As Pegasus headed for the human empire McCade relaxed in the ship's small lounge and thought about Teeb's "presents." Reba and Neem. Beauty and the beast.
On many rim worlds Neem would be shot on sight. People don't like Il Ronnians out along the rim, especially on planets like Arno that had been settled by a fundamentalist religious sect. They would see Neem as the devil incarnate and would either shoot him or run screaming for their temples. Either way it was a problem, so Neem would have to stay aboard the ship.
Of course, Neem could command the cooperation of any Il Ronnian warships that happened along, and if they actually found the vial, he could take it home, a trip McCade could do without.
Even so, McCade wondered if Teeb secretly hoped Neem wouldn't come back at all, and was using the situation to unload a nutcase.
Reba on the other hand was a definite asset. Or so it seemed anyway. She was a qualified pilot, a fairly good medic, and fun to look at besides. All skills that could come in handy.
She also swore that her pirate days were over, that she owed McCade a debt of gratitude, and that nothing would give her greater pleasure than to help recover the Vial of Tears. Well, time would tell.
McCade really didn't care as long as she stuck around long enough to give him what he needed most, access to the planet called "The Rock."
McCade requested a Terran whiskey from the autobar and lit a cigar.
Neem entered the lounge, nodded politely, and plopped down in front of the holo player. He put on a set of earphones and stared intently into the holo tank. Another whodunit most likely. The Il Ronnian loved them.
McCade forced his thoughts back to the problem at hand: "The Rock." Once, back during Confederation times, the planet had teemed with life. Thick jungle had wrapped the planet in green, mountains had soared to the sky, and rivers had cut their way down to seas rich with life.
But that was gone now, erased by the hell bombs used to sanitize the planet's surface.
Even then the Il Ronnian empire was expanding, and forts were needed to stop the inexorable advance, forts powerful enough to stand off an invading fleet. So a planet was chosen and prepared. And by the time the engineers finished there was nothing left. Not a tree, not a mountain, not a single body of water. All of it gone right down to the bedrock.
A fortress was constructed. It covered more than a hundred square miles and drew its power from the planet's core. Powerful weapons were placed around the circumference of the planet and aimed toward space. More weapons were placed on orbiting weapons platforms and these too were aimed outward.
Years passed and an Il Ronnian attack never came. The Confederacy destroyed itself instead and gave rise to the Empire. But some continued to resist the Emperor and in so doing gave the fortress a new purpose.
Thousands of prisoners vanished into the sprawling complex and rechristened the planet "the Rock" after a famous prison on old Earth. And like its namesake the Rock offered no chance of escape. No one could survive on the planet's sterile surface, and even if they did, there was no way off.
Sure, they could take over the complex itself, but why bother? The weapons on the orbiting platforms, like those on the planet's four moons, were now turned inward and manned by marines. Nothing could move without their approval.
As things turned out that was a serious mistake.
The attack seemed like a joke at first. A pathetic attempt by the remains of a rebel fleet to rescue their comrades, strike one last blow for a defeated cause, and go out with a bang.
Though defeated by Admiral Keaton at the Battle of Hell, what was left of the rebel fleet had split up and come back together at prearranged times and places. They knew the war was over, but sympathy for their imprisoned comrades drove them to one last desperate act: an attack on the Rock.
Knowing the planet was heavily defended, the rebels expected to lose, to die fighting, but much to their own surprise they won.
The Imperial Marines fought bravely, but their weapons were aimed in the wrong direction, and they were badly outnumbered. Thousands died.
So the planet's defenses were turned outward once again, and the rebels went about making their prison a home, and in the process transformed themselves as well.
They knew they couldn't rest. The existing supplies of food wouldn't last forever, and given the planet's barren surface, there was no possibility of growing more. Even the thin atmosphere required artificial maintenance.
So the rebels used fighting skills honed during years of war to raid other planets for supplies. They saw themselves as liberators, taking what they needed to continue a glorious cause.
But their victims saw them as pirates, taking what they weren't willing to make themselves, spreading pain and misery wherever they went.
Time passed and once-bright ideals became increasingly tarnished. Loot became the purpose of their existence, and not as a means of mere survival, but as a means of wealth and privilege.
Disliking the term "pirates," they called themselves "the Brotherhood," and styled themselves as an occupational democracy.
But McCade had been to the Rock and seen the way the pirates lived, and there wasn't anything democratic about it. A council made up of a few powerful individuals ran everything and vied with each other for ever larger slices of a rather fat pie.
And they didn't take kindly to unauthorized visitors. McCade knew that from personal experience. On his last visit to the Rock he'd managed to rip them off, blow up half a spaceport, and destroy a number of their ships. As a result he wouldn't be able to sneak in the same way he had before, and once there, he would be in even greater danger.
"A penny for your thoughts."
McCade looked up into Reba's brown eyes. Damn, the woman was pretty. If it weren't for Sara . . . He shoved the thought down and back.
"Only a penny? Surely you're worth more than that. I was thinking of you."
Reba smiled as she dropped into the seat next to Neem. He didn't even look up from the holo tank.
"I'd be complimented if I hadn't seen the holopix of Sara all over the ship. But I have, so I'm worried instead. What's on your mind?"
"I was thinking that you're the key to getting on the Rock. And unless I miss my guess, that's where we need to go."
Reba frowned. "Why?"
McCade examined the ash on his cigar before tapping it into an ashtray. "The vial was taken during a raid, right? And while the pirates who took it didn't realize its true value, I understand the vial is quite pretty, and therefore valuable in its own right. And since all loot goes to the Rock for auction, that's where it went."
"That's true," Reba agreed. "But things sold at auction usually go off-planet with whoever buys them. By now the vial could be anywhere."
McCade nodded his agreement. "Exactly. But once we find out who bought the vial, we can track them down. Make sense?"
Reba's eyes dipped toward the deck and back up again. She had reservations but wasn't willing to share them.
"It makes sense," she agreed reluctantly. "But how will I get you onto the Rock? And more importantly, how will you get off? I was on patrol when you trashed port twelve. But I heard about it, and I know the executive council would love to get their hands on you. They might allow you to get dirtside, but they'll never let you go."
McCade blew smoke toward the overhead and smiled. "Then we won't tell 'em I'm there."