infected sores. "Look at the condition of your property. Our value falls further with each passing hour. Eventually some of us will die."
"Is that it?" The man's voice was hard and unyielding.
Molly swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
The man looked up over Molly's head. The meaty hands disappeared from her shoulders. "The child makes sense. Feed them three times a day. I will send the medical officer. Arrange for clean clothes. See to their quarters." He gestured toward the blond man. "Raz will inspect them once per cycle."
Molly felt Boots stiffen behind her. "Yes, sir!"
The man nodded and turned away. A few seconds later he and Raz were in deep conversation.
A hand fell on Molly's shoulder. It guided her away from the chow line to where some cargo modules were secured to tie-downs in the deck. As soon as the modules hid them from view Boots spun Molly around, grabbed the front of her ragged shirt, and pulled her in close.
"Listen, brat . . . and listen good! You think you're real smart, real slick the way you conned Pong, but you forgot one thing. He spends most of his time on the bridge . . . and I spend most of my time with you."
And with that Boots slapped Molly across the face. Then came more slaps followed by hard fists and huge boots. Darkness came as a welcome relief.
Seven
The hovercraft bumped and shuddered through a series of small rapids throwing the tightly packed serfs left and right. Adults swore, children cried, and a variety of domesticated animals growled, hissed, and squealed their objections.
It was bad enough for the passengers in the main cabin, but for McCade, Rico, and Phil, as well as the Lakorians assigned to assist them, it was part of a long, boring hell.
They'd been locked in the forward hold for two days now, unable to see out, and constantly thrown about.
Light came from a couple of high portholes and some tired chemstrips. And like most holds this one came complete with cargo, some unpleasant life forms, and plenty of strange odors. Their table was a cargo module, crates stood in for chairs, and odds and ends took care of everything else.
At the moment Rico and six of the Lakorian troopers sat around the table, playing poker and swearing prodigiously.
One of the Lakorians was named Ven, a crafty type who'd risen a couple of ranks since McCade's first visit years ago, and commanded the rest.
Ven folded with an expression of profound disgust and pushed the small pot in Rico's direction. The human raked it in.
It was good to see Rico having a little fun. He'd been dark and gloomy of late, something he denied, but the others recognized for what it was . . . grief. Vanessa's death had hit him hard.
McCade climbed up on a box and tried to look out through one of the small slitlike portholes. It was a waste of time. Between the spray thrown up by the hovercraft's fans, the rain that never seemed to stop, and the vessel's erratic motion, he could see little more than a gray-green blur.
McCade climbed down and lit another cigar. The air was already thick with smoke and moisture, but what the hell, it was something to do.
Phil opened one eye, didn't like what he saw, and turned over. The variant had built himself a bunk on the top of some packing crates and spent most of his time in it. The warmth and humidity made him miserable so he was sleeping through as much of the trip as he could.
There was a narrow open space along the port bulkhead. McCade used it to pace back and forth, cigar clenched between his teeth, smoke issuing forth in small puffs. At some point during the next hour or so the hovercraft should arrive in the village of Durn. Then he'd know what they were up against.
The whole thing sucked but there wasn't much McCade could do about it. Without saying so directly Lif had made it clear that the situation in Durn was directly linked to Murd's efforts on behalf of the children.
It seemed that Lif's younger brother Bulo had always been something of an embarrassment,
"Is that it?" The man's voice was hard and unyielding.
Molly swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
The man looked up over Molly's head. The meaty hands disappeared from her shoulders. "The child makes sense. Feed them three times a day. I will send the medical officer. Arrange for clean clothes. See to their quarters." He gestured toward the blond man. "Raz will inspect them once per cycle."
Molly felt Boots stiffen behind her. "Yes, sir!"
The man nodded and turned away. A few seconds later he and Raz were in deep conversation.
A hand fell on Molly's shoulder. It guided her away from the chow line to where some cargo modules were secured to tie-downs in the deck. As soon as the modules hid them from view Boots spun Molly around, grabbed the front of her ragged shirt, and pulled her in close.
"Listen, brat . . . and listen good! You think you're real smart, real slick the way you conned Pong, but you forgot one thing. He spends most of his time on the bridge . . . and I spend most of my time with you."
And with that Boots slapped Molly across the face. Then came more slaps followed by hard fists and huge boots. Darkness came as a welcome relief.
Seven
The hovercraft bumped and shuddered through a series of small rapids throwing the tightly packed serfs left and right. Adults swore, children cried, and a variety of domesticated animals growled, hissed, and squealed their objections.
It was bad enough for the passengers in the main cabin, but for McCade, Rico, and Phil, as well as the Lakorians assigned to assist them, it was part of a long, boring hell.
They'd been locked in the forward hold for two days now, unable to see out, and constantly thrown about.
Light came from a couple of high portholes and some tired chemstrips. And like most holds this one came complete with cargo, some unpleasant life forms, and plenty of strange odors. Their table was a cargo module, crates stood in for chairs, and odds and ends took care of everything else.
At the moment Rico and six of the Lakorian troopers sat around the table, playing poker and swearing prodigiously.
One of the Lakorians was named Ven, a crafty type who'd risen a couple of ranks since McCade's first visit years ago, and commanded the rest.
Ven folded with an expression of profound disgust and pushed the small pot in Rico's direction. The human raked it in.
It was good to see Rico having a little fun. He'd been dark and gloomy of late, something he denied, but the others recognized for what it was . . . grief. Vanessa's death had hit him hard.
McCade climbed up on a box and tried to look out through one of the small slitlike portholes. It was a waste of time. Between the spray thrown up by the hovercraft's fans, the rain that never seemed to stop, and the vessel's erratic motion, he could see little more than a gray-green blur.
McCade climbed down and lit another cigar. The air was already thick with smoke and moisture, but what the hell, it was something to do.
Phil opened one eye, didn't like what he saw, and turned over. The variant had built himself a bunk on the top of some packing crates and spent most of his time in it. The warmth and humidity made him miserable so he was sleeping through as much of the trip as he could.
There was a narrow open space along the port bulkhead. McCade used it to pace back and forth, cigar clenched between his teeth, smoke issuing forth in small puffs. At some point during the next hour or so the hovercraft should arrive in the village of Durn. Then he'd know what they were up against.
The whole thing sucked but there wasn't much McCade could do about it. Without saying so directly Lif had made it clear that the situation in Durn was directly linked to Murd's efforts on behalf of the children.
It seemed that Lif's younger brother Bulo had always been something of an embarrassment,
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