- Prologue

taught, to fly at first class level, which fact I have seen with my own eyes lo these months, right?'

It came to her that Tranza was angry. Theo raised her hands, fingers wide, and nodded, not sure what to say.

'I have my contracts to think of, Rig,' Mayko said sternly.

'You want Hugglelans to have all the best pilots tied to you since Korval's got trouble. Business is business. Right. I see that. But you're a Master. You got duty on both screens. And you can't keep information away from her!'

He raised his hands toward the ship's ceiling, fluttered this thought is mine and started speaking, low and earnest.

'I have a contract, Mayko, and mine don't need to be signed. If you want Theo Waitley to sign a first class contract, give her what she's earned. A jacket. The raise. The respect.'

Mayko sighed, loudly.

'Rig, we're renegotiating all the contracts. Galactic needs—'

'Will you,' he interrupted, forcefully. 'Will you tell Theo Waitley she's made first class and earned a jacket? Will you tell her that, Master Ikari?'

'When she signs the contract she'll be able to requisition a jacket, just like any first class . . .'

Tranza went suddenly and completely quiet. Theo looked at him worriedly. He stood entirely still for two long heartbeats, then extended his hand. She realized with a start that he was asking for the jacket, and handed it over. He stretched it in front of himself, shook it, opened it, did a dance move—

And hung the jacket around Theo's shoulders, firmly, like it was a cape. The inside was cool, the jacket long on her.

'The jacket fits, Pilot. Welcome.'

He squeezed her shoulder and stepped back, hands enjoining her to wear healthy long proud.

Mayko's fingers were against her lips, a look of what might be horror on her face.

'Rig, you can't just give your jacket away!'

He turned on her with startling swiftness.

'I precertified your jacket, Mayko, and you still wear it. A pilot can give his jacket to a pilot. Theo's a pilot. She's got a jacket.'

'Tranza, calm please,' Theo said, genuinely alarmed. 'I can't—'

'Yours,' he interrupted. 'I swear and witness it. And Mayko should know better than to pull this stuff!'

'But your jacket!' Mayko insisted.

'I'll requisition one, right?' He gave her a flat stare. 'Just like any first class pilot. Right.'

Mayko stilled her hands in mid-sign, mouth tight.

Theo cleared her throat. 'I can't keep it, Tranza.'

He laughed, suddenly empty of tension.

'You, Pilot, better call me Rig.'

'But I don't have a card!'

There was silence.

Rig turned to Mayko, fingers terse.

Card.

Mayko put hand to forehead, then reached into her side pouch and extracted something.

'Pilot,' she said, extending it, 'may this bring you joy.'

This was a pilot's license, handed to her own hand. Endorsed all the way around, and registered already according to the seal. Theo Waitley, Pilot First Class.

The words got kind of watery, and Theo blinked, looking aside.

Nothing to cry about, she told herself.

'Right,' said Rig Tranza. 'I owe us all a drink. We can read contracts later.'

Thirty-Six

Primadonna

Volmer

They'd had their drinks—one glass of wine for each of them, rather than the kynak Rig suggested—and then Theo called it a shift. She'd been long-shifting the whole trip and between the piloting, the argument surrounding the receipt of her first class ticket, and Win Ton's letter she was exhausted.

Retiring, she realized that on so-called solid ground the ship vibrated in ways it didn't in space, or docked to a station. While station docking often included swings and sways and even bounces, which the planet did not, the noises and vibrations emanating from the connect points as temperatures strove to balance in space were familiar.

On-planet noise snuck in from everywhere. The landing gear transmitted vibrations, the atmosphere vibrated against the ship's skin in the form of breeze and wind, and sounds traveled along and through the hull to fool the