by Sharon Lee
It was silent in the common room as the graduation list scrolled across the community screen. They were all seniors in this dorm; and each a deal more solemn than even the suspense of the scrolling list might account for.
At the back of the room, Kara ven’Arith stood alone, and hopefully out of the eye of the dorm’s loyalty monitor. That one had been dogging her steps for the last semester, trying to catch her in a “subversive” act. The monitor had been at great pains to explain Kara’s precarious situation to her—the lack of three black marks was all that stood between Kara and the fate of her very good friend, Expelled Student Waitley.
The monitor had stared at her in what Kara supposed was intended to be a sad-but-stern manner, and which had been so ludicrous that she had been hard-put not to giggle. Worse, the thought of what Theo might say upon hearing her new title of honor was almost enough to send her into whoops.
It being fairly certain that she would earn one, if not two, of those missing black marks immediately for a failure to show proper respect, Kara had bitten the inside of her cheek and bowed her head, striving to give the impression of one too cowed by authority to speak.
The monitor hrummphed.
“You’d do better to sit up and meet my eye,” she had snapped. “Sneaking alien ways won’t improve your record.”
Well, and that had almost brought her to join Theo. Kara had taken a deep breath, and lifted her head deliberately to meet the other woman’s eyes.
“I am not an alien,” she said calmly, in the Eylot dialect of Terran. “My family has held land on this planet for ninety-eight Standards.”
The monitor, whose name was Peline Graf, frowned.
“And you think that makes you Eylotian?” she asked.
It was on the edge of Kara’s tongue to say that she had been born on Eylot—but, after all, that did not make her Eylotian—even her delm taught so. They of Clan Menlark were Liaden, though based upon Eylot.
“You’re nothing but a landed alien,” Monitor Graf added, in a tone that made plain that she found this Eylotian legal reality not in the least amusing.
Kara folded her lips together and held the monitor’s gaze until the other woman waved her hand in abrupt dismissal.
“I’m required to warn students who are in danger of expulsion. This has been your warning, ven’Arith. Watch yourself.”
It had been, Kara had admitted to herself, after a long walk, a long shower, and a long, sleepless night, a fair warning, of its kind, and worth taking to heart. She had so much hanging, as the Terran phrase went, in Balance. Very nearly a Liaden meaning to Balance, there.
Well. She had seen what had happened to Theo, who had committed the dual crimes of not being Eylotian, and excelling beyond those who were. For those crimes, she had been targeted, trapped, and expelled. She, Kara ven’Arith, was the designated instrument of Theo’s will in that matter. As such, she was honor-bound to keep all and any doors open through which Balance might enter.
That—and there was her family to consider. To be expelled so near to the completion of her course and flight-work, even if she could show political malice as the cause? That would scarcely please her mother or her delm. Indeed, it was very likely that she would be roundly scolded for having been so maladroit as to allow her enemies to prevail against her. Clan Menlark had not prospered as pilots and as mechanics on a culturally diverse world known for its effervescent politics because its children were either maladroit or stupid.
All that being so, she had watched herself, and also, with a sort of black humor, watched those who watched her. She held herself aloof from any ties of friendship, that she might not be tainted by another’s error; she studied; she flew; she tutored; she slept; and ate; and attended all and every politically significant rally and workshop offered on campus.
By doing these things, she insured her graduation, pilot’s license in hand, as her mother and her delm expected.
Her mother next expected her to offer herself for hire as a pilot, that being the clan’s main livelihood. There, duty . . . diverged. Kara’s heart had long been with the clan’s secondary business. Even as a child, she had dogged Uncle Bon Sel’s every step in the repair shop, until in self-defense he gave her a wrench and taught her how to use it. Her determination was to continue in that line, now that she had done as her delm and her mother had commanded.
That being so, she filed her app with Howsenda Hugglelans, where she had a good multi-season record as a temp worker, and excellent relations with her supervisors, and with Aito, the Hugglelans’ Third Son. It was not at all unreasonable to think that she might be hired there as a mechanic or a tech, and best to have all her cards in hand before she brought the matter to her mother.
The application had not yet gained a reply, but here—here came the approach to her name on the screen. She straightened, waiting, hardly daring to breathe. What if something had happened? What if someone in Admin had decided to withhold her last grade points? What if she had been given a black mark, despite all her care? What if there was some new reg, put into place secretly, that had to do only with those who weren’t “truly Eylotian”? It had happened before . . .
Her chest was tight. Surely the feed had slowed? But no, that was foolish, and there! Her name!
And next to her name, her standing in the class—low, but she had expected that—and at the end of the line, her license certification . . .
Candidate Second . . .
“Candidate Second?” she gasped, stunned. She had earned a firm second-class license. She had the hours, she had passed the tests, she—
“Something wrong, ven’Arith?” asked Droy Petris, with false concern. Droy Petris watched her, also, though less diligently than the monitor.
She had spoken out loud, Kara thought. Stupid, to let caution go now. Still, there was a recover to hand.
“I was astonished,” she said, truthfully. “I had no idea I’d graduate at such a level.”
He looked at her suspiciously, and Loyalty Monitor Graf was seen to frown, but there wasn’t a regulation forbidding a pilot to express surprise.
She hoped.
The fiveday between the end of class and the senior graduation ceremony was traditionally a festive time, featuring parties, and picnics, dances, and epic games of bowli ball. It was a time when friendships were reaffirmed; when new addresses and mail drop codes were exchanged.
Kara, who deliberately had no friends, dutifully attended the meetings mandated by Admin. As she was a past-champion, she also took part in the bowli ball tournament where she reveled in the play until, in the quarter finals, her lack of current connections made it easy for her to be ganged up on and evicted early from the game.
Not wishing to risk any unpleasantness in the stands, she avoided spectating. Instead, she volunteered to polish one of the long-wing training sailplanes, that it would be a welcome meeting for its next pilot, and thus received the benefit of exercise.
She also took long, solitary walks around campus, carefully avoiding such places as might call unwanted attention to her, such as Belgraid dorm, which had once housed the Culture Club, since “discovered” to be a hotbed of subversive activity, designed to indoctrinate the unwary into the customs and lifestyles of planets that were not Eylot.
She returned to the dorm from one particularly long walk to find herself the sole occupant. That would have been more pleasing if she didn’t suspect that Monitor Graf had planted spy-eyes about, to watch when she could not.
Still, the absence of her dorm-mates did give pleasure. Kara stopped to withdraw a fruit drink from the cold-box, and went to her room, shaking the bulb absently.
She closed the door—senior privilege—and sat down at her desk, bringing the computer live with a light touch, snapping the bulb open while she waited for her mail to download.
Three letters came in-queue. Kara ran her eye down the list as she sipped her drink.
The first letter was from Hugglelans. She opened it, bottom lip caught in her teeth. If she h
ad an offer, or perhaps an invitation to interview . . .
But no.
Dear Applicant.
This letter is to inform you that your application for employment has been received. We regret to inform you that Howsenda Hugglelans is not hiring at this time.
Thank you for your interest, and the best of luck in your search for employment.
Human Resources Form Number 3
Kara stared at this missive for much longer than required to master its contents. Not hiring? she thought. Or not hiring Liadens?
The thought made her angry—and then frightened. If Hugglelans had bowed to the rising tide of politics . . .
She took a breath, filed the form, and looked to the next item in-queue.
It was from the Dean of Students office. Her stomach clenched, and her mouth felt dry, despite the juice. She put the pod down on the edge of her desk, and opened the letter.
TO: Kara ven’Arith, Candidate Pilot Second Class
FROM: Anlingdin Pilot Certification Office
Candidate pilots are required to attend a re-orientation session immediately following graduation. At the conclusion of this session, those qualifying will see the candidate status removed and their license properly registered by the Eylot Pilots Guild.
Please report to Gunter Recreation Area on . . .
Kara squeezed her eyes shut, and mentally reviewed an exercise designed to restore clarity to a pilot’s tired mind. That done, she took six deep, calming breaths before opening her eyes again and re-addressing the letter.
Her hands were cold and she was shaking, just a little, though that was anger, because they had found a way to hold her license hostage still longer! She had earned her second-class license! Earned it! And now, she was being required to complete some other requirement—a requirement, she was certain was in place only for those who were not truly Eylotian! And what chance had she to qualify, to see her license properly recorded at the end of it all?
“Wait,” she told herself, closing her eyes again. “Wait. Think.”
She accessed another mental exercise, this to impose calm; then she did, indeed, think.
She had come this far. She had completed her coursework, gained her second-class license, despite the oppressive oversight that had caused others of her classmates—friends from the Culture Club, and various others who had come from outworlds—to drop out and return home. Kara ven’Arith hadn’t quit. She had been clever, she had kept her head down, she had kept herself informed of the changing requirements, and she had graduated.
She had done what was needed, and she could—she would—do whatever was necessary to clear this new barrier to claiming that which she had earned.
When she opened her eyes this time, her feelings were firmer, though they suffered a ripple when she saw that the re-orientation “session” was indeed a planetary month long.
And Gunter Recreation Area . . . was a wilderness campground, without even an air-breather landing field.
Her stomach clenched again, and she hurriedly closed the letter, marking it for later review, and opened the last file in the queue.
It was a personal note from Flight Instructor Orn Ald yos’Senchul, her academic adviser, inviting her to take tea with him—in an hour.
Kara smiled with real pleasure. Pilot yos’Senchul had been a support and a comfort, subtle as he was. He remained at Anlingdon, so he had told her, in honor of his contract, which the new administration was unexpectedly too canny to cancel out of hand, having perhaps learned a lesson from the Slipper instructor’s dismissal.
But—good gods, the time! Kara leapt to her feet and ran for the shower.
“A tenday tour?” Kara took the paper Pilot yos’Senchul held out to her across the tea-table, and sat somewhat ill-at-ease, cup in one hand, folded printout in the other.
“Please,” her host murmured, “take a moment to familiarize yourself. I thought first of you when I read it, and I am curious to know if you feel the same.”
Immediate need. Codrescu Station, Eylot Nearspace. Student mechanic to tour, inspect, and repair station systems under supervision of Master Mechanic. Long hours. Union rates. Teacher recommendation or references required. First qualified hired.
Kara felt her pulse quicken. It wasn’t a full-time job at Hugglelans, but it was far better than a walk in vacuum without a spacesuit.
She frowned, calculating. The graduation ceremony was in three days—an empty formality since her mother had let her know that circumstances would unfortunately keep her kin from making the trip to Anlingdin.
“I have my ratings and references from my break-work at Hugglelans,” she said, speaking aloud, but more to herself than to Pilot yos’Senchul. “A tenday tour . . .” She frowned at the print-out again. “Immediate need,” she mused, and looked up to find his gaze very attentive on her face.
“If immediate means that I may start within the next two local days,” she said slowly, “I can do the tour and return in good time to attend the re-orientation class.”
“Do you mean to do so?” Pilot yos’Senchul asked.
She looked at him in surprise.
“Well, I must, if ever I want to free my license of that wretched notation of candidate!”
“Yes, of course,” he said, and used his chin to point at the paper she still held. “Do I hear that you are interested in filling that position, assuming that immediately is found to be accommodating?”
“I am, yes.”
“Very good.” He put his cup down and stood, slipping the paper away from her with his natural hand while the fingers of his prosthetic spelled out, rise! quick lift!
Startled, she came to her feet. “Sir?”
“Go quickly and pack. If I may—pack heavy, lest there is a dorm cleaning while you are away. I will meet you at the shuttle in an hour.”
“Sir, but—”
“I had said that I thought first of you. Having done so, I sent the master mechanic my recommendation, forwarding your references from Hugglelans, which were available to me, as your adviser. He replied that he would have you, if you were interested. We have established that you are interested. And I should tell you that immediately in this instance means, according to Master Thelly, three days or a week ago.”
“But, I—”
“You may send an introduction from the shuttle,” he interrupted. “Or perhaps you’ve changed your mind, and that is why you stand here when your ship needs you?”
“No, sir!” She cried, and bowed—respect to an instructor.
Then, she ran.
Kara’s personal effects, with those things that Theo had entrusted to her, were in the shuttle’s modest holding area. She was in the pilot’s chair, Pilot yos’Senchul sitting second. Once they had broken orbit, she had ’beamed a message to Master Mechanic Thelly, introducing herself and informing him that she was on her way to take up duty.
She was doing the set-up for Codrescu approach when the master’s reply arrived, telling her to find him in Sub-sector Blue Eleven’s machine room after she’d been cleared through.
“I’m going to have to hit the deck running,” she commented, not unpleased by the prospect of getting right to work.
“Union rates,” her copilot murmured. “Be certain to keep track of your hours; Master Thelly is quite capable of working three shifts in four, and he expects his assistants to do as much.”
She shot a glance at him, but only saw the side of his face, calm as it usually was, his eyes on his screens.
“That sounds like the voice of experience,” she said. “Did you ’prentice with Master Thelly, Pilot?”
“In fact, I did, some few years ago. He was at first . . . doubtful . . . regarding the utility to himself of a one-armed assistant. I was able to put those doubts to rest, and learned a good deal in Balance.” He glanced at her.
“You will find the master a thorough teacher.”
“Good,” said Kara.
The board pinged for her attention, then, and she ga
ve it.
“This way, Pilot,” yos’Senchul said, waving her into a dim side passage that was definitely not the route to the Station Master’s office.
“Master Thelly . . .” she began.
“Master Thelly will still have work for you in half an hour,” he said.
Kara sighed and followed him, the peculiar taste of station air on her tongue. She had been to Codrescu Station a dozen times or more, and thought she knew its maze of corridors pretty well. This hall, so thin that she and Pilot yos’Senchul—both comfortably Liaden-sized—needed to proceed in single-file, wasn’t at all familiar. It was a utility hall, she thought, noting the access panels set high and low. Well, perhaps it would soon become familiar.
Ahead, their hall ended in another—and this one Kara did recall.
“The Guild Office?” she asked.
“Indeed,” he answered. Before them was the door, and a guard beside it, sidearm holstered.
“Yos’Senchul and ven’Arith, to see the Guild Master,” her companion said. “We are, I think, expected.”
“You’re on the list, Pilots,” the guard confirmed, opening the door for them. “Straight ahead.”
Guild Master Peltzer ran her card, made a noise strongly reminiscent of a snort, and nodded in her direction.
“Be a couple minutes to review your files, Pilot. You wanna make yourself comfortable here? I got a feeling Pilot yos’Senchul wants to have a private word with me. Is that right, Orn Ald?”
Pilot yos’Senchul inclined his head gravely. “You know me too well.”
“Just about well enough, I’m thinking. Step into my office. Pilot, please, take some rest.”
The two men stepped in to the Guild Master’s inner office and the door closed. Kara, too energized to sit, or to be comfortable, walked quietly to the small green garden across from the intake desk, its tall fronds waving in the breeze from an air duct. An agreeable gurgle of running water came from somewhere in the depths of the tiny jungle.
