McCade's Bounty (15 page)

Everywhere Molly looked she saw muted colors, subdued lighting, and carefully chosen fixtures. There was no way she could know, but this was the
Arrow
,
the very ship on which Pong had escaped from her father.

Molly sat beside Mustapha Pong on the side opposite the mind slug. She was thankful, because no matter how much time Molly spent with Pong, the Melcetian still made her nervous.

Molly felt both excitement and guilt. Excitement because she liked doing new things, and guilt because she was doing them with Mustapha Pong, and he'd attacked her planet.

And what about the other girls? True, they weren't suffering, but they weren't happy either, and wouldn't be until they returned to Alice. And what had she done to free them?

Nothing, that's what, not since her attempt to access the navcomp, and the placement of the L-band around her head. Not that the other girls
wanted
any help.

Molly felt a sudden surge of anger. Ever since the incident in the corridor things were even worse than before. Lia still hated her, but now the older girl was afraid as well, and cowered when Molly was around. This had the effect of further distancing Molly from the rest of the girls and left her completely isolated.

Yes, Molly thought to herself. Pong's right about one thing. When people betray you it's stupid to give them another chance. Why should I try and help them? Let them stay with Lia! I'll find my own way out of here and leave them behind.

Pong touched Molly's arm. "Look, child, there it is."

Molly looked out of the viewport. The alien ship was huge, large enough to be mistaken for an asteroid, or an errant moon.

Where human and even Il Ronnian spacecraft looked like what they were, this one looked like a big rock. Sunlight moved steadily across its surface as the alien vessel rotated on its axis.

Surely the ship had weapons emplacements, solar collectors, and all the other hardware common to its kind, but Molly couldn't see them.

Molly had never heard of the 56,827 before. She thought that a number made a strange name for an entire race, but Pong had explained that it was the way the aliens saw themselves, as an aggregate comprised of individual numbers.

The total number, and therefore the name of the race, changed with each birth and death. Not only that, but individual names, and their entire social order, stemmed from numbers as well.

If for example someone was born number 32,105, they would forever be junior to individual 32,104, and senior to 32,106.

And, given a long average life span and extremely low birthrate, their relative social position would remain constant for years at a time. This made for a rigid and rather hierarchical social structure.

Because of this internal rigidity Pong explained, the more ambitious members of the race were encouraged to direct their energies outward, and that explained the ship. The aliens were on the lookout for new commercial opportunities.

When Molly asked where the 56,827 came from, Pong replied that they came from somewhere beyond the rim, beyond the limits of human exploration.

As the shuttle approached, the alien spaceship grew even larger. "Are all of their ships that big?" Molly asked.

Pong looked down at her, then out of the viewport. "No, child, as a matter of fact that's the only ship they have."

Molly looked up to see if Pong was teasing her.

The pirate smiled. "I'm serious. They claim one ship is all they need. And what's even more surprising is that in spite of the ship's size, it carries only sixteen individuals, and they think it's crowded."

Molly thought about that for a moment. "They must be huge."

Molly laughed. "A logical conclusion, child, but false nonetheless. They are larger than humans, but not by much.

"No, I'm afraid it's more complicated than that. Due to conditions on their native planet the 56,827 are extremely territorial.

"From what they tell me that stems from the ancient need for individual hunting preserves. Vast lands where they could hunt. With the passage of time and the coming of advanced technology, competition has become more commercial and less carnivorous. The result is the same however. Each adult requires a large amount of personal space."

"And that accounts for the size of their ship," Molly finished for him. "They can't stand to be cooped up together."

Pong clapped his hands in approval. "Exactly, child! Correct as usual. Now excuse me while I deal with an incoming message."

Molly couldn't hear the message because it came in via the small plug in Pong's left ear. And due to the fact that the pirate subvocalized his reply, she couldn't hear that either.

Returning her attention to the alien ship, Molly saw she was right. It
was
more mechanical than it appeared. A section of the planetoid's surface had opened to reveal a spacious landing bay. A complicated latticework of laser beams reached out to touch receptors on the shuttle's hull and guide it in.

Fifteen minutes passed while the shuttle touched down inside the otherwise empty hangar, the outer door slid closed, and a breathable atmosphere was pumped into the bay.

Freed from her seat, Molly passed the time in the shuttle's control compartment, asking the pilot questions and playing with the vessel's external cameras.

The pilot, a humanoid-shaped cyborg, didn't like Molly messing around with the controls but was afraid to object. Like the rest of Pong's crew, the cyborg didn't understand her leader's relationship with Molly, and had no desire to test it.

Oblivious to these concerns, Molly activated a vid cam located halfway down the shuttle's port side, and moved it around using a small joystick. It was fun to track the robots as they scurried hither and yon, fueling the shuttle and getting in each other's way.

Molly turned a knob that caused the vid cam to zoom in and out. As the robots became larger and smaller Molly noticed something strange. Many of the robots were extremely dissimilar. Startlingly so.

Take the matter of locomotion for example. Some of the robot's walked, while others hopped, rolled, and crawled. Why so many variations? It was as though the robots had been created by different designers with wildly different ideas of how they should look and function.

As Molly watched the robots she remembered Daddy saying that mechanical artifacts vary tremendously from race to race due to environmental, physical, and cultural differences.

For example, human house bots tend to look humanoid, while their Finthian equivalents have a distinctly birdlike quality. Given that, which one of these machines looked like the 56,827?

Molly looked from robot to robot but still couldn't find many similarities. Of course form follows function where utility bots are concerned . . . so that might explain it.

Mustapha Pong interrupted her thoughts. "What are you thinking?"

Molly pointed at the screen. "The robots look different from each other. Were all of them designed by 56,827?"

Pong was startled. This girl never ceased to amaze him. Without realizing what she'd done, Molly had put her finger on the aliens' greatest secret, and their one weakness.

The truth was that the 56,827 hadn't built
any
of the robots, or the ship either for that matter, and were frightened of more technologically advanced races.

The ship was a good example. Pong knew that the 56,827 had forced another more sophisticated race to build and arm it.

Ah, but there was one thing the aliens did very well indeed, and that was fight. Pound for pound, tooth for tooth, they were among the most vicious carnivores in the known universe.

And even more importantly the 56,827 had the will to win, the absolute ruthlessness it takes to eradicate an entire race, and do so without compunction. That was the quality Pong found absent in so many humans and admired in his secret allies.

But none of this could be shared with Molly so Pong ignored her question and glanced at his wrist term instead.

"Come on, Molly, our host awaits."

Molly slid off the copilot's chair. The Melcetian mind slug quivered and color rippled across its surface.

Molly positioned herself on the opposite side of Pong's body.

"Our host? One of the 56,827?"

The pirate nodded. "Number 47,721 to be exact. You will be one of the few humans privileged to meet a member of the 56,827."

Pong almost added " . . . and survive," but decided not to.

They went alone, just Pong and Molly, down a ramp and into the bay. There was a lock set into the left side of the bay, and from the height of the controls, Molly judged the aliens were at least a foot taller than Phil.

The door whirred open, then closed. Pong whistled tunelessly while they waited. The pirate seemed preoccupied so Molly passed the time counting the number of rivets in a section of bulkhead.

Then the inner hatch slid open and Molly gave a gasp of surprise. Where she should be looking at a utilitarian corridor, or at most a reception area, there were rolling grasslands giving way to a distant forest. And where there should be gray metal, nearly invisible behind duct work, conduit, and pipe, there was a dim lavender sky. Everything looked dark and murky.

Pong smiled at her consternation. "Amazing, isn't it? A clever combination of carefully regulated biosphere and electronic trickery. As you can see the 56,827 are rather fond of their home planet and take a likeness of it wherever they go."

Molly nodded wordlessly and followed as Pong stepped out onto a dirt path and followed it up a slight rise toward a stand of strange-looking trees. Or was it "tree" singular?

Whichever it was had grown in a circle, with hard vertical trunks forming an outer stockade, and rich purple foliage hanging down into the center. They looked dark and foreboding.

They were about ten feet away from the grove when something stepped out from between the tree trunks and turned their way. Molly grabbed Pong's arm. She'd met three or four different types of aliens nose to snout, beak, or whatever, and seen holos of many more.

Over and over Molly's parents had told her that regardless of how strange another race might look to human eyes, regardless of how they sounded or smelled, what mattered was the way they behaved. Were they truthful? Ethical, by their own standards at least? Compassionate? These were the measuring sticks Molly had been taught to use.

But try as she might Molly couldn't suppress the overwhelming fear that burbled up from some primeval well deep inside her. This thing reeked of such raw unrepentant evil that it made her blood run cold.

Number 47,721 stood about seven and a half feet tall. Its head consisted of two distinct parts. A cigar-shaped section with eyes mounted at either end and, set at right angles to that, a pair of lethal-looking jaws. They parted slightly to show rows of teeth. A long rope of salivalike mucus dribbled out.

The alien had narrow shoulders, heavily muscled arms, and ivory, almost-translucent skin. 47,721's torso curved backward slightly, reminding Molly of the Terran insects she'd seen on study tapes, and was balanced on a pair of powerful legs. Each of its feet had three toes, each toe ending in a two-inch claw, each claw razor-sharp.

Pong gave Molly's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Greetings, 47,721. This numberless one comes seeking an audience."

Molly gulped as the alien looked her way. Now she saw that its eyes were huge, multifaceted, and probably much better at collecting light than hers. Molly noticed the translator hung around its neck. It spoke standard like a machine, free of accent, and without intonation. "I hereby grant the audience you seek. Is this one of the juveniles?"

Pong frowned as if hearing an undertone he didn't like. "Yes, this is a juvenile, but not one of those we discussed. This one belongs to me."

Molly looked upward at Pong. Juvenile? Discussed? Belongs to me? What were they talking about anyway?

Mucus drooped down from the alien's jaws. Its voice dropped an octave. "Careful, numberless one.
Nothing
belongs to you save that which the 56,827 grant you. But enough of this. We have much to discuss. Leave the juvenile here. It will be safe enough as long as it stays near the trees."

Pong turned to Molly. "Stay here, child. 47,721 and I have business to discuss. Do as he says and stay near the trees. I'll be gone for an hour or so."

Molly nodded silently. Much better to stay here alone than go with the alien. It was even worse than Pong's mind slug.

Pong gave her a nervous smile and turned to 47,721. "The numberless one is ready."

The alien made an inarticulate grunting sound and turned toward the path. Moments later alien and human alike had disappeared around the side of a small hill.

Molly just stood there for a moment, staring after them, half hoping that Pong would reappear. When he didn't she walked a few yards away from the trees and sat down in the grass. It smelled good.

It was silent at first. But bit by bit sound returned as tiny insects buzzed around Molly's head and a breeze rustled its way through the grass.

Had the sun been brighter, it would have been enjoyable, sitting there on what seemed like solid ground after countless days aboard ship, feeling the sunlight on her face.

But the strange twilight that surrounded Molly made her shiver instead and wish that she'd brought a cloak.

Still, Molly started to feel bored after a while, and stood up in order to look around.

Surely she could explore the immediate area without running into anything dangerous. Though somewhat dark the countryside was peaceful and quiet.

Molly saw a pile of boulders downhill and to the left. There were holes in them, big round openings that looked perfectly symmetrical and might be fun to crawl through.

Molly made her way down the slight incline and was about fifty feet away from the jumble of boulders when a voice said, "Are you old enough to speak?"

Molly looked around. She saw nothing but gently waving grass, the boulders, and forest beyond. "Yes, I'm old enough. Who are you? Where are you?"

"Right here," the voice said, and a triangular-shaped head appeared followed by a skeletal-looking body. It stood erect, but looked more sauroid than human. It wore a complicated-looking vest with a multitude of pockets. Busy hands fluttered this way and that as if searching for something to do. The creature's leathery skin was the same color as the grass and made it hard to see. "My name is Jareth."