Imperial Bounty

by William C. Dietz

  McCade dropped his cigar into some worm slime where it hissed and went out. "Aren't you leaving something out? Like how Alexander managed to get off this pus ball?"

  Walker grinned. "That was quite simple actually. One day Alexander went into the tunnels and was eaten by a worm. He's a bit of a ham, you know, and his screams sounded quite realistic. Afterward they found only his headlamp and one boot. Very touching, and very convincing, since no one willingly parts with their headlamp."

  "And then you got him off-planet," McCade finished. "Very slick. And that brings us to the present. Are you willing to give me some help as well?"

  Walker's light bobbed up and down. "That's why I'm here. Now that his father's dead, it's imperative that you reach Alexander and convince him to accept the throne."

  McCade frowned. "Why me? He obviously respects you and your organization. Why not convince him yourselves?"

  Walker shrugged and spread his hands. "We cannot interfere without risking negative changes in the flux. Besides, our role is to facilitate, not control. And while his father lived, there was no reason to force the issue. Now we can only hope that when you tell him of his father's death, he will see the need to assume the throne, and do so of his own free will. But the decision is his. We will not try to force him."

  "Terrific," McCade responded sourly. "Thanks a lot. Well, let's get on with it. Have you got a radio?"

  "A good one," Walker replied, "though I have to be careful how often I use it. Torb's under the impression that I rely on his."

  "Good," McCade said. "I've got some friends and a ship just off-planet. At least I hope I do. If you'll call them they'll come and pick me up. First, however, we'll have to stage my death like you did Alexander's."

  Walker agreed, producing a stylus and a small notebook into which he wrote the frequency and code words which would allow him to contact Rico and Phil on Pegasus.

  "Just let me know a time and where to meet," McCade added.

  "No problem," Walker said, getting to his feet. "I'll try to set it up for tomorrow or the next day. Meanwhile you'd better start working your way back, before Whitey decides you're taking a nap."

  McCade stood, and the two men shook hands. "See you soon," Walker promised, and hurried up the tunnel. McCade watched until his bobbing light disappeared around a gradual curve.

  With almost half the shift still left to go, McCade took his time working his way back up the tunnel, swearing when he lost his footing on the slippery floor, and watching the wall for color changes. But he felt good knowing that Alexander was still alive, and apparently living like a monk on some backward planet. It was just his style. Gambler, slave, and now a reclusive mystic. The guy never quit.

  If he hadn't been thinking about Alexander, McCade might have noticed a liquid grinding noise, or felt a slight vibration in the surrounding rock, but he didn't. Therefore it scared the hell out of him when solid rock parted with a loud crack, and the right side of the tunnel caved in. As the hole appeared, it was filled with an obscene bulge of glistening gray flesh, and McCade felt a lead weight drop into the pit of his stomach.

  Thirteen

  More and more rock continued to fall, and McCade knew if he didn't move soon, he'd be trapped. Fortunately this section of the tunnel was larger than most, so the initial cave-in had failed to completely block it. He eyed the narrowing gap between the top of the rockfall and the ceiling. If he was fast enough, he just might make it. Forcing himself to ignore the loop of slimy gray flesh which now protruded out into the tunnel, he backed off a few feet, and then ran full tilt toward the pile of rocks. A series of quick leaps carried him to the top, and a shallow dive took him through the small opening. He fell head over heels down the other side, hitting and bouncing off a variety of rocks, before finally coming to rest at the bottom. With a roar of falling rock, the rest of the ceiling caved in, and the small opening disappeared.

  His right knee hurt like hell, and he didn't feel like getting up, but the large rocks which continued to roll down and crash around him suggested that he should. Besides, at any moment the worm might decide to join him. Forcing himself to his feet, he limped up the tunnel, trying to put as much distance between himself and the worm as possible. After about fifty feet or so, he was suddenly short of breath, and noticed that his oxygen hose had pulled loose from his nostril plug. As he stopped to fix it, he glanced back over his shoulder, half expecting to see the worm in hot pursuit. It wasn't. Maybe the rockfall had slowed it down, if so, good. Apparently the blasted thing had been busy creating another tunnel parallel to his own, when the thin rock wall separating the two tunnels had collapsed, causing the roof to cave-in as well.

  By the time he emerged from tunnel thirty-four, McCade's right knee felt better, and his limp was almost gone. Making his way between the large rocks which littered the floor of the cavern, McCade caught occasional glimpses of the guards gathered around the makeshift console. When he got there, they would probably chew him out, and send him into another tunnel. After all, there were more than two hours left in the shift. But what the hell, maybe he could talk Whitey into giving him a break. It was worth a try. Either way, he'd soon be off Worm, and having a good meal aboard his own ship. Assuming of course that Phil and Rico had left anything edible in the galley. In the meantime he would do his best to take it easy, and avoid worms.

  McCade put on his best hangdog expression as he approached the guards, and prepared to tell them a somewhat exaggerated version of his encounter with the worm. But much to McCade's surprise, all three ignored him in favor of Whitey's VDT. They glanced his way, but continued to talk excitedly among themselves, even allowing him to walk up and peek over their shoulders. Apparently his position as unofficial enforcer granted him a certain amount of privilege.

  "Looks like the little creep's luck finally ran out," the black man said cheerfully. "I'll bet you ten Imperials he doesn't last another ten minutes."

  The neanderthal grunted his agreement.

  McCade saw that the object of their discussion was a flashing green dot in tunnel seventeen. Whitey was tracing its progress with an electronic arrow. Strangely enough the dot seemed to be moving down the tunnel away from the safety of the cavern.

  "You're on, sucker," Whitey sneered, without taking his eyes off the screen. "Ten Imperials it is. Spigot's got a lot of tunnel savvy so I say he's good for twenty minutes easy. See . . . I figure the worm's right here"—Whitey pointed the red arrow at a spot just behind the green dot—"and Spigot's trying for this side passage down here." He pointed to a small tunnel which branched off from the larger one. "In fact, he might even loop in behind the worm and get clean away. How 'bout a side bet?"

  But the black man didn't reply, because McCade chose that particular moment to crush his skull with a large rock. As the riot gun fell from the guard's lifeless fingers, McCade caught it and brought it to bear on the neanderthal. It pays to take out the worst of the opposition first. The big man wasn't too bright, but his reactions were just fine, and as his partner fell the neanderthal was already spinning in McCade's direction. But he was too late. His huge torso jerked three times, and fell over backward as McCade squeezed the trigger, and felt the heavy weapon buck in his hands. The sound was still echoing off the cavern walls as Whitey clawed for his sidearm with one hand, and tried to stop the slugs with the other. It didn't work. The automatic shotgun roared twice, taking his hand off at the wrist, and erasing his face. His body toppled sideways out of his chair and crashed to the ground.

  "If it's any comfort, Whitey, you look better this way," McCade said as he rolled the corpse over and undid the gunbelt which circled its waist. McCade was strapping Whitey's gun on, when three other prisoners ran up.

  "Shit, boss, you don't mess around," a short blocky man called Fesker said. "God, look at that, he took all three of 'em."

  "I'm glad you men showed up," McCade said. "I could use a little help. Are you with me?"

  "You bet we are, boss," Fesker said, picking up a rio
t gun. "Right, Mendez? Right, Hawkins?"

  "Count me in," Mendez agreed calmly, kneeling to strip off the neanderthal's gunbelt.

  Hawkins just nodded solemnly, and ran his hand lovingly along the length of the second riot gun. He had even features, bright blue eyes and long brown hair, which hung down his back in two braids.

  "All right," McCade said. "Now listen carefully . . . and do this exactly the way I tell you to. As the men come out of the tunnels, hold them right here. Whatever you do, don't let them leave the cavern. Otherwise the guards on the crawlers will know something's fishy, and mow you down before you even get close. The time to take them is at the end of the shift, when they expect us to come out."

  "Right, boss," Fesker agreed enthusiastically. "It'll be just the way you said."

  "Good," McCade replied. "How about radio? Do you know if Whitey had some way to communicate with the crawlers?"

  Fesker shook his head. "Naw, the rock's too thick."

  "Excellent," McCade replied. "At least there's one problem we don't have to worry about. Now, Hawkins, give me a hand with one of these bodies. Spigot's in a tight spot, but there's a chance we can pull him out." McCade bent over, struggled to get a hold on Whitey's body, and only barely managed to pick it up. It was damned heavy. Doing his best to ignore the nature of his burden, McCade headed for tunnel seventeen.

  Hawkins slung the riot gun across his back, eyeing first the black man, and then the massive form of the neanderthal. He quickly chose the black man. With one smooth motion, he lifted the corpse, and threw it over his right shoulder. Then, carefully picking his way through the rocks, Hawkins hurried to catch up.

  As he entered the tunnel, McCade had only the vaguest of plans. But if Spigot was as elusive as Whitey gave him credit for, it might even work. Even so, speed was of the essence. It wasn't easy to jog with a dead body in his arms, so McCade was forced to stop, and sling it over one shoulder as Hawkins had. Having done so, he made much better time.

  Finally he saw it, a narrow slitlike crevice in the rock, cut by running water rather than worms. The opening was a tight fit, but he forced his way through it, with Hawkins right behind him. They couldn't run in the narrow passageway, but they still made fairly good time, splashing through the shallow water until suddenly a rock wall barred their way. At the base of it there was a small hole through which the water gushed into the open space beyond. They could make it, but they'd have to lay down in the water to do so, and there was no guarantee as to what they'd find on the other side.

  McCade dumped Whitey's body into the water. "You first," he said, pushing the guard's body down, and into the hole. It was quickly sucked out of sight. McCade motioned to Hawkins. "Your friend's next."

  Hawkins grinned, and followed McCade's example.

  As soon as the other body had disappeared, McCade gave Hawkins what he hoped was a confident smile as he lay down in the water, and shot through the hole feet first. First he felt bitter cold as the water hit his skin, and then pure terror, as the current grabbed him and pulled him through the opening. Suddenly he was falling, wondering if this was how he would die, and then he hit, plunging deep under the surface of the water. Kicking upward, he wondered why everything was black, and then realized his eyes were closed. He opened them to crystal-clear water, his headlamp shining up toward the surface, bubbles dancing in and out of the light. Then he was through the surface, splashing water against a rock wall, and gulping down air. He cursed himself for never wondering if the light was waterproof, and gave thanks that it was.

  He heard a tremendous splash behind him, jerked around, almost laughing when he realized it was just Hawkins, shooting through the opening and into the pool. Turning his head McCade's light fell across a steeply shelving beach. He gave a kick and stroked toward it, almost screaming when he hit something soft, and Whitey's faceless corpse popped up in front of him. Forcing himself to push it in front of him, he heard Hawkins surface, coughing up water.

  "Over here!" McCade shouted, and splashed the water to attract the other man's attention.

  Hawkins coughed in reply, and began swimming toward the beach.

  McCade felt his feet touch bottom, scooped up Whitey's body, and stumbled up and out of the water. Suddenly he froze. What the hell was that? Some sort of a noise. Then he heard it again and saw a flash of light over to his right.

  "Take that, you big turd. I hope you choke on me and die." It was Spigot!

  "He's somewhere to the right!" McCade yelled, lunging toward the flashing light. After a few steps, he came to a place where the wall opened to the main tunnel, and there was Spigot, one leg twisted awkwardly under his body, his headlamp swinging wildly this way and that, as he threw both rocks and insults at the worm.

  The worm was by far the ugliest thing McCade had ever seen and, considering its size, moved with surprising speed. It made a sort of sloshing sound as it surged forward, its circular pink maw opening to reveal thousands of black teeth. As it moved, it belched out waves of rotten acidic breath. McCade felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. A primitive part of him started to gibber and scream deep in the back of his mind. He pushed it down and pretended not to hear it. Twenty-five more feet and the worm would have Spigot.

  Hawkins appeared at his side, riot gun at the ready, reminding McCade of the task at hand. Apparently the other guard's body was still somewhere in the pool. "Well, I guess it's up to you, Whitey," he said to the corpse. Turning to Hawkins he said, "Grab Spigot, and get him out of there!"

  Seconds later, Hawkins was dragging a surprised Spigot back away from the oncoming worm. Meanwhile, McCade forced himself to move toward the undulating monster. When he was about ten feet away, he dumped Whitey's corpse unceremoniously on the ground, and quickly backed up. As he did so, McCade drew Whitey's handgun, and Hawkins pumped a round into the chamber of his riot gun. For the first time since they'd met Hawkins spoke, "Bon Appétit, you sonovabitch." Spigot cackled gleefully from his position on the ground.

  Then all three watched in horrified fascination as the Worm reached Whitey's body, delicately sucked the corpse into its mouth, and began to chew. The sound of Whitey's bones being ground into a fine paste sent chills up McCade's spine, but at least they'd bought some time, now all he had to do was find a way to use it.

  "So far so good," McCade observed, turning to the others. "Now if there's only some way to get past the damned thing."

  "This is no time to kid around, Sam," Spigot said. "The minute that thing's done with Whitey, it'll come for us. Let's leave the same way you came in."

  "I'd like to, Spigot, but I'm afraid that's out." McCade quickly described the passageway, the fall into the pool, and their subsequent arrival.

  Much to McCade's surprise, Spigot laughed. "That's a new one on me, Sam. No wonder you're wet. I assumed you came through the side passage, that hits the main tunnel about twenty yards behind us. That's where I was headed when I slipped in the slime and broke my leg."

  McCade looked at Hawkins, and they both laughed. "All right, Spigot," McCade said. "Let's get out of here." Carrying Spigot between them, McCade and Hawkins made their way down the tunnel. They went about twenty yards, and sure enough, there was the passageway, right where Spigot said it would be. It took a good twenty minutes of hard work to carry the little man through the passageway and out of the tunnel. As they emerged, McCade wasn't ready for the crowd of men, or their applause. The shift was about to end, and true to his word, Fesker had held all the men inside the cavern. He and Mendez were standing at the front of the crowd, having appointed themselves as McCade's assistants.

  Turning to the crowd Fesker yelled, "There he is, men, he just snatched Spigot from a worm, and now he's gonna kick Torb's ass, are you with him?"

  As the crowd roared their approval, Spigot grinned, and waved, as though they were cheering him. Suddenly McCade realized that things had gotten out of hand. What started as an effort to help a friend had somehow turned into a full-scale revolt. The men expected
him to lead them against Torb, and having killed three guards, McCade realized he didn't have much choice.

  As the crowd calmed down, two men took Spigot aside, and applied some rough and ready first aid. There wasn't much time, so McCade jumped up on a rock and motioned for silence. "Thank you, men. Now listen carefully, because if we don't do this right, the guards are going to cut us up into very small pieces." For the next few minutes McCade outlined his plan, assigned responsibilities, and answered questions. Then it was time to move.

  McCade nodded. "All right then . . . let's do it." There was a sense of subdued excitement, as the men walked out of the cavern, and into the early dawn light. They were different somehow, backs straight, heads erect, they no longer moved like slaves. McCade worried that the distant guards would notice the difference. If they did, the whole thing could turn into a terrible slaughter. They had to get close enough to take over the crawlers. Once they accomplished that, they'd have powerful weapons, plus a way to crack the dome itself. The chances were good that Torb would receive some sort of warning, and unless they had the means to break in, he could lock them outside the dome until they simply ran out of oxygen.