24
BROTHERS
It was an hour into the middle watch when the Jovian and Earth craft returned to 65 Cybele, holding their positions as various captains insisted—with the exaggerated politeness of recent enemies—that the other be first to dock or land.
The arrival of the Leviathan sent Cybelean traffic control into a frenzy, with a harried administrator first claiming that the dromond would have to wait until morning to dock. Diocletia’s suggestion that she could park the Leviathan in the middle of the traffic-control tower probably didn’t help, but it did frighten the Jovian consulate into waking up higher-ranking Cybelean officials, and they were able to coax the bureaucratic wheels into creaky motion.
Since docking was clearly going to take a while, Tycho got permission from Diocletia to leave the bridge, descending the ladderwell and wandering for a while until he found the officers’ cuddy. He found Yana huddled in the corner with a jump-pop and her mediapad. Her eyes were red and watering.
“What’s wrong?” Tycho asked.
Yana swiped irritably at her cheeks with the back of her hand, looking away.
“It’s nothing.”
“Come on. You don’t need to act tough with me.”
“I guess you already know anyway,” she said, shoving her mediapad over to Tycho. “This message arrived as soon as we reached Cybelean local space.”
YANA,
BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS I WILL BE GONE. I AM NOT TAKEN BY CRIMPS OR STRAGGLING THO THAT WUD BE EASY TO LET EVERY ONE BELEVE. YANA I AM A SON OF SATURN AND I CAN NO LONGER DENY THAT. THE JOVIAN UNION HAS NOT GIVEN US OUR RITES AND THEY WILL NOT GIVE US OUR RITES THAT IS CLEAR TO ME NOW COS THEY CAN NOT EVEN TREAT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY RITE AND YOU ARE THER CONTRYMAN YANA. SO HOW CAN I EXPECT RITE TREATMENT FOR ME A SATURNEAN. I MUST DO WAT I BELEVE YANA AND THAT IS TO FITE FOR MY PEPLE SO THEY HAVE THE SAME RITES YOU ENJOY AND THAT PEPLE ENJOY ON EARTH. I AM SORRY TO HURT YOU YOU HAVE BEEN GOOD TO ME. YOU WILL BE A GRATE CAPTAIN ONE DAY YANA AND I MISS YOU ALREDY. REMEMBER ME.
IMMANUEL
“I’m sorry, sis,” Tycho said.
“Your girlfriend’s an Earth noble and my boyfriend’s an Ice Wolf,” Yana said with a small smile. “What’s next, Carlo taking up with a Martian separatist?”
“What’s that?” Carlo asked from the doorway. Tycho and Yana looked up, startled.
“Nothing,” Yana said, her face turning hard. Stone-faced, she scooped up her mediapad and pushed past Carlo.
“Wait, I didn’t mean . . . ,” Carlo said to his sister’s departing back. He turned back to Tycho, looking crestfallen.
“Just forget it,” Tycho said. “It has nothing to do with you.”
“Okay,” Carlo said, perching uncertainly on the cuddy’s padded bench, as far as he could get from his brother.
“I’m sorry about your girlfriend,” Carlo said after a moment.
“I think it’s safe to say she isn’t my girlfriend now.”
Carlo nodded. “I heard what you said about doing the honorable thing. Mom didn’t seem to agree.”
“I don’t care what Mom thinks about it. Or anybody else, for that matter.”
Carlo retreated into silence. Tycho glanced up and found him studying his hands on the tabletop, his teeth working at his lower lip.
“What would you have done?” Tycho asked. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to bait his brother or if he was genuinely curious.
Carlo opened his mouth, closed it, and then shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
They sat there for a while, listening to the thrum of the Leviathan’s air scrubbers.
“Do you think Mom really would have opened the Leviathan to space?” Carlo asked.
“Yeah.”
“Would you have done it?”
“No,” Tycho said. “I couldn’t have. Would you?”
“No. I couldn’t have either.”
Morning came all too quickly, and along with it orders for the Hashoones to return to the Jovian consulate. They found themselves in the familiar conference room overlooking the Well, with the other privateer crews filing in slowly. By the fragile, haunted expressions on their faces, Tycho guessed there’d been a fairly legendary shindy to mark the end of active hostilities with Earth.
“Why are we here again?” Yana leaned over to ask Mavry.
Mavry yawned. “Maybe it’s important to the future of the Jovian Union that we learn to fold napkins properly.”
Huff was snoring contentedly in the chair next to Tycho when Vass and an aide entered the conference room and took seats by the door. Two Gibraltar Artisans cyborgs followed them in and stood at attention, studying the privateers.
“By now you’ve heard the rumors about negotiations between our envoy and Earth’s,” Vass told the bleary-eyed spacers. “I’m pleased to announce that the rumors are true. We’ve reached an agreement to cease hostilities here at Cybele.”
Tycho elbowed Huff, who woke up with a snort, his living eye roving around the room.
“His Majesty has withdrawn the letters of marque issued to all Earth privateers,” Vass said. “And talks about a closer relationship between Earth and Cybele have adjourned and are not expected to resume.”
“So it’s a draw, then?” demanded Canaan Bickerstaff. “What good is that?”
“Against the power of Earth, a draw is a great victory,” Vass said with a smile. “His Majesty was embarrassed to see the return of the Nestor Leviathan hailed as a Jovian triumph, and furious to learn the Cybeleans used their neutrality to build a battleship for the Ice Wolves. His conclusion is that Earth has overextended its forces, and a pullback from the Cybeles would be a gesture of good faith in seeking a more lasting peace.”
“Arrrr, I’ll believe that one when I see it,” Huff muttered.
“I share your skepticism, Captain Hashoone,” Vass said. “But by stopping the rise of Earth in this region of the solar system, we have eliminated a considerable threat to the security of the Jovian Union. Ladies and gentlemen, your country owes all of you a debt.”
“How big a debt?” asked Dmitra Barnacus, to laughter from the privateers.
“That will be established by the Defense Force upon review of your contributions here at Cybele. But all of you will be compensated. And those ships that responded to Captain Andrade’s call for assistance will share in the reward for the rescue of the Leviathan. A rescue for which we have Captain Hashoone and her crew to thank—particularly Master Tycho Hashoone.”
Tycho managed a pallid smile. He’d had only a couple of hours of sleep at their temporary quarters, during which he’d woken up repeatedly after dreaming Kate had sent a furious message to his mediapad. Each time he checked, he found his message queue empty, and by dawn he’d realized that no message would be coming—not today, not tomorrow, and not ever.
And that was so much worse.
“And what about the Ice Wolves?” asked Garibalda Marta Andrade. “There’s a pretty big battleship out there somewhere, Minister.”
“We are analyzing instrument readings and communications logs from the encounter. We will find the ship, and eliminate it as a threat. And we are actively investigating the Titan affair that apparently funded its construction.”
“In other words, we ain’t tellin’ you lot nothin’,” Huff growled to Tycho.
“Now then,” Vass said over the hubbub. “With His Majesty canceling privateering operations, President Goddard has decided on peace overtures of her own. Therefore, the letters of marque issued for this campaign are being withdrawn effective immediately.”
“What?” demanded Baltazar Widderich.
“I assure you that all condemnations taken to date shall be honored if approved by an admiralty court,” Vass said, pitching his voice to be heard above the privateers’ angry voices. “Expenses incurred as you return to your home ports shall be paid, of course. And previous letters of marque remain valid. President Goddard thanks you for your service, captains—as do I. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I have more meetings today than you can imagine.”
The diminutive minister levered himself out of his seat and strode from the room, his aide hurrying along in his wake. The cyborg soldiers pivoted on their heels and exited as well, leaving the privateers all talking at once, fists and stumps pounding on the table.
“What was it they called us at Saturn?” Tycho asked Yana. “Irregulars?”
“I ain’t standin’ for this,” Baltazar Widderich said, his yellow teeth bared. “They can’t give me a commission and then yank it away again without so much as a by-your-leave.”
“It ain’t right,” Karst Widderich snarled.
“You heard the minister—you will be compensated for prizes and expenses,” Andrade said, fixing the Widderiches with a steady gaze.
“Easy for you to say, Garibalda,” Canaan Bickerstaff growled. “You three captains still have your fancy letters of marque. The rest of us have nothin’—if we do the same thing today we did yesterday, we won’t be cheered as patriots but hanged as pirates.”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ a pirate,” Dmitra Barnacus said. “’Cept maybe our saintly president not approvin’ of it no more now that it ain’t useful to her.”
“There is also the prospect of being hanged,” Zhi Ning said. “I dislike the idea.”
“Eh, they can only hang you once,” Dmitra said, looking around the table with a wolfish gleam in her eye. “Listen, you lot. When the excitement started, some of us set up camp at 588 Achilles—we’ve dry docks and lodgings and even a depot. And a grog shop or two, naturally. You’re all invited to make it a new port of operations—unless you’d rather get back to haulin’ freight and payin’ taxes.”
Huff leaned forward, his living eye bright and his forearm cannon quivering madly.
“Shouldn’t discuss that around these respectable types,” Baltazar said warningly.
“That’s right,” Karst said. “They ain’t like us real pirates.”
“Say that agin an’ I’ll settle yer hash,” Huff warned Karst.
“I’ve served with all three of these captains,” Dmitra said. “They won’t betray us. And they’re welcome to count themselves among us if they like.”
The former privateers’ eyes slid to the Hashoones and the crews of the Izabella and the Berserker.
“I serve the Jovian Union,” Andrade said, getting to her feet. “And I will continue to do so.”
“And does it serve you, Gari?” Dmitra asked.
Andrade said nothing, but led her bridge crew out of the room. Dmitra watched her go, then turned her eyes to Morgan Theo.
“This is a family decision,” he said. “I’ll have to consult with my father.”
“You do that,” Dmitra said. “And give old Min my love.”
As Morgan and his crewers stood, Dmitra leaned back in her chair and eyed Diocletia.
“And you, Dio? What do you say?”
“Arr, Dio—” Huff began, but his daughter put up her hand, eyes flashing.
“When Carina and I were middies, many of you helped teach us the pirate trade,” she said. “Some of you were at 624 Hektor when everything changed. And all of us knew Jupiter pirates who never came back from that place.”
Some of the privateers scowled at the rarely uttered name of the battle, while others nodded.
“What’s the use, she ain’t gonna join—” began Baltazar Widderich, but Yana leaped to her feet.
“You shut your mouth when my captain’s talking. And that goes for your parrot brother too.”
“That will do, Yana,” Diocletia said. “I’ve raised my children as privateers—not because it’s what I wanted for them, but because it’s what was possible. I’ve tried to teach them to abide by the laws of space, and to pursue our trade with whatever honor is possible—honor for our fellow privateers and our enemies alike. The heading you’re on won’t lead to glory, but to the gibbet. I won’t risk that for my family.”
Baltazar muttered something all of them chose not to hear. Diocletia got to her feet, and one by one the rest of the Hashoones did the same. Huff was the last to stand, grimacing as he braced himself on his forearm cannon.
“So be it, Diocletia,” Dmitra said, her eyes jumping to Huff and then sliding to Tycho and Yana. “If any of you change your mind, you’ll know where to find us.”
Several Comets were coming at 1200 to collect the Hashoones’ gear and bring it to the landing field. Tycho packed his duffel bag hastily, eager to leave Cybele—the Well, the Jovian fondaco, and even the persistent chill reminded him of Kate, of what he’d done and what he’d lost.
He’d finished zipping up his bag and was wondering how to fill the next hour when someone knocked. Carlo was standing in the doorway, wearing his parka.
“Uh, can I talk to you, Tyke?”
“About what?”
“I need to get something off my chest, I guess.”
Tycho wanted to say no, but that would just delay the inevitable—there was no avoiding someone for three days on two decks of a sixty-meter frigate.
“Not here, though,” Carlo said.
Tycho shrugged and grabbed his jacket. He thought of stopping to put on his shoulder holster but decided against it—his shoulder and side were still chafed from wearing it earlier. Zipping his jacket, he followed his brother out of their quarters and through the corridors of the fondaco, passing other spacers and Jovian bureaucrats with their own bags.
He wondered idly what was bothering Carlo. Probably something to do with the rebellious privateers angry about their lost letters of marque. Or perhaps he was still struggling with the ruthlessness their mother had shown in reclaiming the Leviathan.
He wasn’t particularly surprised when Carlo led the way to the center of the Southwell and its web of wires. But he was taken aback by the look on his brother’s face. Carlo looked ashen, and he was trembling.
“What’s wrong?” Tycho asked, forgetting his anger for a moment.
“You were right,” Carlo said, then stopped, his chin falling to his chest. One hand came up and wiped at his eyes.
“Right about what?”
Carlo struggled to master his emotions, staring down into the levels below them. “There was no sign walker,” he said, stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out. “It was the Securitat, just like you said. I cheated. I cheated and I don’t deserve to be captain.”
Tycho took a step backward, shocked—not that Carlo had done what Tycho had already suspected, but that he’d admitted it. His brother’s eyes were red, his face twisted by misery.
“Just tell me what happened,” Tycho said quietly.
“It started with a message. Right after I screwed up and let the Earth ships steal the Leviathan.”
Tycho nodded, remembering DeWise’s first message to him, the one he’d read on the quarterdeck above Ceres.
“Whoever sent it knew things about our operations that most people wouldn’t know. About what had happened on cruises, about prizes taken and lost. And then they asked how I felt about my chances for the captain’s chair. So I agreed to a meeting.”
“A meeting where?”
“Out beyond Bazaar, in some dodgy miners’ grog shop. They had all the information about that Earth freighter, the Blue Heron—where it would be and when. I asked what they wanted in return and they said nothing—just that they thought highly of me and wanted to help me. When I hesitated, they said they’d give the prize to some other privateer if I didn’t want it. They said things had worked like this for years and there was no shame in it.”
“And have they asked you for anything since then?”
“No. But what does that matter?”
Tycho leaned on his elbows. His anger had curdled into a nauseated regret. His brother wasn’t confessing to anything Tycho hadn’t done himself—except Carlo was admitting it and Tycho never had. Tycho had benefited from the Securitat’s help, then turned his back on them. And he’d kept it a secret.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked Carlo.
“Because it’s the honorable thing to do. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I wish I’d told the Securitat I’d take their tip, but only on behalf of my family. I wish I’d told them that’s the rule for us—that the family is the captain, and the captain is the ship, and the ship is the family. Then things might have been different.”
No, they wouldn’t have, Tycho thought. The Securitat doesn’t work that way.
“But it’s too late,” Carlo said. “I can’t take back what I’ve done. All I can do is try to make it right.”
“And you realize what that will cost you?”
Carlo smiled shakily at Tycho.
“It means you’re going to be captain,” he said, his voice breaking on that final word, the one that had meant so much to them over the years. “And I’m happy for you, Tyke. Maybe you don’t believe me, but it’s true. I really am.”
Tycho felt his breath catch in his throat and tears start in his eyes. He turned away, unable to look at his brother.
“I mean it, Tyke,” Carlo said, his hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be a great captain. I was even thinking I could help you with your piloting—show you a couple of things that will make a big difference.”
“Stop it,” Tycho said, shrugging off his brother’s hand. “Don’t touch me.”
Carlo pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry, Tyke. I’m really sorry. And now I’m supposed to see my . . . my handler, or whatever you’d call him. I’m going to tell him that we’re done. And then . . . and then I’ll tell Mom, when we’re back aboard the Comet.”
“And then what?”
“And then it will be up to her.” Carlo made a faltering attempt at a smile, then a better one, blowing out his breath. “I feel better having told you,” he said. “That’s crazy, isn’t it? I just made sure I’ll never be captain, and I feel relieved about it.”
“Carlo, don’t do this,” Tycho said. “You don’t have to do this.”
His brother looked baffled.
“You don’t have to tell Mom,” Tycho said. “I understand. I really do. I . . . it can be our secret, okay?”
“I have to tell her. I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t.”
“Then I have to tell Mom too,” Tycho said almost before thinking about it. He stared at his feet, feeling his face flush.
“Tell her what? What are you talking about?”
Tycho forced himself to look his brother in the eye. “You’re not the only one with a Securitat handler. Ceres, two years ago. A message, a man in a café, asking if I wanted to be captain. They gave me a freighter too, in fact.”
Carlo’s eyes widened in shock. “The Portia?”
“The Portia.”
“You didn’t find a mediapad?”
“No. Just like you didn’t talk with a sign walker.”
Carlo looked stunned, and Tycho found that he too felt a strange relief at having parted with the secret that had haunted him.
“I don’t believe it,” Carlo said.
“The Securitat was after the Iris cache, just like we were. I think they saw me as insurance in case they didn’t find it. So I made a trade with them. There was a data disk in the boxes below Darklands. I swiped it when no one was looking and gave it to them—in exchange for giving us a clear title to the Hydra.”
“But we never—”
“I know we didn’t. They lied to me about the Hydra. Just like they would have lied to you sooner or later. Who was I going to complain to? Anyway, I haven’t done anything for them since then. And I wish I never had.”
Carlo nodded. “So what do we do now?”
Tycho took a deep breath. “Either both of us tell Mom or neither of us does.”
“I have to. These last few days— I can’t do this.”
Tycho felt sick to his stomach. He’d not only done worse but also managed to live with himself a lot longer than his brother had.
“Then we both tell Mom,” he said.
They stared at each other, letting that sink in.
“All right,” Carlo said.
He extended his hand. Tycho took it, then hugged his brother, trying to remember the last time they’d done that. They parted after a moment, smiling awkwardly.
“I’ll see you at the ship, okay?” Carlo said.
“Carlo, don’t go see them—just send them a message. It’s dangerous out there.”
Carlo shook his head. “It’s something I need to do. I’d feel like I was running if I didn’t. It’ll be fine, Tyke. The crimps don’t have any more customers and the Ice Wolves are gone, remember?”
“I guess. Look, I’ll go with you as far as Bazaar—I need to say good-bye to Elfrieda. Maybe you could—”
“No,” Carlo said, looking away. “Don’t, Tyke. She won’t care. She won’t care and you’ll just be hurt.”
“Maybe. But I’m still going to go. I guess it’s my own thing I need to do.”
It was probably just Tycho’s imagination, but he thought Elfrieda’s goons looked bored standing in their usual ring around the Last Chance. Bazaar was quiet, with just a scattering of shoppers and weary-looking merchants. But his grandmother occupied her usual spot at the center of her depot, barking out orders that made clerks scurry.
“I thought you’d be gone by now,” she said when she saw Tycho.
“We’re leaving in a couple of hours. I wanted to say good-bye.”
Elfrieda nodded, and Tycho waited for her to turn away. But then she called Burke over to watch the counter.
“Cup of tea?” she asked Tycho. “My treat.”
“All right. Thanks.”
A minute later they were sitting in the Last Chance’s café, mugs warming their hands.
“So how’s your girlfriend?” Elfrieda asked.
Tycho shook his head, eyes downcast.
“Ah,” Elfrieda said. “That’s a shame.”
She let her eyes rove over the depot, then sighed. “Can’t say I’m sorry to see your Ice Wolf friends move along.”
“They’re not my friends,” Tycho said, but Elfrieda barely noticed.
“They spent livres, but they were an odd bunch. Told me they took orders from a boss they never saw—some kind of machine, one of them claimed.”
“A machine?”
“That’s what they said, at least. I didn’t think much of it until the last wave of shipyard workers returned. They said the ship they’d been working on never had any cabins built or life-support equipment installed.”
Tycho’s mind flashed back to the Ice Wolves’ black ship and Yana’s strangely low energy readings—and that ragged voice telling them to keep their distance or die.
“The solar system is full of wonders, I suppose,” Elfrieda said. “Anyway, most of the Saturnians are gone. I’ve seen just a few this morning, on their way to space. Same with the Earthfolks and you Jovians. Gonna be quiet again on this chilly little rock.”
“I wish you’d told me about the Ice Wolves and their boss,” Tycho said. “We could have used that information.”
“Not my business.”
“I wish you’d told somebody, then. The Securitat, maybe.”
Elfrieda put down her mug hard enough that tea sloshed out of it. “I wouldn’t help those jackals if the fate of the solar system depended on it.”
Tycho looked at her in surprise.
“They’re dealers in misery,” Elfrieda said. “They spend their days seeking weaknesses to exploit and puppets they can make perform. That’s how they drew your grandfather in. Stay away from them, Tycho—they’ll be the ruin of you. You understand me?”
Tycho’s mug was burning his hands. He set it down.
“I understand,” he said, thinking what an enormous understatement that was. The Securitat had manipulated his grandfather into taking part in a scheme that had backfired and led to the Jupiter pirates’ ruin. And then, years later, they’d ensnared Tycho and his brother.
But they’d never fool another Hashoone again. In an hour or two he and Carlo would have confessed what they’d done and no longer be in the running to become the Comet’s next captain. But at least their stories would be object lessons to future generations of Hashoones about the dangers of the Securitat’s lures.
But which future generations? Tycho supposed that Yana would become captain. Ironically, the Hashoone sibling who had given up on gaining the captain’s chair would be the only one left in a position to claim it.
Elfrieda sipped her tea for a moment.
“Grandmother? Can I ask you something?”
“No harm in asking.”
“Do you believe in second chances?”
As Elfrieda started to answer, Tycho’s mediapad trilled.
“Go ahead,” Elfrieda said in response to his apologetic look.
It was a voice transmission, from an unknown recognition code.
It’s Kate, he thought, fumbling to answer, his heart thudding.
“Hello?”
“Tycho,” a male voice said. “Where are you?”
It was DeWise, he realized, his eyes jumping to Elfrieda, as if their discussion had somehow summoned the Securitat agent.
“Leave me alone,” Tycho told DeWise. “And my brother too.”
And then he disconnected him.
“I’d like to believe in second chances,” Elfrieda said. “It’s a lovely idea, really. But mostly they never come.”
Tycho got to his feet. “I’ll have to hope for the best, I guess. Maybe we’ll see each other again, Grandmother.”
“I’ll keep a lookout,” Elfrieda said. “For you and your sister.”
Tycho edged around one of his grandmother’s goons and exited the Last Chance, Bazaar’s multicolored flags fluttering above his head in the breeze from the air scrubbers. His mediapad beeped again, muffled by his jacket. He recognized the sound as a message alert and kept walking, passing through Bazaar’s airlock and into the tunnel leading to the Westwell. There was nothing DeWise could say that he cared to hear.
He’d left the Westwell behind and was just entering the main Well when his mediapad trilled once more, this time with another voice transmission.
“Take a hint already,” he grumbled, but stopped to unzip his jacket and extract his mediapad. The new transmission was from his sister’s recognition code.
“Yana? What is it?”
“I just got a really strange voice message. I don’t know who it was from, but he was asking where you and Carlo were, and warning me about the Ice Wolves.”
Tycho stopped, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Tyke? Are you there?”
“Yeah. I heard you. I better go.”
He disconnected Yana and called up his message queue, fingers stumbling through the familiar steps. He tapped the message he’d ignored earlier and it began to play.
“Tycho,” DeWise said. “You have to listen to me. The Ice Wolves are hunting you and your siblings. I tried to warn your brother, but he’s refusing to answer. He needs to know—”
Tycho shoved the mediapad back into his jacket, DeWise’s words of warning still sounding faintly beneath the fur lining. His brother had continued past Bazaar, going deeper into the warren of tunnels snaking across Cybele’s surface. He reached for his holster before remembering he didn’t have a weapon. Then he turned back toward Bazaar and began to run.