Scouts Progress Read online

  "Gently, sister." Ran Eld was gliding closer, savoring his moment. "I feel certain Aelliana will tell us everything we wish to know about the fellow." He raised a hand heavy with rings and smiled lazily at her. "Won't you Aelliana?"

  She swallowed, mind gone to putty. He meant to strike her, she read that plain in his eyes: He meant to hurt her. . .

  "Whatever is the reason for so early a racket?" Birin Caylon peered over the rail, blinking sleepily down at the three in the foyer.

  "Ran Eld? Voni? Aelliana, then! Someone explain this untimely commotion!"

  It was Voni who recovered her wits first. She bowed and flirted her eyes as their mother came stubbornly down the stairs.

  "Aelliana was so late coming home, ma'am, we had quite despaired of her!"

  "I see," the delm said in a dry tone that indicated she found this explanation wanting. She reached the foyer floor and paused, subjecting first her son and then her eldest daughter to an uncharacteristically penetrating stare. This done, she continued forward and took Aelliana's arm.

  "Just come home, have you?" she said pleasantly, turning back toward the stairs, middle daughter in tow. "How delightful it is to be young and able to roister with friends until dawn! I recall my own youth—why, there were twelve-days together when I was scarcely home at all! I was a sad scamp in those days, though I daresay you would hardly credit it—" Talking thus, she mounted the stairs, and Aelliana with her, barely able to believe in her rescue.

  At the top of the stairs, Mizel changed her subject, lowering her voice to a level not meant to reach the two left below.

  "So, had you a fine, bold day, daughter?"

  "In—Indeed I did, ma'am," Aelliana took a hard breath. "I had meant to be home for Prime, but the time—the time quite got away from us."

  "And your friend, I apprehend, was good enough to escort you to our gate. Could you not have offered the house's hospitality, child?"

  "Ran Eld—" she swallowed. "Ran Eld has no liking for Scouts, ma'am. And, indeed, my—friend said himself he would seem a rag-mannered fellow, rousing the house at such an hour."

  "Very nice of him," Birin Caylon said approvingly. "You must, however, invite him to tea soon so that I may thank him for his care of you." She frowned at Aelliana's start. "It need not trouble you—or your friend—what private opinion Ran Eld chooses to hold of Scouts."

  Oh, gods, and if Mizel rebukes Ran Eld for this evening's work—She swallowed and inclined her head. "Thank you, ma'am."

  They had reached Aelliana's door. Birin Caylon smiled and patted her daughter's arm before relinquishing it. "Never mind, child. What is your friend's name, I wonder?"

  "Daav," Aelliana whispered, voice catching. She cleared her throat and looked straight into her mother's eyes. "His name is Daav."

  If Mizel found anything odd in the lack of surname or clan, she chose not to mention it.

  "I see. A well-enough name. Gentle dreams, daughter." She turned and went back up the hall, toward her own apartments.

  Trembling in every muscle, Aelliana escaped into her room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Feed a cat, gain a cat.

  —Proverb

  "WELL, AND WHERE HAVE you been?" Jon's voice carried an edge of amused irritation.

  Daav continued to the counter and poured himself a cup of pitiless black tea.

  "Chonselta," he said and threw the murderous brew down his throat with a shudder.

  "Chonselta, is it? I suppose that answers for the whereabouts of Pilot Caylon." Jon came forward to perch on the green stool. "I reviewed that tape."

  Daav manfully swallowed the rest of his tea and set the mug in the sink. "Did you? And your recommendation?"

  "She pilots solid second class—which we'd all known. On the basis of yesterday's adventure—setting aside that I believe the Master in charge to be moving matters along rather swiftly—I'd be tempted to write a provisional first."

  "If it were board-skill alone, I would agree with you," Daav said, sitting down and bracing a heel on a stool-rung. "However, there are those things of which she knows very little."

  "And of which she ought to know much, bound as she is for the wide universe." Jon sighed. "All too true. Second class it is, then. Will you sign it?"

  "Yourself, if you will."

  "Hah. She know who you are yet?"

  Daav lifted an eyebrow. "She does not know my surname, or my clan."

  "Quibbled like a Liaden! I'll play that game to the extent it does her no harm."

  "And how shall I harm her, I wonder?" Dangerously soft, that question.

  "Gently." Jon raised both hands in the age-old gesture of surrender. "Gently, child—I meant no disrespect. Forgive an old man his meddlesome ways."

  Abruptly, Daav became aware of tense muscles, of a hand curled closed along his thigh. He shut his eyes, ran the Scout's Rainbow, and felt the tension flow away. Opening his eyes, he offered Jon a smile.

  "It is you, rather, who must forgive a young man his equally meddlesome ways—and his weariness." He showed an empty palm. "I mean her only well. If she learns the workings of comradeship through Daav, who flies out of Binjali's, where's harm in that?"

  "Well enough," Jon said, lowering his hands. "Seek your bed and we'll say no more about it."

  "In a moment." Daav shifted on the stool, sent a quick glance into Jon's face. "Dawn-time brings you rare joy, Master."

  Jon sighed. "Now what?"

  "A brace of halflings, boy and girl. They claim to be clanless."

  "Sending me your lame kittens, Captain?"

  "Not at all," Daav said austerely. "They belong to Pilot Caylon."

  "Oh, do they? And what does Pilot Caylon want me to do with them?"

  "Put them to work, if you think they might be useful."

  Jon considered him blandly. "Are they likely to be useful?"

  "Possibly. I believe them to be pilot-grade; the girl at least has had some training. They're able-bodied and quick, though not as quick as they think themselves. Cocky, but well-spoken enough when forced to the point."

  "A pair of delightful children, I see. All right. I'll hold them, pending Pilot Caylon's pleasure."

  "Thank you," said Daav and came to his feet. He tipped his head, looking down into Jon's seamed face. "Find out who they are, if you can manage it."

  Grizzled brows rose over amused amber eyes. "I thought they belonged to Pilot Caylon."

  "My lamentable curiosity," Daav murmured, moving a languid hand.

  Jon laughed. "Sleep well, lad."

  "Good evening, Master. I have no shift this three-day."

  "All right," Jon said and watched him walk, graceful and tall, across the bay and out the door.

  SHE WOKE FROM A DREAM of rich, easy safety, her mouth still curved with pleasure.

  Sunlight bleached the thin blue curtains to gray; the clock on her desk told of an hour approaching mid-day.

  The first thought that occurred was tinged with wonder: Ran Eld had allowed her to sleep through breakfast.

  Her second thought was that it was late, and she would be wanted in Solcintra.

  She flung the blanket back with energy, came to her feet and slipped on her ragged robe. The house beyond her door was quiet, the hall empty; there was no Voni barricaded in the bathroom they shared. More and more curious. Aelliana locked the door behind her and took a rapid shower.

  Back in her own room, she stared into her tiny closet with dismay, seeing the meager rack of shabby shirts and shapeless trousers as if for the first time. Exploration did uncover an orange day shirt laced with black cord, of a slightly more recent vintage than the rest, and a pair of tough indigo trousers that required only minimal pleating with a wide black belt. In the very back of the closet, she found the blue jacket her grandmother had given her on the occasion of her fifteenth name day.

  The bold blue had faded somewhat, but the lining was whole, the outer shell water-resistant. She shrugged it on.

  That she not outgrow s
o expensive an item before she had used it fully, the jacket had been bought too large. It settled over her shoulders now as if it had been made for her. Aelliana smiled.

  Then it was time to leave.

  Cautiously, she stepped out into the empty hall. From below, she heard the sound of a door opening, and the waspish echo of Ran Eld's voice.

  There was no time to be lost. Heart in mouth, she ghosted down the hall to the back stairs, thence out into the world.

  "MORNING, MATH TEACHER."

  "Good morning, Jon," Aelliana said, stopping to stroke Patch. She straightened and looked around her. The garage was unusually quiet; neither Trilla nor any other of Binjali's changeable crew in sight. She turned back to Jon.

  "I wonder—did—did the pirates come to you?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "Pirates? I wouldn't rate 'em much higher than Port rats, myself." He used his chin to point at the crew door. "They're here. Trilla's got them doing clean-up on Number Six Pad."

  "Oh." Tension eased out of her, though a wrinkle of worry remained around the bright green eyes.

  She was in looks today, Jon thought with approval, and dressed like she'd paid some attention to the matter instead just draping herself in whatever outsized bits of clothing came to hand. The tawny hair was combed neatly back over her ears and caught into a tail, showing the world a face at once ethereal and intelligent.

  Some fitting clothes and a sprinkle of jewels and no one in the room would deny her a beauty, Jon thought, and said aloud, "Well?"

  The worry intensified. "I was afraid you would care, though Daav—" She cleared her throat. "I meant no assault upon your melant'i, Jon."

  "Take more than a gaggle of halflings to do that," he said gruffly. "You sent them to work off a debt, according to their tale. I've enough unskilled labor to keep them a day or two, and welcome they are to all of it. But what will you do with them after that? Turn them back onto the Port?"

  She stared at him, eyes wide. "They're clanless."

  "So they said."

  "To turn them back onto the Port, after having taught them to hope—" She caught herself, teeth indenting her lower lip.

  "I do not consider," she began anew, after a moment. "I do not consider that they are stupid, or even without honor. They were frightened and in despair, which condition might make a thief of anyone. They are very quick, and—and pilot-like. Surely, they can be trained—"

  "Might be," Jon agreed, "if they had clan. Them claiming no one, that gets tricky. Though," he amended, seeing she was disposed to take it hard, "if they're real good, or found a patron, they might gain the Academy. The Scouts don't care who's clanless."

  Hope showed in her thin face, tempered with wariness. "Are they—real good?"

  "Too soon to tell. They're sharp enough—and quick, as you say. Whether they're quick enough, or sharp—that wants testing. Also—" he eyed her consideringly. "Might be only one will make it. I think the girl's some faster."

  "And the boy seems somewhat sharper," Aelliana returned, chewing on her lower lip. "And the Scouts do train others, who are never meant to be fully Scouts." She raised her eyes. "My name was cantra, you said, at Academy."

  "That's right."

  "Then there may be a way, though I doubt two days is long enough to find who they are themselves. Perhaps—"

  "I'll find work," Jon interrupted. "We'll keep them by long enough to test them fairly."

  She smiled, and there was no need for jewels or fine clothes to make her beautiful, Jon thought.

  "Thank you," she said. "You are very kind."

  "I'm an interfering old man," he corrected her, and swept a hand toward the back and his office. "Daav left you a thing, if you'd care to claim it."

  Eagerness made the bright eyes brighter. "Yes."

  They went side-by-side, Aelliana carrying Patch.

  "You'll spoil him so he'll always want a ride," Jon grumbled and almost gasped to hear her laugh.

  "I must carry him or I cannot walk," she said. "Which is worse: To stand for hours stroking him, or to carry him where I wish to go?"

  "I'll put a team on it," he said and bowed her into the office ahead of him.

  She paused at the near side of his desk to put Patch down; Jon went 'round to the terminal side and fingered a stack of hardcopy.

  "Here we are." He held it out; watched her take the thin metal card, disbelief warring with joy across her face.

  "Second class." Wonder gleamed along her voice.

  "Daav left me a tape of yesterday's little adventure, along with his recommendation that you be relieved of provisional. Asked me to get the card to you, if I agreed." He grinned then, in simple pride of her. "If I agreed! How I could do other than agree is what I'd like to know!" He held out his hand. "Binjali flying, pilot."

  She blinked at the outstretched hand, extended her own and met his firmly.

  Jon grinned again, gave her fingers a little squeeze and released her.

  "I'll have to speak to Master Daav about his methods," he said. "To expose a new pilot to that level of stress—"

  "Indeed," Aelliana said earnestly, clutching the precious card tightly. "Indeed, I had asked him to—to try me fully. My need is for working first class in no more than a year."

  "If he keeps you at this pace, you'll be working master in two relumma," Jon told her, with very little exaggeration.

  She smiled briefly. "I shall need to update my registration with the guild," she said. "And with Korval." She looked up, suddenly hesitant.

  "Is Daav working today? Or—possibly—tomorrow?"

  "Left word not to expect him for a day or three," Jon said, and marked how her shoulders drooped inside the blue jacket.

  "I—see." Another hesitation, then a deliberate squaring of those thin shoulders. "I wonder—is there someone willing to sit second for me tomorrow? I wish to lift—early."

  A second class pilot lifting in local space did not require a co-pilot, according to regs. However, Daav, damn him for a pirate, had shown her Little Jump and Jon dea'Cort was too wily an old piloting instructor to think that one brief taste of hyperspace would suffice her. Indeed, it was to her honor, that she asked for second board.

  "Clonak's due early tomorrow," he said. "Or I could spare Trilla, if you'd rather. You'd best chose who, otherwise you'll have them fighting for the honor."

  She smiled and moved her shoulders, disbelieving him. "Is Clonak never serious?"

  "Clonak's a damn' fine pilot," Jon said soberly. "Daav came up drinking coil fluid instead of tea—they haven't built the ship he can't fly. Got the master's easy as breathing. It wasn't that way with Clonak. He sweated for every equation, bled for every coord. He learned his piloting piece by piece and he earned that license. You can learn from him, if you care to."

  Aelliana inclined her head. "I care to learn all I can about piloting," she said. "If Clonak will fly with me, I will have him with joy."

  "I'll tell him," Jon said. "When do you lift?"

  Something flickered over her face: Jon read it as mingled exhilaration and terror.

  "An hour after Solcintra dawn," she said firmly.

  "I'll tell him," Jon repeated and she inclined her head.

  From the main garage came the sound of exuberant voices.

  "Trilla's back," Jon said, moving around the desk. "Care to have a word with your rescues?"

  Aelliana hung back a instant after Jon left, looking quickly down at the card in her hand: Second class, dated this very day. Fingers none too steady, she turned it over, found the name of the master pilot certifying grade. . .

  Jon dea'Cort.

  She sighed, then, and put the card safely into her pocket before going to make the re-acquaintance of the pirates.

  "PARDON US, PILOT, but are you Aelliana-Caylon-who-rewrote-the-ven'Tura Tables?" The boy's face was earnest.

  She inclined her head. "I am."

  "I told you so!" he rounded on his mate, who had the grace to look abashed. He turned back to Aelliana. "Yola
n thought you weren't old enough. In fact," he added, flicking another glance at the girl, "she thought the tables had been revised fifty or sixty years ago!"

  "Well, what does it matter when they were revised," the girl snapped, "as long as they're correct?"

  "Very true," Aelliana said gravely and Yolan sent her a quick glance before ducking her head.

  "Indeed, pilot, Sed Ric and me are grateful for your—patronage—to Master dea'Cort. We'd looked for work, but no one would have us. . ." She looked to her partner, who promptly took up his part.

  "We're also grateful to the fox-face—to your partner—for putting us in the way of a meal. We don't intend that he be out of pocket for . . ."

  Aelliana frowned and the boy stumbled to a halt, stricken. She sighed, releasing the irritation she felt on Daav's account—fox-face, indeed!—and moved her hands in the gesture for peace.

  "You may give him his rank, which is captain," she said, with a measure of austerity she had not intended.

  Yolan flicked a mischievous look aside. "Captain Fox," she told her partner, soto voce.

  Aelliana turned toward her, but before she could deliver the blistering set-down rising to her tongue, Jon dea'Cort spoke up.

  "In point of fact," he said, considering the pirates impartially over the rim of his mug, "Scout Captain Fox."

  "Scout!" The boy sagged—laughed, short and sharp. "Of all the marks to pick up—a Scout and the Caylon! Our luck, Yolan!"

  "Seems exactly like," she agreed wryly and looked back to Aelliana.

  "We meant no disrespect to the captain, pilot. It's only we didn't know what to call him, isn't it Sed Ric?"

  "That's right," he said eagerly. "We'll speak him fair, pilot—you needn't blush that you know us!"

  "Very well," Aelliana said, after a short silence. "Master dea'Cort has said that you may work for him until—until such work as he has is complete. I expect you will comport yourselves honorably and give honest work for honest wages. If Master dea'Cort should find it necessary to turn you off, you needn't look for grace a second time."