Mighty Good Road

CHAPTER 9

Heikki let herself be drawn away from the whooping alarm and the confused shouts, stumbling on suddenly uneven tiles. Then she was pushed through a door into darkness, and then through a second door into the subdued lights of a side tunnel. A hand snatched at her turban, pulling it loose, and Galler said, “Must you wear precinct clothes? You stand out like a sore thumb.”

“I work in the precincts,” Heikki said, and grabbed back the strip of cloth. Her sight had cleared now; they stood in one of the deliveryways that ran between the blocks of shops, the passage empty now except for neatly flattened and stacked piles of used packaging. She folded her turban as small as possible, grimly aware that Galler was right, her clothing was conspicuous, and then, changing her mind, wound the strip of cloth around her waist in imitation of a fashionable nuobi. It would help hide her own belt, with its many pockets, too. She shook her head vigorously, then ran her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to shape it into something resembling a style. Galler frowned, and fumbled in the pockets of his well-cut jacket until he produced a length of black ribbon. Heikki glared, but took it, and bound her hair into a short tail, then stooped to fasten all the clasps of her shift. That closed the walking slits, narrowing the skirt to a fashionable silhouette, and Galler nodded grudging approval.

“Better, anyway,” he said, and glanced over his shoulder. “Come on.” He started down the deliveryway without looking back.

Heikki made a face, but followed, enough in control of her temper to recognize necessity. “What the hell were you doing there?”

Galler glanced back, a cherub’s smile playing on his lips. It was an expression that rarely failed to drive Heikki to attempt homicide. This time, however, she controlled herself with an effort, and repeated her question.

Galler’s smile broadened. “Waiting for you.”

“And if you knew I was going to be there,” Heikki said, her voice thin with anger and the need to suppress it, “why did you let me run myself into that trouble?”

Galler shrugged. “I needed to. Did you, by any chance, pick up the disks that were in my machine?”

Heikki’s jaw dropped, and then she closed her mouth firmly over her first response. He had known she would do it, he had known—had assumed, after twenty years of almost no contact between them—that she would take the time to steal his disks, and, worse, he had been right. “No,” she said deliberately. “Are you crazy? Why would I do a thing like that?” She was savagely glad to see his face fall.

“It would have been useful—” Galler began—betrayed, Heikki thought, into an unguarded utterance?—and then cut himself off. He said, with an attempt at his earlier manner, “Oh, well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. You always were too honest, Heikki.”

“Not a family fault, I see,” Heikki murmured, and was rewarded by a single angry glance before Galler had himself under control again.

“But profitable, you must admit.” They were almost at the end of the deliveryway, and he took a deep breath, stepping out onto the main street.

Heikki followed, grateful for the crowd of pedestrians that swallowed them instantly. This was one of the major markets, specializing in gems; the pedestrians were uniformly well-dressed, the professional dealers in expensive, casual clothes mingling with and deliberately indistinguishable from the tourists who moved slowly along the promenade, stopping now and then to gawk at the merchandise displayed on the shops’ window screens. There were corporate hacks as well, but not so many of them, and most of them wore their uniforms with a difference that suggested they were of sufficient rank to ignore the house rules. A bit above my usual company, Heikki thought, automatically matching her pace to that of the people around her.

“What now?” she said under her breath, and smiled blankly at her brother.

“We catch a jitney at the end of the plaza,” Galler answered, and Heikki frowned.

“Not here—?” she began, and realized her mistake almost as soon as she had spoken.

“Traffic restricted,” Galler answered. “They’re worried about crime, want to cut off the escape routes.” He took her arm in what seemed to be a polite gesture. The grip bit hard, and Heikki suppressed a curse. “Don’t look back.”

Heikki did as she was told, her mouth setting briefly into an ugly grimace. Obeying the pressure on her arm, she slowed before a display of jewelry, cage-coronet and bracelets and heavy collar, set with flawed PDE crystals. Even in the imperfect reproduction of the window, the crystals flared blue and white, strikingly beautiful against the black metal mesh that formed both backing and setting.

“The mesh is an energy damper—lavanite, I think,” Galler said. “Otherwise there’d be a danger of random discharge injuring the owner or his or her companions.”

I do know that, Heikki thought, irritated, and then realized that they were within earshot of another couple. She smiled sweetly and said, “One wouldn’t want that, of course. Just think of the insurance.”

Galler’s lips twitched—as much in surprise, Heikki thought, as in amusement—but he answered with commendable steadiness, “No, the liability would be high.”

The stranger couple had moved away. Heikki kept her smile as she said, “What’s going on, Galler?”

“Securitrons,” her brother answered tightly. “Behind us, coming up the street.” He turned away from the window, his hand still linked lightly, urgently through her elbow, drawing her on up the street. Behind them, Heikki could hear exclamations and the shrill peep of a whistle, and fought down the urge to run.

“What in the world—?” a strange voice exclaimed, quite close by, and Galler drew Heikki into the relative shelter of a shop entrance.

“Robbery?” he called over his shoulder, and a moment later they were joined by a well-dressed man whose face, close up, was a little too hard for his fine suit. A carrycase was slung over one shoulder, apparently idly, but then Heikki saw his knuckles go white on the strap. A jewel courier, she guessed, and made herself look anywhere except at the case. On the street, pedestrians scattered to either side of the main travelway, tourists’ voices rising in immodest alarm as they tried to crowd against the shop windows and entrances. The merchants had locked their doors at the first hint of trouble. Heikki could see a frightened face staring through a peephole almost level with her shoulder. Then the securitrons swept by, a dozen of them riding two-man hoverfans, a dozen more on foot. Heikki stared in genuine astonishment—all this for me? or for him, she added silently, certainly, and could not help glancing at Galler. On her other side, the jewel courier whispered something that might have been a curse.

“What is the name of—?” someone else began, and remembered belatedly where she was.

And then the procession had swept past out of sight, whistles shrilling again to clear the intersection. Heikki allowed herself a soundless sigh of relief, and looked at Galler, who silenced her with a pressure of his hand. All around them, voices rose in worried speculation, here and there a voice demanding petulantly or in genuine fear to be taken home at once. Only she and Galler and the courier were silent, and she saw the courier eyeing them sidelong, the hard eyes narrowing.

She pitched her voice high, aiming for the fashionable squeal she found intolerable. “What could that have been about?” she cried. Galler gave her an irritated look, but the jewel courier looked away, his suspicion visibly easing. “I think we should leave, right now.”

The look of annoyance faded, and Galler managed what might have been a nod of approval. “Of course, at once.”

Most of the other pedestrians seemed to have had the same idea. It was easy to lose themselves among the crowd streaming toward the end of the street, but once they had reached the round plaza where the jitneys were swarming, Galler turned left again, doubling back toward Tremoth’s offices.

“Are you crazy?” Heikki asked under her breath, and Galler darted an annoyed glance at her.

“Not entirely. We’re more likely to pick up a jitney here, before they get to this mob.”

There was logic to that, Heikki admitted silently, and made no further protest, though she sighed with relief when they turned station-north again, back toward the center of the Exchange Point. As Galler had predicted, the streets were less crowded, and jitneys streamed past them, summoned by the central computer to the scene of the sudden demand. Galler did not signal one until they were well away from the jewelers’ district, and Heikki had to approve the tactic. There was no sense in allowing themselves to be connected in any way to the disturbance they had just left.

At last, however, Galler lifted his hand as a jitney turned down the street toward them, saying in the same moment, “I hope you have some cash slips?”

“Typical,” Heikki said, bitterly. “Yes, some.” And I’ll be damned if I tell you how much I’m carrying, she added silently.

“Well, I hope it’s enough,” Galler answered, and opened the jitney’s passenger compartment.

“Probably,” Heikki said, with equally false good humor, and the jitney said, “Destination, please?”

Galler’s face stilled, all trace of banter vanishing. “Pod Twenty-One, level six, fourth court. The traffic circle there,” he added, forestalling the next question.

“Acknowledged,” the jitney answered, and slid smoothly away from the curb.

“Where—?” Heikki began, and bit back the rest of her question.

Galler, however, did not seem disturbed, but leaned back against the seat cushions. “Home. Or what passes for home these days.”

Was that wise? Heikki wondered, but could not bring herself to question her brother further. Still, it wasn’t like Galler to be less than devious.

She had her answer quickly enough. They changed jitneys three times before Galler finally seemed satisfied, and directed the last machine to take them to the Samuru Court in Pod Fourteen. This was on one of the lower levels, where the semi-transient populations, the people who worked in transport or trade rather than in the prestigious sedentary jobs, tended to live. Heikki glanced surreptitiously at her lens, and saw that the area was shaded pale green, a mix of light commerce and housing.

The jitney deposited them on the edge of the Court, and Galler led them slowly around almost the full circle, watching their reflection in the shop displays to see if anyone was following them. At last he nodded to himself, and cut directly across the Court, dodging the anemic fountain. He was headed for side street eighty-two, Heikki thought, but then he changed direction as abruptly as before, and ducked into an ungated door between two shops. She was caught wrong-footed, stumbled and swore, and Galler hissed at her to be quiet.

They were in what seemed to be a machinists’ service alley, a dark cul-de-sac between the buildings, with hatches in the walls to either side that probably concealed the shops’ utility panels. Heikki frowned, and Galler said, to the apparently blank wall at the end of the alley, “Apartment Five. And one guest.”

Oh, I see, Heikki thought, and wondered if she could afford to be amused. This was a “privacy flat,” the sort of place rich businesspeople hired for unapprovable lovers. I wonder if my little brother is renter or beneficiary? Probably the renter, she decided, with some disappointment, and probably for political rather than sexual reasons.

At Galler’s words, the wall slid aside silently, revealing a tiny entrance hall and stairway quite at odds with the just-respectable shops that ringed the Court. The walls were painted a pale and dusty rose-red, and a pattern of wave-like whorls had been etched into the surface; the carpet—and it was carpeting, not plush tiling—echoed that pattern in darker shades. Heikki mouthed a soundless whistle, and Galler gave her an almost embarrassed look.

“It serves its purpose,” he said, and started up the stairs.

“And what is that?” Heikki asked, following. Galler pretended he hadn’t heard.

Galler’s flat was on the third level—which reassures me a little, Heikki thought. At least he wasn’t paying premium rents, not if he actually had to walk all that distance. She grinned to herself, but the smile faded as Galler unlocked the flat’s door.

The place was tiny, only two miniscule rooms, plus bath cubby and the wall kitchen only half hidden by a folding screen, but it was perfect, the sort of luxury Heikki herself had only dreamed of.

“You do all right for yourself,” she said involuntarily, and winced, hearing the envy in her voice.

Galler heard it too, and smiled as he waved her toward the couch that dominated the tiny main room. He said nothing, however, busying himself instead with the touchpad set into the wall beside the door. Security systems, Heikki guessed, and, moved by an obscure impulse, kicked off her shoes on the mat by the door before settling herself not on the couch but on the meter-tall pillow that was the room’s only other chair. Seen up close, the room was less impressive, the furniture not of this year’s, or even last year’s, style, the single flower—a pseudo-orchid as big as her head, fushcia edged in black, vivid against the discreet cream walls— fabric and wire rather than a live blossom. Even so, Heikki thought, it still proves a corporate salary’s better than mine. She had not needed the reminder, and the annoyance soured her voice as Galler turned away from the wall panel.

“So what’s going on, little brother?”

“Well you should ask.” Galler seated himself on the couch and moved aside a concealment panel to touch buttons on a hidden remote. A bar set-up, complete with bottles and fancifully molded ice, rose from the floor in front of him. He reached for a glass, began to fill it, and then belatedly remembered his manners.

“Help yourself, please.” Heikki shook her head, and Galler went on, “Trouble and more trouble, that’s what’s going on. What did you find on Iadara?”

Heikki laughed without humor. “Oh, no, you first.”

Galler grimaced, the ice snapping in his glass as he poured ink-blue liquor over it. “I’ve worked for Tremoth almost twenty years,” he began, and then shook his head. “No, let’s not descend to self-pity. What’s going on….I’m not completely sure, Heikki, but if what I think I’ve figured out is right, we’re not just going to get sued, we’re going to get lynched.”

“Who’s we?” Heikki asked pointedly, and Galler laughed.

“Tremoth, Gwynne. All of us.”

“Not me,” Heikki said. She shook her head. “You got in touch with me, Galler. You asked for my help, and got me into a lot of trouble in the bargain. Give.”

Galler stared into his drink for a long moment. “The crystal matrix you were hired to find,” he said at last. “Apparently the structure was derived from research that Tremoth did about a hundred and fifty years ago. I found that out—it’s part of my job, checking up on things like that, just so no one can sue us for stealing ideas—and when I told my boss, he hit the roof.”

“Why?” Heikki asked. “Lo-Moth’s practically part of Tremoth. It’s not like they were stealing it from you—is it?”

Galler shrugged. “Normally, no. When our techs have a good idea, it usually gets farmed out to the appropriate subsidiary. It’s just logic, they have the facilities and a lot more hands-on experience than we do. But this time … This time, my boss threw a fit, started me hunting who’d passed the matrix codes, and then who had access to the relevant files, all of that. I found it, all right—it was old data, back in the historical files, so I assumed it was something that had been proved unworkable, and passed all that along to my boss. Two weeks later, I was transferred to a different division.” He managed a rather strained smile. “Which was something of a shock, as I’d thought I was doing rather a good job.”

“Just who was your boss, Galler?” Heikki interjected quietly.

“A man named Daulo Slade.” Galler smiled again. “As you knew, and it gets better. He was a rising man, he seemed a good person to get in with, even if he is a Retroceder—” He broke off, shaking his head. “Which isn’t important. Anyway, all of this aroused my curiosity, of course, and I kept an eye—a discreet eye, I thought—on the Lo-Moth project. The next thing I heard, the matrix had been lost in an LTA crash on Iadara.”

“Which wasn’t what you normally think of as a crash,” Heikki murmured. Galler lifted an eyebrow, and Heikki allowed herself a slight smile. “Somebody shot it down. They went through the wreck pretty thoroughly, too.”

“Did you find the matrix?”

Heikki shook her head. “They must’ve taken it. We were pulled off the job before I could do anything about tracking them. The trail was pretty old, anyway.” She looked at her brother. “Did you pull us out, Galler?”

“No.”

For once, Heikki thought, I think I believe you. One corner of Galler’s mouth twitched upward, as though he’d read her mind.

“Did you have a chance to do any work at the site?”

“Of the crash? No, the orcs were swarming. All we had time to do was take tapes.” Heikki matched her brother’s twisted smile. “Which Lo-Moth—or more precisely, your ex-boss—took from us.”

“Slade was there himself?” Galler’s hand, which had been idly swirling the ice in his glass, froze suddenly. “That I didn’t know—it wasn’t in the networks I had access to. He was supposed to be on personal leave.”

He was looking expectantly at Heikki now. “So?” she asked. “I don’t—”

“You don’t understand,” Galler interrupted. “I’m supposed to have full access to all of that information, supposed to be able to find anybody, of any rank, anywhere and any time. That’s part of being a liaison, finding people—and knowing when not to find them, of course. But the point is, I should’ve known.” He put his drink aside. “Do you have copies of those tapes you took?”

Heikki hesitated, and Galler waved his hand impatiently. “Of course you do. Oh, damn it, why didn’t you have the sense to pick up those tapes I’d left in my office?” He stopped abruptly, fought himself under control. “Gwynne—Heikki, I have to see the tapes you made.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the only way I can save myself, and you, and your Santerese and maybe a lot of other people.”

Since when did you ever care about anybody except yourself? The words trembled on her tongue, but there was something in Galler’s voice that silenced her. She said instead, “Why don’t you finish the story? What happened to you—why were the securitrons waiting for me at your office?”

Galler waved an impatient hand. “Politics, partly, and of course I’d read the files. But I don’t have a lot of friends in the company. Anyway, someone started fiddling with my personal records, especially finances, slipping in backdated deposits I hadn’t made—purchases, too, just to balance things. Shen—you met her, my secretary? She alerted me, I looked over the books, and realized there wasn’t anything I could do to get out of a probable embezzlement charge, at least not quickly enough to do any good. So I called you.”

“What did you expect me to do about a charge of embezzling?” Heikki asked, almost with resignation.

“Nothing, directly. But I knew you’d’ve kept the survey tapes, and I thought I might be able to make you mad enough to steal my disks—I can’t believe you didn’t—and that would give me enough data to prove my charges.”

Heikki was very aware of the disks jammed into her belt under her ribs, but made no move to betray that pressure. She said, slowly, not sure she wanted to hear the answer, “What was in those files you read, Galler?”

Galler looked back at her, his expression suddenly old. “I think—I can’t prove, but I think—that the EP1 disaster wasn’t caused by trying to fit another generator into the stability. The crystals—the core crystals—were flawed. Maybe deliberately so.”

There was a long silence. Heikki shivered, though the room was warm enough. If that was true, then Galler was right, this would not merely ruin Tremoth as a business, but half the galaxy would be after blood. “Why?” she said at last. “Why would they do that?”

Galler shrugged. “EP4 is the biggest of the stations on the Loop, just because there are four railheads here. The Southern Extension was slated for development next, and EP1 was getting five railheads. EP4 would probably have lost its primacy. Tremoth has a lot invested in EP4.”

Heikki shivered again, cold fear creeping along her spine. All that, all that destruction, the lives lost and an entire habitable system abandoned, its one possible Exchange location choked now with debris that was too massive to remove or destroy, and all for money, for abstract numbers in the system computers. “They wouldn’t’ve been poor,” she said almost to herself. “They’d still have been the main connector to the Northern Extension, still had all those profits, and Tremoth would’ve been handling it still—they wouldn’t’ve been poor.” She looked at Galler. “They just wouldn’t’ve been first.”

Galler nodded slowly. “These things matter, Heikki.”

Heikki shook her head in pointless denial. “They damn well oughtn’t,” she said fiercely, and knew even as she spoke that the words meant nothing to her brother. “Tell me,” she said instead, “would you have said anything, done anything, if they hadn’t tried to do you in?”

“Are you crazy?” Galler looked almost annoyed, as though the retort had been surprised out of him. “What good would it have done? The disaster was a century and a half ago. Their great-great-grandchildren are old now, the people who died then. No, if I’d been left to myself, I would’ve buried the file, manufactured a good reason for Lo-Moth not to pursue the crystal pattern, and left it all strictly alone.”

If you were paid enough, Heikki thought. Something of her disbelief must have shown in her face, and Galler’s chin lifted. “It could only hurt everybody, bringing it up now. It should’ve stayed well buried.”

“But now you’re willing to bring it out into the open?” Heikki asked.

“I’m not willing to go to prison for them,” Galler answered. “Not now.”

But you would’ve been, Heikki realized, if they’d asked right, and then none of this would’ve happened. She was suddenly very tired, tired of the whole miserable business and of her own involvement, even of her own anger. Galler was right, nothing good was going to come out of this, even though a part of her wanted to see the proper persons blamed, a measure of justice served, late as it was for that storybook ending. And once again, her brother had left her no choice at all.

She shook herself, and leaned forward to the drinks tray, made herself take her time mixing a stiff drink, pouring the liquors, then adding ice in shapes like seastars. She sipped it thoughtfully, wondering what they could do now. Get off EP4 for a start, she decided, get back to EP7 and Santerese—back to EP7, she corrected herself sternly, where you are a known and respected businessperson, and your word will be worth something against even Tremoth Astrando. My tapes are there, too, and maybe a proper analysis will show us something useful. Galler’s disks might be useful, too, and she leaned forward a little to feel their edges digging into her ribs. She became aware that Galler was watching her with hooded eyes, an expression she remembered from their childhood.

“What I’d like to know,” she said slowly, and saw Galler lean forward fractionally, “is why they kept any record at all.” Galler frowned, and Heikki elaborated. “Records of the crystal pattern, I mean. If Tremoth did cause the disaster, why not destroy everything that could possibly reveal that fact?”

Galler shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the original recorders were afraid that destroying files would tip off the people who’d actually worked on the project, make people remember things.” His mouth twitched again. “In fact, I bet they handled that the way they should’ve handled Lo-Moth, just quietly dropped the project as though it hadn’t worked out.” He leaned forward to pour himself a second drink, and Heikki saw for the first time that his hands were trembling. “What really concerns me right now is what to do next.”

Heikki allowed herself a second of exultation, but kept her face sternly expressionless. “First thing, we need to get off EP4. Tremoth has entirely too much influence here.”

“I’ll agree with that,” Galler muttered.

“I say we go to EP7,” Heikki continued. “I have friends there, and the authorities know me.” Belatedly, she remembered the charges Santerese had mentioned, but suppressed the thought. One thing at a time, she told herself, and went on as though nothing had occurred to her. “Plus we can analyze the wreck tapes there. That will give you a bit more ammunition when you go to the Authority.”

Galler grimaced, but nodded. “They’ll be monitoring ticket sales, you know.”

“Depends on how closely,” Heikki answered.

“Probably very,” Galler muttered, touching keys on his remote, and looked at the chronodisplay that blossomed on the far wall. “It’s too late now—there won’t be enough traffic in the networks to hide me. I’ll test the waters in the morning, all right.”

“All right,” Heikki said. “How secure is this place, anyway?”

Galler grinned. “Nobody from Tremoth is going to come near us.”

Heikki’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be so sure?”

“The president of Tremoth herself keeps her latest boyfriend in the flat below us. Nobody from the company would dare come around here, just in case they had to notice something.”

Heikki woke to the spattering of a keyboard in the main room. She pushed herself upright in the massive bed—Galler had offered to sleep on the couch, and Heikki had not felt chivalrous enough to insist on accepting that hardship herself—and cocked her head to listen. Sure enough, beneath the steady clicking she could hear the sound of a synthesized voice turned low, and the humming of a portable screen. As promised, Galler was testing the waters, she thought, and swung herself out of bed, reaching for the clothes she had discarded the night before. Shirt and shift were both sadly crumpled; she smoothed the fabric ineffectually for a few minutes before giving up and starting out into the main room.

Galler’s media suite was a miniature console set into the far wall, its controls and screen usually hidden behind a folding screen that matched the kitchen divider. He glanced back at her approach, but did not lift his hands from the keyboard.

“There’s coffee on the hob, and stuff in the cooler.”

“Thanks,” Heikki said, dryly. She drew herself a mug of coffee, shuddered at the array of sweets on the cold shelves above the microcooker, and came to lean over her brother’s shoulder. “Any luck?”

“Depends on what you mean by luck,” Galler answered. He typed a final command and leaned back, studying the screen. Heikki frowned at the array, but could make no sense of the unfamiliar corporate codes.

“What am I looking at?” she asked.

“I accessed the low-level maintenance programs that security uses to carry out some of its sweep/scans,” Galler answered. “These are the trigger codes, things that will be automatically reported to a human operator, in descending priority.”

“So tell me what it means,” Heikki said, and sipped her coffee.

Galler smiled without humor. “Basically, the system’s set to pass any ticket purchase for EP7 to a human operator, or any of my listed credit numbers, or any of your cards.” He touched a section of the screen, and highlights sprang up beneath his finger. “Unless you’ve got some that aren’t listed?”

Heikki studied the numbers, shook her head regretfully. “They’ve even got the private accounts, not just business, and my Club numbers.”

“I thought it was too much to hope for,” Galler said. He lowered his hand, and the highlighting vanished.

“What about a roundabout route, say EP4 to EP3 or EP1, and buy tickets there for EP7?” Heikki asked.

“Possible, if we used cash,” Galler answered, “and if this program didn’t catch us.” He touched keys again, and a new set of codes appeared on the screen. “They’ve set up a watch at the station axis, tapped into the regular security cameras—with the Authority’s permission,

I might add—with a program that matches photos of us with images from the passenger scan, and rings all kinds of bells if there’s a match.”

“Exactly what happens?” Heikki asked.

Galler made a face. “All right, they don’t send every goon on the Point to the station axis. But the images do go to human operators, and they make a decision.”

“Damn,” Heikki said softly. So much for plan one, she added silently. Security camera images were notoriously fuzzy; it would have been easy enough to find someone, some drunk or druggie down on its luck, willing to go to the station and trigger the alarms for them, letting them slip past in the resulting confusion.

“How much cash do you have, anyway?” Galler asked.

Heikki shrugged. “Not enough for a ticket, but I can sell something, pawn something.”

Galler shook his head. “They’re watching that, too.”

“God damn,” Heikki said again. This was the first time in her adult life that she had been cut off from the financial networks, regular and irregular, that linked the points of the Loop and even the Precinct worlds into a coherent whole. It was a bad feeling, frightened and helpless together, and she summoned anger to block out the rising fear. “Who the hell do they think they are?” she began, and Galler grinned.

“The richest corporation on this Point, Gwynne.”

Heikki glared at him. “So?” She looked back at the screen before he could answer, and mercifully he said nothing, leaving her to her thoughts. They were cut off from the usual means of travel, all right, she thought, which leaves us—what? FTLship, conceivably, though that was even more expensive than the trains, but neither EP4 nor EP7 are regular FTLports. Even if there were a ship or two in, the docking facilities were so limited that it would be easy for the securitrons to monitor all traffic in and out. “There’s one last possibility,” she said aloud, and saw Galler’s eyebrows rise. “We ride free.”

“Absolutely not,” Galler answered flatly.

“Do you have a better idea?”

After a moment, he looked away. “No. But it’s still too dangerous.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Heikki asked, with as much patience as she could muster. “Waiting around until the securitrons relax their guard?” In spite of her best intentions, sarcasm tinged her tone. “Bearing in mind that most of what’s looking for us is computer-based, and doesn’t get tired, need a lunch break, or go off duty at 2100—”

“No.” Galler sighed, and touched keys to begin extricating himself from the system supervisor. “I suppose you’re right, at that. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

So do I, Heikki thought, but knew better than to let her doubts show in her face or voice. “It’s going to take a little time,” she temporized. “And I need some information. Can you get me a detail map of the Axis, especially service corridors?”

“In a minute,” Galler answered absently, most of his attention on the screen.

“Then I’ll want a schedule of freight runs, and the cargo carried, for the next few days—as far in advance as you can get me,” Heikki went on.

“That could be difficult,” Galler said.

“As much of it as you can,” Heikki conceded. “But I need some information.” Her mouth twitched upward into an involuntary smile, and she was glad Galler could not see her. He did not need to know that she would be doing this for the first time, based on Sten Djuro’s two-minute scare story for people new to the Loop. Come to think of it, she added silently, it doesn’t make me feel any too confident, either.

“I suppose you want all this without alerting any of the watchdogs?” Galler said.

“Of course.”

“I’ll do what I can. Go take a shower or something, I’ll let you know when I have it.” He looked over his shoulder then, visibly assessing the crumpled skirt and shift. “There’s clothes in the left-hand wall that might fit you.”

Heikki grinned, and did as she was told. As she had more than half expected, the clothing—presumably belonging to Galler’s most recent lover; on second glance they would suit the secretary Shen quite nicely—was of neither a style nor a shape to compliment her own angular body. It was, however, clean and unwrinkled, and after some searching she found a not-too-fitted shift and a straight-bodied overvest that would not look too much as though she had rifled a younger sister’s wardrobe. The shoes were impossible, and even if they had not been painfully small, would have been hopelessly impractical. Heikki shook her head at the thought of trying to slip unseen into a cargo crate while wearing bright red heels at least eight centimeters tall, and slipped her feet back into her own flat station shoes. The plastic knife in its thigh-sheath presented the greatest problem. The shift’s walking slit was cut too low for easy access, and in any case the overvest prevented a quick draw. In the end, Heikki wedged the knife and sheath into the vest’s front pocket, and hoped she wouldn’t have to use it.

By the time she returned to the main room, the hard printer was chattering to itself in one corner, and Galler was studying yet another screenful of information.

“I wish I knew what you were looking for,” he said without turning, and Heikki hid a grin. So do I, she thought, and then Galler swung around to face her. “Well, at least you look less frumpy.”

“Thank you,” Heikki said, with a sweetness she wished would poison. The printer had stopped, and she crossed the room to pick up the folds of recyclable paper.

“That’s just the first installment,” Galler said, “and the inquiries are scattered. The rest will be coming in over the next few hours.”

Heikki nodded absently, scanning the closely printed listings. It was more secure to do things that way, even if it did make her job more tedious. Still reading, she felt her way to the couch and settled herself there, reaching into her belt for a marker.

“You’re welcome,” Galler said, with a sweetness that matched her own. Heikki glanced up, momentarily abashed, but managed a shrug.

It took her most of the day to work her way through page after page of freight listings. Most were obviously unsuitable—the cargo was either too valuable not to be carrying the most advanced electronic seals as well as the standard railroad locks, or carried loose, like grain or seed crystal, or toxic enough to make riding with it impossible. By the end of the day, however, she had marked a dozen or so cargos that might be suitable, and flipped back through the pages to study them more closely. Two she eliminated at once: both left the station just after a shift change point, when the loaders would be entirely too alert. Three more were crossed off when she noticed that the shipper was either Tremoth itself or one of its subsidiaries. Another five were hard-pack cargo, each item packed in its own individual inner crate. Possible, she thought, but hardly comfortable. Still, with any luck that sort of sacrifice won’t be necessary.

She sighed, scanning the remaining listings. All were acceptable, and she lacked the experience that would help her pick out the most likely. Two left at mid-shift, the other three closer to the end of the time: that’s as good a way as any to decide, she thought, and flipped through the pages again. One, bolt fabric on the last leg of its journey from the mills on Jericho to manufacturers on the Loop, was scheduled to load and leave at about the time the loaders should be taking their mandated break. If I know dockers, Heikki thought, they’ll see the point in hell before they’ll give up one nanosecond of their personal time. That’s the run we want.

“Galler?”

“Yes?” Her brother appeared with an alacrity that belied his bored tone of voice.

“I think I’ve got one.” Heikki held out the sheaf of papers, folded now so that the freight run she had chosen lay at the top. “This is what we want.”

Galler took the pages from her, studied it dubiously. “If you say so.”

I do say so, Heikki thought. She said, “It leaves tonight, too, late but not so late we won’t have a crowd to cover us going into the Station Axis.”

“Well and good,” Galler said, “but what do we do once we get there?”

Heikki grinned, enjoying her brother’s uneasiness. “Leave that to me.”

They left for the Station Axis toward the end of the third shift, when the mid-class shopkeepers were closing down their operations and the mainline data clerks were ending their eight-hour day. They fit in well with the slow-moving crowds, Heikki thought, boarding the omnitram, last of three, that would take them into the lower levels of the Axis. Her pale overvest and shift matched the clothes worn by a dozen other women sitting on the tram’s lower deck, and Galler’s moderately tailored suit did nothing to call attention to them. Even so, it took all of Heikki’s concentration not to glance around at every stop, scanning for securitrons. She fingered the toolkit Galler had tucked into her pocket, and hoped it would be more use than her knife. At her side, Galler bent over a lapscreen, data lens to his eye as though busy with last minute work. At the second stop, Heikki frowned, and then leaned over to murmur in his ear, “It would be more convincing if you turned it on.”

Galler looked up, startled, then blushed deeply. He flicked a switch, and the status light came on in the machine’s side panel; he adjusted the screen image with a sweep of his hand, and returned to his apparent industry. Heikki controlled the desire to giggle, and stared instead out the tram’s nearest window.

The crowd changed as the tram drew closer to the Station Axis, partygoers, amateur and professional alike, mingling with higher-status businessmen on their way to the trains. There were still enough midrange workers to hide them, Heikki thought, and saw Galler frown.

She glanced over her shoulder involuntarily, and saw nothing, but her brother was still frowning. She jostled him deliberately then, and leaned forward as if to apologize.

“What’s wrong?”

Galler made a face. “Nothing. I thought I saw someone I knew, that’s all.”

I hope you’re wrong, Heikki thought, and leaned back in her seat. In spite of her best intentions, she could not keep her eyes from roaming around the car, scanning each unfamiliar face for some sign of recognition. She saw none, and relaxed against the hard plastic just as Galler said softly, “No.”

Heikki looked at him, and he shrugged slightly, head down as though he were concentrating on his lapscreen.

“It is him.”

“Has he seen you—recognized you?”

“I don’t know.” The frustration in Galler’s voice was barely under control. “I don’t—I can’t tell.”

“So pretend you don’t see him,” Heikki said, and wished with all her heart that she had more effectual advice to give.

Then, at the next-to-last stop, Galler gave a sigh of relief, and Heikki looked sideways past him to see a tall man with thinning hair making his way down the tram’s narrow steps. “Is that him?” she asked, and Galler nodded.

“So he didn’t see you,” Heikki said, and in that moment the stranger glanced back toward them, his eyes fixing briefly on Galler before he turned away and lost himself in the crowd. Or did he? she wondered, and said aloud, “Who was he?”

“Another liaison for Tremoth,” Galler answered, and Heikki made a face.

“So we have to assume he did see you. What then?”

Galler shrugged, annoyed, and Heikki waved the question away. Of course he couldn’t answer, not in this crowd, she thought, and anyway I don’t really need him to tell me. There’s not a lot of places we could be going on this tram except the Station Axis, so we have to assume the securitrons will be alerted when we get there. And that means following plan two. Wonderful. I just hope half of what Sten said—was it only three days ago?— was true.

The tram slowed, grinding to a halt against the worn bumpers of the lower Axis platform. This was the lower-class section of the Station, the transit platforms that served the employees of the railroad and of the companies that served it. Most of the people filing off the tram would be night clerks, Heikki thought, handling freight. The others would be heading for the cheap but trendy—and often dangerous—clubs that lay below the main Axis, or simply going on a walk through the entrance plaza, dreaming of wealth they would almost certainly never achieve. She let herself be carried along with the crowd toward the wall of transluscent mosaic that formed the exit, as always a little surprised by the sameness of the people here and on all the other Exchange Points. She was aware that Galler was close behind her, his lapscreen closed and slung now over one shoulder, but she did not look back until they had passed through the automatic doors into the Rotunda.

Overhead, an immense lens of pressure-tested triglass admitted light from the artificial strip-suns of the entrance plaza, its color transmuted by the lens to an oddly amber shade. It was a stormy color, vaguely unnerving, and people did not linger in its circle, pausing only long enough to find their direction on any one of the dozen display kiosks before setting off decisively. Heikki stopped just outside the ring of strongest light, pretending to study a kiosk displaying a gaudy series of nightclub advertisements, and waited for Galler to join her.

“Such taste and discernment,” her brother’s voice said at her shoulder, and Heikki did not bother to hide her grin.

“I thought one of them might be to your taste.”

“No, thank you,” Galler answered, with austerity. “Now what?”

Heikki glanced up toward the triglass lens, feeling the familiar vertigo as its shape distorted distance as well as light, giving the illusion of far more height than could possibly be there, then looked away. “Follow me.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned toward a cluster of unnumbered corridors that led off to the right.

“Those are employee access corridors,” Galler said uneasily, and held his lapscreen more tightly.

“I know,” Heikki answered, with what she thought was commendable nonchalance. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her vest, however, loosening the plastic knife in its sheath. The back corridors of any train station were always dangerous, filled as they were with any station’s least skilled, and most exploited, workers; anyone who wasn’t part of one of the rail unions was considered fair game. “If your friend saw you,” she said aloud, “he’ll have alerted the security upstairs, right?”

“He may not have recognized me,” Galler said, halfheartedly.

“Do you want to take the chance?” There was no answer, and Heikki nodded. “Right, then. Come on.”

The access corridor was filled with the hard blue light that dominated any ‘pointer working space. Heikki blinked in its brilliance, and slipped her data lens from her belt left-handed, her right hand still on the hilt of her knife. She held the lens to her eye, fingers awkward on the bezel, but at last triggered the map she wanted. Access to the loading areas was further on, through a series of feeder tunnels that sloped up from the warehouses five levels below their feet. This particular corridor joined a secondary feeder a hundred meters on, and that secondary tube would take them into the main feeds. The only trouble, she thought, trying to walk, to move as though she had business in this part of the point every day, is that those areas are bound to be busy now. Djuro’s advice had been to enter the loading platform itself, going directly to it from the passenger platform. Unfortunately, Heikki thought, that was no longer possible.

“Hey, you.”

The voice came from a side passage. Heikki turned to face it, lifting an eyebrow in her best ‘pointer manner. “Are you talking to me?” she demanded, and heard Galler’s sharp intake of breath behind her. Don’t screw this up, Galler, she prayed silently, just play the flunky and everything will be fine—

“Yeah, you.” The speaker was a big-bellied man, a dozen union badges dangling from his belt, some almost hidden by the swelling stomach. “What are you doing down here?”

“I have business here,” Heikki answered, and withered him with a look, doing her best to read the badges in that same brief glance. They were mostly engineers’ codes, making him one of the elite crew that handled the tuning and maintenance of the warp itself—but that also means, Heikki thought, that he doesn’t know the dockside work at all. Or I hope he doesn’t, she added, and waited for the next question.

“Yeah?” The man’s expression was not as disbelieving as his tone. “What’s the name?”

“Gallatin.” She heard Galler gasp again, but did not dare look back to glare at him. Gallatin Cie was one of the Loop’s largest shippers, and its principal was a woman of Heikki’s age and status, a woman Precinct-born, who did not bother with publicity. She held her breath, and hoped the union man had never seen any of Gallatin’s infrequent interviews.

The engineer’s eyebrows rose, though he held onto his skeptical expression. “Where you heading?” He managed not to add the honorific, and Heikki mentally gave him points for it.

“I’ve got a cargo going on the platform in twenty minutes,” she said. “I want to watch it through.”

It was a common enough precaution, and the engineer shrugged. “The platform riser is that way,” he said, and pointed down the corridor.

Heikki nodded, not daring to believe that they’d gotten away with it, and started off in the direction indicated. Galler followed, clutching his lapscreen to his side in a plausible imitation of a private secretary’s protective gesture. Heikki did not look back, but she was very aware of the engineer watching them. Then, to her relief, a woman’s voice called from a side corridor, and the man turned away.

“You were lucky,” Galler said, under his breath.

I know, Heikki thought, but said only, “Take the left-hand corridor.”

This one was less well-kept than the main road, its rounded, tunnel-like walls covered with much-scarred padding, the floor tiles scored with deep parallel grooves from the robo-pallets. There would be no explaining their presence here, Heikki knew, and quickened her step until they were almost running, at the same time straining to hear over the soft slapping of their own footsteps. Broad, shallow alcoves lined the walls: safety cells, Heikki realized after a moment, for the human crews’ use when the pallets were too wide to let them pass.

They had covered perhaps a third of the distance to the first feeder tunnel when Galler said, “Christ!”

He pointed to a cell perhaps fifteen meters ahead, where the tunnel lights dimmed slightly. A single leg protruded into the corridor. Heikki bit back her own fear, and said, more roughly than she’d intended, “Keep your voice down.”

She flattened herself against the wall, and waited. Nothing moved in the corridor ahead of them. Galler copied her movement, holding the lapscreen now as though it were a shield. The leg did not move, and Heikki made herself take several slow, deep breaths. Well, she told herself, with a bravado she did not feel, either it’s dead, or too stoned to care, and eased herself away from the padded wall. She heard Galler make a little noise of protest at her back, and waved impatiently for him to be quiet. She moved forward, as soundlessly as she could, and was suddenly aware that Galler was at her back, the screen held now like an ungainly club. Heikki felt a stab of surprise and annoyance, and angrily suppressed both feelings.

The leg did not stir as they came closer, and Heikki paused again to survey the corridor. There was still no sign of movement, nor any signs of blood or burning, just the single coveralled leg protruding into the walkway. Drunk or drugged, Heikki thought, but did not relax her grip on the knife. Slowly and still cautiously, she made her way up to the cell and looked in. The man who lay there, sprawled uncomfortably against the padding, had a young face, but his hair was already greying. A plastic case half the size of Heikki’s palm lay on the floor beside his outstretched hand.

“Christ,” Galler said again, and Heikki looked back at him, her own emotions shutting down just as they had done on Iadara, at the wreck site. “Shouldn’t we—?”

“What?” Heikki asked. She started to turn away, and then, grimacing, kicked the stranger’s leg back out of the main passageway. The man did not stir, or make any noise. He moved like a man already dead, and Heikki winced. “There’s nothing more we can do,” she said, as much to convince herself as for Galler’s benefit, and turned away.

“Not without betraying ourselves,” Galler said. Heikki did not answer, and he followed without further protest, looking back only once.

They had covered most of the distance to the feeder tunnel when Heikki heard something in the tunnel behind them. She stopped, lifting her hand for silence, and then recognized the noise of a robo-pallet’s wheels on the compressible tiling.

“Heikki,” Galler began, and Heikki nodded.

“I hear it. There’s a cell ahead of us, get in it.”

“Can’t we outrun it?” Galler asked, quickening his step.

“Are you joking?” Heikki said, and bit back the rest of her comment. “No, we couldn’t outrun it—these things move, Galler—and besides, they don’t usually carry human operators.” They were at the alcove’s edge, and she stepped inside, flattening herself against the near wall. Galler wedged himself in beside her, swearing under his breath, and she hissed at him to be quiet. The noise of the pallet was already louder, the crunching sound now interspersed with the shriek of an unoiled bearing. Heikki winced, but hoped that meant there were no human attendants. Surely no one would endure that when all it takes is a minor adjustment, she thought, but did not move from her place against the wall. Beside her, Galler made a face, and covered his ears as the machine drew closer. Heikki winced, tilting her head against her shoulder, but did not let go of her knife.

Then the pallet was alongside them, the thin screech of the bearing painful in their ears. The narrow ledge beside the guidance box was empty, and Heikki released the breath she had not known she had been holding. As the machine swept past, she leaned forward, trying to read the numbers stenciled on the tags that dangled from each of the crates piled high on the cargo platform.

“5G,” she said, when the noise had faded enough to allow conversation. “We’re in luck, for once.”

“What do you mean?” Galler asked, rather irritably.

“You weren’t cut out for adventuring,” Heikki said, unable to resist the temptation.

“No, I wasn’t,” Galler answered. “Nor did I ever wish to be.” He shook his head. “What did you mean?”

This wasn’t the time to tease him, Heikki told herself sternly. “Those are the last numbers on the routing slips, the load slot numbers. 5G is the standard code for the last items to be loaded—I’ve seen it often enough, there’s a discount for shipping in that spot, so we ship our equipment that way, unless there’s going to be a disaster if it doesn’t arrive. Class five stuff is the stuff that gets left, if there’re any delays.” She was already moving in the pallet’s wake, heading toward the feeder, and Galler followed reluctantly.

“I still don’t see how that’s lucky.”

“It means we don’t have to wait so long before the platform empties out,” Heikki answered. They were almost in sight of the first feeder tunnel now. She paused, glancing at the chronodisplay in her lens, then twisting the bezel to display the maps she had downloaded from the Point’s main directory. “We keep going,” she said aloud. “The next tunnel’s not far, and there should be a safety cell just past it where we can wait.”

“Whatever you say,” Galler said morosely. Heikki laughed, but did not look back.

The entrance to the first feeder tunnel was closed and sealed according to regulations, lights glowing above the grill of the tonelock. Galler paused to stare for a moment at the mechanism, then hurried after his sister.

As the map had indicated, there was a safety cell set into the wall of the main corridor just past the entrance to the second feeder tunnel. From the cell’s location, Heikki guessed that the tunnel had been added after the completion of the docks, probably when the Northern Extension had finally opened and traffic through EP4 really took off. Whatever the reason, I’m glad it’s there, she told herself, and rested all her weight against the padding. Galler gave her a wary look.

“Now what?” he asked, and lowered the lapscreen to the floor at his feet.

“We wait,” Heikki answered, and frowned, trying to remember what Djuro had told her. “They clear the cargo platform about ten minutes before the run-up actually starts—they’re close to the warp there, and there isn’t as much shielding. We’ll see them go, let them get clear, and jinx the door ourselves. There’s a cargo of bolt fabric going to EP7, four or five capsules’ worth—I showed you the documents—and we’ll jinx the capsule seals and crawl in with the bolts.”

“We’ll have to work fast, won’t we?” Galler said.

Heikki lifted an eyebrow. “Well, of course—”

“No, I mean because of the warp.” Galler gestured impatiently. “Look, if the powers-that-be clear the platform, it’s not just out of concern for their people’s health. The effects must be pretty serious, if they’re willing to waste ten minutes of work time.”

Heikki curbed irritation born of fear. “You’re right, we’ll just have to work fast.”

Galler did not answer. Heikki rested her head against the wall, willing herself to relax. Anger did no good, nor did fear; one could only be calm, become calm, and be ready to act when the time came….

Warning chimes, signaling that the locks on the feeder hatch had been released, interrupted her private litany. Heikki straightened, fear stabbing through her, and felt Galler stiffen beside her. She forced what she hoped was a reassuring smile as the noise of the pallets’ power plants grew suddenly louder, and knew she had failed miserably. The noise grew louder still—the squeaking bearing, she noticed, was muted, had been crudely repaired, and then was annoyed with herself for the irrelevance of the thought. Most of the machines seemed to be leaving from the first two hatches, and she congratulated herself on her foresight. Then the noise of wheels seemed suddenly to surround them, and a pallet swept into view, coming from the last feeder tunnel joining the corridor above them. It was too late to be afraid; she stood frozen, seeing in a split second the tall woman on the driver’s ledge, her hands lazy at her sides, and the two young men sprawled in the empty cargo bed, laughing at something someone had said. And then it was past, and no one had raised the alarm.

Heikki stayed very still for a long time, even after the sound of the machines had faded to a distant mutter, until even that seashell noise was gone and the tunnel was silent. Galler stirred beside her. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

“A little more,” Heikki said, automatically contrary, then shook herself. “No, let’s go.”

The feeder hatch was locked again, the telltales glowing above the sensor grill. Heikki studied it, frowning, and Galler said, “I assume it’s some kind of automatic? A unit on each of the pallets with a trigger signal?”

Heikki nodded. “Let me see your lapscreen.”

To her surprise, Galler shook his head. “Let me do this.” At Heikki’s look of surprise, he made a face. “What do you think I’ve been doing for most of my adult life? Half a liaison’s job is to get into places he’s not supposed to.”

Even as he spoke, he was fiddling with the controls, his eyes darting from the miniscreen to the telltales, and back again. Heikki watched with grudging admiration as patterns formed and reformed on the little screen.

“Got it,” Galler said abruptly, and touched a key. For a split second, nothing seemed to happen, and then Heikki heard something, a sound so high and shrill that it was hardly a sound at all, more a shiver in the air around her. The lights flashed wildly above the lock, and then turned green. Galler smiled, and gestured grandly for Heikki to do the honors. Heikki smiled back rather sourly, and pushed open the hatch. It was heavy, designed to be operated by one of the pallets, and she had to throw all her weight against it before the thick metal would budge. It swung back at last, the hinges groaning, and Heikki stepped through onto the cargo platform.

The lights were dim, cut back to emergency levels, and she swore under her breath, wishing she had a handlight. Behind her, she heard Galler say something indistinct, his tone questioning, but she ignored him and started for the capsules lined up at the platform. The first two, the two closest to the entrance to the passenger platform, carried expensive double locks as well as the railroad’s soft sealing. She ignored them, and moved forward along the train, bending close to read each of the tags stuck to the capsule’s smooth surface just above the wads of sealant.

“I don’t think we have much time left,” Galler said quietly.

Heikki looked up, startled, and in the same moment felt a strong vibration deep in her bones. She had been feeling it for some time now, she realized abruptly, but it had been too familiar to draw notice: the thrumming of the PDE running up to full power. To her right, the pressurewall that contained the warp seemed to shimmer slightly. It’s your imagination, she told herself, but there was no denying that the light on the platform was slowly growing brighter.

“You start looking, too,” Heikki ordered. “You know the code—TTJ8291 slash 929K. Ignore the first half dozen capsules, we don’t want to ride in them anyway.”

Galler nodded, and started up the line. Heikki put him out of her mind, concentrating on the strings of numbers embossed on the half-meter square stickers. The codes blurred as she went, numbers and letters running together; she wanted desperately to check her lens, see how much time she had until the warp opened and the train pulled out, but she did not dare. Not much, she knew, and maybe not enough, but— And then she saw it, the code on the sticker beneath her hand matching the numbers she had memorized less than a day before.

“Got it,” she called, and reached into her pocket for the toolkit. The seal was nothing complicated; she had jinxed its like before. Frowning, she selected a thin probe from among the array nestling against the clingcloth, and inserted it into the spongy material of the seal itself, running the probe’s tip under the lower edge where the insertion mark would be least likely to be noticed. She checked the setting a final time, and pressed the button at the end of the probe. There was a flash of light, and when she touched the seal again, the material had gone rigid, held in stasis until she released it. She freed the probe, and used a spade-headed key to pry the seal away from the lock. That mechanism was uncomplicated. Behind her, Galler cleared his throat, but Heikki ignored him, and punched in a set of numbers. The lock considered, and then snapped open. Heikki allowed herself a quick grin, and hauled up the capsule’s loading hatch. She searched along the inner wall below the latch mechanism until she found the vent control. She turned the cock to full open, then straightened again.

“Help me move the bolts. Stack them to the side, I think there’s room.”

Together they hauled at the bolts of fabric, slippery in their protective wrappings, wedging them up against the top of the crate until they’d cleared two rectangular spaces. The openings looked unpleasantly like new-dug graves, but Heikki pushed the thought away. “Get in,” she said, and swung herself sideways into the nearer space.

Galler did as he was told, his expression one of resignation. “Two questions,” he said, tucking his lapboard between the bolts beside him. “Are you sure you can close it, and how are we going to get out again?”

Heikki had swung around on her knees, reaching for the lid above her, but allowed herself a sour smile. “Yes, I can close it,” she said, and braced herself for the effort. “There’s an emergency release on the inside of the latch—standard precaution, ever since a worker was trapped in one. Ready?” Without waiting for Galler’s answer, she brought the lid down, balancing awkwardly on knees and elbows until she heard the lock catch. She sprawled on her stomach then, unable comfortably to turn over in the confined space. Nothing to do now but wait, she thought, and tried to make her breathing slow and even. The air in the capsule already smelled hot and stale. Imagination, she tried to tell herself, there are vents and you opened them, but her body was not fully convinced.

“Heikki?” Galler’s voice was muffled—by the crowding bolts, Heikki told herself, and not by fear.

“What?”

“How the hell did you open the lock?”

Heikki grinned in the darkness. “This isn’t high security. Almost everybody who ships by rail codes the capsule lock to the date and time of the shipment. I punched that in, and, sure enough, it opened.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then Galler swore. “How can they be so stupid?”

“Write them a memo,” Heikki suggested. The capsule lurched suddenly, and she swallowed her laughter. The copper taste of fear was in her mouth; she dug her fingers into the plastic covering the bolts to either side, wishing she had never listened to her brother, this time or any time. The capsule swayed again, carried by the lifting field, then bounded forward a meter or two.

“What the hell?” Galler said again, and there was enough of a note of hysteria in his voice to force Heikki to answer.

“The passenger train just linked up,” she said, and hoped he believed her. It was a plausible enough explanation, anyway, whether or not it happened to be true. Then the capsule lifted a final time, the movement steadier, more controlled, and slid forward toward the warp. Heikki braced herself, staring into the darkness, and felt the gentle bumping as the capsules began to slide into the warp. Their capsule lifted, and her with it, her body rising into a silent explosion filled with indescribable color, colors that did not, could not exist in anything approaching reality. She felt her body floating, then streaming away, as though the unimaginable forces of the warp were sweating the last atom of flesh from her bones. She clasped her hands in denial, felt the touch of skin on skin, but the sensation of melting, of dissolution continued, more real than the thin pain of finger against finger.

And then, mercifully, it was over, ending with an abruptness that left her dizzy, mind still reeling in non-space. The capsule slowed, bumping to a stop, and Heikki forced herself to move, feeling in the darkness for the raised letters that marked the emergency release. There was less time on arrival; the loaders would appear all too quickly…. She found it at last, and slammed her palm against the release button. The lid did not budge, and she hit it again, harder, bruising the heel of her hand painfully, her breath catching in a gasp that was almost a sob. This time, the release worked, and the lid rose majestically, letting in the dim light of the cargo platform on EP7.

Even that seemed bright, after the cave-like darkness of the capsule. Heikki blinked away tears, and pushed herself up onto her knees, forcing herself to hurry. “Come on, damn it,” she said, as much to herself as to Galler. “Come on.”

Galler groaned, and pushed himself up into a sitting position, both hands at his temples. Heikki swore, and reached for him, but he batted her hand away, and slid out of the capsule on his own. He reached back for his lapscreen, slinging it shakily over his shoulder, and said, “I don’t think much of your cheap flights, Gwynne.”

Heikki, hauling at the bolts they had pushed aside, did not bother to answer. Light flared above them then, flooding the platform with a hard blue glare.

“Leave that,” Galler said, with sudden urgency. “The loaders are coming.”

“I know,” Heikki snarled, and slammed the capsule shut. She could see, at the far end of the platform, the red-painted door that was the emergency exit to the passenger platform. She pointed to it with one hand, the other fumbling in her pocket for the seal she had removed from the lock. “Get going, go on.”

“But—” Galler bit off whatever protest he had been about to make, and started for the emergency exit at a trot.

Heikki slapped the seal back into place, and drew out the molecular probe again, frantically twisting the dial until she had the setting she wanted. She slid the probe back into the hole she’d originally made, and triggered the button. In the background, she thought she could hear the snarl of a robo-pallet’s power plant, but dismissed it as imagination. Light flared, and the stasis field vanished, the seal resuming its original spongy composition. She withdrew the probe with hurried care, certain now that she heard pallets approaching, and sprinted for the emergency exit. I hope to hell Sten was right and the lock’s been jinxed already, she thought, and knew it was entirely too late to be worrying about that. Galler was at the door already, beckoning wildly. Behind her, Heikki heard the thudding as the first hatch was opened, and then she was at the emergency door. She slapped the release bar hard, no longer caring if she triggered all the alarms on the station, and saw Galler gaping at her, mouth and eyes wide as if in protest. The door swung outward easily, without alarm or even the shriek of hinges, and Heikki barely managed to catch it before it swung too far. And then they were through, staring at the crowd streaming out of the passenger capsules toward the main exit. Heikki closed the emergency exit gently behind them, hardly able to believe she was here and safe, and saw the same disbelief on Galler’s face.

“We made it,” he said, foolishly, and Heikki could not stop herself from laughing.

“We made it,” she agreed, and started toward the main exit, walking like a woman in a dream.