Sharon Lee - - Prologue

Approaching the last of the islands, though, the plane gained altitude suddenly, and a column of cloud leapt out of the darkness, enveloping them, as the sigh of air passing around them changed timbre.

The King Six bounced. She brought it level and began descending very gradually, the while keeping the variometer a focus. The plane behaved itself really well when they hit a quick burst of rain and hail that clattered on the skin, startling her, then they were through, the ship on course but tending downward . . .

Veradantha spoke, gently, from her place: "We often forget, when we fly, that valleys and channels well below us are mirrored in the sky. You have flown through what some call 'the smoker.' You will look it up and send me your reaction in the morning, if you please."

The variometer telling tales, Theo nodded, and increased throttle, watching the crosswind which threatened to bring the ship uncomfortably close to the no-fly zone.

Advertency won out—just. Then it was time to run a check of the backup instruments, and the flight resumed the comfortable silence, enlivened until the end with near random bursts of hand-talk and the low clicks of Veradantha's fingers on her notepad.

They filed through the small terminal, yos'Senchul's, "Follow me if you will, Waitley," recognized as more of an order than a request.

Passing by the Ops desk, they went down a short hall. yos'Senchul used a swipe key and bowed Veradantha and Theo into a brightly lit conference room.

Theo shivered, belatedly recognizing that it was cool and damp outside, something she'd not noticed when leaving the plane. Maybe it was the hour, too, or concern about this sudden change of course.

Veradantha sat at the table, pulling out her ubiquitous timer. Without looking up, she patted the place next to her, so Theo sat, too.

yos'Senchul paced, his hand describing gestures that were not quite signs, his shoulders moving with a rhythm and beat—with a shock of recognition she realized that this was a calming routine, a tension reliever. Father sometimes—

"The thing is, Waitley, that you are dangerous." The words were spoken gently, which concerned her greatly.

Theo sat forward and steeled herself, admitting, "I don't understand."

He used his hand for emphasis and said again, "You are dangerous. We, between us, have seen you tonight to be an adequate and more than adequate pilot for one of your flight time, background, and training. At flying, you are precocious, as your flight in the sailplane showed. That isn't dangerous, that's good."

Theo sat back a little, unmollified.

"Precocity has pitfalls, Theo Waitley," said Veradantha from beside her, "which I know myself from myself, and which I have agreed with Orn Ald we know for you."

The old woman tapped the table twice and went on, speaking as much to the wall as to Theo or the flight instructor. Theo watched her face, drawn to the precise way Veradantha was moving, as if she were recalling and acting out something rather than merely talking.

"You see, when unfettered, you walk as a pilot of experience does. With confidence. With power. With, let us say, the air of one infinitely able to cope."

Theo sat straighter, trying to marshal her thoughts and words.

Crack!

She snapped to her feet, twisting up and out of the chair, turning toward the danger, hand up, muscles ready—

yos'Senchul slapped his hand flat against the table again, all the while watching her.

Veradantha continued as if nothing at all had happened.

"And you react so quickly, as if you are threatened. Part of this is because you are fast, and you are strong, and you are young. Part, I do not know. It may be that your genes are at work, or your hormones are balanced in such a way. Perhaps you are, pardon me, frightened. As calm as you are dealing with your flying, as alert and accurate, you are not quite calm among quite ordinary circumstances."

Her hand motion was barely perceptible, but yos'Senchul began speaking immediately.

"This is why you are dangerous, Theo Waitley, because your presentation is often one of being prepared at all times to escalate discussion to disagreement, disagreement to confrontation."

Theo stiffened. "But I don't mean to . . ."

He held up his hand, wait signed as well as intimated.

"Yes, that is a problem. You don't mean to be fast, but you do mean to walk as if you are infinite. This problem will need to be addressed quickly, because the course of your learning will put you on flight decks where people will misjudge you to be arrogant, to be pushing, to be trying to provoke. Why seem you to have this attitude . . . is something you will need to work on . . . have you an idea?"

Theo sat back, eyes glancing here and there around the room as she searched her mind for an answer, overturning mental bookcases and tables, allowing the instructor to perhaps be right before . . .

She sighed, eventually, and settled back into the chair, letting it support her back.

"Delgado," she said with an air of finality. "Delgado is a bully. And on Melchiza, at the Transit School, they wanted pilots to be—strong."

She sighed, and added, feeling the truth, "And that's how I think I should be."

There was silence and then the small sound of Veradantha, chuckling.

"Theo Waitley, I think perhaps you are correct. And so I agree, and say 'Delgado is a bully,' as is Melchiza. I ask you to know that so is Terra a bully to its children, and Liad, and Jankalim and Theopholis. And I will posit something more: the planets in their orbits are not the source of your discontent, but nonetheless you are correct. It is culture that is the bully, which is something many of the better pilots learn. As for Melchiza wanting you to be strong, that is, perhaps, an overstatement. But again you are precocious."

yos'Senchul hooked an ankle around a chair leg and pulled it to him. He sat down, fingers moving— something to start now, something for next time —and went to voice.

"What we can do, now, is to be sure you do not isolate yourself so much. People—are necessary; even enjoyable. Take the opportunity to be with others outside of class. Go to dance class, perhaps join the cultural diversity club."

Theo sighed. "I haven't done real well with clubs, historically. That Delgado bully thing again. I mean, people thought it was strange that we lived in Father's house, instead of in the Wall. They thought it was strange that Kamele didn't . . . switch her onagrata at all. And, and I knew all along he was my father, but it was like it was supposed to be some special adult secret. Then, I got put in the class for misfits . . . and so I didn't fit. I'm not . . ."

"Misfit?" said yos'Senchul experimentally. "Misfit. What a useful word."

Theo looked hard into his face, but he was apparently serious, as he tried to form the word with his fingers at the same time.

Veradantha tapped the table briefly for attention.

"What we would like you to consider, Theo Waitley, is this idea. This semester is well in progress, and your schedules should not be altered yet again. Go to classes, take time for these clubs and activities."

She paused, tapping on the desk quietly, nodding to herself before going on.

"It is not that you need to be popular, but that you need to watch others, to learn to be less, let us say, strident . To be easy with other people. Speak with me again soon—I will send an appointment to you—and then we will craft for you a schedule allowing a less general curriculum. You will be wishing to take these courses: advanced trade language, the cultural diversity cluster, and . . ."

Chaos, she was tired! Theo shook her head, and spoke before she meant to.

"I am not ignorant. My father teaches cultural genetics, and he hosts students; I've been—"