Sharon Lee - - Prologue

As for Tranza's binge, who could tell what it would be this time around? No doubt, it was something he'd picked up on Alanzia. He'd rushed back with several packages, asking after messages and delays, offering up advice to pull trip info on half a dozen potentials assuming a run to Volmer, of all places.

No, maybe she could guess. Her first trip out he'd mentioned music archives on half a dozen planets, Alanzia among them, since he'd just bought a run of a hundred different songs without instruments. He'd spent the first twelve-day with her breaking into what he assumed was singing at the oddest moments, and then he'd shown up for dinner with a tablet drum and some chimes so they could play music together, in between bouts of her learning, of course.

And that's the way it had been, him insisting that a pilot who wasn't learning was wasting what the universe was about, and periodically going off on tears of this or that amusement or pastime, in between bouts of sim flying, math games, and the like. He'd insisted that she keep up the ship-spotting regimen, saying that sometimes you needed to know without waiting for a computer to tell you, exactly what ship it was you'd got on the screen, or in your cross hairs. Some trips he'd spend all his time behind her shoulders, watching every move, and others he turned off the outer world and binged on drawing, or playing the flute. He'd tried to emulate her needle-play, but as good as he was at it, he didn't find it engaging. In fact they didn't agree on much in the way of music or art or theater or restful pastimes.

"Oh no," he told her the one time she dragged out a bowli ball, "not even a little bit, not on board Primadonna . We get to some place with room, I might play, but you come with a reputation, so maybe not. That goes away and I don't see it."

If Tranza was anything, it was protective of his ship.

"This vessel was first put in service the very day I got my jacket," he'd told her before she sat second board for the first time, "and I intend to see it in service the day I die. The company put me in here fifteen years ago and I won't have anyone at the controls who hasn't got a sense of proportion, control, and respect!"

The conversation had gotten a little odd after that, with him going on about her coming highly recommended, and asking why it was that they'd delivered her mid-session if she'd been at the academy.

"I'm suspended," she'd told him bleakly, knowing that someone should have given him a clue that she wasn't a top-scholar type of pilot, "and the folks at Hugglelans helped me get off-planet before I got in more trouble."

"Suspended? What did you do? Cheat on exams or—"

"Pilot, didn't anyone tell you? They say I started a riot!"

He'd sat back then, looking extremely solemn, and half-nodded.

"Started a riot. At Anlingdin Academy, was it?"

She'd flashed a hand-sign, confirm.

"Right. Well, here's the deal, Pilot Theo. You riot on your time, not on mine. If we're in port and you're a hellcat or a head-banging drunk, that's your problem until you get arrested and kept, or until you can't find the ship and be ready to fly it when the ship needs you. Portside I give you a comm, and you always have one ear for the ship: there's no such thing as unlimited liberty unless you're between runs, you got it? You and a choir can have plans for a Hundred Hours but if I call and say Primadonna needs you, you'll leave 'em all aching if that's where they are, because the ship's the thing. Right."

He tended to nod when he said right , and he looked at her, as if "right" was a command or a given and not a question.

With trepidation, knowing she was already too far away from everywhere and everybody she knew to say no, she'd agreed with a solemn nod and, "Right!"

Then he turned, pointed to the second seat, and said, "Sit. Get the seat adjusted. While you do that, I'll tell you about my first riot. I never did riot at school though, so you got me beat to start."

True to form, Tranza was humming as the ship moved to the pad, humming, breaking into bits of syncopated bops and boops, and doing something he rarely did, which was—dusting the bridge. He did like the ship to be clean, but now, in the reverie no doubt inspired by whatever music file he'd programmed into his ear buds he was actively dusting and shining things. He liked to be busy, but this—maybe he'd returned with something stronger than just music.

The trip info request that most got her interest was the run, here to Volmer to Clarion to Delgado to Vratha, though there was another one, starting from Volmer to Granby to Hellsport to Eylot that also caught her attention. She'd been kept away from Eylot these last two years and really didn't care to change that if she could avoid it. Kara's last bit of news from there indicated she'd gotten her second class rating and a temp job at Codrescu working as troubleshooter in the nearspace yard had been good, but seeing the new "block of 'crete" security building where DCCT had been was not in her plans.

The timeline was pretty short here, so as soon as she felt the ship halt, Theo flung herself into the seat, mindful of Tranza's earlier, "just sit First, I'll be busy during lift . . ." as he'd peered into a bag full of music chips.

She began before Tower did: It was time to get out of here as far as she was concerned.

"Theo Waitley, first seat Primadonna , acknowledging all connections lit, all connections good, all signal strength nominal, all ranging information green, sync green, we're on a rolling billable hold waiting a delivery."

Tranza was really going at the cleaning bit now, even wiping down the brightwork beneath the third and fourth seats in the back of the cabin, swiping down the seat tops—

"Heard here, Pilot Waitley is the contact, Primadonna is go except for paper hold billed by the second to Hugglelans Galactica. Your lift is approved to a 99-minute initial for the next two tenths . . . after that I'm afraid you'll be looking at an admin wait. . . ."

The viewscreeens showed the port from five angles, and the close ramp was still docked to—

There!

Someone was hurrying, a pilot by the motion, wearing a hat and a backpack and pulling a small bright red-and-blue striped bag behind, the green jacket looking like a Hugglelans crew coat from any of two dozen worlds. The overemphasized hand-signal from the figure was clear enough, and the port call came through—

"Internal delivery from Hugglelans on the way, is this your package?"

Tranza was suddenly behind her shoulders, nodding, muttering, "Striped bag it is, that'd be good; clear access, tell them clear access and ask for a three-hundred count and lift if it's available."

"Clear access," Theo repeated to Tower. "I'm opening for package, please give us a three-hundred count if you've got one."

Elsewhere in the screens there was motion as a ship lifted, and then the view of another landing, and the reply:

"You've got a three-twenty-five count on my mark. Three-twenty-five coming up—"

"Three-twenty-five, yes," Theo repeated, and she saw Tranza touch the stud to open the lower door, counting in her head that he ought to be down there if they were going to clear in time for the delivery person to get clear.

"Mark in five, please give full check, Primadonna ."

The mark came in the middle of the check, actually, and she could hear Tranza's voice boom, "Damned striped bag still traveling, is it?"

The count went on, Theo now immersed in pointing the ship to a slot in a crowded sky, to a slot in a crowded orbit, to a run to a slightly less crowded Jump-safe zone.

The noises below subsided, Tranza yelled, "Commit."

One hundred and ten.