by Jaspre Bark
"To be honest, we don't know him very well at all," Johnny admitted. "He was mainly a tactician. He rallied the troops when our generals were imprisoned after the Siege of Upminster failed, but he didn't see much activity on the front line due to his condition. He took control of what was left of the Mutant Army after Middenface and I left."
"That would have been just before he led our people to Miltonia," said Grinling with great reverence. "He named it after the ghetto we had left, so we should never forget our humble origins. We owe him so much. He is the founder of our people. But his condition, as you called it, has rather incapacitated him of late. He speaks through an advocate at all times now."
The limousine slowed down as it turned off the spaceport freeway and pulled into the centre of Clacton Fuzzville. Johnny looked out of the window at the grand buildings with their ornate architecture. It was a far cry from the ruined streets of the Milton Keynes he had known as a seventeen year-old lieutenant in the Mutant Army. Another crowd had gathered along the main boulevard that ran straight up to the presidential palace.
His stoic expression didn't betray it, but Johnny felt very uneasy about all the attention he and Middenface were attracting. For one thing, they had lost the element of surprise. Kit would have been tipped off about their arrival the minute it hit the news, and would already be in hiding. He would have had plenty of time to cover his tracks, too.
Worse still, he could be planning a pre-emptive strike on Johnny and Middenface; to take them both out before they even got a chance to come after him. Thanks to all the unwelcome publicity, he would now know exactly where both the S/D agents were.
"I hope you gentlemen won't mind if I put the roof down. The crowds at the palace gates are eager to catch a glimpse of our celebrated war heroes." Grinling leaned in confidentially to his two guests, his smile becoming apologetic but no less charming. "I'm afraid I have one request, though. Could you both remove your badges before the crowd sees you? President Leadbetter is very pleased to honour his old comrades, but it wouldn't look good for the image of his administration if he is seen to entertain Search and Destroy agents."
"Aye, that's right," grumbled Middenface. "Things aren't aw that different on this planet after aw. We're still considered scum for takin' on the jobs naebody else has the guts tae dae."
"I'm sorry to agree with you," said Grinling. "But most Miltonians believe that your profession projects a negative image of the mutant community. The president is offering you full hospitality and cooperation as long as you are sensitive to this little matter."
Johnny put a placatory hand on Middenface's shoulder, the way he often did when it looked like his partner's anger would get the better of him. "Take the badge off, Middenface," he said. "The less anyone knows about our reasons for being here, the easier our job's going to be."
Middenface snorted his objection, but he took his badge off all the same.
Grinling pressed another button, and the seemingly seamless plexiglass dome that covered the top of the limousine suddenly developed a split down the middle. The two halves of the dome receded slowly into the vehicle's sides, leaving Johnny and Middenface open to the full scrutiny of the crowd. The moment everyone caught sight of the pair, they let up a huge cheer and began to surge forward. A chain of soldiers, arms linked, strained to hold them back.
Johnny scanned the crowd for suspicious activity, chillingly aware that Kit could be any one of them. There was no way to guess what form an identity thief might take; that was what made their adversary so dangerous. Johnny and Middenface would have to be constantly on their guard. They could meet him at any time, in any place. They could even meet him at the palace. They could shake his hand, meet his eyes, and never know that he was sizing them up for a bullet in the back. All Johnny could trust were his instincts, and his undeniable talent for hunting down and capturing fugitive lawbreakers.
As the limousine finally reached the gates of the presidential palace, Johnny spotted a small group of old war veterans from the Fennsman Division of the Mutant Army. Above their heads was a holo-banner. The computer-generated, holographic image of a canvas banner fluttered in an imaginary breeze, and displayed the words: "REMEMBER GEORGE INCE!" For a moment, Johnny did just that. He cast his mind back to the escape he, Middenface and the other captured generals had made from Upminster Prison following the failed capture of Upminster Palace. The captured shuttle they were fleeing in had been hit by one of the spooker attack ships pursuing them, and they had been forced to crash land. That was when George, better known as General Clacton Fuzz, had become the last great martyr to the mutant cause.
Johnny recalled how the general had been hit by incendiary fire from one of the spookers as they were running for the cover of a disused blast shelter. The thick black hairs that covered every inch of Clacton Fuzz's face and body were quickly engulfed in flames. He went down fighting. His last act was to take out the spooker with a single shot, screaming, "Muties forever!" as he did. Johnny wondered what his old comrade would have made of Clacton Fuzzville, the city named after him. Would he have been plagued with the same unease that Johnny was? Would he, like Johnny, have found it all a little too good to be true?
"I'm afraid this is where I say goodbye, gentlemen." Grinling smiled graciously and shook Johnny and Middenface's hands again, clasping each of their hands between two of his.
They were standing in the middle of a huge antechamber on the ground floor of the palace. Johnny had been too lost in thought to register his surroundings as Grinling had led them down several long corridors, giving them a potted history of the palace's construction and pointing out architectural details that were of particular note.
As well as remembering his fallen comrade, Johnny had also been casing the palace for anything suspicious; checking for concealed corners from which an assassin might spring, and scanning each of the guards they passed for any sign that they were not who they pretended to be. As Grinling said his farewells, however, he snapped back to attention.
Grinling motioned to the large transparent tube behind them. "This is the special lift to the presidential quarters. I'm afraid I don't have the security clearance to ride it with you, but these gentlemen," Grinling motioned to the two guards stationed beside the lift, "will take you up."
"No, they won't," said Johnny, placing his hand on his holster.
"It's official policy," Grinling said reassuringly. "A simple matter of decorum."
"I don't care," said Johnny. "We're not getting in a confined space with two armed men we don't know. If the president wants to see us, we ride up alone. Otherwise, we can walk outside and explain to the press why we snubbed him."
"Well, we wouldn't want that. Maybe we can come to an arrangement."
Grinling looked to the guards for guidance. The guards gave Johnny and Middenface the once-over.
"Whit d'ye think ye're looking at?" growled Middenface.
The head guard looked back at Grinling and gave a curt nod. Grinling gave his most winning smile, and took his leave.
The guards demanded that Johnny and Middenface relinquish their weapons, and they reluctantly complied. After that, there were no more objections. They were given the clearance codes to reach the presidential floor, and stepped into the lift.
When the doors opened again, they found their way blocked by two more guards.
They were about to start arguing when an officious voice barked, "It's all right, they're expected!" The guards stood to one side, and Johnny and Middenface could see the voice's owner as he marched up to them. He was a short, uniformed mutant with a forehead twice the size of the rest of his head. Four sets of eyes, each of them a different colour, looked down a small, pinched nose at the new arrivals as he came to attention in front of them.
"I am General Rising," said the mutant. "Head of Miltonia's armed forces. I understand you refused an escort." Obviously, the guards below had radioed ahead.
Johnny had seen General Rising's type before. He could tell from
his supercilious manner and the way he held himself that he was no man of combat. He was a deskbound career soldier, the type who was happy to sign orders that saw men go to their deaths, but not to accompany them.
"The presidential guard are under instructions to let nobody past this point without a military escort," said Rising. "However ill-advised I consider it to be for the president to consort with bounty hunters, that task, it would seem, now falls to me."
Johnny could feel Middenface bristling palpably beside him. Before either of them could reply, though, the general turned on his heel and marched down a marble-lined corridor.
They followed him into the president's inner sanctum.
It was the president's eyes that Johnny noticed first. There was a sense of sadness about them, like he was pleading. They were the only things about President Leadbetter that he recognised.
Like most members of the Mutant Army, Leonard Leadbetter had a nickname. A mutie moniker, given to him by his own kind, that set him apart from the norms. Leonard had been known as the Ooze, on account of the liquefaction of parts of his body. It seemed as though this liquefaction had reached its apotheosis.
There, in the centre of the inner sanctum, in a large, round nutrient tank like an upturned dome mounted on a gold pedestal, two eyes floated in a giant puddle of sentient protoplasm.
This was the most powerful being on Miltonia: Leonard Leadbetter, the beloved President Ooze.
CHAPTER FIVE
ASSASSINATION
"Ooze, me auld mucker," said Middenface, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Nice tae see ye. Ye're looking well. Yer colour's good!" He strode up to the tank, his hand outstretched, before realising what he was doing and turned the proffered handshake into an embarrassed little wave. Johnny just nodded and smiled.
A small jet of bubbles streamed to the top of Leonard Leadbetter's mass, but Middenface didn't know if this was a greeting or just a random fluctuation in the fluid. The Ooze's eyes didn't give anything away either. They just stared up at the visitors and drifted serenely.
"The president returns the compliment. He says it has been too long."
The reedy voice drew Middenface's attention to the room's other occupant: a short, slight mutant who wore an immaculate black suit and stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. His skin was pale in contrast to the suit and jet-black hair, which was scraped back from his forehead. The only outward sign of his mutancy was a deformed nose, but this was prominent enough. It was huge; wider by far than the face from which it grew. It had at least three nostrils - there may have been more concealed beneath its irregular bulges - and, wherever it came to a point, it glowed a sickly red. Middenface had seen many, many examples of the random chaos that strontium exposure could wreak upon the human form, but still he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from that misshapen nose. It drew attention like a magnet.
"Johnson," the mutant introduced himself, stepping forward and shaking hands. "Official advocate for President Leadbetter. You may call me Nose Job."
"Yeah," said Middenface. "I thought we might."
"Before we proceed, may I ask you to be careful with your eyes," Nose Job said.
Middenface realised that he was staring again and he jolted his head up. However, the remark had been aimed at Johnny.
Nose Job Johnson indicated to a cluster of machines at the head of the nutrient tank. "If you were to unleash your alpha radiation in the vicinity of the presidential vat, I'm afraid it would interfere with its rather delicate life-support equipment."
"Of course," said Johnny graciously.
"It is a great privilege to be invited into this chamber. The president thinks very highly of you both. I believe you fought together in the Mutant War." There was no trace of warmth in Nose Job's voice, but no hostility either. His tones were clipped and efficient.
"So yer the Ooze's new mouthpiece?" said Middenface, in an attempt to shift the conversation onto a more friendly footing.
"Hardly new," said Nose Job. "I have represented the president for almost ten years now."
"Dae ye still have tae go through that whole business o' injecting a part o' him into yer brain so as he can talk tae ye?"
"Nothing so onerous," said Nose Job. "Our scientists have refined the process, and now I can simply ingest a portion of the president's essence at fortnightly intervals. The telepathic link thus established is far stronger and has a much greater range than that provided by the old method."
"I wish we had time to sit down and talk about the old days," Johnny intervened. "But Middenface and I are here on an urgent mission."
"Yes," said Nose Job, "the president is aware of that. You have a warrant for the arrest of Kit Jones, alias Identi Kit, and you believe he is here on Miltonia."
"Drokk," hissed Middenface under his breath. "Can we no gae anywhere these days wi'out the whole world knowin' oor business before we even get there?"
"It wasn't hard to guess," said Nose Job. "Even without the report we received from Customs and Immigration. We may keep ourselves to ourselves on Miltonia, but we have heard about Identi Kit's escape from custody."
Something about Nose Job's body language must have alerted Johnny to the truth behind his words. "And you know he's here, don't you? You've seen him!" he said sharply.
Nose Job sighed and his head sank, which only drew Middenface's attention to the fact that his prodigious nose was as long as it was wide. The presidential advocate did not, however, answer the question. Instead, he glanced up at General Rising who was standing to attention in the doorway, and a meaningful look passed between them.
"Ah knew it!" growled Middenface. "Ah knew ah shouldae decked that stony-faced git sooner. If he hadn't kept us... Whit's happened?" He didn't know whether to address the question to Nose Job or to the Ooze himself, so he ended up aiming it awkwardly into the air between them. "Whit's that scunner been up tae?"
Nose Job cleared his throat. "The president thinks it would be best if I were to let you see for yourself. Would you follow me, please?"
They rode the lift back down to the ground floor, and beyond. Johnny didn't complain this time about sharing the confined space. If the Ooze trusted Nose Job Johnson, that was good enough for him and, although Rising was a different matter, an alpha scan revealed that the most deadly weapon in his possession was a pen.
The two bodyguards were still at their posts and they glared searchingly at Johnny and Middenface through the transparent tube as they passed.
They alighted on the third and lowest sublevel, and Nose Job led them down another maze of corridors. Evidently, this part of the palace didn't see much use. There was nobody around and the wall-mounted lights only activated when their sensors detected individuals in their proximity, so the for of them were always at the centre of their own travelling light bubble. There was a chill in the air and a taste of dust, and their footsteps rang off the concrete floor and echoed back at them until it sounded like they were being followed by an army of ghosts.
The foursome came to a concrete door, and Nose Job produced a plastic key card that he ran through the electronic lock. Johnny had already scanned the room beyond; unlikely as this was to be a trap, experience had taught him to err on the side of caution. Therefore, he was prepared when Nose Job cracked the heavy door open and a cloud of cold air rolled out into the corridor. Middenface, caught unawares, shuddered, stamped his booted feet and clapped at his upper arms.
It was precisely because Johnny knew what to expect, however, that he was reluctant to step into the cold room. He felt as if a clawed hand had reached into his stomach, bundled up his intestines, and squeezed. No matter how much death he saw, he reflected glumly, he never quite became inured to it - especially not to the death of a friend.
The body lay on a bier in the centre of the mausoleum, its hands clasped over its chest. It was draped in the red and black Miltonian flag. Although its head was covered, Johnny had already made out the shape of antlers beneath the cloth.
/> They approached the bier in respectful silence, and Middenface winced as Nose Job gently folded back the flag.
From the neck downwards, Moosehead McGuffin could have been any normal human being, but as Middenface had once joked, the rest of him looked like something you'd find on the wall of a hunting lodge. The joke hadn't gone down particularly well because Middenface hadn't known at the time that Moosehead's norm parents, revolted by their offspring, had sold him to a hunting fanatic who'd had exactly that fate in mind for him.
Moosehead had never talked much about that time. He once said, though, that every important lesson he had learned about hunting and survival had begun in the extensive forested grounds of his new owner, a younger brother of King Clarkie the Second. Against all odds, and thanks to a groundsman's negligence, the half-starved mutant had escaped to be taken in by General Armz's Salisbury camp near the ruins of Stonehenge. As a scout in the Mutant War, he had excelled, and later, like so many other soldiers in the Mutant Army, Moosehead had joined the S/D Agency and put his hard-won skills to the task of hunting down criminals with prices on their heads.
It hardly seemed fair that Moosehead's life should end like this, when he must have thought his struggles were finally behind him. But then, the life of a Strontium Dog wasn't one you could just walk away from, and none of them knew from where or when that fateful bullet would come.
"How did it happen?" asked Johnny.
"A Westinghouse," said Nose Job. "Single shot to the heart."
Johnny already knew that; he had seen the telltale burn pattern on Moosehead's chest. "I mean, how did Kit get into the palace?"
"Dae ye really need tae ask?" put in Middenface. "He couldae looked like anyone: Nose Job, the general here, one o' the guards... He couldae slithered in under the door disguised as the president himself if he'd a mind tae."
