"That's your accumulated pay for unused vacation time, shift bonuses, and an override for a wayroom and a meal at any Hugglelans facility."
"Vacation time!" she exclaimed. "Bonuses? What—"
"Father," Aito interrupted, "is grateful for your service. I believe he said so previously." He tossed her another card, which she caught like the first.
"I am also grateful," he said quietly. "Listen, now, Theo. Cameron's on Number Two Hot, lifting in five minutes. The pilots are willing to have you sit Jump seat 'til Malta, where you'll disembark and report to the yard office. They'll have your papers, updated ID, all of it. You'll be 'prenticing to Pilot Rig Tranza—one of Hugglelans' long-time employees. You'll learn a lot from him."
"But, wait!" Theo cried. "What kind of ship? What kind of space? What—"
The board rang, and a man's voice rang out cheerily. "Our packet ready there, boss? We're coming up on a mark."
"Heading out now!" Aito said. He jerked his head toward the door.
Theo took a breath, held back the words in favor of a nod and a flashed good lift! and ran for the hotpad.
Thirty-Two
Number Twelve Leafydale Place
Greensward-by-Efraim
Delgado
It had long become the custom to share in the news from Theo when it arrived, and to make it as festive an occasion as possible. The joint revelation of their offspring's latest adventures being such a habit, not even this evening's committee meeting in support of Chair Ella ben Suzan's important work reconfirming the department's accreditation would do more than put it off, despite Jen Sar's protestation that a letter marked for Kamele Waitley should be enjoyed by Kamele Waitley as soon as possible.
Kamele's not unexpected insistence meant that Jen Sar worked late in the fall garden, regretting his favorite jacket's location in a spaceship storage locker where it protected him from no wind at all. After, he showered, prepared in advance what he could of a simple repast, and graded student papers, enjoying the company of several cats and the scan of near-orbit action in space until his still-keen ears discerned Kamele's steps on the walk.
She's very tired. Aelliana stirred, concern tinging her thought.
Indeed, he answered, I'm glad she's home, and with something to be pleased about!
Kamele's face lit when she saw Jen Sar, but the first thing she said was, "I'm sorry."
He raised quizzical eyebrows. "Sorry?"
She stowed several bags through the simple expedient of dropping them in front of the chair Coyster occupied, and then accepted Jen Sar's hug with warmth.
"Sorry I had yet another meeting, sorry the meeting went long again, sorry Ella's been quite so much in the midst of this, sorry Theo's letter arrived after you were gone for the day."
He hugged her again, which she accepted, just as she accepted their slow spin which brought them to the counter where the glasses were set and the bottle properly breathing.
"Ella is lucky to have you," he murmured, "and so is the Wall. Next year should see honest education out of all of you, with only a double dose of meetings instead of triple. Soon, all will return to normal!"
Kamele laughed softly. "Yes, a double dose of meetings does sound wonderful. It is really hard to remember sometimes that these people are all on our side!"
Soon they touched glasses and sipped, with Jen Sar all admiration of Kamele's attention to the glass.
Good, Aelliana observed, she'll sleep well tonight.
Distraction being the plan, Jen Sar tipped his head in Kamele's direction.
"Shall you read to me now, or shall we wait until after salad?"
"Let's see first if it is something to read or something to watch! Oh, and remind me to send on that clip we have from Bek; I'm sure she'll enjoy it!"
Kamele returned to her bags to retrieve the letter, while Jen Sar watched her.
"Well," he commented, "she's long put soarplanes behind her, so I think we don't need to worry on that score." After a pause, he added, "And really, as pretty a couple as they may have made for her gigneri, I doubt we can expect them to be much of a pair now, with him flying off stages and being an important artist, while she's going to settle on being a mere space pilot."
Kamele looked up from her rummaging to wrinkle her nose at him, and he smiled.
They had, he admitted made a pretty couple, and the gigneri pairing had confirmed both Theo's independence, and her willingness to fly off on her own in pursuit of her own choices.
The letter discovered, Kamele settled on to a stool to peel the plastiskin cover open.
Aelliana's eyesight was no better than his these days, but she dealt with far less distractions; she caught the return routing address as Kamele set the envelope aside.
I haven't thought about that place in years, copilot—Staederport!
"A letter only," Kamele said, squeezing carefully to be sure there were no flatpics or mediachips enclosed. "We can trade reading paragraphs!"
Not quite idly, Jen Sar insisted, "No, no, please go ahead as you will. I'll just see where the letter's been—"
He snagged the envelope, a frisson of concern raising the hair on the back of his neck.
The envelope was franked at the Guild Hall on Staederport, for Pilot 2 Theo Waitley, c/o Hugglelans Galactica/Light Courier Primadonna.
Do you suppose it is still the same storefront, Pilot?
"Dear Kamele," she began, the thin page rustling between her fingers. "I'm sorry to have to tell you that there has been a riot at school, and I've been declared—"
Aelliana had been a courier pilot, as well, and they both read the words and the visible codes with no problem, she computing ahead of him to inform—
Second seat on a working courier, with a box on Staederport! She's—
". . . a nexus of violence!"
Jen Sar was already at Kamele's side, who sat, white-faced, letter crumpled in hand.
"By the mothers, they've destroyed her!"
"Surely not," he said, easing her hand open to rescue the precious paper.
He wasn't certain how long it took, or whether it was his gentle insistence or Aelliana's firmer explanations that finally brought the rage to anger, the anger to acceptance. The wine sat forgotten for a while, and when recalled, was aimed at relaxing a mother's unrequited fury.
"Kamele," Jen Sar said, finally, "I swear to you this is true. The barbarians have not won. Theo may lack her degree, but she holds what she wants. She has her wings."
Thirty-Three
Primadonna
Alanzia Port
Tranza was off on another binge, Theo realized darkly; she'd be lucky if she saw more than a passing wave of the hand acknowledging her dinner arrangements or that he'd be prepared any time soon to "study on" her proposed course and timelines. This time, besides laying out the course and schedule, she'd already had to balance the official delivery loads in their outboard minipods and fine-tune the more sensitive high-value stuff in the pressure pallets. Was that enough? No, then came the rebalance because the local office was shipping "internal matter" set to arrive after they were moved to hotpad, which meant it would have to find space in the tiny passenger cabin.
The last time they'd had "cabin goods," as Tranza would have them, it had been a load of fron, a spice so rare and potent that an amount matching Theo's own mass was sufficient to sustain the Howsenda's needs—the final destination—for a period of years. Whatever it was, it was probably the one thing that had gotten her outdoors—