Imperial Bounty

by William C. Dietz

  Night had come and gone, and all were walking in the early morning light when McCade heard the music. At first it seemed part of the gently rising wind. However, when the wind dropped off for a moment, and the music continued, he knew it was real. It had a strange haunting quality, quite unlike anything he'd heard before, yet familiar somehow. It managed to make him both happy and sad at the same time. Looking at the others McCade saw they heard it too. Their expressions reflected mixed emotions. Except for Mara. Her expression was different. She was happy—like someone greeting an old friend too long absent.

  Now the wind reasserted itself, and as they walked the music became louder and louder, until the air seemed saturated with it, driving McCade's emotions up until he thought they could go no farther, and then releasing them to slide quickly downward, to start all over again.

  A few minutes later they rounded a bend, and there, spread out below them, was Chimehome. The village was nestled in a small valley between twin mountain peaks. The valley served to protect the small collection of white domes from storms, and also acted as an acoustic enclosure for the huge wind chimes, which gave the place its name.

  A single glance told McCade the chimes were a work of nature. Eons ago a spire of volcanic rock had been upthrust from the planet's molten core. Millions of years came and went. By now the rock had cooled, and the winds had come to rule the planet, bringing their endless cycles of good and bad weather. With them came the countless snows which blanketed the surrounding peaks with white, melted during brief periods of sunny weather, to run gurgling and splashing down into the valley below. As it passed, the water pushed and tugged at the small spire of rock, as though considering the various uses to which it might be put. Then, as if decided, it went to work. With eternal patience, the water probed and pulled, carving soft material away from hard, smoothing here, and shaping there. As the water dug deeper the spire grew taller, until finally it stood like a sentinel, guarding the valley from harm. And then one day, long before Nuags evolved from small animals which burrowed in the earth, the water cut one last tendon of volcanic flesh, and a large plate of delicately balanced rock broke free. For a moment it hung there, twisting slightly back and forth as the wind played with its new toy. Then a sudden gust pushed it sideways to strike a hard surface and the first note rang out. At first the chimes had only that single note to play, but as the years passed, and the water continued its marvelous work, other notes were added, until finally an intricate maze of delicately balanced rock produced an endless symphony of sound.

  As they followed the path down into the valley below, McCade was amazed at how quickly his mind accepted the music produced by the chimes. Somehow it flowed in and around him without dominating his emotions or interfering with his thoughts. As they drew closer to the whitewashed domes which nestled together on the valley floor, he realized the whole place felt right somehow, as if expressing some internal harmony. Was that an expression of the Walkers and their philosophy? Or a manifestation of the place itself? There was no way to know, but the name Chimehome certainly fit, and the village seemed the perfect place for a monastery.

  They had almost reached the village when a small group of people started up the path to meet them. They wore a variety of clothing, ranging from the somber to the gay, but all were smiling, and the young man leading them looked familiar somehow. Then McCade had it. The biosculptors had roughened his features slightly, but he was still tall, handsome, and blond like his sister. There was laughter in his sparkling blue eyes. As they shook hands the blond man smiled. "You must be Sam McCade. My name's Alex. I understand you've been looking for me."

  Twenty

  McCade was alone in the observatory. Outside, the storm still raged, though more slowly now, much of its energy expended during the night. The rising sun was a dusty glow in the distance, still barely visible through the curtain of windblown sand. Eventually the wind would die away, but until then they were prisoners of the storm.

  McCade lit another in a long series of cigars, blowing the blue smoke upward, to gather toward the top of the transparent duraplast dome. It swirled there for a moment, until the nearest exhaust vent sucked it away to become part of the storm. The last day and a half had left him with mixed emotions. On the one hand there was the satisfaction of finding Prince Alexander, and on the other, there was the growing fear of losing him. The longer the storm kept them captive, the more time Claudia had to find them. And that would be very bad, not just for them personally, but for the Empire as a whole.

  Reluctantly, and against his better judgment, McCade had come to admire Prince Alexander, or Alex, as he preferred to be called. This was no spoiled princeling, insulated from the real world, and demanding respect he didn't deserve. No, there was a quality to the man. A questioning spirit, which had caused him to gamble his inheritance, plus a wealth of intelligence and courage which had seen him through when he'd lost. Those qualities, combined with a self-deprecating wit, made the prince hard to resist. It was as if Alexander had inherited his father's pragmatisim, but invested it with a genuine concern for other people. They had talked for many hours, waiting for the storm to pass. Alexander had put him immediately at ease by saying, "I already know about my father's death, Sam, and have for weeks."

  Seeing McCade's confusion, the prince smiled. "I know all this must seem very strange to you, Sam—Chimehome, the Walkers, and the rest. Believe me, I felt the same way at first, but it's all quite real, and very useful. My father's death is a good example. You've heard about what the Walkers call the flux? Good. Well, the concept fascinated me from the start. However, the elders were reluctant to provide me with instruction. They are rightfully wary of novices who care little about learning The Way, and seek instead special powers with which to elevate their own egos, or gain advantage over others. But I argued long and hard, worked to understand the principles which light The Way, and finally received their permission. I was taught to meditate, to work through a variety of exercises, and, most of all, to consider what good I might accomplish if I succeeded. For as the elders pointed out, such abilities are nothing but tools, worthless unless applied to some purpose.

  "So one day, there I was, working my way through a series of exercises, and not making much progress, when suddenly I was somewhere else, standing in a matrix of multicolored energy. It pulsed and flowed all around me, and somehow in its movement I saw shapes and patterns, people and events, all moving and interacting in accordance with their own free will, and the immutable laws of the universe. Millions and billions of variables forming to create endless combinations of cause and effect. It was incredible, Sam."

  As Alexander spoke, his eyes glowed, and his whole face seemed to light up. "For one splendid moment it all made sense. Each life seemingly isolated, but part of the whole, just as each drop forms part of the ocean. At first I couldn't understand what I saw, overwhelmed by the sheer size and complexity of it all, but eventually I began to focus on smaller areas, and things began to have meaning. Here and there I saw patterns emerge, saw energies gather, build, and then release themselves to create what we know as reality. It was then that I saw my father's death, knew it had already taken place, and understood the forces it had set in motion."

  For the first time since they'd met, McCade saw Alexander's face darken, as if a cloud had just passed between him and the sun. "Up ahead, I saw a branching, a division of energies which I somehow knew represented two possible futures, each equally possible based on past events, each dependent on the free will of certain individuals. In one case Claudia took the throne, and the tendril of energy which symbolized her rule led off into what seemed like a final darkness. The other path was mine. It was weaker, less likely, but led to a future which seemed to swirl and shift with many possibilities, some good, some bad. And then it was over, and I've never managed to duplicate the experience since." Here Alexander laughed. "So beware, Sam, even if I take the throne, the Empire's problems aren't over."

  McCade half smiled, and fl
icked some cigar ash toward a nearby receptacle. "I'm glad you said that, Alex. Otherwise it would be tempting to shoot you here and now. One Claudia's enough."

  For a moment the prince frowned, as if thinking McCade's comment through, and then he laughed uproariously, almost falling out of his chair. "And you would too! By God, if we get out of here alive, remind me to surround myself with people like you. In fact, how would you like a job? I could use you on my staff."

  McCade smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks, Alex. I don't think I'd fit in around the palace."

  "Well, at least consider it," the other man replied seriously as he leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, after my experience with the flux, I approached the elders, and they confirmed what I'd seen. At first I was angry—why hadn't they told me? Then as I began to calm down I was glad they hadn't. My experience with the flux was something special, something I'll never forget, and all the more valuable because I'd experienced it firsthand. So I spent a couple of days thinking about it, and although I still wasn't thrilled with the idea, it seemed as if I should return and, God willing, take the throne. In fact, I was preparing to leave when word came through that you were on your way. All things considered, it seemed wise to wait for some help. I understand Claudia is trying to find and kill me." He shrugged sadly. "It pains me that she would do that, but doesn't especially surprise me. Looking back I realize she's got a lot of her grandfather in her. Whatever it takes to get the job done. Well, anyway, now you've heard my story, so let's hear yours."

  So McCade recounted the adventures leading up to his arrival at Chimehome. Every now and then Alex interrupted with a question. The first concerned Swanson-Pierce. "This Rear Admiral who engaged your services, what was his name again?" As McCade answered he realized he was probably doing Swanson-Pierce an enormous favor. Damn! Walt was bad enough as a rear admiral; if he made full admiral he'd be completely insufferable. Chances were, Alex was putting together a mental list of those deserving a reward after he took the throne.

  Having explained who Walt was, and how they happened to know each other, McCade continued his story. It went smoothly until he reached the meeting with Lady Linnea. Then the prince stopped him again, his expression was one of eagerness mixed with suspicion. "How did she look?"

  McCade repressed a smile as his mind conjured up an image of Lady Linnea in the nude. "Very beautiful. As a matter of fact she sent you a message."

  Alexander became suddenly impatient and annoyed, providing McCade with a glimpse of his royal upbringing. Alex might be a regular guy in some respects, but deep down he was still a prince. "Well, man, out with it. What did she say?"

  "She said I should tell you she loves you, and that the Empire needs you."

  For a moment Alexander's face softened, and McCade was reminded of the holo showing the two of them in the garden. There seemed little doubt that he loved her, yet his face hardened as he asked, "But what of her friendship with my sister?"

  McCade shrugged. The conversation was becoming distinctly uncomfortable. "I'd say she's on your side. Apparently she's forced to maintain the appearance of friendship with your sister."

  Alexander nodded thoughtfully as if the whole thing made perfect sense. "Yes, otherwise my sister might destroy Linnea's father . . ." For a moment he seemed lost in thought, then he motioned for McCade to continue.

  As McCade did so, he felt that more and more of plain old Alex was dropping away, gradually revealing something that looked a lot like an Emperor. A nice Emperor . . . but an Emperor nonetheless. Well, it made sense. After all, he'd been born and raised to the job.

  From that point on, the prince restricted himself to an occasional chuckle, or a spontaneous "well done," making no other comment until McCade reached Pollard's death. As McCade described how the Walker had died letting them into the dome, a great sadness came over Alexander's face, and he looked down toward the floor. They were both silent for a moment, and when Alexander finally looked up, tears were running down his cheeks. He made no effort to wipe them away. "I lost a good friend, Sam, but my tears are for myself, not Pollard. He's where no one can hurt him."

  McCade had never been able to decide about the question of life after death, but he nodded his agreement anyway, hoping it was true. They drank a series of toasts to Pollard, and by the time McCade finished his story, they were both slightly drunk. "To you, Sam McCade," Alex said, forming each word carefully, and holding his glass up high, "to one helluva bounty hunter. No, let me rephrase that, to the best damn bounty hunter in the Empire! Nobody else could've done it."

  "Thank you," McCade replied, trying not to slop any of his drink on his lap. "And here's to you, the only Emperor stupid enough to give it up, and smart enough to get it back!"

  Alex roared with laughter, and the two of them proceeded to drink and tell lies, until McCade began falling asleep. Tactfully suggesting they both needed some sleep, Alexander had gone to bed, allowing McCade to do the same.

  Now, nine hours later, McCade felt slightly hung over, and wished the storm would abate, allowing them to head for Deadeye and Pegasus. Fortunately they wouldn't have to spend days riding under a Nuag. Instead, they would use some large gliders which belonged to the Walkers, and could be launched from high in the mountains. Weather and thermals allowing, the gliders could make it to Deadeye in just a few hours. Later they would be torn down, and brought back to Chimehome by Nuag caravan. It was a lot of work, and therefore something the Walkers seldom did, but this was an emergency, and they had gladly offered McCade and Alex use of the system. Of course, once they made it to Deadeye, there was still the matter of getting safely off-planet, and finding a way to slip through Claudia's blockade undetected. McCade stubbed out his cigar and stared out into the storm. They had a long way to go.

  Twenty miles to the north, the storm continued to blow, but more gently now, as it gradually lost its strength. Yako completed his inspection of the ultra lights, located the flashing blue beacon marking his survival shelter, and struggled toward it through a brown mist of windblown dirt and sand. Other identical shelters surrounded his, each housing two members of his wing, and each having its own colored beacon. It wasn't a pleasant place to camp, but it was close to Chimehome, and when the storm died down, that might become important. Getting down onto his hands and knees, he wriggled his way through the low entrance into the relative comfort of the interior.

  "Welcome home," Major Tellor said with only a trace of sarcasm. He was sitting with his back against a pile of equipment, an open meal pak steaming beside him. The light suspended from the roof reflected off his recently shaven head, and cast deep pools of shadow beneath his eyes. "Everything all right?"

  "Good enough," Yako grunted as he found a place to sit. "The storm's dying. In four or five hours we'll be able to fly."

  "And so will they. That's when they'll try the gliders." Tellor made it more a statement than a question.

  Yako shrugged. They'd been over this many times and the marine never seemed to listen. What the hell did he want? A gold-plated guarantee? "There's no way to be sure, Major. If they're in a hurry, the gliders are the fastest way to reach Deadeye. On the other hand, the Walkers rarely use them, partly because of us, and partly because of all the work involved in carting them back. So this McCade guy might opt for ground travel instead."

  "In which case he'll run right into my team . . . and this time he won't be so lucky," Tellor said thoughtfully. "My people have orders to blast anything that comes down that path."

  "Right," Yako said reassuringly, remembering the weapons he'd sold to the marines at incredibly inflated prices. "No matter what they do, you've got em."

  "Why gliders anyway?" Tellor asked.

  "Beats me," Yako replied. "Someone told me it's part of their harmony with the planet thing, but you'd have to ask them." Asshole, Yako added silently.

  Tellor nodded, and proceeded to eat his food, chewing each bite with military precision. He was staring off into space, as though he could see right through the
wall of the shelter, all the way back to Terra.

  Happy to end the conversation, Yako fumbled around inside an open duffle bag until he found a meal pak. Damn. Pseudo meat again. Yako ripped off the tab and waited for the contents to warm up. He didn't like Tellor much and was doing his best to hide the fact. First because the Major had promised him enough credits to last the Wind Riders for a long, long time, and second, because the marine scared the hell out of him. After all, it sounded like half the Imperial fleet was in orbit around the Wind World. Something like that could be real bad for business. But it wasn't. In fact he'd had a lot of good luck lately. Take Jubal's untimely demise for example. Sure, he'd lost some good people in the brawl with Jubal's wing, but he'd also wound up in command, something which had seemed hopeless just a few days before. Then, just to put the icing on the cake, one of his scouts had stumbled across Tellor and his marines. The scout had been looking for Mara and McCade; after all, Jubal or no Jubal, they had a score to settle with those bastards. So here comes a pack of marines willing to pay him for doing exactly what he wanted to do anyway! What could be better? Yako chuckled deep inside. In spite of Tellor's efforts to gloss it over, you didn't have to be a military genius to see that he'd been ambushed, stripped of all his weapons, and left to make his way on foot. If Tellor failed to find McCade and kill him, Claudia would have his ass. Yako found the prospect quite appealing.