McCade's Bounty (8 page)

Boots followed along behind Raz with a smile on her beefy face. Whenever Raz said "Lakor," Boots nodded her approval and took pleasure in the girl's dismay.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Raz was one person away. Molly could feel the pulse pounding in her head. She was afraid that he could hear it too.

Raz's voice seemed abnormally loud as he said "Lakor." The girl next to Molly gave a pathetic sob and ran toward the shuttle.

Molly tried to control Raz through sheer force of will. Make it Lakor, please make it Lakor.

Raz stopped in front of Molly, looked thoughtful, and spoke.

A soft rain fell. It hit the topmost leaves, slid off, and fell to the next layer of vegetation fifty feet below. Raindrops exploded upward as they hit, subsided into pools, and dripped downward to pitter pat around McCade.

A large drop of water found its way down past the neck seal of McCade's Class II Environment suit and trickled between his shoulder blades. It made him shiver.

Like the rest of the team McCade was tired from the hike through the jungle, wet from wading through a seemingly endless swamp, and sore from a long afternoon spent crouched on the hillside.

For the last hour or so they had moved down the slope in tiny increments, on the lookout for old-fashioned trip wires or, Sol forbid, the latest in surveillance technology. So far there was no sign of either one. Not too surprising, since Bulo's bullies spent most of their time in the inn, drinking and chasing barmaids.

Now McCade and his companions were hidden along the edge of the road where the jungle gave way to the village of Durn. Twilight had turned to night, leaving the village little more than a scattering of dark shapes and widely spaced lights.

It was difficult to see, but when McCade brought the night-vision device to his eyes, an astonishing amount of detail appeared. Buildings were transformed into ghostly green rectangles, windows became blotches of red, and power plants showed up as blobs of white. That's why McCade knew that the all-terrain vehicle parked next to the inn had been there for a relatively short period of time. The engine appeared as a ball of white radiance located toward the rear of a reddish haze.

Other than that, and the occasional movement of a blurry-looking guard, there was nothing worth watching. McCade put the device away.

A breeze blew in from the river. It made the vegetation rustle and swish. McCade made a face as the smell of Lakorian body odor hit his nostrils. When exposed to rain Lakorians exuded an oily substance that formed a microscopic layer of insulation between them and the water.

McCade took one last look around. There was no point in waiting any longer. By now Bulo's toughs should be either drunk or asleep. The perfect time to slip into the inn, grab Bulo, and make their escape. Or so McCade hoped.

McCade clicked his mic on and off. There were seven clicks in response. Gently, careful not to fall or make unnecessary noise, Rico made his way down onto the muddy road.

A single streetlight made a pool of sickly yellow light.

Beyond it the town was long and narrow, crushed between hill and river, with its most important buildings toward the center. Of these the inn was the largest, an impressive log structure with a stable on the ground floor and living quarters above that.

McCade watched approvingly as dark shadows flitted across the road to merge with the blackness beyond.

A domesticated animal squealed in protest as its litter mates shoved it up against a wall. McCade's heart pounded in his chest but nothing happened.

Now it was his turn to cross the road. The big black duffel bag seemed to weigh a thousand pounds as he slipped and slid the last few feet down the hill and sprinted across the road. McCade's boots made squishing sounds and his pack swayed back and forth as he ran. Then he was across and slipping between two of the many hovels that fronted the road.

"Over here." The voice belonged to Ven and came from his left. McCade moved with care trying to avoid the considerable garbage strewn between the huts.

Thick fingers reached out to grab his arm and pull him into the shadows. The smell of Lakorian body odor was extremely strong. Ven whispered in his ear.

"There are two guards just ahead, sire. I'll take the left, you take the right."

McCade nodded, realized the Lakorian couldn't see him, and whispered, "Understood. You're left, I'm right."

Ven faded into the darkness as McCade moved forward. There . . . about fifty feet away . . . something moved against the darker background of a building. A sentry.

McCade left his slug gun in its holster and pulled a knife. Silence was critical. One shot, one yell, and they'd lose the advantage of surprise.

Hugging a long, low wall McCade eased his way closer. Bit by bit the smell of Lakorian body odor grew stronger and stronger. There he was, a low blocky shadow with an energy weapon slung over his shoulder. Just a little bit closer . . .

The sentry gave a sudden snort, as if something really putrid had assailed his nostrils, and swung in McCade's direction. As he did so the guard reached for his weapon.

Damn! Either the body odor thing cut both ways . . . or the sentry had unusually good night vision.

Knowing that he'd never be able to close the distance in time, and knowing that if he didn't some sort of sound was inevitable, McCade did the only thing he could.

He brought his arm all the way back, jerked it forward, and let go of the knife. McCade wasn't that good with knives, but he practiced every now and then, and hoped for the best.

There was a gurgle followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. Not bad! Tiptoeing up to the body McCade was startled to find Ven already there.

Pulling a knife out of the sentry's throat the Lakorian grinned, wiped it on the tough's coat, and slid the weapon into his boot. He gestured to one side. "Your knife is over there, sire . . . sticking in the wall."

McCade looked, and sure enough, his knife had missed the sentry and embedded itself in a log wall. Light gleamed off the blade. Even though McCade couldn't see the Lakorian's face, he knew the alien was smiling. Ven would tell the story for many years to come. Assuming he survived, that is.

McCade returned the knife to its sheath and moved inward toward the inn. There should be at least one more cordon of guards,
would
be if
he
were Bulo.

Pausing to scoop up a rain-slippery rock, McCade rubbed it against his pants leg, and found a comfortable grip.

Determined not to repeat his sorry performance with the knife, McCade tiptoed forward, thankful for his rubber-soled boots. Maybe he'd smell this sentry as well.

But this sentry was sloppy and hit an empty vak bottle with his foot. It made a clinking sound as it rolled away.

Three quick steps and McCade was there, blindsiding the guard with the rock and easing him to the ground. A quick check assured him the sentry was still alive. Good. The less bloodshed the better.

McCade heard a low whistle and knew the rest of the sentries had been accounted for too.

With Ven close behind, McCade slid along the side of the inn's stable searching for the rear entrance. He hadn't gone more than two or three yards when he heard a hissing scream. The entire wall shook as heavy bodies moved back and forth just beyond the log enclosure.

The reptiles! These were hunting mounts, trained for use in the jungle, and attuned to the slightest disturbance. Something, a slight noise, or the scent of alien flesh, had disturbed them. Another animal screamed, and another, until there was a cacophony of sound.

McCade swore and activated his mic. "Okay, team. So much for the subtle approach, go in and get the sucker!"

The words were hardly out of McCade's mouth when Phil kicked the door in, body blocked a surprised guard, and took the stairs two at a time. He had the flamethrower on his back and a machine pistol in his right paw.

Rico grabbed the now-unconscious sentry and dragged him outside, while Ven, two of his troopers, and McCade followed Phil up the stairs.

The inn had its own fusion plant, so lights started to come on, and there was a lot of confused shouting.

A heavily carved wooden door splintered under the force of Phil's boot and banged off an inner wall. He disappeared inside, closely followed by Ven and the troopers.

There were shouts of outrage, followed by the sound of breaking furniture, and the roar of Phil's voice. McCade had just arrived at the top of the stairs when the variant emerged and bowed formally.

"Greetings, sire. Baron Bulo is awake and receiving guests. Please excuse the broken furniture. The palace is undergoing repairs."

McCade grinned. "Thank you, squire. Excuse me while I hasten within. The royal yacht will arrive at any minute . . . and we mustn't be late."

McCade stepped through the door into a small vestibule, from there into a hallway, and from there into a richly appointed bedroom. Ven and his troopers were there pointing their weapons toward the center of the room.

Lakorians of all classes favor canopied beds because they provide excellent protection against leaky roofs and Bulo was no exception. In addition to the canopy his bed was hung with richly embroidered curtains and piled high with pillows.

Bulo occupied the center of the bed, with a presumably comely maiden to either side, and a princely frown on his not-so-noble brow. He looked like a weaker, dissipated version of Lif, especially when dressed in lavender jammies.

"Who are you? And how dare you break into my quarters! Guards! Guards! Kill these intruders and feed them to my mounts!"

McCade shook his head sadly, found a cigar, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth."'Feed them to my mounts'? Is that any way to treat guests? Well, I'm sure your brother will teach you better manners. In the meantime, get your royal ass out of bed. You're coming with us."

Bulo crossed his arms. His expression was defiant. "I am not! Run while you can, human. In seconds, minutes at the most, my guards will kill you
and
your traitorous assistants."

There was a loud pop to McCade's left. He turned to see fingers of yellow flame climbing up an embroidered curtain toward the canopy.

Phil waved the nozzle of his flamethrower. Smoke drifted away. "Oops. Sorry about that. My mistake."

Bulo looked at the flames. His eyes grew big. "You wouldn't dare!"

The two females looked at Bulo, looked at the fire, and rolled out of bed. They were gone three seconds later.

McCade walked over, held his cigar in the flames, and puffed. Once the cigar was lit he blew a long streamer of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Oh, yes, he would. There's nothing Phil loves better than fresh meat roasted over an open fire."

Bulo looked at the variant, saw a mouth full of gleaming durasteel teeth, and turned a lighter shade of green. He was careful to stay away from Phil as he rolled out of bed. "Where are you taking me?"

"For a reunion with your brother," McCade replied. "Come on, let's go."

As they left the room the canopy burst into flames.

Phil led the way, with McCade right behind, and Ven, Bulo, and two troopers bringing up the rear.

They were halfway down the stairs when the front door crashed open and Rico dived in. An energy weapon stitched a line of diagonal holes through the door barely missing Phil's sizable feet.

There was a mad scramble to reach the bottom of the stairs and line up along the walls.

Rico stood by sliding himself up a wall. He shoved another power pak into the receiver of his blast rifle. "Time ta haul ya all."

McCade nodded. "Casualties?"

"One trooper dead . . . one missing, presumed dead."

"Damn." McCade had hoped to pull it off without any more casualties. "Any sight of the hovercraft?"

"Nope. Just a lot of bozos with more weapons than brains."

"See?" Bulo demanded shrilly. "My bodyguards are everywhere. Surrender while you still have a chance!"

There was a loud whump as Bulo's entire bedroom was engulfed by flames.

McCade shook his head in disgust. "Sergeant Ven . . . if his supreme effluence says anything more, gag him."

Ven grinned wickedly and slid the muzzle of his blast rifle into Bulo's left ear. The dead troopers had been friends of his.

McCade pulled his handgun and looked around. Everyone was here. No need to use his mic. "All right, everyone . . . head for the pier. Plan one is still operational. Okay, Phil, light 'em up."

Phil sent a long funnel of flame out the door to intimidate attackers and ruin their night sight. Then he released the trigger, shifted the pistol grip to his left paw, and kicked the door open. Phil fired three round bursts from his machine pistol as he headed toward the river.

Ven and the troopers went next, pushing Bulo along in front of them as a shield, firing around him.

Then came McCade and Rico, firing their weapons for effect, zigzagging toward the river.

Energy beams whined overhead, bullets threw up geysers of mud behind their heels, and a heat-seeking missile hit the inn with a loud boom. Rico was right. Bulo's rowdies had more weapons than brains.

McCade heard a roar of sound off to the right. Here came the hovercraft! Right on time and lit up like a Christmas tree! Against all instructions the captain had the vessel's interior and exterior lights turned on.

The hovercraft made a wonderful target. Unable to resist all of Bulo's retainers shifted their fire to the oncoming vessel. A heat-seeking missile hit the rear deck and blew up.

The explosion did very little structural damage, but did sever some control cables and caused both engines to race out of control.

The captain did the only thing he could and shut down both of his engines. Thanks to the swift current he was able to steer toward the middle of the channel. Mercifully the lights went out when the engines stopped.

Although the hovercraft wasn't able to pick them up, it did provide a much-needed diversion, and the entire group made it to the pier unharmed.

By now the hoverboat's captain had mustered a somewhat ineffectual damage-control party. They made dark silhouettes against the flames as they aimed an intermittent stream of water at the base of the fire.