recognizable deity was only five poa; she acknowledged it with a sigh, pressing the button beside the orderpad, and went on, “There’s only one problem with the job, though, doll. I’m promised to Pleasaunce at the end of the week.”
“Pleasaunce?” Heikki frowned.
“PAMCo, Pleasaunce Automatic Mining Company— the seamine that went aground,” Santerese said,
“I didn’t know that had come through.”
“Oh, yes.” Santerese smiled. “The owners did some looking at what it was going to cost them, doing it themselves. Even with the shipping, I can get it off for less, and save the cargo. Pleasaunce is pretty low- tech,”
“When do you leave?” Heikki asked.
“The end of the week.” Santerese shrugged. “It should take a week to a ten-day, so I could join you on Iadara, if necessary.”
Malachy cleared his throat reprovingly. “This contract,” he began, and Santerese broke in hastily.
“It’s just the standard form, darling, with the hazard clause added. Nothing more.”
“Surely that’s quite enough,” Malachy answered. He pushed himself to his feet, and the women rose with him. “I’ll have the form sent to you in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Heikki said, but the lawyer was already on his way. She reseated herself, shrugging, and reached for another pastry.
“I’ve set up an appointment for you tomorrow,” Santerese said. “Charged them for a full consultation, too.”
“They paid that?” Heikki stopped in mid-gesture, her hand frozen above the platter. She made herself continue the movement, took and ate another of the cooling pastries.
Santerese nodded, her smile no longer amused. “That’s right, doll. And they didn’t even ask about haggling.”
“No one pays full price,” Heikki said. “Not when they’re putting it out to bid.”
“Lo-Moth is.”
There was a moment of silence. Heikki stared at the half-emptied plate, wondering if she’d made a mistake after all. We don’t have to put in a bid, she thought, but 1 as good as told the Twins we were going to. I don’t want to back down to them—though we could make it an unreasonable offer, 1 suppose, something Lo-Moth couldn’t accept.
“Jock Nkosi’s back on station,” Santerese said suddenly, and Heikki looked up.
“Is he, now? He’d be a help. And I’ll want Sten, Marshallin.”
Santerese lifted an eyebrow. “I could use his help too, you know.”
“Not on Pleasaunce,” Heikki answered, and Santerese laughed.
“All right.”
Heikki smiled back, but the expression faded quickly. “I’ll want local help, too, a pilot and a local guide, and hire for a heavy-duty aircraft—not an LTA. Did the sheet give any idea of a budget?”
“No.” Santerese shook her head, black braids swinging. “Doll, the man I spoke with—Mikelis, his name was—didn’t seem to care.”
Heikki swallowed a curse. It sounds like trouble, she thought, but then, trouble’s usually profitable—and besides, I told the Twins we were bidding. “When’s the appointment?” she said aloud.
“Fourteenth hour,” Santerese answered.
“Well.” Heikki pushed aside her glass. “I might as well hear what the man has to say.”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Santerese agreed. She was smiling, and, after a moment, Heikki returned the smile.
“I’m beat, Marshallin. Shall we go home?”
CHAPTER 2
Heikki dragged herself awake, aware at first only that something had changed. Santerese was gone. Not long gone, she thought—the sheets were still hollowed beside her—and then heard the sound of voices from the outer rooms. One was Santerese’s business voice, her expressive range flattened to something closer to ‘pointer taste. Heikki swore under her breath, and pushed herself out from under the covers, reaching for the wrap and the remote that lay on the chair beside the big bed. Precinct prudery, she thought, with a mental shrug, but tugged the wrap closed anyway and stepped out into the business rooms.
The lights were on in the suite’s main room, but the status cube was empty; in the tiny kitchen, the coffee-maker clicked quietly to itself. Heikki nodded to herself, and went on into the workroom. The media wall was blaring, multiple windows displaying half a dozen news-and-information channels. Santerese, headphones clamped to her ears, gestured vaguely toward the remote lying just out of reach on the other workstation.
Heikki grinned and reached for it, fingers moving on the touchface. The sound faded until the newsreader in one corner mouthed inaudible information, the stock numbers in the window behind streamed past in eerie silence. Other windows displayed multicolored tables: arrivals and departures from the Station Axis, shipping schedules for the FTL port, local and mean times and the ambient temperatures for pod and Point. Heikki took in the information with a glance, and settled herself at the workstation opposite her partner, careful to stay out of the cameras’ range.
Santerese smiled a greeting, her eyes barely moving from the screen in front of her. Pleasaunce, she mouthed, and Heikki nodded.
“Coffee?” she asked, quietly.
Santerese covered the mike again. “Yes, please.”
Heikki grinned, and went out into the kitchen. When she returned a moment later, carrying the steaming mugs, Santerese was busy at her keyboard.
“—makes a difference, certainly. It will require some specialized equipment, and you will have to pay the shipping and the tech costs—” She broke off, listening to a voice in her headphones, and shook her head. “I’m sorry, you knew your situation when you decided to wait. There’s no way I can do it, otherwise.” She listened again, and sighed. “Very well, I’ll hold.” She touched buttons on her board, and leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. “The mine’s slid off the shelf it was lying on—which is what I was afraid it would do all along, damn it.”
Heikki gave her a sympathetic glance, and slid the second mug across the table. “Is it serious?”
“No, not really.” Santerese took a sip of her coffee, staring at the images crowding her screen. “Not if it doesn’t fall any further, that is. It means a rush job after all, and some deep-dive equipment, with staff. I was hoping to get away without it, that’s all. Do me a favor, doll, see if there are any ships leaving for Pleasaunce from anywhere this side of the Loop.”
“Sure,” Heikki said, and switched on her own workscreen. She tied herself into the Lloyds/West shipping net, and began punching inquiries; while the screen cleared and filled, she said, “What happened?”
“Tidal shift—” Santerese began, and broke off, reaching for her keyboard again, reopening the audio channel. “This is Santerese.” She listened for a few moments longer, then nodded. “As I told Fost, the consulting fee will still be applied, but there will be additional charges. I copied that to you already, it should be on your screen. Good. Well, I’m finding that out right now. Please hold.” She cut the sound again, and looked at Heikki.
Heikki said, “I show a single freighter leaving today from EP5, scheduled to arrive on Pleasaunce a little after planetary midnight on 225. The next ship is the mailship you were planning to take.”
“Thanks,” Santerese said, and touched keys. “There is a ship leaving today—what time, Heikki?”
“Leaves from Dock 15 at 1750.”
“Which I can catch with some difficulty,” Santerese continued smoothly. “It will reach Pleasaunce Port in six days; I assume it’s another seven or eight hours’ flight to the wreck site? Yes. So there you have it.” There was another long silence, and then Santerese nodded a final time. “Very well. I will copy my schedule to you as soon as I’ve confirmed it. Goodbye. Idiot,” she added, to the fading screen, and reached for her coffee. “Is there really a cabin, Heikki?”
