“That’s one way of putting it,” Heikki said. She stared at her own maps, colored now with the bright red lines of the prevailing weather patterns. At least they were arriving on Iadara during the summer’s calm, not storm— but that just meant that the weather would be difficult, not immediately dangerous. “We’ll have to make friends with someone in meteorology,” she said, still frowning at the map, and Djuro looked up quickly.
“Why not bring someone in from the Loop? At least we’d know they’d be reliable.”
“I’ve thought about it,” Heikki said. “I think what we’d gain in reliability we’d lose in local knowledge. No, our own program’s pretty sophisticated; with that and the local mets, we should be all right.”
Two days later, they left Exchange Point Seven for Iadara. They travelled by startrain to Exchange Point Six—halfway across the Loop, despite its number—and then Heikki sent the others on ahead on the FTLport while she supervised their container through Customs. She had done this a hundred times before, and never yet had it gone smoothly. This was no exception: by the time she reached the entrance to the FTLport, container floating behind her on its grav disks, shepherded by a pair of union handlers, her temper was growing short, and she glowered impartially at both the handlers and the lanky steward, frowning over her manifest. To Heikki’s surprise, however, the steward seemed concerned only that the crate’s mass match the numbers she had been given in the shipping order. Once that had been confirmed, she saw the container aboard without trouble, and turned to show Heikki to her cabin. “Unless you want your partner to show you,” she added. Her tone made her preference clear.
Heikki glanced up the boarding tunnel, and saw Djuro’s wiry figure just inside the circle of the hatch. She hid her frown, and shrugged. “That’s fine with me,” she said, and the steward nodded.
“Rec room and passengers’ mess are on the same level, unless you want meals in your cabin. Times and the surcharges are posted for that. Engineering and control are off-limits—no offense—and you should remain in your cabin any time the red lights are on. Otherwise, enjoy your voyage.”
“Thanks,” Heikki said, but the steward had already turned away, her mind fully focussed on the next piece of cargo to come aboard. Heikki shrugged to herself— she was used to the vagaries of FTLships’ crews—and started up the tube toward the hatch, her single carryall balanced on her shoulder.
At the top of the hatch, Djuro came forward as though offering to take her bag; at the same time, he said, “We’ve got company.”
“Oh?” Heikki waved away the offer of assistance, her eyes suddenly wary.
“Yeah. Electra FitzGilbert, her name is—she works for Lo-Moth.”
“I’ve met her,” Heikki said. “She’s the director of operations, was the director for this particular flight. She belongs on Iadara, not in the main offices—she may just be going home.”
“Do you really think so?” Djuro asked, and Heikki smiled.
“No. But what else can we do? Show me my cabin, Sten, and then we can talk.”
The cabin proved to be about what she had expected, small and spartan, with most of its space taken up by the bunk and the limited-access console wedged into one corner. At least it had its own bath, Heikki thought, tossing her carryall onto the mattress, and the bunk, at least, was reasonably large. “Relax, Sten,” she said aloud. “Even if FitzGilbert is going back to keep an eye on us, what harm can it do? We’re honest—and if she isn’t we’ll deal with her.”
“I hope to hell you’re right,” Djuro said morosely, and looked instinctively for the monitor.
Heikki smiled, “It’s good to be back in the Precincts, isn’t it?”
Djuro flushed slightly. “There are times,” he said, “when a person can’t remember where he is.”
“Let it ride for now,” Heikki said, lowering her voice. “Which cabin is she in?”
“Two upship and across the corridor. They aren’t numbered. I’m in the one in between.”
Heikki nodded. “I’m going to unpack, then. I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Right,” Djuro said, and closed the cabin door behind him.
The freighter left dock on schedule, but Heikki, rereading the tapes she’d received from FourSquare, was barely aware of the shifts of power. She looked up when the bulkheads around her seemed to lurch as the ship went from dock gravity to its own generators, but then returned to her reading. The faint thrum of the engines deepened as the tug cast off, but she heard that only as a counterpoint to the Iadaran wind. Of all Foursquare’s data, the only useful tape had been the record of the locator’s automatic transmissions: it showed routine readings for LTA status and weather alike, then the rising temperature that often preceded Iadaran storms. The LTA had dropped a few hundred meters—normal precaution, in case they were forced to land—and then the transmissions had ceased. Heikki stared at the strings of numbers, seeing instead one of the massive silver-enveloped ships soaring against the brassy Iadaran sky. She could almost see the heat rippling up off the jungle, could hear the first faint hiss of a rising wind…. The crew would have been worried, certainly—back country weather was nothing to fool around with, everyone knew that. She pictured them talking to each other, Firsters murmuring back and forth in their lilting accent, and then the decision to drop lower, perhaps swing off course toward one of the safe-harbor clearings every back country pilot knew about….
She stopped abruptly. I don’t even know if the crew were Firsters or Incomers, she thought, with some surprise. And it might make a difference. She sighed then, and set her workboard aside. The chronometer on the console showed nearly 1900 hours by ship’s time: almost dinnertime, for the passengers. She touched keys, checking the schedule for the first FTL run—it wouldn’t happen until well after ship’s midnight; she could afford to eat a decent meal—and then touched the button that would project a schematic of their planned course and present position on the main screen. After only a moment’s hesitation, she blanked the workboard, locked her tapes into her personal strongbox, and started toward the passengers’ mess.
The larger cabin was surprisingly comfortable: whatever money had been budgeted for the paying passengers had been spent on its fittings. A galley console filled one narrow end of the room, and a much larger media center took up perhaps two-thirds of the long inner wall. At the moment, its green-black surface was broken into facets, each one showing either the ship’s projected course or an elaborate relative-times chart. They meant nothing, of course, but the room’s sole occupant had not bothered to adjust the controls. Electra FitzGilbert looked up as the door sighed back, and gave a curt nod of greeting. Heikki was too well-schooled to show her dismay, but she felt her heart sink. Where the hell’s Sten? she thought, and said aloud, “Good evening, Dam’ FitzGilbert.”
“Dam’ Heikki.” To Heikki’s surprise, the dark woman did not return to the workboard propped beside her tray, but blanked the screen and set it aside. “The dinner isn’t bad at all.”
A typical oblique ‘pointer invitation, Heikki thought. I wonder exactly what she wants? “Thanks,” she said, and turned to the menu displayed on the galley screen. It was typical FTLship fare, heavy on the ubiquitous grains and shipgrown vegetables, but healthy and satisfying. Heikki considered the list for a moment, then touched keys. A moment later, the serving hatch slid open, and Heikki collected the steaming dishes and slid them painfully onto the recessed tray. There was a small bar as well, but she settled for a pot of tea instead—alcohol and FTL travel did not mix well—and returned to the table. FitzGilbert was watching her from under lowered lashes.