Satisfied that they'd carried out their duties, the bullies left the ship and headed for the inn that doubled as Bulo's headquarters.
The next hour or so was spent unloading supplies from the aft hold and loading a hundred bales of noxious weed. McCade's Lakorian troopers swore the stuff was a rare delicacy handpicked in jungle swamps and served in all of the finest restaurants. If so, McCade decided to avoid those restaurants at all costs.
Shortly after the weed was loaded they heard some confused shouts, the splash of a poorly handled bow line, and the loud roar of the hovercraft's twin engines. A few minutes later and they were skimming upriver.
An hour passed and the light started to fade. Then, right at that magic moment when the evening light granted the jungle a soft beauty, the engine noise dropped off and the hovercraft slowed.
"This must be it," McCade announced. "Let's gather up our gear and get ready to bail out of this floating coffin."
There was a loud banging on one of the doors. Rico unlatched it and stepped back with blast rifle leveled.
The captain entered, hands held up in protest. He was short, wrinkled, and solid as the deck he stood on. His standard was something less than perfect.
"Shoot me don't! Friend am I. Arrived have we. Come."
McCade took a look around to make sure they had everything. The soldiers were shouldering backpacks filled with food, medical supplies, and ammo, plus a lethal array of weapons.
Rico wore a backpack com set and Phil carried a flame-thrower with two tanks of fuel.
That left a big black duffel bag that was made out of some sort of waterproof material and equipped with shoulder straps. McCade picked it up. The damned thing weighed a ton. It was tempting to leave it on the hovercraft, depend on plan A, and forget the backups. Tempting but stupid.
"Everybody ready?"
There were grunts of assent.
McCade nodded and they followed the captain up on deck. The passageways were filthy, the stairs were encrusted with dried mud, and the serfs were as tightly packed as ever. A good many had disembarked at Durn, but even more had trooped aboard, so conditions were little improved.
A child ran out in front of McCade. She wore one of the complicated sarongs that Lakorians loved to lavish on young females. She squealed with joy and headed straight for the gangplank. There was a shout of protest as her mother tried to intervene.
McCade scooped her up and smiled. The little female reminded him of Molly, of all the hugs he'd missed while traveling between the stars, of what he must find.
Frightened by the alien face, the child started to sob. McCade handed her to a grateful mother, shifted the duffel bag to a more comfortable position, and led the way onto the gangplank.
Once they were ashore the captain wasted little time on "good-byes." He gave a curt wave, shouted some orders, and disappeared into the wheelhouse.
The hovercraft made a loud roaring sound as it backed away from the bank and turned upstream. For a moment it looked big, with black skirts, orange hull, and a streamlined deckhouse.
Then it grew suddenly smaller as spray flew and the water flattened out around it. Seconds later the hovercraft was gone, disappeared around the next bend, heading upriver.
Something took a bite out of McCade's arm. He slapped it and swore. He wasn't looking forward to the stroll through the jungle, but if they wanted to sneak up on Baron Bulo Lif that's what it would take.
McCade lit a cigar and hoped that the smoke would discourage the rather numerous insect population.
"Sergeant Ven, put your two best troopers on point. Phil, you're next, with scanners running full bore, and the flamethrower on standby. Then comes Ven, myself, and, last but not least, Rico and the rest of the troopers. We shouldn't run into any trouble, but if we do, let's win. Any questions?"
No one had any questions so they set off down the trail. The trail followed the course of the river and had once been heavily traveled. Now, what with hovercraft service and all-terrain vehicles, the path was seldom used. By Lakorians that is.
As they moved down the trail Ven pointed out broken twigs, piles of green dung, and a wide variety of animal tracks.
When asked to comment on these signs, Ven would simply shrug his shoulders and say "very dangerous, very dangerous."
Then Ven would check his auto slug thrower, peer into the jungle, and shake his head sadly as if disaster would almost certainly strike.
McCade took it seriously at first, remembering some of the fauna he'd seen during his first stay, but time passed and he started to relax.
Knowing Ven could be less than truthful he even questioned the Lakorian's veracity. Chances were that the twigs had been broken by passing herbivores, the dung had been deposited by peaceful ruminants, and the tracks had been left by cute little furry things.
Yes, McCade decided, Ven's trying to scare us humans. Chances are he has some sort of elaborate bet going with the troops. Trying to see which one of us will freak out first. Well, to hell with that!
So McCade proceeded to focus all of his attention on the slippery log bridges, the vines that grew across the trail ankle high, and the occasional pockets of deep mud. And that's why he was so surprised when the vebores attacked.
They came without warning, hundreds of leathery little bodies, all teeth and no brains. The vebores were about the size of a Terran gerbil and very fast. So fast that they were in and among the sentients before anyone could shout a warning.
McCade felt a pain in his right calf, looked down, and saw that a small animal had managed to sink its teeth into his leg just above the boot top. He shouted a warning but it was too late. The vebores were swarming out of the jungle and piling onto human and Lakorian alike.
McCade heard the boom of a slug gun and the whine of energy weapons. It was a waste of time. The vebores were too small to make good targets and there were far too many of them.
McCade forced himself to ignore the animal gnawing at his leg. "Cease fire! The river! Run for the river!"
The rest of the party heard and obeyed. At the moment the river was about a hundred feet to the right. A tiny bit of remaining sunlight shimmered across the surface of the water.
Seeing it, human and Lakorian alike crashed through undergrowth, leaped over fallen trees, and tore at the vines that blocked their way.
Twice McCade tripped and fell, and each time he got up there were two or three more vebores locked onto his flesh, their little bodies flapping this way and that as he ran.
Finally there it was, darkly flowing water, and over to the right a small point. McCade shouted to make himself heard over the roar of the river. "Over this way! The point! Get on the point with your backs to the river!"
They heard and, after crashing their way through the thick vegetation that grew along the edge of the river, joined McCade on the point. All except the Lakorian named Kreb.
McCade spun around. "Kreb! Where the hell's Kreb?"
No one answered so McCade started back into the jungle. Strong hands grabbed and threw him down. McCade struggled but Rico and Ven had a good grip on him.
Rico waved at Phil. "Cook 'em, Phil, and make damn sure the little suckers are well done!"
The variant nodded and turned toward the jungle. He got a good grip on the nozzle and aimed it straight ahead. There was a whooshing sound as he pulled the trigger and the flamethrower sent a long tongue of flame into the jungle.
Though moist, the vegetation was no match for liquid fire, and went up in a roar of displaced air. McCade could feel the warmth on his face as Rico helped him to his feet.
More than a thousand vebores were caught in flames and they made a horrible chittering as they died.
McCade felt a sudden pain and looked down to find Ven was grabbing his vebores one at a time, slicing through their necks, and throwing the bodies into the river.
Then, when all of the animals were dead. Ven used the point of his commando knife to pry their jaws open and free the ugly-looking heads. The
se too were tossed into the river where they made a small plopping sound and disappeared from sight.
There was a loud pop as Phil killed the flamethrower. Black smoke floated toward them, pulled by the breeze that ran with the river, and heavy with the smell of burnt vegetation.
There was a moment of silence as they thought about what had happened and the fact that they were still alive. Ven touched McCade's arm.
"I am sorry about restraining you, but Kreb went down early on. There was nothing you could do."
McCade shuddered. What a horrible way to go, swarmed under by hundreds of little bodies, literally eaten alive. He forced the thought down and back. The light was almost completely gone. Time to make camp for the night.
First came a big fire, both for the light it would provide and psychological comfort as well. Phil used the flamethrower to get it going, grinning happily as the pile of vegetation whooshed into flame, extolling the merits of technology over bush craft.
Then came a round of first aid, with everyone taking turns as both doctor and patient, cleaning and dressing their many wounds.
The shelters went up with relative ease, and a good thing too, because it began to rain. Big fat drops that hit the tents hard, exploded into a hundred droplets, and were reunited as they slid toward the ground.
All of them took turns standing guard with the flamethrower, but nothing attacked beyond the scope of their own dreams, and the flickering light of the campfire.
As McCade lay there, he listened to Rico snore and wondered what Molly was doing. Could she be right there on Lakor? Waiting for him to come? Going through God knows what? There was no way to know.
It took him a long time to fall asleep.
Eight
The hold was still too small, but half of the gratings had been removed, and those that remained had been covered with thick cargo pads. Most of them smelled and were less than perfectly clean, but they still beat the heck out of bare metal.
Molly sat with her arms wrapped around her knees and rocked back and forth. She still hurt from the beating that Boots had given her. But the bruises had started to disappear, and thanks to the ship's medical officer, her sores were healing as well.
Molly looked around. The crew had rigged more lights, the girls wore clean clothes, cut-down ship suits mostly, and true to Pong's word, they received three servings of slop a day rather than the previous two.
That was the good news. The bad news was that Boots resented these improvements as if they came at her own personal expense and never stopped looking for ways to punish Molly for obtaining them. It was hard to believe that anyone could be so mean.
But Mommy said that some people are sick that way, holding other people down in order to elevate themselves, and it was certainly true that Boots was one of the lowest-ranking people in the crew.
Molly thought about her mother. Was she alive? Oh, please, God, let her be alive, and Daddy too. She bit her lip in order to stop the tears.
There was an intercom in the hold for use when loading and unloading cargo. It bonged twice. Molly looked up in surprise. They'd taken her wrist comp but her internal clock insisted that mealtime was still an hour or more away.
Some of the other girls were surprised as well and gave each other noncommittal shrugs. Whatever would be would be.
The children lined up and climbed the ladder one after another. By allowing the girl in front of her to get a ways ahead, and by climbing quickly past the platform on which Boots stood, Molly managed to escape all but a glancing kick, and a growled, "Hurry up."
Things proceeded normally once they entered the pressurized launch bay, except Molly couldn't escape the feeling that they were eating early, and noticed an unusual amount of activity around one of the larger shuttles.
It wasn't until the meal was over and the girls had lined up for their return that Molly learned the truth.
Boots walked about halfway down the line and stopped. She put her hands on fleshy hips. "All right, you little snots, listen up! At the present moment this ship is in orbit around a planet named Lakor."
Molly remembered the slight nausea all of them had felt about three meals back. Although the pirates hadn't said anything to confirm it, the girls had assumed that the ship was leaving hyperspace, and now they knew where.
Molly's heart leaped with excitement. Lakor! Her father had been there! And Mommy too. They'd helped Baron what's-his-name, Lis or something, and there was a chance that he'd help. Any chance was better than no chance at all! And that's what she had aboard ship.
Molly fought to keep the excitement off her face. She listened carefully.
Boots grinned evilly. "Lakor is well known for its slave markets, and guess what, some of you little creeps are going to see them firsthand. A few, twenty or so, will stay with us."
No one dared say anything but Molly felt the girls on either side of her stiffen. This was it, another step away from home and family, and into the terrible unknown. With the exception of Molly none of the girls wanted to go. They preferred life in the hold to the unknown horrors of Lakor.
"So," Boots continued, "Raz will choose. Those heading dirtside will report to the shuttle on the far side of the bay, and everyone else will stay where you are."
As usual Raz looked like some kind of barbarian warrior, long blond hair hanging down his back, muscles rippling under bronzed skin.
Raz started with the A's and worked his way down the alphabet. He was utterly detached, as if dividing a shipment of robots rather than people, sealing their fates with a laconic "Lakor" or "stays here."
Boots followed along behind Raz with a smile on her beefy face. Whenever Raz said "Lakor," Boots nodded her approval and took pleasure in the girl's dismay.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Raz was one person away. Molly could feel the pulse pounding in her head. She was afraid that he could hear it too.
Raz's voice seemed abnormally loud as he said "Lakor." The girl next to Molly gave a pathetic sob and ran toward the shuttle.
Molly tried to control Raz through sheer force of will. Make it Lakor, please make it Lakor.
Raz stopped in front of Molly, looked thoughtful, and spoke.
Nine
A soft rain fell. It hit the topmost leaves, slid off, and fell to the next layer of vegetation fifty feet below. Raindrops exploded upward as they hit, subsided into pools, and dripped downward to pitter pat around McCade.
A large drop of water found its way down past the neck seal of McCade's Class II Environment suit and trickled between his shoulder blades. It made him shiver.
Like the rest of the team McCade was tired from the hike through the jungle, wet from wading through a seemingly endless swamp, and sore from a long afternoon spent crouched on the hillside.
For the last hour or so they had moved down the slope in tiny increments, on the lookout for old-fashioned trip wires or, Sol forbid, the latest in surveillance technology. So far there was no sign of either one. Not too surprising, since Bulo's bullies spent most of their time in the inn, drinking and chasing barmaids.
Now McCade and his companions were hidden along the edge of the road where the jungle gave way to the village of Durn. Twilight had turned to night, leaving the village little more than a scattering of dark shapes and widely spaced lights.
It was difficult to see, but when McCade brought the night-vision device to his eyes, an astonishing amount of detail appeared. Buildings were transformed into ghostly green rectangles, windows became blotches of red, and power plants showed up as blobs of white. That's why McCade knew that the all-terrain vehicle parked next to the inn had been there for a relatively short period of time. The engine appeared as a ball of white radiance located toward the rear of a reddish haze.
Other than that, and the occasional movement of a blurry-looking guard, there was nothing worth watching. McCade put the device away.
A breeze blew in from the river. It made the vegetation rustle and swish. McCade made a face as th
e smell of Lakorian body odor hit his nostrils. When exposed to rain Lakorians exuded an oily substance that formed a microscopic layer of insulation between them and the water.
McCade took one last look around. There was no point in waiting any longer. By now Bulo's toughs should be either drunk or asleep. The perfect time to slip into the inn, grab Bulo, and make their escape. Or so McCade hoped.
McCade clicked his mic on and off. There were seven clicks in response. Gently, careful not to fall or make unnecessary noise, Rico made his way down onto the muddy road.
A single streetlight made a pool of sickly yellow light.
McCade's Bounty Page 6
