As the crawler lurched along, McCade tried to plan for what lay ahead. It wasn't easy. For one thing they knew very little about what they might face. What Rico had been able to learn was a jumbled amalgamation of fact and fiction. The challenge lay in figuring out which was which. Sara's beacon had remained stationary for more than twenty hours, suggesting that she had arrived somewhere. Presumably King Zorta's castle. Nobody knew for sure because, with the exception of Zorta's most trusted advisors, those who went to the castle never came back. In fact it was rumored that the King's desire for privacy was so strong that those employed to build the castle were buried under it.
Without doubt, the King had good reasons to protect himself. For one thing there was a considerable number of other Lakorian nobles who felt that killing the former King didn't necessarily entitle you to his throne. They did, however, feel that it was a good place to start. As a result there had been numerous, though so far unsuccessful, attempts on Zorta's life.
Also counting against him, in McCade's estimation, the King had systematically encouraged the population to turn from their traditional pursuits of farming, fishing, and light manufacture to an economy dominated by the slave trade. At first the population enjoyed the foreign exchange thus generated, but gradually their enjoyment began to wane as rumors began to circulate—rumors about slave raids on remote Lakorian villages. Then too, taxes had begun to rise dramatically. As a result, tax evasion had become a popular hobby. To counter this trend Zorta introduced a policy of not only executing tax evaders, but their families as well. As a result of these and similar policies, the King's popularity was decidedly limited. Nonetheless, due to an effective army and air force, he continued to rule. And it seemed would continue to do so indefinitely.
All they really knew was that Sara was probably being held in the King's castle. McCade forced his thoughts away from any consideration of why she had been taken there or what might happen to her. He forced himself to concentrate on how to get her out. In spite of the machine's violent motion, he found himself drifting into a light sleep, during which he imagined an endless procession of fantastic schemes by which the castle walls could be breached. Unfortunately something always seemed to go wrong at the last moment. His reverie came to an abrupt halt, along with the crawler itself.
"Damn! I'm afraid we've got trouble, ol' sport," Rico said, releasing his harness and sliding out of his seat. "'Cordin' ta the diagnostics, we've got some kinda problem with the port engine. Not too surprisin' considerin' the kinda country we've been going through. Anyway I'm goin' below for a look-see. Stay here and keep an eye on those sensors. Keep in mind that without the port engine we ain't got enough juice ta power the defensive screens."
On that cheerful note he was gone.
McCade flicked the detectors from low to high intensity. The driving rain rendered the high mag video cameras useless beyond a few yards. The metal detectors showed trace elements in the soil and surrounding vegetation, as did the radiation screens. Infrared indicated a variety of life forms in the area. They ranged in size from very large to very small. As far as McCade could tell, there were about the same number they'd been seeing all along. He sat back, lit a new cigar and kicked his feet up. As he smoked, he scanned the monitors occasionally, watching for changes.
The intercom chimed and Rico's voice boomed forth. "It appears we lost a bearing. Looks like a three-hour job. Say, send Amos down ta help, would ya? I need someone with more brawn than brains!"
At that point Van Doren broke in with, "The truth is he hasn't got a clue on how to change a bearing! Guess I'll go down and save his ass like always."
McCade laughed as the intercom went dead. Glancing up at the monitors he thought at first glance that they all looked the same. Then something about the infrared monitor made him take another look. Then he realized that the number of red blobs on the screen had doubled. Not only that, they were slowly moving to surround the crawler.
His eyes stayed glued to the infrared monitor as he reached for the intercom button.
"Phil . . . I think we've got company. I'm not sure what they are, but they're a lot of them, and they're slowly surrounding us. I'm delegating control of both waist turrets to 'local.' I suggest you pick one and stand-by. And while you're at it see if old Softie will come out of meditation long enough to kill a few infidels. If there's trouble we could use him in the other turret."
Phil's voice came back, calmly efficient. "You've got it, Sam . . .. We'll be on line in a minute."
As he watched the red blobs continue to surround them, McCade noticed that even more were slowly drifting into the screen's range. One by one he activated the crawler's weapons systems until all the indicators glowed green. All the while, the blobs continued their encirclement. Was it random movement of a herd of animals that just happened to be feeding in the area? Or were they guided by some intelligence? There was no way to tell. And until full power was restored, there wasn't much they could do. If the red blobs were hostile, limping at them on one engine wouldn't help much.
Conditions remained static for more than an hour. The gradual gathering of red blobs had peaked at about two hundred. Occasionally smaller groups of four or five would break away and disappear off screen. However their absence was balanced out as other small groupings and individuals drifted in.
McCade stubbed out his latest cigar and sipped a little cold coffee, trying to wash the raw taste out of his mouth. His left cheek twitched, and his eyes hurt from staring at the monitors. He leaned back in his seat, consciously forcing his muscles to relax. Looking up he noticed with interest that the rain seemed to be slacking off. As a result the high mag video cameras had begun to clear. Without warning the rain stopped completely and McCade found himself looking at a scene of barbaric splendor.
His first impression was of vibrant shimmering color which ebbed and flowed with the movement of animals and riders. The huge, six-legged reptillian animals wore trappings of bright blue. Each carried three Lakorian riders decked out in bright orange with dark brown trim. The lead rider of each animal carried a wicked-looking lance from which a long, green pennant flew. Behind him his two companions were armed with efficient-looking energy weapons of a design unfamiliar to McCade. And behind them, each mount carried a large set of saddle bags, filled no doubt with food for the riders and power paks for the weapons. It was an impressive and intimidating sight which, McCade reflected, was probably the whole idea.
The intercom chimed, followed by Phil's awed voice. "Holy Sol, would you look at that! What do you think, Sam . . . friend or foe?"
"Beats me, Phil," McCade replied. "But let's stay ready for anything."
It was hard to guess the intentions of the Lakorians because of the constant movement. Evidently their reptillian mounts didn't like to stand still. However the riders were obviously experienced and, while their animals remained in motion, they themselves managed to stay in the same position relative to all the other mounts.
As the warm sunshine came into contact with the wet earth, a ground fog began to form, making it seem as though the Lakorians were floating. As McCade watched, a single animal separated itself from the rest and began to move toward the crawler. Unlike the other mounts, this particular animal carried a single rider. The lance he bore carried a flag on which some complicated device had been embroidered. McCade also noticed a long whip antenna extending up from the back of the saddle to sway in the light breeze. Whoever he was he had a powerful radio at his disposal and that implied friends somewhere. Something to keep in mind.
A hundred yards from the crawler the reptillian mount stopped momentarily as its rider dismounted. The Lakorian planted his lance in the ground with something of a flourish and then assumed a position closely resembling parade rest. His animal began to pace back and forth behind him.
As McCade released his harness he hit the intercom once more. "Rico, Amos, you've been tracking all this?"
"Yeah, boss . . .. We've been watching with one eye. Looks like
a convention of pleasure dome pimps to me."
"Thank God you chose the marines and not the diplomatic corps," McCade said, getting up. "How long till full power?"
"Well, ol' sport," Rico answered, "we've been takin' a few short cuts, but even so it's gonna be another hour for sure."
"Okay," McCade replied. "It appears their leader's ready for a little talk, so I'm going outside."
"Wonder why he don't just call us on that radio," Amos wondered out loud.
"No way to tell, Amos," McCade said. "But I suspect there's some kind of ritual or formality involved."
"Or maybe they just want to waste you," Phil said suspiciously. "You're gonna be awfully exposed out there."
"True," McCade replied, checking the load in his slug gun. "But chances are he just wants to talk. If so there's the possibility of getting some help. Frankly, gentlemen, from what I've seen so far, I think we need it,"
"In that case, talk his arm off," Phil replied with a chuckle. "We'll cover you. Won't we, Softie?"
The Treel's voice sounded distant and bored over the intercom. "Of course. Let's get on with it."
"Grab your pocket-com on your way out," Phil said. "We might as well listen in."
McCade agreed and stopped long enough to pick up one of the small devices, activate it, and slip it into his breast pocket. As the hatch opened and the stairs unfolded to touch the ground, McCade took a deep breath of the fresh clean air. In a few hours the smell of rotting vegetation would once again dominate, but for the moment the rain had washed everything clean. His boots sank into the soft, spongy ground as he walked. Each one made a sucking sound as he pulled it free, and each grew heavier with accumulated mud the farther he went. Ahead the Lakorian still stood where McCade had last seen him. He waited patiently for McCade to approach while the giant steed paced back and forth behind him. As McCade got closer he saw that the Lakorian was handsome, by the standards of his race. He had a high forehead, two wide-set, intelligent eyes, broad cheekbones, a short, rounded snout having three nostrils, and a wide thick-lipped mouth. He was slender by Lakorian standards too, though still heavier than any human, and he stood a good foot shorter than McCade. McCade stopped a respectful distance from the Lakorian and, unsure of proper etiquette, bowed formally, a widely accepted sign of courteous greeting.
The Lakorian responded in kind. When he spoke it was in the High Standard favored by the Empire's nobility. His accent was atrocious. "Who have I the honor to address, and be you noble or vassal? I am Baron Lif."
Glancing down at his plain black jump suit and then up at the Baron's bright ceremonial garb, he understood the Lakorian's confusion. "My apologies, Baron, for not greeting you in more suitable garb, but I'm afraid my companions and I have foresworn normal dress due to a period of religious pennance. I am Sam McCade, Knight of the Round Table and trusted defender of King Arthur's court." He prayed Lif did not share his boyhood fascination with ancient legend. Especially Earth legend. He'd purposely chosen a rank below Lif's, having found through past dealings with aristocracy that this was less threatening, and placed them in a more amenable frame of mind.
The Baron nodded understandingly. "I too weary of the priesthood's restrictions, good Knight. I sometimes wonder if they have aught to do but think up new ones!"
McCade laughed appreciatively at the nobleman's joke and waited to see what direction the conversation would take next.
With the formalities taken care of, the Baron seemed disposed to get down to business. "I wish to bid you welcome to my poor barony and its meager resources. As you can see I ventured out this morning for a hunt, accompanied only by my personal bodyguard. I could not help but notice that your crawler seems somewhat incapacitated. How may I and my men be of help?"
McCade wasn't fooled for a moment. He was well aware that in spite of the Baron's polite phraseology, Lif had just informed him that he was trespassing, that the troops present were only part of the force at his disposal, that they knew the crawler was undergoing repairs, that the Baron therefore had the upper hand, and that McCade had better produce a good explanation of his activities and very quickly indeed.
Operating partly from intuition, and partly from shrewd guesswork, McCade assumed a slightly conspiratorial demeanor. "Well Baron, I appreciate your kindness. As it happens my men will soon have the crawler repaired, and we'll be able to resume our journey. I hope we haven't inconvenienced your hunt."
"Not at all," Lif said with a negligent wave of the hand. "Where are you bound? This is not easy country. Perhaps I could offer you a guide?"
A spy is more like it, McCade thought as he smiled his thanks, but I have no intention of letting you off that easy. "Once again the Baron is too kind. But to answer your question, my mission is one of the utmost delicacy. Involved is a lady of noble birth who now finds herself in compromising circumstances. Now I must beg the Baron's indulgence, for I have said too much."
"Not so, good Knight! Though we be of different races, surely we are bound by the common threads of nobility. Your difficulties are mine. I insist that you allow me to help," Baron Lif said earnestly.
McCade shook his head doubtfully. "I dare not impose further on your good graces, Baron. And in all truth the matter may be better left unspoken of, lest I unknowingly compromise one or both of us. After all I am a stranger in a strange land and know not what alliances and conventions I might unintentionally violate."
With considerable satisfaction, McCade saw from Lif's expression that the Lakorian nobleman was deeply and completely hooked.
"I assure you, noble Knight, that whatever you say shall remain a secret between us and shall not be the cause of offense on my part. Pray tell me more of this matter, that I might assist."
Haltingly at first, as though unsure of himself and searching for words, McCade spun a tale made of both fact and fiction. The way he told it, Sara was the irresponsible daughter of a doting King Arthur. Ignoring her father's urgings, once too often she had taken off in her speedster, alone, unescorted, to visit her married sister on the fourth planet of their system. En route she had been chased and captured by pirates, who sold her into slavery. McCade and his men had managed to track her down by following the shielded signal broadcast by a minibeacon each member of the royal family wore. Now they were following that signal to her location, the castle of a certain King Zorta, whoever he might be. There McCade hoped to buy her freedom and restore her to the arms of her loving father. As McCade completed his tale, he watched Baron Lif's eyes light up as the significance of the beacon sank in. No doubt about it, the Baron bought the story hook, line and sinker. Nonetheless the Lakorian nobleman was nobody's fool and hid his interest well.
Lif shook his head sadly. "Yes, a sad tale indeed. The young ones never listen. I fear it is a condition common to all races. But don't give up hope, my friend. I feel certain that the gods ordained our meeting, for I see common ground upon which we might meet and aid each other."
"Nothing would please me more," McCade answered enthusiastically. "In all truth I have worried greatly about our ability to make our way through the wilderness to King Zorta's castle. The plant and animal life on your planet are so . . . er . . . vigorous."
The Baron laughed, a deep and genuine guffawing sound that made his mount shy away. "Sir Knight, your tact does you credit. We shall get along well, you and I. But enough of this. Our plans should be completed over a good meal, with Vak to wash it down."
As McCade began to protest, Lif held up a gauntleted hand. "No, I won't hear of it. My hunting lodge is nearby. As soon as your machine is repaired, we shall escort you there."
Much as a jailer escorts a prisoners, McCade thought. The Baron rattled off a radio frequency on which McCade could contact him, vaulted into the saddle, and sent his steed galloping off.
McCade heaved a sigh of relief, turned, and made his way back to the crawler. Once safely inside he was greeted by hoots of laughter over the intercom.
"Boss, you could sell vacuum to astero
id miners," Van Doren chuckled.
"Yeah, ya sucked 'im in real good," Rico agreed. "Only now that ya got 'im, what're ya goin' ta do with him?"
"Finish reeling him in, of course," McCade responded. "And then put him to work."
A few hours later the crawler followed the leading elements of Lif's bodyguard out of the thick vegetation and into a large clearing. A sprawling wooden building dominated the clearing's center. It was quite large, and seemed even bigger because it had been built on ten-foot pilings. As Rico guided the crawler up to the lodge, Lif's household troops began to picket their mounts under the structure, between the massive pilings.
Over McCade's head a speaker crackled into life. "Welcome to Treehome. As soon as the demands of your machine are satisfied, Sir Knight, please join me for dinner. Your squires are welcome also."
McCade left the Treel to watch the crawler, and Phil to watch the Treel. He was also concerned about Phil's reception within the lodge. There was no way to predict Lif's reaction to the Variant.
Together, McCade, Rico, and Amos picked their way through the mud to the lodge under the watchful gaze of a small honor guard. With the emphasis on "guard," McCade thought with amusement. Together they mounted a flight of stairs leading up to intricately carved double doors where they were met by a uniformed major domo. The Baron certainly likes to do things with style, McCade reflected as they were shown into a large hall with vaulted ceilings. A log fire blazed at the far end of the huge room, its flickering light dancing across tapestry-hung walls. However the room's even temperature hinted at central heating. It seemed a comfortable marriage of old and new.
As they approached, Baron Lif rose to greet them. He had been seated at a long table of highly polished wood.
"Welcome! Please be seated here at my right hand, good Knight. Welcome, gentlebeings. Sit wherever you like." Lif clapped his enormous hands. "Bring food! Vak for my guests!"
Galactic Bounty Page 20
