Saltation (40 page)

The driver used calming motions in Terran, then in Liaden, and then in Trade.

"You will not need your weapon here, Theo Waitley, only your wits. Uncle is waiting and there is much to be done."

Theo felt a thrumming, and wondered briefly if it was her own heartbeat. But no. It was the key around her neck, singing low. She danced a move to calm herself, knowing that she did not face thieves or ordinary brigands, for such would hardly bother to learn her name, nor would they likely speak of the Scouts.

Well. She still had her comm for
Primadonna
, and the ship's key. It was unlikely Rig Tranza would abandon her, though she wasn't so sure about Mayko.

Theo nodded to Dulsey who waited with patience as well as an impatient person might.

"I will listen to bona fide offers, Dulsey. If I have none, you will take me back to my ship."

Dulsey inclined her head.

"As you say, Pilot; it will be as you say."

Amazed, Theo stared around at what looked a museum more than a ship. There were carpets, deep rugs, and furs on the deck; there were ornate pieces of sculptural art, and there was wood. Wood! Desks made of wood and chairs made of wood and inlaid deck portions of wood. There were hangings on the walls and soft music in the air. The air carried with it the scent of the growing things which were evident in such profusion. These weren't mundane plants grown for morale and oxygen, these were bushes and extravagances as well as pots of simpler things like Father might grow at home at Leafydale Place. She almost expected to find a norbear in the forest by the time she'd turned around once.

"Uncle will arrive shortly, Theo Waitley. Please, if you like, it is the custom of many to go barefoot here, for the ship is comfortable. Make yourself at ease in our atrium."

Dulsey was gone, she herself barefoot, her shoes left on a mat by the door. Theo had heard of such customs on worlds, and on old-style family ships from the years of the Terran loop traders. She, however, might want to leave fast, and having to put on her shoes would surely slow her down.

There must be cameras and sensors here, she realized, there must be ways to keep the curious from feeling the surfaces of the art.

Alone in this atrium, Theo kept her shoes on, despite temptation. Still she wandered among the nooks and crannies that made the careful planning of a great cruise ship look like amateur design. There were myriads of things to look at, and none of them by accident, she was sure.

From her left, a sound, and a man with carefully trimmed hair and a sketch of a beard stood at the mouth of the corridor Dulsey had disappeared into. Like Dulsey, he was neither old nor young, and he was dressed simply, not in imitation of a Guild driver, but in something that looked like it might be dance class clothes. He had deliberately made the sound that alerted her, for he walked, silent and barefoot, over the rugs and furs. A pilot, yes, but not a strong pilot; a dancer, perhaps, but not strong at that either, she gauged. Dulsey had perhaps walked and moved better, yet here was someone before whom Mayko might shrink.

Theo turned carefully to face this person. He smiled and gave a half bow that was neither Liaden nor yet simply Terran.

"I see your relatives in you, Theo Waitley," he said, his bare toenails showing glossy, as if they were waxed. "Your face is more comely than most of them, but you carry yourself every bit as dangerous, which is fine news indeed. I am Uncle, and I am very pleased to meet you."

Theo's hands wanted to to ask how Uncle might know her family, but she held them firmly around the excellent cup of tea Dulsey had brought, sipping with appreciation while Uncle sat across from her, comfortable amusement on his face
.

Beside her was a key and the contract he'd offered her; she'd not looked at either yet.

"Really, it was more than chance that brought you to this interview, and so we were prepared to make an offer for your services long before you were committed to making a change. The truth is that we've been on the lookout for you, or someone very much like you, for some time. We knew that Hugglelans was moving a pilot up—I can't tell you how, sorry—and we knew that there was a good chance Mayko Ikari would make that move here."

Theo sat forward, used a gesture of inquiry she'd learned from yos'Senchul to lead into her next question.

"There are a lot of pilots, and even a lot of Jump pilots—why would you be so sure that I'd be along? Aren't there more usual ways of finding pilots then hoping one walks off a ship looking for work?"

He laughed, very gently, and gave her another of his half bows, seated though he was.

Theo offered a nod to the half bow, polite interest to the smile, and permitted him the moment to continue.

"The first thing is that we've been wanting for some time to have a ship moved as quietly as possible, which means we needed someone to fly solo, and many pilots will not fly solo. We needed someone who might have special need or tendency of their own to privacy, for while our organization is not unknown, it is one that we try to keep as low profile as possible. We need, if you will forgive me, someone who is competent—even dangerous. Of those pilots coming to Volmer for Hugglelans, the profile fit—you."

Trim as it was, Uncle fiddled with his dark hair, as if he missed something he was used to at his ear or on his head, perhaps a turban, or an earring. He held a cup of tea served from the same pot in his other hand, moving it in careful emphasis as he went on.

"Understand, I find
advertising
such a plebeian approach to the problem that I never seriously considered it, and while I find sorting the dregs of on-file job hunters interesting for the information it brings me, information by itself is so much fog in the viewport. But here, now, I have been accumulating news, which is information in action, and I have been long in the habit of making things happen rather than waiting for them to occur. And so, records in hand, so to speak, I did even more research spurred on by event. You are a very good match for this job."

Theo sighed to herself; fascinated by the Uncle and his approach to hiring, concerned about what he seemed to know about
her
.

"I think no one considers my mother
dangerous
, Uncle, nor my grandmother, nor ever did! My family is very well documented, and very respectable—my mother and her mother and her mother before her are all scholars! Cite and location, date and degree, it's all there and all public, after all. No pilots among them, no tendency toward violence . . ."

It was his turn to lean forward, using his cup to point to her before he spoke.

"Ah, I forget, you were very much raised as a child of Delgado, as ill as it suited you. Of your maternal side I know only that it was sufficient to the task of birthing you. But no, I look to the paternal side here, Pilot."

The slight to her mother was almost lost in the twist of pain associated with Father.

"Jen Sar Kiladi," she said coolly, "is also a scholar, Uncle, and a retired pilot." She took a careful breath. "Do you know my father?"

"
Know
your father? No, not your father, if you mean to ask if we have met in person. However, your gene lines are hardly so short that your sire marks the length of the shadow, and I have met others in the line . . . some years before you were born, I daresay. As is illustrated by your own performance, the line is one prone to survival. Guild records indicate you carry at least one weapon you took barehanded from the care of a previous owner."

Theo started to speak, held it back—at least he hadn't mentioned her riot!

"But you see, your records are just updated, and trustworthy Jump pilots being at a premium, there are ways to achieve as much assurance ahead of time as possible. As an employer willing to trust into your care a vessel of both monetary and sentimental value, I feel that such records ought to be available. It helped, of course, that the Scouts were willing to assist."

"Scouts? What Scouts?"

Uncle smiled, precisely as if he saw through her, but was willing to give her points for trying to play the game.

"Your Win Ton, for one. He sleeps just beyond your view at the end of the hall, guarded by the chief of his medical team."

Theo's glance was unsubtle.

"I'd not be so cruel as to say so, and not prove it, Pilot Waitley." He motioned, giving her permission to investigate, just as Dulsey appeared at the end of the way.

Theo nodded to Uncle, rose not as steadily as she might like, saw Dulsey's face go bland as they passed each other in the lushly carpeted hall.

Around that corner the hall turned utilitarian, with beige walls and floor; bulkheads and pressure doors obvious. Sitting neatly cross-legged athwart the first double-wide door Theo came to was the same Scout who'd disturbed her and Win Ton with the news of a message.

The Scout rose languidly and bowed in recognition to Theo.

"Pilot, I see you. Alas, Scout yo'Vala is not receiving visitors."

Dulsey spoke from behind Theo's shoulder.

"The Uncle decides, Scout. You may permit entry."

Theo glanced aside. In fact both Dulsey and Uncle were behind her, bare feet on the plain decking, the Uncle gesturing a clipped
open
.

_{* * *}

Theo read rapidly, finding the usages no stranger than contracts she'd read in class, and certainly better paid than Hugglelans' newest offer. The confidentiality agreement carried with it an extra payment, but—

"And so," Uncle went on, "we both have more information than we did before. The Scouts have entrusted me with some news, of course, but they cannot hide from me, as much as they might wish to do so, the identity of the pilot to whom your Win Ton has given the second key—actually, the first key—because the keys speak to this ship, which was built at the same yard as
Bechimo
."

Theo glanced up, seeing no joy of surprise in the man's face, but rather serious intent.

"They speak?" Win Ton had said that, hadn't he? That his key had talked to and manipulated the Old Tech devices on his prison ship?

"Yes. I understand, from the man himself, that he entrusted you with one of the phrases, and I find it compelling."

His hands motioned a
repeat please.

There was no reason she knew of not to. Theo shrugged. " 'There are secrets in all families.' "

"Wonderful. A phrase so old it is new again. So, we soon come to the truths we share and the truths you need to know. First though, is the contract reasonable?"

"A cantra for going to Liad?"

"Liad is a war zone, Pilot. I cannot say it will be without risk."

He sipped his tea.

"The rest meets with your approval? In short: I provide a ship, a destination for the ship, and a list of items or documents to be delivered or picked up. At each port you will have a public pickup or delivery; which permits you to claim time, ports, from the Guild; as well as a reason to be in system. From time to time I may provide a 'wait for' order as items must reach your location, at times I may issue a 'skip run' and you will then not follow the previous route but move beyond, or rendezvous as is pertinent. You provide piloting, care of my ship, and act as delivery or receiving agent. You will be issued three pinbeam codes for use as required in emergencies or other exigencies, which you will use with care."

"What will I be carrying, Uncle?"

He smiled, and raised his hand like a lecturer looking for attention from a class.

"To the best of your knowledge you will be carrying rare books, special or unique reference items, and the occasional replacement part. Some of these are antiques, some are reproductions, some are both. You will not be carrying drugs, jewels, or other material generally considered illicit."

"This is good pay."

"A good pilot is worth good pay."

"What about Win Ton?"

He raised both hands as if weighing an invisible cat.

"Yes, you see, these things are all run together. Win Ton has saved the Scouts, and myself, some difficulty by acting with haste. His actions have brought to him the problems he discussed with you—but see, I tell you that he is not giving away confidences, but rather was subject to an interview after he was given a drug to relax him into the device in which he now sleeps. It is not a mere med unit like the best ships and hospitals have, it is a med unit of the type the Scouts have long abjured and fought against, in that it uses forbidden, even secret, technology."

He paused, seeing her concentrate, spun the
comment query
off of his fingers in that clipped accent of his.

"How can you forbid technology?" Theo asked. "How can you keep it secret? If someone can make something, so can someone else, eventually."

Uncle nodded slightly.

"That would be my understanding, as well, Theo Waitley. The med unit operating on your Win Ton is something more than a standard autodoc unit in that, if required, it can replace tissue to the point of . . . let us say near to the point of creating a clone. Our med unit onboard, as it stands, is Win Ton's best chance to survive the next two Standards or so."

Theo eyes widen, hope quickening. "It will cure him?"

"It will
not
cure him!"

At this Uncle rose, and began to pace, hands making rhythmic motions as if he posted to a keyboard, or struck a small drum set.

"If I had been permitted to work with and collect this technology several hundred years ago when I wished to, we might again be at that point. But I was not and in any case—at hand what we have is a machine which is far more powerful than the Scout catastrophe units; if you have a brain to hand, almost any other injury you might name can be healed over time; if you have time, even aging can be reduced considerably. But to do that, we need a very complete sample, a very secure sample."

He paced, and Theo's hands won the race with her mouth,
confirm data several hundred years
outpacing her spoken, "Sample?"

He paused, and smiled slowly.