Saltation

by Sharon Lee

  Asu laughed. "Most days I can't stand between you and that screen in there when you get in, first thing you do is check for mail. Today . . ." The laugh came back. "You must think they're here already!"

  Theo let her glance drift toward the ceiling, and sighed quietly. Sometimes Asu was just too good.

  "I got the shower," she said.

  Theo usually didn't take long showers, so today she did. After, she made a cup of tea and unsealed the last of the chernubia she'd discovered in the school store, for a quiet one-girl snack in the common area, lights low while Asu fussed about some sports thing in the other room.

  Not nearly as good as the fresh ones served by a luxury cruise liner, the snack still bore a passing resemblance to something Win Ton had smiled over, and that in turn made her smile and absently adjust the wings on her collar.

  And there, a second cup of tea, and she was standing with cup in hand wondering if requesting an image from Win Ton would be bad form. Not like Asu's pet athlete's image, but . . . well, maybe, actually . . .

  Asu peered into the common area, began mimicking a terminal announcer.

  "Attention. Control to Pilot! Blink-blink-blink, attention, Theo!"

  Asu's voice was not quite as emotionless as a good warning mode was. She waved her hands impatiently toward the desk.

  "Message waiting light here, First Bunk."

  Theo sighed. Sometimes it felt like things were changing too fast, and that all the messages were about her doing something more.

  She took her cup with her and slid into the seat, "I hear you, I hear you."

  The incoming message was from Scout Captain Cho sig'Radia. So was the third. Theo slapped the privacy button, effectively limiting the view of the screen to someone sitting in the spot she sat in.

  Behind her, Asu made a sound like a harrumph.

  "Must be expecting something else from the bestboy," she hazarded as she headed for the joint room. She paused. "Aren't you?" she insisted, but Theo was already twisting her thoughts to hear Cho's voice behind the words on the screen.

  You have not been at all "silly" to pass the news of your recent flight to me; indeed, it is exactly the type of news one could hope for: success in flight! Being some Standards away from a sailplane run I discover the sim a joy; I hope you will not feel overburdened with the information that I, like your academy, have been pleased to share copies with several pilots. Win Ton professes a lack of surprise in your abilities, but promises his own commentary.

  Theo relaxed into the seat, nearly losing the sight circle of the screen when she did. Then she sat straight up.

  He hadn't been joking, she thought. If Win Ton's packet had gotten to her before Cho's message, he must have sent it immediately, by courier! Someone, some pilot, had been standing by, on her account!

  Too, Cho went on, you have followed the forms precisely. I need to know these things not only for the reinforcement of my judgment on your ability, but that we make no errors in dealing with your future.

  My role as sponsor requires that I take an active interest in the affairs financial attending your schooling, and in this case, with only a small and not unseemly amount of prompting, your academy and I have reached an accord on the value of your lessons for the school, and for yourself.

  Following in a short while will be the contracts I have entered into on your behalf, as well as a document transferring practical control of the finances accruing to you from income derived from various uses, transformations, and recordings of your flight. Pardon that these are dry and filled with complexities well beyond the complexities of piloting equations, but such are Liaden contracts, as you will no doubt be told many times in your career. For your enjoyment, the contract in Liaden is appended to the Trade version. In short form, we have arranged for your earnings to be set against your expenses, with a 25 percent share coming direct to your spending account until all expenses are met. Please follow the instructions about passwords, account controls, and the like exactly. Once accessed the account becomes yours.

  Theo leaned toward the screen. Contracts?

  I have passed a copy of the sim to your mother in the hopes the pilot who trained you may see it, and rejoice in your flight.

  Oh no! Kamele would not be happy. Surely, Father would—

  The letters on the screen blurred slightly.

  Father would do as he always did, and use his own judgment. Given that Kamele'd spent a lifetime in ignorance of his piloting, as had Theo, she hoped he'd explain the sim appropriately.

  Good lift and safe landing, Pilot.

  I remain

  Cho sig'Radia, sponsor

  Twelve

  Number Twelve Leafydale Place

  Greensward-by-Efraim

  Delgado

  The bluebells are doing well this season, Aelliana said, her voice seeming to come from just behind his left shoulder. Theo will be pleased.

  A connoisseur of formal gardens might have commented that the bluebells danced the dagger's edge between "doing well" and "overexuberant." Aelliana, however, did not admire strict order in a garden. Nor did he.

  And the bluebells were Theo's favorites, after all.

  "We must remember to send her a picture," he murmured. From his right came the creak and smack of the garden door opening. Kamele was home from her meeting early.

  "Jen Sar!" she called, her footsteps quick on the path.

  He turned, smiling as she came into sight, her hair rumpled and her cheeks pink with hurry. She had a small blue envelope from Data Receiving and a folded printout in one hand; the paper fluttered as she walked.

  "Don't you look the picture of indolence," she murmured, bending to kiss him on the cheek. "Grading examinations, indeed!"

  "Indolence is pictured thus: The honored professor lying on the grass, his venerable head supported by a kindly and compliant friend, and the second bottle uncorked," he returned, smiling up at her. "Here you see the professor taking a rejuvenating turn in the garden before returning to his labors."

  "Of course I do," she said, and shook her head in mock irritation. "Compliant."

  "Also kindly," he pointed out.

  "That's very true." She nodded gravely, though her eyes were sparkling. "Silver-tongue."

  "It has," he acknowledged mournfully, "been a lifelong affliction."

  Kamele laughed, her glance going over his shoulder. "The bluebells are taking over the garden! I've never seen them so boisterous."

  "I was just thinking that we must remember to send a picture to Theo."

  "Yes, we should; she must miss them." She looked back to him, her face still glowing, but tending toward seriousness. "Speaking of Theo, I have a letter from Cho sig'Radia, who sends a present—to you!"

  He raised an eyebrow. "A present? To me?"

  "We did agree that you are the pilot who raised Theo, did we not?"

  "I seem to recall being cast in that role, yes."

  "If you accept the role, you accept the rewards of the role," Kamele told him. She nodded toward the house. "If your rejuvenation is complete, we might go back inside."

  "So we might."

  "Would you like some coffee?" he asked, as they strolled up the pathway together. "There was a packet of Lake Country beans in today's delivery."

  Kamele sighed. "That sounds lovely. There must be a way to get funding for decent coffee in Admin, but I haven't found it yet."

  "Raise tuition?" he suggested, as the door opened.

  "Don't think I haven't considered it," she said darkly, stepping into the kitchen ahead of him. She put the letter and the packet on the kitchen table and glanced at the coffeemaker.

  "I'll do that," he said, "if you would like to change into house clothes."

  Kamele grinned at him. "Thank you, Jen Sar. And by all means, do read Captain sig'Radia's letter while I'm gone. Just promise that you won't open the package until I'm back."

  "That seems a fair compromise," he said placidly, moving toward the pantry. Kamele laughed; a moment later
, he heard her running upstairs.

  He measured the beans into the hopper, set the texture, poured water into the reservoir and touched the control. The grinder whirred quietly. He went to the table, plucked up the sheet of printout and carried it to the window, hitching a hip onto the ledge as he unfolded the paper.

  I, Cho sig'Radia greet Kamele Waitley, mother of Theo, to whom one has the honor to stand as patron.

  Though term evaluations are ahead of us, yet I have received news of young Theo's progress which may put to rest such doubts as may have lingered in a mother's heart. I learn that our fledgling has performed very well in actual flight conditions. Indeed, she appears to have an exact and intuitive understanding of piloting at the hands-on level, which must—and does—gratify a hopeful patron. Theo has gained the attention of her elders in this and has been, so I am informed by Senior Instructor Pilot yos'Senchul, placed upon an accelerated flight path. Instead of remaining the full term with Slippers, over which she has demonstrated superiority, she has been moved up to powered flight and will soon know the pleasure of being wholly the master of her craft. The particular flight which drew special attention has been deemed to have some positive value as an auxiliary teaching aid by the school and by the aircraft manufacturers and permission to reproduce it for these purposes has been requested.

  As the hopeful pilot's patron, I have negotiated a royalty contract with Anlingdin Academy in her name. Earnings under the term of this contract will be set against Theo's expenses at academy, with twenty-five percent deposited directly into an account under her sole ownership. As I understand custom, Theo has achieved the status of adult, and thus may take ownership of these financial properties, as well as administering her own contracts. If my understanding is insufficient, please teach me better and I shall make what amends I might.

  Appended to this letter is a small gift. I ask, if it does not offend custom, that it be shared with the pilot who, with yourself, raised Theo. It will perhaps be of some interest.

  It is my hope that this letter has found you in good health, with your goals well in hand, and I remain

  Cho sig'Radia

  Captain of Scouts

  Jen Sar Kiladi refolded the printout along its creases, and sighed lightly.

  From its place on the counter, the coffeemaker chimed; and he heard Kamele's footsteps on the stairs.

  The coffee was poured, sampled and pronounced delicious. It being one of Kamele's small rituals to savor and prolong such moments, when the beverage was worthy, Jen Sar recruited himself to patience, and sipped again from his own cup.

  He had taught himself to drink coffee; a graduate student could not afford to be too nice about the form in which one found one's caffeine, and Professor Kiladi had been a grad student, so it said in his dossier, on the very Terran world of Barvenna. He had, therefore, and by necessity, developed a tolerance. Later, under Kamele's tutelage, he had learned an appreciation.

  The Lake Country was pleasant, medium bodied, aromatic, and with an aftertaste of raspberry. He concentrated on the flavor, and did not glance at the little package, still unopened on the kitchen table.

  Kamele lowered her cup and smiled at him. "Aren't you going to open it?"

  "I had not wished to intrude upon your moment," he said, truthfully.

  "Of course, I'm not curious!" Kamele made one of her swooping, ironic gestures, her fingers approaching perilously close to his cup.

  He avoided tragedy by lifting the endangered item and looked at her over the rim. "I wonder," he murmured. "Perhaps we had best just put it away."

  Kamele laughed, and Jen Sar sighed dolefully.

  "As transparent as that, am I? Very well, then, yes. With your permission, I will open it."

  "I can't imagine what it could be."

  He turned away, placing his cup carefully on the table before taking up the small blue-blazoned packet. It was not heavy, but of course, it would not be; data chips weighed very little.

  A sim, Aelliana murmured inside his head, and sighed lightly. Perhaps it won't be . . . very . . . showy. She paused. Of course, it is Theo.

  Of course, he thought, it is Theo. He opened the envelope and turned, holding the chip high on display.

  "There!" he exclaimed. "Now curiosity is satisfied!"

  Kamele laughed again and shook her head. "No, my friend, curiosity doesn't begin to be satisfied." She nodded toward the common room. "Why don't you get the screen ready? I'll refresh our cups."

  "Well," he said conversationally, as on screen the little glide-plane played with its tow string. "A flight sim, and very agreeable it is, too."

  "Theo is flying this—this craft?" Kamele asked from beside him.

  He nodded. "We are seeing from the pilot's perspective—her instruments, her environment. If we wished—and had the equipment to hand—we might fly it with her and thus learn something of her technique; a useful tool for teaching other pilots."

  Kamele nodded, her face rapt as she watched Slipper Fourteen raise its nose, dip its wing and slip free of its tow.

  "That was neatly done," he said for Kamele's benefit. "Ah, and see? She has caught the thermal. With luck, this will be a long glide."

  "How beautiful," Kamele breathed. "Look at those mountains! I had no idea that flying could be so peaceful."

  "It can be," he said cautiously, watching the mountains with mistrust. Treacherous things, mountains, and a glide-plane no equal partner for the winds that often danced around such places.

  "Flight GT S14, Academy GT S14," a man's voice, terse and businesslike, broke into the peaceful sail through sunny skies. "Academy GT S14, acknowledge."

  "Flight GT S14 here." Theo's voice was—not calm. Bright. Sharp, even. Jen Sar scanned the instruments, took note of variometer and altitude.

  ". . . everyone out of the sky . . ." the flight-master was saying, urgently. "Emergency."

  Beside him, Kamele had gone very still.

  "I can stuff it on the plateau in five minutes," Theo said, and it was the utter surety in her voice that made Jen Sar's stomach tighten.

  "A drill," he managed, for Kamele's stillness. He touched her hand, and smiled when she glanced at him. "She will need to learn to react correctly in an emergency. Of course, there are drills, so that she may prepare while others more experienced watch over her."

  Instructor El is worried, Aelliana commented, which he had thought, too, and which he was not about to say to Kamele's strained smile.

  The little ship went sideways, and he felt Kamele tense beside him.

  "She needs to adjust altitude, and quickly—Ground had said it was an emergency," he said, keeping his voice soothing. "She is being perfectly safe." Safe, but aggressive. His fingers twitched when she hit the standing wave, the slip-string snapping and the variometer beginning to squeal.

  "The nose . . ." he murmured, but there, she had it; the nose was down, and she was on course. The wings thrummed, protesting the service she required of them, and the radar telling stories to frighten children—

  But Theo was no longer a child; she was a pilot in command of her craft. Amid the din of scolding instruments her soarplane dutifully sideslipped, crabbing against the sheer wall. She was in charge, keeping her craft level—and the nose was up; she was rising, far too close to the wall, and—

  "Not great, Theo," she said, her voice torn by the wind and the noise of the instruments. "Not great."

  He scanned the plateau, saw the spot, and his fingers twitched again, reaching for levers that weren't available to him, and they were down—no! A bounce, sternly brought under control, and then they were down, in a chancy location, but safe enough for now, and the pilot had reported her situation and received the order to clear the craft.

  Inside his head, Aelliana cheered.

  He relaxed into his seat, suddenly aware that he had tensed forward, and sighed.

  "That was . . . dangerous," Kamele said in a small, shaken voice. "Wasn't it?"

  "Oh." He turned. Her face was pale
r even than usual, her eyes wide. "Kamele . . ."

  "Tell me," she interrupted. "If what we just saw—was Theo in danger? Yes or no? That was not a drill!"

  "There is always a risk, in piloting," he said slowly. "Was Theo in danger—I cannot say—" He raised his hand as she began to speak.

  "No. Kamele. I am not softening this for you. The truth is that I cannot say. In my experience, a pilot is in danger when a pilot feels that she is in danger. It seems to me that Theo did not consider herself to be in danger. She had a knotty problem to solve, and a good deal of maneuvering to do. But I had no sense—from the action of the craft, or from her voice—that she felt endangered." He sighed, and put his hand over hers where it was fisted on her knee.

  "Likely it was not a drill."

  "And Cho sig'Radia is selling this—this frightening—"

  "To pilots," he broke in, remembering to keep his voice soft. "To pilots, such a tape is not so much frightening as—exhilarating." He moved his shoulders at her look of disbelief. "Pilots are a disreputable lot, I fear."

  "You were worried," she accused him. "You stopped talking, and leaned forward, reaching for—as if you would fly it down yourself!"

  He looked toward his hand, still forward on his knee, ready to take the stick, and back to Kamele.

  "I was worried," he admitted. "One worries about one's daughter in treacherous moments." He smiled suddenly, pride washing him. "But I worry about her far less now." The smile widened, and became a grin.

  "Kamele, on my honor—that was a beautiful landing!"

  Thirteen

  Ozar Rokan Memorial Flight Center

  Anlingdin Piloting Academy

  Gear down and locked.

  Theo felt the gear down part in the touch of the controls, and the locked part firmly through her seat as the well-used and surely misnamed Star King Mark II settled into landing mode. The instruments confirmed what she already knew, and she sang out to traffic, who acknowledged visual politely, and gave her permission to do what she was going to anyway, which was touch-and-go number nine.