He focused on her. “I do not say, in the case, that running away would not have served you, and well. But, sometimes, we must stand and fight, Aelliana, and be deliberate in the mayhem we choose to inflict.”
She bit her lip, feeling again the blaze of her anger, the smooth swing of her arm, the jolt, when the back of her hand, weighted with the Jump pilot's ring, connected with her brother's cheek.
“I fear that I was not . . . thoughtful in the inflicting of mayhem.”
His lips twitched. “Happily, the knack may be acquired.”
“Through practice?”
“Alas.”
“And yet, I don't know that I could . . . coldly . . . harm someone. Without anger as an impetus . . . ”
“Anger is a chancy copilot,” he said, suddenly rising, arms over his head. When his stretch was done, he looked down at her, his expression almost sleepy. “As I have cause to know. Does it please you to exit, Pilot? The hull is cool.”
Jon dea'Cort was leaning over the workbench, eyeshields on, using what seemed to Aelliana to be one of Patch's whiskers to tweak the internals of a device no larger than her palm. A few steps out, she hesitated, not wishing to disturb his concentration, but he spoke without raising his head.
“Back already, are you?” he asked, his tone distinctly grumpy.
“Indeed, we are, Master,” Daav answered, and Aelliana saw Jon's shoulders stiffen.
Carefully, he withdrew the probe and placed it on the bench, straightened and pulled the eyeshields up and off.
For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Indeed, he seemed to Aelliana to be cataloging her face, her person. She stirred, stilled—and Jon smiled.
“Pilot Caylon. You're a bold sight, child.”
Her eyes filled. “Jon—” She swallowed, unable to find words adequate to the riot of emotion that enveloped her.
“Jon—I thank you, for . . . for all of your care.”
“There's no need to thank me for that, math teacher,” he said, turning away with a sudden briskness and peeling off his gloves.
“And yet,” Daav murmured, “one might be grateful for the sunlight at the end of a bitter night, and thank it, most sincerely, for its warmth.”
“Lecturing your elders again, Young Captain?”
“It's this standing at the head of my clan, you see,” Daav explained earnestly. “It puts the most absurd notions into one's head.”
Jon considered them both. “Finally got 'round to telling her, did you?”
“Too late, as you'll make your point, but yes.”
“It is not Daav's fault that my brother is—was—an aberration,” Aelliana stated firmly.
“That's said fair enough,” Jon said. “But you would never have had to endure last evening's adventure, if you'd known your copilot for a Dragon.”
Aelliana tipped her head. “Possibly that is true, but it hardly matters now. And, if I had not been the target of Ran Eld's anger one more time, then I would not have had the Healers, and I—I think that having the Healers was a very good thing, indeed.”
“There are less risky roads to a Healer, math teacher,” Jon said, and threw up his hands. “I bide by your judgment, and not another word from me.”
“For now,” Daav added, sotto voce.
The elder pilot snorted. “So, the past being past, have you taken thought for the present, or the future?”
“For the present,” Aelliana said, “I have accepted Da—Korval's protection.”
Jon's eyebrows rose. He looked to Daav. “Protection, is it?”
“Is there a problem, Master Jon?”
“Why ask me?” He looked back to Aelliana. “All right, that's a reasonable course. And the future?”
“The future . . . must still be determined.” Her chest was once again tight with conflicting emotions. “I need time to think, Jon. So much has happened since yesterday . . . ”
“No need to make excuses for taking thought,” he told her. “Just remember your comrades, eh?”
“Of course I shall! You will doubtless grow tired of seeing me, and answering my questions, for you know, Jon, I am still quite desperately ignorant about—so many things!”
“Well, we can't have that,” he said comfortably. “Recall that you and I have a meeting with the Scout Commander and a tour of the World Room before us.”
“On Trilsday,” she said. “I remember. Jon?”
“What's on your mind, math teacher?”
“When is Clonak's next shift? I—I must speak to him.”
Jon's gaze slid to one side—to Daav, Aelliana thought, and wondered what information passed from old Scout
