For a moment the prince frowned, as if thinking McCade's comment through, and then he laughed uproariously, almost falling out of his chair. "And you would too! By God, if we get out of here alive, remind me to surround myself with people like you. In fact, how would you like a job? I could use you on my staff."
McCade smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks, Alex. I don't think I'd fit in around the palace."
"Well, at least consider it," the other man replied seriously as he leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, after my experience with the flux, I approached the elders, and they confirmed what I'd seen. At first I was angry—why hadn't they told me? Then as I began to calm down I was glad they hadn't. My experience with the flux was something special, something I'll never forget, and all the more valuable because I'd experienced it firsthand. So I spent a couple of days thinking about it, and although I still wasn't thrilled with the idea, it seemed as if I should return and, God willing, take the throne. In fact, I was preparing to leave when word came through that you were on your way. All things considered, it seemed wise to wait for some help. I understand Claudia is trying to find and kill me." He shrugged sadly. "It pains me that she would do that, but doesn't especially surprise me. Looking back I realize she's got a lot of her grandfather in her. Whatever it takes to get the job done. Well, anyway, now you've heard my story, so let's hear yours."
So McCade recounted the adventures leading up to his arrival at Chimehome. Every now and then Alex interrupted with a question. The first concerned Swanson-Pierce. "This Rear Admiral who engaged your services, what was his name again?" As McCade answered he realized he was probably doing Swanson-Pierce an enormous favor. Damn! Walt was bad enough as a rear admiral; if he made full admiral he'd be completely insufferable. Chances were, Alex was putting together a mental list of those deserving a reward after he took the throne.
Having explained who Walt was, and how they happened to know each other, McCade continued his story. It went smoothly until he reached the meeting with Lady Linnea. Then the prince stopped him again, his expression was one of eagerness mixed with suspicion. "How did she look?"
McCade repressed a smile as his mind conjured up an image of Lady Linnea in the nude. "Very beautiful. As a matter of fact she sent you a message."
Alexander became suddenly impatient and annoyed, providing McCade with a glimpse of his royal upbringing. Alex might be a regular guy in some respects, but deep down he was still a prince. "Well, man, out with it. What did she say?"
"She said I should tell you she loves you, and that the Empire needs you."
For a moment Alexander's face softened, and McCade was reminded of the holo showing the two of them in the garden. There seemed little doubt that he loved her, yet his face hardened as he asked, "But what of her friendship with my sister?"
McCade shrugged. The conversation was becoming distinctly uncomfortable. "I'd say she's on your side. Apparently she's forced to maintain the appearance of friendship with your sister."
Alexander nodded thoughtfully as if the whole thing made perfect sense. "Yes, otherwise my sister might destroy Linnea's father . . ." For a moment he seemed lost in thought, then he motioned for McCade to continue.
As McCade did so, he felt that more and more of plain old Alex was dropping away, gradually revealing something that looked a lot like an Emperor. A nice Emperor . . . but an Emperor nonetheless. Well, it made sense. After all, he'd been born and raised to the job.
From that point on, the prince restricted himself to an occasional chuckle, or a spontaneous "well done," making no other comment until McCade reached Pollard's death. As McCade described how the Walker had died letting them into the dome, a great sadness came over Alexander's face, and he looked down toward the floor. They were both silent for a moment, and when Alexander finally looked up, tears were running down his cheeks. He made no effort to wipe them away. "I lost a good friend, Sam, but my tears are for myself, not Pollard. He's where no one can hurt him."
McCade had never been able to decide about the question of life after death, but he nodded his agreement anyway, hoping it was true. They drank a series of toasts to Pollard, and by the time McCade finished his story, they were both slightly drunk. "To you, Sam McCade," Alex said, forming each word carefully, and holding his glass up high, "to one helluva bounty hunter. No, let me rephrase that, to the best damn bounty hunter in the Empire! Nobody else could've done it."
"Thank you," McCade replied, trying not to slop any of his drink on his lap. "And here's to you, the only Emperor stupid enough to give it up, and smart enough to get it back!"
Alex roared with laughter, and the two of them proceeded to drink and tell lies, until McCade began falling asleep. Tactfully suggesting they both needed some sleep, Alexander had gone to bed, allowing McCade to do the same.
Now, nine hours later, McCade felt slightly hung over, and wished the storm would abate, allowing them to head for Deadeye and
Pegasus.
Fortunately they wouldn't have to spend days riding under a Nuag. Instead, they would use some large gliders which belonged to the Walkers, and could be launched from high in the mountains. Weather and thermals allowing, the gliders could make it to Deadeye in just a few hours. Later they would be torn down, and brought back to Chimehome by Nuag caravan. It was a lot of work, and therefore something the Walkers seldom did, but this was an emergency, and they had gladly offered McCade and Alex use of the system. Of course, once they made it to Deadeye, there was still the matter of getting safely off-planet, and finding a way to slip through Claudia's blockade undetected. McCade stubbed out his cigar and stared out into the storm. They had a long way to go.
Twenty miles to the north, the storm continued to blow, but more gently now, as it gradually lost its strength. Yako completed his inspection of the ultra lights, located the flashing blue beacon marking his survival shelter, and struggled toward it through a brown mist of windblown dirt and sand. Other identical shelters surrounded his, each housing two members of his wing, and each having its own colored beacon. It wasn't a pleasant place to camp, but it was close to Chimehome, and when the storm died down, that might become important. Getting down onto his hands and knees, he wriggled his way through the low entrance into the relative comfort of the interior.
"Welcome home," Major Tellor said with only a trace of sarcasm. He was sitting with his back against a pile of equipment, an open meal pak steaming beside him. The light suspended from the roof reflected off his recently shaven head, and cast deep pools of shadow beneath his eyes. "Everything all right?"
"Good enough," Yako grunted as he found a place to sit. "The storm's dying. In four or five hours we'll be able to fly."
"And so will they. That's when they'll try the gliders." Tellor made it more a statement than a question.
Yako shrugged. They'd been over this many times and the marine never seemed to listen. What the hell did he want? A gold-plated guarantee? "There's no way to be sure, Major. If they're in a hurry, the gliders are the fastest way to reach Deadeye. On the other hand, the Walkers rarely use them, partly because of us, and partly because of all the work involved in carting them back. So this McCade guy might opt for ground travel instead."
"In which case he'll run right into my team . . . and this time he won't be so lucky," Tellor said thoughtfully. "My people have orders to blast anything that comes down that path."
"Right," Yako said reassuringly, remembering the weapons he'd sold to the marines at incredibly inflated prices. "No matter what they do, you've got em."
"Why gliders anyway?" Tellor asked.
"Beats me," Yako replied. "Someone told me it's part of their harmony with the planet thing, but you'd have to ask them." Asshole, Yako added silently.
Tellor nodded, and proceeded to eat his food, chewing each bite with military precision. He was staring off into space, as though he could see right through the wall of the shelter, all the way back to Terra.
Happy to end the conversation, Yako fumbled around inside an open duffle bag until he found a meal pak. Damn. Pseudo meat again. Yako ripped off the tab and waited for the contents to warm up. He didn't like Tellor much and was doing his best to hide the fact. First because the Major had promised him enough credits to last the Wind Riders for a long, long time, and second, because the marine scared the hell out of him. After all, it sounded like half the Imperial fleet was in orbit around the Wind World. Something like that could be real bad for business. But it wasn't. In fact he'd had a lot of good luck lately. Take Jubal's untimely demise for example. Sure, he'd lost some good people in the brawl with Jubal's wing, but he'd also wound up in command, something which had seemed hopeless just a few days before. Then, just to put the icing on the cake, one of his scouts had stumbled across Tellor and his marines. The scout had been looking for Mara and McCade; after all, Jubal or no Jubal, they had a score to settle with those bastards. So here comes a pack of marines willing to pay him for doing exactly what he wanted to do anyway! What could be better? Yako chuckled deep inside. In spite of Tellor's efforts to gloss it over, you didn't have to be a military genius to see that he'd been ambushed, stripped of all his weapons, and left to make his way on foot. If Tellor failed to find McCade and kill him, Claudia would have his ass. Yako found the prospect quite appealing.
"What's so funny?"
Yako looked up, startled. He wasn't sure that he'd laughed out loud. Tellor's eyes were narrowed, as if he somehow knew the laughter was directed at him. "Nothing special, Major," Yako replied. "Just a joke someone told me earlier today."
Tellor nodded, but continued to watch Yako suspiciously, until the little man grew so uncomfortable he decided to take a nap. Anything was better than Tellor's unwavering gaze. A few minutes later Yako was asleep, dreaming about a monster who wouldn't stop staring at him, and a man named McCade who was supposed to die but wouldn't.
McCade watched the preparations with a jaundiced eye. He'd flown gliders before, but usually they were towed into the air behind an aircar, not launched off the side of a seven-hundred-foot cliff. In front of him two skeletal-looking ramps swooped down the steep hillside to end at the edge of the abyss. People were climbing all over the durasteel structures making sure that recent storms hadn't damaged them. Meanwhile a white glider sat poised at the top of each ramp. They were pretty craft, made out of lightweight duraplast, and gracefully shaped. So much so that the energy weapons mounted under the long slender wings and behind the canopy looked foreign and out of place. McCade prayed they wouldn't need the weapons. Flying a glider after so many years without practice was bad enough, but having people shoot at you while you did it, well, that was just too much. However, it seemed like he didn't have much choice. It turned out the gliders were two-place craft, which meant they'd have to leave Mara behind, and do their own flying. And while Alexander had flown just about everything else, he'd missed gliders, and Phil's experience was limited to aircars. So McCade and Rico would have to get behind the controls and hope for the best. He looked up toward the sky. At least the weather was right. The wind had died down to a gentle breeze, and here and there, the sun peeked through the eternal overcast.
There was the shrill sound of a whistle, and turning toward the sound McCade saw the inspectors had scrambled down off the ramps, and were gathering around the gliders. Rico waved in his direction and shouted, "Come on, ol' sport, all aboard the Deadeye express!" With a jaunty wave Rico climbed into his glider, settling himself behind the controls.
Forcing a grin McCade climbed up the path leading to the launching platform. Off to one side he saw Phil give Mara one last bear hug, before lumbering over, and climbing in behind Rico. Earlier, while saying his good-byes, McCade had noticed Mara's eyes were red. Phil hadn't said anything, but apparently there'd been a parting of the ways, and not at his request. If so, McCade wasn't too surprised. In order for the relationship to succeed, one of them would have to make a very large sacrifice. While he hadn't complained, Phil's variant physiology made life on anything but an iceworld distinctly uncomfortable. And, in her own way, Mara was just as tied to her world. She had an almost mystical understanding of it. Besides, she clearly wished to continue her studies with the Walkers, and that would be impossible if she left.
As he climbed onto the platform Alex was there, shaking hands and exchanging hugs with various friends, turning mischievously as McCade arrived. "Oh, driver, do try to be more prompt in the future. Imperial affairs await, you know."
"A thousand pardons, Your Supreme Effluence," McCade replied, bowing deeply. "If you would be so kind as to lower your Imperial posterior into the cockpit, we can depart posthaste."
"It's so hard to find good help these days," Alex confided to an amused woman with long black hair. "One must put up with the most outrageous incompetence." With a grin and a wave, Alexander followed McCade into the cockpit, and helped slide the canopy closed over their heads.
McCade put on the pilot's helmet and chinned his mic. "Rico? Do you read me?"
"Loud and clear, Sam," Rico answered from the other glider, grinning from behind his plastic canopy.
McCade quickly scanned the simple instrument panel. With no engine to worry about, there weren't many instruments, and very little which could go wrong. Except getting our rear ends blown off, he thought to himself. However, due to the height of their launching platform the altimeter already showed 725 feet, and that made him feel better. At least they wouldn't have to go through a long vulnerable climb up from the ground.
"All set, Alex?"
"Ready when you are, Sam."
"OK, the last one to Deadeye buys the beer!" And with that McCade hit the lever marked release, and felt his stomach lurch, as the glider slid downward. The aircraft quickly picked up speed, moving faster and faster, until they shot off the end of the ramp and their wings cut into the air. Pulling the stick back, McCade started looking for more altitude. In spite of the seven hundred feet they already had, it wasn't nearly enough to reach Deadeye. Because a glider has no engine, it spends a great deal of its time falling. Glider pilots like to call this part gliding, but in reality it's nothing more than controlled falling, which accounts for the sport's relative lack of popularity, and also explains why gliders aren't used for serious transportation. "Except on this stupid planet," McCade said through gritted teeth as he felt the nose drop and the glider start downward.