- Prologue Read online

  "So," he said, giving her a grin that was less professional and more Aito. "What happened?"

  The tray from the kitchen arrived while she was telling him everything; he poured tea for them both and shoved the plate of handwiches toward her. She took one, hardly attending what she did, and continued to talk.

  When she was done, the plate was empty, a second hot pot of tea had arrived from the kitchen, and she felt—if not as energized as she had been after the hearing, then at least awake, on-task, and . . . determined.

  "So, I'd like to put in my app for full time here at the yard," she finished, leaning forward, her cup cradled in both hands. "And to ask if I can claim a bed in the dorm—or rent a wayroom; I've got some money—"

  Aito raised his hand, cutting her off. "One course at a time, Pilot. First, now that you are unburdened and fed—tell me how you feel. Do you require a physician? Will you have some painkillers?"

  Theo considered that. Her hurts were mostly bruises and scrapes; while they nagged at her, she didn't think painkillers—no, she decided abruptly, definitely not painkillers. She needed to be alert.

  It was an odd thing to think, here at Hugglelans, where she was safe, but she didn't question the rightness of her decision.

  She looked to Aito and shook her head. "I'm . . . mostly all right. Healer el'Kemin said if I experienced any real trouble in the next seven days, then I should see him. If they'd let me."

  Aito's eyes sharpened. "Seven days seems a peculiar figure," he noted.

  Theo laughed slightly. "I said the same thing. It turns out he's put in his resignation, and he had to give academy admin seven days' notice."

  "Oh," Aito said softly, and then, more loudly, "Oh." He snapped forward, fingers flickering as he entered a cal code into the board. "Your pardon, Theo," he murmured, picking up the receiver.

  The comm buzzed twice, then clicked as the connection was accepted.

  "Father?" his voice was brisk. "It's Aito. I apologize for the—Yes. Anlingdin Academy's Healer has tendered his resignation, it—Seven days. Yes, sir. I have Theo Waitley here in the office. She has been dismissed for—I expect they are, sir. I—Inciting a riot and being a nexus of violence. No, sir. She has had tea and food. She reports herself capable and refuses painkillers, though she would like a job and a place to sle—Certainly, not. It would be most inappropriate. Indeed, I will tell her you said so, sir. About the Healer? Shall I—Ah. Thank you, sir. Your voice, of course, carries the—Pardon? One moment, if you please, I will ask."

  Aito cradled the receiver against his shoulder and looked over to Theo. "What plans has Kara ven'Arith? Does she follow you here?"

  Theo shook her head. "I don't know. She—I gave her leave to gather up my things and to do with them as she sees fit. But, her family's local!"

  "Yes," Aito said seriously. "Her family is indeed local." He lifted the receiver to his lips again.

  "Theo does not know her friend's precise plans, which is doubtless wise. The ven'Arith has accepted the burden of Theo's will, in the matter of private possessions left behind . . . yes. Good night, Father."

  He cradled the receiver and sat staring at it for a moment before he raised his eyes to Theo.

  "My father thanks you for your service to Hugglelans, and for bringing the news directly. We had, of course, heard rumors and rumbles, but we had not suspected that the explosion would occur so soon."

  "I don't think anybody did," Theo said. "Pilot yos'Senchul thought something was . . . imminent, but not immediate. That's—I think that's why he had me get my card at the station."

  "Short Wing is longsighted," Aito said, and Theo shook her head.

  "You're going to have to find another nickname," she said. "He has both arms now. The new one's mech. Top grade, too."

  Aito stared. "You tell me that yos'Senchul has accepted the prosthetic? That—" He glanced toward the console, hesitated, and murmured, probably to himself, "No, it will wait."

  "About a full-time job," Theo said, after a long moment had passed and Aito hadn't said anything else.

  He started, looked to her and straightened in his chair.

  "Ah, yes, the job," he said, and it was his professional smile he showed her, which didn't make much sense, Theo thought, though her stomach thought otherwise.

  "Unfortunately, we cannot hire you here at Hugglelans Eylot," Aito said, so smoothly that the sense of his words almost slid past her.

  She gasped, now realizing how much she had depended on Hugglelans—how certain she'd been that she had a place here. But, of course, she thought, painfully, they didn't want trouble. They were local, too.

  "However," Aito was continuing, "it may be possible that you will qualify for an apprenticeship position with Hugglelans Galactica."

  Theo stared, feeling slow and slightly stupid. "Hugglelans Galactica?" she repeated.

  "In fact," Aito said briskly. "Did you think that this yard and the Howsenda was all there was? We span worlds, Theo Waitley. And, spanning worlds, we therefore have need of pilots."

  "I thought you were a—service for pilots," Theo said. "The yard, the restaurant, the repair bays . . ."

  "All of which we would need to maintain for our own ships! Why not extend the service and earn a fee to offset the cost of doing business?"

  He stood. "We'll talk more of this after you've rested. I'm going to put you in the ready room."

  Feeling not much less confused, Theo rose and followed him down the short hall to the rear.

  "What about the pilot on call?" she asked, as Aito opened the door onto a room just big enough to hold a cot.

  "The pilot on call this evening prefers to sleep other than in the ready room. As he's never missed a call and his partner is understanding of these things, Father accepts the arrangement." He pointed to the right. "Sanitary facilities at the end of the hall. You'll sleep safe tonight, Theo," he said, turning to look earnestly into her eyes. "Father is grateful for your service. After you've waked and broken your fast, ask whoever is out front to call me."

  "Why?" Theo asked.

  Aito smiled. "So that I can get you started on that application for full-time work you wanted." He inclined his head—half bow and half nod.

  "Good night, sleep well."

  "Good night, Aito," she answered, and stood in the doorway until he reached the top of the short hall, and the door closed behind him.

  Please insert Howsenda Hugglelans employee card in the red slot, the instructions ran across the screen in rapid yellow letters. Theo complied.

  Please insert Guild or other professional identification in the blue slot.

  She slid the Guild card into the blue slot, feeling a pang as the machine accepted it. You'll get it back, she told herself sternly. They just need to download your data.

  Please wait, the screen instructed her, the letters flowing into the Howsenda Hugglelans logo. The logo expanded, twinkling, against a black background, morphing into a blanket of stars spreading prettily, if not very realistically, into infinity.

  Theo closed her eyes and counted to twenty-four. When she opened them, the graphic had faded, replaced by dignified blue-limned letters.

  Welcome, Theo Waitley, Pilot Second Class. Your Guild license is active and cross-matches with your Howsenda Hugglelans employee identification. Following is the general piloting application for Hugglelans Galactica. Data gathered by this application resides, encrypted, in the Howsenda Hugglelans corporate database. Job applicants have the right to refuse three offered jobs before they are removed from the active database. Ready to proceed? Yes/No.

  Theo thumbed Yes.

  The questions were interesting, not all of them having to do with piloting, but a good number asking about her hobbies, whether she liked to be in a crowd or by herself, if she had any pets, if she'd taken self-defense. The "yes" on that question opened up a cluster of sub-questions: When? Which type? Was she proficient? Had she taught?

  After that, there were more general questions, then the application
program wanted to know if there were any planets she preferred not to travel to, if she had any outstanding local "rule violations," if so, what and where.

  Finally, the screen flickered and one last question rose to its surface:

  Are you qualified to carry a weapon?

  Theo punched "yes" a little harder than was strictly necessary, and waited for a series of questions about her gun, her training with it, and her years of ownership.

  Instead, the application program thanked her for her input and promised that a representative of Hugglelans Galactica would be contacting her with a job offer very soon.

  It was, in fact, three days before she was contacted by a representative of Hugglelans Galactica, and that by proxy, in the person of Aito himself, who shook her awake on her cot in the on-call room, where she'd spent her time sleeping and working nav problems with her needles.

  "Theo! Your ship is here!"

  "What!" She was awake all at once, on her feet and stamping into her boots, her hands flew down her body, touching pockets, doing inventory. She grabbed her sweater off the hook and hauled it on as she followed Aito up the hall.

  "I thought I got three refusals!" she said, as they came into the office.

  He gave her a peculiar look over his shoulder. "Do you want to leave this planet?" he asked.

  "Yes," she admitted.

  "Do you," he asked, slotting a data card, glancing at the readout and nodding, "want to work as a pilot?"

  "Yes!"

  "Do you want to put your friends in peril?"

  "What? No!"

  "Good. Then you'll take this—" He flipped the card to her; she snatched it out of the air and stood holding it, watching him.

  "That's your accumulated pay for unused vacation time, shift bonuses, and an override for a wayroom and a meal at any Hugglelans facility."

  "Vacation time!" she exclaimed. "Bonuses? What—"

  "Father," Aito interrupted, "is grateful for your service. I believe he said so previously." He tossed her another card, which she caught like the first.

  "I am also grateful," he said quietly. "Listen, now, Theo. Cameron's on Number Two Hot, lifting in five minutes. The pilots are willing to have you sit Jump seat 'til Malta, where you'll disembark and report to the yard office. They'll have your papers, updated ID, all of it. You'll be 'prenticing to Pilot Rig Tranza—one of Hugglelans' long-time employees. You'll learn a lot from him."

  "But, wait!" Theo cried. "What kind of ship? What kind of space? What—"

  The board rang, and a man's voice rang out cheerily. "Our packet ready there, boss? We're coming up on a mark."

  "Heading out now!" Aito said. He jerked his head toward the door.

  Theo took a breath, held back the words in favor of a nod and a flashed good lift! and ran for the hotpad.

  Thirty-Two

  Number Twelve Leafydale Place

  Greensward-by-Efraim

  Delgado

  It had long become the custom to share in the news from Theo when it arrived, and to make it as festive an occasion as possible. The joint revelation of their offspring's latest adventures being such a habit, not even this evening's committee meeting in support of Chair Ella ben Suzan's important work reconfirming the department's accreditation would do more than put it off, despite Jen Sar's protestation that a letter marked for Kamele Waitley should be enjoyed by Kamele Waitley as soon as possible.

  Kamele's not unexpected insistence meant that Jen Sar worked late in the fall garden, regretting his favorite jacket's location in a spaceship storage locker where it protected him from no wind at all. After, he showered, prepared in advance what he could of a simple repast, and graded student papers, enjoying the company of several cats and the scan of near-orbit action in space until his still-keen ears discerned Kamele's steps on the walk.

  She's very tired. Aelliana stirred, concern tinging her thought.

  Indeed, he answered, I'm glad she's home, and with something to be pleased about!

  Kamele's face lit when she saw Jen Sar, but the first thing she said was, "I'm sorry."

  He raised quizzical eyebrows. "Sorry?"

  She stowed several bags through the simple expedient of dropping them in front of the chair Coyster occupied, and then accepted Jen Sar's hug with warmth.

  "Sorry I had yet another meeting, sorry the meeting went long again, sorry Ella's been quite so much in the midst of this, sorry Theo's letter arrived after you were gone for the day."

  He hugged her again, which she accepted, just as she accepted their slow spin which brought them to the counter where the glasses were set and the bottle properly breathing.

  "Ella is lucky to have you," he murmured, "and so is the Wall. Next year should see honest education out of all of you, with only a double dose of meetings instead of triple. Soon, all will return to normal!"

  Kamele laughed softly. "Yes, a double dose of meetings does sound wonderful. It is really hard to remember sometimes that these people are all on our side!"

  Soon they touched glasses and sipped, with Jen Sar all admiration of Kamele's attention to the glass.

  Good, Aelliana observed, she'll sleep well tonight.

  Distraction being the plan, Jen Sar tipped his head in Kamele's direction.

  "Shall you read to me now, or shall we wait until after salad?"

  "Let's see first if it is something to read or something to watch! Oh, and remind me to send on that clip we have from Bek; I'm sure she'll enjoy it!"

  Kamele returned to her bags to retrieve the letter, while Jen Sar watched her.

  "Well," he commented, "she's long put soarplanes behind her, so I think we don't need to worry on that score." After a pause, he added, "And really, as pretty a couple as they may have made for her gigneri, I doubt we can expect them to be much of a pair now, with him flying off stages and being an important artist, while she's going to settle on being a mere space pilot."

  Kamele looked up from her rummaging to wrinkle her nose at him, and he smiled.

  They had, he admitted made a pretty couple, and the gigneri pairing had confirmed both Theo's independence, and her willingness to fly off on her own in pursuit of her own choices.

  The letter discovered, Kamele settled on to a stool to peel the plastiskin cover open.

  Aelliana's eyesight was no better than his these days, but she dealt with far less distractions; she caught the return routing address as Kamele set the envelope aside.

  I haven't thought about that place in years, copilot—Staederport!

  "A letter only," Kamele said, squeezing carefully to be sure there were no flatpics or mediachips enclosed. "We can trade reading paragraphs!"

  Not quite idly, Jen Sar insisted, "No, no, please go ahead as you will. I'll just see where the letter's been—"

  He snagged the envelope, a frisson of concern raising the hair on the back of his neck.

  The envelope was franked at the Guild Hall on Staederport, for Pilot 2 Theo Waitley, c/o Hugglelans Galactica/Light Courier Primadonna.

  Do you suppose it is still the same storefront, Pilot?

  "Dear Kamele," she began, the thin page rustling between her fingers. "I'm sorry to have to tell you that there has been a riot at school, and I've been declared—"

  Aelliana had been a courier pilot, as well, and they both read the words and the visible codes with no problem, she computing ahead of him to inform—

  Second seat on a working courier, with a box on Staederport! She's—

  ". . . a nexus of violence!"

  Jen Sar was already at Kamele's side, who sat, white-faced, letter crumpled in hand.

  "By the mothers, they've destroyed her!"

  "Surely not," he said, easing her hand open to rescue the precious paper.

  He wasn't certain how long it took, or whether it was his gentle insistence or Aelliana's firmer explanations that finally brought the rage to anger, the anger to acceptance. The wine sat forgotten for a while, and when recalled, was aimed at relaxing a mother's unrequited
fury.

  "Kamele," Jen Sar said, finally, "I swear to you this is true. The barbarians have not won. Theo may lack her degree, but she holds what she wants. She has her wings."

  Thirty-Three

  Primadonna

  Alanzia Port

  Tranza was off on another binge, Theo realized darkly; she'd be lucky if she saw more than a passing wave of the hand acknowledging her dinner arrangements or that he'd be prepared any time soon to "study on" her proposed course and timelines. This time, besides laying out the course and schedule, she'd already had to balance the official delivery loads in their outboard minipods and fine-tune the more sensitive high-value stuff in the pressure pallets. Was that enough? No, then came the rebalance because the local office was shipping "internal matter" set to arrive after they were moved to hotpad, which meant it would have to find space in the tiny passenger cabin.

  The last time they'd had "cabin goods," as Tranza would have them, it had been a load of fron, a spice so rare and potent that an amount matching Theo's own mass was sufficient to sustain the Howsenda's needs—the final destination—for a period of years. Whatever it was, it was probably the one thing that had gotten her outdoors—

  That was another thing. When the trip came across the board originally it was a straight orbital pick-up from the outermost of the four transfer stations. So, she'd calculated for that on the Jump, getting nothing but an "I can get by with this, I guess" from Tranza. Then, he'd told her to push Jump and she brought them through a day later, within hailing distance and all he had to say while they normalized the orbit was, "Hey, if we can get down there's usually some good play"—and he'd gone off to make a crew-rest request.

  Crew rest was a joke; that meant Tranza got to visit friends and influence people while she tended the ship. If she was lucky, he'd bring back a new language module, and they could practice against each other.

  If she wasn't lucky, he'd haul in a new set of silhouette training vids, not that she couldn't already identify forty-seven major ship styles and thirty-six uniques, including the top ten trade ships. Diamon Lines Chanticleer City? No problem. Korval's Dutiful Passage? She knew it from six directions, even though she'd never really seen it, either. Scout ships? She had them down by the dozen. Fah! That's what came of telling Tranza she'd caught a ghost ship in the screens when he was off-board and asleep. He wasn't going to let up until they found it all legal and ID'd in a sanctioned pack, since he'd taken polite leave to doubt the lacework sketch she'd provided.