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Fourteen

McCade gritted his teeth, and ordered his crawler forward. With Fesker's rig out of action, someone had to tackle the doors, even though it seemed hopeless.

McCade was thrown in one direction, and then another, as his driver, Freak, did his best to avoid the flashing blue beams that stuttered out from Torb's weapons. Hawkins tried to provide covering fire, but Torb's gunners ignored him, throwing everything they had at the crawler racing toward them.

Then their port engine took a direct hit, and McCade was half blinded by the flash, and almost deafened by the loud explosion. An energy beam sliced through the right track, and the crawler slewed left as Freak dumped power and thumbed the intercom. "OK, people, this is the end of the line. Please pay the driver as you disembark. All gratuities will be appreciated."

As men tumbled out of the crawler and ran for cover, McCade did his best to cover them, but here and there they jerked and fell, as a hail of lead and lethal energy tossed them about like so many rag dolls. He felt sick. Now they were well and truly screwed. The whole thing was a complete disaster. It was time to surrender and save as many lives as he could. He was reaching for his mic when the radio squawked into life, and Hawkins said, "Damn! Look at that, boss! They're opening the doors!"

McCade looked, and sure enough, the huge double doors were slowly sliding upward. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like there was some kind of a fight going on inside the dome. It didn't make sense, but what the hell, some chance was better than none. He keyed his mic and said, "Go, Hawkins! Get the hell in there and secure the dome!"

Hawkins didn't reply. He didn't have to. His crawler spewed gravel, and threw up a cloud of dust as it swept around a big pile of empty cargo pods and roared toward the dome. McCade swore under his breath as he saw the doors reverse direction and start downward. Whatever the problem was, Torb's men had it under control, but could they close the doors in time? Hawkins was close, closer, through! The doors closed behind him.

Once inside the dome Torb's guards didn't stand a chance. Hawkins had a field day, grinning as he cut down the running guards, using the crawler to grind them into paste.

Ten minutes later the battle was over, and ten hours later, McCade was ready to lift off Worm. The dome had been secured, Torb and his guards were safely locked into their own underground prison, and the dead had been buried.

One grave stood above all the rest. It was located on top of the little hill where McCade had been tortured, and where the man with the cool green eyes had invaded his dreams. Walker was dead, and McCade didn't know how to mark his grave, or say good-bye. So he gave up, figuring that if Walker was still around, then he knew how McCade felt, and if he wasn't, then it didn't matter.

Turning, he walked down the slope, and headed for Pegasus. Her slender shape was a black silhouette against the last rays of the setting sun. Off to the right the glow of cargo lights revealed a small crowd. Some of the men had come to say good-bye. As he headed their way, he thought how good it would feel to leave Worm's eternal heat for the cool darkness of space. He threw the shovel toward the nearest pile of junk and quickened his pace.

A cheer went up as he approached. As McCade tried to quiet the crowd, Phil's shaggy form materialized beside him. The big variant shook his head in disbelief. "It's obvious they don't know you the way we do," he growled.

McCade laughed. "Unlike you, these men appreciate my finer qualities."

"And what finer qualities might those be, ol' sport?" Rico asked, appearing on his other side. "I'll bet the list ain't very long."

But before McCade could answer the crowd grew silent. Fesker stepped forward with Spigot and Hawkins by his side. Clearing his throat importantly, Fesker said, "Well, boss, with you liftin' an all, me and the boys thought we oughta come and say good-bye."

"I'm glad you did," McCade replied solemnly. "I've never served with a finer group of slaves."

They all laughed, shouted friendly insults, and congratulated each other on their wit. Fesker waited until they'd quieted down, and then cleared his throat once more. "As you know, boss, we found Torb's stash of Fire Eggs, and we figure to share and share alike. Well, the way we see it, if it wasn't for you we'd still be slaves. So we all voted, and everyone agreed to give you this."

With that, Spigot hopped forward on a single crutch, and proudly handed McCade a small package.

As the men looked on expectantly, McCade carefully unwrapped the package to reveal a glorious Fire Egg. The very last rays of the sun hit the egg, exploding within to create a ruby red blaze of fire, shot through with iridescent sparks of blue and green. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Rico gave a low whistle. "Now that's some play pretty."

McCade looked up from the fiery egg to the waiting crowd. "Thanks, men, this means a lot. I won't forget you."

They laughed and joked, but as they waved and turned to go, he could see that they were pleased.

Spigot remained after the rest had gone. He grinned his toothless grin. "Thanks, Sam." He glanced at Pegasus and back, clearly curious, but too polite to ask. "It's been good knowing you."

"And you too, Spigot," McCade replied. "What's your real name anyway?"

Spigot blushed, looked over his shoulder to make sure the others couldn't hear, and then spoke in a secretive whisper. "You promise not to tell anyone?"

McCade nodded his agreement.

"Alfonso Esteverra Maxwell-Smith."

"It's a good name," McCade said solemnly. Spigot grinned his thanks, they shook hands, and the little man hopped off to catch up with the rest of the group. Occasionally one or two paused to look back and wave.

McCade waved back, and then, with Rico and Phil at his side, he turned and walked toward Pegasus.

"So what're they gonna do now?" Rico inquired.

McCade grinned. "Well, about half of them plan to stay awhile, and teach Torb and his guards how to find Fire Eggs."

Phil made a deep rumbling noise which was actually laughter. "And the rest?"

McCade shrugged. "They're happy with the Fire Eggs they've got, and plan to take over the next supply ship Joyo sends out. There should be one in a couple of weeks." The thought reminded him of Candy. Fesker had promised to watch out for her, and make sure she didn't get hurt.

A few minutes later, the lock had cycled closed behind them, and McCade was taking one last look at the Fire Egg, before locking the ship's safe. The jewel's internal fire lit up the inside of the armored durasteel box. It was probably worth more than the ship itself. For one brief moment, he considered quitting, hanging it up. After all, why keep going, keep risking it all, when he had enough for the rest of his days right here in front of him? As quickly as the thought came, it disappeared, pushed aside by Sara's trusting eyes, and Walker's bullet-ridden body.

Turning to Rico, McCade said, "Let's take a look at those coordinates Walker fed you."

Rico's large fingers flew over the keyboard with surprising delicacy, and while most of the computer continued its pre-flight check, a small sub-processor turned its attention to this new request. A second later the words "Wind World" appeared on the master screen, followed by a long list of numbers. McCade grinned. There it was, the end of the search. The numbers were coordinates for the Wind World, and the Wind World was where they'd find the prince.

"There they are," Rico said, pointing a stubby finger at the screen. "Just like your friend sent 'em."

"Speaking o' your friends," Rico continued, "that Cy's quite a character.

McCade laughed. "Yeah, he's definitely one of a kind. Obviously he made it or you wouldn't be here."

Rico nodded. "There we were playin' cards, killin' time, 'n' waitin' for you to get tired o' the bright lights and come back, when suddenly the chime for the main lock goes off. You shoulda seen Phil, he damn near had a heart attack; I mean, who the hell could it be? None o' the detectors had gone off. He didn't pack enough mass or velocity. So we looked at the vid pickup for the main lock, and there's this metal ball floatin' there, and it comes over the ship-ta-ship freq and says, 'Hello, could I borrow a cup of DC?'"

"I almost had a heart attack, did I?" Phil said. "Well, you might ask Rico who spilled the full cup of coffee in his lap."

McCade laughed. "That sounds like Cy all right. How did he manage to reach Pegasus?"

"Said there wasn't anything to it," Rico replied. "Bein' a cyborg, all he needs is a little O2 for his brain, and he's got that in a tank, so vacuum don't bother him a bit. He just locked onto a departing yacht, waited till they were free of Joyo's Roid, and squirted himself in our direction. It took him a few days . . . but he made it."

McCade tried to imagine what that would be like, launching yourself on a one-way trip toward a target you couldn't see, days passing as your precious reserve of power slowly dwindled away, knowing if you didn't find the ship you'd never make it back. It would take an incredible amount of guts.

McCade looked around. "So where's Cy?"

Rico shrugged. "We offered to bring him along, but he said he had unfinished business on Joyo's Roid, something about beating the odds. So as we headed this way, we dropped him off real close to the Roid. Last we saw him he was lockin' onta an incoming yacht. Crazy little beggar."

McCade shook his head sadly. Like most inveterate gamblers Cy just couldn't quit. Well, maybe one day he'd win really big. McCade hoped so.

His thoughts were interrupted as the computer announced the ship was ready to lift and started a countdown. All three men checked to make sure their harnesses were secure, and then someone dumped a couple of anvils onto McCade's chest, and Pegasus roared toward the sky, riding a lance of orange-red flame.

They hadn't even cleared Worm's thin atmosphere when every proximity alarm on the ship started hooting, buzzing, or flashing. Someone was waiting for them in space, and when it comes to unexpected visitors, it's always best to assume the worst. Pinned to his chair by the ship's acceleration, McCade armed all weapons systems verbally, and struggled to see through blurred vision.

As Pegasus broke free of Worm's gravity the ship's computer quickly scanned the immediate area, evaluated the available data, and gave itself permission to use emergency voice simulation. "Prepare to surrender or abandon ship. Estimated time to total annihilation is one minute 43.2 seconds. Enemy forces include one major warship, cruiser or better, two lesser vessels, and a full wing of Interceptors. All ships provide a 99.9 percent match to Imperial design. Probability for successful engagement, none. Probability for successful escape, none. The autobar and showers will be closed until further notice. This ship's manufacturer will not be held responsible for damage incurred during contra-indicated combat."

"You'd better get that thing fixed, Sam, or I swear I'm gonna rip out its mother board, and dance on it," Phil growled as he unsnapped his harness, and half floated, half climbed up and into the top weapons turret. If they decided to fight, the computer would control the ship's main armament, since no mere human could track and hit multiple targets traveling at thousands of miles per hour. Not unless they got very close. That's when the ship's secondary armament could make the difference.

"Damn," Rico said in amazement as he scanned all the blips on their detector screens. "Where the hell did they come from? We weren't followed from Joyo's Roid, and they weren't here when we went dirtside."

Rico's questions went unanswered. Then the com set buzzed, and McCade flicked it on. The screen faded up from black to reveal a stern-looking naval officer. Her black hair was heavily streaked with gray, her eyebrows met just above her hooked nose, and her mouth was a hard straight line. "I'm Captain Edith Queet, commanding officer of the Imperial Cruiser Neptune. Cut your drives and prepare to be boarded."

McCade tapped a few keys, and Pegasus went into a series of stomach-wrenching evasive maneuvers, only barely escaping the massive tractor beams which lashed out from Neptune. In fact one came so close to lock-on that it rattled McCade's teeth.

Doing his best to assume a nonchalant expression, McCade switched the com set to send. "Captain, I'm afraid you're mistaken regarding your current tactical situation. It is you, not I, who should cut your drives and prepare for boarding. Otherwise I shall be forced to destroy your entire fleet."

Rico made a choking noise, and Phil shook his head in pained amusement.

Suddenly Queet's face disappeared to be replaced by Claudia's. There was no mistaking her blond hair, cold blue eyes, and bad temper. "Cut the crap, McCade, or we'll turn your pathetic little ship into so much free metal."

"My, but we're a bit testy lately," McCade replied, his eyes narrowing. "It must be a rough day for the royal retinue. As for blasting my ship . . . go right ahead. But keep in mind that your brother might be aboard, and then again, he might not. That's why you haven't blasted us already, isn't it? You don't mind killing him, but what if he's still out there somewhere? What if I'm going after him right now?"

"Cut your drives, McCade, or I swear I'll blast you, and sift the pieces for my beloved brother."

McCade's eyes flicked to his readouts and back to the screen. Just a little more time. Pegasus needed more velocity before she could go hyper. "Right . . . just give me a minute here . . . one of your tractor beams came damn close, and I'm having control problems. How the hell did you find us anyway?"

To his surprise she took the bait. "When you started barging around Joyo's Roid, Joyo tried to check you out with his operatives on Earth, and one of them works for me. I sent Major Tellor to check it out; he ran a check on Joyo's computer, found the glitch where you accessed it, and the rest was easy. Knowing my brother's pathetic sense of humor, it didn't take long to see through his Idono H. Farigo nonsense."

Suddenly a computer-coordinated net of tractor beams flashed out from Claudia's fleet, just as McCade's fingers danced over the control board. She'd been stalling too, and had almost succeeded, but the tractor beams fell slightly short. Pegasus leapt outward, still steadily picking up speed.

"Damn you, McCade! I'll triple whatever they're paying you!"

"Thanks, your imperial wonderfulness, but no thanks. I'll see you around." And with that, McCade's stomach lurched, and he felt a brief moment of disorientation. Pegasus had entered hyperspace. Outside, the stars suddenly disappeared. Inside the ship's screens showed computer simulations of how the stars should look, would look, if the Pegasus wasn't traveling faster than the speed of light.

McCade lit a cigar, and leaned back, slowly allowing his muscles to relax. They were safe for the moment. Without the coordinates for their destination, Claudia couldn't follow, and by the time she did, he'd have the prince and heading for Terra.

"Is the bar open?" he demanded.

"Affirmative," the computer replied. Was it McCade's imagination, or was there a grudging tone to the machine's reply?

McCade shrugged off his harness and headed for the tiny lounge. Phil and Rico were right behind. "It would appear our troubles are over, gentlemen. The last one into the lounge cooks dinner!"

As she watched Pegasus disappear off her screens into hyperspace, Claudia swore and clenched her fists. "Damn that man. When I catch him he'll die by inches. Captain Queet, I want a report on that message torp, and I want it now."

Captain Queet nodded, and spoke softly into her headset. Around her the bridge crew literally sat at attention, eyes locked on their screens and multicolored indicator lights. By remaining perfectly still, and performing flawlessly, each hoped to avoid being singled out for one of Claudia's caustic remarks.

Lady Linnea stood toward the rear of the cavernous bridge, doing her best to maintain an expression of aristocratic superiority, while inwardly giving thanks that McCade had escaped. Had Alexander been with him? There was no way to tell, but she knew that if Claudia caught him, he'd soon be dead. Over the last month she'd become more and more obsessed with taking the throne, and now Linnea was convinced she'd stop at nothing to get it. She shivered, praying that wherever Alexander was, he'd never fall into his sister's hands.

Linnea's thoughts were interrupted as Captain Queet looked up, and smiled. "Crypto's very close, Your Highness. They're having trouble with the message, but they've got the coordinates."

"Excellent!" Claudia snapped, eyes gleaming. "Tell them I'm coming down." She spun on her heel, and marched off the bridge. Linnea reluctantly followed. Lately Claudia insisted she stay nearby. The more dictatorial Claudia became, the more she seemed to need Linnea's reassurance, and the harder it was to give.

When they entered the corridor, Major Tellor, plus a full squad of marines, snapped to attention. As Claudia and Linnea passed, they fell in behind, their heavy boots hitting the deck in perfect cadence. Claudia rarely went anywhere without her bodyguard anymore. Maybe her own treachery led her to expect it from others. The thought made a hollow space in the pit of Linnea's stomach. Could she know?

When Claudia and her party entered the crypto lab, Lieutenant Chang barely glanced up from his work. Anyone else would have been dressed down, or even disciplined for such a breach of etiquette, but not Chang. At twenty-five, he was already a legendary genius and eccentric. A long series of frustrated instructors and commanding officers had finally given up, realizing that in order to exploit his brilliance, they'd have to put up with his personality. It was a high price for a military organization to pay, but Chang was worth it, because when it came to cryptology he was the very best. His long lank hair hung down into the inner workings of the long slender torpedo while smoke, from a non-reg dope stick, curled up and around his head. Long slender fingers made a final adjustment, and then he straightened up, wiping his hands on an already filthy uniform. Chang's almond-shaped eyes regarded Claudia with the same friendly enthusiasm he offered the lowliest ratings. "Hi, Princess, step right over here and I'll print out what we've got so far."

Claudia struggled mightily, and just barely managed to ignore Chang's familiarity.

At the cryptologist's touch, a printer began to whir, and while it spit out plastic fax, Chang provided a cheerful stream of conversation. "She's a beaut, isn't she?" he asked, indicating the torpedo. Its long black hull rested on four supports. Claudia knew it consisted of a drive, hyperdrive, and mega-memory. A minicomputer provided guidance and control. It was the mega-memory that held whatever secrets had been entrusted to it. At the moment, a maze of multicolored wires led from the mega-memory's circuitry to some specialized crypto equipment, which in turn was linked to the ship's main computer. Blithely ignoring Claudia's pained expression, Chang continued his monologue.

"I guess she gave our Interceptor jockeys a real run for their money. She was just about to go hyper when they threw some light tractors on her. I figure somebody's got something real important to say, because unlike our converted jobs, this baby was really designed to carry the mail. Someday we'll figure out how to punch com messages through hyperspace and these suckers will become so much scrap. Don't get me wrong though, you can't get anything better than a torp from Techno. I mean that sucker's built. It took me two hours to defeat the electromechanical traps, and another three to get around all the stuff hidden in the programming. Still," he added happily, "I showed those Techno types a thing or two."

The printer stopped whirring, and Chang ripped off the fax. Proudly he handed it to Claudia. She found herself looking at the words "Wind World," and a long string of numbers. "There you go, Princess, that's where the torp was headed, and although we haven't broken their message code yet, you'll notice they didn't try to encode proper names. For example, 'McCade,' and 'Farigo,' appear more than once. Does that help?"

Claudia's face broke into a rare smile. "It certainly does, Lieutenant, no, make that Lieutenant Commander, Chang. You've been a very big help indeed! Please feed those coordinates to the bridge, and tell Captain Queet I want to reach the Wind World in record time."

Claudia watched Chang as he called the bridge, and neither saw Lady Linnea as she slipped away on an errand of her own.

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