"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 . . .
Theo blinked against the words and the desire. What better way to celebrate achieving her jacket than to see Win Ton? Win Ton had known her for a pilot before anyone else, perhaps, if she overlooked Father, who must also have known. Win Ton had recognized many things in her.
Her next breath was deep then, as she let the reader rest on the mattress. She closed her eyes, mentally stepping into a relaxation exercise as she sat with bare toes on an unstill floor, leaving the reader on so that she might look again at the mysteries it proposed.
She stood, eyes closed, the backs of her legs anchoring her to the ship and its minute vibrations while the darkness and the exercise fended off the need for immediate action. Her thoughts swept on despite the relaxation, bouncing between wariness and a growing awareness of her accomplishments.
Her time on Melchiza had first pointed up the necessity that had kept her not quite in tune with her compatriots and age-mates ever since: to be most responsible to the most number of people she had first to accept herself as potent and then to manage and expand that potency.
There'd been no good way to express that to Asu, nor to the team builders with their faith in doing well enough to get by in a group.
She considered Father, with his cars, his flowers, his garden—his work. As calm and reserved as he seemed, there was no sense that his first order of business was to please some ordinary standard. That must have been what brought him to Kamele, who also strove beyond the ordinary, finding time to sing in the choir while managing a child, and her career and an odd-world onagrata.
Dancer, Win Ton named her. Pilot.
She was both of those things. Also, she was Win Ton's friend, though she'd fallen out of the habit of writing to him. Right after she'd been expelled, she'd been too busy. And then—she'd been too busy. She might assume the same of him, who hadn't written again, after the letter bestowing the gift that she still wore 'round her neck.
Did you feel a connection to him? she asked herself, and answered: Yes. Yes, I do.
She opened her eyes.
It is of utmost importance, my favorite dancer, that we meet together . . .
That was true that she didn't know what he wanted from her. It was equally true that she would never know, unless she answered him. If he only wished to return a forgotten hair clip, like a proper onagrata out of a silly girl-book, so be it. If there was something more—there was an urgency, to both the letter, and its delivery. Pinbeams were expensive. Expense, in Theo's mind, suggested trouble.
She would answer him; a friend in trouble had that right. But she would answer him when she was rested, and clear in her mind.
That decided, she sighed, and stood in the darkness. Carefully, she did a small dance before stretching on the bed again, letting the words fade, dancing relaxation in her mind until she slept in truth.
"Rig," she said experimentally. "I—need to—"
He turned away from a screen full of legal-looking language, startled, already moving to balance and center and—
"Theo," he laughed, "what have you done now? I can't believe you could sneak up on me on Primadonna!"
She smiled, realized that she had been moving quietly, not wanting to rouse Mayko if she could help it.
"I'm awake and need to go back to the comm office before shift. But we didn't really settle what shifts we'd run today—"
"By all rights, you ought to be off-shift for a ten-day, I'd say. You haven't had a real break since we started flying together."
She smiled, raising her hands.
"Haven't got that far ahead," she admitted. "I need to go down to the comm office and . . ." She hesitated, and he signed a quick your call, your flight.
"Personal is personal. Get your comm work done, take a walk, and we'll see about shifts after that. Mayko's already out so this shift is mine, and it's about time I run one, huh?" He pointed toward the lock, eloquent hands saying go, go—and, abruptly—wait.
He touched his forehead, the gesture meaning my empty head, or sometimes, I forgot.
"If you need a comm room—let me call ahead to tell them you're coming, tell them to reserve one for you, right? And I'll call you a cart since Mayko's already got ours out on the port somewhere."
Theo nodded. "Thank you, I should have thought . . ."
"No. You've been running first board, so this is my job, right?"