Djuro nodded again. “I think that’s smart,” he said, and Heikki found herself wishing, irrationally, that he’d derided her fears. “I’ll take care of the unloading then, and the transfer. How do you want to handle the transshipment fees?”
Heikki grimaced, annoyed with herself for forgetting, and slipped one of the business’s bankcards from her pocket. “This should cover it. I’ll see you at the Club in half an hour.”
“Right,” Djuro said, and turned away.
Heikki looked away from him, too, along the broader corridor that led toward the center of the Pod. The pods that made up the docking shell were fairly standardized; the fastest path from skin to center would also be the most spectacular. Typical of the ‘pointers, she thought. They want you to be sure and admire what they’ve wrought—and it is admirable, what’s been built out here, out of nothing and less than nothing—but they also know better than to delay a harried businessman.
The corridor sloped gently upward underfoot. She slowed her steps to meet it, and to match ‘pointer expectations: here in the dock shell, precinct behavior was more tolerated, but it was hard enough to move from one mode to the other. From the moment she set foot on an Exchange Point, she had to become ‘pointer from head to toe, or she could never make the transition. She walked carefully, stride restrained, and kept her eyes politely averted from the other pedestrians, assessing them only with the proper, sidelong glance and the reserved and silent smile.
The corridor’s slant became more pronounced, and it curved gently to the left. Heikki allowed herself an all too genuine smile, earning a glance of censure from an elegant man in a severe grey-blue coat, but kept her pace steady. There was a light ahead, very white, like the light of a young sun. Then the polished-bronze arch that ended the corridor loomed ahead, and through it Heikki could see the blinding curve of armored glass that was the wall of the Lower Ring. She suppressed her smile, and stepped through onto the padded tiles.
The transparent wall of glass bowed gently outward above and below a ledge of darkly gleaming glass—a data bar, Heikki knew, but she ignored it, and stepped up to the wall itself, trying to hide her pleasure. Below her lay transfer tubes and the pressurized parts of the docking pods, their interiors visible through the broad bands of armored glass that let in the light of the Exchange Point’s artificial suns. Those long tubes lay overhead, and even with the heavy filters to protect her, Heikki was not tempted to look up. She looked down instead, watching machines as small as ants maneuver the enormous starcrates in and out of the FTLfreighters’ holds. Almost directly below, a customs team was at work, conspicuous in their brilliant yellow coveralls. As she watched, the team leader conferred with the ship’s captain and a woman in a neat, dark red suit—the cargo owner’s factor, Heikki guessed—and then, with a practiced twist, popped the seal on the meter-long packing tube that lay on the bench in front of them. A little of the tube’s cargo spilled, glittering, and the team leader upended the cylinder, pouring its contents across the scratched surface: pearl crystals, the crudest, cheapest, and in some ways the most vital product of any crysticulture firm. The factor cupped her hands to catch a few that bounced away, sparkling, and poured them back with the others. The captain did not move, his eyes on the team leader as he swung his wand slowly back and forth across the spilled crystals. Then the man nodded, resheathing his wand, and another agent moved to sweep the crystals back into their container. The factor extended her board, and the team leader signed it. Deliberately, Heikki turned away, reaching for the data lens in her belt.
Through its circle, the black emptiness of the ledge bloomed with letters: the ship in the dock below was the Kubera, under contract to Salmatagin Bros., Lo-Moth’s largest competitor, just in from Diava; the location code was CF12/145; the station time, 1099. It was the location which interested her, and she ran her hand along the finger-marked flange, the letters blurring and shifting at her touch, until she found the right spot and the diagram-map sprang into existence in the ledge before her. The postal station was not far at all, the corridor where it lay less than five degrees around the Lower Ring’s immense circle. She blanked the screen out of habit, turned to her left, and started off along the curve of the Ring.
It did not take her long to reach the corridor, which led off the Ring at a slight upward slope. Ceiling-mounted signboards pointed travellers to the traffic control center that lay at the corridor’s end, and an enormous notice board filled an entire wall of the center’s small lobby. The postal station stood in the center of that lobby, a red-walled kiosk with an “engaged” sign flashing above its door. Heikki scowled, and walked around to the other side. The second cubicle was unoccupied. She fed the machine her mailcard and ID codes, and stepped inside.
The interior volume was small, but the various vendors were well-stocked. It took only a few minutes for Heikki to find and purchase the necessary packing materials, and seal the disks containing both the raw data and her most recent conclusions into a secure and well-protected package. She hesitated for a moment over the address, and then placed Santerese’s personal mailcode on the seal, and paid the extra charge for security handling. Now only she would be able to retrieve the package from the postmaster’s hands, and there would be precise records of the package’s movements through the system. She worked the package through the acceptance slot, and shut down the machines before she could change her mind. This was probably all unnecessary, she thought, as she let the kiosk door close behind her—and if so, she’d wasted almost a hundred poa on the various handling charges—but she could not shake the feeling that Lo-Moth wasn’t through with them yet.
And there was still Galler to deal with. That thought froze her in her tracks for a brief instant, and then, with an impatient headshake, she started toward the nearest cross corridor. There would be time enough to deal with him once she was home again, and had seen his message. Until then, there was no point in worrying.
The others were waiting for her at the Club, Alexieva wide-eyed at her first real glimpse of ‘pointer life. Djuro had ordered food, and Heikki accepted her share gratefully, sinking into the empty chair at the little man’s side. After Iadara’s damp heat, the Exchange Point’s air seemed almost chill; she shivered, and drew her coat more closely around her shoulders. Alexieva gave her a rather wry smile at that, and Nkosi said, “So, what are your plans for us now, Heikki?”
Heikki, her mouth full and grateful for the excuse, glanced at Djuro. The little man said, “I have tickets for us on the next train to EP7, which leaves in—” He glanced at his own chronodisplay. “—a little less than two hours.”
Watching the others, Heikki saw a brief look of disappointment flicker across Nkosi’s face, and the frown that appeared momentarily on Alexieva’s forehead. “If you want,” she said, “you’re welcome to come with us. I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear. I thought you had other plans, Jock.”
The pilot had the grace to look away at that, smiling rather sheepishly.
“I’d better see to getting tickets, then,” Djuro said, and pushed himself to his feet.
“I’ll come with you,” Nkosi said instantly, and Alexieva stood with him. She was clearly determined not to let the pilot out of her sight, Heikki thought, watching them leave together. I wonder, could she be just as uncertain as I was, once upon a time? The thought was obscurely comforting, and she turned back to her food with renewed appetite.