Saltation (20 page)

True to his word, he did just that, chattering away through the remainder of the meal until she was laughing, and matching him absurdity for absurdity. They were still laughing when they climbed the ramp hand in hand and
Torvin
let them in.

Theo looked to the second chair, took a step—and Win Ton's fingers tightened on hers. She paused and looked into his face, saw . . . something . . . and swayed back, as if it were part of a dance.

"Win Ton," she began, and—

"Theo," he started—

They
both
laughed again, somehow in the middle of it becoming tangled into a hug. His lips burned against her temple, and she hugged him tighter, wanting to, to melt into him, to—

She moved her head, and kissed him on the lips. He started, then pulled her closer, his arms so tight she could scarcely breathe, but that really didn't seem to matter. She slid her hands inside his jacket, feeling his back through the sweater. He dropped his head to her shoulder, nuzzling the side of her neck. His hand moved and she felt him touch the wings on her collar.

"You wear them," he murmured.

She laughed, shakily. "It's your gift to me. Of course, I wear them."

"Good," he breathed. "Excellent." His lips charted a lingering course up toward her ear.

"There's a bunk," he whispered, his voice not at all steady. "Theo—your choice. I—"

"Yes," she said, shaking, needing,
wanting
. "I'm not—Win Ton; I haven't had a lot of practice."

He choked—no, it was laughter, and the look he gave her was brilliant with delight.

"Well, then," he said unsteadily, "I stand ready. You may practice on me, if you wish."

"I do wish," she said, and reached up to kiss him again.

"Once you've sat first or second seat on orbit around an inhabited planet you'll see that being Pilot in Command of a space vessel makes being PIC on a two- or four-seat air-sucking cloud hopper an order of magnitude less dangerous to all concerned."

The casual dismissal of their progress to date shocked the room; the palpable intake of breath became a uniform over-the-shoulder glance in her direction from the front—and Theo imagined those behind her staring at the back of her head. As far as she knew there were exactly two people in the room who met that criteria: Instructor yos'Senchul and herself.

That she had exactly two-hundred-and-fifty-one minutes as orbital second board, certified C&C—Comm and Control—by a Scout was known across the campus, and as the instructor went on to explain, far beyond the campus.

"In many ways being on orbit in controlled space is safer than flying through the air. It takes far longer to hard-land a spacecraft than a Star King; and there are many more resources in place to ensure that you do not fall out of the sky.

"Make no miscalculation about it, Pilots, most of these resources are brought to bear not because you are personally more valuable, but because the damage you might do with even a minor lapse in judgment is exponentially greater with each step you take."

The instructor looked pensive for a moment, which Theo thought was a teacher's act since Liadens she knew rarely showed such emotions. Even Father needed to exaggerate his normal expressions to make them obvious to people who didn't know him.

The one-handed motion made next was also artful: a toss emphasizing the empty sleeve.

"Mistakes are expensive. A Slipper striking a home in a small subdivision of a dozen houses might kill the unlucky pilot and damage the home. A Star King doing the same could wipe out the pilot, family, and house, perhaps even two houses. The shuttle . . ."

He paused for effect then, allowing everyone to digest the thought.

"But no, we need not speculate on this, because we have available, courtesy of the Scout who recently visited, a virtual museum of recent pilot error accidents. Some are complete with tapes permitting you to fly the error right into the ground, or not, on your own time, in sim. All of the master-adjudicated errors we share today have occurred within the last two Standards. These are not pretty. They are, however, instructional."

Of the six errors yos'Senchul deemed most instructive, only one was by a trainee, and that trainee already licensed as a Second Class Provisional. Somehow that heartened Theo, when perhaps it was meant as a warning to all of them.

She took the long-way-around walk to lunch to think through not only what she'd seen, but also what she hadn't. Some of her classmates had simply not reacted at all to the vids, as far as she could see, as if they hadn't recognized the problem instantly. For her part, her hand still ached where she'd clenched the offending palm, trying to take it back from the motion that she hadn't made, that she knew better than to make, already.

She danced out that realization momentarily, feeling this move
here
and that move
there
and seeing that, of course, with the hands and body flowing properly, as compared with dance, even strapped in—especially strapped in—this move, this move that hurt her hand to think about, this move that had killed a pilot and a field boss and injured a dozen farmworkers,
this
motion went entirely against the warm-up exercises and the way you worked with a bowli ball. Well . . . 

The dancing was combat. The dancing was prep for bowli ball which was prep for moving
now
. The dancing was board drills. The dancing was what had convinced Win Ton that she . . . 

Chaos!

Yes, she missed him. Missed him. Not like she missed Father and Kamele, or the way she still sometimes missed Bek. Still, it was difficult not to look at everything she was doing now knowing that Win Ton also shared this information or moved this way, or would understand—

Well, maybe he'd even understand why it was she'd been spending quite so much time at sim-ship, and why it was she was busy, busy with extra dance, busy with a sudden interest in packet and courier ships, busy avoiding the sometimes just-too-stealthy questions and insinuations from Asu.

Really, what was it to Asu exactly what they'd done or hadn't, or when, or who started what? The first three days after her return from orbit she'd felt like Asu was peering at her neck, looking at her shoulders, for Simple Sake, checking out her feet and legs for marks and bruises!

Win Ton was Liaden, and thoughtful and gentle, and
Liaden!
That meant careful, in many senses.

And
everybody's
questions about, "How was it in orbit?"
Pfui!

Yes, Win Ton was a Scout pilot . . . which meant a master class pilot, as it turned out, and so yes, not only
could he
certify her orbital time but he also
should,
because that's part of what master class pilots were supposed to do. He'd also been very clear that once they lifted, it was all about the ship.

She smiled to herself. Yes, when she'd rolled the
Torvin
through the sun-cooling routine, Win Ton's smile had been good. But she'd rolled it properly on axis, and then she'd offered her calculations to him and the board for the deorbit burn that would bring them down on the longest, flattest, slowest, quietest possible landing the ship could make, according to all the information the ship so willingly fed second board. And it
was
all about the ship, and about being a pilot.

Taking the long way to lunch meant a visit to DCCT was out of the question before afternoon class, but it also meant one more chance to avoid Asu, who needed to be in class at about the moment Theo reached for her last cheese muffin, counting teatime in her head. Now that math was falling into place for her she'd been getting in extra dance as well as extra bowli ball and those calories needed to be replaced, and she and Asu were suddenly out of the habit of companionable late night snacks. . . . 

Theo continued the count in her back brain even as she thought about Asu. She was senior bunk, after all, and so she needed to be in some touch with Asu, just in case someone asked.

Count reached, she said, "One hundred thirty-two" out loud and gently sipped at her second cup.

Out of the side of her vision appeared a familiar hand with rings on it, fluttering
query query
before the rest of Kara appeared, bonelessly dropping into the chair opposite, tray carefully isolated from the flump of the body.

"What?" Theo felt her eyebrow rise and tried to suppress it, without luck. Genes!

"Counting flower petals odd and even?"

It was Theo's turn to flutter
query
with one hand as she sipped again. It was really hard to get the tea
exact
when the available hot water varied by so much, but . . . 

"I distinctly heard you counting," Kara said, unzipping food from her tray. "Bova informs me that there's a well-known Terran custom of offering a potential night-friend the opportunity of counting flower petals together. I gather one actually pulls the flower apart in the process. Should both parties reach the last petal with a 'Yes, I will' . . . then the night is decided."

Theo thought a moment, scrunching up her face seriously, cup still in front of her lips.

"How many choices are there, I wonder? Or is it binary?"

Kara bowed, laughing.

"Yes, it is binary. I think you begin to see, O Pilot."

"And so if one knows the number of petals a particular flower generally has . . ." Theo sipped, put the cup down in favor of finishing the muffin.

The grin got wide.

"Thus speaks a pilot! It is, in fact, pilot's choice. If one is in need, as one may be, one picks the proper flower and starts with the proper count. If there is but one flower to hand, the same result might be obtained."

Theo chuckled around her swallow. "Fast head or fast hand, it's no gamble."

Kara sighed gently. "Temptation is always a gamble, my friend, even a temptation one welcomes!"

Theo theatrically took the last bite, looked toward her empty hand.

"None left to tempt me."

Kara sighed again, ending with a laugh.

"If it was all only so easy! But I digress. I saw you here and haven't caught you at DCCT lately." Her hands waggled
busy busy busy.
"Session ends become full with duty to school!"

"Not over," Theo said, "there's ummm . . ."

"Thirty class days," Kara said, "after today. Many of us will be wandering offworld very soon now. Are you going home to Delgado and kin?"

Theo sipped, shook her head. "The time, the money, the tickets!" Her free hand emphasized
do not mesh.
"I don't want to spend all my money and time in between, as much as I'd like the travel . . ."

"Hah. Will Win Ton your Scout friend be available to—"

Theo shook her head, hands saying,
would do, more do not mesh
.

"Don't mesh?"

Theo looked at the cup, seeing small particles in it.

"
My Scout
," she said carefully, "Win Ton. He's on his way to Liad, to be married."

Kara opened her mouth, her shoulders leveling after she managed not to spill her drink. After putting the drink down she gave a short head nod and a hand-fluttering repeat of
don't mesh
.

"Oh, Theo—this is an unexpected lack of luck! In an orderly universe delms would have something more to do than looking for ways to discommode those of the—well, no, the delm's job is the clan after all. Liadens! He could be tied to clan-strings for a year or more!"

Theo sighed, wishing there was more tea at hand.

"He told me. I mean, he was careful to explain all of how it works. And then after that marriage, he's put in for a survey assignment . . ."

"Survey! Theo, that's wonderful for him." Kara's face was bright. "A good assignment and a way to stay out of the delm's sight." She paused and, Terran-style, pointed a finger at Theo. "And he bowed equal to you. This is not an act, done so publicly. He meant it!"

Theo smiled wanly.

"I believe he does mean it," she said with a sigh, "but that still means no visit during break, right?"

"Indeed," Kara, said, suddenly sounding like yos'Senchul in her seriousness. "That would shatter the Code in so many places . . ."

Theo shrugged. It wasn't like the Code, whatever it was, had anything to do with her.

"So you are just
staying
at the academy?" Kara shook her hand into
rethink plan
. "The break dorms aren't much fun, you know. They crowd everyone into Plummer Hall, and have hard-set meal schedules, and . . ." She paused and gave a conspiratorial wink, "and they keep strict compliance hours. Check rooms even. I did it first time around. It is to avoid!"

"You're going home, too? Who will I talk to?"

"I am
not
going home. That is also to avoid! If luck is not mine I'll spend session break with an uncle who has a small repair shop at Portcalay. My best hope is to pick up something at the Hugglelans job fair."

"The what? Are you going to be a cook?"

Kara raised her eyes to the ceiling, and not finding the answer there, she opened her hands wide and gave Theo a stern look.

"Where have you been, Pilot Waitley? Do you think Hugglelans is just the Howsenda?"

Theo shrugged again.

"Well, I mean, they do have the restaurant . . ."

Kara covered her face in mock despair.

"Theo, Hugglelans is the largest fixed-base operator on the planet! They run the port—the landing zone, all the public spaces, the hotels and dayrooms, the maintenance shops, the cantinas, the whole thing! The Howsenda is . . . a sideline. No, I misspeak. It is a
melant'i
game, a show of strength, a brag . . . a
hobby
for the owners. Well." She paused.

"So, be as may," she went on, "they offer all members of DCCT a chance to come to the job fair. They'll send an aircraft, they'll feed us, we take some tests, meet some people—you should come!"

"Do they
all
wear too much
vya
over there? And besides, that's a long commute!"

"Theo, you've got to start getting the DCCT message-mail! They offer room and board plus a small stipend—and you end up with a work record in the industry . . . Of course, if you think they might not take you, I guess it makes sense not to apply."