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on this Jean-Chris What’s-His-Name.”
    â€œThe way Captain Allamand is taking ships, that will be soon,” Carina said. “And whatever bounties there are, in the Cybeles you’d be well positioned to collect them.”
    Huff grunted, scratching his bearded chin with the muzzle of his blaster cannon.
    â€œThere’s something else, too,” Carina said. “The Jovian Defense Force hasn’t been able to recruit enough privateers, so they’ve issued new letters of marque. I don’t have the whole list of recipients, but I know the Widderich brothers each got one, as did Canaan Bickerstaff and Kanoji Ali.”
    Mavry and Diocletia exchanged a surprised look.
    â€œI’ve heard of the Widderiches, but not the others,” Tycho said. “Who are they?”
    â€œStraight-up pirates, the whole lot of ’em,” Huff murmured, his face a half-living, half-metal grin.
    â€œPretty much,” Mavry said. “All of those captains were either denied letters of marque when piracy was outlawed or lost them because they couldn’t stay on the right side of the law.”
    â€œSo this is what we’ve been reduced to,” Carlo said, his lip curling in disgust. “Letting known pirates fly our colors. It makes us look bad by association.”
    Yana rolled her eyes at Tycho.
    â€œArrr, I’m in,” Huff said, bringing his metal fist down on the table. “Always liked 65 Cybele—’tis a lively little rock, an’ this company will make it livelier.”
    â€œAnd where do the loyalties of this lively little rock lie at the moment, Carina?” Diocletia asked.
    â€œPublicly, the Cybeles are trying very hard to not be on anyone’s side right now,” Carina said. “A declaration of allegiance would dam up the free flow of livres. And right now they’re flowing very freely indeed in that part of the solar system.”
    â€œUh-oh, money. Does this mean Yana’s going to make a speech?” Carlo asked.
    â€œYeah, a short one,” Yana said. “You’re an—”
    â€œThat’s enough,” Diocletia snapped. “It’s decided, then. We go where the opportunities are. And right now that means the Cybeles.”
    â€œBut no escort duty, Dio,” Huff said. “Nothin’ worse than a tea-wagon captain what thinks he’s spotted a pirate—”
    â€œI’m not fond of escort duty either, Dad. But if something’s profitable, I’m not ruling it out. After all, I have no personal objection to livres.”
    â€œExcept when there are too many of them in other people’s pockets and not enough in ours,” Mavry said.
    â€œTrue,” Diocletia said. “I never have liked that.”
    The lowermost level of Darklands was reserved for the family crypt.
    No one was actually buried there—like most spacers, the Hashoones were horrified by the idea of spending eternity entombed in rock and dirt. The family memorials were digital—holograms of Hashoones who’d died decades or centuries earlier, their smiles preserved for descendants they’d never met.
    Tycho heard the low buzz of his grandfather’s voice as he descended the short flight of steps into the crypt—Huff always spent a few hours in the crypt after the Comet returned to Callisto, communing with his ancestors.
    Tycho coughed politely to make sure he wouldn’t surprise his grandfather. Huff’s eye was a brilliant spark in the gloom, beneath the bluish glow of a towering hologram.
    â€œLemme guess, lad,” Huff said. “Carlo hoggin’ the flight simulator again?”
    â€œLike always. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
    â€œNo, lad,” Huff said softly, tapping keys on the holographic display. “Jes’ renewin’ old acquaintances. Ol’ Johannes fought a number of dustups in the Cybeles, did yeh know that?”
    Tycho looked with distaste at the