Free Curse of the Iris by Jason Fry

kept quiet. Once their mother had all the information she needed, her decisions were her own.
    â€œTycho, get your father,” she said. “Take the gig down to P/2 and investigate the wreck. You’re going to need to work fast, so get moving.”
    She activated her headset again. “Mr. Grigsby? Blow that Harrier out of space.”
    â€œGladly, Captain,” Grigsby said.
    It was definitely a ship—or it had been one until it plowed belly first into the surface of P/2309 K1. The impact had scattered twisted metal for hundreds of meters and buried what remained of the ship’s stern in the tarry surface of the comet, with the needle-shaped nose protruding several meters above the surface, aimed at the stars it would never again reach.
    Mavry flew a few hundred yards beyond the wreck and set the gig down with a stuttering of landing jets. He and Tycho were descending the gangplank when Diocletia’s voice crackled in their ears.
    â€œWe’re peppering the frigate with missile fire to keep her busy, but she’s coming and coming hot—with Mox’s cruiser behind her,” she warned.
    Mavry beckoned for Tycho to hurry. “We have time, Dio. Huff and Grigsby will make them duck.”
    â€œIf I comm you to get out of there, do it.”
    â€œOf course, Captain,” Mavry said mildly.
    To Tycho’s surprise, he couldn’t see the wreck—there was nothing ahead of them but a bleak landscape of frozen muck, broken by rocky outcroppings and drifts of ice and snow. He looked in the other direction, thinking they’d gotten turned around somehow.
    â€œThis way,” Mavry said over his suit radio. “P/2’s diameter is so small that the crash site’s over the horizon.”
    â€œOh,” Tycho said, embarrassed.
    P/2’s minuscule gravity allowed him and Mavry to move across its surface in bounds, each leap carrying them a good ten meters above the comet’s fractured landscape. In different circumstances, it might have been fun.
    â€œShort, controlled jumps,” Mavry said. “Let’s not achieve escape velocity and fly off into space.”
    Tycho tried to remember the relevant equations and made a halfhearted attempt at the math.
    â€œI don’t think that would happen, Dad,” he said.
    Mavry laughed.
    â€œYou’re right, it would be more of a high parabola. Still, let’s not risk it.”
    Above them, a dot of light brightened, marking a missile launch from the Comet . A moment later, another bright dot flashed—twice, then three times—as the enemy frigate fired back. Tycho reminded himself to focus on their mission and not on those spots of light. It was hard, though—one of those spots of light had his family on it.
    â€œAlmost there,” Mavry said. “Look—there’s the wreck.”
    The ship’s violent impact with the comet had churned the area around her stern into waves of muck, which had then refrozen into a crazy zigzag landscape. Mavry and Tycho picked their way over the scrambled ground until they stood in front of the port airlock.
    â€œWe’re going to have to cut our way in,” Mavry said, unholstering a cutting torch attached to a power pack on his belt.
    Tycho’s faceplate automatically darkened as his father activated the torch and began to carve a circle through the airlock. Droplets of liquefied metal dripped onto the surface of the comet, melting through the frozen crust and sending up little puffs of water vapor that instantly froze into streamers of ice. They were tiny, short-lived comet tails, Tycho realized with a smile.
    Mavry completed the cut and activated his headset. “We’re going in. How’s it look up there?”
    â€œHurry,” was all Diocletia said.
    Mavry pressed the magnets in his gloves against the hull and kicked at the circle he’d cut in the airlock. On the third try, the chunk of hull plating gave way, rattling