Curse of the Iris (17 page)

“And you, Tycho?” Carina asked. “Do you have a theory to go with your feeling?”

“No,” Tycho said, then saw his mother frowning and rushed to fill the silence. “I'm not worried about Muggs Saxton's scanner, or what happened to Josef Unger's. But I am worried about what happened to Moxley's. If Thoadbone knows the signal's transmitting and has his uncle's scanner, he's going to do something about it.”

“And if so, what should we do?” Carina asked.

“I agree with Yana. Everything about the scanner suggests the treasure was hidden on Europa. If someone moved it, our scanner's useless and we'll never find it. But if it is still there, we need to find it before the signal stops transmitting or someone else beats us to it.”

“Hear, hear,” Yana said.

Carina tapped at her mediapad. “So that's two Hashoones who think the treasure's on Europa and one who thinks it's gone. What do the rest of you think?”

“Wherever it is, let it stay there,” Huff said.

“I think it's gone,” Diocletia said.

Carina nodded. “I think it's gone too. I think the Securitat leaned on the Collective members pretty hard at 1172 Aeneas, and one of them cracked. Probably Muggs—Carlo's scenario makes a lot of sense—but it could have been one of the others.”

“If you've all made up your minds already, why even have this stupid meeting?” Yana spluttered, drawing hard stares from her mother and her aunt.

“Yana, control yourself,” Diocletia said.

“You know, I might have an opinion on this subject,” Mavry said.

“And that opinion is?” Diocletia asked.

“That the treasure's gone,” Mavry said.

“Dad!” Yana yelped.

“But I wouldn't bet the
Comet
on that,” he added. “Stranger things have happened. And I don't see any harm in letting these three investigate further—yes, you too, Carlo. They could start by calling on Loris Unger and Lord What's-His-Name and seeing if we can acquire their shares and obtain some more clues.”

“That could be an interesting exercise,” Carina said.

“Exercise?” asked Yana incredulously.

“Exercise,” Mavry repeated. “Who knows? It might even teach some of our midshipmen how to be more diplomatic.”

Yana made a face.

“And what about Oshima Yakata?” Tycho asked.

Mavry's smile disappeared.

“That's different,” he said. “Leave her for last. If we get to the point where we think it's worth calling on her, we'll discuss it then.”

Mavry exchanged looks with Diocletia and Carina. Something passed among the three of them, silently debated and settled in that strange fashion reserved for adults.

“Very well then,” Carina said. “The three of you can continue the hunt—provided you take a few precautions. Don't do anything without clearing it with the rest of us, and don't do anything rash. Parsons will give you currency chips to acquire shares, within a reasonable budget.”

“And work together,” Diocletia said. “You might not succeed even if you do—but you're guaranteed to fail if you don't.”

10
LORIS UNGER

T
he moment the Hashoones' family meeting was over, Yana marched up the curved ramp of Darklands. Tycho hurried to catch up with her.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To find Loris Unger, of course,” she replied. “If you want to come, better hurry.”

“I'm coming. But relax, Yana. Port Town's not going anywhere.”

He called down to Carlo, who looked up and nodded. “Get the grav-sled ready and I'll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“‘Get the grav-sled ready,'” muttered Yana, wrinkling her nose. “Who does he think I am, Parsons? I don't care how good a pilot he is—when I'm captain, he's off my quarterdeck. He can enjoy the Water Authority or however he wants to spend the rest of his life. I'm serious. I'll get someone from belowdecks before I let him try to order me around.”

“Don't blow a regulator—I didn't do anything. What are you so mad about? We got what we wanted, didn't we?”

“Easy for you to say—
you
didn't spend the whole afternoon being criticized,” Yana snapped, then sighed. “It's just so unfair, Tyke. We're supposed to show initiative, but if you do, it goes in the Log that you were out of line. Sometimes I wish Mom would just admit we're judged on how close what we say is to what she's already thinking.”

“But if you're captain, isn't that a good way to pick your replacement?” Tycho asked.

“If you're making the right decisions. But Mom isn't doing that. More and more she's distracted, or changes her mind, or forgets things. You've noticed that, haven't you?”

“No,” Tycho said, but the thought stuck in his head the rest of the way up the ramp. Yes, Yana was blind to family signals, particularly the ones that indicated it was time to stop arguing. But Tycho knew he had blind spots of his own. And maybe his view of their mother was one of them.

Like Darklands, Port Town had originally been a mine, one dug much deeper into Callisto's outer crust. Atop the settlement, landing fields ringed a dingy transportation hub where the Hashoones rented a grav-sled stall. From there, elevators carried visitors deeper into the old mineshafts and the tunnels connecting them.

The upper levels were well lit and clean, home to government offices, guild halls, and the complexes of Port Town's rich—most of whom were related to the Hashoones in one way or another. Below those levels lay caverns that were still patrolled, but here and there lights were dim, waste pipes leaked, and heat units were broken. And finally there was the lawless maze of the underlevels, where the families of starship crewers and contract miners lived in hovels, waiting for mothers and fathers to return from the stars or the mines.

Carlo, Tycho, and Yana started their search in the mining offices of the midlevels. Several of the companies had employed Loris Unger at one time or another, but he wasn't working for any of them now. After six visits, the siblings had been asked repeatedly to give people's regards to Carina, but they didn't have a single lead on the man they were looking for.

At the seventh company, a guild recruiter said Loris had worked on a dig in the Valhalla craters a month ago. The woman didn't know where he was but said that between jobs he depended on the lower levels' churches for food and shelter, moving between houses of worship as he wore out his welcome or refused offers of help.

“I don't understand—what's wrong with him?” Tycho asked.

“The bottle is what's wrong with him, Master Hashoone,” the woman said. “It's the same thing that's wrong with too many miners and crewers here.”

The Hashoones thanked her, made their way through the throngs to the elevator banks, and descended into the lower levels. There they stepped out into a corridor lit by flickering lights. Fog wreathed their faces, and Yana zipped up the thin jacket she'd worn for the short trip from Darklands.

“I wish I had my parka,” she muttered as they skirted shallow, evil-smelling puddles and piles of trash.

“And I wish I had my carbine,” Carlo said, snapping his coat out of the grip of a ragged figure with a wheedling voice.

“Should we go back?” Tycho asked, peering through the gloom.

“No,” Carlo said. “But let's get this over with and be on our way.”

At least the churches were easy to find—their doorways were brightly lit and free of graffiti. At the Harmonious Home of the Bodhisattva Jizo, a monk directed them to the Port Town Temple and Tzedakah. There, the rabbi apologetically suggested they check with the imam at the Musallah of the Third Pillar. Finally, they were standing outside a boisterous saloon, arguing about whether they were lost, when the door burst open and a trio of wild-eyed, bearded men in spacers' outfits scrambled out, splattering the Hashoones with muck in their haste to be elsewhere.

“And don't stop till you hit Saturn!” bellowed a brawny brown-skinned man with white dreadlocks, shaking a meaty fist at the fleeing spacers' disappearing backs.

“Mr. Grigsby?” Tycho asked.

The
Comet
's warrant officer looked at them in shock.

“What in the name of thunder are you three doing down here?” he asked as a knot of rough-looking men and women rushed out behind him, hands clutching mugs, pistols, truncheons, and razors. The Hashoones recognized Dobbs, Laney, Naisr the loblolly boy, and other familiar faces from belowdecks.

The scrum of Comets came to an abrupt halt, colliding and cursing but managing not to shoot or stab one another. They stared at Tycho, Carlo, and Yana in amazement for a moment, then hastily bowed and muttered greetings.

“Sorry to interrupt what looks like a fine shindy,” Carlo said.

“Oh, we were just settling a point of disagreement,” Grigsby said. “But this is no place for you, Masters—down here you'll be swindled, robbed, or worse.”

Carlo waved that away. “Oh, we'll be fine, Mr. Grigsby. We're Hashoones, after all.”

Grigsby cocked an eyebrow.

“That you are—but this ain't the quarterdeck.”

He turned to Dobbs and grunted something that sent the master-at-arms back into the bar with the rest of their shipmates, after a last round of fingers touching foreheads and tugging at caps.

“'Sides the usual riffraff, there's foreign dogs like the ones we chased out, bent on stirring up trouble,” Grigsby said. “Now then. What brings you to these parts?”

“Just looking for somebody,” Carlo said.

Tycho knew his brother was going to refuse Grigsby's help—because he wanted to get back to Darklands, because he didn't trust the warrant officer with the secret, or both.

“We're looking for a man named Loris Unger,” Tycho said quickly, ignoring Carlo's angry look. “He's a contract miner. We heard he might be at the Musallah of the Third Pillar, but we've gotten a bit turned around.”

“Loris?” Grigsby asked. “You mean old Pieter's son?”

“You know him?” Yana asked.

“Know of him, more like. Most of Port Town's old spacers and their kin are familiar to me. Loris wouldn't be at Third Pillar—kindly folks, but they ain't much for hard cases that can't handle their grog. Most likely he's holed up at Bodhisattva Jizo.”

“We were just there,” Yana said, shaking her head.

“Saint Mary Star of the Spaceways, then,” Grigsby said. “Three levels below us, by the elevators. I better go with you—I don't fancy explaining to the captain how I sent you down there to get killed.”

“It's really not necessary, Mr. Grigsby,” Carlo said.

“Best let me be the judge of what's necessary down here, Master Carlo,” Grigsby said.

Saint Mary Star of the Spaceways was a long single room with pews assembled from old grav-sled benches and an altar that Tycho recognized as a landing skid from a bulk freighter. Holographic Bible scenes shimmered along the walls, dissolving into static at random intervals. But the cross adorning the far wall had been gilded and made with care, and the man coming down the aisle had a broad, kindly face.

“Welcome to Saint Mary's,” he said. “I'm Father Amoss.”

Carlo introduced himself, his siblings, and Grigsby. Father Amoss nodded at each of them, then bumped fists with Grigsby.

“Oh, Alcides and I are acquainted,” he said when the Hashoones looked surprised. “I like to say he has his ministry and I have mine, though our methods are a bit different. And you must be Huff's grandchildren, of Darklands and the
Shadow Comet
.”

“That's right,” Carlo said. “Father, we're looking for a man named Loris Unger. We heard he might be staying here.”

“Is Loris in trouble?” Amoss asked, brow creased with concern.

“No, nothing like that. We just need to talk with him.”

“Yes, he's sleeping here . . . but I don't know if he's around right now. Let me look. We put cots in the old sacristy years ago—with the congregation so much smaller now, we don't need the space.”

He crossed the nave to a narrow door, which he shut behind him.

“If Loris is here, I'll do the talking,” Carlo said.

“After you nearly got us killed on Titan?” Yana asked. “No way. I'll do it.”

“What are you talking about?” Carlo asked. “I'm the one who
saved
us on Titan, remember?”

Yana snorted.

“Saved us from your own mess, maybe. Everything started going wrong when you were rude to Captain Lumbaba's widow. Or have you forgotten that?”

“I was not rude,” Carlo said.

Grigsby watched the argument curiously.

“You were definitely rude,” Tycho said. “Let Yana do it.”

Carlo started to protest.

“Look, Carlo, we're all good at different things,” Tycho said. “For instance, you're a great pilot—”