"Quickly, Johnny," shouted Wulf.
Johnny pulled himself up one-handed, his muscles straining, a ball of pain concentrating somewhere in his bicep. But he was up, bracing himself against the railing and extended his hand down to Wulf. Wulf sprang up to grab at Johnny's hands, letting Johnny pull him up a few feet until he could grab the railing himself.
"Hey," called a voice to little effect. "You can't do that."
Wulf's giant hand slapped onto the top of the balcony with exaggerated relief and the Viking was able to vault onto the departures floor.
"There are stairs, you know," an angry security guard shouted up at them from the floor below.
"Sneck off!" shouted Johnny, really not in the mood.
Wulf pelted across the departures floor, drifting slightly to the left as he looked down to check the numbers on his ticket.
"This way!" he yelled, pointing at one of the docking connectors. Outside, through the large observation windows, he could see the steam rising from a space ship ready for launch.
A sign above the docking tube was flashing ominous red letters, ending with a universal icon - a red disc around a white bar signifying No Entry. Below the sign, the heavy steel gate was sliding down.
"Come on!" shouted Wulf, grabbing the gate. It was heavier than he had expected. He staggered beneath its mass, hefting it back with all his might. It pressed down on him with inexorable force, but from somewhere in the walls there came the whine of tortured hydraulics. Somewhere above Wulf's head, a proximity alarm began beeping.
Johnny sprinted across the hall and under the gate, sliding down the docking tube like a baseball player skidding for home. His companion safely through, Wulf let go of the gate, which crashed down towards the floor with pent-up force.
The two men sprinted for the finish line, the iris of the vessel's outer lock slowly closing in front of them. Johnny dove through with the grace of a diver and landed with the poise of a sack of potatoes. Wulf was only a second behind him; he hit the ground rolling and came to a halt by slamming against a bulkhead.
The giant door slammed shut with a clunk of finality. Behind them, greatly muffled by the hull walls, the docking connectors declamped and the tube slowly withdrew. They were safely onboard, gulping for breath like lungfish on a primeval shore.
"Phew," laughed Wulf eventually, his chuckles spaced sporadically around panting gasps for air. "We made it!"
For the first time in days, Johnny really smiled. "Yeah," he gasped. "We did!" He slapped Wulf on the back in appreciation and drew himself to his feet.
"What is der of-der-clock?" asked Wulf.
Johnny looked at his watch. "Brace yourself," he grinned. "Lift-off in five, four, three..."
From outside came the distant sound of massive engines flaming into life. The low rumble was far less powerful than that off the Mannerheim, but perilously close to them as massive energies were tearing atoms apart and reducing them to pure force. Bright white flames gushed from launch nozzles like wounded suns. Heat strong enough to turn sand into glass pushed with unstoppable force against the immovable solidity of the launch pad. Something had to give way, and it was the mass of the ship itself, rising inch by inch on a column of light. Somewhere, an ensign was reporting to a captain that the first part of the sequence was over, and it was safe to turn on the antigravity. A switch was thrown, and suddenly the ship's speed increased exponentially. It jetted into the sky, riding a hot trail of flames, arcing beautifully into the Tammerfortian sunset.
"Why aren't we moving?" asked Wulf, eventually.
Johnny bit his lip in confusion, watching through the porthole as the ship in the neighbouring docking bay climbed ever higher into the darkening sky.
A bing-bong signified an announcement over the tannoy. A series of squawks and screeches began in Tammerfortian. Nestled among them, quite plainly, was the human word China.
"Wulf," he said with pathological calm. "What docking bay are we in?"
"Ten," protested Wulf. "It said so on der door."
"This is docking bay six," said Johnny. "We're back on the China."
Wulf looked from Johnny to the porthole and back again. He pointed gingerly at the fading spark of the other ship.
"Then..." he began.
"Yes, Wulf," said Johnny. "That is the Sherman."
The tannoy screeched three times, then twice, then once. For a moment the ship was silent, and then the engines screamed into life. Wulf and Johnny looked at each other as the deck beneath their feet began to shake.
SEATLESS
The cabin was cramped and too low to stand in, equipped only with a sink that doubled as a toilet, and a table that folded down from the wall. The only place to sit was on the bed. Nigel hunched against the pillow, leaving just enough room at his feet for the Gronk.
"Normally," said the Gronk, "on a trip, we plays a game."
"I know a game," said Nigel, wearily.
The Gronk blinked eagerly and waited to hear about it.
"It's called 'See Who Can Be Quiet the Longest'. Let's play that," said Nigel.
"Yes," said the Gronk. "That's the game we plays with Mister Johnny. It's great!"
"Okay," said Nigel, closing his eyes.
"Shall we start?"
"Yes," Nigel rolled onto his side. He folded the thin and ineffectual pillow in half then rested his head on it again.
"Now?" asked the Gronk.
"Yes."
There was a knock on the cabin door. The Gronk looked at Nigel in abject fear. Nigel frowned.
"Who is it?" he called. The Gronk punched the air and danced in a small circle, having never won a game of "See Who Can Be Quiet the Longest" before.
"It's me," said Johnny. "Open up."
Nigel was off the bed immediately, fumbling for the lock, and tugging the door open.
"What the sneck-?" he began.
"Minor mix-up," said Johnny, marching into the cabin. His silhouette looked different, the usual bulk of the Westinghouse at his side now gone. He was immediately forced to come to a halt. Wulf marched in behind him and was similarly stumped by the room's small size.
"Close the door," ordered Johnny. By sidling carefully around the Viking, Nigel was able to flick his hand towards the door and ease it shut.
"Where's your gun?" asked Nigel.
"Locked in the purser's safe," scowled Johnny. "All of them!" he added, his fingers gesturing at several points on his body where he stowed his surprises. Johnny wouldn't see his guns again until they reached Mars.
"Mine, too!" said Wulf. "We are lucky they are remembering us from der Vaara trip, otherwise we would be locked up. We are practically stowaways."
"Shouldn't you be on a completely different ship?" asked Nigel.
"Yes, Nige," said Johnny. "Top of the class, thank you."
Three men and a Gronk eyed each other in the extremely cramped space.
"We can't spend the whole voyage like this," said Johnny after a moment.
Wulf fished in his pocket for the very last of his cash; two humble credits.
"Then we must drink," said Wulf.
For the duration of the ride out from Tammerfors, the China's cameras worked in real-time because there was so much to see. There was no prerecorded nonsense like on the trip from Vaara. At least, not until the China reached a warp portal.
The black saucer of the Mannerheim had no difficulty keeping up with the Sherman and the China. Once the ships were clear of the atmosphere and cruising a mere mile or so apart, the Mannerheim put on a show. It darted to within a few hundred metres of the Sherman, as if checking the irregular-shaped freighter for fleas before speeding back over to the China to do likewise. There were excited oohs and ahs in the bar area at the sight of such a huge vessel leaping around in space.
Even Wulf was unable to resist the occasional glance up at the screens. Johnny ignored them completely. It wasn't worth the headache. He noticed instead the sound of a chair leg scraping on the floor. It went on for slightly longe
r than expected, enough to attract the attention of men used to getting into fights. But it turned out to be nothing, just someone moving a chair to make space for a wheelchair. Johnny turned back to the table without a second thought.
Wulf paused, his tilted beer blocking half his vision with foam and fizz. Directly in front of him, barely two tables away, a large, lumbering youth was sulkily pushing a wheelchair into a newly made space. Sitting in the chair with a contented smile on his face was a wizened man with one eye significantly larger than the other. It was Isaiah from the pawnshop. As Isaiah's legs slid under the table, Wulf caught a glance at what was on his lap.
"Johnny," he hissed.
Johnny looked over at him.
"That man over there, in der chair with the wheels. He is the one from der store where I sold-but-did-not-sell der Happy Stick."
Johnny glanced over.
"He has something on his lap shaped very much like a Happy Stick wrapped in a towel."
Johnny looked through the table, staring hard until the towelling cloth around the package disappeared. Wulf watched his friend hopefully.
"Yes," said Johnny. "He's got it."
Wulf was on his feet before Johnny finished talking, making a beeline straight for the other table. Isaiah suddenly looked around him, his hands clutching at the rims of his wheels, but he knew there was nowhere to run.
"What are you doing here?" said Wulf. The force in his voice trailed away as he neared - he couldn't bring himself to get angry with a man in a wheelchair.
"Well," Isaiah looked sheepish. "In my line of work, you develop a sixth sense about these things."
"About what things?"
"About whether or not someone is coming back."
"What are you meaning?"
"I am meaning," said Isaiah with an indulgent smile, "that you looked like the kind of customer out to sell anything he could, take the money and run."
Wulf bristled in annoyance.
"I would not desert my Happy Stick," he said, frowning.
"Then why are you on this ship?"
Wulf spluttered. "Because," he said, flailing for an appropriate explanation.
"Because something came up." Johnny came to stand at Wulf's shoulder, the two bulky bounty hunters glowering down at the man in the chair.
"Sure," said Isaiah. "But how would you get back to Tammerfors in time to buy this back off me? Even if you had the money."
"Hey," said Wulf. "What are you doing on this ship? What if I went back to your shop right now? You wouldn't be there to sell it back to me."
"This artefact," said Isaiah, "is a good enough reason to head back to the Sol System."
"That is not der satisfactory answer," said Wulf. "And der Happy Stick is only of sentimental value."
"This?" said Isaiah, patting the package. "This is worth a lot of money. You think I give several thousand creds to everyone who walks off the street?"
"All the same," said Johnny. "We'd like to buy it back."
"This is going up for auction on Earth," said Isaiah. "Feel free to bid. I wouldn't be surprised if it starts at a million."
"But we don't have that kind of money," growled Wulf.
"You can still buy it out of hock," said Isaiah. "I prefer not to sell it back to you, of course, but even I have scruples."
"What will that cost me?" asked Wulf. He took a seat at Isaiah's table, leaning across intently.
"Eleven thousand."
Wulf looked down at his beer. "I don't have that kind of money either."
"Hey," said Isaiah. "You've got until I reach Earth." He patted the Viking on the arm. The Boy observed Wulf warily, as if expecting him to try something. But Wulf had pawned the Happy Stick fair and square. He wasn't about to become a criminal to get it back. He shot a sidelong glance at Johnny, worried that his partner might still be thinking of living on the other side of the law.
"Don't worry, Wulf," said Johnny. "We'll get it back."
The Boy tensed visibly and Johnny looked him up and down with an annoyed expression. "Legally," he insisted.
"It is only a hammer," said Wulf after a while.
"Yes," said Isaiah, "but it has a history. History is important to people out here."
"Have they got one?" asked Johnny.
"Jah," chuckled Wulf. "Leave Earth. Go to horrible place. Wish we hadn't left. Does that cover it?"
Isaiah smiled. "You see," he said, "that's why it's so important to them. It's what they are."
"Losers?" asked Johnny, resigning himself to taking a seat of his own.
"Survivors," said Isaiah. He looked up at the screens overhead, ignoring the darting Mannerheim and concentrating instead on the stars. He pointed up at two red dots sparkling towards galactic north.
"See that binary system?" he said. "That's Acrux. Twin suns, and orbiting one of the twin suns is a binary planetary system. Two worlds that orbit each other. Binary planets in a binary star system."
Wulf and Johnny stared at Isaiah blankly, each wondering if they were supposed to be impressed. They had seen a lot in their time.
"Nothing?" said Isaiah. "Okay, then." He swivelled in his wheelchair, forcing the Boy to back off slightly so he could look at a different part of the dome.
"How about there?" he said, pointing. This time there was no mistaking what he was pointing out. A cluster of stars sat close together and several had what appeared to be rings around them. Even though the China was in space and there was no atmosphere to make them appear to twinkle, for some reason the stars sputtered and spat as if they were being fried.
"See the rings?" said Isaiah. "Nova residue. That's the Nozomi cluster. Every one of them unstable. Turn up on the wrong day and you could be in the middle of a supernova."
"Still," said Wulf, "they are pretty."
Johnny leaned back in his seat and looked across the bar. Isaiah meant well, but he was starting to bore him. He wondered if he should take something back for Nigel and the Gronk.
"They were the first of the Baltic nebula to be settled. And evacuated," said Isaiah. "You know. The Kulta thing."
"The what?"
"The marauder. The emperor of a dozen stars."
"Never heard of him," said Wulf.
"Of course not," said Isaiah. "It was only, like, a hundred years ago, back during the early diaspora. People were too busy staying alive and terraforming and whatnot to give much of a sneck. And the dozen stars he ruled... well," he laughed explosively with his cheeks, "they were the Nozomis. Nobody lives there anymore. Nobody cares."
"So why should we?" said Johnny wryly.
"Because," said Isaiah, his eyes shining with an eager asymmetrical light, "people like stories. 'Emperor of a dozen stars', well whoop-de-doo," he said sarcastically, mimicking Johny's disinterested posture. "He was a conqueror. He was a pirate. He fought battles and ruled many worlds."
"He did?"
"Well, he extorted bribes from several planets."
"What a guy," said Johnny flatly.
"But that's the thing," said Isaiah, leaning in close. "In a hundred, two hundred years' time, someone will write a book about him. He'll get his own movie or something. He'll stop being some outworld thug and he'll become a romantic hero. It'll be interesting. It'll be history. They'll build a museum or a theme park or something in his honour. Tourists will visit in hordes."
"Come see the sight of the 2055 massacre," said Johnny, imagining the ad copy. "A rape and pillage theme park, perhaps?"
"Today's criminals are tomorrow's heroes," said Isaiah. Even he could see the way the temperature dropped around the table.
"Is that so?" frowned Wulf.
"Take the Vikings," said Isaiah, clutching at straws.
"We only robbed from people who deserved it," protested Wulf. "And Swedes."
"Is there still a bounty out on this... Kulta?" asked Johnny, suddenly smelling work.
Isaiah chuckled. "No," he smiled. "He was a human; he had three-score years and ten. He's dead. You've got as much ch
ance of catching snecking Alnitak."
"So what's the snecking big deal?" said Johnny, bristling at the inadvertent insult.
"They say," said Isaiah. "They say that when Kulta died he was buried in a gigantic tomb on Kajaani. A golden pyramid, in that star cluster."
"Oooh," said Wulf.
Johnny simply shook his head. Isaiah, who was used to skeptics, simply wagged an admonishing finger at him.
"But," added Wulf sagely, "we do not be chasing after der wild ducks. No."
"You don't think it's true," said Isaiah.
Johnny shrugged. He had seen enough in his life to know that anything was possible.
"Me neither," said Isaiah, much to everyone's surprise. "But it doesn't matter if it's true or not. What matters is the story. There's no such thing as vampires, either!"
Johnny and Wulf exchanged a silent glance.
"No vampires," continued Isaiah, oblivious, "but Dracula still gets the movies and the holiday tours and everything."
"You want a tourist visit to a star system that could go nova at any time?" said Johnny incredulously.
"No," Isaiah looked down. "That's the thing. When the last of those stars go, there will be no evidence any more."
The Mannerheim had finally ceased its sheepdog act and settled into a space between the two vessels. The lack of movement was enough to get Wulf's attention and he looked up at the giant black disc through the bar observation wall. As he watched, the distant Sherman began to shimmer and shake as a cascade of light unfurled around it. Bright points turned into shards and then into streaks as the Sherman appeared to stretch slightly. The camera image fuzzed as the Sherman seemed to coil back on itself, and then suddenly it was gone, rocketing into nothingness and disappearing from human sight.
There were a few appreciative mumblings from passengers who had never seen a ship go into warp before, followed by some worried gasps as the image began to crackle and crease. But similar shards of light were dancing now around the China as she prepared to follow. The black disc of the Mannerheim became hard to see past a relentless strobe of mini meteors, and Wulf could just make out the warship as she peeled away and began to head back to Tammerfors.
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