Imperial Bounty (7 page)

She nodded eagerly. "Exactly. Before he left on that trip, he was talking about how hard it is to know yourself when everything you do ends up on the holo. I think he wanted to find out what he could do without either the advantages or disadvantages of his position."

"I see," McCade said thoughtfully. Though he didn't really. The whole thing didn't make much sense to him. While everyone else is out working their butts off trying to make money, this bozo has tons of it, and doesn't want it. Instead he wants to find out what life's like without it. Hell, it's miserable. Everyone knows that. But she obviously believed and understood Alex. They were both silent for a while.

After a moment McCade asked, "Feeling as you do, why didn't you go with him?"

Much to his surprise, she looked down at her lap, apparently ashamed. "He didn't ask me. I'm afraid he didn't trust me." She looked up, and he saw a tear trickling gently down her cheek. "And he was right. At first I didn't understand. If I'd known I would have betrayed him, thinking it was for his own good." She wiped the tear away with the sleeve of her robe. "But not anymore. I've done a lot of thinking since then. Anyway, I'm sure he'd want to know about his father's death."

McCade rose to go, impatient now that he had a lead. "Thank you, Lady Linnea. I appreciate your help."

"You'll go to Joyo's Roid?"

McCade nodded. "It's the only lead I have."

Silently she led him back to the small side entry, and out into the chill night air. The warm-air blowers came on, but she unconsciously cinched the robe more tightly anyway. She turned toward him and paused. For a moment her eyes searched his face, as though looking for some sign of what would come, and then, as if finding it, nodded to herself. "You'll find him, Sam McCade. And when you do . . . tell him I love him . . . tell him we need him."

McCade found himself nodding in agreement. She smiled, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek. "And tell your wife I think she's a very lucky lady." With that she was gone. The door hissed closed, and he was alone.

This time he didn't bother to dash from shadow to shadow. Instead he just strolled through the trees as though he owned the place. A few minutes later he stepped out of the bushes and onto the road. A light flashed twice from down the road, and he heard the sound of a hover car starting up.

Phil and Rico had dumped the tail and come back for him. Good, it would have been a long hike to the nearest transcar terminal. The car pulled up next to him, and the blast of warm air felt good as the door opened, and he climbed inside.

"Good ta see ya, sport. Where to?" Rico asked cheerfully.

"The hotel, Rico. And in the morning we'll get our butts off this planet while they're still intact."

"A wise decision indeed," Phil agreed soberly as he fed more power to the big turbine, and they accelerated smoothly away from Lady Linnea's estate.

The sun was barely in the sky when they left the hotel for the spaceport. No one said anything, but all three were nervous. Why hadn't the assassins struck? Surely they wouldn't allow their prey to leave Terra unmolested? Yet nothing happened. Hands hovered near gun butts as they entered their rented hover car, eyes scanned the sparse early morning traffic as they drove toward the spaceport, and minds grew edgy waiting.

As they neared the spaceport, they heard the rolling thunder as ships lifted off, and saw distant sparks of light shoot upward toward the blackness of space. Then the green belt surrounding the spaceport came and went, followed by the outer perimeter security fence, and the outlying buildings. Still no assassins.

So as they pulled up in front of the main terminal, the muscle in McCade's left cheek had begun to twitch, and his gut felt like it was full of liquid lead. Where the hell were they? He felt like screaming, "Come on out, you bastards, and let's get it over with!" Nonetheless he did his best to hide it. Never let 'em see you sweat.

They took turns going through the customs booths. While one was processed the other two stood guard. When all three had been cleared, they left the terminal and jumped on a shuttle bus. As it neared
Pegasus,
McCade's spirits began to soar. "We made it, by God!" For some reason the assassins had left them alone, and soon they'd be safely off-planet.

Then as quickly as they'd gone up, his spirits came tumbling down. "Looks like trouble up ahead, Sam," Phil said tensely. "There's about twenty marines waiting by the ship." McCade wished he had Phil's enhanced vision. Without it the marines looked like little dots.

"Marines?" McCade wondered aloud. What the hell were marines doing here? Could they be assassins disguised as marines? No, that was expressly forbidden by law. But it didn't bode well. Marines meant the government, which in turn meant Claudia, and all things considered, he'd rather deal with the assassins. At least you could shoot at them.

As the bus began to slow, they looked at each other and shrugged. "We'll have to play it by ear, gentlemen," McCade said.

"Somebody already played with
his
ear," Rico commented, inclining his head toward the marines. Rico was referring to the marine major who stood facing the shuttle, his back ramrod straight, a leather-covered swagger stick tapping one leg. Where his left ear should have been, there was only scar tissue. His bullet-shaped head was shaved in the style of the elite Star Guard, and his features seemed made of stone. A real hard ass. McCade knew the type and didn't like them.

"Citizen Sam McCade?" The authority in the Major's voice evoked the many years McCade had spent in uniform, and he almost replied with a conditioned "Yes, sir!" Instead he took his time, looking the Major over, as though examining a strange species of alien insect under the microscope. A scarlet flush started at the Major's stiff collar and worked its way up across his face. Finally, just when it appeared the Major might explode, McCade said, "I'm Sam McCade. Nice of you to drop in. Are you here to help with the luggage?"

By now a vein throbbed in the Major's forehead, and only his iron will, wedded to thirty-two years of disciplined service, was keeping McCade alive. The Major's eyes narrowed as Phil and Rico drifted off to each side. Three targets instead of one. They'd take on twenty marines by God! If only his orders allowed, but there was no point in wishing, best to just swallow his pride and get it over with. "Citizen McCade," he said formally, "I am Major Tellor. It is my honor to convey a message from the Imperial household. You and your companions are hereby invited to attend the finals of the 3-D games as guests of her royal highness, Princess Claudia. We are your escort."

McCade eyed the front rank of marines. They had a choice. Take on the marines, or accept the so-called "invitation." And McCade didn't like orders. But taking on the marines looked like a major project. Each held his energy weapon at port arms. Within a second they could bring them up and fire. And these were not recruits. They were hand-picked veterans. The choice was really no choice at all. "Well, Major," McCade replied lightly, "this is an honor. We'd love to come. Right, men?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Rico replied with mock gravity.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Phil added in a bass growl.

McCade thought he saw a flash of disappointment in the Major's eyes as he murmured an order into his wrist com. Moments later, three helicopter gunships clattered in out of the sun and blew dust in every direction as they touched down. Climbing aboard the nearest chopper, McCade knew he'd made the right decision. Even if they'd managed to take out the marines, the gunships would have arrived a few seconds later and cut them to shreds. At least they still had their weapons and therefore a chance, however small.

It took about an hour to reach the Imperial Coliseum. McCade tried to use the time constructively by imagining what Claudia might say and how he'd respond. He quickly bogged down in all the possibilities and decided to watch the scenery instead. As they approached the coliseum McCade remembered that the ancient city of Detroit had been completely leveled to make room for it. First came the miles of green fields and forest which served as a buffer between the coliseum and the surrounding suburbs. Then came the vast parking lots filled with ground cars, aircars, hover cars, and more. They sparkled and glittered in the morning sun.

Then came the coliseum itself. It had been excavated rather than built. Layer after layer of earth had been carved away to create broad terraces, each cascading downward to the next, until finally reaching the flat playing field hundreds of feet below. Each terrace had been carpeted with variant green grass so tough it could compete with the strongest synthetic carpeting. Then the terraces had been divided into sections. Patrons could choose the type of seating they preferred. There were large sections of comfortable seats, complete with built-in holo tanks, on which they could watch the action below. Or, they could lounge about in the open grassy areas, appropriate for picnics or sunbathing. Tastefully placed clumps of trees offered shade and pleased the eye. Gone was the duracrete ugliness of most arenas. The whole thing was more like a park than a coliseum. Each terrace also offered a variety of restaurants and snack bars to serve the multitude of people who packed the place. People were everywhere. Their clothing created a multicolored moving mosaic that shifted endlessly over the green grass. McCade estimated there were at least a million people in the coliseum, and room for more.

At the very center of the coliseum stood a tower as tall as the arena itself. In spite of its location, the tower's slim profile blocked very little of the playing field. It too was terraced, offered a variety of seating choices, and a number of open-air restaurants. But there was more. This was the province of the rich and powerful. Streams and waterfalls cascaded down the sides of the tower, to feed countless swimming pools, and eventually fill the moat below. Miniature villas dotted its sides, each a small mansion in itself, each the private preserve of a wealthy individual or family.

Above, the climate-controlled blue sky promised only the best of weather, and below, the miles and miles of now-empty playing surface promised moments of excitement in otherwise dull and pampered lives. As their chopper lost altitude, McCade wondered what sort of games were popular these days.

McCade put those thoughts aside. Claudia was waiting somewhere below, and he wasn't looking forward to meeting her.

The chopper landed with a gentle thump, and they were quickly herded into some sort of a lift tube. The platform dropped quickly before coming to an abrupt stop. From the tube's banged-up interior, McCade got the impression it was normally used for freight. A subtle insult by Major Tellor? Probably.

They were led off the platform, and through a bewildering maze of halls and corridors. When they finally emerged into sunlight once more, they were standing on a narrow terrace, with an incredible view of the surrounding coliseum. However, the quality of the view suddenly deteriorated as Major Tellor stepped into it. His expression was anything but pleasant. Glancing around to make sure no one was listening, he spoke in tones pitched so low, they couldn't be heard even a few feet away.

"Now, you three clowns listen, and listen good. You're about to have an audience with Princess Claudia. For some reason she insists you be allowed to keep your weapons. I recommended against it, and was overruled. I don't like to be overruled, so I'm pissed. And when I'm pissed, I like to hurt people. I'd like to hurt you. So I'm going to watch everything you do . . . and if one of you even brushes a weapon with his hand . . . he's dead meat. Maybe one of you will give me an excuse—and please, God—let it be you." The Major drove the last word home by stabbing a stiffened index finger into McCade's chest. Because McCade was wearing body armor under his clothes he didn't feel it. He looked down at the Major's finger and then up into his eyes. Slowly he smiled his most insulting smile.

"Yes, mommy, we promise to be good. Now get lost."

For a moment Phil thought McCade had pushed the Major too far. Murder blazed in his eyes. With a major effort, Tellor managed to bring his anger under control, and take a step backward. "You've been warned, scum." With that he executed a perfect about-face, and disappeared to their left. No sooner was the marine gone than a beautiful woman appeared. At first McCade couldn't quite place her. Then she smiled, and he realized it was Lady Linnea Forbes-Smith. She looked different with her clothes on.

In fact she was like another person, cold, distant, and imperial. As she introduced herself, she allowed no flicker of recognition to touch her features, and when she asked them to follow, it was more an order than a request. She led them toward the far end of the terrace, where McCade saw a single glass-topped table, and two chairs. One was already occupied by a young woman, who could be none other than Princess Claudia. He wasn't sure, because her face was shaded by a large disk of brightly colored fabric which hovered above her. He assumed it was kept there by some sort of anti-grav device.

They were still fifteen feet away from Claudia's table when Lady Linnea paused, and skillfully guided Rico and Phil into waiting chairs. Apparently the princess wanted to speak privately with McCade. Rico and Phil were more than a little relieved. Neither wanted to sit down and make polite conversation with Claudia. "Try not to do anything crude, Sam," Phil cautioned airily. "Rico and I have our reputations to consider."

"I'll keep your reputations in mind throughout," McCade promised dryly.

"The princess will see you now, Citizen McCade," Lady Linnea said tactfully.

"I think she means you should get your butt in gear," Rico suggested as he lit a cigar.

Linnea smiled in spite of herself, and said, "We shouldn't keep the princess waiting."

McCade nodded, and as he turned to go, he would've sworn he heard her whisper, "Good luck, Sam!" but couldn't be sure. As he approached Claudia's table, he was surprised to see how young she was. Thirty at the most. Somehow he'd thought of her as older than that. She had hard blue eyes, a long straight nose, thin lips, and shoulder-length blond hair. Her clothes were fashionable, but cut with almost military severity, and seemed too big for her thin body. She was playing with a silver stylus. He noticed that her nails were clipped short and blunt and her fingers were heavily stained by some sort of chemicals. Later he learned her hobby was experimental hydroponics. A little something she'd picked up in the navy.