Galactic Bounty (24 page)

"This must be a little tropical for you, isn't it?" McCade asked.

Phil nodded in agreement as he blew a long column of smoke into the humid air. "Frankly it's hotter than an Il Ronnian steam bath."

"Somehow they knew you were human, because they put you in here with us," McCade mused.

"Hey, boss," Van Doren said. "If he's a human Variant, then he's probably augmented too." The marine continued to regard Phil with suspicion.

"Good point. Phil?" McCade said evenly. "How about it?"

"Sure," Phil replied with the wave of a hairy paw. "I'm augmented. All the usual stuff. Back-up infrared vision, amplified muscle response, razor-sharp, durasteel claws, the whole ball of wax. Doesn't do me much good against energy weapons though."

"Nonetheless," McCade said, "it can't hurt. How did you wind up here anyway, Phil?"

Phil shrugged eloquently. "I'm a research biologist indentured to United Biomed. Me and Mac. He was my partner. Anyway, we were outbound to our station on Frio IV with a load of supplies. That's when the pirate jumped us." Phil took a long, final drag from the cigar before stubbing it out.

"We didn't stand a chance," he said soberly. "When they came aboard they gunned Mac just for the hell of it. Called him a freak." Phil shook his huge head, and his lips peeled back to bare the durasteel teeth that ran the length of his short snout. "God help 'em if I ever catch 'em," he said through a growl.

McCade nodded his understanding. "Tough break, Phil . . .. Pretty much the same as what happened to us." He waved his cigar butt vaguely.

"Yeah, sure," Phil said as one round ear twitched. He obviously didn't believe a word of it.

All three were silent for a while. McCade found he couldn't stop thinking about Sara. He tried to force thoughts of her out of his mind so that he could think, plan, find some means of escape. But it didn't work.

Time passed and when the door to their cell finally screeched open, McCade found himself face-to-face with Brother Mungo.

The door clanged shut. McCade stared at Mungo with disbelief. It couldn't be. He'd seen Laurie slice Mungo's head off. He'd seen her carry it around. And later he'd seen the Treel deliver it to the Il Ronn. Nonetheless Mungo sat across from him, head firmly seated on his shoulders, eyes on the dirt floor.

"Boss . . ." Van Doren broke the silence.

"Yeah, I know, Amos," McCade answered wearily. "It's our old friend the Treel again. Well, what brings Your Supreme Softness to our humble abode? Slumming?"

Mungo's hooded eyes came up to meet his. McCade forced himself to remember that it wasn't really Mungo. It wasn't even the Treel impersonating Mungo. The sadness in those eyes was the Treel's. Speaking with Mungo's deep, melodious voice, the Treel made no attempt to hide his identity.

"As usual, you jest, rigid one. Nonetheless I shall answer your question. The great Yareel has seen fit to frown upon me. A great sadness is upon me. My suffering is beyond all knowing. I am not here of my own free will."

"Wait a minute. This guy's a Treel?" Phil interrupted.

McCade nodded.

"No kidding!" Phil exclaimed. "I remember coming across them in exobiology . . . but a real one. Damn! They're really rare."

"This one isn't," McCade replied. "Every time we turn around we trip over him."

"Why's he wearing the chemlock?" Phil asked.

"Chemlock?" McCade looked, but didn't see anything unusual about Mungo's appearance.

"Yeah," Phil insisted. "Right there behind his left ear. See it. The little black box."

McCade moved closer to take advantage of what little light there was. The Treel ignored him. It was almost invisible against Mungo's black skin, but sure enough, there was a small container tucked behind the man's left ear.

"That's a chemlock," Phil explained. "It's feeding tiny amounts of chemicals into his bloodstream. If you try to take it out . . . boom! A charge goes off and so does his head. Somebody thought it up as a way to medicate psychopaths while allowing them back into society. Never seemed to catch on though . . .. People didn't like having them around. Afraid they'd blow up without warning, I guess."

"Let's see if it really works, boss," Van Doren said cheerfully.

"Why, Amos! I'm ashamed of you. It wouldn't be fair for Mungo to lose his head twice in a row, now would it?" McCade said sternly.

"As usual, I will ignore your jibes, rigid ones. Essentially you are correct. The little container dispenses chemicals which affect my metabolism and prevent me from changing appearance. A small gift from Sept Commander Reez. He thought forcing me to appear human on a permanent basis was quite amusing." The Treel shrugged. "It's all I deserved for trusting a rigid one."

"So why the falling out?" McCade asked, settling down again by Van Doren.

The Treel paused for a moment as though gathering its thoughts. There was pain in its eyes. "You were taken away. It was hot and uncomfortable in my native form, so I assumed the guise of an Il Ronnian officer. I was escorted to the ship's recreational area and told to wait while they took Mungo's brain to a lab for pumping.

"After a while, I grew bored and decided to take a look around. There was a library just off the lounge. The auto-attendant ignored me, so I entered, hoping for a glimpse of my native planet. I selected the appropriate survey tape and plugged it into a holo player."

Watching Mungo's eyes, McCade saw the Treel's pain turn to despair.

"I turned it on. I looked, and looked again. There was nothing. Where my planet had once circled the 'Light of Yareel,' there was only the blackness of space."

The Treel looked at each of them in turn, his eyes searching their faces. Making sure they understood the significance of what he'd said. Looking for something. Compassion? Understanding? McCade couldn't tell.

"They destroyed it a year ago while I attended your Academy as Cadet Votava. They blew it up. My world, shattered into a new asteroid belt. Shattered too was the future of my race." With that his eyes fell, and he began to chant in his native tongue. The chant had an eerie quality that sent a shiver up McCade's spine. It was filled with sadness and loneliness.

In spite of Cadet Votava, Laurie and all the others the Treel had killed, McCade felt sorry for the strange alien. In a way the Treel was as much a victim as those he'd killed. After a few minutes, the chanting stopped, to be replaced by an uncomfortable silence. McCade broke it with a single word.

"Why?"

The Treel looked up through Mungo's pain-filled eyes. "I asked their computer that very question. The answer was to quell a rebellion against Il Ronnian authority. As I explained to you once before, the Il Ronn have long held our planet hostage against the good behavior of agents like myself."

A look of pride suffused Mungo's face. "But apparently my brethren at home were not as easily intimidated as I. They rose up and fought as only Treel can. Imagine fighting a race which can endlessly shift forms. One moment vicious carnivore, the next your commanding officer, and then perhaps you yourself. We have never been a large race, but nonetheless the Il Ronn lost every battle. Remember that they also had to fight the endless variety of dangerous life forms that populated my planet. In the end, they had to destroy the planet or lose face. Something they cannot stand. So now I and a few like me are all that's left."

Even Van Doren seemed touched. His voice was gentle as he said, "And they caught you?"

The Treel nodded Mungo's head. "I don't know how long I sat there staring at the print-out. It must have been a long time. When I looked up, Reez was standing in front of me with a sneer on his face." The Treel sighed.

"They paralyzed me . . .. Yes," he waved a hand in McCade's direction, "it can be done if you know what to use. Some rather pointless negotiations ensued, during which Reez attempted to secure my continued services. I refused, of course. I have some self-respect. Then I was forced to assume this form. The chemlock was inserted to make sure I would remain this way. I was then sent down in a shuttle. Actually it was your ship if I'm not mistaken," the Treel said, nodding toward McCade. "And here I am. Selling me into slavery as a human amused Commander Reez greatly."

"The bastard," Van Doren said, imagining what he'd do to the Il Ronnian officer if he had the chance.

"You know," Phil said thoughtfully, "if I had some lab facilities, I think I could disarm and remove that chemlock."

"An interesting offer," McCade replied. "However I'm not sure it would be a good idea. Our friend here tends to be a little undependable given too much freedom. Besides, I like the way he looks, don't you, Amos?"

Van Doren grunted in the affirmative.

"I have a feeling my fellow homosaps are being less than forthright," Phil said gently as he examined a gleaming durasteel claw. "Perhaps you should tell me how all this began."

McCade thought about it for a moment and concluded there was little point in keeping Phil in the dark. Plus there was always the possibility that he might help. So he briefly outlined the events leading up to their present predicament.

When he was finished, Phil gave a low whistle. "So now the Il Ronn know where the War World is and you don't."

"True, I'm afraid," McCade confessed.

Suddenly the Treel sat up and spoke. "Yes, rigid ones, suddenly I understand. The great Yareel has truly blessed me! I shall be the instrument of his revenge! I shall bring down destruction upon the Il Ronn! And you shall be my allies. Together we will destroy the infidel!"

The three humans looked at each other in amazement. From the depths of despair, the Treel had somehow been transformed into a religious zealot, and an arrogant one at that. McCade's thoughts were interrupted by the rasp of unoiled metal as someone unlatched the door to their cell.

A huge Lakorian foot kicked it open. "Out," was all its owner said.

They obeyed; there seemed no advantage in doing anything else. One by one they emerged from the dim cell to stand blinking in the Lakorian daylight.

"Move."

The order was accompanied by a powerful shove from behind, and McCade found himself propelled toward the wooden platform which dominated the center of the compound. Now it was surrounded by a milling crowd of shouting, gesticulating buyers. The slave auction had begun.

McCade was surprised. For some reason he had expected more time to pass between their arrival and subsequent sale. He felt he should have developed some sort of plan. A means to escape. Something. But for the life of him he couldn't imagine what. As they moved toward the platform, he searched for some sign of Sara. There wasn't any and his spirits sank even lower. The crowd parted to let them through. Around him McCade heard snatches of conversation. He could understand most of it since it was in standard, which functioned as a sort of universal trading language. As the humans made their way through the crowd, their merits were enthusiastically debated.

"Look at the big one, Forn . . .. If we were careful with him, he might last a whole year."

"Mebbe, mebbe, but how 'bout the furry one . . .. I say he'd do right well."

"Get serious, Forn. He'd be fine on an iceworld, but he wouldn't last a week on Lava."

"Up."

Another shove boosted McCade up the first two steps. As he gained the top he saw what might have been a Cellite being escorted off the other end of the platform. He couldn't be sure.

They were lined up without ceremony and told to strip. As McCade complied, he noted with interest that the auctioneer was an android. A General Electric Model Twenty, if he wasn't mistaken. Its makers had granted it a vaguely human appearance, though without much attention to detail. Some of its metal parts had begun to rust in the humid climate of Lakor, and it had taken some heavy-duty dents. However, in spite of the cosmetic flaws, the droid proved to be a skilled auctioneer. Evidently it had its own built-in amplifier, because when it spoke its voice boomed out across the compound with sufficient volume that even the most distant buyer could hear with ease.

"Gentlebeings . . . your attention, please. Before you is lot three on your print-out. Four human males, all in good health, all capable of running simple machinery. I direct your attention to item four. You will notice this item is an Iceworld Variant and a skilled biologist. You may wish to consider him for specialized activity. As usual we will take bids for the entire lot first. If we have no acceptable bids for the lot, we will then auction off each item separately. Bidding for lot three can now begin."

Bidding began at four thousand credits offered by a nasty-looking human dressed in worn body armor and using a nerve lash for a swagger stick. He was immediately outbid by a female Zord who, having no vocal apparatus, signaled her bids in universal sign language by use of her tentacles. Then the bidding grew hot and heavy, moving too quickly for McCade to track. The price had reached sixteen thousand credits when suddenly a booming voice cut through the cacophony as though it wasn't there.

"Twenty thousand credits, sport, and let's have done with it!"

With sudden hope, McCade searched the crowd and sure enough, standing like an island in the sea of bodies, was Rico. An enormous grin split his bearded face and tiny eyes twinkled merrily.

"Not that they're worth even half that," he added, laughing uproariously.

There were no further bids. "Sold to the human for twenty thousand credits," the android said. "Pay the slave master and collect your property."

McCade barely managed to snatch up his clothes before a Lakorian guard shoved him toward the other end of the platform with a grunted, "Off."

He was still struggling into them when a massive slap on the back threatened to drop him into the mud. "Good to see ya, ol' sport! Course I wasn't plannin' on seein' all of ya like that!" Once again the big man broke into gales of laughter.

McCade grinned and shook Rico's hand. "Go ahead, Rico, have your fun, I was never so glad to see something so ugly in my whole life! I thought we'd lost you back at the Rock!"