Sharon Lee - - Prologue

Theo took a breath and climbed to her feet. It was yos'Senchul, but—two hands?

He shook the ball at the assembly. "No one leaves until I have some answers. First. This ball—it has an owner? Someone who should claim it?"

The question was penetrating and serious.

The tall guy cleared his throat. "That girl there, sir, she threw the toss and should get the return."

yos'Senchul looked to Theo, grim.

"Pilot Waitley, do you own this object?"

Theo shook her head.

"Sir, no. I just got in the game. It is my catch and toss, and I've got it figured now so—"

"Yes, Pilot, I could see that you have it figured." yos'Senchul turned, holding the ball out like a weapon.

"Pilot ven'Arith, does this bowli ball belong to you?"

Kara was on her feet, breathing hard, her face wet with sweat. She bowed, some special thing with hand motions, and knee tucks, performed without a stutter, though an instant before she'd been shaking.

"Master Pilot, it was brought to the game by someone else."

yos'Senchul turned to the tall guy.

"You, sir, who wished the ball returned to Pilot Waitley?"

He gulped. "I brought the ball, but I don't own it, I mean I got it from—"

"I see," yos'Senchul interrupted. He looked to the shorter player, who was staring at the ground. "And you?"

"I've had the ball awhile," the guy muttered. "I mean, you know, a guy needs an edge."

"Ah. Tell me, how long have you had a death wish?"

The short guy looked up, eyes wide. "Death wish, sir?"

"Surely, a death wish. It is one thing to play a clean, high stakes game among pilots; for surely pilots delight in such things. It is another thing to bring into play between uninformed pilots an amateurishly modified gladiator ball. I have saved your life, not because I am your friend, but because Pilot Waitley would have blamed herself for your suicide or that of your comrade."

The man went pale but said nothing.

"Did you not hear Pilot Waitley say she had figured the ball out? Look!"

yos'Senchul put the data case down against his knee, and pulled back his other sleeve, revealing a metal and ceramic arm adorned with a plethora of readouts.

"As I hold this ball, it contains enough stored energy to launch itself to the nearest town. Pilot Waitley says, and I trust her enough to have her pilot my own craft, that she has figured the ball out."

The instructor bowed toward Theo, gently.

"Tell us, Pilot: what do you see?"

Theo returned the bow.

"There's something extra in the ball, like a resonance. It takes the ordinary changes and, I sort of plotted it, I think. The more often the ball is thrown quickly, the more energy it takes from the spin and every so often the energy comes out in a throw. I can see the timing of that release."

"Enough. Close enough. And your strategy?"

He looked at her expectantly, and Theo raised both hands, weighing the phrasing.

"I was going to take the pass from the shorter player, dive, roll, and give the ball to the taller, chest high. He keeps his hands too far on the fringe, and he's not quick—"

Enough , yos'Senchul signed. He bowed again.

"Pilot, thank you. An able strategy, indeed, and more than sufficient to have told the tale."

Turning to the two men, now standing well isolated from the DCCT players, yos'Senchul waved them casually before him with the admonition, "Sirs, you may thank me for saving your lives, while we walk together to the Commander's office. A discussion of the source of the modification kit will not be out of order."

Twenty-Four

Diverse Cultures Celebration Team

Anlingdin Piloting Academy

Yberna was more than just tired, she was ill . Theo didn't think she'd ever seen anyone that exact shade of yellow, especially considering how pale the girl usually was, and the color didn't go well at all with scrapes and bruises. With yos'Senchul gone DCCT was acting like a team, indeed—someone had broken out extra oxygen and there were a couple first aid kits circulating among the combatants.

"I'll be fine," Yberna said, her hands trembling and her lips going blue, "I just need a little oxygen."

But oxygen didn't help, nor did the simple remedy of keeping calm that some were loudly advocating. Even before yos'Senchul and his wards were out of sight, Kara was on the comm with the infirmary, demanding an emergency pickup at DCCT.

"Yes, we have first aid providers," her voice rose, shutting down adjacent conversations, "but none of us has prenatal training and Yberna is pregnant."

The words struck Theo's ears like a sonic boom, and she wasn't the only one whose near-squeaked "pregnant?" broke the air. She managed not to ask "how" as a follow-up, but surely Yberna wouldn't have planned a pregnancy for this late in her school career!

"It isn't silly to rest, Yberna," Kara was saying, "and we're not going to carry you down the hill over our backs like a day pack! Here, use this for a pillow, and try the relaxation exercises for concentration. They've got a crew out the door already."

"Thank you, Pilot Waitley, you have done well for your friend, and you, Kara ven'Arith, you have great empathy!"

Theo nodded to the crew chief's bow, pleased to see him, surprised to be recalled.

"Theo? Theo, please? Did you really know? Were you going to knock him down?"

Yberna was being tucked into the stretcher, monitors squinching closed on her wrists as she peered around the medical staff, trying to move against the pressure pads that held her still. The one who had bowed to them—Theo saw a name tag reading "Healer el'Kemin"—fluttered a vague hand-sign, perhaps meant to be say please in truth.

Theo nodded vigorously. "On the next throw, Yberna. He had it coming to him."

Yberna attempted a smile.

"Good! We can't let them win, you know!"

The stretcher was locked to the pallet attach points and the hoverlift smoothly rose.

The med tech—Healer el'Kemin—and one of the other staffers got up behind the driver; the other two ran outrigger and Yberna was away, weakly trying to wave. Healer el'Kemin, reached down to touch her head, likely adjusting a medication, because the girl went quiet, as if she'd suddenly fallen asleep. "Make way, clear, make way, clear!"

The sled was gone, moving briskly down the hill toward the dispensary.

Kara took a step after them. "I should—" she began, and was intercepted by Vin, wielding a med kit.

"Kara, hold still; you're bleeding."

DCCT's common room was alive with swirling conversations, the galaxy-portrait end walls giving back echoes and the knots of noise moving and coagulating. Theo'd never seen the group so animated. It was almost as if they'd won something, despite Yberna's difficulties.

Freck was almost bouncing.

"Did you see that? Theo was going to take them out big time. Think they can run up here from their silly club and take all of DCCT with one trick? I think this planet loyalty stuff is way overrated for pilots!"

Theo hadn't recognized them but enough of the crew had: two of the Young Pilots of Eylot, membership restricted to those born on Eylot of Terran descent.

The sudden holiday mood was helped by Bova and assorted helpers rushing around with sweet rolls, served with creamy topping and an accompanying hit of oxygen.

Theo took the roll, and spurned the oxy, frustrated that so many conversations were going on at once that she couldn't get more than the gist of things. She gathered that the Young Pilots had a complaint—DCCT got first shot at the break jobs at Hugglelans. That, they claimed, was a right of the planet-born.

Trying to follow the discussion got more frustrating as Bova played wrong-side advocate and took up the Young Pilots' argument, which felt a lot like a Simple sermon to Theo.