Imperial Bounty Read Free Page A

atmospheric use, but what she lacked in grace, she made up for in raw power. In minutes she could lay waste to all but the most heavily fortified cities. Beyond her McCade saw a glint of reflected sunlight marking the location of an escort.
    Ahead a small rectangle of light appeared as a hatch slid open to admit them. As their pilot skillfully matched velocity with the larger craft and slipped into the launching bay, McCade felt like a minnow being swallowed by a whale. Inside were rows of neatly parked Interceptors, their sleek deadly shapes reminiscent of bullets waiting to be fired.
    As always, four were on condition red: tubes hot, weapons armed, ready for launch. McCade knew how it felt. You were proud to slide into the cramped cockpit because Interceptor pilots were the elite. The cream of the Academy. And you were scared, not of the enemy, but of yourself. You'd rather die than screw up.
    Then one day the waiting was over. Wing after wing of Interceptors blasted out to give and receive death over the planet Hell. Entire fleets maneuvered through complex computer-generated patterns probing for strength and weakness. But for you the battle was much more personal. It was you against them. Your skill, your reflexes, your ship against them.
    Finally the moment came, and with it a strangely silent explosion as a pirate ship blossomed into a miniature sun. You scanned your screens searching for the next target. There it was. A large ship just ahead. You felt the groove, the almost magical connection between you and it, and knew you couldn't miss. Relying on muscle memory, and years of training, you lined it up and prepared to fire. Suddenly a voice breaks your concentration.
    "Please, in the name of whatever gods you worship, I implore you, please don't fire. My ship is unarmed. I have only women, children, and old men aboard . . . please listen to me."
    And listen you did. You believed her. But a second voice comes over your headset. The voice of your commanding officer, Captain Ian Bridgar, hoarse from hours of shouting orders, tense with hatred for the pirates who took his wife and daughter. "Fire, Lieutenant! That's an order! She's lying. Fire, damn you!"
    But you didn't fire. Instead you watched the pirate ship slide out of sight, taking with it your career, identity, and honor. For you have disobeyed a direct order from your commanding officer, and his word is law.
    McCade's thoughts were interrupted as the pilot's voice came over the intercom. "Welcome aboard Victory, gentlemen, Ensign Peel will act as your guide."
    There was lots of traffic in the corridor as the third watch went off duty and the first came on. The two colonists attracted a good deal of attention as they walked along. Especially McCade. His blood-smeared heatsuit, two-day stubble, and hard eyes were difficult to miss.
    Ignoring the stares, they followed Ensign Peel through a maze of corridors and passageways. Eventually, they moved into officer territory, passing a spacious wardroom, and arriving in front of a large open hatch. A pair of marine guards snapped to attention and presented arms. Peel saluted in reply and announced his party. "I have the honor to present Council Member Fredrico Jose Romero and Citizen Sam McCade."
    Suddenly a shapely female figure in a blue one-piece ship-suit burst through the hatch and threw herself into McCade's arms. She proceeded to kiss him, hug him, and scold him all at once. "Going after an icecat all by yourself . . . you are the most hopeless man I've ever met . . . are you all right . . . is this your blood . . . how could you . . ."
    McCade covered her lips with his, and marveled for the millionth time that this wonderful armful could be the daughter of the same man who'd court-martialed him. There was silence for a moment as she melted against him, before suddenly pulling away. "Oh, no, you don't, Sam McCade. You're not getting off that easy, not until you admit you were stupid."
    He looked