by Sharon Lee
"No," she said. "He wouldn't—"
She stopped, hearing Kara's voice, speaking very seriously, warning her—warning her about Liadens.
Everything—promises, partnerships and plans—must be set aside, should the clan call one to duty. Remember that, about Liadens, Theo. It's just—it might help. Later.
She closed her eyes, trying to accommodate a universe in which Father could be commanded—compelled. Father had always been a force unto himself—like a law of nature, Kamele used to say.
"Theo?"
Her hand moved of itself, fingers forming pause.
Contract, she thought. Win Ton. Father. Bechimo. Four problems, pulling in different directions, and no clear solution to any of them. She needed—
She needed time. Focus.
Theo rose, memo pad in hand, sparing Win Ton a nod that was far more curt than she intended.
"And by this you mean?" he asked with some perspicacity.
She took a breath.
"I mean that I need time to think. I'm missing a father. There's a ghost ship looking for me. I have a friend who is dying. I have a contract to read and a future to decide. Right?"
She stared at the cuff of Rig's jacket—her jacket—and looked back at him.
He rose, shaky, but determined.
"Be as well as you can, my friend," she said, softly. "We will sit board together again. I want that. If there's anything I can do to make that happen, be sure I'll do it."
He bowed then, perhaps with a bit of energy.
"You have my direction, Theo. I will contact you as soon as I may, if you cannot contact me."
Theo sighed, and gave him the pilot's salute she'd learned on Melchiza.
"I'm due back on Primadonna," she said. Chaos! Tranza would think she'd been taken by slavers!
"If you do not return or reply, Sweet Mystery, what shall I assume? That you have decided that my plight is beyond your care?"
She took the question, looked at it advertently, felt the terrors around the edge of it. Carefully, she extended her hand, and took his cold, weak one. He did not withdraw.
"Win Ton. Pilot yo'Vala. Friend. I will reply as soon as I may. If I do not reply it is because the solution is one beyond me, and I've gone—gone for help. Is that acceptable?"
His eyes widened very briefly, and he bowed a stately bow on unsteady legs.
"Pilot's choice, Theo. As I sit your second, it must be acceptable."
Thirty-Nine
Primadonna
Volmer
"Right."
Rig stood with arms crossing his chest, noting the board feed Theo was taking from Volmer's orbiting station. She could see him reflected in the screens—a not-unusual thing for her this past year.
"It makes sense to see what they're looking for there, but, Theo, the real action's right there in the bar, right? They got the same feed you got from station and they got bidders and askers looking for work right now. The usual applies, of course—makes sense to get a checkup on the ship if you can, and know the crew if there is one—but here you can find something you can check before lunch and sign before dinner if you need to, and you don't have to pay a fare or pull a favor to get there, and you're not paying for your own air while you wait. Right. Station-waiting can be a big drain on the accounts!"
That made good pilot sense, even if her mood now was to get off-planet as soon as she could. With no need to go to Delgado, no real need to be anywhere except at the board of a ship . . . and coming up with a plan to find her father, of course. And figure out a way to help Win Ton, and Bechimo, if it existed, and for which, she had realized on her ride back to Primadonna, she only had the word of a very ill and perhaps unstable man.
"Guild member to Guild member, Rig, am I reading this right?" She flicked to the screen displaying the new Hugglelans contract.
"Right. See, historically, the whole trip run gets credited to whoever runs the board, with time as PIC. This contract, I think they want to make it so they can keep running to places like Eylot and Tourmalin and—well, these places that want to look at the ship's log for the last ten years and see if you've ever been anywhere they don't like. So see, they'd not mention that you was even on board here at Volmer if they wanted you to be PIC when we got to, say, Tourmalin, who don't hold with trading someplace where the Juntavas is quite so thick on the ground. Thing is, by this contract they could hide that, and once you hide that on the ship records, then it gets pretty easy to hide or steal flight time from pilots, or release it only under seal to the Guild and such."
"That's what I thought I was seeing, like here—" Theo pulled a second screen live, several sections highlighted in the ugliest pink she could find. "Which, it looks to me, means they could cut my pay if I'm aboard a ship going to Eylot, by cutting me out of the in-and-out loop there so Eylot Admin wouldn't see my name and number; they wouldn't need to give me full time-in-grade points and—"
Rig tapped his ear, which meant his volume must be wrong or—no, the sound of footsteps in the corridor reached her.
"Pilot Tranza, I believe you are duty pilot, are you not? Would you care to share with me the status of the ship? This chitchat—"
"Pilot Mayko," he replied without turning, "a Guild member has asked my advice on a matter of current interest to both of us, and one which affects this ship intimately. As you are returned I assume that our immediate mission here is done and we can begin implementing the routes and procedures outlined for this vessel by Pilot Waitley. Shift sequence alone requires the PIC—that's me—to be aware of staffing availability."
"Pilot," Mayko began, and now Theo could see her approaching reflection, "you seem to be counseling a crew member to seek work elsewhere. That could be—"
"Oh hush, right, Mayko?"
Rig turned to her smoothly, arms still crossed over his chest as he leaned in her direction. Mayko took a half step back, and he leaned even more in her direction.
"The contract she's working under gives Theo a trip to the nearest employment center following the end of her employment. That means Primadonna is liable right now, if Theo Waitley wishes, to take her to orbit. If she finds something here, well then, she can walk out under her own power and precious Hugglelans Galactic don't have to feed her for the next day. But this is still the contract offer period, boss, and you offered her a contract. She's got the right to consider, to get advice, to look for competing offers. Right. Let her look. She'll likely find there's nothing out there near as cushy as a job hooked up to the Howsenda . . . and then your problem is finding her a ship!"
He turned his back on Mayko.
"Now, Pilot," he said to Theo, "if you want an actual legal analysis of that contract you could always take it to the Guild office proper and pay that fee—"
Mayko gasped. "You wouldn't!" she said. "You singsong—"
Rig's face broke up into a laugh.
"You never were all that good in cussing battle with me, Mayko. Let's fix us something to eat and let the girl take her jacket to the bar. The ship can fly as soon as we get topped off foodwise, elsewise, since you asked."
Mayko looked around him, to wave a come-on motion to Theo.
"Pilot, if you hurry you can probably catch the cart before it goes back . . . the girl was checking on the steering when I left."
The "girl" was of indeterminate age, as far as Theo could tell, but certainly older than her, and she had one of the front panels on the cart open and an instrument Theo didn't recognize in her hand while she swept the interior with a scan wand. The breeze made the driver's extra-dark hair swirl so she had to shake her head to see around it, and if the earrings she wore were real she'd need a guard for them on a couple ports Theo knew.
The driver reached into the panel and Theo grimaced, wondering how many more things could go off in the wrong direction—she'd nearly forgotten to bring her crew kit, and then . . .
"Bad jets?" she asked. "Down for repairs? Are you the driver?"
The breeze, or concentration and
the normal noise of a port in action, must have swallowed the words since the driver didn't react, and Theo repeated herself.
The woman, for now Theo was sure she was older than any mere girl, swept around elegantly as if surprised to discover anyone near. Wand held before her, still watching the instrument, she had a gentle smile on her face.
Theo relaxed. The woman was showing no signs of concern and her calm made Theo feel better.
"Yes, Pilot. I can drive you. Indeed not on the repairs; the sensor was getting an anomalous reading, but with so many extra ships on port these days, and so many security scans, unexpected readings will occur. Please, strap in and I will seal this instantly. You may call me Dulsey."
Theo sat in the passenger seat, strapped in, and watched the special elegance of this person who . . . was a pilot, and a dancer. Why then was she driving pilots about the port? She answered her own question—after all did not Aito wait tables at the Howsenda? Clearly though, this was no mere dayworker.
"May I drive you to the hiring hall, Pilot?"
Theo looked into the woman's face, but she was intent on starting, making sure the driving line was clear.
"Do I look like I'm leaving home?"
The driver glanced at her, still with that smile on her face.
"The hiring hall is a very popular destination, Pilot, especially today, and your shipmate came from there most recently, as I may be permitted to recall."
Mayko had been to the hiring hall? Of course, one way or another, Theo's spot on Primadonna would need filling.
"I understand there are several—but, yes, take me to a hiring hall."
The driver moved a hand used to work over the controls and the cart shot forward. Clearly the steering had no troubles, and after several sharp turns and dashes around other carts Theo began to assume that it was the brakes that needed looking into.
A few moments into the trip, after a sudden winding turn into a ramp new to her, Theo asked, "What hall are we going to? I thought they were mostly—"
The inner workings of the port came into view and flashed by: cables and pipes, ramps and people, warning signs and strange markings meant only for those who worked there.
"Ah, Pilot, since you come from the ship of the Hugglelans I thought it perhaps not best to travel to the hall where they hire now. Instead, I know a private party interested in hiring a pilot of special caliber such as yourself."
Theo held on as the cart lost altitude, taking a turn into a tunnel off of the ramp, tires' noise rising as the speed increased yet again. "Is this private party known onworld, and at the Guild hall? May I get a name?"
"Surely known on-world, Pilot. Why just a few hours ago, I drove there some Scouts."
Before the last word was fully annunciated, Theo gently moved her hand toward her pocket, saying, "I'm not sure that I'm interested in visiting this place, having recently taken leave of a Scout. Please take me elsewhere."
"Alas, Pilot Waitley, I believe you are committed now," said Dulsey, as the cart came to a squealing halt beneath the open bay door of a ship type Theo, despite her intensive study of silhouettes, couldn't identify.
"We have already copies of your records, and it behooves you to at least listen to our offer, which I assure you is far more interesting than the ordinary low-grade smuggler's contract offered in the halls here."
The driver used calming motions in Terran, then in Liaden, and then in Trade.
"You will not need your weapon here, Theo Waitley, only your wits. Uncle is waiting and there is much to be done."
Theo felt a thrumming, and wondered briefly if it was her own heartbeat. But no. It was the key around her neck, singing low. She danced a move to calm herself, knowing that she did not face thieves or ordinary brigands, for such would hardly bother to learn her name, nor would they likely speak of the Scouts.
Well. She still had her comm for Primadonna, and the ship's key. It was unlikely Rig Tranza would abandon her, though she wasn't so sure about Mayko.
Theo nodded to Dulsey who waited with patience as well as an impatient person might.
"I will listen to bona fide offers, Dulsey. If I have none, you will take me back to my ship."
Dulsey inclined her head.
"As you say, Pilot; it will be as you say."
Amazed, Theo stared around at what looked a museum more than a ship. There were carpets, deep rugs, and furs on the deck; there were ornate pieces of sculptural art, and there was wood. Wood! Desks made of wood and chairs made of wood and inlaid deck portions of wood. There were hangings on the walls and soft music in the air. The air carried with it the scent of the growing things which were evident in such profusion. These weren't mundane plants grown for morale and oxygen, these were bushes and extravagances as well as pots of simpler things like Father might grow at home at Leafydale Place. She almost expected to find a norbear in the forest by the time she'd turned around once.
"Uncle will arrive shortly, Theo Waitley. Please, if you like, it is the custom of many to go barefoot here, for the ship is comfortable. Make yourself at ease in our atrium."
Dulsey was gone, she herself barefoot, her shoes left on a mat by the door. Theo had heard of such customs on worlds, and on old-style family ships from the years of the Terran loop traders. She, however, might want to leave fast, and having to put on her shoes would surely slow her down.
There must be cameras and sensors here, she realized, there must be ways to keep the curious from feeling the surfaces of the art.
Alone in this atrium, Theo kept her shoes on, despite temptation. Still she wandered among the nooks and crannies that made the careful planning of a great cruise ship look like amateur design. There were myriads of things to look at, and none of them by accident, she was sure.
From her left, a sound, and a man with carefully trimmed hair and a sketch of a beard stood at the mouth of the corridor Dulsey had disappeared into. Like Dulsey, he was neither old nor young, and he was dressed simply, not in imitation of a Guild driver, but in something that looked like it might be dance class clothes. He had deliberately made the sound that alerted her, for he walked, silent and barefoot, over the rugs and furs. A pilot, yes, but not a strong pilot; a dancer, perhaps, but not strong at that either, she gauged. Dulsey had perhaps walked and moved better, yet here was someone before whom Mayko might shrink.
Theo turned carefully to face this person. He smiled and gave a half bow that was neither Liaden nor yet simply Terran.
"I see your relatives in you, Theo Waitley," he said, his bare toenails showing glossy, as if they were waxed. "Your face is more comely than most of them, but you carry yourself every bit as dangerous, which is fine news indeed. I am Uncle, and I am very pleased to meet you."
Forty
Volmer
Underport
Theo's hands wanted to to ask how Uncle might know her family, but she held them firmly around the excellent cup of tea Dulsey had brought, sipping with appreciation while Uncle sat across from her, comfortable amusement on his face.
Beside her was a key and the contract he'd offered her; she'd not looked at either yet.
"Really, it was more than chance that brought you to this interview, and so we were prepared to make an offer for your services long before you were committed to making a change. The truth is that we've been on the lookout for you, or someone very much like you, for some time. We knew that Hugglelans was moving a pilot up—I can't tell you how, sorry—and we knew that there was a good chance Mayko Ikari would make that move here."
Theo sat forward, used a gesture of inquiry she'd learned from yos'Senchul to lead into her next question.
"There are a lot of pilots, and even a lot of Jump pilots—why would you be so sure that I'd be along? Aren't there more usual ways of finding pilots then hoping one walks off a ship looking for work?"
He laughed, very gently, and gave her another of his half bows, seated though he was.
Theo offered a nod to the half bow, polite interest to the smile,
and permitted him the moment to continue.
"The first thing is that we've been wanting for some time to have a ship moved as quietly as possible, which means we needed someone to fly solo, and many pilots will not fly solo. We needed someone who might have special need or tendency of their own to privacy, for while our organization is not unknown, it is one that we try to keep as low profile as possible. We need, if you will forgive me, someone who is competent—even dangerous. Of those pilots coming to Volmer for Hugglelans, the profile fit—you."
Trim as it was, Uncle fiddled with his dark hair, as if he missed something he was used to at his ear or on his head, perhaps a turban, or an earring. He held a cup of tea served from the same pot in his other hand, moving it in careful emphasis as he went on.
"Understand, I find advertising such a plebeian approach to the problem that I never seriously considered it, and while I find sorting the dregs of on-file job hunters interesting for the information it brings me, information by itself is so much fog in the viewport. But here, now, I have been accumulating news, which is information in action, and I have been long in the habit of making things happen rather than waiting for them to occur. And so, records in hand, so to speak, I did even more research spurred on by event. You are a very good match for this job."
Theo sighed to herself; fascinated by the Uncle and his approach to hiring, concerned about what he seemed to know about her.
"I think no one considers my mother dangerous, Uncle, nor my grandmother, nor ever did! My family is very well documented, and very respectable—my mother and her mother and her mother before her are all scholars! Cite and location, date and degree, it's all there and all public, after all. No pilots among them, no tendency toward violence . . ."
It was his turn to lean forward, using his cup to point to her before he spoke.
"Ah, I forget, you were very much raised as a child of Delgado, as ill as it suited you. Of your maternal side I know only that it was sufficient to the task of birthing you. But no, I look to the paternal side here, Pilot."
