by Sharon Lee
The bell blanged caution at six minutes; distracted, Kelby had to do a three-hit, elbow, shoulder, palm to get the ball where he wanted it for his next throw. Between them, they'd been upping the tempo, and both still taking time to observe each other's moves and strengths.
Yes, Lina thought; he'll do nicely, as he turned from the recover and threw unexpectedly over his shoulder with his back to her – a good view – nearly rooting her to the spot with the trick move. She deflected the ball with her ankle before it hit the floor, portions of the betting crowd apparently doubtful that she’d managed it, and then had to dive and kick with the other foot, but this was one of her tricks, angling the ball high off the wall, against the ceiling, and onto another wall, the ball underspinning, leaving Kelby little choice but to do a dive of his own and juggle the ball until he mastered the tempo sufficiently to get his footwork back in sync.
″One each, here at the center stage!" called the MC. "Get your bets in, watch the action! Winner gets a free breakfast 'cause the loser’s going to pay! Thrills and chills here – Hey! Didja see that recover?″
Lina took the next throw with her left hand and did a quick launch; Kelby barely had time to catch and do the same. For several moments, they traded the ball at throat level – flick, flick, flick–eyes on the ball, the throat, the face, slowly coming closer, faster ...
Their eyes locked briefly as they trusted the motion, then they began backing away as they continued the same throw and catch at least a dozen more times. He changed it up: took the ball left-handed and swung back and around once before launching vertically so Lina had to move closer to catch it.
It was her turn to vary, her throw bouncing off a sidewall so she could catch it, and she did that twice again, moving toward a corner, making him retreat to stay in front of her. Then an underhanded lob toward the leg he’d just raised and ...
A roll! He landed hard, snatched the ball, the roll brought him very close before the ball was released, and he used the wall for the save, the angle bouncing the ball from wall to ceiling.
It was the ceiling that almost defeated her; Lina managing to just get to the bounce that extended to the other side of Kelby, who was still rising. The ball was in overdrive. Lina lunged, got a hand on it, and then tangled in Kelby’s legs, the ball bouncing overhead, with the crowd roaring.
Kelby lunged from his spot in the tangle, keeping the ball up, and she did the same, on one knee, as he reached through her arms and swung to keep it higher; the continued nearness a surprise, the joint effort promising.
The crowd was cheering wildly, some counting, and the ″four, three, two, one ...″ ended with the blangblandblang of the closing bell.
Lina smothered the ball, hand on her shoulder to keep it still while Kelby’s hand was also on her shoulder, and a laughing MC made his way onto the deck ...
″Looks like we gotta live heat here! Even score! Guess the pilots here'll hafta figure out who pays for breakfast some other way, hey?"
He reached cautiously for the ball, with Kelby and Lina not quite smoothly working it from between them into his hand.
"I tell you what," he said into the mic, working the still merry crowd. "This ball's had quite a workout – it's still buzzing and so am I! Big cheer for Lina and Kelby!"
The crowd obliged as the MC helped the two of them finish detangling, and the mop-up crew came in to make all seemly for the next group.
″You’re good,″ Lina told Kelby as they hurried out, jackets in hand.
He bowed on the move, hand rising to sign So are you.
"I'm just in today," she said, when they paused by the door to pull on their jackets. "Please, Pilot, lead on!"
#
Lina returned to port with an hour still to run on her leave. The room she had been assigned was scarcely more than a pilot's ready room: a cot, some shelves, and a screen.
Kelby’s rooms were multiple and tidy, the small kitchen, small bath, and small living area with both a couch and a bed far wider than a cot.
As it came about, she had paid for breakfast at Reski’s, a mere three hundred paces from his rooms – perfectly equitable, as he had paid the taxi, shared his wine and worthy snacks, and not the least, his bed.
This room – well. If she were to be on Surebleak longer than three nights, she would have to find something else.
But that was for later. For now, her condition was considerably improved.
She’d had a romp far better than an impromptu Festival meeting, and had already accumulated a favorite morning café, taxi company, and bowli ball court, not to mention having Scout Lieutenant Kelby chel’Vona Clan Nosko’s personal and work comm codes in her pocket.
Came the sound of steps in the hall, followed by imperious knocking and the querulous voice of her direct superior.
″Open now, yo'Bingim!″
For a heartbeat, she considered ignoring the command, her leave with yet an hour to run.
"yo'Bingim!"
She growled softly, and stepped to the door, opening with hairbrush in one hand and in the other, her wings.
Administrator as'Barta stood in the door, a pilot Lina had never seen before behind him – she was not a Scout.
″So you returned after making your contact, did you? I had word that you were off in the wilds beyond the city last night.″
Lines of anger bracketed his mouth.
Mastering her own spurt of anger, Lina bowed a brief welcome to her superior, and made no answer regarding her whereabouts while on leave.
″Should you like to come in, Administrator?″
″No, I should not, yo’Bingam. Give me the key cards for our ship – all that are in your possession.″
″All,″ she repeated, unsnapping her pouch even as she turned toward her jacket, hung on the back of a chair.
″You will not need your jacket," as'Barta snapped.
″A pilot keeps keys to hand, sir. You had wanted all in my possession.″
She slipped her hand into the discreet inner pocket and removed the first set of keys, and the second set from her pouch. Those she brought to the door, and held toward the Administrator, who fell back a step and waved peremptorily at the stranger pilot.
"Pilot sig'Sted receives the keys."
The pilot stepped forward to do so, her eyes averted. Lina frowned at the logo on the breast of her jacket. vee'Mastin Lines, she saw. Administrator as'Barta's vaunted "connections with the piloting sphere" included owning half of vee'Mastin Lines.
Lina's fingers tightened on the keys, and she pulled them slightly back.
"I will surrender these to a Scout," she said. "vee'Mastin Lines has no cause to hold the keys to a Scout ship."
"You will surrender those keys when and to whom I direct you!" snarled as'Barta. "Give them to her!"
"No," said Lina, and put both sets of keys into her pouch.
"Insubordination! I will see you stripped of rank, and license."
"I will surrender the keys of a Scout ship to a Scout," Lina returned. "You have hundreds of Scouts at your beck, Administrator. Call one here."
He moved, suddenly, surprisingly, kicking at her knee. She jumped back, avoiding the clumsy blow – and the door closed with a snap that meant the outside lock had been engaged.
Lina crossed the room to her screen, and called the duty desk.
"This is Lina yo'Bingam. I need to schedule an appointment with the base commander, immediately," she said.
There was a pause.
"Lina yo'Bingam, you are already on the commander's hearing list," the duty desk officer said. "Administrative Arbiter of Scouts as'Barta has filed a complaint, and placed your license under lock. The hearing is scheduled in two hours. You will be escorted to the meeting room."
#
Escort had been two Scout security officers. They had checked her weapon, locked it, and allowed her to return it to its place in her jacket. Ship keys were not mentioned; the first set was in her jacket; the second set in her pouch – standard proc
edure. Lina walked between her escorts calmly, eager to lay the situation out before a Scout, who knew the regs, and who would understand her objection to turning over the keys to a Scout ship to a passenger line pilot.
Her escort triggered the release on a door, and she walked into the conference room between them.
Before her was a conference table. Behind the conference table was Admin as'Barta, a hard-faced Scout captain – and the passenger line pilot to whom she had refused to give Bentokoristo's keys.
There were no chairs on her side of the table.
Lina drew a hard breath.
"Why is there a civilian at this Scout hearing?" she asked.
"It is not your place to ask questions here," snapped Admin as'Barta.
The Scout captain frowned.
"I will answer. It is a reasonable question of protocol, and an unusual situation."
He inclined his head slightly.
"Pilot sig'Sted is Administrator as'Barta's advising pilot. As the difficulties the Administrator has come to solve are Scout-based, it is considered best that the Administrator's team be outside of the Scout hierarchy."
"The disciplinary hearing is now called to order," Admin said briefly. "This procedure is being recorded and will become part of your permanent records."
He glanced down at his tablet and began speaking in her direction without making eye contact. As he spoke, he ran his fingers down the tablet, apparently checking tick-boxes as he hit each point.
″Last evening I had dinner with Pilot sig'Sted, a mature pilot well-known to me. Her melant'i is without stain, and I trust her implicitly in all matters of piloting."
Pilot sig'Sted, seated next to him had the grace to look embarrassed.
Lina put her hands behind her back, and broadened her stance, waiting.
"I described to Pilot sig'Sted the irregular and exhausting journey produced by Scout yo'Bingam on my behalf. Pilot sig'Sted gave it as her professional opinion that the pilot in charge had been hasty and foolhardy, had made questionable and potentially dangerous choices of route, and subjected me to unnecessary hardship."
He paused to glance up, but did not meet Lina's eyes.
"Based on this information, I immediately moved to have Scout yo'Bingim's license revoked until she has taken remedial piloting classes and re-certifies at every level."
Lina looked at the Scout Captain.
He avoided her eyes.
"I am," she said, "a Scout pilot. That is the equivalent of a master pilot. I –"
"You do yourself no good by being uncooperative," Admin as'Barta stated.
The Scout Captain said nothing.
Lina bit her lip.
"In addition to her piloting errors, and willful disrespect for my person, my melant'i, and my office, it has become clear that Lina yo'Bingim is an agent of the false Scouts. No sooner had we landed, she filed for leave, and met with an agent attached to the command structure of the very group which I am here to correct and bring back into alignment with the proper Liaden Scouts.
"In short, Lina yo'Bingim is working against my office, my mission, and myself. She is working to undermine and destroy the Liaden Scouts! Revoking her license to fly scarcely begins to address the problem. She must be struck from the lists of Liaden Scouts. In this, she will finally serve my office and my mission, by standing as an example of what happens to those who work against the proper order and the Code."
"Scout Captain – " Lina began.
"Be silent," Admin as'Barta snapped.
She glared at him, felt her escort shift closer from the sides, and closed her eyes briefly, accessing the rainbow, for calmness.
"You may retain your place in the Scouts, though at a much reduced rank," Admin as'Barta said, then. "Tell me what information you shared with this agent of the schismatic officer ter'Meulen."
She took a breath.
"He named his ship; I named mine. We shared our class years and first flight dates. We counted the bruises we had from the bowli ball match we had played, and laughed because there, too, we had tied. I did not tell him the name of my superior; he did not tell me the name of his, though ter'Meulen – "
She looked again to the Scout Captain, who did not meet her eye.
"ter'Meulen," she continued, facing the admin again, "was head of pilot security for the Scouts – for the Liaden Scouts – for decades. He is no enemy of yours. If it is ter'Meulen who has authored this breach, then you must look for the fault in our own ranks."
Admin as'Barta sat back, satisfied. He turned to the Scout Captain.
"You hear her. She must be cast out."
"Yes," the Scout Captain said. "I hear her. The paperwork will be completed this afternoon."
"Captain," Lina said urgently. "The keys to the Scout ship I piloted here – Bentokoristo. There are only six trained to fly her ..."
"That is no longer your concern, Lina yo'Bingim," he told her, and held out his hand.
"The keys, if you please."
Relief almost undid her. At least, in this, he would be proper. The Scout ship would be relinquished to a Scout.
She reached into her jacket, into her pouch, approached the table and placed the keys in his hand.
"Escort, take Lina yo'Bingim to her quarters. Hold yourselves ready to escort her out of this facility, once the paperwork is complete. Dismissed."
#
She was a Scout; everything she needed or wanted was in her jacket. Her license ... she drew it out, slid it into the slot – and caught it when it was forcibly spat out – rejected.
Thoughtfully, she considered Admin as'Barta, the Council of Clans, and the assumptions surrounding this mission to re-unite the Scouts.
She then considered Clonak ter'Meulen, whom she had known, slightly. A Scout sublime, Clonak ter'Meulen, and one who cared for his pilots above all other things.
What could have happened, to make Clonak ter'Meulen break away from the Scouts he had loved?
The door to her cubicle opened. Her escort said, "It is time."
They handed her a stick – her records, they said. They walked her to the door, and outside, into the port. They left her standing on cold 'crete at the edge of the street, and went back inside.
Lina yo'Bingim inhaled sharply, tasting the sharp, cold air, feeling the phantom flutter of a snowflake against her cheek.
Across the way, she saw the bright green of a call-box. She crossed to it, fingering the slip of paper with Kelby chel'Vona's numbers on it out of her belt.
He answered at once, sounding pleased to hear from her so soon.
"I find we have an acquaintance in common," she said, after they had been pleased with each other. "Clonak ter'Meulen."
"Yes, of course. Everyone knows Clonak, so I've always heard it."
"I, too," she said. "He never let a pilot reside in peril. I wonder if you could bring me to him?"
"Certainly, but – why?"
"One of the things I recall Clonak saying – his fondness for Terran quotations, you know. He had used to quite often say that It's better to be part of the solution than part of the problem.
"I want to talk to him about becoming part of the solution."
Ambient Conditions
"Oh," Kishara's younger sister Troodi said as she opened the door and beheld her elder sitting in the chair by the window, a book on her knee.
"Oh," Troodi said again, her eyes filling with tears. "Shara, I thought that – I'd hoped that – you'd – gone ahead."
"As you see, I am here," Kishara said gently, putting the book aside and rising. That she'd leave clan and kin ahead of this, her delm's summons to a banishment – but where would she have gone? She might, perhaps, have fled to Maplekai, had it been in port, but such a move would have endangered Clan Monfit entire. The Council in its current mood was perfectly capable of seizing her family's tradeship in Balance of an attempt to escape its instructions. And to hide on Liad – well, there was only the Low Port, and no one's dreams survived there.
&
nbsp; She did not say these things to her sister, who was not yet halfling, and could only see their uncle's betrayal. Later, when she was older, and, one hoped, her life less imperiled–then she would see that this had been the only course that would have preserved the clan, which was the duty of a delm. To Troodie, at twelve, it must seem there were no limits on the delm's power.
Kishara, her elder by a dozen Standards, had no fault to find with the delm's actions to preserve the clan, though she might have wished for a small sign or token to demonstrate an uncle's regard for the niece he must sacrifice, but there, Uncle Bry Sen had scarcely emerged from the delm, or the delm from his office, since the decision had at last been taken.
"This," Troodi said abruptly, her voice warm with hope; "Kishara, surely this proves them wrong? How is this moment lucky for you? How, therefore, are you lucky beyond nature?"
Her gift – the talent that made her a despised outcast – was at the best of times too strange to explain to one not similarly burdened. Still, one could not leave a young sister utterly without comfort. Kishara folded Troodi into an embrace.
"Sometimes," she murmured, her dry cheek pressed against her sister's damp one. "Sometimes, what seems at first to be the blackest bad luck is found, after a passage of time, and a re-examination of circumstance, to have been the best luck possible."
Her sister sniffled.
"Is this one of those times?" she asked, her tone, rightly, doubtful.
Kishara held her at arm's length, and produced a smile that was not wholly false.
"That we cannot know, until we allow time to pass."
She bent and kissed her sister's cheek.
"I must go," she said. "Try to forgive Uncle Bry Sen, sweeting; he's never so fierce as you are. And the delm – why, the delm has no choice in this at all, if he would protect the greater part of Monfit's treasures. This is not over, I'll wager. Your ferocity will be needed on behalf of the clan, yet."