McCade's Bounty (27 page)

Molly searched the alien's face. It bore the same expression. "Why? Why do you take turns?"

Jareth made a complicated gesture with his left hand. "Because it is fair."

Molly remembered how Mizlam had died, turning to face death, meeting it with dignity. She shook her head in amazement. "I admire you and your people, Jareth. You are strong and brave."

When Jareth blinked, Molly saw that his eyelids were almost transparent. "Thank you."

Molly gestured to the surrounding area. "Can you help us?"

"I will try," Jareth replied. "What do you need?"

Molly sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. "We need water, something to eat, and a way to defend ourselves from the 56,827."

Jareth seemed to consider her request. "Water is easy, and the food also, if you can eat what we do. I cannot satisfy your last request however. There is no defense against death."

Molly searched the runner's face and found no information in the alien features. "Jareth, I don't understand. Your people built this ship, you run it, surely you have a knowledge of weapons."

Jareth made a hand sign. "The knowledge yes. This entire ship is a weapon. A weapon so powerful it can destroy entire planets. But we cannot operate such weapons."

"Can't? Or won't?"

Jareth blinked. "There is no difference. We cannot, and we will not use such weapons. Our ancestors rose to sentience by running faster, thinking better, and organizing more effectively than their enemies. We are and always have been vegetarians. We have no experience at killing things. More than that we have a—how do you say?—a revulsion? A dislike for violence which prevents us from using it on others. Killing isn't fair."

Although Molly had read about pacifists in school, she'd been exposed to violence all her life and couldn't imagine doing what she'd seen Mizlam do. All of her training, all of her experience, suggested that the runner should've fought to the death no matter how hopeless that might be. Molly respected the runners, and their beliefs, but was personally unwilling to give up her life without a struggle. She frowned.

"I understand, Jareth, but our races are different, and humans
are
willing to use violence. Most of them anyway. Is there anything that prevents you from giving us weapons?"

Jareth cocked his head to the other side. "Weapons? Are you and your companions old enough to use them?"

Molly grinned. "On the planet I come from everybody's old enough to use them. We have no choice."

Jareth wiggled his fingers. "What kind of weapons?"

Molly shrugged. "Small stuff, you know, slug guns and blasters."

"Slug guns? Blasters? What are those?"

"Small hand-held projectile and energy weapons."

Jareth blinked. "I have no personal knowledge of such weapons but will ask the others. There is water nearby, I will show you where and bring you food."

Molly nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Jareth. And there is something else as well."

"Yes?"

"The 56,827 took three of our kind. They are somewhere aboard ship. Could you help us find them?"

Jareth stood, causing some of the girls to scatter. "We will try. But remember, little one, if they are alive, it is for a short time only."

Molly nodded. She understood all too well.

McCade felt better and worse than he had in a long time. Better, because he was closing in on Molly, and worse, because the medication had begun to wear off, he was tired, and his arm had started to throb.

McCade forced the fatigue aside and squinted through a haze of his own cigar smoke. Drang was a brownish ball that filled half of the main screen, and there, miles ahead, light winked off Pong's flagship.

In fifteen minutes, twenty at most, they'd be aboard. McCade imagined Molly rushing into his arms and tightened his grip on the blaster he'd taken from Pong's arms locker. Sol help anyone who got in his way.

The control room was comfortable to the point of being luxurious. There was the soft glow of instrument lights, the steady hiss of air through carefully located vents, and the comfort of the leather acceleration couches. A rather pleasant compartment except for the tension that filled the air.

The cyborg occupied the pilot's position, her plastiflesh face completely impassive as she conned the ship, her metal-ceramic composite fingers dancing over the keys.

And beside her, with weapon drawn and fangs showing, sat Phil. The variant watched the pilot the way a cat watches a mouse, conscious of her slightest move, ready to pounce if she tried to escape.

The com set buzzed softly. The cyborg looked at Phil. The variant nodded. She pushed a button. A male voice flooded the compartment.

"CF warship LC4621 to approaching vessel. Provide today's recognition code or be fired on."

The cyborg glanced over her shoulder at Pong. The pirate looked at McCade, the bounty hunter nodded his permission, and the pilot pressed a key. Then she read off a series of numbers and touched another key.

There was silence for a moment followed by the male voice. "Acknowledged. Out."

McCade made a note of the abrupt tone. The shuttle had lifted in something of a hurry, and a whole barrage of inquiries had followed them into space, making it clear that Pong's staff knew something was amiss. The dead guards, the missing sentry, and the massive violation of lift protocols had made sure of that.

Yes, a reception committee would be waiting aboard Pong's ship, but with the pirate as a hostage, McCade thought he could handle it. Would
have
to handle it.

Pong sat on McCade's right just behind Phil. The pirate was uncharacteristically silent. The reason was simple. Pong was scared for the first time in years.

It was McCade's eyes that frightened him the most. They were like cold, hard stones. He saw no weakness there, no sign of the greed, fear, and lust for power that Pong usually saw in others, or in himself for that matter. No, this man could not be bought, intimidated, or tempted.

Pong wondered if he was going to die. He directed a thought toward the Melcetian.

"Well? I notice you missed this development. What do you suggest we do now?"

The mind slug had oozed its way toward Pong's right shoulder, gradually putting more and more of the pirate's body between itself and danger, already plotting what to do if its present host was to die. The alien's reply was caustic.

"First of all, I believe it was
you
who insisted on raiding this man's pathetic planet for reasons of revenge, and
you
who insisted on turning his offspring into some sort of personal mascot. So, if you wish to place responsibility, look no further than yourself.

"As for what to do now, well that seems quite simple. I suggest that you give this man what he wants as quickly as you can. Why sacrifice all of your hopes, all of your ambitions, to the rather understandable desire of a father to rescue his child?"

Pong thought it over. In the strictly logical sense the Melcetian was correct. He should use the girl to buy his way out, allow them to escape, and forget the whole thing. There were worlds, nay, an entire universe to conquer. Why let this get in the way?

The answer was pride, and more than that emotion, things the Melcetian knew very little about. Yes, he'd look like a fool if he allowed McCade to take Molly away, but worse than that, he'd lose something he treasured. Molly herself. She was more than a good-luck charm.

Molly was the one person Pong could rely on to say what she thought, to be herself, to accept him as he was. And because Molly was a child there was no need to worry about her true motives, her allies, or her ambitions.

Pong knew she didn't like him all that much but so what? Affection would come with time. No, logic or no logic, Pong wasn't ready to surrender Molly to her father. Not yet anyway.

McCade watched Pong's flagship grow steadily larger until it ran off the edges of the screen. What had been little more than a white dot, had slowly transformed itself into a rectangle, and then into a large hatch. He could see the gleaming deck within, a variety of smaller spacecraft, and the stutter of alignment beams.

The cyborg fired the ship's retros, and McCade felt the shuttle slow as three delta-shaped fighters arrowed out of the larger vessel's bay and accelerated away. Then, with a tiny increment of thrust from the main drive, the pilot moved them forward.

McCade admired her touch. The
Arrow
seemed to float inside the launching bay, where the retros slowed her again, and the ship settled gently toward the durasteel deck. It touched with an almost-imperceptible bump.

Outside the shuttle a huge pair of external doors slid steadily closed. McCade watched them on two of the control compartment's smaller vid screens. When the bay was sealed Pong's crew would pump an atmosphere into the bay allowing the shuttle's passengers to disembark without space armor. A routine courtesy extended to Pong? Or part of a trap? McCade grinned. The second possibility seemed the most likely. Once the doors were closed the shuttle would be immobilized. The time had come to make some preparations.

Thirty minutes passed before McCade was ready to leave the
Arrow.
During that time the bay was pressurized and fifty or so heavily armed crew members had taken up positions around the shuttle. They wore reflective armor and looked like toy soldiers.

Raz stood in front of them, chest almost bare to the frigid air, his face expressionless as the lock whined open. He had snipers stationed at various points around the hangar. They'd kill the bounty hunter and his furry friend the moment they emerged.

There was a gasp of surprise as Mustapha Pong stepped out. He had gray repair tape wound around his head, and more than that, something taped to his left temple. A blaster! A blaster bound to the bounty hunter's right hand by a ball of tape! Even if the sharpshooters managed to kill McCade before his brain sent a message to his right index finger, the weight of his falling body would apply pressure to the firing stud and send a bolt of energy straight through Pong's head.

Raz brought a small radio up to his lips. "Don't fire! I repeat, don't fire!"

All over the bay fingers came off firing studs and weapons were lowered.

Seeing this McCade gave an internal sigh of relief. He felt the tension ease a little. So far so good. Now for the next step. His voice carried well within the open bay.

"Hi there, everybody . . . let's keep this nice and simple. You've got some children aboard, slaves taken from a planet called Alice. I want them, and I want them now."

McCade pushed the blaster against Pong's head. "How 'bout it, Mustapha? Got anything to add?"

The pirate glared at McCade and turned his attention to Raz. The bounty hunter's blaster left Pong with very little choice. "Do as he says. Bring the girls here. Be sure to include the one called Molly."

Raz nodded stiffly, started to turn, and stopped when a petty officer touched his arm. There was conversation. Raz turned back. "I'm told the girls were taken off-ship, sir, on
your
orders."

"He's right," the Melcetian reminded Pong, "you gave them to 47,721."

Now Pong remembered. He'd given the alien some of the snotty-nosed kids . . . but not Molly. He'd never agree to that. Someone had gone into his quarters and taken her! Anger sent blood pounding through Pong's veins.

"Find the person or persons who put the children aboard the shuttle! Bring them here!"

McCade felt something heavy fall into his stomach. Taken away? Shuttle? He'd missed her again? When would it end?

Raz nodded. "Yes sir." He said something into his radio and four guards jogged toward the nearest lock.

There was movement to McCade's right and a flash of light. Someone screamed and a body fell. Phil's voice boomed through one of the shuttle's external speakers.

"Stay where you are. As you can see, the secondary lock is well protected, and there's no point in getting killed."

And they
had
seen. Smoke drifted up and away from the crumpled body. Nobody moved.

Eight extremely long minutes passed before the guards returned. They dragged a man and woman between them. The woman was crying, begging for mercy, and doing her best to blame everything on her companion. The man was silent, looking around, trying to understand.

Then the woman saw Pong, the blaster, and the man with the cold gray eyes. The whimpering stopped as Boots searched for a way out. Pong was in trouble. Could that work in her favor?

Pong ignored the man and focused his attention on Boots. She'd been in charge of the slaves and she'd been punished for allowing Molly access to the Navcomp. A motive perhaps?

Pong's voice was soft and reasonable. "Boots, isn't it?"

Boots nodded, pleased that Pong remembered. Things were looking up.

Pong smiled. "The man with the blaster pointed at my head is looking for the children that were aboard this ship. Did you put them on a shuttle?"

Boots did her best to look innocent. "Yes, sir, I was ordered to, sir."

Pong nodded understandingly. "Of course. Now tell me, Boots, did you have orders to load
all
of the slave girls? Or was there an exception?"

Boots frowned as if trying to remember. This is where it got tricky, but Pong's phraseology, plus his tone, suggested a way out. "I don't remember any exceptions, sir."

"I see," Pong said sympathetically. "And did you happen to remove the slave girl known as Molly from my quarters? And having done so, load her aboard the shuttle along with the others? This man would like to know."

Boots did her best to look rueful. "Yes, sir, now that you mention it, I did, sir, it was my understanding we were to load
all
of the girls."

Pong looked thoughtful and McCade felt silly holding the blaster to his head. Pong had taken control of the situation and it seemed as if their positions ought to be reversed.

"I see," Pong said calmly. "Well, Boots, that's too bad. I left Raz in charge, and if your information is correct, then the whole thing's
his
fault. Tell me, Raz, was it your fault? No? I didn't think so. So here's what I want you to do, Boots. Go get your space armor, suit up, and get the hell off my ship."