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head, glaring up at Johannes.
    No , he thought. I’ve made mistakes and done things I’m not proud of. But I’m not a murderer. I would never do anything like what you did.
    Tycho turned to his grandfather, but whatever he’dbeen going to say died away. Huff looked shrunken and tired, like the weight of the metal half of his body was dragging the rest of him down.
    â€œI’ve never been to 65 Cybele, Grandfather,” Tycho said, trying to think of something to dispel the gloom. “What’s it like?”
    Tycho saw his grandfather’s shoulders lift.
    â€œArrr, it’s as close as yeh can get these days to how things used to be. Plenty of prizes for a crew what keeps their ears open and their hands on their carbines.”
    â€œWell, that’s good,” Tycho said. “Still, I wonder if these new privateers are a bad idea—for the Jovian Union and for us.”
    â€œBah, ’tis long overdue, lad. Solar system’s gotten too civilized—give me pirates o’er bureaucrats an’ lawyers any day.”
    Huff grinned at his grandson.
    â€œCaptured my first prize near 65 Cybele, y’know,” he said. “Just a little coaster out of Mars, name of the Emerald , but she had a full hold. I was on the quarterdeck for a middle watch. Emerald tried to run, so I beat to quarters, blasted off her sensor masts ’fore she could call for help, then led the boardin’ party. ’Twas Grigsby’s first boardin’ party, come to think of it—we’d been belowdecks together. Crew of the Emerald raised a little ruckus when we came aboard. Lemme see if I can find the scar. . . .”
    Huff looked down at his metal forearm and frowned. His blaster cannon twitched.
    â€œArrr, it was on me left hand—I forget what pieces’ave gone missin’. I can still feel that hand, did yeh know that? Itches at night summat fierce.”
    â€œYou never told me that,” Tycho said. “I’m sorry, Grandfather. That must be awful.”
    â€œIt ain’t no shindy,” Huff grumbled. “Strange, to ’ave a thing what’s gone pain yeh. Ain’t had that hand for fifteen years, but I’ll wake up during the middle watch an’ need to scratch it, an’ I can’t.”

5
THE CAPTAIN’S CHAIR
    T here’s another one of those poor dirtsiders,” Yana said.
    The droopy-eyed man was walking back and forth beneath a display urging viewers to join the Jovian Defense Force, the weight of a hologram emitter and power pack causing him to slump. A virtual Jovian flag waved proudly above his head, rippling in an imaginary breeze.
    â€œWhat’s that make, three of them?” Tycho asked.
    â€œPlus the guys with mediapads at the transportation hub,” Carlo said.
    â€œWe could enlist,” Tycho said with a grin. “Imagine Grandfather’s face if we came back with crew cuts and JDF uniforms.”
    Carlo didn’t smile back.
    â€œOn the lower levels we might get pressed,” he said. “And if they’re recruiting this heavily, you can bet there will be crimps about, too—filling their clients’ crew rosters by force.”
    â€œAny crimp so much as looks at me sideways, he’ll regret it,” Yana said.
    â€œCan we not have another incident like the one on Pallas?” Tycho asked.
    â€œWhy not?” Yana asked. “That turned out okay.”
    â€œI think you’re safe, sis,” Carlo said. “I doubt the JDF’s desperate enough to press one-armed spacers quite yet.”
    Neither Tycho nor Carlo had grumbled when Diocletia ordered them to accompany Yana to the treatment center. The wait for Carina to finish negotiating the terms of their commissions in the Cybeles had left everyone at Darklands stir-crazy and snappish.
    The treatment center was on one of Port Town’s upper levels, which were clean, brightly lit and well patrolled. It wasn’t