Sharon Lee - - Prologue

Arin's Toss , though—They did a full run to Jump sequence with the board on neutral and Theo sitting second; then brought it down to quiet again. Theo took over, reset the board to zero and did the entire sequence again, adjusting toggle strengths and seating and light angles and straps to things that would be comfortable to her.

The intro time flew by; and on the morrow Theo would—

GAWGAWGAW.

Theo snatched for the comm—but it wasn't lit! She looked to Dulsey, who pointed.

Right, she thought. Pinbeam.

"Test message?"

Dulsey's hands were eloquent: Live message get.

Theo signed accept and pressed the read now button, glad to see open text in Terran.

++Request/require immediate shipment pallet fifteen++new local conditions++arrive shields up++doubled terms arrive on-before Day 201 Standard 1393++haste++purple44+arrival Day 203 Standard 1393/later unacceptable++listening++

Theo glanced to the other pilot, surprised to see reaction on that normally serene face. Dulsey brought the second board live just in time to catch an incoming comm call which she flashed to the open speaker. Uncle's voice was clear.

"Hello, Arin's Toss . We'll have to rendezvous for a transfer; are systems good there?"

Dulsey looked to Theo, answered, "We have done first sequencing and introduction. There should be a dozen more hours or longer—"

"You can do the math; we are attempting a very finite deadline on a unique item."

"Waitley, can you get the Toss to—that would be Solcintra, Liad, planetside port by darkest night, day two-oh-one, if we can get Toss loaded?"

For a moment Theo flashed on stuffing the Slipper on the plateau; her hands running the board for fine coordinates.

"There's some leeway," Uncle continued. "Darkest quarter of the morning before dawn is client preference."

"Yes," Theo said, absolutely certain. "Yes, if the ship's up to spec and we can load within the next two orbits, I can make delivery. If there's food on board. But it'll have to be five Jumps."

There was a pause and Uncle's voice came through with a hint of something besides calm control.

"I'm bribing the Tower now and will lift soonest. Get clear of the station and intercept. Dulsey, you'll play tug."

"Waitley, I don't think there's any coffee on board. You'll have to do with whatever tea is in the stasis tins."

Theo looked to Dulsey. Shrugged. Replied:

"I'll manage."

In the middle of the third Jump—the longest one—Theo broke open the second stasis tin, not because she was out of tea in the first tin, but because she'd never had Supa Oong Dark before and had been told it was the best tea in the universe . . . from someone who'd lived on the planet where it was grown.

She could use something right now, all things considered, because she'd fudged her figures slightly and the recalculations were showing that she'd need a really good run-in from Jump if she was to make the schedule. That the Toss was equal to it, she had no doubt, having already developed a deep respect for the abilities and heart of her vessel. That the pilot was equal—

"Well," she said, "you'll just have to be."

She laughed, and wondered if this was why Tranza had taken up singing: to avoid talking to himself.

Theory is that any single Jump is physiologically neutral. Practice said that a single Jump was physiologically neutral. Timing was everything, after all, and there needed, for some reason, to be some time between the end of one Jump and the start of the next else . . . else the body was not entirely recovered from the experience. Time being measured in heartbeats or orbits or—

Third Jump ended, and Arin's Toss was real again, really here, really able to be seen. Theo checked the prefed coordinates, the destination coordinates, caught the gross arrival coords, compared them, corrected them, checked herself twice, had the Toss check itself. Satisfied, she pressed the go-button, throwing her ship into the fourth Jump—and reached for some tea.

Jump glare faded and she'd recalled the rules: she arrived with shields up and all channels open, and with the understanding that purple44 specified a night landing and she checked local time, throwing herself into the First Seat with a will and watching the time count down toward dawn someplace she'd never been.

Coming in at close to two gravity acceleration was tiring, but not as bad as missing the deadline.

There were things to see though, and she took feeds from the planet, mighty Liad itself.

Of ships, there were many she'd never seen before: mining ships, and Clutch asteroids and Juntavas ships openly advertising their affiliation. There were Scout ships and there the silhouette, so long studied: Dutiful Passage !

Other than having no second, the landing sequence was routine; she made contact with planetary control, agreed to drop shields within the planetary defense net, caught her time signals, dropped the ship down, down through nightside to a well-lit landing zone, only to be directed to the darkest corner of the port.

She didn't witness the pallet transfer except by camera: there a remote vehicle of some kind, there a lift working, there the transfer and acknowledgement.

The feeds were on the while, and when she was done, Arin's Toss was quiet. Tea would be good. Breakfast . . . she'd lost track, inside the Jumps, of meals, but she wasn't hungry, really—or tired. She did make tea, and tapped up the news feed for the headlines.

Korval Mystery Move on Tap was the first. Delm Korval Talks to Pilots and Clan, Ignores the World, another. Liad Abandoned , claimed a third.

She tapped that one, scanning the story rapidly.

It turned out that the headline was a little misleading—a lot misleading. Clan Korval had been given a deadline to leave Liad with all its possessions. It seemed that agents of the clan had blown a hole in Solcintra City, which the ruling body—the Council of Clans—had taken badly. Theo could see their point. She paused the scroll.

She'd heard stories about the Tree-and-Dragon, which was how spacers had referred to Clan Korval. They were . . . unpredictable, and, while admired, it was generally agreed that the best course included a wide margin given to Korval. She'd never heard that they were . . . antisocial. But—a hole in the planet? She started the scroll going again.

At the hearing, Delm Korval hadn't bothered to deny or explain the action of the clan, with the result that the Council had acted as they had, to protect the homeworld, and Korval was to leave Liad no later than—

Theo leaned forward and slapped up the local date and time.

Tomorrow.

Her stomach clenched.

"Now, Theo," she said, drinking what was left of her tea. "Or never."

She stood, hesitated, thought of Win Ton, asleep inside the med unit that was only keeping him, barely, alive.

She thought of Kamele, she thought of Father, and she thought of a ship, self-aware and unsocialized, that was out there, somewhere, looking for her .

"Korval is ships," she said.

She went to the galley and made herself another cup of tea. Then, with dawn giving way to day, Theo Waitley called a taxi.

Forty-Two

Day 201

Standard Year 1393

Solcintra

Liad

There was a guard on the front door of the house—Jelaza Kazone was its name, according to the taxi driver—a plump man with a greying ginger mustache and speculative taffy-colored eyes. He wore a Jump pilot's jacket nearly as battered as her own, and a pellet gun openly on his belt.