Sharon Lee - - Prologue

Win Ton. Somehow Theo kept seeing Win Ton's name on the screen and recalled his name as written on the card she'd gotten on Vashtara .

"I haven't read it yet," she said. "If I might have a few moments to look it over?"

Mayko smiled prettily. "It's our standard. We can sign it right now, then move on to—"

"No. Right? No ."

Tranza stood, making himself the third point in the triangle of pilots.

"I beg your pardon," began Mayko.

"Beg Theo's, right? You're doing it again. Trying to make the second Jump before the first."

Mayko straightened, mouth firming.

"All we need to do is settle the issue of a contract," she said, with what Theo thought was strained patience. "Once that is taken care of, we can . . ."

" Wait , right? Just wait."

Tranza broke from the triangle and dashed to his quarters. He slapped the door open, exclaiming, "Right, just wait!"

Mayko appeared as startled as Theo felt, especially when he backed out of the room a moment later, his pilot's jacket in his hand, gripped at the collar like he had an invisible pilot hard around the throat.

He shook the jacket at his boss, a hand flourish saying now now now first .

"This is what we're discussing first, Mayko. Her jacket."

Theo cast glances between the two.

"Rig, that's your jacket," Mayko said finally, with a sigh.

Tranza stared at her for a moment, began to sign, realized he needed two hands for what he wanted to say, and handed the jacket to Theo in a rush.

"Hold this," he said, and his hands flew into a rage of strenuous argument, reminding Theo forcefully of Captain Cho's assertion that hand-talk was good for many things, even philosophy.

Tranza's jacket, beat-up as it was, felt remarkably good in her hands, and heavier than she'd expected—but then he was a much larger person than she was.

The hand-signs were even faster than they had been when she walked in, and now punctuated in a way only hand-talk allowed. Sneak. Steal. Hide. Wrong. My ship. My students. Know better.

Tranza turned to Theo as if she had no inkling of what he'd just said.

"While you were away, me and Mayko were discussing that in fact without additional review, right, with no more testing needed, right, that you have been seen by this master pilot here, this Mayko Ikari, who I taught , to fly at first class level, which fact I have seen with my own eyes lo these months, right?"

It came to her that Tranza was angry . Theo raised her hands, fingers wide, and nodded, not sure what to say.

"I have my contracts to think of, Rig," Mayko said sternly.

"You want Hugglelans to have all the best pilots tied to you since Korval's got trouble. Business is business. Right. I see that. But you're a Master. You got duty on both screens. And you can't keep information away from her!"

He raised his hands toward the ship's ceiling, fluttered this thought is mine and started speaking, low and earnest.

"I have a contract, Mayko, and mine don't need to be signed. If you want Theo Waitley to sign a first class contract, give her what she's earned. A jacket. The raise. The respect."

Mayko sighed, loudly.

"Rig, we're renegotiating all the contracts. Galactic needs—"

"Will you," he interrupted, forcefully. "Will you tell Theo Waitley she's made first class and earned a jacket? Will you tell her that, Master Ikari ?"

"When she signs the contract she'll be able to requisition a jacket, just like any first class . . ."

Tranza went suddenly and completely quiet. Theo looked at him worriedly. He stood entirely still for two long heartbeats, then extended his hand. She realized with a start that he was asking for the jacket, and handed it over. He stretched it in front of himself, shook it, opened it, did a dance move—

And hung the jacket around Theo's shoulders, firmly, like it was a cape. The inside was cool, the jacket long on her.

"The jacket fits, Pilot. Welcome."

He squeezed her shoulder and stepped back, hands enjoining her to wear healthy long proud.

Mayko's fingers were against her lips, a look of what might be horror on her face.

"Rig, you can't just give your jacket away!"

He turned on her with startling swiftness.

"I precertified your jacket, Mayko, and you still wear it. A pilot can give his jacket to a pilot. Theo's a pilot. She's got a jacket."

"Tranza, calm please," Theo said, genuinely alarmed. "I can't—"

" Yours ," he interrupted. "I swear and witness it. And Mayko should know better than to pull this stuff!"

"But your jacket!" Mayko insisted.

"I'll requisition one, right?" He gave her a flat stare. "Just like any first class pilot. Right."

Mayko stilled her hands in mid-sign, mouth tight.

Theo cleared her throat. "I can't keep it, Tranza."

He laughed, suddenly empty of tension.

"You, Pilot, better call me Rig."

"But I don't have a card!"

There was silence.

Rig turned to Mayko, fingers terse.

Card.

Mayko put hand to forehead, then reached into her side pouch and extracted something.

"Pilot," she said, extending it, "may this bring you joy."

This was a pilot's license, handed to her own hand. Endorsed all the way around, and registered already according to the seal. Theo Waitley, Pilot First Class .

The words got kind of watery, and Theo blinked, looking aside.

Nothing to cry about , she told herself.

"Right," said Rig Tranza. "I owe us all a drink. We can read contracts later."

Thirty-Six

Primadonna

Volmer

They'd had their drinks—one glass of wine for each of them, rather than the kynak Rig suggested—and then Theo called it a shift. She'd been long-shifting the whole trip and between the piloting, the argument surrounding the receipt of her first class ticket, and Win Ton's letter she was exhausted.

Retiring, she realized that on so-called solid ground the ship vibrated in ways it didn't in space, or docked to a station. While station docking often included swings and sways and even bounces, which the planet did not, the noises and vibrations emanating from the connect points as temperatures strove to balance in space were familiar.

On-planet noise snuck in from everywhere. The landing gear transmitted vibrations, the atmosphere vibrated against the ship's skin in the form of breeze and wind, and sounds traveled along and through the hull to fool the ear and excite sensors. Gauges flickered as air pressure changed; the ship's cooling from reentry generated creaks; on larger ships it was known to cause groans and crackles.

Theo's eyes were closed, which meant the sounds were all the more compelling. She wrinkled her nose against the distraction, and brought the question around to first things first, which ought to be sleep. She'd pointed out that regs were clear: she ought to be taking rest now, no matter what planetary time it was, and no matter Mayko's urgencies.

If she couldn't sleep, and Theo'd about given up on that, thinking of first things first meant rereading Win Ton's message with a little less surprise and a little more advertency. What might require a face-to-face meeting? An apology? If so for what? A proposal? Again, for what? Lust?

It was hard to believe that an accomplished pilot would be so bereft of company as to pine for her above all others.

So, she opened her eyes and sat up on the bunk. She yanked the reader onto her lap, and slapped the datakey home.

It is of utmost importance, my favorite dancer, that we meet together in person in the shortest possible time. I am prepared to meet you at any location you name, at Volmer if you like . . .