McCade on the Run (Sam McCade Omnibus) Read online

  McCade opened a humidor, took out a cigar, and puffed it into life. His throat felt raw, but he sucked the smoke into his lungs anyway, and blew it out in a long gray stream. He eyed his companion through the smoke.“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but what the hell’s going on, and who the hell are you?”

  The Il Ronnian smiled. “I’ll take your questions in reverse order if you don’t mind. My name is Neem, I’m your nif, or tutor. You are an Ilwig, the first human to ever achieve that honor, and you’re getting ready for phase two of your testing.”

  “I passed phase one then?”

  Neem nodded. “With flying colors. You really shook ’em up. Up till now everyone had assumed that the bracelet spoke only to Il Ronnians. A bit ethnocentric...but understandable nonetheless.”

  McCade looked at his wrist. The bracelet was missing.

  “It came off when you fell,” Neem said in reply to his unasked question.

  “That’s strange,” McCade said, rubbing his wrist. “The damned thing wouldn’t budge when I tried to take it off.”

  “I had the same problem,”Neem agreed.“But it came off quite easily once my testing was over. Our more rational theologians think the bracelet is some sort of artificial intelligence device that knows that it’s become part of our religion and goes along with the gag.”

  Neem shrugged. “Nonetheless, we continue to take it quite seriously. In fact, if someone else heard you call the bracelet a ‘damned thing,’ they’d shove a stake up your anus and leave you in the desert to die.”

  “Sorry,” McCade said humbly. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s an amazing artifact. I wish my race had one.”

  Neem gave a very human shrug. “Why? In spite of the bracelet we killed our greatest teachers, including the great Ilwik, and continue to ignore most of his teachings. Wonderful though it is, the bracelet cannot bestow wisdom on those who haven’t earned it.”

  McCade tapped some ash into an ashtray and regarded the Il Ronnian anew. There was something different about him. Where most Il Ronnians were rigidly formal, he was informal. Where most Il Ronnians were distant, he was friendly. And where most Il Ronnians were secretive, he was open. In fact, now that he thought about it, Neem seemed more human than Il Ronnian. Even his manner of speech was more human than Il Ronnian.

  McCade pointed his cigar in Neem’s direction.“No offense, but you strike me as different somehow, more like a member of my race than yours.”

  Neem smiled and revealed some razor sharp dentition in the process. “True. I wondered when you’d notice. As it happens, I’m an expert on human culture; in fact, I have the equivalent of a Doctorate in exoanthropology. Added to that is the fact that I’m not exactly normal.”

  “Not exactly normal?” McCade asked. “In what way?”

  “Well,” Neem replied, looking down at his lap. “I’m insane.”

  McCade choked on some cigar smoke. “Insane? They gave me an insane tutor?”

  Neem held up both hands in protest. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, Sam. I’m not psychotic or anything. It’s just that I’m excessively individualistic. That coupled with an unhealthy interest in humans renders me clinically insane. That’s why they made me your nif, because a computer search found that I’m one of the few Il Ronnians who like humans enough to tutor one. Have you noticed how ugly I am?”

  McCade tried to look surprised. “Ugly? You look fine to me.”

  Neem shook his head. “Nice try, Sam, but among other things, I’m an expert at human facial expressions. The point is that I look like this because of a birth defect. Like the deformed members of most cultures, I was excluded by my peer group throughout childhood and left to my own devices. As a result I was poorly socialized, developed a rather rich fantasy life, and eventually went off the deep end. Or so my shrink says.”

  McCade raised an eyebrow. “And what do you say?”

  Neem grinned.“I say exactly what any insane person would say.I’m fine... and everyone else is crazy.” Then Neem leaned forward as if sharing a secret.

  “Actually this could be my big break. Hanging out with a human is pretty weird, but it sure beats hell out of a rubber room, and if I do well, maybe they’ll let me teach again.”

  McCade took a deep drag on his cigar and did his best to look sympathetic. Just his luck. An impossible mission, a bizarre initiation into an alien religion, and an insane tutor. What next?

  Seven

  The Il Ronnian homeworld was called Imantha, or “home of the people,” and was quite beautiful according to Neem. McCade had to take his word for it because the shuttle put them down on the planet’s dark side where he was whisked underground.

  While this struck McCade as an unusual time to arrive, Neem assured him it wasn’t, pointing out that his people had always been partially nocturnal, and when technology freed them from tending crops during the day, they had become even more so. Now hardly anyone ventured out onto the planet’s surface during midday unless forced to do so.

  Technology had also allowed the Il Ronn to greatly extend their ancient system of caves and tunnels into a huge network of cities that underlay the surface of Imantha.

  One thing hadn’t changed though, and that was the Il Ronnian love of warmth. Even though Neem had provided him with a cool suit, McCade’s head was still exposed and it was damned hot.

  Neem provided a running commentary as a series of anti-grav platform carried them downward. It seemed the levels nearest the surface were taken up with tightly packed technology. Mines, processing plants, factories, hydroponic farms, defense installations, communications equipment, and more.

  Next came the governmental levels where the Council of One Thousand met, and the great septs held their annual conclaves. And below those came the shopping plazas, vast open spaces where the septs hawked their wares, and the residential levels where most of the population lived. An arrangement that also placed the bulk of population deep underground and safe from attack.

  It was there that the platform stopped and they got off. Eight Sand Sept troopers went with them.

  Neem pulled him into a side passageway after a short walk down a gleaming tunnel. As McCade stepped out onto a small balcony the troopers took up positions outside. A series of lights popped on and a flock of globular vid cams swooped in to hover around him as his eyes fought the sudden glare.

  As his eyes adjusted to the light McCade found himself looking down at a hundred thousand Il Ronnians. Even though Neem had warned him what to expect, it was still a disconcerting experience.

  The hall was huge and roughly rectangular. McCade saw an endless sea of Il Ronnian faces as he looked down its length. As he bowed the traditional greeting four huge McCades did likewise on wall-sized vid screens. The crowd hissed its approval.

  Even though Neem had assured him that Il Ronnian hissing was equivalent to human applause, it still sounded like an army of snakes preparing to strike and made his hair stand on end.

  A male voice began to speak in Il Ronnian, and McCade knew that millions, maybe even billions, of Il Ronnians were looking at him on vid screens and holo tanks all over the planet. Much as he detested the whole thing, Neem insisted it was a matter of political and religious necessity.

  McCade was coming to understand that Il Ronnian politics were a good deal more complicated than they appeared at first glance.

  It seemed that the Council of One Thousand was split into two groups. The conservatives, who tended to be younger and more aggressive, favored a surprise attack on the Empire. The liberals meanwhile were generally older and more experienced, and wanted to give the humans a chance to recover the vial themselves.

  The liberals had sponsored this public appearance in an effort to sway public opinion, an important factor in a society governed by mutual consensus.

  While the Il Ronnian public was understandably upset about the loss of the holy relic, they were also curious about the human who had promised to find it and were eager to learn more about him. So the
liberals hoped McCade would make a good impression and buy them some time.

  He knew the Il Ronnian voice was introducing him, telling the public that he’d already passed the first phase of testing, and inviting them to witness phase two. It seemed there were plans to televise his activities from this point on. Neem said this would serve to build liberal support and provide the population with some free entertainment to boot.

  “But what if I fail?” McCade had asked.

  “Then the conservatives will get their way and attack,” Neem had replied with a characteristic shrug. “And since I’m certifiably insane, they’ll make me a full Sector Commander.”

  McCade saw very little humor in the Il Ronnian’s joke considering the implications for the human empire.

  McCade felt Neem jab him in the back as the Il Ronnian voice stopped. It was his turn to speak. His words had been carefully rehearsed during the trip to Imantha, and computer-checked to make sure the translation from human Standard to Il Ronnian wouldn’t introduce any inaccuracies. As he spoke an Il Ronnian translator would echo his words a fraction of a second later.

  “I bring greetings from my people to yours. It is a privilege to visit your home planet, to undergo the trials of the Ilwik, and to speak to you this night.”

  The crowd swirled slightly and a great hissing filled the air. McCade waited for it to die down. “Thank you. There has long been tension between our two races as is natural when two great empires come together and almost touch. And where we come together sparks sometimes fly, lives are tragically lost, and neither race profits. Such was the case when some humans raided the planet you call Fema and took the holy Vial of Tears.”

  At the mention of the holy relic a deep growling filled the air, and sweat popped out on McCade’s forehead as he found himself looking down at one hundred thousand devils, each one voicing his or her hatred. He swallowed dryly as the noise died away.

  “Yes, I understand your anger, and ask you to understand that those who took the vial acted on their own without the knowledge and consent of the human Emperor. And, God willing, that’s why I will hunt them down and kill them, taking the vial and returning it to the Il Ronnian people.”

  Now the hissing became a sibilant roar, as thousands of tails lashed their approval, and the crowd surged forward in its excitement.

  McCade had questioned his last statement, pointing out that he couldn’t promise to find the vial, much less kill the people who’d taken it.

  But Neem had waved his objections away. He said the statement was simply a sop to the conservative party that shouldn’t be taken too seriously. Looking out at the roaring crowd McCade wasn’t too sure. They seemed to believe he could do it. How would they react if he failed?

  For the hundredth time he cursed the various forces that had conspired to put him where he was, lifted an arm to wave to the crowd, and watched as the four gigantic McCades did likewise.

  He waved one last time as he felt Neem tug on the back of his cool suit, glad to have the whole thing over.

  As he left the balcony the Sand Sept troopers closed in around him once more. Together they marched through a series of passageways and down a wide escalator. Additional Sand Sept troopers had been positioned to keep a lane clear for their use.

  As he stepped off the bottom of the escalator McCade found himself on a broad platform. Fifty or sixty Il Ronnians were scattered across the platform. Beyond it was a huge tube of some transparent material. He couldn’t tell if they’d witnessed his recent performance or not, but they turned to watch him with curious eyes as he arrived.

  Moments later there was a soft whooshing sound as an enormous train arrived inside the transparent tube and a series of doors hissed open. It was clearly some sort of underground transcar system, but on a scale McCade had never seen before.

  “The second car back is ours,” Neem said, “or so I was told. It would seem that you’re getting the VIP treatment.”

  McCade glanced at the Sand Sept troopers and back to Neem.“VIP? What does that stand for, very important prisoner?”

  Neem smiled but refused to meet his eyes. “You’re not looking at this the right way. The troopers are here to protect you. I’m not the only crazy Il Ronnian on the planet. There’re others, some of whom are diehard conservatives and quite violent.”

  “Thanks,” McCade replied dryly. “I feel a lot better now.”

  Once inside McCade discovered the train was as large as it appeared. While no other passengers had been allowed to board their car, he could tell that it normally held hundreds of riders.

  He noticed that the bottom of each seat had a three-inch slot that ran front to back. At first he couldn’t figure out what it was for, until he saw Neem take a seat and saw how neatly the Il Ronnian’s tail slid back through the slot. Then the tail arched up and over the back of the chair to appear over Neem’s shoulder. Now it could become part of the alien’s nonverbal communication once again. Later McCade would notice that almost all Il Ronnian chairs featured this same design.

  Like everything else the Il Ronnians used, the inside of the train was warm, way too warm. McCade opened the two nozzles located on the chest of the suit and directed the cool air up toward his face. He knew this would put an increased demand on the power pak, but what the heck, he’d just ask Neem for another.

  Feeling somewhat better, McCade turned his attention to the large windows that lined both sides of the car. There was nothing much to see. Just solid rock flashing by at incredible speed. Neem volunteered an explanation.

  “If you build most of your cities underground, it only makes sense to put your major transportation systems there as well. This particular train runs on the surface for short periods of time, but since it’s night up there, you still won’t see much.”

  McCade nodded, kicked his feet up onto the opposite bench, and watched the rock walls flash by until he drifted off to sleep.

  “Well, this is it,” Neem, said cheerfully. “After this morning, phase one of the testing will be out of the way.”

  “Or I’ll be dead,” McCade answered as he fastened the last seal on his cool suit. The long train ride had left him tired and grumpy. After the train trip he’d been transferred here, to the Wa’na, or sacred testing grounds.

  He was in a rather Spartan dressing room at the moment. The only furnishings consisted of an Il Ronnian water shrine and a table heaped high with weapons. The shrine was a scaled biosphere that depicted a natural spring bubbling up between lichen-covered rocks.

  The walls were made of bare durocrete and were completely featureless except for an ominous-looking metal door. When he stepped through it the testing would begin.

  Neem had already explained that like the first phase of testing, the second involved three separate tests, each corresponding to one aspect of life. The first, and the one he would tackle today, was the physical. It included athletic ability, the martial arts, and an appreciation of physical beauty.

  The second level was mental. It included the ability to reason, academic as well as experiential learning, and the ability to manipulate the environment through use of tools.

  The third level was the spiritual, and it involved a mastery of both the first and second levels, but a mastery that incorporated certain concepts. Primary among them was love and compassion.

  But love and compassion were far from McCade’s mind as he approached the table and eyed the weapons laid out on its surface. He’d been told to expect physical combat, but that’s all he knew, and it made the choice a difficult one. After all, depending on who your enemy is, some weapons are more effective than others.

  But he’d always found that slug guns serve a variety of needs, so he left the Molg-Sader belted around his waist and checked to make sure that he had two extra magazines.

  Of course, energy weapons have advantages too, so McCade hedged his bet and picked up a brand-new blast rifle. He noticed it was marine issue and wondered how it had fallen into Il Ronnian hands. Wh
atever the answer, he knew he wouldn’t like it.

  Then he passed a bandolier of energy paks over his head and decided to call it a day. There were lots of other weapons he could have chosen, everything from frag grenades to rocket launchers, but each additional weapon would add weight and slow him down. So if the Il Ronnians had a main battle tank waiting for him out there, he was just plain out of luck.

  McCade recognized Teeb’s voice as it flooded in over some hidden speaker. “It is time for the candidate to enter the Wa’na. Please enter through the metal door. Good luck, Ilwig McCade.

  Much to McCade’s surprise, Teeb sounded as if he meant it.

  McCade had his hand on the door when he remembered something. Acting on impulse he returned to the water shrine and intoned the traditional prayer. “As you flow through heaven and earth, flow also through me, watering my spirit and making it grow.”

  As he opened the door and went through he missed Neem’s smile and the words that went with it. “Assuming you survive you’ll make one hell of an Il Ronnian someday. Good luck!”

  Eight

  McCade squinted into bright sunlight. Sheer canyon walls rose on every side exposing layers of sediment stained here and there with streaks of red.

  An island of solid rock stood in front of him. It had once forced a mighty river to divide itself in half forming two channels, one right and one left.

  The river was gone now, but rocks both large and small remained as silent witnesses to a time when Imantha had been very different. A time when the holy fluid had leaped and splashed its way through the canyon on its journey to a distant sea.

  Gravel crunched under McCade’s boots as he turned a full circle. He held the blast rifle up and ready. Would his opponent attack without warning? Or would he hear some sort of official statement first?

  McCade knew as all bounty hunters did that real violence comes without warning. But when violence has been institutionalized and turned into entertainment, it must be justified and explained for the comfort of those who view it. The violence might otherwise seem primitive and uncivilized, and that would never do.