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.
“Why am I not surprised?” Heikki muttered, and reached to pop the other jitney’s door. “All right,” she said, more loudly. “We’ll meet you at the station, then.”
The jitney slowed as they approached the Station Axis. Heikki glanced past Djuro, through the righthand window, and saw the fluted pillars that marked the entrance to the station itself. Between and behind them, she could just make out the broad dull grey band that was the edge of the airtight hatch that would seal off the area should the outer skin ever be breached. She shivered a little, remembering the stories she had read all her life about the disaster of EP1. When the fifth PDE had failed, its crystal apparently shattering, the collapsing warp had triggered a wildfire reaction in the generators that had blown a hole through the shell and sent a plasma plume racing the length of the axis. There had been some survivors, even so, sheltered in the cars of the train that had been ready for the second and third tracks, and in the panic someone had tried to reopen the hatches that had sealed automatically. The mechanism, already damaged, had opened just far enough to breach the tube’s integrity, and then the outer door had collapsed as well. The same scenario had been repeated throughout the station, despite attempts to preserve discipline; in the end, only the docks and the two most distant pods had survived undamaged. EPl’s economic development had been set back fifty years, shifting power permanently into the Loop’s Northern Extension, and consolidating EP4’s position as the richest of all the points. Heikki smiled rather bitterly to herself. If anyone should put up a memorial to the disaster, it was EP4. Still, despite the loss of life and property, EP1 had, in the end, been very lucky: the new station at the other end of the warp, the one that would have been EP15, had been completely destroyed. Scientists were still arguing whether it was the chain reaction destruction of the station’s crystal, and the resultant the plasma plume, coupled perhaps with faulty safety equipment, or some as-yet-unidentified property of the warp itself that had destroyed the station, but there was no
