Every four years, in Martian or Venetian orbit or Earth's LaGrange Five, the Orbital Olympics were held. The next Olympics were going to be in Earth orbit, and they were coming up in two years. Geoff and the others had been saving their ice shipment nettings, adding them to the stockpile, instead of selling them on the exchange. They had hoped to get all four of them to Earths.p.a.ce several months ahead of time-hire a professional trainer and enter some of the interplanetary compet.i.tions that led up to the big event. With Joey Spud's ice, they had a real shot at it.

They had all been thinking about the ice. They were supposed to notify someone. But he wasn't going to bring it up if n.o.body else did.

They landed at the mine entrance, near the big mining equipment. They drove their rocketbikes inside the lock and entered the main chamber. The machine shop was huge-a tall-ceilinged chamber dug out by Joey Spud's big tunneler long ago. It had to be big, to handle the machines. Most of the big, planetoid-chewing equipment stayed outdoors, outside the airlock, but the machine shop was littered with gears, cranks, and conveyors so big that standing near them made you feel about as tall as a toy action figure.

"Chiisu-" Ian said. "Anybody want to go launch some spuds?" They'd picked up a few words of j.a.panese slang from Amaya, who had immigrated Upward with her mom from Earth when she was little.

Kam and Amaya said no, but Geoff thought it over and said, "Sure, I guess."

That was the other mystery they had solved when they had first flown out to Ouroboros: the mystery of Joey Spud's nickname. He had a dozen caves piled high with potatoes, dozens of varieties. And other tubers, too: yams, turnips, radishes, carrots, onions, arrowroot, tapioca-just about every kind of root vegetable you could imagine. He had grown them in lighted chambers full of topsoil, and had little robots to tend and harvest them. The maintenance robots were still working-Geoff and his friends had made sure of that-but the garden robots did not work anymore, they just sat around in the tunnels and cul-de-sacs like mechanistic gnomes. The tunnels also housed several varieties of winter squashes, pumpkin, and gourds. He had grown greens, too, but those had long since died. The lights had powered down and the temperatures had dropped when Joey had not returned after a while. All that was left of Joey Spud's vegetable legacy was mounds and mounds of tubers. Enough to feed a small army.

Plenty of the tubers and roots were still good. Geoff and his friends, by virtue of being hungry all the time, not to mention broke, and disinclined to ship their favorite snacks out from Zekeston, had developed a taste for the bounty of the gourd and tuber. They had taken turns fixing chips, fries, mashed potatoes, candied yams, puddings, even pumpkin pie and carrot cake and squash soup. It was a nice change from the a.s.sembled and processed stuff they got back in Zekeston. They had gotten to be pretty good cooks, too.

The stores had obviously been genetically engineered to resist decay, and tubers and gourds are resistant anyway, which was undoubtedly why Joey Spud had picked them. But nothing lasts forever, and they were slowly spoiling. it seemed a shame to waste perfectly good rotten tubers. So in recent weeks they made themselves spud guns, and took bags of bad veggies out onto the surface to see if they could launch them out into orbit.

"I'll get the launchers, you get the spuds," Ian told him. Geoff grabbed a bag and launched himself into a pa.s.sage to collect some rotten potatoes. Then he suited back up and met Ian outside the lock.

Spud launchers weren't very complicated. They had a long pipe fitted with a small chamber at the back end. The chamber had a striker, with a trigger to generate a spark in the chamber. This firing chamber also had a hole between it and the barrel. To load the launcher, you jammed a tuber-or something else roundish of the right size; something with a little give to it-down the barrel. You shoved it hard, to make a good seal against the hole at the back. You poked the needle-thin nozzles of an oxidant and a flammable solvent can into the firing chamber and gave them each a spritz. Aim the gun and strike a spark. The tuber went soaring one way, and unless you were secured to the ground or braced, you went soaring the other.

Geoff launched a spud or two, but his heart just wasn't in it. Instead he leaned against an outcropping to watch as Ian prepped, loaded, and fired off several more rotten tubers. Two or three made it into orbit.

After a bit, they headed back inside. Geoff alighted next to his bike. It was a red and yellow Kawasaki. He had saved for years to buy it. It was his pride and joy. He had had it for just over a year now. He had bought it from a professional racer. It was barely used, top of the line. First the usual checks: he went through the cabinets and inventoried his supplies, and replaced his air canisters. They were all in working order, and the tanks strapped under the footboards had plenty of rocket fuel. Then he ran a cloth along the machine's red flanks, cleaning off the smudges.

Near the machining bench, Ian messed with a not-quite-the-right-part for his bike that he was trying to make fit. Amaya played a strategy game in waves.p.a.ce nearby, without a lot of enthusiasm. Kamal was fooling with some program he had written, trying to get it to work. True to his nickname, Kam liked video, photography, and image manipulation. He wanted to be a professional artist someday.

Geoff lofted himself over to where they had set up the a.s.sembler programming project. The test vat still had plenty of bug juice; they had mined some of the ice in the tunnels underfoot, and thrown in some tubers. The bugs seemed to like the raw bug-feed just fine. He would have to decide what he wanted to build next. He called up his a.s.sembler design tool.

Geoff had not been sure he was ever going to bother with another a.s.sembler art effort. It had been an awful lot of mess. And what if they had been caught? One son dead and the other in jail-his parents would probably disown him. But the truth was, Vivian's warning yesterday evening left him feeling stubborn. He decided to start on another project. Why not? He could use a distraction.

Amaya finally swore, and threw a wrench into her kit with a loud bang! bang! It ricocheted back out but she caught it, and put it in the kit more carefully. They all looked over at her. "Well?" she said. It ricocheted back out but she caught it, and put it in the kit more carefully. They all looked over at her. "Well?" she said.

He knew what she meant, but he still played dumb. "Well, what?"

"How long are we going to pretend nothing's wrong?"

She meant the ice. Of course, she meant the ice. Geoff sighed. "You're right. We'd better notify the authorities."

"I don't see why," Ian said.

Amaya rolled her eyes. "Don't be a jerk, Ian."

"Amaya's right," Geoff said. "We can't not report it. We could get in trouble."

Ian scoffed. "Hundreds of thousands of people in this cl.u.s.ter, and you think a couple tons of sugar-rock is going to matter? It'll be used up in a day or less. And they've put a cap on the price! It's nowhere near what the ice is worth. We'll lose everything. We'll be stuck out here forever."

Being stuck on a backwater stroid for the rest of his days wasn't Geoff's idea of a good time, either. Joey had handed him the granddaddy of all good fortune, and now it was about to be s.n.a.t.c.hed away by the same disaster that had stolen his big brother.

"I say we hold on to it," Ian said. "My dad says that a big ice shipment is coming Down even now. Lots of people are h.o.a.rding till it gets here. Why should we give up our ice when n.o.body else is?"

No one said anything.

"Don't you get it?" Ian demanded. "This is our very own sugar rock! Like the Eros sugar rockers!"

Kam said, "Uh... didn't the original sugar rockers actually donate donate their ice to the cl.u.s.ter?" their ice to the cl.u.s.ter?"

"Whatever! You get what I mean."

The compulsion was powerful to just go along with what Ian was saying. But Geoff kept picturing Carl's face. He knew what he would say.

"It won't wash, Ian."

"Oh, I get it. You're the big hero now. You saved the day and so you get to call all the ops."

Geoff didn't ordinarily lose his temper with Ian, but today his words grated. "It's my ice. It's my decision."

Ian's fists clenched. "You said we were going to share. The ice is mine, too. And Kamal's, and Amaya's. You can't go back on that now."

Geoff felt shaky all over. He felt like he had with his dad, back at the memorial. No, No, he thought. he thought. Not this time. Not this time. "Too bad you didn't get it in writing, because that's exactly what I'm going to do." "Too bad you didn't get it in writing, because that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Traitor! Traitor!"

"Who's the traitor? You're the one holding out on the cl.u.s.ter."

Ian launched himself at Geoff with a yell, and slammed him into one of the bug tanks, next to the piping. Geoff shoved him back, and leapt high into the chamber-bounced off the ceiling, tumbled to the floor. Ian had landed in a crouch. They both panted, glowering.

Ian said, "You're a wuss. c.u.n.t. Coward."

"Hey!" Amaya said, indignant.

"I can see you about to p.i.s.s in your pants from over here. You think you can beat me? Your brother fought all your fights for you. Who's going to fight for you this time? Amaya? Maybe Kam."

At the mention of his brother, Geoff felt something snap. Red washed across his vision. He had always thought that was just a figure of speech. He launched himself at Ian, barely registering his friend's startled look, and grabbed him in a choke hold. In grim silence, he pummeled Ian's head and face.

Ian fought back. They went into a wild, flailing tumble. Ian was bigger than he was, but that did not matter today. Three times Geoff struck furniture, equipment, walls, but he did not feel it. He rammed Ian into a corner and pinned him there, and hit him till Ian stopped fighting and started crying for him to stop. Kamal and Amaya finally managed to get Geoff off Ian, who bolted away, trailing small blood globules that tumbled, steaming, in the cool air.

Ian eyed Geoff from across the way, breathing heavily. Then he sprang over to his suit. Kamal went over and tried to calm him down, but Ian turned and spat blood in Kam's face. The three of them just watched as Ian grabbed his bike and shoved off, blasting fumes into their faces as he headed for the airlock.

Amaya shook her head as the airlock door closed on Ian. "What a loser." She tossed Geoff a shop rag. "Here. You've got a b.l.o.o.d.y nose."

Geoff swiped the blood from his face. They all heard the outer lock release. The rage was fading and Geoff felt sick to his stomach. Kamal came over. "You OK?"

Geoff nodded, trying to staunch the blood. Now that the fight was over, the chamber's cold draughts made him shiver. One of Joey Spud's old vacubots hoovered through the air, humming as it sucked up the blood, spit, and debris that their fight had stirred up.

"He shouldn't have said that," Amaya said.

Kamal nodded. "He was out of line."

Rather than reply, Geoff shoved off over to his own suit and helmet, tied to the seat of his bike. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Kamal asked.

Geoff struggled into his suit, trying not to wince. He was going to hurt even worse tomorrow. "To find Ian." He belted himself onto his bike and ran through his prelaunch checks of air and fuel and suit environmentals. Amaya's arms crossed and her lips thinned.

"He can go to h.e.l.l," she said. Geoff eyed her.

"Seriously," she said. "I have had it with him. He's a s.h.i.t."

Geoff sighed. "He's injured. It's three hours back to Phocaea. Joey Spud always said, the Big Empty is a motherf.u.c.ker. I'm not ready to lose anybody else I care about. Not even Ian when he's in jerk mode."

He did not wait for their answer, but finished suiting up. After a moment he heard them go for their own bikes, and felt relieved.

After the memorial Jane went to see her mentor, Chik.u.ma Funaki. Aswarm in "Stroider" glitter, Jane stood at the gate at the Funaki family estate in Path of Seven Stones.

Chik.u.ma approached. Her deliberate gait was not because she was old-antiage meds and exercise had kept her in good shape, for a woman closer to two hundred years old than one-and not because of the gee pull, though her home was in one of the heaviest districts in town. She simply did not see the point in hurrying. She had told Jane once that she preferred to take stock of the world as she went. There was always more time for reflection and appreciation of one's surroundings, she said, than people credited. It was simply a matter of setting one's priorities.

Chik.u.ma unlocked the gate. As with Benavidez, the "Stroiders" infestation was not allowed into Chik.u.ma's home; a curtain of sparks and hissings-antimote spray-erupted around her as Jane pa.s.sed through the gate. They bowed.

"Thank you so much for making the time to see me."

"Not at all," Chik.u.ma said, "not at all." She tucked her arm through Jane's and escorted her through the house to the little garden where Chik.u.ma preferred to hold tea ceremonies.

They knelt at the low table. Chik.u.ma's eldest great-great-great-great-granddaughter Yoko served them jasmine tea imported from Earth, and cakes. They chatted for a bit, exchanging news of their families. As Yoko departed, she knelt by the door and opened the valves on two small tanks there. A faint mist filled the air. It chilled Jane as it settled on her skin, and had a faint, spicy scent-cardamom, or turpentine. Then she bowed deeply, and left, closing the rice-paper shoji behind her.

Jane's eyebrows went up, and she looked at her sensei.

"More protective enzymes," Chik.u.ma said. "A specially concocted blend. We've installed other new antispy measures as well."

"Not taking any chances, I see."

"There have been developments. You've heard Ogilvie & Sons is behind this?"

"I have," Jane replied. "Their legal representative in the ice negotiation is a Nathan Glease, an attorney from Mars whose law firm is a.s.sociated with the Ogilvie family. He just tried to bribe me."

"Yes?" Chik.u.ma's eyebrows floated up on her wrinkled forehead.

"Yes. Also, my stores chief Sean came to me this morning with evidence that the warehouse incident was sabotage. I believe Glease must be responsible for it, but I don't yet have proof. I just wonder what the h.e.l.l else he has been up to."

"Do you know who Benavidez has a.s.signed to close the ice deal?"

"The prime minister himself is handling the negotiations."

They were quiet for a few moments, sipping tea. Chik.u.ma said, "We believe Ogilvie & Sons has already infiltrated parts of Phocaea's power structure. We have to know who their local allies are."

Jane eyed her sensei, appalled. "What a dreadful notion. Likely suspects? Do you have a list?"

Chik.u.ma tilted her head; the jewel ornaments in her hair bobbed, catching the light. "Anyone who benefits if the current power structure is overturned. I can think of several, offhand. The opposition party. An ambitious official in Benavidez's organization. Someone local with connections to a large shipping conglomerate we don't currently service. The Viridians."

"Whoa... wait. The Viridians? What do they gain if the mob comes in?"

"They are tolerated," Chik.u.ma said, "and as political refugees from the Downside Gene Purges, they have certain rights and protections. But most Phocaeans find the Viridians repugnant, and avoid them. They are isolated. They have their own little enclave, but are unable to wield much influence in Phocaean culture or government at large."

"But I've always gotten the sense that they prefer it that way," Jane said. "They don't seem interested in anything beyond their gene tampering and their biodigital art projects."

"Perhaps," Chik.u.ma replied. "Or perhaps they resent their isolation. Ogilvie & Sons may be offering them the opportunity to play a larger role in Solar politics. We've been having Mr. Glease watched. Look."

Chik.u.ma linked their wavefaces and showed Jane a time-stamped image of an Upside-Down shuttle crawling across 25 Phocaea's barren landscape to dock with one of the city-to-surface lifts. The date was a week ago. Jane c.o.c.ked an eyebrow.

"Are you hacking 'Stroiders' now, Sensei?"

"Don't I wish! But we do have access to nearly all the local surveillance systems. And they have come in handy. This shot is from one of your surface warehouses. This next, we switch to the lift that shuttle just docked with. See that woman there?" she said, pointing. The view clearly was from a camera mounted in the upper corner of a lift. The woman was tall and thin and wore standard Phocaean garb. Strands of Viridian double-helix lights twined around her shoulder wrap. "We reviewed Nathan Glease's contacts from when he first arrived here, and did some cross matching. We looked for connections-meetings or calls that occurred within a short time of his contacting different groups. This one stood out.

"She is Vivian Wathra Wa Macharia na Briggs. Originally from Earth, Federal Africa, although her family moved to an Earth orbital when she was a teen. She is registered as a technology consultant. Upside-Down hired her only days after Mr. Glease had contact with Mr. Sinton, local head of Upside-Down."

Jane studied the figure. "That sounds like an African name, but she looks Caucasian. What do we know about her?"

Chik.u.ma lifted a hand in a shrug. "Very little. She has been around for a few months. She has duel citizenship, Lunarian and Kenyan." Jane looked again. "You believe she is spying on Upside-Down for the mob?"

Chik.u.ma replied, "Spying on Upside-Down for the Viridians more likely, or on the mob itself, while doing-or at least pretending to do-what Nathan Glease asks." She gestured at the Viridian's image with polished nails, and sat back cupping her tea. "I have no hard proof, but my instincts tell me that Glease may have struck a deal of some sort with the Viridians. But the Ogilvies certainly see the Viridians merely as useful perversions. They fail to understand their deeper motives. Of all of the aspects of the Ogilvies' plan, that may be their weakest point."

"What do you mean, Sensei?"

Chik.u.ma stared into her teacup. She shook her head and again the jewels in her hair danced. "I cannot be sure. All I am certain of is that the Ogilvies do not understand the Viridians." She sipped tea, and Jane waited for her to continue. Chik.u.ma finally set down her cup, and arranged her kimono with a deft tuck under her ankles.

"To the outsider," she said, "the Viridians seem deceptive. Manipulative. They wrap themselves in illusion. They skirt the edges of the law. At first glance, they are a natural ally to mobsters who wish to disrupt the existing order. But the Viridians respond to a deeper call. Their beliefs have led them to change themselves into something we do not fully understand. Those changes, that commitment, that vision-however repugnant we may find it-binds them to each other more deeply even than the family and business ties that bind the Ogilvies. Their way of being is not simply about their own status. There is more to them than that. Much more." After another pause she said, "They will be a force to be reckoned with."

Jane finished her tea. "I will bear that in mind, Sensei. Thank you." She went on, "There is something else you should know. The Ogilvies have many ships stationed within one and two weeks' pa.s.sage of here. At least two dozen." Chik.u.ma looked at Jane. Her expression did not change, but Jane sensed her shock. "We believe they plan to send troops regardless of the disposition of the ice."

"That is good to know sooner than later," Chik.u.ma said. "We will do all we can on our end to prepare."

They spoke of other things, then: family and mutual friends and acquaintances. Jane took her leave, refreshed and with much to think about.

Geoff, Amaya, and Kam tried calling Ian during the ride back, but he did not answer, and he wasn't in the bike hangar when they reached 25 Phocaea. But his bike was there, and the hangar owner said he had just left.

"Did he say where he was headed?" Geoff asked. The older man shook his head. "No idea. Sorry."

"Where would he go?" Geoff asked the other two. Kam shrugged, but Amaya's eyes narrowed. "I think I know where. Come on."

They followed her to the lift station and boarded a lift. As they descended through the rock layers, she elaborated. "He went down to the Level-240 Promenade. To Industry Row."

"Huh? Why?" Kam asked. But Geoff got it. "It's the black marketers' neighborhood."

"He knows we're going to turn over the ice," Amaya said. "He's going to try to sell it before we can notify the authorities."

Kamal's face darkened. "That a.s.shole."