- Prologue

and opened them.

If you have not already opened the packet sealed with wax from my dinner candle, I pray that you will do so now. I consider it a great favor you do me, if you will.

Though only partway down the lovely page the letter continued on the next sheet, as Win Tin meant her not to read beyond until she had complied—or not.

With growing curiosity she put the letter aside, broke the waxed seam, and smoothed the paper away from an inner wrapping of metal foil, the whole coated thinly in wax that verged on the liquid.

It took a moment to find the seam. She peeled it back carefully, discovering within a coil—not a coil! A chain, like a necklace, chill against her fingers as she raised it. Pendant from the chain was a cerametal chunk that was not simply raw metal but formed and shaped with notches and ridges around a small central cylinder.

She let the foil drop and took the cylinder between her fingers, rolled it, felt the crisp edges of the metal. It felt good, like it should do something, rather than just be . . . interesting to look at. More, it felt old, much older than the chain. It wasn't pretty, exactly, but she liked it, if one could like a thing.

Still, thinking advertently, she held it in her hand rather than putting it on immediately, and returned to Win Ton's letter.

Theo, it would be both a favor and honor to me if you will hold this, and perhaps wear it and keep it with you. I discovered it during my brief garbage run, and it is to all appearances twin to one I wear about my own neck. Let us say that, as soon as I held it in my hand, I thought of you. Indeed, I can think of none other that I would see hold it. As the pair is to my knowledge unique, and found in an out-of-the-way place rarely visited by tourists or ordinary travelers, I hope it does not offend you to share such a thing with me.

We need not speak of these again until we are together, but I feel they are a bond we can share, one that has already helped me focus on the necessities of my immediate plans, and of my plans beyond. Call it celebration, plan, or sympathetic magic, I vow I will not be separated from mine and I hope you will keep yours by you at all times.

Though she wasn't talking, Theo felt speechless. Unique, and something Win Ton treasured, something very special.

She sighed and felt stupid as tears fell down her face, onto her hands, onto the necklace. Happy tears, yes, but it felt so good to be—cherished.

She brought the necklace close, peered at it, smiled, and had the silliest feeling that it returned her regard, or that Win Ton had infused it with his own.

Shaking her head to settle her hair as best as could be done, Theo spread the chain between her two hands and put it over her head. The cylinder fell comfortably between her breasts, not cold at all, or warm, but exactly the temperature of her own body. She regretted that Win Ton hadn't been there to help her put it on—but that thought should probably wait, at least until she had finished reading his letter.

Meanwhile, it is my hope and wish that you continue to stay in touch with me at this address; only understand that my mission may make it difficult for me to reply for dozens or perhaps hundreds of days at a time. That I cannot immediately answer, or perhaps even receive, your messages in timely fashion makes no difference to my regard for you, nor my desire to hear from you.

Clan, mission, and duty permitting, as well as your agreement, of course, I shall again someday be by your side for a quiet breakfast.

Yours in many ways,

Win Ton

* * *

She thought of calling the hopeful proto-pilots with whom she'd recently shared bed-time—first thought of one, then the other.

Then, she thought of Win Ton, and shook her head. Her friends would only be an annoyance to her, in this state of mind. And, since they were friends, she didn't call.

Which didn't change the fact that her mind was unsettled, and her body too, as if she'd spent the morning ingesting caffeine and sugar treats. She wanted to move, to dance, to not be right here with the letter, which she'd unfolded and read yet again, and refolded, hands caressing the lines that Win Ton had inked.

Kara. Kara might provide some comfort, or at least a willing ear—and it was obvious that her deep sky navigation problem was not happening right now!

It was work of a moment to slip the letter back into the lock-drawer. She pulled the chain up until Win Ton's gift was spinning before her eyes. Frowning, she tried to see through the patina of age and mysterious origin to whatever it was that he thought was there, or meant to be there. She thought of writing back immediately—but what was the use in that? He was already on the way to his assembly point.

She stood, and danced a few steps, which didn't calm her, exactly.

Air, she thought. Air would be good; air and color and the sight of craft overhead.

She closed the quietly behind her.

As she walked Theo felt like her shoes picked up extra energy from the ground, and when she stood still it felt like her blood vessels and muscles were full of energy. The calming steps she danced became attack variations as soon as she moved, the quieting motions of pretest relaxation flowed into dance which flowed back into power moves, which flowed into kicks and stunts.

Finally she admitted defeat and walked fast, striding toward the Culture Club at a ground-eating pace, forcing the energy in her arms and legs into the pace of her march. She was going the long way, hoping to calm herself before she encountered anyone else.

She heard the sounds long before she saw it: the quick steps, the laughter and crowing, the grunts and curses, the silences of waiting. She rounded the shrubbery that defined the big side lawn, where a crowd surrounded the action.

Bowli ball! And by the tenor of things, a match well in progress. Or maybe a match well out of hand.