Saltation (35 page)

Win Ton. Somehow Theo kept seeing Win Ton's name on the screen and recalled his name as written on the card she'd gotten on
Vashtara
.

"I haven't read it yet," she said. "If I might have a few moments to look it over?"

Mayko smiled prettily. "It's our standard. We can sign it right now, then move on to—"

"No. Right?
No
."

Tranza stood, making himself the third point in the triangle of pilots.

"I beg your pardon," began Mayko.

"Beg Theo's, right? You're doing it again. Trying to make the second Jump before the first."

Mayko straightened, mouth firming.

"All we need to do is settle the issue of a contract," she said, with what Theo thought was strained patience. "Once that is taken care of, we can . . ."

"
Wait
, right? Just wait."

Tranza broke from the triangle and dashed to his quarters. He slapped the door open, exclaiming, "Right, just wait!"

Mayko appeared as startled as Theo felt, especially when he backed out of the room a moment later, his pilot's jacket in his hand, gripped at the collar like he had an invisible pilot hard around the throat.

He shook the jacket at his boss, a hand flourish saying
now now now first
.

"This is what we're discussing first, Mayko. Her jacket."

Theo cast glances between the two.

"Rig, that's your jacket," Mayko said finally, with a sigh.

Tranza stared at her for a moment, began to sign, realized he needed two hands for what he wanted to say, and handed the jacket to Theo in a rush.

"Hold this," he said, and his hands flew into a rage of strenuous argument, reminding Theo forcefully of Captain Cho's assertion that hand-talk was good for many things, even philosophy.

Tranza's jacket, beat-up as it was, felt remarkably good in her hands, and heavier than she'd expected—but then he was a much larger person than she was.

The hand-signs were even faster than they had been when she walked in, and now punctuated in a way only hand-talk allowed.
Sneak. Steal. Hide. Wrong. My ship. My students. Know better.

Tranza turned to Theo as if she had no inkling of what he'd just said.

"While you were away, me and Mayko were discussing that in fact without additional review, right, with no more testing needed, right, that you have been seen by this master pilot here, this Mayko Ikari,
who I taught
, to fly at first class level, which fact I have seen with my own eyes lo these months, right?"

It came to her that Tranza was
angry
. Theo raised her hands, fingers wide, and nodded, not sure what to say.

"I have my contracts to think of, Rig," Mayko said sternly.

"You want Hugglelans to have all the best pilots tied to you since Korval's got trouble. Business is business. Right. I see that. But you're a Master. You got duty on both screens. And you can't keep information away from her!"

He raised his hands toward the ship's ceiling, fluttered
this thought is mine
and started speaking, low and earnest.

"I have a contract, Mayko, and mine don't need to be signed. If you want Theo Waitley to sign a first class contract, give her what she's earned. A jacket. The raise. The respect."

Mayko sighed, loudly.

"Rig, we're renegotiating all the contracts. Galactic needs—"

"Will you," he interrupted, forcefully. "Will you tell Theo Waitley she's made first class and earned a jacket? Will you tell her that,
Master Ikari
?"

"When she signs the contract she'll be able to requisition a jacket, just like any first class . . ."

Tranza went suddenly and completely quiet. Theo looked at him worriedly. He stood entirely still for two long heartbeats, then extended his hand. She realized with a start that he was asking for the jacket, and handed it over. He stretched it in front of himself, shook it, opened it, did a dance move—

And hung the jacket around Theo's shoulders, firmly, like it was a cape. The inside was cool, the jacket long on her.

"The jacket fits, Pilot. Welcome."

He squeezed her shoulder and stepped back, hands enjoining her to
wear healthy long proud.

Mayko's fingers were against her lips, a look of what might be horror on her face.

"Rig, you can't just give your jacket away!"

He turned on her with startling swiftness.

"I precertified your jacket, Mayko, and you still wear it. A pilot can give his jacket to a pilot. Theo's a pilot. She's got a jacket."

"Tranza, calm please," Theo said, genuinely alarmed. "I can't—"

"
Yours
," he interrupted. "I swear and witness it. And Mayko should know better than to pull this stuff!"

"But your jacket!" Mayko insisted.

"I'll requisition one, right?" He gave her a flat stare. "Just like any first class pilot. Right."

Mayko stilled her hands in mid-sign, mouth tight.

Theo cleared her throat. "I can't keep it, Tranza."

He laughed, suddenly empty of tension.

"You, Pilot, better call me Rig."

"But I don't have a card!"

There was silence.

Rig turned to Mayko, fingers terse.

Card.

Mayko put hand to forehead, then reached into her side pouch and extracted something.

"Pilot," she said, extending it, "may this bring you joy."

This
was a pilot's license, handed to her own hand. Endorsed all the way around, and registered already according to the seal.
Theo Waitley, Pilot First Class
.

The words got kind of watery, and Theo blinked, looking aside.

Nothing to cry about
, she told herself.

"Right," said Rig Tranza. "I owe us all a drink. We can read contracts later."

They'd had their drinks—one glass of wine for each of them, rather than the kynak Rig suggested—and then Theo called it a shift. She'd been long-shifting the whole trip and between the piloting, the argument surrounding the receipt of her first class ticket, and Win Ton's letter she was exhausted.

Retiring, she realized that on so-called solid ground the ship vibrated in ways it didn't in space, or docked to a station. While station docking often included swings and sways and even bounces, which the planet did not, the noises and vibrations emanating from the connect points as temperatures strove to balance in space were familiar.

On-planet noise snuck in from everywhere. The landing gear transmitted vibrations, the atmosphere vibrated against the ship's skin in the form of breeze and wind, and sounds traveled along and through the hull to fool the ear and excite sensors. Gauges flickered as air pressure changed; the ship's cooling from reentry generated creaks; on larger ships it was known to cause groans and crackles.

Theo's eyes were closed, which meant the sounds were all the more compelling. She wrinkled her nose against the distraction, and brought the question around to first things first, which ought to be sleep. She'd pointed out that regs were clear: she ought to be taking rest now, no matter what planetary time it was, and no matter Mayko's urgencies.

If she couldn't sleep, and Theo'd about given up on that, thinking of first things first meant rereading Win Ton's message with a little less surprise and a little more advertency. What might require a face-to-face meeting? An apology? If so for what? A proposal? Again, for what? Lust?

It was hard to believe that an accomplished pilot would be so bereft of company as to pine for her above all others.

So, she opened her eyes and sat up on the bunk. She yanked the reader onto her lap, and slapped the datakey home.

It is of utmost importance, my favorite dancer, that we meet together in person in the shortest possible time. I am prepared to meet you at any location you name, at Volmer if you like . . . 

Theo blinked against the words and the desire. What better way to celebrate achieving her jacket than to see Win Ton? Win Ton had known her for a pilot before anyone else, perhaps, if she overlooked Father, who must also have known. Win Ton had recognized many things in her.

Her next breath was deep then, as she let the reader rest on the mattress. She closed her eyes, mentally stepping into a relaxation exercise as she sat with bare toes on an unstill floor, leaving the reader on so that she might look again at the mysteries it proposed.

She stood, eyes closed, the backs of her legs anchoring her to the ship and its minute vibrations while the darkness and the exercise fended off the need for immediate action. Her thoughts swept on despite the relaxation, bouncing between wariness and a growing awareness of her accomplishments.

Her time on Melchiza had first pointed up the necessity that had kept her not quite in tune with her compatriots and age-mates ever since: to be most responsible to the most number of people she had first to accept herself as potent and then to manage and expand that potency.

There'd been no good way to express that to Asu, nor to the team builders with their faith in doing well enough to get by in a group.

She considered Father, with his cars, his flowers, his garden—his work. As calm and reserved as he seemed, there was no sense that his first order of business was to please some ordinary standard. That must have been what brought him to Kamele, who also strove beyond the ordinary, finding time to sing in the choir while managing a child, and her career and an odd-world
onagrata
.

Dancer
, Win Ton named her.
Pilot
.

She was both of those things. Also, she was Win Ton's friend, though she'd fallen out of the habit of writing to him. Right after she'd been expelled, she'd been too busy. And then—she'd been too busy. She might assume the same of him, who hadn't written again, after the letter bestowing the gift that she still wore 'round her neck.

Do you feel a connection to him? she asked herself, and answered: Yes. Yes, I do.

She opened her eyes.

It is of utmost importance, my favorite dancer, that we meet together . . . 

It was true that she didn't know what he wanted from her. It was equally true that she would never know, unless she answered him. If he only wished to return a forgotten hair clip, like a proper
onagrata
out of a silly girl-book, so be it. If there was something more—there was an urgency, to both the letter, and its delivery. Pinbeams were expensive. Expense, in Theo's mind, suggested trouble.

She would answer him; a friend in trouble had that right. But she would answer him when she was rested, and clear in her mind.

That decided, she sighed, and stood in the darkness. Carefully, she did a small dance before stretching on the bed again, letting the words fade, dancing relaxation in her mind until she slept in truth.

"Rig," she said experimentally. "I—need to—"

He turned away from a screen full of legal-looking language, startled, already moving to balance and center and—

"Theo," he laughed, "what have you done now? I can't believe you could sneak up on me on
Primadonna
!"

She smiled, realized that she had been moving quietly, not wanting to rouse Mayko if she could help it.

"I'm awake and need to go back to the comm office before shift. But we didn't really settle what shifts we'd run today—"

"By all rights, you ought to be off-shift for a ten-day, I'd say. You haven't had a real break since we started flying together."

She smiled, raising her hands.

"Haven't got that far ahead," she admitted. "I need to go down to the comm office and . . ." She hesitated, and he signed a quick
your call, your flight
.

"Personal is personal. Get your comm work done, take a walk, and we'll see about shifts after that. Mayko's already out so this shift is mine, and it's about time I run one, huh?" He pointed toward the lock, eloquent hands saying
go, go—
and, abruptly—
wait.

He touched his forehead, the gesture meaning
my empty head
, or sometimes,
I forgot.

"If you need a comm room—let me call ahead to tell them you're coming, tell them to reserve one for you, right? And I'll call you a cart since Mayko's already got ours out on the port somewhere."

Theo nodded. "Thank you, I should have thought . . ."

"No. You've been running first board, so this is my job, right?"

She hand-flashed
work work work
at him but he was already singing as she moved—and he stopped suddenly, pointing back toward her berth.

"Pilot, your jacket. You earned it. You're on port. Wear it!"

Theo opened her mouth to rebut and found his hands were already replying with:

Order from shift captain!

She mocked a bow then, and went back to get her jacket.

The distance to the comm office was no shorter, but in the way that even minor familiarity with a place will change perception, it felt closer to the
Primadonna
this time. True, the cart attendant, a young girl who drove a lot like Father, took her directly to the Pilots Guild gate, and this time when Theo entered with card in hand she was waved by as if they all knew who she was.

"Captain Tranza was to make . . ."

The clerk looked up from a desk full of screens.

"Yes, Pilot Waitley. With all the confusion going on I'm afraid there'll be a wait; if you like, you can catch up on the news at the café and we'll send someone, or listen for your call."

There was a lot of activity, and the tiny café was full of screens and talk. There was a flutter of hands and nods when she entered, and quick glances from those hoping to see a familiar face. In fact, Theo did recognize several of the gathered pilots as having been on route or in a bar or on port here at the same time in the last year. If anybody thought her jacket too big, none said, and none challenged her when she grabbed a table with a multiscreen already scrolling streams.

Korval attacks Liad
one stream was marked, and another screamed out
Scouts Repulse Armed Invasion at Nev'lorn
. The large
JONBA AGENCY First Class Pilots Wanted NOW Top Money Top Guarantee
ad bounced at the top of one screen while from the bottom a pulsing blue announced
Mercenaries. We Make Worlds Safe. Join Us. Your Bonus is Waiting.