“Our principal’s position,” FitzGilbert said, slowly and with irony, “is that you have fulfilled the requirements of your contract. They are willing to pay you in full for your work, and to pay the applicable success bonus. Our principal feels that this is an internal matter, and best handled by internal security.”
“What the fuck are you up to?” Heikki asked, and FitzGilbert stared back at her morosely,
“I wish to hell I knew.”
Heikki took another deep breath, making herself count to ten and then to fifty before she spoke. “So you want me to hand over all my records, and the coordinates, and let you go to it.”
“That’s right.” FitzGilbert looked away.
There was no choice, and Heikki knew it. Lo-Moth—or Tremoth, it’s Tremoth that’s stage-managing this—was willing to pay everything the contract called for, and that willingness robbed her of any reason to complain.
Except, of course, she added silently, for professional pride. “Your people, your labs, aren’t experienced at this sort of thing,” she began, and let her voice trail off as FitzGilbert managed a bitter smile.
“That’s not the point,” she said. “Whatever the point is, that’s not it.”
There was no one to appeal to, nowhere to lodge a protest. Heikki steadied her voice with an effort. “If you’re determined, then,” she said, and FitzGilbert nodded.
“Our principal is determined.”
“Then I will flip you our raw data in the morning,” Heikki said. “I expect to get vouchers for our full payment as soon as you receive the disks.”
“That I can manage,” FitzGilbert said, and turned away. Heikki watched her back to the car, squinting a little in the slanting light, and saw the door open and a shape lean forward to beckon the other woman inside. Even at a distance, she recognized Slade’s blocky figure. She stood watching as the car drove away, wondering what had gone wrong, what the troubleshooter had against them, what convoluted internal politics were involved, then shook herself, slowly, and walked back to the jumper.
“What the hell was that all about?” Djuro asked.
Heikki smiled coldly. “We’re off the job, Sten.”
“What?” Djuro’s shout was made up equally of disbelief and indignation.
Nkosi said, “That is not right—it is not reasonable behavior, Heikki, under any circumstances.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Alexieva muttered. She looked at Heikki, her expression suddenly very serious. “Whose idea was this? Not FitzGilbert’s?”
And what do you know about FitzGilbert? Heikki thought, but held the question in abeyance for the moment. “I’m told the decision was made off-world.”
“They did say Lo-Moth did itself in,” Sebasten-Januarias said, carefully not looking at Alexieva. The surveyor scowled.
“What do you mean by that?”
Sebasten-Januarias gave her a limpid glance. “It was common talk when it happened, that Lo-Moth was responsible for the crash.”
“It would have been nice to know that two days ago,” Heikki said sourly, cutting off Alexieva’s angry response. “Whatever happens, we’re getting paid in full.” Djuro looked up at that, and Heikki nodded. “Oh, yes, and I didn’t even have to scream about it. They’ve asked us to turn over the disks as soon as possible; I told them I could have them ready tomorrow morning. We won’t bother doing any analysis, we’ll just hand them the raw data.”
“You’re just going to do it?” Sebasten-Januarias demanded.
“I don’t have any choice,” Heikki answered, and cut off further protest, saying, “Look, Jan, technically we don’t have any cause for complaint. They’re willing to pay our contract in full, even though we haven’t completed the work. What can I object to?”
“So this is it,” Alexieva said.
Heikki looked at her. “That’s right.”
“What are we supposed to do now?” Sebasten-Januarias asked, “Just go home?”
“I’ll send your voucher tomorrow,” Heikki said. “Unless you don’t trust me?”
Sebasten-Januarias shook his head. “Tomorrow’s fine.” He turned on his heel, and stalked off toward the terminal.
“I’ll be going, too,” Alexieva said. Her voice was utterly without expression, but Heikki thought she glimpsed an unbudging anger in the other woman’s eyes. She watched the surveyor walk away, and sighed slowly, the tension that had sustained her draining from her.
“So you’re thinking of fighting this,” Djuro said.
Heikki looked at him, startled, then gave a lopsided smile. “I’ve been considering our options, yeah. How’d you know?”
“Putting the innocents out of reach,” the little man answered dryly, and surprised a laugh from her.
“Well, it wouldn’t be right to get them into trouble with the company, not when they have to live here.”
“Is there anything you—we—can do, do you think?” Nkosi asked, and Heikki shook her head slowly.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
The hostel was very quiet on their return, even the faint electronic murmurings of the concierge seeming somehow muted. Heikki led them through the silence to the lift, saying nothing until they were inside the suite and she had switched on the minisec. Even then, she sat very still, staring at the monitor cube, and tried to think of something that would take away the feeling of failure.
“I will make drinks, shall I?” Nkosi said, after a while, his voice sounding very loud and cheery after all the silence. He disappeared into the suite’s kitchen without waiting for an answer; Heikki and Djuro sat listening for what seemed a very long time to the muted whirring of machines, before the pilot returned, bearing an enormous pitcher and three stacked plastic tumblers. He filled the glasses with exaggerated care, then handed one to each of the others. “I would like,” he said, “to propose a toast. Murphy strikes again.”
Heikki chuckled in spite of herself, and lifted her glass in answer.
“Murphy,” Djuro said, the same wry smile on his face. They touched glasses solemnly, and Heikki took a long drink. It was one of the elaborate—and extremely potent—sweet-sour concoctions that Nkosi usually reserved for his women-of-the-moment, and she couldn’t help raising an eyebrow.
“It is all I know how to make, these days,” Nkosi said, with a shrug and a smile that were more boast than apology.
“I’m surprised anyone can function after one of these,” Djuro said.
There was a little silence then, and Heikki cleared her throat. “All right. I figure we have the following options.” She held up her hand, ticking each one off on her fingers as she spoke. “First, we can do nothing—hand over the data and go home with our pay. Second, we can refuse the money, keep the disks, and file an official protest, probably with the Contracts Board.”
“They’d laugh us off the Loop,” Djuro muttered.
“Probably.” Heikki allowed herself another lopsided smile. “Third, we can play for time—turn over copies of the data, or maybe even turn it over in installments, and put Malachy onto the contract itself, see if we have any legal recourse.”
“On what grounds?” Nkosi asked softly.
Heikki shrugged. “I don’t know, that’s what I pay him to find out. But, damn it all, I don’t like being thrown off a job for no reason.”
“So that’s your decision, then,” Djuro said.
Heikki looked at him, trying to guess the emotions behind the neutral voice. “That’s my recommendation,” she said, after a moment, and stressed the word. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“I’d like to know why we were bounced, that’s all,” Djuro said. “I think it’s important.”
“So would I—so do I,” Heikki said.
Djuro went on as though she hadn’t spoken, his tone still scrupulously uninflected. “After all, this could have more to do with Lo-Moth’s politics—or Tremoth’s—than any intention of insulting us.”