Galactic Bounty

by William C. Dietz

  Even Van Doren seemed touched. His voice was gentle as he said, "And they caught you?"

  The Treel nodded Mungo's head. "I don't know how long I sat there staring at the print-out. It must have been a long time. When I looked up, Reez was standing in front of me with a sneer on his face." The Treel sighed.

  "They paralyzed me . . .. Yes," he waved a hand in McCade's direction, "it can be done if you know what to use. Some rather pointless negotiations ensued, during which Reez attempted to secure my continued services. I refused, of course. I have some self-respect. Then I was forced to assume this form. The chemlock was inserted to make sure I would remain this way. I was then sent down in a shuttle. Actually it was your ship if I'm not mistaken," the Treel said, nodding toward McCade. "And here I am. Selling me into slavery as a human amused Commander Reez greatly."

  "The bastard," Van Doren said, imagining what he'd do to the Il Ronnian officer if he had the chance.

  "You know," Phil said thoughtfully, "if I had some lab facilities, I think I could disarm and remove that chemlock."

  "An interesting offer," McCade replied. "However I'm not sure it would be a good idea. Our friend here tends to be a little undependable given too much freedom. Besides, I like the way he looks, don't you, Amos?"

  Van Doren grunted in the affirmative.

  "I have a feeling my fellow homosaps are being less than forthright," Phil said gently as he examined a gleaming durasteel claw. "Perhaps you should tell me how all this began."

  McCade thought about it for a moment and concluded there was little point in keeping Phil in the dark. Plus there was always the possibility that he might help. So he briefly outlined the events leading up to their present predicament.

  When he was finished, Phil gave a low whistle. "So now the Il Ronn know where the War World is and you don't."

  "True, I'm afraid," McCade confessed.

  Suddenly the Treel sat up and spoke. "Yes, rigid ones, suddenly I understand. The great Yareel has truly blessed me! I shall be the instrument of his revenge! I shall bring down destruction upon the Il Ronn! And you shall be my allies. Together we will destroy the infidel!"

  The three humans looked at each other in amazement. From the depths of despair, the Treel had somehow been transformed into a religious zealot, and an arrogant one at that. McCade's thoughts were interrupted by the rasp of unoiled metal as someone unlatched the door to their cell.

  A huge Lakorian foot kicked it open. "Out," was all its owner said.

  They obeyed; there seemed no advantage in doing anything else. One by one they emerged from the dim cell to stand blinking in the Lakorian daylight.

  "Move."

  The order was accompanied by a powerful shove from behind, and McCade found himself propelled toward the wooden platform which dominated the center of the compound. Now it was surrounded by a milling crowd of shouting, gesticulating buyers. The slave auction had begun.

  McCade was surprised. For some reason he had expected more time to pass between their arrival and subsequent sale. He felt he should have developed some sort of plan. A means to escape. Something. But for the life of him he couldn't imagine what. As they moved toward the platform, he searched for some sign of Sara. There wasn't any and his spirits sank even lower. The crowd parted to let them through. Around him McCade heard snatches of conversation. He could understand most of it since it was in standard, which functioned as a sort of universal trading language. As the humans made their way through the crowd, their merits were enthusiastically debated.

  "Look at the big one, Forn . . .. If we were careful with him, he might last a whole year."

  "Mebbe, mebbe, but how 'bout the furry one . . .. I say he'd do right well."

  "Get serious, Forn. He'd be fine on an iceworld, but he wouldn't last a week on Lava."

  "Up."

  Another shove boosted McCade up the first two steps. As he gained the top he saw what might have been a Cellite being escorted off the other end of the platform. He couldn't be sure.

  They were lined up without ceremony and told to strip. As McCade complied, he noted with interest that the auctioneer was an android. A General Electric Model Twenty, if he wasn't mistaken. Its makers had granted it a vaguely human appearance, though without much attention to detail. Some of its metal parts had begun to rust in the humid climate of Lakor, and it had taken some heavy-duty dents. However, in spite of the cosmetic flaws, the droid proved to be a skilled auctioneer. Evidently it had its own built-in amplifier, because when it spoke its voice boomed out across the compound with sufficient volume that even the most distant buyer could hear with ease.

  "Gentlebeings . . . your attention, please. Before you is lot three on your print-out. Four human males, all in good health, all capable of running simple machinery. I direct your attention to item four. You will notice this item is an Iceworld Variant and a skilled biologist. You may wish to consider him for specialized activity. As usual we will take bids for the entire lot first. If we have no acceptable bids for the lot, we will then auction off each item separately. Bidding for lot three can now begin."

  Bidding began at four thousand credits offered by a nasty-looking human dressed in worn body armor and using a nerve lash for a swagger stick. He was immediately outbid by a female Zord who, having no vocal apparatus, signaled her bids in universal sign language by use of her tentacles. Then the bidding grew hot and heavy, moving too quickly for McCade to track. The price had reached sixteen thousand credits when suddenly a booming voice cut through the cacophony as though it wasn't there.

  "Twenty thousand credits, sport, and let's have done with it!"

  With sudden hope, McCade searched the crowd and sure enough, standing like an island in the sea of bodies, was Rico. An enormous grin split his bearded face and tiny eyes twinkled merrily.

  "Not that they're worth even half that," he added, laughing uproariously.

  There were no further bids. "Sold to the human for twenty thousand credits," the android said. "Pay the slave master and collect your property."

  McCade barely managed to snatch up his clothes before a Lakorian guard shoved him toward the other end of the platform with a grunted, "Off."

  He was still struggling into them when a massive slap on the back threatened to drop him into the mud. "Good to see ya, ol' sport! Course I wasn't plannin' on seein' all of ya like that!" Once again the big man broke into gales of laughter.

  McCade grinned and shook Rico's hand. "Go ahead, Rico, have your fun, I was never so glad to see something so ugly in my whole life! I thought we'd lost you back at the Rock!"

  Just then Van Doren arrived. He and Rico proceeded to dance around each other, trading blows. When they stopped to shake hands, there was a moment of silence as muscles knotted and sweat broke out on their foreheads.

  "Are they always like this?" Phil inquired as they watched the two men straining to best each other.

  McCade nodded. "Worse, if anything. Maybe you'd like to join in." He looked Phil up and down. "I suspect you could take them both."

  The huge Variant shook his head. "No thanks, given a choice I'm more the cerebral type."

  With grunts of expelled air, Rico and Van Doren broke off their contest. Their happy grins indicated another draw.

  "Well now that you've got that out of your systems, maybe we can get on with other things," McCade said in mock annoyance.

  "What was that, slave?" Rico asked with a grin. "I paid good money to take this? Come to think of it, how am I gonna explain the twenty thousand credits to the Council? They're already complainin' about my expense account."

  McCade laughed and then said worriedly, "Speaking of the Council, Sara is around here somewhere, and we've got to buy her out too."

  Rico's expression darkened to one of concern. "'Fraid I've got some bad news for ya. Sara's gone. She was sold a few hours ago . . . before I got here . . . and the buyer's long gone, with her in tow."

  "Damn!" McCade exclaimed in frustration. "Off-planet?"

&
nbsp; Rico shook his shaggy head. "Nope. They headed for the interior." He gestured toward the jungle, which crowded one end of the stockade.

  "The guy who bought her is some kind of Lakorian nobleman. Calls himself 'King,' but I understand there's some who dispute that."

  "Well what are we waiting for?" McCade asked grimly. "Let's go see the King."

  Rico didn't move. He just smiled bemusedly and raised an eyebrow. "No offense, but what happened to the War World? Last time I heard it was top priority. If it's really as important as ya said, Sara'd want us ta deal with that first."

  "And it is important, Rico," McCade said sheepishly. "I guess where Sara is concerned I've developed tunnel vision. Besides, for the moment we've hit a dead end where finding the War World is concerned."

  Rico grinned ear to ear. "So it's like that, is it . . .. Well I'm glad to hear it. Just remember, ya treat her right or you'll answer ta Rico!" The big man slapped McCade on the back. "So what're we waitin' for? Let's go see the King!"

  As they walked toward the gate, the other three fell in behind.

  "By the way, who're those two?" Rico asked, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb. "The only reason I bought 'em was ta keep it simple. Somebody might have run up the bidding on you or Amos. What're we gonna do with the hairy one?"

  "Hell, Rico," McCade replied with a grin, "he isn't that much hairier than you are!" As they walked McCade filled the other man in on Phil's background and Mungo's true identity.

  When McCade had finished, Rico glanced in the direction of the Treel and said, "That one'll bear watching. I don't like the look in his eye."

  McCade nodded in agreement.

  As they passed through the gate, Van Doren and Phil offered the Lakorian guards a parting gesture older than universal sign language. They were stoically ignored.

  "Now what about you, Rico?" McCade asked. "How in the world did you manage to end up here at the perfect moment?"

  "Well . . . first off, it wasn't perfect. If it had been, we wouldn't be goin' after Sara. Anyway it wasn't all that hard. I waited off the Rock just like we agreed. Had a coupla tense moments with a pirate destroyer but managed ta convince 'em I was relining a bare spot in the port tube. Then all hell broke loose, and I wasted a lot of time picking you outta the mess. Finally I managed ta pick up the minibeacon Sara was wearin'," Rico said.

  "Wait a minute," McCade interrupted. "What minibeacon? I don't remember any minibeacon."

  Rico looked embarrassed. "Well ol' sport, Professor Wendel's people worked it up. It's specially shielded and undetectable. She's wearing it right under the skin near her left shoulder blade. Seemed like a good time to try it out." Rico shrugged and grinned. "Let's just say they wanted some insurance.

  "Anyhow I sorted ya outta the herd usin' the beacon. I saw ya waste those two pirates—nice piece o' work by the way—and busted my buns tryin' ta catch up. Just as I was gettin' close, the biggest Il Ronnian ship I've ever seen came outta hyperspace and locked on ta ya." Rico gestured eloquently. "After that I just followed ya here. Fortunately there's lotsa slavers comin' and goin' so nobody asked me any questions. Then I lost some time sellin' Lady Alice or I woulda been here sooner."

  "You sold Alice . . ."

  "'Fraid so. They wouldn't let me buy ya with my good looks, ya know."

  "I'm sorry, Rico. I know what the Lady meant to you. I'll make it up to you somehow."

  "Not to worry. Feast your eyes on my new transport. Handsome, ain't she?"

  McCade stopped in amazement. The vehicle to which Rico referred so proudly was a monument to the determination of durasteel molecules to remain in close proximity to each other. Its dents had dents. It was leaking fuel and lubricant from a dozen points. Entire treads were missing from the giant tracks. Rust had eaten deeply into its huge hull. And it was huge. It stood at least fifty feet high and twice that in length. The front end consisted of a circular energy projector the diameter of the vehicle itself. The center of the projector was hollow for some distance back, eventually narrowing down to a hole about five feet across. In operating, the energy projector could cut a circular hole through solid rock. Then the loosened material could be funneled back to be pulverized and superheated. After treatment with various additives, the liquid soil and rock would then be spun out behind the machine to form a perfect tunnel. If ore was located, the shaft thus created could be used to mine it.

  "I bought her used," Rico said proudly.

  "Thank God," McCade muttered, inspecting the vehicle's scarred plating. "I'd hate to ride in anything that looked that bad new."

  McCade's comments were lost on Rico. He had already started to extoll the vehicle's virtues. "They brought 'er dirtside ta do a mineralogical survey. Guess they hoped they'd find somethin' worth minin', but no such luck. Guess that's why slavin's so important here'bouts. Anyway everything ya could possibly want's built right in. Food, supplies, sleepin' quarters, even showers. She's got 'em all. Plus a few surprises. Come on."

  A control box of some kind suddenly appeared in Rico's hand. He pressed a button and a door slid aside. Then a set of pneumatic stairs unfolded with a hiss of escaping air to touch the mud. McCade and the others followed Rico aboard.

  The vehicle's interior was in marked contrast to its exterior. Everything showed signs of wear, but appeared to be well maintained, and was reasonably clean. Originally designed for a crew of ten, it provided more than enough space for their small group. Besides the creature comforts, the vehicle boasted considerable armament, including auto-slug throwers, energy weapons, and a single battery of multipurpose missiles.

  "Nice, Rico," McCade said, peering into the sighting scope of an energy weapon. "But is all this necessary?"

  "'Fraid so, ol' sport," Rico said, handing McCade one of his imported cigars. "There ain't no public transportation where we're goin'. The King likes it that way. Plus I hear there's some real nasty critters waitin' out there. Not to mention the King, who ain't likely to welcome us with open arms."

  McCade nodded agreement as he remembered the trip to the stockade. The armament would probably come in handy.

  "How about air travel though?"

  Rico shook his head as he blew out a stream of blue smoke. "Nice thought, but the King don't allow no atmospheric stuff . . . 'cept his o' course. Sorry, but that's how it is."

  "Thanks, Rico," McCade said. "You've done a fantastic job. How soon can we get under way?"

  "Right now. Just give me a few minutes to crank 'er up."

  While Rico ran through an operations list, McCade wandered back to check on the rest of the group. Van Doren had made himself busy checking out various weapons systems, the Treel sat lost in meditation, and Phil was halfway through an enormous sandwich in the galley. McCade realized it had been a long time since his last meal. He plopped down at the mess table and began building himself a sandwich.

  "Rico's up forward, cranking her up, Phil," McCade said. "We're going after Sara Bridger. Frankly we could use your help, but you don't owe us anything. If you'd like to bailout, now's the time to do it. Rico's probably got enough credits to get you off-planet. How about it?"

  Phil chewed a gigantic mouthful of sandwich thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "Well I've been thinking, Sam. Like I told you, my partner's dead and chances are the company thinks I'm dead too. Why tell 'em otherwise? I've got another seven years to run on my indenture, assuming of course I survive that long. Well, maybe I could spend those seven years my way. From what you said, Rico's planet would be just right for a Variant like myself. So if they'd take me I'd like to sign up."

  "United Biomed's loss would seem to be Alice's gain," McCade replied cheerfully. "I can't speak for Alice, but Rico sits on the Council. Let's ask him."

  A few minutes later Rico was pumping the paw of Alice's newest citizen by executive decree. "If those bozos from Biomed ever show up on Alice, we'll arrest 'em for something and ship 'em out. By the way," Rico said, looking the big Variant up and down, "remind me ta talk with yo
u 'bout a reserve commission in the militia."

  As the huge vehicle's engines thundered into life, McCade entered a small stim shower. He was a free man again, and he wanted to look like one.

  Fourteen

  Big fat raindrops splattered against the windshield and made a drumming sound on the roof of the giant crawler as it fought its way through thick undergrowth. A steady wind bent the vegetation toward them, adding considerably to the strain on the howling engines. Inside the cab it was warm and dry, but far from comfortable. Every few seconds the violent motion of the machine threatened to throw McCade out of his seat. His shoulders were already sore from countless encounters with the harness holding him in place. In the driver's seat next to him, Rico frowned in concentration. They had tried the autopilot but found it couldn't deal with the irregular terrain. And deal they must to reach the glowing green dot representing Sara's minibeacon some two hundred miles ahead. At least she was still alive.

  Rico's tiny eyes flitted from one instrument to the next while his large, hairy hands played over the controls with surprising dexterity. So far Rico's skill had taken them over sixty-degree slopes of loose rock, through a labyrinth of giant trees, and on one occasion, across a lake, underwater, an activity which didn't bother the machine, but scared the hell out of McCade.

  In spite of all that, McCade felt better. He had slept for twelve hours, eaten an enormous breakfast, and then donned a one-piece black coverall which Rico assured him also functioned as light body armor. Welcome too was the new slug gun resting low on his right thigh, and the plentiful supply of cigars which filled the breast pockets of his jump suit. Rico had thought of everything.