“No. I came specifically to conduct family business, yet my brother seems to have vanished from the planet. You should be in a position to know something about him. Do you have any idea as to his whereabouts?”

“Yeah, I’d guess he’s at the hospital about now. He’s close to a child over there who’s recovering from a parasite wound.”

“You’d think he would have had the courtesy to meet me at the shuttle field.”

“Falise, did it ever cross your mind that he might not want to see you?”

She let her glare thin to slits. “My family’s business is no concern of yours, Officer.”

“You got it,” Perez said, abruptly turning on her heel and heading to the door. “Don’t leave town. I might have more questions relating to Chad Grunnel’s murder.”

And then she was gone, the duraplast door banging behind her.

Falise placed a hand to her breast. “We need to think this through. With Chad off the board, the entire dynamic is changed. Our opportunities have increased.”

“Only two left,” Ednund agreed with his wily smile.

Falise took a deep breath. “Be that as it may, Perez was right about one thing. We’re not making friends while we’re sulking inside this hovel. Nor are we learning anything that will allow us to capitalize on Chad’s elimination from the game. I’m hungry.”

“The food in the cafeteria was outstanding,” Ednund offered. “Well, at least it was after these last months aboard Turalon.”

“Inga’s,” Clarice said. “Shig Mosadek said it was the best place for news. Supervisor Aguila left us fifty of the SDR coins. If we’re to understand how to exploit this economy, we have to learn the rules.”

“Sucking vacuum,” Falise muttered under her breath, “I’m starting to see why Dan Wirth wanted out of here so badly.”

Falise let Ednund take the lead, not that it was difficult finding the tavern. Walk to the main avenue and turn south. Inga’s was the large dome three blocks down—weathered to be sure—with two benches out front. Several hide-clad men, hard-bitten types with well-used rifles propped beside them, hats pulled low against the too-brilliant light, sat with their booted feet shimmering in laser-like effect as the sunlight played on the thick quetzal leather. The look they gave Falise, in her fine cadmium-yellow soffiber pantsuit, was both amused and dismissive.

Fucking gutter trash, back on Transluna she would have had them arrested for vagrancy and shipped off to the Belt to spend the next twenty years breaking up asteroids.

As she entered the double doors, any hopes for relief crumbled. If this was the high point of Port Authority’s amenities, it would have been an act of mercy to nuke the entire planet. The Corporation could just as easily mine Capella III of its wealth while wearing radiation suits and living in shielded shelters.