by Jason Fry
“Mr. Grigsby, fire at will,” Diocletia said. “Carlo, full speed and engage the Hydra. Yana, find me those pinnaces. And mind your long-range sensors—the Defense Ministry thinks Mox may be working with other pirates.”
“Now you tell me?” Yana asked.
“Now I tell you,” Diocletia said. “Tycho, scan all channels. If we can’t see them coming, maybe we can hear them.”
Grigsby’s gun crews quickly caught sight of one of the little pirate craft about thirty degrees off the starboard bow. Before the pinnace’s startled pilot could react, the Comet’s guns turned it into a ball of flame. Cheers came up the ladderwell.
“Good shooting, Mr. Grigsby!” Diocletia said. “Eyes open now—there are still hostiles out there.”
“I’ve got the other pinnace to port, amidships on the Ironhawk,” Yana said, hurriedly opening a channel to warn the other privateer’s sensor officer. “Ironhawk, bandit at two hundred eighty degrees!”
Bolts of energy began lancing out at the Comet from a bright dot ahead of them, almost lost in the blackness of space.
“Arr, Thoadbone,” growled Huff. “Come out an’ play!”
The Ironhawk’s crews fired at one of the pinnaces as its guns raked the privateer’s hull. Yana’s fingers clattered on her keyboard, eyes locked on her scopes.
“Mr. Grigsby,” Yana said. “Pinnace at three hundred degrees!”
“We see ’er,” Grigsby growled. The Comet’s topside turret fired, filling space with brilliant and deadly laser light. The pinnace dodged the burst of fire, rolled back the way it had come—and flew directly into a barrage from the Ironhawk.
“We’re clear,” Diocletia said, staring out the forward port. “Now let’s see to Mox.”
As if in response, Vesuvia chimed for the crew’s attention.
“Incoming transmission from the Hydra,” she said.
Diocletia smiled.
“Tycho, put it on,” she said.
A moment later they were staring at Thoadbone Mox, who was red-faced with fury. His remaining eye widened as he saw the Comet’s crew staring back at him.
“Thoadbone Mox,” Diocletia said. “You’re wanted by the Jovian Union for crimes against its citizenry. Surrender, and we will take you into custody with no further harm to your crew or your ship. Refuse, and we shall give you no quarter.”
“You talk like a policewoman,” Mox rasped, peering at the screen. “So, it’s the Hashoones. I thought that was yer broken-down antique ship that turned tail and fled two weeks ago. Cursed computer didn’t recognize it—must’ve been all the parts that have fallen off. But I knew.”
Huff strode forward to stand behind Diocletia. Mox saw him and looked briefly startled. Then he grinned.
“Huff Hashoone,” Mox said. “Thought you’d be in a rocking chair by now, sucking dinner through a straw on account of missing half a face.”
“Thoadbone Mox,” Huff replied. “Thought you’d be space dust by now, on account of missin’ half a brain and all of a heart.”
Mox cackled. “I’ve got brain and heart enough to still be captain of my own ship,” he said.
Tycho saw Huff’s back go rigid with fury. But his grandfather just leaned closer to the screen.
“I ain’t captain no more, ’tis true. Know what I am now?” Huff hefted his twin pistols. “Boardin’ party. And I’m comin’ to settle yer hash.”
“Big talk from a half-rusted—” Mox growled.
Diocletia gestured for Tycho to cut the transmission, and the red-faced pirate disappeared in mid rant. The Hydra was dead ahead, and Diocletia needed her crew’s full attention focused on the enemy ship.
Carlo and the Ironhawk’s pilot had spent hours working together in the simulator on their way to the Cybeles, and the effort had paid off. Their positioning was perfect—the Ironhawk was perhaps a kilometer to port, about even with the Comet.
The two ships passed on either side of the Hydra, raking her with broadsides. The dark of space turned blinding white with laser fire. The Comet shook continually, jittering and jumping as answering fire from the Hydra’s cannons tore into her port side, the impacts flinging the Hashoones around in their harnesses.
“Damage report,” Diocletia yelled.
“Third portside gun turret inoperative,” Vesuvia reported. “Hull integrity weakened in six points. Atmospheric venting confined by bulkheads.”
That was survivable, but if the Hydra hit one of those weak points, the damage could be catastrophic. Tycho couldn’t help glancing nervously at the patches of pale steel to starboard of the Comet’s viewport.
“And the Hydra?” Diocletia asked.
“Calculating,” Vesuvia said.
“Coming around,” Carlo said. He pushed the Comet hard to starboard, denying the Hydra further shots at her damaged hull armor, then slewed the privateer back the way she’d come, allowing her starboard batteries to open fire on the Hydra. On the other side of the pirate ship, the Ironhawk’s pilot was matching the Comet’s maneuver.
“Make it count, Mr. Grigsby!” Diocletia yelled.
Once again the space around the three ships filled with fury. Tycho listened to the alarms scream, to the deafening crunches and crashes of laser fire on the hull plates, to the shouts of the gunners belowdecks, to Huff’s roars of defiance. Then there was a larger, muffled impact, and the Comet streaked past the Hydra and came around for a third pass.
As they approached, they saw that the bow of the Hydra was cocked upward, as if the ship had been kicked by a giant. Her running lights were dark, her engines unlit.
“Careful—it might be a trick,” Diocletia said. “Vesuvia, damage report on the Hydra. Yana, watch those long-range sensors. Tycho, ears open.”
“Clear for now,” Yana said.
“Likewise,” Tycho said.
“Calculating,” Vesuvia said. “Scans show portside power linkages severed in three places. Confidence ninety-four point six percent.”
Huff let out a roar of triumph, and Diocletia and Mavry exchanged brief, satisfied nods. The Hydra was dead in space.
“Mr. Grigsby, fire to disarm,” Diocletia said. “Boarding parties, prep for action. Carlo, bring us in for docking. Easy now.”
As Carlo eased the Shadow Comet forward to align her docking ring with that of the Hydra, Grigsby’s gunners opened fire on the pirate ship’s gun turrets, turning her weapons into slag. Tycho realized he was holding his breath, worried that at any second the remaining batteries on Mox’s ship would open up and tear into the Comet at point-blank range.
“Mavry will lead the first boarding party,” Diocletia said. “Carlo, I want you with the second. First boarding party will secure the reactor and engines. Second will take the quarterdeck. Dad will be with the third party, backing up the others as needed. The rest of us will stay here and detach if any other pirates show their faces. Tycho has communications. Yana will run sensors for me.”
“I want to be part of a boarding party,” Yana said.
“Not now, Yana,” Diocletia said.
Carlo tapped the thrusters a final time, and the Comet’s docking ring came to rest against that of the Hydra, latching tight to it with a clatter of machinery.
“We still have to prove there’s a connection between Suud and Mox, and see if we can find our missing Jovians,” Diocletia reminded them. “If Mox’s crewers can get the power back online, they’ll scuttle their computers—and then this was all for nothing.”
“Arrr, and remember the Hydra’s a prize, Carlo,” Huff said. “Don’t think the crew of the Ironhawk don’t know it.”
Diocletia nodded. “She is—but we’re all Jovians. By all means, get to the quarterdeck first if you can, but nobody shoots anybody over it.”
“Got it, Captain,” Carlo said, unbuckling his harness and getting to his feet. “We’ll make you proud.”
Diocletia looked at her oldest son, then at her husband and her father.
“Remember, this isn’t a merchant intercept,” she said.
“The people on the other side of that hatch down there are killers. They aren’t expecting quarter, and they won’t be giving it.”
“As it should be,” grunted Huff, sliding down the ladderwell and out of sight. Mavry squeezed his wife’s shoulder briefly and followed. Carlo grinned and offered his siblings a jaunty wave, as if he were headed into Port Town for a picnic in a sunny simulation dome. Then he too was gone. Diocletia stared after them for a long moment, then turned to Tycho and Yana, blinking.
“What are your orders?” Tycho asked, but Yana jumped in before Diocletia could answer.
“It’s not fair!” she said with a scowl. “Why can’t I go?”
“Because if Earth has other pirates out here and we don’t see them coming, we’re dead,” Diocletia said. “Tycho, check your connections with Mavry, Huff, and Carlo. And run the feed through the speakers so we can all hear it.”
Tycho nodded.
“Dad, Grandfather—can you hear me?” he asked. “Carlo?”
“It’s Dad,” Mavry said. “Got you loud and clear.”
“I hear yeh, Tyke,” rumbled Huff.
“Me too,” Carlo said. “We’re getting ready to crack open the Hydra.”
If Carlo was nervous, Tycho couldn’t hear it in his voice. His older brother had simulated plenty of hostile boarding actions, as they all had. But no simulation could prepare you for standing in a ring of retainers armed with pistols and knives, knowing that very soon people would be trying to kill you.
“Ranking officer’s weapons, First Mate Malone,” they heard Grigsby say, and knew he was handing Mavry the traditional chrome musketoons. Tycho had hoped that listening to the familiar ritual would reassure him, but it just made him more anxious.
“Thank you, Mr. Grigsby,” Mavry answered solemnly, then raised his voice. “I don’t need to tell any of you what’s waiting for us. Thoadbone Mox is the kind of Jupiter pirate who gives all of us an evil reputation. He’s a murderer and a slaver—and a traitor. Today, he atones for those crimes—crimes against the Jovian Union, his fellow pirates, the families of the missing, and the glory of our good name. Now form up!”
“Three cheers for First Mate Mavry! Three cheers for Captain Huff! Three cheers for Master Carlo!” a crewer yelled, followed by cheers so loud that Tycho had to lift the earpiece away from his head.
“Dobbs! Safrax!” Grigsby yelled. “Point!”
“Captain, boarding parties here,” Mavry yelled over the noise. “We’re ready.”
Diocletia bit her lip, then activated her microphone.
“You are green for boarding,” she said. “Godspeed.”
Tycho, Yana, and Diocletia heard the clatter of the crewers’ weapons, the moan of a hatch opening—and then the staccato sound of blasters firing.
16
BATTLE FOR THE HYDRA
Sitting on the quarterdeck of the Comet, Tycho, Yana, and Diocletia could only listen to crewers screaming in defiance and pain, the repeated cracks of shots, and the sound of running feet.
“What’s happening down there?” Yana demanded of no one in particular.
“Eyes on your scopes,” Diocletia reminded her.
Tycho had a layout of a Leopard-class frigate on his screen, with points of light indicating the positions of Mavry, Carlo, and Huff. All three were wearing tracers on their belts that allowed him to track their progress through Mox’s ship.
“One man down,” Mavry said into his microphone, breathing hard. “Mox’s crewers are resisting, but we’re advancing. It’s dark—power’s completely out.”
“I hope the schematics we have for the Hydra are accurate,” Tycho said to Yana. “If she’s been remodeled, they could walk right into a wall—or worse.”
Mavry’s voice was drowned out as he fired his pistol. Someone screamed.
“The first wave of pirates broke and ran,” he said. “We should be at the starboard passageway now. Do you see us, Tycho?”
“Yes,” Tycho said, looking at the schematic. “That passageway should run the length of the ship to aft and dead-end at the fire room. Carlo, moving forward you’ll hit a T intersection. Turn left, then right, and you should hit the quarterdeck.”
“Got it,” Carlo said. “I’m heading that way. Mr. Porco and Mr. Richards have lead. It’s pitch black. We’re feeling our way. Mr. Porco’s infrared eye is no use—it’s too cold in here.”
Tycho tried to imagine feeling his way in the dark aboard a strange ship, not knowing what was waiting for you in the darkness and unable to turn on your headlamp because it would make you an easy target. At least for the moment, being aboard the Comet didn’t seem so bad.
“Dad, stay where you are,” Diocletia said.
“There’s folks on this tub what need holes put in ’em, Dio,” Huff objected.
“And Mavry and Carlo may need your help,” Diocletia replied. “Sit tight.”
Huff grumbled, but the dot of light representing him came to a halt, while Mavry’s dot moved slowly toward the Hydra’s stern. A moment later Tycho watched as Carlo’s dot intersected a wall and kept going.
“Wait, Carlo!” Tycho said.
“What?” his brother demanded.
“Unless you can walk through walls, your schematic’s wrong,” Tycho said.
“You’re right,” Carlo said. “Ugh. Everything’s different in here.”
“They probably reconfigured the layout to make room for the topside gun turrets,” Yana said. “Which would mean the ladderwells—”
Suddenly someone yelped and there was a crash, followed by a quick flurry of shouts and curses.
“Porco fell down the ladderwell!” Carlo yelled.
Four shots rang out.
“We’ve got to help him!” Carlo yelled. “Go! Go! Go!”
They heard Carlo breathing hard, the clatter of feet on ladder rungs—and then a confused mass of shooting and yelling.
“We’re belowdecks,” Carlo said. “But so is—”
And then he cried out.
Tycho, Yana, and Diocletia leaned forward.
“Carlo! Carlo!” Tycho kept repeating into the microphone.
“Here,” Carlo said after a moment. “I—I’m hit, but I think I’ll be okay. But we’re pinned down! They’re all around us!”
“Dad!” Diocletia said. “Carlo—”
“I hear it,” Huff said. “C’mon, mateys! Yeh wanna live forever?”
“Still moving aft,” Mavry said. “Is Carlo okay?”
Tycho started to answer, but Diocletia cut him off.
“Dad’s on it,” she said.
For a long moment all they heard was the whistle and whine of shots from Carlo’s group and the grunts and tramps of Huff and the Hashoone retainers feeling their way toward his position. Tycho saw Mavry’s dot stop and knew his father was wrestling with what to do, desperate to help Carlo but mindful of the mission.
“Continuing aft,” Mavry said finally, his dot moving again.
“We’re at the ladderwell,” Huff said. “Carlo, covering fire. We’re comin’ down and comin’ hard.”
“Form up!” Carlo yelled. “Fire all directions!”
Tycho heard a clang and a clatter that had to be his grandfather’s metal feet hitting the decking at the foot of the ladderwell, and saw the dots representing him and Carlo converge. Then they heard firing and yelling, broken by Huff’s roars and some impressively awful oaths. Huff yelled in pain, then opened fire with his forearm cannon, cursing steadily.
“How d’ye like that for payback, you slaver rat?” Huff growled, his voice strained. “I’ve got Carlo. But it’s hard fightin’ down here, Captain.”
“Are you all right?” Diocletia asked.
“Flesh wound from a lucky shot,” Huff muttered. “But we’ll be a while flushing this lot out of their holes. Someone needs to secure the quarterdeck.”
Tycho looked at the dots—Huff and Carlo together, Mavry aft.
“We can double back—” Mavry began, then cursed as blaster fire bega
n bursting around him, too.
“Stick to the plan,” Diocletia said. She stood and began gathering things from beneath her station.
“I’ll go, Captain,” Yana said.
“No, I need you on the scans,” Diocletia said. “And to fly the Comet if more pirates arrive. Tycho—”
“If there are still pirates out there, you should fly the ship, Mom,” Tycho said. “You don’t need a navigator, but you do need Yana to run scans—she’s the best at it. I’m the one who should go. As long as Yana can handle communications.”
“I can handle anything on this ship,” Yana said. “Except pistols, apparently.”
“That’s enough, Yana,” Diocletia warned.
She looked at her son for a long moment, frowning, and Tycho could see the doubt on her face.
“I’m ready for this, Captain,” he said, hoping that was true.
Diocletia shut her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and nodded.
“Go,” she said. “I’ll order another boarding party put together from the portside gun crews. I just wish we had more able spacers. Stay behind the retainers, Tycho. Get to the quarterdeck and hold it.”
Tycho leaped to his feet, passing his headset over to Yana. He reached under his workstation, thinking, It’s just like the simulator. Vest. Gloves. Tracer. Headlamp. Pistol. One step at a time.
He zipped his vest and ran through the checklist one last time, then nodded at his mother and sister.
“Ready, Captain,” he said.
“Good luck,” Diocletia said. Then her gaze softened and she was staring at him, no longer the captain but his mother.
“Be careful, Tyke,” she said.
Belowdecks, it smelled like sweat, smoke, and burned circuitry. Seven Hashoone retainers were waiting for Tycho at the airlock, carbines in their hands. They saw him and snapped to attention.
Tycho looked at them, momentarily surprised. Most of them were just a few years older than he was, and they looked wild-eyed and scared. He supposed he shouldn’t have been shocked—the Comet’s most reliable retainers had all been assigned to the earlier boarding parties, and this was what was left.
It would have to do, Tycho thought.
“I’ll make this fast,” Tycho said as he checked his carbine’s power levels. “Our target is the quarterdeck. We’re to secure her computers—and if we can, take her as a prize. Let’s go.”
