- Prologue

'You really think you're something, don't you? Can't figure why it is you got no official math but fly like a vet. Your father was a pilot, hey? Can't nobody find any current pilot time for Jen Sar Kiladi.'

'Key,' she said around the growing coldness in her stomach, and added: 'You can't find current flight time because my father is a retired pilot.'

Wil snarfed a laugh and waved the shift book, with her key still attached.

'Retired? Or is that 'decertified'?'

He's trying to make you lose your temper, Theo told herself. Problem being, that he was succeeding.

'Key,' she said again, between gritted teeth.

'Not going to talk about Daddy?'

'I want my key. Now.'

'There you go again, always pushing for a fight. You act more like a smuggler's get than anybody civilized.'

'Key,' she said, closing in slowly.

'Well, your choice. Play with Belgraid and live down a decert dad if you can. We coulda made it easy for you.'

Her key clicked out and he tossed it, nearly beyond her, chuckling as she scrambled.

Key in hand, she was on her way around him, thinking about math and how fast she was going to have to run —

'Close to thirty-three hours on there,' Wil said, like he was talking to himself. 'Who'd've thought somebody who can't add could've got that far?'

Theo froze, then turned, carefully, key gripped in her right hand, helmet in her left.

'Say again,' she said softly. 'How much time?'

Wil grinned and glanced down, too casually, to consult the face of the instrument again.

'You really can't count, can you? Three two point nine hours. Says so right here.'

He turned the display for her, his grin even less certain.

'Fix it,' she said. 'I have more time than that.'

'No,' he answered, 'you don't. This is the official shift-read.'

'I had more time than that when I started today.'

'The key count's official,' he insisted. 'This is your official time, which will be entered into your log.'

'Fix it.'

'You're really pushing it, Waitley. You can't expect everything to go your way if you don't work with seniors . . .'

The shift bell sounded, yanking Theo's attention back to the rest of the world.

Math!

'You'll fix this when I come back,' she said, turning back toward Ops, but he used the shift book like a shepherd's crook, blocking her way.

'Thumbprint, Waitley. Validate it.'

'It's in dispute,' she snapped.

She started for Ops again, ducking under the shift book.

'Waitley, validate this record or lose it all!' he yelled, following her into the room, where Bell was lounging against the desk, an interested expression on his face.

'Thumbprint!' Wil shouted. He shoved the book at her face, almost striking her, but she fended the thing off with an elbow. He waved it again, catching her a stinging blow flat on the cheek and ear, and before she realized it, Theo was moving.

She swung her helmet into his gut, but he danced partly out of the way, now using the book to prod at her face. She knew the counter for that, though. She ducked, twisted—and she was half behind him, fending off his elbow with her forearm as he tried to strike, rather than dance.

He swung hard, cussing and yelling; there was blood dripping from somewhere, but this move she'd seen on the ship when the other pilots were playing and all you needed to do really was that duck, right into the pelvis and —

Wil was flat out on the floor, dazed, his breath coming in large gasps. The shift book lay against the desk at Bell's feet. Bell, eyes wide, was standing with hands low, nonthreatening, looking between Wil and Theo in wonderment, and then directly at Theo.

'One-handed! I can't believe it, you took him one-handed!' His face changed, ruddy cheeks going white. He reached to the desk, slapping a button.

The security gong rang about the time Theo realized that the blood was coming from the stinging area on the side of her face. She held her hand there, to stop the blood, but the gong kept ringing.

Fourteen

Sturtevan Hall