The Jupiter Pirates by Jason Fry Page B

were screaming.
    â€œBridge crew to quarterdeck,” Vesuvia said over the Comet ’s internal speakers. “All hands to stations. Repeating. Bridge crew to quarterdeck. All hands to stations.”
    The other Hashoones were already on the quarterdeck, except for Huff, who needed a few extra minutes to attach his prosthetic limbs and make sure his systems were operating properly. But to Tycho’s relief, his mother and Carlo were still blinking away sleep and Mavry hadn’t sat down yet. Tycho was late, but by less than a minute.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Tycho asked, waiting irritably for his monitor to power up.
    â€œIon emissions,” Yana said. “Still faint, but levels are growing.”
    â€œWhat heading?” Carlo asked, studying his own monitors.
    â€œComing from deeper in the asteroid belt,” Yana said. “Coming hard, if readings are accurate.”
    â€œWhose starship?” Tycho asked.
    â€œMine,” Yana said instantly. “Carlo, you’re pilot. Tycho, communications. Vesuvia, I need a sensor profile of the incoming craft.”
    â€œData still insufficient to assemble a profile,” Vesuvia said.
    â€œNothing to do but wait, then,” Mavry said.
    Tense moments ticked by. Yana studied her monitor and frowned.
    â€œDefinitely ion emissions,” she said. “Whatever she is, she’s coming in awfully hot.”
    The main screen lit up, displaying the positions of the Comet and the mysterious ship.
    â€œCalculating,” Vesuvia said. “Long-range sensors indicate length of seventy to eighty meters.”
    â€œNo freighter that small would be all the way out here,” Tycho said. “And she’s too big to be a prospector.”
    â€œMy starship,” Diocletia said. “Carlo, there are asteroids to starboard. Take us behind them.”
    â€œMom!” Yana objected.
    â€œNot now, Yana,” Diocletia said. “Carlo, behind the asteroids. Take it slow, but do it now. Yana, step up your sensor scans. Tycho, monitor transmissions on all wavelengths. I need eyes and ears open.”
    Carlo pushed the control yoke to the right, and the Comet curved gracefully through space.
    â€œMr. Grigsby, we’ve got a bogey, moving fast,” Diocletia said into her microphone. “All guns charged, please, but easy on the triggers.”
    â€œAye, captain,” Grigsby replied. “The boys’ll be gentle.”
    They heard the bosun’s pipe whistling out the order below, followed by a crash that announced Huff had arrived on the quarterback from above. His artificial eye gleamed white as he studied the main screen, his mind quickly calculating velocity and position.
    â€œPreliminary sensor profile complete,” Vesuvia said. “Profile fits Leopard-class frigate, but confidence is limited. Fifty-nine point one percent match.”
    â€œThat can’t be right,” Yana said. “Vesuvia, recalculate—”
    â€œBelay that,” Diocletia said, peering at her own screen. “She’s a heavily modified Leopard, not a standard template. The modifications are throwing the assessment off.”
    â€œArrr, a Leopard,” mused Huff. “I wonder—”
    â€œQuiet on deck,” Diocletia said. “Vesuvia, is she attached to long-range fuel tanks?”
    â€œBased on extrapolations from current scans, she is not,” Vesuvia said. “Confidence level ninety-four point two percent.”
    â€œThat there’s a pirate,” growled Huff. “Local one, too. No long-range tanks, burning fuel like a meteor.”
    â€œA pirate?” Diocletia asked. “Unlikely.”
    â€œI would have picked up her tanks on a scan,” Yana said.
    â€œThey might still be drifting ahead of us,” Huff said. “Or ditched way above or below the ecliptic, out of sight. ’Tis an old trick, Dio—used to do it meself.”
    â€œGo to silent