McCade on the Run (Sam McCade Omnibus)

by William C. Dietz

  The alternative wasn’t that great either. Sell Void Runner, use the proceeds to pay off their debts, and walk home.

  “So,”McCade said. “Is the holding tank ready?”

  “Ready and staffed,” Phil replied. “I hired some rather nasty Zords to act as guards.”

  Smoke dribbled from the corner of McCade’s mouth. “Good. How ’bout

  the scanner?”

  “Up and running,” Phil assured him. “Both it and the computer are hidden behind the clothes racks across the way.”

  There was a vendor on the other side of the hall. He sold clothes, accessories, and a scattering of cheap jewelry.

  McCade looked, and sure enough, he could just barely see a lens peeking between a couple of leather jackets. The operator was a fourteen-year-old pickpocket. He’d seen Phil, assumed the variant was a rim rube and tried to bump and dip him. A serious mistake for which he was now paying.

  “And the escorts?”

  “Some mercenaries on leave. They’re about fifty yards up corridor. We call, and they come running.”

  “Okay,” McCade said, pushing himself away from the wall. “It’s time to open up shop.” He dropped the cigar and crushed it under his boot.

  Phil pulled the tiny boom mic a little closer to his mouth and whispered something.

  On the other side of the hall the pickpocket flipped a series of switches and settled down to wait.

  The scanner panned back and forth as it fed images into the computer. The computer took the images, compared them to those McCade had obtained from a public terminal, and notified the boy of a match. At that point the pickpocket would alert his employers and they’d do the rest.

  The pickpocket had instructions to lay low after that.

  His name was Dawk. He had blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a snub nose.

  Dawk was resentful at first, but when Phil explained how the scam would reduce competition and increase profits, the boy became downright enthusiastic. Now he paid close attention as the scanner panned the crowd and waited for a match. It came with surprising speed.

  Dawk heard a soft buzz from his earpiece. His heart thumped with excitement. The computer screen split itself into one, two, three equal sections.

  Heads filled all three sections, rotated 360 degrees, and squeeze zoomed into the upper right-hand corner. Data flooded the now empty space below. Name, description, crimes, weapons, it was all there.

  Dawk fingered a switch. “Dawk here. I’ve got three positives coming down corridor three. Here’s a peek.” The pickpocket pushed a button.

  McCade looked at his wrist term and swore. Why so many? Why not two, or one? Bad luck, that’s why. Well, beggars can’t be choosers.

  McCade looked up, spotted the three of them right away, and wished he hadn’t. They were big, real big, and looked very much alike.

  McCade glanced down at his wrist term. Looked, hell, they were triplets! And wanted for everything from spitting on the sidewalk to cold-blooded murder!

  He looked back up. Each of the triplets was seven feet tall, had a shaved head, and a bushy black beard. All were dressed in matching leather outfits and carried identical weapons. Lots of weapons, including blasters, force blades, and Lord knew what else.

  Phil nudged McCade’s arm. “It’s now or never.”

  McCade wanted to say “never,” but the triplets were worth thirty thousand each, plus an extra ten if someone produced the matched set.

  “Okay, Phil. Remember to cheat.”

  Phil grinned wickedly. “You can count on me!”

  The two men sidled out into the intersection just as the triplets arrived and began to push their way through the crowd.

  McCade went left, and Phil went right.

  Then, just as the fugitives passed to the inside, both men turned and sapped the outer triplets from behind. The saps were little more than leather sacks filled with hundreds of tiny ball bearings. They worked extremely well. Both fugitives slumped to the deck.

  Stunners had been the other option, but with so many sentients around it would be easy to miss and hit the wrong individual. The same went for blasters only more so.

  McCade was still congratulating himself on how well things were going when the third triplet hit him on the side of the head with a ham-sized fist.

  This time McCade was the one who hit the deck with a thump, and lay there, wondering what it would feel like when triplet number three jumped on his chest.

  Fortunately Phil chose that moment to tap the giant on the shoulder.“Excuse me.”

  The triplet turned. “Huh?”

  That’s when Phil delivered a powerful uppercut. It started near the deck, accelerated upward, and hit the man’s jaw with a solid thud.

  Much to Phil’s amazement, the triplet shook his head and moved in for the kill. He was surprisingly fast and had huge hairy hands around Phil’s neck in nothing flat.

  Phil brought both of his massive forearms up, broke the hold, and kneed the giant in the groin. The man gave a gasp of pain, doubled over, and fell as McCade hit him with a sap.

  McCade held his blaster on the triplets while Phil called the mercenaries. They arrived a few seconds later, placed the still groggy giants in triple restraints, and hauled them off to Phil’s makeshift holding tank.

  With the show over the now-substantial crowd had started to move again. Many were looking at the two bounty hunters and talking among themselves.

  McCade knew that word would spread, and knew that fugitives would get harder and harder to find. But that would take time. Five-hundred and thirty-six thousand credits’ worth if things went as planned.

  Of even more concern however was the fact that three or four remotes had witnessed the incident and relayed what they’d seen to the central processing unit. What did Nexus think of the situation? Did it care?

  There was no way to tell, but McCade planned to run the trap as long as he could.

  A full hour passed before the computer produced another positive match and notified Dawk. It was a single fugitive this time and not much of a catch.

  Her name was Lorina Dep-Smith. She was about two hundred pounds overweight, surrendered with nothing more violent than a loud belch, and swore a blue streak when she understood the situation.

  According to the computer Dep-Smith had embezzled some money from a New Britain-based shipping line, and, judging from the paltry five-thousandcredit reward on her head, hadn’t escaped with very much.

  Still, every credit counts, and Dep-Smith was led away to join the triplets in holding. McCade wondered how the four of them would get along.

  The next six hours were quite productive. No one had ever tried bounty hunting on this scale before, and because of the habitat’s lawless reputation, there were plenty of fugitives.

  They nabbed a twenty-thousand-credit bank robber, a fifty-thousandcredit drug smuggler, a pair of thirty-six-thousand-credit organ runners, and four petty thieves worth seventy thousand total.

  Fortunately the triplets were atypical, and with the exception of a minor scuffle or two, all of them surrendered without a fight. The trap was so unexpected that most of the fugitives didn’t understand what was going on until it was too late.

  Then, just when it seemed as if things couldn’t get any better, along came a cyborg with a suitcase full of cash.

  The borg was wanted for fraud, and had a paltry thousand-credit price on his head. But the suitcase contained almost a million in cash, and in accordance with Imperial law, the bounty hunters were entitled to a ten-percent recovery fee.

  The saps proved completely ineffective on the cyborg’s metal brain case but a flying tackle did the trick.

  In retrospect the trap had worked better than McCade’s wildest dreams, and according to Phil’s math, they were only a hundred and eighteen thousand credits short of their goal.

  About forty-five minutes passed before the next score came along. It was a big one this time, a psychopath named Hassan, who’d dem
onstrated his dislike for the elders of his church by blowing them up.

  The Empire was offering forty thousand for Hassan dead or alive, and that plus the fifty that had been raised by the membership of the church brought his total value up to a nice round ninety thousand.

  There was something about Hassan, something about the twitchy way he moved, that told McCade the man wouldn’t surrender easily.

  Hassan had a slender build. He was dressed in a high-collared cloak with matching skintight trousers and knee-high boots. While there weren’t any weapons in plain sight there could be an entire arsenal concealed under the man’s cloak.

  McCade nodded to Phil and they moved out into the traffic. Phil circled around behind Hassan while McCade waited in front. A muscle twitched in his left cheek.

  When the fugitive was about fifteen feet away, McCade pulled his blaster, gave startled pedestrians a moment to scurry out of the way, and yelled,“Hassan! Hold it right there!”

  Hassan didn’t even flinch. He pointed a finger at McCade. Something warm brushed past the bounty hunter’s left cheek and hit a maintenance bot somewhere behind him. It blew up with a brilliant flash of light.

  Hassan had some sort of energy weapon hidden up his sleeve! Whatever the weapon was, it was unusually powerful, and must use a lot of energy. Maybe it would run out soon.

  Still, one more shot like the last, and McCade would be little more than a scorch mark on the deck.

  Phil tried to club Hassan from behind, but was blocked by a hysterical merchant who threw himself at the variant’s feet and screamed,“Save me! Save me!”

  The blaster was lighter than the slug gun McCade usually carried and generated no recoil.

  Blue light sliced down and across the font of Hassan’s cloak. Nothing! The son-of-a-bitch was wearing armor!

  Hassan grinned. God protects her own. Now the bounty hunter would pay the price for his impudence. Idolators must die!

  Hassan moved his arm a hair to the left and aligned the custom-designed energy tube with McCade’s chest. The trigger was a small black ball that Hassan held in the palm of his right hand. His brain told his hand to squeeze the ball but it was too late.

  Hassan blew up. Although he was armored, his power supply wasn’t, and McCade hit it. The result was loud and messy.

  Disentangling himself from the sobbing merchant, Phil came over to join McCade, still flicking little bits of Hassan off his kilt. “Nice going, Sam. How do we get a reward with nothing to turn in?”

  McCade slid the blaster into its holster. He’d been lucky, damned lucky, and his hands were shaking. He tried to smile.

  “The Empire is quite liberal about such matters, Phil. They’ll accept retinas, a full set of teeth, or fingers with prints attached. See what you can find.

  “In the meantime I’ll help Dawk tear the equipment down. We’ve pushed our luck far enough.”

  Phil checked to make sure McCade was serious, saw that he was, and walked away mumbling to himself.

  Twenty minutes later a crew of maintenance bots had just finished cleaning up the mess, Phil had one of Hassan’s hands in a stasis bag, and McCade was helping Dawk to dismantle the scanner system. He didn’t hear the remote approach.

  “You will accompany me now.”

  McCade turned. “Excuse me?”

  The remote’s face was completely devoid of expression as always. There were six remotes altogether, all armed, all equally featureless.

  “You will accompany me now. I wish to speak with you.”

  McCade knew the “I” was Nexus, and that there was no point in resistance since the AI was all powerful. The computer wanted to talk and, for reasons known only to it, didn’t wish to use a remote for that purpose.

  There was little doubt as to what Nexus sought to discuss. When Hassan blew up, things had come perilously close to violating law number one, “Don’t harm Nexus.”

  Chances were they’d get a “cease and desist” order. Okay, McCade could live with that, as long as the machine didn’t try to block them altogether.

  McCade forced a smile and wondered if nonverbal communication counted for anything with Nexus.

  “Of course. We’ll be right there.”

  McCade turned. “Dawk, drop Hassan’s hand off at our holding tank, and take the computer gear to lock seventy-seven. Ask for Rico or Maggie. Drop by the tank later on. There’ll be something extra in your pay.”

  Dawk looked surprised. “Pay? You mean I get paid?”

  McCade looked at Phil but the variant was busy examining his durasteel claws. “Yeah,” McCade answered, “no matter what my furry friend may have told you, all of our employees get paid. I’ll see you later.”

  Dawk grinned and busied himself with the electronic gear.

  McCade turned to the remote. “Okay, we’re all yours. Lead the way.”

  With three of the silvery remotes walking ahead, and three behind, the crowd seemed to melt away. No one wanted to mess with Nexus or get too close to the idiots who already had.

  The procession wound its way through a labyrinth of corridors and into a lift tube marked, RESTRICTED—NEXUS ONLY. They stepped out into a large open space a few seconds later.

  The first impression was of lights, thousands of them, covering the walls and dome-shaped ceiling, denser than any galaxy, but starlike nonetheless.

  They seemed to ripple outward in overlapping circles, like raindrops hitting the surface of a pond.

  Suddenly McCade realized that all six of the remotes had retreated to wall niches. They looked like statues.

  The deck, which had been a glossy black, was suddenly transformed into a vid screen. Video of the intersection appeared. A variety of shots followed, each covering a different angle, and representing what one remote had seen.

  McCade and Phil watched as the triplets, Dep-Smith, and Hassan fell into the trap.

  As the video disappeared the asexual voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once. “Explain.”

  McCade considered a number of lies but couldn’t be sure that any of them would hold up. Nexus was no fool and had innumerable sources of information. No, it seemed better to tell the truth, and hope for the best.

  McCade cleared his throat. “A few weeks ago the planet Alice was attacked by pirates. A number of children were taken during the raid. My companions and I were sent to find the children and return them to Alice. During slave cycle four, we discovered that twenty-three of our children were for sale, and bought them using funds borrowed from you.

  “We are presently engaged in an effort to capture individuals wanted by the Imperial government. We plan to sell their bounties at a discount, use the money to pay off our loans, and take the children home.”

  McCade turned to Phil. “Did I leave anything out?”

  The variant shook his head.

  Nexus was silent for a moment, as if thinking, or dealing with something or someone else. Then it spoke. “I disagree with your companion. There is something that you neglected to mention. One of the missing children is your daughter.”

  McCade looked up at the multitude of twinkling lights and wished the computer had a face. His heart beat like a trip-hammer. How did Nexus know about Molly? Was she here? Was this the end of his search? McCade fought to keep his voice under control.

  “That’s true. Do you know where she is?”

  The answer was emotionless. Machinelike. “No, I do not. However, I do have a personal message for you.”

  “You have a what?”

  Once again the deck transformed itself into a huge video screen. The man who appeared there had blond hair, blue eyes, and was known to billions of sentients across hundreds of systems. Loved by many, hated by some, the face belonged to the Emperor himself.

  A man who might still be meditating high in the mountains of the Wind World, learning from the mystics who called themselves Walkers of the Way, if it weren’t for Sam McCade.

  Yes, Alexander owed McCade a debt of gratitude, but more t
han that considered the bounty hunter his friend.

  And because McCade was untempted by the Emperor’s power, uninterested in his wealth, and unimpressed by his rank, he was that rarest of all things, a man Alexander could trust.

  The Emperor smiled. “Hello, Sam. I wish this greeting came at a better time. I’m sorry about the raid, worried about Molly, and well aware that it was your service to me that put Alice in jeopardy.

  “Most people think that I’m all powerful, capable of righting any wrong, but you know better. I’m painfully aware that it is beyond my ability to restore a life, to heal a broken body, or undo the damage done to Alice. Nonetheless I do what I can.

  “Descriptions of the children have gone out to every naval base in the Empire, our ships have been alerted to watch out for vessels that belong to Pong, and Swanson-Pierce has his people working on it as well.”

  A sometimes friend, and sometimes enemy, Swanson-Pierce was none other than Admiral Swanson-Pierce, head of Naval Intelligence, and a member of Alexander’s personal staff.

  “Knowing you however,” the Emperor continued, “I suspect you are already tackling the problem in your own way, and probably making more progress than we are.

  “Still, it never hurts to have a friend in high places, so call on me if there’s something I can do. Though not controlled by me, Nexus and I do each other favors from time to time, and it may be willing to help.

  “Linnea sends her love. Please let us know when Molly is safe and sound.” The picture faded to black.

  Silence descended. Seconds became minutes. It seemed Nexus was thinking, or doing other things, or just didn’t care.

  Of the three McCade thought the last was most likely. There was plenty of Nexus to go around, and had the machine wished to, it could’ve held a conversation with them and covered everything else as well.

  Finally, after a good five minutes had passed, Nexus spoke. It was as if no time had passed whatsoever. “So, Citizen McCade, it seems you have an unexpectedly powerful ally, and that will stand you in good stead.

  “You will be interested to know that the imperial message torpedo arrived only hours ago. Were it not for the Emperor’s intervention this conversation would have turned in a different direction. Your most recent activities threatened not only my personal well-being, but that of my customers as well, leaving me no choice but to discipline you.