- Prologue

all of them.

She took the long-way-around walk to lunch to think through not only what she'd seen, but also what she hadn't. Some of her classmates had simply not reacted at all to the vids, as far as she could see, as if they hadn't recognized the problem instantly. For her part, her hand still ached where she'd clenched the offending palm, trying to take it back from the motion that she hadn't made, that she knew better than to make, already.

She danced out that realization momentarily, feeling this move here and that move there and seeing that, of course, with the hands and body flowing properly, as compared with dance, even strapped in—especially strapped in—this move, this move that hurt her hand to think about, this move that had killed a pilot and a field boss and injured a dozen farmworkers, this motion went entirely against the warm-up exercises and the way you worked with a bowli ball. Well . . .

The dancing was combat. The dancing was prep for bowli ball which was prep for moving now. The dancing was board drills. The dancing was what had convinced Win Ton that she . . .

Chaos!

Yes, she missed him. Missed him. Not like she missed Father and Kamele, or the way she still sometimes missed Bek. Still, it was difficult not to look at everything she was doing now knowing that Win Ton also shared this information or moved this way, or would understand—

Well, maybe he'd even understand why it was she'd been spending quite so much time at sim-ship, and why it was she was busy, busy with extra dance, busy with a sudden interest in packet and courier ships, busy avoiding the sometimes just-too-stealthy questions and insinuations from Asu.

Really, what was it to Asu exactly what they'd done or hadn't, or when, or who started what? The first three days after her return from orbit she'd felt like Asu was peering at her neck, looking at her shoulders, for Simple Sake, checking out her feet and legs for marks and bruises!

Win Ton was Liaden, and thoughtful and gentle, and Liaden! That meant careful, in many senses.

And everybody's questions about, 'How was it in orbit?' Pfui!

Yes, Win Ton was a Scout pilot . . . which meant a master class pilot, as it turned out, and so yes, not only could he certify her orbital time but he also should, because that's part of what master class pilots were supposed to do. He'd also been very clear that once they lifted, it was all about the ship.

She smiled to herself. Yes, when she'd rolled the Torvin through the sun-cooling routine, Win Ton's smile had been good. But she'd rolled it properly on axis, and then she'd offered her calculations to him and the board for the deorbit burn that would bring them down on the longest, flattest, slowest, quietest possible landing the ship could make, according to all the information the ship so willingly fed second board. And it was all about the ship, and about being a pilot.

Taking the long way to lunch meant a visit to DCCT was out of the question before afternoon class, but it also meant one more chance to avoid Asu, who needed to be in class at about the moment Theo reached for her last cheese muffin, counting teatime in her head. Now that math was falling into place for her she'd been getting in extra dance as well as extra bowli ball and those calories needed to be replaced, and she and Asu were suddenly out of the habit of companionable late night snacks. . . .

Theo continued the count in her back brain even as she thought about Asu. She was senior bunk, after all, and so she needed to be in some touch with Asu, just in case someone asked.

Count reached, she said, 'One hundred thirty-two' out loud and gently sipped at her second cup.

Out of the side of her vision appeared a familiar hand with rings on it, fluttering query query before the rest of Kara appeared, bonelessly dropping into the chair opposite, tray carefully isolated from the flump of the body.

'What?' Theo felt her eyebrow rise and tried to suppress it, without luck. Genes!

'Counting flower petals odd and even?'

It was Theo's turn to flutter query with one hand as she sipped again. It was really hard to get the tea exact when the available hot water varied by so much, but . . .

'I distinctly heard you counting,' Kara said, unzipping food from her tray. 'Bova informs me that there's a well-known Terran custom of offering a potential night-friend the opportunity of counting flower petals together. I gather one actually pulls the flower apart in the process. Should both parties reach the last petal with a 'Yes, I will' . . . then the night is decided.'

Theo thought a moment, scrunching up her face seriously, cup still in front of her lips.

'How many choices are there, I wonder? Or is it binary?'

Kara bowed, laughing.

'Yes, it is binary. I think you begin to see, O Pilot.'

'And so if one knows the number of petals a particular flower generally has . . .' Theo sipped, put the cup down in favor of finishing the maize button.

The grin got wide.

'Thus speaks a pilot! It is, in fact, pilot's choice. If one is in need, as one may be, one picks the proper flower and starts with the proper count. If there is but one flower to hand, the same result might be obtained.'

Theo chuckled around her swallow. 'Fast head or fast hand, it's no gamble.'

Kara sighed gently. 'Temptation is always a gamble, my friend, even a temptation one welcomes!'

Theo theatrically took the last bite, looked toward her empty hand.

'None left to tempt me.'

Kara sighed again, ending with a laugh.