- Prologue

everybody was always watched by somebody, for the good of everybody else.

She laughed again, as she looked about her, seeing nothing but blue sky and wonderfully large and billowing clouds. They hadn't outlawed happy at the academy, and flying was a happy thing.

'Flight GT S14, Academy GT S14, acknowledge.'

Not flight control, but her instructor. He was paying attention!

'Flight GT S14 here.'

'Waitley, this is El, on special from control; how quickly can you get down?'

Theo's glance swept the board, gathered in the variometer and altitude; she consulted the map display and clicked the direct route . . . she'd hardly been worried about getting down fastest; in fact soaring had been working well and she'd been thinking about filing an amendment to extend her time.

'Ship says at standard descent . . . sixteen minutes, unless I get an updraft.'

'Won't do. Want you out of the sky—everyone out of the sky quickly . . . emergency.'

Theo looked away from the instruments, across the sky, to the eminence of Kirky's Range. Local history had it that the first traveler from space had used its spine and plateau as a pointer for his rescuers . . .

Out of the sky . . . 

'I can stuff it on the plateau in five minutes.'

Her hands and feet followed her eyes, as if she leaned toward the promontory.

There was no reply, and she repeated, watching the slip-string on the canopy as it flowed in reply to the ship's bank and turn. Who would've thought that simple piece of yarn could be so useful?

'GT S14 here, please ack—'

'Can you?' The query overrode her. 'El here. That's tricky, Waitley, lots of updrafts. Acknowledge.'

The ship was already gaining speed as she pushed the stick forward. The plan was . . .

'I can,' she said, absolutely sure of it. 'If you want me down quickest. Acknowledge.'

Again a pause, but now she realized Instructor El was thinking hard. She was thinking hard, too—while the way was clear to the mountain, even the Doppler radar setting might not be enough for the tricky currents she'd be facing.

'Bad spot, Waitley. Report before you set down; be prepared to abort on my command. I won't jostle your elbow otherwise. Acknowledge.'

Theo smiled. 'Acknowledged.'

She'd cruised distantly along the standing wave the mountains created just once before, in the trainer, when she'd had Pilot El in the second seat. That had brought flutters to her stomach and twinges to her hands as she'd felt the strength of the up-draft.

This time she was going to use that updraft; sideslipping the ship several times to lose altitude, and then: yes!

There was the wave! The slip-string fluttered momentarily and the variometer showed a sudden change in the ship's motion. Even though the nose was pointed slightly downward, the whole column of air she was in was rising rapidly. Noise multiplied in the cockpit as the variometer began to sound a rising pitch, while the automaton intermittently spoke rate-change numbers. The most important thing was the rising pitch . . .

Ahead, the mountain's dark color began to differentiate into rugged columns of weathered rock and deep shadowed crevices.

She'd never had to read the radar so hard before; the twisting currents swept the sleek glider higher, closer to the mountain with each second. Designed for simple soaring, the great wings seemed to chuckle at this unexpected task, the sound unnerving, as they trembled in the troubled air column.

More than three minutes had passed according to the ship's chronometer; she was sweating, listening for the call to abort, fighting to keep the nose pointed in the right direction against wind that made the plane crab and shudder. Her goal was only a minute or so higher; she knew that once she reached the top her work would really begin.

There came a lull in the buffeting, but she wasn't comforted because the rock face loomed. She was close enough now that the fuselage might easily fit into a crevice if air willed it; the beautiful wings she loved so much now as much of a problem as an asset.

Warnings went off: too much lift, too close to the mountain, stall warning . . .

Theo worked to shut out the sounds of the winds and the warnings: she could only ride this out. She would ride this out. She only—there!

The top of the plateau appeared to her left. She sideslipped the craft in that direction, fighting a wicked crosswind that wanted to twist her wings.

Unexpectedly, she continued to rise. She forced the nose down, arms shaking with the effort. The top of the plateau was pocked with wind-worn gullies and rippled dust, but her biggest problem wasn't finding a place to land but in forcing the Slipper into actually setting down.

She had underestimated the winds, she thought. Or overestimated her own ability.

'Not great, Theo,' she muttered, 'not great.'

Then she saw a spot and caught a lull in the wind.

'Waitley, GT S14,' she snapped at the comm. 'Setting down immediately.'

She almost managed it, but her wings built their own ground effect in the jostling wind and the plane hovered as she hit spoilers and then did one more very slight sideslip to meet the ground. The Slipper stayed down, then, roiling grass and gravel, coming to rest on an incline that became a slope that ran out into the abyss below.