At the moment there was nothing to see since the ship was in hyperspace. Still, it was comforting to have a space of her own, where she could think and, if necessary, cry.
She sat on the circular bench, arms around her knees, and stared at the opposite bulkhead.
The headband was tight around her forehead, a constant reminder of Pong and what he could do to her.
The security officer had been a small man, with a shaved head and a walrus-style mustache. As he pulled the loyalty-band around Molly's head and locked it in place, he described how it would work.
"Most o' the time it ain't nuthin', just a headband like ya might wear to keep the hair outta your eyes. But ya try to take it off, or do somethun' the Pong don't like, and blamo! You're history.
"Yasee it's full o' OS-3, carefully shaped ta explode inward, liftin' the top of your head off, but keepin' everyone else neat and tidy! It all works off that ring on his right pinky."
The security officer thought he was doing Molly a favor, warning her so she wouldn't mess around with the band and get herself killed, but his lecture had given her regular nightmares.
Every time Molly went to sleep she had the same recurring dream.
It began as she stepped off a shuttle. She could see Mommy and Daddy on the far side of the landing pad. They were alive! Then she ran across the pad, shouting her happiness, waiting to feel their arms around her.
And then, when she was only feet away, something horrible would happen. She would see the bands around their heads, hear Pong laughing, and wake up crying.
It was horrible and caused her to stay awake as long as she could.
But if the headband was terrifying, it conferred benefits too. Molly was allowed to go anywhere she wanted. By order of Pong himself she was accorded the respect shown a junior officer.
She thought it was a joke at first, a strange way to tease her, but now she knew it was real.
On three different occasions she'd given orders and they'd been obeyed. It had been a thrill at first, to suddenly have power, but that feeling quickly disappeared. Now the power troubled her . . . and she didn't know what to do.
Her first impulse was to help the others, but thanks to their already improved circumstances, there wasn't much she could do.
Still, she did what she could, and was able to get them some nicer clothes and holo cubes.
The girls seemed to appreciate Molly's efforts at first, until Lia told them she was a spy, and they turned against her. Now they wouldn't even talk to her.
And that had led to a strange and disturbing encounter. During each twenty-six-hour cycle it was Pong's wish that she spend two hours with him.
Molly didn't see the point of this, because he spent most of the time working and rarely even spoke to her. But her presence seemed to give him pleasure, and Molly had no choice in the matter, so that's how it was.
This particular cycle Pong decided to inspect the ship, an activity he usually left to others, but sometimes did himself.
So with Molly at his side, and the Melcetian mind slug riding his shoulder, Pong started in the bow and worked his way toward the stern.
Most of the inspection was a long succession of worried-looking faces, boring conversation, and trips into odd nooks and crannies.
Molly spent most of the time eyeing the signet ring on Pong's little finger. The ring that gave him the power of life and death over her.
But then something strange happened. They were walking down one of the ship's main corridors when they encountered Lia. She was on hands and knees, polishing the long metal strip that ran along the point where bulkhead met deck. There was no one else in sight.
Later, Molly would wonder how Lia came to be in that particular place at that particular time, and why Pong would know her name. But it seemed natural at the time and she accepted it.
Pong stopped. Lia looked frightened and polished twice as fast as she had before.
"So," Pong said, "this is Lia."
Molly looked from Lia to Pong. What was he doing? Why the sudden interest in Lia? Did it have anything to do with her?
"Correct me if I'm wrong, child," Pong said thoughtfully, "but Lia's the one who turned you in. Not only that, she did so without any knowledge of what the consequences might be. For all Lia knew, I might torture you or have you killed."
Molly struggled for an answer. Pong knew Lia had ratted on her, so why ask the question? And given the fact that Lia had acted without any thought for the possible consequences, why protect her? Emotions surged. Come to think of it, Lia was still doing everything she could to isolate Molly and make her life miserable.
Still, to confirm Lia's guilt seemed disloyal somehow so Molly said nothing.
Pong nodded, as if he understood exactly what had passed through Molly's mind.
"Loyalty. A fine quality when deserved. But ask yourself the following question. Does Lia deserve your loyalty? What would she say if your positions were reversed?"
Molly had a pretty good idea what the answer to that was. Lia would condemn her without a second's thought.
Lia knew too, and had forgotten to work, staring upward in abject terror. Her eyes pleaded for mercy.
"Right," Pong said as if Molly had spoken. "She would betray you in a second. Not just now, but later too if she gets the chance. She's jealous of you, and wants to dominate the other girls.
"So, here's the problem. Should you forgive her? Knowing that she'll betray you if given the chance? Or kill her, and remove the threat?"
Lia made a mewing noise and started to back away.
Molly felt resentment bubble up from deep inside her, resentment at what Lia had done, would do if she got the chance.
Molly's emotions demanded one thing, and her mind another. Her mind won. "No, killing Lia would be wrong."
Pong nodded agreeably. "I understand, and might agree if you were home, dealing with childish squabbles.
"But remember, child, you aren't home anymore. It's unlikely that you'll ever see your mother and father again. I know what that's like . . . I too lost my parents at an early age.
"So the decision is up to you. What do you want of life? What it gives you, or what you can take? Will you be victim or victor? The choice is yours. Just say the word, and Lia will die."
And with that Pong had continued on his way, running a finger along a piece of conduit looking for dust, whistling through his teeth.
Molly had followed, looking backward over her shoulder at a terrified Lia, not knowing what to do or say.
And now Molly felt horrible, because she knew that for one brief moment, Lia had been very close to death.
Fifteen
McCade leaned back, left one foot on the deck, and placed the other on the bulkhead behind him. Phil stood a few feet away tapping numbers into his oversize wrist comp.
Four major passageways spilled people and machines into the intersection in front of them. Some paused for a second, looked around, and resumed their journeys. Others knew where they wanted to go, and worked their way through traffic with the determination of fish swimming upstream.
McCade found half a smoked cigar in his breast pocket, stuck it into the corner of his mouth, and puffed it into life.
The bounty hunter had mixed emotions. On the one hand he was glad that Rico had found the boys, but there was no sign of the missing girls, or of Molly. He couldn't help feeling disappointed.
Nexus wouldn't allow them to speak with the boys until they were paid for, but McCade figured they'd been on an entirely different ship, and hadn't seen the girls since the raid.
Well, there was nothing he could do except free the boys as quickly as possible and resume the search for Molly.
McCade removed the cigar, flicked some ash toward the deck, and stuck it back in his mouth. "So what's the tab?"
Phil punched a few more keys, gave a low whistle, and looked up. "Well, what with the three hundred and forty-five that Rico borrowed to pay for the boys, damage to the bar, medical tre
atment, interest, and a whole bunch of service charges that Nexus tacked on, we're looking at a grand total of five hundred and thirty-six thousand credits. Not counting the money we're spending now."
"A substantial piece of change," McCade said, eyeing the crowd.
Phil nodded. "Yeah, real substantial. Do you think we can pull it off?
"Sure," McCade answered, sounding more confident than he felt.
"There must be a couple hundred sentients wandering around this place with a price on their heads. All we have to do is round 'em up, sell their bounties at a ten-percent discount, and let some enterprising soul haul 'em in. What could be more simple?"
"Training rath snakes to make coffee," Phil growled in reply.
The variant didn't mean it. The idea made sense. Well, not sense exactly, but it might work anyhow.
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-thousand-credit 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-thousand-credit 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 cy
borg 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.
McCade's Bounty Page 11