Alien Bounty (2 page)

He ate until the food was gone, belched his approval, and tossed his plate aside. Then he wiped his fingers on the front of his robe, blew his nose, and cleared his throat.

This was such an obvious signal that McCade expected the crowd to quiet down. But they didn't and the noise continued unabated.

The fat man frowned. Reaching inside his robes, he brought out a huge slug gun. Pointing it toward the audience, he pulled the trigger. The gun roared and a pimp sitting in the last row lost his hat.

The room fell silent. The fat man grinned his satisfaction and made the gun disappear. "That's better. We'll have order in this court or I'll know the reason why."

The fat man picked up a printout, blew the crumbs off it, and turned toward McCade. "My name's Benjamin Borga, a duly qualified judge in the courts of Molaria and a helluva nice guy."

Borga turned his attention back to the printout without waiting for McCade's response. "Let the record show that one Sam McCade stands before the court accused of serious crimes and subject to Molarian law."

Here Borga paused and smiled at the crowd. They cheered in anticipation of what he'd say next. "Also present is a jury of McCade's peers, duly sworn in and ready to earn the princely sum of fifty credits for a hard day's work."

The crowd cheered even louder.

Now McCade understood. The crowd was a paid jury. That's why it was heavily loaded with indigents, drifters, and petty criminals.

"The law clerk will now read a list of McCade's crimes."

The stentorian voice was back, and this time McCade realized it was a computer, and a somewhat pompous computer at that.

"Citizen Sam McCade stands accused of attempted fraud, animal theft, destruction of private property, reckless riding, felonious flight from the law, attempted murder, resisting arrest, and disrespect for an officer of the law."

Borga slumped back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "So, McCade, how do you plead?"

McCade looked around. Some of the so-called jurors were still eating, others were asleep, and the rest were talking among themselves. The whole thing was a joke. He was about to say so when the courtroom doors burst open, a section leader yelled, "Freeze!" and twenty Imperial Marines trotted into the room.

They wore full armor and carried their blast rifles at port arms. Within seconds they had established interlocking lines of fire that covered the entire audience.

An uneasy murmur swept through the crowd. Some of the jurors got up to leave but took their seats again when the section leader used his energy rifle to punch holes in the durocrete wall over their heads.

A tall, slim man strode into the courtroom a few seconds later. He wore armor with the stars of a full admiral welded to both shoulder plates and carried a helmet tucked under his right arm. He was good-looking in a carefully groomed way, and as he approached the bench, he surveyed the room with obvious distaste.

Borga was on his feet. His face was beet red and his piggy little eyes glared with malevolence. "Who the hell are you? How dare you invade my courtroom? I demand to know the meaning of this!"

The admiral stopped, looked at Borga, and frowned. "It
means
that you are in deep trouble. My name is Swanson-Pierce. Now shut up and sit down."

Swanson-Pierce turned toward McCade. "Hello, Sam." He looked the bounty hunter up and down. "You've never been an example of sartorial elegance . . . but this is absurd."

Swanson-Pierce gave McCade a VIP cabin and a robo steward called "Slider." Thus equipped he ate and slept his way through two planetary rotations. The weeks in Pit 47 had taken their toll. He was tired and unendingly hungry.

It became a routine. He'd wake up, eat the food Slider brought, and go back to sleep. But the periods of sleep became shorter and shorter as time passed until he finally rolled out of bed early in the third rotation.

He took a shower, put on a set of new leathers, and lit his first cigar in months. He took a drag and decided the cigar was a bit on the sweet side. But sweet or not the cigar was free so what the hell. McCade settled into a comfortable chair and blew a long, thin steamer of smoke toward the overhead.

Slider extruded an olfactory sensor, detected airborne impurities, and sprayed the air with deodorant. As with most military robots, form had been allowed to follow function and Slider looked like a box on wheels. "I'm sorry about the smell, sir. I'll notify the ship's atmospheric control center if it's bothering you."

McCade smiled. "Thanks, Slider, but that won't be necessary. I like the smell. That's why I set these things on fire."

"Oh," the robot replied, "I understand," although it was quite clear that he didn't.

The intercom chimed and faded up from black. Swanson-Pierce was at his impeccable best. His space-black uniform was completely unadorned except for the gold stars that marked his rank. "So you're up and around. I must say you look better with some clothes on."

"And I'm warmer too," McCade replied. "Thanks for the timely court appearance. You made one helluva character witness."

"It was my pleasure," Swanson-Pierce replied solemnly, and McCade knew he was telling the truth. The two of them went way back and the relationship was anything but friendly. Finding McCade naked in the middle of a courtroom was a dream come true, an incident Swanson-Pierce would hold over his head for years to come.

A new belt and holster hung from the arm of his chair. McCade pulled the Molg-Sader recoilless from its oiled leather and aimed at the screen. "And there's all the goodies you've been handing out. I guess I should thank you for those as well."

The naval officer lifted a single eyebrow and smiled.

As McCade lowered the gun he knew the bastard was up to something. The VIP cabin, the cigars, the new handgun, it was all part of an effort to soften him up. Make him willing to do something. The question was what.

McCade forced a smile. "How's Rico? I assume he's the one who told you where I was."

The naval officer nodded. "Rico's just fine. As usual he's down in the officer's mess eating. Just a moment. I have a surprise for you."

Swanson-Pierce stepped out and Sara stepped in. She held Molly in her arms. Both were smiling.

Sara was beautiful. A softly rounded face, large hazel eyes, and full red lips. He no longer saw the scar that slashed down across her face. Like the battle that had caused it, the scar was part of the past.

Both were satisfied to simply take each other in for a moment. Then Molly waved her chubby arms, kicked her legs, and said, "Gaaa!"

Sara laughed, McCade grinned, and Molly gurgled.

Swanson-Pierce stepped into the picture and smiled. "We sent a destroyer to get Sara, and a good thing too. She was getting ready to come after you. Why don't you join us? Your robo steward will show you the way."

McCade stared at the screen for a full minute after it had faded to black. It was wonderful to see his family again, but why all the hospitality?

Yes, he had some friends in high places, including the Emperor himself. After the second Emperor's death Princess Claudia had tried to usurp her brother's place, and would have, if McCade hadn't tracked Alexander down and helped him to assume the throne.

Knowing that, Rico had used his friend's relationship with the Emperor to summon help. Allright fine, but why the VIP treatment? And why bring his family from Alice?

Well, there was no point in putting off the inevitable, and besides, Sara was waiting. With Slider out front to lead the way, McCade took to the ship's busy corridors.

McCade's leathers were those of an officer, and even though he wore no badges of rank, he was on the receiving end of more than a few salutes. It brought back memories of a younger time when he'd worn lieutenant's bars and the wings of an interceptor pilot. Of a time when he'd blasted out to fight the pirates off the planet Hell.

They'd called themselves rebels back then, the stubborn remnants of a larger force that had been all but wiped out during a protracted civil war. Refusing the first Emperor's rule, they had forced one last battle and McCade had been there.

He could see the pirate ship locked in the electronic cross hairs of his sight, feel the firing stud under his thumb, and hear the pirate's desperate voice. "Please, in the name of whatever gods you worship, I implore you, don't fire! My ship is unarmed. I have only women, children, and old men aboard . . . Please listen to me!"

McCade could hear the second voice as well, Captain Ian Bridger's voice as he screamed: "Fire, Lieutenant! That's an order! She's lying. Fire, damn you!"

But McCade had refused. And in doing so he ended his naval career and wound up as a bounty hunter.

An interstellar police force would cost a great deal of money, so interplanetary law enforcement was carried out by bounty hunters, men and women who pursued fugitives for a price. They were a strange breed hated by those they sought and feared by those they served. The perfect profession for a cashiered naval officer in need of funds.

So when Ian Bridger uncovered the existence of an artifact planet called the "War World," and decided to give its secrets to the alien II Ronn, Admiral Keaton had asked McCade to track him down. McCade met Bridger's daughter Sara in the process, fell in love, and settled on Alice.

Slider arrived at a busy intersection, tried to stop, and slid into a burly chief petty officer. The CPO lost his balance, his omnipresent coffee cup, and a considerable amount of his dignity as he hit the deck.

The chief scrambled to his feet, kicked Slider in the rear power port, and stalked off down the corridor.

McCade helped the robot back onto its rollers. "Don't tell me, let me guess. This is why they call you Slider."

Slider nodded his torso miserably. "I'm afraid so. It's very disconcerting. RoboTech Hu can't find the problem."

"Well, it could be worse," McCade said. "At least they think you're worth fixing."

Slider was silent for a moment and then seemed to brighten up. "That
is
good, isn't it?"

McCade nodded. "It sure beats a future in the spare parts business."

From there it was a short walk to Swanson-Pierce's day cabin. A pair of marines stood guarding the door. They snapped to attention as McCade approached, and waved him inside. He was surrounded by people the moment he stepped through the hatch.

Rico was there, slapping him on the back and saying, "Good ta see ya, ol' sport."

Sara was in his arms seconds later, her eyes large with concern, the clean smell of her filling his nostrils. "Are you all right? You look so skinny."

As their lips met McCade felt two little arms wrap themselves around his right leg. Looking down, he saw two bright eyes, a mop of brown hair, and a big grin. "Da?"

McCade scooped Molly up into a three-way hug, kissed her, and laughed as she grabbed his nose.

Glancing toward Swanson-Pierce, he saw something completely unexpected. A look of envy. It reminded him that there was a man under that uniform, a man who'd never been married, and had only his career to keep him warm at night.

He shook the feeling off. When Swanson-Pierce wanted something he'd use anything to get it, including McCade's sympathy if he knew it existed.

Swanson-Pierce smiled and gestured toward some comfortable-looking furniture. "Have a seat, Sam . . . I rarely get a visit from friends . . . so this was too good to pass up."

"It's hard to visit with something you don't have," McCade mumbled under his breath.

Swanson-Pierce ignored it, Rico grinned, and Sara gave him a sharp look as they took their seats.

There was a wall-sized viewscreen behind the naval officer. Molaria was a brown ball marbled with white clouds and streaked with blue. It hung in the middle of the viewscreen like a painting in a frame.

The naval officer saw McCade's look and pointed a thumb over his right shoulder. "Things have changed since you left. A marine division went dirt-side two rotations ago. They've taken control of the government, the armed forces, and the judicial system."

Swanson-Pierce smiled. "Judge Borga is looking for Nerlinium Crystals in the deeps, his so-called jury has been dismissed, and we're sorting out the people in the pits. We've known about Molaria for some time. Your situation gave us a good excuse to move in and clean things up."

McCade felt a strange sense of pride. Since taking the throne, Alexander had launched a concerted effort to clean up some of the worst planetary governments. The effort was long overdue, and while McCade couldn't take credit for that, he'd certainly helped make it possible.

"How is Alex anyway?"

The naval officer winced. No one else would dare refer to the prince as "Alex," but it wouldn't do any good to complain, since McCade had permission from the Emperor himself.

"Just fine. As you know he and Lady Linnea are married now, and she's expecting. They both send their best."

McCade nodded. "They're good people. Maybe there's hope for us yet."

Swanson-Pierce was strangely quiet as he reached inside his jacket and brought out a sealed envelope. Wordlessly he handed the envelope to McCade.

The envelope bore the Imperial crest, Alexander's seal, and McCade's name. He opened the envelope and, with Sara looking over his shoulder, read the contents.

 
Dear Sam,
I was sorry to hear about your problems on Molaria, but Walter will sort it out and probably rub you the wrong way in the process. Please forgive him. He acts in my behalf, and pompous though he may be, Walter is doing a great deal to hold the Empire together. And God knows the Empire is all that stands between us and final darkness.
We need time, Sam, time to make it stronger, and time to make it better. I know you have no love for empires, ours or theirs, but consider the alternatives. Entire worlds burned down to bare rock, billions of lives lost, and a future filled with tyranny. So if Walter asks for a favor, listen, and if you wont do it for him, then please do it for me.
Regardless of what you decide, anything within my power is yours, and that includes my friendship.

Alex