- Prologue

'Well? Who can tell the tale of the ven'Tura Tables? No one? Not one of you has read ahead?'

She shook her head.

'And you aspire to be pilots,' she said witheringly. She clicked the autoboard control in her hand and the screen came alive behind her, thick with citations.

Theo touched her keyboard and snatched the info down, scanning the windows as they opened.

'The class will—at your leisure, of course!' Johansen was saying, '—review this material. Each of you will bring to our next meeting an analysis of the Tables, comparing Master Pilot ven'Tura's original effort with the Caylon Revisions. I will expect some insight into those factors which made revision necessary and the role of the Tables— in the original and the revised forms—in shaping piloting as it is now practiced. Go.'

The end-of-class chimes were simultaneous with that last contemptuous word, and there was a subdued clatter as the trainees gathered their things up and ran for their next classes.

'At your leisure,' Theo muttered, as she walked across the quad. She actually didn't have a class right now, though that didn't mean she was at leisure. Far from it. For her leisure time between classes, she had her choice of activities. She could practice board drills, work through her math tutorials, review the latest sample batch of cargo forms, or she could get started on Johansen's read-and-analyze.

And, really, what she wanted to do more than anything else on this bright, blowy day was to sign out a Slipper and escape into the green and gold sky.

Theo sighed. She didn't think she was a slacker, but she couldn't understand how school kept getting harder. By now, she ought to have the rhythm down, and done all the readings listed on the syllabi—she'd always had time to read ahead at school. Here at Anlingdin, she felt like she was running all the time, without any leisure, and instead of catching up, she was falling further behind!

'Ball!' called an unfamiliar voice.

There was a blur of not-quite random motion in the corner of her eye. Theo spun, feeling her pack shift on her back, snatched the bowli ball out of the air and pitched it at a girl in a pair of faded mechanic's coveralls.

The girl jumped, grabbed the ball and let it spin her in midair, releasing it before she was back on the ground. It danced crazily to the right, then to the left—and then shot straight up, almost clipping the nose of a stocky boy with his hair in a dozen short pigtails.

He made a one-handed recover and rolled the ball off his palm, on a trajectory for Theo.

'Hey!' she protested, but the ball was on its way and there was nothing she could do except field the thing and get it moving to somebody else. Turning your back on a bowli ball was a good way to get beaned—or worse. It wasn't unusual for bones to be broken in an intense bowli ball engagement. Chaos! She'd come away with bruises from playing with Phobai and Win Ton and Cordrey—and she'd been paying attention!

'Ball!' yelled the third player—a lanky, loose-jointed kid Theo recognized from her General Aviation class. She twisted, getting around the ball just in time, and sweating a little, too. She'd let her attention wander, and that was fatal.

'Out!' The lanky player stepped back, hands down at his side. 'Duty.'

'Find me later,' the stocky boy called, while the girl in the coveralls dove for the ball.

'I can't play!' Theo protested. 'I've got too much work to do!'

'A pox on work!' the girl answered, sliding into the grass to grab the ball before it touched the ground. It came out of her hands with a tipsy spin on it, and the boy hooted as he ran forward, one up and to the right.

'Forfeit, Kara!' he yelled.

'Frell if I will!' the girl yelled back. 'That ball is in play, sir!'

'Didn't touch!' Theo called, feeling like the boy was trying to get off easy—and suddenly there was the ball again, high over her head. She jumped, and almost lost her balance when the pack shifted on her back. Twisting, she released the ball, skinned the straps down, dropped the pack in the grass—and danced sideways, catching the ball on a dip and sending it whirling back.

'That was fun!' Kara panted cheerfully to Theo. Their third had called duty, grounded the ball and taken it with him as he ran toward the landing field. 'A shame we were playing with Vin's ball, eh? If I had one of my own we could have continued.'

'Not too much longer,' Theo said, scraping wet hair back off of her face. 'I've got class.' She gave the other girl a grin. 'It was fun, though. Thanks for calling me in.'

'No, that was Ristof,' Kara said, naming the lanky boy. 'He had been telling us that you were much better than you walked, and then here you came, stomping across the grass like a dirt-hugger, and the idea just bloomed.' Kara pulled the clip out of her hair and shook her head, loosing a perfectly straight cascade of reddish-gold hair down past her shoulders.

'Be careful of Ristof in the clutch of an idea,' she said, stuffing the clip into one of the coverall's numerous pockets. 'A warning, because you do not play like a dirt-hugger.'

Theo frowned, and looked around for her bag.

'What do I play like?' she asked, spotting the abandoned item a surprising distance away. 'If you don't mind saying.'

'Ah, have I insulted you?' Kara sounded more curious than contrite, walking with Theo toward the bag. 'You play, Theo Waitley, like a pilot. More, you play like a pilot who has already flown the stars—I say this as one who has lived her whole life in a House full of such. Indeed . . .' She paused, blue eyes narrowed in her round, gold- toned face.

Theo bent and picked up her pack, shrugging into it.

'Indeed?' she asked.

'It is a thought, only, but it may serve you. I have heard that you have what my so-excellent Terran friends term 'attitude.' That you 'spoil' for want of a fight.'