Saltation (10 page)

Nobody, that was, until Master Pilot ven'Tura had dared not only to log, but to share with all pilots—even Terrans, which was considered antisocial in his culture—the information that he and his clan had gathered over dozens of years.

Eventually, Master ven'Tura had become the clearing house and editor for the monumental and necessary task, and his Tables became rote companion to thousands of pilots over generations.

Then, over time, the loss of pilots and ships trended upward again. Most assumed it was because there were more ships and more pilots, less training, and . . . all kinds of things. It had taken someone with keen insight to see that there were tiny and fundamental flaws in the way the ven'Tura Tables were being applied, in the way they were being read by modern equipment . . . 

And so, the Tables had been revised. Recently, within the lifetime of pilots still flying. Again, they were making a difference. Had already made a difference. The number of ships lost was down again, in a statistically meaningful way. The person who had done the revision had been a Scholar Caylon, also a Liaden, though not, it seemed, a pilot.

Theo flicked a footnote to access the next level of information.

Well. It seemed that Scholar Caylon was
Pilot-Scholar
Caylon, though she had come to piloting late, and after her revised Tables had been adopted by pilotkind. She'd been a statistician of a sort, an expert in Sub-rational Mathematics. The text noted that her later work was . . . esoteric—notably a lengthy proof for pseudorandom tridimensional subspaces that, while illuminating her genuis, was of little practical use to working pilots.

The text also noted that her scholarly output had lessened after her affiliation with Clan Korval—

Theo blinked; shook her head.

"Spend your whole life thinking something's made-up and then it starts showing up everywhere," she muttered, and tapped the screen again, calling back the problem she'd set up to help her think.

Trouble was, it wasn't particularly helping her think. She glared at the screen, looked down at the work in hand, and shook her head again.

She pressed the process button, importing the familiar "standard cluster" that the class, indeed, the whole school seemed to depend on for training, into the second set of assumptions. How concrete were the numbers when applied to a tiny, sanitary, best-case situation?

But there, the work in her hands was concrete, while space, which the numbers were trying to describe . . . 

A noise sounded in the hall, a thump—she shook her head. The kids—she felt like she could call them that even though some were several years older than her—the local kids had been all revved up over a sporting event; charging around the building cheering since early morning, though the game didn't start 'til afternoon. Even Asu had gone out to view the victory, leis woven in layers around her neck.

The noise repeated, and resolved: someone was at her door. Theo sighed, locked the screen, and gathered her lace into one hand.

The click came before she was on her feet, and a tired-looking Chelly smiled up at her as he lifted several large bags into the entry, where they thunked solidly on the floor.

"Chelly, they let you come back!"

She felt her face warm slightly—it sounded like she was pleased to see him, after all . . . 

"Treat to see you, too, First Bunk!"

"Well, I am," she insisted, because it was true, after all, "glad to see you."

He laughed and shook his head. "Don't worry, I'm sort of glad to see you too." He shouldered the door shut, making sure it clicked tight, and stepped into the room, leaving his bags by the door, where Asu could complain that she'd almost fallen over them when she came back.

"Not out at the game?" he asked, and peered over the top of her screen. "Oh. Orbital dynamics, huh?"

"I wish," Theo said, settling back into her seat. "History of Piloting."

He blinked. "Yeah? With that screen?"

"We're doing the ven'Tura Tables," Theo said, unfolding the lace bit and spreading it out. It was . . . 
almost
right. She leaned forward and unlocked the screen, frowning between the configuration of stars and what she had in hand.

"Still playing with the needles?"

"No," Theo said absently. "Not playing.
Seeing
." She squinted up at Chelly.

"Why does everybody act like space is flat?"

"Huh? Who said space was—oh, I get it." Chelly held up his hands. "You gotta learn your basics first—the tables and the board drills. The
math
, if you don't mind my saying. After you got all that—"

"The
math
isn't flat!" Theo broke in, feeling a surge of heat, like temper. She bit her lip; it wasn't Chelly's fault and yet—

"What d'ya mean, the math isn't flat?" Chelly was looking at her sideways, which he did when he thought you might be pushing a line.

"The whole
point
of the ven'Tura Tables—the reason they needed revision—is that space isn't flat—and it isn't static! And to describe what a non-static, dimensioned space is doing, you need a math that isn't flat! That's what Scholar Caylon did! She didn't so much revise the Tables, as she revised the math that described the relationships, and the changes—here!"

She held out her incomplete lace, shaking it in Chelly's bemused face. "Look at this! See how the lines hook here—and here—and over here? And then look, if—oh, Chaos, it isn't done! But, anyway, if you—"

"Wait." Chelly held up his hands again, his eyes moving from the lace to the screen. "Wait. That's a
star chart
you're making."

"Well . . ." Theo blinked at him, caught breathless by the tone of his voice. "Sort of, I guess. I think of it as the shape of the relationships, but—that's what a star chart is, isn't it?"

"And this is the kid who needs to pull up her math scores?" Chelly might've been talking to himself. He reached beyond Theo and touched the control on the screen, locking the image again, then put a hand lightly on her wrist and exerted light pressure until she lowered the lace to her lap.

"Okay. Theo, listen up—I got a bunch of info to dump and I'm on a short watch. First thing is, I'm still going to be on the roster here, but mostly I'm going to be working real-time shifts at daily ops so I can get in enough time to be the official exchange student with Galtech over break. That means you're still gonna be in charge here. You been getting the Senior notices?"

She nodded.

"Good. Now, my bunk still being officially here in Erkes, that means you won't get another kid in to deal with right away—not 'til end of next term, when I fly out. I've got it set up that you're reporting to me—you tell Asu that, too. She gives you trouble, bump it to me."

"I don't think she'll give me trouble," Theo said. "She's not dumb."

"No, but she don't
think
," Chelly answered, which she couldn't say wasn't so. "Next thing I gotta tell you—that lace-making thing you're doing. The star map?"

Theo felt her face heat. "It helps me think to—"

"No, no. Hear me say it first, Theo, then argue—right?" He didn't wait for her to nod, just kept on going. "You need to talk to somebody—one of the advisors up—"

"I have an advisor," Theo interrupted.

"Sure you do. And if you'll stop
arguing
for a second and let me tell it, you'll find out where I'm going with this."

She bit her lip. "Right," she muttered.

"Yeah, that won't last," Chelly said cryptically, pulling a pen and a card out of his pocket. He frowned at the card, flipped it over and wrote something on it. "I'm giving you her name and office number. You go tomorrow, and you ask to get an intro hearing—seven minutes. What you want to tell her is just what you told me, about space not being stable, and what the revisions to the ven'Turas did, got that? Take your lace thing there with you and show it. Promise me. You're not going to say or explain anything else. Just that. Then you wait and you listen to what she's got to tell you, Theo, right? I'll send her an intro tonight when I get back, so she's expecting you—and you're not gonna make me sorry I did this."

"No," Theo said softly, feeling a lump in her chest. "No, I won't, Chelly. Thanks."

"Sheesh," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "I think I like it better when you're showing attitude." He held out the card. "Tomorrow, Theo. Skip lunch if you gotta."

"Right," she said, and slipped the card out of his fingers. "But—"

The door clicked and there was Asu, nimbly avoiding Chelly's bags, her dark face glowing and a violet-and-green lei around her neck.

"We won!" she caroled. "And Chelly is returned to us! The day is perfectly attuned!"

Chelly snorted.

"Close the door," he said, though Asu had already turned to do so. "I was just telling Theo that I'm temp-posted to daily ops. My official berth is here, but most times it'll just be the two of you. Theo's in charge, and she reports to me. We got it all set up, and I cleared it with my mentor and the dean of students."

"Of course Theo is in charge," Asu said, with the false sincerity that made Theo's teeth ache. "Theo is very responsible."

"Theo's First Bunk," Chelly said dampeningly. "Duty of privilege."

"While Second Bunk is a social butterfly," Asu answered, looking down at Theo's lap as she walked by. She shook her head. "Still you sit with the needles? Theo, you must study if you—"

"We been over that," Chelly interrupted forcefully. "Now—" He looked up at the clock, which displayed official school time, and said something under his breath.

"Look, you two, I gotta jet. Theo, you move those bags into my room, then lock it down."

"Why must you leave so soon?" Asu asked. "Duty?"

"As a matter of fact. I'm on the Student Review Board. Vanz Mancha is challenging tonight and it's my watch."

"Challenging?" Asu frowned. "Why?"

"What's 'challenging'?" Theo said at the same time.

Chelly shook his head at both of them. "There's trouble at home, and she's wild to get back there and help out. That's what she told me. And she's gotta go as a pilot, 'cause her folks haven't sent any money for fare. So, she's going to challenge—that's when you call the school's bluff, Theo. You bet you're good enough to walk out of the challenge set a pilot, even if you haven't finished your classwork. It's in the school charter, which I guess you didn't bother to read. Vanz—she's good. She'll be fine." Despite saying so, he didn't look all that certain, thought Theo.

"She'll be fine," he repeated, and shook himself, moving with quick grace toward the door. "Theo, you remember what I told you. Asu, stay outta trouble for a change. I'm gone."

The door opened, and snapped firmly shut.

"I'll make some tea," Theo offered to the closed door, and when it didn't answer she offered the same to Asu, who stood leaning against the wall, her face showing some of the exasperation that Theo felt.

"I see your work, Theo Waitley, and I see thought. That is good in a student and in a pilot. The opportunity in this proposition that flight space is unstatic, that I am not clear on."

Theo sat even straighter, looking up at the apparition, as who could not when faced with someone so straight-backed and firm, so immaculately balanced despite the near-aching spareness of her frame, and skin so pale it bordered on a translucent blue. Theo doubted she had ever met a woman so old.

This was Veradantha, who had found seven minutes in her schedule. The counselor had pointedly started the timer on her desk when Theo arrived, and now, it counted down relentlessly.

"These are not so novel, these ideas you have here; the Tables tell the tale, pilots of experience are familiar with these facts. Even these demonstrations you have—true, I have not seen it illustrated thus for the school standard cluster!—even these are used by some teachers and programs elsewhere."

Theo fought a grimace, and then a sigh. It hadn't been her idea that this was all original, just that it was important to her—but Chelly'd put his name on the line with sending her here, so she hoped it wasn't all going to go to dust.

The counselor stepped deliberately from one end of her office to the other—thinking, it seemed to Theo. She paused as she sipped from the coffee cup she held in one hand; bit into the pastry she held in the other. The pastry moved rhythmically up and down for a moment, then caught the cadence of the words, as if it were the pastry making the point and not the woman.

"Understand me, you have insight, and this is good, and it is good that your Senior brought this . . . energy you have . . . to my attention."

The pastry indicated Theo's handiwork, still clutched in her lap.

"I took time, Theo Waitley, to review your visit to the mountaintop."

Veradantha spoke very low, and Theo thought she made "Theo Waitley" into one word, to mirror her own single name.

Theo sighed—would she never stop hearing about that?

But if Veradantha had already reviewed that flight, she must be out of time or nearly so already! It was difficult to drag her attention from the woman, to glance at the chronometer, counting down. Except it was
not
counting down from seven to zero any longer, but blinking its way up from 4:45, in half-second increments.

"Nothing to say, Theo Waitley? You frowned when I mentioned your feat."

The timer flipped over from four minutes to five. Theo looked up into the lined, quizzical face and nodded once, for emphasis.

"Everyone mentions it, ma'am," she said, as calmly as she could. "All I did was what Ground told me was needed. But I survived and it makes some people think I was showing off. I didn't do it to show off. I don't like people to say so. I guess I'm still surprised that so many people think about it at all."

The pastry, much diminished, moved back and forth for several precious seconds. Veradantha's thin lips compressed into what might have been a hard smile.

"Yes, I can see that. I also can see why the Senior thought the landing worth my attention. So, Theo Waitley, do you enjoy your flying in the Slippers? I will admit that I do, though I cannot find time and energy together to take as many flights as I might."