Sound Page 22

  “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. “Rangnval
dsson’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.”

  Chapter 20

  The waters outside Ny Kyoto are murky with sediment and light from the spindles. I watch through the back viewport of the Tsukinos’ submersible as the ocean closes over the city like so many scarves layered one on top of the other. The light fades. I look away. The water feels heavier in the dark, somehow.

  I close my eyes and lean back against the bulkhead. Pressure on a submerged object is equal to fluid density times gravity acceleration times the height of any fluid above—

  Rubio nudges me. “What are you whispering about?”

  My eyes fly open. “Nothing.” My face flames. Was I saying that out loud?

  Rubio gives me a look that says he’s pretty sure I’m going mental, but before he can say anything, a massive shadow flickers across the viewport.

  I yelp. “What was that?”

  Freja peers out the window. “A harrow, probably. Don’t worry, they won’t attack anything with lights on it.”

  I glance nervously at the window. “You’re sure?”

  One of Freja’s comrades snickers, and the rest of them exchange grins.

  Freja smirks. “I think I know more about my own moon than you, bureaubrat.”

  Before I can respond, Freja’s grandfather ducks in.

  “All right, besättning, we’re under way.” He looks over the twelve of us in the passenger hold—Freja, Cassia, Rubio, eight of his people who met us on the dock, and me—then wipes his nose and stuffs the rag in his back pocket. “Another few hours, and we’ll be at Rangnvaldsson’s gates. I want a quick, clean handoff. No friendly-making with their crew, but no brawling, either. We help them unload, chop, chop—we’re back on our way with full pockets.”

  His crew shifts in their seats, murmur their assent.

  “You three.” He points at Cassia, Rubio, and me. “A word up front.” He jerks his head at the cockpit.

  We follow him to the darkened front of the submersible. The ceiling hangs so low Rubio has to duck to fit in.

  Herr Tsukino drops himself into the pilot’s seat with a small grunt. The control panel lights his face, giving him a bluish pallor. Beyond the viewport, nothing shows but thick darkness and the occasional flicker of debris caught in the ship’s perimeter lights.

  He clears his throat. “I’m letting you come along on account of the good trade we’ve done with the Kalderos over the years.” He shifts his eyes to Rubio and me. “But you two don’t know me, so it’s only fair warning: you ruin my trade, you’re out on the ice.” He extends a finger up, toward the surface.

  Rubio and I exchange a look. The Enceladan surface is hundreds of degrees below zero. Even with a suit, out on the ice means dead in a matter of hours. A weak, nervous laugh escapes me.

  “I’m not joking, girl.” Herr Tsukino frowns. “I don’t play games with my livelihood. Understand?”

  “Right.” I nod. “Sorry. Of course. Got it.”

  Herr Tsukino bobs his head at the door. “Go on, then. Rest up. We’ve got another six hours before we reach Rangnvaldsson’s.”

  We shuffle out of the cockpit and start making our way back to the hold.

  “Cassia,” Herr Tsukino calls after her.

  She follows him back to the darkened room. I pause, listening outside in the narrow corridor.

  “About your brother . . . I’m sorry,” he says gently. “It shouldn’t happen. Not to anybody, but especially not after his wife—”

  “Thank you.” Cassia’s voice is hard. “I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”

  “Have you thought . . .” Herr Tsukino pauses. “I know you don’
t want to hear this, but Enceladus is a big moon, and even if Rangnvaldsson did buy him, he might not be there still. Maybe it’s better if there’s someone around to take good care of that little girl of his. Might be what he’d want.”

  “What he’d want is to see her again.”

  Herr Tsukino’s voice is quiet. “Even if it costs his sister’s life?”

  Silence. The back of my neck prickles and my palms itch.

  Finally Cassia speaks. “Thank you again, Herr Tsukino.” Her voice comes near to breaking.

  I turn as she stalks out of the cockpit. “Cass—”

  But she brushes by me and hurries away as if I haven’t been standing there waiting for her.

  The smell of fresh-cut flowers and lemongrass pervades the dock at Rangnvaldsson’s. Everything is bright white, as blinding as snow. Even Rangnvaldsson’s heavy machinery operators wear white. The Tsukino crew’s worn brown jumpsuits and stained boots stand out like smudges against the pristine dock.

  A woman with butter-yellow hair and a crisp sky-blue kimono patterned with lingonberries strides to Freja’s grandfather, arms open wide. A cluster of attendants in the palest pastels shadow her.

  “Tsukino-san. It’s been too long.”

  “Fru Rangnvaldsson.” Herr Tsukino inclines his head in a slight bow. “What do they say? ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’”

  “And pockets lighter.” Fru Rangnvaldsson offers her hand to Herr Tsukino. “Please, Tsukino-san, you’re always so formal. You must call me Nanami.”

  So this is the woman who might have Nethanel. I glance at Cassia. She looks like she wants to tackle Fru Rangnvaldsson to the deck and knock out all of her perfectly bleached teeth.

  Herr Tsukino grunts in what might be agreement and delivers a perfunctory kiss to the back of her hand. “The pockets we can fix. You want the cryatine here, or are we taking it to storage for you?”

  Fru Rangnvaldsson smiles wide, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “But, please, your crew must be famished. We have a dinner laid out for you. Dozo, come and eat. We can worry about cargo after.”

  “Domo tack gozaimasu,” Herr Tsukino answers. “How can we refuse such a generous offer?”

  “You’ll want to leave guards, of course.” Fru Rangnvaldsson tilts her head at the submersible. “We’ll bring a nice little something out to them.”