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  With considerable prodding McCade learned that the marine was now something of a local hero. It seemed that while most of the Council's forces were drawn off into a series of small skirmishes, the pirates launched a surprise attack against the admin complex. The Council had relied mainly on the complex's camouflage to protect it. As a result the pirates had cut their way through the mostly unarmed clerical staff with ease. Until they ran into Van Doren, that is. Aware that a battle was raging somewhere, but unable to find either it or McCade, the marine was searching for the action when it found him. After launching a one-man counterattack, he managed to rally enough clerks and security guards to hold the main corridor until help arrived. As a result the pirates failed to penetrate the core of the complex.

  Van Doren made it sound like a stroll through the park. But the awed looks and frequent congratulations of the other diners testified to the marine's accomplishment. In fact, McCade mused a few hours later as he sat waiting in an empty conference room, if it hadn't been for Van Doren, they wouldn't have had anyone to interrogate. He'd managed to take the day's only prisoner.

  Larkin's planetary defense forces had vaporized the lifeboat as it left the atmosphere, although the second ship had escaped. So Rico's disdain for the "flyboys" had not been entirely deserved. Meanwhile the other pirates who'd survived had escaped into the wilds. If you could call that "escape." In any case, McCade felt frustrated. He seemed to be getting nowhere fast. In order to find Bridger, he'd have to get off-planet. He had a plan for that. But once in space, what then?

  McCade turned to his right as a door there slid open. One by one the Council filed in. Wendel and Larkin nodded politely in his direction. McCade noticed Larkin's uniform was ripped and soiled. His right arm was in a sling. Evidently the ex-marine believed in leading his troops instead of following them as so many Imperial officers liked to do. Rico tossed him a jaunty salute as he entered, in contrast to Premo's look of barely disguised hatred. When Sara Bridger entered the room, she appeared even more exhausted than before. To McCade's surprise, she favored him with a formal smile as the room lights dimmed.

  A bank of screens came to life in front of them. Each provided a different view of a bare, cell-like room dominated by a tubular hospital bed. On its gleaming surface a naked man lay spread-eagled, his powerful arms and legs restrained by leather straps. They'd shaved his head and body hair. McCade noticed the bony ridge bisecting the man's skull from front to back. It hinted at Tillarian blood. The Tillarians were a proud, some said egotistical, race who banned all those of mixed blood from the home system. Which probably accounted for this man's presence among the pirates.

  Wires and tubes ran in and out of his body like multicolored parasites feeding off a corpse. It certainly beat torture, but McCade still felt sorry for the man. An efficient-looking female technician stood nearby, monitoring a bank of complicated controls. When she spoke McCade noticed that her speech had a husky, rhythmic, almost hypnotic quality. She asked a series of simple, nonthreatening questions. Name, date of birth, and so on. But the pirate met each question with a nonsensical string of words and numbers. Apparently he'd been memblocked. The question was how deep? Superficial blocks could be broken by an expert. Deeper ones could be broken too—but the process was usually fatal.

  With consummate skill the technician probed, searching gently for a way around the block. She chose her questions with care, occasionally pausing to make minute adjustments to the flow of chemicals and drugs into the pirate's body. It took more than two hours before she found a way around the block and began to receive coherent answers. By that time she'd convinced the pirate that his mission was over, and he was being debriefed by his commanding officer.

  McCade added another cigar butt to the growing collection at his feet as the man related a good deal of boring detail which preceded the attack on Alice. Finally the pirate's narrative reached the part McCade had been waiting for.

  "The assault began according to the plan outlined by our shop steward. Using diversionary skirmishes for cover, my foreman led us into the administrative complex. Initially we encountered light resistance. Then in corridor five, we ran into trouble. Suddenly we ran into an organized defense and accurate sniper fire. Evidently the dirties were able to rush elite security forces into the area."

  McCade smiled at this description of Van Doren and his file clerks.

  "So after suffering heavy casualties, we were forced to withdraw," the pirate concluded.

  "And you did the right thing," the technician said soothingly. "Now, what were the objectives of your mission?"

  For a moment McCade thought the pirate would balk. The question wouldn't normally be asked during a debriefing, and for a moment the man's face registered doubt. Then the technician lightly touched her controls and the pirate's features gradually relaxed.

  "Our first objective," he said in a singsong voice, "was to capture Council member Bridger."

  McCade looked at Sara, but her expression was lost in the dark. Premo leaned over to whisper something in her ear, to which she nodded.

  "Objective two was to capture or kill any other Council members present. Objective three was to retrieve any intelligence that might be available. Objective four was to damage and destroy as much of the administration complex as possible."

  The pirate's words confirmed McCade's suspicions. The recent increase in pirate attacks was somehow connected to Bridger's disappearance. Why else would they place such importance on capturing his daughter? His mind raced as the interrogation continued. By the time it was over the technician would have skillfully extracted information on everything from the quality of pirate rations to the strength of their fleet. It was interesting stuff, but more than McCade needed to know.

  The Council obviously felt the same way. The room lights came up and the Council members began to talk excitedly among themselves. The bank of screens faded to black and disappeared into the wall. Then the Council swiveled their chairs around to face McCade. Sara Bridger spoke first.

  "McCade, I'm sorry about the way I acted the last time we met. I'm afraid I was tired and more than a little upset." Her hand strayed to the thin white line across her cheek. "You see, the news about my father came as quite a shock. In any case your bravery and that of your friend is strong testimony on a planet where deeds still speak louder than words." With that she frowned and paused before going on. "Which isn't to say I approve of either your profession or your methods," she added sternly.

  "Understood," McCade replied levelly, catching a glimpse of her capacities as a politician. He admired the way in which she had apologized and then neatly regained the upper hand.

  "Now," she said evenly, "perhaps we could pick up where we left off. The Council hopes that whatever you can tell us, combined with what we just heard, may shed some light on our present situation."

  McCade had already considered the alternatives and decided in favor of complete honesty. Quickly and concisely he outlined the events leading up to his arrival on Alice. He left nothing important out, briefly touching on the Battle of Hell, his subsequent court martial, and how this had led Swanson-Pierce to try and use him. McCade saw Sara Bridger's already pale face grow even whiter at his mention of the Battle of Hell. Premo was furious. He started to rise, but her hand reached out to restrain him. With obvious reluctance, he fell back into his seat.

  "Go on, McCade," she said, forcing a smile.

  So he did, explaining how Bridger had evidently managed to decode his Directory, which in turn had apparently provided him with the location of the War World. McCade thought he detected a flash of pride in Sara Bridger's eyes at the mention of her father's accomplishment. But it was quickly gone in the buzz of conversation that followed as the Council members speculated about the War World and its potential impact on the citizens of Alice.

  After a few moments of this, Sara asked for their attention. "Quiet, please. I'm sure we all agree that this War World is cause for concern. But let's hear the rest of Mr. Mc
Cade's comments." She nodded in his direction.

  She was calm and attentive during the balance of his narrative, even laughing when he described his meeting with Rico. By the time he was finished, he'd glossed over her father's relationship with the Treel in its guise as Cadet Votava, but in all other respects he'd been entirely honest.

  The room fell silent for a moment. Then Colonel Larkin said, "So the Empire allows the pirates to exist as the price for peace. A price to be paid by us. I'd suspected as much but never had the guts to face it." He shook his head sadly, remembering all the good men who had died fighting token battles with the pirates.

  "Not for much longer, it would seem," Professor Wendel interjected. "If the pirates pry the location of the War World out of your father, Sara, we won't be around very long thereafter."

  "Not that we're gonna be that much better off if the Il Ronn or the Empire gets to him first," Rico added with a characteristic grin.

  "If McCade's telling the truth," Premo concluded sourly.

  Almost imperceptibly everyone turned toward Sara Bridger. Her eyes burned brightly in the whiteness of her face. Her hands were clenched talons in her lap. "It must be stopped," she said, her voice almost a whisper. Her face was haunted and desperate as she turned to McCade. "We must find him and stop this before they can use him. Even if it means killing him."

  "No!" Premo spoke with such violence that spittle flew from his lips as he leaped to his feet. "I won't have it! He's lying! Can't you see that, Sara? He's trying to get you off Alice for some plan of his own . . .." Suddenly one clawlike hand dived for the gun at his side.

  As if by magic McCade's slug gun seemed to materialize in his hand. But before he could squeeze the trigger there was a loud cracking sound and Premo crumpled to the floor, his weapon falling from nerveless fingers. For a moment longer, life lingered in his eyes as he looked reproachfully up at Sara Bridger. Tears streamed down her cheeks and a wisp of smoke curled from the barrel of the small wrist gun in her hand. Then Premo was gone. Her eyes were still on his body when she said, "Tell the Council what we'll need, McCade . . . and they'll give it to you. Now if you'll all excuse me . . ." With a strangled sob she ran from the room.

  McCade felt confused as he watched her go, wishing he could comfort her, but afraid to try. He took a step forward, but stopped when he realized that to follow her he'd have to step over Premo's body. He looked up to find all their eyes directed his way.

  "Well, ol' sport," Rico said, "like the lady said, what'll ya need?"

  Eight

  Five rotations later he was free of Alice but still trapped by a lack of information. Nonetheless they'd settled on a plan of action that might lead them to Bridger. It might also get them killed. His seat vibrated for a moment as the drive cut out for a fraction of a second before cutting back in. The pirate ship had seen hard use without much maintenance. It had taken the better part of four rotations to repair damage to the cargo hatch, remove the charred remains of the pirate crawler, and bury the pirates who'd been left behind when the crammed lifeboat had lifted off. They'd chosen to fight it out with Larkin's troops rather than surrender. McCade suspected they would have found little mercy in the hands of the hard-eyed colonists anyway.

  To make matters more complicated, there wasn't any way to tell when the ship had last been surveyed. That information, along with the ship's log, inventory, crew list, and anything else stored in the memory of the vessel's computer had been bulk-erased by the escaping crew. They'd left a tidy little bomb behind as a token of their esteem as well. Fortunately Larkin's forces had found and disarmed it. Anyway it all added up to a lift-off in a ship held together by habit and prayer. There just wasn't enough time to do anything more.

  McCade rubbed his eyes. They felt tired and dry. His body demanded sleep, but his mind wanted one more look. Once more he ducked under the hood of the lounge's small holo player and tried to focus on the planet that swam before his tired eyes. Its dull surface reflected little light. It looked like a lifeless hulk, a dark place, a purposeless rock on an endless path through space.

  But McCade knew from the sketchy information gleaned from the central data banks on Alice that it hadn't always been so. When discovered by a far-ranging survey ship, clear back in Confederation times, there had been life on the planet. It hadn't been particularly attractive life, but it was life nonetheless. Dense jungle had wrapped most of the planet in a steamy embrace. Giant mountains had thrust their lofty peaks to the edge of space itself, and everywhere streams and rivers had fed lakes and seas filled with life-bearing primordial soup. A planet not unlike Terra in its early stages. But all that was gone now. Replaced by millions of square miles of featureless black rock. Confederation engineers had scoured the planet's surface clean with hell bombs. In spite of their efforts tiny microscopic organisms would doubtless start the long climb once again, but it would be thousands of years before their efforts became visible.

  McCade turned the magnification up to max. The planet's surface leaped up to reveal more detail. Right on the border between day and night, slightly north of the equator, a fortress could be seen. It was huge, covering more than a hundred square miles. Originally it had been constructed as a forward base from which the Confederation could defend itself against an Il Ronn invasion. It was as close to impregnable as man could make it. Energy for their weapons flowed from the planet's core. The surface was sterilized to deny invaders even the questionable hospitality of the jungle. In fact anything which might have conceivably served an enemy was gone. Mountains, rivers, seas, vegetation—everything.

  The years passed and the Il Ronn never came. Instead the Confederacy destroyed itself and the Empire was born. And then the fortress was put to use. Staffed with Imperial marines, it made a good prison for those who refused to accept the Empire.

  Thousands of prisoners disappeared into the sprawling complex. They rechristened the planet "The Rock" after a famous prison on old Earth. There the prisoners waited to die. They had little other choice. Like its ancient predecessor, the Rock offered little chance of escape. No one could survive long on the planet's sterile surface, and nothing larger than a supply shuttle was ever allowed to touch down.

  As for taking over the complex itself, why bother? Rings of orbiting weapons platforms circled the globe and covered the surface of its four moons. Originally part of the planet's defenses, it had been a simple matter to aim them at the Rock itself instead of space. However, doing so had turned out to be a mistake. One which few of the marines manning the weapons lived to regret.

  At first the attack seemed like one last glorious but suicidal gesture on the part of a ragtag rebel fleet. Badly mauled by Admiral Keaton in the Battle of Hell, they'd split up hiding among the frontier worlds, eventually coming back together at prearranged times and places. They knew the war was lost, and that knowledge drove them to one last desperate act, an attempt to free their imprisoned comrades. But much to their own surprise the rebel fleet met with an easy victory. The Imperial marines fought valiantly, but they weren't prepared for an attack from space, and they were grossly outnumbered. Within hours a half-million cheering prisoners stood on the barren black plains surrounding the prison.

  It didn't take their leaders long to realize there was no place to go. They had insufficient ships to lift all the prisoners off the Rock, in any case they lacked a destination. Elements of Keaton's fleet waited should they head toward the Empire, and in the other direction lay the Il Ronn, whose raiders were already making themselves felt. So once again the Rock's weapons were turned around and aimed toward space. What had been their prison became their home.

  But they couldn't sit back and relax. The supplies on hand wouldn't last forever. The planet's surface wouldn't grow crops for a thousand years, even with terraforming . . . and without plant life even the atmosphere required maintenance. So food and supplies would have to come from somewhere else.

  What remained of the rebel fleet began to raid commerce along the frontier to ob
tain food and supplies. Those they raided called them "pirates." Disliking the term "pirates," they called themselves "The Brotherhood," although in truth the Brotherhood was more like an executive council made up of representatives from occupational organizations.

  Then one day the Il Ronn attacked with unimaginable savagery. For two rotations the battle raged. The Il Ronn unleashed missiles and bombs of incredible power. But the Rock's former inmates defended their home with courage and determination until finally the Il Ronn learned what Admiral Keaton had known all along. Without a civilian population to worry about, without industry to defend, a well-fortified planet can be held against any fleet. What was left of the Il Ronn armada limped off to lick its wounds.

  Meanwhile one of the many small scout ships which Keaton referred to as his "eyes and ears," raced for fleet headquarters with its report of the Il Ronn defeat. Not long thereafter Admiral Keaton was shown into the Emperor's garden. The aging but still vigorous emperor lounged in the comfort of his stim bath. The two men talked for many hours. Keaton argued persuasively in favor of using the pirates as a first line of defense against the Il Ronn. The older man resisted at first, asking questions and pointing out potential consequences. But in the end the Emperor nodded his leonine head and it was agreed. It was one of his last major decisions. A few months later he was dead, and his son had assumed the throne.

  McCade pulled his head out from under the privacy hood and fumbled for a cigar. Finding one, he lit it and leaned back to watch smoke swirl up toward the nearest intake vent. Getting on to the Rock, finding Bridger if he was there, and getting off alive wasn't going to be easy. Nevertheless it had to be done. Where else would Laurie have taken Bridger?

  It didn't show up on the dated holo he'd been looking at but, according to the pirate prisoner, the Rock was even stronger now than it had been before. Since taking over, the pirates had expanded and improved the original structure, adding not only more comfortable quarters and recreational facilities, but more defenses as well. Chief among those were unmanned computer-controlled weapons platforms located about one light out from the Rock in every direction. Every pirate ship had an individual code printed into the atomic structure of its frame. As ships approached the weapons platforms, the code was automatically checked. If correct, the ship was allowed to pass. If not it was immediately blasted out of existence.