Alien Bounty

by William C. Dietz

  Signs blinked, hawkers yelled, and robots scurried through the crowd bleating out their prerecorded messages. "Dark dreams! Dark dreams! A place where dark dreams come true! Corridor five, cross tunnel fourteen. Dark dreams! Dark dreams!"

  The air was filled with a heady mix of smells. Smoke, perfume, food, sweat, and other odors too faint to identify all fought for dominance.

  McCade noticed that the crowd seemed to bunch up around the more popular haunts and thin out again to pass others by. And although the crowd was made up of all sorts of sentients, all had one thing in common. It was a look, a look that said they needed to acquire something, or satisfy some hidden need before time and money ran out, and they were forced to leave.

  And here and there along the edges of the crowd the predators waited, their restless eyes skimming the crowd in search of profit or pleasure. There were all sorts: whores, pimps, thieves, pirates, mercenaries, bounty hunters, and more, all waiting, all living off the weakness of others.

  But the tall black thing didn't look weak, and neither did the man and woman who strode along behind it, so the predators watched but made no move. Strength is difficult to gain and easy to lose so eventually the black thing might still be theirs.

  "The House of Yarl." That was the name Sister Urillo had provided and it was right where she'd said it would be, just off the main corridor along cross tunnel twenty-three.

  The name was deeply etched into a brass plate that graced an otherwise nondescript metal door. It hissed open at McCade's touch. As the bounty hunter stepped inside he found himself in a small but richly appointed lobby.

  A middle-aged woman with a kindly face and two wings of dark hair looked up from a comp screen. "Welcome to the House of Yarl. My name is Portia. How may I help you?"

  "We're friends of Sister Urillo's," McCade replied. "She recommended that we stay here."

  "How nice," the woman replied evenly. "How is Sister Urillo these days?"

  "The kinesthetic feedback unit you sent her is much better than the old one. She can dance now."

  When Portia smiled her entire face lit up. "Excellent! It is as I hoped. There was a time when she loved dancing as much as flying. One, two, or three rooms?"

  "Three," Reba said firmly.

  "I don't know about you, but I feel insulted," McCade said to Neem.

  "Maybe it's those cigars," Neem replied. "They're enough to drop an Ikk at thirty yards."

  The woman tapped away at her keyboard and looked up at the comp screen. "Your rooms are ready. Palm the counter, then palm the doors."

  McCade pressed his palm down on the counter, followed by Reba, then Neem.

  Portia frowned at the alien's gloved hand but decided to let it go. Anyone wearing gloves could open the thing's door, but whatever lurked behind that visor could take care of itself and wouldn't need any advice from her.

  They were just turning to go when Portia turned on her professional smile. "Thank you for choosing the House of Yarl and have a nice stay."

  McCade smiled, nodded in her direction, and decided that he'd be satisfied if he got off the habitat alive.

  Twenty-One

  They'd been walking for about twenty minutes and the bright lights were far behind them. Every third or fourth light was burned out or shot out, McCade couldn't tell which.

  The walls were covered with graffiti, and garbage lined both sides of the corridor. The air was humid and carried the strong scent of urine. Every society has an underside and this was Tin Town's.

  The people who passed them were the dregs of a society focused on self. They padded the length of Tin Town's less traveled corridors like human vultures, hoping to find the leavings of some predator, or to encounter a victim so weak that they could make the kill themselves.

  But the threesome were well armed and moved with the confidence of those who know where they're going and why. And since the vultures were ever fearful of becoming victims themselves, they gave the strangers a wide berth and went in search of weaker prey.

  Nonetheless, there was the very real possibility of an ambush. The corridor practically screamed, "Danger! Run for your lives!"

  So while Reba managed to look calm, her right hand hovered over her blaster, and there was a tightness in the way she moved. Her eyes jerked toward McCade when he spoke and then darted away.

  "Where did you say we were going again?"

  Reba frowned. "We're looking for a good restaurant. Pay attention, Sam. We're looking for a man called Scavenger Jack. Sister Urillo has him on a retainer. If Pong's here, Jack will know."

  McCade was about to say something along the lines of "Well, excuse me," when Neem snarled at the both of them.

  "Cut the chatter, you two. Unless you'd like to come up and trade places with me."

  Il Ronnians are partially nocturnal and have better night sight than humans so Neem was leading the way. But he didn't relish the assignment and wanted them to know it. Each side tunnel was a potential threat, and if someone started a firefight, he'd be the first to die.

  "Tunnel eighty-seven. We're getting close," Reba said, pausing to read faded numbers. "Scavenger Jack lives in ninety-one right."

  They passed three more tunnels without incident and found themselves in front of one marked "91." Unlike most this one was partially lit.

  McCade stepped into the tunnel. "Watch our backs, Neem. We'd be like rats in a trap if this tunnel dead ends."

  "Rats in a trap," Neem said experimentally. "I like that. Is it similar to being up feces creek without a paddle? And why travel on a creek filled with feces anyway?"

  "Not now, Neem," Reba replied impatiently. "Just watch our backs." And so saying she followed McCade into the tunnel.

  Neem started to make a rude gesture with his tail but remembered that she couldn't see it and wouldn't understand even if she could. He settled for a rude noise instead.

  Turning, he backed his way up the tunnel, watching the main corridor for signs of trouble.

  They were about a hundred feet into the tunnel when they heard the scream. It was long, drawn out, and undeniably human.

  McCade drew his blaster and broke into a run. Another scream followed the first, this one going even higher, before dying into a low gurgle and disappearing altogether.

  Up ahead a door slammed open and a shaft of light hit the far side of the tunnel. A shadow hit the wall as a man stepped out and turned their way. He took one look and drew his slug gun. "Come on, guys! We've got company!"

  The man used a high velocity slug to punctuate his sentence. The slug blew air into McCade's ear as it passed, hit the overhead, and screamed down the corridor. The chances were slim that it would go through the habitat's hull, but it could happen. Stupid asshole.

  McCade squeezed his trigger and punched an energy beam through the man's chest. As he fell over backward more men came through the door and leaped his body. They had better sense and opened up with energy weapons.

  Now Neem and Reba had joined the fray. Bolts of blue energy screamed up and down the tunnel. The two groups came together with a collective grunt just as another man fell. Knives flashed in the dim light and it was each person for himself.

  McCade found himself paired off with a man in a blue uniform. He was short, ugly, and smelled of cheap cologne.

  McCade tried to use his blaster but found his wrist locked in a grip of steel. Light flashed off the other man's blade and McCade blocked it with a grip of his own. Now the two men tried to best each other through strength alone.

  Though a full head shorter than McCade, the other man was as strong as an ox, and it was soon apparent that he'd win. He held his knife edge up, and in spite of McCade's best efforts, each second brought the shining steel closer and closer. Any moment now and McCade would feel the first pinprick as the knife point broke his skin. Next would come the excruciating agony as the cold steel slid into his guts. His belly jerked back at the thought.

  Neem's voice came from behind. "Turn him around!"

  McC
ade found that if he pulled with one arm and pushed with the other he could turn his opponent to the right.

  "Get ready to die," the man rasped through yellowing teeth. "I'm going to split you open like a ripe fava fruit."

  McCade didn't waste precious energy on a reply. Instead, he used all of his remaining strength to push and pull at the same time.

  It was then that he heard the whicker of cold steel and Neem's Il Ronnian war cry. As the alien swung into sight his sword was already in motion and McCade did his best to duck.

  The razor-sharp steel made a sucking sound as it passed through the man's neck and came out the other side. There was a gout of bright red blood as the man's head went one way and his body went another. They hit the metal deck with a double thump.

  McCade swayed slightly as he looked around. His arms still hurt where the other man had gripped them. A glance informed him that Reba was okay and that the rest of the assailants had fled. Neem was using a corpse to wipe the blood off his blade.

  Seeing McCade's look, Neem grinned behind his visor. "While in college I took a course in the fabrication and use of ancient weapons. Standard stuff for anthropologists and, as it turns out, quite useful as well."

  McCade shook his head in amazement. "You never cease to amaze me, Neem. You are a crazy bastard."

  "You can say that again," Reba agreed. "And a good thing too. Come on. Let's see what's inside."

  McCade went through the door fast and low, his blaster searching for a target. There was none.

  The inside came as a complete surprise. He'd expected some sort of hovel, a metal cave complete with piles of junk, and a grizzled old man who called himself "Scavenger Jack."

  Nothing could've been further from the truth. Far from being a metal cave, Scavenger Jack's foyer was larger than McCade's hotel room and better decorated as well. The floors were marble, the walls were covered with rich red fabric, and the light fixtures dripped crystal. For some reason the man chose to live in a remote and almost deserted part of the habitat.

  "Over here." Neem had pushed a door open with the point of his sword.

  McCade followed the Il Ronnian through the door and found himself in a formal sitting room. It was filled to overflowing with richly upholstered furniture, fine paintings, and small pieces of Finthian sculpture. Something caught his eye and he moved over to investigate.

  "This is amazing," Reba said quietly. "Who'd believe you could find something like this just off tunnel ninety-one? Scavenger Jack sure knows how to live."

  "And how to die," McCade added. "Look at this."

  Scavenger Jack was lying behind a couch. In life he'd been a handsome man with curly brown hair and a thick mustache. He wore a surprised expression as if he'd known how things were supposed to turn out and this wasn't it.

  McCade couldn't blame him. Scavenger Jack was not a pretty sight. Neither was the knife that protruded from his chest. First they'd worked him over, which explained the screams and the condition of his fingernails. They'd pried them off one at a time. McCade wondered why. Did it have something to do with Pong? Or was it totally unconnected? There was no way to tell.

  "Damn." Reba made it a comment and an expression of sorrow all in one.

  "Yeah," McCade agreed. "Not a very nice way to go."

  "There's no such thing as a 'nice way to go,' Neem observed. "And I suggest we leave lest we suffer a similar fate. They might come back."

  Neem's suggestion made a lot of sense so they wasted little time slipping out the door and into the tunnel.

  There was no way to tell if Scavenger Jack had a next of kin, or if the habitat's founders believed in concepts like legal inheritance, but they closed the door just in case.

  It closed with the solid thump common to bank vaults everywhere, and now that McCade looked more closely, he realized the door and frame were made of hull metal. Though a bit eccentric, Scavenger Jack was no fool.

  All of which made McCade curious. Given the fact that an energy cannon wouldn't even scratch the door, how had the killers managed to get inside?

  The obvious answer was that Scavenger Jack knew his killers and decided to let them in. That, plus his surprised expression, suggested friends. Or people he thought were friends.

  The bodies were right where they'd left them and Reba's knife flashed as she cut something off the headless corpse, stuck it in a pocket, and moved down tunnel.

  The walk back was long but uneventful. As they approached the hotel McCade saw a number of police and, what with his bloodstained clothing and heavily armed companions, felt more than a little conspicuous.

  But this was Tin Town, and unless the police had some reason to suspect that someone had attacked one of their clients, then there was nothing to fear.

  McCade decided to visit his room prior to joining the others. So when he entered Neem's room a half hour later he was showered, shaved, and feeling much better.

  McCade noticed that the Il Ronnian had the room temp up to max and was about to complain when he remembered the sound that Neem's sword had made as it passed through the short man's neck. The heat suddenly seemed like a minor inconvenience and he said "hello" instead.

  Besides turning the room into an oven, Neem had taken the opportunity to shed his disguise. Freed from all constraints his tail danced this way and that as he spoke.

  "Welcome, Sam. Reba has come up with some rather interesting information."

  "Good," McCade said as he dropped into a chair. "We could use some interesting information right about now."

  Reba had her boots up on a coffee table and was using a piece of the hotel's promotional material to fan herself. She looked unhappy. "Well, it's interesting . . . but not very helpful. You remember the short guy Neem made even shorter?"

  McCade nodded grimly. "Who could forget?"

  "Well, I cut the insignia off his uniform on the way out. I showed it to Portia and she says it belongs to Morris Sappo's household troops."

  McCade lit a cigar and used the time to think. Pong had been seen with Sappo on each of his recent trips to Tin Town. They knew that from the reports Scavenger Jack had filed with Sister Urillo. So it seemed that Pong and Sappo were financially linked and maybe even friends. It wasn't difficult to imagine ways in which one of Tin Town's foremost businessmen could assist a renegade pirate and turn a profit in the process. Having broken off his relationship with the Brotherhood, Pong would have to sell his loot somewhere, and Tin Town was the perfect choice.

  Given that, and given the fact that McCade was on Pong's trail, it seemed likely that Sappo's troops had murdered Scavenger Jack in an effort to protect Pong's privacy. But how had they known?

  "It appears that there's a leak in Sister Urillo's organization," McCade said, expelling the words along with a column of smoke. "Someone informed Pong and/or Sappo that we were on the way."

  Reba nodded her agreement. "I agree. I've sent word to Sister Urillo via Portia. In the meantime we've got a problem. Sappo isn't going to tell us where Pong is, and Scavenger Jack is dead, so what do we do now?"

  There was a long silence during which they watched McCade's smoke drift on the heavy air. It was Neem who finally spoke.

  "In spite of your best efforts you humans have dropped the globe. So it's time for an Il Ronnian to step in and save the day."

  "Oh, really?" Reba asked. "And how will you accomplish that, O wizened one?"

  Neem smiled a superior smile. "It just so happens that Tin Town boasts a Class III Il Ronnian intelligence operation. I think it likely that our operatives will know where Pong is . . . or where to start looking. I suggest we drop in and ask them."

  Twenty-Two

  McCade was surprised. It seemed hard to believe that the Il Ronn had spies on Tin Town. Subjugated races spying for the Il Ronn yes, human traitors yes, but the Il Ronn themselves? No.

  For one thing there was the obvious physical differences. How could an Il Ronnian possibly pass for human? Or vice versa? Sure, there was Neem's disguise, but he couldn
't get away with that forever. No, Il Ronnian spies didn't seem possible. Nonetheless that's exactly what Neem wanted them to believe.

  McCade came to a stop as a pink robot trundled out to block Neem's path. A woman appeared next to it. She wore a skin suit and a rather tired expression.

  "Step through my door, tall, dark, and handsome," she said. "I've got what you're looking for."

  "I doubt that very much," Neem replied dryly as he sidestepped the robo pimp. "You're not my type."

  McCade smiled as the woman made a rude gesture. Wouldn't she be surprised to see Neem in the nude!

  Lights strobed, people swirled, and mind-numbing noise assailed their ears as they threaded their way through the crowd.

  Neem was his usual self, but Reba was a bit grumpy, as if Scavenger Jack's death was a personal affront to her honor. Having been unable to cheer her up, McCade decided to let her sulk.

  Level six of Alpha Section was located at the opposite end of the habitat from the House of Yarl and that's where Neem was taking them. A high-speed monorail whisked them the length of the original barge and deposited them in a somewhat gaudy station.

  Like the rest of Tin Town, Alpha Section was a sort of capitalistic free-for-all, governed by nothing more elaborate than the law of supply and demand.

  Though McCade wondered how Il Ronnians could survive undetected, it was clear that spies would thrive on Tin Town's laissez-faire system of government and profit from the information that changed hands here. Maybe, just maybe, Neem was right.

  Neem claimed that he'd been specially briefed by the chief of Il Ronnian intelligence during McCade's last days on Imantha. Though Neem was not normally privy to classified information, the Council of One Thousand had anticipated the possibility that he might need some help and granted him a special dispensation.

  Not eager to reveal the extent of the Il Ronnian intelligence network to a human, Teeb had ordered Neem to keep the information secret unless forced to do otherwise. Or so Neem claimed.

  McCade wasn't so sure. In retrospect, Neem had been a lot more competent than any college professor had a right to be. First he'd extricated himself from a bad situation on Spin, then he'd shown up to rescue McCade from the pirates, and now he was beheading people right and left. Yes, McCade decided, Neem will bear watching.