Sharon Lee - - Prologue

Thus some evenings were full of busy clan members, and others to clinical attempts to achieve mood, or will. Later, once intent, at least, was successful, the waiting was in many ways harder, for the lady had little need of my company other than in polite gatherings; I sometimes swam in the surf late as well as early, and there were times I would walk on the beach and think of mysteries such as yourself while naming stars, observing the weather and tides, and cataloging shells on the wave fringe.

In all of this, the lady was quiet, respectful, and not so much willing or even interestingly submissive, but ultimately level-headed. She was not one to play games of chance, she was not competent at games of physical skill, nor was she, aside from her tea, a lady of passions. Memory of her pales and fades far more rapidly than that of our times together, which I treasure.

I now turn to matters more of concern to we two as pilots. You have mentioned several pilots who have come to your attention and names are always good to share. I appreciate the depth of your reports and your wit as well. Having said that, I must come the Scout at this point about the pilot Brine Batzer.

As you have sat second for me and have dealt well with pilots I trust, I was compelled to research this Batzer. His license, which was current some few moments ago, is of first class, though the unfortunate treatment of ship and staff you detailed seems hardly that of such a pilot! Though there, it is said on Liad that many of us have mothers with their own kitchens, meaning that habits are both born and trained, so who knows where this man may have become who he is, eh? Obviously he was not trained at my school or yours!

Batzer very rarely comes to Liaden ports. Though scant, his record has not been good; it shows fines for minor cargo violations, fines for shipyard arguments, actions for refusal to pay standard fees, he has . . . Well, I make him sound the criminal in all of this, and you must not say to anyone that he is a criminal, for all of these infractions are at levels below that.

He is, in a way I do not understand, well placed on certain planets of Terran extraction: at least once he was "bailed out" of an issue by appealing to a traveling Terran official. One must assume him highborn or well placed for I see him listed as pilot of several ships, all of them as owner.

Having traversed history, and traded pilot lore, I speak now of my current estate.

My delm has again released me to the Scouts, as I am no longer of immediate use to the clan. You may imagine with what speed I presented myself to Headquarters and requested an assignment.

I was gifted with a garbage run, and sweet it was to be alone inside my own ship, concerned only with the simplicities of my assignment. More, having finished transporting a Torvin-class vessel to a Scout base from whence this is delivered into the hands of a pilot heading your way, I now assist in preparations for a working investigation. And such a one! I am made third in the command chain despite my admitted youth, this because the mission to hand is one I myself proposed!

But there, I go on about myself. It pleases me to hear of your continued success at school, of your third class rating provisional and your plans for the second, and your willingness to take on tutoring—

Tutoring!

Chaos!

Theo looked to the chrono. If she ran now she'd be on time for Claudy's refresher on the Star King. After the lecture she'd given the kid last time on precision and punctuality, she'd better not be late!

Locking the letter and envelope into her drawer safe, Theo fled for the airfield.

Twenty-Three

Erkes Dormitory, Suite 302

Anlingdin Piloting Academy

The letter was still precious when Theo came back to it, later that afternoon. Claudy's refresh was an ugly memory: you'd have suspected the kid had spent the semester flying kites instead of studying navigation. Rocky as she was, Claudy did pass, though Theo'd drawn black looks and a suppressed curse for requiring a mandatory review before semester end. Really, if the kid wanted to stay current, she shouldn't play it, she should do it!

And so Win Ton's letter—she started again with the first word, luxuriating again in the feel of the paper and the subtle, oh-so-subtle touch of scent. Theo was becoming fond of subtlety, having recently become aware of how fine a sense of timing and nuance Win Ton possessed, of how careful even his passionate words were. That his sense of smell, his understanding of color, and his advertent approach to the universe was superior to many who considered themselves pilots was without doubt.

That made her sigh, and miss Win Ton in a way she hadn't for a long time.

She came again to the point where she'd rushed off to deal with immediate concerns. Indeed, she felt some guilt, because she hadn't updated him entirely over these last semesters. Her third class was now firm and it would take time in grade, and a couple more trips as PIC for her to up the second class from trainee to provisional operator.

Theo had retrieved the sealed packet from the envelope, and tumbled it in her hand as she read. It was soothing in a curious way, almost like stroking a cat.

There were the other things she hadn't filled him in on, just as he'd not been particularly explicit about his duties as a husband—surely he would have been able to bring some joy to the pairing! Now she read on hoping for something more about his travels, his route, or when they . . .

Alas, I am not able to convince any of the mapping computers, nor my superiors, of any route wherein Anlingdin Academy is a way point for my journey to the assembly site. As your own location is still based on the needs of tuition, and as I am not at liberty to disclose my tour destinations, immediate, intermediate, or final, there seems little likelihood that we shall see each other in the near term, as dear as that thought has been to me since we last parted.

For a moment she felt like she'd hit free fall; but her stomach settled, and Theo sighed, closed her eyes briefly and opened them.

If you have not already opened the packet sealed with wax from my dinner candle, I pray that you will do so now. I consider it a great favor you do me, if you will.

Though only partway down the lovely page the letter continued on the next sheet, as Win Tin meant her not to read beyond until she had complied—or not.

With growing curiosity she put the letter aside, broke the waxed seam, and smoothed the paper away from an inner wrapping of metal foil, the whole coated thinly in wax that verged on the liquid.

It took a moment to find the seam. She peeled it back carefully, discovering within a coil—not a coil! A chain, like a necklace, chill against her fingers as she raised it. Pendant from the chain was a cerametal chunk that was not simply raw metal but formed and shaped with notches and ridges around a small central cylinder.

She let the foil drop and took the cylinder between her fingers, rolled it, felt the crisp edges of the metal. It felt good, like it should do something, rather than just be . . . interesting to look at. More, it felt old , much older than the chain. It wasn't pretty, exactly, but she liked it, if one could like a thing.

Still, thinking advertently, she held it in her hand rather than putting it on immediately, and returned to Win Ton's letter.

Theo, it would be both a favor and honor to me if you will hold this, and perhaps wear it and keep it with you. I discovered it during my brief garbage run, and it is to all appearances twin to one I wear about my own neck. Let us say that, as soon as I held it in my hand, I thought of you. Indeed, I can think of none other that I would see hold it. As the pair is to my knowledge unique, and found in an out-of-the-way place rarely visited by tourists or ordinary travelers, I hope it does not offend you to share such a thing with me .