The Rise of Earth (21 page)

“He's just one man. And what did he see, anyway? He saw us lose a dromond.”

“Which we're trying to get back. Besides, the Union wants us here. We're a part of its plan.”

“But what
is
that plan? It feels like we're all in over our heads—caught between Earth and the Ice Wolves, and trying to figure out what the Cybeleans are up to.”

“We're trying to take Earth prizes and protect our own merchant ships to show the Cybeleans that Earth isn't all-powerful. And stop them from making a shipbuilding deal with Earth. And recover the
Leviathan
if we can. I agree, I don't like the Cybeleans or their games either. But sometimes not playing isn't an option. And if that's the case, you may as well win.”

Carlo turned to Tycho, studying him. After a moment he nodded.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I was thinking that's good advice. About a lot of things.”

Carlo looked like he was going to say something else
but then ducked his head, staring down into the lower levels of the Westwell. He swallowed, and Tycho could almost see whatever had possessed him drain away, leaving him looking tired and unsure of himself.

“I'm a great pilot,” he said hesitantly. “And you're . . . well, you're not so hot.”

“I really hope there's a ‘but' coming,” Tycho said.

“There is, if you'll be quiet and let me get to it.”

Tycho studied the contours of the pressure dome high above them—the thin membrane that kept the life-giving air around them from vanishing into the black void beyond.

“I'm a great pilot, but it's taken me a long time to understand there's more to being captain than piloting,” Carlo said. “In that respect, Tyke, I could learn a lot from you.”

“Thanks,” Tycho said, then laughed nervously. “I don't suppose you'll ask Mom to put that in the Log?”

Carlo's eyes came up and met Tycho's for a moment. Then he looked away, grimacing. “Come on. Before we're late for dinner.”

When Tycho and Carlo entered their temporary quarters, Yana was standing at the dinner table, breathing hard, her face red and her hair dark with sweat.

“Unarmed-combat sims,” she said in response to her brothers' questioning glance.

“They're a lot noisier than pilot simulations,” Mavry said, wrapping an arm around Carlo's shoulder.

“And smellier,” Tycho said.

“Mr. Speirdyke needed hot water to cook,” Yana said with a shrug. “Would you rather eat next to a dirty sister or starve next to a clean one?”

Somehow Tycho doubted that Earth's fondaco was ever short on hot water.

“And where have you two been, anyway?” Diocletia asked as Carlo and Tycho settled themselves at the table. “I was about to comm Mr. Grigsby and have him lead a search party.”

Carlo and Tycho muttered excuses without looking at each other, prompting an amused look to pass between Yana and Mavry.

“Never mind us—where's Grandfather?” Tycho asked.

“Visiting my mother,” Diocletia said in a tone that indicated the subject was not to be pursued further. “I'm afraid salad dressing is beyond Mr. Speirdyke's skills, but this burgoo isn't bad. And there's duff for later.”

Tycho gave the stew a sniff, then scooped it into his bowl. He wondered what Kate was eating, and if she had company. He imagined a table surrounded by handsome young Earth nobles, each with a liveried servant behind him, eating some delicacy he'd never imagined existed.

“Tyke, quit glaring at the burgoo and pass it already,” Yana said.

“Huh? Oh. Right.”

It was odd to eat as a family accompanied neither
by bells nor by the quiet, dignified presence of Parsons, waiting to bring things to the table or take them away as needed. The Hashoones ate in silence for a few minutes, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

“Are we heading back into space tomorrow?” asked Yana.

“Most likely,” Diocletia said. “There's a meeting at the consulate in the morning. It seems Captain Allamand has taken another prize.”

Tycho looked up from his burgoo.

“When was this?” he asked.

“I just received word. The
Gracieux
and the
Argent Raptor
snatched a couple of ketches making the run from Ceres to Ganymede.”

“Did any of our captains try to intercept?” Carlo asked.

“Dmitra was on station and made a run at Allamand, but he moved fast—put prize crews aboard the ketches and sent them back inbound before she could get there.”

Tycho's appetite vanished. While he'd been sitting in the garden with Kate, the Jovian Union's enemies had been ambushing his countrymen in space. And he'd done nothing to warn them.

“They're not huge prizes, but the insurers are screaming,” Diocletia said with a sigh. “So I suspect we'll be back looking for the
Leviathan
tomorrow. That or this shipyard of yours, Tycho. I shared your idea about the
Leviathan
being turned into parts, and Mr. Vass and his ministers got very interested.”

Yana offered her brother a small smile, while Carlo stared into his burgoo. Tycho knew what both of them were thinking: he'd get credit for his theory in the Log.

“Whatever this big shipbuilding project is, our ministers suspect it's almost finished,” Diocletia said. “They've been keeping an eye on the Cybelean shipbuilders for a while to get a better sense of what kind of deal Earth might offer them. In the last couple of days the sign walkers have basically stopped recruiting.”

“Does that mean we're running out of time?” Yana asked.

“Well, Vass says there's no indication of any life-support systems being procured yet—intelligence can trace those more easily than orders of steel and ceramics,” Mavry said. “But yes, it sounds like they're well along in the construction process.”

“Or Tycho's right and Earth's just stealing components from one of the missing ships,” Yana said.

“That's possible too,” Diocletia said. “Anyway, be ready for a recall order.”

“And in the meantime, eyes and ears open,” Mavry said. “Our side could use a win pretty badly, if only to change the conversation.”

“I heard something,” Tycho said. “Mox is here on Cybele.”

Mavry and Diocletia exchanged an alarmed glance.

“Where did you hear that?” Mavry asked.

Too late, Tycho realized he couldn't tell his father the truth.

“In Bazaar,” he said vaguely.

“Overheard it from who?”

“Spacers were talking—Ice Wolves,” Tycho said, then became aware of his mother's disapproving gaze. “Bazaar is a good place to find information, Mom. That's important, right?”

“And how do you know they were Ice Wolves?” Mavry asked.

Tycho shrugged. “Burly guys with beards talking about Thoadbone Mox?”

“I think that area's too dangerous to visit,” Diocletia said. “This is just more proof of it.”

“I had my carbine,” Tycho said, thinking that it hadn't done him any good.

“They have carbines too,” Diocletia said. “The shipbuilding work may be slowing down, but we had two crewers snatched by crimps beyond the Westwell yesterday—and three Comets needed medical attention after battling it out with someone or other. And those are veteran spacers, not teenaged members of a bridge crew.”

“Is this about the Ice Wolves or about you not wanting us to talk to Grandmother?” Tycho asked.

It wasn't his siblings' faces that told him he'd gone too far but the way his father's expression went from surprised to disappointed to carefully blank.

“I'm sorry, Mom,” he said in a small voice.

He risked a glance at his mother, expecting volcanic rage, but she just looked tired. No, he thought, more
than tired—she looked exhausted.

“Forget it,” Diocletia said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “The three of you are getting a little old to be told how to conduct yourselves in port. So I'm asking you to be careful. Remember, you only have to be unlucky once.”

T
he next morning, Tycho was retyping a message to Kate when Carlo burst into the Hashoones' quarters at the Jovian fandaco.

“What's with you?” Tycho asked, hurriedly covering his mediapad.

“Sign walker,” Carlo said, stripping off his hooded parka. “Tried to recruit me.”

“And this is news why?”

Both brothers could hear Huff snoring in his quarters,
the sounds coming through the door echoed by the gurgling of his tank.

“See, I was in the passageway to Bazaar—” Carlo began.

“You heard what Mom said—that area's dangerous. You should at least carry a carbine out there.”

“Would you forget about carbines and listen to me?” Carlo said in exasperation as Diocletia emerged from her bedroom, curious about the commotion. Mavry was aboard the
Comet
, attending to a faulty fuel-balancing sensor.

“The sign walker was hiring people to unload freight and said it was from an Earth ship, and he guaranteed no pirate trouble,” Carlo explained. “That's what made me listen. I asked him how he could promise that and he said the ship wasn't coming all the way here. He told me its owners had made an arrangement to transfer its cargo to Cybelean coasters before reaching the area where there's been pirate activity.”

“When was this, exactly?” Diocletia asked.

“Fifteen minutes ago, I guess. Mom, we were talking about needing to change the conversation, remember? This is the perfect opportunity to do it.”

As Diocletia gnawed on her thumbnail, Yana emerged from the bathroom, hair wet from the shower.

“We're supposed to conduct more sweeps of the asteroids,” Diocletia said. “I was just about to issue a recall order.”

Yana stopped drying her hair and demanded to know
what they were talking about. Her eyes narrowed when Carlo got to the part about Cybelean coasters.

“Are the Cybeleans offering our freighters the same help in keeping their cargoes safe?”

“Not that I've heard,” Diocletia said, poking at the coffeemaker's controls.

“Of course not,” Tycho said, hand still over his mediapad. “This is just another one of their sleazy deals.”

“We can make them regret this one,” Carlo said pleadingly.

“That would be fun,” Yana said with a predatory gleam in her eye.

“It would be,” Diocletia said. “But it would be more fun to find the
Leviathan
and steal her back.”

“We've got ships all over the asteroids and nobody's found so much as a stray ion from the
Leviathan
,” Yana objected.

“That's true.”

Diocletia drummed her fingers on the kitchen counter. Huff continued snoring in the next room. Tycho, Yana, and Carlo waited, knowing their mother's habits. The drumming fingers meant she was making up her mind, and further campaigning would only annoy her.

Her fingers stopped drumming. The coffeemaker pinged.

“Carlo, patch into Vesuvia remotely and see if you can get a fix on the likely point where they'd be transferring cargo on that route,” Diocletia said. “Then cross-reference that with anything you can find in the freight database
on expected deliveries, cargo vessels, and so forth. I want to make sure we're not chasing a ghost.”

“On it,” Carlo said with a grin, then turned to his brother and sister. “Will you two help?”

“For prize money?” Yana asked. “You have to ask?”

“Tycho?”

Tycho reluctantly erased his half-written message to Kate.

“Something about this doesn't feel right,” he said. “What if it's a trap?”

“Then we start shooting,” Yana said. “Is that what's bothering you, Tyke? Or is it that you can't stand the idea of someone else having a bit of luck?”

“Belay that,” Diocletia snapped, but the rebuke sounded halfhearted. There was a difference to their mother's tone when she thought you were wrong, as opposed to when she thought you were right but being obnoxious about it. Tycho knew perfectly well that this was the latter—and judging from her smile, so did Yana.

“Carlo, my lad, yeh need to breathe,” Huff growled from his perch near the
Comet
's forward ladderwell. “Trust an ol' pirate—more worked up yeh get awaitin' a prize, the slower she is to appear.”

Carlo nodded and exhaled, his shoulders rising and falling. But a moment later he was staring out through the
Comet
's viewports again.

The frigate had detached from her long-range tanks and was sitting just off a secondary spacelane connecting
65 Cybele with the inner asteroids, running silent and dark. They'd been lurking there for half a watch, and everybody on the quarterdeck was getting antsy. Judging from the vile oaths and blood-curdling threats bouncing up the forward ladderwell, the same was true belowdecks.

When the bells clanged out 1030, Diocletia sighed.

“The ship will be here, Captain,” Carlo said. “I
know
it will be.”

The certainty in Carlo's voice was strange—he was normally one to scoff at hunches and feelings. Tycho glanced at Yana to see if she'd noticed the same thing, but his sister was busy performing another scan of the area.

“Arrr, if believin' were the difference maker, lad, wouldn't be a poor pirate anywhere in the solar system,” Huff said.

“We'll hold our position, but surely the rest of you have something better to do,” Diocletia said. “You're excused, Carlo—you couldn't concentrate on anything else right now anyway.”

“I'm caught up with my homework,” Tycho said before his mother could suggest that as a way to fill the time.

Mavry raised an eyebrow. “Vesuvia? Is that true?”

“Tycho has two overdue homework assignments—a Shakespeare essay and a calculus exercise,” Vesuvia replied. “And Yana is four exercises behind in her self-directed History of the Solar System studies.”

“Hey!” Yana protested. “Leave me out of this.”

“For shame,” Mavry said.

“Oh, come on, Mom,” protested Tycho. “During an intercept?”

Diocletia gestured to the scattering of rocks visible through the main screen. “When there's something to intercept, you can quit. Until then, hit the books.”

“I'll do mine later—I'm too busy running scans,” Yana said.

“Nice try,” Diocletia said. “Vesuvia, switch scanners to my console. And Mavry will take communications.”

Tycho and Yana sighed and called up their overdue assignments. But Tycho found it impossible to focus. Why was their brother so certain a prize was headed their way?

Because he's desperate
, Tycho thought.

But was he desperate enough to risk wasting their time because he'd heard something from a sign walker beyond the Westwell? That didn't feel right—particularly not for Carlo, whose instinct was to doubt anything that didn't come from official sources or show up on a sensor reading.

“Do you require a review of your homework assignment, Tycho?” Vesuvia asked.

“I'm thinking,” Tycho told the ship's AI.

“Careful you don't break anything,” Yana said.

Carlo offered his sister a flicker of a smile. His eyes met Tycho's, then slid away, his expression turning grim as he returned to his vigil.

He
knows
the ship is coming. This isn't a hunch or a feeling. He
knows
.

Tycho stared at the back of his brother's head as the pieces of the puzzle he'd been working on rearranged themselves, rotated, and locked into place.

He knows the same way I knew about the
Portia
—because someone told him. There was no sign walker. Just like I never found a mediapad on Ceres.

The Securitat would have known about Carlo's mistakes during the raid on the convoy—every Jovian official had received an account of that. And they almost certainly would know that he feared losing out on the captain's chair—it was their job to know such things. They would have zeroed in on him as desperate, vulnerable, and ripe for recruitment.

Tycho had turned his back on DeWise and the Securitat, rejecting further help in winning the captain's chair. So they'd watched and waited for the chance to recruit his brother instead. Waited for the chance to propose a meeting and offer him a prize. There would have been no strings attached, or at least none that Carlo could see—just a little gift to help him even up the competition.

Them Securitat types spin their webs, an' little by little they wrap yeh up. Until yeh can't find yer way out, an' yeh realize they own yeh.

Tycho closed his eyes, furious at his brother but also at himself. He'd been such a fool—both for cheating and for failing to understand what turning his back on the
Securitat would lead to. Why had he thought the Securitat would just walk away from his family? Why had he never imagined that he could be replaced?

When something finally did appear on the
Comet
's scanners, it was two somethings, not one. And the two somethings were coming from the wrong direction.

“Mr. Grigsby, we have bogeys inbound from Cybele,” Diocletia said.

“Aye, Captain,” said Grigsby, and a moment later the bosun's pipes shrilled belowdecks.

“I'll take back sensors,” Yana said, even as Tycho was asking Vesuvia for control of communications.

“Hold on a moment, you two,” Diocletia said. “There's time to figure out what we're looking at.”

“The bogeys are coming from Cybele?” Yana asked with a smile. “Your sign walker seems to have been a bit confused, Carlo.”

“Not if those are the coasters, coming to meet the freighter and unload her cargo,” Carlo said.

Tycho frowned. Carlo was calm and confident now—and why shouldn't he be?

“They're too big to be coasters,” Diocletia said. “They're frigates at least.”

“That . . . doesn't make any sense,” Carlo said, and Tycho couldn't resist a small, mean smile.

“Sensor contact,” Vesuvia announced.

“No kiddin', yeh blind calculator,” Huff growled. “Tell us summat we don't know.”

“This sensor contact is a single ship heading for 65 Cybele from the inner solar system,” Vesuvia said with a hint of smugness.

“
Now
you two can take over,” Diocletia said. “Carlo, your starship.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Carlo said, hauling the control yoke back and elevating the
Comet
's nose. “Vesuvia, beat to quarters. Mr. Grigsby, we are intercepting a third bogey inbound from the inner solar system.”

“The first two ships are hailing,” Tycho said as the bosun's pipes squealed beneath their feet once more. “It's the Widderich brothers.”

“What are they doing here?” Carlo demanded. “We don't need help, least of all from the likes of them.”

“Tryin' to horn in on our prize,” Huff rumbled. “Been a bad habit of theirs for years.”

“Patch them through,” Diocletia said, looking annoyed.

“Heard you might need some help,
Comet
,” said Baltazar Widderich.

“Give me the comm, Tycho,” Diocletia said, activating her headset. “You heard wrong, Baltazar. Right now we're a little busy.”

“Where did the Widderiches come from?” Yana asked when Diocletia had fended off Baltazar's complaints.

“I had to tell Garibalda that we weren't taking part in today's search of the asteroids,” Diocletia said. “Someone on her quarterdeck must have talked. Word gets around,
someone in traffic control's getting slipped livres to share information, and pretty soon you've got company.”

“I'm more worried about our other company,” Carlo said as he swung the
Comet
into the spacelane. “What's on the scopes, Yana?”

“New arrival looks like a Minke-class, but confidence only fifty-eight percent. She's about to see us—her sensor cone will overlap our position within forty-five seconds.”

“Baltazar an' Karst will be playin' by pirate rules,” Huff warned.

“What does that mean, Grandfather?” Carlo asked.

“Means they'll expect a snack if they're within firin' range at the time of the capture,” Huff said. “Least that's how we used to settle these things. Kept us from puttin' holes in each other. Well, at least sometimes.”

“We better get there first, then,” Carlo said, hitting the throttle hard enough to mash the Hashoones back in their chairs. “Tycho, plot us a course back to our tanks in case our bogey turns out to be a warship. Vesuvia, display colors.”

Tycho began computing the requested course, trying to keep his anger in check: Carlo was not only flying with his usual precision but also smoothly issuing the orders expected of the ranking officer during an intercept. Tycho could guess what he'd done to put himself in that position, but there was nothing he could say about it—not now and not ever.