The Rise of Earth (9 page)

“That's better,” he said. “Don't make me say
this
again, Captain Hashoone: Besides being a guest aboard this ship, I am a member of the Jovian Defense Force on a vital mission to Cybele. Like you, I am fighting for the freedom and security of the Jovian Union. I will speak to anyone aboard this vessel whose insights will help me do that—whatever your opinion on the subject.”

Huff stared at the little man in disbelief, his blaster cannon whirling madly. Before he could speak, there was a bump above their heads and the
Comet
shook slightly. Huff and Tycho automatically looked up, then at each other: the privateer had separated from her long-range fuel tanks.

“Sensor contact,” Vesuvia said. “All crewers to stations. Bridge crew to quarterdeck.”

“You'd better get to your cabin, Mr. Vass,” Tycho called over his shoulder as he hurried out of the cuddy. “And strap yourself in.”

Alarms began to blare as he reached the forward ladderwell.

V
ass stopped Tycho just as Tycho put his hands on the outside of the forward ladderwell's rungs. Huff was clomping out of the cuddy behind them, his artificial eye a spark in the gloom.

“Can I observe from the quarterdeck?” Vass asked.

“During an intercept?” Tycho asked. “I doubt Mom will allow it.”

Vass looked at him hopefully, and Tycho shrugged. “Come on, then. Just don't fall down the ladderwell.”

Tycho propelled himself down the ladderwell, descending to the quarterdeck in a controlled fall—and nearly kicking his sister in the head as she arrived from belowdecks. Vass descended more cautiously, then looked around the quarterdeck.

Diocletia wasn't on deck yet. On the main screen, a cross represented the
Comet
's position; a flashing triangle indicated the unknown ship, with a dotted line representing its current heading.

“Um, Dad, Mr. Vass would like to observe the intercept,” Tycho said.

Mavry cocked an eyebrow.

“I'm not sure you meet the height requirements for this ride, Minister.”

“I assure you, First Mate Malone—”

“Just kidding,” Mavry said. Then his face turned serious. “But if anyone on this quarterdeck gives you an order, Mr. Vass, you need to follow it instantly. Understood? All right, then. Tycho, get our guest a harness and show him how to use it.”

As five bells rang out, Tycho helped Vass into a harness, having to tighten the straps considerably to fit the minister's elfin frame, then secured him to the ladder, yanking on the harness until he was confident Vass was unlikely to hurtle across the quarterdeck or plummet belowdecks.

“Ready to take sensors,” Yana said. “What have we got?”

“Freighter of some sort, heading for the inner solar
system,” Mavry said without turning around. “She's running hot—every dial on her bridge must be hard right.”

“Not hot enough,” Carlo said. “Plotting an intercept now. I'll hand over navigation once it's locked in, Tyke. If you're ready, of course.”

“Play nice, kids,” Mavry said mildly. “Tycho, holler when your board's green. We'll hail on all frequencies.”

Slow, deliberate steps sounded on the ladder. Diocletia stepped onto the quarterdeck, looking quizzically at Vass where he stood trussed to several rungs.

“Mr. Vass wanted to observe the intercept,” Mavry said. “I said yes.”

“Of course you did,” Diocletia replied, unconsciously capturing her hair with a hair band as she walked to the captain's chair, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Intercept course plotted,” Vesuvia said. “Ten thousand kilometers to intercept.”

“Sensor profile complete—she's a Chital-class freighter,” Mavry said. “Confidence level ninety-eight point two. Yana, scan her engine signature for a match in the registry.”

“Already doing it. Querying database now. Sing out if you've got a match, Vesuvia.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Ready to hail,” Tycho said. “Standard intercept procedure?”

Mavry glanced over at Diocletia. “Captain?”

“Not awake yet. Check back in a minute.”

“Standard procedure, Tycho,” Mavry said. “Vesuvia, display colors.”

Tycho checked his microphone. Behind him came the sharp reports of Huff's metal feet on the ladder rungs. The half-cyborg pirate grunted disgustedly at the sight of Vass and took his normal spot on the other side of the ladderwell, magnetic feet locking to the deck. The lights on his chest were flashing yellow.

Tycho allowed himself a smile as he activated the control that would transmit his voice across the void to the freighter. He'd figured his grandfather wouldn't be able to resist being on the quarterdeck for an intercept.

“Unidentified freighter, this is the
Shadow Comet
, operating under letter of marque of the Jovian Union,” Tycho said, the words smooth and familiar. “We have you on our scopes and have locked in an intercept course. Activate transponders and respond immediately.”

“Heading indicates Ceres,” Yana said. “But confidence level is only eighty-four percent.”

“With sloppy piloting like that, I'd hate to see their fuel bill,” Carlo said.

“Target craft has activated transponders,” Vesuvia said. “Jovian colors. Still scanning engine signature.”

Tycho's fingers flew over his keyboard. These were his favorite moments aboard the
Comet
—his entire family working smoothly together thanks to years of practice, anticipating each phase of the intercept and
adapting to anything unexpected.

“A Chital?” Huff asked. “Arrr, probably one of ours then.”

“She's transmitting,” Tycho said. “Patching it through.”

“Transmission acknowledged,
Shadow Comet
,” said a grumpy male voice, the accent Jovian. “This is the
Actaeon
, out of Io. Bound for Ceres.”

“Nice to see you,
Actaeon
,” Tycho said. “Please transmit the current Jovian recognition code.”

“Give us a second to decrypt and initiate code sequence,” the
Actaeon
's captain said.

“Recognition code received,” Vesuvia said. “Matches current Jovian code.”

“And the engine signature matches the
Actaeon
's,” Yana said. “Confidence level ninety-nine point nine nine nine all the way to infinity. She's ours all right.”

Diocletia's fingers drummed on her armrest. Then she leaned forward, eyes fixed on the screen.

“My starship,” she said. “Tycho, make conversation. Yana, pull the
Actaeon
's registry records. I want her home port and the name of her captain. Vesuvia, scan her long-range tanks and cross-reference the results with the standard capacity for that model. I want a fuel-level estimate at ninety-percent confidence.”

“Acknowledged,” Vesuvia said.

“What's all this about?” Vass whispered to Tycho. “The ship is clearly Jovian.”

“Not now, Mr. Vass,” Tycho said. “One moment,
Actaeon
. We're, uh, having a problem calibrating our
code recognition. Should take us a minute at most.”

“She's registered on Io,” Yana said. “Captain is Pius Wildasin.”

Mavry whistled. “Get that man a nickname.”

“Belay that,” Diocletia said. “Tycho, patch me through.”

“You're transmitting.”

“Captain Wildasin? This is Captain Diocletia Hashoone.”

“Was something wrong with our code, Captain Hashoone?”

“We're still calibrating. But I recognize your voice, Hans. I never forget a fellow Callistan.”

“Hans?” asked Vass. Tycho shushed him.

“Um, I don't believe we've met, Captain Hashoone,” the
Actaeon
's captain replied. “My name is Pius . . . and I'm from Io.”

“My mistake, Captain Wildasin,” Diocletia said. She shut off her microphone and frowned.

“Are you ordering us to heave to,
Comet
?” Wildasin asked.

“Arrr,” Huff said, the familiar word a low, satisfied purr.

Diocletia turned in her chair, smiling. “I am now. Tycho, give the order. Vesuvia? Beat to quarters.”

“Fuel-level estimate is not complete at desired confidence level,” Vesuvia objected.

“That's all right—you can beat to quarters anyway.”

“
Actaeon
, we invoke our right to inspect your
vessel under the articles of war governing interplanetary commerce,” Tycho said. “Heave to and prepare for boarding.”

“I don't understand—” Vass began, but Tycho shushed him again.

Belowdecks, the bosun's pipes shrilled out and the sound of running feet and rolling machinery echoed up the ladderwell.

“This is outrageous,
Comet
,” Captain Wildasin said. “There's no cause for detaining us! Continue and I will file a protest with the commercial oversight board!”

“You have that right, of course,” Tycho said. “Our order stands. Heave to immediately or you will be fired upon.”

“Light fingers on the triggers, Mr. Grigsby,” Diocletia said. “Let's try to take her back intact.”

“The lads won't break anything, Captain.”

“Ion emissions dropping to zero,” Yana announced. “She's stopping.”

“Now can you explain, Master Hashoone?” Vass asked. “The vessel's Jovian.”

“The
vessel's
Jovian,” Huff said. “But there's a prize crew on board what ain't.”

“Fuel level estimated at forty-four percent,” Vesuvia said.

“Forty-four percent?” Vass exclaimed. “That means the freighter wasn't heading for Ceres at all!”

“She was probably headed for Jupiter when she was
seized,” Diocletia said from the captain's chair. “When the
Comet
showed up on her sensors, the prize crew that's flying her turned the
Actaeon
around and tried to make it look like she was heading for Ceres. But they didn't quite have time to lock in the right course. Still, I had to be sure.”

“And what convinced you?” Vass asked.

“The prize crew already knew Captain Wildasin's name and home port, so he had to correct me when I addressed him using the wrong ones. Still, he found another way to let me know what had happened.”

“Which he clearly did. And what was that?”

“Fuel's expensive, Mr. Vass—a captain who doesn't set an exact course is burning up profits, and an engine restart is just as wasteful. So no captain heaves to without a direct order.”

“Will the prize crew know that too?” Vass asked.

“They might. Captain Wildasin's risked his safety and that of his crew. So let's get on board before they pay the price.”

“And might I—” Vass began.

“Not until the
Actaeon
's secure.”

Diocletia adjusted her headset.

“Mr. Grigsby, I want starboard gun crews on full alert. Assemble the boarding party at the port airlock. Yana, eyes on your long-range scans—let's not step in the same trap twice. Mavry, you'll lead the boarding. Take Tycho with you. Are you willing to go, Dad?”

“When's the last time I passed up a boardin' action?” Huff growled.

“Very well. Mr. Grigsby will be expecting you, then.”

Grigsby had handed the chrome musketoons to Mavry when Tycho and Huff made their way belowdecks to join the throng of crewers. Huff had three carbines tucked into a cracked leather harness across his chest and a wicked-looking sword at his hip, while Tycho carried a pistol of his own.

Mavry nodded at Tycho and Huff, then turned to the tattooed Comets. Several of them had been part of Richards' unlucky prize crew. Their knuckles were white around their carbines and knives. Richards himself was peering into the airlock, his shoulders rigid.

Tycho raised an eyebrow at his father, and Mavry responded with a slight nod.

“Go easy, Comets,” he said. “Keep your eyes and ears open and follow me to the bridge. And then . . . and then we'll see.”

“Three cheers for First Mate Mavry!”

“Quarterdeck, we're ready to open her up,” Mavry said.

“Acknowledged,” Diocletia replied. She sounded tense and unhappy, and Tycho wondered how many times she had sent loved ones through the airlock of a seized ship without knowing what awaited them.

“Tycho? You in there, kid?” Mavry asked, waving his
hand in front of Tycho's face.

Tycho shook his head. “Sorry, Dad.”

“Want me to take point, Master Mavry?” asked Richards.

“I do. But no shooting anybody—not even if the emperor of Earth himself is on the other side of that door.”

The
Comet
's airlock door hissed open. The
Actaeon
's airlock was open too, and the Comets' shirts rippled as the atmospheres mixed. Three burly men in royal-blue uniforms were standing just outside the freighter's airlock, hands held carefully away from the pistols at their belts. Huff's forearm cannon whined eagerly.

Richards and Laney strode forward, carbines raised, but the two Actaeons offered no resistance.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Mavry said mildly, chrome musketoons still holstered in their bandolier. “I'm First Mate Malone, of the Jovian privateer
Shadow Comet
. Will you please lead the way to the bridge?”

The Actaeons exchanged a glance.

“Follow me,” said one. “Just don't expect a warm welcome. If we're late making port at Ceres, it comes out of our pay.”

“We won't keep you a minute more than is necessary,” Mavry said as they headed deeper into the ship. “Heard anything about Earth privateers in the area?”

“Hear a lot everywhere,” the Actaeon said with a shrug. “Whatever trade route you're on is about to be
overrun with Earth privateers. Or Jovian privateers. Or Ice Wolves, Martian separatists, and little green men from the Oort cloud. Hearing it ain't the same as it meaning anything.”