Alien Bounty (14 page)

It was as if Chips could read his mind. "So where's your friend?"

McCade frowned. "How the hell would I know? I imagine she'll show up any minute now."

Chips shook his head sadly. His voice was sorrowful, as though McCade had somehow led him astray. "Face it, Sam, she ran out on you. She wasted your friend, took your ship, and sold it. I should never have listened to you. Now it's too late to use my plan."

McCade had provided Chips with a somewhat sanitized version of his current situation. While he'd mentioned two friends, he'd left out the fact that Neem was alien, and Reba a somewhat secretive pirate.

Instead, he'd left the impression that he was trying to recover something the pirates had stolen from him, and that Chips could help. In return McCade had promised to get Chips safely off-planet.

By agreeing to McCade's plan, Chips had given up one of his own. Which was just as well since it called for an endomorph like McCade to incapacitate several guards while Chips accessed the Brotherhood's computer system.

Chips swore that once he obtained access to the Brotherhood's computer system he could fiddle the records and set them free. The only problem was that he hadn't figured out how to get them off-planet afterward.

McCade thought the little man's plan was less than perfect, and would probably generate more than a few unexplained corpses, possibly including his own.

But he did see a certain value in having his own computer expert, assuming of course that he managed to escape from his present situation. What better way to get a lead on the Vial of Tears than to take an unauthorized peek at the Brotherhood's records?

But everything hinged on Reba setting him free so he could set Chips free. Why had she deserted him? Maybe she was scared, or maybe she'd lied to him from the start, but it would be easy for her to kill an unsuspecting Neem and go her merry way. And there wasn't a damn thing McCade could do about it either. Especially if he was busy harvesting yirl deep in the jungles of some godforsaken jungle planet.

His thoughts were interrupted by the auctioneer's deep baritone. "If you'll finish taking your seats, the auction will begin in a few moments."

There was a rustling as latecomers found seats, the hum of servos as their chairs adjusted to a variety of physiological differences, and the low murmur of conversation as the buyers gossiped among themselves.

McCade knew that others would follow the action as well, watching the auction on closed-circuit holo and bidding via computer terminal. The thought cheered him. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe Reba would bid by computer.

He remembered what it was like. The vast dome filled with thousands of sentients, the tower that dominated its center, and the countless terminals used to buy and sell stolen merchandise. Merchandise so cheap that victim sometimes chose to buy their goods back from the pirates rather than replace them from other sources.

Yes, Reba could be in that dome somewhere preparing to buy his freedom, but deep down he knew it wasn't true. If she came, she'd come here and do it directly.

McCade scanned the audience one last time, hoping, praying that he'd spot Reba's pretty face among them. No such luck. All he saw were hard faces and calculating eyes.

"Greetings on behalf of the Brotherhood," the auctioneer said portentously.

He was a tall, slender man with slicked-back hair and a pencil-thin mustache. He enjoyed being the center of attention and performed his duties with a theatrical flourish.

"We have some prime humanoids for you today," he said cheerfully, "and I'm sure you'll find something to meet your particular needs. And now time's money so let's get started."

A couple of bored-looking police types shoved a man forward. He was middle-aged, somewhat overweight, and on the verge of tears.

"An excellent specimen," the auctioneer said approvingly. "A little exercise will turn WM 7896-A into a prime field hand."

The auctioneer glanced at a handheld comp. "Skills include operation of simple machinery, some ability at advanced math, and—you'll love this—he plays the violin! Is anyone out there assembling a symphony orchestra? If so, this is the one for you!"

There was general laughter from the humans in the audience and a variety of other noises from the aliens as well.

Bidding started rather low and, in spite of the auctioneer's best attempts to drive it upward, ended with a high bid of three hundred and forty-six credits.

The middle-aged man looked even more dejected as he was herded to one side where a female Zord used her single eye to inspect her newest possession.

He was the first of many. Some made a fuss, crying or calling out for help, but most were outwardly calm, hiding their thoughts and feelings behind blank faces. Then as their new owners led them away, the line would jerk forward and the police would shove someone else toward the middle of the stage.

Finally it was McCade's turn and he scanned the audience one last time. Maybe Reba had slipped in unobserved, maybe he'd missed her the first time around, maybe everything was all right. But no such luck. Reba was nowhere to be seen and his time was up.

The police shoved him forward and the auctioneer tapped his shoulder with a silver pointer. "Now here's a decent-looking field hand. He's in good shape as you can see, young enough to survive in a hostile environment, and healthy as a horse. He has no special skills to speak of, but how much skill does it take to lift a shovel?"

The audience laughed appreciatively and the auctioneer gave a small bow. "Do I hear an opening bid?"

A tough-looking man in black leathers made the first bid. "Three hundred."

"Three fifty." The second voice emanated from a creature in a four-armed atmosphere suit. McCade tried to remember a race with four arms but couldn't.

"Four hundred," said the man in leather. He looked annoyed.

"Four hundred and fifty." The voice had a hollow metallic quality as it came over the suit's external speakers.

McCade felt a heavy object drop into the pit of his stomach and hoped the man in leather would win. There was something ominous about the four-armed creature. Its suit was black and kind of bulky through the middle as if it had a midsection similar to a spider's, and worst of all was the fact that you couldn't see its head. Where a human's eyes would be there was a band of polarized plastic that circled all the way around the thing's helmet. Did it have eyes in the back of its head? There was no way to tell.

McCade was not given to xenophobia but the thing made his hair stand on end. Looking around he saw that others felt the same way too. No one wanted to look directly at the thing, as if afraid of what they might see. Even the auctioneer looked over rather than directly at it.

That was bad enough. What was worse was the thing's motives. It didn't breathe oxygen so what would it want with a human slave? A number of possibilities popped into McCade's mind and none of them were very pleasant.

"Five hundred." The man was beginning to sound bored, and based on the bidding that had gone before, McCade knew they were reaching the upper limits of his worth.

"Six hundred," the creature said levelly, "and five hundred apiece for the next three in line."

Chips snapped to attention, viewing the creature with alarm. "What the hell . . ."

"I'll pass," the man in leather said, "they're all yours." He took his seat with an expression of disgust.

McCade looked on with alarm as the auctioneer nodded his understanding and said, "Going once, going twice, gone. Congratulations, my friend, you've got a fine group of humanoids there. Pay the cashier and collect your merchandise.
Bon appétit.
"

There was nervous laughter as the creature lumbered over to the cashier's window, paid for its slaves, and watched the police shackle them to a length of durasteel chain.

Chips was behind McCade with the two newcomers behind him. One was a big black man and the other was white. Both did their best to avoid looking at the four-armed alien.

Once the four humans were secure the alien used one of its four arms to gesture toward the door. "Move."

"Thanks a lot," Chips whispered as they stumbled forward. "I'm not only a slave, I'm a slave to some alien geek. God knows what it will do with us."

"I hope it gets you to shut up," McCade growled.

Obviously offended Chips pursed his lips and pretended McCade wasn't there.

Once they were outside the slave market they followed the alien into a steady stream of traffic. Slaves were a common sight on the Rock and attracted little attention, but four-armed aliens were something else; even the police hurried to get out of the way.

They hadn't gone far when the alien turned in at one of the planet's less reputable hotels. There was a low rumble of conversation between the alien and the hotel keeper followed by the flash of credits changing hands.

Then they were herded into a small room. The alien pointed at McCade. "You. Come with me. The rest of you wait here. Food will come soon."

McCade's stomach growled at the thought. Why couldn't he stay? But a nerve lash had appeared in one of the alien's gloved hands and it left him little choice.

The thing unshackled the others, ushered McCade into the hall, and locked the room behind him. The fact that this was possible suggested that the room had served a similar function before.

"Come." So saying, the alien lumbered down the hall as if sure that McCade would follow.

McCade thought about running, but knew he wouldn't get far wearing shackles, and decided to obey. Maybe later on he'd find a way to overpower the alien and gain the upper hand.

The alien stopped in front of another door. It swung open at its touch. "In there."

McCade entered rather cautiously since he was unsure of what he might find inside. He needn't have bothered. This room was a shabby duplicate of the first one. He heard the door close behind him and turned just in time to see an incredible sight.

The alien was using two arms to unscrew its helmet. What the hell was going on? Was the alien planning to commit suicide right there in front of him?

The helmet squeaked as it turned and McCade backed away waiting for some kind of noxious atmosphere to spill out.

It didn't. Instead the arms lifted the helmet up and away to reveal Neem's smiling countenance. "Don't just stand there, Sam, find some blankets. It's colder than the tip of an asteroid miner's tail in here."

The computer console was first-class just like everything else in their suite. Chips cracked his knuckles experimentally as he sat down in front of it. He wore a big grin as he brought the first screen up and entered the system. To him this was an electronic jungle in which he was the skilled explorer avoiding all manner of dangers and steadily closing in on the hidden treasure.

McCade checked the door to make sure it was locked and sat down across from Neem. The power lounger sighed softly as it adjusted to his body and radiated a gentle warmth. McCade plucked a cigar from a nearby humidor and puffed it into life. When he spoke it was through a cloud of smoke. "How much does this suite cost per rotation anyway?"

Neem, shrugged as he turned up the heat on his power lounger. "As you humans would say, it beats me. Since I don't plan to pay, I never asked."

Nonpayment of bills. One more offense added to our growing list of crimes, McCade thought to himself. Well, why not? What's another crime more or less when you've already broken every law short of murder?

"So," McCade said, waving his cigar to include the entire room. "Perhaps you'd be kind enough to explain how we came to be here?"

The tip of Neem's tail had slipped up and out of his coat collar. It signaled his agreement. "As things turned out, your departure from Spin triggered an unfortunate series of events. As you'll recall, I was supposed to monitor the ship's sensors in case of trouble. So there I was, monitoring my life away as you were taken aboard the pirate ship. 'So far so good,' I said to myself as your vessel lifted, 'Sam is on his way.'

"Reba came out of the dome shortly thereafter and I opened the main lock to let her in." The Il Ronnian shook his head sadly. "It was a mistake to trust her, Sam. You should have left her on Imantha."

"Oh, really?" McCade inquired dryly. "Wasn't it Teeb who sent her along? And you too for that matter?"

"Let's not quibble over details," Neem replied loftily. "The point is that your treacherous female pulled a blaster on me and forced me off the ship."

McCade raised an eyebrow. "You're in surprisingly good shape for a corpse."

"The female did allow me a breathing unit," Neem conceded, "but that was her only kindness. The moment I was clear of the ship she lifted."

McCade felt a moment of grief. He'd grown attached to the little ship and hated to lose her. Still, a ship is a ship, and not very important when compared to the big picture. Or so he told himself. It didn't seem to help much.

"So what then?"

"So there I was," Neem said dramatically, "cast adrift on the uncharted sea of an alien culture, unable to enter what little shelter there was, and vulnerable to whatever predators might happen along."

"Please," McCade responded, "spare me the sob story. You found a way off Spin or you wouldn't be here."

"Yes," Neem agreed shamelessly, "utilizing my tremendous resourcefulness I found a way to escape the terrible predicament you left me in. Do you remember the small tug?"

McCade thought back to their landing on Spin. He remembered the DE, a freighter, and, yes, a small tug. "Yeah?"

"I stole it," Neem said proudly. "I waited in the shadows near the tug's lock for the crew to approach. Time passed, and with each second that ticked by, my precious supply of oxygen became smaller and smaller."

McCade groaned. "Please, spare me the melodrama."

Neem ignored the interruption. "Then, just when my breathing device was almost empty of life-giving oxygen I saw them. Two humans approaching the tug. Even though I was gasping my last breath I waited for the first one to palm the lock before I hit the second one over the head. It took two blows because the first one hit the forward edge of his breathing device and bounced off.