Free Curse of the Iris by Jason Fry Page B

said.
    â€œDad, you need to see this first,” Tycho said.
    He got down on one knee. There was a dial set in the strongbox’s door, with a small readout set above it, displaying a trio of small lights. Tycho recognized the device as a self-destruct rig. If the wrong combination were entered too many times, an explosive charge would incinerate whatever was inside.
    His father tromped into the cabin, saw the strongbox, and sighed.
    â€œYour mother’s going to kill me,” he said, lowering his carryall to the deck. “Dio? We need another minute.”
    â€œYou don’t have it,” Diocletia said, and they both heard the roar of the Comet ’s guns.
    â€œTycho found the captain’s strongbox,” Mavry said. “I just need to cut it free.”
    â€œWe have to be gone by the time Mox’s cruiser gets here,” Diocletia said.
    â€œWe will be,” Mavry said. “I promise.”
    He cut through the first band, then scooted sideways and reignited the torch. The metal securing the strongbox began to glow yellow, then orange. A notch appeared in the top of the band, and molten metal began to drip onto the deck. Tycho tried to urge the torch to work more quickly.
    â€œMavry—” Diocletia began.
    â€œAlready on our way back,” Mavry said. Tycho could see sweat dripping down his face inside his helmet.
    â€œThen why can I still hear the torch?” Diocletia demanded.
    Mavry shut off the torch and scooped up the strongbox, careful not to touch the still-glowing metal. Tycho grabbed the carryall and slung it over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the computer’s memory core inside. They rushed down the ladderwell, and he lowered himself through the hole in the airlock, reaching up to take the strongbox from his father.
    Overhead, Mox’s pocket cruiser was visible now, too, another point of light in the distance.
    Tycho bounded after his father across the surface of P/2, reminding himself that the gig wasn’t as far off as his brain insisted it had to be—unlike on Earth, P/2’s horizon was only a couple of minutes away. But he still exhaled in relief when he saw the gig. To his surprise, the little ship was wreathed in mist.
    â€œWater vapor,” Mavry said. “The landing jets softened up the surface, and then the weight of the ship broke through the crust.”
    â€œOh,” Tycho said. “That doesn’t mean it’s stuck, does it?”
    â€œI sure hope not.”
    Tycho hurried up the gangplank, relieved to see the landing gear had only sunk a few centimeters into P/2’s crust. He stowed the carryall and strongbox in the gig’s locker and closed the gangway behind them. His father was already in the pilot’s seat, stabbing at switches on the console.
    â€œStrap in,” Mavry said. “We’re leaving in a hurry.”
    â€œSeems to be the way we do it these days,” Tycho said, buckling his harness.
    â€œThe life of a pirate is always exciting.”
    The gig’s engines rose from a purr to a whine. After a brief shudder, the little craft broke free of the crust and shot away from the surface of P/2.
    â€œHold tight,” Mavry warned. “This could get messy.”
    Above them, they could see the blue flares of the Shadow Comet ’s engines, then green light spitting from her top and bottom gun turrets. Tycho followed the pulses to the distant silver triangle of the enemy frigate.
    Flashes surrounded the frigate, and lines of green fire lanced out from her hull in their direction. Mavry yanked back on the control yokes, and the gig’s engines screamed in protest. Bolts of plasma shot past them, leaving spots on Tycho’s vision.
    â€œWe see you, Dad,” Carlo said over their headsets. “Your approach vector looks good.”
    â€œThe other guys see us too,” Mavry said, juking the craft from side to side with practiced ease. Tycho scowled at the thought