Galactic Bounty

by William C. Dietz

  That's why McCade had chosen to use the pirate ship in spite of its questionable condition. Hopefully the code printed somewhere in its frame was still operational. If so they would pass the weapons platforms unmolested. If not they would die a quick death.

  Wearily, he stood and made his way out of the small lounge, through the narrow corridor, and up to the control room. To his surprise Sara Bridger sat slumped in front of the huge command screen. On it, nearby stars and systems followed their stately paths as they had for billions of years. It was the first time she had left the privacy of her cabin since they'd lifted off Alice.

  "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said without looking around.

  "Yes, it is," McCade answered, dropping into the seat next to her.

  She swiveled around to face him, a tentative smile touching her lips. "Hello, Sam."

  McCade felt something tighten in his chest when she said his name. Coming from her it seemed special somehow. A peace offering and an intimacy rolled into one. "Hello yourself," McCade replied with a smile. "How're you feeling?"

  "Much better, thanks. I think it was the sleep I needed most. It seems like weeks since I've slept eight hours in a row. When the pirates weren't actually attacking, we were repairing the damage they'd done on the last raid and getting ready for the next one."

  McCade nodded sympathetically. "Strangely enough, it seems you're what they were after." As quickly as the words left his mouth he regretted them. The light in her eyes dimmed as she turned back to the screen.

  "Yes," she said. "Now that I know about the War World, it's obvious the pirates hoped to capture me for use as a hostage against Father's cooperation." She sighed. "I wonder how they knew I was alive and living on Alice."

  "I imagine you have at least one pirate spy on Alice, if not more," McCade answered. "Nothing else makes much sense."

  "Yes," she replied. "I imagine you're right."

  She stared at the screen in silence and McCade couldn't think of anything to say. So they sat together in what eventually became a companionable silence. When she finally spoke, her voice had a hollow quality, as if coming from far away.

  "Sam, tell me about the Battle of Hell."

  "There really isn't much to tell."

  "You told the Council that my father court-martialed you . . .. Why? I . . . I'd like to know, for personal reasons."

  McCade was silent for a moment as the memories came flooding back across ten long years. With them came the hate and resentment that he had fought to control, but never quite conquered. Then he said, "Your father had me court-martialed for disobeying a direct order."

  She turned her chair back toward him, her eyes locking with his as she said, "I think I know what that order was . . . but I'd appreciate your telling me."

  So he did. Again he saw the pirate ship in the cross hairs of his sight as his thumb rested lightly on the firing stud. Again he heard the woman's pleading voice as she said, "Please, in the name of whatever gods you worship, I implore you, don't fire! My ship is unarmed. I have only women, children and old men aboard . . .. Please listen to me!"

  Then the second voice, hoarse and commanding: "Fire, Lieutenant! That's an order! She's lying. Fire, damn you!"

  Again he felt his thumb lift off the firing stud and watched as the pirate ship slid out of sight along his starboard side. Then the flare of the explosion in his rear screen as the pirate vessel was hit by one of the Imperial's main batteries at extreme range. Then the enemy ship was gone as its desperate captain took it into an uncalculated hyperspace jump.

  For a moment Sara was silent. Then she said, "It happened exactly as you described it." Seeing his look of surprise, she said, "That's right . . .. My mother and I were aboard that pirate ship. We'd been put aboard shortly after they took the Mars. In fact I got this"—Her hand fluttered up to touch the scar—"fighting them at the main entry port along with the crew. And in a way I suppose it saved me from a 'fate worse than death.'" She smiled wryly. "They decided that even with surgery I'd never be pretty enough for the slave market. So they put me aboard a ship loaded with wealthy hostages. I guess they hoped to eventually ransom us, or if things went badly, use us as bargaining chips.

  "Anyway, when our ship was caught by the Imperial, our captain piped the radio transmissions over the intercom. I think she knew what was coming and didn't want us to blame her. I'll never forget the look on my mother's face as she heard my father's voice commanding you to fire."

  Tears ran down her cheeks.

  "He wasn't a bad man," McCade said quietly. "He just couldn't deal with losing both of you. It drove him a little crazy."

  "Thank you for that," she replied with a grateful smile. "Coming from you it means a lot. And you're right, he wasn't a bad man when I knew him. But whatever the reasons, he's become one. What he did during the Battle of Hell was wrong. And so was what he did to you afterward. And then to aid the Il Ronn against humans—worse than that, to give them the War World—there's no excuse for that." She paused. Though tears ran freely down her cheeks, her voice was calm and cold. "So if we find him, and I can't do it myself, promise me you'll kill him. It would be the greatest favor you could do for the man he once was."

  McCade started to speak, but she shook her head. "Promise me," she insisted.

  Reluctantly McCade nodded his agreement. There was no point in telling her that he would have done so in any case, assuming of course that Bridger wouldn't come with them.

  She was silent for a moment, her eyes searching his as though looking for something important. "As you said, we escaped by taking a jump into hyperspace and then back out."

  McCade put up a hand to stop her, but she shook her head and continued to speak.

  "The ship was badly damaged. One of the two life rafts was destroyed. Those who could crowded into the remaining raft. Some of the wounded volunteered to stay behind. The captain insisted on staying with them." She shook her head in amazement. "It was funny really. That pirate captain would have cheerfully transported us all into slavery. But she wouldn't leave any of us on a crippled ship. Shortly after we got away, the ship blew up. We ran out of food rather quickly. There were so many of us packed into the little raft. At first we thought ourselves lucky to have plenty of air and water. Most people can last for quite a while without food. Then we learned the truth. For most of us, air and water would only prolong the suffering. We were way outside normal shipping lanes and the chances of being found were almost nil."

  "The babies died first. And then the elderly. I think mother died inside as she listened to Father scream his insane orders. With her spirit gone, her body followed soon after. One by one I struggled to get their bodies into the raft's tiny lock . . . and into space . . . until eventually there were only three of us, a girl of about twelve and an old man. We tried to cheer each other up, we sang songs, and the old man told us about his life as a prospector. But eventually we ran out of things to say and retreated within ourselves. Privately I cursed the strength that kept me alive. Finally I felt myself sinking into welcomed darkness with a feeling of joyous release, certain my turn had finally come. But it wasn't to be. Instead I awoke, looking into Premo's face. He was a passenger aboard the ship that heard the raft's emergency beacon and picked us up.

  "She was a tramp freighter. It seemed as though we stopped at every other asteroid to drop off supplies for some miner or lonely scientist. So Premo and I had lots of time to talk. He actually did most of the talking, while I listened. It was good actually . . .. I needed time to think.

  "Like many of those who end up on frontier planets, Premo was a misfit . . . and on the run from something. I never asked what, and he never said. But he was brilliant in his own way . . . very knowledgeable about business and finance. As you saw, he was also a jealous and sometimes stupid man . . . in love with me in spite of this"—she indicated her face— "even though he knew I didn't feel the same way.

  "But underneath all that, Premo was a dreamer, a man who saw the frontier worlds
as an opportunity to start over, and avoid the mistakes of the past. He told me about Alice. About how it had just been opened and how beautiful it would be. What could be accomplished there and why it was important. Well, I must have listened, because when we arrived I got off and never looked back."

  "You never thought about going home?" McCade asked.

  "Oh at first I did. But every time I thought about it, I imagined coming face to face with my father. What would I say? Tell him he'd murdered my mother along with hundreds of other people? No. It seemed pointless. Eventually I came to think of him as dead. And it worked—until you came along." She sighed. "You saved my life that day, Sam, and I'll always admire you for what you did, but maybe it would have been better if you'd followed my father's orders. If you had, I wouldn't have Premo's blood on my hands." She held her hands up and turned them over as if actually seeing blood on them. She stood and then shuddered before half walking and half running from the room.

  McCade also stood, intending to follow, to tell her how glad he was that he'd saved her life, but stopped as the intercom buzzed.

  "Weapons platform comin' up, boss . . .. We oughta know if we're gonna pass inspection any minute now." Van Doren's voice was cheerful. McCade wondered if the big marine was really unaffected by the possibility of death, or just couldn't imagine that it could happen to him.

  "I'll be right there," McCade said over his shoulder as he stepped out of the control room and slid down the ladder to the level below.

  Van Doren sat before the computer's master keyboard. As McCade approached, the marine touched a sequence of keys with surprisingly nimble fingers and then sat back to watch the screen.

  "Any moment now we'll get the incoming pulse. It should register clear as a bell on our sensors. If the code's still working the pulse will read it. If not it's taps . . .."

  "Thanks, Amos. It's always nice to know I can count on you for a cheerful word in times of crisis."

  Van Doren grinned in response, his eyes peering at the screen from beneath bushy brows. The seconds ticked away with maddening slowness. There was a noise behind him and McCade turned to see Sara enter. "I thought I should be here for the big moment," she said with a wan smile. Somehow it seemed natural to put his arm around her.

  When the pulse came a moment later it seemed anticlimactic.

  "Brotherhood Vessel 4690 Zebra cleared for planetfall" flashed on the screen and then faded away.

  McCade let his breath out slowly, only then realizing he'd been holding it in. The arm he'd put around Sara suddenly felt awkward and out of place. He allowed it to fall and moved to Van Doren's side as he said, "Let's see if Rico's still with us."

  Van Doren punched a couple of keys and a screen came to life above him. It was adjusted to maximum magnification. At its farthest edge a green light blinked on and off. Rico was still there, shadowing them in the Lady Alice. Before long he'd have to stop and lie doggo. Otherwise the weapons platforms would blast him. If challenged he would claim a mechanical failure which would soon be repaired. The neglected appearance of his ship would support his story. Rico would wait for six rotations. If they hadn't made it off the Rock by then, he'd rejoin the Council and together they'd figure out what to do next. The unspoken understanding was that McCade, Sara, and Van Doren would be presumed dead.

  "All right," McCade said, "it's time for phase two. Activate all the screens, Amos, and crank the sensors up to max. We'll see who else is in the neighborhood."

  The marine pressed a series of keys. One by one the entire bank of screens in front of him came to life. Now they could see all the ships in their vicinity out to the range of their detectors.

  There was a lot of activity. Which would be good for Rico, McCade mused. Hopefully he'd be able to lose himself in all the comings and goings. Screen by screen McCade eyed the possibilities. Pirate ships of all shapes and sizes swarmed around the planet like bees around a hive. Their radio traffic poured from the speaker over McCade's head. For the most part it was open and unscrambled, with only occasional bursts of code— an indication of how secure they feel, McCade thought. From the snatches of conversation, he began to build an interesting montage of activity.

  Some of the ships were damaged from distant encounters with the Il Ronn. Others had been victorious and were making planetfall loaded with loot. Then there were the outward bound ships, hungry and on the prowl. Those they wanted to avoid at all costs. There were other ships too. Possessors of special one-time passes which enabled them to pass the weapons platforms untouched, but which had to be reactivated in order for them to leave. They were the smugglers, for the most part. Traders in stolen and illicit goods. Disliked by everyone, even the pirates, but used by all. They made their dark living buying loot the pirates didn't need or want, and then selling it on frontier worlds at below market prices, sometimes to those from whom it had been stolen to begin with.

  And McCade knew that among the merchandise they bought and sold were sentient beings. Thinking and feeling creatures like Sara and her mother, snatched from merchant vessels or native planets to live out short lives on some jungle plantation or deep in a mine. But those were the lucky ones. There were special customers for beautiful young women. Customers with desires so dark and twisted no sane woman would willingly comply with them. McCade shivered involuntarily, forcing his mind back to the ships which filled the screens.

  It took money to buy the kind of ships the smugglers needed. McCade knew that all too often it was supplied by the so-called legitimate merchants on planets like Weller's World. All without interference from the Imperial Navy. Just another payment on the price of peace. In any case, McCade thought grimly, very soon one of the smugglers would be out of business. They'd known from the start it would be suicide to try and land the pirate ship. By now it was overdue and probably listed as missing in action. If it suddenly showed up, there'd be pirates swarming all over it in seconds. No, it would be much better to arrive in the guise of smugglers.

  "Let's pick a small one," Sara said, scanning the screen.

  "That's for sure!" McCade replied fervently. Even with the element of surprise operating in their favor, they'd be hard-pressed to take on a crew of five or six.

  "How 'bout this one, boss?" Van Doren indicated his choice with an electronic arrow.

  "Looks like a small freighter," Sara said approvingly.

  "Okay. Let's take a look," McCade said as he headed for the control room. As he dropped into the pilot's position he saw the two ready lights for the port and starboard weapons blisters pop on one after the other. Van Doren and Sara were in their places.

  Gingerly he took control of the ship away from the computer. He'd had very little time with her controls and didn't know all her quirks yet. He locked onto the blinking light still marked with an arrow and sent the ship toward it in a long graceful curve. Carefully he examined nearby traffic, looking for anything suspicious. But as far as he could tell, nobody was interested in their activities. As they closed with their target, it became apparent that the two ships would meet in a relatively empty area. That suited McCade just fine.

  "This one looks like a keeper," McCade said into the intercom. "I'm about to say hello, so stand by . . .."

  With that he opened the standard ship to ship channel, audio only, and hailed the other vessel. "This is Brotherhood Patrol Ship 4690 Zebra. Heave to and prepare to be boarded."

  The reply lit up the com screen to his right. The freighter's captain sent both sound and pix. His face was narrow and his skin bore an unhealthy pallor. A forced smile revealed rows of uneven yellow teeth through which his voice issued forth as a servile whine. A tiny gold disc hung at his throat. "Of course, of course. Always happy to oblige the Brotherhood. Is Your Excellency looking for anything in particular? I have an excellent bottle of Terran whiskey aboard," he added slyly.

  "Just a routine inspection," McCade replied with what he hoped was the right mixture of boredom and authority. "Can't be too careful you know. Come to think of
it, I am a bit parched . . .. I'll be over shortly."

  The weasellike face nodded knowingly. "It'll be a pleasure to serve Your Excellency." With that the com screen faded to black.

  McCade wiped the light sheen of perspiration from his forehead and heaved a sigh of relief. It had worked. The two ships were now in visual contact. The freighter was half the size of the pirate vessel. To McCade's surprise it was relatively new and appeared to be well maintained. A measure of the profits to be made, McCade thought sourly. "Contact in about two minutes," McCade said into the intercom. "Stand by."

  When the ships were a few hundred feet apart, McCade triggered the tractor beams, which locked the two vessels together. Through a series of gentle adjustments, he brought the two ships together with an almost imperceptible bump. They were touching lock to lock.

  McCade ran through a mental check list as he stood and glanced around the control room. Everything seemed in order. He touched the key placing all major systems on stand-by, and headed for the lock where Sara and Van Doren were waiting. They had already pressurized the space between the two locks. McCade checked his slug gun, and the stunner hidden up his right sleeve in a spring-loaded holster. The other two smiled their readiness. McCade nodded and activated the inner hatch. With a sigh the lock cycled open, and as they stepped through he felt the familiar tug from the muscle in his left cheek.

  As they entered the other ship, they were greeted by a Finthian Bird Man. He seemed to be molting. Large patches of his golden feathers were missing, revealing sections of greenish skin. His saucerlike eyes regarded them gravely.