Imperial Bounty Read online

  McCade agreed, and soon found himself in a robo-controlled aircar along with Phil, and an unconscious Rico, whose entire right leg had disappeared inside an automedic. A cloud of brightly colored aircars flitted all around them. They were all listening to the announcer on their radios, and, urged on by his voice, they waved and cheered. Doing their best to smile cheerfully, McCade and Phil dutifully waved back. The unofficial escort was the announcer's idea, and a very effective one. Not only would the crowd make it difficult to execute an attack, they also made it stupid to launch one. With McCade and his companions riding a wave of public approval, to attack them within minutes of their victory would not only smack of poor sportsmanship, it would also amount to very stupid politics. McCade knew Claudia was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. To take and hold power she would need a good measure of public approval. She'd just lost some by taking a public position and losing. At this point a public attack could turn a minor loss into a major public relations disaster. So McCade felt fairly sure she'd control her temper and bide her time. Meanwhile, they'd get the hell off Terra and into the relative safety of space.

  A few minutes later the aircar landed next to Pegasus. Under McCade's watchful eye, two robots transferred Rico from the aircar to the ship. Then he and Phil engaged in one last round of waving and smiling, before ducking into the main lock, and cycling the outer hatch closed. Once in the control room, McCade was amused to find that a second customs inspection had been waived, and Pegasus was already cleared for lift-off. Apparently Claudia was as eager to get rid of them as they were to go.

  After considerable urging from Main Port ground control, the swarm of aircars backed off to a safe distance, and gave Pegasus enough room to lift. As she roared toward the sky, the announcer swung his feet up onto the console, and lifted a glass in salute. For the first time in many years he felt good about himself. "Good luck, McCade. We made one helluva team."

  Seven

  "More food, slaves, and while you're at it, more cigars!" Rico's voice boomed over the intercom.

  "Shall I kill him, or would you like the honor?" McCade asked Phil.

  Phil shook his shaggy head in amazement. "I'm a trained biologist, and I can't believe that a single man can eat that much, and be that big a pain in the ass. It isn't normal."

  McCade grinned. "If you're suggesting that Rico isn't normal . . . I'll go along with that."

  "I heard that!" Rico said accusingly. "Here I am, layin' wounded . . . nearly starvin' ta death . . . and my friends sit around insultin' me . . . me—the one that saved their miserable lives . . ."

  McCade reached up and flipped a switch, cutting Rico off in mid-complaint. "Well, much as I'd like to hang around and shoot the breeze with you guys, it's time to get to work."

  "Sure," Phil grumbled, "you take off for Joyo's Roid while I stay here with the crazed convalescent. Why don't I go while you stay?"

  McCade grinned as he got to his feet. "Because I'm the bounty hunter, remember? And besides, from what I hear, it's damn hard to get off Joyo's Roid unless they decide to let you. So somebody's got to be here to save my ass if I get in trouble."

  Phil sniffed loudly, only partly mollified. "Maybe, but just make sure you don't have too much fun."

  "I promise," McCade replied readily, and flipped the intercom back on.

  " . . . not to mention the many favors I done them. By the way, did I mention cigars? How many cigars have I given you, Sam McCade? A hundred? A thousand? And you won't bring Rico a cigar? Shame on you . . ."

  Phil groaned out loud, and McCade gave him a jaunty wave as he slid out of the control room. Stopping by his cabin he grabbed a box of cigars, took a fistful for himself, and then threw the rest into Rico's cabin. Grabbing his carryall he headed for the lifeboat.

  It was a tubby little affair, barely large enough to hold six very friendly adults. McCade secured the tiny lock, slid behind the rudimentary controls, and strapped in. He had a choice between Emergency Launch and Normal Launch. He chose normal. As the boat's computer ran an automated pre-flight check, atmosphere was pumped out of the launching bay, and the outer doors cycled open. He felt the gentle push of a repellor beam, and the boat floated free of the larger ship. As usual, zero gravity caused McCade a momentary queasiness, but he did his best to ignore it, and it soon passed. A quick scan of the boat's control board showed all systems were go. Looking up he saw Pegasus and felt a momentary pride. Her long graceful shape reflected the sunlight, and he paused for a moment to admire her.

  Originally a navy scout, she'd been decommissioned during a round of budget cutbacks, and purchased by a wealthy businessman. He'd converted her to a yacht. She was comfortable, fast, and very well armed. Unfortunately the businessman was accused and found guilty of drug smuggling. He went to a prison planet, and Pegasus was returned to the navy. Eventually she'd been given to McCade as partial payment for services rendered while searching for the War World. Yes, outside of a computer which occasionally said strange things, she was a good little ship. Confident that Phil and Rico would take care of her, he tapped a course and new identification code into the boat's computer, and settled back for the ride.

  An hour later Joyo's Roid loomed large in his single viewscreen. He saw the occasional gleam of reflected light as another ship arrived or took off, but otherwise the asteroid appeared lifeless, a huge chunk of rock following its own lonely path through the solar system. Years before, Joyo had put some spin on the asteroid to create a little gravity, but not too much. That way his rich, but sometimes corpulent, guests could enjoy some of the more rigorous sexual entertainments normally off limits to them. And that, like everything else Jerome Joyo did, was calculated to put even more money in his pockets.

  But regardless of whatever commercial benefits gravity might confer on Joyo's wallet, the asteroid's spin could make for a tricky landing, and McCade was just about to ask for landing instructions when his com set buzzed softly. He touched the accept key and was greeted by a face so androgynous he couldn't tell if it was male or female. He or she had long blue hair, big blue eyes, full red lips, perfect teeth, and a long straight nose. Regardless of sex, there was something exquisite about the face, something compelling, and quite exciting. His or her voice had a soft sexy quality. "Welcome to Joyo's Roid, gentle being. A thousand pleasures await you." He or she paused to run a pink tongue over red lips, and then smiled, as if aware of the thoughts running through McCade's mind.

  "If this is your first visit to Joyo's Roid, please turn your ship's navigation over to our computer and answer the questions on the rest of the form."

  The information requested was mostly financial in nature, addressing the crucial question of whether he could afford Joyo's pricey pleasures, or should be politely turned away.

  His answers were all lies with one exception. When asked for a credit reference, he provided an account number for the Imperial Bank on Terra, registered to one Samuel Lane. Seconds later, confirmation was flashed back from Terra, and Joyo's computer practically kissed his rear end. Apparently Walt, or Naval Intelligence, had a sizable number of credits in that account. Too bad Walt hadn't provided an access code as well. He could've retired early.

  Now the pitted brown surface of the asteroid was only a hundred feet away. Thanks to Joyo's computer, the boat had matched the roid's spin, but the surface was still coming up fast. McCade was starting to worry when two enormous doors slid aside to reveal a lighted tunnel. He watched as a large yacht moved majestically out of the tunnel, and slowly accelerated toward Earth.

  Then his boat rocked a tiny bit, as a tractor beam locked on, and pulled it into the tunnel. It was perfectly symmetrical and lined with duracrete. Tractor-beam projectors studded the walls at regular intervals, and McCade wondered why, until dozens of colorized beams suddenly shot out to lock the ship in a matrix of energy. The tractor beams would be used to move the boat from one end of the tunnel to the other. Otherwise, vessels entering or leaving the asteroid would be forced to use t
heir repellors. The roid's gravity might be weak, but it must still be dealt with. And dancing a ship down a long narrow tunnel on repellors takes a lot of skill, more skill than the average pilot's got, so McCade figured the expensive tractor-beam system had probably prevented lots of accidents. And accidents would cost Joyo money, not to mention bad press. The man thought of everything.

  The colored tractor beams were a good example. They were normally invisible, but by colorizing them, something boring and mechanical had been transformed into a work of art. The beams were all colors of the rainbow, and as they crisscrossed each other, they created endless geometric shapes. McCade was impressed.

  The com set buzzed again, and McCade was disappointed when a man in evening clothes appeared. He was thin to the point of emaciation, his voice was smooth and oily, and he wasn't half as interesting as the exotic creature who'd come on before. He had a receding hairline, bored eyes, and a professional smile. "Welcome to Joyo's Roid. I am your host Jerome Joyo. The tunnel will be pressurized in a few moments, but please don't attempt to leave your ship, it will be transported into our parking area where you can disembark in comfort. If there's anything that I or my staff can do to make your stay even more enjoyable, please don't hesitate to ask. Thank you." The screen faded to black. The head man himself. McCade wasn't impressed.

  Moments later the large external doors closed, and McCade's small craft began to move forward, still carried along by the rippling tractor beams. Up ahead were another set of durasteel doors. They would open as soon as the tunnel was pressurized. Meanwhile McCade sat back to enjoy the light show.

  As the boat approached, the gigantic doors slid aside to reveal a large chamber beyond. At least three or four hundred ships of all shapes and sizes were parked in neat rows. There were yachts, some large enough to carry hundreds of people, a couple of small excursion liners, and all sorts of smaller craft. McCade saw everything from tiny two-person speedsters to sturdy tugs and freighters. Apparently not all of Joyo's customers were wealthy.

  As the boat moved through the doors and into the cavern, new tractor beams took over, carefully transporting the boat over the rows of neatly parked ships, and gently dropping it into a vacant slot. McCade noticed he'd been sorted by size, and dropped into a row of smaller vessels.

  Once again the com set buzzed softly. This time text flooded the screen, accompanied by a computer-simulated voice. "Welcome to Joyo's Roid, Citizen Lane. There is a selection of free gifts waiting for you in the reception area compliments of Jerome Joyo himself. Please enjoy your stay, and let us know if there's anything which fails to please you."

  As the text and voice faded away, McCade made a mental note to remember his new name. It wasn't much of a disguise, but it couldn't hurt. By now Claudia's people were probably burning vacuum looking for him. But it was a big empire, and assuming Lady Linnea hadn't spilled her guts, they had no reason to look for him on Joyo's Roid.

  He shut down all the boat's systems, grabbed his carryall, and stepped through the tiny lock. An obliging robot had already placed a rolling set of stairs there for his convenience. As he stepped off the stairs onto the duracrete surface of the parking area, an autocar rolled up, and offered him a ride. McCade declined, preferring to walk the half mile to the reception area. It wouldn't hurt to know the layout just in case he wanted to leave in a hurry. The tunnel and lock arrangement would make a quick departure difficult; nonetheless, such precautions had paid off in the past. With that in mind he did his best to memorize the area as he walked along between the rows of parked ships. The lighter gravity put a spring in his step, and it felt good to stretch his legs.

  Cy could barely see as he rolled the last few feet to the power outlet. For hours he'd been hiding among the parked ships, dodging both people and robots, waiting for his chance. But he couldn't wait any longer. He had to get some juice or it was all over. The tiny trickle of power remaining in his storage banks was being diverted to life support, and it wouldn't last much longer. Most of his peripherals were down, and his mains were malfunctioning, which explained why he could barely see. So he'd left his hiding place and made a run for the DC receptacle. Most of the asteroid's electrical systems ran off alternating current, and there were only three direct current outlets on the whole damned rock. That miserable bastard Joyo had sealed two of them just for the fun of it. And that left only one, a maintenance outlet which should be right ahead. And there it was, the blessed three-prong receptacle, the very center, of his collapsing universe. Summoning the last few ergs of energy left him, he extruded a power pickup, and tried to ram it home. He missed. Damn it! He could barely see through the fuzzy vid pickup. Was this the way he'd die? Unable to get it up and in? He laughed deep in the recesses of his metal body. It was a long time since he'd had to worry about getting it up. One more try. Just one more try. He'd just have to take more power from life support and hope for the best. Reaching way down to the very bottom of his being, he found a tiny bit of remaining strength, and shoved it up and out. The power pickup twitched, and then launched itself toward the receptacle. It made a perfect connection.

  Cy's spirits soared as he felt the power and energy flow through his systems. Greedily he guzzled DC current, reveling in his new found strength. Suddenly his audio pickups came back on, and the first thing he heard was the sound of Rad's hoarse laughter, and that meant he was in deep trouble.

  Rad was one of Joyo's drive techs. Most of the time he worked on Joyo's private fleet, but sometimes he filled in for the techs who worked on customers' ships, and today was such an occasion. "Well . . . what have we here . . . a power pirate that's what. Mr. Joyo isn't gonna like this. You know you're supposed to pay for what you get. Hey, Dag, look what I've got here!"

  Cy's world was suddenly plunged into darkness as Rad pulled his power lead and picked him up. Desperately Cy dumped all systems except life support. They'd tortured him before, and there'd be pain enough without watching and hearing them do it. Hunkering down inside himself, he waited for it to begin.

  "Here catch!" With that Rad launched Cy into the air like a big beach ball. As the silver globe spun toward him, Dag danced back and forth, as if unsure where it might land. A stupid grin split his fat face as he dodged this way and that.

  "I've got it . . . I've got it," Dag shouted confidently, and then just as the metal sphere was about to land in his arms, he pretended to trip, allowing it to fall and hit the deck. As Cy hit the duracrete millions of tiny feedback circuits fed pain directly into his brain. The pain came in waves, in hard jagged spears, in explosions so intense he wished he were dead.

  Rad laughed uproariously. "Jeez, Dag, you've gotta be more careful, you might scramble what brains Cy's got left. Now com' on and pass him back to me."

  Dag grinned, and walked around and around the metal ball as if picking his shot. Then with considerable drama, he lined the ball up with Rad, drew back a huge boot, and kicked it as hard as he could. Another tidal wave of pain hit Cy's brain as he rolled across the floor toward Rad. One or two more and it would be over. The small amount of power he'd received would be exhausted and the internal systems cushioning his plastic brain pan would stop functioning. Then one final concussion would put him out of his misery. He found he was looking forward to it.

  Rad blocked the rolling sphere, paused to make sure of his aim, and then put everything he had into the kick. Cy screamed, unconsciously activating his speech synthesizer, so the sound echoed off the cavern walls. Even as he screamed Cy cursed himself for his weakness, and swore he wouldn't make another sound. Then he felt himself jerked to a halt. He waited for Dag to pick him up or kick him. Nothing. Not knowing was driving him crazy. He activated a single vid pickup. Someone had placed a large boot on top of him. A tall man with black hair and hard eyes. He had a cigar clenched in his teeth and smoke dribbled out the corner of his mouth. Friend or foe? Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, he opened an audio pickup.

  The man with the hard eyes spoke first. "Hello, gentleme
n . . . what's up?"

  "Just havin' a little fun's all," Rad replied resentfully. "Now if you'll jus' pass me that ball I'd sure appreciate it."

  The tall man nodded thoughtfully as he dropped a carryall next to Cy, and allowed his left hand to fall on the butt of his handgun. Dag looked at the man and then at Rad. He didn't like this. This guy looked like trouble. He tried to catch Rad's attention, but the drive tech's glittering eyes were locked on the stranger.

  "Maybe you didn't hear me," Rad said through gritted teeth. "I said pass me that ball."

  "First time I ever heard a ball scream in pain," the man replied calmly. "Now that's a real curiosity. And I like curiosities. In fact I collect 'em. So I think I'll just keep this ball for myself. I hope that meets with your approval." The man grinned, and Dag knew he didn't care if they approved or not.

  For a long moment Rad considered using the wrist gun tucked up his right sleeve. Sure, Joyo'd be pissed, but this guy didn't look like any big deal, and Dag would back his story. But something held him back, a primitive sense of survival which had managed to keep him alive for thirty-two years. The way the other man waited, the way his fingers brushed that gun butt, he was different somehow. Deep down Rad knew, that in spite of the spring-loaded holster, he'd be dead before the wrist gun even slapped his palm. He shrugged his shoulders and spat onto the duracrete. "So keep it . . . who gives a shit? Come on, Dag . . . we've got work to do."