McCade thought Sara should be in the hospital, but between the pressures of office and her own stubbornness, she'd been up and around for a day now.
McCade tightened his arm around Sara's waist and pulled her even closer. He gloried in the feel of her, and had Molly been there beside him, he would've been secretly happy.
But she wasn't, and that, plus the guilt McCade felt for putting his own family first, pulled his emotions down.
At least Phil was alright. Deena had been found and was recovering in the hospital.
The minister paused, turned a page in the tattered book, and intoned the ancient words. " . . . Ashes to ashes . . . dust to dust . . ."
Sara leaned her head against his arm. She was crying.
McCade watched Rico as the coffins were lowered into the grave. They were all that remained of a full section. The rest would never be found. The second belonged to Vanessa. As her coffin disappeared from sight, Rico whispered a prayer and threw something in after her. McCade caught the glint of gold.
When the last coffin had been lowered into the grave, and blasters had rewarmed the earth, a robo shovel filled the trench.
Then, their shoulders covered with a dusting of snow, the mourners crunched their way back to the line of waiting crawlers. One had been set aside for Sara, McCade, Rico, and Phil.
It dipped and rolled through broken ground to waddle out onto the landing pad. The elevator mechanism that normally lowered ships below the frozen surface was still under repair, but both of the burned-out hulks had been pushed aside, and another shuttle sat beside his own. It was old and extremely beat-up.
A tramp freighter had dropped into orbit the day before. After all the death and destruction it seemed hard to believe that life would go on, that the rest of humanity was still going about its business, but the shuttle proved it. Things, outer things that didn't mean much, were returning to normal.
Somewhere, deep in space, a message torp was on its way to Imperial Earth. There wouldn't be much that the Emperor could do but it was worth a try.
Rico and Phil were quick to buss Sara on the cheek, say their good-byes, and head for the shuttle. The door opened and closed with a rush of cold air.
McCade glanced toward the driver but saw that the connecting hatch had been tactfully closed. Not for him, but for Sara. After all, she was head of the planetary council and a person of some importance.
McCade cupped Sara's face with his hands and used his thumb to remove a tear. "Don't cry, honey, I'll find Molly and bring her back."
"And the rest of the kids too."
McCade nodded solemnly. "And the rest of the kids too."
Sara bit her lower lip and nodded. He no longer saw the scar. She looked so pretty it made his heart ache.
"Be careful, Sam. Pong hates you so much he's willing to destroy entire planets. The possibility of losing Molly is bad enough . . . but if I lose you too . . ."
McCade put a finger over her lips. "It won't happen. Molly's got a good head on her shoulders. She'll hang in there and we'll do the rest."
Sara nodded slowly, her eyes searching every aspect of his face, as if committing it to memory. "Keep a close eye on Rico, Sam, he's hurting, and God knows what he might do."
McCade answered with a kiss, a long one that kindled memories and desires as well. When it was over Sara smiled.
"You'd better get out of here, Sam, or the driver will have a racy story to tell her friends, and I'll never live it down."
McCade laughed, kissed her on the tip of her nose, and keyed the door. It opened and he didn't look back. He was afraid to. Afraid he'd break down and start babbling what he felt. Conflicting things that didn't make sense and were all jumbled together.
That he should've been dirtside when Pong attacked. That he shouldn't leave Sara alone on Alice. That he should've started the search yesterday.
McCade was halfway to the shuttle before the cold cut through his thoughts and chilled his skin.
Every search has to begin somewhere and Lakor seemed a likely bet. A somewhat primitive planet, featuring a mishmash of high and low tech, Lakor was best known for its slave markets. Ugly, sprawling places, filled to overflowing with miserable sentients, they provided a much-needed source of foreign exchange.
In fact, Lakorians claimed the dubious distinction of being the biggest slave traders in all of known space, a claim disputed by the Zords, but probably true.
McCade, Rico, and Phil knew Lakor rather well, since they'd spent some rather unpleasant time there and weren't eager to return.
Still, knowing that pirates generally unload slaves as quickly as possible, Lakor was a logical place to go. After all, maybe they'd get lucky and find the children right off the top.
It could happen . . . especially if Lif came to their assistance.
While searching for the War World some years before, McCade had been dumped on Lakor by a rather unfriendly Il Ronnian naval officer and taken into slavery. McCade was rescued by Rico, but Sara wasn't so lucky. Together with Phil the two men set off to find her. During the journey they encountered the then Baron Lif, entered a conspiracy to overthrow King Zorta, and eventually did so, rescuing Sara in the process.
This had positioned Baron Lif to take the planetary throne, and assuming he had, they might be eligible for some royal assistance. They could hope anyway.
Most of Lakor was obscured by a thick layer of clouds. The same clouds that dumped vast quantities of rain into the planet's swamps, filled its rivers to overflowing, and created two rather large oceans.
Having received clearance to land, and having left Void Runner under Maggie's surly care, McCade, Rico, and Phil rode the shuttle down through Lakor's cloudy skies. They couldn't see a thing and were totally reliant on the ship's instruments.
Even though the shuttle jerked and bucked its way down through the atmosphere it still felt comfortable compared to McCade's last trip.
Along with Sara, and a marine named Van Doren, McCade had been forced into an unpadded cargo module and dropped from orbit. The combination of Lakor's gravity and unpredictable winds had beaten all of them unconscious.
The shuttle dropped out of the clouds over a large bay. Beneath them a fleet of wooden fishing boats left tiny white streaks against the blue-green water. Their lateen sails were bright orange and pushed the boats along at a pretty good clip.
There were hovercraft as well, brightly colored rectangles, dashing here and there without regard for the fishing nets or their owner's safety.
Then the boats were gone, left miles behind as the shuttle flew over quickly shallowing water and a large swamp. Beyond the swamp was a river, a twisting, turning ribbon of reflected light, heavy with debris and brownish silt.
Thick jungle grew down to touch the river on both banks, filling the V-shaped valley with verdant life, much of which was dangerous as hell.
Dropping down so that the valley's steep walls reached upward from both sides, McCade took pleasure in the twisting, turning course. He loved the skill required, the feeling of speed, the hint of danger.
The valley started to widen out. McCade killed speed, missed the look of relief on Phil's face, and followed a series of flashing beacons in for a landing.
The shuttle had no more than touched down when four armed crawlers roared out onto the scorched duracrete followed by a company of mounted soldiers.
The crawlers were of standard imperial manufacture but the cavalry were quite extraordinary. First came the Lakorians themselves. Squat-looking humanoids with greenish skin and stumpy legs. They wore orange uniforms with dark brown trim.
Then there were the Lakorian mounts. Huge six-legged reptilian animals, carrying three riders apiece and wearing bright blue trappings. The lead riders carried lances from which long green pennants flew. Seated behind them were two more soldiers, each armed with an energy weapon and a mean expression. The shuttle was completely surrounded within seconds.
McCade could still lift, but in doing so he would kill
some of the riders, and call in whatever navy the planet had. That would not only foreclose any possibility of finding the children but might be fatal as well.
Rico shook his head in pretended amazement. "Sam, ya never cease ta amaze me. We haven't even left the ship and someone's pissed! How the hell do ya do it?"
"By flying too damned low," Phil said sourly.
McCade initiated an auto shutdown sequence, released his harness, and stood up.
"Thank you for the vote of confidence. But as you are about to learn, things are not always as they appear. Where you see a group of soldiers bent on hanging me from the nearest tree, I see a guard of honor, sent by King Lif to escort us to his palace."
Rico looked at Phil, Phil looked at Rico, and both of them shrugged.
Five minutes later the outer hatch cycled open, McCade stepped out, and a horrible sound rent the air.
The source of this terrible noise was a stout-looking Lakorian noncom with a long-dead animal tucked under his right arm. By blowing air in through the poor creature's nostrils and squeezing its inflated body, he was able to produce a sound somewhat akin to a tortured house cat.
Realizing this was Lakorian music, and suspecting that it might be Lif's anthem, McCade popped to attention. Seeing this Rico and Phil did likewise.
The caterwauling went on for some time, rising and falling to the subtle manipulations of the steadfast noncom, finally ending in an earsplitting screech.
It was at this point that a much-bemedaled officer stepped forward, bowed formally, and said, "On behalf of King Lif, defender of the realm, protector of the innocent, and gift from the gods, I greet you. I am Major Rola. Please accompany us that we might take you into the presence of the king himself."
Like most Lakorians Rola spoke excellent standard. The slave markets drew an unending flow of off-world visitors, and that, plus the Lakorian fondness of things human, meant that the upper class spoke standard as fluently as Lakorian. Some even preferred it, much to the dismay of traditionalists.
McCade turned to Rico and Phil, raised an eyebrow as if to say "I told you so," and turned back to Major Rola. He bowed deeply. Lakor had a strong feudal tradition complete with fancy titles and courtly manners.
"Thank you, Major. We are honored. Please lead the way."
"The way," as it turned out, involved a crawler, and the axiom "that the shortest path between two points is always a straight line."
With their crawler leading the way, a convoy was formed and headed toward the northeast, with the cavalry following along behind.
During the brief moments when McCade wasn't being thrown from one side of the vehicle to the other, he took time to look out the viewports and observe their surroundings. Things were much as he remembered.
All Lakorian dwellings were built on pilings. This made them immune to the comings and goings of the water below them. Most were circular and had domed roofs. Sections of the roofs were hinged so they could be opened during rare moments of sunshine.
All-terrain vehicles were very popular. McCade saw them all over the place. Brightly colored creations with huge balloon tires and lots of dents. Half roared this way and that, while the other half were parked, often right next to the rotting boats that they'd replaced.
The streets were haphazard. They followed the path of least resistance most of the time, or ran along beside sections of the old canal system, now choked with garbage and weeds.
This did not intimidate their driver however, who, true to his straight-line philosophy of navigation, splashed through all but the very deepest canals.
In addition their route carried them down busy thoroughfares, through residential backyards, across at least one swamp and out into a large clearing.
At its center stood a log palisade, and within that, the largest log structure McCade had ever seen. It was huge, boasting thousands of square feet, and like everything else was up on pilings. A pair of gates swung open to admit the crawler.
"Well, here's the palace," Major Rola said proudly as the crawler jerked to a sudden halt. "Unbelievable, isn't it?'
McCade looked out at the muddy courtyard, the domesticated animals rooting in one corner of the palisade, and nodded his agreement. "It sure is," he said dryly. "Don't the taxpayers complain?"
"Naw," Rola replied confidently. "Why should they? The money comes from slaves, not them."
The Lakorian's comment served to jerk McCade out of his role as tourist and remind him of his mission. Molly. Molly and the other children.
The door hissed open to amidst some tired, soggy air. McCade stood. "Thanks for the ride, Major. Let's see the king."
After a short walk across the muddy courtyard they passed through a large door and entered a reception area. It was huge and, outside of the muddy floor, quite spotless.
Three guards flanked each side of the hall. They snapped to attention as a rather junior officer stepped forward.
"The humans will surrender their weapons. The hairy thing also."
McCade took a moment to look the Lakorian up and down. He didn't like surrendering his slug gun, especially on a slime ball like Lakor, and especially to some jumped-up clown in a fancy uniform.
But he did want Lif's cooperation, and even the most generous monarch might resent the loss of his bodyguard and find ways to express his displeasure.
Seeing the human's insolent gaze and correctly interpreting the lack of respect it conveyed, the officer went for the nerve lash secured to his belt. Five strokes would put the human in his place and restore the lieutenant's dignity.
Major Rola was just opening his mouth to object when another voice was heard. "As you were, Lieutenant!"
The officer came to rigid attention.
The Lakorian who stepped out into the reception area was splendidly clad, about a foot shorter than McCade, and by the standards of his race quite handsome.
He had a prominent forehead, intelligent eyes, and a wide, thick-lipped mouth. It was turned upward in a rather human smile. "Greetings, Sir Knight. Squire Rico, Squire Phil, welcome to my humble home."
Lif frowned as he turned to the unfortunate lieutenant. "While I appreciate the zeal with which you carry out your duties, I would recommend a good deal more tact, especially when dealing with humans like these. Any one of them could have killed you and all of your troops long before you pulled that silly nerve lash from your belt. These are not serfs for your abuse! Report to your quarters and give it some thought."
McCade thought he saw some looks of enjoyment pass between the enlisted males as the lieutenant left the room.
Moving in closer Lif shook their hands human style and lowered his voice. "Again, welcome. Imagine my surprise and pleasure when orbital control informed me of your wish to land."
Lif saw McCade's questioning look and waved a negligent hand. "Yes, some visitors are brought to my personal attention, and you among them. I owe you much. I apologize for the actions of my nephew Hora, but he is young and will eventually learn. But enough of that. Come! We must eat and drink. Then we shall speak of many things."
Lif led them into a sumptuous dining room, hosted them to an enormous dinner, and did his best to drink them under the table. While appearing the genial host Lif liked to lubricate his guests as quickly as possible. It gave him the advantage.
Knowing that from past experience, all three of the humans had managed to swallow inhibitors during the early stages of the meal, and were only slightly drunk by the time it was over.
"So," Lif ventured, squinting through the haze of blue cigar smoke that circled their heads, "what brings you to Lakor?"
McCade tried to concentrate. The vak was clouding his thoughts. "A personal quest, sire. Pirates raided our planet. They came in such force that we couldn't stop them. When they left the pirates took more than sixty of our children with them. One was my daughter, Molly."
Lif shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, good knight. The fault is partly ours. As long as we rely on slavery as a source of foreign ex
change we will be partners to such horror. I hope to reduce our dependence on slavery but these things take time. In the meantime you came to Lakor wondering if the children had passed through our slave markets."
McCade nodded. The motion made his head swim. "Exactly, sire. We had hoped for your help and assistance."
"And have it you shall." Lif clapped his hands and an elderly Lakorian appeared from behind a large tapestry. McCade wondered how long he'd been there. He was slightly stooped over and clad in a long orange robe.
"Sire?"
"Murd, this is Sir Sam McCade and two of his squires. Sir Sam is searching for his daughter and sixty other children taken from his native planet. It is possible that they were brought here. Search all of the slave markets and report to me."
McCade's Bounty Page 4