McCade's Bounty by William C. Dietz Page B

to rent.
    So the halls functioned as staging areas, and as secondary markets, since many of the merchants had offerings too modest to justify a presentation room.
    Maggie looked at Rico striding along at her side. He was uncharacteristically silent. She knew why, or thought she did, and forced herself to make conversation.
    "So tell me, Rico . . . why us? Why didn't Sam do this himself?"
    Rico came to a sudden stop and turned on her. He looked angry. "Listen here, Maggie . . . I'm gettin' real tired of your crap. I don't know what Sam has up his sleeve. He'll tell us when he's good 'n' ready. Till then I suggest you keep a coupla things in mind.
    "First, there ain't ten people on the whole rim that's as savvy as Sam is.
    You can take all the cheap shots you want, but if we find those kids, it'll be Sam that gets it done.
    "Second, I don't know what your problem is, but you better back off, or by God I'll arrange ta leave your crotchety ass right here on Nexus!"
    Maggie felt a variety of emotions. The first was anger. How dare Rico speak to her that way? Leave her would he? Not very damn likely! She'd leave him . . . and Sam too . . . there were plenty of berths for a good engineer.
    Next came a more rational response. One that recognized Rico's pain, and, more than that, recognized the same old pattern.
    In place after place, ship after ship, Maggie had made herself obnoxious and been fired.
    That way Maggie never got involved, never came to care, never got hurt. It began with the explosion, with the loss of her legs, and the deaths of her entire crew. But when would it end? A year from now? Two?
    Maggie cleared her throat and looked away. "I have a big mouth sometimes. Sorry, Rico."
    Rico searched Maggie's face, saw she was sincere, and shrugged. "The truth is that ya have a big mouth all the time . . . but what the hell . . . so do I. Shake."
    Maggie's hand disappeared into Rico's giant paw and she smiled.

Twelve
    Mustapha Pong was lost somewhere between the past and present.
    He sat as he always did under the vast canopy of stars projected on the overhead. The compartment was circular and, except for the pool of light that surrounded Pong, completely dark.
    There had been a time many years before when the cabin would've been filled to overflowing with loot, the tangible symbol of his success, the living out of boyhood dreams.
    Back then Pong had favored chests brimming over with gold jewelry, ingots of platinum stacked in the corner, slave girls who responded to a snap from his fingers. Raw, open manifestations of power.
    But he'd been young and immature then. Raw clay still finding its final shape.
    The compartment was different now. Open, nearly empty, boasting little more than a dais at its center, and the custom-designed power lounger that served Pong as both chair and bed.
    The cabin was a symbol of what Mustapha Pong wanted to be. Open, centered, at one with the cosmos. A force great enough to move planets, to redefine the course of sentient history, to leave a mark so deep it would still be visible after a million years had come and gone.
    The thing on his shoulder stirred and injected a mild stimulant into Pong's bloodstream. As usual the mind slug's thoughts were caustic and mocking.
    "Bestir yourself, human, there is work to do, and you are lost in your own ambition."
    His reverie broken, and annoyed at the alien's criticism, Pong punched a request for coffee into the arm of his chair. There was a whirring sound and a cup of coffee appeared at Pong's fingertips. The mind slug hated caffeine, and drinking it would serve both as a punishment and a reminder. Pong was in charge . . . and it would stay that way.
    Now back to the problem at hand. Pong sipped his coffee. The problem was the one he always faced. How to overcome resistance and work his will on the universe around him.
    The larger problem was necessarily subdivided into a series of tasks. Move ships over there, raid that particular