Sound (21 page)

“Caray!”
Rubio braces himself against the controls.

We stop short, a meter lower than we were on touchdown.

“Sorry,” Cassia says. “I should have warned you. They get air pockets between the ice and the landing plates sometimes. Makes it a little bumpy.”

Something thumps below us, and the landing plate begins to descend with a muffled hum. A chasm of ice rises around us, until the sky and blinding snow are only a bright, distant circle. The tenor of the hum changes. Dark water creeps up over the front viewport.

Something deep in my brain moves. All that water, covering us, bearing down on us . . . My nightmares always end like this. The Great Levee around Mumbai has broken and the hurricane has come again. I am trapped inside—sometimes at home, sometimes at Revati or the university—and the water is rising against my window, sealing me under the sea. I back against the bulkhead, breathing hard.

“Mi?” Cassia frowns at me. “What's the matter?”

I shake my head. My heart beats so hard I'm afraid I'm going to throw it up.

I squeeze my eyes closed. I'm not drowning. This isn't the hurricane. This is Enceladus, and this is how they live
here, beneath the ocean. It keeps them warm, keeps them alive.
Average water temperature of -6 degrees Celsius near the ice, warming as the depth increases and in proximity to the poles,
I recite to myself.

Rubio lets out a low whistle.
“Vaya.”

I open my eyes. The water is aglow. All around us are structures like I've never seen before, enormous veins of lights, thicker around than Mumbai's biggest skyscrapers. Maybe bigger than a dozen city blocks. They reach down from their anchor points in the permanent layer of ice to the murky depths kilometers below. Dozens of them. Hundreds. A whole inverted city.

I gape. “What is this?”

“Ny Kyoto,” Cassia says.

Other ships scud by, smaller ones more suited for the water. As the landing pad moves us closer to one of the structures, I make out segments in its length, like cells along a bamboo shoot. The scientist in me stirs. “What are those buildings made of?”

“Spindles,” Cassia corrects. “I don't know. Something flexible. They have to be able to move a little when the current changes.”

A porthole opens in the side of the nearest spindle, scattering more light through the water. The landing plate
deposits us inside. Behind us, a muffled
thump
sounds, and the water drains from the dock. For a moment, everything is silent.

Our coms crackle on. “Mighty
slow
skepp
you've got there,” a man's voice croaks. “You're late.”

I raise my eyebrows at Cassia. These are our buyers? The man's accent sounds so much like the
dakait
,
his words coming from the back of his throat, like theirs did. I have to remind myself it only means he's Enceladan, too. We knew this. It shouldn't be a surprise. It shouldn't be setting off alarms in my head, but it is.

Cassia flicks the transmitter. “We're here, aren't we?”

“Hmph,” he grunts. “And the cargo?”

“All ready for you,” Cassia answers.

My eyes skip over the empty dock.
Something's wrong. Where is everyone?

Cassia gives me a sideways glance. A small furrow forms in the center of her brow. “Why don't you show yourself so we can bring the cargo out to you?”

A long pause. Then: “You know your call signature isn't transmitting. Some warning you were coming before you tried to dock would have been polite. Makes everyone think something's off. Makes everyone a little gun-shy.”

Cassia looks at me and raises her eyebrows.

Chaila.
In all the chaos, I forgot about the signal dampener Rubio and I installed. It must be affecting our long-range coms, too.

“Sorry,” I mouth.

“We . . . had a few mechanical problems,” Cassia says. “But we're here. Nothing's wrong.”

Someone mutters indistinctly on the other end. A pause, and then the bay doors on the far side of the dock unbolt and begin to roll open. Figures in faded brown-and-gray jumpsuits and knee-high wading boots file in, rifles slung across their backs.

“In that case,” the man on the coms says, “welcome to Enceladus.”

Chapter 19

T
he hatch opens on a small army of people with drawn guns. Okay, maybe not an army, but definitely a regiment. Or a contingent. Rubio would probably know the right word, but this doesn't seem like the best time to start discussing semantics with him. They aren't exactly pointing their weapons at us, but they aren't holstered, either. The air smells like saline and iron.

We file out onto the dock. We're wearing the body armor we scavenged, but it covers us only from shoulder to hip. Cassia scowls at the first person we pass, a tall, thin man in coveralls and a knit cap with a scuffed-up rifle he needs two hands to support.

They won't shoot us.
I try to focus on the stained yellow walls behind our welcoming party. Faded words in kanji and what I think is Swedish cover the surface.
They aren't
dakait
. They're businesspeople, Sweetie's contacts. A few words and this will all be cleared—

A phlegmy cough from the back of the room interrupts my thoughts. The crowd parts, and a squat man in a floor-length coat shuffles forward. His hair is white around the temples and at the tip of his short, bristly beard.

“Herr Tsukino,” Cassia says, so quietly only I can hear.

“Välkomna!”
I recognize the voice from our coms, the throaty rasp. “It's been a long time since we've had some of our friend Sweetie's associates as guests.”

“Tsukino-sama.” Cassia steps forward, hands held open. “Don't you remember me?”

Herr Tsukino looks her over. “Should I?”

“My family, we shipped for yours before. It was a few years ago, but—”

He holds up a hand. “
Mat.
I'm not so old and rot brained you can make up a history between us. All I care about is what's in your cargo hold.”

Cassia crosses her arms. “You do this song and dance for all your deliveries, or just Sweetie's?”

“We've dealt with Sweetie plenty.” Herr Tsukino pulls a rag from his pocket and blows his nose into it. “That's why you're going to stay right there until we're sure you
brought what we were promised.” He grins and stuffs the snot rag back in his pocket.

Rubio starts forward, hands raised. “Listen—”

The man in the knit cap cocks his rifle and levels it at Rubio's head.
“Rör dig inte.”

“Wait!” A girl with straight black hair pulled back in a ponytail elbows her way through the crowd and shoves the mouth of his rifle down. She wears a frayed blue cardigan over her charcoal jumpsuit. “What are you doing,
toroi
?”

She turns to the older man in the floor-length coat. “Jiiji, that's Cassia Kaldero. Ezar's daughter. Don't you recognize her?”

Cassia's eyes go wide. “Freja?” She runs down the ramp, heedless of the drawn guns, and throws herself into the other girl's arms.

For one tense moment, I'm convinced we're going to die. Then the old man laughs, and somehow that breaks the fear in the air.

“Kaldero.” He laughs and waves a hand. Everyone lowers their guns. “
Wari wari.
I didn't recognize you in all that raider armor, tinker girl. I thought your father had learned his lesson about shipping for Sweetie.”

But Cassia doesn't answer. She and Freja cling to each other, oblivious to everyone else around them.

“What are you doing here? I thought your family was out on the circuit for another year.” Freja pulls back and holds Cassia at arm's length. She glances at Rubio and me, still standing at the top of the ramp, and screws up her heart-shaped face in a frown. “This isn't your ship. Where're your mother and father? Where're your brothers? And little Milah?”

“They . . . we . . .” Cassia chokes on her words. She swallows and tries again. “We were in past the belt and . . .” She stops.

“Dakait.”
I step in. What did Sweetie call them? “The . . . the Söner Neitibu? They attacked the ship.”

Cassia collects herself. “The ship's lost. Everyone survived, but they took Nethanel.”

A sharp intake of breath traverses the room.

“The Söner?” Herr Tsukino's face goes green. “Little tinker, are you sure?”

Cassia nods.

Freja makes a sour face at me. “Who are you two, then? Sweetie's crew?”

“They're DSRI.” Cassia wipes her eyes briskly and nods at us. “That's Miyole and that's Rubio.”

“Bureaubrats?” Freja blinks at us. “
Iiya.
How did you end up with them?”

“Freja.” The old man frowns. “Mind your tongue. They're guests.”

Freja sighs heavily. “Sorry, Jiiji.”

Jiiji
again. I shuffle through my brain, trying to remember the bits of Japanese I learned at Revati.
That's
grandfather
,
I think, though the way they say the words is nothing like the way our instructor spoke.

“Ungdom-sa,”
the old man interrupts. “We can talk later, but for now, we have cargo to unload. Freja, why don't you take our guests out to get some tea? Something to eat.” He looks at each of us in turn. “You'll need something to keep your strength up if it's the Söner
you mean to face.”

Freja leads us out onto a broad, dark metal stair that switchbacks down the inside of the spindle. Graffiti and scraps of pasteboard cover the inner wall, but the other side hangs open all the way to the bottom of the spindle, several hundred stories below. Footbridges and scaffolding jut across the empty space, linking platforms jammed with lighted storefronts. The air is wet. A light fog hangs over everything, slicking the handrails and causing the glowing signs and windows to bleed around the edges. A bustle of old women crowds by under umbrellas, speaking something that sounds not quite like Japanese. I stare after them, confused.

“What's the matter, bureaubrat? Your schools didn't teach you any Nihongska?” Freja smirks back at me.

“No.” I flinch as a drop of water hits my forehead.

She laughs and grabs Cassia's arm. “Honestly, Cass. Where did you find these two?”

“At least my school taught me how not to be such a bloody
kuttiya
,” I say under my breath.

Beside me, Rubio snorts.

We pass an umbrella and dried-seaweed snack stand hooked on to the outer side of the stair, and then another a few landings down selling everything from goggles to powdered tea and live fish in tanks.

“This way.” Freja waves us out onto a narrow bridge, and then up three steps to a bright, narrow shop. The smell of warm broth and fry oil billows out, sweeping away the hints of wet iron and mildew in the air. My stomach gurgles. I decide to put my dislike for Freja on hold.

We cram into a booth and lose ourselves in fish-ball soup and spicy noodles. Between the buzz of conversation from the other tables and the steady
thwap
of a man pulling noodles in the back room, we can barely hear one another.

At last Rubio pushes away his bowl. “Are we going to talk about this?”

Cassia shrugs and stares down at her tea.

“Okay, then. Here's what I think.” Rubio leans forward so we can hear him over the restaurant's din. “We can't fight them. That was lucky back on the outpost. We can't assume things will go like that again.”

Cassia stays quiet. The lamp above our table casts deep shadows under her eyes. In the back room, the cook laughs and calls out something to the girl behind the counter. Ceramic cups and spoons clink.

I clear my throat. “So . . . what? Do we try to bribe them? Get them to sell Nethanel back to us?” I make a face at the tea Freja ordered. It has all the flavor of a boiled salt marsh, but my own question leaves an even worse taste in my mouth.

“With what?” Rubio says.

I grimace. “The ship?”

“But that means we'd be stuck here,” Rubio says.

Freja lifts an eyebrow. “There
are
worse things.”

I ignore her. “So we're stuck for a little bit, but at least Nethanel's free. Sweetie has the DSRI shuttle for collateral, so he won't come after us. We can work until we have enough for passage back to—”

“No.” Cassia's voice cracks.

We all turn to her.

“We're not playing nice.” She leans over the table. “If we pay them, they'll only do it again to someone else. We have to make them regret what they did to us. They're the ones who have to pay.”

“Cass,” I say gently. “What do you want—revenge? Or your brother back?”

She scowls at me. “Both.”

Frustration flares in my chest. “And if you can only have one?”

Cassia pushes herself back against her seat, her eyes bright with tears. “
Shinjame
, Miyole.”

“You're right, you know.” Freja sits sideways in her chair, her back leaned against the wall.

“Who?” I say.

“Both of you.” She points at Cassia. “You can't bargain with them, or they'll do it again. But the bureaubrats've got a point. You need a soft touch if you want your brother back. First Nethanel, then revenge.”

Cassia hunches her shoulders and frowns. She won't look at any of us. I pull out my crow and open up the list of coordinates we took from the
dakait
ship.

“Have you heard of that third one?” I hand the crow to Freja. “The
dakait
said they dropped him in Ny Karlskrona.”

“Rangnvaldsson Keramik,” she says. “Yeah, I have.”

I peer over her shoulder. “What is that place?”

She shrugs. “Rangnvaldsson's deals in ship upgrades and parts. We trade with them sometimes. In fact . . .” Freja's face lights up. “I bet my grandfather is planning to sell them some of that cryatine you brought us.”

Cassia finally looks up. She, Rubio, and I exchange a look.

“Do you think he'd let us ride along?” she asks.

Freja shrugs again. “No harm in asking.”

“Thank you. Tell him thank you.”

“He hasn't said yes yet,” Freja says, but she grins at Cassia and slides out of the booth. “You three stay here, finish your tea. I'll see what I can do.”

We stare after Freja as she tromps out of the room, ponytail swaying, rubber boots squeaking on the restaurant floor.

Rubio clears his throat and points after her. “How do you know her, again?”

I turn to Cassia. I was wondering the exact same thing.

“My family traded here. Before . . .” Cassia shakes her head as though she's throwing off a bad memory. “Freja's grandfather was the one who introduced my father to Sweetie.”

“Seems like they're not too friendly with him now,” Rubio mutters.

Cassia ignores him. A smile starts at the corners of her mouth. “This one time, Freja and I took the pressure drop down to the seabed observation deck, and we walked in on this old man and a lady kissing. They gave us some visitor passes to the casinos on Dock Ornata so we'd keep quiet.” She laughs. “There were these piles of pistachio mocha, and we ate so much we made ourselves sick.”

“Did you . . . I mean, were you two . . .” I don't mean to sound jealous, but a sour note creeps in on the last word.

Cassia makes a face at me.

I hurry on. “I mean, you two seem so close. I only wondered . . .”

“No,” she says shortly. “Just friends.”

A heavy, awkward silence hangs in the air.

“Right. Well.” Rubio slaps his hands on his knees and stands. “I don't know about you two, but this is getting weird and I haven't slept well in three weeks. I'm going back up to the ship to catch some shut-eye.” He disappears out the door after Freja, leaving Cassia and me alone.

We sit in silence for several minutes, not looking at each other.

“I should go, too,” I mutter into my tea. “I should
update the
Mendicant
's data banks while we have the chance.”

“Fine,” Cassia says. She doesn't look at me.

I sigh. “Cass, I—”

“Don't.”

“I'm sorry,” I say. “It was stupid of me to ask.”

Cassia looks my way. “Yeah, it was.”

“
Chaila
, Cass, I'm trying to apologize.”

A short laugh escapes her. “That's really what's worrying you now, whether Freja and I—”

“No!”

Tears brim in Cassia's eyes. “Freja's right,” she says quietly. “You bureaubrats have it so easy, you just don't get it.”

“Get what?” I say, exasperated. “Cass, I gave up everything to come out here with you.” My anger hardens around me as I say it. It's true. No more DSRI. No more research. My whole barren life is stretched out in front of me, and the person I gave it up for is yelling at me in the middle of a strange noodle shop on an iced-in moon.

“Oh, you're so noble, aren't you?” Cassia shakes her head. Her eyes are red and bitter. “You, you, you. It's all about you.”

I lean back in the booth, stung. “What?”

Cassia shakes her head. “I should never have brought you into this. I should never have kissed you.”

Blood rushes to my face. “That had nothing to do with me wanting to help.”

“Right.” Cassia raises her eyes to the ceiling, tears streaking gossamer lines down her cheeks.

I lean forward to answer, but a shuffling sound stops me.

Freja stands a few paces from the table, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Bad time?”

“No.” Cassia sniffs and clenches her jaw.

“You sure?” Freja glares knives at me.

I goggle back at her.
Me?
I'm not the one picking a fight here.

“Of course.” Cassia lifts her chin and smiles at Freja. “What'd Herr Tsukino say?”

Freja breaks her death glare and looks at Cassia. “He said yes. As long as you don't break up the sale, you can come to Ny Karlskrona with us. We'll see if we can find your brother.”