Melissa Scott - Mighty Good Road

“Then we may go now?” Nkosi asked, his face hard and watchful. Max nodded, and Nkosi transferred his stare to Heikki. “I will be in touch, Heikki.”

“Right,” Heikki answered, but the pilot had already withdrawn, pulling Alexieva with him. A moment later, Heikki heard the suite’s outer door open and shut behind them.

“Now,” Max said brightly, tucking the disks into his jacket pocket, and stepped out into the main room. Heikki pushed herself up from the console and followed, gratefully aware of Santerese’s presence at her back.

“Galler Heikki,” Max said, still with that alarming good humor, and Galler rose warily from the couch. “You, ser, will have to come with me. We’ll want your evidence.”

Galler smiled then, a bright, malicious smile, and Heikki shook her head. “You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?”

Her brother looked at her, his expression suddenly serious. “He tried to destroy me, Heikki, don’t forget. Yes, I’ll enjoy it. So would you.”

Heikki opened her mouth to deny it, but could not muster the energy. Suddenly their old quarrel no longer seemed important—she no longer cared, she realized abruptly, whether she had the last word. “Maybe,” she said, and looked at Max, who was waiting impatiently in the main doorway. “Make sure nobody strangles him, will you?”

“Why, Gwynne,” Galler murmured. “I never knew you cared.”

“I don’t,” Heikki said, but not until the door had closed behind them. Santerese touched her shoulder gently, comfortingly, and Heikki shook her head. “I really don’t, not about any of it.”

“If you didn’t care,” Santerese said, “you wouldn’t be angry.”

It was true, Heikki knew, but it didn’t help. I want justice, she cried in silent protest, not just for the latac crew, but for EP1 and the people killed—murdered— there. There ought to be some restitution made—except that FitzGilbert was right, justice for them, telling that old truth, could well destroy the railroad and the stations that depended on it. Where was the justice in that? She shook her head, tired of the uncertainty, wanting only to have it over. Did I do right, even remotely? I did the best I could.

“I’m too old for this,” she said aloud, and Santerese took her in her arms.

“Aren’t we all, darling, aren’t we all?”

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 1990 by Melissa Scott

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

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