“Why the hell would he do that?” Heikki said, almost to herself, and then stopped, appalled. Slade was a Retroceder, everyone had said so—he wore the party’s green badge openly even inside the corporation. If the Loop were destroyed—and the defective crystals would do that—he would be in a position to take up power in the Precincts, could probably have his choice of planets, backed by his fellow Retroceders. God knows, she thought, he may have become a Retroceder only to make use of their ideals, their politics, to make this entire maneuver possible. It would explain why the original data had never been destroyed. “He was going to use the crystals—sell them?”
FitzGilbert nodded, once, but then her face hardened. “Which I will deny, publically and in the courts.”
“Why—?” Heikki began, but FitzGilbert was talking on, staring now at Max.
“All right, Commissioner. Yes, I have information that would be of use to you, information that ought to help you convict that bastard, but I want guarantees first.”
“I can’t promise anything,” Max said, and FitzGilbert laughed harshly.
“Oh, you can promise this. You will, or you don’t get what I have.” She waited, and when Max made no further protest, went on, “Try him and welcome, but only for the latac. That’s enough, seven people dead, but leave EP1 out of it. Christ, do you know what would happen if it was known that somebody’d made a bad crystal that could get past all the tests? That was what caused EP1, and that somebody had tried to do it again? It wouldn’t just ruin Lo-Moth, and Tremoth, it’d destroy the Loop.” She paused then, searching their faces. “There are enough fringe groups that distrust the railroad, the Retroceders are just the loudest and the most organized. Give them a cause like this, and the whole system will go down. You give me that promise, Max, or you get nothing from me.”
There was another long silence, broken only by the faint hissing of the open communications channel. Heikki sat very still, staring at the trees beyond FitzGilbert’s window, and the bright reflection from the roof of a crystal shed. The Iadaran was right, there were entirely too many extremists who disliked the Railroad, some out of economic jealousy, some out of an irrational fear of the technology itself—which turned out not to be entirely irrational after all. She shook her head, and saw, out of the corner of her eye, that Max was nodding slowly.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “What about these flawed crystals? How’re you going to keep this from happening again?”
“I think something can be worked out,” Max said, with a cynical smile.
FitzGilbert’s lips twisted into an expression that might have been intended as a smile, but looked more like a grimace of pain. “I will see that the specifics of the design go to our heads of research, with an appropriate simulation of what might happen if such crystals were put into use. They can then compare all subsequent core crystals with that schematic—it can become a regular part of the inspection process. Will that suffice, Commissioner?”
No, Heikki wanted to say, it’s not good enough, damn it. Max was already nodding.
“I can accept that, Dam’ FitzGilbert. Now, about the data you said you had—”
“What about your promise?” FitzGilbert answered.
Max sighed. “I can give you my word that Ser Slade will only be charged with the deaths of the latac’s crew, and with attempted fraud in regard to Dam’ Heikki here, and her brother—and whatever else I can catch him on that does not reveal that the EP1 disaster was caused by these flawed crystals. Is that acceptable?”
There was a long pause, and then FitzGilbert sighed. “All right.” Her hands moved on a workboard in front of her, out of the cameras’ line of sight. “Are you ready to receive my data?”
Heikki did not answer, still overwhelmed by the turn of events, and Max reached impatiently over her shoulder to touch the necessary keys. “Ready to receive,” he said.
“Transmitting.” The machines squealed thinly, just at the edge of hearing. Heikki ducked her head in spite of herself, wincing, and then green lights flashed above the diskprinter.
“Transmission complete,” FitzGilbert said, in almost the same moment. She looked suddenly very grim. “But if you break your word, Commissioner, you’re going to find that that’s worse than useless. End contact.” Her image vanished in a flare of light. Heikki began to shut down the system, her hands moving almost without conscious volition.
“I hate it when people threaten me,” Max said quite placidly, to no one in particular, and reached over Heikki’s shoulder for the disks. He slipped them into the nearest workboard, tuned it to a private frequency, and began scanning pages through his data lens. Heikki released the last console from the local system and leaned back in her chair, watching as a smile spread over Max’s face.
“I assume it’s good news?” she asked.
“It’s what I was hoping for,” Max agreed. “This should be the last piece.” He looked at Alexieva, waiting all but forgotten in the doorway, Nkosi still hovering at her side. “Thank you for your help, Dam’ Alexieva.”
“Then we may go now?” Nkosi asked, his face hard and watchful. Max nodded, and Nkosi transferred his stare to Heikki. “I will be in touch, Heikki.”
“Right,” Heikki answered, but the pilot had already withdrawn, pulling Alexieva with him. A moment later, Heikki heard the suite’s outer door open and shut behind them.
“Now,” Max said brightly, tucking the disks into his jacket pocket, and stepped out into the main room. Heikki pushed herself up from the console and followed, gratefully aware of Santerese’s presence at her back.
“Galler Heikki,” Max said, still with that alarming good humor, and Galler rose warily from the couch. “You, ser, will have to come with me. We’ll want your evidence.”
Galler smiled then, a bright, malicious smile, and Heikki shook her head. “You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?”
Her brother looked at her, his expression suddenly serious. “He tried to destroy me, Heikki, don’t forget. Yes, I’ll enjoy it. So would you.”
Heikki opened her mouth to deny it, but could not muster the energy. Suddenly their old quarrel no longer seemed important—she no longer cared, she realized abruptly, whether she had the last word. “Maybe,” she said, and looked at Max, who was waiting impatiently in the main doorway. “Make sure nobody strangles him, will you?”
“Why, Gwynne,” Galler murmured. “I never knew you cared.”
“I don’t,” Heikki said, but not until the door had closed behind them. Santerese touched her shoulder gently, comfortingly, and Heikki shook her head. “I really don’t, not about any of it.”
“If you didn’t care,” Santerese said, “you wouldn’t be angry.”
It was true, Heikki knew, but it didn’t help. I want justice, she cried in silent protest, not just for the latac crew, but for EP1 and the people killed—murdered— there. There ought to be some restitution made—except that FitzGilbert was right, justice for them, telling that old truth, could well destroy the railroad and the stations that depended on it. Where was the justice in that? She shook her head, tired of the uncertainty, wanting only to have it over. Did I do right, even remotely? I did the best I could.
“I’m too old for this,” she said aloud, and Santerese took her in her arms.
“Aren’t we all, darling, aren’t we all?”
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 1990 by Melissa Scott
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
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Cover art by Tom Kidd
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