The Rise of Earth (20 page)

A
t least two differences between the Northwell and the rest of the pressure domes on Cybele were immediately apparent to Tycho—it was warm inside the Northwell, and Cybelean constables were everywhere. He was stopped twice on his way to Earth's fondaco, and the guards at the gates refused to let him proceed unless he unloaded his carbine and handed over its power pack.

Earth's fondaco was a massive building in its own
right, constructed around an atrium filled with trees and plants and extending to the curve of the pressure dome overhead. The air felt wet and smelled strange, and Tycho blinked against the bright light. He shielded his eyes and peered up to find a brilliant spotlight trained down on the atrium. The pressure dome, he saw, was hidden by a hologram of a blue sky dotted with clouds.

Strolling in the atrium with his furred cloak over one arm, Tycho couldn't resist poking a finger in the dirt of a planter. His finger came out wet and black with loam, and he brushed at it, sniffing the dirt, then wiped it on the seat of his pants. He heard birdsong above and looked up to see a blur of wings among the trees. He had not the slightest doubt that the birds were real.

“You there, boy, what are you doing?” someone barked at him.

Tycho looked down to see a gendarme striding his way.

“You're no Earthman,” the gendarme said, staring at Tycho. “What are you—”

“He is a guest and is to be treated accordingly,” said a steely voice.

Captain Allamand, wearing a dark-blue uniform, was walking up behind the gendarme, with Kate trailing behind.

“Begging your pardon, Captain Allamand,” the gendarme said. “This one didn't identify himself. I was only doing my duty—”

“Understood, and you are to be commended for it.
But I assure you all is well.”

The gendarme made his getaway, and Allamand offered his hand to Tycho, who took it, reminding himself to make eye contact and shake hands firmly.

“So how do you find Cybele, Master Hashoone?” Allamand asked, turning to stroll with him through the garden, Kate following a pace behind.

“It's interesting,” Tycho managed. “Wish they'd turn the heat up, though. Your fondaco and the banquet hall are the only places on this rock that aren't freezing.”

Allamand smiled. “Apparently the Cybeleans prefer to spend their livres on furs in supernatural colors.”

Tycho laughed politely, risking a glance behind him at Kate. She was dressed simply: a white blouse above dark-green trousers and black boots.

“My daughter tells me you've never been to Earth. I hope one day you'll do us the honor of being our guest at our estate outside Avignon.”

“Um, you're very kind.”

“I've had the good fortune to visit Jupiter on a couple of occasions. One gains valuable perspective from an hour spent at a window in Ganymede High Port, staring at Jupiter and watching the Great Red Spot continue its eternal journey across the surface. I hope one day my daughter will be able to see that as well.”

“As do I, Captain.”

Allamand smiled.

“The gallantry of our way of life can be intoxicating, Master Hashoone. But peace between our countries
would be better. Ah well. In time, I hope. Perhaps one day we can recall this conversation in Avignon. Or above Ganymede.”

Tycho fumbled for a reply, but Allamand had halted.

“And now duty calls,” he said. “Until we meet again, Master Hashoone.”

The Earth captain strode away down the path. Kate smiled at Tycho, cocking her elbow in his direction. After a moment of free fall Tycho realized what was expected of him and took her arm.

“I hope that wasn't too painful,” she said.

“No, not at all. Where is your father going?”

Kate sighed. “Into space. On some dreadful new mission.”

Tycho went cold. “Into space?”

“Yes. But please let's not talk about it.”

Tycho frowned. He ought to at least send his mother a quick message. But he looked at Kate, admiring her dark eyes and the tiny silver studs that glinted in her ears, and couldn't bring himself to step away from her for even a moment.

“Uh, I brought you something,” Tycho said, disengaging and fumbling in the innards of his jacket.

“Is it that pistol?” Kate asked with a smile. “Honestly, Tycho. What kind of reception did you expect from us?”

“Oh, that was for . . . well, somewhere else.”

“I'm teasing you. Though I'm sure I could learn to be a wicked pirate.”

“Privateer. Here. I hope you'll like it better than a carbine.”

They sat down on a bench tucked into a nook along the garden path. Kate opened the little box he'd bought at Hugo's stall and smiled at the gleaming black stones inside.

“They're lovely. What are they made of?”

“Carborundum. From Jupiter's Trojan asteroids. It's extremely rare as a natural substance on Earth, but you can scoop it up from asteroids and moons out here. A little souvenir from the rest of the solar system.”

“I think they're beautiful,” Kate said.

Thank you, Hugo
, Tycho thought.

“So are you,” he said, and leaned forward. But Kate pulled back, blushing.

“I'm sorry, Tycho. The other night—that was crazy. Nice, but crazy. Can we . . . can we go a little slower?”

Tycho nodded, embarrassed, and Kate leaned forward to let her lips brush his cheek.

“Thank you,” she said, then looked down at the earrings. “They really are beautiful.”

She handed him the box and her hand went to her ears. She placed her silver earrings in the box and replaced them with the teardrops of black carborundum. “How do they look?” she asked.

“Perfect,” Tycho said, and she smiled and reached over to lace her fingers through his.

The artificial sun was lower now—it moved on some
mechanism he hadn't seen before—and the holographic sky was edging from blue into purple.

“Is that what Earth is like?” he asked.

Kate looked up at the sky appraisingly.

“More like a cheap holo-drama of it than the real thing. But the trees and the birds are real. That's nice.”

“It is,” Tycho said, squeezing her hand. She smiled, but her fingers slipped out of his and she colored faintly.

“Tycho,” she said. “It's a funny name. Where's it come from?”

“He was an astronomer from Earth. Actually, Tycho's my middle name.”

“It is? What's your first name, then?”

“You'll laugh.”

“I will not.”

“It's Herschel.”

Kate put a hand over her mouth.

“See?”

She reached over to squeeze his hand by way of apology.

“I'm sorry, Tycho. I have to ask, though: Why Herschel?”

“Another astronomer from Earth.”

“I see. I think you made a good choice there.”

“So do I,” Tycho said. “The dread pirate Herschel Hashoone doesn't quite work, somehow.”

“Oh, I think it sounds
terrifying
. Herschel Hashoone, scourge of the spaceways.”

“Stop it. What's your middle name?”

“It's long. And a bit ridiculous.”

“Try me.”

“It's le Bondavais.”

“Kate le Bondavais Allamand? No, wait. It would be Katherine, wouldn't it?”

“Katarina, actually.”

“Katarina le Bondavais Allamand. Too complicated and fancy for a colonial like me to pronounce. I'd better stick with Kate.”

“I like that more anyway.”

“And where did le Bondavais come from?” he asked, eager for an opportunity to tease her back.

“It was my mother's name. She died giving birth to me. My father gave up his commission in the navy to raise me.”

Tycho lowered his head.

“I'm sorry, Kate.”

“It's all right,” she said, and smiled when he took her hand again. They sat there, hand in hand, as the birds fell silent and the holographic sky dimmed and disappeared, revealing the real stars overhead.

The chiming of Tycho's mediapad marked the end of his time with Kate—Diocletia was summoning her children to dinner.

Besotted by thoughts of Kate, Tycho managed to walk nearly to the other side of the Westwell, completely missing the bridge that led to the Jovian Union's fondaco. He was about to turn around when he spotted
Carlo emerging from the passageway that led to Bazaar and the unpatrolled domes and tunnels of Cybele.

Their eyes met, and Carlo looked surprised.

“Mom wants us back for dinner,” he said.

“I know—I missed where you turn right. Where were you? Visiting Grandmother?”

“No,” Carlo said with a scowl.

“Are you ever going to? I think she'd like to see you.”

Once again Tycho wondered how three siblings could regard the same thing so differently. He was still worrying over the question of Elfrieda and why she'd left. Yana had pumped their mother for information, then moved on once her curiosity was satisfied. And Carlo had been instantly dismissive.

“Quit trying to fix everything, Tycho. I don't want to see her—not now and not ever.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn't understand. You were just a little kid.”

“So explain it to me.”

They were near the center of the Westwell now, surrounded by girders and guy wires.

“There's no point,” Carlo said, but then he leaned on the railing of the walkway and looked up at the pressure dome high above them. “You and Yana don't even remember her.”

Tycho shook his head. “I've tried, but you're right—I don't.”

“Well, I do.”

Tycho peered at his brother, puzzled. “Was she bad to you, growing up?”

“No. She was kind. She meant a lot to me, in fact.”

Tycho just looked at him, hoping he would explain. For a moment he thought Carlo wouldn't—his fingers opened and closed on the railing. But then he looked at Tycho and began to talk again.

“When she left, I thought I'd done something wrong,” Carlo said. “I spent months belowdecks on the
Comet
in my hammock wondering what it was, trying to figure out what I'd done.”

“You were eight—you couldn't have done anything.”

“Of course I didn't do anything! She couldn't have waited just a little longer? She was just selfish and not thinking of anyone but herself. It took me a long time to figure that out, while she was missing. But I did. And so she can stay missing.”

Carlo stared up at the struts of the pressure dome above them, his face pale. “Now do you understand?”

“Yes. And I'm sorry.”

Carlo waved dismissively. “It's fine. Forget it.”

“But if you weren't in Bazaar, then where were you?” Tycho asked, remembering the Ice Wolves and the deserted dome. “It's dangerous out that way, you know.”

“I can take care of myself. I had something to do. Where were
you
?”

“I had something to do too.”

Carlo nodded, and Tycho realized they'd somehow
reached an unspoken agreement: they didn't believe each other, but they also weren't going to pry into each other's business. But he couldn't keep from peering curiously at his brother. Did Carlo have a girlfriend too?

“Aren't you tired of this awful place?” Carlo asked suddenly. “Being cold all the time, and not knowing what Earth is up to, and trying to figure out the Cybeleans and their double-dealing games?”

“Keep your voice down. We're guests here, remember?”

“I don't care. They're toying with us—with all of us. It's dirty and dishonorable. And now we've stooped to their level. Paying pirates to fly the Jovian flag. Remember when only Earth did that?”

Tycho nodded.

“It's terrible for us as a family,” Carlo said. “It makes the JDF see us as all the same—like there's no difference between Mom and Dmitra Barnacus, or between Captain Andrade and the Widderiches.”

“But they've always seen us that way,” Tycho said. “That's what Yana and I were trying to tell you. We're irregulars—expendable. Remember?”

“That's where you're wrong. This is making things worse for us. Making it harder for us to do what we need to do.”

“And what's that?”

“What I told you before—win a place in the JDF. A way to continue the family business after they outlaw privateering and leave us with nothing. Which is going to happen sooner rather than later, if we keep letting
unreformed pirates bring shame to our flag.”

Carlo turned to Tycho. His jaw was set, his fists clenched.

“I'm not going to let that happen to us, Tyke. I'll do anything to stop it. You understand that, don't you?”

“I don't think Mr. Vass sees us as pirates,” Tycho said, taken aback by his brother's fervor. “He flew here with us and saw how we worked. He knows we're not like the Widderiches.”