by Sharon
Theo thought about that. "Do you think," she asked, her voice sounding almost as small as she felt, "that I will have overcome the difficulties noted in my file, Father?"
He smiled. "Are you still enjoying dance as much as you were when last we spoke of it?"
"Even more!"
"Then I believe that there is a better than good chance that you will be able to demonstrate great improvement to the Safety Office, should it come to that." He considered her gravely.
"Have we dealt adequately with your necessity?"
Theo thought about it, and finally nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Excellent." He stood and placed his cup on the side table before holding his hand down to her. "It is time I took you home. With only two days until departure you doubtless have an errand-packed day before you. It may be beneficial to have an hour or two of sleep to support you."
Theo sighed, and looked up at him. "Kamele says Coyster needs to come—to come home."
"I will be pleased to have him, of course," Father said gently.
Theo blinked sudden, silly tears away, shifted her legs and reached up to take Father's hand. His fingers were warm, the ring he always wore slick against her skin. She paused, and turned his hand over, looking down at the intricate twists of silver. It was an old ring—when she'd been a littlie, she'd thought it was at least as old as Father himself. It was so much a part of him that she had never thought to wonder at it, or even ask the question.
"Where did you get your ring?"
There was a small sound, almost as if Father had caught his breath.
Theo looked up, but he was smiling in that fond, gentle way he sometimes did, and squeezed her fingers.
"I had it from my grandmother," he said softly, and pulled her to her feet. "Come along, now, child. Let us not subject your mother to any more anxiety than necessity demands."
She followed him out of the room, marking how lightly he moved—like Bek, or Lida, or—
"Do you dance, Father?" she asked.
He laughed as he moved across the kitchen. "The social climate of Liad made dance a necessity, child. Come along, now." He opened the door onto the star-washed garden.
"The Skoot!" she cried suddenly, remembering.
"I will take care of the Skoot," he said repressively. "For tonight, however, we shall ride in the luxury of my car, and you—" he extended his hand to touch her cheek—"you will attempt to stay awake. Recall that I will want a demonstration of that useful program of yours when you get home."
* * *
"I've . . . never seen anything like it," Kamele murmured, staring down at Theo's school book. After conducting a brief demo, the owner of the 'book had yawned herself off to bed, leaving bemused adults in her wake. The fact that she was merely bemused rather than horrified, Kamele thought, must be an indication that she was becoming hardened to the impossible.
"Yet you must own that it is quite amusing." Jen Sar murmured, and she laughed.
"Amusing is one word." She rubbed her eyes.
"Indeed, and a number of others do suggest themselves." His fingers hovered above the icon, but he did not touch it. "I would welcome a chance to study that 'research wire' in greater depth."
Kamele considered him. "Why?"
"It's an oddity," he said, and looked up, flashing her one of his less-real smiles. "And one must of course be interested in any new oddity."
"Of course," she said politely, and added, with a surety born of long association with him, "but there's another reason."
Another dandle of long fingers just above the icon. "Well, if you will have it, I wonder how much of an . . . accident the assignment of this particular apartment was."
"Housing never has accidents," Kamele told him—and blinked, recalling. "This was Flandin's apartment."
"So it was. And that wire is not standard." His glance this time was serious. "One must wonder—is the fact that it remains here beyond Professor Flandin's departure a sign of intent, or merely sloppiness?"
At least, Kamele thought, one must wonder such an outrageous thing if one were Jen Sar. She covered a yawn and looked down at the screen, frowning at the patient glowing Serpent. It did also bear recalling, she told herself, that Jen Sar's suspicions were very often correct.
"You're assuming that this . . . program, and the non-standard wire are linked," she pointed out.
Jen Sar inclined his head. "Indeed. And I may be entirely in error." Another smile, this one rather more genuine. "You only feed my desire to inspect that wire, you know."
Kamele shook her head. "Well, if you must inspect it, you'll have to appeal to Ella. For lack of a better plan, I'm going to drop it in her lap."
"An excellent idea," Jen Sar said surprisingly. "Well, then." He stood, gathering his cane to him. "It is dreadfully late, my friend. Allow me to bid you good-day, safe journey, and prosperous scholarship."
Kamele felt her eyes sting. "Thank you, Jen Sar," she said softly.
She walked with him to the front hall. Coyster was curled atop the table, palpably asleep.
"Now, that's fortuitous," Jen Sar murmured. He bent and deftly swept the cat up, tucking him firmly beneath one arm. "I'll just have this young rascal off, before he arranges to pack himself again."
Kamele laughed once more. He looked up, black eyes glinting. On impulse, she bent, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Hah," he said softly, and his smile this time was tender.
"Take good care, my dear." Kamele murmured, and opened the door to let him go.
Twenty
Vashtara
First Class Dining Room
Senior Scout Cho sig'Radia strode toward dinner with her mind more than half occupied with the report she was composing. Gone ahead of her, likely by the somewhat improper use of the crew corridors, was her immediate second on this mission, Trainee yo'Vala. She shrugged Terran-style to herself as she moved along the public promenade toward the dining hall; soon enough the trainee would discover that courtesy of ship varied considerably. That crew on this ship respected a pilot's jacket—was good to know. That the trainee had the happy gift of making friends was—well for the trainee.
For this portion of the trip, Scout sig'Radia had herself eschewed pilot leathers, wishing some relief from what had been a tedious, if necessary, chore of inspecting and certifying a new flight school. Too, she traveled at the expense of Ibenvue's planetary government on this newest of its cruise-passenger ships, a touching show of faith that she felt, in Balance, ought to be rewarded by a similar exhibition of discretion. That this reciprocity of good manners also allowed her the opportunity to explore the ship as if a mere tourist was—a bonus.
The school now, the certification of which had been so very important to Ibenvue's self-declared pacifistic and newly outward-looking government. Quite an interesting school, with the capability of producing . . . quite a number . . . of pilots. She had certified it, of course—how could she not? The school employed two Terran master pilots as trainers, either capable of approving a pilot's skill—and signing the all-important license. It was said—many times said, by the escort she and yo'Vala had been provided with—that Ibenvue's school sought to train pilots who would train pilots, thus bringing the homeworld fully into galactic commerce, and for this laudable goal both Terran Guild and Scout approvals had been sought.
An interesting venture, to be sure, this expected export of pilot-teachers. Match it against the investment of a staggering portion of Ibenvue's Gross Planetary Product in the acquisition of large, easily convertible "luxury" ships—such as the gracious Vashtara—and an enhanced military—necessary of course for the protection of both pilots and of ships, and one had a situation which . . . bore scrutiny. Perhaps even close scrutiny, and by those who were not put boldly forth as a Scout Inspector Specialist. Which suggestion she had made, very strongly, in her report.
Well, she told herself, as she approached the junction with the hospitality module, best to put the report and thoughts of the report a
side for the next while and instead partake of those diversions created by one's fellow passengers. This being, by reason of a lack of handwritten invitations from the captain, an informal meal, tables were formed from random groups of hopeful diners, and the luck of the draw often provided amusement, and not infrequently, useful information.
From the corridor opposite came a sudden din, closely followed by its authors, the same small handful of academics she had briefly encountered yesterday.
That meeting had produced something akin to amusement, for the loudest of the group had mistaken her for a tour-aide and demanded her assistance. Professora, perhaps an attending bedmate or two, and a female halfling trailing, quiet and large-eyed, behind, all expectantly waiting for her to solve the universe in one quick answer. Well, except for the halfling, whose attention had been claimed by a pair of buskers, autopipes at volume, and donation dish well over the docking line.
The solving requested of Cho had been simple enough—she had simply pointed to the nearby help terminal. The buskers, alas, had not fared so well. A crewman, directed by a flutter of the dock steward's fingers, bore down upon them, snarling what Cho had taken by tone to be an insult in the local dialect. Scooping up the bowl, he'd thrown it at the taller musician's head, after pocketing the few coins it had held.
The halfling had seen it all, so Cho thought, though by then she had been on her way up the ramp, surrounded by the noisy confusion of her elders.
The professorial group burst into the corridor ahead of her, their talk filling the space with echoes. Cho took a deep breath in protest of the hubbub, and stood to one side, observing.
The first into the intersection was the halfling, skipping lightly through the change of the gravity field at the lock boundary as if she were born to such things. Behind her, one of the elders tripped, and bounced sharply against the wall. The halfling turned, one hand extended—
"Theo, please don't . . ." a woman's fine voice said, perfectly audible beneath the elder's loud exclamations. The halfling—Theo—spun deftly on one toe, removing herself from danger as the elder staggered, colliding with the other side of the passage. She barely kept her feet, her lamentations increasing in volume and degree, her uninformed actions elevating her rapidly toward a risk to passengers and to ship.
This, Cho thought, would not do.
Moving away from her watching place, she brought up her brightest meet-the-Terrans smile, and called out with calm good cheer, "Yes, these grav-interfaces can be quite shocking, can they not? That is why these yellow-and-green stripes line the walls—to warn of the coming field differential."
Now she was among them, pleased to see that they slowed in response to her tone and her posture of relaxed goodwill. With luck, the rest would avoid a repeat of the loud woman's misadventure.
Alas, that woman, rather than sensibly awaiting rescue, had wallowed into a turn and now blundered back across the divide, smacking the wall for a third time. She would, Cho thought dispassionately, have bruises on the morrow, which would have been well enough, had there been any remotest possibility that she would have also learned something.
"My stomach . . ." the clumsy woman moaned, clinging to the smooth wall and closing her eyes tight. "Why must we cross this chasm for every meal?"
A younger and considerably fitter woman moved toward the now-stable sufferer, her posture somewhat stiff, but well-enough for a grounder approaching a change of gravity.
"Chair, we needn't come to the dining room, after all," she said, her voice coolly matter-of-fact. "Our meals can be brought to us, if we like . . ."
"Chair" seemed to consider this point; at least her vocal agitation subsided. The cool-voiced woman turned slightly and directed a half-bow to Cho.
"Ma'am, you appear to travel comfortably. Do you take all of your meals on-board in public, I wonder?"
Cho gave the bow back, pleased to meet good intent with courtesy.
"I tend to do so, traveler, unless duty keeps me at my desk. Much of my joy in travel comes from the people." This was perfectly true, and something she often said. If certain travelers therefore assumed that they were the cause of joy—what harm done?
"Then you are an experienced traveler?" The woman's voice was trained—perhaps, Cho thought, she was a singer, or a teller of tales. She appeared not only sharp and alert, but also seemed to be one who had perhaps dealt closely with Liadens. The careful inflection, and the deliberate structure of a yes-no query was very nearly a challenge.
Cho laughed out loud, in fellowship more than amusement, and inclined her head.
"Travel is my life, I warrant! I do not willingly stay long on any world. It is not, you understand, that I dislike worlds, but that I prefer space."
Her interlocutor smiled, perhaps in shared fellowship, and several others of the group laughed softly, as people will who have recognized humor without entirely catching the joke. Beneath these sounds, Cho detected another, and glanced aside to discover the ignored halfling—winsome Theo—amusing herself with the gravity nexus. She leaned playfully forward, allowing the field to keep her upright, pale hair flowing—
"Theo, surely that's not safe!" Chair snapped. From Theo's blink and the stiffening of the woman with the storyteller's voice, Cho surmised that this input was both out-of-bounds and unwelcome.
"But I'm not having a problem, Professor Hafley," Theo said, holding her arms out at her sides, as if she were a bird gliding down a placid breeze. "It's like leaning into a wind!"
The thin young face was almost impish with the joy of her play and it took Cho's best effort not to laugh.
"Certainly leaning into the wind isn't safe!" Chair—but no, Cho corrected her thought—Professor Hafley—snapped. "You'll fall flat on your face when it changes direction!"
"Chair," the woman who knew Liadens murmured; "I think Theo has demonstrated that she's not in danger—"
"Even if she isn't, she's making me queasy! In my day, junior scholars stood up straight, kept still and displayed a proper respect for their elders in learning!"
"Orkan," the prettiest of the group's two males spoke up suddenly, his voice plaintive. "It's time for our seating, and I, for one, am hungry."
Cho's stomach quite agreed with the need for food; and the pretty one's complaint seemed to carry weight with Professor Hafley, who turned with heavy-footed care to face her nemesis once more. Moving quickly, Cho dodged past, waving Theo to her side with a wink.
"Youngling, if you'll favor me, we may walk ahead and claim a table for the group."
Theo glanced over her shoulder, but apparently whoever held her in care gave permission, for she came along willingly; and if she skipped a little in the lighter gravity of the access hall, who, thought Cho, could blame her?
* * *
They'd claimed the last full table—or rather, the woman with the short gray hair had, calmly telling the steward that, "the rest of our party comes at leisure, while we two madcaps raced before."
The tables in the dining hall were round, which Professor Crowley said neatly solved many potential problems of precedence and protocol. That it didn't solve all problems of precedence Theo had learned only at breakfast, when she had mistakenly taken the chair at Kamele's right. That chair also being to the left of Clyburn's onagrata, it was, so he had informed her—and the rest of the dining hall—his. Mere children were to stand respectfully aside until the adults were seated, and then quietly take the chair which that had been left for them.
"Favor me, child," the gray-haired woman murmured; "and sit at my right. I am desolated to perceive a lack of mine apprentice, derelict in his duty to keep me upon my mettle."
The tone was suspiciously close to Father's over-serious voice. Theo looked into the woman's polite face, catching the faintest twinkle in the brown eyes.
"I'll gladly do that ma'am," she said carefully. "But what if your apprentice comes—later?"
"Why then, he shall sit at your right to observe such technique as you will display, and to bask
in my displeasure at a survivable distance."
Theo laughed as she took the chair the woman indicated. "We didn't do introductions," she said. "I'm Theo Waitley."
"I greet you, Theo Waitley," her seat-mate replied, with a heavy nod—almost a seated bow, Theo thought. "My name is . . . Cho sig'Radia."
Theo copied the nod. "I greet you, Cho sig'Radia," she said.
Her companion smiled—a smile quite different from the smile she had worn at the intersection lobby. As if, Theo thought, the other smile had been . . . deliberate, somehow . . .
The sudden babble of familiar voices disrupted these musings. Theo turned to see the rest of their group at the steward's station.
"The remainder of our party joins us! How delightful, to be sure!" Cho sig'Radia exclaimed cheerily.
Theo glanced at her, and saw the other smile in place, too bright and too obvious, and then the others arrived, conducted by the steward. He held the chair for Professor Hafley and saw her safely seated with her napkin on her lap before leaving them in search of their waiter.
"Theo Waitley and I have introduced ourselves, as we had overlooked this nicety in the press of other matters. I immediately seek to amend this affront to civilized behavior by making the group aware that I am Cho sig'Radia."
There was a pause, so long that Theo began to worry that Professor Hafley was still upset enough to be rude. Across the table, Kamele frowned, which probably meant she was worried, too.
Finally, Professor Hafley produced a stiff smile, with no trace of liking or pleasure in it. "Cho sig'Radia, I am History of Education Chair Orkan Hafley," she said formally.
"Professor Hafley," Cho murmured, inclining her head.
Theo relaxed as Kamele introduced herself, "History of Education Sub-chair Kamele Waitley," she murmured, and raised her eyebrows in Theo's direction. "Mother of Theo Waitley."
