A Fistful of Strontium

by Jaspre Bark

  "If you are referring to the assassination of Minister McGuffin," said the Consoler, "then I assure you he was no innocent. Nevertheless, our organisation was not responsible for his killing, nor for the recent spate of violent protests for which we have been blamed."

  "Doesn't exactly sound like you're condemning them, though," growled Johnny.

  "Hold on," protested Middenface. "If ye did nae do those things, then why did ye admit tae it? We heard ye sent an electronic mail to the palace."

  "I'm afraid you are mistaken. We don't have the means. As you can see, what little technology we have here is very basic, and all powered by steam."

  "It's a smear campaign; an attempt to blacken our name and discredit our cause," said Doubletalk.

  "I can't imagine your cause is particularly popular on Miltonia as it is," said Johnny. "Why would anyone go to such trouble to discredit it?"

  "Leadbetter would," said the Consoler. "It's the perfect way to prop up his brutal regime. The more afraid the general populace is of the terrorist threat that we are supposed to pose, the more they want to see something done about it. His administration has introduced increasingly draconian laws, attacking the civil liberties of every citizen of Miltonia. Discrediting our movement and driving us underground was the first step in establishing Leadbetter and McGuffin's reign of terror."

  "Now just a minute," snarled Middenface, leaping to his feet. "Ah fought alongside both o' those mutants. At times, ma life depended upon them. Ah've just seen an auld comrade laid oot on a slab by one o' yer men. So don't ye start tryin' tae blacken their name in ma presence or ah'll tak' ye doon right here an' ah don't care how many guards come fer me."

  Johnny was used to Middenface's outbursts. Usually he would make a move to curb the worst of their excesses. He'd pulled his partner out of many a bar brawl, and saved countless poor unfortunates from a beating at his hands. This time, however, he had no inclination to hold him back, whatever the consequences to both of them. He didn't like the Consoler's tone any more than Middenface did. His piety reeked of self-righteousness, and his claims about Moosehead and Leadbetter had to be lies. Johnny, too, had fought with both men and he knew them as intimately as only men who have seen combat together can know each other. They simply weren't capable of the crimes of which the Consoler had accused them.

  Doubletalk quailed and practically hid behind his leader. The Consoler, however, raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I am deeply sorry for the loss of your friend," he said. "But once again I assure you that our movement had no part in his assassination. I can understand your strong feelings towards your former comrades, but political power is a great corrupter, and the men you knew are not the men who held and still hold office here on Miltonia."

  "An' whit would ye know aboot it?"

  "I know that, like you, Leadbetter and McGuffin were heroes. They fought to free our kind. I confess I am at a loss to understand how such people could then go on to pass laws that oppress mutants. Nevertheless, that is the situation. Difficult as it may be for you to believe, I'm afraid you will have to accept that your former comrades have changed quite considerably since you knew them."

  "Whit are ye talkin' aboot, 'laws that oppress mutants'?" Middenface demanded suspiciously.

  "Things have not been easy for many of us since Moosehead McGuffin was made Minister for Immigration," said the Consoler. "As I'm sure you both must have discovered by now, a great many Miltonians fear and mistrust norms."

  "Is it any wonder," said Johnny, "considering how they treat us on most worlds?"

  "Maybe not, but here, the prejudice extends to those with only slightly noticeable mutations like your own. It is this attitude that brought Moosehead McGuffin to power five years ago on a raft of hard-line policies. One by one, the rights of anyone who is not heavily mutated have steadily disappeared."

  "So why should ye be bothered?" asked Middenface. "Ye're hardly likely tae suffer any discrimination in yer condition."

  For the first time there was anger in the Consoler's voice. "When innocent people are taken from their homes in the middle of the night; when families are split up and forced to suffer the most brutal conditions in internment camps; when anyone's rights and civil liberties can disappear overnight due to a simple accident of birth; then I think everyone should be concerned. And if we allow these things to happen on our world, then we are all responsible, if not through our direct support, then equally through our inaction."

  "Internment camps?" repeated Johnny, sceptically.

  "One of the first things McGuffin instigated was the widespread building of camps to contain so-called asylum seekers. Anyone who does not have a job when they arrive on Miltonia is classified as such. Even those lucky enough to get through customs are closely monitored, and if they don't find work within a period of three months, they are 'relocated' to a camp while their immigration status is 're-evaluated'. Even those who have lived here for years, if they find themselves unemployed for three months, they can have their visas and work permits revoked. The government can reclassify them as asylum seekers and intern them too."

  "I thought your economy was booming," said Johnny. "Surely there's enough jobs for everyone?"

  "Only if you're the right sort of mutant," said Doubletalk, emerging tentatively from cover.

  "The elite mine owners who run most of the planet are making it almost impossible to gain any kind of employment unless you are quite noticeably mutated," said the Consoler. "This leaves a considerable minority of the population vulnerable and persecuted. It is these people who make up the ranks of our movement. Many escaped captivity or managed to slip through the net before they were taken. We have an underground network of cells operating all over the planet ferrying people to safety. This is why the Miltonian government perceives us as such a threat."

  Johnny looked over at Middenface. He could see the big mutant was getting more and more aggravated. Middenface was a man of action who saw the world in simple opposites and broad definitions. Leadbetter and Moosehead were their friends, and therefore the Consoler had to be lying about them. To him, it was simple.

  Johnny was not so sure. Brainwashed or not, the Consoler was certainly no captive to be rescued and dragged back to Clacton Fuzzville. Nose Job Johnson and General Rising had lied about that, at least. He didn't yet know why, but it didn't much matter. It didn't make him more sympathetic towards the Salvationist cause. Johnny made it a rule not to get involved with local politics, and he wasn't about to break that rule here, of all places. Apart from anything else, he needed to keep on good terms with the authorities. He and Middenface would need their compliance in transporting Kit offworld when they finally caught up with him. Not to mention the fact that they were still holding all the S/D agents' extremely expensive weaponry.

  He eyed the Consoler, thinking about the fifty thousand cred reward for his capture and wondering if they should complete the job anyway. The Consoler was too well-guarded to kidnap, though, and Johnny certainly didn't want to jeopardise the far greater bounty on offer for Kit. He was inclined to leave this one alone.

  "I'm sure you have your reasons for what you're doing," he said. "What I've seen of the Miltonian government hasn't impressed me all that much either. All the same, we came here to do a simple job. We need to capture an escaped felon. You brought us here with the understanding that you would give information that could lead to Identi Kit's apprehension. Are you prepared to give us that information?"

  "I am," said the Consoler, "but with one proviso."

  Johnny nodded and smiled a bitter half-smile. He had expected this. One thing you soon learned when you chased bounties for a living was that no one does anything for free.

  "We're not mercenaries and we aren't hit men," he said, laying out his terms for negotiation. "We don't know anything of importance about the Miltonian government and we probably wouldn't trade you the information if we did. We're bounty hunters, but we are true to our word. Time is of the essence. With every h
our, Identi Kit's trail is growing colder. We need to bag him as soon as possible. Once we have him in our custody, we'd be happy to return the favour you would be doing us."

  "This won't take up more than a day or so of your time," countered the Consoler, "and I have reason to believe that Kit won't go anywhere. At least, not yet."

  "He's nearby, then?" guessed Johnny. But not in the camp itself, he thought. If that were the case, he was sure he would have known about it by now.

  The Consoler didn't answer. Several of his mouths twisted into what Johnny guessed was an attempt at a smile.

  Johnny sighed. "Okay, I'm listening."

  "We've been keeping the nearest internment camp under covert surveillance for a while now," said the Consoler. "I would like you to accompany a small scout party on a routine reconnaissance mission."

  "That's all you want?"

  "That's all. I realise there is an element of risk to this venture, but I don't expect you to do anything other than witness our reasons for opposing Leadbetter's government. You may even take the chameleon cloaks you, ah, borrowed from my guards. We don't have many, but we are happy to share them with our friends. They should help you remain undetected."

  Johnny's eyes narrowed as the Consoler's words reminded him of an earlier suspicion. "I meant to ask you about the cloaks. Where did they come from?"

  The Consoler waved a hand vaguely. "Oh, I picked them up on some world or other. I did a good deal of travelling when I was a more able man. And of course, being entirely natural rather than electronic, the cloaks have been of great use to us here in the magnetinium field. Now, I don't wish to rush you, but I am eager to hear your response to my offer. Unless you would like more time to consider, of course."

  Johnny turned to his partner. "What do you say, Middenface?" he whispered.

  "Ah dinnae like it Johnny, and ah dinnae trust these tinpot revolutionaries," Middenface replied in hushed tones. "But if it gets us one step closer tae gettin' oor man and gettin' off this planet, ah'm willin' tae gae along with it."

  "There's been too many diversions," Johnny quietly agreed. "But this is our best lead so we may as well play along."

  He turned back to the Consoler. "We're in," he said clearly.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IMMIGRATION CAMP

  To Middenface's dismay, there was still more talking after that.

  The Consoler sent for a young mutant who rejoiced in the name of Elephant Head. With her grey skin, flapping ears and long trunk, she was one of the most mutated people the S/D agents had seen in the base other than the Consoler himself. Elephant Head, it seemed, was bound for the immigration camp to collect reports from a surveillance team there. She would travel by night to arrive at dawn. It was agreed that she would take Middenface and Johnny with her.

  She cautioned them that it would be a long journey; almost three and a half hours by foot. The Salvationists, said Elephant Head, had a small supply of pack animals for when speed was essential, but they were too conspicuous for everyday use. She showed Middenface and Johnny to an empty tent and advised them to get their heads down. Thanks to Miltonia's slow rotation, they could snatch at least six hours of sleep before they had to set off. Elephant Head found a couple of old sleeping bags for them but they weren't really necessary. A steam pipe ran right by the tent so it was already warm inside.

  Middenface wasn't happy about sleeping in what he still thought of as the enemy camp, but Johnny pointed out that if the Salvationists wanted to kill them, they would have done so already. Johnny urged Middenface to take Elephant Head's advice and get some much-needed sleep. After all, it had been a long day - literally.

  They were woken at what they assumed was the appointed time, although in the constant artificial light, they had no way of telling if it was night or day. They were offered a light breakfast of tinned goods foraged from Clacton Fuzzville and warmed up on the pipes. After they had eaten, Elephant Head showed them to the Salvationists' pitiful armoury and kitted them out with a crossbow and a case of six bolts each.

  "Self-defence only," she said. "Remember, this is strictly a reconnaissance mission. We've been mapping the layout of this camp and observing its routine for over a month now. It's a prime target for us, and the last thing we want is for the fascists who run it to know that."

  Outside, a bloated moon hung in the black sky, its surface scarred and pockmarked. If there was a man on this moon, thought Johnny, then it was an appropriately grotesque one.

  There were four of them in all: Johnny, Middenface and Elephant Head had been joined by a middle-aged norm called Mason who was to relieve a member of the surveillance team. Mason said little else about himself. Indeed, none of them spoke much as Elephant Head set a relentless pace across the difficult terrain. They wore their chameleon cloaks but let them hang open, rippling in the cool night breeze. Only after they had walked for almost three hours did Elephant Head put up the hood of her cloak and slow down a little. Johnny guessed that they were entering hostile territory and he followed her lead.

  The sun was returning at last, its first few tentative rays bathing them in shades of crimson. It looked to Johnny as if the rocks were awash with blood. He felt weary. Of course, as S/D agents, he and Middenface were used to physical hardship. If an enemy were to attack now, their training and experience would kick in and they would fight as hard and as skilfully as ever. In the absence of such a development, though, there was nothing to distract his mind from his aching muscles. He was tired, too. Despite his encouraging words to Middenface, he had slept with one eye open in the Salvationists' base. It hadn't quite made up for the night and a day they were stuck in a supply ship hold, another night of interrogations by customs, and another day of hiking through the mountains.

  He was almost relieved, then, to hear a new sound in the never-changing landscape; a sound that had no right to be there. A sound that put his senses on the alert and drowned out his pains in an adrenaline rush.

  It was a guttural rumbling, like the growling of an asthmatic beast, but with a regular quality that made it seem more mechanical than natural. It echoed off the rock faces around them until it filled the air and Johnny couldn't tell which direction it came from. Elephant Head knew, however, and she led the way to cover.

  Crouching behind an oversized boulder and tightening their chameleon cloaks around themselves, Johnny and Middenface stared in awe at the misshapen contraption that spluttered into view below them. It was made up of two boxlike shapes, the smaller of which was jammed onto the front of the larger. Both boxes were olive green, but the front one was forged from metal with windows all around it and the back one appeared to comprise a heavy canvas sheet stretched over a framework. Smoke belched from the rear of this larger box, wreathing the contraption in a faint blue haze.

  It was wending its way through the mountains, twisting and turning as if its course was set on no more than a random whim. Johnny realised, however, that it never turned back on itself; its route may have been circuitous but it had a destination in mind.

  "Government transport," snarled Elephant Head. "They must be bringing in more prisoners to abuse."

  "Whit the sneck is it?" whispered Middenface.

  Johnny had just realised the answer to that question. The contraption had taken another turn and for a moment he had a clearer view of it. He could see the six large wheels that protruded from its underside, sheathed in protective rubber.

  "It's an ancient land-crawling vehicle," he said. "Driven by combustion. We're still within the magnetinium field, aren't we? Normal transports won't work here so they must have to transfer incoming prisoners to that thing for the last leg of their journey."

  "We thought it was a weapon when we first saw it," said Elephant Head. "We thought Leadbetter's thugs were trying to poison us out of the mountains."

  Johnny shook his head. "If I remember right, that smoke is a by-product of the combustion process. That's why those things were outlawed on most worlds."

  "Ah di
nnae get it," said Middenface. "Why would Rising have built his camp oot here? Did he nae realise that none o' his gadgets'd work with aw these imps aboot? Nae alarms, nae electronic locks and nae guns fer his guards."

  "He knew," said Elephant Head. "But Rising didn't build this camp. That honour goes to our late Minister for Immigration, Mr Moosehead McGuffin. He was the one who chose this site. He said the magnetinium emissions would make the camp easier to secure and that there'd be no need for expensive precautions against so-called terrorists with hi-tech weapons, or jetpacks or teleport devices."

  "Makes sense, I guess," said Johnny, ignoring the implied slur on his late friend. Middenface, however, couldn't stop his lips from curling into a snarl and his nodules turning red.

  "All lies!" Elephant Head spat. "The truth is, no one wants norm immigrants on their doorstep. Pack them off into the mountains, lock them up without even the most basic amenities, and no one has to worry about them. This is the dark secret at the heart of our paradise: buried out of sight, out of mind, so that Miltonia's mutants can live their privileged lives without feeling the pricking of their consciences."

  "You obviously feel strongly about it," said Johnny, "for a 'privileged' mutant yourself." Elephant Head didn't answer that.

  The ancient truck had crawled out of sight by now, so Elephant Head led the way down a steep incline to a relatively flat area. The truck had passed this way and its exhaust smoke still hung in the air, scratching at Johnny's throat. Its wheels left faint tracks in the dust and Johnny realised that the vehicle's erratic path had been calculated to avoid obstacles on the ground.

  "Just a little further now," said Elephant Head darkly, "and you'll see the truth for yourselves."

  Another two chameleon-cloaked norms greeted them at the top of a ridge. They eyed Johnny and Middenface suspiciously until Elephant Head explained that they were "potential new recruits". Middenface opened his mouth to dispute this but Johnny silenced him with a quick shake of the head. Again, it wasn't worth it.