"That'll be a gozwalla of a front when it gets here, Theo. Call this in—then catch me downline."
* * *
It was a gozwalla of a front, and it arrived far earlier than the usual evening rains, from a vector slightly off from them as well. Wind and precocious raindrops buffeted Theo and Derryman as they finished the run—luckily only the one tie-down had needed attention—and Derryman rushed off, one of his rare pilot signs indicating open windows fragile things home.
The day locker room was crowded with regular staff and the break crew; ordinary activity of the port slowed as local traffic backed up with the storm's approach, and a call came from the Howsenda offering choice chow seating to crew members since several tour craft were rerouting, despite meal prep in progress.
Kara, Theo, and a crowd of regulars, all wearing staff ID of one sort or another, took the underways beneath tarmac and buildings to arrive at the staff lift to the Howsenda, one wag counting the packed crowd and announcing, "We're one shy of the load limit on this ship—should we wait for someone?"
Theo and Kara managed to duck in, Kara hauling Theo to a supposed spot on the left corner, a spot made by the willing shift of other bodies, and the question was answered by someone close to the door.
She didn't know everyone in the lift, though she recognized most of them by sight and placed a few more from the colors or shapes of their badges. The "outside crew," like her and Kara, wore the blue-rimmed large image badges of maintenance staff; others wore the striped orange of mid-level admin, or the brown of back-house restaurant crew.
"Food before limit tests, Jermy!"
The lift shot to the back corridors of the Howsenda's wait-staff area, laughter still echoing.
Kara grabbed Theo's hand again and they rushed out as the lift door swished open, pointing to a side corridor and—
Directly before them stood the waiter who'd served Theo on her first visits to the Howsenda, both hands held high, instantly quieting the raucousness.
"Folks, I suggest you all stay on board. The Skyliner banquet room is open and there's seating for all of you. We've got a delicious meal just moments from being served, and since it's a non-cancel event, we might as well all enjoy it!"
He smiled generically, then did a double-take as people pushed themselves back into the confines of the lift.
"Ah, Pilot," he said, a sweeping hand gesture picking out Theo and Kara and directing the pair of them back into the car. He nodded to Theo, "I'm so glad you could join us." His badge flashed orange as he waved them into the lift's interior lighting.
The door closed summarily, and Theo grimaced as Kara elbowed her.
"He's something to look at, isn't he? He's . . ."
Theo lifted a glance to the car top, managing to say, "He might be something to look at, but he always wears too much vya!" just before the car reached the banquet room.
Theo could have had cream crackers and soy sprouts and called it a banquet, if only because of the setting. The tables were immaculately laid out, with flowers between guests. The room was composed of three long arms, each with stunning views through transparent walls of the field and city to one side, and the lakes to the other; the ceiling itself was a transparent green. The room lighting was subdued, and the tablecloth itself glowed gently.
The storm walking across the lake threw lightning to the ground carelessly, and the cloud-to-cloud strikes built sudden pink blossoms within the great mass of roiling darkness.
The meal, however, was far beyond cream crackers and soy sprouts; the viands included imported fishes and cheeses, fruit compotes made from berries that blossomed once every five Standards, delicate tendrils of between serving desserts . . . and no wine or other such beverages. She had tea, as did Kara, though more than one pitcher of near beer made its way to the tables.
When the front hit, the smattering of raindrops on the window-walls were sheeted away instantly, the rain alternately coating and abandoning the wind-driven surface. Lightning strikes nearby brought thunder that shook the port. Most of the diners paused at one point or another in the proceedings to stare into the darkness.
"You're not saying much," Kara chided.
Theo's free hand flickered watching watching.
"It is a good storm," Kara agreed.
"We don't much get to see storms like this in the Wall, and even at outside, they aren't often like this."
On the horizon, toward the lake, was a glow hinting at bright sky beyond. The sheeting rains were palpably lessening. Conversation rose; someone from the grounds crew passionately bemoaned the expected fate of a recent planting.
Theo craned her head to look toward the departing storm, only to hear Kara say, "The very definition of wet!"
She turned and saw a bedraggled man, in what might once have been business clothes, moving from table to table hurriedly. His hair was dark and glistening. Droplets rained from his jacket as he stalked across the room. A vague helpful hand at another table pointed toward their part of the room's arm, and the man rushed forward, quelling conversation as he passed.
He was angry, Theo saw, and purposeful. She put her utensils down and placed her hands flat on the table.
"Which one of you is Waitley?" he demanded. "You owe me a dinner and suit!"
Theo was on her feet, standing between Kara and the man. There was commotion around but she was focused on his face and posture, not quite sure how she'd gotten there.
"I'm Batzer," the man snarled, pushing closer. "You called me from my dinner and look at this! Look at this! How did you dare? Why didn't you check them earlier? They were fine!"
The Indigo Speedster! Theo thought, remembering the warning sounds yeeping toward the clouds. No, those ties had hardly been fine.
He shook his arms, splashing Theo and probably soaking half of the room.
He pressed forward. Theo willed herself to relax, fought to change her stance from prepared to aware, marshaling her thoughts to speak. If he noticed the stance change he didn't react properly, now leaning toward her, crowding her. It should have calmed him, that move, she thought.
She gave ground a half step; aware of the touch on the elbow that was Kara.
"Answer me! I'm Brine Batzer," he yelled, "and you owe me a . . ."
Theo raised both hands slightly, settled her feet flat, prepared to speak or defend.
"Batzer, you are intruding on a private function. Stand down and leave."
The waiter. He came up loudly behind Theo, backing her at first, then standing at her side.
"I'm Batzer. This day laborer of yours called me to tie down my plane and she owes me . . ."
A rumble of thunder drifted over the proceedings as the waiter took a quarter step forward, insinuating his arm between Theo and the angry man, a surprising twitch of hand fluently suggesting mine now.
"I repeat. You are interrupting a private function. This person is an employee and we will not brook this behavior from anyone."
Theo felt Kara's hand tug lightly on her shoulder and took another careful half step back.
"I keep five ships here and you aren't going to threaten me! I'll go right to Hugglelans and have them toss both of you. She's going to apologize, and pay for my dinner!"
The waiter looked across the room, and raised an unhurried hand. The irate figure before them looked, too, and wilted visibly as six uniformed security guards moved in slowly.
"Hugglelans Security will be pleased to escort you to a public area, Brine Batzer. You may leave a note with them and this problem will be looked into."
The man's face whitened and his hands shook.
"I'm Batzer, do you hear? I'll speak to a Hugglelans before I move."
The waiter gave a half nod and shifted the way a fighter or dancer might, tapping his badge, rimmed in solid orange. He looked larger now, and formidable rather than merely respectable.