Jo Clayton - Shadow of the Warmaster

5. Approaching the Dance Floor/Watergardens outside Ayla gul Inci/both moons down.

“Like crawling through a room lined with black felt.” Tezzi Ofka braced herself on her arms, leaned forward until her nose touched the curving window.

“Um.” Elmas Ofka scowled at the trembling lines scattered across the panel in front of her; trying to balance the ship in half a dozen directions and get somewhere at the same time took most of her attention. The storm didn’t help. Blessings be, the winds had died to a whisper. She’d flown the miniship a few times before (mostly in daylight though and tethered) so she’d be able to manage it in an emergency. She hadn’t realized how tricky this short jump was going to be. Thank God, Karrel Goza gave her the extra hour. It would have been easier for him to come to the place where they’d stowed the ship, but she wasn’t about to trust him that much. Not yet anyway. He probably realized she didn’t. He wasn’t stupid, though it was hard to remember that when he put on his dumb hardboy look. Good camouflage. I hope. “Tez, any sign of those lights?”

“Not yet. You sure we’re heading the right way?”

“Sssa. Half maybe. Keep looking around.”

“Mm.”

They droned on for several minutes, then a sudden gust of wind caught the small airsack and rocked it perilously. Elmas Ofka fought the miniship straight, exploded out the breath she was holding. “Tez!”

“Turn a little left. I thought I saw something when we were tumbling about.”

Elmas Ofka eased the nose around, bit her lip as she felt the gondola tremble in the swirl of winds that grew stronger as she got closer to the water. Two faint greenish spots swam past some distance in front of her. She tried to stop the turn, overcorrected, overcorrected again, went toward the lights in a series of diminishing arcs.

“Elli, I’m getting airsick.”

“Don’t talk so much.” She ran the pump that sucked air into the ballast sacs; the ship sank, steadied as the added weight helped the motors hold against the erratic push of the wind. A moment later it lurched, nosed down as it hit a powerful downdraft. She swore fervently and vented the air she’d just pumped in.

“Elliiii, I didn’t know you knew those words.”

“Shut up, Tez. Sssaaa, I can’t see…” The lights slid inexorably beneath her. She pumped in more air, shifted the stabilizers so she was edging downward, then swung carefully around. “Tez. Get ready to drop the ropes.” She fumbled over the switches, finally got the hover configuration right, swore again as she saw she was several meters away from where she wanted to be. “This is as good as it gets. Toss the marker, Tez, then let the ropes go.”

The gondola rocked as Tezzi moved from side to side, shuddered as the hatches opened. The weighted glowglobe whirled away, caught by a gust whose fringes reached the miniship a moment later and started it tottering. Elmas Ofka chewed on her lip, drummed her fingers on the chair arms, waiting as long as she dared before she did anything. The ship jerked, steadied. She started breathing again. “Drop the ladders, Tez.”

She left the chair and went to help balance the gondola as dark figures began swarming up the ladders.

Karrel Goza was first up. He came in with a quick neat twist of his body and went without a word to the cockpit, settling himself at the controls and began running his fingers over them, touching the switches but changing nothing for the moment. If you can recruit him, there’s a flyer working for Sirgыn Bol, Muhar Teget said, name’s Karrel Goza. He’s a natural. If he manages to get as old as me, he might just be better than me. A natural, she thought, yes, Muh was right. She relaxed some more. Some have the gift, Muh said, lots don’t. You’ve got one, diving it is, flying it’ll never be. Some folk can get along quite well without any special talent for what they want to do, if they’re willing to work their asses off and never stop training. Don’t you put down the ones who go that route, sometimes they do a helluva lot more than the naturals. There’s the drive, you see, without the drive even the best don’t go far. The one weakness they’ve got, though, they don’t adapt fast to radical new situations. You need that kind of thing in what you and your isyas are doing. When you have to replace me, no no, gen-gen, a stroke or a bullet, one of ’em’s going to get me and let me tell you, I’d rather the bullet. What was I saying? ah yes. When you replace me, make sure your pilot is one of the naturals. There’s too much that can go wrong too fast for the other kind. You want inspiration rather than intelligence when there’s no time for thinking.

Harli Tanggаr swung in, threw Elmas Ofka a salute and a broad grin and began reeling up the ladders. Elmas moved forward.

“All up,” she murmured.

“Run through this for me.”

“Let me take us out over the bay first, we’ve been here too long already.” She slid into the co’s seat. “Tez, signal them cast off.”

The miniship leaped free, began drifting sideways; Elmas Ofka worked uncertainly through the configuration shift, vented air too slowly at first, then too suddenly, swore under her breath at her clumsiness as she changed settings. She explained what she was doing in a rapid half-distracted murmur, all too aware of his eyes on her; she loathed doing things badly where people could see it, especially men. When they were at last out over the water and there was nothing for miles around to threaten the miniship, she sat back with a sigh and let it drift. “You want to ask questions, or do I give you the lecture Muhar Teget pounded into me?”

He set a forefinger on a switch. “I touch, you name it, all right?”

“Why not?”

For the next twenty some minutes he worked with her, gaining skill with a speed that astonished her. She’d been told by more than Muh that he was good, too good for the stodgy hauls Sirgыn was giving him, it looked like her informants weren’t exaggerating. Before she thought, she said, “Why in forty hells did those godlost execs lay you off?”

He laughed. It was a pleasant rumbling sound, deeper than his speaking voice. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Her face burned. Prophet’s blessing, it was dark up there except for the faint glow from the instruments. “It was so meant,” she said.

“Yeh. Trouble is I never took the time to spread the old oil around.”

“But flying…”

“Being good is a frill on most hauls. Adequate does just fine.”

“Adequate gets you killed down deep.”

He blinked, raised his brows. “If Old Pittipat in Gilisim gets serious about taking title to your merm beds, he’ll fetch in slaves that can whomp him up a minisub or something like it before you can say spit, Elmas Ofka. Think about it a minute while I get set up here…” He worked in silence for a short while, tapping in the course, then he swung his chair round to face her. “You’ve kept hold of those beds up to now because no one can get at them but a Dalliss. How long do you think that’s going to last?” He touched the nearest switch, let his hand drop onto the chair arm. He was serious, frowning, seemed to be groping for a connection between the two of them; his words came in quick spurts with long pauses between them. “Muhar said crude and crudest. He’s right. You ever been up front in a longhauler? There’s stuff in there. Stuff no one was dreaming of. Just a few years ago. When I was in school. Look at me. I’m what? One year? Two? Not that much older than you. I tell you, Elmas Ofka, what with the skills the slaves bring in from outside. And the fiddling the mechs do in their offtime. Well. The ships are smarter than some of the pilots these days.”