responsible for the crash.”
“It would have been nice to know that two days ago,” Heikki said sourly, cutting off Alexieva’s angry response. “Whatever happens, we’re getting paid in full.” Djuro looked up at that, and Heikki nodded. “Oh, yes, and I didn’t even have to scream about it. They’ve asked us to turn over the disks as soon as possible; I told them I could have them ready tomorrow morning. We won’t bother doing any analysis, we’ll just hand them the raw data.”
“You’re just going to do it?” Sebasten-Januarias demanded.
“I don’t have any choice,” Heikki answered, and cut off further protest, saying, “Look, Jan, technically we don’t have any cause for complaint. They’re willing to pay our contract in full, even though we haven’t completed the work. What can I object to?”
“So this is it,” Alexieva said.
Heikki looked at her. “That’s right.”
“What are we supposed to do now?” Sebasten-Januarias asked, “Just go home?”
“I’ll send your voucher tomorrow,” Heikki said. “Unless you don’t trust me?”
Sebasten-Januarias shook his head. “Tomorrow’s fine.” He turned on his heel, and stalked off toward the terminal.
“I’ll be going, too,” Alexieva said. Her voice was utterly without expression, but Heikki thought she glimpsed an unbudging anger in the other woman’s eyes. She watched the surveyor walk away, and sighed slowly, the tension that had sustained her draining from her.
“So you’re thinking of fighting this,” Djuro said.
Heikki looked at him, startled, then gave a lopsided smile. “I’ve been considering our options, yeah. How’d you know?”
“Putting the innocents out of reach,” the little man answered dryly, and surprised a laugh from her.
“Well, it wouldn’t be right to get them into trouble with the company, not when they have to live here.”
“Is there anything you—we—can do, do you think?” Nkosi asked, and Heikki shook her head slowly.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
The hostel was very quiet on their return, even the faint electronic murmurings of the concierge seeming somehow muted. Heikki led them through the silence to the lift, saying nothing until they were inside the suite and she had switched on the minisec. Even then, she sat very still, staring at the monitor cube, and tried to think of something that would take away the feeling of failure.
“I will make drinks, shall I?” Nkosi said, after a while, his voice sounding very loud and cheery after all the silence. He disappeared into the suite’s kitchen without waiting for an answer; Heikki and Djuro sat listening for what seemed a very long time to the muted whirring of machines, before the pilot returned, bearing an enormous pitcher and three stacked plastic tumblers. He filled the glasses with exaggerated care, then handed one to each of the others. “I would like,” he said, “to propose a toast. Murphy strikes again.”
Heikki chuckled in spite of herself, and lifted her glass in answer.
“Murphy,” Djuro said, the same wry smile on his face. They touched glasses solemnly, and Heikki took a long drink. It was one of the elaborate—and extremely potent—sweet-sour concoctions that Nkosi usually reserved for his women-of-the-moment, and she couldn’t help raising an eyebrow.
“It is all I know how to make, these days,” Nkosi said, with a shrug and a smile that were more boast than apology.
“I’m surprised anyone can function after one of these,” Djuro said.
There was a little silence then, and Heikki cleared her throat. “All right. I figure we have the following options.” She held up her hand, ticking each one off on her fingers as she spoke. “First, we can do nothing—hand over the data and go home with our pay. Second, we can refuse the money, keep the disks, and file an official protest, probably with the Contracts Board.”
“They’d laugh us off the Loop,” Djuro muttered.
“Probably.” Heikki allowed herself another lopsided smile. “Third, we can play for time—turn over copies of the data, or maybe even turn it over in installments, and put Malachy onto the contract itself, see if we have any legal recourse.”
“On what grounds?” Nkosi asked softly.
Heikki shrugged. “I don’t know, that’s what I pay him to find out. But, damn it all, I don’t like being thrown off a job for no reason.”
“So that’s your decision, then,” Djuro said.
Heikki looked at him, trying to guess the emotions behind the neutral voice. “That’s my recommendation,” she said, after a moment, and stressed the word. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“I’d like to know why we were bounced, that’s all,” Djuro said. “I think it’s important.”
“So would I—so do I,” Heikki said.
Djuro went on as though she hadn’t spoken, his tone still scrupulously uninflected. “After all, this could have more to do with Lo-Moth’s politics—or Tremoth’s—than any intention of insulting us.”
Heikki looked down at her drink. She knew perfectly well what Djuro was saying, but shook her head irritably in rejection. “They’ve been jerking us around since we took the job. I don’t think they should get away with it.”
“Damn it, Heikki, there’s nothing we can do about it,” Djuro said.
Heikki took a deep breath, controlling her anger. “I grant you, not directly. Fine, we have to hand over the data, and I’m willing to do it. But I also think, given how strange this job has been right from the beginning, that we should keep certified copies of every disk, and put Malachy onto the question.”
“You are thinking of suing Lo-Moth to make them show cause for ending the contract?” Nkosi asked.
Heikki nodded. “That’s right,” she said, and looked at Djuro. “It’s self protection.”
The little man shook his head. “You’re the boss, Heikki.”
That’s right, Heikki thought. She said, suppressing her impatience, “I think we have to know, for the sake of our reputation, if nothing else. If they want to keep things quiet, that’s fine, but I don’t want us to suffer for it.”
Djuro made a face, but nodded reluctantly. “You’re right,” he said, after a moment, and nodded again.
It was more than she had expected, and Heikki dipped her head in unspoken thanks. “I’m going to contact the Marshallin as soon as possible.”
“There is a direct line available into the Loop,” Nkosi said.
“Probably monitored,” Djuro said.
“Quite possibly,” Heikki agreed. “However, we’re not doing anything wrong, remember? We’re within our rights to check this out.”
“I know,” Djuro said softly. “I just don’t like it.”
At least he didn’t remind her that he had objected to the job from the beginning. Heikki stood, feeling the past days’ work in every muscle. “I’m going to try and get the Marshallin,” she said, and went on into the workroom.
To her surprise, Iadara and EP Seven were roughly congruent, and there was an opening in the transmission queue. She gave the synchronizer Santerese’s mailcodes and then her own bank payment code, wincing a little at the cost quoted her. Then there was nothing to do except wait, pacing, for the connection to be established. Nkosi appeared in the doorway, offering more to drink; Heikki let him refill her glass, and returned to the communications station.
It took a little less than an hour to establish contact, an unusually short turnaround. Heikki settled herself in front of the room’s cameras, waiting with a familiar impatience while the media wall lit and slowly focused. The image flickered steadily despite the compensating enhancements as the transmission passed through the distortion of the open warp, but it was all too recognizably Santerese. Heikki smiled, the day’s events momentarily forgotten in the sheer pleasure of seeing Santerese again, and saw the same delight in the other woman’s grin. Predictably, it was Santerese who spoke first.
“Well, doll, I was expecting to hear from you, but not like this.” Her tone sharpened abruptly. “What’s up? I was on the verge of calling you myself.”
“Murphy’s law, according to Jock,” Heikki answered, and saw Santerese’s smile widen. “We’ve lost our job, too—not precisely lost it,” she amended, “since we’re getting paid, but the effect is the same.”
