"Quite simply, actually," Swanson-Pierce answered. "Major Van Doren told me. Under the cover of weapons practice, he's been sending off message torps on a regular basis."
McCade swore, turning toward Van Doren. The big marine shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry, Sam . . .. For whatever it's worth, they were good reports."
Turning back to Swanson-Pierce, McCade said, "Congratulations, Walt. I should have known. I figured Laurie was your watchdog, while actually there were two."
"And a good thing too," the naval officer said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from his right sleeve. "Lieutenant Lowe's true loyalties were something of a surprise, and I'm sure, in retrospect, you'll agree that Major Van Doren came in handy from time to time."
"Granted," McCade replied, "But why, Walt? I mean why go through this whole charade? It's obvious you already knew where the War World was."
Swanson-Pierce was silent for a moment as he perched on the armrest of an alien chair. He looked at each one of them before he answered.
"Time, Sam. The answer is time. This 'charade' as you call it bought us some time. To understand why that's important, you must realize that, in most respects, I told you the truth from the very start." The naval officer held up his hand to still McCade's unuttered objections.
"Yes, yes, I'll admit I didn't tell you everything we knew, however; the fact remains that what I did tell you was mostly the truth. As you know by now, Captain Bridger finally managed to decode his so-called 'Directory,' and came up with a list of artifact worlds plus coordinates for each. On that list he found one called the 'War World.' We kept an eye on him, but frankly we didn't think he could manage to get away. By the time we realized our mistake, it was too late."
Swanson-Pierce looked at Sara and shrugged apologetically. "By then of course he was no longer sane. He became fixated on the War World as a weapon of vengeance. He imagined it to be a world dedicated to war, an arsenal which he could use to destroy the enemy which had robbed him of his wife, his daughter, and his career. With it he could destroy the pirates. If doing so meant giving that arsenal, plus his expertise, to the Il Ronn, then so be it, for he saw the pirates as the greater threat."
The naval officer gestured at their surroundings. "As you can see, his vision of the War World was not entirely correct."
"But not entirely wrong either," McCade said.
The other man nodded.
"It was a museum, wasn't it?" McCade asked. Swanson-Pierce smiled. "Good for you, Sam. I'm glad to see there's a cultured side to your personality. Yes, this whole planet is what we would consider a museum. A museum dedicated to war. The funny thing is, we can't figure out if it was built to glorify war, or to warn against it. The displays we found here could be interpreted either way. Which you see depends on your own attitude.
"In any case our experts say it was probably just part of a network of such planets, each dedicated to a particular subject, or area of interest, although most were probably natural, rather than artificial like this one. There's even the possibility that this entire worldlet is a converted battleship."
McCade tried to imagine a battleship the size of a small world. The very idea was mind boggling.
"So now you're stripping it of whatever knowledge and power you can." Sara's voice was icy.
"True enough," Swanson-Pierce replied calmly. "Although in truth the process is almost complete. It will be, as soon as we finish loading the freighter you were kind enough to save. And, for what it's worth, we've learned a great deal. Like most military museums, this one contained endless displays of what the curators considered to be antique weapons and other related gear. Needless to say much of it was quite new to us, and I might add, quite useful. Little items like the original design for a hyperdrive, for example." The naval officer smiled sardonically, enjoying the impact of his words.
"Hyperdrive?" McCade said in amazement. "I thought it was invented back during the civil war." He knew that in the hands of the man who would later declare himself "Emperor," it had proved the key to winning the war, and had later become the foundation of the Empire.
"As a student of naval history," Swanson-Pierce replied, "you'll remember an admiral named Finley."
McCade thought back to his Academy days. "Finley? The one they call the Father of the Navy?"
"The same," Swanson-Pierce agreed. "As it happens Finley's rise to that lofty rank was fueled more by luck than brave determination and brilliant service. It seems that as junior lieutenant, Finley commanded a small scout assigned as part of the escort for a supply convoy. The convoy and its escort were ambushed and nearly wiped out. With his two-man crew dead, and badly wounded himself, Finley tried to head for the nearest friendly planet. He never got there. Instead he stumbled onto this planet. It was pure blind luck. But luck that served the human race well."
"Served the Empire well, is more like it," Sara snorted.
Swanson-Pierce shrugged and smiled disarmingly. "I understand the way you feel. However, keep in mind that we're talking about something as fundamental to our present existence as hyperdrive. You'll recall that when Finley landed here, we didn't have one. And all the evidence suggests that the Il Ronn, who shortly thereafter made their existence known to us, did. In fact most experts agree they were substantially ahead of us in all areas of technology, at first contact."
Swanson-Pierce examined his immaculate fingernails critically, and then looked up meaningfully.
"So," he continued, "if Finley hadn't managed to patch up his ship, and limp back with the coordinates of this planet, I think it's fair to say that instead of our present standoff with the Il Ronn, we would now be their slaves, a circumstance none of us would enjoy. I might also add that it was hyperdrive, after all, which made possible the colonization of planets like Alice. So while the knowledge gained here did help establish the empire you despise, it also made possible the rather chilly freedom you relish on Alice."
Sara was silent as McCade dropped his cigar on the floor and crushed it out with his boot.
"So," McCade said, "the Empire's been systematically looting this place for years. How many of the Empire's so-called 'scientific discoveries' were really found right here?"
"Some," the naval officer replied distastefully as he watched McCade smear the remains of the cigar under his toe. "But by no means all. Although I'll admit some have been spin-offs of the artifacts found here. But, as you saw on your way in, that's pretty much over now. Oh we've got lots of stuff to study, and no doubt we'll make more discoveries, but time's running out. You asked if there's a point to all this. Well there is. By using the knowledge found here, by keeping the source of that knowledge secret, by pitting the pirates against the Il Ronn, we've managed to buy some time. Time to achieve parity with the Il Ronn."
"What about the other worlds listed on my father's Directory?" Sara asked suspiciously. "Are you looting those too?"
"Unfortunately the answer is no," Swanson-Pierce answered patiently. "We've investigated hundreds of them without finding anything like this," he said, gesturing to their surroundings. "Many of the planets listed turned out to be among those already discovered by accident. Others were new to us, but no more productive than the other artifact worlds already known. This world was evidently a fluke. Because it's artificial and self-repairing it has been able to defy the effects of time. Again, we aren't sure if it was built for this purpose, or converted from another use. In any case, we haven't found anything else like it."
Swanson-Pierce smiled. "I'd say that's more up to you, and those like you, than it is to us. Anyone who really thinks it through soon realizes the future lies with planets like yours, rather than with the fat, complacent inner worlds. Already you have secret governments and are starting to form loose interplanetary ties."
Sara started to object, but Swanson-Pierce held up a restraining hand. "Don't bother to deny it. Give our intelligence people a little credit. As I was saying, you've started to organize. Who knows what final form that organization will take? Anothe
r confederation? An Empire? Something new? It's hard to say . . . but, whatever it is, it will replace the present order."
"Has anyone notified the Emperor of all this?" McCade asked with a raised eyebrow. "He'll probably want to update his résumé."
"Oh I think his job's safe for quite a few years yet," Swanson-Pierce replied, tugging on a cuff. "As is mine. Keep in mind I'm talking about the long run. But if the Emperor were here, I think he'd agree with what I've said. He's not a stupid man. Of course there are stupid men and women, many employed by the Empire, all of whom would not agree. Those who benefit most from a system don't like to envision its destruction."
For a moment there was silence all around. McCade finally broke it. "So what about us? There's a shipload of Il Ronnian prisoners in orbit up there." He gestured toward the ceiling.
Swanson-Pierce regarded him with pretended surprise.
"Prisoners? You must be mistaken, Sam. Prisoners imply armed conflict, which in turn suggests war. And we aren't at war with the Il Ronn. If we were, we might very well lose. No, I'm afraid there's been a terrible mistake. We'll apologize, they'll apologize, we'll remove the radio control unit you put on those torpedoes, and everyone goes home happy."
"Except the crew of the shuttle they destroyed," McCade said.
"And except for the pilots of those fighters you blew out of existence," the other man countered dryly. "Plus any personnel lost when their own missiles hit. No, I think it's about even. With that in mind, Council Member Romero, perhaps you'd be so kind as to contact their commanding officer, what's his name, Reez? Explain that there's been a terrible mistake. He'll understand. I'd do it myself, but I'd rather stay in the background, if you don't mind."
Rico nodded his agreement.
"Well I guess that about wraps it up then, Walt," McCade said. "I can't say it's been a pleasure, but that's life. I assume you'll clear my title to Pegasus?"
The naval officer nodded. "Who knows, Sam, we might even throw in a bonus. Where do we send it?"
McCade looked at Sara. She smiled and he saw the future reflected in her eyes.
"Send it to Alice, Walt . . .. From what you said, that's where the action's going to be."
As Swanson-Pierce extended his hand, McCade saw something come and go in his eyes. Something that just might have been envy.
They left him there, hands folded behind his back, staring up at the map of a long-forgotten empire, dreaming of what had been, and what was yet to be.
On the surface again, McCade stopped and turned to face Van Doren. Try as he would, he couldn't find any anger at the other man's deception. "Thanks for everything, Amos."
The marine's huge fist tightened around his own. Amos smiled from beneath bushy brows. "Anytime, Sam. You take care out there. Save me a place. Who knows . . . I can retire in a few years, if I live that long."
"You'd better!" Sara said fiercely, hugging Van Doren's huge frame.
"That's right, sport," Rico said, coming up behind them. "We're always short o' bozos with more muscle than brains!"
As the two men gripped hands in one last trial of strength, McCade looked up toward where the Il Ronnian ship orbited high above. In a few minutes Rico would place the com call to Commander Reez. After a brief diplomatic ballet, Lif's Lakorian troops would be off-loaded onto the surface of the War World to await transportation home, and the armorers from the destroyer would go up to disarm the torpedoes which still stood guard over the Il Ronnian battleship's control room.
To the Il Ronnian's surprise, King Zorta would not be found aboard their ship. Perhaps he was killed when the missiles struck. Or maybe he attempted to reach his yacht in space armor, and being inexperienced, failed. In any case they wouldn't spend much time worrying about it now that Zorta's usefulness had come to an end.
The Lakorian troops would return home to find King Lif on the throne, the relieved populace telling of Zorta's death or imprisonment.
They might for a while tell confusing stories of an imposter who fooled everyone and then disappeared without a trace. But who would care?
That, however, wouldn't help the Il Ronnians, who might never learn that their commanding officer was really a Treel. After all he'd been through, it had taken McCade awhile to figure it out. But something about the Il Ronnian surrender had bothered him from the first. It had come too easily, too quickly, but it was more than that. Then it hit. Reez had said, "My officers and I accept your offer of surrender, rigid ones!"
Only the Treel talked like that. Somehow the strange little alien had killed Reez, gotten rid of his body, and taken his place. He knew Walt wouldn't approve . . . but so what? McCade wondered what the Treel would do. Would he destroy the ship, and himself with it? Or would he be satisfied with killing Reez, and continue to impersonate him, perhaps for years, waiting for a time and place in which to more fully avenge the extinction of his race.
There was no way to know. But over the years, McCade would often think of old Softie, and chuckle to himself.
THE END
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Galactic Bounty Page 26
