Alien Bounty

by William C. Dietz

  McCade nodded his agreement. "Exactly. But once we find out who bought the vial, we can track them down. Make sense?"

  Reba's eyes dipped toward the deck and back up again. She had reservations but wasn't willing to share them.

  "It makes sense," she agreed reluctantly. "But how will I get you onto the Rock? And more importantly, how will you get off? I was on patrol when you trashed port twelve. But I heard about it, and I know the executive council would love to get their hands on you. They might allow you to get dirtside, but they'll never let you go."

  McCade blew smoke toward the overhead and smiled. "Then we won't tell 'em I'm there."

  Fourteen

  Spin was a desolate place, so unremarkable that its name stemmed from its one redeeming virtue, earth normal gravity. Gravity that served to hold a small collection of dilapidated domes in place in spite of the fact that it wasn't worthwhile.

  The planet had little to recommend it. The vast majority of its surface was dedicated to rocky wasteland, and if Spin hadn't marked the nexus of two minor trade routes, it would've stayed uninhabited.

  McCade had been there once before. A fugitive called Crazy Mary had led him there after a long and weary chase. He'd ordered her to surrender, but she'd just laughed and gone for her blaster as she had so many times before.

  But this time it was her turn to fall, it was her body they dumped outside for the scavengers to pick clean, and it was someone else who walked away.

  McCade felt his cheek twitch as Reba lowered Pegasus onto the scarred surface of Spin's single spaceport.

  Three other ships had landed there before them. There was a beat-up Confederation-era freighter, a sturdy-looking tug, and a sleek little DE that had "pirate" written all over it.

  Good, McCade thought to himself. The first part of the plan had fallen into place. With a little luck the rest would follow. He eyed the DE's scarred flanks.

  Destroyer Escorts were just right for small one-ship raids. They were fast, heavily armed, and large enough to carry some loot. Small stuff like isotopes and rare gems.

  The com screen swirled to life as Reba cut power to the ship's repellors. On it was a man who just barely qualified for the name.

  Hair crawled over his bullet-shaped head, sprouted from his ears, and covered his face. His eyes blinked constantly as he spoke.

  "It's gonna cost you a thousand credits to park that play pretty on my pad."

  Reba scowled. "A thousand credits my ass. A hundred, and not a penny more."

  The man grinned evily. "Your ass ain't worth a thousand credits. Not even here. Nine hundred."

  Reba made a rude gesture. "Two hundred."

  The man displayed yellow teeth as he laughed. "Seven hundred."

  "Three hundred."

  "Six hundred."

  "Four hundred."

  "All right, all right. Five hundred credits. But don't expect any free drinks."

  The screen went suddenly black.

  "You humans crack me up," Neem said from the hatch. As usual he wore a red heat cape wrapped around his skinny torso. "All that bargaining for a simple landing fee. Whatever for?"

  "Entertainment mostly," McCade replied as he released his harness. "The less formal entertainment there is, the more bargaining we do. Now, does everyone understand the plan?"

  Reba nodded and Neem's tail twitched in agreement.

  "Good, let's get ready."

  An hour later Neem stood by the lock to see them off. "Good luck, Sam, I hope everything goes smoothly."

  "Same to you, Neem. And remember, keep a close eye on the sensors. If someone tries to board, dust 'em off."

  "Dust 'em off," Neem said experimentally. "I like that. Another alternative to waste 'em, grease 'em, and ice 'em. You humans certainly have a grisly language."

  "You've been watching too many holo dramas," McCade said patiently. "Just do it, okay?"

  "Okay," Neem replied happily. "If anyone tries to board, I'll dust 'em off."

  "Good. I'll see you in a week or so."

  Pulling the rebreather down over his head, McCade checked the neck seals and looked at Reba. Hers was already in place and she gave him a thumbs-up.

  McCade palmed the lock control and waited while the inner hatch cycled open. When Reba stepped through he followed.

  Both waved at Neem until the hatch had cycled closed. There was a wait while Spin's noxious atmosphere was pumped in, and a slight pop as the hatch cycled open and pressures were equalized.

  Needless to say there were no robo stairs to meet them, so Reba was forced to deploy a ladder and wait while McCade clanked his way down it. The leg shackles were noisy and slowed him down.

  As Alice's one and only peace officer, McCade had other more modern restraints aboard the ship. But the leg shackles were the most dramatic by far and therefore appropriate to the situation.

  As Reba made her way down the ladder McCade took a look around. The DE looked larger now, looming above him like some sort of metal monster, partially hidden by wisps of poisonous fog. Was that gun turret pointed his way on purpose? Or had it been positioned like that all along?

  His thoughts were interrupted as Reba gave him a shove and growled, "Get a move on, stupid. This ain't no sightseeing trip."

  McCade tied to catch himself, but his leg shackles tripped him and he fell.

  Reba jerked him to his feet with a growl of frustration and gave him another shove.

  Head hung low, shackles clanking, McCade shuffled toward the nearest dome. Someone could be watching or monitoring their radio traffic, so Reba was right to establish their relationship.

  But did she have to shove so hard? Should he put this much trust in her? What if she betrayed him the moment they got inside?

  Then Neem would come to his rescue. He'd try anyway. While Reba was asleep the two of them had cooked up a plan. Neem would lift Pegasus on her repellors, cripple the DE, and cut a hole through the skin of the main dome.

  Assuming Neem managed to carry out the first part of the plan, McCade would don his rebreather, release his leg shackles using the electronic key taped to the inside of his left forearm, and escape via the newly created exit.

  The plan was complicated and vulnerable to a sorts of unforeseen problems, so McCade hoped they wouldn't be forced to use it.

  Reba gave him another shove and he stumbled forward.

  Piles of debris were heaped left and right. It was SOP to throw garbage outside the lock until it threatened to engulf the dome itself. At that point someone would climb aboard an ancient crawler and shove the garbage into a nearby ravine.

  Reba palmed the lock. The hatch made a grinding sound as it cycled open. It too was overused and undermaintained.

  Long before it was fully open the hatch began to iris closed. They hurried to get inside and just barely made it. Seconds later a noisy pump went to work evacuating Spin's noxious atmosphere.

  A slush of water and mud covered the bottom of the lock. Plastic sacks full of garbage lined both sides of the chamber and the walls were covered with a variety of graffiti. None was especially original.

  The place was still the same. Fortunately he wasn't. In the unlikely event that someone remembered him, McCade figured that his five-day growth of beard, filthy rags, and beaten demeanor should be a sufficient disguise.

  A tired buzzer announced a breathable atmosphere and the green indicator light in McCade's rebreather confirmed it. As he shuffled toward the inner hatch McCade pulled the rebreather down off his face and let it hang by its straps.

  Continually urged on by a series of shoves and insults, McCade followed a muddy path down a poorly lit corridor and into a circular room.

  The air was thick with blue smoke. It hung in layers of blue-gray with the heaviest smoke on the bottom and the lightest on top.

  A few things had changed since he and Bloody Mary had faced each other in the center of the room. The bar was kitty corner from where it had been, a new holo tank took up a large part of one wall, and t
he layer of grease that covered everything was even thicker.

  Conversation stopped and every head turned as they entered. Not too surprising since they were the most exciting thing to happen all day.

  McCade was careful to maintain his submissive posture as Reba pushed him toward the center of the room and swaggered along behind. Watching from the corners of his eyes he saw the bar was about half full. It wasn't difficult to sort them into groups.

  The pirates sat by themselves toward one corner. There were eight of them, nine if you counted the woman passed out on the floor. Their table was loaded with empties. They seemed dazed as if the two strangers were apparitions only half seen and partially understood.

  Unless they were short on personnel McCade figured there were two or three additional crew members still aboard the DE.

  The male pirates watched Reba with a certain amount of interest, but no one jumped to their feet and called her name, so none of them knew her. Good. They had a story prepared just in case, but McCade didn't want to use it.

  The freighter's crew sat on the far side of the room. They were as far away from the pirates as they could get and still be in the same bar. McCade didn't blame them. It's a wise sheep who stays as far away from the wolves as possible.

  There were four of them. The captain was a solid-looking black woman in her forties. To her right sat a youngish-looking woman with the flashes of a power engineer on her nonreg cap. Next to her sat a brutish-looking Cellite and a beat-up android. The latter was sucking an electronic cocktail via a wall outlet. Like the pirates they'd left one or two people aboard their ship.

  There was a scattering of other people in the room as well, an older man and a boy who might have been a match with the tug, plus the usual assortment of drifters.

  One of these was a man of indeterminate age with flat dead eyes, expensive clothes, and a blaster with custom grips. Just as the pirates looked like what they were, the gambler looked like what he was. His eyes drifted across McCade and came to rest on Reba. A smile touched his lips.

  "Greetings. At the risk of sounding trite, what brings someone like you to a place like this?"

  Reba smiled. "Gravity, the need for a number four power board, and a powerful thirst."

  The gambler nodded understandingly. "Would you care to join me? I don't bite."

  Reba looked around as if considering her other options.

  It's perfect, McCade said to himself, don't overact.

  McCade heaved an internal sigh of relief as she grabbed a chair and shoved him toward another. "Sure, as long as you don't mind gark breath here. He gets into trouble if I leave him aboard ship alone. Isn't that right, gark breath?"

  Reba kicked McCade just as he tried to sit down. He fell and the pirates laughed.

  McCade swore under his breath as he picked himself up and claimed a chair.

  "What was that, gark breath?"

  "Nothing," McCade mumbled.

  "Good," Reba said, turning toward the gambler. "Now where were we?"

  "Just getting acquainted," the gambler replied smoothly. "Can I buy you a drink?"

  "Does a Zerk monkey like fava fruit? You bet your ass you can."

  The gambler summoned one of the saloon's two staff members, a slovenly woman who doubled as Spin's only prostitute, and ordered drinks. After accepting two glasses of black brew, the gambler paid and offered Reba a toast.

  "To quick money and just enough time to spend it."

  "Amen."

  Both upended their glasses. Reba choked, coughed, and came up grinning. "I don't know what that was, but I'll bet you could run my ship on it."

  "They call it a Tail Spin," the gambler answered as a deck of cards appeared in his hands.

  Reba eyed the cards and licked her lips. A nice touch, McCade thought admiringly. Not only was Reba keeping her word, she was doing it with a certain amount of class.

  The gambler saw her hungry look and smiled. The cards jumped from one hand to the other and back again. "Do you play?"

  "Sometimes," Reba answered with just the right amount of hesitation. "Not very well though. Would you be interested in a friendly game of Flash?"

  The cards made a graceful arc as they rippled through the air to patter down in front of her. The gambler smiled. "Deal."

  Fifteen

  Reba was good. Maybe too good since she was winning instead of losing.

  It was the gambler's deal. He'd just lost a long series of small pots, and although he kept his face professionally blank, McCade could see the sheen of perspiration that glossed his forehead. The gambler had upped the ante in hopes of recouping his losses. But would it work? If not, he'd lose his entire stake. A stake he'd need to buy his way off Spin. It was just a theory, but a theory that fit the situation like a glove, and would explain the gambler's anxiety. An extended stay on Spin would be less than pleasant.

  The cards made a gentle slapping sound as they hit the surface of the table. Before long there were ten cards facedown in front of each player. Reba looked up. "Dealer flashes first."

  The gambler inclined his head slightly. Long white fingers lifted the cards one at a time and showed or "flashed" them at Reba. She had approximately one second to see and memorize each card before the gambler flipped it over and tucked it into his hand.

  Then it was Reba's turn. She held each card up for a full three or four seconds before hiding it away. But the gambler was still losing in spite of that advantage. Maybe Reba had a better memory than he did, or maybe she just outclassed him, but whatever the reason things were not going according to plan.

  McCade shifted his weight from one side to the other. He wanted to yell, "Lose damn it, lose!" but bit his lip instead.

  Now both players were taking turns replacing up to five of their ten cards in an effort to build a full system. A full system included twin stars, six planets, a comet, and one moon. But a full system was pretty rare, so lesser hands usually won.

  So when Reba said, "Read 'em and weep, a full system takes the pot," McCade groaned in disgust.

  The gambler managed to smile as Reba raked in the pot, but McCade could see the perspiration running down his neck. Chances were the gambler was close to tapped out. If so, he'd pull out pretty soon.

  And the gambler was just about to say something when the pirate saved the day.

  The pirate was young, no more than twenty-five, and walked across the room with a drunken swagger. He wore a slug gun low on his right hip, like someone who fancies himself a quick-draw artist and worries about what other people think.

  From McCade's point of view the pirate was a godsend, just what he'd hoped for in the first place and failed to get.

  "Any chance of dealing myself in?"

  The gambler spoke quickly. "It's all right with me if the lady has no objection." Maybe another player would change his luck and reduce the magnitude of his losses.

  Reba made a show of thinking the proposition over as she tossed off her latest Tail Spin.

  Finally, when McCade thought she'd pushed it too far and the pirate would leave in disgust, she gestured toward an empty chair. "Sure, why not. Let's see the color of your money."

  The pirate fumbled around in a pocket for a moment before dragging out a wad big enough to choke an Envo Beast. He slapped it down on the table, called for a drink, and shuffled the cards.

  Reba's luck took a turn for the worse a few minutes later. The pirate won, and continued to win, until the gambler's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Was she throwing the game? But that wouldn't make any sense. Why cheat to lose? Besides, he was winning, and so long as that continued he'd keep his mouth shut.

  An hour passed, and as it did Reba became increasingly careless, forgetting which cards her opponents had and making a series of stupid mistakes.

  The others put it down to her heavy drinking, and McCade would have too, except he'd seen her surreptitiously pour them into the semiliquid slush that covered the floor.

  Finally it was over and Reba's money was ne
arly gone. A large pot occupied the center of the greasy table and Reba burped as she threw down her remaining credits. "Well, thaz it, gentlemen. Outside of gark breath over there, and juz enough to cover a number four power board, I'm broke."

  The pirate looked down at his hand and up to Reba. His bloodshot eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Fine. Throw in gark breath and I'll show you what I've got."

  A frown creased Reba's forehead as though she was trying to understand the pirate's proposal and, finding that hard to do, was pretending to think it over.

  The gambler had decided something was fishy. He didn't know what and didn't care. He was slightly ahead and wanted to stay that way. He spread the fingers on both hands. "It's getting too rich for me. I fold."

  Reba tried to focus bleary eyes on his face. She nodded heavily. "Zur, just when things get interestin' you bail out. Well, not me. I hereby add gark breath to the pot. Read 'em and weep."

  Though not overly thrilled about the name "gark breath," McCade was happy that things were finally moving in the right direction. He watched Reba and the pirate spread their cards out on the table.

  There was a long silence.

  Reba was the first to frown, followed by the pirate, followed by McCade himself. He couldn't see the cards from where he sat, but something was wrong.

  While Reba should be frowning, the pirate should be jubilant, and he wasn't. Suddenly McCade understood. Reba had won! The miserable so and so had won the pot! All that work, all that hobbling around in shackles, all of it a waste of time!

  And that's when Reba did the only thing she could. She swayed in her chair, held a dramatic hand up to her forehead, and fell over backward. Her chair hit the floor with a tremendous crash.

  Conversation stopped, heads turned, but things were back to normal a few seconds later. No big deal, just another drunk hitting the floor. A somewhat routine occurrence in that or any other rim world bar.

  The gambler looked at the pirate. The pirate looked at the gambler. They grinned. "Fifty-fifty?" the gambler asked.

  "Done," the pirate agreed. And the two men wasted little time splitting the pot. With that accomplished they turned to McCade.