Imperial Bounty Read Free

we're gonna run outta icecats in a week or so, and then what'll we do for fun?" Rico shook his head again in mock concern.
    McCade grinned as he stood up and extinguished the cigar butt under the heel of his boot. "Very funny, Rico. Now cut the comedy, and give me a hand. I lost a couple of slug throwers around here somewhere . . . and certain members of the Council are notoriously tight with a credit."
    Rico laughed. "Tight ain't the word for it," he agreed. "Downright stingy's more like it. But as long as your wife's headin' the Council we'll be runnin' a tight ship. Hell, you're lucky Sara ain't countin' your ammo."
    "Don't give her any ideas, Rico, or I'll be throwing rocks at icecats from now on."
    "Speakin' o' which, Sam, how the hell'd ya manage ta get into this mess anyhow?"
    While they searched for the weapons, McCade told him the whole story. "All things considered, I was incredibly stupid," he finished.
    "True," Rico said with a big grin.
    McCade laughed. "Up yours, Rico."
    Rico poked an icecat carcass with the toe of one boot. "All jokin' aside, you're damn lucky to be alive, ol' sport," he said soberly. "Looks like a mated pair. Well, come on . . . we've got places ta go an people ta see."
    "Bullshit," McCade replied as they crunched through the ice and snow. "I'm going home. First Sara's gonna chew me out for being so stupid, and then I'm going to bed."
    "Well, you're right about Sara chewing ya out, but ya ain't going ta bed, not yet anyway," Rico answered with a grin.
    "Why not?"
    "You'll see," Rico said mysteriously, and steadfastly refused to say more until they reached the clearing where McCade had left his aircar. As they broke into the open space, McCade saw one whole end of the clearing had been scorched all the way down to the permafrost, and sitting in the middle of the burned area was a small ship. Not just any ship, but a captain's gig, the kind that belongs to an Imperial Cruiser. It had fast lines and a flawless paint job.
    "What the hell is that doing here?" McCade demanded.
    "Your old friend what's-his-name sent it. The one with two last names."
    "Swanson-Pierce? You mean he's here?"
    Rico nodded and pointed one index finger upward. "He's got a cruiser, a tin can, and two DEs up there, and wants ta see ya."
    McCade scowled and turned toward his aircar. "Whatever he wants can wait. By now Sara's worried, and I need some sleep."
    Rico shrugged. "Suit yourself, ol' sport, but Sara's up there too."
    McCade sighed. Swanson-Pierce could mean only one thing, trouble. And as usual he'd managed to set up things his way. By getting Sara aboard he'd made sure McCade would come to him, plus they'd meet on his turf, and he'd set the agenda. It was all vintage Swanson-Pierce.
    They were met just inside the lock by a solicitous young officer who introduced himself as Ensign Peel. He had a soft, friendly face and a firm handshake. Peel showed them into a small cabin just aft of the control room and disappeared forward to assume his duties as copilot.
    As they strapped themselves into acceleration couches, McCade took a look around. Someone had lavished a great deal of attention on the ship's interior. The bulkheads and acceleration couches were covered in carefully muted fabrics and, here and there, the polished glow of ornamental brass and exotic wood caught and held his eye. The whole merged to convey a sense of restrained elegance. It all screamed—no, murmured—Swanson-Pierce.
    McCade felt himself pushed down into his seat as the ship roared upward. The pilot knew her business and cleared atmosphere only a quarter rotation away from the large Imperial Cruiser orbiting Alice. McCade watched the overhead screens as they approached, and the vessel grew even larger.
    She was one of the new Jupiter Class ships. Miles long, she was a tracery of gun platforms, missile tubes, laser mounts, and other less identifiable installations. She had none of the streamlined beauty common to ships designed for