by Jason Fry
“This is the Kepler Wanderer, out of Titania,” Mavry said, inserting one finger deep into his nose and rooting around. “We’re on a prospecting cruise. Say, we can pay you for any chemical signatures you’ve recorded. Provided they pan out, of course. I won’t pay for bad data, sir!”
“You’re a long way from home, Kepler,” Mox growled. “What are you prospecting for?”
“Why, anything that’ll fit in the hold, man!” Mavry said, chuckling. He extracted his finger from his nose, studied it, and flicked it away. “Ain’t found nothing but bulk sulfides, though.”
Mavry peered into the lens of his camera, getting so close that Tycho knew his face must be wildly distorted on the Hydra’s screens.
“Say, you wouldn’t be interested in some bulk sulfides, would ya?” Mavry asked. “Find the right buyer on Vesta, you can make a little money.”
He rubbed his fingers together, then began scratching at his face, leaving angry red marks. On the screen, the Hashoones saw the dots of the Hydra’s pinnaces searching the area. They were small craft, little more than ship’s boats, but agile and outfitted with laser cannons and sensors.
“Sorry there, captain,” Mavry said, coughing. “The old Wanderer’s got mites and fleas and other bugs. We don’t mind them, though. Think of them as friends. But next time you stay on Vesta, sir, don’t pick the Travelers’ Rest. No no no. Oh, what thieves they are at the Travelers’ Rest! Why, do you know what they—”
“Shut up, you flea-bitten idiot!” Mox growled. “So you’re a rock hunter, are you? I’m quite the enthusiast myself—gem collector, you might say. I’m going to send my men aboard your ship to inspect your specimens.”
Mavry coughed deeply, then hawked up something and spat it on the deck, leaving a trail of spittle down his chin.
Carlo turned to give Tycho a questioning look. He held up two fingers and kept typing frantically, still calculating the fastest route to the Comet’s long-range tanks.
“Are you deaf, sir?” Mavry asked. “Told you, ain’t found nothing but bulk sulfides. Terrible stuff, sulfides. Get into the ventilation systems, then into your lungs.”
He coughed again, then waved at the camera, wheezing. “You’re only welcome if you plan to buy the complete stock, sir. Otherwise, the Wanderer’s not taking visitors. We aren’t a tourist ship, you know!”
One pinnace had headed to port, the other to starboard, both trying to find the Comet.
“Enough jabber,” Mox said. “Show yourself and prepare for boarding—or die.”
Tycho pumped his fist at Carlo, who whirled back around to his console as their mother nodded.
“Go,” she mouthed.
“Die?” demanded Mavry, scraping his tongue with his fingers. “How rude of you. If you have no interest in buying sulfides, sir, this conversation is at an end.”
Carlo yanked back on the control yoke and stomped on the throttle, pressing the Hashoones back into their seats as Yana cut the transmission to the Hydra. Alarms blared as the Hydra’s gunners began firing, sending lances of energy arrowing across space.
“Pinnaces pursuing,” Vesuvia said with her usual eerie calm.
“Grigsby, tell the crews to hold fire,” Diocletia ordered.
“What?” demanded Huff. The magnets in his metal feet kept him fixed to the deck, motionless, as the ship accelerated. “Mox won’t respond to harsh language, Dio!”
“Don’t call me that!” barked Diocletia. “I don’t want Mox to know we’re a privateer, Dad!”
“Mox has his own scanners—and he knows the Comet sure as I know the Hydra!” Huff said.
“Belay that!” Diocletia said. “Carlo, how long to docking with the tanks?”
“Estimate two minutes on full burn,” Carlo said.
“Do it,” Diocletia said. “We’re not worrying about fuel efficiency today.”
“Have a care, Yana,” Huff said. “Mox may try to jam our systems.”
“No sign of that, Grandfather,” Yana replied. “But I’ll keep my eyes open.”
The Comet continued to shake under the onslaught of the Hydra’s guns. When a target vessel fled an intercept, every ship involved in the chase burned fuel at an alarming rate, so pursuits tended to be short. If the Comet could reach her fuel tanks before the Hydra or her pinnaces drew close enough to do real damage, she’d be able to activate the long-range tanks’ maneuvering engines and outrun her pursuers.
But if she couldn’t . . .
“Are we going to make it?” Yana asked Tycho in a low voice.
“I was just doing the calculations in my head,” Tycho replied, then grinned. “Gives you a new appreciation for math!”
Yana shook her head at him in amazement.
“Thanks for taking over communications,” Tycho added. “You were right.”
“Any time,” Yana said.
“Quiet back there!” Diocletia barked as the Comet shook again, more violently this time. Tycho tried to remind himself that the Hydra was still too far away for her guns to do real damage.
“Carlo, talk to me!” Diocletia said.
“Going fast as I can,” Carlo said. “At the current rate of fuel burn—”
“Give me the short version—are we going to make it or not?” Diocletia asked.
“It’ll be close,” Carlo said. “One minute to docking.”
The ship shuddered again. Diocletia activated her microphone.
“Mr. Grigsby, fire at will,” she said. “Defend this ship and all who sail on her.”
“That we shall, Captain,” Grigsby said.
A moment later the Comet shook again, but this time it was due to the recoil of her guns. The first volley of shots grew to a continuous roar as Grigsby’s crews opened up on the pursuing pirates.
“Arrr!” Huff roared. “We’ll blast you clear back to Io, Mox!”
The Comet shuddered, there was a shriek of metal, and her nose pitched sideways.
“Pursuers in range,” Vesuvia said.
“No kidding,” Yana muttered.
Mavry pointed out the forward viewport. The fuel tanks were a bright dot ahead.
“After we dock, what heading do you want?” Tycho asked.
“Anywhere but here,” Diocletia said.
The Comet’s tanks grew in size, becoming a cluster of dots. But the ship continued to shudder as the pinnaces’ cannons hammered away at her.
“Mr. Grigsby?” Diocletia asked.
“Givin’ it everything we’ve got, Captain,” Grigsby yelled back over the roar.
“Hang on,” warned Carlo. He shoved the control yoke left and the Comet slewed that way; then he cut the throttle as the ship shot upward into the fuel tanks’ cradle of struts. Something flashed on the screen, and a cheer erupted from belowdecks.
“Got one!” Tycho exulted. One of the pinnaces was retreating the way it had come, wounded by Grigsby’s gunners.
The Comet jumped and rattled as another explosion jolted her. Then they heard the clank of the hull brackets locking themselves into the tank attachments. The ship shook hard enough to fling them sideways in their restraints.
“Sorry about the bump,” Carlo said.
“Stabilizers engaged,” Vesuvia said. “Connecting fuel lines.”
“Come on, come on, come on!” Tycho urged.
The Comet shook again. What could be taking Vesuvia so long?
“Fuel lines connected,” Vesuvia said.
Carlo stomped on the throttle, and the acceleration slammed them back in their seats, hard enough to force their eyes closed and drive the air out of their lungs. Even Huff grabbed for the ladder. Tycho grunted, trying to breathe, as the Comet rocketed away from her pursuers into the safety of deep space.
The thunder of the guns ceased belowdecks. After a moment the brutal acceleration eased, leaving the Hashoones sitting in stunned silence.
“Carlo, that was good flying,” Diocletia said.
“Thank you, Captain,” Carlo said with a smile.
Dioc
letia turned to nod at Yana and Tycho.
“And that was a smooth handoff of duties under fire,” she added.
Yana and Tycho exchanged relieved looks.
“Sheesh. See if I try to sell sulfides to that guy again,” Mavry said.
Diocletia looked over at her husband, still wearing his goggles and cap.
“You should wear that hat more often, dear,” she said with a faint smile. “But only if you stop picking your nose. It’s a disgusting habit.”
11
RETURN TO CERES
Once the engineer verified that the Comet had taken only minor damage in her encounter with the Hydra, Diocletia ordered Carlo to plot a course back to Ceres—their next court date with Judge Quence was just a couple of days away. Besides, she explained, the Jovian Defense Ministry would need time to consider her report of the close encounter with Mox.
As they went about their duties, Tycho noticed that Yana looked preoccupied. After Carlo calculated the proper course for their trip to Ceres, she asked Vesuvia to replay the transmission from the Hydra.
“Why do you want to look at Thoadbone’s ugly mug again, missy?” asked Huff. “Once is one time too often to have to see that vacuum-hearted traitor.”
“Just watch,” Yana said. “Vesuvia, play it back.”
Once again Mox was on the main screen, demanding that the Comet submit to boarding by his thugs.
“There!” Yana said. “I know that man.”
“We all know Thoadbone Mox,” Carlo said with a snort, though Tycho was pretty sure his brother had gotten his first look at the scarred old pirate at the same time Tycho and Yana had.
“Not Mox,” Yana said, irritated. “Vesuvia, freeze the image. That man.”
She pointed to one of the crewers over Mox’s left shoulder, a spacer who struck Tycho as much like any other, aside from his choice of company.
“Remember him from Ceres?” Yana asked.
“You mean the guy we followed from the courtroom—Suud’s aide?” Tycho asked. “Sorry, Yana, but it’s not him.”
“Would you wait a second?” Yana asked, tapping at her mediapad. “Vesuvia, split the screen in two. Leave the man from the Hydra on the left and put this image from my mediapad on the right.”
“Rendering image,” Vesuvia said.
A moment later the new image came up on the screen. It was the picture Yana had snapped of Suud’s aide when she’d pushed Tycho into the Martian spacer. There were two men next to him, who’d also turned to see what had caused the commotion. The man in the middle was the one on the quarterdeck of the Hydra.
Mavry whistled.
“I don’t think I want to know how you wound up taking a picture of a crewer on Thoadbone Mox’s pirate ship,” Diocletia said.
“You’re right—you don’t,” Yana said.
Mother and daughter stared at each other for a moment. Then Diocletia sighed.
“Okay, Yana, well observed,” Diocletia said. “Now what does it mean?”
“It means Threece Suud is working with Mox,” Yana said.
Mavry cocked an eyebrow. “Does it?”
“Okay, someone working with Threece Suud is also working with one of Mox’s bridge crew,” Yana said. “Is that better?”
“Much,” said Mavry.
“It’s an interesting connection, isn’t it?” asked Yana.
“All they were doing was walking together,” said Carlo. “What if they’re old friends? Or brothers?”
That seemed ridiculous to Tycho, and he started to say so, but then he stopped. Huff was an old pirate, but during his career he’d come to know Jovian Defense Force officers, judges on Ceres, and nobles from Ganymede. The solar system was a big place, Tycho thought, but human connections could make it feel small.
“If they’re friends or brothers, that’s even more interesting,” Yana told Carlo. “I’m telling you, there’s no way it’s a coincidence to find one of Suud’s aides walking with a member of Mox’s bridge crew.”
Diocletia cut off Carlo before he could speak.
“We’re all tired,” she said. “I don’t know what it means, and I don’t think we’re going to figure it out now. The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t like it.”
The Hashoones hadn’t even sat down in Judge Quence’s courtroom when Threece Suud came striding over, smiling in a way that showed a lot of very big white teeth and reminded Tycho of ancient Earth predators he’d seen in holo-documentaries. He wasn’t wearing his iridescent suit today; instead, he wore a long scarlet coat with tails over a ruffled black shirt.
“Captain Hashoone,” he said to Diocletia, taking her hand in both of his and bowing over it. “I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot last time. It’s unfortunate to be adversaries in the courtroom before one is formally introduced.”
“And yet that is what we are—adversaries,” said Diocletia, jerking her hand out of his.
Suud looked like he hadn’t noticed her reaction, turning to Mavry and extending his hand. Mavry ignored it, and after a moment Suud pulled the hand back.
“Mr. Malone,” Suud said, giving Mavry a shallower bow than his wife had received.
“It’s First Mate Malone,” Mavry said. “That’s quite an outfit, Councilor Suud. You must be the talk of Ceres.”
“It’s Secretary Suud,” Suud replied with a frosty smile. “I’m glad you like it. It’s zero-gravity fibers, made to order by Hong Kong tailors according to a thousand years of family tradition. I’d be honored to give you their card.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Suud,” Mavry said. “But I’m afraid we’re not so formal aboard the Shadow Comet.”
Suud smiled minutely and extended his hand to Huff, who turned his back with a dismissive grunt. Undeterred, he turned to the younger Hashoones.
“Carlo, Tycho, and Yana,” he said. “Your reputations precede you. Your parents must be very proud.”
“Don’t speak to my children, Suud,” Diocletia snapped. “May I remind you that you’ve accused them of all manner of crimes?”
“It’s okay, Mother,” Carlo said. “It’s an honor to serve as bridge crew aboard the Comet, Secretary Suud. Just as it’s an honor to do our patriotic duty as privateers in service of the Jovian Union.”
He smiled at Suud and offered a very slight bow of his own. Yana grinned.
“Your sense of duty is commendable,” Suud said. “But duty is often difficult, of course. As I understand it, you are all competitors for the captaincy. Isn’t that the Jovian tradition?”
“That’s correct,” Carlo said, his eyes wary.
“How awkward,” Suud said with a sad smile and wide eyes. “Even without considering the legal ambiguity and moral uncertainty of your profession, it must be a terrible strain to be rivals as well as siblings. Knowing that one of you will be captain, but the other two will see their dreams dashed.”
“We’re used to it,” Carlo said frostily.
“Now look here, you little weasel—” Huff growled. The stump of his forearm swiveled frantically, sensing how badly Huff wanted to shoot somebody.
“A moment, Mr. Hashoone,” Suud said, smiling, before turning back to Carlo, Yana, and Tycho. “I am merely concerned for your welfare. I’m sure operating an antique starship is exciting, but what about your futures? On Earth you’d be receiving a first-rate education, one that would prepare you for any number of possible careers.”
“Careers?” demanded Huff. “What, train ’em to be bilge-suckin’ gum flappers or dead-eyed paper pushers? What lad or lass what’s right in the head would pick rottin’ in school over the life of a pirate?”
“Privateer,” Diocletia said, stepping between her father and Suud. “It’s obvious you don’t know the first thing about running a starship, Secretary. I’ll wager my children know more about mathematics and physics than most Earth children do. What’s more—”
The bailiff rapped his staff on the floor and called the court to order. Judge Quence was waddling out of his chamber
s with his wig on backward. As Quence rearranged his hairpiece properly atop his head, Suud gave the Hashoones a last smile and bow, then offered the same to the Jovian Union officials sitting behind them. He then took his place at the table on his side of the courtroom, next to a glum-looking Soughton.
“I don’t like that man,” Yana whispered to Tycho as he sat down in front of her at the table with Diocletia.
“Neither do I,” Tycho replied. Yana, he saw, was scanning the bureaucrats sitting behind Suud and Soughton.
“Second row, on the aisle,” she whispered. “It’s the aide we saw with Mox’s crewer. No, Tyke, don’t look!”
Diocletia gave them both a glower of warning.
“Now then,” Judge Quence said. “Before we once again take up the matter of the Cephalax II and her alleged diplomatic immunity, I have a question for Secretary Suud.”
Suud shot to his feet, the heels of his glossy shoes clicking together. Tycho wondered what expensive orbital factory had made them.
“It would be an honor, Your Honor,” Suud said with a deep bow.
“My heart leaps to hear it,” Judge Quence said. “It seems another Jovian privateer is on its way to Ceres with a prize seized in deep space. This prize is an Earth-registered freighter carrying a hold full of fourth-degree synthetic fertilizer, captured with one engine unlit and her air scrubbers running at twenty-five percent efficiency.”
“Dunno who the lucky privateer is, Quencie, but her captain can have ’er!” burst out Huff.
Judge Quence brought the gavel down so hard that his wig flipped off his head and disappeared behind him.
“Sorry, Quen—Your Honor,” Huff said sheepishly as Quence and the bailiff hunted behind the podium for the escaped wig. Judge Quence reappeared a moment later, red-faced but with his wig back in place.
“Now then,” Quence said. “What particularly interests me, Secretary Suud, is that in addition to her rather dull cargo and lengthy list of inspection violations, this freighter was carrying an Earth diplomat—one who only recently joined the diplomatic service. What might you know about all this, Secretary Suud?”
Judge Quence folded his hands and looked serenely out at Suud.