Melissa Scott - Mighty Good Road

“Thanks,” Heikki said, but the pilot had already broken the connection.

“Will he come?” Max asked.

“Jock doesn’t break his word,” Heikki said, but privately she was not quite so confident. Nkosi she trusted, knew she could trust, but Alexieva remained an unknown quantity. She massaged her temples, digging her fingers hard into the pressure points in a vain attempt to drive away some of the aching tiredness.

“Why don’t you lie down for a while?” Santerese said gently. “This hasn’t exactly been one of your better days.”

Heikki nodded in reluctant agreement. “I’ll do that,” she said. “Wake me when they get here.”

Santerese looked as though she would protest, but Max said, “Of course.”

Heikki nodded again. The bedroom was cool, and very quiet, the air lightly touched with Santerese’s perfume. A single light faded on as Heikki entered, the room sensors reacting to her movements, but she waved it off again, and stretched out on the bed without bothering to undress. It seemed only a few moments before Santerese was touching her shoulder.

“Jock’s here, and Alexieva.”

“Oh, God.” Heikki sat up slowly, blinking away sleep. The brief nap hadn’t helped at all—if anything, she thought, I feel worse than I did before.

Santerese gave her a sympathetic smile, and held out a single dark red capsule. “Try this.”

Heikki swallowed it without question, grimacing at the bitter taste. “Pick-me-up?” she asked, and Santerese nodded.

“You’d better come on,” she said. “Alexieva’s getting difficult.”

Heikki swore under her breath, but levered herself up off the bed. “What do you think of her, Marshallin?”

Santerese shrugged. “I don’t know her. I don’t think I like her, but I don’t know her. And these aren’t the best of conditions for making those decisions, doll.”

“True,” Heikki agreed, but could not help feeling rather pleased that Santerese shared her own opinion of the Iadaran. The thought buoyed her up as she made her way back into the suite’s main room.

The others were waiting there, Alexieva seated on the long couch, her face set in an expression at once stubborn and remote. Nkosi loomed protectively behind her, scowling at Max, who seemed completely unaffected by his stare.

“Ah, there you are, Heikki,” the commissioner said affably. There was a choked noise from the wall behind him, and Heikki glanced curiously in that direction to see her brother smothering a laugh. “I’ve explained the situation to Dam’ Alexieva, and what we want from her, but she’s a little uneasy. She wants assurance from you.”

From me? Heikki thought. What can I give you— what can I promise you that Max can’t? She said nothing, however, but looked at Alexieva.

“What I want,” the surveyor said clearly, “is your word—which Jock tells me is good—that Dam’ FitzGilbert won’t be harmed by this.”

Heikki hesitated, knowing just how much was riding on her answer. At last she said, “Damn it, I can’t tell you that. I can’t predict the future. All I can do is give you my word that it isn’t our—his—” She pointed to Max. “—intention that FitzGilbert be hurt in any way.”

It was not, she thought remotely, a particularly convincing speech, but to her surprise, Alexieva looked away. “That was what I meant,” the surveyor said, after a moment. She glanced up at Nkosi, then looked away, shrugged. “All right. Yes, I will contact Dam’ FitzGilbert, and ask her to contact me here, through secure channels.”

“But will she do it?” Galler murmured, loudly enough to be heard.

Alexieva glared at him. “She will.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” Max said, interrupting Galler’s response. “Dam’ Alexieva?”

There was no refusing the invitation. Alexieva pushed herself to her feet, looking suddenly very tired, and followed Max into the workroom. Nkosi pushed himself away from the couch, shaking his head.

“You had better be right about this, Heikki,” he said, and followed the others into the workroom.

Heikki looked at Santerese, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “I do hope so,” she said softly, and Santerese grinned.

“Like the man says, you better be.”

They sat in silence for the better part of an hour before the others emerged from the workroom. “Well?” Santerese said after a moment, and Max shrugged.

“I left the message,” Alexieva said—rather defensively, Heikki thought.

“What message?” she asked.

“We have a whole code,” Alexieva said impatiently. She looked at Max. “Dam’ FitzGilbert will contact me.”

“It would be helpful,” Max said dryly. “Preferably before entropy sets in, however.”

Alexieva looked as though she wanted to spit at him, but Nkosi laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. “She has done all that she can,” he said quietly, but with a note of gentle menace that might, Heikki thought, have given even Max pause. “All we can do now is wait.”

The commissioner, however, did not seem impressed. “True enough, but I’ll have to ask you to do your waiting here.”

For a moment, it seemed that Nkosi might protest further, and Heikki said softly, “Jock….” The pilot looked at her then, and sighed.

“All right. We’ll wait—here.”

FitzGilbert did not respond for almost twenty hours. Heikki spent most of that time drowsing on the couch, the events of the past few days finally catching up with her. She roused long enough to eat at some point late that night, station time, when Max allowed Nkosi to send out for dinner, but soon fell asleep again. The next morning was better, however, and by the time she’d finished the second pot of coffee she felt almost ready to face whatever FitzGilbert’s call might bring.

The chimes sounded a little after station noon, bringing Max bolt upright in his chair.

“Incoming transmission,” Santerese said, unnecessarily, and started into the workroom. Heikki followed her, and heard Max call behind her, “Alexieva!”

The surveyor appeared a few minutes later, Max looming behind her like a jailer. “Are there any special codes?” he asked, and Alexieva shook her head.

“No. It should go through.”

Heikki seated herself at the main console, watching numbers shift across her board as the machines on Iadara and on EP7 struggled to match frequencies precisely. At last, the connection was made; the media wall lit and windowed, FitzGilbert’s face framed in the apparent opening.

“Dam’ Heikki.”

The Iadaran’s voice was almost less surprised than angry, Heikki thought, and her own brows drew together into a frown. “That’s right,” she said, and knew she sounded inane. “I need to talk to you.”

“You and someone else, I see,” FitzGilbert said, and Heikki realized that Max had stepped into camera range behind her.

“Yes,” she said, and Max cut in smoothly.

“My name is Idris Max, commissioner, Terrestrial Enforcement. I have some questions to ask you about this lost crystal of yours.”

FitzGilbert frowned. “I’ve already spoken to the Enforcement at some length, and I really don’t see what I could add to that.” She looked directly at Heikki. “As for you, Dam’ Heikki, I remind you that Lo-Moth had a confidentiality clause in its contract with you, which I suspect you are in breach of already.”

“Confidentiality clauses can’t be used to hide criminal actions,” Max began, and Heikki said, “Shut up, Max. FitzGilbert.”

The Iadaran looked at her warily, her expression without encouragement.

“It’s about the latac,” Heikki went on, fumbling for the words she needed to convince the other woman. “Tremoth, Slade’s people, they didn’t come up with anything of use in tracking the hijackers, did they?”