I suppose it will have to, Heikki thought. “I think so, thank you,” she said aloud, and glanced down at the viewboard. Lab and analysis fees—we’ll have to add a clause to the final contract allowing us to send back to the Loop for molecular work, if we need it, she thought, at Lo-Moth’s expense—and money to cover the hire of extra ground equipment…. She touched keys on the calculator inset beside the screen, and nodded at the new total.
“Bearing in mind that you are hiring us to find out why the latac crashed, as well as to locate the crash site, I’ve added recovery expenses and the costs of a Loop analysis to our estimate. The new total will be K49, pounds-of-account.”
“Do you think that’s necessary?” Sandrig asked. “Loop analysis, I mean. After all, we have excellent facilities on Iadara.”
FitzGilbert sighed audibly. Heikki said, with caution, “If it is a matter of sabotage, I think you would be better off getting a completely independent analysis.”
“Oh, of course.” Once again, Sandrig flushed to the roots of his thinning hair.
“If you feel it will be necessary,” Mikelis said, “I see your point.”
“Then you have our bid,” Heikki said, and the director nodded.
“We will be in touch with you, Dam’ Heikki. Thank you very much for coming.” It was an unmistakable dismissal, and Heikki rose to her feet just as Mikelis added, “Pol, would you see Dam’ Heikki to the entrance?”
There was a jitney waiting at the level entrance: Lo-Moth was expensively efficient in the small matters, it seemed. Sandrig walked her to the craft and handed her in with punctilious courtesy, wishing her good luck on her bid. Heikki thanked him, but wondered, as she folded herself into the cramped passenger space, if he was really eager to see her win the contract. He seemed remarkably unwilling to face up to the possibility of sabotage, or an enemy within the corporate ranks…. Hold it right there, she told herself. You have absolutely no evidence that there is an inside agent, or even that there was sabotage. It could have been a hijacking, even an accident; leave the speculations for when—and if—you get the contract.
“Pod 19, suite 2205,” she said aloud, and leaned back as the jitney creaked into motion.
When she finally reached her home suite, she was not surprised to find Djuro waiting for her, feet propped up on the table that held the status cube. “I ran into Jock Nkosi while I was making your inquiries,” he said without preamble. “He asked if we had anything going, and I told him about the Lo-Moth bid—in confidence, of course. Was that all right?”
Heikki nodded, shrugging herself out of her tight jacket. “Yeah, that’s good. If we get the job, I want him.”
“I told him that, too,” Djuro said. “You want a drink? I’ve made a pitcher.”
“Thanks,” Heikki said, and subsided into the chair that stood waiting for her. It tilted back, programmed to the proper angle; she kicked off her own slippers and rested her bare feet on the low table. “Did you find out anything more?”
Djuro appeared in the kitchen doorway, a tall glass in each hand. He gave one to Heikki, saying, “Not really. Nobody reliable seems to know anything more, so I tried to get back to Fang, but she’s left already—off on a three-monther, out past Precinct Twelve.”
“Fang’s a miner?”
“Yeah.” Djuro reseated himself, sipping cautiously at his own glass. “She doesn’t usually make mistakes. So what did Lo-Moth say about it?”
“They just said that FourSquare broke contract for no good reason, and then made difficulties about handing over the tapes,” Heikki said slowly. “Which does sound suspicious to me.”
Djuro nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, if you have to break contract, you don’t give your employer that kind of trouble, not if you want to keep your license.”
“I wonder. …” Heikki let the sentence trail off, and swung herself out of the tilted chair. She grabbed the remote from its place by the door to the workroom, and stepped inside, running her fingers across the touchface. The media wall lit, filled abruptly with names and numbers that vanished and were replaced by others at the touch of a key. She flipped hastily through the data base, not bothering to put the data through to a workscreen, but without result.
“Well?” Djuro asked, at her shoulder.
“I thought maybe if FourSquare’d been bought out, they’d’ve made arrangements to reconstitute themselves under a new name—after the old company lost its credit and licenses, that is. But the Board doesn’t list any new applications from them.” Heikki looked down at the remote, and made an adjustment, sending a new list of names flashing across the screen. “I guess now the question is whether they did go out of business.”
“Yeah, there it is,” Djuro said, after a moment. Heikki touched the key that would freeze the data, and they both stared at the glowing letters. “FourSquare, declared license-void 005/492, declared disbanded 105/492. That settles that.”
Heikki nodded, though privately she was not so sure. Still, she told herself, it does mean there’s no evidence of anything wrong beyond incompetence, and that’s something.
“If they offer the job,” Djuro went on, “will you take it?”
Heikki looked at him in some surprise. “Of course,” she answered, and was surprised in turn by her own certainty. Why do I want this job? she wondered, and put the question angrily aside. “Why the hell shouldn’t we?” Her voice was harsher than she’d intended, and Djuro shrugged.
“Just wanted to be sure. I’ll be off now.”
Heikki nodded. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
There was no word from Lo-Moth for the next ten-day. Heikki occupied herself with the routine business of operating from an Exchange Point, and kept an eye on the news reports from Pleasaunce. Santerese did not appear in them, though she did dispatch a brief message saying that she had begun work. All in all, Heikki thought, I shouldn’t ask for more. Djuro reported that at least two other companies, including the Twins’ cooperative, had put in bids on the job, but no one was offering odds on the eventual winner. Heikki grumbled, but resigned herself to waiting.
When the message finally arrived, it was at the end of the business day, too late to send a formal response. The media wall lit and windowed, codes streaming across its obsidian face. Heikki answered the prompts, filling in the security codes, then waited while the screen went blank and the hardcopier linked to the wall whirred to life. Sighing, she went to read the sheets as they came off the machine: as she had expected, Lo-Moth had copied her standard contract into its corporate format, but, to her surprise, there were no significant changes. She frowned, read it again, dumped the original to the legal analysis program, and leaned against the edge of the desk, waiting for the results. After nearly a minute’s consideration, the program spat its response: no significant changes. Heikki’s frown deepened, and she settled herself in front of the workscreen.
She tied herself into the communications net, and keyed in the codes that would reach Malachy’s secretarial program. She dumped a copy of both contracts to him, and added a quick note, asking him to go over the language and make sure that Lo-Moth hadn’t changed anything important. Only when the codestring indicated that the message had been accepted did she touch Djuro’s code.
It was several minutes before the screen lit, and when it did, the camera was turned carefully to the white-painted wall. “Yes?”
“It’s Heikki, Sten.”
“Ah.” The camera did not move. “What’s up?”