The trip to Lo-Moth’s main headquarters took her back out through town, outside the Limit on the spaceport side. This was crysticulture country on a grand scale, the scrubland fading into glittering sand as it approached the distant bay. Sifters moved across the shifting ground, following courses marked by brightly colored flags. Their massive scoops grabbed up the first ten centimeters of topsoil, funneling it into electrostatic screens where the usable minerals were separated from the surface impurities, which were vented from chutes at the sides of the machines. The land in the wake of the sifters looked darker, almost tarnished. Heikki shook away the image almost angrily: the next good blow— and there would be one, at least one within each planetary year; that was a certainty, given Iadara’s weather— would stir the darkness back into the sand, drive the sea up onto the land until it reached the edge of the scrub and even beyond, churning the loose soil until it was fit to be harvested again.
The road curved north a few kilometers further on, leaving the sands behind. The land showed scrub growth again, low-growing, fleshy-leaved plants that gave way quickly to the lusher growth of the plains. There were houses now, attached to the road by newly-metalled turn-offs, ostentatious single dwellings screened from the road and from the neighboring dozen-unit complexes by carefully tended screens of highgrass. This was mostly corporate land, and corporate housing; between the settlements, sunlight flamed from the mirror-bright walls of the enormous crystal sheds. Neilenn had been right, Heikki realized. Production had doubled or tripled, at the very least, since she had last been on planet.
Lo-Moth’s headquarters complex lay at the heart of a little town, its streets and open parks laid out with a studied irregularity that was more artificial than the corporate rigidity it sought to avoid. Heikki swore to herself as she worked her way through the maze, damning all architects and city planners, but at last fetched up at the entrance to the headquarters complex. The securitron on duty at the main gate informed her blandly that she was expected, and gave her the guide frequency that would take her into the executive parking bay. Heikki thanked him with equal blandness, and let the flashing arrow in the windscreen guide her around and then through the cluster of towers. The mirrored glass cylinders reflected her fastcat back at her, and then reflected its reflection; she looked away, dizzied, and concentrated on the guiding arrow.
Neilenn was waiting for her in the parking bay, his hand running nervously over the electronics pad set into the high collar of his ‘pointer-style jacket. Heikki swore again, silently, glancing down at her own too-casual dress, but composed herself to greet him with ‘pointer courtesy.
“Ser Neilenn, it’s good to see you.”
“And you, Dam’ Heikki,” Neilenn answered, unsmiling. “If you’d come with me?”
Heikki’s eyebrows rose, but she allowed herself to be led through the tangle of corridors, each one embellished with plates of half-grown crystal—slag crystal, flawed in the earliest stage of growth, useless but beautiful—and brightly polished metal. They passed through a plant-and-stream lobby, and then followed a circular stairway up to the next level. Glancing back, Heikki was suddenly aware of shapes, people, and security devices, concealed among the greenery. And why should they be watching me? she wondered. There were a dozen obvious answers, most of them having to do with corporate politics, and she didn’t like any of them.
“Dam’ Heikki.” Neilenn came to a stop beside a brass-paneled door, one hand resting on the security box set into the wall beside it. “Dam’ FitzGilbert is waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” Heikki said, and could not keep a certain tartness from her voice. She drew herself up, wishing once again that she were wearing something other than her four-paneled shift and high boots that were her usual exploration gear, but put aside that fear instantly. It would do her no good to arrive feeling inferior—that was a lesson she had learned long ago, and learned too well to forget now. Neilenn touched buttons on the panel, and the door slid back. Heikki took a deep breath, and stepped into air suddenly chill. She shivered in spite of herself, and glanced around quickly. FitzGilbert, standing beside a massive executive desk, greeted her with a strained smile. She seemed to be feeling the cold, too, Heikki thought; the other woman was wrapped in an incongruously heavy jacket that was trimmed with some sort of feathery fur. Then she saw the stranger, sitting at the desk, broad shoulders broadened further by the cut of his expensive jacket. He was sweating visibly, despite the chill. Used to a colder climate, Heikki thought, but did not speak.
FitzGilbert cleared her throat, and took a step forward. “Ser Slade, this is Gwynne Heikki, of Heikki-Santerese, the salvage company we’ve hired to try and clear up this mess. Dam’ Heikki, this is Daulo Slade, a troubleshooter for our parent company.”
Heikki murmured a polite response, trying to keep her face expressionless. Troubleshooters were just what their title implied, the people who solved problems for the mainline, Loop-based corporations—except that most troubleshooters’ idea of solving a problem was to create other problems for other people.
“Dam’ Heikki.” Slade had risen to his feet at her approach. Light glinted from a pin clipped to his lapeclass="underline" a green circle marked with three gold “R”s. A Retroceder? Heikki thought. Damn, he must be good, if Tremoth’s willing to tolerate that visible an eccentricity. Slade stood now, frowning slightly, the expression barely raising a line on his rounded face. “Heikki. That name’s familiar.”
Heikki’s stomach contracted. Galler, she thought, but kept silent, looking at the big man with an expression as innocent as she could make it.
“That’s it,” Slade said, “I had a publicity liaison, oh, not long ago, whose name was Heikki. Galler Heikki.” The frown vanished, to be replaced by an enormous and unsettling smile. “Would he be any relation of yours, Dam’ Heikki?”
“No,” Heikki said, instinctively and irrationally, and in the next instant could have bitten her tongue for that stupidity. There was no point in lying; records were too good, and too easily checked, to make it worthwhile denying Galler. She hesitated, looking for some way to recover the situation, and Slade shrugged.
“I see. Not that it matters. Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“Certainly,” Heikki said, and FitzGilbert stirred again.
“Ser Mikelis planned to join us if we could raise the main link. Shall I see if communications has managed it yet?”