- Prologue Page 6

  "This news . . ." said the instructor, leaning forward earnestly. "Of a suicide I have heard. Might you share? Is it recent?"

  "You didn't know? Delm Korval's life-wife was shot on Liad, right in front of him. I mean, she died, stepping in front of a pellet meant for him. And there, it was like he kept going a few days, and then turned everything over to staff, and left. They say he took his wife's spaceship and just flew it right on into the sun!"

  "Ah," said the Liaden carefully. "Do you know, I think that I may have heard this—it happened some Standards ago, if I recall correctly."

  Over a sudden clatter and squeaking, yos'Senchul hand-spoke a determined attend me, leaning forward so they might both hear.

  "Even at the time, there was some measure of disbelief in this death. It seemed . . . unlikely, at best, given what they say of Korval—and what Korval says of Korval. Korval is ships, Liadens say. A delm so distraught as to consider self-death . . . even such a delm, being Korval, I think would not, and could not, kill a ship. Korval is ships, Korval is pilots."

  Asu looked aggrieved.

  "Well, have you seen Delm Korval? There is none!"

  She straightened abruptly, fingers pressed to lips, as if just recalling that she spoke with one of her instructors.

  yos'Senchul smiled lightly, his hand signaling a soothing this will clear.

  "Indeed, this is not the first time that Korval has waited upon a delm—and it is true that yos'Galan never spoke against the reports. Be assured that there will again be a Delm Korval, and Sam Tim's lesson is a good one to recall. Go to Korval Himself only in extremity!"

  "Do you guys want this stuff or should we just send it back now?" Turley leaned on the counter in front of them, hands spreading apart in question.

  The stuff was overwhelming, and the first five pieces of it, including two large packages requiring signatures and thumbprints both, were for Asu, who cooed over the return addresses, each from one of the stops on the pro scavage tour. Covered in customs stickers, postage marks and symbols, freight notes, and handling instructions, the collection massed more than Asu.

  Theo nodded to herself with casual understanding: this was why Asu wanted her to come along—not out of a concern that Theo wasn't getting enough "fresh air," but to have help carrying it all! It was a shame, she thought, that most of her hangers-on had found other things more interesting than her over the last few days.

  No, on second thought—it wasn't. All that company had made her twitchy and bad-tempered. She'd rather not have to deal with a crowd, even if it would have been useful to have more hands to push Asu's mail across campus.

  "Two more," Turley called out.

  Asu looked around, spied a community-use handcart across the room and darted off, leaving Theo to cope with whatever came across the counter next.

  . . . which turned out to not be so bad.

  Package number six was a white box bearing local postage only—for Chelly. It had the look of a box of candy or pastries. There was no return address and no sign-for; Theo took that in hand with a shrug, as Asu came back, pushing the cart ahead of her.

  The clerk from the back tossed the last package over the wall.

  "Heads up! That one needs special handling!"

  It wasn't a big packet; slightly smaller than Chelly's box. Turley caught it casually, and glanced at the tear slip.

  Asu reached for it, but Turley lifted it out of her range.

  "Ahem, student. This object has traveled light-years to reach us, so I think it ought to go to the person it's for. Erkes, Suite 302, Theo Waitley."

  He looked at Theo suspiciously, hamming it up for the line.

  "Are you a pilot, Trainee? Or do I have to sign this for you from my lofty height?" He tapped the stylized delta wing on his collar for emphasis. "This, my friend, is pilot post."

  He held the package out tantalizingly, as if daring Theo to take it.

  From behind her came yos'Senchul's voice.

  "If you please, Second Class Provisional Pilot Turley, it would honor me to sign for this package if you feel that Pilot Waitley's bona fides are lacking. In fact, I insist. I'm sure we all know the Terran refrain, 'Pilot post travels faster on the wings of a master.' "

  Eight

  Erkes Dormitory, Suite 302

  Anlingdin Piloting Academy

  It was Asu's turn to push.

  Theo walked beside the cart, keeping a concerned eye on the wobbling stack of packages, especially the thin one in the pale-brown cargo wrap. The wrap was worn in spots—which was, Theo told herself, reasonable for something so well traveled. There was a stub of green stuck askew at the bottom left, which was her part of the school's tear slip; otherwise the package was innocent of the postage and customs forms that decorated every square centimeter of Asu's packages.

  Her name and address were written on it in clear Trade block letters on the right, and again, in flowing Liaden cursive, on the left. The return address was in Trade, the sender's name also rendered in Liaden.

  She might, she thought, as she grabbed onto the cart to help ease it over a particularly rough bit of sidewalk, have been guilty of over-bowing to Pilot yos'Senchul for his signature. Theo thought the instructor had been amused, though, and he had made her sign her name, too, beside his on the slip, then tore it off and handed it to Turley with a flourish.

  Surprisingly, the mail clerk had bowed, and solemnly placed the slip into a small bin at the side of the counter. "Next outgoing pilot," he had said, then looked over Theo's head and called out, "All right! Who's next?"

  "Scout Pilot Win Ton yo'Vala?" Asu said, as they and the cart hit smooth surface again.

  She'd already said the same thing twice before, and it was getting hard to ignore her. You'd think, Theo said to herself, that a girl who'd just collected five packages with her name on them would be too busy wondering what was in them to pay attention to somebody else's mail.

  Still, she'd better answer something; it was important to keep peace—more or less—with her roommates.

  "Win Ton's a friend," she said, like she was telling a story about somebody else. "We played bowli ball on the liner when I went to Melchiza with my mother and her team." She felt her lips curve slightly upward. "We beat the dance machine, too. The arcade manager said we had the two highest scores she'd ever seen."

  "And he remembers these adventures so kindly that he sends you a packet at school," Asu said, with a smug look that Theo didn't quite understand. "A good friend, indeed!"

  "Well," Theo said cautiously, "he is a good friend. But it isn't like it cost him a lot to get this to me."

  Asu's laugh was quick and sharp.

  "Did it not? Are you sure?"

  Theo frowned and looked again at the thin box with its notable lack of stickers and forms.

  "The favors, you mean."

  "Sometimes," Asu said, in that annoying too-old-for-school voice she used to explain obvious details to the kid, "favors are more expensive than cash. And he owes everyone who carried that package a favor." She sighed, stopped pushing, and spent a few seconds fussing with the brake before she looked up again.

  "That's a good friend," she said and the smirk this time was unmistakable. "Here, it's your turn to push."

  "I owe a favor, too, though, don't I?" Theo said when they'd changed places and gotten under way. Asu was eying her box again.

  "What gives you—oh." The other girl frowned slightly. "yos'Senchul had you sign too, didn't he? Yes, I guess you do owe a favor, or will, as soon as that receipt gets back to your . . . friend."

  Theo gritted her teeth and kept on pushing. "Why?"

  "Well, it's clear yos'Senchul expects great things from you," Asu said, matter-of-factly. "There's a hole, Theo, bear left—good. All of the pilot teachers have, ever since you brought the Slipper down like that." She cast Theo a bland, over-the-shoulder look. "You really do need to get your math scores up, though."

  "I know," Theo told her fervently.

  "So," Asu said,
with another glance at the top of the cart, "what do you think it is?"

  You had to give her credit, Theo thought; Asu never gave up.

  "It's probably just a note," she said, shaking damp strands of hair out of her face. But there wasn't any reason, was there, she asked herself, for Win Ton to send a note this way, incurring all those favors, when they'd been writing via the letter service just fine, her more than him—and her less than before she'd come to Anlingdin.

  Asu's sigh could've blown a feather ten feet.

  "No, it's probably not just a note," she said. "Pilot post is expensive, weren't you listening? Why would your . . . friend . . . pile up all those favors to send you a note when he could use a letter service far more cheaply?" She gave Theo a smile. "It's bothering you, isn't it? You can stop and open it now, if you'd like. I don't mind waiting."

  Theo put her head down and kept pushing. The steepest part of the path was still ahead; it would take both of them pushing to get the cart up to Erkes. The good part was that the approach hill was short.

  "Bowli ball," Asu said, contemplatively, as if speaking to herself. "Our little Theo has a Scout pilot sweet on her and she thinks we'll believe they just played bowli ball. Oh, I'll take a wager that he taught her all kinds of hand-talk!"

  That was it. Theo stopped, set the brake, snatched Chelly's package and her own from the top of the cart and was half-a-dozen steps up the hill before Asu found her voice.

  "Wait! Theo, where are you going?"

  "Home," she said, pointing up the hill to where Erkes was silhouetted against darkening clouds. "With my package and with Chelly's. You can bring your stuff from here."

  "It will take both of us to get the cart up that hill!" Asu cried. "Theo—be reasonable."

  "I am being reasonable," Theo said sincerely, but she was already slowing. Asu in a snit was irritating. Asu in a snit at her was bound to be unpleasant in ways she didn't have time for. Besides, she told herself, as her feet turned her around, Asu did try to be helpful, and to pull her weight as a member of the team. Sometimes. In her own way.

  "Win Ton didn't send this to you, he sent it to me," Theo said.

  "Agreed," Asu said solemnly.

  "I want you to promise to quit asking what's in this package—and I want you to quit making fun of Win Ton! You don't even know him!"

  "That is true," Asu said, still solemn. "I don't know him." She sighed. "I apologize, Theo. To tease about a bestboy or bestgirl is considered . . . friendly . . . in my experience."

  "I know some other people who think so," Theo admitted, remembering her team on Delgado. "But I don't think so."

  "I'll remember that," Asu promised, and moved to the back of the cart. "Now, will you help me push? I think it's going to rain."

  They got the cart through the door with a clatter that would have earned a sharp word from Kamele and a sharper look from Father, but didn't even rate an open door and a curious look from their across-the-hall neighbors.

  "Chelly," Asu called as soon as they were inside, "you have mail!"

  "He's not here," Theo said, jerking her head at the senior's door, with its yellow status light.

  "Another round of workouts, I suppose," Asu said in a long-suffering voice, like she was Chelly's mother or older sister. Not, Theo thought, slipping the slender white box into the in-basket next to Chelly's door, that it wasn't worrisome, the number of hours he'd been spending at the gym. Theo wondered if the work helped him feel . . . less sad about his bestboy's—about what had happened to Hap Harney. If it did, she guessed it was a good thing, and, really, Chelly didn't have that tight, bruised look in his face anymore. On the few occasions she'd seen him lately, he'd only looked . . . tired.

  Behind her came a prolonged crackling. Theo turned in time to see Asu throw the wrapper from the smallest of her boxes to the floor. The others wobbled, and Theo jumped forward to grab Win Ton's package and slide it quickly into the thigh pocket of her pants.

  "Look!" Asu cried, shaking out a long strip of hot pink gauze.

  Theo squinted. "What is it?"

  "A banthawing," Chelly said sourly from the front door. "They're not going to let you use that until you can at least get through a board drill without a fumble."

  "Why not?" Asu demanded, whirling around so fast the gauze snapped audibly. "It's a—a recreational device!"

  "It teaches bad habits, is what it does," Chelly said. He kicked the discarded wrapping as he came into the room and shook his head. "You're gonna clean this up, right?"

  "In a moment," Asu said loftily. "I have other packages."

  "Hope they're more use to you than that thing. Who sent—oh! The scavage-head. Give him a hint, why not?"

  "I would never hint to Jondeer that I wanted a present!" Asu said hotly. "He sends what is in his heart!"

  Chelly turned and blinked at the banthawing and then at Asu.

  "Funny kind of thing to find in somebody's heart," he commented, then threw his hands up in front of his face, half-heartedly, Theo thought, as if to fend Asu off.

  "Hey, it's your relationship. I'd just think you'd clue him in on your space situation, so he wouldn't waste shipping on big stuff like this that you don't have anyplace to keep."

  "This is not all from Jondeer!" Asu snapped. She threw the gauze over the cart's handle and snatched the second-biggest box from its place on the cart. "This, for instance, is from my father's head of security!"

  "Great," Chelly said without enthusiasm. "I hope she didn't send you another one of those whaddycallits—checksums."

  "Checksec," Theo said hurriedly, seeing Asu's face tighten. "Chelly, there was a package for you, too." She jerked her chin at the inbox. "I put it in your basket."

  "For me?" He frowned, then shook himself, his mouth straightening into a thin line. Theo thought maybe he was trying for a smile. "Thanks."

  He moved toward his door, and Theo turned to go into the room she shared with Asu, meaning to retire to her bunk and open Win Ton's package while both of her roomies were involved in their own business.

  "Oh, of all the thought-deprived, careless—"

  Theo turned; Asu was holding up a hinged, transparent screen.

  "What's that?"

  "This"—Asu shook the item in question so hard its hinges squealed—"is the security shield for the Checksec that was confiscated. Had I had this at the beginning, it would not have drawn the attention—"

  "Shit."

  It was amazing how cleanly that quiet cuss word cut through Asu's racket. They both turned toward the third member of their party.

  "What's wrong?" Theo asked. Chelly was standing like he'd been dipped in plastic and left to dry, staring down into the open white box, the lid held loose in his off-hand.

  "Chelly?" She moved forward, carefully. His face was almost as green as his gym shirt and she could see sweat on his upper lip. "Hey, Chelly," she said.

  He looked up, eyes wide, face looking—soft. Unformed. He focused, first on Theo, then on Asu; his face firmed and he put the lid back on the box.

  "I'm calling Security," he said, his voice absolutely steady. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his key, tossing it underhand to Theo. "You're in charge, Waitley. First Bunk in the absence of the senior, right?"

  She swallowed, the card warm in her hand, and nodded, once. "Right," she said, acknowledging the chain of command.

  "Good kid." He went over to the comm, not even bothering to kick Asu's discarded wrappings on the way.

  Security had come, and Security had taken Chelly into custody, as he must've known they would, Theo thought, as she lay on her bunk, staring up at the dark ceiling. She'd overhead a little of his low-voiced conversation with the two officers who had answered his call—enough to know that the box, whatever was in it, was from Hap. Since Hap was dead, it was probably somebody's idea of a joke, Theo thought—a really cruel joke, too; baiting somebody with his dead bestboy's name. She could see why Chelly would be upset, but calling Security seemed an overreaction.
<
br />   The Security team hadn't thought so, though. And now she was in charge. Until Chelly got back. Which ought to be, she told herself, as she had every fifteen minutes since he'd gone, Real Soon Now.

  She and Asu had cleaned up; Asu had stowed her presents, except for the stuffed octopod Jondeer had sent her. That, she had improbably taken to bed with her, sleeping curled around, like it was a cat—or a friend.

  Theo, alone in the top bunk, envied her, but she couldn't sleep—it didn't seem right to sleep—until Chelly got home. She'd have to let him in; she had his key.

  On the other hand, she ought to try to get some sleep. She had an early class. History of Piloting. Boring.

  Finally, she got bored with the ceiling and her thoughts, sat up, turned on the minispot and pulled Win Ton's package out from under her pillow. Carefully, so she didn't wake Asu up, she slit the wrapping and opened the small box.

  It was a note; written in careful but perhaps hasty Terran on a skinny sheet with a trick underlay that changed color as the paper moved. Blevins Transit Services, Gas, Groceries and Gladthings, it said—and then it didn't, and she could read the words he'd sent.

  Sweet Mystery, dear friend Theo, the Terran words ran, I trust and hope this finds you well, in the aftermath of your recent successful soaring flight made under such trying circumstances.

  She blushed at the memory of telling Win Ton it was stupid of him to call her "Sweet Mystery" . . . but there, their friendship had survived that setdown, and she was glad they had.

  The news of your flight reaches here in the latest of piloting updates, where it is shared among pilots full of admiration, and some with jealousy that one so new to the art should perform so well. For me, I am not surprised that you go on so well, but expect it.

  In her head she heard his voice, trying to be both formal and light, and saw him suppress a smile as he did so often.

  It is the nature of the universe to provide us with both challenges and frustrations, and this challenge you have borne so well, while I alas, have labored under the frustration of being a mere two jumps away from you, and thus, close enough to consider coming to you in celebration and far enough away that given time and my duty schedule it is impossible to route myself to you. But there, know that I celebrate and that in honor of your flight, I bestow upon you the enclosed, which of course you must wear only if your grade permits, and only if you desire it, and feel it appropriate.