McCade on the Run (Sam McCade Omnibus)

by William C. Dietz

  Pong raised his eyes heavenward but didn’t attempt to deny it.

  McCade nodded and handed Platz the rifle. “You’ve got that right. I’m leaving you in charge of the girls. Take them back to the lock. If you see any of the 56,827, shoot to kill. Wait for three hours, if we aren’t back by then, put the girls on the ship and get the hell out of here..

  “Take them to the nearest Imperial Navy base and ask for Admiral Swanson-Pierce. They’ll give you lots of guff but hang in there. Use my name a lot. Walt will show up eventually, and when he does, tell him I promised you ten thousand credits. The same for the pilot. He’ll make it good, and get the girls home to boot.”

  Platz listened with a look of complete amazement, as did Pong, who raised one eyebrow. “You’ve got some interesting friends, McCade. I suspect I underestimated your influence.”

  McCade turned toward the pirate. “Shut up and listen. I’m going into the maintenance tube first. You’re second, and Phil’s third. Just one wrong move and we’ll kill you. Got it?”

  Pong shrugged. “Got it.”For the moment he had no choice but to do what McCade said, but figured the 56,827 must be well aware of their uninvited guests, and would make an appearance sometime soon. That would be his chance.

  “Good,” McCade replied. “Okay, girls, do what Citizen Platz says, and I’ll see you in a little while.”

  The girls looked doubtful, many wishing that he would stay, but waved gamely as Platz led them away. McCade was pleased to see that the soldier held the blast rifle at port arms and was watching both his flanks.

  McCade checked to make sure that his remaining weapons, a hand blaster and a slug gun, were secure, and lowered himself into the tube. Pong followed, as did Phil.

  Sensing a certain amount of mass and movement within the tube, a distant computer turned on the lights. The lights were circular like the passageway itself, and came at roughly ten-foot intervals, as did the tiny rivet-sized surveillance cameras that fed video to alien eyes.

  Looking down between his feet, McCade could see lights stretching away for what seemed like forever. He continued downward.

  Their boots rang on the metal rungs, and the farther down they went, the warmer it became. Four or five times they went by intersections where horizontal tubes connected with their own, and on two occasions they heard the sound of rushing water, as if some sort of large conduit paralleled their tube.

  The intersections were troublesome, since Molly and Jareth could have used any one of them, but each of the horizontal tunnels had a fine layer of dust at the bottom, and as far as McCade could tell none of them had been used for a long time.

  Then, just when McCade was sure they were descending into hell itself, the tube grew suddenly cooler and continued that way until it bottomed out.

  Here too the dust came in handy, clearly showing the scuff marks where Molly and her alien companion had headed toward the right, showing Mc-Cade where to go.

  McCade was cautious now, sensing they were close to something important, glaring at Pong to make sure that the pirate understood.

  This was more a corridor than a tube, and dark at the other end. McCade slid forward, his left hand maintaining contact with the bulkhead, his right wrapped around the comforting weight of the slug gun.

  From Pong’s description of the 56,827 a weapon with some stopping power would be best. The problem with energy beams is that they tend to go right through the target without producing any hydrostatic shock. Not very good if your opponent is large and has lots of inertia.

  Lavender light flooded the corridor. By the time McCade’s eyes had adjusted, and his brain had processed the new information, the alien was in motion. It came straight at him and the bounty hunter responded automatically.

  The slug gun made an enormous booming sound within the close confines of the corridor. McCade could see where the hollow points hit, punching their way through the alien’s thin exoskeleton and blowing huge chunks of flesh and bone out of its back. Although it didn’t seem possible the alien kept on coming.

  McCade fired again, and again, expecting each slug to put the creature down, but it just kept coming, staggering with each impact, but refusing to die.

  Finally, when a slug cut through the second of its redundant spinal cords, the alien tripped, fell forward, and slid almost to McCade’s feet. He jumped backward as the alien’s still dying nervous system caused it to jerk and snap.

  Turning, McCade found Pong plastered against the bulkhead, and beyond him, Phil looking down at a second crumpled body. It had a hole the size of a dinner plate burned through its bony chest. Goo drooled from its mouth.

  The variant caught McCade’s look and gestured upward. The aliens had known where they were and attempted to box them in.

  McCade started to sidestep the body, felt his foot his something, and heard it skitter away. Light bounced off a shiny object. McCade bent to pick it up. An energy weapon of some sort, the butt felt awkward in his human hand, but there was still no doubt as to its function.

  McCade held it up for Pong to see. The pirate nodded. “It’s like I told you before. The 56,827 like to hunt, and while willing to use weapons when they have to, consider them demeaning. Especially where personal combat is concerned.”

  McCade smiled grimly. “Yeah? Well guess what...from now on they’re gonna be known as the 56,825.”

  McCade thumbed the magazine release on his slug gun, slammed a fresh one into place, and pulled the hand blaster too. The aliens were damned hard to kill. He’d need every weapon he had.

  They eased their way around the dead alien and headed for the hatch at the end of the corridor. Just before they reached it McCade grabbed Pong and pushed him forward. “Time to earn your keep,old sport ...openthat hatch.”

  Fear ran through Pong’s body like an icy stream. Anything could be, and probably was, waiting beyond that door. Pong considered begging but knew it wouldn’t work.

  As Pong crouched low and reached up toward the control plate, he felt the Melcetian ooze down as far as it could. The miserable piece of worthless fecal matter was using him as a shield!

  Pong’s hand touched the heat-sensitive plate and the hatch slid open. They waited for a barrage of slugs and energy beams but it never came.

  McCade felt his heart beat just a little bit faster as he eased his way forward and peeked through the door. He found himself looking into some sort of equipment room, where metal catwalks turned and twisted through a maze of metal pipes, and the air seemed to shimmer with radiated heat.

  McCade looked at Phil, got a nod in return, and stepped out onto a catwalk. The response was almost instantaneous. Two aliens stepped out from behind a cluster of pipes and opened up with energy weapons. One of the beams cut through a piece of conduit at McCade’s elbow and showered him with sparks.

  McCade fired the slug gun five times in quick succession, saw each of them jerk, and burned them down with the blaster before they could charge.

  McCade heard Phil roar something incoherent, and turned to find the variant firing down the tube way, his blast rifle stuttering blue death.

  As the bounty hunter added his fire to Phil’s, three more of the aliens struggled forward and died in the combined fire of three weapons.

  “Behind you!”

  McCade spun around on Pong’s warning just in time to find one more creature charging him. The bounty hunter emptied the slug gun into the alien’s head, just barely destroying the thing’s brain before the insectoid body hit and bowled him over. It took the alien a moment to flop around and die.

  McCade crab-walked backward to get away, scrambled to his feet, and checked his weapons. Then, with a new magazine in the slug gun, and a fresh power pak in the blaster, he was ready once again.

  With Pong following close behind and Phil bringing up the rear, McCade made his way through the maze of pipes to another opening.

  Once again Pong was forced to open the hatch, and once again there was a lack of reaction.<
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  They waited for a full minute. Still nothing. McCade motioned for the pirate to step through the door. Pong started to balk, but the bounty hunter waved his slug gun, and the pirate changed his mind. He stepped through the door and looked around.

  “McCade! There they are! There’s Molly!”

  McCade came through the door in a low crouch, weapons in his hands, eyes searching for trouble. He found himself in a large circular area. It had a crude dirt floor, a source of lavender light high above, and at least twenty tunnels spaced equidistantly around its walls. Each was identified with some sort of pictograph. Maintenance tunnels? Private entrances for the super-territorial aliens? It made little difference.

  And there, right at the room’s exact center, was some sort of cage. It contained three or four children and a type of alien McCade had never seen before. The one called Jareth?

  The thought was pushed aside as his eyes met Molly’s and he heard her voice. “Daddy! Watch out . . .”

  But the warning came too late.

  Strong arms wrapped themselves around him, immobilizing both of his weapons. McCade heard Pong laugh, and knew the pirate had seen the ambush, but failed to give warning.

  The bounty hunter felt both handguns ripped away and heard a growl from behind as Phil struggled with assailants of his own.

  Within seconds both of them were completely immobilized. There were two of the aliens controlling McCade, and no less than four struggling to hold Phil.

  There was a scraping sound and McCade turned to see an alien walk out of a tunnel. There was a translator hung around his neck, and when the creature stopped, the device swung back and forth. The alien addressed itself to Pong.

  “So, numberless one, you come bringing death with you.”

  Pong shook his head and forced a smile, forgetting that it had no meaning for 47,721. “I was forced to come and bring them with me. That one, the creature that looks like me, was searching for his daughter.”

  “Daughter?”

  “One of the juveniles. One of those,” Pong said, pointing at the girls. “She is his—how do you say it?—progeny.”

  47,721 swiveled toward the cage. “Which?”

  Pong frowned. He didn’t like the way this was going. “The one with the black curly hair. But what difference does that make?”

  47,721 didn’t answer. It walked over to the cage, undid the latch, and opened the door. Jareth placed himself in front of the children, but 47,721 brushed the runner aside. Long heavily clawed fingers locked themselves around one of Molly’s arms and pulled her from the cage. She struggled but it made no difference.

  “Pong!” McCade shouted. “Don’t let him touch her! You said you cared about her, you said you liked her, how can you stand there and let this happen?”

  Pong took a hesitant step forward. “Leave her alone, 47,721. You can have the rest, but leave that one alone.”

  The alien paused deliberately, Molly still clutched with one hand. “You forget yourself, numberless one. I do as I wish, and since I’m hungry, I shall eat. A meal that will not only satiate my hunger, but teach this human a lesson.”

  Pong saw Molly, the obvious terror in her eyes, and tried to take another step forward. But the Melcetian wouldn’t let him. The mind slug projected emotions into his head and poured chemicals into his bloodstream.

  Pong found that each motion took tremendous effort. It was like walking underwater or in heavy gravity. The mind slug’s nervous system had been integrated with his for years now, and the alien had developed a tremendous amount of control, more than Pong had ever imagined.

  “Let her die!” the Melcetian screamed in Pong’s mind. “You’re throwing away everything I worked for, everything I wanted, all for a stupid child!”

  The words echoed through Pong’s brain as he willed himself forward. What was it the mind slug had said? “I?” As in “everything I worked for, everything I wanted.”

  And suddenly Pong knew something he should’ve known long before, that his “I” and the Melcetian’s “I” were entirely different. This was no partnership, no sharing of similar ambitions, this was slavery. The alien was, and always had been, his master.

  Reaching deep into some hidden reservoir of energy Pong found strength and used it to hurl himself forward. He felt his hands close around 47,721’s neck, and saw Molly spin away as the alien turned its attention to him.

  Pong felt something tear deep inside his body as the Melcetian pulled itself loose. The mind slug had waited until the last moment before separating itself, hoping that Pong would come to his senses, and now it was too late.

  A terrible agony lanced through Pong’s nervous system. He screamed, and as he did, the mind slug screamed too.

  47,721 gloried in the feel of his razor-sharp hand claws slicing through alien flesh. His first few strokes cut the soft shiny thing to ribbons and the next cut deep four-inch channels through the human’s upper torso. Then with a single darting motion of his oblong head, 47,721 administered the Natawkwa, or killing bite. A sticky red fluid sprayed across 47,721’s face and he gave thanks for the hunt. There would be much meat when this was over.

  Then, as the killing rage began to fade, 47,721 saw that things had changed. The hairy thing, the one the humans called a variant, had broken loose. 47,721 dropped Pong’s remains in order to watch. His venturing companions would make short work of the human.

  Phil had waited, hoping to avoid going into full augmentation, knowing he’d be worthless for days afterward. But when the alien grabbed Molly, and Pong threw himself forward, Phil knew there was no choice.

  The variant activated certain triggers planted deep within his subconscious, felt chemicals pour into his bloodstream, and saw the world around him slow. His reactions were speeded up, his muscles chemically augmented, his entire body a murderous machine.

  Now a single jerk from Phil’s arms was enough to free him from his alien guards. A spinning kick and one went down, its leg broken at the joint, screeching loudly. Another kick broke its neck.

  The others rushed him, confident of their superior strength, eager to give the Natawkwa.

  Phil roared his approval, rammed a fist through the first one’s chest, and pulled something out.

  A whitish fluid sprayed everywhere as Phil grabbed another alien by the skull and turned it around. The creature dropped like a rock.

  The variant felt something slice through fur and flesh and turned to grab it. As he hugged the alien to his chest, Phil felt bones crunch and heard organs pop.

  “You want a fight?” the variant roared. “You want combat? Well how’s this!”

  So saying Phil lifted the already dead alien up over his head and bounced it off a bulkhead.

  In the meantime Molly had been sent tumbling head over heels. As she hit the cage it knocked the wind out of her. Molly struggled to breathe as the alien did something horrible to Pong. Blood spattered on her boots.

  Then Molly saw Phil break loose from his guards and spin-kick one of them. Meanwhile Daddy was struggling to break free.

  Molly saw a gun, one of Phil’s knocked loose in the struggle, slide across the packed earth. She dived forward and felt it heavy in her hands.

  Daddy shoved and kicked but to no avail. One of the 56,815 still had hold of his arm. Molly tried to aim but was afraid that she’d hit Daddy instead of the alien. She ran forward and pressed the muzzle against the alien’s torso. The slug gun practically jumped out of her hand when she squeezed the trigger. It made a muffled bang.

  Mortally wounded, the alien let go and McCade yelled, “Molly! Give me the gun!”

  Molly tossed the gun to her father and backed away as the remaining alien moved toward her. It staggered as McCade pumped four slugs into its back, took two more steps, and toppled onto its face.

  Both of them stared at it for a second until Molly saw something over her father’s shoulder and pointed. “Daddy! Behind you!”

  McCade whirled to find 47,721 coming straight
at him, a horrible-looking sight with saliva dripping from its jaws, and Pong’s blood smeared all over its torso.

  The bounty hunter brought the gun up in a two-handed grip, fired shot after shot into the alien’s chest, and kept on firing as it slumped to the deck. He stopped when the gun clicked empty.

  There was silence for a moment as all of them looked around, surprised to be alive and extremely grateful.

  Then McCade was on his knees, with Molly in his arms, both crying and trying to talk at the same time.

  Molly heard herself talking, heard herself say, “Oh, Daddy, Mommy said you’d come, but it took so long! And I was scared, and every time I did something it went wrong, and everything was awful. Is Mommy okay?”

  And she heard her father reply, saying, “You did a great job, honey, and I’m sorry it took so long to find you. Yes, Mommy’s fine, and waiting for you to come home. I love you, Molly. Thank God you’re safe.”

  But years later, long after Phil had recovered, the remaining alien had been hunted down, and the effort to find their homeworld had begun, Molly would remember other things.

  She’d remember the strength of her father’s arms, the familiar smell of his clothes, and the fact that he’d crossed a thousand stars to find her. Molly was home.

  About the Author

  William C. Dietz is the author of more than 20 science fiction novels. He grew up in the Seattle area, spent time with the Navy and Marine Corps as a medic, graduated from the University of Washington, lived in Africa for half a year, and has traveled to six continents. Dietz has been variously employed as a surgical technician, college instructor, news writer, and television producer.