- Prologue

Trim as it was, Uncle fiddled with his dark hair, as if he missed something he was used to at his ear or on his head, perhaps a turban, or an earring. He held a cup of tea served from the same pot in his other hand, moving it in careful emphasis as he went on.

'Understand, I find advertising such a plebeian approach to the problem that I never seriously considered it, and while I find sorting the dregs of on-file job hunters interesting for the information it brings me, information by itself is so much fog in the viewport. But here, now, I have been accumulating news, which is information in action, and I have been long in the habit of making things happen rather than waiting for them to occur. And so, records in hand, so to speak, I did even more research spurred on by event. You are a very good match for this job.'

Theo sighed to herself; fascinated by the Uncle and his approach to hiring, concerned about what he seemed to know about her.

'I think no one considers my mother dangerous, Uncle, nor my grandmother, nor ever did! My family is very well documented, and very respectable—my mother and her mother and her mother before her are all scholars! Cite and location, date and degree, it's all there and all public, after all. No pilots among them, no tendency toward violence . . .'

It was his turn to lean forward, using his cup to point to her before he spoke.

'Ah, I forget, you were very much raised as a child of Delgado, as ill as it suited you. Of your maternal side I know only that it was sufficient to the task of birthing you. But no, I look to the paternal side here, Pilot.'

The slight to her mother was almost lost in the twist of pain associated with Father.

'Jen Sar Kiladi,' she said coolly, 'is also a scholar, Uncle, and a retired pilot.' She took a careful breath. 'Do you know my father?'

'Know your father? No, not your father, if you mean to ask if we have met in person. However, your gene lines are hardly so short that your sire marks the length of the shadow, and I have met others in the line . . . some years before you were born, I daresay. As is illustrated by your own performance, the line is one prone to survival. Guild records indicate you carry at least one weapon you took barehanded from the care of a previous owner.'

Theo started to speak, held it back—at least he hadn't mentioned her riot!

'But you see, your records are just updated, and trustworthy Jump pilots being at a premium, there are ways to achieve as much assurance ahead of time as possible. As an employer willing to trust into your care a vessel of both monetary and sentimental value, I feel that such records ought to be available. It helped, of course, that the Scouts were willing to assist.'

'Scouts? What Scouts?'

Uncle smiled, precisely as if he saw through her, but was willing to give her points for trying to play the game.

'Your Win Ton, for one. He sleeps just beyond your view at the end of the hall, guarded by the chief of his medical team.'

Theo's glance was unsubtle.

'I'd not be so cruel as to say so, and not prove it, Pilot Waitley.' He motioned, giving her permission to investigate, just as Dulsey appeared at the end of the way.

Theo nodded to Uncle, rose not as steadily as she might like, saw Dulsey's face go bland as they passed each other in the lushly carpeted hall.

Around that corner the hall turned utilitarian, with beige walls and floor; bulkheads and pressure doors obvious. Sitting neatly cross-legged athwart the first double-wide door Theo came to was the same Scout who'd disturbed her and Win Ton with the news of a message.

The Scout rose languidly and bowed in recognition to Theo.

'Pilot, I see you. Alas, Scout yo'Vala is not receiving visitors.'

Dulsey spoke from behind Theo's shoulder.

'The Uncle decides, Scout. You may permit entry.'

Theo glanced aside. In fact both Dulsey and Uncle were behind her, bare feet on the plain decking, the Uncle gesturing a clipped open.

* * *

Theo read rapidly, finding the usages no stranger than contracts she'd read in class, and certainly better paid than Hugglelans' newest offer. The confidentiality agreement carried with it an extra payment, but—

'And so,' Uncle went on, 'we both have more information than we did before. The Scouts have entrusted me with some news, of course, but they cannot hide from me, as much as they might wish to do so, the identity of the pilot to whom your Win Ton has given the second key—actually, the first key—because the keys speak to this ship, which was built at the same yard as Bechimo.'

Theo glanced up, seeing no joy of surprise in the man's face, but rather serious intent.

'They speak?' Win Ton had said that, hadn't he? That his key had talked to and manipulated the Old Tech devices on his prison ship?

'Yes. I understand, from the man himself, that he entrusted you with one of the phrases, and I find it compelling.'

His hands motioned a repeat please.

There was no reason she knew of not to. Theo shrugged. '?'There are secrets in all families.'?'

'Wonderful. A phrase so old it is new again. So, we soon come to the truths we share and the truths you need to know. First though, is the contract reasonable?'

'A cantra for going to Liad?'