Curse of the Iris (32 page)

“That's quite a disguise,” Mavry said sharply.

“I know. But if you'd carried out your plan, you and Mom would be Gibraltars, and our family would have been weakened.”

“I don't think your aunt would see it that way,” Mavry said.

“You're wrong as usual, Carlo,” Yana said. “Mom and Dad would have flown with the Gibraltars, yes, but one of them would have succeeded Cassius. There'd be two Hashoone pirate ships now. We'd be stronger, not weaker.”

“The Jovian Union would never have allowed that,” Mavry said. “Not then, not now, not ever.”

“You might be surprised,” Tycho said, thinking of the title to the
Hydra
and how it would soon be in his family's possession. A lot had gone wrong recently, but they had survived. And now, perhaps, they even had a way forward—a way for him and his siblings to all keep flying.

“After today, I don't care what the Jovian Union will or won't allow,” Yana said.

“And what happens when two Hashoones chase the same prize?” Carlo asked.

“We'll do the right thing,” Yana said.

“In my experience, that's not a value particularly prized by pirates,” Mavry said.

“But we're not pirates anymore,” Tycho said. “Which is exactly why we
should
do the right thing.”

The others looked at him.

“In fact, we can start today—with the fact that Johannes Hashoone murdered Josef Unger and stole the
Iris
cache from him.”

“You already told us what you and Mom discovered,” Yana said. “It was a long time ago, Tyke. It's over.”

“It's
not
over. Because Johannes didn't just kill Josef. He destroyed Josef's son's life too. And that ruined his grandson's life. But we can break that chain—if we do the right thing. And that starts with giving Loris his share.”

“Not this again, Tyke,” Yana said. “We already took it from him, fair and square.”

“You know that isn't true,” Tycho said. “Loris isn't one of us—he isn't a privateer, or a freight hauler, or anyone else who knows our rules. And he doesn't have tons of livres like Lord Sicyon does. We had the advantage over him, like Father Amoss said, and we used it to cheat him.”

The twins glared at each other.

“Seems like every time you talk about the
Iris
cache our share gets smaller, son,” Mavry said. “Maybe Yana was right and you should have let go of it under Callisto.”

But his father was smiling as he said it.

“Give Loris his share,” Diocletia said, sighing. “I'll answer for my latest deplorable attack of conscience. There'll still be enough to repair the
Comet
, and give us a stake for more cruises. Because we're finished with military missions. Last time the Jovian Union stole the
Hydra
from us. This time they abandoned us to Mox and his thugs. There won't be a next time. I promise you that much.”

“And if they take our letter of marque?” Yana asked.

“Then we'll figure out something else,” Diocletia said. “And we'll do it as a family.”

19
AT SAINT MARY'S

T
his time, it was DeWise who contacted Tycho.

The message arrived an hour after Carlo eased the
Shadow Comet
into dry dock above Callisto. Tycho saw the message light on his mediapad while he and Yana were mustering out the Comets. He knew immediately who it was from.

“What are you smiling about?” Yana demanded.

“Just glad to be home,” Tycho said.

After they reached Darklands, Tycho messaged DeWise that he'd meet him in the morning, at the same Port Town café they'd used last time. Then, while the other Hashoones unpacked, he slipped down the steps from the homestead's lower level to the gloomy confines of the family crypt.

None of Tycho's ancestors was actually buried there—as spacers, the Hashoones found the idea of being entombed in the ground appalling. The crypt was for memories, not bodies.

A pale-green square in the darkness marked the controls for the main holographic unit. Tycho peered down at the softly lit screen until he found the name he wanted.

A moment later, a blue light filled the crypt, and Tycho stepped back to look up at a shimmering hologram of a man in slightly outdated clothing. Johannes Hashoone had a bald head, a sharp nose, and a slight grin that suggested he had thought of a joke that he might or might not share with the listener.

“Hello, Great-Grandfather,” Tycho said. For a moment he felt foolish, talking to a dead pirate, but then he found his voice again.

“I found your treasure,” he said. “Just like I figured out what you did. You murdered Josef Unger, a man who considered you his friend. You cheated your associates. And you didn't even use the money you stole—you hid it away and tried to make sure your own family would never find it. You know, Grandfather once told me you taught him everything he knows about pirating. Which means he passed that knowledge down to my mother. And she passed it down to me.”

Johannes's mocking smile remained frozen in place.

“But I'm not like you, Great-Grandfather,” Tycho said, suddenly shaking with anger. “And when I'm captain, I'll make sure no Hashoone is ever like you again.”

Tycho stabbed at the buttons on the control unit, turned, and marched up the stairs leading out of the crypt. Behind him, the image of Johannes Hashoone flickered, lingered for a stubborn second, and then faded away.

The next morning, DeWise had a jump-pop and a nutrient square waiting on the table at the café when Tycho arrived. Tycho wondered if it was a peace offering, but the sight of DeWise's face made him think of Admiral Badawi, and the call for help that had been ignored, and everything else, and by the time he reached the table he was seething.

“We got torn up out there, you know,” Tycho said, before he even sat down.

“I know you did,” DeWise said. “Everybody knows. We told the JDF not to send Badawi, but they didn't listen.”

“Please tell me he'll get sacked.”

DeWise sighed. “He'll probably get promoted. The JDF kept imagining how impressive he'd sound making a victory speech with Earth's ministers watching. They didn't understand that we needed more skills out there than how to groom a mustache. We needed capabilities like your family's, frankly—crews that can fight, pilots that can fly, and officers who know when it's wise to do one and not the other.”

“Too bad we're done fighting for you, then,” Tycho said. “And anyway, what good could we do against Earth? I read about the spy stations. But I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that.”

“Not officially.”

“Of course not,” Tycho said, disgusted. “And now I want to know something.”

“Oh? Are we trading information again?”

“No,” Tycho said. “This time you're just going to tell me what I want to know. It's about 624 Hektor.”

“That's ancient history.”

“Not to me. And not to my family.”

DeWise crossed his arms. “And what do you want to know?”

“The Martian convoy that the Jupiter pirates attacked—it was carrying experimental jammers. Your . . .
employer
gave the pirates software programs that were supposed to defend against the jamming. Did my grandfather and Mox distribute them to the captains?”

“That's the story I've heard—that he was recruited by Mox.”

“And the story that the program had been tampered with by Earth saboteurs? Is that one true?”

“That was a terrible day for the people I work for too, you know,” DeWise said. “Just what are you suggesting, Tycho?”

Tycho realized his fingers were mashing the nutrient square. Annoyed, he brushed them off on the leg of his jumpsuit.

“Forget it,” he said. “You know what? I'm looking forward to not having to worry about you and your little games anymore.”

DeWise raised an eyebrow.

“So this is good-bye, then?”

“More like good riddance. I only came to find out when we get the title to the
Hydra
.”

“Ah. That.”

Tycho knew instantly. He felt himself go cold.

“It can't be done, Tycho. Not after Saturn. If things go badly, we'll need every warship we can outfit with a crew.”

“How many lies have you told in your life?” Tycho asked. “I'll make it easier for you—just round down to the nearest million.”

“Quite a few, Tycho—though not that many. Would you believe me if I said what I told you about the
Hydra
wasn't one of them?”

“No. I don't believe a single word you say. And nobody else should either. I only wish I'd been smart enough to figure that out at the beginning.”

He got to his feet, hands shaking with anger.

“We're finished, you and me. I'll find my own answers.”

“I'm sure you will,” DeWise said. “Just remember that can be dangerous.”

Tycho started to say something but stopped at the fleeting look that crossed the Securitat agent's face—for a moment, before he became carefully expressionless again, DeWise almost looked sad.

“Every heart, Tycho, has places that are secret and doors that are shut,” he said. “Think long and hard before you start opening them. They can prove difficult to close.”

Tycho, still upset, got off at the wrong level for Saint Mary Star of the Spaceways, then had to retrace his steps through the chilly lower levels of Port Town.

“Come in,” Father Amoss said when he met him at the door. “It's cold.”

He led Tycho to his small office off the sacristy and poured him a cup of hot chocolate.

“Thank you, Father,” Tycho said. “I came to talk to you about Loris. This won't be easy for me, but please give me a chance to try to say it.”

Father Amoss nodded. “Go ahead, Tycho.”

Tycho swallowed, then plunged ahead.

“I thought a lot about what you said, last time we were here. I've thought a lot about a bunch of things recently. We were wrong, Father—wrong to treat Loris the way we did. I tried to convince myself it was my sister and brother who were wrong, but it was me, too. I was there, just like they were, and I didn't speak up.”

Tycho looked at the floor.

“We were wrong—but it's worse than that,” he said. “Long ago, Father, my family did a terrible thing to Loris's. I didn't know about it when we met him, I swear I didn't. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know if I can fix it. But I want to try. I
need
to try. So would you tell me where he is, please?”

Father Amoss was silent for a moment. Then he put his hand on Tycho's shoulder.

“I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. But Loris died three days ago.”

“Dead?” Tycho lifted his eyes and stared at the priest, stunned. “What happened?”

“A lot of things. A lot of things that had borne down on him over the years. But he was at peace at the end.”

“He was at peace? What does that matter? What's a few minutes of peace worth, after a lifetime like that?”

“It's worth everything. He's at rest now, and his soul is in the hands of God.”

Tycho looked away, trying to think. He had dared to imagine this morning so differently. Father Amoss would hear his admission and agree to let him help with Loris, healing the wounds his great-grandfather had inflicted on the Ungers. And then he'd return to Darklands, knowing that soon his family would get the message from the Jovian Union, telling them they now owned the
Hydra
. Things would be different—the past confronted, and the future rich with possibilities.

And now all of that was gone.

He looked back at Father Amoss and felt his cheeks flush. Loris Unger had died in the frozen tunnels of Port Town, and he'd reacted by feeling sorry for himself.

Father Amoss leaned forward.

“Tycho, listen to me,” he said. “You're not responsible for the acts of those who came before you. Life will give you burdens enough of your own. You only need to answer for your own acts—which you've done today.”

“But none of that will help Loris.”

“No, it won't,” Father Amoss said. “The past is for the Almighty to judge. It's the future that's your responsibility, Tycho.”

Tycho nodded, then peered into the dim sacristy, at the cots and duffels, the stacked dishes and folded clothes.

“The other men who live here, Father—who are they?”

“Every man's story is different. But what unites them is misfortune. They lost their way somehow, through the misdeeds of others or their own weakness or simple bad luck.”

Tycho reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out the currency chip that contained Loris Unger's share of the
Iris
cache. He pressed it into Father Amoss's palm.

“Please take this,” Tycho said. “It was for Loris, but use it to look after them instead.”