Fledgling

by Sharon

  Theo's stomach sank.

  "No," she admitted. "I haven't."

  "Then you're a child, and your mother should take better care of you!" he said triumphantly, and slapped hasty fingers to his lips. "Not that your mother shouldn't take good care of you after you've had your Gigneri, of course. I only meant—"

  "There she is," Theo interrupted, nodding toward Kamele, standing by the info pole to the right of the Soybean kiosk. "You can go help somebody else now."

  "A proper escort," Hieri said, sounding like he was quoting out of the helper training manual, "finishes the job properly."

  And so it was that Theo came up to Kamele, towing the two cases, and a puffing escort.

  "Theo," Kamele said, looking at Hieri in mild astonishment. "Thank you for fetching those! Professor Crowley's friend met him just as they had arranged, so he's well on his—"

  "Ma'am!" Hieri interrupted. Kamele raised her eyebrows, and suddenly extended her hand, her smile almost identical to Captain Cho's too-wide "public" smile.

  "Helper, thank you for escorting my daughter! I do appreciate it." She let the smile fade a little as Hieri shook her hand, looking slightly bewildered.

  "Have you a comment card?" she asked, and he nodded, eagerly producing the flat device from the pocket of his smock.

  "Thank you." Kamele took it, tapped in a code, and handed it back, still smiling. "I do very much appreciate your trouble," she said again.

  "That's all right," Hieri said, blushing and nodding as he slipped the card back into his pocket. "Thank you." He cast a stern eye on Theo. "And you, young lady, don't you be afraid to ask for assistance from anybody wearing this shirt." He puffed his chest out proudly. "We're here to help!"

  With that, he turned around and marched off, head swiveling back and forth, already looking for another victim.

  Theo bit her lip and looked down at the floor.

  "Well," said Kamele in her normal voice, "that was relatively painless."

  Theo sputtered, and heard Kamele laugh, which made her laugh harder. The two of them were still laughing while they got Kamele's case transferred to her, and turned toward—

  "Um, Kamele? The light rail station is that way." Theo pointed at the map displayed on the info terminal.

  "So it is," her mother said agreeably, but she kept on walking toward the exits for the hotel, mall, and garage.

  Theo shrugged and followed. After all, she thought grumpily, it wasn't like Kamele had to tell her anything.

  The corridor to the mall branched off. Kamele kept walking. So, Theo thought, they were going to the hotel or to the garage. That was information, though she still wondered why.

  The crowd had thinned somewhat, but there were still more than enough people around, dressed in bright holiday colors, walking noisily; calling back and forth to each other, the rollers on their luggage clacking across the seams in the floor tiles.

  And in the midst of all the motion and noise—a spot of . . . invisibility.

  Theo frowned, turning her head to track what her eye had passed over—

  A pilot stood against the far wall, well out of the way of the busy rush of people, but perfectly apparent, if you happened to be looking for him. His hands were folded quietly atop his cane; his stance was balanced, but not quite . . . completely . . . relaxed.

  He was watching Kamele, who was oblivious, turning her head this way and that, watching the crowd. He was being so quiet, Theo thought in sudden agony; Kamele was never going to see him! Not that Kamele was stupid, or inadvertent, but she wasn't a pilot, and—Should I say something? Theo thought frantically. But, if Father wanted them to—

  Kamele paused. Chest tight, Theo looked at her face. She was smiling, and a quick glance showed that Father was smiling, too, as he cut across the stream of noisy passengers with such an unhurried, lithe grace that Theo wondered how she could ever have missed the obvious fact.

  The pilot who raised me.

  "Good afternoon," he said, and at last he included Theo in his smile.

  "Father—" she said, meaning to tell him right then about Cho, and the card, and Melchiza, and menfri'at, and—but her throat got tight, and her eyes blurred and anyway Kamele was talking.

  "Good afternoon, Jen Sar," she said. Theo thought she meant to sound composed, but her voice was shaking, just a little.

  The three of them were an obstruction in the flow of traffic, and while most people were advertant enough to avoid them, they really should start moving again, a point Father made by waving his cane gently and turning to walk with them. Theo moved to the right, so he was between them, and jumped when her bag was clipped by a man who swerved too late. He kept going without a word, apparently oblivious to the contact, even though his case was spinning on its rollers, trying to re-orient itself.

  Theo struggled briefly with her own case, muttering the word she had heard Win Ton use under her breath, and got the wheels turned the right way.

  "Travel is broadening, I hear," Father murmured, glancing at her with an ironic quirk to his near eyebrow.

  Her face heated, but she met his eyes. "I learned lots of things," she said firmly.

  "It could hardly have been otherwise. I shall hope to hear that the balance of your acquisitions are somewhat less . . . organic . . ."

  Her lips parted.

  ". . . in the fullness of time," he continued. "At present, I suggest that we make all haste to gain the garage, where by the greatest good fortune I happen to have a car waiting."

  Theo eyed him. "We've got too much stuff to fit in your car."

  "Do you think so? I had thought we might put the contents into the boot and leave the bags themselves for whoever might care to scavenge them."

  "That might work," Theo allowed, dead-pan. "But what about passengers?"

  Father pointed a walking half-bow at Kamele. "You mother of course will ride in the passenger's seat, as befits her age and accomplishments."

  "And me? In the boot with the dirty laundry?"

  "Theo." He looked at her reproachfully. "You, of course, I would lash to the roof."

  "That might work," Kamele said from his other side, in a tone that Theo recognized as a duplicate of her own.

  "Not," she said to Kamele, across Father, "the way he drives."

  "You're right," her mother said thoughtfully. "We'll stop in the mall and buy you a safety helmet."

  Theo laughed, and Kamele did.

  Father, meanwhile, solemnly used the tip of his cane to press the key for the elevator.

  * * *

  "What," Theo said, staring at the hulking vehicle that took up two whole spaces in the garage, made even taller by the light dome on its roof. It was painted an eye-scorching yellow that couldn't have missed being rated a Hazard by the Safeties, and had two broad black stripes down each side. "Is it?"

  "Well you should ask," Father said, opening the boot. "Precisely, it is Andri Manderpon's vintage restored Sunlight Taxicab."

  Kamele retracted the handle of her bag; he grabbed the swing-grip before she could, and gave her a small smile. "I agreed to a long list of conditions in order to borrow this vehicle from my good friend Andri, including a guarantee that I would not allow heavy objects to be thrown willy-nilly into the boot."

  He swung the bag up and over into the gaping maw, settling it with the barest thump, then turned, one eyebrow raised slightly.

  I see you, Theo signed the greeting one-handed, retracting the handle of her bag with the other.

  Father bent and took hold of the strap, swinging Theo's case in to join Kamele's, and lowered the hatch gently.

  "Your carriage awaits," he murmured, slipping his hand under Kamele's elbow and guiding her to the passenger side door. He opened it and bowed her inside. "Please fasten the straps. Another condition upon which my friend was adamant." He shut the door and turned, intercepting Theo as she reached for the latch to the back door.

  "My hand alone," he murmured, popping the door. He inclined his head. "If you please, Theo.
And do fasten the straps."

  She shook her head. "I can't see you driving this."

  "There are many things that you have not seen, child," he answered. "In, if you please."

  She slipped into her seat, and he closed the door behind her. Mindful, she sealed the finicky straps as Father slid into the driver's seat, snapped his own restraints, and turned to Kamele.

  "Where shall this humble driver be delighted to take you, Professor?"

  Theo held her breath.

  "I would be pleased," Kamele said serenely. "If you would take us home. I would like to have tea in the garden."

  Theo gasped, and raised her hand to hide the grin. In the front seat, she saw Father's shoulders lose that tiny bit of tension they'd been carrying. He tipped his head.

  "It is well, then?" he asked Kamele.

  "As well as it can be, considering," she answered and shook her head. "There's a meeting with the Chancellor and the Directors tomorrow evening."

  "Yes," Father said. "I have some bit of news regarding that, myself."

  "Which we will talk about . . . later," Kamele said.

  "Oh, indeed." He leaned forward to touch the starter button. The big car came to life, its motor quieter than Theo had expected, but decidedly louder than the mannered purr of Father's car.

  They moved out of the parking space and into the exit lane. Theo leaned back in her seat, thinking.

  Father had come to meet them, and brought a car big enough to accommodate them and their luggage. He hadn't been sure, though, until Kamele . . . But—she must have sent him a text, or—

  "Theo," Father's voice broke into her increasingly confused thoughts, "I must beg that you not believe everything you may hear of me."

  She looked up and caught his eyes in the rear view mirror.

  "What did you do?" she asked, genuinely curious.

  Father laughed, and eased the big yellow taxi on to the parkway. "The young today," he said conversationally to Kamele, "have so little respect for their elders."

  Forty-Two

  Number Twelve Leafydale Place

  Greensward-by-Efraim

  Delgado

  "I can't believe how big you've gotten!" Theo exclaimed for maybe the fifth time.

  Coyster yawned from his position in the center of her bed, and settled his chin on his paws.

  She laughed and bent to her case again. "I know! I sound like five silly aunts! But it's really good to see you again!"

  Her closet was still in the apartment in the Wall, of course, but she was unpacking anyway—the stuff from her bag would go into the chest of drawers just fine for now.

  Her room was so big! Closing the drawer, she spun slowly on her heel, surveying unlimited space. The room was set to default—pale blue walls and darker floor—the old mobile spinning lazily in the breeze from the vent, and the row of ragged storybooks providing the only splashes of color. She could, she thought, put all her old pictures back up, pour the fish into the floor—make it all just like it had been, before.

  Later.

  Now, she went over to the bed and stretched out next to Coyster, her arms folded under her head, and her eyes half-slitted. She thought about calling Lesset, but didn't move. Beside her, Coyster began to knead, his purr punctuated by tiny popping sounds as his claws penetrated the quilt.

  "I'm glad you're glad," she murmured, and the volume of his purrs increased.

  They'd had tea and a cold luncheon in the garden, just the three of them, and they hadn't talked about the trip at all, but listened to Father ramble on about the cats, and the new plantings he'd made in the garden, and his fishing trip in the mountains near where Kamele's second-mother had been born—and it had been . . . relaxing.

  He was giving us time to get our planet-legs, Theo thought drowsily. At some point Mandrin and Coyster had joined them. Mandrin jumped onto Father's lap, but Coyster sat on the grass directly in front of Theo, his back to her, and his ears swiveled 'round so that he could hear her slightest move.

  "Oof!" Theo said, jackknifing as Coyster stepped firmly on her stomach. "You really have gotten big!" She squooshed him down flat on her chest, giggling when his whiskers tickled her throat.

  Kamele had promised not to keep Father long, though, of course, they had to "talk." Theo sighed.

  "I'm going to be fifteen years old tomorrow," she told Coyster. "Delgadan years," she added, just to be clear. Coyster puffered a purr and stretched his right front leg 'way out, so it was resting on her shoulder and his paw was in the air next to her ear.

  She should write that to Win Ton—about being fifteen tomorrow. 'Course, he wouldn't get the letter for who knew how long, but she'd kind of gotten in the habit of writing to him on the way back—just things she'd seen that she thought he might think were interesting, or funny, or—

  There was a tap at her door. Theo rolled, dumping Coyster unceremoniously onto the bed, and crossed the room to touch the plate.

  The door slid away to reveal a smiling Kamele.

  "Thank you, Theo," she said. "Jen Sar's waiting for you in his office."

  * * *

  "Father," she said from the threshold of the room, while her fingers signed deliberately, Pilot.

  He watched her face, not her hands, his own occupied with rubbing Mandrin's ears.

  "Theo. Come in, child."

  "Thank you," she said. Why was he ignoring her? Was she wrong? But, no, she told herself as she slid into the chair next to his desk. She wasn't wrong.

  "How do you find your room?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. Mandrin shook her head and jumped down, hitting the starry floor with a solid thump.

  "It feels huge!" she answered, and her fingers moved again: Pilot duty here is.

  His eyes on her face, Father shook his head slightly. "Theo, is there a reason that you are persisting in this?"

  Maybe, she thought, heart sinking, maybe she was wrong. She met his eyes firmly, folding her hands tight on her lap.

  "Yes," she said steadily, "there is. I have a card from a—a scout and a pilot, she told me to say—to be given to the pilot who trained me." She took a breath and forced herself to finish calmly. "And if that's not you, then I don't know who to give it to."

  Silence, followed by an almost soundless sigh.

  "I see," he said, his fingers flickering so neatly that she almost missed, Duty accepted.

  Relief knifed through her. She bit her lip and fished Cho's card out of her safe pocket, where she'd kept it ever since Melchiza.

  "Here."

  He slipped it out of her fingers—so quick, so sure! Theo shook her head again, mentally chiding herself for having been so blind.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.

  "Tell you what?" he returned absently, turning the card over.

  "That you're a pilot. Does Kamele know?"

  "Until now, it has not been pertinent to our relationship. Possibly she does, though it's conceivable that I have not been entirely clear. It is," he murmured, leaning over to slot the card into his computer, "so difficult to be certain in these matters."

  "But why are you here?"

  "To teach." His fingers flickered: Quiet incoming.

  Theo bit her lip, watching the side of his face—which told her just about as much as it ever did. She came to her feet and moved to stand behind him so she could see the screen—which did her no good at all; it was filled with flowing lines of written Liaden.

  "Do you read Liaden, Theo?"

  "No," she said, sadly. "I was going to start learning, but I had to catch up my math, instead."

  "A difficult choice, I allow. Well. Scout Captain sig'Radia proposes you to me as a young person of wit and promise, who has demonstrated both flexibility and strength of purpose. She therefore offers, if your mother agrees and she does not offend local custom, to stand as your sponsor."

  "My sponsor," Theo repeated blankly. She leaned over his shoulder, glaring at the screen as if she could wring sense from the alien letters by sheer force
of will. "My sponsor for what?"

  "I note that the good captain does not include 'patience' in her list of your many excellencies," Father said dryly. "To continue. Captain sig'Radia, in her melant'i as Scout Pilot and Trainer, offers to sponsor you to Anlingdin Piloting Academy on Eylot."

  Sponsor her! To a piloting academy! I want it! was her first thought. Her second, with a glance at the starfield spinning beneath the study floor to steady herself, was more sobering.

  "What does that mean—sponsor?" she asked. "What's the—" A sudden thought of Win Ton, tapping his beaker against hers—"What's the trade?"

  "Ah." Father leaned back in his chair and looked up into her face. "Travel is broadening, indeed."

  "It's a fair question," she said, frowning at him.

  He raised a hand, the old silver ring glinting on his finger. "Do not eat me! It is indeed a fair question, and well-asked." He nodded at the screen. "Captain sig'Radia offers a paid scholarship for the first three semesters—a full Standard year, you will apprehend. If, at the end of that time, you have not placed in the top thirty percent of your class, she will withdraw her support, without prejudice. There will be no debt to repay. If you thereafter wish to continue pilot training at your own expense, you may of course do so."

  The top thirty percent? She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been in the top five percent of her class!

  "I'll do it," she said, stomach fluttering.

  Father inclined his head. "You will, of course, need to bring your math scores up."

  Theo's stomach lurched. How could she have forgotten?

  Father reached across his desk and picked up the datapad, tapping in a quick sequence. "Instructor's override," he murmured and held the device out so that they could both contemplate the information displayed.

  "These are," he murmured, "perfectly good—even quite good—math scores for someone destined for almost any life-path except that of pilot. Pilots hold ship and passengers in their hands. Their math must be nothing less than sublime." He paused.

  "It is not," he continued a long moment later, in a carefully neutral tone, "a trade at which everyone excels—or a trade at which everyone can excel. It is . . . exciting. Exhilarating. Dangerous—in many ways—and it often weighs heavy, for lives are not light."