McCade's Bounty Read Online Free Page A

green.
    Phil tapped a series of keys. Sensors reached out to probe the surrounding vacuum for indications of heat, metal, or radiation. Passive receptors listened, scanners watched for signs of pulsed light, and vid cams searched for movement against the stars.
    Phil growled in the back of his throat as the skin along the top of his muzzle formed a series of ridges and his fangs appeared.
    Something was wrong. Although Alice couldn't afford remote weapons platforms, she did have deep-space robo sensors, and based on their warnings the Void Runner should've been challenged by now.
    Phil opened a com link, tapped in a frequency, and spoke into his mic. "This is the Void Runner ,Delta Beta, six-niner-two, requesting a planetary approach vector. What the hell's wrong with you people? Wake up and smell the coffee."
    Silence.
    Phil's chair whirred as he turned toward McCade. "I'm worried, Sam. No challenge so far, and no response."
    McCade frowned. Maybe there was some sort of equipment failure.
    "Try 'em again, Phil, and run a diagnostic routine on our gear. There's always the chance that some equipment went belly up."
    Phil tried again and got the same result. He ran an auto check on the ship's com gear. Nothing. The variant turned toward McCade and gave a shrug.
    McCade lifted a protective cover and pushed a red button. A klaxon went off and called a nonexistent naval crew to battle stations. The ship's defensive screen went to full military power, weapons systems came on-line, and a three-dimensional tac tank appeared in front of McCade's chair.
    The tac tank was empty of movement—outside of symbols representing Alice, her sister planets, and the sun itself. There were no warships waiting to pounce, no fighters vectoring in, no torpedoes flashing through space. Nothing.
    The intercom bonged. Maggie appeared on-screen. She scowled. "You're starting to piss me off, McCade. What's all this battle stations crap? You hit the wrong button or something?"
    McCade fought to keep his temper. "We can't raise Alice and we're not sure why. They should be all over us by now. Strap in and stand by."
    Maggie nodded and the screen flashed to black.
    McCade took another longer look in the tac tank. Still nothing. A hard lump formed in his throat. Where were the robo sensors? The usual tramp freighters? The planet's five-ship navy?
    McCade swallowed hard. "Rico, full power. Phil, keep your eyes peeled. I've got a bad feeling about this."
    It took twelve long, frustrating, tension-filled hours to close with Alice. Hours during which there was plenty of time to worry, to think about Sara and Molly, to imagine all sorts of terrible calamities. But nothing, not even McCade's worst imaginings, could compare with what they actually found.
    Alice half filled the view screens when Phil spotted the first wreck. "Sam, Rico, take a look at this."
    Phil's claws made a clicking sound as they hit the keys. A magnified image appeared on the main view screen. It was a ship, the remains of one anyway, tumbling end over end. Light and dark, light and dark, over and over again. Torpedoes had taken a terrible toll, ripping huge holes in the vessel's durasteel hull, gutting the interior.
    Rico's fist made a loud bang as it hit the control panel. "Damn! That's the Free Star !"
    "It was the Free Star ,"Phil corrected grimly. "Wait . . . there's more . . ."
    McCade bit his lip. The Free Star had been a reconditioned destroyer, the flagship of the planet's small navy, crushed like a child's plaything. Who had done this? Pirates? The Il Ronn? It was impossible to tell.
    By the time the DE swung into orbit around Alice the crew had seen more smashed ships, a ruptured habitat, and four or five burned-out satellites. Taken altogether the destruction meant hundreds of lives lost.
    McCade thought about Sara and Molly. A muscle in his left cheek began to twitch. He had to get dirtside, had to find them, had to make sure they were okay. But what if they weren't? What