Curse of the Iris (9 page)

“We have to go,” Mavry said in his ears. “If there was anything in the hold, it's destroyed or buried.”

Tycho let his lamp play over the wrecked cabin one last time, then hesitated. He pushed the mattress aside. An iron strongbox about the size of his helmet sat beneath the captain's bunk, attached to the cabin wall by thick metal bands.

His headset crackled again.

“That's five minutes,” Diocletia said. “Get moving, Mavry—Mox is almost within range.”

“On our way,” Mavry said.

“Dad, you need to see this first,” Tycho said.

He got down on one knee. There was a dial set in the strongbox's door, with a small readout set above it, displaying a trio of small lights. Tycho recognized the device as a self-destruct rig. If the wrong combination were entered too many times, an explosive charge would incinerate whatever was inside.

His father tromped into the cabin, saw the strongbox, and sighed.

“Your mother's going to kill me,” he said, lowering his carryall to the deck. “Dio? We need another minute.”

“You don't have it,” Diocletia said, and they both heard the roar of the
Comet
's guns.

“Tycho found the captain's strongbox,” Mavry said. “I just need to cut it free.”

“We have to be gone by the time Mox's cruiser gets here,” Diocletia said.

“We will be,” Mavry said. “I promise.”

He cut through the first band, then scooted sideways and reignited the torch. The metal securing the strongbox began to glow yellow, then orange. A notch appeared in the top of the band, and molten metal began to drip onto the deck. Tycho tried to urge the torch to work more quickly.

“Mavry—” Diocletia began.

“Already on our way back,” Mavry said. Tycho could see sweat dripping down his face inside his helmet.

“Then why can I still hear the torch?” Diocletia demanded.

Mavry shut off the torch and scooped up the strongbox, careful not to touch the still-glowing metal. Tycho grabbed the carryall and slung it over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the computer's memory core inside. They rushed down the ladderwell, and he lowered himself through the hole in the airlock, reaching up to take the strongbox from his father.

Overhead, Mox's pocket cruiser was visible now, too, another point of light in the distance.

Tycho bounded after his father across the surface of P/2, reminding himself that the gig wasn't as far off as his brain insisted it had to be—unlike on Earth, P/2's horizon was only a couple of minutes away. But he still exhaled in relief when he saw the gig. To his surprise, the little ship was wreathed in mist.

“Water vapor,” Mavry said. “The landing jets softened up the surface, and then the weight of the ship broke through the crust.”

“Oh,” Tycho said. “That doesn't mean it's stuck, does it?”

“I sure hope not.”

Tycho hurried up the gangplank, relieved to see the landing gear had only sunk a few centimeters into P/2's crust. He stowed the carryall and strongbox in the gig's locker and closed the gangway behind them. His father was already in the pilot's seat, stabbing at switches on the console.

“Strap in,” Mavry said. “We're leaving in a hurry.”

“Seems to be the way we do it these days,” Tycho said, buckling his harness.

“The life of a pirate is always exciting.”

The gig's engines rose from a purr to a whine. After a brief shudder, the little craft broke free of the crust and shot away from the surface of P/2.

“Hold tight,” Mavry warned. “This could get messy.”

Above them, they could see the blue flares of the
Shadow Comet
's engines, then green light spitting from her top and bottom gun turrets. Tycho followed the pulses to the distant silver triangle of the enemy frigate.

Flashes surrounded the frigate, and lines of green fire lanced out from her hull in their direction. Mavry yanked back on the control yokes, and the gig's engines screamed in protest. Bolts of plasma shot past them, leaving spots on Tycho's vision.

“We see you, Dad,” Carlo said over their headsets. “Your approach vector looks good.”

“The other guys see us too,” Mavry said, juking the craft from side to side with practiced ease. Tycho scowled at the thought that he was the least capable pilot in his family, then shook his head, annoyed with himself. The
Comet
was thickly armored, but the gig wasn't. If his father strayed into the path of one of those cannon blasts, Tycho's anxieties would instantly end—along with his hopes, dreams, and everything else.

Brilliant green light filled the gig's cabin, and the craft shook violently.

“That one melted the paint,” Mavry muttered.

“Stay on course, Dad,” Carlo said. “We'll help you out. Top turret gunner, maximum elevation on my mark! Give it all you've got!”

The
Comet
rolled smoothly onto her starboard wing, dipping her nose toward P/2 far below. That shielded the gig from fire, but left the top turret as the only weapon the
Comet
could bring to bear on their attacker.

“Just watch the docking maneuver,” Carlo said over the comm. “Sideways can be tricky.”

Mavry snorted.

“How about a little respect for your elders?” he asked. “I was standing this old crate on its head while you were still piloting toy ships.”

Now sheltered by the
Comet
's hull, Mavry rolled the gig onto one wing, mimicking the larger ship's earlier maneuver and leaving Tycho hanging in his harness. Then he simultaneously killed the main engines and fired the maneuvering jets, eyes jumping between his scopes and the viewport. A moment later, they heard a
clunk
as the gig connected with the
Comet
's belly.

“You're locked,” Carlo said. “Nice flying, old man.”

“Not so bad yourself, kid,” Mavry said.

On the quarterdeck, Tycho saw Yana glance curiously at the carryall and strongbox, and he grinned at his sister.

“We found the memory core, and the captain's—”

“Belay that and strap in,” Diocletia said sharply. “We're not out of this yet. Mox's cruiser will be in range in two minutes.”

Pausing only to remove his helmet and take a grateful gulp of the cooler, cleaner air aboard the
Comet
, Tycho sat down hurriedly. Huff emerged from the ladderwell a moment later, artificial eye gleaming.

“Arrr, whoever these bandits are, they're tricksy,” Huff grumbled. “Best me and the lads could do was clip that frigate once or twice.”

“Not now, Dad,” Diocletia said. “Tycho—”

“Already calculating a route back to our tanks,” Tycho said.

“That frigate's going to rake us pretty good on the way out,” Carlo muttered, swinging the privateer around to race back the way she'd come.

“It can't be helped,” Diocletia said. “We'll just have to hope the stern armor holds up.”

“Arrr, fire on the comet, Dio,” Huff growled.

Diocletia looked puzzled, then nodded and smiled.

“Mr. Grigsby? Have all missile crews fire on P/2. Doesn't matter where—just hit it.”

“What good will that do?” Yana asked.

Huff grinned. “Plenty. 'Tis an ol' pirate trick.”

“Wait—belay that last order, Mr. Grigsby,” Diocletia said. “Sending you specific coordinates on the surface. Direct your fire at that spot. I want nothing left.”

“The wreck?” Tycho asked. “But if the treasure's still down there, it'll be destroyed.”

“Would you rather it wind up in the hold of Mox's cruiser?” Diocletia asked.

The
Comet
shook as Grigsby's crews launched a flight of missiles at the gray blob of P/2. Flashes marked the point of impact.

“Keep firing,” Diocletia ordered.

A moment later, jets of silvery light erupted from P/2's surface, soaring kilometers into space—and shielding the
Comet
from the view of the enemy gunners.

“That's a pretty good trick,” Yana said.

“See you around, Thoadbone!” Tycho called as cheers bounced up the ladderwell from belowdecks.

“Won't last but a few minutes, but 'twill be long enough,” Huff said, grinning at the fans of ice now drifting in front of them. “An' besides, how many folks can say they've made their own comet tail?”

6
THE HUNTED

W
hen the
Comet
was safely away from P/2309 K1 and on her way to Ceres, Diocletia removed her headset, shook her hair out of its ponytail, and exhaled deeply. Her black hair was streaked with silver, Tycho noticed. When had that happened?

“That could have been a lot worse,” Diocletia said, swiveling in the captain's chair. “Because you all did your jobs, it wasn't. Tycho, hopefully what you brought back from P/2 will make the trip worth it. Carlo, your piloting was excellent, particularly that maneuver to protect the gig. And Yana, if you hadn't broken that jamming, we would have had to run for it and leave the crash site to Mox.”

Yana dropped her eyes, then gave up being modest and grinned, enjoying the moment. Diocletia smiled back, but then her face turned stern again.

“But remember, success will teach you as much as failure,” she said. “Analyze what you did, Yana, and make a note of it. Because something tells me we'll encounter that kind of jamming again.”

“I hope not,” Yana said. “I've never seen a signal that powerful that also affected every scanning frequency.”

Diocletia and Mavry exchanged a quick look—one Yana didn't miss.

“But
you
have,” she said, leaning forward. “Where?”

There was no sound but the
shush-shush
of the air scrubbers.

“At 624 Hektor,” Mavry said quietly.

Yana looked surprised at the mention of that normally forbidden name.

“The Martian freighters on that day were carrying jammers, and the Securitat gave our pirates software to counteract them . . . ,” she began carefully.

“Avast,” Huff growled, the flesh-and-blood corner of his mouth turned down. “Bad luck to speak of it.”

“But I need to know,” Yana said. “The Securitat said the software was infected by Earth's agents—”

“'Twas an evil hour,” Huff said. “Leave it at that.”

“Grandpa, we
have
to talk about it. This isn't something from a long time ago—it just happened to us. I need to know how to stop it if it happens again.”

“Next time, just do whatever yeh did this time,” Huff said.

“Yana, Vesuvia should have a record of the jamming from back then,” Carlo said hurriedly. “Maybe she could help you find what you need.”

“But—” Yana objected.

“Good idea,” Diocletia said. “We barely escaped back there. If I know Mox, he and his pals hoped to use P/2 as cover but didn't have enough time to set up a good ambush—the missile boat was the only thing fast enough to beat us there.”

“What were a bunch of pirates doing out there, anyway?” Tycho asked.

“Waiting for us, which is what's really bothering me,” Diocletia said. “We didn't set our course until we left Saturn's rings. Which means someone, somewhere, slapped a tracker on us. When we get to Ceres, we're going to have to search every meter of the ship.”

“They put it on the gig,” Yana said, eyes wide. “At Kraken Station.”

“Maybe,” Diocletia said. “Or they could have put it on the
Comet
at Enceladus.”

“Shouldn't we stop and find the tracker now?” Tycho asked.

“And risk Mox catching us in deep space? No thanks. I don't care if he knows we're going to Ceres—not even Thoadbone would be crazy enough to try anything in a well-patrolled port. But while we're there, be careful. Be aware of your surroundings, and watch what you say. Not one word about the
Iris
treasure, where we've been, or where we might be going. We're being hunted. We have to start behaving like it.”

She looked at each of her children in turn.

“Now that that's settled, let's take a look at what we came all this way for,” she said, nodding at Mavry.

“I'll get the memory core from the wreck hooked up and see what data we can pull off it,” Mavry said. “But the really interesting thing is what Tycho found. Let me present you with the captain's strongbox.”

Huff clanked over for a closer look.

“Now that there is a bona fide
antique
,” Huff said. “Ain't seen one of them since I was a lad. An' it's still got power—will probably run for centuries. Back then folks made things to last.”

“Makes me wish they hadn't,” Tycho said. “How do we get it open without burning up whatever's inside?”

“Arrr, that's easy,” Huff said. “You'll want to stand back, though, Mavry.”

Mavry gave Huff some room, and the old pirate bent down awkwardly, his artificial eye fixed on the seam between the self-destruct unit and the strongbox.