by Sharon Lee
"Your Win Ton being a Scout, it is perhaps wrong of us to expect him to hold entirely by Code, especially in matters concerning one who is outside of Liaden custom. He would, being a Scout, wish to deal rightly with you according to your own custom. So I ask—is there a custom of Delgado that might make sense of this gift?"
Theo nodded. "A keepsake; sort of a reminder—like keeping pics of family and favored friends."
"So there is custom." Theo got the feeling that Kara was relieved, though her friend was still in Liaden face. "This letter—does it seem that he assumes obligation of you?"
Theo felt her ears heat.
"Obligation—no. He specifically said that it was my choice whether or not to wear the gift. He was also clear that he had an interest in us being together to . . . enjoy each other again—and I'm interested in that, too."
"Your courses align, then. I would say, in that case, that the gift is neither too much nor too little, but well given as a promise of desire and intent. But—" Kara stopped.
Theo considered her. "But?"
Kara sighed. "At the risk of telling you something you already know—remember that we—that Liadens—belong to our clans. This means that your Win Ton, Scout though he be, is bound by the order of his delm. Everything—promises, partnerships and plans—must be set aside, should the clan call one to duty. Remember that, about Liadens, Theo. It's just—it might help. Later."
"I—"
A quick rap on the door was immediately followed by the entrance of Pilot yos'Senchul, two-armed still, data carrier in hand.
He bowed to the pair of them, his free hand describing the Liaden bow-sign for necessity.
"Pilots, you will forgive the intrusion. Pilot Waitley, I assume you have not been to your room, and thus have not seen my request. I am in need of someone to pilot me to Codrescu, leaving yesterday, if not sooner. Your class schedule being clear for forty-three hours, I wonder if you might do the honors?"
Twenty-Five
Codrescu Station
Eylot Nearspace
They got to orbit in a sprightly fashion, Cherpa's spot on a hotpad meaning Theo slotted the ship into a launch window quickly, even if that window wasn't optimum from a fuel viewpoint.
yos'Senchul gave her initial lift plan a vague glance, praising it as textbook perfect. Then he'd gone on:
"This is not an exercise for finding fuel efficient launches, Pilot. Consider your necessity as a PIC to be conserve time, rather than energy. Once lifted, please find us the fastest way to docking. Consider me your client and your payload for an express delivery."
Pilot Waitley had followed those instructions implicitly, allowing the routing to include what was, as she considered it, an expensive burn from what would have been a higher elliptical orbit to arrive at the proper orbit more quickly.
Cherpa's boards felt more familiar than the shuttle's had last time she'd flown it—all the sim time she'd put in recently meant she expected a ship scan to include more than nearby space; expected it to have warning for Jump, expected what was in front of her. What she hadn't quite expected was how much of her scan was blocked by Eylot's presence, nor the sudden change in comm traffic when their destination rose above the horizon.
Theo spent some small time studying the scans to see if she could figure which ships were actually going somewhere in system and which were transiting to Jump points. Cherpa's navsystem was immensely helpful in this; she could, with the touch of a button, plot a dozen ships likely outbound and a few more than that likely inbound from Jump. As she watched the scan fill in, a ship seemed to fuzz into existence outside local space but—according to the scan grid—well inside regular Jump space. Experimentally she ran the scan back—yes. There was the place where the new ship wasn't—and, suddenly, without glare, flare, or warning, there it was.
"Second," she said to yos'Senchul, "is there a reason the ship that just showed up without Jump glare isn't tagged with a name or ID number?"
"Pilot, I will explore this. It does happen, from time to time, that what appears on screen is a 'ghost ship.' "
She glanced from her screen to him quizzically,
The instructor gave her a wry grin. "It is a bad name, I admit. I believe this term was coined by a Terran, many Standards ago."
He adjusted something on his board, frowned momentarily.
"The Liaden phrase is ekly'teriva, which would translate as the ship unseen, perhaps, or shadow ship. Still, there are times—the math is intricate well beyond simple piloting equations, as I understand it. Basically, there are conditions that may occur in Jump that can cast an image of a ship ahead or behind itself; though it is very rare."
Theo sighed, considering her threaded webwork, and wondering if that might enable her to conceivably get a handle on . . .
"Another, more likely, possibility is that there is a scan error, Pilot. A misplaced bit or byte in the computer memory, a flaw in the scan head, a tracking overlay retained. I have created an incident report and am scheduling the scanner for maintenance on our return."
Theo looked at the screen with the numerous objects and projected courses . . .
"That one has no course? The ghost ship?" Her hands said explain explain.
"As I say, scanner error, Pilot. The object in question seems to have the same proper motion Cherpa enjoys. For this to be true of a ship just out of Jump would be . . . extremely unlikely."
"Tag it," she said finally, "it annoys me."
"Local scan will not show it," yos'Senchul told her the obvious, politely.
"Good. Tag it Shadow Ship, then go to local scan."
"Pilot," the instructor acknowledged.
Eylot nearspace zoomed in, Codrescu grew larger, and the shadow ship dutifully dropped out of scan so she could concentrate on the mission to hand.
The place that was Codrescu wasn't pretty, and the approach wasn't neat and tidy, like bringing the shuttle into one of the three shuttle-only bays at the so-called "big orbit" a full planetary diameter higher.
While the basics of matching orbits were the same, the fact was that this was crowded space: ships and satellites, work crews, stockpiled supplies netted with warn-aways, and then more of the same, all of it in vague joint revolution around Eylot with the amalgamation that was Codrescu Station proper. Theo was glad of something concrete to do, and something to think about other than the security walk-around, the silly politics . . . and too, the pilot's card she'd have soon enough along with her degree, if the stupid planet didn't close the academy down first.
"Bringo wants to know who is that First Board on Cherpa?"
From the corner of her eye Theo saw finger flicks from yos'Senchul; glanced aside to see the confirming not required, chatter and tucked her affirm, yes into a reaching touch for the close-up of the red-and-blue-lighted swarm that was someone's unpressurized warehouse in orbit. That close-up brought with it fine detail of the thing's local motions: as long as Theo moved the ship along smartly there'd be no problem from that quarter. In a moment or two she'd killed off more of the overspeed and was on a slow drift toward a pattern of green and white lights, with flashing red at the corners. That would be Cherpa's immediate goal.
It didn't matter that she hadn't answered Bringo; in a moment a cascade of replies came at mixed volumes:
"Says here T. Waitley, Provisional Two, out of Anlingdin . . ." That voice, strong, professional, and likely male, from somewhere close; and "Thet'd be a tray-nee fline a awful cutesey line inter Berty Saixteen . . ." which was a lot weaker signal and harder to decipher—both probable gender and probable meaning—and then a "Welcome to Eylot's back pocket, Pilot. If you've lost sumpon it's prolly here and if you hain't lost anythin you darndy well will."
Over it all, crisp, clear, and unconcerned, came Station Ops: "Cherpa, your alignment is good and you've got the choice of manual or automatic clip-on. You're in Berth Sixteen space, we confirm. I suggest manual if you need points or automatic if you're getting hungry. Slot billing has started."
"Thank you on the confirm. I'm on manual in twenty-two ticks."
Cherpa was small and quick to answer the board, but Theo felt like the controls were a bit slow here in close orbit. The feeling grew as the clock ticked down and she made her approach to Berth Sixteen.
"No clip, Pilot," said her second; and she sighed. They'd jostled the bumpers ever so slightly and rather than trying to force things she backed away to try again.
"Thet-away, pert close, pert close," came the chatter and Theo wagged fingers in the direction of volume, heard yos'Senchul's "Yes, Pilot, confirm volume down," as she located her ship within the beacon field and, after a count to ten, tried again.
This time was worse rather than better, worse in that she could see even before the final moment of closing that the alignment was off, high.
"Does the station bounce?"
She looked directly at her second, whose hands were poised over, but not on, the board.
"Very good question," he said carefully. He scanned his instruments, observed her hands well away from the controls and sat back, flexing his new hand. The new hand was why she was Pilot In Command: yos'Senchul had been called to travel while the nerve meld was yet healing, and while his strength and base control were good, he lacked yet the hundred hours of adjustment and training that must be certified for flight.
"It seems to depend on the time of the day as well as location in orbit. Bounce, wiggle, vibrate, shake, shimmy, what you will call it, there is sometimes but not always motion on these loading arms. The locals attribute the problem to ghosts, to not having had enough to drink, or to the result of buying local goods for construction."
"Pharsts!" she muttered, then bit her lip, remembering company, then forgetting it again as she thought about the problem.
Finally, she sighed, motioned her copilot back to the board, promising good insert next. She stretched briefly, and looked back to her own board.
Theo brought the front screen into close-up mode and ratcheted the controls down to their finest levels, permitting the thrust gauge to fluster itself as she moved Cherpa very gently forward, eyes on her readouts.
Yes! There it was: sensors reacting to velocity—and there, the radar showing odd pauses as something, somewhere, flexed a minute amount ahead of them.
The ship's distance was perhaps a hand's breadth and closing, a finger width and closing . . .
Theo reached a hand out to the board and held it there as she watched tight-lipped. The vaguest tingle touched the tip of her finger and she gently tapped a single side jet.
Lights flashed and changed color. Local comm flickered to life, displaying offers for dockside air and power, and . . .
"We lock now," she announced triumphantly.
With that she palm-slapped the proper control, watching another set of lights, feeling the light chunk through the hand on the board.
"Cherpa, we have solid connects all around. Station billing has started. Welcome to Codrescu."
Low in the background someone was cackling, "Bringo, you gottsa pay attention. Owe my lungs a week's air you do! Right there in the records, Waitley, T. done her shuttles twicet and more, and aside that, she sat second on Torvin a couple orbits."
"You and your lists, like you the only one with a database! Anyhow, don't you owe me a week still, anyhow? I got that wrote down somewhere . . ."
Theo looked to yos'Senchul, who gave a wry grin.
"Everything that is not emergency is entertainment for a yard pilot, Pilot. Everything."
yos'Senchul was off to conclude his business, whatever it was. Theo sat with eyes half-closed, having counted hours and duties. She could add those to her skill count immediately, which made her very happy . . . and she thought back over the last few hours, getting them firm in her memory.
When yos'Senchul had offered her the chance to pilot for him, she'd assumed the Star King until he said Codrescu.
"Shall we meet at the field after you change," he'd asked, "and get your cards and—"
Theo shook her head, "I'm fine now, as long as we're not going to fancy dinner or something."
He laughed, "But you have with you—"
"Father didn't tell me a lot about piloting, but he did say that a pilot should always be able to lift immediately."
She patted the pockets of her vest and slacks, "My cards, up to date, here. I have a couple ration bars, I have the emergency transceiver under the lining of the vest, the nearspace chart in flimsy and the updated stick, with the comm freqs for the system, too, the . . ."
"Ah. Then your father was a courier pilot. It can be good to follow a clan's . . ."
She'd flushed.
"I don't know," she admitted.
yos'Senchul had hesitated, as if he'd felt her discomfort, and bowed, gently, maybe meaning to soothe her.
"As the pilot is well prepared, we shall leave on the instant. There will be some introduction to the craft, of course."
The introduction to the craft had been scary in its sketchiness once they got past the security check. They did a manual walk-around first, with yos'Senchul clearly taking it seriously, down to inspecting the still-connected power and comm loops as well as the tie-downs.
Once on board he was as thorough, directing her to follow his lead. Not only did he review the ship's own records and images, which Theo thought was careful enough, but he downloaded the field's view of the ship back to his last exit, certifying that he'd been the last person on board. In all of this he was as businesslike as always, yet less calming than Theo usually found him. He seemed infused with a strange energy, as if he'd been playing bowli ball.
But of the Cherpa, the basics: how to recognize engine failure and abort limits, clarity on the locations of emergency equipment, a reminder of which air controllers she'd need to speak to, then systems check to launch-readiness once, with her call in as Pilot-in-Command, and systems check and security scan again as they lifted.
Theo had been busy enough for the lift and the first overboost; it was not until they'd passed into the "wings don't work here" of the mesosphere that yos'Senchul relaxed. Theo was certain that she'd made him nervous, that she'd missed some important procedure, but when he spoke to her it was as if to a comrade.
"Pilot," he said, "it always cheers me to have more of the atmosphere below me than above; and cheers me more to orbit. I'm told I share this weakness with other pilots, but truth told, some pilots are not like you and I, but are always looking down instead of up or out."
Theo'd been looking down right then, needing to confirm leaving controlled airspace behind, but she'd happily flashed an all agree all agree at him. A few moments later the ship began its slow throttle down, to the comfortable moment when it stopped as orbit was attained.
"This is good," Theo said then. "So far this is my favorite spot in a flight. The spot where weightless is normal."
She checked the boards one more time, recalled herself, and announced, "For the log, we are orbited and crew movement is now unrestricted."
She'd thought that was when the "hard work" of the trip would be over until landing, but yos'Senchul's elegant bow—he stood to deliver it!—and careful demeanor immediately chipped away at that feeling.
"It struck me, Pilot, that perhaps I have overstepped somehow, and that perhaps I will again. Forgive me, if you will, if my mention of your father was off-melant'i on Delgado; I had forgotten that the line of trace there was through Mother lines and not through clan. Yet your father, who did not teach you of hand-talk, nor of Liaden, but did teach of tea and gave excellent advice, did he not speak to you of other Liaden things, or of the news of clan that surely . . ."
Theo shook her head, suddenly missing Father immensely.
"He's never mentioned his clan. He helped me with the math, and convinced Kamele that Anlingdin was likely safe enough. He told me to keep the bowli ball hidden from civilians, to carry what I really needed on me at all times, and to always know where the back door is."
There wa
s a moment of silence and a slow movement of the new hand.
"I see. The advice is good advice, I assure you."
He sat again, suddenly flipping his new hand through a series of hand-signs as if testing it as he watched. Caution Warning Alert Caution Warning Alert Caution Warning Alert Danger.
"In which case, not attached to clan as an offspring of Liad, and having given over the lifeworks of your mothers, there is information you will find useful and necessary, and which I, as a member of the Pilots Guild should share with you."
He looked at her seriously.
"This 'safe enough' you mentioned . . . it is not what I would call Eylot at the moment, though all at Anlingdin are not actively hostile. The display this day, a display of contempt, to bring such a device directly to the DCCT . . . ah . . . an attempt to produce random disruption among those most comfortable with . . . looking up and out. Not a welcome event, however well disguised as a mere prank."
"They were trying to hurt Kara? Or after Yberna?"
The instructor raised his hands. "Without a proper Healer to interpret, who can say? I think there was no single target, Pilot, but the group: who can know when which pilot will take up a bowli ball, eh?"
Theo nodded, but her hands were talking, suddenly echoing alert query, warning query, caution query, danger query.
"Yes," he allowed. "All of that. I can say, Pilot, that Eylot is becoming . . ." He paused, finger-talk describing the motion unstable, "Let us say disbalanced. Not physically, you understand," having seen her rapid glance at the board, "but the politics. Those of the Clans do not expand as rapidly, or as radically, as do some of the elements which desire to celebrate other genes.
"There are small efforts under way to do things which have heretofore been unnecessary. In some areas citizens wish to declare certain languages superior, in others to enact laws regarding access to schooling. And, given the rule of voting here, there are areas where the majority of the residents who may vote are of Terran extraction, and they are being given more opportunity to take advantage."
