by Jason Fry
“Three cheers for Master Tycho!” said Croke, a retainer with a white beard and a mouth full of black ceramic teeth. He’d been the Comet’s purser once, in charge of her finances, till his fondness for drink had landed him on the blacklist one too many times. Tycho sure hoped that wasn’t a problem now.
“It’s an honor to fight alongside you, gentlemen,” Tycho said, stepping behind Croke and two very young retainers—Higgs and Tully were their names, he remembered. Two more men, Laney and Chin, stepped behind him to protect their rear, leaving two retainers behind to guard the airlock.
“Yana, can you hear me?” Tycho asked.
“Loud and clear.”
“Good. I’m shutting down the others’ channels—it’s too easy to get lost or distracted in there.”
“I’ll tell you anything you need to hear,” Yana said.
“I know you will,” Tycho said. “We’re ready, Comet.”
“You are green for boarding,” Diocletia said.
Tycho gave the order, and the retainers rushed through the short passage connecting the two ships and leading into the gloom beyond. The Hydra smelled bad, like stale air and roasted meat, and Tycho could hear blaster fire. The men leading Tycho’s group switched on their headlamps just long enough to illuminate the passageway.
“That’s enough—shut them off,” Tycho said. “If there are any Hydras left, we’ll be easy targets.”
Higgs reached up and fumbled with his lamp. His hand was shaking.
The lamps went off, plunging them into darkness. Tycho crept along behind the men, peering at the dimly lit schematic strapped to his forearm. Someone cursed, and a moment later Tycho stumbled over something. Laney turned on his light, and Tycho was staring at a dead pirate, mouth open in a terrible surprised O. He stepped gingerly over the man’s body.
“It’s an unlucky sight, boys, but don’t let it rattle yeh,” Croke whispered. “That one had it comin’, signin’ on with a traitor like Mox.”
Tycho nodded and Laney shut off the light, leaving them in darkness again. They picked their way forward, occasionally stepping over other bodies lying twisted on the deck with unseeing eyes.
Suddenly Tycho felt unsteady on his feet, then found himself floating. One of the retainers cried out.
“Steady,” Tycho told them. “Activate the magnets in your gloves and boots. We can work our way along the walls. Comet, we’re fine, but we’ve lost artificial gravity.”
“Auxiliary generator probably ran out of charge,” Yana said in his ear.
The firing ahead of them had stopped. Tycho looked at his schematic and realized this was where Carlo’s group had gotten lost. He turned on his lamp and saw they were in a narrow room with two ladderwells instead of the maze of passageways shown on the schematic. Pistols and a knife were spinning slowly through the air.
Tycho signaled to the retainers, and they kicked with their hands and feet until they reached the wall, where they locked onto the metal, the magnets in their gloves clicking faintly. They shut off the lamps and began to work their way around the perimeter of the room in the darkness, lifting their hands and feet one at a time and clanking along the wall.
As they worked, Tycho told Yana what he’d seen of the room’s layout.
“I think I know what modifications they made,” Yana said. “In about five meters you should reach a short passageway leading to the quarterdeck.”
“Tycho, Ironhawk’s boarding party has entered the Hydra,” Diocletia said.
“Does that mean ‘Careful not to shoot them’ or ‘Get to the quarterdeck before they do’?” asked Tycho.
“Both,” his mother said.
They reached the spot Yana had told them to aim for, but instead of the emptiness of a passageway, their fingers found the outline of a sealed door. Tycho and four retainers—Higgs, Tully, Croke, and Laney—turned on their lamps and took up positions on either side of the door, with the last retainer, Chin, clinging to the ceiling like a spider. They shut off the lights, and Tycho thumbed the door control. Nothing happened.
“Break it down, Mr. Croke,” he said.
“Tycho!” Yana said urgently in his ear. “Dad says another gang of Hydras got behind them—they’re headed your way!”
Tycho spun, lifting his gloves off the walls too quickly. His upper body began to float, and he hurriedly felt for the wall again. He pulled out his earpiece and could hear yelling. The voices were getting closer.
“Enemy coming at us!” Tycho yelled. “Look to your rear! Tully, shut off that cursed light!”
A laser bolt struck high on the wall near Chin, dazzling Tycho’s eyes. He heard the thump of the Hydras kicking off the walls of the passageway to hurl themselves through the air in zero gravity, screaming as they came. Another laser blast gouged the decking below Tycho’s feet.
Just like the simulator, Tycho reminded himself, trying to force himself to breathe. But of course it wasn’t anything like the simulator. Wounds here were real, and those who died stayed dead.
“There’s too many—they’ll gun us down!” Higgs screamed, firing his carbine at the oncoming pirates. His eyes were huge and wild. In the sudden light from the shots, Tycho saw Chin windmilling his arms, trying to reestablish contact with the wall. Tully was fumbling for his blaster.
“Higgs! Chin! Tully!” Tycho yelled. “Stand your ground! STAND YOUR GROUND! You are Comets, men, and you will defend crew and country!”
Tycho drew his pistol, reaching behind him to press the magnets in the glove on his free hand against the wall. Short, controlled bursts, he thought.
Then the pirates were among them, screaming and firing. Flashes of laser fire lit up the darkness, giving Tycho crazy, jumbled glimpses of Comets and pirates firing, yelling, tumbling away from the walls. Carbines cracked and thudded, and a spear of laser light zipped by Tycho’s ear, close enough to scorch his skin and fill his nostrils with the smell of burning hair. Someone smashed into him, sending him spinning in the zero gravity, and he fumbled for the wall, his pistol jerking in his hand as he fired again and again, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Then Croke was gripping his shoulder, mouth close to his ear.
“Easy, Master Hashoone,” he said soothingly. “It’s done.”
Croke had turned his headlamp on. Five of Mox’s pirates were still and silent, floating through the air. So was Chin, hand clutched to his throat, eyes empty. Higgs was hugging his arm to his side, teeth bared in a grimace.
“Tyke!” Yana was yelling in his ear. “What’s happening?”
“We lost Chin, but the rest of us are all right,” Tycho said, gasping for breath.
“Acknowledged,” Diocletia said. “You need to keep moving.”
Tycho shut his eyes for a moment, trying to force his hands to stop shaking.
“Aye-aye,” he said. “Proceeding to the quarterdeck. Mr. Croke, I need this door open.”
“You’ll want to back up a bit, Master Hashoone,” Croke said. “Laney, bit of light, if you please?”
Tycho crept backward a couple of steps and shielded his eyes as Croke set his carbine on continuous fire and began to burn through the lock, which was soon glowing cherry red. Tycho tried not to gag at the stench of burning wiring.
“Tully, lend a hand ’ere,” Croke grunted. “You lot cover us.”
Securing themselves on the wall, Croke and Tully kicked at the melted lock. It groaned, and the door rattled open.
“Go!” barked Croke, and the men pushed forward into the narrow passageway beyond the door, carbines raised. Tycho kicked off the wall and followed them.
The Hydra’s quarterdeck was dimly lit by starlight. Croke, pistol in each hand, guarded a trio of Mox’s crewers, who had their arms raised. Tully and Laney were behind him, braced against the back wall of the quarterdeck.
“The quarterdeck is yours, Master Hashoone,” Croke said with a grin.
Just then another door slid open on the other side of the room, and five men surged through the gap, sw
imming through the air with pistols raised. Croke, Tully, and Laney whirled, aiming their weapons at the new arrivals.
“No!” Tycho yelled. “They’re Ironhawks!”
The men from the Ironhawk and the Comet stared at one another, fingers perilously close to their triggers. Tycho locked eyes with the leader, who had a black beard. The man’s eyes moved to the captain’s chair.
Tycho kicked himself off the back wall as hard as he could, aware that the lead crewer from the Ironhawk had done the same. He overshot the captain’s chair but caught it with his foot, swinging himself around and grabbing the back with both hands.
“Tycho Hashoone, bridge crew of the Shadow Comet,” he said, the words tumbling out so fast that they were more noise than speech.
The other man bashed his knee into Mox’s workstation and grunted, floating across the quarterdeck.
Suddenly the artificial gravity returned, slamming Tycho and everyone else to the deck. Tycho landed flat on his back, the impact driving the air out of his lungs. The two boarding parties sprang to their feet with groans and curses, then aimed their guns at one another again.
“Gravity’s back on,” Yana reported.
“You don’t say,” Tycho muttered, still a bit shaky. He got to his feet and saw the Ironhawk’s mate still picking himself off the deck. Before the other man could move, Tycho put his hand back on Mox’s chair.
“According to the laws of war and having achieved victory through course of arms, I claim this craft on behalf of the Jovian Union,” Tycho said. “She and her contents will be apportioned according to the laws of space as adjudicated by the Ceres Admiralty Court.”
The Ironhawk’s mate hesitated. Croke moved his carbine uncertainly between the prisoners and the other privateers. Then the Ironhawk’s mate shook his head in disgust, holstering his pistol.
“Stand down, men,” he said. “She’s yours, kid.”
17
SECRETS IN THE CYBELES
An hour later, the power was back on and the bodies of sixteen of Mox’s pirates had been removed from the Hydra’s decks, along with those of five Hashoone retainers and two crewers from the Ironhawk. On the Hydra’s quarterdeck, Diocletia and Captain Garrett of the Ironhawk stood with Tycho, watching as Mavry and Yana tried to break into the Hydra’s logs.
“I congratulate you on your prize, Master Hashoone,” said Garrett, a handsome man with red hair and dark eyes. “First Mate McRae wasn’t happy about it but said your acrobatics were quite the thing to see. Can’t say I’ve ever claimed a bridge in zero gravity myself. What’s it like?”
“Kind of fun, except for the landing,” Tycho said.
Garrett smiled and nodded.
“Any luck?” Diocletia asked Mavry and Yana.
Mavry shook his head. Mox’s bridge crew had locked down the files, and so far no threat had proved frightening enough to persuade them to unlock them.
“They’re more scared of Mox than they are of anyone else,” Diocletia said with a sigh.
“Shame that Mox escaped,” Garrett said.
“We saw the gig launch, at the end of the fighting,” Yana said. “But we didn’t have the right angle to take a shot at it.”
“We had the angle, but it didn’t matter,” Garrett said, shaking his head. “It was out of range before our gunners could punch through its armor.”
The rest of the news was good, though. Mavry had discovered eighteen Jovians locked in the Hydra’s hold, the crew of a freighter intercepted by the Hydra three days before. With the Jovians freed, the hold now served as a brig for Mox’s pirates. Carlo and Huff were back there now, looking for the man from Yana’s photo. And Tycho was going through security camera footage, trying to spot anything Mox’s pirates might have hidden during the battle.
They all turned at the sound of footsteps. Huff, Carlo, and Grigsby entered the quarterdeck, the man from the photo walking dejectedly between them. The Comet’s surgeon had bandaged Carlo’s face and given Huff a sling for his flesh-and-blood arm.
“It’s nothing, Mother,” Carlo said, noticing Diocletia’s eyes on him. “Blaster shot grazed my cheek.”
“The lad will heal,” Huff said. “An’ have a scar to make the girlies in port go wild.”
“What about you, Dad?” Diocletia asked.
“Bit more than a graze,” Huff admitted, pulling back the sling. Tycho gasped. His grandfather’s right hand was gone, vaporized in combat.
“Now don’t go cryin’ over me,” Huff growled. “Bit less flesh and a bit more metal is all. That hand did nothin’ but pain me anyhow.”
“Speaking of which, your indicators are starting to flash red,” Diocletia said. “Why don’t you go back to the Comet to recharge?”
“Arrr,” Huff muttered, glancing at the readouts in his chest. “Too much excitement.”
As the Hydra’s bells rang out four times, Huff stomped off and Diocletia turned to Carlo and the sour-faced man from the photo. Yana came to stand by her mother’s side.
“Like I already told them, I’m not giving you any passwords,” he said.
“Mm-hmm,” said Diocletia. “What’s your name, crewer?”
“Joss Roke,” the man said.
“Well, Joss Roke,” Diocletia said. “You’ve been found working for a known pirate, murderer, and slaver, with a hold full of Jovian citizens whose craft was illegally intercepted.”
“I’m just bridge crew,” Roke objected. “Signed on at Ceres. I never heard of Thoadbone Mox before—thought he was a legal privateer. Once we were out here and I saw things were different, what could I do?”
Diocletia smiled at the man.
“I am a legal privateer, Mr. Roke,” she said. “So I’m acquainted with the penalties for the crimes Mox has committed. Do you know what they are, Mr. Roke?” Diocletia took a step closer to Roke, her voice quiet. “You’ll hang, Mr. Roke,” she said. “It’s a bad way to die. What might keep you alive is to tell us everything.”
Roke swallowed but shook his head.
“You want me to turn on Thoadbone Mox?” he asked. “You must be crazy, lady.”
Grigsby cocked his carbine and stuck it under Roke’s chin, eyes blazing.
“Respect,” he said in a cold voice.
“Go ahead,” Roke said. “Mox will do a lot worse.”
“Mr. Grigsby, that’s not necessary,” Diocletia said. She nodded at Yana, who showed Roke her mediapad and the photograph of him standing next to Suud’s aide and Hindman.
Roke went pale. Yana grinned.
“Nobody’s asking you to turn on Thoadbone Mox,” Diocletia said. “We’re asking you to turn on Threece Suud.”
* * *
After a bit more convincing, Joss Roke gave up the password for the Hydra’s computer system—to Huff’s amusement, it was the name of Mox’s grandmother. Once they had the password, Tycho sped through views recorded by the Hydra’s internal and external cameras, while Yana inspected the transmissions Mox’s ship had sent and received. Meanwhile, Mavry and Carlo began searching through the logs. They were full of evidence—meticulous records about everything from ships intercepted to ports visited.
The Hashoones recognized seven names as being among the sixteen Jovian craft that had gone missing. And Mavry quickly noticed something odd: after every intercept, the Hydra had climbed high above the plane of the solar system, visiting a slightly different point each time.
“How do you explain that?” Mavry asked his children.
“Easy,” Carlo said, pressing a cold pack onto his cheek. “It’s an asteroid in an irregular orbit. Nobody who didn’t already know it existed would ever find it.”
“Which makes it the perfect pirate hideout,” Tycho said.
“But despite what the Defense Ministry said, the logs don’t show Mox working with any other pirates,” Mavry said. “And he went there only after intercepting Jovian craft.”
“So you’re saying it isn’t a pirate hideout?” Tycho asked. “Then what is it?”
; “Let’s find out,” Mavry said. “I have my suspicions, though.”
Tycho had something he had to do first. While the rest of the Hashoones were busy, he slipped back to the Comet. Huff was in his cramped cabin, plugged into the power unit that recharged his cybernetic parts.
“Tyke,” Huff said, delighted to be visited. “You did well back there, lad.”
“Grandfather, I was looking at the internal security cameras,” Tycho said.
“Mox had security cameras?” Huff asked. “Huh. Didn’t peg ol’ Thoadbone as so conscientious.”
“I saw what you did,” Tycho said.
“So are you going to report me?” Huff asked. “They’ll put me in prison, yeh know. That or worse.”
Tycho considered.
“No,” he said. “I’m not going to report you. But you have to tell Mom. And the others.”
“Okay, Tycho,” Huff said. “When things are settled, I will. Captain’s honor.”
Tycho nodded and turned to go. But then he stopped at the cabin door and looked back.
“Can you tell me why you did it?” he asked his grandfather.
“When I tell the rest, I’ll tell yeh that too,” Huff said.
Tycho nodded and returned to the corridor. He put his foot on the first rung of the ladderwell, then heard the sound of drawers opening nearby. Stepping away from the ladderwell, he poked his head into the cuddy and found that Diocletia had returned from the Hydra and was brewing a cup of coffee.
“Tycho,” she said. “You did very well back there. I’m proud of you.”
Tycho ducked his head, then smiled.
“I was just happy to do something useful,” he said.
“What do you mean by that?” Diocletia asked, sipping her coffee.
Tycho hesitated, but it was too late.
“Let’s face it,” he said. “Running communications and plotting navigation are the two least important jobs on the ship.”
He scowled, wishing he hadn’t said anything, that he hadn’t followed up his good work aboard the Hydra with a complaint that would earn him a rebuke and get recorded in the Log.
