- Prologue

'I'm calling Security,' he said, his voice absolutely steady. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his key, tossing it underhand to Theo. 'You're in charge, Waitley. First Bunk in the absence of the senior, right?'

She swallowed, the card warm in her hand, and nodded, once. 'Right,' she said, acknowledging the chain of command.

'Good kid.' He went over to the comm, not even bothering to kick Asu's discarded wrappings on the way.

Security had come, and Security had taken Chelly into custody, as he must've known they would, Theo thought, as she lay on her bunk, staring up at the dark ceiling. She'd overhead a little of his low- voiced conversation with the two officers who had answered his call—enough to know that the box, whatever was in it, was from Hap. Since Hap was dead, it was probably somebody's idea of a joke, Theo thought—a really cruel joke, too; baiting somebody with his dead bestboy's name. She could see why Chelly would be upset, but calling Security seemed an overreaction.

The Security team hadn't thought so, though. And now she was in charge. Until Chelly got back. Which ought to be, she told herself, as she had every fifteen minutes since he'd gone, Real Soon Now.

She and Asu had cleaned up; Asu had stowed her presents, except for the stuffed octopod Jondeer had sent her. That, she had improbably taken to bed with her, sleeping curled around, like it was a cat—or a friend.

Theo, alone in the top bunk, envied her, but she couldn't sleep—it didn't seem right to sleep—until Chelly got home. She'd have to let him in; she had his key.

On the other hand, she ought to try to get some sleep. She had an early class. History of Piloting. Boring.

Finally, she got bored with the ceiling and her thoughts, sat up, turned on the minispot and pulled Win Ton's package out from under her pillow. Carefully, so she didn't wake Asu up, she slit the wrapping and opened the small box.

It was a note; written in careful but perhaps hasty Terran on a skinny sheet with a trick underlay that changed color as the paper moved. Blevins Transit Services, Gas, Groceries and Gladthings, it said—and then it didn't, and she could read the words he'd sent.

Sweet Mystery, dear friend Theo, the Terran words ran, I trust and hope this finds you well, in the aftermath of your recent successful soaring flight made under such trying circumstances.

She blushed at the memory of telling Win Ton it was stupid of him to call her 'Sweet Mystery' . . . but there, their friendship had survived that setdown, and she was glad they had.

The news of your flight reaches here in the latest of piloting updates, where it is shared among pilots full of admiration, and some with jealousy that one so new to the art should perform so well. For me, I am not surprised that you go on so well, but expect it.

In her head she heard his voice, trying to be both formal and light, and saw him suppress a smile as he did so often.

It is the nature of the universe to provide us with both challenges and frustrations, and this challenge you have borne so well, while I alas, have labored under the frustration of being a mere two jumps away from you, and thus, close enough to consider coming to you in celebration and far enough away that given time and my duty schedule it is impossible to route myself to you. But there, know that I celebrate and that in honor of your flight, I bestow upon you the enclosed, which of course you must wear only if your grade permits, and only if you desire it, and feel it appropriate.

If it matters, the note went on, the enclosed was on my duty uniform until I wrapped it here; I have a new one that I was too indolent to attach without good cause, which cause I now have. Please wear it in good health, always. If this scrawl is unreadable it is because a Scout pilot stands waiting to receive it, her ship fueled and at the ready, that it might travel the first of those Jumps that separate us, that your wings should reach you swiftly.

She smiled at the hyperbole of a Scout waiting a ship for a note to her—and then wondered if it was hyperbole.

Below the note, wrapped in a second sheet of the same informal stationery, was a pair of slender silver and onyx wings, engraved feathers glistening.

Theo held them, remembering. She'd seen them on his collar. Yes, she had. And they'd go on hers as soon as she could put them there.

Nine

History of Piloting

Anlingdin Piloting Academy

'Perhaps Trainee Waitley would like to relate the history of the ven'Tura Tables to the class.'

Theo started. She hadn't been dozing, exactly, though Instructor Johansen's voice did tend to put her to sleep, even when she wasn't working with a short night behind her. But—the ven'Tura Tables? She had done her reading, she thought, her stomach tightening in panic. She sent a quick glance at her screen, but if she'd read anything about these tables—whatever they were—she hadn't thought them worthy of even a note, much less a history.

'Well, Waitley?' Johansen purred in that nasty-sweet voice that meant she was about to shave an inch off of somebody—and Theo was apparently today's chosen victim. 'I'd think that someone who was sponsored into this academy by the Liaden Scouts would be fully conversant with the ven'Tura Tables.'

Theo took a deep breath to settle her stomach, and stood—in Johansen's class, you stood to give your answer, so everybody could get a good look at the kid who was too dumb to be up on her work.

'I'm sorry, ma'am,' she said, keeping her head up and meeting the teacher's eyes. After all, Kamele and Father had taught her that it was no shame to admit ignorance, though it wasn't going to be pleasant to be chewed out in front of the whole class for not having done her reading thoroughly.

'I'm afraid I don't know the history of the ven'Tura Tables,' she said, and added, before she could stop herself, 'and I wasn't sponsored by the Scouts, ma'am. I was sponsored by a Scout.'

'By a Scout,' Johansen repeated, sounding thoroughly disgusted. 'Thank you for that correction, Trainee. Sit down.' She spun around, glaring at the rest of the class.