Alien Bounty (16 page)

The Loners would object, suggesting a privately owned enterprise instead. They felt each person should be free to support the service in question or go without.

"But what about the destitute?" the settlers would ask. "Don't we have a moral duty to help them?"

"Not at all," the Loners would reply. "With the exception of a very few who should borrow money and start again, the destitute failed to provide for themselves. Now they want
us
to take responsibility for
their
lives and protect them from the consequences of their own folly. That's not fair. Why should we support a government we don't want or need?"

Needless to say the rest of the settlers went right ahead and formed governments without them, provided services, and imposed taxes. At this point the Loners were forced to pay or leave, and time after time they left, eventually settling on some other planet where they were forced to start all over again.

Eventually some of the Loners grew tired of the unending struggle and decided on another course of action. If they couldn't have their own planet, they'd create an alternative. A habitat large enough to hold them but small enough to control. Their habitat would be mobile too, so they could leave unfriendly environs whenever they wished, including human space if that became necessary.

Research showed that a conventional ship wouldn't be big enough and a custom-designed habitat would be way too expensive. The solution strangely enough was an ore barge. Unlike most ore barges, this one was equipped with drives of its own and was fairly new to boot. The barge had come onto the market when the company that owned it went out of business. Due to its unusual size and design, other companies had declined the opportunity to buy it.

But the barge was perfect for what the Loners had in mind so they formed a corporation and bought themselves a dream. True to their philosophy each person bought as much of the barge as they could afford, paid for those services they wished to receive, and were in all other respects free to do as they wished.

To protect their newfound freedom the Loners instituted a policy of strict neutrality toward all governments, planetary and galactic alike, and in doing so made themselves accidentally rich.

Throughout the history of human civilization there's been a need for neutral ground. A place where enemies can meet, where money can be stored, and secrets can be kept.

Given their fanatical desire for independence, their utter pragmatism, and their ability to run from trouble, the Loners were perfect candidates to fill this need. And fill it they did, opening banks, storage vaults, and a broad range of related services.

Due to their prosperity, others were eager to join them. And pragmatists though they were, the Loners didn't care whether the newcomers understood or approved of the underlying philosophy, only that they lived in accordance with it.

Time passed, and before long there were more people than space to put them in, so additions were approved. There was no reason to limit mass since Tin Town was too large to negotiate a planetary atmosphere, and doing so would have compromised its security.

As a result the barge began to change shape. Her once-smooth hull grew bumps and bulges as sections were enlarged. Two globular liners were connected to the barge's bow and stern, making her the bar between two huge dumbbells. Then a forest of sensors, weapons platforms, and cooling fins appeared along with the now-famous name "Tin Town."

A soft chime interrupted McCade's thoughts as the com screen lit up. Where he expected to see a face, there was a request for a damage deposit instead. A rather
large
damage deposit.

Although the Loners placed no political restrictions on their visitors, they did insist on insuring themselves against financial loss. After all, a town without laws tends to attract some nasty visitors and without some sort of controls would soon cease to exist. Therefore each visitor was required to produce a rather substantial damage deposit before they were allowed to land.

The Loners were willing to accept a variety of assets including cash, ships, family members, specialized equipment, bodily organs, and anything else of recognized value.

McCade typed
Pegasus
's
name and legal description onto the com screen, palm printed the agreement, and swore as it faded from sight. If he or any member of his crew caused damage to Tin Town, or any of its permanent residents,
Pegasus
would be forfeit.

He didn't like it, but according to Sister Urillo, there wasn't much choice. Her sources said that Mustapha Pong had been sighted three times in recent months, all of them in Tin Town, and all of them in the company of a local businessman named Morris Sappo. The habitat was in orbit around a planet called Lexor at the moment, but there was no way to tell if that was a significant part of the Sappo-Pong relationship, or just happenstance. But it could be important, and since no one knew when the Loners might decide to move Tin Town somewhere else, time was short. If McCade wished to find Pong or, failing that, Sappo, he'd have to visit Tin Town, damage deposit and all.

Threading his way through a maze of orbiting ships and free-floating junk, McCade guided
Pegasus
into the lighted maw of Tin Town's main hatch.

The hangar was huge, taking up all of what had once been the barge's number three hold. All sorts of ships formed orderly rows to the right and the left. There were scarred freighters, sleek little one-man scouts, richly appointed space yachts, sturdy-looking tugs, and a scattering of pirate raiders. The latter were not too surprising since Tin Town was one of the few places pirates could openly visit.

Lowering
Pegasus
into her allotted berth, McCade killed the repellors and turned to his companions. "Welcome to Tin Town, a monument to money, and an eyesore in the sky. All ashore who's goin' ashore."

Though Neem and Reba didn't seem excited by the prospect, they disappeared into their cabins and showed up a few minutes later ready to go.

Reba was dressed in faded coveralls. She wore a blaster in a cross-draw holster and had a throwing knife sticking out of her right boot top.

McCade had debated the merits of taking Neem versus leaving him on the ship and, based on the Il Ronnian's previous success, had decided to take him along.

Neem was a vision in black. Black helmet, black visor, and a long black cloak that concealed his tail. He had blasters concealed in his copious sleeves, a wicked looking sword strapped across his back, and variety of knives scattered about his person.

McCade wasn't sure how Neem would react to actual combat, but he certainly
looked
like death incarnate, and maybe that would help.

A shuttle bus arrived a few minutes later, sealed its lock against the ship's and welcomed them aboard. There was something wrong with the vehicle's voice simulator that caused it to drop every fourth word.

"Welcome to Tin . . . We hope you . . . enjoy your stay . . . You may pay . . . cash or we . . . be glad to . . . you a line . . . credit secured by . . . damage deposit. Please . . . the payment plate . . . you wish to . . . credit."

McCade palmed the plate and gave thanks that Swanson-Pierce had provided a thick wad of expense money. If a shuttle ride cost fifty credits a piece, how much would a hotel room be?

The shuttle stopped twice to pick up other passengers before heading for the main terminal. Except for a birdlike Finthian and a wealthy-looking Cellite, it was a largely humanoid crowd.

The Cellite wore richly detailed pajamas. They swished softly with each movement of his stocky body and gave off a spicy scent. He wore a matching skullcap on his rounded head and, lacking a nose, breathed through his thin-lipped mouth.

As he boarded the shuttle the Cellite's eyestalks darted this way and that, examining his fellow passengers with the friendly curiosity of a small child. Then the alien caught sight of Neem and developed a sudden interest in a viewport.

McCade grinned. Neem's new disguise was having the desired effect.

The shuttle made lock-to-lock contact with the main terminal, disgorged its passengers, and issued a broken invitation for others to come aboard. Most were more drunk than sober and barely able to stagger aboard with the help of handholds and crewmates.

Reba grinned. "This place makes Spin look like a nursery school." She had to yell it over the noise of the crowd.

McCade nodded and motioned toward a broad corridor that led away from the lock and toward glittering lights. "Make a hole, Neem. We'll be right behind you."

"Having a couple of humans behind me is not my idea of a dream come true," Neem replied good-naturedly, "but everyone should live dangerously once in a while. Follow me."

And they did. Both sides of the corridor were lined with wall-to-wall shops: restaurants, bars, whorehouses, clothing stores, equipment dealers, banks, medical clinics, and weapons dealers.

And these were not passive enterprises but centers of frantic activity packed with merchandise and staffed by sentients ready and eager to unload their present stock and bring in more.

Signs blinked, hawkers yelled, and robots scurried through the crowd bleating out their prerecorded messages. "Dark dreams! Dark dreams! A place where dark dreams come true! Corridor five, cross tunnel fourteen. Dark dreams! Dark dreams!"

The air was filled with a heady mix of smells. Smoke, perfume, food, sweat, and other odors too faint to identify all fought for dominance.

McCade noticed that the crowd seemed to bunch up around the more popular haunts and thin out again to pass others by. And although the crowd was made up of all sorts of sentients, all had one thing in common. It was a look, a look that said they needed to acquire something, or satisfy some hidden need before time and money ran out, and they were forced to leave.

And here and there along the edges of the crowd the predators waited, their restless eyes skimming the crowd in search of profit or pleasure. There were all sorts: whores, pimps, thieves, pirates, mercenaries, bounty hunters, and more, all waiting, all living off the weakness of others.

But the tall black thing didn't look weak, and neither did the man and woman who strode along behind it, so the predators watched but made no move. Strength is difficult to gain and easy to lose so eventually the black thing might still be theirs.

"The House of Yarl." That was the name Sister Urillo had provided and it was right where she'd said it would be, just off the main corridor along cross tunnel twenty-three.

The name was deeply etched into a brass plate that graced an otherwise nondescript metal door. It hissed open at McCade's touch. As the bounty hunter stepped inside he found himself in a small but richly appointed lobby.

A middle-aged woman with a kindly face and two wings of dark hair looked up from a comp screen. "Welcome to the House of Yarl. My name is Portia. How may I help you?"

"We're friends of Sister Urillo's," McCade replied. "She recommended that we stay here."

"How nice," the woman replied evenly. "How
is
Sister Urillo these days?"

"The kinesthetic feedback unit you sent her is much better than the old one. She can dance now."

When Portia smiled her entire face lit up. "Excellent! It is as I hoped. There was a time when she loved dancing as much as flying. One, two, or three rooms?"

"Three," Reba said firmly.

"I don't know about you, but I feel insulted," McCade said to Neem.

"Maybe it's those cigars," Neem replied. "They're enough to drop an Ikk at thirty yards."

The woman tapped away at her keyboard and looked up at the comp screen. "Your rooms are ready. Palm the counter, then palm the doors."

McCade pressed his palm down on the counter, followed by Reba, then Neem.

Portia frowned at the alien's gloved hand but decided to let it go. Anyone wearing gloves could open the thing's door, but whatever lurked behind that visor could take care of itself and wouldn't need any advice from her.

They were just turning to go when Portia turned on her professional smile. "Thank you for choosing the House of Yarl and have a nice stay."

McCade smiled, nodded in her direction, and decided that he'd be satisfied if he got off the habitat alive.

They'd been walking for about twenty minutes and the bright lights were far behind them. Every third or fourth light was burned out or shot out, McCade couldn't tell which.

The walls were covered with graffiti, and garbage lined both sides of the corridor. The air was humid and carried the strong scent of urine. Every society has an underside and this was Tin Town's.

The people who passed them were the dregs of a society focused on self. They padded the length of Tin Town's less traveled corridors like human vultures, hoping to find the leavings of some predator, or to encounter a victim so weak that they could make the kill themselves.

But the threesome were well armed and moved with the confidence of those who know where they're going and why. And since the vultures were ever fearful of becoming victims themselves, they gave the strangers a wide berth and went in search of weaker prey.

Nonetheless, there was the very real possibility of an ambush. The corridor practically screamed, "Danger! Run for your lives!"

So while Reba managed to
look
calm, her right hand hovered over her blaster, and there was a tightness in the way she moved. Her eyes jerked toward McCade when he spoke and then darted away.

"Where did you say we were going again?"

Reba frowned. "We're looking for a good restaurant. Pay attention, Sam. We're looking for a man called Scavenger Jack. Sister Urillo has him on a retainer. If Pong's here, Jack will know."

McCade was about to say something along the lines of "Well, excuse me," when Neem snarled at the both of them.

"Cut the chatter, you two. Unless you'd like to come up and trade places with me."

Il Ronnians are partially nocturnal and have better night sight than humans so Neem was leading the way. But he didn't relish the assignment and wanted them to know it. Each side tunnel was a potential threat, and if someone started a firefight, he'd be the first to die.