lost the thread of her sentence, and paused to recover it. “Take away the legalese, and they’re threatening to go to the Board, accuse us of illegal procedures, archaeology—failure to report antiquities, improper handling and so on.”
“What?” Heikki’s hand tightened painfully on her glass, and she loosened it with an effort. “That’s ridiculous—we’ve been triple certified, and everything.”
“They hint they have evidence. Nothing so direct as a threat, of course, but they do drop hints,” Santerese said. She sipped her drink, and gave a tight smile. “Which they won’t use, as long as we don’t pursue this contract.”
“Galler,” Heikki said, with a decisive venom that surprised even herself. “That son of a bitch.”
Santerese was looking at her in some surprise, and
Heikki bared teeth in an angry grin. “This is just the sort of thing he’d do. Where’s the cube?”
“In the workroom,” Santerese answered, her voice a little wary now. “Heikki—”
“What?”
Santerese seemed to swallow what she had been going to say. “What makes you think he’s responsible?”
Heikki laughed. “This is the sort of thing he’d do, the sort of thing he always did do. Haven’t you noticed that we haven’t had a bit of luck since he showed up again?” Santerese’s eyebrows lifted, but Heikki stalked into the workroom before the other woman could say anything. After a moment, she heard Santerese call after her.
“Why don’t you bring that cube out here?”
Heikki swore to herself, unreasonably unwilling to follow any suggestions, but then curbed her temper and hefted the message cube. It was heavier than it looked, and she stared at it with loathing, almost ready to blame that, as well, on Galler’s machinations. The irrationality of that brought her back to her senses a little. She laughed, with a touch of real amusement this time, and went back into the main room.
Santerese was waiting exactly where she had left her, her glass still held a little above waist level, her face, its only expression a sort of polite neutrality, turned toward the door. Heikki, recognizing the signs, set the cube on the nearest table, and said, with an effort, “All right, ‘Shallin, I’m overreacting.”
Santerese’s expression did not change. “Yes, you are.”
“You don’t know my fucking brother,” Heikki retorted, stung, and then gestured an apology. “He’s more trouble than you can imagine, always has been.”
Santerese did not answer, and Heikki shrugged to herself, reaching for the tag that contained the thumb- print seals. If that’s how you want to be…. she thought, and studied the little tab. There was no movement from Santerese. Heikki’s lips tightened, and she set her thumb firmly on the bright orange dot. The tag considered the imprint, comparing that to the pattern in its memory, and then, reluctantly, the dot faded from orange to green. Heikki took a deep breath, twisted it away, and used her thumbnail to pry open the little door that covered the controls. They were the standard set, but she pretended to study them for a moment before she could bring herself to trigger the tape.
A funnel of light flared from the machine’s projector, filled at first with static, and then with a sort of visual noise that slowly resolved itself into an image. For an instant, Heikki didn’t recognize the face that stared out at her, but then the long chin and the undistinguished nose, so like her own, resolved themselves into her brother’s once-familiar face. He had aged, she thought vaguely—but then, so had she. In a wicked mirror image, the same lines bracketed their mouths, fanned delicately from the corners of their eyes. If anything, she thought, we look more alike now than ever we did.
“You didn’t tell me you were twins, you know,” Santerese observed.
“I did—” Heikki began, and the first words of Galler’s message cut across whatever else she would have said.
“Heikki,” said the voice—her own voice, if deeper; the same tricks of phrase and the same flat vowels. And then the image smiled in the old way, sweetly malicious, and Heikki’s thoughts steadied. “Gwynne. I apologize for troubling you, but I could use your help— which, of course, I am willing to pay for, as I realize old affection doesn’t stretch nearly that far. These codes are current; contact me as soon as possible.” The image smiled again. “For old times’ sake,” it said, and dissolved into static.
“I’ll see you in hell first,” Heikki murmured, and switched off the machine.
Santerese whistled softly, and stepped forward to examine the codes inscribed on the plastic tag. “What is all that about, darling?”
“I don’t know,” Heikki said, flatly, staring at the cube without really seeing its flat grey surface. She was sorely tempted to do nothing, to ignore the message—but if she did, Galler would find some way to force her to do what he wanted anyway. I wonder, she thought suddenly, is everything that’s gone wrong his way of proving to me just how far he can go? She shook the thought away as unproved, if not unfounded, and said again, “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to make contact.”
Santerese lifted an eyebrow. “What’s between the two of you, anyway? He sounded like he was in trouble —he said he needed your help, anyway.”
“That’s just like him,” Heikki answered. She took a deep breath. “You don’t know Galler. He always did get into trouble, and then drag me into it after him, just so I could get us both out.” Santerese was looking at her oddly, and Heikki managed a sideways smile. “And if you’re wondering why I didn’t just leave him, he usually managed to involve me in spite of myself, so I didn’t have any choice but to help him if I was going to save myself.”
“What kind of trouble?” Santerese asked slowly.
“Oh, you’re right, nothing too serious,” Heikki answered, and with an effort held onto her smile. “The usual stuff, staying out after curfew, borrowing sailboards, things like that. But one of his schemes got me in bad with some people I really cared about, and—” I’ve never forgiven him for it. She bit off the words unspoken, perfectly aware of how ridiculous it sounded, to hold a grudge against your own brother for twenty years, and over a long- dead friendship; said instead, “We were always opposites, anyway. I said black, he’d say white to spite me, and vice versa. I only went by Heikki to prove the name was mine, I never minded Gwynne, but he kept digging up proof that in the old days it wouldn’t’ve mattered that I was older, he would’ve gotten the name because he was the male.” She’d said too much, she knew suddenly, and shrugged and fell silent, not looking at Santerese.
There was a little silence, seemingly interminable, and then Santerese said, “How come you never told me any of this, in all these many years, doll?”
Heikki shrugged again. “It didn’t seem to matter. I’d left home, cut the ties—I never expected to have to deal with him again.”
“So what are you going to do?” Santerese nodded toward the message cube, still sitting on the table where Heikki had left it.
Heikki stared at it, loathing mixed with resignation filling her. “I suppose I’ll have to contact him,” she said, and saw the approval in Santerese’s nod. Not for the reasons you think, Marshallin, she thought, but accepted the other woman’s embrace. You’d do it because he’s family, you with your cousins and god-cousins scattered all over the settled stars. Me, I’ll do it because it’s dangerous not to, because I know him, and I know he’ll hurt us if we don’t.
She looked again at the contact codes, peering over the curve of Santerese’s shoulder. “But not until tomorrow,” she said, with some relief. “Those codes are for EP4.”
Santerese laughed softly. “All right, tomorrow, then.” And then, when Heikki did not relax in her arms, she tilted her head back and sideways to look into the other woman’s face. “You do hate him, don’t you?”
Heikki kept her cheek against the warm curve of Santerese’s neck, rubbing against her like a cat for comfort. “No,” she said after a moment, because it was expected of her—you don’t hate your siblings, not blood- sibs and most especially not your twin—and felt Santerese’s arms tighten quickly. “I guess not.” She heard the lie in her own voice, but, blessedly, Santerese did not seem to notice. “Tomorrow,” she said, with an attempt at briskness. “I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 8
