Imperial Bounty by William C. Dietz Page B

kicked it as hard as he could. Another tidal wave of pain hit Cy's brain as he rolled across the floor toward Rad. One or two more and it would be over. The small amount of power he'd received would be exhausted and the internal systems cushioning his plastic brain pan would stop functioning. Then one final concussion would put him out of his misery. He found he was looking forward to it.
    Rad blocked the rolling sphere, paused to make sure of his aim, and then put everything he had into the kick. Cy screamed, unconsciously activating his speech synthesizer, so the sound echoed off the cavern walls. Even as he screamed Cy cursed himself for his weakness, and swore he wouldn't make another sound. Then he felt himself jerked to a halt. He waited for Dag to pick him up or kick him. Nothing. Not knowing was driving him crazy. He activated a single vid pickup. Someone had placed a large boot on top of him. A tall man with black hair and hard eyes. He had a cigar clenched in his teeth and smoke dribbled out the corner of his mouth. Friend or foe? Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst, he opened an audio pickup.
    The man with the hard eyes spoke first. "Hello, gentlemen . . . what's up?"
    "Just havin' a little fun's all," Rad replied resentfully. "Now if you'll jus' pass me that ball I'd sure appreciate it."
    The tall man nodded thoughtfully as he dropped a carryall next to Cy, and allowed his left hand to fall on the butt of his handgun. Dag looked at the man and then at Rad. He didn't like this. This guy looked like trouble. He tried to catch Rad's attention, but the drive tech's glittering eyes were locked on the stranger.
    "Maybe you didn't hear me," Rad said through gritted teeth. "I said pass me that ball."
    "First time I ever heard a ball scream in pain," the man replied calmly. "Now that's a real curiosity. And I like curiosities. In fact I collect 'em. So I think I'll just keep this ball for myself. I hope that meets with your approval." The man grinned, and Dag knew he didn't care if they approved or not.
    For a long moment Rad considered using the wrist gun tucked up his right sleeve. Sure, Joyo'd be pissed, but this guy didn't look like any big deal, and Dag would back his story. But something held him back, a primitive sense of survival which had managed to keep him alive for thirty-two years. The way the other man waited, the way his fingers brushed that gun butt, he was different somehow. Deep down Rad knew, that in spite of the spring-loaded holster, he'd be dead before the wrist gun even slapped his palm. He shrugged his shoulders and spat onto the duracrete. "So keep it . . . who gives a shit? Come on, Dag . . . we've got work to do."
    As the two men departed, McCade bent over and picked up the metal sphere. Holding Cy with one arm, he picked up his carryall with the other, and headed for the reception area. It was clearly marked with a neon sign.
    "DC power . . . I need DC power soon . . . dying." The weak voice came from the metal sphere.
    It was weird, but if a metal ball could scream, then talking seemed reasonable too. "OK, my friend," McCade said, "DC power it is. My treat just as soon as I check in."
    Cy wanted to express his gratitude but couldn't find the energy, so he allowed himself to sink back into darkness, carefully monitoring the trickle of energy which flowed to his life support systems.
    The reception area was huge, and sparkled with a thousand lights. Tiers of balconies reached up to a ceiling hewed from brownish rock. Gentle music merged with the hum of subdued conversation to create a comfortable jumble of background sound. Thick carpeting, well-padded furniture, and tasteful decorations all combined to create a feeling of restrained elegance.
    In fact, the check-in counter even boasted a live receptionist. She was young, quite pretty, and well aware of it. Flanking her on both sides were the latest in autotellers. They did the actual work of checking people in and out. She