Scout's Progress (25 page)

Hope showed in her thin face, tempered with wariness. "Are they—real good?"

"Too soon to tell. They're sharp enough—and quick, as you say. Whether they're quick enough, or sharp—that wants testing. Also—" he eyed her consideringly. "Might be only one will make it. I think the girl's some faster."

"And the boy seems somewhat sharper," Aelliana returned, chewing on her lower lip. "And the Scouts do train others, who are never meant to be fully Scouts." She raised her eyes. "My name was cantra, you said, at Academy."

"That's right."

"Then there may be a way, though I doubt two days is long enough to find who they are themselves. Perhaps—"

"I'll find work," Jon interrupted. "We'll keep them by long enough to test them fairly."

She smiled, and there was no need for jewels or fine clothes to make her beautiful, Jon thought.

"Thank you," she said. "You are very kind."

"I'm an interfering old man," he corrected her, and swept a hand toward the back and his office. "Daav left you a thing, if you'd care to claim it."

Eagerness made the bright eyes brighter. "Yes."

They went side-by-side, Aelliana carrying Patch.

"You'll spoil him so he'll always want a ride," Jon grumbled and almost gasped to hear her laugh.

"I must carry him or I cannot walk," she said. "Which is worse: To stand for hours stroking him, or to carry him where I wish to go?"

"I'll put a team on it," he said and bowed her into the office ahead of him.

She paused at the near side of his desk to put Patch down; Jon went 'round to the terminal side and fingered a stack of hardcopy.

"Here we are." He held it out; watched her take the thin metal card, disbelief warring with joy across her face.

"Second class." Wonder gleamed along her voice.

"Daav left me a tape of yesterday's little adventure, along with his recommendation that you be relieved of provisional. Asked me to get the card to you, if I agreed." He grinned then, in simple pride of her. "If I agreed! How I could do other than agree is what I'd like to know!" He held out his hand. "Binjali flying, pilot."

She blinked at the outstretched hand, extended her own and met his firmly.

Jon grinned again, gave her fingers a little squeeze and released her.

"I'll have to speak to Master Daav about his methods," he said. "To expose a new pilot to that level of stress—"

"Indeed," Aelliana said earnestly, clutching the precious card tightly. "Indeed, I had asked him to—to try me fully. My need is for working first class in no more than a year."

"If he keeps you at this pace, you'll be working master in two relumma," Jon told her, with very little exaggeration.

She smiled briefly. "I shall need to update my registration with the guild," she said. "And with Korval." She looked up, suddenly hesitant.

"Is Daav working today? Or—possibly—tomorrow?"

"Left word not to expect him for a day or three," Jon said, and marked how her shoulders drooped inside the blue jacket.

"I—see." Another hesitation, then a deliberate squaring of those thin shoulders. "I wonder—is there someone willing to sit second for me tomorrow? I wish to lift—early."

A second class pilot lifting in local space did not require a co-pilot, according to regs. However, Daav, damn him for a pirate, had shown her Little Jump and Jon dea'Cort was too wily an old piloting instructor to think that one brief taste of hyperspace would suffice her. Indeed, it was to her honor, that she asked for second board.

"Clonak's due early tomorrow," he said. "Or I could spare Trilla, if you'd rather. You'd best chose who, otherwise you'll have them fighting for the honor."

She smiled and moved her shoulders, disbelieving him. "Is Clonak never serious?"

"Clonak's a damn' fine pilot," Jon said soberly. "Daav came up drinking coil fluid instead of tea—they haven't built the ship he can't fly. Got the master's easy as breathing. It wasn't that way with Clonak. He sweated for every equation, bled for every coord. He learned his piloting piece by piece and he earned that license. You can learn from him, if you care to."

Aelliana inclined her head. "I care to learn all I can about piloting," she said. "If Clonak will fly with me, I will have him with joy."

"I'll tell him," Jon said. "When do you lift?"

Something flickered over her face: Jon read it as mingled exhilaration and terror.

"An hour after Solcintra dawn," she said firmly.

"I'll tell him," Jon repeated and she inclined her head.

From the main garage came the sound of exuberant voices.

"Trilla's back," Jon said, moving around the desk. "Care to have a word with your rescues?"

Aelliana hung back a instant after Jon left, looking quickly down at the card in her hand: Second class, dated this very day. Fingers none too steady, she turned it over, found the name of the master pilot certifying grade. . .

Jon dea'Cort.

She sighed, then, and put the card safely into her pocket before going to make the re-acquaintance of the pirates.

"PARDON US, PILOT, but are you Aelliana-Caylon-who-rewrote-the-ven'Tura Tables?" The boy's face was earnest.

She inclined her head. "I am."

"I told you so!" he rounded on his mate, who had the grace to look abashed. He turned back to Aelliana. "Yolan thought you weren't old enough. In fact," he added, flicking another glance at the girl, "she thought the tables had been revised fifty or sixty years ago!"

"Well, what does it matter when they were revised," the girl snapped, "as long as they're correct?"

"Very true," Aelliana said gravely and Yolan sent her a quick glance before ducking her head.

"Indeed, pilot, Sed Ric and me are grateful for your—patronage—to Master dea'Cort. We'd looked for work, but no one would have us. . ." She looked to her partner, who promptly took up his part.

"We're also grateful to the fox-face—to your partner—for putting us in the way of a meal. We don't intend that he be out of pocket for . . ."

Aelliana frowned and the boy stumbled to a halt, stricken. She sighed, releasing the irritation she felt on Daav's account—fox-face, indeed!—and moved her hands in the gesture for peace.

"You may give him his rank, which is captain," she said, with a measure of austerity she had not intended.

Yolan flicked a mischievous look aside. "
Captain
Fox," she told her partner, soto voce.

Aelliana turned toward her, but before she could deliver the blistering set-down rising to her tongue, Jon dea'Cort spoke up.

"In point of fact," he said, considering the pirates impartially over the rim of his mug, "Scout Captain Fox."

"Scout!" The boy sagged—laughed, short and sharp. "Of all the marks to pick up—a Scout and the Caylon! Our luck, Yolan!"

"Seems exactly like," she agreed wryly and looked back to Aelliana.

"We meant no disrespect to the captain, pilot. It's only we didn't know what to call him, isn't it Sed Ric?"

"That's right," he said eagerly. "We'll speak him fair, pilot—you needn't blush that you know us!"

"Very well," Aelliana said, after a short silence. "Master dea'Cort has said that you may work for him until—until such work as he has is complete. I expect you will comport yourselves honorably and give honest work for honest wages. If Master dea'Cort should find it necessary to turn you off, you needn't look for grace a second time."

"No, pilot," the boy said, bowing low; and: "Yes, pilot," said the girl, bowing equally low.

Aelliana looked over their bent heads to where Jon leaned against the counter, sipping his tea. He grinned at her and one hand came up to shape the word,
binjali
.

 
Be aware of those actions undertaken in your name. . . 

—From the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct

FOUR HOURS' SLEEP AND a shower did much toward restoring one's perspective. Robed, damp hair loose along his shoulders, Daav poured himself a glass of morning wine and padded out to his private study.

He had barely crossed the threshold into this rather cluttered chamber when the comm chimed.

Six people had the number to Daav's private line: Er Thom; Clonak ter'Meulen; Scout Lieutenant Olwen sel'Iprith, former lover, former team-mate, currently off-planet; Frad Jinmaer, another team-mate; Fer Gun pen'Uldra, his father, also off- planet—and Aelliana Caylon.

The chime sounded again; Daav had crossed the room and struck the connect key before the note was done.

"Yes."

Er Thom's image was serious, even for Er Thom; the inclination of the head stiffly formal.

"The delm is hereby made aware of yos'Galan's Balance to an insult received of Clan Sykun."

Balance . . . Daav sank to the arm of his desk chair, staring into Er Thom's eyes. He read anger; he read resolution; worry—and an utter absence of grief. Anne and the child were safe, then.

"The delm hears," he said, the High Tongue chill along his tongue. He moved a hand in query and dropped into the Low Tongue.

"What's amiss, darling?"

Er Thom took a hard breath. "Delm Sykun found it fitting to turn her back upon Thodelmae yos'Galan at a public gather this morning." He paused. "You haven't heard?"

"I've just risen," Daav said, reaching for the keypad. "You know how slugabed I am." Three keystrokes accessed the house computer and his mail.

"My, my. A letter of apology from Ixin. An apology from Asta. A letter from Lady yo'Lanna, promising to strike Sykun from her guest list—" He glanced over to Er Thom, still and solemn in the comm screen.

"There's a good come out of whatever it is. Lady yo'Lanna does so love to strike people from her guest list."

Er Thom did not smile. "As you say. Mr. dea'Gauss has been instructed to sell any stock yos'Galan may hold in Sykun's concerns—at a loss, if necessary, and noisily. Letters of cancellation have been issued on all contracts yos'Galan holds with Sykun. Mr. dea'Gauss has advised that he will also be selling his private holdings of Sykun business."

"Hah." Daav tapped more keys, mind racing. A public cut was a serious matter, demanding swift and unhesitant answer. Such a cut to Anne Davis, Lady yos'Galan, author of a text which linked Terra to Liad in a manner not likely to find acceptance among many Liadens—It could not be said that Er Thom's answer was too harsh.

That Korval's man of business also chose to enter Balance was eloquent of the magnitude of the insult. In Mr. dea'Gauss were mated pure melant'i and an exacting sense of honor.

"Aha. I have Mr. dea'Gauss' analysis," he said to Er Thom. "The Pilots Fund holds four hundred of Sykun's shares." He touched a key, scanning the file rapidly, and grinned.

"Mr. dea'Gauss indicates that the Fund shall realize sufficient cash from the sale of these four hundred shares to buy a block of stock in Vonlet's instrumentation venture." He flicked another glance to Er Thom's face, finding it marginally less angry.

"In fact, Mr. dea'Gauss is in a fair way to considering the incident fortuitous."

A smile showed unwillingly at the corner of Er Thom's mouth. "Hardly that, though one readily comprehends Mr. dea'Gauss' thoughts upon the subject."

"Just so," Daav agreed, keying in instructions for his man of business to sell any and all Sykun shares held by Korval or, privately, by Daav yos'Phelium.

"Shall the delm take further action?" Er Thom asked, very softly.

Daav shook his head. "Korval takes no public action, other than divesting itself entirely of Sykun stocks. Of course, the delm shall not find it possible to attend any function where Sykun is also a guest, but I rather think the world will have decided that already. I fancy I hear the match programs running as we speak."

Still Er Thom would not be tempted to a laugh, nor even to the fullness of his smile.

"I wish you will come to us," he said suddenly. "Anne—She is not in agreement with Balance. She feels—she says that it is—a joy—to have found Sykun so rude, for now she is relieved of the necessity of courtesy when they meet."

"Which is true enough," Daav pointed out. "Excepting that they shall—very likely!—not meet again."

"Yes, but—" Er Thom bit his lip, looked away. "She says," he continued, very low, "that to answer insult with Balance is to bring all eyes upon it—upon her—us. She—I feel she—is angry." He looked up. "She is gone to play the 'chora."

"Hah." Daav stood, shaking his hair back. He smiled into his cha'leket's worried face. "I'll come. Until very soon."

"Until soon, Daav."

"WHAT DO YOU THINK of these oxy tanks?"

Clonak gave them consideration, fingering his mustache with absent affection.

"They're very nice oxy tanks," he offered after a minute's critical study. "Symmetrical—and of a pleasing color. Full, too. I like that in an oxy tank."

Aelliana sighed. "Forgive me. I had meant to ask if you thought four sufficient, or if these four should be replaced with four of larger capacity."

"Four's the regulation number, beautiful goddess, but no one's going to howl if you want to carry more. If the hold's empty you can indulge your whim to the limit."

"Yes, but it's not my whim," she said with a fair semblance of patience. "Daav had seemed to think that four was not enough, and I—"

Clonak's face changed, and she suddenly knew she had his serious and entire attention.

"What precisely did Daav say, goddess?" Very careful, that tone, with the taffy eyes gone solemn as stone.

Aelliana blinked. "Why, that he had been on a ship which had lost life support, and that one need only be in such a situation once, with a too-short supply."

"So-ho. I shouldn't have thought he remembered that." His voice was quiet, as if he spoke to himself. He made no other comment.

"Why shouldn't he remember?" Aelliana demanded and almost flinched at the sharpness of her own voice.

"Because he had the Healers," Clonak said, and grinned his crazy grin. "And the Healers had the devil's own time, as I heard it. They swore he'd forgot. Gods know, he wanted to forget."

"He—ran out of air?"
But that's absurd
, she thought distractedly. People who ran out of air were far beyond giving advice of any kind. . .