"Yeah?" The voice came back, "Well, keep the damned thing on. You okay, Platz? You sound different."
"Just the heat I guess," McCade mumbled. "I'll be fine."
"If you say so," the woman replied doubtfully. "I'll bring you something to drink when I make my rounds. Take a salt tablet."
The radio clicked off and McCade snapped to attention. All he could do was pray that Pong didn't notice his officer's tabs, or try to speak with him.
The command car came to a dignified halt. Pong got out, said something inaudible to the driver, and hurried toward the lock. The Melcetian didn't like direct sunlight and urged him on. Pong didn't even give McCade a second glance as he made his way up the stairs and disappeared into the lock. The moment Pong was gone the command car pulled away and headed toward one of the spaceport's prefab buildings.
McCade took one last look around to make sure no one was watching, slipped up the stairs, and entered the lock. It was well lit and, outside of some racked space suits, completely empty. Good. McCade palmed the control panel and heard the outer door close behind him.
As he waited for the inner hatch to open, McCade removed the helmet, put it on a bench, and drew his slug gun. It had been the property of guard number one and it felt good in his hand.
The inner hatch whirred open allowing a blast of cool air to fill the lock. Trying not to expose any more of his body than was absolutely necessary, McCade peeked into a long, narrow corridor and found himself looking straight down the barrel of a gun. A big gun in a furry paw. McCade gave a sigh of relief and stepped out of the lock.
"What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?"
Phil held a massive finger up to his muzzle and jerked his head toward the ship's bow. McCade nodded and followed along behind as the variant moved up the corridor.
Suddenly Phil paused, held up an enormous paw, and opened a door. McCade looked inside. Instead of the emergency equipment the locker was supposed to contain there was Platz, bound, gagged, and trying to signal McCade with his eyes.
McCade smiled, winked, and closed the door. Thanks to Phil, the sentry was safely out of the way.
From there the two of them eased their way up the corridor and paused outside the hatch marked Control Compartment. Pong was clearly visible. He and a humanoid-shaped cyborg were busy reviewing some date on the ship's navcomp.
McCade took one last look around, verified that no one was in sight, and got a nod from Phil. The variant had checked, and outside of the cyborg and Pong, they had the ship to themselves.
McCade stepped into the control compartment and cleared his throat. Pong turned, clearly startled.
McCade pointed his gun at the pirate's chest and smiled. "Remember me? Surprise!"
Twenty-Six
Molly squirmed her way to the top of a low rise and peered through low-lying vegetation. A small valley was spread out in front of her, the same one she'd seen before, but from the opposite side. Although the light was dim Molly could see the gathering of boulders where the black thing lived, the hill where the strange-looking trees grew, and a small discontinuity that could be the lock. Molly was too far away to be absolutely sure.
"I'm hungry," Eva whined from beside her. "When do we eat?"
The question was unfair and made Molly angry. She forced the anger down. Leaders who squelch stupid questions suppress intelligent ones as well. At least that's what Mommy said. Molly tried to keep her voice even and calm. "We'll eat when we find food."
Eva didn't say anything but her discontent was obvious. Remembering field trips in school, Molly had asked the girls to pick buddies and spread out. If a member of the 56,827 showed up, they had orders to run in different directions and meet back at the lock. At least some of them would survive and the buddy system would help them deal with whatever dangers they encountered.
The plan had a flaw however. After everyone had chosen their buddies, and registered their choices with Molly, Eva was left over. Which meant that Molly was stuck with her. Still another benefit of leadership.
Molly scanned the valley again. She'd chosen this position because it was away from the lock but not too far away. Until such time as she could make contact with the runner named Jareth, or another of his race, Molly had no way to navigate. The lock represented a reference point and their only chance of escape.
Eva began to say something just as Molly saw movement. She held a finger to her lips and shook her head. What was it? Jareth? One of the 56,827?
The answer came with blinding speed. Jareth, or another just like him, emerged from some tall grass and ran. He, she, or it was extremely fast. No wonder they referred to themselves as "runners."
But if the runner was fast, so was the horrible-looking thing that followed, and it was closing the gap with a series of tremendous leaps.
The runner changed direction, angled off to one side, and headed for the protection of a thicket. But there were low-lying rocks barring the way and tall grass slowed it down, so the pursuing alien drew even closer. There was no doubt about the outcome anymore. 47,721, or one of its brethren, was going to win.
That's when the runner did something strange. It stopped, turned, and waited for death to come. And come it did, with such unrelenting violence that Molly couldn't watch. Her eyes met Eva's.
"Did you see that?"
Eva's eyes were big as saucers. She nodded slowly.
"Good. That's what I've been warning you about. That's what they look like without a cloak. Get the others. Bring them up here in pairs. I want them to see what we're up against."
Eva did as she was told, running down the slope and notifying the nearest pair of girls. They laughed, giggled, and gave Molly curious looks as they followed Eva up the slope, crawling the last few yards. Then they looked, gasped with horror, and ran down the hill. Some were crying and others looked like they wanted to throw up.
Molly didn't blame them. By now the creature the runners referred to as "death" was consuming its prey.
Molly remembered the way the runner had stopped and turned toward certain death. She knew hardly anything about the runners, but that single action spoke volumes. It communicated intelligence, bravery, and a tremendous dignity. She would remember it for the rest of her life, short though that might be.
When the last pair of girls had returned from the top of the slope Molly convened a council of war. The dim sunlight had almost disappeared, suggesting that a period of complete darkness was about to begin. The girls were tired, hungry, and scared. But their attitude toward Molly had undergone a radical change. When Molly spoke they listened.
"All right. You've seen what we're up against. The 56,827 use the runners for both crew and food. There's little doubt what they have in mind for us. Our only chance is to get help from the runners. If you see a runner, an alien that looks different from the one you saw aboard ship, let me know right away."
Molly looked around. She could practically hear what they were thinking. Since the aliens eat sentients, and number 47,721 took Niki, Karen, and Suki away, did that mean what they thought it meant?
Molly swallowed hard. "I know you're hungry, but the artificial sun's going down, and there isn't much we can do until it comes back up. Blundering around in the dark could be extremely dangerous. Stay with your buddy and get some sleep. Four of us will be awake at all times. Does anyone have a watch?"
There was silence for a moment, then a girl named Linda spoke up. "Sasha does . . . she stole it aboard ship."
Sasha had dark hair and flashing black eyes. She started to deny it but Molly held up a hand. "Good going, Sasha. You and Carla take the first watch along with Eva and myself. We'll wake the next group in three hours. Any questions? No? Okay, let's get some sleep."
The night passed slowly. It was quiet for the most part, with only occasional stirrings by unseen animals, and the usual absence of wind. Once, about halfway through Molly's watch, it rained. It was warm and felt good.
The rain stopped fifteen minutes late
r just as suddenly as it had begun. Molly wondered if it rained at the same time every night. She suspected that it did.
Finally it was Molly's turn to sleep but she found that difficult to do. There were so many things to worry about, so many people depending on her, and so many things to go wrong.
Molly remembered her mother's parting words. "Never give up hope. No matter where they take you, no matter how long it takes, Daddy will come.
He'll hunt them clear across the universe if that's what it takes. Be ready There'll be trouble when Daddy comes, and he'll need your help."
But Molly had survived so much, and waited for so long, that rescue didn't seem possible anymore. If Daddy were coming, surely he'd be here by now. Maybe he was dead and Mommy too. There was no way to know.
Eva was sound asleep, sucking her thumb. Molly raised her head and took a quick look around. There was no one close enough to hear so she allowed herself to cry.
Deep sobs racked her body, until the need for them had passed, and then, as Molly wiped her face with a shirtsleeve, she found that one of Eva's chubby little arms had found its way around her middle. The other girl didn't say anything, but she'd heard, and was offering what little comfort she could.
It felt warmer with Eva snuggled up beside her and Molly fell asleep.
Molly awoke to a feather-light touch. With it came awareness of where she was and her eyes flew open. Alien eyes stared at her from only inches away. Molly started to push herself away but stopped when she realized who and what it was. The alien was seated next to her and wore a complicated vest.
"Jareth? Is that you?"
The triangular head moved slightly. "Yes, it is I."
"Do you remember me?"
"Of course. That is why I approached you rather than one of the others."
The others. Molly got up on her knees to look around. It was lighter now, and although some of the girls were up and around, none seemed aware of Jareth.
He seemed to read her thoughts. "Do not be angry with them. They kept watch as well as they know how. This is, how do you say it, my 'home,' and I am good at hiding."
Jarath dangled something from bony fingers. It took Molly a moment to recognize what it was. The L-band! Her fingers flew to her head, and sure enough, the explosive device was gone.
"I hope you do not mind," Jarath said apologetically. "But this is a dangerous device, and should not be worn around your head."
"No," Molly replied gratefully, "I'm happy to get it off. How did you know it was dangerous?"
Jareth blinked. "I knew."
Molly tried another approach. "How did you disarm it. Wasn't that dangerous?"
The alien made a sign. "Not very damned likely."
He reached into one of his multitudinous pockets and pulled out a tiny box. "This produced an electronic signal that entered the trigger mechanism, neutralized it, and withdrew."
"Thank you," Molly said solemnly. "It might've killed me."
"Death is bad," Jareth agreed evenly.
Molly thought of the other runner, the one who'd been eaten. "I . . . we . . . saw a member of the 56,827 chase one of your people."
Jareth made some sort of a sign with his left hand. "Yes. That was Mizlam. It was her turn to die."
Molly frowned. "Her turn to die? What does that mean?"
Jareth cocked his head to one side. "Did I say it improperly? I meant that others have died in the past and this was Mizlam's turn."
Molly had forgotten how frustrating Jareth could be. "So you take turns dying?"
"Yes," the alien replied. "Oldest first, youngest last. Izliak is next, followed by Threma, followed by Dorlia."
Molly searched the alien's face. It bore the same expression. "Why? Why do you take turns?"
Jareth made a complicated gesture with his left hand. "Because it is fair."
Molly remembered how Mizlam had died, turning to face death, meeting it with dignity. She shook her head in amazement. "I admire you and your people, Jareth. You are strong and brave."
When Jareth blinked, Molly saw that his eyelids were almost transparent. "Thank you."
Molly gestured to the surrounding area. "Can you help us?"
"I will try," Jareth replied. "What do you need?"
Molly sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. "We need water, something to eat, and a way to defend ourselves from the 56,827."
Jareth seemed to consider her request. "Water is easy, and the food also, if you can eat what we do. I cannot satisfy your last request however. There is no defense against death."
Molly searched the runner's face and found no information in the alien features. "Jareth, I don't understand. Your people built this ship, you run it, surely you have a knowledge of weapons."
Jareth made a hand sign. "The knowledge yes. This entire ship is a weapon. A weapon so powerful it can destroy entire planets. But we cannot operate such weapons."
"Can't? Or won't?"
Jareth blinked. "There is no difference. We cannot, and we will not use such weapons. Our ancestors rose to sentience by running faster, thinking better, and organizing more effectively than their enemies. We are and always have been vegetarians. We have no experience at killing things. More than that we have a—how do you say?—a revulsion? A dislike for violence which prevents us from using it on others. Killing isn't fair."
Although Molly had read about pacifists in school, she'd been exposed to violence all her life and couldn't imagine doing what she'd seen Mizlam do. All of her training, all of her experience, suggested that the runner should've fought to the death no matter how hopeless that might be. Molly respected the runners, and their beliefs, but was personally unwilling to give up her life without a struggle. She frowned.
"I understand, Jareth, but our races are different, and humans are willing to use violence. Most of them anyway. Is there anything that prevents you from giving us weapons?"
Jareth cocked his head to the other side. "Weapons? Are you and your companions old enough to use them?"
Molly grinned. "On the planet I come from everybody's old enough to use them. We have no choice."
Jareth wiggled his fingers. "What kind of weapons?"
Molly shrugged. "Small stuff, you know, slug guns and blasters."
"Slug guns? Blasters? What are those?"
"Small hand-held projectile and energy weapons."
Jareth blinked. "I have no personal knowledge of such weapons but will ask the others. There is water nearby, I will show you where and bring you food."
Molly nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Jareth. And there is something else as well."
"Yes?"
"The 56,827 took three of our kind. They are somewhere aboard ship. Could you help us find them?"
Jareth stood, causing some of the girls to scatter. "We will try. But remember, little one, if they are alive, it is for a short time only."
Molly nodded. She understood all too well.
Twenty-Seven
McCade felt better and worse than he had in a long time. Better, because he was closing in on Molly, and worse, because the medication had begun to wear off, he was tired, and his arm had started to throb.
McCade forced the fatigue aside and squinted through a haze of his own cigar smoke. Drang was a brownish ball that filled half of the main screen, and there, miles ahead, light winked off Pong's flagship.
In fifteen minutes, twenty at most, they'd be aboard. McCade imagined Molly rushing into his arms and tightened his grip on the blaster he'd taken from Pong's arms locker. Sol help anyone who got in his way.
The control room was comfortable to the point of being luxurious. There was the soft glow of instrument lights, the steady hiss of air through carefully located vents, and the comfort of the leather acceleration couches. A rather pleasant compartment except for the tension that filled the air.
The cyborg occupied the pilot's position, her plastiflesh face completely impassive as she conned the ship, her metal-ceramic composite fingers dancing over
the keys.
And beside her, with weapon drawn and fangs showing, sat Phil. The variant watched the pilot the way a cat watches a mouse, conscious of her slightest move, ready to pounce if she tried to escape.
The com set buzzed softly. The cyborg looked at Phil. The variant nodded. She pushed a button. A male voice flooded the compartment.
"CF warship LC4621 to approaching vessel. Provide today's recognition code or be fired on."
The cyborg glanced over her shoulder at Pong. The pirate looked at McCade, the bounty hunter nodded his permission, and the pilot pressed a key. Then she read off a series of numbers and touched another key.
McCade's Bounty Page 22
