The Rise of Earth (19 page)

No, it was too dangerous to ask Carlo.

Then there was Huff. Tycho looked appraisingly at his grandfather. He'd been married long enough to have two daughters, hadn't he?

“Arrr, they oughta space the dimwit what decided this tunnel should go halfway to Vesta,” Huff growled, then began to cough raggedly.

“Are you all right, Grandfather?” Tycho asked.

Huff pounded on his chest with his forearm cannon, then spat out something vile that hit the wall of the passageway with a glutinous splat and stuck there.

Tycho decided not to ask him either.

But then he thought of someone who might be able to help.

Tycho's shoulder holster didn't fit quite right and kept riding up into his armpit, forcing him to reach under his heavy cloak and paw at his jacket to push the carbine back into place. But the weapon's weight was still a comfort as he left the Westwell for the dim, frigid tunnel that led to Bazaar.

He wasn't used to carrying a weapon and kept thinking the carbine was horribly conspicuous, even under a thick, fur-lined jacket. Tycho and Yana had told their parents about the crimps that morning. Diocletia had listened with a grave expression, then summoned Mavry to their bedroom for a brief consultation. She'd reluctantly agreed that they could carry carbines, then given them a stern lecture on the importance of not using them unless
there was no other alternative.

Tycho had worried that Yana would want to go with him, but she'd said vaguely that she had things to do. Tycho had wondered idly if that meant she wanted nothing to do with their grandmother, or if she just meant to spend more of her free hours practicing unarmed combat. Whatever the case, he'd been glad not to have to ditch her.

He pushed through a crowd of spacers, worried about another encounter with Jasper One Eye or one of his crimps, but arrived at Bazaar without incident. The dome was less crowded than on his first visit, with several stalls shuttered.

One of Elfrieda's toughs stood aside as Tycho approached the Last Chance, though the man's eyes stayed fixed on him. The little café was more crowded than the rest of the depot, with a handful of grim-looking spacers glumly examining pallets of freeze-dried noodles and krill.

Prospectors, Tycho guessed, lowering the hood of his cloak. And not particularly lucky ones, judging by their threadbare jackets and worn boots.

Elfrieda was behind the counter, crabbily explaining something to a young, baffled-looking clerk. She looked up to survey the customers in the depot, her eyes flicking over Tycho and then returning.

“Hello, Grandmother,” Tycho said.

“Call me Elfrieda. Don't you know it's dangerous to come here alone?”

“I'm being careful,” Tycho said, pushing the holster back down again.

“That's good. So what can I do for you?”

“I need . . . a present.”

Elfrieda looked baffled. “A present? What kind of present?”

“I don't know exactly. It's . . . for a girl.”

“Does this girl like the kind of things a chandler's depot would sell?” Elfrieda asked. “Like replacement air scrubbers or lavatory disinfectant?”

“I don't think so. It's . . . it's more that I don't know what to buy. And, well, I don't have anybody I can ask.”

Elfrieda leaned her elbows on the counter and sighed, and Tycho was certain that in another moment she'd tell him to go away. But then she shook her head and smiled ruefully.

“Burke, try not to mess anything up for the next ten minutes,” she said to the flustered clerk next to her. “I'm going to get a cup of tea. Would you like one, Tycho?”

Tycho nodded gratefully and followed Elfrieda up a low flight of stairs to the collection of battered couches and salvaged flight chairs that passed for the Last Chance's café. She pulled aside a clerk, who hastily started preparing tea.

“Tea's three livres,” Elfrieda told Tycho.

He smiled, then realized Elfrieda wasn't kidding. Flushing, he dug in his cloak for coins.

“So who's this girl you can't tell your family about?” Elfrieda asked once the tea was served. “Not that your
mother's the person to ask about gifts anyway. Diocletia actually would want a new air scrubber.”

“This girl . . . she's the daughter of the captain in charge of Earth's privateers.”

Above the rim of her teacup, Elfrieda's eyebrows shot up. “Well, that's complicated.”

“I know. That's why I haven't told anybody. It would cause . . . trouble.”

Elfrieda waved a hand dismissively. “At your age, all love is trouble.”

“Was that true of you and Grandfather?”

Elfrieda looked amused. “Oh, definitely. Did he tell you I agreed to have a nip with him? He's coming by later tonight, after we close up.”

“Really? That's great!”

“Now don't go and get everybody all riled up. We both moved on a long time ago. Getting along for a few hours was never the problem for me and Huff. It was after that when things would get messy.”

“Oh.”

“So, your captain's daughter . . . I'm guessing she isn't a spacer or anything like that.”

“No. This is her first time off Earth.”

Several bearded spacers had entered the Last Chance and were examining cutting torches. Tycho eyed their jackets. He saw no sign of the white wolf on a black background that the Ice Wolves had adopted as their symbol, but that meant nothing—the Saturnian revolutionaries were keeping a lower profile these days.

“This girl's first trip off Earth is to Cybele?” Elfrieda asked. “Isn't she lucky? This rock's half a meter too low to be the armpit of the solar system. And while it galls me to talk myself out of a sale, I don't think you'll find a good present in the Last Chance.”

Tycho glanced from the Ice Wolves—he was certain that was what they were—to the Last Chance's counter and out into the common area under the dome. The man who'd sold Yana her scarf was showing a similar one to a spacer.

“What about a scarf like my sister was wearing last night?” Tycho asked eagerly.

“The ‘like my sister was wearing last night' part should tell you no.”

“Oh,” Tycho said, crestfallen. “Maybe a ring then?”

“
A ring
? Slow down before you make a mess, Tycho. Besides, I have an idea.”

Elfrieda reached into her jacket and extracted a marking stylus and a piece of scrap paper that was coffee-colored from repeated recycling.

“Here's the name of a stall in the Well where you'll find something. The owner's name is Hugo—tell him I sent you and that I said not to rip you off too badly. And tell Hugo it's a gift for a well-bred Earth girl. He'll know what that means.”

“Thank you, Grandmother,” Tycho said, trying to see what the Ice Wolves were doing.

“You're welcome. Now please stop staring at my customers.”

“They're Ice Wolves. Aren't you worried about your safety?”

“Not in the least. A millimeter outside the Last Chance and whatever they do isn't my problem. A millimeter inside and my hired slabs of beef swing into action.”

“I wonder what they're up to,” Tycho said, furrowing his brow. It seemed unlikely that the Saturnians would know anything about the
Leviathan
, but they were in the depot for a reason.

“I don't know why they're here and it's not my business to care.”

“Well, you'll have to forgive me, Grandmother, but it's mine. They're enemies of my country, and they've spent more than a year trying to kill members of my family.”

He looked up to find Elfrieda calmly finishing her tea.

“You're a good kid, Tycho. But take an old woman's advice. Find a cause and pretty soon you'll find politicians. And politicians will get you killed without a second thought. Fools dig for treasure, Tycho—the wise sell shovels.”

The Ice Wolves had finished their inspection of the Last Chance's wares and headed back out into Bazaar. Tycho wrapped his cloak around himself.

“I hunted for buried treasure once, Grandmother,” he said. “Found it, too. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to do my duty as a Jovian.”

Tycho walked about ten meters behind the bearded spacers as they headed west from Bazaar, trying to keep several other people between himself and them. As he walked, he passed miners caked in gray dust, spacers carrying duffel bags, and people muffled in furs against the cold.

His pursuit took him through several domes, through chilly passages dug into the rock and ice of Cybele and ones laid down across the surface, their thick plastic walls covered with a hodgepodge of old patches and seals. He eyed the patches suspiciously, ears straining for the faintest hiss of escaping air. Sudden decompressions weren't unknown, particularly on the outskirts of asteroid settlements. In the event of a blowout or some other disaster, airlocks at the ends of corridors and around the perimeters of pressure domes would automatically slam shut. But that wouldn't help those caught inside the passageway or dome that ruptured.

Tycho shoved his shoulder holster down for at least the twentieth time, annoyed. Then he stopped. The spacers were no longer in sight ahead of him—while he'd been daydreaming, they'd picked up their pace and left the tunnel. And the traffic in the corridor had dwindled to three people, all in a hurry to be elsewhere.

A leathery-faced miner passed Tycho going the other way, leaving him alone in the corridor. Tycho came to a halt, hand creeping toward his carbine. Ahead of him, the passage climbed slightly to end at the open door of
an airlock. Through the walls of the tube Tycho could see the outline of a dimly lit pressure dome ahead. There was no sound except the hum of air circulators.

Tycho wondered if he should draw his weapon. He decided against it. But should he go back?

Suddenly he wished Yana were here—normally his sister's brash confidence annoyed him, but a little of it would be welcome now.

Relax—they just got a little ahead of you is all.

He exhaled and forced himself to go forward, cinching his cloak more tightly around him. If his sister were here, he thought, by now she'd have snorted dismissively and stomped off after the Ice Wolves, forcing him to hurry after her.

The pressure dome was small, dim, and chilly. A bank of freight elevators sat in the center of the space, signs indicating they were out of service. A handful of stalls stood nearby, shuttered and locked, and two brightly lit tunnels led deeper into the labyrinth of Cybele. Tycho paused in the center of the dome, peering down each tunnel in turn. He didn't see anybody in either tube.

The click of a carbine's safety being released was his only warning, and it wasn't enough.

T
hey came out of the shadows, carbines raised. Before Tycho could reach for his own weapon, two of them grabbed him, holding him tightly by the arms. He found himself staring down the seemingly gigantic barrel of a blaster.

If I'd gone for my gun I'd be dead now
.

“Tole ya someone was followin' us,” growled one of the spacers.

“Who are you, boy?” demanded the man with the gun.

“Another one of them sneaking Cybelean rats,” grumbled another.

“An
armed
Cybelean rat,” said a fourth, yanking open Tycho's jacket.

The leader looked appraisingly at Tycho's carbine where it sat useless in his shoulder holster.

“And what were you going to do with that, boy?” the leader asked.

“Protect myself,” Tycho muttered, trying not to shiver in the cold air.

“And how's that working out for you?” the leader asked with a nasty grin as a rat-faced Ice Wolf with a ginger beard stepped forward to search Tycho, extracting his pass from his pocket.

“This one ain't Cybelean—he's
Jovian
,” the red-haired Ice Wolf said, handing the pass to the leader. “Probably spying for their blasted Securitat.”

“Thought we had a deal that they'd leave us alone,” growled the Ice Wolf who'd found Tycho's gun.

“I'm not a spy,” Tycho managed. “I want to join up.”

“Oh? And just who do you think you're joining, boy?” the leader asked.

Tycho swallowed. “You're Ice Wolves.”

The leader nodded, his eyes cool and calculating. He looked over Tycho's pass.

“This ain't no ordinary boy,” he said. “This here's a Hashoone.”

“What's a Hashoone?” the red-haired man asked.

“Family what owns one of them Jovian privateer
ships,” the leader said.

Muttering greeted this news, and the hands on Tycho's upper arms tightened.

“Then he's definitely a Securitat spy,” the red-haired man said.

“Maybe,” the leader said. “Now why would you want to join us, Master Hashoone?”

“Because I believe in the same thing you do. Freedom for the outer planets!”

“Hear that, boys? Master Hashoone's gone and become an idealist. Must have been reading fancy books.”

As the Ice Wolves laughed, Tycho heard footsteps. A slim man in tattered furs entered the dome and stared at the Ice Wolves in horror. Tycho locked eyes with him hopefully, but the man turned his face away and hurried deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels.

The Ice Wolf leader waited until the man had gone, then smirked at Tycho. “Membership's closed, kid.”

“You don't understand,” Tycho said, thinking desperately. “The boss told me to come by!”

“Really? Come by where?”

“He wouldn't tell me—said if I wanted to join that badly I'd figure it out. Which is why I was following you.”

The Ice Wolves laughed.

“Boss told you to come by, eh?” asked the red-haired Ice Wolf. “What's he look like, then?”

“Big man,” Tycho stammered. “Um, with a beard . . .”

Laughter surrounded him.

“You've never seen the boss, Master Hashoone,” the
leader growled. “But he's seen you.”

“We got things to do, Jake,” muttered the rat-faced Ice Wolf. “Let's shove the kid out an airlock.”

Tycho's knees were shaking. He tried to will them to stop. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing him beg.

“Alarm'll go off,” said another. “Shoot him and we'll drop him down the elevator shaft. By the time someone finds him, won't be nothing but bones.”

Tycho struggled futilely in the Ice Wolves' grip. But Jake was shaking his head.

“Keeping a low profile was part of the deal, remember?” he said, lowering his weapon. “Which means it's your lucky day, Master Hashoone. But if I find you sticking your nose in our business again, I'll cook it off your face. Now get lost before I change my mind.”

The two Ice Wolves let go of Tycho. He hurried back the way he'd come, careful to keep his hands away from his jacket. He half expected the Ice Wolves to reconsider. The energy of a carbine beam traveled far faster than sound, so at this range his ears would give him no warning of what was coming—he'd hear the shot only after it tore through him.

If he heard it at all.

He hurried through the dome's empty airlock and found himself alone in the tube on the other side. He wanted to look back but forced himself not to. He was still jittery—it felt like there wasn't enough air to fill his lungs.

Something about the face of a man coming toward him struck him as familiar. He slowed to a walk, trying to think where he'd seen him before.

Then he realized it was DeWise—and the Securitat agent looked furious.

“Keep going, you fool,” DeWise said, pivoting smoothly to walk alongside Tycho. “What in God's name did you think you were doing?”

“You were following me!” Tycho said.

“I was following
them
. But a lot more carefully than you were. You're lucky to be alive.”

“You struck a deal with them! They said so!”

“Not a deal—a truce of sorts. We don't try to disrupt their operations here, and in return they leave our citizens alone and stay out of this competition with Earth that the Defense Force thinks is so important.”

“And you trust them to keep their end of the bargain?”

“Fortunately for you, they just did.”

That shocked Tycho into silence.

“Now, what happened?” DeWise asked.

When Tycho looked reluctant, DeWise's expression turned hard.

“It's important, Tycho.”

“All right. They searched me and looked at my pass. They acted like they knew who I was, and claimed their boss knew me too. Oh, and the leader was called Jake.”

“We know him—one of the Shupe brothers. So they said Jake was the boss?”

“No, just the leader of the group I followed. I said I
knew the boss and they asked me to describe him.”

They had returned to a more populated part of Cybele, with the passageways getting crowded again.

“Go on,” DeWise said.

“I said he was big, with a beard,” Tycho said, looking away from DeWise's scornful expression. “They started laughing. Said I'd never seen him.”

“The irony is that you have. We know who their boss is—it's Thoadbone Mox.”

“What?” Tycho said, staring at DeWise in shock. “That's impossible—the Ice Wolves kicked Mox out at Saturn. I was there, remember? When your big plan turned into bilge.”

“Hodge Lazander relieved Mox of command, yes,” DeWise said, refusing to be baited. “But Lazander is the Ice Wolves' political leader, not their military commander.”

“What does that matter?”

“The political leaders want more power for the outer solar system, but a lot of the captains are just pirates looking for a license to steal. It's a split in their ranks that we've worked in secret to make as big as possible.”

“I bet you have,” Tycho said. “Manipulating others is your job, after all.”

“My job is protecting the Jovian Union,” DeWise said. “If you want to argue about how we do that, we'll go somewhere else.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Fine. Then remember this: Mox is still seizing ships
for his fellow Ice Wolves—and he's based here on Cybele.”

“Maybe, but if so he's not the boss,” Tycho said. “You're wrong about that.”

“And you know that how?”

“By the way they acted. It was like the boss was someone I didn't know—no, more like someone I
couldn't
know. Like it was a test I couldn't pass.”

Tycho could almost see DeWise's brain sorting through this new information. The passageway was thick with people now. From the looks of the fur-clad men and women around them, some mining operation had just changed shifts.

“Whatever Mox's rank is in their operation, the point is that he's here on Cybele,” DeWise said. “And he's got a score to settle with your family. Stay away from the Ice Wolves, Tycho—I doubt you'll be as lucky next time.”

A broad-shouldered miner passed between them. Tycho turned to say something to DeWise, but the Securitat agent had vanished in the crowd.