“I doubt they have,” Slade said, pleasantly enough, but with an edge that stopped FitzGilbert in her tracks. “The plant has been down since yesterday, and—forgive me, but your technicians don’t seem to be very efficient in their repairs.”
“We could use more up-to-date equipment,” FitzGilbert murmured, and Slade smiled again.
“I see the shoemaker’s child still goes barefoot.”
FitzGilbert flushed, barely restraining some profane retort. Slade’s smile widened, and he turned his attention to Heikki. “Now, Dam’ Heikki, please forgive me for being blunt, but I haven’t much time to spend on planet. Would you mind my asking your plans for the recovery of our matrix crystal?”
“Not at all,” Heikki answered, and was pleased with the academic detachment of her own voice. “I brought our—the firm’s—best technician with us, and a senior pilot with whom we’ve worked in the past. We’ve hired a local pilot and guide as well, for back up—”
“If you don’t mind,” Slade interrupted. “Could you perhaps just give me a summary?”
“Whatever you want,” Heikki said, suppressing her own annoyance. “We’ve run some simulations of the latac’s course, and have mapped out an area for a preliminary aerial search. We’ve pulled in satellite data on the area—standard orbital survey material, both from before and after the crash—and have identified six possible sites. Once we’ve found the wreck, and I think the odds are that we will find the crash site within that preliminary area, then we’ll either bring in equipment to analyze the wreck in situ or we’ll fly out the remains and look at it here in Lowlands.”
“I assume Lo-Moth has already run this sort of program,” Slade said. “What makes you think you can find anything new?”
Heikki suppressed an angry answer only with an effort. “Because this is what I do for a living. Look, I have either modified or have had written half a dozen programs that look through your raw data for the few trivial bits of information that will help me find what I’m looking for. Once those programs are running, I have to make decisions within the program—what it’s looking for, whether a certain variable that meets the search parameters really is relevant or just noise—and I make those decisions based on twenty years’ experience. Your people don’t have the experience or the programs to do what I do.”
Slade nodded again, oblivious to her anger. “What would cause you to decide to remove the wreck from the crash site? I would have thought an oil-site analysis would be far more valuable.”
“Any number of factors,” Heikki answered, fighting for control, and in the same breath, FitzGilbert said,
“Orcs.”
“Orcs?” For a moment, Slade looked puzzled. “Oh. Your resident hominid.”
His tone was faintly contemptuous, and Heikki struggled to keep her own voice steady. “That’s the most likely reason we’d want to move the remains. If the site were awkward for any other reason, though, I’d move— after obtaining a full holographic record, of course.”
“Of course.” Slade sounded almost bored now. “Tell me, do you think this is a matter for internal affairs?”
“He means, was it sabotage,” FitzGilbert interjected.
“I have no idea at this point,” Heikki answered.
“You must have made some assumptions,” Slade murmured.
Heikki stiffened. “I assumed the job was as advertised, Ser, and therefore that this was probably a case of bad weather bringing down a flight that should have kept to the coastal route. If you have any additional information, I would of course be grateful for it.”
Slade shook his head. “None, Dam’ Heikki, I assure you.”
“Then I’ll continue to go on the assumption that it was a routine accident.”
“What will happen if it proves not to be routine?” Slade asked.
“That’s really up to my employers,” Heikki answered. “I assume Dam’ FitzGilbert can tell you more about that.”
Slade waved the answer aside. “I didn’t mean in terms of company policy, I meant in terms of what you can do for us. If, for example, the LTA’s crew were part of some conspiracy, is there any chance you could still find the wreck?”
Heikki nodded. “Oh, yes. It would probably take longer, but I think we’d find it in the end. Even a commando demolition charge would leave some traces—a multi-ton chunk of fused metals, for one.”
FitzGilbert grinned at that, but said nothing.
“Under those circumstances, we wouldn’t be able to tell you much beyond the fact that there had been sabotage,” Heikki went on, “but even that’s something.”
“Quite.” Slade pushed himself slowly to his feet, signaling the end of the interview. He was a big man, bigger than Heikki had realized, but there was muscle under the unfashionable softness. “I hope I’ll be on planet long enough to receive at least a preliminary report first hand, Dam’ Heikki.”
It was an order, despite the velvet phrasing. Heikki smiled, and said, “I can’t make any promises.” Slade frowned, but before he could say anything more, Heikki had nodded to him and to FitzGilbert. “Dam-i-ser, good day.”
On her return to the hostel, Heikki’s temper was not improved by the announcement that Alexieva had accepted the provisional contract. She did her best to keep herself under control, but despite her best efforts snapped at Djuro until the little man raised his hands in surrender.
“What did you expect her to do?” he asked reasonably. “If you didn’t want to hire her, you shouldn’t’ve made the offer.”
Heikki took a deep breath. “I know. Look, I’m sorry.”
“What happened with this person from Tremoth?” Djuro asked, after a moment.
Heikki shrugged. “I think—” she began, and broke off, frowning now in puzzlement. “I’m not sure what he wanted, precisely. To find out how we were going about the job, certainly, but I don’t know why he’d care. And I think I made a bad mistake dealing with him.”
“Oh?” Djuro sat quite still, neither consoling nor condemning. Quite suddenly, Heikki wished Santerese were there instead, but put the thought aside.
“Yeah. He asked me if I had a brother, and I told him no.”
“So?” Djuro said, after a moment.
Heikki looked up, briefly startled, then managed a rueful grin. “I do have one, you see. And he used to work for this troubleshooter—”
“I don’t mind not knowing you’ve got a brother,” Djuro said, “but you might’ve told me we were dealing with a troubleshooter.”
“Sorry.” Heikki spread her hands. “You’d expect them to send one, if the matrix is as important as they say.”
“True. So why’d you tell him you didn’t have a brother?” Djuro’s voice was patience itself, but Heikki could hear the annoyance under the neutral words.
“Because I cut all contact with my family twenty years ago, because if I had a choice I wouldn’t have a brother, and because I think of myself as not having a ‘ brother.” Heikki glared at the monitor without really seeing the lights rippling across its surface. “I know I should’ve explained that, but there wasn’t a chance.”
“I doubt it’ll matter,” Djuro said, after a moment. “If it comes up again, you can always tell him what you told me. It’s a good enough explanation.”
“Thanks,” Heikki said, rather sourly, and took a deep breath, putting aside the whole subject. “So, did you get the results from Ciceron? And where’s Jock, anyway?”
“He and Jan went to look at the fliers we rented,” Djuro answered. “The sims are in the boards, and we’ve worked out a tentative course. I spoke with Alexieva just before you came in, so I’ve got her input as well,”
“Great,” Heikki said, and reached for the nearest workboard. She fingered its miniature keyboard to display the projected course, traced its progress from the Lowlands airfield up across the scrub and then into the wayback, following the winding course of the Asilas river. The map program Djuro had been using was very good: the topography that unrolled beneath her fingers was almost uncannily like the land she remembered from her youth. “When do you think we can leave?”