by Jason Fry
“You actually contacted them,” Yana said.
“I do keep my promises, Yana Hashoone,” Carina said sharply. “Now get this stuff set up—none of you is going near Europa until you’ve trained on it.”
With Parsons’s help, the siblings opened the crates and extracted their contents. The first crate contained an impeller—basically a long sled, folded into meter-long sections, with a navigation unit and handles attached to an engine. The second crate held segmented pieces of ceramic armor, a waterproof suit made of reinforced fabric, air tanks, a jet pack, and a helmet whose clear faceplate was as thick as Tycho’s little finger.
“Underwater’s different from deep space,” Carlo said, seeing his brother tap on the faceplate in wonder. “The pressure’s immense.”
“Right,” Tycho said. He’d never been immersed in water, unless the shower counted, and found it strange to think about a suit designed to protect you from an excess of matter, rather than its absence.
They carried the equipment up the ramp to the simulator room, a narrow chamber that had once been a break room for miners, with rectangles of blank iron marking long-sealed tunnels leading deeper into the rock of Callisto. There, a quartet of stations waited, similar to the ones aboard the Shadow Comet. Tycho and Yana had spent countless hours here as children—just as Carlo had before them, and their parents before him, and so on back through generations of Hashoone pirates.
“Two Collective members down, one to go,” Yana declared as Carlo programmed the simulator. “When I get my share of the treasure, I’m buying myself a cage full of those pretty tangerines.”
Carlo and Tycho exchanged a baffled glance.
“Oh—you mean tanagers,” Carlo said with a laugh. “Tangerines are something else.”
“Fine. I’m buying myself a cage full of tanagers and a cage full of tangerines. What are you going to buy, Tyke?”
Tycho looked up from separating armor pieces into left and right.
“A statue of Muggs Saxton, to stand in the entry hall at Tros. Don’t you think Lord Sicyon would appreciate the gesture?”
All three started to laugh, and they were still smiling when they got Carlo’s armor strapped on.
“Speaking of Muggs Saxton, Carlo . . . ,” Yana said, handing her older brother the simulation goggles. “Do you still think he gave the scanner to the Securitat?”
Carlo pushed the audio inputs into his ears.
“I was wondering when you would ask,” he said. “I still want to know how he got out of prison early, but no, I don’t think he did. I believed Lord Sicyon when he said he’d never heard of the Iris. Unlike, say, when he tried to claim his family had no connection to piracy.”
“Yeah, that was rich,” Yana said. “Good thing Grandpa wasn’t there to hear his opinion of pirates.”
“Oh, it’s not like he hasn’t heard it before,” Tycho said. “It’s not like we all haven’t heard it before.”
“True,” Carlo said, taking the helmet from Tycho. “It’s ridiculous. Every family in the Jovian Union has a pirate ancestor or two. Makes you wonder what our grandchildren will say about us, doesn’t it?”
“That’s obvious,” Yana said. “They’ll say, ‘Yana Hashoone was the best captain ever.’”
“Hah,” Carlo said. “You know what? Sometimes I wonder if they’ll be privateers at all. You heard Aunt Carina yesterday. And look at how the Saxtons changed in just two generations. Or the Gibraltars. Or half a dozen other families. Muggs was nothing but a small-time pirate, but his grandson’s a financier and a respected nobleman.”
“And a stuffed-shirt blowhard twiddling his thumbs dirtside,” Yana said. “No thanks—I’d rather be a privateer. Wouldn’t you?”
Carlo just grunted, twisting the helmet clockwise until it latched into the collar.
“You’re green,” Yana said, checking the suit indicators.
“Good,” Carlo said, his voice muffled. “Fire up the simulator.”
For the next half hour Tycho and Yana watched their brother perform an odd pantomime, seeing and hearing imaginary things fed to him by the computer and reacting to them. With the exercise complete, he shed the suit and checked his scores while Tycho helped Yana into the equipment. Then, a half hour later, it was Tycho’s turn.
The simulator showed him how to operate the suit’s systems, from the helmet work light to the cutting torch, then taught him maneuvers. He discovered you had to work a lot harder than you did in the vacuum of space, where the slightest push against something would set you drifting in the opposite direction. But Tycho adapted quickly and found himself quite comfortable. He was smiling when the simulation ended and Yana snatched the goggles off his face.
“Ow!” Tycho complained. “What was that for?”
“Look at your scores,” she said. “You beat both of us.”
“By a pretty decent margin too,” Carlo said, not sounding nearly as unhappy about it.
“Huh,” Tycho said, trying not to grin.
“No fair,” Yana said. “You had an advantage because you went last.”
“Don’t be a sore loser,” Carlo said. “Tycho can play fish all he wants; just the idea of being underwater creeps me out. Anyway, don’t get too excited, Tyke—remember, we’re not competing to be captain of a submarine.”
The door to the simulation room opened, revealing their father.
“Dad,” Yana said, “we’ve been training with the equipment. Believe it or not, Tycho scored the best.”
Tycho was too happy to object to that but stopped smiling when he saw Mavry’s face.
“You three better come with me,” Mavry said. “Something’s happening.”
Tycho, Yana, and Carlo hurried down the ramp to find the rest of their family standing around the dining table. Shimmering in the air above Carina’s mediapad was an image of High Port, the space station orbiting Ganymede that housed key ministries of the Jovian Union.
“You need to see this,” Carina said. “They’re live images from a passenger liner above Ganymede.”
Bright dots were racing toward the station.
“That’s a tactical formation,” Carlo said. “Looks like a perimeter of frigates around a trio of cruisers. What’s going on?”
“No one knows yet,” Carina said. “The ships just arrived—and they’re not ours.”
“Earth’s, then,” Huff said. “The scurvy bilge rats ’ave finally declared war.”
“They never would have gotten through Perimeter Patrol,” Tycho said. “We have warships covering the approach vectors from the inner solar system.”
“Which means they came from somewhere else,” Diocletia said as Parsons glided out of the kitchen to stand behind Carina.
“To get that close to High Port, they must have dropped long-range tanks up above and come in hot,” Carlo said. “Impressive flying.”
As the Hashoones watched, the mysterious ships slowed and hung glittering against the blackness of space.
“They’re not attacking—they’ve realigned into a defensive formation,” Mavry said. “Looks like they’re just short of firing range.”
“Wait,” Carina said. “There’s a transmission coming through. I’ll put it on speaker.”
She pushed a basket of fruit aside and poked at the mediapad.
“—the people of the Jovian Union,” said a calm, unhurried voice with a Saturnian accent. “My name is Hodge Lazander. I am the speaker of the group you call the Ice Wolves, but I represent many more people than that. We are not here to bring war. Rather, I hope we are here to make peace.”
“Arrr, some peaceful gesture that is,” Huff muttered.
“Shh, Dad—let’s listen,” Carina said.
“Many stories claim we are the creation of someone else,” the voice said. “These are untrue. The government of Earth did not create us. Nor did Earth’s corporations. No, you created us. You created us by taking our raw materials but doing nothing to help us develop our infrastructure. You created us by taxing us, but not represent
ing our interests. You created us by defending your own interests, but ignoring our concerns.”
A flight of Jovian pinnaces streaked past the passenger liner recording the scene, then raced around High Port toward the intruders.
“Little late, fellas,” Carlo said.
Lazander continued. “If our tale sounds familiar, if our grievances echo in your ears, it is because once this was Jupiter’s tale, and once these were Jupiter’s grievances. Just as your settlers once demanded their freedom from Earth, so now our settlers seek our freedom from you. We are here to declare a new birth of freedom for the people of Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune—as well as the settlers, prospectors, and freed corporate serfs of the outer solar system.”
The pinnaces formed a defensive line between High Port and the bandits.
“Jupiter Defense Force frigates are scrambling,” Carina said.
Tycho heard a small, wet sound next to him and turned to see his sister calmly eating a plum while listening.
“We seek peace,” Lazander said. “Peace with the Jovian Union, and peace with Earth. We want free movement between the nations of the solar system, and free trade, and equal treatment under the law. Those cherished values were the foundation of your revolution, and they have inspired our quest for freedom. Deny us that freedom, and you will force us to fight for it. Grant it to us, and we shall form new bonds of friendship.”
“Good speech,” Yana said with her mouth full.
And then, moving as one, the frigates and cruisers pivoted smoothly and accelerated into deep space, leaving the warships of the Perimeter Patrol to confront a danger that had already passed.
The Hashoones were arguing, over the remnants of dinner, about how the Jovian Union should respond, when Parsons came and stood at the end of the table.
“It’s the communicator for Master Carlo, Master Tycho, or Miss Yana,” he said. “It’s a Father Amoss from Port Town. He’s quite insistent that he speak with you.”
In the communications suite, the priest’s face filled the wide viewscreen. He looked frightened.
“What is it, Father?” Tycho asked.
“Strange men,” Father Amoss said, leaning close to the microphone. “They were here a few hours ago. They found Loris.”
“What kind of men?” Carlo asked.
“Spacers,” Father Amoss said. “Hard men with—”
“That’s enough,” Mavry said. “Nobody say anything else.”
Tycho turned to see their father had followed them. His face was grim.
“This isn’t a conversation for an unsecured line,” Mavry said. “Father, stay where you are. We’ll come to you.”
Father Amoss nodded, and a moment later the viewscreen went blank.
“Get the grav-sled ready,” Mavry said, then hesitated. “Load up the underwater equipment.”
“What?” Yana asked. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know that we’re going anywhere,” Mavry said. “But events are moving fast, and I’d like to try to stay ahead of them.”
The doors to Saint Mary Star of the Spaceways were locked. When he opened them, Father Amoss glanced fearfully in each direction, then ushered them inside and barred the doors behind them.
“Is Loris safe, Father?” Tycho asked.
“The men looking for him—who were they?” asked Yana.
Father Amoss looked from Tycho to Yana.
“They had beards,” he said. “Saturnian accents. They walked like spacers and smelled like fuel.”
“Ice Wolves,” Mavry said.
Father Amoss nodded. “They came while Loris was out. I tried to find him before they did, but they got there first. Loris said he thought they were going to kill him. So I hid him away, in case they came back.”
“And did he tell them anything?” Yana asked.
“That’s what concerns you, then,” Father Amoss said, voice hard.
“You said you hid Loris,” Tycho said. “Are you sure he’s safe?”
“Yes,” Father Amoss said, and his face softened at the relief on Tycho’s face. “There’s not much else to tell. I don’t know what Loris told them—he was too frightened to make much sense. But they didn’t look like the kind of men you’d say no to.”
“Where is Loris now?” Tycho asked.
“Safe, like I said,” Father Amoss said, then raised his hand before Tycho could ask his next question. “I think it’s better to leave it at that. The fewer people who know, the less harm there is to be done. You’ve done enough of that already.”
“We didn’t tell anyone about Loris,” Yana objected.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Father Amoss said, leading them to the door. “You know, one of the truest measures of a person is how they treat those over whom they have the advantage.”
“What does that mean?” Yana asked.
“I didn’t think you’d understand,” Father Amoss said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my work.”
The doors shut behind them, and they picked their way down the chilly corridor.
“Father Amoss doesn’t seem to approve of your methods,” Mavry said as they waited for the elevator that would take them back to the surface.
“Oh, not you too, Dad,” Carlo said with an exasperated sigh. “We’re privateers, not a charity ward.”
“For once I agree with Carlo,” Yana said.
“And what do you think, Dad?” Tycho asked.
Mavry considered that for a moment as the elevator rose and they swallowed to keep their ears from popping.
“Our livelihood is a dishonest one,” he said. “We take things that aren’t ours—by deception if we can, by violence if we can’t.”
“Exactly,” Yana said—but Mavry held up his hand.
“So how do we make our peace with that?” he asked. “I think it’s by being honest within that livelihood. We place a high value on being honest with our crewers, with our adversaries, and with each other.”
“We should be honest about being dishonest?” Yana asked.
“The life of a pirate is complex,” Mavry said with a smile.
“Should we have told Lord Sicyon the truth about his shares, then?” Carlo asked.
“He doesn’t need the money,” Tycho said.
“And you think Loris does,” Carlo said. “But why does that make it different?”
“I don’t know,” Tycho said. “I just know it does.”
“When we get topside, Carlo, prep the gig for immediate departure,” Mavry said. “We’ll bring the equipment from the grav-sled.”
“Wait, where are we going?” Tycho asked.
“Old Josef’s home on Europa, of course,” Mavry said. “It seems the Ice Wolves are on the trail of the Iris cache. I’d like to beat them to it.”
“Shouldn’t we talk this over with Mom and Aunt Carina?” Tycho asked.
“No time,” Mavry said. “I’ll explain it to them later.”
“The Ice Wolves must have found about the cache from Mox,” Tycho said. “And gotten his scanner.”
“Which means that money could go to finance their insurrection,” Carlo said grimly.
Or maybe it’s not the money at all, Tycho thought. Maybe Mox knows about what else is in the cache—the thing that Earth wanted all those years ago and that the Securitat wants now.
“So what’s our story, Dad?” Yana asked.
Mavry smiled.
“Why, we’re engineers and apprentice engineers on a maintenance mission to whatever research station is nearest to the Sidon Flexus. Yana, you’ll figure out what that is.”
“Engineers have fourteen-year-old apprentices?” Carlo asked.
“They might,” Mavry said, then shrugged. “Look, if you don’t think it’s worth a try, we can wait around at Darklands until we hear someone else has our treasure.”
“No way I’m letting that happen,” Yana said.
“That’s the spirit,” Mavry said.
13
EU
ROPA AND IO
The journey to Europa took a little over an hour. As the moon grew in the gig’s viewports from a dot of light to a white ball crisscrossed by dirty brown streaks, Mavry ran through a rapid-fire checklist.
The gig’s transponders were broadcasting an affiliation with Callisto Space Engineering—a firm that did no real work but had existed for centuries as a cover story for such situations. The impeller and underwater suit were stowed in the rear of the gig, along with Johannes Hashoone’s scanner. Mavry had loaded a mediapad with engineering diagrams and maps of Europa’s oceans. All of the Hashoones had practiced answering likely questions about who they were and what they were doing.
“Incoming vessel,” Carlo warned from the copilot’s seat. “Heading 93.8, and coming hot. Transponder profile indicates she’s a Jovian Defense Force cruiser.”
Mavry whistled. “That’s a lot of firepower for Europa. Show’s about to start, kids.”
A moment later the gig’s communicator crackled.
“Unknown ship, we have you on our scopes,” said a man’s voice. “You are trespassing in the Europa Protectorate exclusion zone. Reduce speed and identify yourself.”
“We see you, cruiser—no need to run us down,” Mavry said, sounding peevish. “Our destination is Abelard Research Station. Didn’t they tell you we were coming?”
“That’s a negative,” the cruiser replied. “Reduce speed at once.”
“Look, son, we’ve got three inspections today. You ever try cleaning algae out of a shunt vent? Get on the comm to Callisto Space Engineering, and Harvey will give you the work order number and flight plan ID—like he was supposed to this morning. We’ll file the paperwork when we return. That way we can both get on with our day.”
“Negative. Heave to immediately. That’s an order.”
“Son, I don’t have time for—”
“Our next communication will be a warning shot,” the cruiser said. “Be a shame if we missed.”
“We’re shutting down the engines, cruiser,” Mavry said, flicking switches. “Can we make this quick? Like I said, we’ve got three inspections—”
“I heard you the first time. Turn to oh eight six and prepare for boarding. Maneuvering jets only.”
