Curse of the Iris Read Online Free PDF

tê with off-duty crewers in the mess or the wardroom.
    â€œMaybe you should have,” Yana said. “Belowdecks, they say every game has a sucker—and if you can’t figure out who it is, it’s you.”
    Kraken Station was a cluster of habitation domes sprawled on the shores of the Kraken Mare, not far from Titan’s north pole. Yana set the gig down on the landing field with a bump that bounced them in their seats and caused Carlo to raise an eyebrow.
    â€œOh, like all your touchdowns are perfect,” she retorted. “I forgot to correct for the thicker atmospheric pressure, is all.”
    â€œToday’s bump, tomorrow’s crash,” Carlo said, looking down at his mediapad. “You’re just lucky Mom wasn’t here to note it for the Log.”
    â€œSorry to disappoint you,” Yana said, peering at the diagnostics readouts. “It’s 200 below outside, so they ought to have a cold jump-pop. I’m dying for one. And maybe some fruit.”
    â€œIt’s not a sightseeing trip,” Carlo chided his sister as Tycho headed down the gangway. “Keep your eyes open—there have been reports of pirate activity around these outposts.”
    â€œGood. I could use a little excitement,” Yana said, marching down the gangway and nearly plowing into Tycho where he stood at the foot of the ramp, staring up at the sky.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she demanded.
    â€œI’ve never been outside and not been able to see stars,” Tycho said. “It’s weird.”
    Yana looked up into the thick orange haze above their heads.
    â€œIt is strange,” she admitted. “Wait a minute . . . TYCHO! Get back in the ship!”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Tycho asked. Then he felt it too—a spatter of liquid on his helmet’s faceplate, followed by another, and then several more. He retreated hastily to the shelter of the gig’s hull, where Yana was scrubbing at her helmet and checking her suit seals.
    â€œMy suit’s fine,” she said. “But I can’t figure out what’s leaking. A fuel line? Coolant?”
    Laughter crackled over their suit radios, and Carlo brushed past them, a carryall over his shoulder. Before either of them could stop him, he strode down the gangplank and out onto the landing pad.
    â€œThe sky is what’s leaking,” Carlo said, turning with a grin. He spread his arms as thick droplets bounced off his helmet and suit and splashed on the landing pad. “It’s just methane—it won’t hurt you. I forgot you two hayseeds have never seen rain.”
    The main airlock for Kraken Station cycled every half hour. First sirens and flashing lights alerted the Huygens-Cassini workers on the landing pad that it was time to grab a place inside the lock. A minute later, the huge outer door shut and pumps vented away Titan’s atmosphere, leaving a vacuum inside. Then air was pumped into the lock and the inner door opened, allowing the workers to remove their helmets and enter the station. Fifteen minutes later, the process was reversed.
    The second Tycho took off his helmet, he wished he hadn’t: the interior of Kraken Station smelled like a nose-wrinkling combination of fuel and sewage.
    Japhet Lumbaba, the son of the Lucia ’s captain, was waiting for them by Huygens-Cassini’s offices. He was dark and slim, almost fragile looking, and dressed in a faded red coverall, with a helmet and thick work gloves slung over one shoulder. He shook hands gravely with Carlo and Tycho, bowed slightly to Yana, and led them deeper into the warren of shops and shelters. They threaded their way through crowds of burly, bearded men in similar coveralls, suits ornamented with a bewildering assortment of meters and probes and graspers and wands. Mixed in with them were more men and women in clothes more suited for working at a desk.
    Refinery workers and pixel pushers, Tycho guessed.