Fledgling

by Sharon

  There was a small wait, as staff finished cleaning the table, and relinquished it with a nod very nearly a bow.

  That was interesting. Perhaps he'd need to include support staff in his next round of fact-checking. He knew the schedule; identifying an individual ought not be too difficult . . .

  His quarry . . . piled books and a sweater on the table, thus claiming it for themselves, and wandered away toward the food line.

  Professor Kiladi smiled, and moved toward the north wall, using the column as a shield, and handily arrived at the pleasantly private table.

  No one being seated, he took the extremely comfortable chair at the head of the table, laying his cane to the left, where it would block the two chairs on that side.

  Mug at hand, he was all smiles, and everything that was convivial when they returned, bearing plates and mugs.

  "Lystra Mason—well met. And young Roni, of course. What a delightful seating this is! Please, you must join me!"

  Twenty-Seven

  Vashtara

  Mauve Level

  Stateroom

  Theo was asleep in her bed, the night wall shielding her from the rest of the room. Kamele was still curled into in the chair, in theory reviewing her notes; in fact reviewing the conversation with Win Ton yo'Vala.

  Truly, a pilot's game, the boy insisted in memory. And, again, Theo so enjoys a challenge. The young woman described by the young man was a veritable paragon—bold, courageous, and able. How was she to find Theo—clumsy, uncertain Theo, with warning notes in her file—in this changeling?

  "Children grow up," she murmured. "They leave their mothers and become mothers themselves."

  And yet, to grow at such an . . . odd tangent . . .

  You can't say that you weren't warned, Kamele told herself. For, indeed, she had been warned. She remembered telling Jen Sar that she had chosen to have a child, in itself a . . . small . . . oddity . . .

  * * *

  There. It was said. All that was left was to hear what he said in response.

  Kamele closed her eyes and sipped coffee. Fresh-roast it was, and fresh-ground from a bag of blue beans Jen Sar had brought back from one of his fishing trips. It was an aromatic blend, whispering hints of chocolate and sweetberries.

  "A child in the house is a joy." That was what he said, gently and respectfully. Kamele felt her shoulders relax. She smiled and opened her eyes.

  Across the little stone table, Jen Sar's answering smile was slightly awry. He glanced down into his cup as if he wished the coffee were . . . something stronger, then looked into her eyes.

  "I am aware," he said, and his voice now was . . . careful, "of the custom on Delgado. One decides for oneself when the time is proper to . . . invest . . . in a child. The custom upon my homeworld is . . . somewhat different. I ask, therefore, if the child . . . partakes of my gene-set."

  She frowned at him, and set her cup down. He raised a hand, the twisted silver ring he never took off winking at her from his smallest finger.

  "Please. I know that I should not ask—indeed, that I have no right to know! It is, however, not merely vulgar curiosity that moves me to break with custom."

  Kamele went cold. Jen Sar leaned forward and put his hand over hers where it lay next to her cup.

  "I am beyond clumsy," he said wryly. "Kamele, I'm not ill! Surely there were tests done, certifications made—whoever you chose! But there is something you should know, if you've gotten a child of me."

  He tipped his head, face earnest; his hand was warm on hers, his fingers braceleting her wrist, a comfort.

  Surely, she thought, there was room here for custom to meet halfway. Jen Sar was an intelligent man, and . . . usually tolerant of Delgado ways. That he asked this of all questions, signaled, she thought, a strong cultural imperative.

  Kamele took a breath, opened her mouth to tell him—and closed it, unable to force the words out.

  "This is idiotic," she muttered, turning her head to look out over the dusky garden. Her words danced back to her on the little breeze and she gasped, her eyes flashing back to his face. "I didn't mean—" she began . . .

  But Jen Sar, as usual, seemed to know exactly what she'd meant.

  "The burden of custom is not lightly put aside," he said. "As we have both now demonstrated. Perhaps a simple 'no,' if the child is none of mine?"

  That was certainly fair enough. Kamele met his eyes. And said nothing.

  "Hah." He smiled, ruefully, she thought. "So, then, the thing that you must know is that . . . those of my Line, as is said on Liad—siblings, cousins, parents—tend to have . . . very quick physical reflexes. Many, indeed, become star-pilots. Since many of us also have a . . . certain facility . . . in mathematics, and as Liad depends upon its trade, this is not too odd a life-path."

  He paused, watching her face. Kamele nodded to show she was following him, and after a moment he continued.

  "Here on Delgado, where the trade is in knowledge, there are few pilots, and, perhaps, very little understanding of those whose genetic heritage is predisposed toward quickness."

  She frowned slightly. "My daughter wouldn't have to be a pilot, after all . . ."

  "Indeed she would not," he soothed her. "However, until she is grown into her body and learned to . . . control . . . her reflexes, she may produce some . . . unexpected results." He shook his head. "I do not wish you to be uninformed—or unprepared. So I must confess that the raising of a child who partakes of these genes is . . . sometimes a challenge to those who are themselves very much of the Line."

  Kamele smiled. "I think adults always find children a challenge," she said. "The more so with our own children."

  * * *

  On the chair in the stateroom of a starship, Kamele stirred, and ran her fingers through her hair. Fairly warned, she thought again; who could blame Jen Sar, if she had been too ignorant to understand what he said? And truly, she could have chosen another donor. It was on her head, that she had wanted his child; a whimsy that Ella had done her best to talk her out of.

  From behind the night wall came a mutter and rustle of covers. Kamele raised her head, but Theo subsided, perhaps to dream of bowli ball, or of pilots.

  Twenty-Eight

  Vashtara

  Dining Hall Lobby

  He feared his reputation would never make a recover.

  Well, Aelliana said tartly, if you will make it a habit to meet questionable people in public . . .

  "Precisely! Though I contend it a habit we both treasure of old."

  I knew no questionable people until I met you.

  "Can that be true? But, fear not! Today is the day that I redeem myself in your eyes."

  Will she tell you?

  "One can only hope. I fear that Lystra has concluded that my interest lies in Roni's direction, so you see, the stakes are high!"

  Inside his head, Aelliana laughed.

  * * *

  It had become their custom to gather in the antechamber of the dining room. From there, they would claim a table for themselves and talk over the events of the day, reaffirming themselves as colleagues and a team.

  Quite often, Chair Hafley and her onagrata were late to the gathering, rushing in breathless from casino, shopping, or other pleasurable activity. It seemed that the Chair considered the journey something of a honey-trip for herself and Clyburn; it was seldom that he was not sporting some new, and often provocative, costume, or an added bit of jewel-glitter to some portion of his person.

  Kamele raised a hand to cover her yawn. Her sleep had been . . . unsettled of late; it seemed the more time that wore on without a sign from Hafley that now was the hour in which she demanded Kamele's promised support, the more uneasily that false promise sat upon her heart. Yet, what else could she have done? If, as she believed, Hafley was but part of some . . . conspiracy to discredit Delgado University, then surely Kamele needed to be in her confidence? If only the woman would say more! But, no, she apparently pursued her pleasures without the least thought of f
uture perfidies.

  And there was doubtless, Kamele thought wearily, a lesson to be learned there.

  Another yawn; and a sense of someone at her elbow. She turned, and a young woman in the livery of the ship's wait staff smiled at her.

  "A cup of coffee while you wait for the rest of your party, Professor?" she asked.

  Kamele returned the smile and nodded.

  "A cup of coffee would be most welcome, thank you," she said, and the girl glided away to make it so.

  Watching her go, Kamele shook her head. It was, she thought, far too easy to become accustomed to being served. Perhaps on Melchiza they would be allowed to lift a hand to help themselves. Otherwise, they would arrive home quite ruined.

  The coffee arrived; she received it, and sipped, sighing in pleasure.

  Eyes narrowed, she sipped again, just as Professors Crowley and Able rounded the corner. They nodded as they joined her, Professor Able waving the server over and bespeaking two more cups of coffee.

  "I may be ruined for staff-room coffee," Crowley said, receiving his cup. "One would think that a man of my years would be above these petty pleasures."

  Their weeks together having given her a fine understanding of Crowley's humor, Kamele smiled at him.

  "It is very good coffee," she answered. "And as scholars are we not enjoined to open ourselves to experience and study the moment?"

  "Indeed, an excellent point! A moment, if you will; I must study my cup."

  He proceeded to sample his beverage.

  "Is Theo not with you this evening?" Professor Able asked.

  "She and Win Ton yo'Vala are attending the buffet and seminar offered by the Visitors' League."

  "There's a well-mannered lad," Able said. "Not a scholar, of course, but thoughtful, in his way. So kind of your daughter, Kamele, to escort him to these broadening events."

  Professor Able had an edge to her, and a circumspect way of prying into matters that did not concern her that harked back to an earlier day. Kamele smiled and replied only that she felt that Win Ton was a perfectly conformable young man, and well-supervised by his captain.

  "It may be that the Visitors' League will provide Theo with the chance to mingle with other students of her own age." That was Crowley, looking up from his cup. "They seek, so the senior advisor I spoke with over lunch assured me, to be both inclusive and diverse. They also seek recruits, which the advisor did not say, but which was implicit in her description of the League and its purpose."

  "What is its purpose?" Able wondered, holding her cup daintily on the tips of her fingers.

  "Scholarship, of a sort, though the method is unique. The group arrives upon a planet—with a connection in place, of course—and explores that world. Group membership is drawn from worlds previously visited. The goal, as much as there is one, is to visit or be resident on all worlds which speak or understand Terran, and which have humanity in common. I am told that this particular tour has been on-going for seventeen Standards, and will on its twentieth anniversary quadricate."

  "Quadricate?" Kamele asked, suspecting one of his more obscure jokes.

  Crowley gave her a nod, as if rewarding her percipience. "Yes, a play on the inner Terran. What it means is that the group will split teachers, advisors and travelers into four, staying most of a Standard on the host planet while each develops plans and destinations of their own."

  "Surely, they must settle sometime," Able commented.

  "Some do—many do, so my luncheon companion said. It is expected that they will lose and add members, though it is also true that some stay with the group for many years, first as students, and then as advisors."

  "An odd scholarship," Able said, and looked again to Kamele. "I don't wish to pry into a mother's domain, but I wonder if you have considered what Theo will be about on Melchiza. Our work is plain before us, but it seems as if there will be very little to occupy her, beyond her school work. While opportunity for study is of course always welcome, it often appears less so to the young—and especially after a journey so crowded with excitement."

  "There is a Transit School," Kamele said, keeping her voice moderate. As she had said, this was none of Able's business. On the other hand, the two elder members of the forensic team had taken to regarding Theo somewhat in the light of a granddaughter, and were correspondingly free with their advice to Theo's mother.

  A familiar racket brought her head up as Chair Hafley and her onagrata bustled importantly into the area. Kamele blinked. As was his habit, Clyburn was dressed to display his winsome figure—in fact, this evening's costume of sleeveless black shirt so tight his pectoral muscles were clearly defined, and billowing sheer pantaloons cuffed tight at the ankles, was rather restrained. Chair Hafley, who usually contented herself with sensible coveralls, was wearing an iridescent red sweater cut low over her bosom and a bright blue skirt that brushed the deck plates.

  "So," Able said, turning away from this onrushing spectacle. "You'll be contacting the Transit School for Theo?"

  "Why, there's no reason for her to do so!" Hafley cried, pausing in her rush toward the dining room. "Kamele, you must allow Clyburn to arrange everything for Theo; his mother is well-placed in Administration and has many contacts in the Transit School."

  Kamele blinked, looking from Hafley to Clyburn. Clyburn smirked and bowed his shining head. "I would be pleased to be of service, Kamele," he said, actually sounding sincere.

  "Thank you, Clyburn," she said, trying to match sincerity with sincerity. "But as I was just about to say to Professor Able, I've already taken care of Theo's registration." She turned to Able. "It is a boarding school, which Theo objects to, but, as you say, our team's hours may be long and irregular."

  "It is best for young scholars to have regularity in their studies and their sleep," Crowley said, too pointedly, in Kamele's opinion. "Sub-chair Waitley has looked ahead and planned for the best outcome—for everyone."

  "Well . . ." Hafley glanced at Clyburn, as if she expected him to be disappointed by not being obligated to register someone else's daughter for school. "That seems well in hand," the Chair finished, and nodded briskly.

  "If the assembled scholarly lights will excuse us, we are invited to dine with the captain! Come, Clyburn." She moved off, her skirt rustling against the floor, her onagrata one step behind her.

  Kamele, Able, and Crowley turned as one to watch them go.

  Hafley spoke briefly to the room manager, who bowed, and waved them into the dining room.

  It was . . . some moments before Kamele caught her breath. The rudeness of this woman! The—

  "Well." She looked to her colleagues. "If you are so minded, I know an unhurried and secluded restaurant where we might find a pleasant meal."

  "That sounds," said Crowley, "like an excellent plan."

  Able, her lips tight, merely nodded.

  * * *

  Over the last while, the threesome who met for breakfast at the table by the column, had generated . . . curiosity. Certainly, it was not, viewed with certain facts in mind, an unlikely threesome: the mother, her nubile and soon to be available daughter, the elderly professor recently put aside, in pursuit of—ah, but there the curious were doubtless divided, though the mother believed she knew his mind.

  "Roni, fetch Professor Kiladi some of those maize buttons he likes so much," the mother instructed her daughter. She glanced to the elderly professor.

  "Maize buttons will be very welcome," he said with a smile, "and perhaps some cheddar spread, or creamily, with them."

  The daughter had taken to wearing other than the usual school coveralls to their breakfasts. A charitable observer might allow them to be "special outfits." He supposed that he ought to feel honored, that his gray hairs inspired such flights of . . . creativity. Instead, he worried that the child would contract a chill. Then, too, there was the subject of . . . subtlety—but where was she to learn that merely exposing skin did not make one interesting? Certainly not from her mother, nor, to judge from the
glances of the would-be gallants about the room, from her peer-group.

  Roni stood, to all eyes eager to serve, and bowed, allowing him an unimpeded, if blessedly brief glimpse of her assets. Turning, she walked toward the line, her progress somewhat slowed by the hip motion she was attempting to perfect.

  Jen Sar, his eyes on the retreating form, sighed. Not a dancer, that child.

  Lystra heard the sigh, as he had meant her to, and leaned close, placing a daring hand upon his sleeve.

  "Come, now, Jen Sar, admit that you don't meet us here only to look at my Roni."

  Well, and that was bold enough to terrify. He lifted an eyebrow.

  "A man of my years is surely allowed the privilege of admiring the scenery?"

  "Indeed he is!" Lystra said warmly, and leaned back in her chair, a coy smile at the corner of her mouth. "One must be so careful," she said, picking up her coffee cup, "when one has charge of a girl so eager for her Gigneri. The first-pair is so very important, don't you think so, Jen Sar?"

  "I agree. Indeed, I have long deplored the custom of first-pairing couples near in age. It may seem a kindness, I allow, but in truth it becomes at best a comedy of error, and at worst does honest damage. An older, experienced partner, who is able to teach and to be patient; that is the best choice for a first pairing. Especially if, as you say, the girl is eager for adulthood."

  She laughed and leaned toward him slightly. "Now, I'll make a confession to you," she said playfully. "My mother was very much of your mind with regard to the first-pair, and I was, like Roni, very eager to embrace adulthood. There was a boy in my form . . . but she would have none of it! Before the event, I was—a little—disappointed, but after! Ah, then I saw mother's wisdom for what it was."

  "I am gratified to find my opinion validated," he said, and inclined his head. "In fact, Lystra, you do stand guardian over that which interests me nearly. Perhaps we might speak . . . alone . . . after breakfast."