Fledgling-ARC

"How much longer?" Kamele asked faintly.

"They have finished level thirty-five," Cho sig'Radia said, with really remarkable calm, "my apprentice and your daughter. The game has only one more to offer – it is called 'The Overdrive Level.' "

Kamele shook her head extravagantly. "Overdrive? I must tell Ella about this!"

A woman, resplendent in a gold and red Arcade uniform, paused at Kamele's side and smiled up at the two silver-limned dancers. "They're the best we've had so far this trip," she said, sounding for all the words like a fond mother. "Even the really good dancers hardly get past level thirty." She nodded impartially at Kamele and Cho and passed on into the crowd.

Above them, the music started again, the pads lit and the dancers began to move, step-step-twist, the scores flickering on the machine's face insisting that they were evenly matched in skill.

They were so very closely matched... Kamele looked to her companion. "How old is Win Ton?"

The Liaden moved her shoulders. "A matter of some sixteen Standards, add or remove a handful of days."

"But he is – a pilot," Kamele insisted, as the dancers pirouetted above.

"Indeed, he is a very able pilot." Cho smiled. "Mind you, he has mastered Jump, and so has earned the jacket, but he has more yet to learn."

"I... see."

Her attention drifted upward again, to the pair now marching in time, knees high, elbows pumping. Kamele felt a sudden doubt, and looked 'round to her companion.

"He's not letting her match his score, is he?"

Cho laughed then.

"Kamele Waitley, as enchanting as your daughter may be, I think young Win Ton has not the 'let her win' wit in his head." She paused, apparently weighing the efforts the pair on the high platform, then looked back, smiling.

"No," she said, almost too softly to be heard under the whistles, claps and encouragement shouted by the watchers on the arcade floor. "Assuredly, he is not letting her keep up."

* * * *

"You almost missed that last, Theo Waitley!"

She laughed and stuck her tongue out – "Was I the one who almost fell on his face because of a simple waltz step?"

"A trick move! Who on Liad learns waltzes from Terra? I say again, a trick move."

She moved her hand, mimicking the motion he seemed to use for the more ironic flavors of "no."

"All right, and what was that thing that made you laugh, if you please?"

Win Ton laughed again, ruefully this time. "It is a preliminary move, taught in classes of marriage lore – and more than that, I will not say, though you pull my hair out by the roots!"

She snorted, her hand still carrying the beat of the last round. "Oh, and you've been married?"

He sent a glance to the far ceiling, his fingers snapping lightly.

"Nay, I was not, though I might have been, had the captain not accepted me as her apprentice. So, you see, I am doomed, whichever foot I stand upon."

Theo laughed again. He used that as an excuse to step up to the board, fingers hovering above the selection for the next level.

"Are you ready, Sweet Mystery?"

"I am if you are," she answered.

"Bold heart." He smacked the start plate with his toe.

"Go!"

* * * *

The music poured through her, mixing with the norbear hum, filling up her senses. She was aware of the music, the patterns, and of Win Ton, matching her step-for-step on the pad next to hers.

Together, they tore through the first section of the level, and then hit a complex series of moves seemingly a repeat of a much earlier level, as if the game-programmer was toying with them. Surely they weren't going to regress?

There! The tempo picked up again, and now the music moved into something her dancing instructor called contrapuntal dysrhythmia, with the point being that the dance moves were not in sync with the music.

Theo laughed and dared a glance at Win Ton, who saw her look and made a silly face. She laughed again, caught the next footwork and saw that, too, was being silly.

And then she...

Almost fell over.

The music – just stopped. The platform shook with a weird rumbling. Lights flashed. Buzzers went off. The Tri-D screen showed a senseless pattern, twirling wildly. Glittery streamers fell from somewhere, tangling in her hair, cluttering the dance pad, and drifting in the air from the blowers.

She spun, careful of her footing among the fallen streamers, and stared at Win Ton, who was stubbornly kicking at the start plate.

"What happened?"

He flung his hands out, eloquent of frustration. "We have beaten the machine, you and I! There are no more levels to dance."

Theo fuffed hair out of her face.

"It can't be over. I still have dance left!"

Win Ton laughed again, and suddenly pointed over the edge of the platform.

"I fear we may have danced past lessons. There stand my captain and your mother, and I very much fear it is going to go badly with us."

She fuffed her hair out of her face again, saw her mother waving at her to come down.

"Kick it again," she said to Win Ton. "Maybe it'll start if we both kick it!"

* * * *

"We scarcely had a workout at all!" Win Ton said to Cho sig'Radia across the table the four of them had claimed at Breakfast All Year.

Kamele sipped her coffee, trying to hide her amusement. That the boy had had a workout was all too obvious. Disregarding the fact that he and Theo were both still sweat-dampened and in high color, they had between them consumed a so-called "nuncheon plate" advertised to feed four, and were making short work of the follow-on sweets tray. Theo had eaten with a delicate voracity that had frankly amazed, letting the boy do the talking, except for a few early comments regarding norbears.

"Yet you advanced to the overdrive level," Cho pointed out. "It seemed from the floor, young Win Ton, that you and your partner ended the game in the top first percentile of players – "

"It does not advance to the challenge level!" Win Ton interrupted, and Theo paused with her third – or possibly fourth – petit pastry halfway to her mouth to blink at him.

"I thought we were at the challenge level!" she exclaimed.

"No, sweet dancer – a proper machine, such as the one I am accustomed to from – " a quick glance at Cho " – from school, has several levels yet above where we found ourselves, which allow for free form, and other variations."

He sounded, Kamele thought, genuinely aggrieved, and despite herself she chuckled.

Three pair of eyes came to rest on her face, which was – disconcerting, but she had brought it on herself.

"I'm sorry," she said to Win Ton, who had probably thought she was laughing at him. "I'm reminded of – of a dear friend of mine who makes similar complaints about the equipment we have at home." She sipped her coffee, marking how the boy's gaze never faltered. "His answer is usually to... correct... the poor performance into something he finds more reasonable."

Win Ton's face grew thoughtful.

"I will ask my apprentice," Cho sig'Radia said, with emphasis, "to recall that he is a guest and a passenger upon this vessel."

He turned to her. "But, Captain – "

She raised a hand. "Spare the poor device, my child; it is a game only, and never meant to withstand a full testing."

"But – "

"It wasn't a test," Theo interrupted. "We were just trying to work off the – the buzz from the norbears!" She looked at Cho seriously. "And it was just what we needed. Making lace wouldn't have done at all!"

There was a small silence during which, Kamele strongly suspected, Cho sig'Radia struggled courageously with her emotions.

"Ah," she said at last, inclining her head. "You must tell me more about this lace making, if you would, young Theo. I have, as you may understand, some interest in strategies for bleeding excess energy."

Chapter Twenty-Two

Vashtara

EdRec Level

Library

Win Ton really called that one! Theo thought as she moved out of the lecture hall. Hindsight clearly showed that she should've gone with him to the "Antique Recipe Workshop."

Pffft. If she was ever a teacher she was going to lecture better than Mr. Chorli. He hadn't been very good with the norbear presentation and he'd been even worse with "All The Languages of Space." Not only didn't he speak anything but what he called "pure Terran," he used some kind of promptomatic on his speakeasy display so all he had to do was read ahead a few seconds to sound like he knew his subject. She could get better than that off any classroom channel at home any hour of the day. Worse than all of that, though – he hadn't taken questions.

Not that he probably knew anything about nonverbal languages.

Well, she'd just have to download the extra study packet off of the Library site when she got back to the stateroom. She was at liberty until six bells, though she was supposed to meet Win Ton in front of the Arcade after their respective lectures were over.

"All the Languages of Space" had ended some minutes short of its advertised time frame, which she guessed was just as well. It did, however, mean that she had a little bit of time to make good on a promise.

She glanced around her, located the pointer, and was shortly in the Pet Library, the norbears' eco-section before her, status light glowing a cheery yellow for accepting visitors.

Theo smiled. She'd just look in and see if anybody was awake. Carefully, she eased the gate open and slipped inside the eco-space.

If she hadn't known better, she would have said that the enclosure was empty; a first glance showed only the ragged vegetation, the sticklike shrubbery, and a little pool of gently flowing water. It was quiet, too; the only noise she heard for three heartbeats was a sort of soft under-mumble, which was probably the pump powering the pool.

Three or four careful steps into the space, Theo sank to her knees on the crinkly floor.

"Hey," she called softly. "Anybody home? I promised I'd come back."

Nothing moved. Theo sighed. She'd thought she'd at least see the little norbear who had seemed so sad when she'd left, before. Still, she reminded herself, naps were pretty serious for cats – and probably for norbears, too. Just because the Pet Librarian decided they were receiving visitors didn't mean that the norbears agreed.

She shifted slightly on her knees, waking a rustle.

"Maybe next time," she said, gently, and began to rise.

Somebody... sneezed, tiny and delicate.

She froze.

The vegetation rustled, and a pair of round ears hove into view, quivering.

Theo held her breath as the rest of the norbear became visible, sneezed again, then bumbled into action, charging across the crinkly floor at full norbear throttle.

She laughed and held her hand down. The skinny one who had wanted her to stay barreled straight onto her palm. Carefully, she brought the little creature to her shoulder, already hearing the buzz inside her head, and feeling a warm pulse of pleasure. The norbear was glad she had come back. Theo was glad she had come back. She sighed as the tiny fingers gripped her hair, the audible part of the purr tickling her ear.

"I can't stay long," she said, keeping her voice soft so as not to wake any of the other norbears. "But I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten you."

Her palm tickled, like she was holding fur, and the feeling of warm well-being increased. Theo smiled.

"You didn't forget me, either. That makes me feel good. I'll come back again, if you want me to, but I'm going to have to go in a couple minutes to meet Win Ton."

The purring quickened; the feeling of half-sleepy comfort shifting into a kind of bouncy inquisitiveness. Maybe, Theo thought, the norbear was describing Win Ton, as he was perceived by norbears. The tempo changed again, brightening; Theo felt a sparkle of energy, and breathed a laugh.

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, reaching up and schooching the norbear from her shoulder to her hand. "The last time we were here, you gave us so much energy we had to dance it off. We beat the machine and now Captain Cho says we can't dance it anymore!"

The purring took on a quizzical tone.

"Well... she said we'd be making a display of ourselves. But Win Ton says he's got something that's even better than dancing, which is why I'm supposed to meet him."

She put the norbear gently down on the floor-stuff, and shivered pleasurably when the little creature once again wrapped her fingers around the base of Theo's thumb.

"I'll visit you again," she said; "promise. But next time, you need to wake up quicker!"

The norbear flicked her ears, rubbed her head against Theo's fingertips and let go, settling back on her hind legs.

Theo rose, not without a pang, and let herself out of the eco-section. When she looked back through the transparent door, she could still see the norbear, sitting tall, watching her.

* * * *

Theo left the Pet Library, walking with the light, quick stride she'd learned from Win Ton. It wasn't quite like dancing; in fact, it was like math. A lot like math, where the rest of the objects and pedestrians in an area three strides ahead and to either side of you were points. And it was your job to navigate through the space created by those points. Frowning, she wondered how she'd explain it to Bek. Maybe she'd just have to show him.

She passed one of the 'vator banks as the doors opened and what looked like a whole secondary school was disgorged. The crowd swept 'round her, walking quickly, voices raised in a confusion of language and dialect – not one of them, Theo thought, spitefully – "pure Terran." In fact, it did looked like a secondary school, she saw: There were some adults mixed in, but mostly the crowd was made up of kids her age or a little older, wearing sweaters in what must be their Team colors. They sorted themselves as they streamed past, yellow sweaters finding other yellows; magentas grouping together; blues swirling 'round each other like water.

She increased her pace, but they soon outstripped her, hurrying past the Arcade, toward the retail areas beyond.

Theo slowed and let them go. She was supposed to meet Win Ton in front of the Arcade; it was no sense running a race when she was almost there, and not at all late, despite her visit with the norbear.

From behind her came the sound of rapid footsteps – maybe some of the kids had gotten separated from their group, Theo thought, and swung toward the wall, so she wouldn't impede them. That would be anti-social.

Behind her, the rushing footsteps slowed considerably, and a boy spoke softly – though still loud enough for her to hear.

"Hey, hey, Jumbo. There she is! That cute Liaden girl you were faunching after – she's right there. I told you she wouldn't be able to stay away. People get addicted to that dance thing. And her boyfriend's not with her!"

Theo scanned the crowd ahead, looking for the "Liaden girl." The rushing Teams had mostly been Terran, she thought, though she hadn't seen everybody, and it would've been hard to pick a specifically Liaden girl out of the crowd. How would you tell? Even Father, who, as he had assured her gravely, stood every inch a Liaden, sometimes startled inadvertent people, who just assumed that he was Terran.

People, Theo thought, weren't generally very advertent.

The Arcade was in sight, and there was Win Ton, in his jacket today and – but, no! That person's hair was more red and less brown than Win Ton's hair, though he was wearing a similar jacket. He was shoulder-to-shoulder with a black-haired woman, both of them on the alert for someone, by the way they stood.

"Catch her before she goes in the Arcade!" another boy – maybe Jumbo? – cried.

The footsteps quickened again, scuffling in haste, and suddenly her view of the Arcade and the interesting people before it was blocked by a group of three young men in tight black pants and glittery, open-necked shirts. They looked faintly familiar – maybe she'd seen them in one of the shopping malls, or at lunch; but she was certain she'd never spoken to any of them.

The tallest of the three, which put him 'way taller than her, stood slightly forward, blocking her way, and smiled like he expected her to recognize him. He had a square face, made squarer by the fact that he'd slicked his hair back so it was flat to his head. Two blue stripes were painted from the outside corners of his eyes to the tips of his ears and he had an earring that matched his glittery shirt dangling in his left ear.

She'd seen him somewhere, Theo thought, glancing over his shoulder at his friends, who seemed to be having a hard time not laughing.

"Mamzel," the tallest boy said abruptly, his voice sounding breathless, "may I offer you congratulations on a great dance? I've never seen a girl dance so well before."

Oh. The captain had explained that they might expect people seeking them out to congratulate them on "beating" the dance machine.

"It is to be a wonder, young Theo; some people will wish to share your glory by speaking of it to you. There are those who will admire the performance even of the sullen young apprentice, though he owns himself barely tested." Captain Cho had paused to look pointedly at Win Ton before continuing, "This is yet another reason to refrain from repeating such a display of virtuosity. Rest, both, upon your accomplishments; be gracious to those who seek you out – and find some other avenue for excess energy."

Theo gave the boy before her a smile and a nod.

"Thank you," she managed, trying to sound gracious; "we had a lot of fun."

Again, she looked beyond him, hoping for Win Ton, but seeing only the friends of her admirer, and feeling – feeling more nervous than gracious.

She moved two steps to the right, but one of the friends matched the move, so that she couldn't leave, unless she wanted to duck around him and look like a kid.

"I was wondering..." said the tall youth. He bowed a silly, off-centered bow, like he was fragile, or didn't know how to stand on his feet. His friends tried to follow suit and looked even sillier. "Would you care to join us for a dance on level two or three?"

Theo took a breath. This isn't, she reminded herself, the late bus from Nonactown. This is an open hallway. Lots of people can see you, right here, right now. There's no way they can cover up all those eyes.

Another breath, and she gave the tall boy Father's nodding half-bow, because Captain Cho had said "gracious."

"I'm honored," she managed, "but I don't – I'm not sure it would be fair. I'm – "

The leader's smile dropped away into a hard, angry line. He leaned forward, looming over her, and interrupted loudly.

"Not fair to dance with us? Are you that good, do you think? Grizzat's bones, I've heard Liadens are stuck up, but – "

Theo dropped back a half-step, sliding into a move from the Suwello, which spun her sideways to the tallest boy. The one who had blocked her had dropped back, but whether that was because he didn't want to be part of the argument, or he wanted to give his friend space, Theo couldn't tell – and didn't care. His absence created an opening. She could dance to the left, spin right and –

"Boyfriend!" came sotto-voice from the friend on the left, barely ahead of another, familiar, and welcome voice.

"I'd measure 'not fair' as a polite enough no," Win Ton said, with a certain bland emphasis. He paused at her side and set his shoulder against hers. "Liaden or otherwise. As our dancer was waiting for me, as I feel certain she was about – Oh, Pilots!"

He bowed, pretty as a dance move, to the left of the three boys, where the red-headed person she'd almost mistaken for Win Ton and his companion came.

"Pilot, well met," the woman said. She returned his bow precisely, the black hair curving over her shoulder showing highlights of blue.

The three boys suddenly went back a step, then another.

"Win Ton!" her teammate cried, with a grin. "We were told we might find you and your fair partner here!" The bow he swept was full of flourish, and aimed, Theo saw with a blink, at her. "Star Dancer, allow me to be honored beyond my powers of expression!"

"If only it were so!" the woman added.

Theo giggled. The red-haired man straightened, fingers flickering with rapid purpose.

"Precisely," Win Ton answered, and turned his head toward the visibly nervous boys.

"Young sirs, our party has found us, and we are wanted elsewhere," he said crisply. "The very best of good luck to you, in your crusade to conquer Level Two."

* * * *

"Well, there wasn't really a problem," Theo said half-huffily as they strode toward and through a grav-change spot. None of her companions commented on it, so she didn't either. Of course, none of her companions had commented on the boys who had wanted to dance, either. But Theo... her stomach was still unsettled, though really, she told herself for the fourth time, there hadn't been any danger.

"They just wanted me to dance with them," she said, "and I was trying to say that it wouldn't be fair to start a dance when I was expecting a friend and would have to leave. But he misunderstood what I said, and he wouldn't let me finish..."

Win Ton looked beyond her to the other members of their party, a hand sign directing them and her left at the next intersection. The gravity changed there, too, lightening.

"You spoke nothing but truth, Theo," Win Ton said. "Indeed, you might have stopped in good conscience with 'not fair.' Those three will never be pilots – nor dancers. It is therefore nothing more than the duty of one who is a most exquisite dancer to protect them from harmful ambition."

Theo glanced at him, and took a deliberate breath, trying to let the last of the upset feeling go.

"You're right," she said. "It's nothing that needs to go to Delm Korval."

Win Ton blinked, eyes widening.

"Certainly not," he agreed. He touched his tongue to his lips, then looked past her, speaking to Cordrey, the red-haired man, and his friend Phobai.

"Hear me, Pilots, we went shoulder to shoulder to Level thirty-six, and might have gone to Level fifty, had the machine not been burdened with a governor. Those clumsy halflings could have learned nothing from dancing with Theo! You could see that they wanted only to be admired!"

"Your eyesight that bad, Pilot?" Cordrey asked, giving Theo a grin and a wink. "Looked to me like what they really wanted to do was admire Theo, all to themselves."

Win Ton did an odd little shrug-and-bow on the move. "Point taken," he admitted. "Ah, we'll want my pass here."

He dropped one step behind Theo and took two long steps to Cordrey's side, a key card appearing between his fingers as they approached the gate across the hall. Phobai shifted her position so now she was walking next to Theo.

"Still feeling a little fizzy, aren't you?" the black-haired woman asked.

Theo bit her lip, and nodded.

"Thought so. Those guys weren't anything you couldn't handle, even if we hadn't happened along. The fizz, though, that'll be good for what we're on course for."

Ahead of them, the gate snapped open, and Win Ton waved them through.

"Quickly, friends! Now..."

He moved ahead of their little party, Cordrey at his heels. Phobai stayed with Theo, walking as close as a mother.

"What – course are we on?" Theo asked. Phobai smiled, slow and lazy.

"You'll like it," she said, which wasn't an answer at all. "Not far now, I don't think."

"Fourteen," Win Ton said to Cordrey; "though fourteen-b, I'm told, is the actual entrance we wish to use."

They walked on, quiet and companionable. Theo felt a comfortable bounce to her step that wasn't just the light gravity. It did feel good to stretch her legs, and the... fizz... that Phobai had noticed seemed to have given her something like a norbear buzz.

A double-doorway was coming up on the left, gold-colored numerals blazoned Theo-high on the wall, accompanied by the legend, "Captain's Ballroom."

They strode on another two dozen steps, to the much more modest door labeled "14-B."

"Now!" said Win Ton, brandishing the key once more. He looked to Theo, his eyes sparkling. "Now, we can be private! "

* * * *

"Why did you come back?" Chair Hafley's voice was not as calm as she wished it to be; the tension was in the over-careful enunciation.

Kamele raised her coffee cup and sipped, savoring the bright, acidic taste. It was very good coffee; the sort to be enjoyed in pleasant solitude or shared with an old and dear friend.

Unhappily, there was instead of either solitude or a friend, Orkan Hafley.

Kamele placed her cup gently onto the saucer and met the Chair's hard blue gaze. She could plead ignorance, but there was nothing to gain, really, from pretending not to understand the question.

"It was time," she said calmly, "to come back."

"Oh, it was time!" Hafley's laugh was harsh. "What I don't understand, Kamele, is why you waited so long. The Liaden bed-toy performed his function well. You had years ago gotten your introductions to the high scholars and ingratiated yourself into their regard. A well-enough plan, aptly executed, and nothing more than a canny scholar with an eye to her future – and her daughter's! – might put in motion. Though the Liaden wasn't quite well-placed enough to get you into the Tower, was he?"

"I believe that Professor Kiladi is well-thought-of at the Administrative levels," Kamele said, carefully now.

"I'm certain that he is," Hafley said, with heavy sarcasm, "but are you?" She plucked a pink sponge cake flower from the pastry tray on the table between them and disposed of it in one bite.

"You are not thought of by Admin at all!" she said, answering her own question somewhat stickily. "And that was not very forward-looking. If you wish to solidify your position, you'll need Admin behind you. Unless," she continued, giving Kamele a speculative look, "unless that is the reason you've come back? The Liaden is getting long in the tooth, and I daresay he isn't as... satisfactory... as he might once have been. A rising young Administrator, however... Parlay the position you gained from the old man, and, of course, your own worth as a full professor and a woman at the height of her powers. Yes, that might well open the Tower to you. A young man warms the bed nicely, if I may offer the benefit of my experience – and so eager to be led! It will be quite a change for you."

Kamele thought about her coffee, but did not reach for it. Her anger was gaining on her puzzlement – and Hafley must not see her hand shake.

"It's kind of you to say, Chair," she said, keeping her voice calm. "One does like to know that one's planning is appropriate."

"Appropriate," Hafley agreed, reaching for the pot and pouring herself more coffee. She did not offer to warm Kamele's cup.

"Appropriate," she said again, as if the word had savor, "but so time-consuming. Had you not lingered so long outside the Wall, this plan might have served you better. As it is, I believe I may save you some time – and perhaps some effort."

"You... intrigue me," Kamele said honestly.

"Of course I do; you are a woman of ambition. Now, how if I were to offer you entree to highest levels of the Tower, immediately upon our return to Delgado? Of course you may still wish to secure that warm and eager-to-please ornament to your sagacity. But! Your choice need not then be constrained by a job title."

She didn't care if her hands shook or not, Kamele thought; she needed coffee.

The cup was tepid now; she drank it anyway. A memory rose: Jen Sar's first polite sip of the coffee she had made for the two of them to share: a special blend, purchased for the occasion. By the measuring glance he'd given the satiny dark beverage, he'd been braced for staff-room coffee, and it had been liquid bliss to see his eyebrows rise in surprise, and his lips soften into a smile when he lowered the cup.

"I wonder, Chair," Kamele said, putting her cup down and reaching for the pot. Her hands were quite steady, after all. What a surprise. "I wonder what you mean to say?"

Hafley laughed and chose another sweet cake from the tray. "Why, only that I can forward your ambition, Scholar. All you need do is ally yourself with me, and to support my purpose."

* * * *

Phobai took off her jacket and tossed it into a far corner.

"It might be tall enough," she said, tilting a measuring eye toward the ceiling; "if we're careful!"

"Oh, we'll be careful, we will," Cordrey said, stripping out of his jacket and dropping it casually next to hers.

Theo looked up, and shook her head. "I don't think I can jump that high, even if the gravity shifts and I dance real hard!"

Cordrey laughed, and leapt straight up, arm over head, fingers extended. He might, Theo thought, have been trying to touch the ceiling. If so, he missed by several hand-lengths, and dropped lightly to the floor.

"See?" he said to Phobai. "Careful."

He went off to the side and began tapping at the walls, his ear close. At a little distance, Win Ton was paying serious attention to the floor, scuffing at some spots, tapping at others.

Curious, Theo looked down, surprised to find that the surface was like the Scavage court – elastic and slick. She bounced experimentally on her toes, pleased at the give. Maybe she could touch the ceiling, after all.

"Hey, Theo."

She turned to face Phobai, who had taken off her jersey, to reveal a sleeveless stretchy shirt that looked like a dance top. She lifted her arms, swept her hair up, gave it a twist and pinned it into a smooth knot at the back of her neck. Theo felt a pang, lost when the pilot smiled at her.

"You might want to take off that sweater. Things are likely to get warm."

"Oh!" Theo looked down at herself, disconcerted by the long sleeves, so comfortable for most of the ship's tourist areas – and not comfortable at all for dancing.

She sighed and looked back to Phobai. "I'm afraid I didn't bring any dance clothes."

"You're among friends," Phobai said, smiling. She leaned forward and brushed Theo's hair off her forehead. "If you need to get comfortable, we'll understand."

"Phobai!" Cordrey called from across the room. "Listen to this, will you?"

No one had asked her to do anything, so Theo walked out into the center of the floor, and began Stretch Sequence Three from dance class. The sequence ended with a jump, and she surprised herself – maybe she could touch the ceiling after all!

She landed light, gasping a laugh, and glanced around her. Phobai and Cordrey were down-room, their heads together over a section of wall.

Well. She danced a step, another; heard Professor Noni's high voice chanting the time in her head – "One, two, three; one, two three; one, two, three, four!" – swayed, her arms moving in pattern across her chest and belly, the steps unrolling, as her hands came up, pushing air...

As she spun into the last sentence, and there was Win Ton, moving with her, his steps a flowing reflection of hers. They came to rest on the final four, and she heard him say, softly. "Again, one, two..."

She stepped into the dance again, delighted as they moved, each the perfect reflection of the other. The module flowing around them like water.

Four.

Theo came to rest, hands folded before her.

Win Ton spun to the left, hands describing the dimensions of an invisible ball – and stopped, flat-footed and abruptly graceless, as he realized that he danced alone.

"Shall we not continue?" His voice was wistful.

"I... don't know any more," she said, feeling more than a little wistful herself. "Professor Noni was going to teach us the next module, but my mother took me out of school to travel with her." Funny, she thought, how she wasn't so sure that was a bad thing, anymore. "I – could you teach me the next part? Bek says I catch new steps quicker than anyone he's seen, and he's been dancing since he was a littlie."

Win Ton was seen to take a breath.

"I can and I will teach you the next part, Theo Waitley," he said, sounding stern, and much older. "Your instructor should be – to leave a student with only the first four moves of the most basic self-defense? How can this – "

"Wait!" She threw her hands up; they settled into the pushing-air gesture, left hand slightly ahead of the right. Win Ton shifted, his weight going to his right leg – then stood down, somehow, as if he retracted a motion he'd made in his head and stored it away for some future moment.

"Caught between dreams and called to waken from both!" he exclaimed, bringing his hands to belt-level, palms facing Theo, fingers spread wide. "For what am I to wait, Sweet Mystery?"

"You said, self-defense," she stammered, lowering her hands to her side. "But – that's just a dance routine we were learning. It's called the Suwello."

"Ah," he said, sounding very much like Father in that monosyllable. "Yes, in some places where self-defense is frowned upon... menfri'at may be taught as the Suwello."

He looked about. Theo followed his gaze, finding Cordrey and Phobai dancing the Suwello some distance down the room. Their tempo was quicker than Professor Noni had taught – so quick that it almost looked like the soft, air-pushing hand-motions were... strikes, and some of the footwork – surely Phobai hadn't meant to kick at her partner, like that!

"Pilots?" Win Ton called. "Menfri'at some other day!"

Cordrey spun in a move that looked related to the one Win Ton had left unfinished, his hands twisting toward Phobai's shoulder.

"Pilots, tell the tale, pray!"

Cordrey ducked, and stopped moving, his arms straight down at his side. Phobai did the same, neatly. They turned together as if continuing the dance and jogged forward, moving with that economy of motion that Win Ton and Captain Cho displayed, as if the whole ship and everyone in it were part of the same dance. The same way that Father moved, she realized, though it was hard to see because of the cane...

"The walls are strong enough for light bounces," Cordrey said upon his and Phobai's arrival, "but not for us, I fear. We don't want to risk tearing the fabric, or damaging the wiring behind some of the panels."

"We are well warned then," said Win Ton. He jammed his foot hard at the floor, his boot squealing against the slick stuff. "The floor requires footwear, but is well enough for dives if need be, if you tuck skin."

"Warned!" said both the pilots in unison, now nearly as close to her as Win Ton.

"Warned for what?" Theo asked.

Phobai chuckled. "Just warned, and kind we are to do so."

Theo blinked at her, before Win Ton claimed her attention with a wave of his hand – just a wave, not the deliberate motion he used at Captain Cho, or the pilots.

"Admit it, Theo," he said, "you have been warned about the walls, the ceiling has been mentioned, and you have now heard of the floors."

She laughed, not informed at all.

"Yes," she agreed. "I heard it so I guess I'm been warned!"

"Good." He reached inside his jacket. "We are going to teach you something that will change your life, Theo Waitley," he said, and his voice was serious, indeed.

She sputtered a laugh, but the two pilots nodded gravely.

Win Ton pulled his hand out of his jacket.

"Let's move!" Phobai yelled, and backed rapidly away, while Cordrey turned and ran up-room.

Win Ton spun, throwing... something underhanded to Phobai, who caught it, and flashed it toward Cordrey... who threw it quite hard toward Win Ton. It was a ball, Theo thought, but it didn't arc right, it danced and shimmied as it flew, then made a sudden dive, illogical dive, which Win Ton managed to intercept just above his foot.

He straightened, holding his captive high, and cried, "Pause!"

Turning, he displayed the object to Theo. It was... sort of a ball, she saw, globular rather than round, sporting every color of the rainbow and a few Theo thought it had made up on the spot.

"Sixty-four sides, none the same color," Win Ton said softly, leaning forward to let her get a good look at it, but keeping a firm hold. "This, Sweet Mystery, is a bowli ball. It is bad form to permit it to touch the ground. It should only cease motion by mutual agreement. Play most generally begins slowly and builds, and I believe you will discover it a most exquisite dance."

He leaned closer and placed the bowli ball in her hand, closing her fingers over it. She felt a purring, almost like a norbear, and felt the device move against her fingers, as if it was trying to get free.

Win Ton leaned closer still, as if, Theo thought, her face heating – as if he were going to kiss her!

Instead, he whispered into her ear.

"Call pause, if you need to stop or to be left out of the circle. The ball is the thing, and all of us wish you to do well. Once the game starts, there is no quarter, without a call of pause or halt. Because this is a game between friends, and you new-come to the play, you may drop a ball thrice before you are required to bow out." He stepped back and grinned, eyes sparkling "This is the challenge level, Theo."

He backed away quickly, then, waving his hand in a broad motion that included including the pilots and himself.

"No quarter, Theo! Throw as you will – pilot's choice!"

Chapter Twenty-Three

History of Education Department

Oriel College of Humanities

University of Delgado

Ella ben Suzan leaned back in her chair and rubbed her hands over her face as if the friction would order her tumbling thoughts. It did not, she told herself forcefully, bear considering by what unsubtle means Kamele had secured concessions from Admin. Far better to dwell on the happy outcome – Ella named TempChair of EdHist, Hafley forced to lend her countenance to the Research Team, and Emeritus Professor Beltaire attached to EdHist as an archival advisor.

True, these things had not come without price. There was, for instance, the annoying but easily led Jon Fu elevated to TempSubChair, not to mention the disordered nerves of the department as a whole. Bad enough to have discovered and dismissed Flandin. Ten times worse, to find that Flandin might only be the crumbling edge of a very steep cliff.

Ella leaned back in her chair and sipped staff-room coffee. For a wonder, she had no meetings scheduled until tomorrow morning, and nothing on her extensive to-do list that couldn't wait for ten hours. It might not be the worst thing she could do, to go home and get some sleep.

She put the coffee cup on top of one of the small piles of hard copy and reached for her book. Sleep would be –

The buzzer rang.

Ella closed her eyes. "Enter," she snapped.

The door mechanism rasped. She opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't.

"Ella." Jen Sar Kiladi bowed gently over his cane. "I hope I find you well."

"You find me exhausted, overworked, and impatient," she told him bluntly. She was always blunt with Jen Sar, but he never returned the favor.

"Then you will enjoy a quiet moment of conversation with an old friend," he answered, and sat in the empty visitor's chair, folding his hands over the crook of the Gallowglass cane.

Ella sighed, and did not give voice to her thought that it would be a good thing indeed, were an old friend present. There was no reason to escalate plain speaking to rudeness – and it wouldn't rid her of the man one heartbeat sooner than he intended to go.

"May I request the consideration of a short conversation?" she asked, reaching for her cup.

"I will contrive to be as brief as possible," he murmured, black eyes glinting. "To come immediately to the point, then: I have inspected the suspect wire in Professor Waitley's apartment – a task for which you gave me leave. That inspection led me in time to the offices of Information Systems, where Technician Singh was gracious enough to give me a tour of the facilities, including a site map for the 'old wire.' "

Ella frowned at him. "Old wire?"

"So it is known to the Techs. It would seem – again, briefly – that in some sections of the Wall, apartments had been provided with a research protocol which pre-dates the current Concierge system. That system provided a research AI which was more free-ranging than the Concierge, and which shortly produced a wealth of inconveniences that Technician Singh was pleased to recount to me in detail. In the interests of brevity, I shall not enumerate them."

"Thank you," Ella said, with real gratitude. "If I understand what you've said, then it seems as if Theo... accidentally invoked the former system, and downloaded the old program to her 'book."

"I also entertained this comforting thought. Alas, Technician Singh assures me that the previous AI was not merely taken off-line, but fragmented. Each fragment was then isolated and erased."

She stared at him. "As 'inconvenient' as that?"

"According to the tale told out by Technician Singh, it did seem to interpret its duties with a broad brush," Jen Sar said. He paused, his gaze directed to the floor, perhaps contemplating the wages of mischief, then looked back to her with a ripple of his shoulders.

"This episode was finished many years ago. Any number of Wall residences have 'old wire' in them, supposedly capped, but Technician Singh did not pale noticeably at the suggestion that some wires may have escaped this fate. She allowed me to know that anyone who accidentally jacked into the 'old wire' would receive only dead air."

"Theo certainly got something more than dead air!"

"So she did. I fear that I may not have been... quite forthright with Technician Singh regarding my sudden interest in these matters."

"Of course you weren't." Ella sighed, finished her now-cold coffee, and threw the cup at the recycler.

She missed. Naturally.

"So, we didn't learn anything from this little excursion of yours."

"On the contrary, I think we learned a great deal," Jen Sar answered.

"We still don't know where the AI on Theo's old school book came from."

"Did I not say? It came through the wire marked 'research' in Theo's room."

"But InfoSystems says the AI was deprogrammed!"

"Indeed. We have thereby learned that the Serpent of Knowledge AI is not under the control of Delgado University Information Systems. All that remains for us is to discover who does control it."

She eyed him. "That's all, is it? Well! Since it's so simple, we'll just put that puzzle aside for Kamele's return. Something a little different for her to – "

"This must be solved," Jen Sar interrupted sternly, "before Kamele returns."

Jen Sar never interrupted, and he was much too good an actor to allow sternness to glare through the cordial mask he habitually wore. If it had been Monit Appletorn in the chair opposite her, Ella might have put this sudden display down to overreactive male sensibilities. Jen Sar Kiladi, however –

Ella blinked, as suddenly it fell into place, all of it, with a snap so loud she was certain the man across from her heard it.

"She didn't put you aside!" she exclaimed.

Jen Sar tipped his head. "May I not display even the least concern for the woman who permitted me to share so many years of her life?"

"Dissembling gains you nothing," Ella told him, leaning forward in excitement as the whole scheme rolled out before her mind's eye. "Kamele knew there was something off-key about Flandin's departure – or, I should say, Hafley's handling of the matter. We talked about it, she and I, and then... She had to seem strong – she had to be unencumbered by her politically unhandy relationship with the honored Gallowglass Chair. But she never released you! Who looked for the notice in The Faq? The act of moving back to the Wall with her daughter at her side – it said everything!"

She collapsed into her chair-back, suddenly exhausted. Kamele, she thought, life with this man has changed you more than I knew.

Jen Sar raised an eyebrow. "You choose the oddest moments to be perceptive."

Surprised into a laugh, Ella struggled to sit upright. "Honesty, for once!"

The second eyebrow joined the first. "When have I lied to you, Ella?"

"When have you told anyone a straight story?" she countered, and laughed again. "Chaos! No wonder she refused poor Monit quite so sharply, poor man."

He tipped his head, lips parting; Ella raised her hand.

"No, don't say it – I agree completely! Tell me instead what you intend to do."

"I intend," he said quietly, "to find the origin of that Serpent AI. Once I have done that, I will know what needs to be done next."

That was a sensible course, Ella admitted, and nodded approvingly at him. "Kamele was right, then. This is something much larger than a few adjusted cites."

Jen Sar moved his shoulders and stood. "No one is right until we have proof," he said austerely, and bowed. "Good evening, Ella."

* * * *

Alone at last in her stateroom, Kamele tapped up her 'book and opened a file, but she had no concentration for her work. 'Round and 'round the refrain echoed inside her head, "I was right! Hafley is in it! I was right!"

She had accepted the Chair's offer, of course; how else would she obtain proof of intent to harm the university, its faculty and students?

Kamele relaxed deliberately into her chair, closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. She would make notes, she decided, lay out her thoughts and her concerns, exactly as she would do when opening any other line of research. In fact, it would be best to think of this as research – field research.

She so concentrated on this task that she barely heard Theo come in, or the sound of the 'fresher being engaged.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Vashtara

Gallaria Level

Passenger Lounge

The Consumers' Lounge on the Gallaria Level had become Theo's favorite place to meet Win Ton. It was, usually, quiet, even when, like now, there was a quartet playing music up front; the chairs and sofas were comfortable, and there didn't seem to be any rules about how long you could stay without being visited by a staff member worried that you might not be having a good time.

It was also equidistant from their three usual destinations – Ballroom 14-B, Private Studio Blue Three, and the Pet Library.

Just now, she was sitting cross-legged on the soft blue sofa next to the potted lemon tree. Her attention was mostly on the pattern she was trying to capture in lace. The sofa was easy to see from two of the three entrances, so even if she got too concentrated, Win Ton wouldn't miss her.

A shadow flickered over her busy fingers, and she looked up, blinking, from her needle.

"Win – " she began, and blinked again, because the friendly shadow didn't belong to Win Ton after all, but to Captain Cho.

"Ah," the woman bowed her head a shade too gravely, putting Theo forcefully in mind of Father. "I am desolate to have disappointed you."

Theo shook her hair back from her face, and grinned.

"But, you haven't disappointed me. I was expecting Win Ton, but I'm glad to see you!"

Captain Cho smiled – her real smile, not the too-bright one – and bowed softly. "Sweetly said, Theo Waitley. Truly, you honor me." She straightened and used her chin to point to the couch. "May I join you?"

"Please," Theo said formally. "I'll be glad of your company." She hesitated, then added, "I will need to go in a few minutes. Win Ton – "

"Ah, yes, the amiable and opportunistic young apprentice. As it happens, I have need of a word with him." Captain Cho sat next to Theo, and leaned slightly forward to study the pattern in progress.

"Is this the lace-making of which you spoke – which channels excess energy? May I see?"

"It's not finished," Theo cautioned, holding it out between careful fingers.

Cho studied it for three long heartbeats, tracing the lines with her eyes.

"I feel that I am acquainted with this pattern," she said, leaning back into the sofa's mannerly embrace. "Yet, where I might have encountered it eludes me just now."

"Well, it isn't finished," Theo said again, frowning down at the incomplete work. "And I don't think I've got this bit here exactly right..." She traced the questionable connections with her finger. "That's why I wanted to make the pattern." She held it out again, spread wide between her fingers.

"It's part of a dance," she said. "The – "

"It is the eighth menfri'at module," Captain Cho said suddenly. "Yes, I do see it, now – and you are correct. There is – not an error, I think, but rather a questionable variation in that transition phrase. It does not seem... entirely at ease with the intent of the next statement."

"That's it!" Theo exclaimed. "I put in an extra stitch – a kink. But if I smooth that out, then the rest of the line will play out awfully... fast."

"Indeed," Cho said softly. "The eighth module teaches us commitment to purpose. Have we come so far, only to falter? Surely not." She extended a finger and traced the kinked line. "It is the final meshing of commitment and skill which produces this speed of which you speak. Where there is certainty, there is no need to hesitate."

Theo nodded, thinking about the Suwello – menfri'at. It was true that the modules she had been learning from Win Ton produced a statement of – of expertise, something like – how strange! She paused, staring down at the lacework in her hands, seeing Father's Look inside her head.

"Theo?" Captain Cho murmured. "Is there something amiss?"

She shook herself, and looked up with a grin. "No, I just – made a connection, I guess you'd say." She chuckled. "Kamele says that a true scholar never stops learning, not that I'm a true scholar, really..." She looked down again and shook her head. Well, she thought, she'd just have to pick out the kinked bit. That wouldn't be so bad, really...

"Was it your mother who taught you this lace-making?" Cho asked.

Theo shook her head. "No, that was Fa – Professor Kiladi." She glanced up beneath her lashes at her companion. "He was Kamele's onagrata for – well, for all my life, really. When I was a littlie, I had some excess energy issues – that's what the school report said. And... Professor Kiladi, he showed me how making lace could help me... stop fizzing, sort of, and think."

"He seems a wise person, Professor Kiladi."

There was an emphasis on Father's name that drew Theo's gaze upward.

"Do you know him?" she asked. Cho was the sort of person that Father would find interesting, she thought. "He's very famous in his field – cultural genetics. Students come from all over the galaxy to study with him."

"A great teacher spans worlds," Cho said; it sounded like she was quoting something. "Alas, I doubt that I have met him, though it would surely be an honor. It is merely the name – quite an old name – which caught my ear."

"It is? I didn't know that." The unpicking wasn't being easy. Theo chewed her lip. "I guess it never came up," she said slowly. "Kamele did say that his... family had a call on him, even though he's been away all this time – studying, you know, and then teaching."

"Indeed, one's clan does have a call upon one, down the whole length of one's life. Those of us who are fortunate – among whom I count myself – find the burden easy to bear. Others, of course..." She let the sentence drift off, watching Theo slowly unravel her handwork.

"Who is it," she asked softly, "who is teaching you menfri'at?"

"Win Ton – and sometimes Phobai," Theo answered. There! She'd worked back past the kink. Now, she could do it right. She looked up to find Captain Cho watching her, as if she expected a fuller answer.

"It is pilot lore, of a kind, did they tell you that?"

Theo frowned, puzzled. "Well, but I'd already been taught the first four modules. Win Ton... thought I should learn more, if I knew that much."

"Ah. And Pilot Murchinson?"

Theo blinked, then remembered the name stitched on the left breast of Phobai's uniform.

"She says that I knew just enough to be a danger, but not enough to be dangerous."

Captain Cho laughed. "Indeed! Practical to the core, Pilot Murchinson, and a treasure for all of it!" There was a small pause, then, "Do you not agree, Trainee yo'Vala?"

Theo looked up as Win Ton approached their sofa, his hands moving in those purposeful gestures, his eyes on the captain's face.

"Indeed, Pilot Phobai is a marvel and a wonder," he said. "Good shift to you, Theo. I pray you will excuse my lateness."

"I've had good company," she said, smiling up at him. "And I was early." Captain Cho moved her hand, perhaps an answer to whatever Win Ton had told her.

"I wish someone would teach me that," Theo said, and felt her face heat. She was pretty sure that she wasn't supposed to notice –

Win Ton looked to Cho, who sighed even as she rose.

"I will discuss it with your mother," she said. "If you will excuse me, young Theo, I require the attention of my apprentice – briefly, so I swear!"

Cho swept her hand out – sternly, Theo thought. Apparently Win Ton thought so, too, because his mouth went straight like it did when he was being extra serious. He bowed slightly, and followed his captain away.

* * * *

At first glance, it seemed that the discussion between Captain Cho and Win Ton was mannerly and relaxed. They sat together on the red sofa, at their ease against the pillows, chatting casually.

Their hands – that was something else again.

Fingers danced with – energy. Maybe, Theo thought, watching out of the side of her eye – maybe even anger. And there was more than one meaningful glance in her direction. Theo sighed. She'd begun to form the opinion that Cho liked her, but – was the captain angry that Win Ton was spending so much of his time with her?

Not that everything in the universe was about her, of course, as Kamele and Father were quick to assure her, in their variously annoying ways, whenever she began taking things "too personally." In their opinions.

The lace was relaxing, and after awhile she settled into the pattern quite nicely, still with the odd glance toward the side. In the front of the room the quartet had bowed, nodded, and placed their instruments on stands. She hadn't heard if they were finished or merely taking a break, her attention having been toward the lace first and Cho and her assistant second, barely leaving room for... ah, here he came now.

"Did I get you in trouble, Win Ton?"

She'd surprised him; his eyes widened just a bit.

"Captain Cho wasn't happy," she ventured...

He glanced aside, but Cho was already on her way out of the lounge, gray head held high. Win Ton sighed, and looked back to her, moving his hand, carefully, toward the sofa.

"May I at least sit before we begin interrogations?"

She had gotten him in trouble. Theo bit her lip and patted the cushion beside her, courteously folding her work.

Win Ton extended his hand. "May I see? My captain would have me understand that this work of yours is something out of the common way."

"This?" She laughed and unfolded the piece, stretching it on her fingers so they could both see it. Now, she thought, pleased, it looked right.

Like Cho before him, Win Ton leaned close to inspect the lace, then leaned back against the cushion.

"I see – the eighth module, plain as plain. Do you often... record things thus?"

"Sometimes," she said. "It helps me to really understand spatial things – my fingers are smarter than I am!"

She'd meant it for a joke, but Win Ton didn't laugh. He only nodded and looked serious.

"Of this other thing, and insofar as it concerns you, Theo Waitley, yes, my captain is unhappy with me. I fear that I must offer you an apology, for I was full of my own enthusiasms, and yours, and did not think to ask Kamele Waitley if her daughter might take part in bowli ball. I barely told you that we would be doing more than some light and fashionable dance. My captain reminds me that bowli ball is not considered fashionable in many quarters, and that those who play bowli ball are not always regarded as fit company. Too, and as you know, from time to time one might take abrasions, bruises or worse away from a match."

Having taken some bruises herself, not to mention picking up a little floor-burn on her elbows – none which had been major enough to report to Kamele – Theo nodded.

"Yes." Win Ton sighed once more. "As my captain now requires me to inform your mother of this recreation that we have been sharing, and its peculiar dangers, it may be that I will get you in... trouble."

Theo thought about that. "So – you're sorry?"

Win Ton failed to stifle his laughter.

"May I ask that you not volunteer this to your mother or to my captain?"

"Volunteer what?"

"What I am about to say."

"That depends on if it passes muster, huh?"

He snorted.

"Yes. But then to the point. I am sorry that I acted without first requesting clearance from your mother. I am very pleased that you have been able to participate in our games."

Theo smiled, relieved. "I'm glad – oh!" Relief turned to dismay. "Does Captain Cho say that we can't play bowli ball any more?"

Win Ton reached out and put his hand on her knee, his face serious.

"That is for your mother to say, is it not?"

Of course it was for Kamele to say, Theo thought grumpily; mothers had the right to make those decisions for their minor children.

"So fierce a glare, Sweet Mystery! What are you thinking, I wonder?"

She looked up at him. "I was thinking I can't wait to be grown up so nobody else has the right to make my decisions for me," she said.

Win Ton laughed, and came to his feet, stretching, the scrape on his left wrist from a particularly vigorous retrieval during their last match almost glowing.

"As my captain is clear on the point that my mission is not one brooking much delay, I wonder if you know where we, or at least I, may find Kamele Waitley at this hour?"

* * * *

She was, Kamele thought, coming to value Professor Emeritus Vaughn Crowley. He had a sharp eye, a sharper ear, and an intellect keen enough to parse those things he observed. That he brought his concerns regarding Chair Hafley's timetable for the literature search to Kamele, ought, she thought, flatter her. Instead, it only made the knot in her stomach tighter. There had been a dangerous moment when she thought to confide in him, to reveal that Hafley believed her bought. The moment passed, and Crowley left their meeting unenlightened as to Kamele's double role – which was, doubtless, wisdom.

The encounter had left her shaken and with an appreciation of the gravity of her undertaking. Deceit was hard, and yet here was Hafley, scheming to deceive the administration and faculty of Delgado University, and seeming none the worse for the subterfuge.

You're too honest, she told herself, as the intersection with their "home" hallway approached. Surely honesty was a virtue in a scholar? It was what she had always believed. But, there, Hafley wasn't renowned as a scholar, was she?

She rounded the corner, careful to stay close to edge in case of traffic, and there, tapping on the door to their stateroom was Theo, Win Ton yo'Vala standing quite close behind her.

"Not here, I guess," Theo said, slipping her key out of her pocket. "Let's – "

The knot in Kamele's stomach tightened more, making her regret the coffee she'd drunk in Crowley's company. She stretched her legs. Win Ton looked up, put his hand on Theo's sleeve...

"Are you looking for me, daughter?" Kamele asked.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Number Twelve Leafydale Place

Greensward-by-Efraim

Delgado

A warm breeze wandered the garden, stroking the new leaves with fingers full of promise. Overhead, the stars stretched in a glittering tapestry, made finite by the spill of light from Efraim and the Wall.

Jen Sar Kiladi reclined upon a bench that would later in the season be hidden by a fragrant tumble of westaria vines; one soft-shoed foot on the stone seat, one braced against the ground. His head was on the cold arm rest; and his eyes on the stars. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere.

Theo was not the target, Aelliana said, her voice quiet inside his head.

"I consider it unlikely. What we must consider is if Kamele is the target."

There was silence for a time, save for the flirtatious rustling of the leaves. He did not have the sense that she had withdrawn, however; merely that she was considering the matter. As he was.

No, she said eventually. It would require conjoined efforts from Housing and Info Systems – and how yet would they know which room she would choose as her own? There are too many hands, and too much left to chance.

"Chance," he murmured. "Are they so slovenly, do you think, Aelliana? Or are they – " He stopped and sat up so suddenly last season's vines clattered around him.

What is it?

"What if it is not sloven chance, but bright cunning? Recall that Technician Singh told us 'old wire' was woven all through the elder apartments. Why confine the Serpent to one apartment?"

If, indeed, it could be confined.

"Precisely."

But how to prove it?

He smiled. "We ask an expert, of course."

* * * *

"You needn't wonder if I'm in, Theo," Kamele said sharply. "I've just returned from a meeting."

Right, Theo thought, another meeting. And not a good one, either, judging by her mother's tone and the set of her shoulders. Kamele being in a bad mood wasn't going to make Win Ton's apology any easier, but it was obviously too late to go away and come back later.

Kamele looked past her, pointedly.

"Trainee yo'Vala, how good of you to escort Theo."

The words were polite, but spoke in that too-sharp tone. Chair Hafley, Theo thought, must've been at the meeting. Maybe Clyburn, too. Out of the side of her eye, she saw Win Ton bow, slow, as if he wanted to convey some special meaning.

"Professor Waitley, I enjoy Theo's company, and... appreciate her kindness in permitting me to attend her – your pardon!"

The last phrase held a note of surprised excitement. Theo turned, her eye following his, but – really, there was nothing to see except the seam where the stateroom door sealed against the floor. Or –

Win Ton went to one knee, his hand going inside his jacket.

"Please," he said, with a glance up to her face; "mark where this goes, if it escapes me."

He produced a clear tubular container, thumbed the lid off as it came into view.

"What do you have?"

Theo jumped. Kamele was at her side, peering with her at the edge of the door. Win Ton's back and head were mostly in their way but there was something brownish, very nearly the colors of the floor, moving – scuttling – up the frame...

With a practiced air, Win Ton suddenly flicked at the scuttling something with the lid and pressed it down on the tube.

"I am not certain what I have, Professor Waitley," he said, rising easily to his feet. "Here."

He showed them the tube: within was an insect... or maybe not.

"If you see any more of these, would you please point them out?"

Theo frowned, staring at the thing in the tube. "It doesn't look quite right, does it? I've seen lots of bugs but this one... it isn't really an ant, or a beetle." She touched the tube gently. "It looks hurt or something."

Kamele leaned in, her shoulder against Theo's, looking closely at the tube.

"It also seems to be changing color," she commented, and at least she didn't sound snappish any more.

Win Ton glanced at the tube with its transforming burden, and inclined his head.

"Perhaps," he said softly, "we should take it out of the hall. Theo, do you see any more?"

She looked around the door seal, to the ceiling, along the edging that ran the length of the hall...

"I don't see any," she said, "but I don't think I would've seen that one. You've got quick eyes!"

"As you do," he returned. "And now that you have seen one, you will know what you are looking at, if you should see another."

Kamele approached the door, key out, and paused a moment to do her own visual check.

"It seems that it was acting alone," she said ironically.

"Good," Win Ton answered seriously.

Kamele used her key, and waved them into the stateroom.

* * * *

"Should we report an infestation to the ship?" Kamele asked, staring at the tube, "Or does that require multiple sightings?"

Win Ton glanced away from tube, and looked directly into her face.

"If I had found this elsewhere, simply sitting or walking randomly on a wall or table... it might have been a curiosity. I would still likely have... taken it for a specimen, since they are rarely seen. However, finding it... working, as indeed it may still be working, I am made far more curious. An infestation... that would be an extreme. As to reporting it – "

He held the tube out to her.

"Look closely, Professor Waitley. Theo has very good reactions. Very good."

Amazing Theo, Kamele thought as she received the tube, which was lighter than she'd expected. She held it up to her face.

The... insect was about the length of a finger joint, and it was testing the tube's seal. Thwarted, it turned and... ran!... toward the opposite side. Stopped precipitously by the end of the tube, the insect tried to climb the slippery stuff...

"It appears to be autonomous action, does it not?" Win Ton's voice was so soft that it barely pierced her attention mist. "For all we know it is recording, what we say, or what it sees of us. Or it may need to establish a location before it can transmit."

She looked up at him. "You're saying this is a construct? A..." She groped for the proper word – "A spying device?"

"So it would seem to me. I will show it to my captain and gain the benefit of her knowledge of such things. In the meanwhile, perhaps we should let it rest." He reached into his jacket again and withdrew a small bag. It shimmered as he flicked it open, as if it had silver woven among the threads.

"What're you carrying in there," Theo asked, "a laboratory?"

Win Ton laughed gently as he slipped the tube into the bag and sealed it.

"I am carrying a sampling kit, Sweet Theo, which I am required to do at all times by my captain, since I failed to carry one when I should have on another occasion. I am also carrying this..." He tucked the tube away, produced a bowli ball, and handed to Theo, "...which we shall wish to discuss shortly, and some ration bars, and candy, which I always do."

"Why," Kamele said slowly, "would it be here?"

"Maybe it got lost," Theo said.

"Perhaps it did, as Theo suggests, become lost," Win Ton answered seriously. "Or perhaps it was meant to be here. It may, after all, be a ship's tool, though if that were so, we must surely have seen others."

"Well." Kamele sighed. "I'll be interested in learning what you find out about it."

He bowed. "Certainly."

Kamele took a deep breath and smiled at the two of them. "As fascinating as this episode has been, I gather that it was not the reason I am afforded a visit to my stateroom."

"No, ma'am, it is not," the Liaden agreed, bowing again. "My captain instructs me that I should... be offering apologies." He glanced at Theo, a friendly, even a warm glance.

Kamele felt her stomach tighten all over again, and held onto her smile.

"In that case," she said brightly, "perhaps we should sit down."

* * * *

Do you think it will lie? Aelliana asked.

"Perhaps it will," he answered, pouring a glass of wine. "Certainly, it has demonstrated some craft. We shall see."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Vashtara

Mauve Level

Stateroom

Kamele sat over there in the big chair, while Theo and Win Ton sat together over here, on the sofa. The feeling that she was a guest in her own stateroom warred with the feeling that she and Win Ton were on one team and Kamele was on an opposing team. Which was just silly, Theo told herself, fidgeting with the bowli ball. It rolled from one hand to the other, unsteadily, its erratic motion drawing her mother's eye.

Cheeks hot, Theo brought the ball under control, pressing it firmly onto her thigh. The internals vibrated against her restraining palm, like Coyster, purring. Theo blinked.

Coyster would have taken just this moment to stretch and yawn before curling around in her lap. She took a breath, pressing harder on the ball, feeling the vibration in her bones. There. She'd hold the ball like it was Coyster. That would make her feel... less strange.

Win Ton cleared his throat. "Professor Waitley," he said formally, "I wish to make known to you the certain activities that Theo and I have enjoyed together." He paused, like he did when he was trying to find an exact match between the Liaden word he knew and the Terran word that – usually – didn't exist.

Kamele's mouth straightened slightly, which meant that she was concerned, but trying not to interrupt.

Win Ton's pause was too long for her though, and she leaned forward – carefully, Theo thought, her fingers pressed tightly together.

"Could you continue? You have my attention."

Seated as he was, Win Ton bowed.

"Yes," he said; and again, "Yes, of course, Professor. The circumstance... my captain has pointed out to me that, according to the customs of her homeworld, Theo has yet to attain her majority. Since I have become accustomed to Theo's company, and to her common sense, my captain feared that I was perhaps presuming..."

He paused again, his careful search for words leaving a pause into which Kamele leaned, so alert she seemed to quiver.

"My captain's concern," Win Ton began again – "and mine now that I am acquainted with my error, is that I may have presumed too much about Theo's... autonomy."

He paused again, and sent a glance to Theo. Since she wasn't sure what point he was making, and she didn't think she'd fool anybody by trying to look autonomous, she looked down, where the silly ball, rather than the silly cat, sat on her lap. The thought made her want to laugh, and she struggled to stay serious, gripping the ball as if in fact she were wrestling a cantankerous feline.

"Autonomy." Kamele repeated carefully, and she, too, sent a glance at Theo. "Indeed, I've found Theo to be showing distinct signs of autonomy, not to say levity."

Theo looked up, mirth startled away. Kamele waved a careless hand in her direction.

"Please," she said to Win Ton, "let's not permit Theo's mirth or her toy to interfere with your disclosure."

This isn't good, Theo thought rapidly. It was never a good sign when Kamele started talking like Father.

"In fact, "Win Ton answered slowly, "My... disclosure – an excellent usage, which I shall remember! – my disclosure is very nearly about Theo's toy."

Abruptly, he stood, surprising Theo and, judging by the way she sat straight up, surprising Kamele, too.

"As you know, we conquered the dance machine on our first attempt. Theo has a – a very mature approach to the dance, intuitive, one may say. That she was... amazed to discover herself so very apt a dancer was enlightening. Self-discovery is a good thing."

"Self discovery is often a good thing," Kamele said after a moment. She glanced at Theo, who tried to keep her face calm. It wasn't comfortable being talked about like she wasn't there. She looked at Win Ton in order to avoid her mother's gaze.

"After our run, my captain forbade us to dance further at the Arcade, and, truly, the machine is so easily beaten that we would very soon have lost patience with it. However, there was still the question of energy, and exercise and, and comradeship. I therefore located several convivial acquaintances on-board, and we discovered an opportunity to continue with the theme of... mature self-discovery. I will also say enjoyment of discovery, for Theo so enjoys a challenge."

Theo felt her shoulders relaxing and realized she was petting the bowli ball, in small, quiet motions. Her mother glanced at her again, and this time Theo met her eye.

"So," Kamele said to Win Ton, though she continued to look at Theo. "You arranged for a... mature challenge for Theo."

Win Ton bowed lightly, danced one pace toward the door, one pace back.

"Yes, exactly!" he exclaimed. "The pilots, you must understand, were known to me. We found a private room, and – Theo is such a joy to challenge. I knew all this, but in my enthusiasm, I fear that I did not fully explain to Theo what we would be about, nor did I ask your permission beforehand..."

Kamele leaned slowly back into her chair, her hands finding each other, her fingers locking together, interleaved. What scared Theo was that Kamele's face was nearly blank, and she was staring at her hands rather than at either of them.

"I see," Kamele said quietly, but Win Ton was now following his course with some vigor, pacing energetically in the small space, and using his hands for emphasis.

"And thus, with a room, and partners, and a willing novice, I'm afraid we introduced Theo to a game many never play, a game many lack the urges and reflexes for. Knowing how physically apt Theo is, it never occurred to me that I ought to ask permission from her parent for her to play bowli ball. So I ask, Professor Waitley, that you please hold Theo blameless, and lay it all to me..."

Theo saw her mother's face go from blank to... confused.

"Wait," she said; "if you please. I understand you to say that you and your friends found a private room so that you might play bowli ball with my daughter?"

Theo picked up the not-cat from her lap and tossed it in the air, very gently, to illustrate the phrase "bowli ball."

The motion caught Kamele's eye, so Theo tossed it higher, whereupon the ball took it upon itself to perform a mid-air detour of several hand-widths. Theo snatched it down and wrestled it guiltily to her lap.

"One of these!" she explained.

In wonder, rather than enlightenment, Kamele said, "I see. Bowli ball."

"Yes!" Win Ton said enthusiastically. He plucked the ball away from Theo, carefully cuddling it into quiet before placing it into Kamele's hands.

"It is a complex game, Professor Waitley," he went on with energy; "requiring physical dexterity, concentration, mature thoughtfulness, luck... it is a favorite game of pilots because of these things!"

Experimentally, Kamele tossed the ball from hand to hand, barely managing to keep it under her control.

She shook her head, and tried it again, using less energy and across less distance, really just rolling it from one palm to the other.

"What a strange idea," she murmured. "Why should you need permission for Theo to play a simple game of ball?"

"Well, it isn't so simple!" Theo broke in, indignant. "The ball goes every which way and you've got to be ready for it, and you've got to see where it gets thrown and how it's rotating and which spiral is next and..."

Win Ton caught Theo's eye with a motion of his hands, and she subsided, hoping that she hadn't just gotten him in more trouble with Captain Cho.

"Professor, some call bowli ball a game of wit and physics. That might suffice if it were played on a snug lawn among... office workers, let us say. But, with pilots, the game can become quite challenging. This is what I forgot, and why I should have asked your permission for Theo to play."

He paused, glanced at Theo, and faced Kamele directly.

"It is not unknown for those playing the game to accept a broken shoulder in order to return a pass, to sprain an ankle on an interception-and-launch, to... forget harm in order to follow the flow and make the connection. Truly, it is a game for pilots."

Kamele held the ball in one hand, turning it this way and that way, studying it, as if she had never seen something so gaudy and irregular in her life. Suddenly, with no warning, and without preamble, she threw the ball at Theo. Hard.

Theo was already in motion. Her hands leapt up and out, she shifted her balance on the sofa, leaned left to absorb the spin...

Slap! was the sound the ball made when she caught it, and it took an effort of will not to continue the momentum and...

Win Ton spun, centering himself, left hand rising, facing forward, right hand coming down, in case...

"Not here," he cautioned, sounding remarkably calm, but by then Theo had the ball stopped, stable, and purring on her knee.

In the big chair, Kamele was laughing, her eyes closed, the bridge of her nose pinched between forefinger and thumb, while she shook her head.

* * * *

Professor Jen Sar Kiladi leaned discreetly against one of the extremely rare stone walls within the Wall, sipping tea from his own cup. On the wall were metallic plaques commemorating events and people from the early days of the Wall; some few pre-dated the Wall itself and had been brought from the remains of the original, burnt-out campus.

The wall being just inside Open Cafeteria Three meant it was one of the few areas where one might expect to see all levels of students and all levels of faculty intermingled. True, faculty did not always take their meals here, most preferring the private lounges, or, by necessity, a corner of their desk, but it was written that they ought to take a meal here every ten-day.

He watched. Quietly, he watched, his cane tucked behind him as if in support – but actually to disguise it from those many eyes he wished not to notice it at the moment.

By tradition, a full professor might sit anywhere. A department head, dean, or Board member could do the same and claim some minor precedence...

That, of course, was the start of hierarchical shenanigans, for the corollary was that students or those lower on the food chain must not join a table claimed by a full professor without permission or invite. Associate professors and other instructional types had a leg up, of course, and it was considered bad form for a professor to sit at a table with others in order to claim it and so dismiss them to less exalted company.

Jen Sar Kiladi had the honor of being a full professor and, in effect, his own department head. He could sit anywhere.

Yet, he stood, out of the way and deliberately unobtrusive, counting tables.

There was the north wall. Seventeen tables in from it, three aisles in from the East, there ought to be... why yes. There was a ceramic clad column there, and against it, a table being scrupulously cleaned by a member of support staff. How gratifying.

Jen Sar sipped some more tea, waiting.

The schematic provided by the Serpent AI had been fascinating in the extreme, precisely overlaying as it did the "old wire" map Tech Singh had shown him. A simple query to the Concierge netted the names attached to those addresses, which had made for interesting reading over breakfast. Two names in particular caught his fancy, and he whiled away an entire pot of tea over the question of which he ought to attempt first.

In the end, it had come down to expediency. As exhilarating as a contest of wits might prove, yet it might keep him overlong – and he was mindful of his mother's advice to him, given so very long ago: "Do not play with your food, my child. Be careful, take all the time you need to be certain, but when you are at the final stage, act quickly, and never hesitate."

Therefore, and not without a certain pang, he turned his attention to less satisfying quarry.

The chimes of seven-bells-none rang through the hall and were echoed from countless 'books and mumus, prompting some to snatch up their belongings and rush off, others to change tables, and still others to approach the food line.

Those for whom he had waited so patiently walked past him without noticing, though that was scarcely their blame; he did not, after all, wish to be noticed. They had heads bent together, as if communing, a sweet, domestic picture, surely. Wrapt in themselves, they marched on, heedless of any in their path, their goal apparent.

There was a small wait, as staff finished cleaning the table, and relinquished it with a nod very nearly a bow.

That was interesting. Perhaps he'd need to include support staff in his next round of fact-checking. He knew the schedule; identifying an individual ought not be too difficult...

His quarry... piled books and a sweater on the table, thus claiming it for themselves, and wandered away toward the food line.

Professor Kiladi smiled, and moved toward the north wall, using the column as a shield, and handily arrived at the pleasantly private table.

No one being seated, he took the extremely comfortable chair at the head of the table, laying his cane to the left, where it would block the two chairs on that side.

Mug at hand, he was all smiles, and everything that was convivial when they returned, bearing plates and mugs.

"Lystra Mason – well met. And young Roni, of course. What a delightful seating this is! Please, you must join me!"

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Vashtara

Mauve Level

Stateroom

Theo was asleep in her bed, the night wall shielding her from the rest of the room. Kamele was still curled into in the chair, in theory reviewing her notes; in fact reviewing the conversation with Win Ton yo'Vala.

Truly, a pilot's game, the boy insisted in memory. And, again, Theo so enjoys a challenge. The young woman described by the young man was a veritable paragon – bold, courageous, and able. How was she to find Theo – clumsy, uncertain Theo, with warning notes in her file – in this changeling?

"Children grow up," she murmured. "They leave their mothers and become mothers themselves."

And yet, to grow at such an... odd tangent...

You can't say that you weren't warned, Kamele told herself. For, indeed, she had been warned. She remembered telling Jen Sar that she had chosen to have a child, in itself a... small... oddity...

* * * *

There. It was said. All that was left was to hear what he said in response.

Kamele closed her eyes and sipped coffee. Fresh-roast it was, and fresh-ground from a bag of blue beans Jen Sar had brought back from one of his fishing trips. It was an aromatic blend, whispering hints of chocolate and sweetberries.

"A child in the house is a joy." That was what he said, gently and respectfully. Kamele felt her shoulders relax. She smiled and opened her eyes.

Across the little stone table, Jen Sar's answering smile was slightly awry. He glanced down into his cup as if he wished the coffee were... something stronger, then looked into her eyes.

"I am aware," he said, and his voice now was... careful, "of the custom on Delgado. One decides for oneself when the time is proper to... invest... in a child. The custom upon my homeworld is... somewhat different. I ask, therefore, if the child... partakes of my gene-set."

She frowned at him, and set her cup down. He raised a hand, the twisted silver ring he never took off winking at her from his smallest finger.

"Please. I know that I should not ask – indeed, that I have no right to know! It is, however, not merely vulgar curiosity that moves me to break with custom."

Kamele went cold. Jen Sar leaned forward and put his hand over hers where it lay next to her cup.

"I am beyond clumsy," he said wryly. "Kamele, I'm not ill! Surely there were tests done, certifications made – whoever you chose! But there is something you should know, if you've gotten a child of me."

He tipped his head, face earnest; his hand was warm on hers, his fingers braceleting her wrist, a comfort.

Surely, she thought, there was room here for custom to meet halfway. Jen Sar was an intelligent man, and... usually tolerant of Delgado ways. That he asked this of all questions, signaled, she thought, a strong cultural imperative.

Kamele took a breath, opened her mouth to tell him – and closed it, unable to force the words out.

"This is idiotic," she muttered, turning her head to look out over the dusky garden. Her words danced back to her on the little breeze and she gasped, her eyes flashing back to his face. "I didn't mean – " she began...

But Jen Sar, as usual, seemed to know exactly what she'd meant.

"The burden of custom is not lightly put aside," he said. "As we have both now demonstrated. Perhaps a simple 'no,' if the child is none of mine?"

That was certainly fair enough. Kamele met his eyes. And said nothing.

"Hah." He smiled, ruefully, she thought. "So, then, the thing that you must know is that... those of my Line, as is said on Liad – siblings, cousins, parents – tend to have... very quick physical reflexes. Many, indeed, become star-pilots. Since many of us also have a... certain facility... in mathematics, and as Liad depends upon its trade, this is not too odd a life-path."

He paused, watching her face. Kamele nodded to show she was following him, and after a moment he continued.

"Here on Delgado, where the trade is in knowledge, there are few pilots, and, perhaps, very little understanding of those whose genetic heritage is predisposed toward quickness."

She frowned slightly. "My daughter wouldn't have to be a pilot, after all..."

"Indeed she would not," he soothed her. "However, until she is grown into her body and learned to... control... her reflexes, she may produce some... unexpected results." He shook his head. "I do not wish you to be uninformed – or unprepared. So I must confess that the raising of a child who partakes of these genes is... sometimes a challenge to those who are themselves very much of the Line."

Kamele smiled. "I think adults always find children a challenge," she said. "The more so with our own children."

* * * *

On the chair in the stateroom of a starship, Kamele stirred, and ran her fingers through her hair. Fairly warned, she thought again; who could blame Jen Sar, if she had been too ignorant to understand what he said? And truly, she could have chosen another donor. It was on her head, that she had wanted his child; a whimsy that Ella had done her best to talk her out of.

From behind the night wall came a mutter and rustle of covers. Kamele raised her head, but Theo subsided, perhaps to dream of bowli ball, or of pilots.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Vashtara

Dining Hall Lobby

He feared his reputation would never make a recover.

Well, Aelliana said tartly, if you will make it a habit to meet questionable people in public...

"Precisely! Though I contend it a habit we both treasure of old."

I knew no questionable people until I met you.

"Can that be true? But, fear not! Today is the day that I redeem myself in your eyes."

Will she tell you?

"One can only hope. I fear that Lystra has concluded that my interest lies in Roni's direction, so you see, the stakes are high!"

Inside his head, Aelliana laughed.

* * * *

It had become their custom to gather in the antechamber of the dining room. From there, they would claim a table for themselves and talk over the events of the day, reaffirming themselves as colleagues and a team.

Quite often, Chair Hafley and her onagrata were late to the gathering, rushing in breathless from casino, shopping, or other pleasurable activity. It seemed that the Chair considered the journey something of a honey-trip for herself and Clyburn; it was seldom that he was not sporting some new, and often provocative, costume, or an added bit of jewel-glitter to some portion of his person.

Kamele raised a hand to cover her yawn. Her sleep had been... unsettled of late; it seemed the more time that wore on without a sign from Hafley that now was the hour in which she demanded Kamele's promised support, the more uneasily that false promise sat upon her heart. Yet, what else could she have done? If, as she believed, Hafley was but part of some... conspiracy to discredit Delgado University, then surely Kamele needed to be in her confidence? If only the woman would say more! But, no, she apparently pursued her pleasures without the least thought of future perfidies.

And there was doubtless, Kamele thought wearily, a lesson to be learned there.

Another yawn; and a sense of someone at her elbow. She turned, and a young woman in the livery of the ship's wait staff smiled at her.

"A cup of coffee while you wait for the rest of your party, Professor?" she asked.

Kamele returned the smile and nodded.

"A cup of coffee would be most welcome, thank you," she said, and the girl glided away to make it so.

Watching her go, Kamele shook her head. It was, she thought, far too easy to become accustomed to being served. Perhaps on Melchiza they would be allowed to lift a hand to help themselves. Otherwise, they would arrive home quite ruined.

The coffee arrived; she received it, and sipped, sighing in pleasure.

Eyes narrowed, she sipped again, just as Professors Crowley and Able rounded the corner. They nodded as they joined her, Professor Able waving the server over and bespeaking two more cups of coffee.

"I may be ruined for staff-room coffee," Crowley said, receiving his cup. "One would think that a man of my years would be above these petty pleasures."

Their weeks together having given her a fine understanding of Crowley's humor, Kamele smiled at him.

"It is very good coffee," she answered. "And as scholars are we not enjoined to open ourselves to experience and study the moment?"

"Indeed, an excellent point! A moment, if you will; I must study my cup."

He proceeded to sample his beverage.

"Is Theo not with you this evening?" Professor Able asked.

"She and Win Ton yo'Vala are attending the buffet and seminar offered by the Visitors' League."

"There's a well-mannered lad," Able said. "Not a scholar, of course, but thoughtful, in his way. So kind of your daughter, Kamele, to escort him to these broadening events."

Professor Able had an edge to her, and a circumspect way of prying into matters that did not concern her that harked back to an earlier day. Kamele smiled and replied only that she felt that Win Ton was a perfectly conformable young man, and well-supervised by his captain.

"It may be that the Visitors' League will provide Theo with the chance to mingle with other students of her own age." That was Crowley, looking up from his cup. "They seek, so the senior advisor I spoke with over lunch assured me, to be both inclusive and diverse. They also seek recruits, which the advisor did not say, but which was implicit in her description of the League and its purpose."

"What is its purpose?" Able wondered, holding her cup daintily on the tips of her fingers.

"Scholarship, of a sort, though the method is unique. The group arrives upon a planet – with a connection in place, of course – and explores that world. Group membership is drawn from worlds previously visited. The goal, as much as there is one, is to visit or be resident on all worlds which speak or understand Terran, and which have humanity in common. I am told that this particular tour has been on-going for seventeen Standards, and will on its twentieth anniversary quadricate."

"Quadricate?" Kamele asked, suspecting one of his more obscure jokes.

Crowley gave her a nod, as if rewarding her percipience. "Yes, a play on the inner Terran. What it means is that the group will split teachers, advisors and travelers into four, staying most of a Standard on the host planet while each develops plans and destinations of their own."

"Surely, they must settle sometime," Able commented.

"Some do – many do, so my luncheon companion said. It is expected that they will lose and add members, though it is also true that some stay with the group for many years, first as students, and then as advisors."

"An odd scholarship," Able said, and looked again to Kamele. "I don't wish to pry into a mother's domain, but I wonder if you have considered what Theo will be about on Melchiza. Our work is plain before us, but it seems as if there will be very little to occupy her, beyond her school work. While opportunity for study is of course always welcome, it often appears less so to the young – and especially after a journey so crowded with excitement."

"There is a Transit School," Kamele said, keeping her voice moderate. As she had said, this was none of Able's business. On the other hand, the two elder members of the forensic team had taken to regarding Theo somewhat in the light of a granddaughter, and were correspondingly free with their advice to Theo's mother.

A familiar racket brought her head up as Chair Hafley and her onagrata bustled importantly into the area. Kamele blinked. As was his habit, Clyburn was dressed to display his winsome figure – in fact, this evening's costume of sleeveless black shirt so tight his pectoral muscles were clearly defined, and billowing sheer pantaloons cuffed tight at the ankles, was rather restrained. Chair Hafley, who usually contented herself with sensible coveralls, was wearing an iridescent red sweater cut low over her bosom and a bright blue skirt that brushed the deck plates.

"So," Able said, turning away from this onrushing spectacle. "You'll be contacting the Transit School for Theo?"

"Why, there's no reason for her to do so!" Hafley cried, pausing in her rush toward the dining room. "Kamele, you must allow Clyburn to arrange everything for Theo; his mother is well-placed in Administration and has many contacts in the Transit School."

Kamele blinked, looking from Hafley to Clyburn. Clyburn smirked and bowed his shining head. "I would be pleased to be of service, Kamele," he said, actually sounding sincere.

"Thank you, Clyburn," she said, trying to match sincerity with sincerity. "But as I was just about to say to Professor Able, I've already taken care of Theo's registration." She turned to Able. "It is a boarding school, which Theo objects to, but, as you say, our team's hours may be long and irregular."

"It is best for young scholars to have regularity in their studies and their sleep," Crowley said, too pointedly, in Kamele's opinion. "Sub-chair Waitley has looked ahead and planned for the best outcome – for everyone."

"Well..." Hafley glanced at Clyburn, as if she expected him to be disappointed by not being obligated to register someone else's daughter for school. "That seems well in hand," the Chair finished, and nodded briskly.

"If the assembled scholarly lights will excuse us, we are invited to dine with the captain! Come, Clyburn." She moved off, her skirt rustling against the floor, her onagrata one step behind her.

Kamele, Able, and Crowley turned as one to watch them go.

Hafley spoke briefly to the room manager, who bowed, and waved them into the dining room.

It was... some moments before Kamele caught her breath. The rudeness of this woman! The –

"Well." She looked to her colleagues. "If you are so minded, I know an unhurried and secluded restaurant where we might find a pleasant meal."

"That sounds," said Crowley, "like an excellent plan."

Able, her lips tight, merely nodded.

* * * *

Over the last while, the threesome who met for breakfast at the table by the column, had generated... curiosity. Certainly, it was not, viewed with certain facts in mind, an unlikely threesome: the mother, her nubile and soon to be available daughter, the elderly professor recently put aside, in pursuit of – ah, but there the curious were doubtless divided, though the mother believed she knew his mind.

"Roni, fetch Professor Kiladi some of those maize buttons he likes so much," the mother instructed her daughter. She glanced to the elderly professor.

"Maize buttons will be very welcome," he said with a smile, "and perhaps some cheddar spread, or creamily, with them."

The daughter had taken to wearing other than the usual school coveralls to their breakfasts. A charitable observer might allow them to be "special outfits." He supposed that he ought to feel honored, that his gray hairs inspired such flights of... creativity. Instead, he worried that the child would contract a chill. Then, too, there was the subject of... subtlety – but where was she to learn that merely exposing skin did not make one interesting? Certainly not from her mother, nor, to judge from the glances of the would-be gallants about the room, from her peer-group.

Roni stood, to all eyes eager to serve, and bowed, allowing him an unimpeded, if blessedly brief glimpse of her assets. Turning, she walked toward the line, her progress somewhat slowed by the hip motion she was attempting to perfect.

Jen Sar, his eyes on the retreating form, sighed. Not a dancer, that child.

Lystra heard the sigh, as he had meant her to, and leaned close, placing a daring hand upon his sleeve.

"Come, now, Jen Sar, admit that you don't meet us here only to look at my Roni."

Well, and that was bold enough to terrify. He lifted an eyebrow.

"A man of my years is surely allowed the privilege of admiring the scenery?"

"Indeed he is!" Lystra said warmly, and leaned back in her chair, a coy smile at the corner of her mouth. "One must be so careful," she said, picking up her coffee cup, "when one has charge of a girl so eager for her Gigneri. The first-pair is so very important, don't you think so, Jen Sar?"

"I agree. Indeed, I have long deplored the custom of first-pairing couples near in age. It may seem a kindness, I allow, but in truth it becomes at best a comedy of error, and at worst does honest damage. An older, experienced partner, who is able to teach and to be patient; that is the best choice for a first pairing. Especially if, as you say, the girl is eager for adulthood."

She laughed and leaned toward him slightly. "Now, I'll make a confession to you," she said playfully. "My mother was very much of your mind with regard to the first-pair, and I was, like Roni, very eager to embrace adulthood. There was a boy in my form... but she would have none of it! Before the event, I was – a little – disappointed, but after! Ah, then I saw mother's wisdom for what it was."

"I am gratified to find my opinion validated," he said, and inclined his head. "In fact, Lystra, you do stand guardian over that which interests me nearly. Perhaps we might speak... alone... after breakfast."

She smiled again. "Yes, let's do that," she said, and here came the eager child herself, seeming in imminent danger of losing the laden tray to the floor.

"Ah," he said, leaning forward to clear a place on the table, and lending a guiding hand to its safe descent. "My thanks, Roni. Please, you must both partake."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Vashtara

Atrium Lounge

Cho sig'Radia arrived with dessert, a circumstance that both failed to surprise, and pleased, Kamele. She had grown used to the Liaden woman's penchant for simply appearing, and, besides, she was good company.

Professor Crowley appeared to share this opinion. He welcomed Cho cheerfully, and pushed over to make room for her on the bench next to him.

"My thanks," she said, with a gentle bow and a smile. She seated herself, and laughed when their server appeared with a pot of tea.

"I come here too often, I see," she said. "But it is so pleasant an aspect." She poured tea, and looked across the table to Kamele.

"In fact, I know that we share a fondness for this venue, and so I came here, hoping to find you."

Kamele smiled. "It's been taken care of," she said, guessing the other's intent – "and very eloquently."

"So he has also reported," Cho said. "But it was another, though closely related, reason that I sought you out. To find the others of the search team – that is fortuitous, for I have something also to say to all, if you will grant me time."

She was assured by Crowley – who must, Kamele thought, surely be smitten – that their time was hers.

"A generous gift, of which I am in no wise worthy." Cho sipped her tea, put the cup down and curled her hands 'round it. Leaning forward slightly, she caught Kamele's eye.

"The captain of this vessel sees an opportunity to permit a reserve officer to train by offering to train Win Ton. It is perhaps not necessary to say that this is an offer which... ought not to be turned down, and which will, indeed, benefit my charge a great deal." She inclined her head, very slightly. "These new duties will regrettably place him on a divergent shift, and severely curtail his time at liberty for the remainder of our voyage. I regret the disappointment that the loss of his companionship must cause your daughter, and I would make amends."

"There's no reason, surely, to make amends?" Kamele said. "It sounds a wonderful opportunity for Win Ton and I'm sure Theo will be happy for him."

"Well she might be, for she is a generous child. However, I feel that we come into a situation of precarious Balance, and I would not have such a thing between us. I therefore ask if you would allow me to teach Theo the rudiments of finger-talk. She was quick enough to spot Win Ton conversing thus with those other pilots whom she has met in his company, and on the occasion of our last meeting expressed a desire to learn the language. It is something that I will gladly teach her, with your agreement."

"But, surely, your own work..."

Cho moved a hand; if her fingers conveyed anything other than a casual dismissal of her own work, Kamele could not read it.

"It is a minor thing. I will be joining Win Ton on the altered shift, but I have the leisure of making my day a bit longer. I may, therefore enjoy an evening cup of tea while Theo breaks her fast. Thus, she will wake eager with study before her, and I will have a quiet unwinding before sleep." She tipped her head. "I had taught finger-talk at Scout Academy; it will be... comforting to teach it again, and to a willing scholar."

"If you're sure, then – I'm grateful," Kamele said, thinking suddenly of Jen Sar's fluid hand-gestures. If this... finger-talk was something known to pilots, perhaps, like bowli ball, it was something that would benefit Theo.

"I am certain – and I insist that it is I who am grateful," Cho said with a smile. She sipped her tea and looked 'round the table.

"Now, for the patient search team, I would say, and say plainly – Melchiza, despite contacts and assurances, is perhaps not such a place as Delgado. There have been changes of late, in government structure, in alliances aggressively sought, and in... other matters somewhat worrisome to those whose job it is to worry about such things."

"Have you been... endangered on Melchiza?" Able asked.

Cho laughed. "Not I, Scholar. Melchiza values pilot-kind, and if they admire us so much that they seek to keep us with them – well, that is a trap that cannot close." She looked to Kamele, to Crowley, back to Able.

"Understand me, you are accustomed, perhaps, to the watchfulness of those whose mandate is to wish you well – to the oversight of those who hold your safety high. On Melchiza, there is also oversight, but your safety is not by necessity the first interest of the watchers. Be careful, Scholars. Trust no one. Produce a contingency plan, if your contact fails you. Above all, follow the rules – of which there are a number, and which Vashtara will shortly make known to you. If someone threatens you, believe them, and act accordingly, without hesitation."

There was a moment of silence at the table, then Crowley laughed.

"You make it sound the veriest frontier!" he said, and raised his hand. "We appreciate your warning, Captain sig'Radia, but you must know – not all of us are native to Delgado. Why, in my student days, I raised some ports so rough, it was a wonder that anyone survived them. We will be watchful."

He glanced 'round the table. Able nodded curtly. Kamele felt it necessary to add something more.

"You're correct, however, that we should make a contingency plan, in case things go awry. I believe that none of us have thought of that, and I appreciate the reminder."

It seemed that Cho hesitated before she inclined her head.

"It is my joy to serve, Scholars," she said quietly, and sipped her tea.

* * * *

He settled himself in the visitor's chair while Lystra bustled behind the desk, doubtless intending to make him squirm, a little. Such was the pitch of his ardor that he was able to quickly become its master, and look about himself.

Unlike Ella's office, or Kamele's, or, to be perfectly fair, his own, Lystra Mason's office was tidy to the point of painfulness, with scarcely a pin out of place. There were no piles of hard copy, or scatter of infoslips on the desk's gleaming surface. Indeed, there was nothing on the desk at all until Lystra dared to risk its finish by placing her 'book upon it.

Likewise, the walls, which in his office were overburdened with gene maps, language maps, population dispersal rates, and any number of other items useful to his position, here were perfectly bare, perfectly white. Simple, one might say.

Lystra was settled, her hands folded primly atop the gleaming desk top, eyes sharp and acquisitive.

"Now, Jen Sar," she said crisply, "I think you know that there are certain considerations a mother wishes to see adorn her daughter's Gigneri. What are you willing to bring to Roni?" She smiled at him. "While we agree that there's value attending an older man in a first-pair, I think we may also agree that the experience of conducting a new-woman into adulthood might balance that value neatly. You have position, contacts, fame, and I expect that you earn a tidy annual bonus. There's a good deal there to work with, and I'll tell you frankly that I think we may reach an accommodation I hope, very much, that we'll reach an accommodation. However, I wouldn't want you to think that your position is assured. I have received expressions of interest from several very worthy senior scholars, and a query from the Administration Tower itself."

"Ah." He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded over the top of his cane. "I am afraid that you misunderstand me, Lystra. I have no interest in your daughter's Gigneri."

She blinked, momentarily at a stand, then laughed.

"You will have your joke, won't you?" she said, gaiety forced. "Come now, Jen Sar, you said yourself that you were interested – "

"I said that you stand guardian over something that interests me nearly," he interrupted, keeping his voice pleasant and equitable. He met her eyes.

"The Serpent AI, Lystra."

She paled, but rallied immediately.

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

He shook his head. "That won't do; you know it won't do, and so do I. The best plan – the simplest plan, by far – is to give me the name of your contact and pass me up the line. I will immediately cease to be your problem, Roni may continue to widen her circle of admirers, and the future may roll out as it will."

She took a breath. "I hardly understand you, Jen Sar! You seem to be accusing me of conspiring with the Simples!"

He smiled at her, gently, as if she were a backward student who had against even her own expectation produced a correct answer.

"Precisely. That is exactly my point."

"Well, it may be your point, and your fantasy, you and this Serpent, but it has nothing to do – "

"No, please," he interrupted again. "You will only tire yourself, and I will have what I came for in the end. Let us deal as adults – as colleagues. Now, I will give you something, to buy your trust: I know that you have access to a Serpent AI. I asked it for a map of those facilities within the Wall to which it has access and an activities log. You have been... quite an avid user, and not all in pursuit of the plan, eh?" He held up his hand and gave her a friendly look. "Who could blame you? Not I. To have so powerful a search tool in hand – well! You see the use to which I put mine."

She remained silent, white to the lips, her hands knotted 'round each other on the glossy desk top.

"Yes, well. I do confess to some other snooping – so indelicate, but what can one expect of a Liaden, who hails not only from outside the Wall, but from well off-planet? Outsiders... Quite the opposite of your family, for instance, which has kept firm ties with the Chapelia. It was your mother – or perhaps an aunt? – who sat on the Liaison Committee for thirty years, advancing Simple goals to the Administration."

Lystra licked her lips. "My aunt. But – "

"Forgive me, but did it not seem to you that this plan – the AI, the altering of records, the stealth – did it not seem to you that this was no simple plan? It reeks of complexity! Surely, the Chapelia might wish to burn the library and destroy complexity wholesale – that was a simple and straightforward plan, and if it failed once, who is to say that it must fail twice? But to sow lies and misinformation, that is not simple. It hints, indeed, of plans made by those to whom Delgado – Chapelia, university, scholars and nonacs alike – are but counters in a much larger game. A game that keeps its main board well off-world."

She gaped at him.

"The name of your contact," he prompted gently. "Come, now, Lystra, there is always the chance that I will forget who sent me to her. The memories of old men are notoriously frail."

The silence stretched. Inside his head, he felt Aelliana stir, her interest lying so nearly next to his that he could scarcely tell out her from him.

"Chapelia have no names," Lystra Mason said softly. She looked down as if the task of unknotting her hands required all of her attention. "I will write the symbol for you."

Chapter Thirty

Vashtara

Breakfast All Year

Kamele had a breakfast meeting. An early breakfast meeting. Theo, who had a breakfast meeting of her own, though hers, she thought crankily, was at a normal hour, did a couple of self-tests on her school book, then slipped the mem-stick out of her pocket and slotted it into the stateroom's conneck.

Win Ton's letter came up onto the screen, letters bright and crisp. She'd answered it, of course, just as soon as she'd received it, but he hadn't written again. Which just meant, she'd assured herself, that he was just as busy as he'd expected to be.

Dear Sweet Mystery,

It appears circumstances and opportunities conspire to place us on opposing schedules. It is just as well; your destination shows it to nearly share the ship's schedule you are familiar with, which is probably not an accident. My new schedule will put me in sync with the shift schedules expectable when we arrive to retrieve the waiting ship. Accident or not, this change also puts within grasp one of my goals, which has been to be Officer in Charge of a ship so large there need be a lost-and-found not only for objects but for persons.

Do not fear! My Captain promises me I will be Officer In Charge for no more than a dozen beats at mid-shift while back-up pilots change seats and test boards; I feel it likely if they know I am the one sitting oversight the changeover will happen in three beats!"

I intend to see you before our orbits diverge; you have helped make what might have been an ordinary transit into a memorable passage indeed.

I remain your humble servant, and, I very dearly hope, your friend,

Win Ton yo'Vala

Sighing, she pulled the mem-stick from the conneck and tapped random reload. One of the stupid "How to behave on Melchiza," info-spots popped up on the vid.

"Remember!" the narrator chirped annoyingly. "Anyone wearing a blue shirt or a blue arm band may require you to halt, state your business, produce your ID, and prove you have sufficient credits in the form of cash to buy food for yourself for three days. You may not carry another adult person's ID for them, and cash on your person will not be considered as available to another member of your party. Public displays of affection are forbidden on Melchiza, with detention and fines for all infractions. All public areas are subject to monitoring by camera, radar, and visual inspectors; infractions will be dealt with as discovered."

"Yah, yah, yah..." she said to the screen, and punched "random" again. They were days out from Melchiza yet, and the entertainment bands were flooded with these stupid mercials. She wondered if she should write a new one; certainly, she knew the key points: Don't touch anything or anyone; don't be where you aren't supposed to be; always listen to anything blue; and always carry cash. Maybe Public Communications would pay her, so she could buy some clothes to replace the ones she couldn't wear on Melchiza, because they were blue...

She turned her back on the vid, slipping the mem-stick with Win Ton's letter on in into her pocket. Then she put on her blue sweater and left for her meeting with Captain Cho.

* * * *

The three of them had formed their own sub-committee, its task to develop a contingency plan. That the group did not include, and its existence was consistently not mentioned to, Chair Hafley was something they did not discuss. Which means, Kamele told herself, as she sipped her coffee, that you are now affiliated with two secret organizations.

"We are agreed, then," Able said, pushing the remains of her fruit platter to one side, where it was immediately whisked away by their efficient waiter. "If Professor Dochayn is unable to deliver what she has promised, we will proceed upon our own recognizance and petition the administration of the Treasure House in the form set forth in this document." She tapped the reader set in the center of the table.

"The procedures set forth are lengthy," Crowley said, "and our time on Melchiza limited. Fortunately, study shows that a good deal of the paperwork portion may be completed ahead of time. I propose to complete as much as can be done, in the ardent hope that we will not be called upon to produce it."

"That's a good plan," Kamele said. "Certainly, the political climate on Melchiza seems... stern. We wouldn't want to place Professor Beltaire's colleague in an untenable situation."

"I wonder," Crowley said, his voice more than usually careful, "if we ought not also procure open departure tickets for each of our party."

Kamele straightened, glancing to Able. A shrug was what she received from that party, so she addressed Crowley.

"That would be a significant expense, I think? What would be the justification?"

Crowley glanced down at his empty plate before meeting Kamele's eyes.

"You will recall that I told our charming Captain Cho that I had traveled some rough ports in my youth. Sometimes, regrettably, one is forced to – not to put too fine a point on it – one is forced to run. Sometimes, one is detained beyond the departure time of one's primary transport. I would hope that the authorities on Melchiza, while stern, are not petty, but I would not wish to strand one of our party."

Kamele considered him. Something – perhaps it was the utter seriousness of his face – convinced her that this was not theory for Professor Crowley, but something that had happened to him. Or to someone he had traveled with.

Which would be more terrible, she wondered, to be left behind, or to leave a colleague?

"I'll look into the options and costs," she said. Able nodded without comment.

"Thank you," Crowley said seriously.

* * * *

Breakfast All Year was surprisingly crowded. After the initial rush of popularity, it had slid off everybody's must-do list, and gotten quiet enough to have lessons in.

This morning, or – if you were on Captain Cho's shift, this evening – the place was crowded with merrymakers, making the trip to their usual back table an adventure in dance.

Captain Cho was ahead of her, like she most usually was, seated and with tea to hand.

Appears me, Theo motioned even before she caught her tutor's eye; timely, hungry.

Cho's fingers flickered, almost too fast to read, though Theo knew the basic signs by now.

Food appears rapidly, fine usual welcome, was the response, as near as Theo caught it; table held against noise rushers; good crew recalls schedule ours! Sit faster!

The last was a warning as well as a command. A man in yellow tights had darted in from the crowded table to the left, apparently intent upon removing the "extra" chair from under Cho's nose.

Theo lunged, hand out, fingers firm on the chair back.

"I'm sitting there, thanks," she told the man, who gave her a one-sided grin and darted away in search of other quarry.

Cho smiled widely, her fingers saying something Theo couldn't quite read. She felt like she had the emphasis and mood... but...

A loud clapping broke out behind her as she sat, and a large person with a large bottle in her hand and a crowning blob of yellow hair on her head waved the crowd quiet.

"Four down and only fifteen more bars to hit before deadline! Next is Deck Five's Low End, which is opening... right now! Allie, Allie in free!"

There were cheers and hoots and hugs all around, as fully three quarters of the partyers exited in one fell swoop, Theo's voice said "Geesh!" while her hands indicated Batch bad noise bad connected head computers, gone is good...

Moment, came the response, two pilots leave also look.

Theo glanced up, saw the pair, one wearing a leather jacket and the other in what looked like exercise clothes, mumbling at each other by hand as they reluctantly followed the crowd.

Their fingers were moving, but the signs weren't as clear or as broad as Cho's, leaving Theo more confused than enlightened.

Big plan better do us us need good long something double roll talky bright skin

Theo heard Cho make a sound perilously close to a snicker, and her fingers snapped out query?

Her tutor tipped her head as if she were congratulating Theo, her fingers forming out-duty shop talk... the rest squashed into meaninglessness as a palm came up and out, the signal that they should stop talking.

"Breakfast, mamzelle?" Their waiter this morning was a slender man with quiet eyes. Theo gave her order, out loud, of course, her fingers dancing the words as she spoke them.

"Allow me to counsel you to still your fingers when you speak," Cho said, after they were alone. "There may seem to be no harm in it; indeed, it may at first reinforce learning. However, it may quickly become a... difficult habit, and troublesome to break."

Theo guiltily curled her fingers into her palms. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Pah! I am a Scout. As such, I study survival in all its faces. Many find that a Scout's level of caution is far beyond what is useful in their own lives. Still, I would be less than a true teacher, did I not advise you thus."

Theo considered that. "We're taught advertency, at school," she said slowly. "Scholars need to be cautious, too."

"Indeed they do," Cho said seriously, pouring more tea into her cup.

Theo's cereal arrived. She smiled at the waiter, and thanked him, and turned her head to watch him bus the table beside them, balancing five cups and an unfinished tray of pastry with effortless grace.

"And so," said Cho suddenly, pulling Theo's eyes to her.

"What have we learned thus far, my student? Aside from the fact that one cannot read hand-talk while in full admiration of a view?"

Cho had her hands wrapped comfortably around her cup. Theo, her face warm, placed her fingers firmly against the table, and answered by voice.

"May I ask a question, first?"

Cho inclined her head.

"That man – our waiter – he's a pilot, isn't he?"

Cho lifted her head, her casual glance at the departing figure sharpening abruptly.

"Indeed," she said finally, "he may be. But what makes you ask?"

Theo shrugged, and sipped her tea, concerned that what she was about to say wasn't really very smart. Even so, there wasn't any way not to answer, now that she'd brought the question up.

"I think I see pilots," she said, meeting Captain Cho's eyes. It sounded as silly as she'd feared, but Cho only looked interested.

"Oh, indeed? Is there anyone else, besides myself?"

"Not that... now that he's gone." Theo leaned forward, fingers pressing the table hard. "But, I can look at people walking, or sometimes even standing, and tell if they're pilots. Now that I know what I'm seeing – Win Ton has it, you do, the man who left now... the pilots chasing the party... the pilots I play bowli ball with."

"Hah!" said Cho, taking a sip. "It," she repeated, and poured more tea into her cup.

Theo forced herself to pick up her spoon and address her breakfast. It was good; soy-oats with apple bits...

"It may well be that you are able to see, as you say, 'it,' " Cho said eventually. "Some have eyes that see more than others, after all."

Theo looked up. "But – I couldn't see it before!"

Cho inclined her head.

"I venture to predict that there are very few pilots among your classmates," she said. "And Delgado is not such a world as one sees pilots upon every walkway."

"I guess most of my teachers aren't pilots," Theo agreed, "and there's no piloting school on Delgado – " She looked up, hope sudden and hot – "is there?"

Cho shook her head, emphasizing the denial with a firm finger-spelt, not.

Theo sighed, and took a spoonful of her cereal. It tasted a little flat, suddenly. Maybe, she thought, it was getting cold. She pushed it aside and wrapped her hands around her tea cup.

"You asked what I had learned," she said slowly. "Besides the signs themselves, I've learned that hand-talk is... fun, but that you can't say everything in it."

"Do you think so, indeed? It is true that hand-talk developed for speed and clarity in... radical environments. A survival tool, you see? Still, pilots are inventive, and there are some who discuss philosophy in it, and those who use it to – "

"Philosophy?"

"Assuredly. In this ship's public library archives you may find, in translation or transliteration, a copy of The Dialogs of the Hospice. Two rescued pilots were for some years among a sect forbidding writing and speech. They thus held lengthy debates in hand-talk. After a second rescue, this to a civilized world, they transcribed their discussions, verbatim as it were. Do not think that hand-talk is so limited. And, of course, the more used among friends or associates, the more it becomes personal."

Theo thought about that.

"So everyone who hand-talks has their own accent?"

"Yes, that is a good way to see it. Terran pilots will have a different accent from Liaden pilots, and a Scout may bear yet a third accent. However, we may all speak together in an emergency, for the basic signs are held in common."

"And this," Theo asked, striving to reproduce the sign Cho had flashed in the aftermath of the chair rescue. "This means... ?"

"Ah!"

Cho repeated the sign. It came with overtones of extrafine best ready complete perfection, and a ghostly finger-snap at the very end.

"This is a phrase mostly in use among Scouts. To speak it, we would say binjali. Consider it to mean... well, it can mean ready or excellent or all things are fine and good."

"So, that's a Liaden word? Binjali?" Theo smiled, liking the feel of the word in her mouth. She tried again to wrap her fingers around it, and found that felt good, too.

"No," Cho said slowly. "Many Liadens will not know this word, which has only accidentally become a Scout word and thus slithered into hand-talk." She smiled. "I had said that pilots are inventive, did I not? Scouts are trebly so – and that may serve you as a warning!"

Theo laughed, her fingers moving, it seemed of their own will.

Captain, she signed, this spaceship voyage binjali!

Chapter Thirty-One

Vashtara

Breakfast All Year

"...back-up?" Aelliana inquired. Credit where credit was earned, her tone was no more acid than was necessary to carry the point.

"Suggestions?" he countered, slouching into his chair and closing his eyes. "Who shall we risk? Ella, charged with guarding Kamele's back? The Dean of Oriel? The Bursar?"

Monit Appletorn, his lifemate stated.

He opened his eyes, staring startled at the ceiling.

"What an... interesting... suggestion."

* * * *

She was packed. All of her blue clothes were in a special bag provided by Vashtara, which would be stored in a locker on Melchiza Station. The claim-ticket was sealed safely in the innermost pocket of her travel-case; her school book was asleep and tucked into a protected sleeve.

Melchiza-cash – thin rectangles of blue plaslin woven with data-thread, the denomination of each bill stamped in white – she had in several places. The mandated three-days-eating-money was in the inside pocket of the new red jacket Kamele had bought her when she realized that Theo's jacket and all her thickest sweaters were blue. The rest of her Melchiza money, her cred from home, and the mem-stick with Win Ton's letter on it, she had in a flat pouch that hung around her neck by an unbreakable cord. She'd bought the pouches during the same shopping trip that had produced the red jacket – one for her and one for Kamele.

Kamele had looked... kind of funny when she opened the bag, but she'd only said, "How foresightful, Theo. Thank you."

She sealed her bag and pulled it out into the main part of their stateroom. Kamele was curled on the big chair, her attention on her book.

"I'm going down for my lesson with Captain Cho," Theo said, adding silently for my last lesson with Captain Cho.

Her mother looked up and gave her an abstracted smile. "Good. Please give her my warmest regards, Theo. It was a pleasure to travel with her."

Throat tight, she nodded, and turned away.

* * * *

The public halls were crowded, even over-crowded, as if everyone on the ship had thought of something that they needed to buy before Melchiza and were resolved to visit every shop on-board until they found it. By contrast, Breakfast All Year was very nearly empty. A man and a woman sat with their heads together in a booth in a corner of the room; a threesome she vaguely recognized as being attached to the Visitors' League were sitting on stools at the counter.

Captain Cho was at their usual table, but that was all that was usual. Theo stopped in amazement, staring at the formal tea service, the dainty cakes, small breads, and cheeses...

Cho's fingers rippled like water.

No alarm – (smooth face!) budget mine!

Right, that lesson was on-going with the finger-talk, though Theo was pretty sure she'd never manage to perfect the smooth, uninformative expression that Cho considered polite for everyday use.

Please sit, Cho motioned now. Feast celebrate joint learning.

Parting? Theo asked, her hands giving the word more energy than she had intended.

"Those who part," Cho said aloud, "may anticipate the joy of reunion. Sit, child. I wish to mark in this small way the pleasure you have brought to me, as a student, and as a fellow traveler. Truly, this journey would have been much duller without your companionship."

Theo felt her eyes sting. She blinked, and bowed – one of Father's brief, crisp bows that could mean anything from "thank you" to "your point," and slid into the chair opposite.

"Excellent." Cho poured tea for them both, raised her cup and sipped. Theo followed suit, and put the cup down, and looked up, wondering what –

"If you will excuse me," her tutor said briskly. "I will return in good time." With that, she rose and was away, leaving Theo to contemplate the plates of goodies, none of which she felt hungry enough to eat.

"Sweet Mystery, may I join you?"

She gasped, spinning in her chair. Win Ton inclined his head, his smile looking, not quite certain. He was wearing his leather jacket – his pilot's jacket, she corrected herself – and his hair was rumpled, like he'd just pulled off a hat...

Her fingers were more eloquent than her voice, or maybe it was that she was smiling so hard there wasn't room for any words.

Welcome well met sit be at ease.

"Thank you," he murmured. He sat next to her, his smile not so tentative anymore, in fact looking positively joyous.

"Theo, I'm so very glad to see you. I received your note, and treasure it. Duty has been stern, for of course, once I was on-roster this and that little thing could be found to occupy my time. I have been hoping to match schedules... However, that is last shift! I have just now overseen the docking of the ship carrying the Melchiza pilot to us, and therefore have, as even my shift boss admits, earned a break."

"Officer In Charge?" Theo asked, peering at the name tag affixed to his collar.

"So they say. May I share tea?"

She blushed, her fingers dancing, pleasure friend sharing.

Remembering Cho's deliberate motions as she had poured, Theo strove to match them. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't, but at least she didn't spill the tea, and Win Ton took his cup with a serious, "My thanks to you."

He sipped, and she did, each putting their cup on the table with care.

Goes well lessons query, he offered. Mine good. Theo watched his face as well as his hands as Win Ton signed, seeing him offer emphasis as well as concentration.

Binjali, she returned, and he laughed.

"Binjali?" he said aloud. "Excellent! You've been among pilots, then!"

Theo made her eyes very wide, the way Father did when he was pretending to not to know what you were talking about.

"Isn't Captain Cho a pilot?" she asked.

He grinned and inclined his head, fingers accepting her true point.

"She is that, a pilot," he murmured. "She also is very careful of her language at all times. I think the captain approves of you."

Win Ton sipped delicately at his tea, judiciously eyeing the cheese plate before making a graceful swoop with his right hand and nodding his thanks to Theo.

"Captain Cho," she began, "provides..."

"Assuredly, she does, but she would not be if she did not approve of you. If she did not approve of you, I would not be permitted to sit here now, for it is certain that she barely approves of me."

Theo scanned his face, but all she could see was bland politeness.

"Is that true?" she asked.

Joke his fingers told her, while he answered dryly, "It is the fashion, I believe, to disapprove of one's apprentice."

She grinned and took some cheese for herself, suddenly hungry, after all.

"Time flies, my shift boss swears," Win Ton murmured. "And I fear that I must find him correct in this, as in so much else that he has taught me. So, quickly, before I squander all to no purpose – there are two topics I must press for..."

His hands motioned with your permission only, and Theo answered continue without really thinking about it, then interrupted herself.

"I'm surprised Cho has been gone so long..."

"It has been some time," he agreed; "but she must be, else she would be party to a conversation which is not hers and which is... of a nature perhaps not entirely covered by the Code."

"She's hiding while we talk?" Theo blinked. "Isn't that silly?"

He bowed, very lightly.

" 'Silly' is among the more difficult of Terran words to translate," he said gently. "Let us say, rather, that, in Liaden terms, her absence is a nice balance of courtesy and esteem."

"Then we should get on with it," Theo said, "before her tea gets cold."

Very good his hands signaled, while he bit his lip.

"First then," he said when he had recovered his composure, "I will repeat myself and say I have been pleased to make your acquaintance, and to have been permitted to spend time with you. And while it is... statistically and logistically unlikely that we shall meet again, I..."

Theo felt herself go bland, nearly blank.

"Theo?"

She was quiet a moment; the blank feeling went away, and suddenly her head was filled with whizzing thoughts, and a dreadful understanding that he could be right.

For some reason, her eyes were wet.

"That's hard..." she managed, voice wobbling.

Win Ton paused, watching her, his hands fluttering true true true. After a moment, he gathered himself and went on.

"This accident of our meeting is, I think, a fine accident. The odds of our meeting again – as an accident – those are not good. It is perhaps this bit of pilot lore which my captain required me to learn best on this part of our journey. The necessities of the Scouts and those of my clan being only slightly less aligned with each other than the necessities of Delgado with either, and none of them aligned with the necessities of Kamele Waitley – Theo, we dare not depend upon accident if we wish at some future time to be – or not to be! – in the same place."

He paused – his searching-for-a-word pause – then rushed on.

"The problems are complex. Simply said, my clan has no interest in me or my affairs until it is time for me to marry. The Scouts, being of the opinion that only clan and life-debts have call upon me greater than their own, thus do not pass on any communications save their own. This means that the only address I have which may be permanent for someone in your condition is one that..."

"My condition?" Theo hadn't realized she was going to speak; it seemed as if Win Ton was babbling. As if he were nervous – but of her?

"Yes," he said, quickly recovering from the break in thought. "Yes, your condition. The condition of a student on the verge of becoming her own person, yet tied still by necessity to a world for which she is not best fit."

The look he gave her was nearly a glare, while his hands motioned, permission to continue?

Theo felt her cheeks warm, muttered, "Sorry..." as her fingers agreed, continue now.

"Yes." Win Ton sipped his tea, carefully, Theo thought.

"Given your condition," he said, more moderately, "I propose to share with you my Pilots Guild address, which will be stable for the next seven Standards and likely the seven Standards after that, and the seven after that. It is the only address I might consider permanent, for even if the Scouts cast me aside as unworthy I cannot imagine being other than a pilot."

His fingers, flickered – not hand-talk, but rather a motion to his pocket and then an extension to her.

Held between the first two fingers of his right hand was a card, light gray in color. She took it, the paper rough against her fingertips, and looked down.

His name was rendered in shiny black letters in Trade beneath what she assumed was his name in Liaden; there were also numbers and letters but they were hard to read...

She sniffed through her tears, looked into his face. "I so wanted to see you before I left," she said, her voice wobbling, "and now I'm a wreck because you're here!"

He sighed and spoke softly, "I have training as a Liaden, which indeed is fearful training, else I might weep as well. You see, this is why my captain is presently standing where she and I can both pretend that I cannot see her, waiting patiently for me to leave!"

Theo laughed shakily, sniffed, and wiped her eyes.

"When you are someplace," Win Ton continued, "where you feel the reply address will be good for some while, if you feel that you would like me to know about your doings, or that you wish to know about mine, use this address."

He paused for a sip of tea; Theo slipped the card into the pocket with her Melchiza three-day money. Later, she'd put it in the pouch she wore around her neck.

Win Ton cleared his throat. "It might be that you are away to further schooling; it may be that you have partnered or wed – or that you have determined to become a dance champion! Whatever you wish, I will be pleased to have your news. If it becomes clear that we are, as pilots say, ships passing in the night, then you need only destroy the card. Do you understand these conditions? Will you abide by them?"

She nodded, her hands assuring him, is fine check is clear check will comply check and she was able to smile without having to wipe tears from the corner of her mouth.

There was a loud buzz. Win Ton said the word she figured for his version of "Chaos!" and snatched a ship comm from his pocket. A glance at the screen and he was on his feet.

"Theo, I must run! A gift for you, my friend, use it wisely! Also – advice: never buy a bowli ball on a cruise ship!"

His hand came out of his jacket again and he placed a package wrapped in red spangled paper in her hands, his fingers lingering on hers a moment.

Then he was gone.

* * * *

Cho settled into her chair while Theo unwrapped the package, silently calling for a fresh pot of tea. She warmed both cups while Theo read the warning on the package, indicating with a nod that the third cup could be taken away.

"This clearly states," Theo said, "that this is for sale to pilots only!"

"Ah," said Cho, waving a fluid hand toward the open box. "Conditions are met, are they not? The apprentice is a pilot of some skill. I confess that I overhead his parting advice to you and I must allow it to be wisdom. To have purchased such a thing at the Crew's Store... Well. Necessity."

Theo unfolded the enclosed rule book. "The stochastic reverberation tuned-molecule core makes long range accuracy problematical. Never throw, kick, or launch your stochastic reflection device in the direction of a person or fragile object..."

She looked up at Captain Cho, who was patiently sipping her tea.

"Never throw it at a person? But..."

"Pilots, as you will likely come to see, have their own small jokes."

"Never use this equipment in a closed environment. Avoid handling with damp hands or in uncertain footing..."

She sighed, felt her fingers moving and thought to pay attention to what they were saying: never never never careful danger pilot use only not a toy not for competition avoid deep knife cuts...

She laughed slightly, and looked up.

"Thank you, Captain Cho."

The Liaden woman smiled slightly. "You are welcome, Theo Waitley. Now, I mark that time passes and that we shall soon be under docking rule. It happens that I, too, have something to place into your hand."

She reached into a slip pocket on her belt, and extended her hand as Win Ton had, a card held between the first and second finger.

Theo took it, her fingers delighting in the smooth feel of the creamy paper.

"More properly, that is for the pilot who trained you. If you will hand deliver this to that pilot... I would be appreciative."

Theo looked down at the card curiously. The front bore a graphic of a ship and a planet, with what she guessed were Liaden words written beneath. On the back, in neatly lettered Terran was: Captain Cho sig'Radia, Piloting Liaison

That was followed by a series of letters and numbers, much like Win Ton's Pilots Guild address.

"My address with the Scouts is there, as well as – but the pilot will know."

Theo looked up, confusion and dismay threatening to invite the silly tears again.

"But you're the pilot who trained me," she protested. "Or – Win Ton or Phobai – Cordrey! I don't know any other pilots!"

"Ah," Cho said, sounding infuriatingly like Father. "Perhaps it will come to you. In the meanwhile..." She inclined her head. "It is time that we part, my student. Go well, dance joyously, and number your friends with care."

Chapter Thirty-Two

Melchiza

City of Treasures

They were met in the Egress Lounge by their officially assigned Melchizan Chaperon. According to the handouts, they weren't supposed to stir outside their hotel room or other quarters without their Chaperon. Visitors caught roaming around on their own faced the usual litany of Melchizan penalties: fine, imprisonment, or immediate expulsion from the planet.

Their particular Chaperon was tall and thin with droopy yellow mustaches that made his long face look even longer. He had pale brown eyes and big knobby hands in which he held a data screen and a sheaf of brightly colored cards.

"Greeting! Greeting, sir, professor, professora, mamzelle! I am Gidis Arkov, your assigned guide and protector. All questions are for me; I stand between you and all harm. I am the keeper of the schedule, I carry copies of your bona fides next to my heart – " He lifted the data screen "Consider that I am your elder brother; any problem or concern you may have during your time on Melchiza, bring to me and I will make all smooth for you.

"Now!" he continued briskly, "we have the bus just here, with the driver waiting. Before we board, however, we must be insuring that your identification is in order." He slipped the data screen into the side pocket of his bright orange jacket, which was not, Theo thought critically, next to his heart, unless biology on Melchiza was very strange.

He glanced down at the cards in his hand, and looked up, scanning their faces earnestly. "Which is Farancy Able?"

Professor Able stood forward. "I am, Chaperon Arkov."

He smiled, his mustaches lifting. "Please, I am you elder brother, eh? Gidis is what you may call me. Now, this." He extended the purple card to her. "This is very important. You must at all times have it visible. Attach it to your coat and surrender it to no one, excepting anyone of Security." He looked 'round at all of them.

"You have read that Security will wear blue. In general and most usually, this is so. Sadly, there are rogues, not so many in the City of Treasures as elsewhere, but! Please be observant. If it seems to you that the person wearing blue is not behaving as a security person ought to do, you may politely ask to see identification. A legitimate security person will not take this amiss. A rogue will bluster and seek to bully. If this should happen, that a rogue seeks to separate you from your identification – do not acquiesce. Refuse, become loud and create a commotion. The rogue will – often – run. If they do not run fast enough, Security, having heard your commotion, will catch the impostor." Gidis smiled. "It is a very bad thing to pretend to be Security on Melchiza.

"So, Farancy Able, please affix this firmly to your coat so that all may see it. Know where it is at all times. Sleep with it, eh?" He laughed, and looked down at the next card.

"Vaughn Crowley."

Professor Crowley stood forward and took another purple card, subjecting it to a moment of study before pressing it against the breast of his jacket.

"Yes, excellent." Gidis smiled and looked down to the next.

"Orkan Hafley." The chair silently held out her hand, and slapped the identification card against her dull green sweater, where it adhered somewhat crookedly.

Gidis lifted the last purple card with a smile and held it out to Kamele with a little bow. "Kamele Waitley, yes? Please, do as your companions before you."

The next card was white. Gidis bowed again, without the smile. "Sir," he said.

Clyburn nodded and pressed the card against his elaborately fringed jacket.

The last card was pink.

"Mamzelle," Gidis said, handing it to Theo. "You will be vigilant, eh? The rule for you, it changes, only a little. The people who have the right to ask for your card are Security and your teacher. Your teacher only, yes? If another teacher wishes to peruse your information, he must apply to your teacher, who will, if he considers the request reasonable, ask you to surrender the card to him. If you are confused about this rule, you will please ask your teacher. All of this is plain and clear?"

Does he think I'm a littlie? Theo wondered grumpily, but she remembered that the rule-book listed pretty serious penalties for arguing with a Chaperon, and while immediately being deprived of the Chaperon's services wouldn't matter to her, since she was going to be locked up at boarding school, it would matter a lot to Kamele and the research team.

"Everything's clear," she said to Gidis, and pressed the pink tag against the shoulder of her red jacket.

"Excellent. Now! The schedule for the rest of this day. First, we board the bus and transport the mamzelle to school. There will at the school be a short moment for mamzelle's mother to speak with the teacher. The bus then takes us to the hotel. Dinner has been ordered in, as the scholars will wish to rest in their apartment. The sir has of course, been cleared for visiting." He nodded, then spun on a heel. "Follow me, please!"

Theo moved at once, Kamele right with her, both of them following Gidis down the room toward the doors. The others hesitated for a long moment, as if they thought there'd been a mistake, then hurried to catch up, their feet noisy against the 'crete floor.

"Visiting?" Theo heard Professor Able say. "Oh, of course! Your mother, is it not, who is placed high in Admin?"

"Precisely!" Chair Hafley took the question to herself. "As it happens, Clyburn's mother and sister live on Melchiza. Of course he must visit them! I insisted upon it."

"Certainly, one must pay one's respects to one's mother," Professor Crowley said, but in the tone of voice Theo noticed he used when he was saying something else instead.

"Oh, no doubt," Professor Able agreed. "I simply hadn't known that Clyburn was native to Melchiza."

Chair Hafley sniffed. "Why do you think I insisted that he accompany us?" she demanded. "A local guide will be invaluable to us!"

Except, Theo thought, Clyburn was going to visit his mother and the team had an assigned Chaperon, so how was he going to be any help? She looked at Kamele, who was biting her bottom lip, apparently listening just as hard as Theo was to the conversation to the rear.

"How long will the research take?" Theo asked.

Kamele glanced at her, blue eyes dancing. Her voice, however, was grave. "Professor Crowley estimated anywhere between four and seven local days, depending on the accessibility of the records, and how many hours per day we're allowed inside the Treasure House archives."

"So, if Clyburn is going to go visit – "

"Yes," Kamele murmured, cutting her off. "I think it's safe to conclude that Chair Hafley brought Clyburn so that he might have the treat of visiting his mother." She gave Theo a sideways glance. "It shows well of her, that she treats her onagrata with kindness," she added.

Theo sighed. She knew from Life Class that a woman who was responsible for an onagrata should take pains to let him know that he was valued, and to give him those little gifts and treats that were so important to the male ego. It was just that Professor Hafley treated Clyburn like he was... learning challenged, which, despite the fact that she didn't like him, Theo was pretty sure he wasn't. In Theo's opinion, it took real observational skills to be as snarky as Clyburn.

Ahead of them, Gidis waved open the doors. Before them was a short, canopied walk, with a long, orange car pulled across the far end.

"The bus!" he called, moving to one side of the walk and making shooing motions with one hand to hurry them along.

Kamele and Theo walked on, Theo turning her head, attention caught by a flicker of what might have been sense...

Yes, there it was again, woven between the nonsense waving and posturing, a phrase she almost recognized, but it couldn't be all is in readiness.

Could it?

"Theo," Kamele called from the bus door, "do you want to sit in the front or the back?"

Theo turned as Clyburn detached himself from their group, mincing in his fancy boots, clearly heading for another vehicle at the far end of the drive.

"Where's he going?" she asked loudly. "He doesn't have a Chaperon!"

"Hist! Hist, mamzelle! The sir is not a visitor! He is a returning son of Melchiza. Such require no Guides."

"Really, Theo!" Chair Hafley added, as she stepped past on her way to their bus. "If you spent as much time minding your own business as you spend monitoring others, you'd be in Team One, instead of Team Four!"

"Theo?" Kamele called again.

Ears burning, Theo turned back toward the bus.

* * * *

"Why are you telling me these bizarre things?" Monit Appletorn kept his face averted, most of his attention seemingly centered on the screen of his mumu.

Jen Sar Kiladi tipped his head to one side, and considered the other man's profile. Strong bones, and a stubborn chin, dark hair beginning to recede from a high forehead. There was a tightness in the tiny muscles around the eyes that perhaps spoke of more interest in bizarre topics than he wished to have seen.

He had not been offered a seat, which was only Balance, as he had arrived unannounced and all but forced himself into Appletorn's office. If he had called ahead and made more seemly arrangements to meet, perhaps the good scholar might have found time to move a pile of hard copy from one of the overburdened chairs. One did wonder, however, where his students sat when they came to solicit the scholar's advice.

Jen Sar flexed his fingers where they were folded atop his cane, and shifted his weight slightly. Appletorn reluctantly turned his face until it could be said that he was giving his guest due attention.

"I am telling you these things," Jen Sar said, keeping his voice gentle, "because you live in one of the compromised apartments. In theory, you have access to this rogue AI. Should this situation be discovered, your scholarship, your conclusions, and your standing as a Scholar Expert all are cast into doubt." He bowed slightly, as if in sympathy. "The work of a lifetime, tarnished by mere proximity."

"I think you overstate the case," Appletorn said, doubtless meaning to sound assured. "My work is well-known; certainly the earliest monographs predate the arrival of this... rogue AI, as you care to style it."

"Is that so? I have myself no firm date for the onset of the infection." Jen Sar murmured. Appletorn's face paled. "But, no! Doubtless you are correct. You have not always lived in that apartment; your earliest work would, in fact, escape doubt... as long as your former residence was free of the old wire."

The other man closed his eyes. When, at the count of twelve there was no further response forthcoming, Jen Sar set the next hook.

"Come, we both know that these things can be managed. The trick is to be in control of the information and its revelation, rather than allowing it to be discovered impromptu and subjected to dismaying interpretations by persons ignorant of the actual facts."

"I have never used this 'old wire,' " Appletorn said, which was... perhaps... true. "This rogue AI is unknown to me. I am, therefore, not in its logs, nor listed among its users."

"Ah. That, you see, is the genius of the program. Asked, it helpfully provided a map of those places to which it potentially has access. A second request, this to our own Concierge, produced the names of those currently residing in the compromised apartments." He smiled, sympathetically. "It is so difficult to prove a negative."

Another lengthy silence was the reward of sympathy, and at last a sigh.

"You say that you have the means to contain this malignancy and shut it down at the source."

Jen Sar tsk'd lightly. "I say that I have a pointer to a person. In all truth, this is likeliest to be an intermediate contact. As to finishing quietly – perhaps not. I do not despair of quickly, however, granted able and advertent assistance. And surely we shall emerge both politically stronger for our defense of Delgadan scholarship, and more able to control the flow of information to the ignorant."

Monit Appletorn was not a fool; the tension in his face and shoulders was ample evidence that he understood the stakes. It remained only to see if he was ruled by fear, or by melant'i.

"I'll do it," Appletorn said, and nodded toward the nearest chair. "Pitch that stuff on the floor and tell me what you plan."

* * * *

"Waitley?" a tall stout woman with a pink band around her left bicep shouted from the bottom of the ramp.

"Yes, ma'am." Theo went carefully down the ramp, pulling her case behind her.

"I'm Instructor Tathery. You're on my roster. Class is over for the day and you're a little late for supper. I'll show you to your room; the kitchen's already been told to send up a tray when you arrive." She looked over Theo's head.

"You'll be Professor Waitley?" she asked.

"Theo's mother," Kamele agreed coming off the end of the ramp to stand next to Theo. She held her hand out. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Instructor Tathery."

The bigger woman blinked, then took the offered hand, Kamele's fingers vanishing inside the large grasp. "A pleasure, Professor," she said gruffly.

"I don't mind talking while we walk," Kamele said, after her hand was returned and the other woman hadn't said anything else.

"Yes, well..." Instructor Tathery looked up the ramp, to where Gidis stood in the doorway of the bus.

"I'm not a Government Chaperon," the big woman finally produced. Kamele looked puzzled, but Theo suddenly understood.

"You can't go anywhere on Melchiza without a Chaperon," she said. "And if Gidis comes with us, then the rest of the team will be without a Chaperon"

Kamele sighed and shook her head. "I am not acclimated as yet," she said ruefully, and looked to the instructor. "I apologize for having placed you in an uncomfortable position and thank you for your patience. What I wish to say can certainly be said here, though I would have liked to see Theo's room and the learning areas."

"It is suggested, Professor Waitley," Gidis said from his position on the high ground, "that you speak quickly. The schedule – we must not fall behind."

"Maybe on your way back, ma'am," Instructor Tathery said, "you and the rest of your party would like a tour of the facilities."

"That would be very pleasant," Kamele said, keeping her eyes on the instructor's face; not even acknowledging Gidis by a glance. "I only wanted to explain – because I know custom varies from world to world – that, according to the custom of our homeworld, Delgado, Theo is yet a minor child, under the care of her mother. We wish to preserve our customs as nearly as possible while visiting Melchiza." She paused, but Instructor Tathery didn't say anything.

"If you will call me," Kamele said, "should there be any difficulty, or misunderstanding, and before any remediation is applied, that would satisfy our customs."

"I understand." There was a pause. "I'll do the best I'm able, Professor, as far as the customs of Melchiza allow."

Theo expected Kamele to argue, or press for a firmer agreement. Instead, her mother nodded gravely.

"Thank you," she said. "I appreciate your care of my daughter."

"The schedule, Professor Waitley!" Gidis called from the top of the ramp.

He might as well have been on Delgado for all the attention Kamele gave him. She turned, opening her arms. Theo stepped into her hug, leaning her forehead against her mother's shoulder.

"You have everything?" Kamele asked quietly.

"Everything" in this case, Theo knew was more than her school book, her clothes and her ID. It also included the emergency backup ticket that she was to use without prejudice, as Professor Crowley had it, if she felt her safety was compromised. Theo was pretty sure that undertaking a starship voyage to a place she'd never heard of would compromise her safety more than anything she could imagine happening at school, but he and Kamele had looked so serious, she hadn't bothered to argue. The ticket was in the secure pouch hanging 'round her neck by its string.

"Yes ma'am," she said now, her nose filled with the scent of Kamele's hair, feeling her mother's arms around her, strong and firm. She raised her head and looked into serious blue eyes.

"Be careful, Kamele," she said impulsively.

Her mother smiled. "I will be as careful as I can and still pursue my duty," she said. Her arms tightened slightly and they exchanged one of their rare kisses before Kamele stepped back, ruffling Theo's hair, like she was a littlie.

"Learn well, Daughter!" she said, loud enough for Gidis to hear at the top of the ramp.

"Keep well, Mother," Theo answered. "I'll – see you soon."

"You'd better go," Instructor Tathery said, low voice. "It'll be points off for the driver and the Guide if they're late on the schedule."

"Professor Waitley!" Gidis sounded somewhere between angry and anxious.

"Coming," Kamele called, and ran lightly up the ramp.

Gidis stepped back to let her in, the door closed and Theo gulped, eyes stinging.

"All right, Theo Waitley," Instructor Tathery said. "Let's get you settled and some dinner in you. Tonight's study work will be on the comdeck, and a map. Breakfast at four bells, and a map of the school..."

* * * *

"We are agreed, then?" Jen Sar Kiladi asked Monit Appletorn.

The long scholar leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his hair, staring at the ceiling. Finally, he sighed.

"We're agreed," he said, meeting Jen Sar's eyes. "When do you propose to move?"

"Tomorrow, if your schedule can accommodate me." Jen Sar said. "The weather is predicted to be very fine."

* * * *

The Treasure House Hotel had provided them with a suite – four private rooms around a common parlor-and-kitchen combination. In Kamele's room, the single wide bed served to remind her that she was – alone. No daughter tucked into an alcove bed, or showering the 'fresher. No lover leaning on his elbow under the sheets, watching her with a half-smile on his interesting, unbeautiful face. No one, in fact, to testify to her existence, should she suddenly vanish from this place.

She took a shower, trying to take pleasure in the luxurious soaps and lotions provided by the hotel. Alas, her depression was not so easily vanquished; rather than relaxing her, the shower seemed only to soften her resolve, so that all of her doubts ambushed her the moment she slipped into the bed and waved the room lights out.

What kind of mother was she, she asked herself, breath coming short against the heavy darkness, to leave her minor daughter in the care of strangers? How could she simply have turned her back and gotten back on the bus, not knowing the conditions of her child's welfare? A mother had her duties, and Theo –

Theo, she thought deliberately, had demonstrated an... astonishing level of self-sufficiency aboard the Vashtara, as befit a young woman who was soon to accept the responsibilities of adulthood.

But a mother's duty –

In the chill embrace of the wide bed, Kamele closed her eyes and took a deep breath – and another, keeping her attention focused on the mere act of breathing. An old lesson, this one, learned from her first singing instructor: Breathe, and when your foolish panic has passed, affirm yourself!

Another breath, deep and calming. Another. Her muscles were warming now, and she could smell the subtle aroma of the bath lotion, clinging softly to her skin.

Another breath, and she was calm, drifting on the edge wakefulness.

"I am," she whispered, "a scholar of Delgado."

Another breath, and she slipped over the edge, into sleep.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Melchiza

City of Treasures

The informational vids did nothing to prepare one for the reality of the Melchiza House of Treasures. While much of the building was of course underground; the above-ground portion dwarfed its festive and fragile attendant buildings, a hulking 'crete block, with neither finesse nor grace about it. It seemed, Kamele thought, to be daring the heavens to deliver the meteor strike that the Melchizan government insisted it would withstand.

And then, there were the doors. The outer doors were guarded by a dozen stern-faced individuals in blue coats, gold laces shining in the faintly rosette light of Melchiza's dawn; sidearms very obvious. The team was required to pass through a checkpoint, surrender their badges, state their names, their occupation and their planet of origin into the recorder, and submit to a retinal scan.

Badges returned, they were reunited with their Chaperon, who led them inside, across a forbidding metal lobby unsoftened by sculpture, tapestry, or other art, to an equally forbidding metal desk, behind which a woman in yet another of the ornate blue-and-gold coats awaited them, frown in place.

She took their badges, scanned and returned them before asking their business.

"We are here at the invitation of Professor Dochayn to do a literature comparison of the Beltaire Collection," Kamele said, keeping her voice smooth and pleasant. Beside her, she felt Chair Hafley stiffen slightly, but if she was offended by Kamele overstepping herself, she did not chose to pursue the matter.

"I have your names on my roster," the security woman said crisply; "and your badges are in order. Your Chaperon may guide you to the next station."

Well, Kamele thought, that wasn't difficult at all, really.

"Thank you," she said, but the woman had apparently already forgotten them, her eyes returning to the bright bank of busy instruments at her right hand.

Kamele gathered Gidis with a glance, and he skittered ahead of them, clutching his notebook, staring down into its screen with such concentration that Kamele feared he would trip and do himself an injury. Of course, there was nothing to trip over – there were no uneven tiles, or unruly rug-fringe marring the metal floor – though they were approaching a door with the inevitable blue-coated individual standing before it.

Once again, they surrendered their badges, saw them scanned and received them back. The security man opened the door and Gidis dashed across the threshold, the forensic team following at a slightly more sedate pace, careful of their footing on the metal surface.

They had been admitted to an antechamber, where a blue-coated security person sat behind a desk, quietly observing his bank of instruments. He scanned their badges and gave his permission for them to proceed.

* * * *

There were two dozen kids in Class TS3N, slightly more boys than girls, and ages ranging from Monti, two Standard Years Theo's junior, to Yzel, three Standard Years older.

Instructor Tathery was the teacher for the class, which was... odd. Who could be an expert in all subjects? Still, Theo thought, it would be interesting to see how it went. She sat down at the desk with her name on it, and touched the keypad to wake up the computer.

Yzel acted as teacher's aide, wandering the room while the class did a math warm-up, and answering questions. He was good, Theo thought, patient and quiet. He paused behind her chair while she was working out a particularly cumbersome word problem, but he didn't intervene or offer to help. When she found the derive, he moved off, soft-footed, and she felt like she'd been given approval.

After math was culture. Everybody sat in a circle and told the group about an important holiday on their homeworld. Theo talked about Founder's Day, which was pretty tame compared to Monti's Sun Fete, and downright boring put against Ave-Su's Loki's Night.

Culture moved seamlessly into history, Instructor Tathery leading a discussion of political alliance.

"Political alliance is expediency, ma'am," Yzel argued. "It would be better to cultivate an ignorance of history in the cause of choosing allies."

"Not only that, history lies!" the boy with black and gold striped hair called, speaking out of rotation.

Instructor Tathery didn't reprimand him, or give him a down. She just waved a broad hand at him, in an almost casual invitation to continue.

"How does history lie, Dalin?"

"The – the, Yzel was talking about expediency. It's expedient for the history-makers on some planets to write untrue things down and file them in their libraries, in order to block competition or to serve old grudges. It's coward's warfare, my First-Father says, and those who traffic in lies ought to be held to a warrior's accounting!"

"But," Theo protested, "on Delgado, scholars research events. If there hasn't been any research done – or, if the research that has been done is suspect for some reason, a scholar will travel to the place, talk to the people who were there – primary sources, they're called – to find out the facts of the event, as well as the causes, and write an impartial account, so that everyone is informed. Then, if two former enemies want to pursue an alliance – like Yzel says, of expediency – they have the facts of the last matter before them, to learn from, so they don't make the same mistakes again."

"Oh, really? My First-Father says that – "

"This is a very interesting discussion," Instructor Tathery broke in. "Rather than try to compress it into the time we have left for history, let's plan on using our open period tomorrow for an in-depth exploration. I want each of you to come prepared with an argument for or against the manipulation of history, with examples. Now, everybody up! It's time to move around, people!"

They had begun their pilgrimage at dawn. It was now past lunchtime, as they were passed through another metal door, and stepped into yet another antechamber with a desk, the inevitable blue-coated security person, and another; a woman wearing a red coat, a pale blue knot nattily adorning her buttonhole, who leapt to her feet as the team crossed the threshold and bustled forward.

"You must be the Delgadan Search Team!" she said, bringing her hands together briskly in what she may have thought was the open book salute. "I am Jeyanzi Pikelmin, Third Director of the Treasure House. The Beltaire Collection falls under my administration."

"Thank goodness!" Hafley cried, stepping forward. "I don't hide from you, Director, that I am exhausted! We have been walking for hours! If there could be someplace for me – for us – to sit down and perhaps have a bit of lunch, that would be most welcome!"

"Also," Professor Crowley interposed smoothly, "if a message might be sent to Professor Dochayn, who is our sponsor to the collection, that would be most welcome as well, Director. The team had been under the impression that she was planning to meet us and conduct us personally to the archives."

"Ah, but that is why you see me here, Scholars! You must accept my apologies, Professor Dochayn was granted a fellowship at the premier archival center on our sister planet of Ibenvue."

"Really?" Crowley murmured. "She said nothing of this in our correspondence."

"Indeed, indeed! The honor came upon her unaware, the announcement so late that she thought another had been chosen. Just between us, sir, I would say that another had been chosen, who had then been obliged to turn it down. These things happen, of course, and in this case it was to Dochayn's benefit. Off she went to Ibenvue, with scarcely a day to pack and see to her affairs here. The department is still a little hectic, as support staff scramble to divide her work between them. If you know her, sir, you know that she was always in the midst, sleeves rolled up, notebook in hand."

"Indeed," Crowley said politely.

"I'd hardly think the Museum would let her go on such short notice," Professor Able said, "with such a workload and no second to take up the work in her absence."

"The Treasure House would scarcely put itself between one of our most valued scholars and so noteworthy an honor. What she will learn on Ibenvue, she will bring back to us here, while teaching Ibenvue in his turn. When she returns, the Treasure House will benefit from this synergy. Truly, we would be shortsighted with regard to our own greater good, did we refuse to allow such migrations. Temporary interruptions can be dealt with. But come!" She turned her smile and her attention to Chair Hafley.

"I apologize for the inconvenience to which we have subjected you this morning. It will be my pleasure to provide a place to rest and a meal. Please, follow me."

Hafley turned to walk with the Director, leaving the other three to follow. Kamele glanced to Crowley and to Able, and raised her hand, as if to make sure that her badged was securely affixed, and touched her finger to her collar in the exact location where Director Pikelmin wore her dainty blue knot.

Crowley inclined his head, and Able, advertent scholars, both.

Kamele inclined her head and followed Hafley down a short hallway to a conference room, where four chairs had been set around a square table.

"Please, be seated," Director Pikelmin said. "Catering will be here momentarily.

"Excellent," said Hafley, taking a chair. "Kamele, sit here, at my right."

Stomach tight, Kamele took the seat at Hafley's right.

* * * *

"Delicious!" Hafley proclaimed. "Better than anything Vashtara served, even at the captain's own table!"

"I will tell the catering manager that you approve of his efforts," Director Pikelmin said, bowing slightly.

It was, Kamele admitted, very good coffee, the foodstuffs certainly equal to that served in the atrium cafe aboard Vashtara.

"Sit with us," Able invited, "and have a cup of your excellent coffee."

"Thank you," the director said, "but I lunched earlier."

She straightened, suddenly appearing several inches taller. Kamele observed this with interest, having seen Jen Sar perform the same illusion innumerable times. Its success depended almost entirely upon attitude, as Jen Sar, at least, was always upright in his posture. Director Pikelmin seemed to have been slumping just a bit, and only now allowed her full height to be seen. Which was, in Kamele's opinion, cheating.

"Now that we have perhaps made some small amends for your inconvenience of the morning, Scholars, I think we must talk of your reason for visiting our delightful planet. I believe that I learn from Dochayn's files that your purpose is to compare copies of the Beltaire papers held by Delgado University's library with the originals, held in our archives. Is this correct?"

"That is most wonderfully correct," Crowley answered. "I carry, in addition, not supposing that it should be needed, a letter from Professor Beltaire, granting us unlimited access to her family's archive."

"Certainly, it is wise to be prepared for all possible unpleasantness, so that one may be agreeably surprised when the way is smoother than anticipated," the director said with a smile. "Professor Beltaire's foresight – and your own, sir! – are appreciated, but the letter is not necessary."

"What I wish to offer is an... option which our own Professor Dochayn appears not to have mentioned to your team. Since the archives are our own and we are very familiar with their contents and the system under which they are filed, why not spend an hour or two with Dochayn's research assistants, outlining precisely what it is that you want, and leave all in our hands? You may take a well-deserved vacation, tour our splendid city, make the trip to Tampere Falls – spend a night, or two, in the lodge behind the falls. When you return, rested and content, your information will be waiting for you."

"That's a very... interesting offer," Crowley said, looking 'round the table.

"No!" Hafley said, astonishingly. She glared at Crowley. "It's not interesting, Emeritus Professor, it's – generous to a fault! This is what it means, to be part of the community of scholars! We may live on different worlds, abide by different cultures, but we all inhabit the universe of the mind." She smiled at Director Pikelmin. "We can do nothing else but accept. Isn't that correct, Sub-Chair?"

This, Kamele thought, this is what I agreed to, when I said that I would stand her ally. The other members of the team were looking to her, waiting for her response. She swallowed, finished what was left of her coffee, and put the cup carefully into its saucer.

"Actually," she said, pleased to hear that voice was perfectly composed, "though the offer is generous in the extreme, we cannot accept. It is our duty, as Scholars of Delgado, to do our own research. We cannot ask our sisters in scholarship to prove our point for us. The request we made of Professor Dochayn was for access to the archives. Professor Beltaire's letter of permission also grants us this – access to the archives." She met Director Pikelmin's cool eyes.

"Your offer is well-meant," she said, "but we must pursue our own course in this."

"I think so, as well," said Crowley.

Able nodded. "Let's finish what we came here to do."

"Scholars!" Hafley cried. "We have all been teachers. Surely we can give Professor Dochayn's trained assistants instructions regarding our needs. There's no reason to weary ourselves, to learn the filing system in use, to risk muddling the archive's records..."

"I have been a scholar for seventy Standard Years," Crowley interrupted. "I have pursued source documents into hovels, where the texts were left exposed to humidity, radiation, and other damaging elements; where the notion of a filing system was to simply stack all those with matching covers in a certain corner of the room. I take offense at the statement that I would be unable to decipher the civilized and sophisticated archival system in use at this facility. The insinuation that I would somehow, in my base male ignorance, muddle the files I consider beneath reply."

"Professor Crowley – "

"I agree with Professor Waitley," Able interrupted the Chair. "Delgado didn't become the watchword for careful scholarship because Delgadan scholars let others do their research. We hold ourselves to scholarly rigor; it is our pride and our duty. Students come to us from the far reaches of the galaxy because we do not stint ourselves, nor take the easy path. We have our task before us; let us continue."

Not a consensus, Kamele thought, but a majority. So be it. Hafley, however, was opening her mouth, apparently to argue or cajole further.

"The scholars perhaps are not entirely informed on the conditions of research in the archives," Director Pikelmin said smoothly. "Dochayn would hardly have thought to mention it; she was here at all hours, herself. As you can see, we have an immense facility to maintain and protect here. What this means in terms of visiting scholars and research teams is that they may, at the invitation of a resident archivist – which your team has of course obtained – visit the relevant archive. However, checking large groups of foreign scholars in and out puts an unacceptable burden on our security personnel. That is why all visiting researchers are required to stay within the archives until they have either completed their work, or they have overstayed their welcome."

Theo, Kamele thought, calm inside the suddenly cool room.

"How long," she asked, "are visiting researchers welcome?"

Director Pikelmin smiled. "One local week, Professor."

"I see." Kamele glanced around the table, seeing agreement on two faces. "Since time is so short, I suggest that we begin immediately, if the director can find someone able to lead us directly to the archives."

"I will myself lead you, Professor Waitley, if you must go. I should mention that conditions are perhaps not what you are accustomed to. The apartments are very small, and the food provided – alas! – not by our most excellent catering department but by a cafeteria vending service."

Kamele did not laugh, though she did glance down at her empty coffee cup.

"Those conditions are acceptable," she said, and looked 'round the table. "Scholars?"

"Acceptable," Able said.

"More than acceptable," Crowley said. "I wonder, however, if someone – perhaps our excellent Chaperon, Gidis Arkov – could be dispatched to bring our cases to us. We came, you understand, prepared to do our research, not to take up residence."

Jeyanzi Pikelmin pressed her lips together.

"If it's against the rules," Able said, dryly, "then think nothing of it. We'll manage. I assume that there is a sink?"

The director looked to Hafley, who threw up her hands.

"We have a consensus, or so it would appear! I thank you for your attempt to make our work easier."

"Then you will also be staying in the archives, Chair Hafley?" the director asked.

"It would seem that I have no choice."

"Of course." She bowed slightly to the room at large. "Licensed Chaperon Gidis Arkov will fetch the scholars' cases to the archive. You will understand that this may take some amount of time, it being an extra burden upon him. Melchiza is, however, famous for its hospitality. We would not wish to leave a guest in discomfort."

Kamele nodded.

"That's settled, then," she said briskly, and rose, smiling brightly at the woman in her red coat and blue knot. "Director Pikelmin, let me thank you again for a most delicious meal! It's time for this research team to embrace its purpose, dreary as that might seem to some. I believe you said that you would be able to guide us... ?"

"Yes, Professor Waitley," the director said gently. "I will myself escort you."

* * * *

Movement was freeform; you were supposed to stretch and move around, so Ave-Su said, to get the blood back up to your brain. Theo staked out a piece of floor toward the back of the big room and danced a few phrases of menfri'at. The voices and heavy steps of her teammates fell out of her awareness before she completed the first phrase. Closing her eyes, she imagined Win Ton moving with her, which was easy since he danced so quiet – like there was a cushion of air between the soles of his boots and whatever mundane surface the rest of the population had to deal with. Captain Cho moved like that, too, and sometimes Father...

She stopped in mid-phrase, her eyes springing open to behold her classmates, standing quite still, watching her, like they'd never seen anybody dance before. And coming forward was Instructor Tathery, eyes wide in a face that seemed a little paler than it had been.

"Everybody awake?" she called out to the room in general, and the rest of the class turned toward her. "Good! We're due at the media center!"

* * * *

"All communication devices must be checked at this station," Jeyanzi Pikelmin said. "They will be returned to you when you depart our facility."

Kamele considered the woman. "My minor daughter is enrolled at the Transit School. The custom upon Delgado is that a mother must always have available to her the means to supervise and interact with her child."

Director Pikelmin inclined her head gently. "Delgado's customs are well-known to me, Professor Waitley, and I honor them, on those occasions when I am on Delgado. This discussion is taking place upon Melchiza, however, and here we have our own customs. Your child is under the supervision of the instructor of her class; you may rest easy." She looked up, eyes gleaming.

"If Delgadan custom must overrule Melchizan, then I suggest to you that it is not too late to allow experienced Treasure House staff to take the burden of your task out of your hands."

Kamele took a breath. To be... incarcerated, incommunicado, for the length of a thorough search – which Able had calculated at no less than four Delgadan days, and possibly as long as seven – with her child among strangers. It was – what if something happened?

I should have, she thought, closed my eyes and ignored the signs, stopped myself from adding up the inconsistencies. Remained in Jen Sar's house, where everything was comfortable and my daughter was protected.

Yet – Was that how a Scholar of Delgado comported herself? Could she have lived with herself, had she turned her head? And Theo – what lesson would her daughter have taken from such an act of cowardice?

"Professor Waitley?"

She looked around to her colleagues, to Hafley, smirking at the director's side, and bowed slightly. It seemed to her that she heard Jen Sar murmur quietly in her ear, Necessity.

"The Treasure House," she said composedly, "is to be commended for the care it lavishes upon those valuables that come into its keeping." She stepped to the desk and slipped her mumu from her pocket. The guard slapped a pressure-seal on it, and used her chin to point. "Fingerprints, please, Scholar."

Kamele pressed her fingers to the seal and stepped back, making room for Crowley, who already had his mumu out.

When it came Hafley's turn, she slid the mumu across the desk as if it were a toy. The guard picked up the seal, looked down – and looked up.

"This device is activated," she said.

"Again?" Hafley tsked, leaned forward and tapped the power-down key. "I really must get a new one; this habit of spontaneously powering up is very tiresome."

The guard shrugged, sealed the device and Hafley pressed her fingers down.

"There, now!" she said, turning around and smiling broadly. "Kamele, I believe you are, as always, correct! We ought to do our own research, and we should be able to make great strides, four scholars with no children beneath foot. Not that Theo is ever anything but a delight, of course, but she is quite, quite safe where she is."

Chapter Thirty-Four

Delgado

Efraim Agricultural Zone

"Have we arrived?" Monit Appletorn asked faintly from the passenger's seat.

Jen Sar Kiladi touched the car's power switch. The prediction for a cloudless, lucent day perfect for driving had been correct, and he had, perhaps, indulged himself. He sent a sidelong glance to the other man. Appletorn's face was decidedly pale, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that he must surely soon give himself a headache.

"I believe that we have arrived, yes," Jen Sar said, keeping his voice soft not only from respect of that incipient headache, but also because he had noted the location of three Eye-like objects, placed with intent to conceal among the trees and other growing things.

Appletorn took a rather shaky breath, and opened his eyes. Ascertaining that the car was, indeed, at rest, he cast his attention wider, taking in the pleasant aspect of the courtyard, the simple stone walk leading to the simple wooden door, set flush to the simple wooden walls.

"We are at the Chapelia's primary circle?" Appletorn asked, his voice likewise low.

"To the best of my knowledge and belief," Jen Sar assured him.

Appletorn cleared his throat. "I ask, not because I doubt your abilities, sir, but because there are two decidedly complex monitoring devices concealed in this... garden. Surely the Chapelia, who advocate and pursue simplicity in all things..."

"The Chapelia harness complexity when it suits them," Jen Sar murmured, pleased in his companion. To have immediately seen two of the concealed spy-eyes in what must surely be a bewildering profusion of leaf and branch, while one's emotions were yet in turmoil, demonstrated observational skills of a high order. But, there, Appletorn's area was advertence. Perhaps he would be useful here, after all.

"Well!" he said brightly, releasing the door looks and easing out of his seat. "Having arrived, let us go forth!"

He retrieved his cane from the boot while Appletorn extricated himself from the seat's embrace, locked the doors, and held the clicker out.

Appletorn stared. "What is that?"

"An extra key, in case it should be needed."

"Keep it," the other said shortly. "I could not, in the direst emergency imaginable, steer that... device."

"It's really quite simple," Jen Sar told him. "Only use the sticks to point it, and the pedal to accelerate. When you hit something, the town constables will be summoned to take you into custody, where you will be safe from any pursuit."

Appletorn glared at him. "I thank you, but – no."

"As you like," Jen Sar said agreeably, and slipped the spare away.

There was a simple bell hanging by the door, with a string hanging from its striker. Jen Sar used the head of his cane to strike a sweet single note, then set the ferrule against stone walkway, and composed himself to wait.

"Ring again," Appletorn said after a few minutes had passed. "They may not have heard."

"But to ring again would be to betray complexity," Jen Sar pointed out. "Surely, in the fullness of time, a single summons will find a single – ah."

The door opened, silent on well-oiled hinges, to reveal one of the Chapelia in her simple gray robes, face swathed in simple gray cloth, plain black lenses covering her eyes, a cowl over covering her naked head.

Jen Sar inclined his head, very slightly. "One comes," he stated.

The lenses glinted as the doorkeeper moved her head.

"Two come, Seeker."

"One comes," Jen Sar repeated, "seeking a rare simplicity." He raised his hand, drawing the sign Lystra Mason had given him in the air between himself and the doorkeeper.

There was a long pause, doubtless as the doorkeeper had recourse to her quicklink. Jen Sar recruited himself to patience, his eyes on the shrouded face. The robes and other shrouding of course hid any minute muscle tension attending the sub-vocalization, and he allowed himself to marvel anew at the range of complexity necessary to support a simple life.

"Two come," the doorkeeper declared, and turned her shrouded face once more to Appletorn. "Do you seek, also?"

"I seek to study this one's actions," Appletorn said serenely; "in order to see if they might Teach."

An excellent answer, that, and with the advantage of being true.

The Chapelia inclined her head and stood away from the door.

"Enter."

* * * *

According to the opening credits, the vid was a dramatization of an ancient Melchizan folktale. The plot revolved around a pair of sibs – girl and boy – who had fallen joint heirs to an estate in the mountains. There were a number of people attached to the estate, by something called grunkild. The sister got right to work team-building, learning names, families and what everybody's job was. Her brother had brought three members of his home-team with him; they each picked out three people from the grunkild people, claimed a wing of the big house for themselves and proceeded to ignore the sister's efforts.

Theo shifted in her seat. Except for the Melchizan social structures, this was a familiar story – very much like those told to littlies at home. What was going to happen now was that an emergency would arise, the arrogant brother and his isolationist group would get into trouble, and the team-builder would save their bacon. Then, after the emergency was over, the brother would ask to be brought into the team.

Sure enough, the emergency was not long in coming, though its nature was... unexpected. Instead of bad weather, or an equipment failure, or an attempt to discredit one of the group's scholarship, it was actual physical danger that they faced.

A group of bandits came down out of the mountains with the winter winds, and attacked the estate. Why they didn't just ask for help wasn't explained. Theo guessed it made a better story to just have them ride in and start catapulting rocks and ice against the estate's walls.

The sister went to her team and asked them what should be done, seeking consensus, but the team members were afraid of the bandits and hid. Lacking consensus, the sister went to her room to study the problem.

In the meantime, the brother, who had held himself away from the team, and his few friends, came around behind the bandits' position, and used firearms to frighten them away.

And that, the narrator said, demonstrated why a leader must always keep himself aloof and vigilant for his people.

Theo sat up straight in her seat, cold with shock. That wasn't right!

The lights came up. She shook herself, and looked around to see if anyone else was as horrified as she felt.

Dalin was sitting to her right, eyes half-closed. Possibly he was asleep. On the left, Ave-Su was combing her fingers through her hair, her expression decidedly bored.

Theo took a breath. "That – " she began and started as Instructor Tathery called from the back of the room.

"All right, students! Back to the classroom, please, and form a talk-circle. Another class is scheduled for the room!"

Theo got up, feeling strangely shaky, like she'd made a dive during a bowli ball match, and had missed the ball. But! There was going to be a discussion. That was good. Clearly, the story had been told wrong for a reason. Maybe it was to –

A hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up; Instructor Tathery smiled at her tightly and jerked her head to one side.

"Come with me, Theo."

"Yes, ma'am," she said automatically, following the big woman out into the hall, and to the right, instead of to the left, which was the way back to the classroom.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" she asked.

The instructor looked down at her. "Just an administration error, Theo. You're in the wrong class."

She frowned. "The wrong class? But my mother – "

"Yes, yes!" the instructor interrupted. "But she might not have considered, ah, how important dance is to Melchiza. You'll fit in much better with – Ah, here we are!"

She waved Theo to an office on the right, where a man wearing a plain blue shirt and dark slacks stood, ignoring several comfortable chairs, his feet flat and stance ready, as if he were waiting for his dance partner – no, Theo corrected herself, remembering what Win Ton had taught her – his sparring partner to arrive. He was not as tall as Instructor Tathery, nor as substantial, but Theo felt herself respond to his presence. She stopped, dropping into the ready mode, as Phobai called it; feet flat, knees flexed, hands at rest – and looked up into his face.

He had a hook nose, thin lips, and very, very blue eyes. The lips smiled. The eyes didn't.

"I... see," he said and nodded to her, deliberately, almost like one of Father's bows.

"I am Pilot-Instructor Arman. You may address me as Pilot. It is obvious, Pilot Waitley, that you have been misassigned. That error has been rectified, and you will now enter my class."

Theo frowned into those cold eyes. "My mother expects me to be in Instructor Tathery's class," she said. "They had a protocol agreement."

"So Instructor Tathery informs me. I have relieved her of her promise to your mother and taken the burden to myself." He looked over her head. "Thank you, Instructor. You did right."

"Thank you, sir." The woman's voice was not quite steady. She cleared her throat. "Theo, your belongings will be shifted to your new room. Pilot Arman will direct you."

"Indeed, the pilot may look to me for all things," the man said, and gave a nod of dismissal. "Your class needs you, Instructor."

"Yes," she said, suddenly reluctant, as a new voice called out.

"Instructor Tathery?"

Theo spun, keeping Pilot Arman on her left, half-facing this new intruder.