Saltation

by Sharon Lee

  The buzz turned toward her then: ten, maybe a dozen, and the accusatory, "She's one of them!"

  Theo started moving, toward DCCT, the dance informing her steps and energy firming her plans.

  Two burly students wearing air masks and strike fatigues blocked her path, yelling, "Outsider, outsider, outsider!"

  She tried to to duck around them but the crowd behind was thick. The two burly guys lunged; she caught scent of vya as she dodged again. Then there were fists and feet and she responded as best she could.

  "There were too many."

  Theo was battered, bruised, and tired; she ached everywhere. Her eyes were closed and the touch of hands near her lashes made her eyelids flutter.

  "Yes, there were," said a soft and familiar voice. "Far too many. In fact, they got in their own way. Thank you for not killing anyone."

  "I was just out for a walk. I—"

  "Yes, I know. I was medico for the interrogation. You were quite clear."

  "I didn't really hurt anyone, then? I can't see how I could have . . ."

  "You did. You hurt several people quite professionally. I salute you."

  Theo closed her eyes, realized she'd actually had them open a moment, and recognized that she was talking to the med tech. Healer el'Kemin.

  "This keeps happening," she said.

  "Yes. It seems that it does."

  She came back to that other point, the professional thing he'd mentioned.

  "Hurt them bad?"

  "You are among the most proficient undergraduates I have had the honor to meet here. Had they come at you in less than waves of six or eight I suspect you could have stood your ground. The security cams will tell part of the story, I'm sure. Certainly they will bear out the fact that you did not charge the crowd to start the riot."

  "I can't tell. I'm not sure I remember entirely . . ."

  "You will; if you are permitted to see me in the next seven days—and if you have comfort issues about sleeping, do you see me. For the moment the drugs they gave you for questioning have addled you a bit. Be still a moment. Do you feel this?"

  "Questioning. Am I under arrest? Riot?"

  "Please answer the question."

  "Yes, I feel it. That's where my cut is. Or was. That's not cut, too?"

  "It is not. I am calibrating your responses."

  She tried to say pffft or something similar, but it came out more like a sigh.

  "How are my responses, then? What about my riot? Am I under arrest, really?"

  Somehow the idea of having her own riot, of being her own riot, was both energizing and ridiculous. She giggled. It must be the drugs. . . .

  "Pilot Waitley, you are under security guard for your own benefit. There was a riot. You were at the center of it. I don't doubt the scorecard will make the rounds; three broken arms, several broken noses, multiple concussions. And that is just among those who admit to being there."

  "I'm going to be thrown out as a danger to the school!"

  "Pilot, please."

  She looked up, saw his face serious rather than bland and medical.

  "The school, indeed the planet, will take the wrong lesson," he said softly. "Yes, I fear you have it."

  She closed here eyes again, realized she was carrying threads of thought at different levels. "Why were they wearing vya? Will it take seven days for me to stop hurting?"

  He laughed, which surprised her, and she opened her eyes.

  "Permission, lady, to answer briefly."

  She nodded.

  "Vya is sometimes used medically, and sometimes as an overstimulant to create concentration or passion. Those of the broken noses were drunk on vya and other such stimulants and were therefore both unconquerable and heedless of danger. As for the seven days, the coming changes have become clear to me and I am among the first to have issued my resignation letter to the academy."

  Thirty

  Administrative Hearing Room One

  Anlingdin Piloting Academy

  "My ID is authentic!"

  Theo schooled herself to calmness, thinking the dance moves rather than dancing them, remembering that she didn't need to always be ready to fight, feeling the aches that meant she'd just been in a fight.

  The Anlingdin student ID wasn't the problem; that checked out. That she'd need to show any ID to get into her own hearing, accompanied by a well-known staff member, was on the far side of enough, already. But the demand had clearly been for "All academic and professional ID, please," and that had surely meant her Guild card, which she'd trumped with the Hugglelans Rotating Staff ID card. That card, too, had been accepted at face value, but the Guild card was another matter.

  The guard in the unfamiliar uniform scanned the unmarred ID again, shaking his head.

  "It does appear authentic. But it wasn't issued on Eylot, by the registry office here. It didn't go to the planet registry for approval. This one was processed elsewhere, so it didn't have local approval, and it's so recent that—"

  "For approval?" It had taken her a moment to catch that. Theo fought hard to keep her face and eyes turned away from Veradantha, still standing silent beside her. "Local approval? The Pilots Guild is galactic."

  Theo saw the guard lose concentration as he looked elsewhere for guidance and finally found it in a man in a business suit who lounged nearby. He moved forward, speaking firmly, to Theo and Verandatha as much as the guard.

  "Yes, that has been the process here; any pilot with credentials and training might go to the local Guild office and join. Of late, however, an additional step has been added for those not from Eylot—they must meet piloting standards, of course, but they also must first have a job offer or a job and to get that they must be—"

  The guard pointed to Theo's left hand, where the card bearing the crest of Howsenda Hugglelans was clenched firmly against her Anlingdin Academy credentials.

  "Guide, the pilot does carry other, appropriate, ID."

  The man in the suit nodded.

  "You were correct in scanning her credentials, and correct that they are somewhat—out of the ordinary—for a student here. We shall make a note of that. As we should not start proceedings without her, you will admit her." He glanced at Veradantha, not politely.

  "You will not be needed, counselor. Please return to your area."

  The hearing hadn't taken long. In fact, Theo wondered why it had been called a "hearing" at all, since nobody had listened to her.

  She walked—no! She strode. An eager calm infused her, dance was her being. The world went on all around her, voices and sounds, and as in a half-watched but well-known play. The theme of this play was an old one: Theo Waitley, threat and menace.

  This episode was perhaps better scripted than the play as seen in her early days, when it was her hapless clumsiness that was cited. Now it was her pure potency that mattered—Theo Waitley, trained in unarmed combat, Theo Waitley, with a history of at least four violent incidents since she'd arrived on campus . . .

  Four? There was her riot, of course, and then the incident of the stolen flight hours. But . . .

  Somehow, for the purposes of this exercise, her infamous sailplane flight was linked to the general unrest being brought under control throughout the continent by the new policy rectifying the disadvantage and self-disadvantage Eylot had been laboring under. Then there was the recent incident, also linked to general unrest, in which a senior faculty member had intervened.

  And now, of course, it was well known that this person with a history of violence was carrying a gun. True, as a pilot she might be permitted a gun, and clearly, she'd had the gun with her during the riot. That she hadn't brought it out and wounded dozens was considered by the panel to be a matter of oversight.

  Commander Ronagy had not been absent at the hearing; nor had there been anyone Theo knew in the room. Evidence was read by the man in the suit—the Guide—and no discussion was allowed. She sat in her chair while the Guide spoke, telling the room that in times of unrest it was necessary and purposef
ul to regard the precincts of academia as central to the future of the planet, and in particular, the precincts of any place producing pilots, who are the core of commerce. Acknowledging the speeches by the Guiding Council as authorizing immediate action by Guides in place . . .

  "This hearing is to announce and confirm the decision of the Guides of Purpose on the immediate suspension of academic privilege, residence, and attendance of Theo Waitley at Anlingdin Academy, on the grounds of a history of her continued association with violent activity. Given the state of unrest facing Eylot we must act to make and keep Anlingdin an orderly institution and cannot countenance the existence of an ongoing nexus of violence. This suspension is to remain in force until the student can demonstrate two years of clean, nonviolent civil behavior records, after which reinstatement to the start of the equivalent semester may be considered upon proper application through recognized channels, assuming the state of unrest and threat is resolved. Failure to leave the premises on time or in good order will be considered a violent breach of the peace."

  After that, they'd read the incidents, explained that in uncertain times order was necessary, and . . .

  Dance. Thoughts of bowli ball, and a vague understanding that she'd really be needing a place to sleep. Tonight. She wondered if there was some kind of a rebound from the interrogation drugs that made her feel like this.

  She'd been distracted several times during the proceedings, wondering who the Guides would report this to. Certainly they should report it to Captain Cho, who had seen her enrolled—so she would need to be informed, and of course Win Ton, once she was settled, somewhere. She would have to tell Kamele—and that was something Theo wasn't looking forward to. Father had worked so hard to bring Kamele around and—Father. She couldn't start to imagine what Father would say.

  But there, that was later. Father would be fine; Kamele would—she would make Kamele understand. Just like the times with her mentor and the silly problems on Delgado. She'd get through this.

  She would.

  For now, she walked, with a single goal: get out. There was a shuttle flight in an hour; the Guides having preempted the first two jitneys to show up after the hearing.

  Before her, there were footsteps. A lot of footsteps, being not at all quiet, and now, voices.

  "There she is!"

  She turned, calmly, ready, feeling the weight in her pocket as well as the energy in her arms, anticipating that the first move would be—

  "Kara!"

  As calm as she'd been about facing potential hostiles, she was unnerved to find a half-dozen members of DCCT.

  "You're all going to get in trouble!"

  "We're all in trouble already," Kara said, grimly, "every one of us in DCCT. They've tagged us with association with recent violent activity, and with association with a known nexus of violence."

  They were walking rapidly, away from the hearing room and in the direction of the space field and dorms.

  "Nexus of—"

  Theo's temper flared.

  "Someone brings a riot to DCCT and it's your fault? And I'm the nexus? I am the nexus?"

  She stopped suddenly, eyes closed, the pause so rapid that several of the DCCT members jostled her.

  "What are you doing, Theo? Are you going to be able to walk or should we call a cab?"

  Kara was right next to her, looking intensely into her face, eyes grim when Theo opened her own.

  "I was remembering names, Kara. Faces and names. I swear I will not forget this!"

  Kara bowed, very formally.

  "Yes, we have the names as well. The whole thing was live on the admin channel, you know!"

  "Double," Theo said. "Double! I have their faces. They think I'm going to want to come back to this—"

  "That is much Balance, Theo. Do not take on—"

  Overhead a rotary wing was sweeping by, search beam bright.

  "There, they said they were going to start security sweeps on groups of three or more."

  That was Bova, echoed a heartbeat later by Freck.

  Theo spun—"I'll be able to do this, just go. Don't get into more trouble on my—"

  Kara turned as well, hands moving purposefully: Split return careful I cover and report.

  A flutter of assents, and the two of them strode on alone, the sound of the rotary thrumming in the distance. When they reached the path leading toward the field Theo veered in that direction, while Kara strode on toward the dorms until realizing with a start that Theo's path had diverged.

  "Theo," she half whispered after catching up at a run, "where are you going?"

  "I've got to be out of here, so the field . . ."

  "But your things! In the dorm!" Kara's hands enumerated shirts jackets bags jewelry letters.

  Theo stood quiet, considering, did a quick pat of her person, felt the wings on her collar, made sure the necklace was around her neck, checked on pockets, marked the gun's still unusual presence.

  "I'm set. I have most of what I need on me."

  Kara uncharacteristically stamped her foot.

  "And you are going to give them your belongings!"

  Theo swallowed against a sudden urge to tears, and shook her head.

  "Hug me," she said, "and then go get the stuff. Keep it, dispose of it as you will, start a legal fund, anything!" Theo thought for a moment, recalling the signs Kara had made, shirts jackets bags jewelry letters.

  Letters.

  "Wait, there is something else! Letters, Kara—two letters from Win Ton yo'Vala. Send them to me care of the Pilots Guild at Codrescu. They'll hold them for me. Do that, and all will be well for me. The rest, do as you see fit!"

  Kara froze a moment, and then bowed, very deeply and with flourishes.

  "If you are certain, Theo Waitley, I will do this. I will be the instrument of your will."

  Theo felt her smile fade, heard the sounds of the night include the shuttle's tow machine.

  "Yes, Kara. I'm sure. I give you my key, and my word."

  They hugged quickly, and Kara made her repeat the statement into her comm, so she had Theo's word, and tucked the key away. She hugged Theo again, then bowed one more time.

  "Pilot, good lift!"

  Theo nodded. "And to you," she said, "safe landing."

  THIRD LEAP

  Thirty-One

  Hugglelans Planetary

  Conglomeration of Portcalay

  Eylot

  Theo slept on the shuttle, content for once to have someone else do the piloting; waking groggily at touchdown. Eyes closed, she listened to the sounds of her fellow travelers—ten or twelve students including three part-timers she knew from the repair bays who had taken seats together at the front, willfully ignoring her, never once overtly looking at the single passenger in the last row in the rear. The ship also carried a double training crew of her classmates. Asu could be among them for all she knew, but Asu was not among those who inspected the interior of the craft before liftoff, nor was she among those departing the craft ahead of her on landing.

  The angry energy that had seen her through her hearing and its immediate aftermath had deserted her entirely; and she considered simply going back to sleep. But no, that wouldn't do, would it? The shuttle would be returning to the academy and she was banned from the grounds. Eyes still closed, she fingered the chair's controls, sighing as it folded out of its recline.

  C'mon, Theo, stand up. You've got work to do. Another sigh and she opened her eyes, saw the commanding shuttle pilot doing his end-of-flight stretch as he walked the ship.

  "Time to move out, Pilot," he said mildly.

  "Right." That sounded a little surly in her own ears, so she added, "Thanks," as she levered out of the chair, and moved down the aisle.

  At the door she paused and looked back at him, surprising a look of sympathy on his face.

  "Good lift," she said then, feeling like she owed him something for his concern.

  "Safe landing," he answered quietly, as she dropped to the tarmac, waking the protest
of six dozen bruises.

  It wasn't a long walk to the office, but she was limping when she reached the door. There was a light on, of course; Hugglelans never closed. She set her hand against the door and pushed.

  Aito glanced up from the console. He didn't look surprised to see her, even though she wasn't scheduled. On the other hand, he didn't look particularly pleased to see her, and Theo paused with her hand out, holding the door open.

  "Should I go?" she asked him. "I don't want trouble."

  He blinked, his professional smile snapping into place.

  "Of course you don't want trouble," he said smoothly, gesturing her to come 'round the counter to the second chair. "You want a cup of tea and something to eat—and possibly an analgesic. I'll have a tray brought down from the kitchen. In the meantime, come and sit down, and tell me everything."

  Splendid! she heard Father exclaim inside her head. You must tell me everything! She felt tears and a laugh rise together, coalescing in a sound something like a sneeze.

  Aito raised his eyebrows.

  "I'm sorry," she gasped, shaking her head. "It's just—you sounded so much like my father!"

  He actually looked horrified. "That won't do at all," he managed, reaching out to flick a toggle on his board. "Come and sit down, Theo, before you fall down."

  She did as she was told, settling into the old wooden chair with its short left leg. Tonight, the rocking motion was soothing and commonplace, when it was usually annoying. So she rocked, gently, and listened to Aito while he ordered food, and then called the restaurant main board, and arranged to shunt his console's business there.

  "Until I take it back," he said, sharply, apparently in answer to how long this inconvenience was to go on.

  Her fingers were twitching. Carefully, she folded them together on her knee. Aito hardly ever used the sharp side of his tongue; he must, she thought, be tired tonight.

  "You may file a complaint with Father tomorrow if you—" He paused, maybe for an interruption, then continued with a full load of irony. "Yes. I thank you for your condescension, Seventh Daughter."