The storm ended as quickly as it had risen. Djuro arrived with the returned sunlight, drenched and out of temper, and vanished into his bedroom. Heikki hid her grin, and disappeared into her own room with the rest of her books.
The concierge’s beeping dragged her awake far too early the next morning. She swore, and groped for her remote, fumbling with its buttons until she had triggered first the room lights and then the little speaker next to her bed.
“Yes, what is it?” She didn’t bother reminding the machine that she had requested it to hold her calls: only something important—or someone with the right codes—could override that particular program.
“A call for you, Dam’ Heikki, from Dam’ FitzGilbert.” The machine-voice held only its programmed politeness. “She apologizes for disturbing you, but she says it’s urgent.”
Heikki shook herself, trying to banish the lingering sleep. “Please tell Dam’ FitzGilbert I’ll take her call in five minutes—on the workroom main line.” She didn’t know if the last instructions were necessary, but it couldn’t hurt.
“Very good, Dam’ Heikki,” the concierge answered. “I’ll convey your message.”
“Thanks,” Heikki said, sourly, and swung herself out of bed. There was no time for a shower; she pulled on loose trousers and shift, and made a beeline instead for the miniature kitchen. The coffee was premixed; she touched buttons, and a few moments later took a filled mug from the rack beneath the spigot.
“Heikki?” Djuro’s querulous voice came from the door of his room. “What’s going on?”
Heikki turned carefully, balancing the too-full mug. “A call from FitzGilbert. I don’t know what about yet.”
“God damn—” Djuro broke off as though they were still on the Loop. “Is Jock in yet?”
Heikki frowned at him. “No,” she answered slowly, and then hesitation sharpened into suspicion. “Why, what didn’t he tell me?”
“Nothing, that I know of,” Djuro answered. “I thought—hell, I don’t quite know what, accident, maybe, or something like that.”
“I don’t think so,” Heikki said, with only slightly more confidence than she actually felt. “FitzGilbert wouldn’t be calling; that’s the planetary police’s job.”
Djuro nodded, rubbing his eyes, then ran a hand over his bald head. “You’re right, of course. I’m just not awake.”
“Get yourself some coffee,” Heikki said, “then perhaps you should listen in on this.”
The buzzer sounded from the workroom before Djuro could answer. Heikki gave him a last abstracted smile, and turned away, her hand already busy on the remote, setting the acceptance sequence she would trigger as soon as she was in range. The wall lit, a window opening to present an image perhaps a little larger than life-size. It was like looking directly into FitzGilbert’s office, and Heikki rubbed her chin thoughtfully, wondering just what sort of an image she herself presented.
FitzGilbert, discouragingly, looked as touchily ill-tempered as she always did, despite the early hour. “There’s been a problem with one of your people,” she began abruptly, and Heikki’s stomach lurched.
“Nkosi?”
“No.” FitzGilbert frowned, more puzzled now than irritated, snapped her fingers twice as though the noise would trigger her memory. “The other pilot—Sebasten-Januarias.”
“Not exactly ‘mine,’” Heikki said, automatically, and then frowned at her own cowardice. “I hired him here, on-planet. What’s the problem?”
“He straggled in out of the wayback this morning,” FitzGilbert answered. “Claims somebody tried to kill him.”
At her back, Heikki heard Djuro’s soft hiss, mingled surprise and anger, and said with a coldness she did not feel, “But what does this have to do with me? My job’s over, remember?”
FitzGilbert’s frown deepened again. “Ser Slade would like to see you. At once.”
Heikki’s eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon?” The anger in her voice had been real, instinctive; she matched it deliberately. “It’s just past the fifth hour, Dam’ FitzGilbert—not an hour at which I am accustomed to doing business. Jan—Sebasten-Januarias has been paid off, his employment with me is over. I repeat, what the hell does this have to do with me?”
FitzGilbert grimaced. “Sebasten-Januarias was shot down—surface-to-air missile, a seeker—while taking a routine private-mail flight for a friend. Ser Slade would like to discuss the possibility that this may be connected with the attack on our latac.”
Put that way, Heikki thought, the inquiry was not that unreasonable. “I can be at the headquarters complex in one hour,” she said, and FitzGilbert lifted a hand.
“We can send a ho-crawl—”
“Thanks, I have my own transport,” Heikki said.
“As you wish.” FitzGilbert looked down at a shadowscreen, out of sight beneath the camera’s sightline. “I’ll have someone waiting to escort you.”
“Thanks,” Heikki said. “In an hour, then.” She broke the connection without waiting for an answer.
“Damn,” Djuro said softly. “I wonder if the kid’s all right?”
Heikki made a face, embarrassed by her own negligence. “He walked out, she said. That’s something.” She took a deep breath, putting aside guilt as something less than useless. “Raise Jock—I think it’s still middle night over the South-Shallow, that may help— and tell him what’s happened. They’re to get back here at once, taking all precautions.”
“You think this Slade may be right?” Djuro asked, but he was already moving toward the communications console,
“I don’t want to take the chance,” Heikki answered. “Once you’re sure he’s on his way back, I want you to get over to the airfield, and find out what’s going on, see what people are saying about this.”
Djuro nodded. “Do you want me to try to track down Jan?”
“Yes,” Heikki began, and then shook her head. “No, on second thought, better not. If it is because of the latac, the less contact he’s had with us, the better. Just find out what the gossip is. And get Jock home.”
Djuro gave her a lopsided smile. “I’ll do that, boss.”
“Thanks,” Heikki said, and headed back to her room to dress.
This time, she didn’t bother with the clothes a ‘pointer would consider appropriate. The securitron on duty at the main gate glanced uneasily at her hastily-tied turban and unstylish shift, but the mention of her name brought him instantly to attention.
“Oh, Dam’ Heikki. Ser Neilenn will be out to escort you at once.”
“Thank you,” Heikki said, and resigned herself to wait. To her surprise, however, Neilenn appeared within a few minutes: clearly, he’d been waiting somewhere close at hand.
“Dam’ Heikki,” Neilenn said, and bobbed a sort of greeting. “I’m so sorry to have to disturb you so early….” His words trailed off unhappily, though Heikki could not tell precisely why.
She said, “It doesn’t matter. I assume Slade is waiting?”
Neilenn bobbed his head again, and there was a note almost of relief in his voice. “Yes, Dam’ Heikki. If you’ll come with me, Timon will take care of your vehicle.”
So they don’t want my ‘cat inside the security perimeter, Heikki thought. I wonder why? She said nothing, however, and followed Neilenn across the hard-metalled road to the waiting runabout. The little man lifted the passenger hatch politely, and Heikki swung herself into the low-slung seat. To her surprise, Neilenn settled himself behind the controls and touched the throttle gingerly. The runabout eased forward, and Neilenn gave her an apologetic glance.
“I’m afraid my driver isn’t on duty yet.”
Heikki made what she hoped was a sympathetic noise, her mind racing. She did not for an instant believe that Neilenn lacked the authority to wake up someone as junior as a driver, no matter how early—or late—it was. No, she thought, he’s been ordered not to use a driver— but why? To keep my meeting Slade a secret? That was the only explanation that presented itself, but it didn’t make much sense. She shook her head, and put the question aside for later, concentrating instead on the meeting at hand.
Neilenn brought the runabout to a halt beside one of the smaller towers, under a sunscreening canopy that hid the entrance from any observers in the neighboring buildings. Slade was waiting for her inside, in a second-
