Fledgling

by Sharon

  She smiled again. "Yes, let's do that," she said, and here came the eager child herself, seeming in imminent danger of losing the laden tray to the floor.

  "Ah," he said, leaning forward to clear a place on the table, and lending a guiding hand to its safe descent. "My thanks, Roni. Please, you must both partake."

  Twenty-Nine

  Vashtara

  Atrium Lounge

  Cho sig'Radia arrived with dessert, a circumstance that both failed to surprise, and pleased, Kamele. She had grown used to the Liaden woman's penchant for simply appearing, and, besides, she was good company.

  Professor Crowley appeared to share this opinion. He welcomed Cho cheerfully, and pushed over to make room for her on the bench next to him.

  "My thanks," she said, with a gentle bow and a smile. She seated herself, and laughed when their server appeared with a pot of tea.

  "I come here too often, I see," she said. "But it is so pleasant an aspect." She poured tea, and looked across the table to Kamele.

  "In fact, I know that we share a fondness for this venue, and so I came here, hoping to find you."

  Kamele smiled. "It's been taken care of," she said, guessing the other's intent—"and very eloquently."

  "So he has also reported," Cho said. "But it was another, though closely related, reason that I sought you out. To find the others of the search team—that is fortuitous, for I have something also to say to all, if you will grant me time."

  She was assured by Crowley—who must, Kamele thought, surely be smitten—that their time was hers.

  "A generous gift, of which I am in no wise worthy." Cho sipped her tea, put the cup down and curled her hands 'round it. Leaning forward slightly, she caught Kamele's eye.

  "The captain of this vessel sees an opportunity to permit a reserve officer to train by offering to train Win Ton. It is perhaps not necessary to say that this is an offer which . . . ought not to be turned down, and which will, indeed, benefit my charge a great deal." She inclined her head, very slightly. "These new duties will regrettably place him on a divergent shift, and severely curtail his time at liberty for the remainder of our voyage. I regret the disappointment that the loss of his companionship must cause your daughter, and I would make amends."

  "There's no reason, surely, to make amends?" Kamele said. "It sounds a wonderful opportunity for Win Ton and I'm sure Theo will be happy for him."

  "Well she might be, for she is a generous child. However, I feel that we come into a situation of precarious Balance, and I would not have such a thing between us. I therefore ask if you would allow me to teach Theo the rudiments of finger-talk. She was quick enough to spot Win Ton conversing thus with those other pilots whom she has met in his company, and on the occasion of our last meeting expressed a desire to learn the language. It is something that I will gladly teach her, with your agreement."

  "But, surely, your own work . . ."

  Cho moved a hand; if her fingers conveyed anything other than a casual dismissal of her own work, Kamele could not read it.

  "It is a minor thing. I will be joining Win Ton on the altered shift, but I have the leisure of making my day a bit longer. I may, therefore enjoy an evening cup of tea while Theo breaks her fast. Thus, she will wake eager with study before her, and I will have a quiet unwinding before sleep." She tipped her head. "I had taught finger-talk at Scout Academy; it will be . . . comforting to teach it again, and to a willing scholar."

  "If you're sure, then—I'm grateful," Kamele said, thinking suddenly of Jen Sar's fluid hand-gestures. If this . . . finger-talk was something known to pilots, perhaps, like bowli ball, it was something that would benefit Theo.

  "I am certain—and I insist that it is I who am grateful," Cho said with a smile. She sipped her tea and looked 'round the table.

  "Now, for the patient search team, I would say, and say plainly—Melchiza, despite contacts and assurances, is perhaps not such a place as Delgado. There have been changes of late, in government structure, in alliances aggressively sought, and in . . . other matters somewhat worrisome to those whose job it is to worry about such things."

  "Have you been . . . endangered on Melchiza?" Able asked.

  Cho laughed. "Not I, Scholar. Melchiza values pilot-kind, and if they admire us so much that they seek to keep us with them—well, that is a trap that cannot close." She looked to Kamele, to Crowley, back to Able.

  "Understand me, you are accustomed, perhaps, to the watchfulness of those whose mandate is to wish you well—to the oversight of those who hold your safety high. On Melchiza, there is also oversight, but your safety is not by necessity the first interest of the watchers. Be careful, Scholars. Trust no one. Produce a contingency plan, if your contact fails you. Above all, follow the rules—of which there are a number, and which Vashtara will shortly make known to you. If someone threatens you, believe them, and act accordingly, without hesitation."

  There was a moment of silence at the table, then Crowley laughed.

  "You make it sound the veriest frontier!" he said, and raised his hand. "We appreciate your warning, Captain sig'Radia, but you must know—not all of us are native to Delgado. Why, in my student days, I raised some ports so rough, it was a wonder that anyone survived them. We will be watchful."

  He glanced 'round the table. Able nodded curtly. Kamele felt it necessary to add something more.

  "You're correct, however, that we should make a contingency plan, in case things go awry. I believe that none of us have thought of that, and I appreciate the reminder."

  It seemed that Cho hesitated before she inclined her head.

  "It is my joy to serve, Scholars," she said quietly, and sipped her tea.

  * * *

  He settled himself in the visitor's chair while Lystra bustled behind the desk, doubtless intending to make him squirm, a little. Such was the pitch of his ardor that he was able to quickly become its master, and look about himself.

  Unlike Ella's office, or Kamele's, or, to be perfectly fair, his own, Lystra Mason's office was tidy to the point of painfulness, with scarcely a pin out of place. There were no piles of hard copy, or scatter of infoslips on the desk's gleaming surface. Indeed, there was nothing on the desk at all until Lystra dared to risk its finish by placing her 'book upon it.

  Likewise, the walls, which in his office were overburdened with gene maps, language maps, population dispersal rates, and any number of other items useful to his position, here were perfectly bare, perfectly white. Simple, one might say.

  Lystra was settled, her hands folded primly atop the gleaming desk top, eyes sharp and acquisitive.

  "Now, Jen Sar," she said crisply, "I think you know that there are certain considerations a mother wishes to see adorn her daughter's Gigneri. What are you willing to bring to Roni?" She smiled at him. "While we agree that there's value attending an older man in a first-pair, I think we may also agree that the experience of conducting a new-woman into adulthood might balance that value neatly. You have position, contacts, fame, and I expect that you earn a tidy annual bonus. There's a good deal there to work with, and I'll tell you frankly that I think we may reach an accommodation I hope, very much, that we'll reach an accommodation. However, I wouldn't want you to think that your position is assured. I have received expressions of interest from several very worthy senior scholars, and a query from the Administration Tower itself."

  "Ah." He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded over the top of his cane. "I am afraid that you misunderstand me, Lystra. I have no interest in your daughter's Gigneri."

  She blinked, momentarily at a stand, then laughed.

  "You will have your joke, won't you?" she said, gaiety forced. "Come now, Jen Sar, you said yourself that you were interested—"

  "I said that you stand guardian over something that interests me nearly," he interrupted, keeping his voice pleasant and equitable. He met her eyes.

  "The Serpent AI, Lystra."

  She paled, but rallied immediately.

  "I d
on't have any idea what you're talking about."

  He shook his head. "That won't do; you know it won't do, and so do I. The best plan—the simplest plan, by far—is to give me the name of your contact and pass me up the line. I will immediately cease to be your problem, Roni may continue to widen her circle of admirers, and the future may roll out as it will."

  She took a breath. "I hardly understand you, Jen Sar! You seem to be accusing me of conspiring with the Simples!"

  He smiled at her, gently, as if she were a backward student who had against even her own expectation produced a correct answer.

  "Precisely. That is exactly my point."

  "Well, it may be your point, and your fantasy, you and this Serpent, but it has nothing to do—"

  "No, please," he interrupted again. "You will only tire yourself, and I will have what I came for in the end. Let us deal as adults—as colleagues. Now, I will give you something, to buy your trust: I know that you have access to a Serpent AI. I asked it for a map of those facilities within the Wall to which it has access and an activities log. You have been . . . quite an avid user, and not all in pursuit of the plan, eh?" He held up his hand and gave her a friendly look. "Who could blame you? Not I. To have so powerful a search tool in hand—well! You see the use to which I put mine."

  She remained silent, white to the lips, her hands knotted 'round each other on the glossy desk top.

  "Yes, well. I do confess to some other snooping—so indelicate, but what can one expect of a Liaden, who hails not only from outside the Wall, but from well off-planet? Outsiders . . . Quite the opposite of your family, for instance, which has kept firm ties with the Chapelia. It was your mother—or perhaps an aunt?—who sat on the Liaison Committee for thirty years, advancing Simple goals to the Administration."

  Lystra licked her lips. "My aunt. But—"

  "Forgive me, but did it not seem to you that this plan—the AI, the altering of records, the stealth—did it not seem to you that this was no simple plan? It reeks of complexity! Surely, the Chapelia might wish to burn the library and destroy complexity wholesale—that was a simple and straightforward plan, and if it failed once, who is to say that it must fail twice? But to sow lies and misinformation, that is not simple. It hints, indeed, of plans made by those to whom Delgado—Chapelia, university, scholars and nonacs alike—are but counters in a much larger game. A game that keeps its main board well off-world."

  She gaped at him.

  "The name of your contact," he prompted gently. "Come, now, Lystra, there is always the chance that I will forget who sent me to her. The memories of old men are notoriously frail."

  The silence stretched. Inside his head, he felt Aelliana stir, her interest lying so nearly next to his that he could scarcely tell out her from him.

  "Chapelia have no names," Lystra Mason said softly. She looked down as if the task of unknotting her hands required all of her attention. "I will write the symbol for you."

  Thirty

  Vashtara

  Breakfast All Year

  Kamele had a breakfast meeting. An early breakfast meeting. Theo, who had a breakfast meeting of her own, though hers, she thought crankily, was at a normal hour, did a couple of self-tests on her school book, then slipped the mem-stick out of her pocket and slotted it into the stateroom's conneck.

  Win Ton's letter came up onto the screen, letters bright and crisp. She'd answered it, of course, just as soon as she'd received it, but he hadn't written again. Which just meant, she'd assured herself, that he was just as busy as he'd expected to be.

  Dear Sweet Mystery,

  It appears circumstances and opportunities conspire to place us on opposing schedules. It is just as well; your destination shows it to nearly share the ship's schedule you are familiar with, which is probably not an accident. My new schedule will put me in sync with the shift schedules expectable when we arrive to retrieve the waiting ship. Accident or not, this change also puts within grasp one of my goals, which has been to be Officer in Charge of a ship so large there need be a lost-and-found not only for objects but for persons.

  Do not fear! My Captain promises me I will be Officer In Charge for no more than a dozen beats at mid-shift while back-up pilots change seats and test boards; I feel it likely if they know I am the one sitting oversight the changeover will happen in three beats!"

  I intend to see you before our orbits diverge; you have helped make what might have been an ordinary transit into a memorable passage indeed.

  I remain your humble servant, and, I very dearly hope, your friend,

  Win Ton yo'Vala

  Sighing, she pulled the mem-stick from the conneck and tapped random reload. One of the stupid "How to behave on Melchiza," info-spots popped up on the vid.

  "Remember!" the narrator chirped annoyingly. "Anyone wearing a blue shirt or a blue arm band may require you to halt, state your business, produce your ID, and prove you have sufficient credits in the form of cash to buy food for yourself for three days. You may not carry another adult person's ID for them, and cash on your person will not be considered as available to another member of your party. Public displays of affection are forbidden on Melchiza, with detention and fines for all infractions. All public areas are subject to monitoring by camera, radar, and visual inspectors; infractions will be dealt with as discovered."

  "Yah, yah, yah . . ." she said to the screen, and punched "random" again. They were days out from Melchiza yet, and the entertainment bands were flooded with these stupid mercials. She wondered if she should write a new one; certainly, she knew the key points: Don't touch anything or anyone; don't be where you aren't supposed to be; always listen to anything blue; and always carry cash. Maybe Public Communications would pay her, so she could buy some clothes to replace the ones she couldn't wear on Melchiza, because they were blue . . .

  She turned her back on the vid, slipping the mem-stick with Win Ton's letter on in into her pocket. Then she put on her blue sweater and left for her meeting with Captain Cho.

  * * *

  The three of them had formed their own sub-committee, its task to develop a contingency plan. That the group did not include, and its existence was consistently not mentioned to, Chair Hafley was something they did not discuss. Which means, Kamele told herself, as she sipped her coffee, that you are now affiliated with two secret organizations.

  "We are agreed, then," Able said, pushing the remains of her fruit platter to one side, where it was immediately whisked away by their efficient waiter. "If Professor Dochayn is unable to deliver what she has promised, we will proceed upon our own recognizance and petition the administration of the Treasure House in the form set forth in this document." She tapped the reader set in the center of the table.

  "The procedures set forth are lengthy," Crowley said, "and our time on Melchiza limited. Fortunately, study shows that a good deal of the paperwork portion may be completed ahead of time. I propose to complete as much as can be done, in the ardent hope that we will not be called upon to produce it."

  "That's a good plan," Kamele said. "Certainly, the political climate on Melchiza seems . . . stern. We wouldn't want to place Professor Beltaire's colleague in an untenable situation."

  "I wonder," Crowley said, his voice more than usually careful, "if we ought not also procure open departure tickets for each of our party."

  Kamele straightened, glancing to Able. A shrug was what she received from that party, so she addressed Crowley.

  "That would be a significant expense, I think? What would be the justification?"

  Crowley glanced down at his empty plate before meeting Kamele's eyes.

  "You will recall that I told our charming Captain Cho that I had traveled some rough ports in my youth. Sometimes, regrettably, one is forced to—not to put too fine a point on it—one is forced to run. Sometimes, one is detained beyond the departure time of one's primary transport. I would hope that the authorities on Melchiza, while stern, are not petty, but I would not wish to strand one of our party
."

  Kamele considered him. Something—perhaps it was the utter seriousness of his face—convinced her that this was not theory for Professor Crowley, but something that had happened to him. Or to someone he had traveled with.

  Which would be more terrible, she wondered, to be left behind, or to leave a colleague?

  "I'll look into the options and costs," she said. Able nodded without comment.

  "Thank you," Crowley said seriously.

  * * *

  Breakfast All Year was surprisingly crowded. After the initial rush of popularity, it had slid off everybody's must-do list, and gotten quiet enough to have lessons in.

  This morning, or—if you were on Captain Cho's shift, this evening—the place was crowded with merrymakers, making the trip to their usual back table an adventure in dance.

  Captain Cho was ahead of her, like she most usually was, seated and with tea to hand.

  Appears me, Theo motioned even before she caught her tutor's eye; timely, hungry.

  Cho's fingers flickered, almost too fast to read, though Theo knew the basic signs by now.

  Food appears rapidly, fine usual welcome, was the response, as near as Theo caught it; table held against noise rushers; good crew recalls schedule ours! Sit faster!

  The last was a warning as well as a command. A man in yellow tights had darted in from the crowded table to the left, apparently intent upon removing the "extra" chair from under Cho's nose.

  Theo lunged, hand out, fingers firm on the chair back.

  "I'm sitting there, thanks," she told the man, who gave her a one-sided grin and darted away in search of other quarry.

  Cho smiled widely, her fingers saying something Theo couldn't quite read. She felt like she had the emphasis and mood . . . but . . .

  A loud clapping broke out behind her as she sat, and a large person with a large bottle in her hand and a crowning blob of yellow hair on her head waved the crowd quiet.

  "Four down and only fifteen more bars to hit before deadline! Next is Deck Five's Low End, which is opening . . . right now! Allie, Allie in free!"