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
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
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