There was no way that radio communication could be made in this system and for that Johnny was thankful. It would help him maintain his cover for a little while longer.
"Isaiah," said Johnny over the bar's intercom system. "Flash them back. Morse code. Tell them: Ship secure, send coordinates."
Back on the bridge, Isaiah began tapping out the message. Johnny turned to face the others.
"What coordinates?" asked Wulf.
"I don't know," said Johnny. "Either this is just a rendezvous point or we're heading somewhere on the planet."
"Sneaky, Johnny-boy," said Squid approvingly. "Keep it vague and see what they say."
"I don't mean to add rain to the parade," said Blarg archly. "But what if they don't tell us everything we need to know?"
"I got that covered," said Johnny. He turned to look at the hijacker Blarg had captured alive now slumped in a sullen crouch against the wall. He walked straight towards the pirate who carefully avoided any eye contact.
"Yes, you," said Johnny sternly. "I am looking at you." Johnny hauled him up and into a chair. "So what's the deal?"
"Sneck you," came the reply.
"Fair enough," said Johnny. "I don't have time for this."
He pulled the man's face close staring straight into his eyes. His alpha vision sunk deep, pushing aside anger and confusion, and surprisingly little in the way of fear. This was a man already ready for death. As Johnny pushed further, his quarry realised what was happening. Sensing the invasion in his very mind, he began to panic. Johnny saw his own face staring back at him, tinged with silver spikes of fear, the white-on-white eyes drilling into the man's soul. The hijacker began to struggle, shivering and twisting. His body could spasm and twitch as much as it wanted, Johnny had his eyes.
"What's he doing?" asked Nigel, wide-eyed in astonishment.
"Fascinating," Blarg whispered.
"This can be quite handy," said Wulf.
"What is? What's he doing?" demanded Nigel.
"Some mutations," said Blarg thoughtfully, "can be benign."
"Depends which end of them you're on," said Nigel with a shiver.
Johnny saw a childhood spread out on a number of worlds in the region. He saw a mother with burned skin calling irritably for her son to come to dinner. Erik. His name was Erik. A fa
iled farm on Vaara. Shift work on Tammerfors. A bunk in a Tammerfors flophouse, Erik's home for eight hours a day. Erik's face staring back at him out of a mirror, scarred with terrible, warty volcanoes of suppurating flesh. Johnny saw Erik's naked body in a shower room mirror, covered with similar pox-like abrasions. He saw the price list at the Tammerfors hospital. Full treatment, unavailable on Tammerfors, consisted of gene therapy and a new full-body skin graft, custom-grown. If you got it done on Mars, it would cost you a fortune. Lesser treatments were a lot cheaper. Erik had taken the cheapest option available locally. Laser surgery was done to remove the worst of the infected nodes; he still remembered the searing pain and the burning flesh. Then complete removal of the skin on his hands, and its replacement with baby-soft new skin grown from a vat. His face was more trouble. They did what they could with the sides up to the cheekbones. The nose was easy, and the lower face, jaw and neck were a picnic. But not even Dr Malcolm would go near the eyes.
He saw a younger Dr Malcolm with a lot more hair, in the distance, kissing a beautiful blonde goodbye at a door. He remembered the blonde had been an ugly hag when she first arrived. He loved Dr Malcolm for his skill, but hated him for his price. He remembered the one conversation they had had, when Malcolm assured him in his calming, bedside way, that he could be helped, but not here, not with his insurance.
Erik was a mutant; he didn't have insurance! All he had was cash, but not enough of it. He worked two shifts a day, and then three, buying time in a sleep machine instead of a real bed. The high sleep costs hardly seemed to make the extra work worth it, so one day he did the maths. He was still years away from the operation - years away from standing a chance of passing for pure, of being a real human. Mutie girls liked him. They loved him when all they saw was his hands and neck. Publically, he passed as human, but not in private. He wanted it all. He wanted to be human. He wanted a social security number and a day-job and two point four children with the right number of fingers. And as time went by, he realised that the only way to achieve this goal was to live for a while on the other side of the law.
Tuka was the main man. Tuka was the source. He had to deal drugs for two years before he got to meet him, but Tuka was the sneck. Way Tuka told it, he had a hotline straight to Alnitak himself.
So this was Tuka. The information was crystal clear. Years after Erik first shook his hand, the memory of meeting him was present in his mind like it was yesterday. It had been the high point of Erik's life to date. Erik knew he was on his way, and he had replayed it over and over again in his mind. Tuka was a man with supermodel looks: tall, gorgeously handsome, with a curtain of fine blonde hair falling over his deep blue eyes. Tuka with his perfect skin and his six-pack abs. Erik wanted to be him. Erik wanted to be him big-time and Tuka told him that anything was possible. He had smiled and offered him fine wine and delicacies modelled on those of old Earth. There were drugs and pastries on offer from far-flung corners of the galaxy, and he'd eagerly accepted a place in the organisation. Tuka got him better deals and stronger dope. Tuka made him enemies in high places, and congratulated him when he dealt with them with extreme prejudice. He had participated in hotel room stings where rich clients woke up minus a kidney. Wholesale transplants and gene alterations were on sale to help muties like him trying for a better life.
The insight was almost enough to break Johnny's stare, but he stayed locked on Erik's eyes while his own body twitched involuntarily, recoiling as if from something painful. For him it was. Even for Erik it was, as Johnny dredged up memories Erik had left forgotten. He had laughed at them in the bars with his shipmates, or doped them away with shots of illegal substances, but they were still there, lurking deep in the recesses of his mind. A weeping girl, her dress ripped just enough to show the scales on her back that identified her as a mutant attempting to pass. She was banging her fist on the window of an airlock, her eye make-up in black streaks down the pink skin of her face, begging silently for mercy through the thick metal hatch. Johnny could see a hand, Erik's own, throwing the outer button, the blackness of space opening behind her. She clung on, gasping for air for maybe a second while the other airlock occupants were sucked out into the vacuum, before one hand clutched at an eye in pain, and the other eye exploded out of its socket. She lost her grip and tumbled out into the void, tailing a red mist of boiling blood.
Then Johnny saw the others; the pure humans who had been saved the fate of the mutants. No chump-dumping for them, instead they went to the body sharks. Sometimes it was best to keep them alive while their organs were removed. Best for the organs, not the people they came from. Erik remembered the screams. He remembered the screams when he closed the door and went looking for somewhere to wash.
Erik's body was shaking violently now, tears streaming from his eyes. He kept forgetting to breathe, gasping in short spurts which caused his face to go redder by the second.
"Come on," growled Johnny. "Show me the money."
Erik sobbed, mumbling something incoherent, his tone pleading, desperate, but Johnny kept staring, looking for more recent events; the thing that had brought Erik here. Erik understood that someone had invaded his mind in search of something. He had thought it was evidence of the chump-dumping and body sharking, but it wasn't. Tuka's on the other ship, take him. Ask him. The man with the white eyes was looking for something else, looking for a much more recent secret. It seemed so inconsequential in comparison to the things Johnny had already seen.
"So tell me," hissed Johnny, his voice coming from both inside and outside Erik's head.
Sneck you, thought Erik. Sneck you and the horse you rode in on. It's none of your business. You can do whatever you want. Yeah, I've got skeletons in my closet but who hasn't? I'll never talk, I'll never tell you about the-
"Holy sneck," whispered Johnny, dropping Erik in surprise. The tortured pirate collapsed to the ground, curled into a ball, and was worryingly still.
All Johnny had were images, but they told a story of their own. Two ships, the China and the Sherman, hijacked mid-flight by the pirates. They would ransom the high-end passengers, send the poor to the organ shops, and anyone who wasn't worth the trouble would be sent to the airlock. The cargo would be fenced, of course, and the ships' final fates would be determined. Erik was just a minion, he didn't know where they were going, but he had built an image in his head: a white, snowy plain, stretching away into infinity. And rising out of it something quite incredible.
"Oh my," said Isaiah, his big eye close to the spectrometer.
"What is it?" said Wulf.
"There is something down there, on Kajaani."
"There can't be," said Nigel. "It's just a rock."
The China was just a civilian vessel, but it still had a few useful tools that Isaiah could use. He targeted one of the ship's cameras on the area in question and bumped up the magnification as far as it would go.
"No, no, he's right," said Wulf. "There is a... shape on the surface."
"A tetrahedron," said Isaiah over the intercom. "A massive regular solid, in metal."
"A what?" said Wulf. "What is this thing?"
Johnny didn't even turn around to look. The camera locked on and patched through its pictures to the virtual windows in the bar area. Cries of surprise rose up from the lower bar as the civilians saw what was in their grasp.
"A pyramid," said Johnny. "A giant, golden pyramid."
LIFELESS
"We are going to need blankets," said Wulf, holstering his gun that Blarg had recovered for him.
"You tired already?" asked Squid.
"No, not for der sleeping, for der staying alive."
"Oh, please," said Blarg. "I brought a big coat, that should be enough."
Wulf chuckled. "Not if you were my worst enemy," he said, "would I agree to that." Upon reflection, he had quite a few worst enemies that he would happily watch freezing to death. But technically, if someone were his worst enemy, he would prefer to fry them on a giant skillet.
Wulf pointed
down at the surface of Kajaani. Even with the star filters up to full, it was a white, featureless plain of ice. "We are looking at der night temperatures of minus forty, jah? Minus forty. Do you know what that is like?"
"Wait!" whined Squid. "You said that the place was heating up! Why's it so cold?"
Johnny took a slow breath and willed himself not start slapping people. "Because," he said slowly. "The temperature is fluctuating."
"Along with the star," said Blarg.
Isaiah had dug up figures from the ship's computer library. Last time a survey was done in the Kajaani system two years earlier, it was significantly colder. Despite the low temperatures on the surface by their standards, they were looking at a local heatwave.
"Yes, yes," said Blarg. "I imagine it is very, very cold. I will wear gloves."
"You will wear mittens," said Wulf. "You want a hood that covers your head. You want a face mask. You want to be dressed like you are going out for a snecking space walk."
"You mean stuff like this?" said the Boy. He was holding up thick fibre overalls that had once been quite colourful.
"Where did you find those?" asked Johnny.
"I'm not stupid," said the Boy. "I figured if they were planning a trip to the surface, they'd have the kit they needed."
"So you checked their rooms?"
"Snecking A, I did. They had six of these."
Johnny grabbed the clothes for a closer look. The Boy beamed at him proudly. They were rough to the touch, smeared with a dry white paste.
"What is this stuff?" said Wulf. "Correcting fluid?"
"Something like that," said Johnny. He scratched the surface until some flaked off, revealing the original bright yellow colour of the suit.
"Yellow?" asked the Boy.
"Yeah," nodded Johnny. It was the safest colour in the world. It shows up at night and is even visible in the snow.
"So why paint it white?" asked Wulf.
"Because they've got the safest snow gear money can buy," Johnny explained, "and they've camouflaged it."
"They don't want to be seen?" asked the Boy.
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