The message cube lit a little before the fourteenth hour, and Djuro sprang to respond, data lens in his hand as he bent over the little display. Heikki waited until he straightened before saying, “Well?”
“I asked the tower to call me when Jock landed,” Djuro answered. “He’s down and safe, and taking a jitney here.”
“A jitney?” Heikki frowned. “Is that wise, under the circumstances?”
Djuro shrugged. “It would take a lot of reprogramming, not to mention leaving tracks everywhere, to subvert a commercial jitney.”
Nkosi arrived not long after, rumpled and cheerful and smelling faintly of sea salts. Alexieva, at his heels, looked far less cheerful, and more rumpled. Heikki, who was all too well aware of the pilot’s apparently inexhaustible energy and equally insatiable curiosity, could almost find it in her heart to feel sorry for the other woman.
“So, what is all this about?” Nkosi unwound himself from his voluminous coat—a Firster coat, Heikki saw without surprise; Nkosi always managed to adopt something from each world he visited—and tossed it onto the nearest chair. “Do you really think this has to do with us, and with our job?”
“Yes,” Heikki said shortly, not wanting to go into the details just at the moment.
“Then there is a double reason for doing what I wanted,” Nkosi said, and glanced back over his shoulder at Alexieva. “We are travelling by freighter, are we not?” Heikki nodded reluctantly, already seeing where this would lead, and Nkosi continued, “Then there should be no difficulty arranging for Alex to share my cabin. Any extra fees I will pay, of course.”
Alexieva made a noise that might have been protest, but Heikki spoke more quickly. “Hold it, Jock. You’re telling me you want to bring Alexieva with you? Why?”
Nkosi frowned. “I should think that would be evident, especially now—”
“Did you plan to ask her before you found out about Jan?” Heikki went on.
Nkosi’s frown was deeper now, but he kept his temper well in check. “As a matter of fact, yes. I had hoped to ask her, that she would accept—and what business is it of yours, Heikki?”
There was a warning in his tone, and in Alexieva’s glare, but Heikki continued in spite of it. “Are you sure it was your idea, Jock?”
“What the hell are you getting at?” Nkosi’s voice was deceptively soft, and very dangerous.
Heikki took a deep breath, controlling her own anger. “Look, Jock, I’m sorry, but I’ve got every reason to think that your friend here is a whole lot closer to Lo-Moth than she let us believe, and I’m not real happy about it. And I’m not real eager to take her back to the Loop with us.”
Alexieva stirred again, but Nkosi silenced her with an outflung hand. “Do you have any proof of this, Heikki?”
“Circumstantial evidence, yeah.” Heikki lifted her head at Nkosi’s whispered curse. “And you know me, Jock. I don’t make accusations lightly.”
“No.” Nkosi’s temper faded as quickly as it had flared, and he turned back to Alexieva. “Well, Alex?”
“Well, what?” The surveyor’s anger sounded convincing. “It’s about time somebody asked me what I had to say.”
“Well, what do you have to say?” Heikki murmured, and Alexieva shot her a look of pure loathing. Then she saw Nkosi’s eyes on her, and controlled herself with an effort.
“I can see how people might say I worked for Lo-Moth,” she said slowly. “Yes, I get a lot of jobs through them, and I have friends in the company. But I don’t— spy—for them, if that’s what you’re accusing me of.”
Nkosi looked toward Heikki, not convinced, quite, but wanting to believe. Heikki said reluctantly, “What about FitzGilbert?”
Alexieva flinched at that, and they all saw it, an involuntary and betraying movement of her shoulders. Heikki saw Nkosi’s expression change, and Alexieva saw it, too. “Yes,” she said abruptly, “I’ve done some private work for Dam’ FitzGilbert, and, yes, she asked me to take this job as a favor to her. So what?”
“Why did she want you to take the job?” Heikki asked.
Alexieva looked again at Nkosi, a glance so rapid as to be unreadable, and answered promptly, “She wanted to be sure there wasn’t another debacle like Foursquare. She thinks something’s going on, and she wanted to have an independent observer—someone she could trust—along on the search.”
That makes a certain amount of sense, Heikki thought, and it fits the facts. And for some reason, I think I believe her. She glanced at Djuro, lifting one eyebrow in question, and the little man nodded slowly. Nkosi was nodding, too.
“If this is true—and I do think it is, Heikki—Alex is still in danger here. I think she should come with us.”
“I would like that,” Alexieva said, low-voiced.
“What about your business?” Heikki asked.
“I have partners.” Alexieva looked up, her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “And what the hell good is a business, if you’re too dead to run it?”
Nkosi grinned, his usual good humor reasserting itself. “You have a point.”
“All right,” Heikki said. “I’ll see if the captain will take another passenger—Jock, you and Alexieva can work out the payment however you like.”
“Thank you,” Alexieva said.
Nkosi nodded. “I appreciate this, Heikki.”
“I hope so,” Heikki answered, but managed a smile to take the sting out of the words. Nkosi laughed, and vanished into his own room, Alexieva following. The door closed behind them, and Heikki shook her head, the smile fading.
“I hope I’m doing the right thing,” she said, to no one in particular, and looked at Djuro. “What do you think, Sten?”
“About what Jan said?” Djuro asked, and shrugged when Heikki nodded. “I don’t know. He could be jealous, you know.”
“Of Alexieva?” Heikki couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.
“Sure. Jock’s a fine-looking man.” Djuro’s voice softened slightly. “And you don’t see things like that even when they’re right under your nose, Heikki.”
Heikki smiled rather wryly, but had to admit the truth of that. “Maybe so. All right, put it down to jealousy, and we’ll take her back to the Loop—but she can keep her distance once we’re there.”
CHAPTER 7
As Heikki had expected, the freighter’s captain was not unwilling to add two more passengers to her manifest, though she did add up the surcharges with an unholy glee. She had not expected that Nkosi would agree so meekly to his share of the outrageous price, but could not complain about the lack of protest. They were able to bring the equipment aboard without interference from Lo-Moth, though Heikki was somewhat surprised by the ease with which she evaded FitzGilbert’s offers of help. The voyage itself was uninteresting, and Heikki spent most of the time in her cabin, trying to sort out the crash data recorded on her disks. She was able to get somewhat further than she had on Iadara, but the captain was unable to spare her enough computer space to run the full scale simulations Heikki wanted. Despite that setback, however, she was able to analyze both the tapes of the wreck site and of the exterior of the latac itself, and by the time the freighter had nosed into its dock on Exchange Point 5, she was certain the LTA had been the victim of a deliberate attack, and thought she could even name the missiles used. Her report might not convince a full court of law, she amended silently, as she thumb-sealed each of three copies, but the tapes would be good enough for any inquiry short of that. The law was, after all, notoriously demanding.
She left Djuro to manage the transfer of their equipment to the next startrain for EP7, and went looking for the nearest locator screen. Its bright blue console stood just outside the entrance to the tunnel that led down to the dock—set there, she knew, for the convenience of the arriving crewmen. The inquiry rates were higher than in the main volume of the station, but she ignored that, and keyed in her request. The machine considered for a moment, then chimed twice. She lifted her data lens to read the output: the neare
st postal station was at the Pod’s core, just outside the main traffic control station. She nodded to herself, dismissing the screen, and looked up to find Djuro watching curiously.
“I have an errand to run,” Heikki said, forestalling any questions. “I’ll meet you at the Station Axis in half an hour.”
“It’s three hours to the next train,” Djuro said, expressionlessly, and Heikki started to swear. She bit back the oath with an effort, remembering where she was, said instead, “All right. We’ll meet at the Club, then. We can get Jan in, can’t we?”
Djuro nodded. “You’ll let Jock take responsibility for Alexieva?”
“He certainly seems to want to,” Heikki said, rather dryly, but nodded. “Absolutely. I’m still not sure we can trust her, Sten.”
“Does that have anything to do with your errand?” the little man asked, and Heikki sighed.
“I—maybe. This whole thing is screwed—fouled up,” she amended, too late, and the inquiry console flashed a plaintext warning. Immodest language is not permitted within the Loop. Visitors are advised to remember local custom. Heikki made a face at it, and moved away from the console’s pickups. “I’ve been doing some work,” she said, lowering her voice, “and I’d like to get the results on record now, just in case there’s any questions later.”
Djuro nodded again. “I think that’s smart,” he said, and Heikki found herself wishing, irrationally, that he’d derided her fears. “I’ll take care of the unloading then, and the transfer. How do you want to handle the transshipment fees?”
Heikki grimaced, annoyed with herself for forgetting, and slipped one of the business’s bankcards from her pocket. “This should cover it. I’ll see you at the Club in half an hour.”
“Right,” Djuro said, and turned away.
Heikki looked away from him, too, along the broader corridor that led toward the center of the Pod. The pods that made up the docking shell were fairly standardized; the fastest path from skin to center would also be the most spectacular. Typical of the ‘pointers, she thought. They want you to be sure and admire what they’ve wrought—and it is admirable, what’s been built out here, out of nothing and less than nothing—but they also know better than to delay a harried businessman.
The corridor sloped gently upward underfoot. She slowed her steps to meet it, and to match ‘pointer expectations: here in the dock shell, precinct behavior was more tolerated, but it was hard enough to move from one mode to the other. From the moment she set foot on an Exchange Point, she had to become ‘pointer from head to toe, or she could never make the transition. She walked carefully, stride restrained, and kept her eyes politely averted from the other pedestrians, assessing them only with the proper, sidelong glance and the reserved and silent smile.
The corridor’s slant became more pronounced, and it curved gently to the left. Heikki allowed herself an all too genuine smile, earning a glance of censure from an elegant man in a severe grey-blue coat, but kept her pace steady. There was a light ahead, very white, like the light of a young sun. Then the polished-bronze arch that ended the corridor loomed ahead, and through it Heikki could see the blinding curve of armored glass that was the wall of the Lower Ring. She suppressed her smile, and stepped through onto the padded tiles.
The transparent wall of glass bowed gently outward above and below a ledge of darkly gleaming glass—a data bar, Heikki knew, but she ignored it, and stepped up to the wall itself, trying to hide her pleasure. Below her lay transfer tubes and the pressurized parts of the docking pods, their interiors visible through the broad bands of armored glass that let in the light of the Exchange Point’s artificial suns. Those long tubes lay overhead, and even with the heavy filters to protect her, Heikki was not tempted to look up. She looked down instead, watching machines as small as ants maneuver the enormous starcrates in and out of the FTLfreighters’ holds. Almost directly below, a customs team was at work, conspicuous in their brilliant yellow coveralls. As she watched, the team leader conferred with the ship’s captain and a woman in a neat, dark red suit—the cargo owner’s factor, Heikki guessed—and then, with a practiced twist, popped the seal on the meter-long packing tube that lay on the bench in front of them. A little of the tube’s cargo spilled, glittering, and the team leader upended the cylinder, pouring its contents across the scratched surface: pearl crystals, the crudest, cheapest, and in some ways the most vital product of any crysticulture firm. The factor cupped her hands to catch a few that bounced away, sparkling, and poured them back with the others. The captain did not move, his eyes on the team leader as he swung his wand slowly back and forth across the spilled crystals. Then the man nodded, resheathing his wand, and another agent moved to sweep the crystals back into their container. The factor extended her board, and the team leader signed it. Deliberately, Heikki turned away, reaching for the data lens in her belt.
Through its circle, the black emptiness of the ledge bloomed with letters: the ship in the dock below was the Kubera, under contract to Salmatagin Bros., Lo-Moth’s largest competitor, just in from Diava; the location code was CF12/145; the station time, 1099. It was the location which interested her, and she ran her hand along the finger-marked flange, the letters blurring and shifting at her touch, until she found the right spot and the diagram-map sprang into existence in the ledge before her. The postal station was not far at all, the corridor where it lay less than five degrees around the Lower Ring’s immense circle. She blanked the screen out of habit, turned to her left, and started off along the curve of the Ring.
It did not take her long to reach the corridor, which led off the Ring at a slight upward slope. Ceiling-mounted signboards pointed travellers to the traffic control center that lay at the corridor’s end, and an enormous notice board filled an entire wall of the center’s small lobby. The postal station stood in the center of that lobby, a red-walled kiosk with an “engaged” sign flashing above its door. Heikki scowled, and walked around to the other side. The second cubicle was unoccupied. She fed the machine her mailcard and ID codes, and stepped inside.
The interior volume was small, but the various vendors were well-stocked. It took only a few minutes for Heikki to find and purchase the necessary packing materials, and seal the disks containing both the raw data and her most recent conclusions into a secure and well-protected package. She hesitated for a moment over the address, and then placed Santerese’s personal mailcode on the seal, and paid the extra charge for security handling. Now only she would be able to retrieve the package from the postmaster’s hands, and there would be precise records of the package’s movements through the system. She worked the package through the acceptance slot, and shut down the machines before she could change her mind. This was probably all unnecessary, she thought, as she let the kiosk door close behind her—and if so, she’d wasted almost a hundred poa on the various handling charges—but she could not shake the feeling that Lo-Moth wasn’t through with them yet.
And there was still Galler to deal with. That thought froze her in her tracks for a brief instant, and then, with an impatient headshake, she started toward the nearest cross corridor. There would be time enough to deal with him once she was home again, and had seen his message. Until then, there was no point in worrying.
The others were waiting for her at the Club, Alexieva wide-eyed at her first real glimpse of ‘pointer life. Djuro had ordered food, and Heikki accepted her share gratefully, sinking into the empty chair at the little man’s side. After Iadara’s damp heat, the Exchange Point’s air seemed almost chill; she shivered, and drew her coat more closely around her shoulders. Alexieva gave her a rather wry smile at that, and Nkosi said, “So, what are your plans for us now, Heikki?”
Heikki, her mouth full and grateful for the excuse, glanced at Djuro. The little man said, “I have tickets for us on the next train to EP7, which leaves in—” He glanced at his own chronodisplay. “—a little less than two hours.”
Watching the others, Heikki saw a brief look of disappointment flicker
across Nkosi’s face, and the frown that appeared momentarily on Alexieva’s forehead. “If you want,” she said, “you’re welcome to come with us. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear. I thought you had other plans, Jock.”
The pilot had the grace to look away at that, smiling rather sheepishly.
“I’d better see to getting tickets, then,” Djuro said, and pushed himself to his feet.
“I’ll come with you,” Nkosi said instantly, and Alexieva stood with him. She was clearly determined not to let the pilot out of her sight, Heikki thought, watching them leave together. I wonder, could she be just as uncertain as I was, once upon a time? The thought was obscurely comforting, and she turned back to her food with renewed appetite.
The others returned with the tickets within an hour, but they stayed at the Club table until only half an hour remained to boarding. Alexieva glanced nervously at the nearest chronodisplay—not for the first time, and Heikki sighed.
“There’s a priority tube from this level to the Station Axis.”
The surveyor flushed, and Nkosi said easily, “She is right, though, Heikki. We should be on our way.”
Heikki nodded, and pushed herself to her feet. Djuro touched the key that would route the table’s final bill to the accounting programs—Heikki had already, after only an instant’s hesitation, routed the charges to the company membership—and gestured for the others to precede him.
The priority tube was as crowded as ever, but there were, for once, enough free jitneys cruising the broad traffic lanes. Heikki lifted her hand in signal, and Nkosi, less inhibited, gave a piercing whistle. One of the signals attracted a computer’s attention, and a passing jitney slowed inquiringly. Heikki held up two fingers, and the jitney slid neatly up to the platform. A moment later, a second joined it.
“Alex and I will take this one,” Nkosi announced, and pulled the surveyor into the crook of his arm. She made no protest, though her rather grim expression did not change.
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