The look of annoyance faded, and Galler managed what might have been a nod of approval. “Of course, at once.”
Most of the other pedestrians seemed to have had the same idea. It was easy to lose themselves among the crowd streaming toward the end of the street, but once they had reached the round plaza where the jitneys were swarming, Galler turned left again, doubling back toward Tremoth’s offices.
“Are you crazy?” Heikki asked under her breath, and Galler darted an annoyed glance at her.
“Not entirely. We’re more likely to pick up a jitney here, before they get to this mob.”
There was logic to that, Heikki admitted silently, and made no further protest, though she sighed with relief when they turned station-north again, back toward the center of the Exchange Point. As Galler had predicted, the streets were less crowded, and jitneys streamed past them, summoned by the central computer to the scene of the sudden demand. Galler did not signal one until they were well away from the jewelers’ district, and Heikki had to approve the tactic. There was no sense in allowing themselves to be connected in any way to the disturbance they had just left.
At last, however, Galler lifted his hand as a jitney turned down the street toward them, saying in the same moment, “I hope you have some cash slips?”
“Typical,” Heikki said, bitterly. “Yes, some.” And I’ll be damned if I tell you how much I’m carrying, she added silently.
“Well, I hope it’s enough,” Galler answered, and opened the jitney’s passenger compartment.
“Probably,” Heikki said, with equally false good humor, and the jitney said, “Destination, please?”
Galler’s face stilled, all trace of banter vanishing. “Pod Twenty-One, level six, fourth court. The traffic circle there,” he added, forestalling the next question.
“Acknowledged,” the jitney answered, and slid smoothly away from the curb.
“Where—?” Heikki began, and bit back the rest of her question.
Galler, however, did not seem disturbed, but leaned back against the seat cushions. “Home. Or what passes for home these days.”
Was that wise? Heikki wondered, but could not bring herself to question her brother further. Still, it wasn’t like Galler to be less than devious.
She had her answer quickly enough. They changed jitneys three times before Galler finally seemed satisfied, and directed the last machine to take them to the Samuru Court in Pod Fourteen. This was on one of the lower levels, where the semi-transient populations, the people who worked in transport or trade rather than in the prestigious sedentary jobs, tended to live. Heikki glanced surreptitiously at her lens, and saw that the area was shaded pale green, a mix of light commerce and housing.
The jitney deposited them on the edge of the Court, and Galler led them slowly around almost the full circle, watching their reflection in the shop displays to see if anyone was following them. At last he nodded to himself, and cut directly across the Court, dodging the anemic fountain. He was headed for side street eighty-two, Heikki thought, but then he changed direction as abruptly as before, and ducked into an ungated door between two shops. She was caught wrong-footed, stumbled and swore, and Galler hissed at her to be quiet.
They were in what seemed to be a machinists’ service alley, a dark cul-de-sac between the buildings, with hatches in the walls to either side that probably concealed the shops’ utility panels. Heikki frowned, and Galler said, to the apparently blank wall at the end of the alley, “Apartment Five. And one guest.”
Oh, I see, Heikki thought, and wondered if she could afford to be amused. This was a “privacy flat,” the sort of place rich businesspeople hired for unapprovable lovers. I wonder if my little brother is renter or beneficiary? Probably the renter, she decided, with some disappointment, and probably for political rather than sexual reasons.
At Galler’s words, the wall slid aside silently, revealing a tiny entrance hall and stairway quite at odds with the just-respectable shops that ringed the Court. The walls were painted a pale and dusty rose-red, and a pattern of wave-like whorls had been etched into the surface; the carpet—and it was carpeting, not plush tiling—echoed that pattern in darker shades. Heikki mouthed a soundless whistle, and Galler gave her an almost embarrassed look.
“It serves its purpose,” he said, and started up the stairs.
“And what is that?” Heikki asked, following. Galler pretended he hadn’t heard.
Galler’s flat was on the third level—which reassures me a little, Heikki thought. At least he wasn’t paying premium rents, not if he actually had to walk all that distance. She grinned to herself, but the smile faded as Galler unlocked the flat’s door.
The place was tiny, only two miniscule rooms, plus bath cubby and the wall kitchen only half hidden by a folding screen, but it was perfect, the sort of luxury Heikki herself had only dreamed of.
“You do all right for yourself,” she said involuntarily, and winced, hearing the envy in her voice.
Galler heard it too, and smiled as he waved her toward the couch that dominated the tiny main room. He said nothing, however, busying himself instead with the touchpad set into the wall beside the door. Security systems, Heikki guessed, and, moved by an obscure impulse, kicked off her shoes on the mat by the door before settling herself not on the couch but on the meter-tall pillow that was the room’s only other chair. Seen up close, the room was less impressive, the furniture not of this year’s, or even last year’s, style, the single flower—a pseudo-orchid as big as her head, fushcia edged in black, vivid against the discreet cream walls— fabric and wire rather than a live blossom. Even so, Heikki thought, it still proves a corporate salary’s better than mine. She had not needed the reminder, and the annoyance soured her voice as Galler turned away from the wall panel.
“So what’s going on, little brother?”
“Well you should ask.” Galler seated himself on the couch and moved aside a concealment panel to touch buttons on a hidden remote. A bar set-up, complete with bottles and fancifully molded ice, rose from the floor in front of him. He reached for a glass, began to fill it, and then belatedly remembered his manners.
“Help yourself, please.” Heikki shook her head, and Galler went on, “Trouble and more trouble, that’s what’s going on. What did you find on Iadara?”
Heikki laughed without humor. “Oh, no, you first.”
Galler grimaced, the ice snapping in his glass as he poured ink-blue liquor over it. “I’ve worked for Tremoth almost twenty years,” he began, and then shook his head. “No, let’s not descend to self-pity. What’s going on….I’m not completely sure, Heikki, but if what I think I’ve figured out is right, we’re not just going to get sued, we’re going to get lynched.”
“Who’s we?” Heikki asked pointedly, and Galler laughed.
“Tremoth, Gwynne. All of us.”
“Not me,” Heikki said. She shook her head. “You got in touch with me, Galler. You asked for my help, and got me into a lot of trouble in the bargain. Give.”
Galler stared into his drink for a long moment. “The crystal matrix you were hired to find,” he said at last. “Apparently the structure was derived from research that Tremoth did about a hundred and fifty years ago. I found that out—it’s part of my job, checking up on things like that, just so no one can sue us for stealing ideas—and when I told my boss, he hit the roof.”
“Why?” Heikki asked. “Lo-Moth’s practically part of Tremoth. It’s not like they were stealing it from you—is it?”
Galler shrugged. “Normally, no. When our techs have a good idea, it usually gets farmed out to the appropriate subsidiary. It’s just logic, they have the facilities and a lot more hands-on experience than we do. But this time … This time, my boss threw a fit, started me hunting who’d passed the matrix codes, and then who had access to the relevant files, all of that. I found it, all right—it was old data, back in the historical files, so I assumed it was something that had been proved unworkable, and passed all tha
t along to my boss. Two weeks later, I was transferred to a different division.” He managed a rather strained smile. “Which was something of a shock, as I’d thought I was doing rather a good job.”
“Just who was your boss, Galler?” Heikki interjected quietly.
“A man named Daulo Slade.” Galler smiled again. “As you knew, and it gets better. He was a rising man, he seemed a good person to get in with, even if he is a Retroceder—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Which isn’t important. Anyway, all of this aroused my curiosity, of course, and I kept an eye—a discreet eye, I thought—on the Lo-Moth project. The next thing I heard, the matrix had been lost in an LTA crash on Iadara.”
“Which wasn’t what you normally think of as a crash,” Heikki murmured. Galler lifted an eyebrow, and Heikki allowed herself a slight smile. “Somebody shot it down. They went through the wreck pretty thoroughly, too.”
“Did you find the matrix?”
Heikki shook her head. “They must’ve taken it. We were pulled off the job before I could do anything about tracking them. The trail was pretty old, anyway.” She looked at her brother. “Did you pull us out, Galler?”
“No.”
For once, Heikki thought, I think I believe you. One corner of Galler’s mouth twitched upward, as though he’d read her mind.
“Did you have a chance to do any work at the site?”
“Of the crash? No, the orcs were swarming. All we had time to do was take tapes.” Heikki matched her brother’s twisted smile. “Which Lo-Moth—or more precisely, your ex-boss—took from us.”
“Slade was there himself?” Galler’s hand, which had been idly swirling the ice in his glass, froze suddenly. “That I didn’t know—it wasn’t in the networks I had access to. He was supposed to be on personal leave.”
He was looking expectantly at Heikki now. “So?” she asked. “I don’t—”
“You don’t understand,” Galler interrupted. “I’m supposed to have full access to all of that information, supposed to be able to find anybody, of any rank, anywhere and any time. That’s part of being a liaison, finding people—and knowing when not to find them, of course. But the point is, I should’ve known.” He put his drink aside. “Do you have copies of those tapes you took?”
Heikki hesitated, and Galler waved his hand impatiently. “Of course you do. Oh, damn it, why didn’t you have the sense to pick up those tapes I’d left in my office?” He stopped abruptly, fought himself under control. “Gwynne—Heikki, I have to see the tapes you made.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the only way I can save myself, and you, and your Santerese and maybe a lot of other people.”
Since when did you ever care about anybody except yourself? The words trembled on her tongue, but there was something in Galler’s voice that silenced her. She said instead, “Why don’t you finish the story? What happened to you—why were the securitrons waiting for me at your office?”
Galler waved an impatient hand. “Politics, partly, and of course I’d read the files. But I don’t have a lot of friends in the company. Anyway, someone started fiddling with my personal records, especially finances, slipping in backdated deposits I hadn’t made—purchases, too, just to balance things. Shen—you met her, my secretary? She alerted me, I looked over the books, and realized there wasn’t anything I could do to get out of a probable embezzlement charge, at least not quickly enough to do any good. So I called you.”
“What did you expect me to do about a charge of embezzling?” Heikki asked, almost with resignation.
“Nothing, directly. But I knew you’d’ve kept the survey tapes, and I thought I might be able to make you mad enough to steal my disks—I can’t believe you didn’t—and that would give me enough data to prove my charges.”
Heikki was very aware of the disks jammed into her belt under her ribs, but made no move to betray that pressure. She said, slowly, not sure she wanted to hear the answer, “What was in those files you read, Galler?”
Galler looked back at her, his expression suddenly old. “I think—I can’t prove, but I think—that the EP1 disaster wasn’t caused by trying to fit another generator into the stability. The crystals—the core crystals—were flawed. Maybe deliberately so.”
There was a long silence. Heikki shivered, though the room was warm enough. If that was true, then Galler was right, this would not merely ruin Tremoth as a business, but half the galaxy would be after blood. “Why?” she said at last. “Why would they do that?”
Galler shrugged. “EP4 is the biggest of the stations on the Loop, just because there are four railheads here. The Southern Extension was slated for development next, and EP1 was getting five railheads. EP4 would probably have lost its primacy. Tremoth has a lot invested in EP4.”
Heikki shivered again, cold fear creeping along her spine. All that, all that destruction, the lives lost and an entire habitable system abandoned, its one possible Exchange location choked now with debris that was too massive to remove or destroy, and all for money, for abstract numbers in the system computers. “They wouldn’t’ve been poor,” she said almost to herself. “They’d still have been the main connector to the Northern Extension, still had all those profits, and Tremoth would’ve been handling it still—they wouldn’t’ve been poor.” She looked at Galler. “They just wouldn’t’ve been first.”
Galler nodded slowly. “These things matter, Heikki.”
Heikki shook her head in pointless denial. “They damn well oughtn’t,” she said fiercely, and knew even as she spoke that the words meant nothing to her brother. “Tell me,” she said instead, “would you have said anything, done anything, if they hadn’t tried to do you in?”
“Are you crazy?” Galler looked almost annoyed, as though the retort had been surprised out of him. “What good would it have done? The disaster was a century and a half ago. Their great-great-grandchildren are old now, the people who died then. No, if I’d been left to myself, I would’ve buried the file, manufactured a good reason for Lo-Moth not to pursue the crystal pattern, and left it all strictly alone.”
If you were paid enough, Heikki thought. Something of her disbelief must have shown in her face, and Galler’s chin lifted. “It could only hurt everybody, bringing it up now. It should’ve stayed well buried.”
“But now you’re willing to bring it out into the open?” Heikki asked.
“I’m not willing to go to prison for them,” Galler answered. “Not now.”
But you would’ve been, Heikki realized, if they’d asked right, and then none of this would’ve happened. She was suddenly very tired, tired of the whole miserable business and of her own involvement, even of her own anger. Galler was right, nothing good was going to come out of this, even though a part of her wanted to see the proper persons blamed, a measure of justice served, late as it was for that storybook ending. And once again, her brother had left her no choice at all.
She shook herself, and leaned forward to the drinks tray, made herself take her time mixing a stiff drink, pouring the liquors, then adding ice in shapes like seastars. She sipped it thoughtfully, wondering what they could do now. Get off EP4 for a start, she decided, get back to EP7 and Santerese—back to EP7, she corrected herself sternly, where you are a known and respected businessperson, and your word will be worth something against even Tremoth Astrando. My tapes are there, too, and maybe a proper analysis will show us something useful. Galler’s disks might be useful, too, and she leaned forward a little to feel their edges digging into her ribs. She became aware that Galler was watching her with hooded eyes, an expression she remembered from their childhood.
“What I’d like to know,” she said slowly, and saw Galler lean forward fractionally, “is why they kept any record at all.” Galler frowned, and Heikki elaborated. “Records of the crystal pattern, I mean. If Tremoth did cause the disaster, why not destroy everything that could possibly reveal that fact?”
Galler shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the original recorders
were afraid that destroying files would tip off the people who’d actually worked on the project, make people remember things.” His mouth twitched again. “In fact, I bet they handled that the way they should’ve handled Lo-Moth, just quietly dropped the project as though it hadn’t worked out.” He leaned forward to pour himself a second drink, and Heikki saw for the first time that his hands were trembling. “What really concerns me right now is what to do next.”
Heikki allowed herself a second of exultation, but kept her face sternly expressionless. “First thing, we need to get off EP4. Tremoth has entirely too much influence here.”
“I’ll agree with that,” Galler muttered.
“I say we go to EP7,” Heikki continued. “I have friends there, and the authorities know me.” Belatedly, she remembered the charges Santerese had mentioned, but suppressed the thought. One thing at a time, she told herself, and went on as though nothing had occurred to her. “Plus we can analyze the wreck tapes there. That will give you a bit more ammunition when you go to the Authority.”
Galler grimaced, but nodded. “They’ll be monitoring ticket sales, you know.”
“Depends on how closely,” Heikki answered.
“Probably very,” Galler muttered, touching keys on his remote, and looked at the chronodisplay that blossomed on the far wall. “It’s too late now—there won’t be enough traffic in the networks to hide me. I’ll test the waters in the morning, all right.”
“All right,” Heikki said. “How secure is this place, anyway?”
Galler grinned. “Nobody from Tremoth is going to come near us.”
Heikki’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be so sure?”
“The president of Tremoth herself keeps her latest boyfriend in the flat below us. Nobody from the company would dare come around here, just in case they had to notice something.”
Heikki woke to the spattering of a keyboard in the main room. She pushed herself upright in the massive bed—Galler had offered to sleep on the couch, and Heikki had not felt chivalrous enough to insist on accepting that hardship herself—and cocked her head to listen. Sure enough, beneath the steady clicking she could hear the sound of a synthesized voice turned low, and the humming of a portable screen. As promised, Galler was testing the waters, she thought, and swung herself out of bed, reaching for the clothes she had discarded the night before. Shirt and shift were both sadly crumpled; she smoothed the fabric ineffectually for a few minutes before giving up and starting out into the main room.
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