by Sharon Lee
Title Page
Ambient Conditions
Adventures in the Liaden Universe® Number 31
Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
Table of Contents
Title Page
Thanks
Copyright Page
Authors' Foreword
A Visit to the Galaxy Ballroom
Ambient Conditions
About the Authors
Novels by Sharon Lee & Steve Miller
Novels by Sharon Lee
THANK YOU
Thanks
To Mighty Tyop Hunters
Htet Htet Aung, Ronald Currens,
Lloyd Penney, Maurita Plouff
Any typos or infelicities that remain in the text
are the fault of the authors
Copyright Page
Ambient Conditions
Adventures in the Liaden Universe® Number 31
Pinbeam Books: pinbeambooks.com
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Copyright ©December 2020 by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
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"A Visit to the Galaxy Ballroom," was previously published at Baen.com, November 2019. "Ambient Conditions" is original to this chapbook.
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Cover design by: selfpubbookcovers.com/RLSather
ISBN: 978-1-948465-13-7
Authors' Foreword
or
The Story of the Story
There are two short works included in this chapbook.
The first, "A Visit to the Galaxy Ballroom," is a short story that was previously published to Baen.com in November 2019 in support of the publication of the twenty-second Liaden Universe® novel, Accepting the Lance.
The second, "Ambient Conditions," is original to this chapbook. It is a novelette, and a companion story to "Preferred Seating," published to Baen.com in November 2020 in support of the publication of the twenty-third Liaden Universe® novel, Trader's Leap.
So, there's a story about "Ambient Conditions."
Understand, there's no proximate reason for this story to exist. It did not demand to be written, as some stories do. It wasn't written to fulfill a contract, or to more fully explore a particular character or situation.
Furthermore, "Ambient Conditions" is a mirror story – which is to say, it's a story we'd already written, told from a different point of view. Now, we do like to play with viewpoints at scene-length – Val Con and Miri being described as cute kids by people who have no clue who they're looking at is always good for a chuckle, for instance. But we don't write whole stories over again; it makes us feel a little uneasy, as if we're cheating.
So, why did you write this story, we hear you ask.
Well, it's like this ...
Between handing in Trader's Leap late in 2019, and its publication late in 2020, Sharon had a mastectomy. As such things go, it was ... not as bad as it could have been, but not much fun, either. In fact, it was a life-changing event. And life-changing events tend to take up all available processing space for quite a while. Not only was it necessary to endure and survive the physical insults of the amputation and the following radiation treatments, but there were meetings with doctors, and with PAs, and with more doctors; instructions to follow, meds to adjust to, and, and ...
Long story short – Sharon forgot how to write. Not how to write sentences – she updated her blog and was pretty active on Facebook – but how to write fiction, which is an operation far, far more complex than merely writing sentences.
It was, particularly, the movement part of writing a story that was giving Sharon the most trouble, which she discovered after an abortive attempt to write a story set in her Carousel universe, and another attempt to write backstory for Kasagaria Mikelsyn, and yet a third attempt – well.
After the third attempt, she realized that she was going to have to deconstruct the process, and relearn how to write, one facet at a time.
This was when she hit upon the idea of using a story that had already been written as a pattern. She knew the plot, and the characters, and how the story ended. All she had to do was tell over the same action, from the point of view of the second main character in the story.
If that didn't work, she told Steve gloomily, she'd have to resort to retyping a story – or a novel – until her brain got on the case again.
Happily, retelling "Preferred Seating" from Kishara's point of view was the cure, and as of this writing, Sharon pronounces herself a graduate of the Relearning to Write curriculum.
We hope you enjoy the stories in this chapbook.
Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
Cat Farm and Confusion Factory
December 2020
A Visit to the Galaxy Ballroom
Scout Lina yo’Bingim inhaled, tasting the sharp, cold air, feeling a phantom flutter against her cheek. She blinked up at the gray sky, at snow – snow! She paid off the cabbie, soft flakes melting against her face.
She liked the fresh smell of the snow, but she had not come here to linger in quiet appreciation on the street. No, her purpose was to have a good time, while enthusiastically expending energy.
Scout Lina yo'Bingim, off-duty for the next twenty-four hours, turned away from the curb, and walked determinedly toward the building with the message lit up in bright pink and yellow lights:
WELCOME TO THE GALAXY BALLROOM
According to her information, she would find Scouts and pilots and mercenaries inside. She would find dancing, and gaming, and drinking, and – bowli ball.
She had specifically come for the bowli ball.
Inside the bar was everything one might expect of a rowdy emporium on a deep space route: twenty-three kinds of beer and ale instabrewed on the premises; both top-line and bottom-tier liquor, but none in-between; and wine in quantity. A modest line of smokes was also on offer, for those who sought peace.
Peace was not what Lina had come for.
Ten Standard Days ago, she had been on Liad, and looking forward with warm anticipation to Festival, at Solcintra. It had been a very difficult year; she deserved the Festival and she had intended to take full benefit from all of the festivities open to her.
Nine Standard Days ago, she had been called in to her commander's office–and given a mission.
She was to transport the Council-appointed Administrative Arbiter of Scouts, one Chola as'Barta, to Surebleak in the Daiellen Sector with "all haste." She was detached from her usual duties to this mission; with Chola as'Barta her immediate superior and supervisor.
She was assigned Bentokoristo, she being one of six to have trained on it–a new ship sporting a not-quite-experimental enhanced drive, and an upgraded weapons system.
That was sole piece of good news; Bentokoristo was beautiful to fly. But no matter how fast the ship was, she was not fast enough to get to Surebleak and back again in time for the Festival at Solcintra, even if Lina flew like a Scout – which was not, after all, an option.
Admin as'Barta was ... not a Scout. Lina was therefore constrained to put together a series of Jumps which would get them from Solcintra to Surebleak with a minimum of downtime, and which would not strain the resources of a man who counted five trips to the gaming salons in Liad's orbit as being an experienced space traveler. Admin as'Barta must, the commander insisted, arrive in fit condition, able to immediately embark upon his mission. The Administrator had been appointed to find what had occasioned the schism of the Scouts on Surebleak, creating the foolish situation of two Scout organizations – the Liaden Scouts, and the so-called Surebleak Scouts.
Nine Standard Days, the trip h
ad taken, coddling Admin as'Barta.
For his part, he ignored her advice to move onto Surebleak time before they arrived, and periodically infringed on her rest shifts to try to talk the politics of the fissioning Scouts. He’d asked her why she thought the break had occurred, and her reply – ″pilot’s choice″ – had satisfied him not at all.
And, there, he wasn't a Scout, he was a Council-appointee, selected for his supposed "connections" in the piloting sphere. It was unlikely he'd known anyone who had died at Nev'Lorn, nor was he aware of the treachery that had led to the battle there.
″But how," he had demanded, as they waited for dinner to warm, "could a Liaden, born and bred to excellence in all things, having achieved a place in life through being a Scout – how could any such person turn their back on Liad and all that Liad offers? Liadens have the advantage of the Code and delms for guidance!″
″The same reason, Admin. A pilot flies the best course they may with the information to hand. A pilot operates in the moment, with the delm light years away and the Code irrelevant to the case.″
"Have you found the Code irrelevant on many occasions, pilot?"
He held up a hand, forestalling a reply she had not intended to make.
″Consider your answer carefully. I will be needing an assistant after I am approved as permanent Director of Scout Operations on Surebleak. Once I have spoken to ter'Meulen, and this foolish matter has been regularized, there will be many rewarding administrative tasks available to a discerning Scout who may wish promotion and increased melant'i."
At that point, the chime sounded for dinner being hot and ready, and Lina had deftly avoided the topic of promotion to as'Barta's assistant. As to the "foolish matter" of the schism – if it was Clonak ter'Meulen with whom the Admin was to liaise, then the matter would be settled by tea-time. One could, if one wished, wonder why the most devious Scout currently serving hadn't fixed the "foolish matter" already, but that was merely a waste of time. Clonak always had his reasons, though they be ever so inobvious.
At last, they had made Surebleak, and she was granted leave – twenty-four hours free of Admin as'Barta! – but not before she had been instructed as to proper behavior even on her own time.
″Do not fraternize with the locals, Scout. Beware of any attempts to make you divulge your mission. I am told that there are places where proper Scouts meet. You will confine yourself to those venues."
Repairing to the small room she had been granted, Lina called up the screen and considered her options.
Given the connection to Clan Korval and their likely inclusion of the vague and detested "locals," she decided not to attempt the Emerald Casino. The entertainments advertised at Audrey's House of Joy tempted, but again, there would likely be "locals" present.
Best Bowli Ball Court on Surebleak! the next advertisement promised, and Lina grinned. She did consider the "local" angle, but reasoned such an emporium more likely to attract Scouts than Admin's loose "locals."
Lina therefore called a cab, and very shortly she was entering The Galaxy Ballroom.
She stopped at the counter to buy a ticket – not, alas, a token for a private Festival bower, or a key to an all-night playroom – but admission as a contestant in one bout of "real bowli ball action!" which would at least warm her blood and satisfy her need for action, if not her wistful libido.
She excused her way past several inebriated mercs, one a red-haired master sergeant who briefly thought she’d come for him alone, but then he recognized the jacket and insignia and bowed a polite, ″Efning, pilot!″at her hopefully. ″Come back if you need a winner!″
He’d managed to grab a table and was large enough that it was mostly hidden behind him. ″I got two chairs, prezzels, a warm heart – and I just been paid!″
She gathered that he did have a warm heart – her empathy rating was just below that qualifying as a small talent – but she’d been considering a real workout, and soon.
She smiled, and her hand flung an equally polite busy here in his direction as she moved into the darkness, seeking that proper bowli ball deck, with transparent walls and resilient ceiling, an excellent air system, and opponents worthy of her.
Half-dozen languages brushed past her ears; the potent scent of alcohol mixed with the additional odors of many dozens of people exuding sweat and energy in the dimness.
Ahead, she heard a distant thud, and another, a round of cheers and laughter, a high voice calling, ″I’ll still take two to one on the blue boots!″
Scout skill to the fore, Lina yo'Bingim slid between two hefty mercs on their sudden way to the john as yes – there!
There were four players on the deck, their time almost up. She stopped to watch the play.
One player stood out. He was doing too many dives to stay in the game much longer; in the mirrored ceiling, she could see him rolling to his feet with an awkward re-step to gain his balance. She could tell that he was hurting – it didn’t take her high empathy rating or her training in body language across three cultures to see that.
She pushed forward, the better to see the clock.
Ah, that was the key. He had only seconds to hit his mark ... and finish, at least.
The ball came at him again; he kneed it roughly, it went higher than his other knee, which had likely not been his intent, but he made a good recovery by striking it with his elbow, the ball’s own kinetics giving it an off-centered boost in the direction of the oldest fellow on the deck, who nonchalantly elbowed it on to a third person who –
Blangblangblang!
The bell rang; the third and fourth in the action dove for the ball together and came up laughing, bobbling the thing back and forth as it tried to spend the energy gained from the last burst of action. The spectators cheered, money changed hands, and the transparent door to the deck was opened as the next players moved forward.
The MC spoke purposefully into the mic, ″Next up we have a five-group, came in together, and then ...″
The player who had overexerted himself stumbled as he left the court, was steadied briefly by another of the combatants with an over-wide grin ... and collapsed on the spot, nose bleeding.
″I’m a medic,″ one of the group entering the court yelled, and one of his companions added – "field medics, here, let us through!"
That quickly, the downed player was off the floor, and the next group of players, as well. The Master of Ceremonies looked around, eyes bright, and spoke into the mic.
″Hold up your tickets, show your cards! We'll do a quick single-match to give the next group time to get back!"
Lina’s arm reached high – yellow ticket, solo ...
The MC saw her, waved her toward the deck door and pointed at another yellow –
″Come on up, pilots! Now or never; we got group play booked 'til after midnight!"
They met on the court, her opponent near her own age, a pilot, and, she saw with pleasure, a Scout. He wore light duty clothes, no rank marks visible, save the wings on his collar; his face was open, and a hint of a smile showing.
He would do, thought Lina, and returned the smile.
"Well, pilot?" she challenged him. "Shall we?"
He took a moment to survey her – she saw his eyes catch on the wings adorning her own collar, before he bowed, Scout to Scout.
"Pilot, we shall!"
"All right!" the MC called. "Let's get the ball rolling! Twelve minute match – what'll it be?" he asked, turning to them. "Liaden training rules, Scout standard rules, open court rules?"
"Scout standard?" she asked her opponent, and got a flicker of fingers in agreement.
"I am Lina," she said, stripping off her jacket and giving it into the MC's ready hand.
"Kelby," he answered, also relinquishing his jacket.
"Check the equipment, Pilots, you got thirty-three seconds."
Kelby received the ball first to check. Lina ran a quick rainbow, for focus, and looked about her.
″Spot!″ she called, pointing,
as Kelby called out, "Here also!″
The MC waved; a younger with a mop rushed onto court and dealt with the spot of sweat, and the other, of blood.
"Right!" the MC shouted into his mic. "Up here we got Kelby and Lina, pickup match, twelve minutes, Scout standard!"
The crowd cheered, briefly.
The MC turned to them.
″Any private challenge; any bet between the two of you?″
Kelby looked at her, hands raised, face glowing as if he’d already been playing five minutes ...
Lina bent forward, as eager as he to get the match started, whispering:
″Loser buys both breakfast?″
A grin showed in brief appreciation; she saw interest in his eyes.
He bowed, formally, accepting the challenge of an equal, and repeated the stakes to the MC, who outright laughed.
″All right, soldiers and pilots! Scouts and citizens! These two know how the game is played! Got a little private bet going – loser buys breakfast for both!″
The cheering this time was fuller, longer; the bell went blangblangblang; the MC slammed the bowli ball into the circle between them, and dove for the safety of the transparent observer's booth.
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The deck was better than Lina had anticipated. The floor gave a firm, even footing without being loud; it was resilient rather than bouncy. She and Kelby had almost overrun each other on the launch, but the spin favored Lina. She twisted to catch and flick the busy ball high off a wall behind Kelby.
From within, the walls were slightly smoky and even ball-streaked, but her first corner fling proved they were in good condition.
The first several minutes were given to testing – the facility, the ball, each other. The ball was regulation, with a tricky underspin. Every fifth or sixth time it hit, the ball added rather than subtracted and the amplified spin could push it along the wall or out of a grasping hand.
The match being timed rather than one-and-out, they both survived learning the ball’s eccentricities; Lina first when the ball tore itself from her hand to bounce down her wrist and into her chest, much to the delight of the crowd, and Kelby who’d timed a leap-and-grab perfectly, displaying both great style and interesting physique, only to have the ball hang for a half-second longer than anticipated, before flinging itself across the surface of the wall like a hurrying caterpillar.
