The Jupiter Pirates (13 page)

14
HUNT FOR THE
HYDRA

I
hate being cooped up in here,” Yana said, and not for the first time.

They were back in the Cybeles, but this time the
Comet
was inside the cargo bay of the
Vesta Runner
, next to another privateer, the
Ironhawk
. At a command from the
Vesta Runner
's captain, the massive doors of her cargo bay would swing open and the two privateers would emerge from hiding, ready to engage Thoadbone Mox's ship. Until then, though, the
Comet
's crew was stuck waiting, annoyed with the
Runner
's poky pace and her weak sensors.

“It's been four days already—I don't think I can take another one,” Yana said.

“We could run another boarding simulation,” Tycho suggested. They'd been through more than a dozen, trying to make everything from selecting their gear to clearing corridors while under fire feel familiar.

Yana just groaned and shook her head.

“We all hate being cooped up in here,” Carlo said. “The difference is the rest of us don't keep talking about it.”

“I'll say what I want—” Yana began hotly, before Diocletia whirled around in the captain's chair with a warning look that silenced both of them.

Huff chuckled, clanking forward to smack Yana on the shoulder with his forearm blaster cannon. Tycho knew it was meant to be a reassuring gesture, but Yana winced and grabbed at her shoulder.

“The pirating life's always this way, lass,” Huff said. “Days of waiting, interrupted by minutes of terror.”

“Please do not engage that weapon in close proximity to a child,” Vesuvia chirped.

“It's not engaged, you half-witted addin' machine,” Huff growled.

“Quit calling me a child, Vesuvia!” Yana yelled.

“‘Engaged' refers to operational status,” Vesuvia said. “If your weapon is not operational, its indicators are faulty and should be repaired.”

“I'm twelve years old and a midshipman,” Yana protested.

“You want faulty?” Huff asked. “What if I engage this blaster cannon in yer cognitive module, you cheeky tangle of—”

Diocletia turned, eyes blazing.

“Belay that!” she yelled.

Yana and Huff looked at each other.

“Belay what?” Yana asked.

“Belay everything!” Diocletia said. “Honestly, Thoadbone Mox shooting at us would be better than listening to the lot of you!”

“Avast, Dio,” Huff muttered in an uncharacteristically small voice. “'Tis bad luck to say that.”

Tycho just shook his head. This flying slow and half blind was making them all stir crazy. On top of that, he thought, there was no guarantee Mox would even show up.

They'd done their best to set the trap, sending Carlo and a young crewer from the
Ironhawk
around Ceres's bars and food shacks, wearing borrowed jumpsuits with the
Vesta Runner
's insignia and talking loudly about the massive load of fuel cells they were taking to Jupiter and how nervous they were to be traveling through the lawless Cybeles.

If Mox had even one semicompetent spy on Ceres, he would have heard that a juicy prize with a novice crew was heading his way. But what if he were prowling elsewhere or sensed a trap? Tycho wasn't eager to encounter the deadly pirate again, but he also didn't want to think about making a long cruise in the belly of the
Vesta
Runner
for nothing.

The communicator chimed.

“
Comet
,
Ironhawk
, this is Branson,” said the clipped voice of the
Vesta Runner
's captain. “We've got a possible sensor contact, fifteen degrees to starboard, forty-five thousand klicks out.”

“Acknowledged,
Runner
,” Yana said.

She bent over her instruments briefly, then gave up in disgust.

“I can't see anything,” Yana said, gesturing out the forward viewports, where nothing was visible except the
Runner
's empty cargo bay. “Probably another false reading, or a rock with slightly higher-than-expected metal content. By the time that old tub's sensors tell me it's the
Hydra
, I'll be reading the name off her hull.”

“Keep your eyes open anyway,” Diocletia said. “Remember—”

A massive boom drowned out whatever else she said and left all their ears ringing. The
Comet
lurched sideways, her lights flickering momentarily, and alarms began to blare.

“Impact,” Vesuvia reported tonelessly.

“Tycho, maintain communications links,” Diocletia said.

“All green,” Tycho said, fighting the urge to add “for all the good it's doing us.”

“Yana, what's going on out there?” Diocletia asked.

Yana threw up her hands in frustration.

“I don't know!” she yowled. “
Runner
, what the heck was that?”

“Pinnaces!” Branson yelled back. “They're so small, our sensors didn't pick them up! I'm going to open the bay doors—”

“Negative,
Runner
,” Diocletia barked. “We're too far out of range. Open up now, and Mox will slip the trap.”

“
Runner
, this is
Ironhawk
,” said the voice of Garrett, the other privateer captain. “
Comet
's right. We'll only get one shot at this. Stand your course.”

Tycho gazed at the main screen. A bright cross marked the position of the sensor contact the
Vesta Runner
had made just before she'd been attacked. It was still at least thirty thousand kilometers away. Mox—if that was really him out there—had taken the bait, but he'd been suspicious, using his pinnaces to try to stop the
Runner
well short of his position.

The impact had flung an unwary Huff across the quarterdeck. Now he clanked back to the ladder, magnetic footing engaged, and held on.

“Arrr,” he muttered. “Thoadbone always was the tricky one.”

The
Comet
jumped again as another blast rattled the
Vesta Runner
. Over the communicator they heard Branson gasp, with voices yelling behind him.

“They're ordering us to heave to!” Branson yelled.

“He's trying to scare you,
Runner
!” Diocletia said.
“Don't you dare stop!”

“But they'll cut us to pieces!” Branson wailed.

“If you shut down the engines,
I'll
cut you to pieces,” Diocletia warned. “Tell them you're having trouble cutting over to manual control—those impacts scrambled the computer interface.”

“But—”

“We don't care how you do it,” Garrett said. “Just hold them off for three minutes!”

“I'll try,” Branson said feebly.

Huff began to chuckle.

“Never send an honest man to do a liar's job,” he said.

The
Vesta Runner
continued to creep through space, closing to within 25,000 kilometers of the bright cross on the screen.

“I hate flying blind,” Carlo muttered.

“So do I,” Diocletia said. “Mr. Grigsby, stand by. I want guns hot and crews ready. And prepare three boarding parties.”

“Aye, Captain,” Grigsby said. “We're ready—you can count on that.”

“Twenty thousand klicks,” Yana said.

“Sensor profile complete,” Vesuvia said. “Contact is
Hydra
. Confidence ninety-eight point three five percent.”

Another explosion rattled the quarterdeck—this one much closer.

“
Ironhawk
,
Shadow Comet
, this is Branson,” the
Runner
's captain said. He sounded like he could barely breathe. “I told them we had to extinguish the engines manually. I don't think I can get you much closer than five thousand klicks, though—they're already suspicious.”

“Captain Branson, listen to me,” Diocletia said. “Start slowing at 10,000 klicks and keep your communications channels open so they can hear you. At seven thousand, begin yelling at everybody on your bridge about malfunctions and the computer, and then jam the engines on full ahead.”

“They won't believe me—and they'll kill us!” Branson objected.

“Yes, I suspect they will,” Diocletia said. “Just like they'll kill you if we lose this fight, or if they find two Jovian privateers in your cargo bay. Too late to turn back now, Captain, so
listen
. Once we come out of that bay, Mox is going to be too busy to worry about you. But you've got to get us close enough. You understand me?”

“I'll do my best,” Branson said shakily.

“That will have to do,” Diocletia said, closing the channel.

The
Runner
closed to within 20,000 kilometers without attracting more fire from Mox's pinnaces, while the Hashoones grimly watched the distance shrink. At 17,500 kilometers, Huff clattered up the ladderwell to the top deck above, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Ten thousand klicks,” Yana said. “Velocity slowing.”

“I sure hope Branson understood the plan, Mom,” Tycho said.

“Me too,” Diocletia muttered.

The
Comet
closed to within 7,000 kilometers. The Hashoones looked at one another, frustrated at not knowing what was happening.

“Why didn't we tell Branson to keep his other channels open to us?” Carlo asked.

“Because I forgot,” Diocletia said with a scowl. “Nothing we can do about it now.”

Huff clanked back into view, carbines tucked in his belt, a bandolier of stun grenades slung over one shoulder, and a wicked-looking knife clenched in his teeth.

“Not a word out of yeh, yeh cursed electric nanny,” he growled around the blade, the words barely understandable through his clenched teeth.

Vesuvia, for once, decided it would be a good idea to stay silent.

“Five thousand,” Yana said.

“Come on, Branson!” urged Tycho.

A loud whine began somewhere beneath their feet.

“Velocity increasing,” Yana said.

Then another explosion rattled the ship—this one followed by a shriek of torn metal. The
Vesta Runner
shivered and rolled slightly to starboard.

“That was no warning shot,” Mavry said. “Mox is playing for keeps now.”

“Three thousand!” Yana said.

The
Runner
rumbled, shaking steadily now with impacts.

“Yana, give me a sign at five hundred klicks,” Diocletia said. “Captain Branson, Captain Garrett, this is
Comet
. Open the cargo bay when we close to within five hundred klicks.
Ironhawk
, we'll take starboard, you take port.”

“We won't last that long!” Branson wailed.

“Two thousand,” Yana said.

“Almost there,
Runner
,” Garrett said. “Stand your course.”

“One thousand,” Yana said, raising her voice to be heard over the thud and boom of impacts.

“Carlo, get ready,” Diocletia said. “Tycho, monitor all channels. Mr. Grigsby, stand by. Aim for the pinnaces, then the
Hydra
. Yana, eyes and ears peeled. Vesuvia, we'll launch with colors displayed.”

“Acknowledged,” Vesuvia said.

“Seven fifty!” Yana yelled. They could hear alarms shrieking on the
Runner'
s bridge.

“Here we come, Mox, you chrome-pated buzzard!” Huff roared, transferring the knife from his teeth to his hand.

“Five hundred,” Yana said.

“Branson—
GO!
” Diocletia yelled.

They heard the cough and whine of machinery in the bay outside.

“That doesn't sound right,” Mavry said.

The cough and whine turned into a clattering rattle.

“The bay doors have been damaged!” Branson yelled. “They're stuck shut!”

 

15
DEEP SPACE SHOWDOWN

T
he
Vesta Runner
, her cargo doors jammed shut, took a direct hit and lurched in space. Carlo, Yana, and Tycho exchanged frantic looks.

“Captain Garrett,” Diocletia said, “looks like we'll have to blast our way out.”

“Agreed,” Garrett said grimly.

“Are you both insane?” shrieked Branson.

“Mr. Grigsby, any gun crews that have a clear line of fire on the cargo bay doors, fire at will,” Diocletia said. “Do it now!”

The
Comet
's guns thundered, the ship shuddering with the continual barrage of fire. The
Vesta Runner
's cargo bay began to fill with smoke.

“Two hundred klicks,” Yana yelled over the roar of the guns.

“Ambient heat in the cargo bay is approaching unsafe levels,” Vesuvia said.

“Keep firing, Mr. Grigsby!” Diocletia yelled.

Metal gave way with a shriek, and they saw the blackness of space above the bay. The smoke instantly whisked away into space with the rest of the atmosphere. Belowdecks, the gun crews yelled in triumph.

“Punch it, Carlo!” yelled Diocletia, but her son was already stomping on the throttle and yanking back on the control yoke. The
Shadow Comet
shot upward, out of the
Vesta Runner
's ruined cargo bay.

Alarms began to scream.

“Proximity warning,” Vesuvia said. “Collision imminent.”

“Watch out for the
Ironhawk
,” Diocletia said.

“Hang on,” Carlo warned. He shoved the control yoke and the
Comet
rolled to starboard, away from the
Ironhawk
. Through the viewports, Tycho could see each gun barrel on the other privateer's hull as she cut in front of the
Comet
, maybe ten meters away.

“Whoa,” Tycho breathed. “That was close!”

“Too close,” muttered Yana.

Carlo let the
Comet
continue to roll, leaving the Hashoones upside down in their harnesses as the ship turned completely over. Tycho risked a look backward and saw Huff still clamped tightly to the deck, his beard flopped upside down and hiding half his face.

The ship shuddered briefly as her engines scraped the top of the
Vesta Runner
's hull, and then she was free and right side up once more.

“Mind the paint, son,” Mavry said with a smile.

“Vesuvia, damage report,” Diocletia said.

“Minimal,” Vesuvia said.

The bells rang out—six
clang-clan
g
s, 0700.

“Mr. Grigsby, fire at will,” Diocletia said. “Carlo, full speed and engage the
Hydra
. Yana, find me those pinnaces. And mind your long-range sensors—the Defense Ministry thinks Mox may be working with other pirates.”

“Now you tell me?” Yana asked.

“Now I tell you,” Diocletia said. “Tycho, scan all channels. If we can't see them coming, maybe we can hear them.”

Grigsby's gun crews quickly caught sight of one of the little pirate craft about thirty degrees off the starboard bow. Before the pinnace's startled pilot could react, the
Comet
's guns turned it into a ball of flame. Cheers came up the ladderwell.

“Good shooting, Mr. Grigsby!” Diocletia said. “Eyes open now—there are still hostiles out there.”

“I've got the other pinnace to port, amidships on the
Ironhawk
,” Yana said, hurriedly opening a channel to warn the other privateer's sensor officer. “
Ironhawk
, bandit at two hundred eighty degrees!”

Bolts of energy began lancing out at the
Comet
from a bright dot ahead of them, almost lost in the blackness of space.

“Arr, Thoadbone,” growled Huff. “Come out an' play!”

The
Ironhawk
's crews fired at one of the pinnaces as its guns raked the privateer's hull. Yana's fingers clattered on her keyboard, eyes locked on her scopes.

“Mr. Grigsby,” Yana said. “Pinnace at three hundred degrees!”

“We see 'er,” Grigsby growled. The
Comet
's topside turret fired, filling space with brilliant and deadly laser light. The pinnace dodged the burst of fire, rolled back the way it had come—and flew directly into a barrage from the
Ironhawk
.

“We're clear,” Diocletia said, staring out the forward port. “Now let's see to Mox.”

As if in response, Vesuvia chimed for the crew's attention.

“Incoming transmission from the
Hydra
,” she said.

Diocletia smiled.

“Tycho, put it on,” she said.

A moment later they were staring at Thoadbone Mox, who was red-faced with fury. His remaining eye widened as he saw the
Comet
's crew staring back at him.

“Thoadbone Mox,” Diocletia said. “You're wanted by the Jovian Union for crimes against its citizenry. Surrender, and we will take you into custody with no further harm to your crew or your ship. Refuse, and we shall give you no quarter.”

“You talk like a policewoman,” Mox rasped, peering at the screen. “So, it's the Hashoones. I thought that was yer broken-down antique ship that turned tail and fled two weeks ago. Cursed computer didn't recognize it—must've been all the parts that have fallen off. But
I
knew.”

Huff strode forward to stand behind Diocletia. Mox saw him and looked briefly startled. Then he grinned.

“Huff Hashoone,” Mox said. “Thought you'd be in a rocking chair by now, sucking dinner through a straw on account of missing half a face.”

“Thoadbone Mox,” Huff replied. “Thought you'd be space dust by now, on account of missin' half a brain and all of a heart.”

Mox cackled. “I've got brain and heart enough to still be captain of my own ship,” he said.

Tycho saw Huff's back go rigid with fury. But his grandfather just leaned closer to the screen.

“I ain't captain no more, 'tis true. Know what I am now?” Huff hefted his twin pistols. “Boardin' party. And I'm comin' to settle yer hash.”

“Big talk from a half-rusted—” Mox growled.

Diocletia gestured for Tycho to cut the transmission, and the red-faced pirate disappeared in mid rant. The
Hydra
was dead ahead, and Diocletia needed her crew's full attention focused on the enemy ship.

Carlo and the
Ironhawk
's pilot had spent hours working together in the simulator on their way to the Cybeles, and the effort had paid off. Their positioning was perfect—the
Ironhawk
was perhaps a kilometer to port, about even with the
Comet
.

The two ships passed on either side of the
Hydra
, raking her with broadsides. The dark of space turned blinding white with laser fire. The
Comet
shook continually, jittering and jumping as answering fire from the
Hydra
's cannons tore into her port side, the impacts flinging the Hashoones around in their harnesses.

“Damage report,” Diocletia yelled.

“Third portside gun turret inoperative,” Vesuvia reported. “Hull integrity weakened in six points. Atmospheric venting confined by bulkheads.”

That was survivable, but if the
Hydra
hit one of those weak points, the damage could be catastrophic. Tycho couldn't help glancing nervously at the patches of pale steel to starboard of the
Comet
's viewport.

“And the
Hydra
?” Diocletia asked.

“Calculating,” Vesuvia said.

“Coming around,” Carlo said. He pushed the
Comet
hard to starboard, denying the
Hydra
further shots at her damaged hull armor, then slewed the privateer back the way she'd come, allowing her starboard batteries to open fire on the
Hydra
. On the other side of the pirate ship, the
Ironhawk
's pilot was matching the
Comet
's maneuver.

“Make it count, Mr. Grigsby!” Diocletia yelled.

Once again the space around the three ships filled with fury. Tycho listened to the alarms scream, to the deafening crunches and crashes of laser fire on the hull plates, to the shouts of the gunners belowdecks, to Huff's roars of defiance. Then there was a larger, muffled impact, and the
Comet
streaked past the
Hydra
and came around for a third pass.

As they approached, they saw that the bow of the
Hydra
was cocked upward, as if the ship had been kicked by a giant. Her running lights were dark, her engines unlit.

“Careful—it might be a trick,” Diocletia said. “Vesuvia, damage report on the
Hydra
. Yana, watch those long-range sensors. Tycho, ears open.”

“Clear for now,” Yana said.

“Likewise,” Tycho said.

“Calculating,” Vesuvia said. “Scans show portside power linkages severed in three places. Confidence ninety-four point six percent.”

Huff let out a roar of triumph, and Diocletia and Mavry exchanged brief, satisfied nods. The
Hydra
was dead in space.

“Mr. Grigsby, fire to disarm,” Diocletia said. “Boarding parties, prep for action. Carlo, bring us in for docking. Easy now.”

As Carlo eased the
Shadow Comet
forward to align her docking ring with that of the
Hydra
, Grigsby's gunners opened fire on the pirate ship's gun turrets, turning her weapons into slag. Tycho realized he was holding his breath, worried that at any second the remaining batteries on Mox's ship would open up and tear into the
Comet
at point-blank range.

“Mavry will lead the first boarding party,” Diocletia said. “Carlo, I want you with the second. First boarding party will secure the reactor and engines. Second will take the quarterdeck. Dad will be with the third party, backing up the others as needed. The rest of us will stay here and detach if any other pirates show their faces. Tycho has communications. Yana will run sensors for me.”

“I want to be part of a boarding party,” Yana said.

“Not now, Yana,” Diocletia said.

Carlo tapped the thrusters a final time, and the
Comet
's docking ring came to rest against that of the
Hydra
, latching tight to it with a clatter of machinery.

“We still have to prove there's a connection between Suud and Mox, and see if we can find our missing Jovians,” Diocletia reminded them. “If Mox's crewers can get the power back online, they'll scuttle their computers—and then this was all for nothing.”

“Arrr, and remember the
Hydra
's a prize, Carlo,” Huff said. “Don't think the crew of the
Ironhawk
don't know it.”

Diocletia nodded. “She is—but we're all Jovians. By all means, get to the quarterdeck first if you can, but nobody shoots anybody over it.”

“Got it, Captain,” Carlo said, unbuckling his harness and getting to his feet. “We'll make you proud.”

Diocletia looked at her oldest son, then at her husband and her father.

“Remember, this isn't a merchant intercept,” she said. “The people on the other side of that hatch down there are killers. They aren't expecting quarter, and they won't be giving it.”

“As it should be,” grunted Huff, sliding down the ladderwell and out of sight. Mavry squeezed his wife's shoulder briefly and followed. Carlo grinned and offered his siblings a jaunty wave, as if he were headed into Port Town for a picnic in a sunny simulation dome. Then he too was gone. Diocletia stared after them for a long moment, then turned to Tycho and Yana, blinking.

“What are your orders?” Tycho asked, but Yana jumped in before Diocletia could answer.

“It's not fair!” she said with a scowl. “Why can't I go?”

“Because if Earth has other pirates out here and we don't see them coming, we're dead,” Diocletia said. “Tycho, check your connections with Mavry, Huff, and Carlo. And run the feed through the speakers so we can all hear it.”

Tycho nodded.

“Dad, Grandfather—can you hear me?” he asked. “Carlo?”

“It's Dad,” Mavry said. “Got you loud and clear.”

“I hear yeh, Tyke,” rumbled Huff.

“Me too,” Carlo said. “We're getting ready to crack open the
Hydra
.”

If Carlo was nervous, Tycho couldn't hear it in his voice. His older brother had simulated plenty of hostile boarding actions, as they all had. But no simulation could prepare you for standing in a ring of retainers armed with pistols and knives, knowing that very soon people would be trying to kill you.

“Ranking officer's weapons, First Mate Malone,” they heard Grigsby say, and knew he was handing Mavry the traditional chrome musketoons. Tycho had hoped that listening to the familiar ritual would reassure him, but it just made him more anxious.