The Jupiter Pirates by Jason Fry Page A

one at two hundred sixty-five degrees,” Diocletia said, conspicuously ignoring her father. “There are some bigger asteroids in that one, plus that anomalous chemical signature we detected yesterday.”
    â€œOn rescan, that anomaly registered as a miscalibrated sensor,” Vesuvia reminded her.
    â€œOf course it did,” said Diocletia, rubbing at her tired eyes. “I forgot. Let’s check it out anyway.”
    Mavry took off his headset and stretched, the bones in his shoulders creaking and popping. He looked back at the three kids and grinned.
    â€œIf only our fancy hosts back at Ganymede could witness the romance of privateering,” he said, half yawning.
    Diocletia shot him an annoyed look, and he stifled his yawn.
    â€œStill, kids, don’t get sloppy,” Mavry said. “Besides, you never know when good fortune will strike. Remember the Panaclops , the prospector that found the Diamond Comet of 2855?”
    â€œEvery Jovian spacer knows that story,” Carlo grumbled.
    â€œSuddenly you’re every Jovian spacer?” Tycho asked, glaring at his brother. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it again, Dad.”
    â€œYou only want to hear it because I don’t want to,” Carlo said.
    â€œWould you rather sit around and wait for Vesuvia to tell us nothing’s happening?” Tycho asked.
    â€œThat’s enough, you two,” Mavry said. “The Panaclops was on a thousand-day cruise, one of those brutal tours of duty the old-time prospectors used to pull. Five hundred days out on one parabola, five hundred days back on another. Through Day 495, she’d found nothing. Her crew was near mutiny and demanding the captain scrap the second half of the loop and return to Jupiter straightaway. On Day 496, they found a little whisper of a chemical signature, and a couple of hours later they were on the communicator transmitting the claim for the Diamond Comet.”
    â€œDay 496, huh?” asked Carlo, smiling in spite of himself. “All right then, let’s see what we find.”
    â€œYer forgettin’ summat, though, Mavry, my lad,” said Huff.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Mavry asked.
    â€œThe Panaclops ’s next cruise,” Huff said. “’Twas another thousand-day tour. She had a new captain and crew—the old swabs had all retired to spend their diamond money. They neared the halfway point of that cruise without finding anything either.”
    Everybody was listening in spite of themselves, Tycho realized. Even Vesuvia was quiet.
    â€œThe new crew knew what had happened last time, so there warn’t much argument,” Huff said. “On Day 471, her throttle control system failed, and she shot off into deep space with her course and speed locked in. She’s halfway through the Oort cloud now, with empty fuel tanks and a crew of mummies.”
    â€œThat’s horrible,” Yana murmured.
    â€œThat it is, missy,” Huff said. “Point is, yeh never know which kind of cruise yer gonna get.”
    Â 
    Tycho woke with a start. He was supposed to be on watch, but he’d forgotten. Carlo had gone to bed without waiting to be relieved, and Vesuvia must have malfunctioned. He hurled himself out of his berth and ran from his cabin to the forward ladderwell, descending to the quarterdeck in shorts and a stained old T-shirt.
    It was too late, he saw at once: the Shadow Comet was surrounded by pirate ships. They were so close he could see down the muzzles of their blaster cannons. Before he could yell or move, they opened fire. The temperature of the quarterdeck shot upward, became unbearably hot, and he opened his mouth to scream—
    â€”and woke up, for real this time.
    A dream, Tycho thought. You were dreaming. He twisted around in his berth to look at the clock affixed to the bulkhead in his cabin. It was just after 0300, the depths of the middle watch.
    Except he was awake, and the alarms really