Imperial Bounty (4 page)

McCade shrugged. "So I suppose he chose Princess Claudia."

Swanson-Pierce nodded understandingly. "A logical conclusion . . . but as it happens . . . he didn't."

"Ya mean he picked the boy instead?" Rico asked.

"Exactly," Swanson-Pierce said.

"But why?" McCade asked. "I'd always heard Prince Alexander was about as worthless as they come. Surely the Emperor knew that."

"I honestly don't know why he picked Alexander," Swanson-Pierce said with a frown. "All I can tell you is that Admiral Keaton believes the Emperor had good reasons for his choice. According to Keaton, there was a special bond of some sort between father and son, even when Alexander was at his worst. The Admiral also believes the Emperor feared what Princess Claudia might do if she assumed the throne. Unlike her father, she's a hawk, and believes war with the Il Ronn is inevitable. In her opinion we're better off fighting them now, rather than waiting and being forced to do so later, when they're even stronger."

Now McCade was beginning to see why Sara had sided with Swanson-Pierce. If Princess Claudia took over, she might destroy the delicate balance of power preventing war between the human and Il Ronn empires. For a number of reasons humans and Il Ronn were natural enemies. Strangely enough, their mutual hostility stemmed more from similarities, than differences. Both races were ardently expansionist, and as their respective empires grew in size, the once-thick band of frontier worlds separating them grew constantly thinner. As this occurred, squabbles over real estate became increasingly common. Fortunately, the Il Ronn had evolved on a hot, dry world and, in spite of a reverence for water, detested the wet worlds so loved by humans. Nonetheless both sought certain rare ores and isotopes, and would fight for any planet which contained them.

However some of the mutual dislike stemmed from other, less obvious, causes. For one thing, the two races had very different histories and cultures. The Il Ronn had been around a long time. In fact, most authorities agreed they had preceded man into space by thousands of years. Had their culture allowed the giant leaps made possible by individualism, instead of the slow but steady growth of group consensus, chances are the Il Ronn would have rolled over the human race while it was still living in caves. But they didn't. They preferred instead a deliberate expansion, in which each potential acquisition was painstakingly studied, and then carefully annexed.

Not so the humans. Once in space, their sphere of influence expanded in rapid fits and starts, sometimes accomplishing in days what the Il Ronn might have taken centuries to do. Unfortunately, the opposite was also true. Internal dissension, bickering, and laziness often destroyed human gains more quickly than they were made. The result was two large empires of roughly equal size and power, both of which were inexorably expanding toward each other.

For years, the first emperor, and then his son, had worked to forstall the almost inevitable collision. While both had worked to prepare the Empire for the possibility of war, both had also done everything they could to avoid it. Even to the point of tolerating the pirates because they helped keep the Il Ronn in check.

Nonetheless, some had always felt conflict was certain, and couldn't be avoided. Claudia was one of these. So, if she took the throne, there was a good possibility that war would follow.

And, since only the frontier worlds separated the two empires, they would be the most likely battlefield. And that accounted for Sara's interest in helping Swanson-Pierce. She was trying to protect Alice.

McCade imagined hell bombs falling, entire cities turned to black slag, millions or even billions of lives lost, and all to please a few power-mad idiots on both sides. Viewed that way, he really didn't have much choice. For better or worse, he'd have to find the idiot prince, and put him on the throne. "OK," he said, looking from Swanson-Pierce to Sara. "I get the picture. It sounds like we don't have a helluva lot of choice."

Sara smiled, a look of relief in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam, but it's in our self-interest."

McCade blew a long streamer of smoke toward the floor. "As usual you're right, honey . . . but I'm still waiting to hear how Walt managed to lose a prince. I take it from what you said earlier that Alexander's still missing?"

The naval officer looked embarrassed and tugged at his cuffs. "I'm afraid so." He looked up resentfully. "And say what you will, it's not easy to keep track of somebody who's not only wealthy, but a bit looney to boot."

"Even so," Rico observed thoughtfully, "it seems ta me if ya turn the whole navy loose on it ya can't lose."

At that Swanson-Pierce looked even more embarrassed. "You're quite right, Rico. I wish we could. Unfortunately that's not possible."

"Why not?" McCade and Sara asked the question almost in unison. Sara was just as curious as McCade, since her earlier conversation with Swanson-Pierce hadn't proceeded this far.

The naval officer paused as he slumped farther down in his chair. "Because," he said, "at least half the navy doesn't want Prince Alexander found."

McCade slowly shook his head back and forth, marveling at his own stupidity. "Of course. I should have known. The ship which just popped out of hyperspace and slipped us those torps wasn't captured by the pirates or Il Ronn. It was navy, wasn't it? Somebody who doesn't want Alexander on the throne."

"Claudia," Sara said to herself. "It's got to be Claudia."

Swanson-Pierce nodded reluctantly. "Evidently the Emperor believed Alexander to be alive. Nonetheless, in his message to Admiral Keaton he indicated that if Alexander can't be found within three standard months, Claudia must ascend the throne for the good of the Empire. Claudia believes Alexander is dead . . . but she's not taking any chances."

McCade gave a long, low whistle. "Claudia doesn't want her brother on the throne . . . and knows you're trying to find him and put him there. My, my, Walt. She must want you in the worst way. Can't say as I blame her, of course. God knows you're irritating! Nonetheless, sending a light cruiser after you strikes me as a bit excessive."

The other man allowed himself a bleak smile. "I admit the princess is annoyed with me, and Admiral Keaton too for that matter. However, you'll be interested to learn she's not too thrilled with you either. In fact she's already hired the Assassin's Guild to kill you." For a long time only the hiss of the air conditioning filled the room.

No matter how many planets McCade saw, there would always be something special about Terra. Even though he'd spent far more time away from Earth than on her, she still seemed like home. And many others felt the same way. In fact, for most humans, Terra would always be the emotional center of the Empire. After all, it was from her ancient surface that thousands of ships had lifted and disappeared into the blackness of space. In those days there was no hyperdrive. The colonists had crawled toward the distant stars, often taking years to make the one-way journey. Many died along the way. Sometimes entire ships, and even groups of ships, disappeared without a trace. Of course, some made it too. Their weary worn-out vessels dropping out of alien skies never to rise again. But even then the struggle was far from over. Hostile environments, poor equipment, and a lack of experience finished most colonies off within a few years. But a precious few somehow managed to beat the odds. Through good planning, or just good luck, they managed to hang on. Over time, they grew more numerous, eventually prospered, and even formed an interstellar government. A virgin planet was chosen as a capital and populated with millions of people sent to represent thousands of worlds.

But it wasn't easy. Advantage for some always meant sacrifice for others. Special interest groups battled constantly, alliances were forged and then broken, laws passed and then ignored. Finally a coalition of systems seceded from the Confederation. A terrible civil war followed.

From the ensuing chaos there emerged a single man strong enough, and smart enough, to build something from the ashes. His followers proclaimed him Emperor.

Though many things to many people, the Emperor was above all else a master psychologist, a PR man par excellence. During the early days of his rule he sensed Terra's symbolic and emotional value, and decided to leave the bombed-out Confederation capital as it was. Rather than rebuild, he declared it a monument to peace, thereby creating a permanent reminder of his greatest victory, and restoring Earth to her former glory. It was a popular decision.

Of course, some refused his rule. Especially those who'd fought valiantly against him during the civil war. Many of them headed for the Empire's frontiers. They eventually became pirates, raiding the Empire's commerce, and plundering the frontier worlds along the rim. At first the Emperor tried to destroy them. He sent Admiral Keaton to find and wipe out the pirate fleet. Keaton found them near the planet Hell and, while soundly defeating them, didn't manage to destroy them.

Elements of the pirate fleet escaped, later attacking an Imperial prison world in an attempt to free their imprisoned comrades and, much to their own surprise, winning. Having no other place to go, they were eventually forced to make the prison their home. If you can call an impregnable fortress, surrounded by orbiting weapons platforms, "home."

Having no desire to waste ships or lives attacking the pirate headquarters, the Emperor decided to tolerate the pirates as long as they didn't get out of hand. A pragmatist to the end, the Emperor decided the pirates might feed off the Empire, but by god they would defend it as well. Their eternal skirmishes with the Il Ronn made for less pressure on the navy, which in turn lowered taxes, which made his wealthy supporters happy. Not long after making that decision, he died and his son took the throne. Now the son was also dead, and
his
son must follow, or the entire Empire might be lost.

McCade looked at Terra on his main viewscreen and sighed. She floated against the black backdrop of space like a blue-green jewel wrapped in cotton. He was approaching her slowly, almost reluctantly, delaying the moment when
Pegasus
entered Earth's gravitational field and was pulled down toward the surface. Once there he'd be committed, forced to begin the search for Alexander, and unable to quit once he got started. And it wouldn't be easy. Arrayed against him were Claudia, her personal retainers, and a vast number of governmental and military personnel willing to do her bidding.

According to Walt, a large number of people were betting their careers that the prince wouldn't be found. Or, he thought grimly, that if found, the prince wouldn't live long enough to take the throne.

And, if Claudia's plans for McCade were any example, they were probably right. She must have a spy on Admiral Keaton's staff, because within hours of his decision to solicit McCade's help, she'd filed with the Assassin's Guild for a level-three license on the bounty hunter. A level three would allow the assassins to kill not only McCade, but anyone else who happened to be in the way as well. It was legal, but damned expensive, and indicated how much she wanted him out of the way. And to make things even worse, he'd run up against the Guild in the past, and they were no doubt looking forward to evening the score. It was a depressing thought.

He shook his head ruefully, and Terra disappeared behind a cloud of smoke as he puffed a new cigar into life. He tapped a few keys on the control console.
Pegasus
picked up speed, and started down toward the planet below. Somewhere down there he'd find Alexander's trail. It was more than two years cold, but he'd find it. Just as he'd found so many others over the years.

Bounty hunters were a strange breed. Hated by fugitives, disliked by planetary police, and romanticized by the public, they lived a strange twilight existence between two worlds. Heroes one moment, villains the next, bounty hunters soon learned to trust no one but themselves. They lived to run up their score, both for the financial rewards involved, and for their own egos. In so doing they performed an important function.

Like every other human society the Empire generated its share of criminals, sociopaths, and perverts. While most planets had some form of police force, there was no interplanetary agency for law enforcement. Oh, it had been suggested often enough, but ultimately no one wanted to pay for it. The last thing people wanted was more taxes. Besides, the planets valued what independence they had, and weren't eager to create still another Imperial agency to start mucking around in their affairs. So, bounty hunters were just another expression of the Emperor's pragmatism. If it works, leave it alone. And it certainly worked.

Bounty hunters could access a current list of interplanetary fugitives on any public terminal. Listed were their names, aliases, histories, habitual weapons, and, most important of all, the size of the reward offered for their capture or death. Sometimes the reward was conditional, specifying a particular fugitive must be brought in alive, but that was rare. Normally dead was just fine. Having picked a particular fugitive, the bounty hunter would punch the person's name and ID number into the terminal, and request a hunting license for that particular individual. This was an important step, since capturing or killing a fugitive without a license was considered a public service, and produced nothing more than a thank you letter.

McCade grinned to himself. It had happened to
him
once. And he'd sworn it would never happen again. Which is why he'd spent a lot of time and energy convincing Swanson-Pierce to offer a little extra motivation in the form of a reward. A sort of Imperial bounty.

Public service was well and good, but there was retirement to think about and besides, there was always the chance somebody might blow his ass off. Deep down, however, he knew the idea of giving Walt something for free just plain grated on his nerves. So, one million credits seemed like a nice round number. Sara resisted at first, until McCade suggested that perhaps Swanson-Pierce should throw in a class "A" fusion reactor for Alice as well, and then she'd jumped on the bandwagon with a vengeance. A class "A" reactor would provide enough power for the planet's needs well into the future. Walt never knew what hit him. Sara quickly had him wrapped around her little finger. In fact, Walt was damned lucky to get off that easy. McCade smiled at the thought.