Saltation

by Sharon Lee

  He looked at her carefully.

  "You will note that in the past there may have been efforts by certain members of let us say, 'the other camp' to arrange things for their own benefit. It is what groups do. But, the focus of late has been on commerce, and on controlling commerce. And to control commerce . . ."

  ". . . you try to control pilots and ships," Theo finished the sentence, recalling the flaming debris of a small jet falling down a mountainside. "Will they stop—the guys with the bowli ball? I mean they're in such trouble!"

  The instructor exhaled slowly.

  "Yes, those two will likely stop. If the academy isn't able to remove them, surely their keepers will assure that they lie quiet, for a while. The major goal is to take control of pilots on planet, to require planetary registrations, to, in fact, require that all student slots at the academy go first to citizens of Eylot, and then to 'approved' groups."

  Theo stared, considering Wilsmyth and his connections, and—

  "This will take some time to happen, if it does happen. There will need to be votes, there will need to be legislation . . ." yos'Senchul paused as Theo took in the board for a moment. When she turned back, he signed, two-handed and elegant: objects moving keep moving.

  "But it will happen, you're sure?" Theo leaned into the control chair, considering her own future.

  "Soon. Soon enough that I have agreed to have the nerve implants made so that I will, if needed, be able to work as a yard pilot or such; since among the suggestions made is that Anlingdin should, of course, be staffed first with the best the planet itself can offer, and only then . . ."

  Theo caught her breath.

  "They'd rip the school apart!"

  True course, he signed, attempting a simultaneous Terran shrug.

  "The timetable is not perfect, and indeed, there are those who say the effort will fall short for years, and never succeed."

  He was silent for a moment, and went on.

  "I have told you before not to trust Liadens simply because they are Liadens. The same is true of those in DCCT, and those of Terra, and . . . in all cases, a pilot must—as your father suggested to you—have a contingency plan. I suggest, as an instructor who wishes to see an exceptional student prosper, and as a pilot who has an interest in knowing that there are worthy pilots in the skies, that you join the Pilots Guild. You have achieved third class, and there is a truth that time-as-member comes into play if time-in-grade is similar. Guild supports Guild, as best can."

  The ship chirped, indicating the orbital approach was nearing.

  "Pilot to pilot I say: have your contingency plan in place. Do not dawdle documenting any skill you may rightly claim."

  Cherpa had really needed herding, then, and Theo had returned to the task at hand.

  Twenty-Six

  Codrescu Station

  Eylot Nearspace

  The so-called front hall of Codrescu Center was about the size of the few back halls Theo'd seen on the Vashtara and the back halls were wonders to behold, with crew signs in Terran, Trade, Liaden, and at least one she was unsure of as well as handholds and rungs on all the walls. There was gravity, but it was very light and somewhat spotty, with some quirkiness, perhaps because the halls actually had humps and ridges as well as numerous access ports. In fact, as she thought about it, she realized that the hall, or the deck, or the whole of the establishment, was subject to exactly the kind of tiny twitches the docking ring exhibited.

  What she'd not expected were the sounds. Codrescu was smaller than Delgado Station, and the ports she'd been in traveling on Vashtara, but the sounds were more frequent, and less differentiated. From class and from her travels she could tell the warning sounds of ship counts, and it sounded like there were three different counts within hearing, and then the beep-beep-beep of a door-lock warning echoed from somewhere and she passed several busy people with voices seemingly speaking numbers to thin air and getting replies from their shoulders.

  She, at least, carried no live radio, and the background speaker news for ship folks that "Thurstan, green, thirty-seven, five green go. Blueboy, fifteen five five five, hold. Drosselmare, line seven forty-four, clear thirty-two, straight count," meant little to her other than connectors were connected, arrivals and departures were happening and would happen . . . but then this wasn't her community.

  There were access ports on the walls, too, some raised, and airlocks in what seemed to be the oddest places. There were lots of doors, some numbered, some lettered, some anonymous, some color-coded, and even guards—live people—on duty outside some of them, which was surprising, on a space station, where people were surely expensive.

  One bright blue door—no numbers, and the only one of that color she'd seen—had two guards flanking it, one with her hand on a holstered weapon. Of course, that was the door Theo needed to go through to pick up the Pilots Guild application in person.

  yos'Senchul had been clear on this: she was to go herself, with all her ID, just to pick up the application.

  "Given the mood on Eylot, applications are traveling by trusted hand and are kept in trusted hands, Pilot; you may carry with you my letter of reference, which is already on file, since I have this day proposed you for membership, also in person."

  "Does this mean that untrustworthy people have been applying for Guild membership?"

  He'd paused, looking down as if examining his new hand. She realized that he may well have been examining his hand—it was new, after all.

  "It means, Pilot," he said slowly, "that the usual rules apply. We spoke of this earlier: don't trust anyone just because they appear to belong to a particular group. Have a contingency plan. Know as many back ways as you can to your ship and to another ship you can call on if there is need. Don't tell anyone about all of your weapons, nor all of your plans. I might go on at length, but they expect you at the Guild office shortly.

  "You will want this token; have it in hand at the door, this glowing side up or forward." yos'Senchul pulled something from inside his jacket.

  This "token" was a stubby rod with a handgrip, barely longer than her palm, looking for all the world like the top of a hand-stick for an aircraft; yos'Senchul tapped it several times on the instrument panel and handed it to her hilt first.

  She took it, and weighed it, finding it heavier than she'd expected. She might be able to use it to clunk someone on the head with it if she needed to—and wasn't that an antisocial thought! It immediately felt molded to her hand, with the supposed top glowing a dim green.

  "Here's a map; as I say, they're expecting you, and the token."

  He began to bow—stopping as Theo danced a kink out of her shoulder, and abruptly asked:

  "How do I know the people there are who you say they are? Can I carry a key to the Cherpa with me? Will the Cherpa be here when I leave the office? Will they check me for weapons?"

  He smiled, bowed fully this time, and held a key set out to her.

  "Please, check that the hatch answers this key on the way out. I expect you will not be overlong, and as your copilot I will do everything in my power to have the Cherpa here and operable when you return. If it is not, I suggest that you yell for Bringo, who is boss of yard dogs this quarter moon. As to your other questions, the place I send you to is the most secure on Codrescu as far as I know. If they'll do a weapons check depends on how they view the threat level, both of yourself and of the universe."

  The air pressure on Codrescu was space normal, which meant low but with a little more oxygen than she was used to on Eylot. The extra oxygen was a good thing, Theo thought, since her walk, even with the map, was more stressful than she had expected, especially when she'd turned the last corner and found the guards, one looking eager for an excuse to use her sparker.

  Theo'd been using the token as if it was a piloting stick, holding it in front of her and zoommming down straight, banking into turns. She hadn't realized that the Guild office was quite so close to that last kink in the corridor.

  The guar
d with the gun glanced at Theo's hands even before Theo could recover a properly serious aspect; and with that glance removed her hand from the weapon and nodded, perhaps toward the token, which now was clearly emitting a green glow.

  "Pilot, first time in?"

  "Yes, Pilot," Theo replied serenely as she glided to a stop in front of the door, "my first time to the Guild. I'm told I am expected; I'm Theo Waitley."

  * * *

  The guy at the front desk, like the guards outside, was a pilot. She hadn't noticed him at first, since she was overwhelmed by the sheer and unexpected luxuriousness of the room. It wasn't a big room, but the walls were paneled in what appeared to be wild-grown wood, and part of the floor was covered with carpets that made her own fine rug at home look shabby. There was artwork on the wall—like the wood, things that looked like they were real—intentional art and not simply office art meant to soothe or set a mood.

  One wall display might be showing text of the messages she'd been hearing by speaker, but this place was quiet, overgrown and—a nice change from the stark halls.

  The part of the floor that wasn't carpeted was covered in green plants, some showing flowers, some not. The room was filled with scents she associated with being outside, and something smelled like grass or bushes she might find at Leafydale Place. A small, carefully encased rock-lined waterfall with a tiny open pool with its own arm-thick mini-tree occupied that end of the room, and oh! A norbear!

  The norbear was sitting quietly on a mat of vegetation beside the pool, gently chewing a long green plant with a bulb at the end. She looked shyly up at Theo and made a sort of chuckling noise, its thick brown-and-orange fur almost matching the rocks of the waterfall.

  "Hello," Theo told the norbear, and the guy at the desk said, "Hello, Pilot, how may we assist you?"

  She laughed, hand-flashing see you Pilot, and then said, "Excuse me, I—oh there's someone else! But I'm Theo Waitley. Here to apply . . ."

  Tucked behind the tree in a very hard-to-see nest was a nearly colorless norbear, with wizened visage and slitted sleepy eyes. The color of her eyebrows—there was a touch of rust there, and the skin of her face showed clearly through the facial fur, as if the creature was so old it was—like Veradantha!

  The old one stretched, slowly and thoroughly, as if it needed to recall exactly how it was done. Theo heard a low sound, more of a rasp than a burble, and the old norbear stood. She was skinny almost to the point of emaciation. Theo saw that this was no "hothouse norbear" as Win Ton had called the silky creatures on Vashtara, but someone who was looking at her as much as she was looking at him.

  "Hevelin!" said the pilot behind the counter. "Hardly anybody sees him in there, and he hardly ever says anything. The hungry one's Podesta, Hevelin's great-granddaughter." He grinned and gave Theo a nod. "Please, sit where you will, and be comfortable."

  "Here?" she asked, impulsively pointing to the matted plant beside the burbling water.

  He shrugged, finger-spoke seat is seat, then laughed.

  "But first I need your token and your cards, if you're here to apply. In fact, we ought to have enough to finish the application right now, if you like. Give me those, please, else if the old guy gets to talking to you, you may fall asleep waiting for his next sentence!"

  Theo rapidly discovered that the "old guy" did have a lot to say, or maybe a lot of questions to ask. Unlike the Vashtara norbears, who were smaller and much less seemly, Hevelin was dignified in his movements, and grasped rather than grabbed as he adjusted himself on Theo's lap. The resonance in her head was calm and thoughtful, more like Father's cat, Mandrin, than young Coyster, and sincerely inquisitive, as if everything was not only interesting, but meant something.

  Puzzlement reached her; and she found herself closely recalling the norbears she'd met and seen; especially Threesome, the white and spotted one from Vashtara who apparently never went alone to a visitor, but always shared. There was something more going on that she couldn't identify, as if she was seeing older, larger norbears than she'd seen before, like Hevelin was asking her for a catalog of friends they might both have met—except coming up disappointed that she'd never met anyone he'd known. . . .

  But there was another catalog going on; even as her records were going to and fro in electronic pathways and being compared and cross-indexed by the Guild, Hevelin was seeking other acquaintances. She thought of yos'Senchul lecturing her, and felt as if there were an assent, and of Kara, who was not known as a game player but appreciated, and Win Ton, quite warmly, who was not known but gave off echoes of joy and something else, and then, since she was thinking Liadens at him, she thought of Father, carrying his cane and—

  The norbear grabbed her hand and held it, and when she looked into those eyes she saw not Father, but a man who might have been Father, as if seen in a haze. Father with no sign of greying, spirited black hair in a tail falling over one shoulder. Father with a glow around him, and another face—female—sharing his space, peering down with amused green eyes, and more faces in the background. There was question in that, and she agreed that yes, Father may have been that person, there, moving lightly as a young pilot. The woman—she wasn't sure, not knowing all of Father's friends, after all.

  There was more then: lots more norbears, and something that might have been a cat as seen through norbear understanding. More human faces—none familiar to her, and the sense of eager inquisitiveness fading into a ripple of raspy burbles . . .

  "Pilot Waitley?"

  The desk-pilot had already called her a couple times, the first to ask for a date check, the next to verify next of kin, Terran-style, not Delgado-style, and then in the midst of her dreamy listening to the norbear, to ask if she had plans for dinner. She'd managed to wake up enough to decline that, pointing out that she was on assignment, and got a slow finger-flash of work, work, work and a see you next trip alongside of, "I know the best bars and restaurants on Codrescu, Pilot. Just ask for Arndy Slayn."

  She hadn't promised, but she hadn't outright rejected him, either, remembering that it was good for pilots to know people.

  "Pilot Waitley, I think we're set."

  The desk-pilot motioned her to come forward.

  "The token gave us the palm print and fingerprints and some backup on the other ID readings, and of course we have yos'Senchul's vouchers and letters along with several other letters of support that have drifted in over the last few months waiting your application. Since you brought the token direct, and Hevelin passes you, I can give you your base Guild card, assuming you'll okay your dues payments."

  Dues payments meant signatures and more ID verification, and after she managed to free her lap from Hevelin she had to extricate herself from the sudden attention of Podesta, who wanted to cling to her leg as she looked over the forms and explanations and signed away three percent of her base pay for the rest of her life.

  With the signature came a card; an imbedded chip identifying her as a Guild member in good standing, certifying her record to date, and a code that he assured her was to a mailbox here on station—one good as long as she was a member, and any Guild office could forward to it or retrieve from it—and a key that would let her check available berths in almost any port in the known universe. Just showing her card ought to get her into the Guild Hall proper, which on Codrescu was down the other arm, since the Guild had some bunkrooms and a rec space there. There was also a slip guaranteeing her bail if she—

  Theo laughed. "Guaranteeing my bail? Am I dangerous?"

  He smiled. "Compared to most dirt-siders, you're dangerous. All pilots are. Not only that, you'll be a target sometimes, because some places think prices are high because pilots make so much money."

  He laughed—he had a good laugh, Theo thought. "I've been a Guild member for seven years and they've never had to throw my bail. But knowing they will, that's good. Knowing they'll garnish my wages and come after me if I skip bail, that helps me stay honest."

  He gave her a grin and a nod.

 
; "You're good to go! Good lift!"

  "Safe landing!"

  She bent to unwrap Podesta again, bowed solemnly to Hevelin, who sat in his nest, watching her alertly, waved once more to Arndy Slayn, and left, a Guild member in good standing.

  Among the info she had collected with her card was a complete map of Codrescu, which was both bigger and more complex than she'd realized. Arndy Slayn had pointed out several places as having decent launch food—that meant they specialized in not serving stimulants and sedatives along with their meals—in case she wanted to take something back to her ship.

  A quick study of the map showed her a more straightforward route back to Berth Sixteen, and soon she was walking past shops displaying prices almost as bad as they were on Vashtara, and a couple of noisy bars. A small shop had maize buttons on offer, and she had to grab a dozen of those. Nibbling, she walked on, passing another noisy place, this one featuring music and dancing and other frivolities.

  Behind the racket was the constant station talk, now letting her know that "Thurstan, eight clear clear green, Drosselmare four, clear clear yellow . . ." and more stuff she didn't need to know.

  Cherpa's berth was down this way, the map illustrating a series of T-intersections as well as the semicircular way she'd gone to the office. There were north-south T's and east-west T's, each T offering berths at the ends of the T-arm. Cherpa was on the second east-west.

  She sealed the rest of the maize buttons into their bag and turned into the first T-section, walking more briskly now, but still feeling mellow, which was probably Hevelin's influence.

  From behind came the clattering of several people in a hurry. Theo glanced over her shoulder, seeing two uniformed men carrying gear and food. A two-minute gong sounded, and underneath it all she heard one man scolding the other:

  "No girls for a billion miles where we're going and you gotta freak off the only one that even looked at us. We gonna be . . . look!"