“My God, those are fast-moving systems. What is the weather like under them?”
Djuro, who was closest, fingered the shadowscreen. Heikki said, mildly, “You were warned, Jock.”
The screen split, one half still displaying the disk as seen by the forward sensors, the other displaying strings of data from the meteorological stations. Nkosi whistled thoughtfully, and stood up to compare the two pictures more closely.
“The average windspeed seems to be thirty to forty-five kph, the humidity looks miserably high—”
“Not everywhere,” Djuro interjected, with a dry smile.
“—and, Jesus, look at that temperature differential.” Nkosi looked up, one finger tracing a line of cloud on the sensor view. “There must be some pretty big storms in there.”
Heikki nodded, looking up at the displays. “That’s the Ledoma River Plain—the area report will be from weather station red north central. You’ll almost always find some storms along the line of the river.”
“Wonderful,” Nkosi murmured, and turned his attention back to the displays.
Heikki continued staring at the picture, remembering the storms. When the thunderstorms came rushing down out of the hills, as they did almost every day in the long summer, the sky would darken, and the air change slightly, in a way you could not define, but only feel. The wind would come then, little tendrils of air licking at your sweaty skin, a touch that swelled to a breeze and then to a wind that seemed crazy-strong, strong enough to lift you off your feet, so that you ran into it, arms outstretched, yelling for it to carry you away. And then the thunder came, and the adults, and then the pelting rain, and you ran for home, to be scolded when you got there, and to hear the old saying quoted one more time, as you towelled your hair dry; summerwind makes dogs and kids crazy.
She shook herself then, putting aside the too-vivid memory; they would do her no good now, would only distract her from the present day. With a frown, she reached for her workboard and called up the paperwork that had to be completed for the landing, concentrating on the details of shipping certificates and import licenses.
Somewhat to her surprise, the freighter landed as scheduled, and the stewards did their best to minimize the chaos of unloading. There was equipment to spare, but no human beings: she and Djuro and Nkosi together jockeyed the antigrav buoyed crates through the glass walled corridors to the customs station. The inspection there was perfunctory, one tired blond skimming through the disks while another ran an ineffectual looking scanning rod over the sealed crates. Neither seemed to find anything of interest. The first clicked keys on his waist-slung keyboard, adding his own certification codes to the collection of papers, while the second peeled iridescent stickers from the roll hanging at her belt and fixed one neatly to each of the containers. It was all done with only the most necessary exchange of words. Not at all like the usual precinct planetfall, Heikki thought, and her eyebrows lifted in spite of herself. Usually, planetary customs were, if not thorough, at least more than mildly curious about strangers, especially on a world as far from the usual passenger runs as Iadara. Either they received orders from Lo-Moth to pass us through, Heikki thought, or there’s something else going on. She thanked them anyway, with the punctillious politeness she always used when dealing with customs, and joined the others in easing the crates out through the last narrow doorway.
There were autopallets for rent on the far side of the barrier, and Nkosi said, “I will get one.”
“Do that,” Heikki agreed, and stood for a moment, squinting into the sunlight that streamed in through the clear, blue-tinged bricks that formed one wall of the terminal. “What do you think?” she asked, after a moment, and saw, out of the corner of her eye, Djuro’s mouth twist briefly.
“It was funny—not like customs at all. Of course, what can you smuggle in that they can’t already buy? I bet security’s a lot tougher, going out.”
“True,” Heikki said, but her tone was less certain than her words. Still, what Djuro said was true: corporate worlds, especially one-product worlds like Iadara, tended to be fairly lax in what they allowed on-planet. And I expect he’s right, she thought, security will be tighter when we leave. After all, they wouldn’t want to risk losing any of their crystals to the black market.
“Dam’ Heikki?” The voice had a ‘pointer crispness, and Heikki looked up sharply.
“That’s me. Are you from Lo-Moth?” She heard crisp footsteps behind her, and realized that customs had finished with FitzGilbert.
“Yes, that’s right. Ah, Dam’ FitzGilbert, it’s good to see you back.” He looked back at Heikki, with a wary, professional smile that included all the off-worlders. “I’m Jens Neilenn.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Heikki murmured. “My assistant, Sten Djuro, my pilot, Jock Nkosi.”
Neilenn managed a polite greeting for both of them, though Nkosi’s handshake nearly overwhelmed him. The Iadaran was a little man, in his middle forties, with bright eyes webbed in a net of wrinkles: permanent middle management, Heikki guessed, and content to remain there.
“Director Mikelis asked me to act as your liaison,” Neilenn went on. “I’ve taken the liberty of arranging rooms for you at the corporate hostel, but if that doesn’t suit your needs, I can make other arrangements first thing in the morning.”
Morning? Heikki thought. Surely that was morning sunlight outside the translucent wall…. And then she remembered. The spaceport was built to the west of the city, along the east-west axis that would protect it from the worst of the winds. She was looking into the sunset, not the sunrise her body had assumed it to be. “That’d be fine,” she said, and saw FitzGilbert frown,
“Why there?”
Neilenn gave her an uneasy look. “I thought it would be more convenient, if Dam’ Heikki wanted to talk to the people in meteorology….”
“She can talk to them from headquarters,” FitzGilbert said. “You can arrange that, can’t you?”
“Wait a minute,” Heikki said. She smiled at Neilenn, made herself hold the smile as she turned to FitzGilbert. “I’d just as soon leave things as they are. There are people—not just corporate people—I’ll need to see in the city.”
FitzGilbert hesitated for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “If that’s what you want, fine. But the headquarters complex is much—nicer—than the hostel.”
Heikki kept smiling, perfectly aware of the other woman’s real meaning. The hostel would, of course, be perfectly comfortable, even luxurious; Lo-Moth could afford nothing else, for the sake of its own prestige. But it was still in Lowlands, still on Firster territory, and therefore, by definition, inferior. “I’m sure it’ll do fine,” she said, and looked to Neilenn. “I’d appreciate your help in arranging transport.”
“Of course, I’ll have the car brought round,” the little man answered hastily, and fumbled with a touchpad sewn into the pocket of his jacket. “Dam’ FitzGilbert, your car is at the door.”
And that, Heikki thought, with an inward grin, puts us in our place. FitzGilbert nodded perfunctorily, and strode off, her long straight coat snapping behind her like a flag. An interesting woman, Heikki admitted, reluctantly, maybe even a striking one … but I’d give a lot to know why she’s angry at the world. “Let’s get moving,” she said aloud, and stooped to adjust the antigrav unit attached to the nearest crate. The crate rose under her expert touch, and Nkosi slid the autopallet forward neatly, centering it beneath the crate. Heikki touched controls again, returning the crate to a weight that would keep it stable on the pallet, and stepped back as Djuro repeated the process with the second and third, smaller, crates. The entire procedure had taken little more than a minute.
“Dam’ Heikki, sers, the car’s here.” Neilenn blinked nervously up at them.
“Will it be able to take our equipment, or should we arrange for storage here?” Djuro asked.
Neilenn glanced at the pallet. “Oh, we can tow that. Just a minute, I’ll arrange it.” Without waiting for an answer, he
scurried across to a multi-screened kiosk, and ran his hands across its shadowscreen. The screen above lit, displaying the face of a man in a hat badged with Lo-Moth’s logo. There was a brief conversation, conducted in a voice too soft for the off-worlders to hear, and then Neilenn blanked the screen and came back, a faint and satisfied smile on his face.
“All set,” he said. “If you’ll follow me?”
The heat beyond the aqua-glass doors was stifling. Heikki winced, the sweat pearling on her body—this was the part one always forgot, the damp heat of the afternoon—and heard Djuro swear under his breath. She glanced back, and saw him pull the hood of his shirt up over his thinning hair.
“Here we are,” Neilenn announced, and pointed to a vehicle drawn up against the edge of the low walkway. It was a typical ho-crawl, squat and broad-beamed, a closed passenger cabin mounted awkwardly in what would normally have been the front of the cargo well. It was the sort of dual-purpose craft that was common on the precinct worlds, slow and unspectacular, but immensely durable either on or off the existing roads. At the moment, it was configured for on-road travel, its wheels, six sets of three soft tires, each group arranged in a triangle, retracted into the wells while the idling fans kicked up a lowlying cloud of dust. Lo-Moth’s logo was painted on the side of the front-mounted engine housing.
“You said you needed a tow, ser Neilenn?” That was the driver, levering himself out through the window of the driver’s pod so that his forearms were resting on the cloth-covered roof.
“That’s right,” Neilenn answered, but the driver didn’t seem to hear him, staring instead at the off-worlders.
“Heikki? Is that you, then?”
Heikki frowned, trying to place the suddenly familiar face. “Dael?” Time had dealt kindly with him, done little more than thicken an always stocky body, and add a scattering of white to his sun-bleached hair. They were much of an age, had become good friends in the two years just before she had gone off-world.
“My God, it is you.” Dael pulled himself all the way out of the pod, still disdaining the use of the door, and
Heikki couldn’t help smiling at the compact strength of the movement. He moved around the nose of the ho-crawl, swinging his hips clear of the hot engine block, and came forward to greet her, at the last moment changing what might have begun as an embrace into an extension of both hands. Feeling suddenly awkward herself, Heikki took his hands, very aware of unfamiliar callouses. From the expression on his face, Dael was feeling the same awkwardness.
“My God,” he said again. “How long has it been?”
“Years, I think,” Heikki answered, and saw a sudden withdrawing in his face. “It is good to see you, Dael.”
The tension vanished from his smile, and in the same instant, Neilenn made a soft, unhappy noise through his teeth. Heikki glanced toward him, recalled to the business at hand, and saw, behind him, a bank of clouds rising out of the southeast. They loomed up over the low-roofed port buildings, their solid shapes turned a bruised purple by the full light of the westering sun. The wind was changing, too, she realized in the same instant, swinging around so that it was blowing from the heart of the rising storm.
Dael had seen it, too. He eyed the clouds appraisingly, then glanced at the equipment-filled pallets. “We better get loaded up and on the road before that breaks. I’ll drop the wheels.”
Heikki nodded, and Nkosi said, “I will take care of the hookup—if that suits you.” He was looking at Dael as he spoke. The Iadaran looked warily back at him, glancing sidelong at Heikki for her verdict before answering. When she said nothing, he nodded twice, a little too vigorously.
“Thanks. I appreciate the help.”
Nkosi nodded, and moved toward the towpad.
“Does this happen often?” Djuro asked, and jerked his thumb back over his shoulder at the swelling clouds. Heikki bit back a laugh, and Neilenn cleared his throat.
“Almost every afternoon,” he said, and frowned up at the sky. “Though this does look a little heavier than usual, I must say. We should be moving out.”
“What about the pallet?” Djuro asked. “Will it be secure?”
Neilenn looked at the driver, who nodded. “If the weighting’s right, it should do.” He glanced back toward Nkosi, still inspecting the towpad, and called, “Stand clear.”
Nkosi straightened, and Dael leaned back into the ho-crawl, manipulating the controls one-handed. Servos whined, clearly audible even above the noise of the fans, and the wheels came down until they just brushed the paving. He cut the fans then, and the ho-crawl settled heavily, the suspension sighing in protest.
“It should do,” he said again, staring at the numbers on his narrow repeater screen.
Djuro looked as though he would protest, and Heikki said quickly, “It’ll be fine, Sten.”
The little man grimaced, but said only, “Then let’s get going. It looks as though that storm is coming fast.”
Dael levered himself back into the ho-crawl and popped the main door. Neilenn lifted it the rest of the way, and gestured for the off-worlders to enter ahead of him. Heikki started toward it, and Dael called, “Why don’t you ride up front with me?”
Neilenn’s back stiffened, and Heikki said hastily, “I’d like that.” She looked back at Neilenn, forcing a smile so as not to offend. “I used to live here, I knew Dael when I was a kid.”
Neilenn swallowed, visibly remembering that she was a company guest, and nodded. “As you wish.”
Heikki nodded, and reached in through the well’s half-open window to trigger the interlock. It was a gesture of old habit, so old that she could no longer consciously remember the reasons for it—and then she did remember, all the old stories about bandits and the need to keep jungle vehicles secure against them, back before the company had tamed Iadara. Neilenn laughed, the sound making him seem suddenly younger.
“Are you a Firster, then?”
Heikki hesitated, the door already half open under her hand, then shook her head. “Not really.”
In the same instant, Dael said, “Near as makes no difference, she is.”
Heikki looked at him in some surprise, an old anger stirring in spite of herself. Twenty years ago, that admission—that acknowledgement, that claim of kinship—would have meant so much more, would have made such a difference…. She killed the thought, and forced herself to smile again at Neilenn. “I told you, I grew up here. I ran with a lot of Firster kids then.”
Neilenn nodded, clearly a little embarrassed by his own unprofessional behavior, and stooped to follow the off-worlders into the passenger compartment. Heikki ducked into the well, settling herself comfortably on the narrow bench seat at Dael’s side. The Iadaran gave her a companionable smile, his hands already roving across the simple controls as he adjusted power plant and brakes.
“All secure back here,” Neilenn’s voice said from the overhead speaker, and an instant later, Djuro said, “I’m still not comfortable about the tow, Heikki—”
“The tow’s all right,” Heikki answered. “Our crates should be secure against rain, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Djuro answered, but he did not sound fully appeased.
Dael grinned, and eased a lever backward. Gears groaned, a deep sound of metal against metal, and engaged. The ho-crawl juddered forward, bucking once as its wheels jolted onto the metalling of the main road.
Heikki leaned back against the worn padding, staring out the windscreen at a landscape at once strange and painfully familiar. Many of the old landmarks were gone— Goose Green, for one, the old spacers’ bar, no longer flaunted its string of gaudy show lights along the main highway. Instead, its lowlying, barrel-roofed building had been replaced by a series of sleek towers, many bearing the logos of Precincter shipping firms. A.T. Leigh’s was gone, too, but the Good Times Chandlery had actually expanded, a third—or was it the fourth? —flat-paneled khaki-colored prefab wing jutting out from behind the sand-scarred main building.
But the land was just the same, sandy here on the edges of crystal country, bound in place by the ground-growing native clingvines and by more deliberate plantings of imported feather grasses. The latter grew in clumpy stands, man-high or a little taller, a few stalks already sprouting the plumes that would eventually spread their fluffy, pale-pink seed a little further into the relatively fertile midlands between Lowlands and the upthrust central massif.
The road swung wide to avoid a sand wallow, its edges marked by frayed, oncered warning flags whose thin poles were bent into graceful arcs by the still-rising wind. The ho-crawl was pointing inland now, so that she could see the first trees of the midforest, the nearest perhaps two hundred meters from the roadbed, a gnarled, low-growing chaintree with oily, almost-black leaves. Beyond the forest, the mountains of the massif were no more than a smudge on the horizon, indistinct as smoke. That was where the latac had gone down, somewhere up beyond those hills, on the plateau of the ‘wayback, and she was conscious of a faint, almost pleasant excitement, contemplating the job ahead.
“I was sorry to hear about your da,” Dael said, and Heikki recalled herself to the immediate surroundings.
“Me, too. I suppose accidents happen—but that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Especially not so soon after your mother died.” Dael kept his eyes on the road ahead, and the clouds that had almost reached the zenith. “I looked for you at the funeral.”
Heikki knew she blushed, and was annoyed by her own reaction. There was no reason to be ashamed, none at all, but still she found herself answering the unspoken question. “I was on Embros, off the main net, when it happened. They—the local authorities—weren’t able to contact me until it was too late. He was buried before I could find a ship going off-world.”
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