Free McCade's Bounty by William C. Dietz

ghostly green rectangles, windows became blotches of red, and power plants showed up as blobs of white. That's why McCade knew that the all-terrain vehicle parked next to the inn had been there for a relatively short period of time. The engine appeared as a ball of white radiance located toward the rear of a reddish haze.
    Other than that, and the occasional movement of a blurry-looking guard, there was nothing worth watching. McCade put the device away.
    A breeze blew in from the river. It made the vegetation rustle and swish. McCade made a face as the smell of Lakorian body odor hit his nostrils. When exposed to rain Lakorians exuded an oily substance that formed a microscopic layer of insulation between them and the water.
    McCade took one last look around. There was no point in waiting any longer. By now Bulo's toughs should be either drunk or asleep. The perfect time to slip into the inn, grab Bulo, and make their escape. Or so McCade hoped.
    McCade clicked his mic on and off. There were seven clicks in response. Gently, careful not to fall or make unnecessary noise, Rico made his way down onto the muddy road.
    A single streetlight made a pool of sickly yellow light.
    Beyond it the town was long and narrow, crushed between hill and river, with its most important buildings toward the center. Of these the inn was the largest, an impressive log structure with a stable on the ground floor and living quarters above that.
    McCade watched approvingly as dark shadows flitted across the road to merge with the blackness beyond.
    A domesticated animal squealed in protest as its litter mates shoved it up against a wall. McCade's heart pounded in his chest but nothing happened.
    Now it was his turn to cross the road. The big black duffel bag seemed to weigh a thousand pounds as he slipped and slid the last few feet down the hill and sprinted across the road. McCade's boots made squishing sounds and his pack swayed back and forth as he ran. Then he was across and slipping between two of the many hovels that fronted the road.
    "Over here." The voice belonged to Ven and came from his left. McCade moved with care trying to avoid the considerable garbage strewn between the huts.
    Thick fingers reached out to grab his arm and pull him into the shadows. The smell of Lakorian body odor was extremely strong. Ven whispered in his ear.
    "There are two guards just ahead, sire. I'll take the left, you take the right."
    McCade nodded, realized the Lakorian couldn't see him, and whispered, "Understood. You're left, I'm right."
    Ven faded into the darkness as McCade moved forward. There . . . about fifty feet away . . . something moved against the darker background of a building. A sentry.
    McCade left his slug gun in its holster and pulled a knife. Silence was critical. One shot, one yell, and they'd lose the advantage of surprise.
    Hugging a long, low wall McCade eased his way closer. Bit by bit the smell of Lakorian body odor grew stronger and stronger. There he was, a low blocky shadow with an energy weapon slung over his shoulder. Just a little bit closer . . .
    The sentry gave a sudden snort, as if something really putrid had assailed his nostrils, and swung in McCade's direction. As he did so the guard reached for his weapon.
    Damn! Either the body odor thing cut both ways . . . or the sentry had unusually good night vision.
    Knowing that he'd never be able to close the distance in time, and knowing that if he didn't some sort of sound was inevitable, McCade did the only thing he could.
    He brought his arm all the way back, jerked it forward, and let go of the knife. McCade wasn't that good with knives, but he practiced every now and then, and hoped for the best.
    There was a gurgle followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. Not bad! Tiptoeing up to the body McCade was startled to find Ven already there.
    Pulling a knife out of the sentry's throat the Lakorian grinned, wiped it on the tough's coat, and slid the weapon into