Heikki shrugged, but before she could give her answer—that the automatic scanners were easily foxed— Djuro said solemnly, “Ah. Well you asked.”
Alexieva gave him an inquiring glance, and Heikki frowned. “Sten,” she began, but the little man was hurrying on, his face crinkling into an expression that Heikki knew to be one of sheer mischief.
“If she could get on the train, of course, she’d take it—and there’re plenty of ways of foxing it—if you get a disk of the right material, reflex or tattrun, and stick it under the scanner, that’ll usually work. But if it doesn’t….” He paused then, his voice becoming sepulchral. “Then you got two choices. You can either give up, or you can try riding free.”
“Sten,” Heikki said again, but she couldn’t keep the amusement completely out of her voice. Djuro heard, and darted her a quick, evil smile.
“Riding free?” Alexieva said. From the sound of her voice, Heikki guessed she suspected she was being teased, but couldn’t quite see how. She sighed, and Djuro hurried on before she could interrupt again.
“Yeah. You only see part of the train here in the station, there’s a few dozen more capsules, cargo capsules, on a secondary platform beyond the firewall.” He nodded toward the head of the train, and the barrier that closed off the runway. “You’ve probably heard they send any cargo through first, just to be sure everything’s working right?”
Alexieva nodded, her expression still wary.
Djuro went on, “Now, you see that hatch there, left of the barrier at the end of the platform? Five’ll get you ten the lock was jimmied a long time ago, and the securitrons haven’t fixed it. That hatch gives access to the cargo platform—it’s meant for the baggage handlers. If you can get through there, you can get into one of the cargo capsules.”
He paused, expectantly, and Alexieva said, “What about the loaders?” Her voice was less disbelieving than it should have been, and Heikki shook her head at Djuro.
The little man ignored her. “They’re pretty busy, and anyway, they leave the area before the run-up starts— that whole area’s too close to the warp, once the train gets under way. So you’ve got maybe ten minutes to slip aboard. Or you could bribe somebody,” he added, after a moment’s thought. “It might well cost you less than a ticket. But it’s not hard to get into one of the capsules.”
He stopped then, waiting. Heikki was suddenly aware that Nkosi had returned, and that the pilot was waiting just as eagerly. She frowned at him, ready to tell both of them to stop their nonsense, and then saw Alexieva’s face. The surveyor was certain she shouldn’t listen, but she believed all the same. The temptation was overwhelming. Heikki swallowed her reproof, and slipped her hands into the pockets of her shift.
After a moment, Alexieva said, as though she grudged the question, “Isn’t that dangerous?”
At her side, Nkosi grinned, and as quickly wiped the expression off his face. Djuro said, “Oh, yeah. The capsules aren’t screened, you see. Why should they be? After all, it’d be a waste of money to protect inanimate cargo. So you go through the warp without the shielding.”
There was a moment of silence, and Heikki shivered in spite of herself. Even though she knew better than to believe Djuro’s story entirely, the picture was a frightening one: to be exposed to the unimaginable forces that could tear open the universe and then hold it open, to face a chaos that wasn’t chaos, but an order beyond any description except the most approximate of mathematics…. She shook the thought away.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Sten,” she said, more roughly than she’d intended, and Nkosi shook a finger at her.
“Language, Heikki.”
“You know perfectly well that isn’t true,” Heikki said, without turning to look at the pilot. “Stop telling old wives’ tales.”
Djuro grinned. “It’s all perfectly true, and you know it,” he protested, but without conviction.
Alexieva blushed furiously red, and looked even angrier as she touched one hot cheek. “So what about that girl?”
“Persistent, isn’t she?” Djuro murmured.
Heikki frowned at him, and said, “Well, half of what Sten said is true, anyway. Those kids, station rats, free riders, do hide in the cargo capsules—but the capsules are solid, even if they don’t carry the same shielding as the live transfer ones. When people get killed, it’s usually through lack of oxygen. Somebody suffocates in a loose cargo.”
“Or they forget to open the cock,” Djuro began, and Heikki glared at him.
“Give it up, Sten. You’ve had your fun.” The chimes sounded, releasing the cars for boarding, and Heikki was grateful for the interruption. “All right, everybody on board.”
She held the capsule door for them, shaking her head at a stranger who would have joined them, and the others filed inside, Alexieva darting a single distrustful glance at the barrier ahead before ducking into the little car. It was, Heikki thought, a sweet—if petty—revenge, and she allowed herself a faint smile as she closed the capsule door behind them. Djuro passed their tickets under the capsule’s scanner; the machine clicked to itself, then flashed a steady green bar: passage confirmed. Heikki settled herself against the cushions, glancing around the compartment, and took the single sheet of folded thermoprint that Nkosi held out to her. The warning sounded, and the train slid smoothly forward, picking up speed as it approached the opening barrier. In spite of all the times she’d ridden the trains, Heikki braced herself, and saw, out of the corner of her eye, the others doing the same. The train lurched once as they passed over the threshold of the barrier—Alexieva turned as white as she had been red—and then the capsule seemed suddenly to pick up speed at an impossible rate.
“Now,” Nkosi said softly, one big hand closing over Alexieva’s clenched fist, and then they were into the warp itself. For a moment that seemed horribly endless, they hung in non-space, outside of space, and then reality returned, and the string of capsules was coasting up to the platform on EP3.
Alexieva murmured something that might have been a curse, and shook herself free of Nkosi’s hand as though she were angry at her own frailty.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. Heikki, watching covertly over the edge of her newssheet, was surprised and reluctantly impressed to see that Alexieva, while she avoided looking at the screen, managed to face the rest of the trip with surprising equanimity. But then, Heikki thought, I knew she was brave enough. I just wish her courage were all 1 had to worry about.
And then at last the capsule slowed to a halt at the inbound platform of EP7. Heikki reached for the door controls with more eagerness than she’d admitted feeling, and felt her cheeks grow hot as she fumbled with the latch. The door slid open, and she stepped out onto the platform, glad that the others were busy with their own belongings.
“Where away?” Nkosi asked cheerfully, folding the last newssheet into his jacket’s capacious pocket.
“Baggage claim first,” Heikki answered, “and then— I’m heading for home. What you do is up to you, but you’re all welcome back at the office.”
“Thank you,” Nkosi said, and looked at Alexieva. “But I think we had better find a place to stay, first. My usual flat only has housepacks for one.”
“I want to stop by briefly,” Djuro said, “but just to pick up my pay.”
Heikki gave him a smile of thanks, as much for the tact as for the offer itself, and said aloud, “Whatever suits you, people. Just—keep your mailcodes current with us, please? After all the strangeness of this contract, I’d like to be able to get in touch with you if the lawyers have any questions.”
“You’re not thinking of suing?” Alexieva asked.
“Not yet,” Heikki answered. “But—as I’ve said all along—this way of terminating a contract doesn’t make me look good.”