by Sharon Lee
It had been a risk to steal away today, she thought with a heart-wrench of panic. In general her days off were spent in the tiny office at Chonselta Tech. Ran Eld knew that. What if he were to seek her there and find the door bearing her name locked? He would want to know where she had been—would demand to know—and what might she tell him, that would buy his belief, while preserving her limited independence? She had been mad—she was mad, gods help her. How could she have thought—
"Scholar Caylon." Calm, deep voice, warm sense of a body near—too near!—something, feather-light, against her sleeve—
She gasped, cringing back, shoulders jamming up around her ears. Through her hair, she saw alarm cross the tall Scout's face, replaced instantly with careful neutrality. His hand, for it was his hand, dropped from her sleeve and he stepped back, beyond the boundaries of isolation she had woven for herself.
If he had simply turned and gone, she would certainly have fled to the ferry, and spent the return trip to Chonselta pleading with a pantheon of uncaring godlings for the grace of undiscovery.
He did not leave. He spoke, in Adult-to-Adult mode, very precisely, so the accent of Solcintra rang sharp against her ear.
"I regret that my presence troubles you, Scholar. Allow me to bring Trilla, so that she may sit second board for you."
His presence did trouble her: Tall, slim and graceful, with his odd, twisty earring and neat, overlong hair, the black eyes bold in a sharp, compelling face—He troubled her as the cat had troubled her, and for the same reason.
The cat—so soft, so comforting. Once she had started to stroke it, she could not stop; the joy the creature received from her caresses had awakened some dangerous nameless need—
The cat had seen her.
Tall Daav, with his bright black eyes, had seen her as well and knew her to be—real.
"Scholar?"
"I—" She shook her hair away from her face, forcing herself to meet those sightful eyes. "I beg your pardon yet again, sir—Pilot. The last few days have been—uneasy. It would be best, I think, not to lift today."
"Hah." His mouth curved slightly—a gentle smile—though his eyes remained neutral. "Sky-nerves, we had used to call it at Academy," he said, in Comrade once again. "The best cure is to lift as planned."
Lift as planned. Aelliana felt the words strike somewhere at the nearly-forgotten core of her.
She took a deep, trembling breath and inclined her head.
"That is doubtless excellent advice," she said evenly and saw something move in the depths of the Scout's dark eyes. "I will ask that you pilot the jitney, however. It seems the surest course for arrival."
The smile became more pronounced. "I drive with delight," he said, and moved 'round the jitney to the driver's slot.
AELLIANA FILED A COURSE on the challenging side of the equation, scrupulously remembering to bring the navcomp on-line, and took the opportunity of the quarter-hour wait to tour Ride the Luck.
The refurbished hold was eminently satisfying, though the pilots' quarters remained in their previous state of lavish comfort, lacking only the ceiling mirrors.
Aelliana looked about the chamber, feeling the slight vibration of the ship's gyros, hearing the hum of the support system, the muted clamor of Port chatter feeding in over the mandatory open line, and sagged against the wall, the room blurring through a rush of unaccustomed tears.
Hers.
The fierceness of possession warmed her, terrified her. It was dangerous to want something this much. So many things might go wrong—and the clan . . . Until the day she cleared Liad orbit, heading for her Jump-point, she was an asset of Clan Mizel; her possessions no more her own than the clan's. Mizel could as easily dispose of Aelliana Caylon's ship as it was legally able to dispose of Aelliana.
"Pilot?" Daav's voice came quietly from the wall speaker at her shoulder. "We are cleared to lift in two minutes."
"Thank you," she said, pushing shakily away from the wall. Sky-nerves . . ."I am on my way."
THE LIFT TO OUTYARD Eight was almost—restful. Master pilot that he was, Daav kept a serene second board. He took communications to his side with a murmured, "By your leave, Pilot," and offered neither chatter nor any other assault upon her privacy.
Not so Yardkeeper Gat.
"What ship?" It was not so much query as demand, loud enough to pierce Aelliana's concentration on the approach path, so she shot a glance full of startlement to her co-pilot.
A wiry golden hand moved to flick the proper toggle. There was a band of lighter gold about the third finger, Aelliana noted, and a faint indentation, as if Pilot Daav had left off an accustomed ring.
"Ride the Luck," he answered the abrupt query. "Pilot Aelliana Caylon at first board. Daav from Binjali's on second. Yard comp downloaded ship's particulars two-point-four minutes gone, Keeper, and cleared us for Bay Thirty-Two."
"I don't care what her name is or how good she can add! I've got a second class provisional on a non-standard approach to my Yard. What does she know about docking? How do I know she won't hole the ring?"
Daav grinned, which did unexpectedly pleasant things to his foxy face. "Ah, the sweet anticipation!" he said gaily. "Never fear, sir, all shall be resolved in a very few minutes. Unless you would rather we simply jettison the cargo and leave?"
"All a good joke, is it?" the Yardkeeper snarled. "Bay Thirty-Two ready to accept Ride the Luck. You've got eight minutes to get in, unload that cargo and dump out."
"Unless, of course, we hole the ring," Daav murmured politely.
The in-line hummed empty.
Daav laughed, sending a bright glance toward Aelliana. She ducked her head, but did not entirely turn away.
"Non-standard approach?" she asked, voice breathless in her own ears.
"Dear Gat. He only means to say that, measured against other first approaches to ring-docking by provisional second class pilots he has seen in the past, this one is a bit too quick, a bit too flat—very nearly Scout-like, in fact." His fingers moved, swift and certain among the instruments. "Two-thirds local velocity must be dumped within forty-three seconds, Pilot, else we buy a bumpy docking and Gat's disapprobation."
"Good gods." Aelliana spun back to her board.
SEVEN-POINT-NINE MINUTES later, Ride the Luck tumbled out of Bay Thirty-Two, oriented, and commenced descent.
The boards worked sweetly under Daav's fingers; he was agreeably surprised in Ride the Luck, which seemed to sing with joy around them.
He was likewise surprised in Aelliana Caylon, who, for all her skittish, wary ways, knew what to do with a ship in her hands. From power-up to dump-out, there had been not one false move. The minor flutter of hesitation upon approach he assigned to Gat's account, for breaking the web of her concentration and recalling her to the chancy world of human interaction.
The course she had chosen to OutEight had been ambitious for a second class provisional, though well within her abilities. Daav had several times noted her pushing the navcomp, as if she found its entirely respectable response time almost too slow to bear. The filed descent was worthy of a Scout and Daav had no doubt she would execute it with aplomb.
Aelliana Caylon, he thought, watching her fragile hands flickering over prime board, might very well be that rarest of precious things: a natural pilot.
Guild law required a master pilot engaged in evaluating a junior to judge and implement appropriate training. Aelliana Caylon, in the judgment of Scout pilot/Master Daav yos'Phelium, was easily capable of achieving first class. It was likely that master pilot was within her grasp, did she care to leave her own work for a relumma or two and devote herself to study.
Thus, a variation from the simple meeting of second class flight-time requirements was mandated. Daav ran an experienced eye over his scans, double-checked the filed approach and addressed the pilot, pitching his voice soft out of care for her concentration.
"I wonder," he murmured, keeping his eyes scrupulously on his board, "if you might wish to attempt a
sling landing."
"Now?" she asked, voice sharp with surprise.
"You will have to master the skill, soon or late," he said, all gentle reason. "Why not begin today?"
"To refile the course, to tie up the port's emergency sling . . ."
"The most minor readjustment of course," Daav soothed, "and no need to discommode port at all. Binjali's has a sling."
Hesitation. Daav consulted his scans and dared push his point a bit, before time became too short.
"I can call Jon, if you like it, and see if we have clearance. We will come in on automatic first time, of course." He paused. "Unless you have already trained on sling-shots?"
"No . . ."
"I'll call now," Daav said, flicking the line open.
"Good-noon, Captain darling!" Clonak ter'Meulen's voice filled the tiny cabin a moment later. "What service shall my humble self be delighted to perform for you?"
Daav's lips twitched. "Where's Jon?"
"Up to his neck in a gyro-fix. Service?"
"Sling-shot, automatics, current coords—" he reeled them off, confident of Clonak's abilities as of his own. "Flight plan downloaded—now. Cleared?"
"Cleared, oh Captain. You and the pilot can take a nap. Until soon."
"Until soon, Clonak." He cut the connection and turned his head to glance at Aelliana Caylon.
She was looking directly at him, green eyes wide, less misty than he recalled, and holding something akin to—amusement.
"It seems a sling-shot is mandated," she observed, and there was the barest thread of laughter, too, in the weave of the fine, strong voice. Daav grinned.
"Your pardon, Pilot. Of all people, you must know what Scouts are!"
"Bent on mischief," she agreed, astonishingly tranquil, "and decided entirely upon their own course." She turned back to her board and her hair shifted to conceal her. "I shall file an amended descent."
THEY WERE WELL INTO the amended descent when a certain subtle lack called Daav's attention to the upper left quadrant of his board. Apparently the navcomp's inefficiencies had become too burdensome to tolerate, for it was shut entirely down. He reached for the reset.
"That's wrong," Aelliana Caylon told him sharply.
"Wrong?"
"Off by two places." Her fingers were flying over the board, as well they should, he thought abruptly, with her running such a course on manual. He punched navcomp up.
Wrong, indeed, and off by nearly three places. Swearing silently, he called for the back-up. It came on-line with a suspicious stutter, accepted its office—and failed.
Chapter Thirteen
In the absence of clan, a partner, comrade or co-pilot may be permitted the burdens and joys of kin-duty. In the presence of kin, duty to partner, comrade or co-pilot must stand an honorable second.
—From the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
"COMP TWO DOWN," Daav said, eyes raking the scans. It was too late by several minutes to change course now.
"We're committed to the sling. I'll call Jon and file the change. Begin sending your numbers to me for verification."
"Yes," she said, never looking away from her board. Daav hit the comm.
"Navcomp suspect," he told Clonak a heartbeat later, "back-up's dead."
"How lovely for you, darling."
Daav grinned. "Pilot Caylon will be bringing her to the sling on manual."
A short pause, then a cheery, "Right-o!" in what Clonak fondly considered an Aus accent.
"Ride the Luck out."
"Ta-ta."
Daav slapped the line off, dumped his holding bank and leapt into a river of numbers.
Ordered and swift, the equations flowed, through his bank, into the board and out, a continuous perfect stream of checkpoint and balance. He forgot about the navcomp, which should have been tested and cleared as standard procedure. He forgot the oddities of the woman beside him. He forgot Delm Korval.
There were the equations flowing to him, cold and pure, to be verified and fed in. There were the scans. There was the sense of the ship around him. There was the background chatter along the open line.
"When you feel the sling lock," he said, hardly hearing his own voice through the wall of his concentration, "you will cut the gyros. Immediately."
The small portion of his mind not urgently concerned with equations, scan and ship expected an outcry, for to cut the gyros was to be immediately and irrefutably within the talons of gravity. Cutting the gyros meant the ship would fall . . .
"Yes," said Aelliana Caylon and said no more.
He picked up the next sequence, noting that it was the set-up—the final equation. He scrutinized, verified and locked it, leaning back slightly in the web of safety straps.
"Twelve seconds. Mind the sling-lock, Pilot . . ."
It came, a distinct sensation of ship's progress halted, of plate metal and blast glass grasped tightly in the jaws of an inconceivable monster . . .
Aelliana cut the gyros.
The stomach twisted, the inner ear protested, the heart clutched as for an instant it seemed that the monster's jaw had slackened, and the ship sliding free to—
"Caught," Daav announced quietly. "And retained. A difficult task, executed well. Ge'shada, pilot."
"No need for congratulation," she said. "You were correct, after all. I shall need this skill." She threw him a glance, eyes brilliantly green in a pale golden face. "What is the procedure for clearing the sling?"
"Jon sends a workhorse and hauls the ship to its berthing—heading out now, your two-screen."
"I see. And the pilots?"
"In this case, I believe the pilots should make haste to Master dea'Cort. The luck was in it, you caught that error in time."
Once again, that brilliant green glance. "I know regs demand the navcomp be running—but I find it distracting. Doubtless it is my inexperience and I do expect to learn better, s—" She paused, lips tightening. "I cannot help but keep checking the equations, and when it started giving me bad numbers . . ."
"It was even more distracting," Daav concluded amiably. "Perfectly understandable. Point of information: Normal procedure in such circumstance includes engaging the secondary comp."
She looked abashed, the brilliancy of her eyes dimming a fraction. "I had no notion there was a back-up navcomp, sir."
"Daav. Ships of this class carry a primary navcomp and one back-up as standard. Most pilots will install a second back-up. Some prefer more. It is wise to check before dropping to manual, especially if you are running solo."
She bowed her head. "I will remember."
"Good," he said and retracted the webbing. "Lessons being done for the moment, I suggest we wait upon Jon."
"A BEAUTIFUL LANDING!" Jon dea'Cort announced, raising a large, heavy-looking tea mug. "Not at all like some I've seen, where the ship comes in upside down and backward, eh, Daav?"
Clonak, the pudgy Scout with hair on his face—"A mustache," Pilot Daav had murmured in Aelliana's ear, at her initial start of surprise—laughed aloud and made an ironic, seated bow. "You shall never outlive it, Captain."
"So it seems," Pilot Daav returned placidly and looked back to Master dea'Cort. "What about that navcomp, Jon?"
The older man took a hearty swig from his mug. "I'd say replace it."
"Replace—Oh. Oh, no." Aelliana slid off the stool Jon had insisted she take and stood, hands knotted before her. "Navcomps are—Master dea'Cort, Ride the Luck is not a wealthy ship. I intend to work her, but until work can be found, expenses must be held to a minimum. You have been very helpful—indeed, generous, in the refitting, but I—" She stumbled to a halt.
A pair of humorous amber eyes considered her. "Spit it out, math teacher. We're all comrades here."
She drew in a breath, trembling as she met that gaze. "I cannot afford to replace the navcomp."
"Well." Master dea'Cort took counsel of the ceiling.
"Regs are pretty clear," he said eventually. "Navcomp's got to be online while the ship is in use
within Port-controlled space. Unless you can afford fines and temporary suspension easier than a replacement comp?"
"It—it needn't be off-line for an instant!" Aelliana cried, the plan taking shape even as she spoke. She leaned forward, cold hands twisted into a cramped knot, eyes on Jon dea'Cort's face.
"I'll engage the navcomp, sir, I swear it! It will be—I can learn to ignore it, use override and merely run manual, as I did today. Then, when there has been sufficient work—" Something moved in the man's face and she stopped, gulping.
Clonak broke the small silence, voice hushed.
"Daav, I'm in love."
"What, again?"
The sound of his calm, deep voice recalled her to a sense of duty left undone and she spun, not quite meeting his eyes.
"I am remiss. You did very well, Pilot, to keep the pace. I am—I am grateful for your assistance and the gift of your expertise."
Trilla, seated beside Clonak, gave a shout of laughter. Jon grinned. Clonak popped off his stool and bowed full honor.
"We shall make a pilot of you yet, oh Captain!"
Aelliana gasped in dismay. She had not meant to hold him up to ridicule before his comrades, but to thank him sincerely for his aid. She felt her cheeks heat.
"No, I—"
But Daav was already making an answering bow toward Clonak.
It was a pure marvel, this bow, swept as if the work leathers were the most costly of High House evening dress. One long arm curved aside and up, holding the imaginary cloak gracefully away as the sleek dark head brushed one elegant, out-thrust leg.
"You do me too much honor."
"Well, that's certainly likely," Jon declared, and shot a glance aside. "Clonak, sit down or go away. In either case, be quiet. Daav, descend from the high branches, if you please. Math teacher, pay attention."
She turned to face him, hands clasped tightly before her.
"Yes, sir," she said humbly.
"Huh." He glanced to the ceiling once more, then back, eyes and face serious.
"Nobody here says you can't run the board by hand forever without a mistake. But there's nobody here who hasn't at least once made a mistake, and been glad there was a double-check to save 'em. We're master class, each one of us." He used his chin to point: Trilla, Clonak, Daav, and tapped himself on the chest with a broad forefinger.
