Day of the Dogs Page 9

  It was Johnny's eyes as much as the knife that made Lamarck his compliant hostage. Although it did help that it was a very large and very sharp carving knife. With it held to his throat, Lamarck had shown Johnny how to access the convict records on the computer and Johnny had then quickly determined the location of Stella Dysh.

  When he'd told Lamarck that they were going to the isolation wing, the man had suddenly shown the first signs of resistance. But after another glimpse of the psychic inferno in Johnny's eyes he had set off with Johnny and was now leading him to the correct area of the sprawling colony.

  Whenever Lamarck looked like he was going to weaken, or remember his sworn duty, Johnny clouted him with the soup ladle, which he'd also taken from the table. As a result, chief warden and commander Lamarck had acquired a number of lumps on his head, although nothing to rival Middenface's crenellated skull.

  Johnny remembered his friend with a flash of affection. He hoped that Middenface was keeping an eye on his instruments for the tell-tale thermal plume of the nuclear explosion that was set to go off in - Johnny checked his watch - approximately twenty-seven minutes.

  "Who are you looking for?" said Lamarck. "Who is it you want to take from my prison?"

  "What difference does it make?" said Johnny. "Do you know every inmate by name?"

  "Naturally not."

  "Well, then," said Johnny. He paused by one of the metal doors that lined the narrow cement tunnels at regular intervals and checked the number on it against the cell number he'd memorised from the prison computer. "Why are we stopping here?" said Lamarck, nervously.

  "Because we've reached our destination."

  "But there are only six cells in this section of the tunnel."

  "And the prisoner I'm looking for is in one of those cells," said Johnny. "Now let's go." He shoved Lamarck through the metal door, but not before the man glanced back at him with a strangely piteous, imploring look. The door opened with a pneumatic sigh and puff of cement dust, allowing them to step into a short section of tunnel, oval in section like an egg standing on its base, painted an unpleasant shade of institutional green with bright oval lights recessed into the wall. The light shone on thick glass doors spaced at regular intervals along the tunnel. In the door nearest to them a tall, powerfully built white man with tattoos all over his body, could be seen, crouched naked, doing what looked like yoga exercises. He didn't look up at them as they walked past.

  "Can't he see us?"

  "No," said Lamarck. "It's one way glass. Or a two way mirror. Or whatever you call it." The man's voice had developed a nervous tremor. "Isn't he the one you're after?"

  "Not by a long shot," said Johnny. "Keep walking." But by now he was virtually having to drag Lamarck along with him. The man had been fairly passive and tractable up until this point, but it seemed that the nearer to Stella Dysh's cell they got, the more unmanageable he became. Maybe the full import of what he was doing was finally hitting home, thought Johnny. After all, Lamarck was betraying everything he stood for by helping a prisoner escape, even under extreme duress.

  "Is it him?" said Lamarck as they passed another prisoner in a cell, a hairy dwarf who was sleeping curled in a foetal bundle on the concrete floor.

  "No," said Johnny. Then they passed another cell, with another male inmate. "Is it him?" gabbled Lamarck. Johnny didn't bother to reply. Another cell, another man.

  "Is it him?" bleated Lamarck, a desperate note of pleading in his voice.

  Johnny ignored him. They passed a fifth cell, with a fifth male convict inside, and when Johnny didn't pause Lamarck let out a small animal cry of pure despair. "What's wrong?" said Johnny.

  "Nothing," stuttered Lamarck. "Just my nerves. I'm only human you know. I don't know about you mutants, but we humans sometimes cry out when emotional stress becomes too much."

  "No," said Johnny. "I meant, what's wrong with the cell door?"

  The circular glass door of the cell was blacked out, the way the light sensitive lenses in sunglasses black out in bright light. "It's nothing. It's the opacity option on the door. You just press a button and it goes away."

  "Then press the button," said Johnny. Lamarck reached up and obediently punched a stud on the wall. The darkness began to fade from the door, like black ink slowly thinning and dispersing in clear water. "Now open it," said Johnny. Lamarck pushed another button and there was a smooth sliding sound followed by a clunking noise and the door shivered and drifted open a whisker.

  "After you," said Lamarck.

  "Nice try," said Johnny, and pushed the man ahead of him into the cell. The slowly clearing door was still impossible to see through, so Johnny and Lamarck were just as surprised as the occupants of the cell when they stepped inside.

  Stella Dysh was in the cell all right. She was a tall, skinny woman with lacklustre, and rather tangled, red hair that looked as if she had lost interest in combing it half way through. It hung down in lank strands over a thin face only brightened by a clumsy slash of lipstick that looked as if it had been applied by a child experimenting with make-up for the first time. Peeking through the straggly strands of hair, wide with surprise, Stella's eyes were a dull shade of blue, set in a face too angular for conventional prettiness, but not sufficiently angular to be distinctive or interesting.

  Stella Dysh was simply very plain. The disposable green paper prison overall she was wearing did nothing to flatter a figure that was, in any case, less than alluring. Altogether, Stella was a woman you might forget within seconds of meeting her.

  None of this bothered Johnny in the least. He wasn't expecting a vivacious beauty or a fascinating, distinctive ingenue. He knew that Stella's special talents lay elsewhere.

  What did bother Johnny was that she wasn't alone in her cell.

  "You cur!" said Lamarck, spittle flying with his words, when he saw his second in command, Luis Nova-Cruz, sitting with Stella Dysh on her narrow steel bunk.

  Nova Cruz was wearing a red silk cravat with a pattern of white seahorses on it and a quilted jacket of iridescent oriental blue. He was sitting beside Stella and they were both bent over a narrow folding table that was spread with a generous selection of foodstuffs, including marinated octopus, curried shrimps, smoked salmon and a number of other seafood delicacies. There were also several bottles of chilled white wine on the table with white napkins tied around them. Half a dozen different wine glasses stood on the table, some of them already greasy with use, including two that had lurid smears of lipstick from Stella's mouth.

  Nova-Cruz was frozen in the act of pouring wine from a champagne bottle into a fresh glass. The sparkling wine foamed up out of the glass and spilled on his sleeve, soaking it as he stared at Lamarck and Johnny in the doorway.

  "Commander! Mr Alpha! What an unexpected pleasure. I was just interrogating one of our prisoners."

  "Interrogating?" sputtered Lamarck. "Don't try and lie your way out of this one Nova-Cruz. It's clear that what you're actually doing is sexually harassing one of our prisoners."

  Johnny shook his head. He didn't know whether to laugh or groan. One thing was clear to him, whatever was going on in the cell was not sexual harassment. In the far corner of the cell was a large graceful vase containing long delicate blossoms of yellow and purple that looked like attenuated orchids. Beside the vase were several dozen empty bottles of what looked like genuine vintage wine from Earth and brightly coloured twists of discarded wrappers from what had once been numerous bars of organic chocolate.

  This wasn't the scene of some kind of harassment. It was a love nest, and a very sloppily kept one at that. In the other corner of room was a pile of expensive-looking female clothing, shimmery and silky in translucent colours, but obviously worn and dirty and waiting for the wash. His gaze moved on, to take in the primitive toilet and spartan wash basin built into the walls of the cell. The rim of the toilet bowl was hung with what Johnny at first thought was strings of beads, but he then realised were pearl necklaces. The taps on the sink were adorned with a
number of delicate gold and silver chains and bracelets.

  "You're pouring champagne on your sleeve, Luis," said Stella Dysh in a rather croaky and unpleasant voice.

  "How clumsy of me," said Nova-Cruz. He set the bottle of wine down and wiped his sleeve with a white cloth napkin.

  Lamarck was trembling with rage. It seemed he had quite forgotten that he was being held at knifepoint by Johnny and forced to assist in the escape of one of his prisoners. Indeed, his entire attention was focused on Nova-Cruz. "You're not getting away with this, you greasy little varlet. This is the end of your career in penal reform."

  Nova-Cruz turned to Johnny and said, "I am sorry you had to witness this, Mr Alpha. It is a personal matter between myself and the commander, concerning the favours of this luscious, fascinating woman you see here at my side." Then Nova-Cruz noticed the knife Johnny was holding and fell silent. Evidently an apology was no longer necessary. He looked at Johnny with puzzlement in his warm brown eyes. "What is going on?" He rose to his feet, pushing the table gently to one side.

  "Oh, she's a luscious, fascinating woman all right, but she is not yours," hissed Lamarck, standing toe to toe with Nova-Cruz and leaning into his face pugnaciously. "She belongs to someone else. She belongs to a much more worthy man. A man who is worthy of her charms!"

  "That's very flattering of you, Florien," croaked Stella Dysh. "Did you bring me any presents this time? Surely you didn't forget."

  Lamarck turned and stared at her. His voice changed, suddenly becoming frail and querulous and brittle. "Stella," he quavered. "How could you do this to me?"

  "Do what? What are you talking about? As far as I can see, the only injured party here is me. Unless you've got a gift for me concealed about your person that I haven't been able to detect. Or perhaps this gent does."

  She turned and looked at Johnny for the first time, giving him a bold, appraising glance. In the full glow of her attention Johnny realised that there was something about this woman. Something he couldn't identify or name. But in a peculiar, powerful way she was more than the sum of her unprepossessing parts. It wasn't her tangled hair or her colourless face, or her shapeless body under its shapeless garment. It was nothing he could identify or isolate, but she exerted some sort of profound allure to the male psyche. To his psyche. Johnny forced himself to look away from her.

  Lamarck was now shouting at Stella. "Why should I bring you presents? You've already bled me dry."

  "Bled you dry? What nonsense. You've still got most of your pension and several of your children's trust funds."

  "You said you were mine, Stella! You said I filled your every waking thought. You said you couldn't even think of another man..."

  "Oh, I said so many things, Florien." Stella turned to Nova-Cruz. "How about another splash of that fizz, Luis?"

  "Vintage champagne for the princess," said Nova-Cruz cheerfully filling her glass. His gaze flickered to Johnny. "I don't suppose you'd care to join us, Mr Alpha? I could wash a glass for you."

  "Don't bother," said Johnny.

  "Are you sure? It's very good champagne. Anyway, to return to my earlier question, Mr Alpha, what is going on? Why are you holding that knife?"

  "I've taken your commander hostage and I'm forcing him to help me free this prisoner," said Johnny. "Basically it's a jail break."

  "A jail break?" said Nova-Cruz in astonishment. "Free the prisoner? You mean free Stella?" He suddenly rose to his feet in alarm, slopping champagne from his glass.

  "Careful, you're splashing again," said Stella.

  Nova-Cruz stared at Johnny, his brown eyes burning with indignation. "I cannot allow you to do that, Mr Alpha. Stella stays here. She is mine."

  "She is not yours!" cried Lamarck. "She will never be yours." He looked at Stella. "Tell him."

  "Actually," said Stella, "I've been meaning to have a little chat with you about this, Florien. I'm not saying that it wasn't wonderful while it lasted, but I have the feeling our time together has kind of reached a natural end, sort of thing."

  "No, you're not, you're not, you're not," sputtered Lamarck. "You're not leaving me for this unctuous, epicene boulevardier."

  "Now be nice, Florien. Luis is a very sweet and charming man. And let's face it, his family has cash reserves that make yours look positively pitiful."

  "I have money," said Lamarck desperately. "I have money I haven't told you about. I can always get more money. Don't throw yourself into the arms of that primitive. Remember the times we had together, you and I, in this cell. The beautiful things I gave you. Why aren't you wearing the beautiful things I gave you?"

  "Because Luis here likes me to dress up in full prisoner regalia. It gives him some kind of kinky thrill."

  Nova-Cruz glanced at Johnny and shrugged without embarrassment. "I am a man, what can I say? A man has his urges. You understand, Mr Alpha?"

  Johnny checked his watch. Twelve minutes until the detonation. Twelve minutes until Middenface would be arriving from low orbit in his ketch. "I understand that Stella Dysh is getting the hell out of this place," said Johnny, "I'm taking her now. That's what I understand."

  "And what makes you think I want to go anywhere with you?" croaked Stella Dysh.

  "Look Miss Dysh, I'm Johnny Alpha. I'm a Strontium Dog just like you."

  "I know who you are. I recognised you. You've got quite a rep."

  "Good. Here's the deal. We need your special talents. We're organising a manhunt and we want you to join our posse. You'll be extremely well paid for your services and we're throwing in this escape for you free of charge."

  "But who says I want to escape?"

  Johnny felt himself losing his temper. He glanced at his watch again. Only eleven minutes now. "We don't have time for games, Miss Dysh. Put something on your feet and let's go."

  "We're not going anywhere," said Stella. Her voice was like two pieces of broken porcelain grinding together. "I've hardly begun to put the squeeze on these chumps. This is the cushiest gig I ever stumbled onto and I'm not about to leave it. Get lost, mister."

  Johnny checked his watch. Less than ten minutes left now. He reached over and grabbed Stella Dysh, pulling her off her bunk and throwing her over his shoulder. As he did so, both Lamarck and Nova-Cruz reacted as though he'd thrown a switch. They threw themselves on Johnny in a concerted and violent attempt to retrieve the struggling Stella. Holding onto the squirming weight of the woman with one hand, Johnny had to fend the two of them off.

  Nova-Cruz grabbed a wine bottle from the table and swung it at Johnny's head. Johnny knocked it aside with his forearm, receiving a glancing blow along the bone that tightened his teeth with agony. He was still holding the carving knife in his free hand. He reversed it and drove the blunt end of the handle down Nova-Cruz's head, striking the man's skull a resounding blow through his thick black curly hair. Nova-Cruz clutched his head with both hands, sat down on the cot again, turned very pale and fell back onto the pillow where he lay motionless, but breathing deeply.

  Meanwhile Lamarck was attacking Johnny with his bare hands, trying to claw at Johnny's face with his fingernails. Johnny punched him on the point of the jaw and Lamarck collapsed like a sack of laundry, falling onto the cot on top of the stationary Nova-Cruz.

  Johnny looked at the unconscious men for a moment, then turned and carried the struggling and spitting Stella Dysh towards the door of the cell. "At least let me take my jewellery," she snarled. Johnny ignored her, carrying her out of the cell. "What about my stock certificates?" she shrieked as he closed the door behind him, making sure it locked solidly. "What about my bearer bonds?" demanded Stella as he pressed the stud on the wall that he'd seen Lamarck use earlier.

  The glass door of the cell darkened, hiding the men trapped inside. Johnny turned and walked down the corridor, carrying the furious woman on his shoulder, complaining all the way.

  All went smoothly until they got to the maintenance tunnel for the main outer airlock. Even then it might have continued to go smoothly, if Stel
la Dysh hadn't spoiled everything.

  Johnny should have been watching her more carefully, but he hadn't entirely adjusted to the idea that the woman he was rescuing wanted to stay in the prison and was the unwilling subject of an escape attempt.

  There was a work crew in the access tunnel checking power conduits and communications hubs to make sure that they weren't being damaged by damp. Here near the main airlock they were in the outer skin of the prison colony and the vast cold mass of the ocean was only a few metres of concrete away. The chill expanse of the walls constantly wept condensation, which played havoc with even the best insulated electrical components, so a work crew had to be sent out and intervals to inspect them.

  Johnny found the work crew easy enough to avoid, ducking into a side tunnel. Then Stella Dysh, who had for several minutes been behaving herself and apparently co-operating, had let out an ear-splitting screech. The work crew understandably dropped tools and rushed to investigate. By the time they got to the side tunnel Johnny was gone. Carrying Stella, with his hand firmly clasped over her mouth, Johnny bulled his way up an access ladder and struggled through a manhole, dragging Stella every centimetre of the way. He emerged into a corridor he recognised from his arrival. They were near the control room for the main airlock. He was almost at the rendezvous point. He checked his watch and saw that he'd arrived with three minutes to spare.

  Unfortunately, at that moment two heavily armed prison guards walked around the corner. Johnny had momentarily loosened his hold on Stella to look at his watch and she opened her mouth wide and screamed like a banshee. "Help me!" she shrieked. "I'm being kidnapped!" The two guards froze in astonishment for a moment, then snapped into action. The guard nearest Johnny raced towards him, unholstering a sidearm as he ran. The other one took a communicator out of his pocket and urgently summoned backup.

  "Put her down!" yelled the nearest guard. He had his gun out and was squinting as he took aim at Johnny. Johnny didn't give him time to draw a bead. He hefted, balanced, and threw the carving knife in one powerful, graceful motion. The knife tumbled through the air for an instant before hitting the guard in the throat with a horrible chopping sound. The man fell to the floor, clutching at the grotesque piece of metal lodged in his wind pipe. He made a terrible hissing attempt to breathe through the wound, one more sound for Johnny to file away in his gallery of personal nightmares. Then the man stopped breathing and just lay there twitching.