Sharon Lee - - Prologue

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The guy at the front desk, like the guards outside, was a pilot. She hadn't noticed him at first, since she was overwhelmed by the sheer and unexpected luxuriousness of the room. It wasn't a big room, but the walls were paneled in what appeared to be wild-grown wood, and part of the floor was covered with carpets that made her own fine rug at home look shabby. There was artwork on the wall—like the wood, things that looked like they were real— intentional art and not simply office art meant to soothe or set a mood.

One wall display might be showing text of the messages she'd been hearing by speaker, but this place was quiet, overgrown and—a nice change from the stark halls.

The part of the floor that wasn't carpeted was covered in green plants, some showing flowers, some not. The room was filled with scents she associated with being outside, and something smelled like grass or bushes she might find at Leafydale Place. A small, carefully encased rock-lined waterfall with a tiny open pool with its own arm-thick mini-tree occupied that end of the room, and oh! A norbear!

The norbear was sitting quietly on a mat of vegetation beside the pool, gently chewing a long green plant with a bulb at the end. She looked shyly up at Theo and made a sort of chuckling noise, its thick brown-and-orange fur almost matching the rocks of the waterfall.

"Hello," Theo told the norbear, and the guy at the desk said, "Hello, Pilot, how may we assist you?"

She laughed, hand-flashing see you Pilot, and then said, "Excuse me, I—oh there's someone else! But I'm Theo Waitley. Here to apply . . ."

Tucked behind the tree in a very hard-to-see nest was a nearly colorless norbear, with wizened visage and slitted sleepy eyes. The color of her eyebrows—there was a touch of rust there, and the skin of her face showed clearly through the facial fur, as if the creature was so old it was—like Veradantha!

The old one stretched, slowly and thoroughly, as if it needed to recall exactly how it was done. Theo heard a low sound, more of a rasp than a burble, and the old norbear stood. She was skinny almost to the point of emaciation. Theo saw that this was no "hothouse norbear" as Win Ton had called the silky creatures on Vashtara , but someone who was looking at her as much as she was looking at him.

"Hevelin!" said the pilot behind the counter. "Hardly anybody sees him in there, and he hardly ever says anything. The hungry one's Podesta, Hevelin's great-granddaughter." He grinned and gave Theo a nod. "Please, sit where you will, and be comfortable."

"Here?" she asked, impulsively pointing to the matted plant beside the burbling water.

He shrugged, finger-spoke seat is seat, then laughed.

"But first I need your token and your cards, if you're here to apply. In fact, we ought to have enough to finish the application right now, if you like. Give me those, please, else if the old guy gets to talking to you, you may fall asleep waiting for his next sentence!"

Theo rapidly discovered that the "old guy" did have a lot to say, or maybe a lot of questions to ask. Unlike the Vashtara norbears, who were smaller and much less seemly, Hevelin was dignified in his movements, and grasped rather than grabbed as he adjusted himself on Theo's lap. The resonance in her head was calm and thoughtful, more like Father's cat, Mandrin, than young Coyster, and sincerely inquisitive, as if everything was not only interesting, but meant something .

Puzzlement reached her; and she found herself closely recalling the norbears she'd met and seen; especially Threesome, the white and spotted one from Vashtara who apparently never went alone to a visitor, but always shared. There was something more going on that she couldn't identify, as if she was seeing older, larger norbears than she'd seen before, like Hevelin was asking her for a catalog of friends they might both have met—except coming up disappointed that she'd never met anyone he'd known. . . .

But there was another catalog going on; even as her records were going to and fro in electronic pathways and being compared and cross-indexed by the Guild, Hevelin was seeking other acquaintances. She thought of yos'Senchul lecturing her, and felt as if there were an assent, and of Kara, who was not known as a game player but appreciated, and Win Ton, quite warmly, who was not known but gave off echoes of joy and something else, and then, since she was thinking Liadens at him, she thought of Father, carrying his cane and—

The norbear grabbed her hand and held it, and when she looked into those eyes she saw not Father, but a man who might have been Father, as if seen in a haze. Father with no sign of greying, spirited black hair in a tail falling over one shoulder. Father with a glow around him, and another face—female—sharing his space, peering down with amused green eyes, and more faces in the background. There was question in that, and she agreed that yes, Father may have been that person, there, moving lightly as a young pilot. The woman—she wasn't sure, not knowing all of Father's friends, after all.

There was more then: lots more norbears, and something that might have been a cat as seen through norbear understanding. More human faces—none familiar to her, and the sense of eager inquisitiveness fading into a ripple of raspy burbles . . .

"Pilot Waitley?"

The desk-pilot had already called her a couple times, the first to ask for a date check, the next to verify next of kin, Terran-style, not Delgado-style, and then in the midst of her dreamy listening to the norbear, to ask if she had plans for dinner. She'd managed to wake up enough to decline that, pointing out that she was on assignment, and got a slow finger-flash of work, work, work and a see you next trip alongside of, "I know the best bars and restaurants on Codrescu, Pilot. Just ask for Arndy Slayn."

She hadn't promised, but she hadn't outright rejected him, either, remembering that it was good for pilots to know people.

"Pilot Waitley, I think we're set."

The desk-pilot motioned her to come forward.

"The token gave us the palm print and fingerprints and some backup on the other ID readings, and of course we have yos'Senchul's vouchers and letters along with several other letters of support that have drifted in over the last few months waiting your application. Since you brought the token direct, and Hevelin passes you, I can give you your base Guild card, assuming you'll okay your dues payments."

Dues payments meant signatures and more ID verification, and after she managed to free her lap from Hevelin she had to extricate herself from the sudden attention of Podesta, who wanted to cling to her leg as she looked over the forms and explanations and signed away three percent of her base pay for the rest of her life.

With the signature came a card; an imbedded chip identifying her as a Guild member in good standing, certifying her record to date, and a code that he assured her was to a mailbox here on station—one good as long as she was a member, and any Guild office could forward to it or retrieve from it—and a key that would let her check available berths in almost any port in the known universe. Just showing her card ought to get her into the Guild Hall proper, which on Codrescu was down the other arm, since the Guild had some bunkrooms and a rec space there. There was also a slip guaranteeing her bail if she—

Theo laughed. "Guaranteeing my bail? Am I dangerous?"

He smiled. "Compared to most dirt-siders, you're dangerous. All pilots are. Not only that, you'll be a target sometimes, because some places think prices are high because pilots make so much money."

He laughed—he had a good laugh, Theo thought. "I've been a Guild member for seven years and they've never had to throw my bail. But knowing they will, that's good. Knowing they'll garnish my wages and come after me if I skip bail, that helps me stay honest."