The Rise of Earth (13 page)

“Damage report?” Mavry asked.

“Initiating assessment,” Vesuvia said.

“We're fine, we're fine,” Carlo said, racing through the rocky field as the
Comet
continued to vibrate alarmingly around them.

“Damage to dorsal armor plating,” Vesuvia said. “Hull integrity reduced to sixty-four percent over a three-meter area. Partial damage to sensor suite.”

“Rerouting sensor feeds,” Yana said.

Tycho contacted the convoy. “Jovian craft, we're on our way. Report your status. If you have been boarded by hostiles and are unable to communicate, signal that by double-clicking your microphones.”

The frantic pilots began talking all at once in his headset. As Tycho checked each ship off in turn, steps
sounded on the ladderwell. Vass ascended carefully, looking sheepish. Someone belowdecks had found a harness for him.

“I'm securing myself,” he said hastily.

He was just in time—a moment later Carlo turned the
Comet
on its starboard wing, pushing the engines as hard as they could go. The vibration above their heads made Tycho's teeth clack together.

“We are inbound and hot,
Izabella
,” Carlo said. “Send us targeting data.”

“Too busy,” Captain Andrade said brusquely, and they could hear her bridge crew barking out orders.

“Do you need assistance?” Carlo asked uncertainly. Yana smirked at Tycho, who knew what she was thinking. Of course the Jovian privateers needed assistance—they'd needed it most while the
Comet
was engaged in her fruitless pursuit of the
Gracieux
.

“They're not shooting to kill—just keeping us pinned down here,” Andrade said angrily. “Protect the convoy,
Comet
.”

“Will do,
Izabella
,” Carlo said, angling farther to starboard. “Yana, what do you have on sensors?”

“Collating partial data. That scrape severed the portside data leads.”

“We'll have to eyeball it, then.”

“
Comet
, this is Captain Cromer of the
Nestor Leviathan
,” a calm voice said in Tycho's ear. “We have multiple boarding parties entering our vessel.”

“Acknowledged,” Tycho said “How many craft are boarding, Captain?”

Carlo heard his brother's question and turned as the bells clanged three times.

“What ship are they attacking, Tyke? One of the bulk freighters? Or the hoys?”

“None of them. They're boarding the dromond.”

Yana's eyes went wide.

“O-ho,” said Mavry.

“Arrr,” Huff said. “He's a bold one, this Captain Allamand.”

They could see the battle ahead of them now, amid the whirling asteroids of the Cybeles. At the front of the column of freighters, bright flashes of light surrounded the
Izabella
, the
Berserker
, and the Earth ships tormenting them.

“At least the
Leviathan
will have onboard security to repel boarders,” Carlo said.

“Not enough of it,” Vass said. “Most freight lines have reduced shipboard security to a minimum—there's too much worry about accidentally hiring Ice Wolves. That's why we instituted the convoy system.”

“Terrific,” Carlo said. “Yana, get me a scan of the
Leviathan
—and look for any other Jovian craft with hostiles attached. Tycho, give me updates from any of the captains. Mr. Grigsby, prepare boarding parties—the
Leviathan
is under attack by Earth boarders.”

“Aye, Master Hashoone,” Grigsby said, and a moment later the bosun's whistle shrilled below.

“Captain Cromer, we are inbound with boarding parties ready,” Tycho said.

“You're a little late,
Comet
. They're all over the ship—we're trying to hold the bridge.”

“Then we'll catch them in a crossfire,” Tycho said with forced bravado.

They could see the huge shape of the
Nestor Leviathan
now—and tiny bright lights surrounding it. Several of those bright lights streaked toward the
Comet
.

“Attack craft inbound—they profile as pinnaces,” Yana said.

“Mr. Grigsby, fire at will,” Carlo said.

All heard the sharp report of the
Comet
's bow chasers as Grigsby's crews began firing at the Earth pinnaces. One vanished in a ball of flame, and cheers rang out belowdecks.

“That's one who wishes he'd stayed home,” Yana growled.

“And an Earth ship destroyed by Jovian fire,” Vass said quietly. “We may all wish we'd stayed home, before this is over.”

The pinnaces zipped past the
Comet
on either side. Her port and starboard guns roared out, shaking the frigate. Other pinnaces lay between the
Comet
and the bulk of the
Leviathan
, which still barreled along beneath her long-range tanks.

“Yana, let me know where we can dock,” Carlo said, studying the huge ship.

“Nowhere,” Yana said.

“What do you mean, nowhere?”

“The
Leviathan
has four freight docking rings and four airlocks. Scan shows enemy craft attached to all of them.”

“We'll have to burn our way in, then,” Carlo said grimly. “Mr. Grigsby—”

“Wait,” Yana said. “There's something else. Those aren't standard pinnaces. Their engines and onboard tanks are oversized.”

“What does that mean?” Carlo asked.

As if in response, the
Leviathan
began to turn to starboard, and all on the
Comet
's quarterdeck saw bright flares emerge from the pinnaces attached to her port side.

Mavry glanced back at Huff. “What was that you said about a fleet of tugs?”

“Arrr, never thought I'd see it,” Huff said, grudging admiration in his voice.

“Captain Cromer,” Tycho said. “What is your situation? Captain Cromer?”

The two hoys that had been flying to starboard of the
Leviathan
dodged below the massive dromond as she continued to angle away from the convoy.

Diocletia activated her headset.

“My starship,” she said, and Carlo sagged in his seat. “Captain Andrade—”

“We see it, Diocletia,” said the captain of the
Izabella
. “The other Earth privateers are disengaging and following the
Leviathan
.”

“What are your orders?”

There was no reply for a moment, and Tycho could picture Captain Andrade studying her scopes, trying to choose among several unhappy options.

“Protect the rest of the convoy and bring it in to Cybele,” Andrade said.

“Mr. Grigsby, defensive fire only,” Diocletia said. “Tycho, tell the remaining ships to close up the line. We'll guard the rear.”

When the
Comet
's guns ceased firing, the Earth pinnaces streaked back the way they'd come, following the dromond.

“Mom, we can still catch the
Leviathan
,” Carlo pleaded. “Those tugs can't have enough fuel for long-term operations. If we catch her, and the other privateers form a perimeter . . .”

“No, Carlo. They'll have other tugs out there—and other privateers, for all we know. Flying blind got us into this mess—let's not compound the error. Captain Allamand's won this round.”

T
he rest of the journey to Cybele passed in near silence, with Carlo hunched miserably behind the
Comet
's control yoke.

The asteroid called 65 Cybele was a lumpy sphere nearly three hundred kilometers in diameter, its dark surface given definition by a spiderweb of lighted lines and dots. Attis, a smaller but still massive chunk of brownish-gray rock, orbited above the surface of the asteroid, crowned with sensor masts and towers. Between Attis
and Cybele, a sprawling station hung in space, ringed by docking cradles and spindly umbilicals for servicing larger craft. And everywhere there were starships—angular warships bristling with guns, massive spherical tankers, boxy freighters, and tiny scout ships, gigs, and ferries.

The three Jovian privateers waited above the station while the bulk freighters and hoys docked, then headed for their own cradles. Tycho couldn't help feeling a bit nervous as they passed into the shadow of Attis above them—he knew gravity had kept the satellite safely in orbit above Cybele for eons, but it still felt like the massive rock was about to smash down upon them.

“Those corvettes are military models or I'm a middie,” Huff said with a growl, peering out the viewports at a trio of dart-shaped starships hanging in space below Attis. “But they ain't a model I'm familiar with.”

“Right you are, Captain Hashoone,” Vass said. “That, officially speaking, is the Cybelean navy.”

“Arrr, three corvettes ain't no navy.”

“Agreed. The Cybeles' importance is best measured economically, not militarily.”

“Tycho and Yana, muster out the crew belowdecks,” Diocletia said. “They're to report to the Jovian fondaco, where they'll get passes. There will be Jovian officials awaiting them to arrange everything, but warn them to watch out for crimps—Cybele is plagued with them, and they don't always respect a pass. All hands are at liberty tonight, but as of 0800 tomorrow they should be ready to respond to a recall order with thirty minutes' notice.”

“Thirty minutes?” Yana asked. “They won't like that.”

“And yet those are my orders,” Diocletia replied. “We'll be using Cybele as a base of operations, which means we have to be ready to fly on short notice. The rest of us will head dirtside as soon as the crew departs. Minister Vass, you can ride down with us in the gig, or we can have Vesuvia summon a ferry for you.”

“I'll go with you, if that's all right,” Vass said.

“What's a fondaco?” Tycho asked the minister.

“A compound reserved for Jovian citizens. While we're on Cybele we're required to sleep there, though we can get passes to go most anywhere else on Cybele. Until curfew, that is.”

“A nicer kind of prison, in other words,” growled Huff. “Ain't seen a place with fondachi since Mars.”

“Cybele has one reserved for citizens of Earth as well,” Vass said.

“Bet it's nicer than ours,” Huff said as Tycho followed Yana down the ladderwell.

“Yes, I'm afraid it is,” Vass said.

The Comets knew what the loss of the dromond meant for the Hashoones and the Jovian Union, and took their leave with little of the normal boisterousness of crewers headed for shore leave. Tycho eyed his sister when Immanuel Sier came through the line, but the young Saturnian crewer put his knuckles to his forehead and nodded respectfully to Yana, who nodded back and even offered him a small smile. The last crewer to depart was
Grigsby, accompanying Haines and the paroled Earth crewers. The Jovian consulate would decide whether to detain them further or exchange them for captive Jovians.

“So I guess you've forgiven Mr. Sier,” Tycho said as they shut down their mediapads and walked back through the now-empty lower deck.

“Immanuel? Oh, he's not so bad. I saw him every day on the journey here—Mr. Dobbs is teaching us both unarmed combat.”

“Unarmed combat?”

“Sure—I'll show you,” Yana said, putting her mediapad down on the deck. “But you'll want to back up first.”

Tycho retreated until Yana told him to stop. His sister exhaled, then sprang forward onto her hands. Then she exploded forward onto her feet, cartwheeling across the deck in a blur of arms and legs that ended with her fist a centimeter from Tycho's face.

“Okay, that was impressive,” Tycho said. “But I'd just shoot you.”

“Try it. Pretend you're drawing on me.”

Tycho shrugged, then stepped back. His hand shot to his hip, but next thing he knew he was on his back, with one of Yana's knees pinning his wrist and one of her hands under his chin, fingers around his neck. Her other hand was up, fingers spread and aimed at his eyes.

“Point taken,” Tycho said. “Let me up already.”

Yana disengaged, grinning, as Tycho rubbed the back of his head.

“When everything went bad on the
Lampos
I felt helpless,” his sister said, suddenly serious. “That's never happening again.”

“Welcome to Cybele,” Mavry said after a port official verified the Hashoones' identities and recorded their arrival. “Now, I understand we're to report to the fondaco, Minister?”

“Yes,” said Vass, staggering along with his valise. “While I am bound for the consulate. I believe transport has been arranged for us.”

“Arrr, gimme that parcel or we'll never get there,” Huff grunted, ignoring Vass's protests and snatching his bag away.

“Well, if you insist, Captain Hashoone,” the minister said with what dignity he could muster.

They followed a long tunnel from the ship terminal. Its walls were of thick plastic, cloudy with dust and accumulated scratches. Beyond, Tycho could dimly see 65 Cybele's charcoal-colored plains. It was bitterly cold. He zipped up his jacket and huddled against the chill.

At the tunnel's end stood a dour-looking man bundled in synthetic fur and scowling beneath a matching hat, both dyed a brilliant orange. He held a sign that said “Vass.” Behind him other men and women in furs were standing next to wheeled rickshaws, which were little more than benches on either side of platforms for baggage. The holographic banner of the Jovian Union rippled above one vehicle.

“I want that flag turned off,” Diocletia said as the orange-clad pilot loaded the bags.

“Diplomatic requirement, I'm afraid,” Vass said, nodding gratefully as Tycho helped him on board. “The driver will take you to the Jovian fondaco, but first I need to go to our consulate to be briefed on preparations for tonight's banquet.”

“Did you say banquet?” Yana asked as the rickshaw started forward with a whine of motors.

“I did. The Cybeleans have invited the Jovian delegation to a gala tonight. All of Cybele's power brokers will be there, from financiers and officials to shipbuilders, merchants, and mining executives.”

“Sounds awful,” Yana said. “Why all this fuss over us?”

“Oh, it's not just for us. Earth's delegation is invited as well.”

“After what happened today?” Carlo asked, his question accompanied by a puff of breath.

“Yes,” Vass said. “Which makes it even more important for us to be good guests. But I agree with your sister that it sounds awful. The Cybeleans have made a great deal of livres in the last few years, and they love showing that off.”

“We're privateers, Minister, not diplomats,” Mavry said. “Sparkling conversation isn't our specialty.”

“That's why we're meeting with the assistant secretary for protocol before the banquet. All the privateers currently based here in the Cybeles have been
requested to attend tonight's affair.”

“Includin' yer new pirates?” Huff asked with a grin. “That'll be a fine shindy.”

“It's not a shindy, Grandfather—it's a banquet,” Carlo said.

“If there's pirates attendin', it may start as a banquet, but 'twill end as a shindy.”

Carlo shook his head and turned his attention back to Vass. “Does that include the privateers from Earth, Minister? Such as Captain Allamand?”

“I have no doubt he will be in attendance.”

Carlo's face reddened, turning his scar white.

“That's intolerable,” he sputtered. “It's a provocation.”

“No, my boy—just politics,” Vass said with a small smile. “But for now, a bit about security on Cybele. The Well is safe enough, and if you get an invitation to the Northwell you have nothing to worry about. But watch your step elsewhere—particularly beyond the Westwell.”

“What's the Well?” Tycho asked as the rickshaw bumped through an open airlock.

“You're looking at it,” Mavry replied with a smile.

Tycho whistled in surprise as the rickshaw exited the lock. He'd expected to find himself in a pressure dome set on the asteroid's surface, but instead a bridge crossed a gigantic cavern hewn from the rock of Cybele itself. A maze of walkways filled the space above their heads, supported by a web of guy wires that had been attached seemingly at random to pillars, other bridges, and the distant rock. High above were enormous mirrors
that directed light down into the depths below. The walkway shivered beneath the rickshaw's wheels, and the guy wires around them whined and sang as they flexed.

“Impressive, isn't it?” Mavry asked. “This area was so heavily mined that the second generation of settlers just cored it out to make room for all this. Things don't fall down as often as you might think, but make sure you get a map. I've been here a dozen times and I still get lost.”

“So do I,” Vass said, pointing up the shaft to where a collection of what looked like glass bubbles clung to the rock wall. “Those are the Cybelean government offices—with the Jovian and Earth consulates on either side. Keep going that way and you'll find yourself in the Northwell, which includes Earth's fondaco. But they won't admit you unless you have business there. Behind us is the Southwell—you'll find our fondaco there, as well as depots, mercantile offices, and the like. Same in the Westwell, but all manner of shady business takes place there.”

“Is there an Eastwell?” Yana asked.

“It was filled in to create the spaceport,” Vass said. “Like I said, don't go beyond the Westwell unless you have a very good reason—your pass will offer theoretical protection, but the Honorable Constabulary of the Cybeles doesn't patrol that far. The Securitat operates beyond the Westwell, but even they watch their step.”

“Why, Mr. Vass?” Tycho asked. “What's out there?”

“Dozens and dozens of pressure domes—some
abandoned, others not. You'll find ice mines, factories, and fab units—but also crimps, smugglers, crime rings, Ice Wolves, and who knows what else.”

“We can handle ourselves, Minister,” Yana objected. “We aren't children.”

“Then you understand I wouldn't tell you this without a good reason. Cybele is a port of call for the Jovian Union, for Earth, and for the Ice Wolves—with the Cybeleans playing all of us against each other. There are wheels within wheels here, some set spinning by us, others by our enemies, and a few by those whose loyalties aren't clear. Open hostilities are rare in the main Wells—no one wants to offend the Cybeleans. But elsewhere? Anything goes.”

They were crossing the center of the Well now, where a number of bridges met. A market had sprung up at the nexus, with hawkers calling out from tents and stalls. The rickshaw's driver honked irritably as the crowd forced their vehicle to slow to a crawl. Tycho spotted sign walkers carrying holographic imagers that displayed starships with flags that morphed continuously, circulating among the colors of Earth, the Jovian Union, and a black circle surrounded by stars.

Vass noticed Tycho's curious look.

“Registration transfers. With all the privateering going on, insurance rates are soaring for ships moving through this area of space. Cybele is reregistering ships under its own flag—and Cybelean companies are buying up starships on the cheap from both Jovian and Earth
shipping firms that are tired of losing cargoes to privateering. Ah, but here's our first stop.”

The rickshaw pulled up to an elevator bank guarded by soldiers in Jovian uniforms. They wore mirrored eyepieces and had forearms sheathed in metal. Tycho nudged Yana.

“Those are Gibraltar Artisans cyborgs,” he said. “Like Lord Sicyon's bodyguard on Ganymede. Remember?”

Yana shrugged. “At least they're on our side.”

“I wish they weren't. Those guys give me the creeps.”

Vass hopped off the little vehicle and reclaimed his valise, nodding to the impassive soldiers.

“I'll see you an hour before the banquet,” he called as the rickshaw puttered off in the direction of the Southwell.

“Arrr, thought we'd never be rid of that cursed spy,” Huff growled.

“The spy whose luggage you were kind enough to carry, Grandfather?” Yana asked with a smile.

“He has pluck, I'll give him that. I ain't above the occasional good deed, y'know.”