Galactic Bounty (11 page)

McCade inhaled and blew out a rich stream of smoke. "You have good taste in cigars."

The big man's laughter boomed through the cell. "Friend, I have good taste in everything. Ships, women, wine, food, and cigars, in that order. And believe me, I've had my share o' the last four lately. After all, it's gotta last me another year."

"You're from off-planet?" McCade asked.

"Sport, do I look like I belong on this dirt ball? Hell no I don't. I'm from Alice," the other man said proudly. "That's halfway out ta the Il Ronn Empire. Hit dirt here three days ago with a load o' rare isotopes. Was I ever glad to get rid o' that stuff. Hotter than an asteroid miner's dreams, it was. How about you, sport? What brings ya ta the anal orifice o' the galaxy?"

"Nothing much," McCade replied vaguely. "Just trying to turn an honest credit."

The other man nodded sagely and winked one of his tiny eyes knowingly.

"Sam McCade." He stuck out his right hand and watched it disappear into the other man's massive grip.

"Glad ta meet ya, sport. My mother named me Fredrico Jose Romero. But friends just call me Rico."

"Well, Rico," McCade said, "maybe you could tell me where the hell I am?"

"Welcome ta the Longansport municipal drunk tank, Sam ol' friend. Ya don't remember being picked up?"

McCade shook his head. He remembered the needle gun in Laurie's hand and the sting as the dart entered his flesh. By now she had Bridger and was long gone.

"Well I'll bet those spaceheads remember picking me up." Rico rubbed a huge fist with a look of satisfaction in his beady eyes.

McCade nodded agreeably. "How do we get out of here, Rico? I've got things to do and people to see."

"No sweat, friend . . .. In a few minutes they'll open up this toilet and let us out."

"No trial or anything?" McCade asked.

"Nah," Rico replied, dropping his cigar butt into the puddle next to McCade. It sizzled and went out. "That'd be bad for business. Not only would it slow the manly art o' drinkin' . . . it'd mean more taxes ta run the court. An if there's anything the local merchants don't like, it's more taxes." Rico's words were punctuated by the clanging of metal as a large section of bars was slid back by two men in police uniforms.

"All right . . . hit the bricks," the shorter of the two said. "This ain't no friggin' hotel."

Singly and in small groups, the men stood, collected their weapons from the jailers, and shuffled out through the gate. McCade noticed that the blade Rico slipped into his boot sheath was double-edged and over a foot long. Together McCade and Rico followed the others out through a maze of dank hallways and into a sun-filled street. McCade squinted as he glanced around to get his bearings.

"How about breakfast on me, Rico," McCade suggested, rummaging through his pockets and finding some crumpled local currency.

"That'd be fine, Sam ol' friend," Rico answered. "It seems I'm temporarily broke."

They flagged down a public ground car. McCade punched his hotel's name into the vehicle's computer and the ancient conveyance lurched into motion. Fifteen minutes later they entered the hotel's lobby and were greeted by an anxious Amos Van Doren.

"Boss! Nobody relieved me, so I got worried and came lookin' . . .. Couldn't find you or Laurie neither. Hotel says she checked out but you didn't, so I figured I'd wait. You okay?"

McCade assured Van Doren he was and suggested that Rico start breakfast without them. The big man nodded amiably and smiled as he ambled off in the direction of the hotel's restaurant. McCade headed for his room with Van Doren in tow; on the way, he related the events of the night before. The marine's reaction to Laurie's affiliation surprised him.

"Somethun' 'bout her always bothered me, boss. Couldn't put my finger on it. Always seemed like a cat waitin' on a mouse, know what I mean?"

McCade didn't. And that bothered him. Laurie seen through Van Doren's eyes sounded like a different person from the woman he'd known. One she'd never let him see. Or one he'd been blind to. It made very little difference.

As McCade opened the door, he saw the room was neat and tidy. There was no sign of the Treel. Not even a stain to mark where the alien had been. Laurie must have disposed of him somehow. With pirate help no doubt.

So by now Laurie had located Bridger and lifted off-planet. Soon the pirates would interrogate Bridger, and, regardless of resistance, they would succeed. Of course Bridger was ill. Very ill, according to the Treel. Sufficiently ill to delay interrogation? McCade hoped so. He needed time. He had to find out where the pirates had taken Bridger. And that wouldn't be easy. They had lots of worlds to pick from. Meanwhile the Il Ronn were no doubt looking for Bridger too. It should be an interesting race.

Thoughtfully he strapped on his gun belt. It, along with his other gear, had been left untouched.

Together he and Van Doren headed for the lobby. McCade paused by a bank of public com units. "How about
Pegasus?
" he asked. The marine looked embarrassed. McCade realized Van Doren hadn't thought to check on the ship. "That's okay, Amos . . .. Join Rico for breakfast. You'll like him. I'll call the spaceport."

A few minutes later McCade joined the other two in the restaurant. He wasn't happy, and it showed.

"Problems, old sport?" Rico asked around a mouthful of food.

McCade nodded. "It seems our ship lifted without us." Inside he was seething. Laurie had not only snatched Bridger out from under his nose, she'd also used his ship to lift him off-planet.

If Rico was curious, he didn't show it, but blood suffused Van Doren's face, and the eyes beneath his bushy brows grew hard and bright.

"I'm sorry, boss."

"Don't be," McCade said. "There wasn't any way you could've known."

"Maybe I could help," Rico said, chewing thoughtfully. "If ya have credits fer a charter, that is . . . and providin' it don't take too long."

They haggled back and forth while McCade waited for his food. A process Rico clearly enjoyed. Finally they shook on a fee which McCade thought surprisingly low. So low it made him suspicious. In fact, he began to wonder if Rico wasn't just too good to be true. If so, it could work to their advantage. As things stood, he'd lost Bridger and didn't have the faintest idea of where to start looking. Maybe Rico would provide a lead.

So they talked and joked, finally finishing breakfast about an hour later. Rico headed for his ship while McCade and Van Doren went to check out of their hotel. Adding insult to injury, Laurie had stiffed him with her bill as well. Fortunately he'd insisted on a thick wad of expense money before they'd lifted from Terra. It was still in his luggage where he'd left it. As they headed for the spaceport, McCade briefed Van Doren on his suspicions regarding Rico, and they agreed on a plan. The big man met them as they approached his ship.

"There she is," Rico said proudly. "The
Lady Alice.
Ain't she somethun'?"

McCade had never seen a more decrepit-looking ship. She was a pre-Empire freighter. Her hull was pitted and scarred by a thousand re-entries. One of her landing jacks was leaking black hydraulic fluid, and she had a list to port.

"Yeah," McCade replied dryly. "They don't make 'em like that anymore."

But Rico was oblivious to such sarcasm. As they climbed aboard, McCade began to understand why. On closer inspection he saw that, contrary to outward appearances, the
Lady Alice
was in perfect shape. Outmoded systems had been replaced with new. The ship's interior was spotless, and glistened with fresh paint. As they passed a weapons blister, McCade noticed the brand new energy cannon mounted in it. For some reason, Rico wanted the
Lady Alice
to look like she was on her last leg. Interesting, McCade thought, I wonder why?

Rico invited McCade and Van Doren to strap into the crew positions just aft of the pilot's seat. He offered no explanation for the ship's lack of a crew. Not that a crew was absolutely necessary, of course.

Thirty minutes later they had cleared the atmosphere and were in deep space. Rico unbuckled himself and swiveled his chair around to face them. He had a friendly grin on his face and a very unfriendly-looking stun gun in his huge right hand. His grin slipped into a frown, however, as he looked down the barrels of the slug guns held by both McCade and Van Doren.

"Uh-oh . . ." Rico said. "I've got a feelin' you're ahead o' me, sport. Would ya believe I was just kiddin'? No? I was afraid o' that." He dropped the stun gun.

McCade couldn't help laughing. The man's incredible effrontery was somehow disarming.

"No hard feelings, Rico . . .. But why?"

Rico shrugged. His smile disappeared. "Figure it out for yourself. I don't have nothin' ta say."

"Maybe I could change his mind, boss," Van Doren growled.

"Somehow I doubt it, but thanks anyway, Amos," McCade replied. Turning to Rico, he said, "I've got a hunch you didn't just happen to be in the drunk tank when I was. You arranged to be there." He paused and regarded the other man thoughtfully. "The frontier worlds have been organizing, haven't they? And somehow you got wind of this Bridger thing and dealt yourselves in."

Rico's face remained impassive, but McCade would have sworn he saw a flash of confirmation deep in the other man's eyes.

"Okay," McCade said. "I'll take a last try. You were taking us somewhere. Somebody wants to ask us some questions. Well, what if I told you that's fine with me? In fact, that I want to go?"

And why not, McCade thought. I don't know where they took Bridger . . . but I'll bet you've got a pretty good idea.

Rico looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. "That's right, ol' friend . . . but we ain't goin' there while you're pointin' them slug throwers my way."

McCade slid his gun into its holster and motioned for Van Doren to do likewise. The marine hesitated for a moment, glancing back and forth between McCade and Rico. Finally he holstered his weapon, but with obvious reluctance.

In spite of himself McCade's hand strayed toward his own gun as Rico bent over to retrieve his. A broad grin creased Rico's face as he tucked the stunner away into a shoulder holster.

"Don't worry. No more surprises. Shake?"

Rico offered McCade a hairy paw. McCade accepted. But when Rico and Van Doren shook hands, he noticed that eyes locked and shoulders tensed. Muscles bunched and writhed in massive forearms. After a moment both men sat down, apparently satisfied. When they looked his way, McCade was blowing smoke rings toward the overhead, evidently oblivious to the whole thing.

It was a three-day trip to Alice. Most of it was spent in normal space, with only a short hyperspace jump in the middle. At first McCade spent his time trying to pump Rico for information. He soon found that was a waste of time. The other man steadfastly refused to answer questions, saying, "That's not for me to say. Them that's waitin' is all great talkers. Me, I'm more a doer."

So McCade quit trying, but Rico's silence tended to confirm his theories. For one thing it suggested a strong centralized organization, rather than a loose collection of individuals acting on their own. And organization implied specialization and discipline. Both hallmarks of government. Something the frontier worlds were not supposed to have. Either petition the Emperor for admission to the Empire or forget it. That was the law. McCade wondered if Swanson-Pierce knew about Laurie's defection, or that the frontier worlds were organizing. Somehow he doubted it. There seemed to be a great deal that Naval Intelligence wasn't aware of.

If Rico was close-mouthed about his people and their aims, he was just the opposite on the subject of Alice. McCade had never met anyone so in love with a planet. And from Rico's description he couldn't figure out why. Evidently a good portion of the planet's surface was in the last stages of an ice age. Giant glaciers dominated both poles and stretched icy fingers north and south. A narrow temperate zone girdled the equator.

Naturally the first settlers built their homes in the temperate zone. But they quickly realized their mistake. The area just above and below the equator was volcanically active. Two enormous continental plates met there. As they collided, mountains were upthrust, lava flowed, and frequent seismic activity destroyed surface structures as quickly as they could be built. So the settlers retreated south and settled where the glaciers met the temperate zone. This area had its hazards too, primarily the incredible cold, but it was still preferable to the volcanic region. According to Rico, the land had a wild, frozen beauty. What's more, it was rich in minerals and there was plenty of it. A man could carve a future out of land like that— limited only by his own courage and imagination. Fusion power plants, land crawlers, energy weapons, and automedics might come in handy too, McCade thought to himself.

In spite of Rico's endless anecdotes about the planet's frigid surface, McCade wasn't ready for the cold that embraced them as they left the ship. It searched out the tiny gaps in their clothing and entered, driven by the relentless wind. It cut through the parka Rico lent him and chilled him to the bone. Rico himself seemed unaffected, smiling through a beard quickly frosted with ice. Not as amazing as it seemed since the big man was wearing a powered heatsuit.

To his relief they scrambled quickly into a heated crawler, which jerked into motion, toward the distant hills. Looking out through scratched plastic, McCade watched with surprise as the
Lady Alice
sank slowly into the ground. Then he realized the ship had landed on an elevator, which was lowering it into an underground hangar.

Seeing his interest, Rico said, "Winter storms. Cold enough ta freeze the balls off a icecat. Sixty kilometer winds. Other possibilities too," he added vaguely. "Summer now so no sweat."

Terrific. Sweat's gonna be the least of my problems, McCade thought. He looked at Van Doren, and they both shook their heads in amazement. As they drew away from the spaceport, McCade began to notice carefully camouflaged weapons emplacements. Without exception they were aimed at the sky. He didn't like the implications. Then he began to see blackened craters, burned out domes and wrecked crawlers. Smoke still poured out of what had obviously been some kind of tracking station.