Galactic Bounty (33 page)

McCade waited nervously for the Il Ronnian response. He was all too aware that there was no timer which would allow him to escape before the torpedoes detonated. The only way he could use them was to program them to explode on contact, and then fire them the ten or twelve feet that separated his launch tubes from the Il Ronnian hull. He'd win, but he wouldn't be around for the victory party. He wondered if he could do it. Finally, Commander Reez broke the silence.

"This is Star Sept Commander Reez. My officers and I accept your offer of surrender, rigid ones. We will power down and await further orders. Out."

As McCade stepped down onto the surface of the War World, it felt strange. He wasn't sure why. Everything seemed normal enough. A light breeze brushed his cheek, carrying with it the sweet scent of distant flowers. The warm dry air tasted good after the fetid atmosphere of the ship. But a pervasive silence cloaked everything. There were no birds chirping or insects buzzing, and as far as the eye could see, there was no movement, and aside from the destroyer slumped some distance away, no sign of life. He jumped at the sudden pinging noise as the ship's tubes started to cool. Feeling foolish, he turned to see the last of the slaves disembark under Phil's watchful eye and mill around looking curiously at their surroundings.

"Well, Phil, if we aren't back in an hour or so, you and the girls capture that destroyer and hold it against our safe return."

Phil laughed and waved a hairy paw in reply.

If the navy ensign was amused, he gave no sign of it. Ensign Peller was from the destroyer. They had grounded on the taciturn orders of the destroyer's captain, who sent them the chubby young officer as a guide, probably on the theory that Peller was the most expendable man aboard. After all, with a crippled ship to repair, the captain wasn't going to send anyone useful. And Peller certainly wasn't useful, at least to them. So far all of McCade's questions had been answered with "I don't have that information, sir," or, "I'm sorry, sir, I really wouldn't know."

As far as McCade could tell, the young officer's mind was as blank as his face.

"This way, sir," Peller said with carefully modulated politeness, and led them toward a distant structure.

McCade was struck again by the unreality of their surroundings. The unnatural symmetry of the landscape, the ensign's featureless face, and the timelessness that seemed to be part of the very air they breathed.

"It just ain't right, boss," Van Doren whispered from behind.

McCade understood the marine's reluctance to raise his voice. The silence was oppressive. He felt Sara's hand slip into his. As they walked hand in hand across the slick surface of the huge spaceport, they were awed by their own visions of what it had once been like. From its size, hundreds of ships must have grounded at once. The planet's name suggested huge war fleets, yet their surroundings held none of the grim oppressiveness common to the military installations they knew.

Come to think of it, where were the weapons emplacements, fortifications, and other military paraphernalia which should be all over the place? Why call it the "War World" if it had nothing to do with war? The silent gantries and clusters of support equipment lining the edge of the spaceport gave no answers.

"Where're we headed?" Rico asked with forced casualness. McCade turned and shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, Rico. Mr. Peller here says our presence has been requested. He didn't say by who."

If the young officer heard McCade's comment he gave no sign. Eventually they approached a massive arch of shiny red stone. Centered under the arch, a high wide door stood open in silent invitation, the darkness beyond it providing no hint of what might lie in wait, but its huge size suggesting a heavy flow of traffic. As they neared it, McCade saw it was flanked by metal plates set into the stone.

Each was covered with writing in a language he hadn't seen before. Or had he? He stopped and dredged his memory for a connection. Then it came. Bridger's plate. The one he called the "Directory." The plate in front of him and the inscriptions which covered it looked exactly like the one Bridger had found on his artifact world.

The rest of the group had followed Peller through the door and were waiting inside for McCade to catch up. As he hurried toward them, he considered the implications of what he'd just discovered. In retrospect, Bridger's discovery was truly amazing. He'd been right all along. His metal tablet
had
been a directory.

A directory to various artifact worlds, complete with coordinates. A simple road map for a long-vanished race. Driven by his hatred and deepening insanity, Bridger had picked the one that seemed to meet his need. The War World. Joining the others, McCade shook his head to Sara's silent question. He didn't want to share his thoughts with Ensign Peller. The game was not over, and he couldn't tell yet where the advantage lay.

They followed Peller down a short hall which suddenly widened into a huge chamber that once could have been a lobby. Rows of parked ground cars, tractors, and power pallets of Imperial manufacture filled most of it. McCade found that intriguing, since it suggested the navy had been in residence for some time. Long enough to need ground transportation and to have had it shipped in. He was reminded of the freighter still in orbit above.

After climbing into an open staff car, they rode in silence through the enormous corridors and halls, all of which shared the same dim, artificial light. It had a warm glow, suggesting a preference for orange or red light. Occasionally they passed giant halls filled with seats never intended to accommodate a human body. McCade noticed they were narrower than human equivalents, with higher backs and longer seats, suggesting tall, thin beings with long, spindly legs.

There were hundreds of side rooms, both large and small. From glimpses of these chambers, McCade saw that while a few were filled with unidentifiable objects, most were bare, though it appeared they hadn't always been that way. Empty pedestals, display cases, and shelves spoke of things no longer there.

The ground car turned a corner to enter a large, circular room. In it a huge, three-dimensional star map dominated all else, suspended somehow in midair, glittering as billions of miniature stars and planets wheeled through intricate paths, acting out a dance as old as time itself. While probably intended to merely reflect the natural movements of suns and planets, it managed to be much more, a work of art, a living sculpture. Circular seating surrounded it and reached up into darkness on every side.

As they climbed out of the car, their eyes were drawn to the map and its stately movements. Where had they gone, those who conceived and created this? What had happened to a race capable of such learning, architects of an entire planet, creators of such beauty?

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Swanson-Pierce said, stepping out of the shadows, into the light. His eyes too were locked on the beauty that swirled above. "I thought you'd like to see this." Tearing his eyes away from the map and turning to McCade and his people, Swanson-Pierce said, "Well, Sam, I see you've managed to indulge your weakness for dramatic violence once again."

"Lucky for you I did, Walt," McCade replied, hiding his surprise behind a cigar. "Otherwise you would have wound up as the best-dressed specimen in some Il Ronnian exobiology lab."

"I must admit we weren't expecting company, at least not so soon," the naval officer replied, strolling toward them. "But I will take this opportunity to thank both you and your companions. Hello, Section Leader Van Doren. Good to see you. Council Member Romero. You've played a critical role in all this. Thank you. And this must be none other than Sara Bridger. We were introduced many years ago, Council Member, but I doubt you remember that. I was pleased to learn of your survival."

Sara extended her hand. "Of course I remember. You've done well, Captain. I remember my father saying you were a very promising young officer."

Taking her hand, Swanson-Pierce executed a formal half-bow. "You are too kind, madam. I had great respect for your father and his death saddened me."

"Thank you," Sara said simply, "but it had to be."

"Yes," Swanson-Pierce replied. "It had to be. Come, you may find the seating none too comfortable, but it's all we have. I'm sorry I can't at the moment offer refreshments."

"Which brings us to a very interesting question," McCade said, shifting in his seat and examining a cigar with care. "How did you find out her father
was
dead? Or that she was alive for that matter?"

"Quite simply, actually," Swanson-Pierce answered. "Major Van Doren told me. Under the cover of weapons practice, he's been sending off message torps on a regular basis."

McCade swore, turning toward Van Doren. The big marine shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry, Sam . . .. For whatever it's worth, they were good reports."

Turning back to Swanson-Pierce, McCade said, "Congratulations, Walt. I should have known. I figured Laurie was your watchdog, while actually there were two."

"And a good thing too," the naval officer said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from his right sleeve. "Lieutenant Lowe's true loyalties were something of a surprise, and I'm sure, in retrospect, you'll agree that Major Van Doren came in handy from time to time."

"Granted," McCade replied, "But why, Walt? I mean why go through this whole charade? It's obvious you already knew where the War World was."

Swanson-Pierce was silent for a moment as he perched on the armrest of an alien chair. He looked at each one of them before he answered.

"Time, Sam. The answer is time. This 'charade' as you call it bought us some time. To understand why that's important, you must realize that, in most respects, I told you the truth from the very start." The naval officer held up his hand to still McCade's unuttered objections.

"Yes, yes, I'll admit I didn't tell you everything we knew, however; the fact remains that what I did tell you was mostly the truth. As you know by now, Captain Bridger finally managed to decode his so-called 'Directory,' and came up with a list of artifact worlds plus coordinates for each. On that list he found one called the 'War World.' We kept an eye on him, but frankly we didn't think he could manage to get away. By the time we realized our mistake, it was too late."

Swanson-Pierce looked at Sara and shrugged apologetically. "By then of course he was no longer sane. He became fixated on the War World as a weapon of vengeance. He imagined it to be a world dedicated to war, an arsenal which he could use to destroy the enemy which had robbed him of his wife, his daughter, and his career. With it he could destroy the pirates. If doing so meant giving that arsenal, plus his expertise, to the Il Ronn, then so be it, for he saw the pirates as the greater threat."

The naval officer gestured at their surroundings. "As you can see, his vision of the War World was not entirely correct."

"But not entirely wrong either," McCade said.

The other man nodded.

"It was a museum, wasn't it?" McCade asked. Swanson-Pierce smiled. "Good for you, Sam. I'm glad to see there's a cultured side to your personality. Yes, this whole planet is what we would consider a museum. A museum dedicated to war. The funny thing is, we can't figure out if it was built to glorify war, or to warn against it. The displays we found here could be interpreted either way. Which you see depends on your own attitude.

"In any case our experts say it was probably just part of a network of such planets, each dedicated to a particular subject, or area of interest, although most were probably natural, rather than artificial like this one. There's even the possibility that this entire worldlet is a converted battleship."

McCade tried to imagine a battleship the size of a small world. The very idea was mind boggling.

"So now you're stripping it of whatever knowledge and power you can." Sara's voice was icy.

"True enough," Swanson-Pierce replied calmly. "Although in truth the process is almost complete. It will be, as soon as we finish loading the freighter you were kind enough to save. And, for what it's worth, we've learned a great deal. Like most military museums, this one contained endless displays of what the curators considered to be antique weapons and other related gear. Needless to say much of it was quite new to us, and I might add, quite useful. Little items like the original design for a hyperdrive, for example." The naval officer smiled sardonically, enjoying the impact of his words.

"Hyperdrive?" McCade said in amazement. "I thought it was invented back during the civil war." He knew that in the hands of the man who would later declare himself "Emperor," it had proved the key to winning the war, and had later become the foundation of the Empire.

"As a student of naval history," Swanson-Pierce replied, "you'll remember an admiral named Finley."

McCade thought back to his Academy days. "Finley? The one they call the Father of the Navy?"

"The same," Swanson-Pierce agreed. "As it happens Finley's rise to that lofty rank was fueled more by luck than brave determination and brilliant service. It seems that as junior lieutenant, Finley commanded a small scout assigned as part of the escort for a supply convoy. The convoy and its escort were ambushed and nearly wiped out. With his two-man crew dead, and badly wounded himself, Finley tried to head for the nearest friendly planet. He never got there. Instead he stumbled onto this planet. It was pure blind luck. But luck that served the human race well."

"Served the Empire well, is more like it," Sara snorted.

Swanson-Pierce shrugged and smiled disarmingly. "I understand the way you feel. However, keep in mind that we're talking about something as fundamental to our present existence as hyperdrive. You'll recall that when Finley landed here, we didn't have one. And all the evidence suggests that the Il Ronn, who shortly thereafter made their existence known to us, did. In fact most experts agree they were substantially ahead of us in all areas of technology, at first contact."

Swanson-Pierce examined his immaculate fingernails critically, and then looked up meaningfully.