Kamele shook her head. "Well, if you must inspect it, you'll have to appeal to Ella. For lack of a better plan, I'm going to drop it in her lap."
"An excellent idea," Jen Sar said surprisingly. "Well, then." He stood, gathering his cane to him. "It is dreadfully late, my friend. Allow me to bid you good-day, safe journey, and prosperous scholarship."
Kamele felt her eyes sting. "Thank you, Jen Sar," she said softly.
She walked with him to the front hall. Coyster was curled atop the table, palpably asleep.
"Now, that's fortuitous," Jen Sar murmured. He bent and deftly swept the cat up, tucking him firmly beneath one arm. "I'll just have this young rascal off, before he arranges to pack himself again."
Kamele laughed once more. He looked up, black eyes glinting. On impulse, she bent, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Hah," he said softly, and his smile this time was tender.
"Take good care, my dear." Kamele murmured, and opened the door to let him go.
Chapter Twenty
Vashtara
First Class Dining Room
Senior Scout Cho sig'Radia strode toward dinner with her mind more than half occupied with the report she was composing. Gone ahead of her, likely by the somewhat improper use of the crew corridors, was her immediate second on this mission, Trainee yo'Vala. She shrugged Terran-style to herself as she moved along the public promenade toward the dining hall; soon enough the trainee would discover that courtesy of ship varied considerably. That crew on this ship respected a pilot's jacket – was good to know. That the trainee had the happy gift of making friends was – well for the trainee.
For this portion of the trip, Scout sig'Radia had herself eschewed pilot leathers, wishing some relief from what had been a tedious, if necessary, chore of inspecting and certifying a new flight school. Too, she traveled at the expense of Ibenvue's planetary government on this newest of its cruise-passenger ships, a touching show of faith that she felt, in Balance, ought to be rewarded by a similar exhibition of discretion. That this reciprocity of good manners also allowed her the opportunity to explore the ship as if a mere tourist was – a bonus.
The school now, the certification of which had been so very important to Ibenvue's self-declared pacifistic and newly outward-looking government. Quite an interesting school, with the capability of producing... quite a number... of pilots. She had certified it, of course – how could she not? The school employed two Terran master pilots as trainers, either capable of approving a pilot's skill – and signing the all-important license. It was said – many times said, by the escort she and yo'Vala had been provided with – that Ibenvue's school sought to train pilots who would train pilots, thus bringing the homeworld fully into galactic commerce, and for this laudable goal both Terran Guild and Scout approvals had been sought.
An interesting venture, to be sure, this expected export of pilot-teachers. Match it against the investment of a staggering portion of Ibenvue's Gross Planetary Product in the acquisition of large, easily convertible "luxury" ships – such as the gracious Vashtara – and an enhanced military – necessary of course for the protection of both pilots and of ships, and one had a situation which... bore scrutiny. Perhaps even close scrutiny, and by those who were not put boldly forth as a Scout Inspector Specialist. Which suggestion she had made, very strongly, in her report.
Well, she told herself, as she approached the junction with the hospitality module, best to put the report and thoughts of the report aside for the next while and instead partake of those diversions created by one's fellow passengers. This being, by reason of a lack of handwritten invitations from the captain, an informal meal, tables were formed from random groups of hopeful diners, and the luck of the draw often provided amusement, and not infrequently, useful information.
From the corridor opposite came a sudden din, closely followed by its authors, the same small handful of academics she had briefly encountered yesterday.
That meeting had produced something akin to amusement, for the loudest of the group had mistaken her for a tour-aide and demanded her assistance. Professora, perhaps an attending bedmate or two, and a female halfling trailing, quiet and large-eyed, behind, all expectantly waiting for her to solve the universe in one quick answer. Well, except for the halfling, whose attention had been claimed by a pair of buskers, autopipes at volume, and donation dish well over the docking line.
The solving requested of Cho had been simple enough – she had simply pointed to the nearby help terminal. The buskers, alas, had not fared so well. A crewman, directed by a flutter of the dock steward's fingers, bore down upon them, snarling what Cho had taken by tone to be an insult in the local dialect. Scooping up the bowl, he'd thrown it at the taller musician's head, after pocketing the few coins it had held.
The halfling had seen it all, so Cho thought, though by then she had been on her way up the ramp, surrounded by the noisy confusion of her elders.
The professorial group burst into the corridor ahead of her, their talk filling the space with echoes. Cho took a deep breath in protest of the hubbub, and stood to one side, observing.
The first into the intersection was the halfling, skipping lightly through the change of the gravity field at the lock boundary as if she were born to such things. Behind her, one of the elders tripped, and bounced sharply against the wall. The halfling turned, one hand extended –
"Theo, please don't..." a woman's fine voice said, perfectly audible beneath the elder's loud exclamations. The halfling – Theo – spun deftly on one toe, removing herself from danger as the elder staggered, colliding with the other side of the passage. She barely kept her feet, her lamentations increasing in volume and degree, her uninformed actions elevating her rapidly toward a risk to passengers and to ship.
This, Cho thought, would not do.
Moving away from her watching place, she brought up her brightest meet-the-Terrans smile, and called out with calm good cheer, "Yes, these grav-interfaces can be quite shocking, can they not? That is why these yellow-and-green stripes line the walls – to warn of the coming field differential."
Now she was among them, pleased to see that they slowed in response to her tone and her posture of relaxed goodwill. With luck, the rest would avoid a repeat of the loud woman's misadventure.
Alas, that woman, rather than sensibly awaiting rescue, had wallowed into a turn and now blundered back across the divide, smacking the wall for a third time. She would, Cho thought dispassionately, have bruises on the morrow, which would have been well enough, had there been any remotest possibility that she would have also learned something.
"My stomach..." the clumsy woman moaned, clinging to the smooth wall and closing her eyes tight. "Why must we cross this chasm for every meal?"
A younger and considerably fitter woman moved toward the now-stable sufferer, her posture somewhat stiff, but well-enough for a grounder approaching a change of gravity.
"Chair, we needn't come to the dining room, after all," she said, her voice coolly matter-of-fact. "Our meals can be brought to us, if we like..."
"Chair" seemed to consider this point; at least her vocal agitation subsided. The cool-voiced woman turned slightly and directed a half-bow to Cho.
"Ma'am, you appear to travel comfortably. Do you take all of your meals on-board in public, I wonder?"
Cho gave the bow back, pleased to meet good intent with courtesy.
"I tend to do so, traveler, unless duty keeps me at my desk. Much of my joy in travel comes from the people." This was perfectly true, and something she often said. If certain travelers therefore assumed that they were the cause of joy – what harm done?