Galactic Bounty

by William C. Dietz

  "It's got to be done, Sam, and I'm the best one to do it." Her mouth was set in a hard, determined line. "Besides," she added, "if the real Zorta shows up, they're going to need you outside."

  Accepting the inevitable, McCade went back through the main entry port to confer with Van Doren and Rico.

  The two humans had organized the former slaves into a respectable defensive zone around the ship. Lighting a cigar with careful movements, McCade could feel the medication starting to lose its effect. Like Phil, before long he wasn't going to be worth much.

  "How 'bout the ship's guns, ol' sport?" Rico asked after McCade had explained his plan. "If Zorta shows up with some of his troops we may need somethin' a little heavier than pop guns."

  McCade agreed, and it wasn't long before he was glad he had provided weapons all around. They heard the engines first.

  The roaring noise was magnified by the walls of the hangar. The noise was soon followed by a flying column of armored vehicles which were headed directly for the spacecraft. As soon as they came into range, Rico opened up with the ship's guns, immediately blowing two of the ground cars to bits.

  Their advantage didn't last long. Someone in Zorta's command had some brains and knew how to use them. Maybe even Zorta himself. In any case the vehicles picked up speed and quickly closed, with Pegasus, sweeping around the ship to encircle it before screeching to a halt. When they stopped they were so close to Van Doren's defenses that Rico couldn't fire without hitting the defenders as well as the enemy.

  Piling out and using their vehicles for cover, Zorta's troops opened fire. McCade noticed they were careful not to hit Pegasus. Zorta clearly didn't want to lose his way out. Van Doren took advantage of this fact by deploying his forces so that the ship was directly behind most of them, thereby increasing the odds of Zorta's troops hitting the spacecraft. As a result the column of incoming fire dropped off dramatically. Zorta's soldiers were ordered to take careful aim before each shot.

  Not so constrained, McCade and Van Doren urged the former slaves to pour it on. They did so without hesitation. Knowing Zorta was out there somewhere, each hoped it would be her energy bolt or slug that cut him down.

  McCade chose his targets with methodical care. Aim, squeeze off two shots, and then aim again. After nine shots reload. He felt a touch on his shoulder and turned to find Sara crouched by his side. There were tiny lines around her eyes, hinting at the strain she'd been under.

  "Phil's done, Sam. You've got to see it to believe it. He did an incredible job."

  McCade bent low, using what cover there was, and followed her to the main entry port. Once inside they made their way to the lounge. As he entered McCade found himself face to face with a perfect likeness of King Zorta. Even though he'd seen the Treel's abilities demonstrated before, it was still astonishing. The Treel was sitting right below the Lakorian king's portrait and the likeness was exact. Phil had collapsed in the throne and was snoring softly.

  "We're working on his speech," Sara said, indicating the Treel. "We found some recordings in his luggage of various speeches Zorta's given and our friend here will pattern on those."

  "I assure you, rigid ones, given my enormous intellectual capacity, it will be child's play. Then I shall storm the very heart of the infidel stronghold!" the Treel said fervently in what McCade assumed was Zorta's voice.

  "Good idea," McCade replied dryly. "However there's one little chore we'd like you to do first."

  "You have been fair, rigid one," the Treel intoned gravely. "Ask me not to spare the infidels. All else within my power shall be yours."

  "I'll not ask you to spare them," McCade said with equal seriousness. "Only to delay slightly that moment when the great Yareel shall cleanse them from this existence."

  "Granted, rigid one," the Treel said. "Continue."

  Turning to Sara, McCade said, "Tell Van Doren and Rico to pull back into the ship. We're about to lift."

  When she made no move to go he said, "The slaves too, of course. In fact they are an important part of the plan."

  Sara smiled and disappeared into the corridor.

  "Now," McCade continued, turning back to the Treel. "Here's the plan. We'll send three or four of the Lakorian slaves along with you, ostensibly as part of your harem. They'll be of considerable assistance when push comes to shove." And they'll have instructions to kill you if you make one wrong move, he thought to himself. Each would be equipped with an overdose of the substance obtained from the chemlock Phil had removed.

  The Treel nodded.

  "Once you're aboard Reez's ship, just sit back and relax," McCade continued. "Reez will head for the War World to off-load you and your troops. We'll follow. Once there, we'll have the coordinates."

  "And then, rigid one? What would you have me do then?" the Treel asked.

  McCade shrugged. "I guess that's up to you. But I suggest you insist on taking personal command of your troops. Reez will agree. I doubt he wants Zorta along when he goes home to collect his 'attaboys.' Once he's gone we'll whistle up some Imperial assistance, they'll return Zorta's troops to Lakor, and you'll probably be knighted. End of story."

  "That sounds most satisfactory," the Treel replied, much to McCade's surprise. "It's a good plan, rigid one. I am sure it will work."

  So am I, McCade thought as he found a half-smoked cigar and lit it. Then why am I so damned worried? he wondered.

  Seventeen

  McCade watched the main entry port monitor as the last former slave dashed aboard and Van Doren closed the hatch behind her. Outside, a hail of slugs hammered the hull as energy beams probed and searched for a way in. Zorta had changed tactics. Seeing they were about to lift, he no longer cared if his troops hit the ship, and they were doing so with a vengeance.

  McCade wasn't too worried, since the hand weapons they were using wouldn't even scratch the ship's paint job. Of course there was always the possibility of cumulative damage or of Zorta bringing up heavier weapons. With that in mind he opened the intercom and said, "Okay, let's hose 'em down, Rico. Try to move them back out of the blast area while you're at it. Otherwise they'll get cooked as we lift off."

  "Nothin' to it, ol' sport." Rico sounded cheerful as he opened up with the ship's guns.

  As the spacecraft's heavy weapons traversed the area, Zorta and his troops quickly pulled back. Once they were out of the way, Rico did his best not to hit them. Lif's troops would be along soon to mop them up. McCade smiled to himself as he imagined the meeting between the Baron and his former king. It would have been a pleasure to see.

  "Sam! Look!"

  Beside him Sara pointed at the bow screen which moments before had shown only sky. Now the blue rectangle was growing steadily smaller as powerful motors worked to close the camouflaged roof. Zorta hadn't given up. Within minutes they would be trapped under the roof and unable to lift off.

  McCade's voice boomed throughout the ship as he shouted, "Stand by for emergency lift!" Turning to Sara he said grimly, "Let's hope everybody's strapped in. This is going to be rough."

  Quickly running through the pre-flight checks, he noticed that Zorta's techs had given the ship a complete overhaul. How considerate, he thought as he reached up, grabbed the red knob, turned it to the right, and pushed. The ship shook as the engines built thrust, spewing flame and heat out in all directions. The vehicles left behind by Zorta and his troops exploded from the heat, throwing out a curtain of red hot shrapnel that clattered against the hull.

  Straining against the acceleration, McCade released the ship's defenses from manual to automatic as a familiar female voice flooded the control room. "This ship is under attack by an unknown number of atmospheric craft. Please stand by for high-speed evasive action and high G forces. Due to the time elapsed under manual control, it is impossible to guarantee your safety. Although defensive missiles have been launched, this computer and the ship's manufacturer disclaim all responsibility for any subsequent damages to this spacecraft, its passengers, or contents, consistent with
Article 47, subsection eight, paragraph three of Imperial Insurance Regulations."

  McCade watched as the atmospheric fighters were snuffed out one after another. They were no match for the heavier armament of the spacecraft. They tumbled out of the sky in ones and twos, leaving dark smears of smoke against the blue sky to mark where they went down. As the ship's computer added even more acceleration, McCade felt himself pushed down into a wall of pain. The medication had completely worn off and his head felt as though it might explode. As the pain smashed into him, McCade searched for and found the welcoming darkness.

  When he awoke it was to the realization that the pain was gone. Cautiously he moved this way and that, searching for the pain, and couldn't find it. With that in mind it seemed worthwhile opening his eyes. To his surprise McCade found himself stretched out on his bunk in the master stateroom. They must have moved him down from the control room after he'd passed out. Concern flooded his mind. The fighters . . . and Reez in orbit above them. What was going on?

  With an effort he managed to sit up and swing his feet over the side of the berth. With the exception of a narrow path, pieces of Zorta's luggage still covered the deck. Using the bulkheads and boxes for support, he made his way into the lounge and collapsed into a seat. He still felt a bit weak. Sara and Van Doren were there and looked up with surprise.

  "Hey, boss, what are you doing up and around?" Van Doren asked with obvious concern.

  "Trying to kill himself, that's what," Sara said, moving over to sit next to him.

  "You two worry too much," McCade replied, patting his pockets for a cigar. "I laugh at pain. I'm bulletproof and will live a million years. What happened to the fighters anyway?"

  "Long gone," Sara replied. "A few seconds after you passed out, we cleared the atmosphere."

  "And now we're on our way to the War World, we hope," Van Doren added sourly. "Although you couldn't prove it by me. Reez is probably sucking us into some kind of trap." His big fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the seat beside him.

  Sara shrugged. "Anything's possible, I guess. But personally I doubt it. I think Reez bought the whole thing. And why not? It all went just like he expected it to. We met him in orbit, instead of one of us, he saw Ven on the com screen, we matched velocities and locks, King Zorta went aboard with slaves, assured Reez that his troops were winning on the ground, and made one request."

  "Which was?" McCade asked.

  "That his yacht not be taken aboard," Sara replied. "Zorta insisted that his crew be allowed to follow on their own as a training exercise. At least that's what he was supposed to say." She shrugged. "It must have worked, because here we are."

  "Yeah," Van Doren said. "Here we are, wherever that is."

  "O ye of little faith," Rico said, squeezing his bulk into the crowded lounge. "Good ta see ya up and around. How ya feelin'?"

  "Great," McCade lied with a smile.

  "Well that's good," Rico replied, "'cause I got a feelin' things are about to get interestin' again. We just had a com call from some Il Ronnian sub-sept commander. He fed the computer coordinates for a hyperspace shift. Told Ven it's comin' up in about ten minutes." With a wave of a hairy hand he disappeared in the direction of the control room.

  Rico was at least partly right. About ten minutes later McCade felt the slight nausea and momentary confusion characteristic of a hyperspace shift. But he was wrong about things getting interesting. Instead they got very boring. Two standard days passed without anything further happening to break the monotony. That, plus the fact that Pegasus was severely overcrowded, quickly began to wear on them.

  Besides McCade, Sara, Van Doren, Rico, and Phil, the little ship was also carrying Ven and about fifteen former slaves. Each dealt with the boredom and overcrowding in his or her own way. McCade slept and ate the first day away. Rico prowled the ship searching for routine maintenance chores to do. Van Doren exercised the ship's weapons, offering classes in gunnery. Some of the former slaves took him up on it. Meanwhile Phil just spent his time asleep, waking only briefly for meals and a little conversation before dozing off again.

  At first Sara stayed busy organizing shifts for meals, sleep, and exercise. But before long, things pretty well ran themselves. So for something to do she began an inventory of Zorta's considerable luggage. Although the Treel had taken a few changes of clothing along to the Il Ronnian battleship, he'd chosen to leave most of Zorta's belongings behind. Among them Sara discovered a suitcase full of computer tapes on Lakorian governmental affairs. She began scanning them, and before long was immersed in the endless detail of planetary affairs.

  Toward the end of the second day, McCade felt both better and worse at the same time. Physically he was much better. The combination of rest and medical treatment had done wonders. But emotionally he was tense and edgy, wishing desperately for something to do and unable to find it. Everyone else had found something to keep them occupied and had somehow disappeared inside it. For a while he tried reading, then holo games, and finally took to prowling the ship in search of somebody to talk to. But nobody wanted to talk. So, in deference to the already overloaded air scrubbers, he was sitting in the lounge chewing on an unlit cigar and fuming when Rico's voice came over the intercom.

  "Well, folks, Ven just heard from our pointy-tailed friends, and you'll be glad ta know we're comin' outta hyperspace in a few minutes . . . unless o' course you'd like to extend this luxury cruise."

  Rico didn't need the intercom to hear the jeers and howls of outrage that followed. Grinning, he poked the intercom button again and said, "Sam, ol' sport, I think we could use ya here in the control room."

  Happy to have something to do, McCade made his way to the control room. "What's up?"

  "I ain't sure. But from the way they phrased it, I think Reez is plannin' ta cut it real close. First they told Ven ta prepare for a shift and fed us the coordinates. But here's the interestin' part. They also specified the orbit they want us to park in."

  "So maybe we're going to come out right on top of the War World," McCade mused. "Reez is probably in a hurry to dump Zorta's troops and then run for reinforcements."

  "Seems like it," Rico said, his tiny eyes twinkling. "And all we gotta do is sit back and wish him bon voyage."

  "That's right," McCade replied with a grin. That's right, I hope, he thought to himself. For some reason he couldn't shake the feeling that it wouldn't be quite that simple. A few minutes later and they emerged from the hyperspace shift.

  McCade watched with intense curiosity as the screen cleared. Where the computer had projected the War World as a featureless globe, lacking sufficient data to do anything else, the real thing now hung before them.

  It was smaller than most planets yet larger than most moons. The scattered clouds covering it testified to an atmosphere. Bodies of blue water were visible, but, unlike anything he had seen before, they were strangely geometrical, each forming a perfect circle of uniform size. There was green vegetation too. But it also had an unnatural appearance. It covered the worldlet in alternating squares, making it look like a checkered ball. The areas not covered by either water or vegetation were metallic gray. The gray squares displayed various textures, suggesting surface structures of some kind, but with one exception were too far away to identify. The exception was clearly visible due to its vast size. It was a spaceport. A huge spaceport, large enough to ground a fleet. And right in the middle of it McCade saw something that shouldn't have been there. Frowning in disbelief he punched the forward screens to high mag and then sat back in his seat as it became apparent that he'd been right. There she sat, looking foreign among the gantries and support equipment left by the long-dead race. An Imperial destroyer.

  "What the hell?" McCade said in amazement. "How did they get here?"

  "That ain't all, ol' sport," Rico said, pointing a stubby finger at the second screen. "Take a look at that."

  As he spoke another ship emerged from behind the far side of the globe and orbited into full view. There was
no mistaking her lines. An Imperial Class A Freighter. As they watched, a shuttle detached itself from the huge ship and started down toward the surface. Whether it departed in reaction to the arrival of the Il Ronnian battleship, or was simply unaware of it, McCade couldn't tell. It didn't get far. The little ship exploded and literally disappeared as the Il Ronnian warship opened fire.

  "They didn't have a chance! That bastard!" McCade pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. As he spoke the freighter herself came under fire. Her defensive screens came up and flared through all the colors of the rainbow as the incoming fire grew more intense. Though the freighter had no offensive armament to speak of, it did have plenty of defensive capability and lots of power. Most of that power was now going to the defensive screens and, for the moment, they were holding. But McCade knew that in the long run the Il Ronnian battlewagon would beat the screens down and win.

  He glanced at the first screen just in time to see a missile hit the grounded destroyer. It still seemed mostly intact, but now had a noticeable list to starboard. There wouldn't be much help from that quarter.

  "I guess it's up to us," McCade said grimly as he reached for his harness and began to strap himself in. "Rico, tell 'em to stand by for combat and evasive action." As he reached over to activate the ship's weapons systems, he felt an iron grip on his wrist.

  "Whoa ol' sport . . . not so fast," Rico said, his eyes serious. "This play-pretty ain't no match for a ship o' the line."

  "Goddamnit, Rico, let go," McCade said, trying to pull his arm loose from the other man's viselike grip. "You saw what they did to the poor bastards in that shuttle. Maybe we can distract them a little, slow them down, buy a little time."

  "Sure, ol' sport," Rico replied calmly, "like about thirty seconds, which is how long this little toy's gonna last. There's a better way."