- Prologue

high, into a kind of courtyard. The lead lights flashed, steadied—

'The Howsenda Hugglelans,' yos'Senchul intoned, entirely unnecessarily, since the name was emblazoned in intricately flashing purple signs taller than the control tower.

The parking slot for the King Six was there: Number Eleven. There were picnic tables just ten or twelve plane lengths ahead, and beyond that a bulky building that was all balconies and torches, with smoky fire pits and . . . motion.

People. Dozens. Hundreds! Some were waving at her plane, some were seated at benches, some were moving in a strange line, right hands on the hips of the people in front of them, some . . .

Theo checked clearance carefully, and used the correct brake to slide the plane into position, trying not to gawk at the same time.

'Part of it was the head wind,' she said, in answer to yos'Senchul's question. 'Maybe a second or two, there.'

'Part of it, no doubt,' he said dryly, reminding her of Father's tone when something obvious escaped her, 'is that the flight plan did not extend to switching runways. The default is north, but that would have been a nasty little crosswind, indeed, and traffic didn't warrant making you fight it on manual. In any case, late or not, we are here and I, at least, am hungry. Let us eat!'

Theo looked at the menu painted above the reservation desk, knowing none of the names of things, and shrugged at her mentors, who asked, almost in unison, 'Today's special?' One nodded, and the other bowed—to each other and to the desk manager, who whistled sharply into the din, producing someone to guide them.

Theo didn't mind following the guide—he was dressed in a tight sleeveless vest over a smooth, muscled chest, and moved quite well for a non-pilot, his bell-bottomed slacks encasing what was probably a dancer's body. His stride was forthright, his eyes, when he looked behind to see that they were still with him, compelling. He carried a bundle in each hand, and Theo was finding it hard to remember that the evening had started out with a fight and an administrative hearing.

Everyone they passed seemed to be having a good time; everyone was eating—well, not everyone. At the smaller and less well-lit tables sat shadowy couples, sipping together with straws from tall, glowing cylinders. Some of the couples were awfully close together, and perhaps getting closer.

Their own table was at terrace edge, with a view of the airport, and a fire pit right there, with a small tabletop leaning against it. Veradantha chose her seat, and perforce, Theo found herself between her hosts while their guide bent in front of them and busied himself with the fire pit.

Surprisingly close came Veradantha's whisper.

'Admirable, is he not? It is a shame we can do no more than admire, Theo Waitley. I, for not having the energy beyond my eyes and nose, and you, you for being Pilot tonight, and thus too tightly scheduled to wrestle three falls with someone who wears vya so extravagantly.'

She opened her mouth—and closed it. Yes, she knew what vya was, and obviously so did Veradantha.

As if oblivious, yos'Senchul turned to them, hand waving wide toward their guide. 'And now, the show!'

As if he had been waiting for the announcement, their guide deftly picked the tabletop up from its lean against the pit. A small spindle depending from it was placed precisely into a matching notch, leaving about three quarters of the thing over the fire zone.

Wait, now she saw it! Their guide was their cook, too!

The cook spun the 'table' hard with his hand and it continued to rotate. With a practiced air he wiped it with a small paper cloth, gave the table an extra spin, and waved at the pit, which dutifully roared into flame, as he proceeded to carefully portion stuff onto the cook surface.

Theo did as she was told: she watched. His implements were wood and ceramic, his hands quick and sure.

'Thus we clearly see,' Veradantha said, bringing their attention to herself, 'that the universe encompasses more than the classrooms and grounds of Anlingdin Academy. The choices are varied, and the methods, as well. Some assume that a proper education instills particular beliefs and necessities as much as it instills knowledge; indeed, some would have it that the failure to assume these beliefs indicates a lack of knowledge.'

Theo took the cue, offering, 'The Simples are like that on Delgado—in fact Delgado is like that on Delgado!'

Her companions looked on, alert, interested, so she continued with, 'I mean, the whole thing about the university is that they want to raise people to do what they do, the way they do it.'

The flight instructor coughed lightly. 'Yes, and after all, pilots wish there to be more proper pilots. This is the way of the universe, is it not?'

Theo paused as the cook flashed his knife rhythmically across something on the inner section of the whirling disk, heard it sizzle as a flash of vinegar was added . . .

She put her hand to the side of her head, where it itched, then drew it away suddenly, glancing at her hand to make sure she hadn't compromised the dressing on her wound.

'No,' she said after a moment, 'there's a difference. If an instructor tells me that I ought to use landing gear, and I don't, then I have probably made a mistake, a bad one. A demonstrably bad mistake! If someone tells me that I need to read a particular chapter of a book three times each year and repeat a sentence from that book every day else the universe will collapse on itself . . . that is not demonstrable.'

Neither of the pilots spoke: still they watched with intent interest. Maybe she hadn't explained fully—

'We need pilots. We need people who know about rugs, and people to sell things, to cook, and . . . but they're all doing something. I want to do something. I don't want to go to a meeting and . . . I mean look, my mother and father have to go to meetings and spend time—waste time is more like it!—because they have all these silly levels of things to keep track of, all these holes to put people into.

'Adjunct,' she said firmly, holding up her left hand, one finger up. Using her right to tap that hand she said, 'Assistant adjunct. Associate adjunct. Associate assistant adjunct. Assistant associate adjunct.'