Fledgling

by Sharon

  There were cheers and hoots and hugs all around, as fully three quarters of the partyers exited in one fell swoop,

  Theo's voice said "Geesh!" while her hands indicated Batch bad noise bad connected head computers, gone is good . . .

  Moment, came the response, two pilots leave also look.

  Theo glanced up, saw the pair, one wearing a leather jacket and the other in what looked like exercise clothes, mumbling at each other by hand as they reluctantly followed the crowd.

  Their fingers were moving, but the signs weren't as clear or as broad as Cho's, leaving Theo more confused than enlightened.

  Big plan better do us us need good long something double roll talky bright skin

  Theo heard Cho make a sound perilously close to a snicker, and her fingers snapped out query?

  Her tutor tipped her head as if she were congratulating Theo, her fingers forming

  out-duty shop talk . . . the rest squashed into meaninglessness as a palm came up and out, the signal that they should stop talking.

  "Breakfast, mamzelle?" Their waiter this morning was a slender man with quiet eyes. Theo gave her order, out loud, of course, her fingers dancing the words as she spoke them.

  "Allow me to counsel you to still your fingers when you speak," Cho said, after they were alone. "There may seem to be no harm in it; indeed, it may at first reinforce learning. However, it may quickly become a . . . difficult habit, and troublesome to break."

  Theo guiltily curled her fingers into her palms. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

  "Pah! I am a Scout. As such, I study survival in all its faces. Many find that a Scout's level of caution is far beyond what is useful in their own lives. Still, I would be less than a true teacher, did I not advise you thus."

  Theo considered that. "We're taught advertency, at school," she said slowly. "Scholars need to be cautious, too."

  "Indeed they do," Cho said seriously, pouring more tea into her cup.

  Theo's cereal arrived. She smiled at the waiter, and thanked him, and turned her head to watch him bus the table beside them, balancing five cups and an unfinished tray of pastry with effortless grace.

  "And so," said Cho suddenly, pulling Theo's eyes to her.

  "What have we learned thus far, my student? Aside from the fact that one cannot read hand-talk while in full admiration of a view?"

  Cho had her hands wrapped comfortably around her cup. Theo, her face warm, placed her fingers firmly against the table, and answered by voice.

  "May I ask a question, first?"

  Cho inclined her head.

  "That man—our waiter—he's a pilot, isn't he?"

  Cho lifted her head, her casual glance at the departing figure sharpening abruptly.

  "Indeed," she said finally, "he may be. But what makes you ask?"

  Theo shrugged, and sipped her tea, concerned that what she was about to say wasn't really very smart. Even so, there wasn't any way not to answer, now that she'd brought the question up.

  "I think I see pilots," she said, meeting Captain Cho's eyes. It sounded as silly as she'd feared, but Cho only looked interested.

  "Oh, indeed? Is there anyone else, besides myself?"

  "Not that . . . now that he's gone." Theo leaned forward, fingers pressing the table hard. "But, I can look at people walking, or sometimes even standing, and tell if they're pilots. Now that I know what I'm seeing—Win Ton has it, you do, the man who left now . . . the pilots chasing the party . . . the pilots I play bowli ball with."

  "Hah!" said Cho, taking a sip. "It," she repeated, and poured more tea into her cup.

  Theo forced herself to pick up her spoon and address her breakfast. It was good; soy-oats with apple bits . . .

  "It may well be that you are able to see, as you say, 'it,'" Cho said eventually. "Some have eyes that see more than others, after all."

  Theo looked up. "But—I couldn't see it before!"

  Cho inclined her head.

  "I venture to predict that there are very few pilots among your classmates," she said. "And Delgado is not such a world as one sees pilots upon every walkway."

  "I guess most of my teachers aren't pilots," Theo agreed, "and there's no piloting school on Delgado—" She looked up, hope sudden and hot—"is there?"

  Cho shook her head, emphasizing the denial with a firm finger-spelt, not.

  Theo sighed, and took a spoonful of her cereal. It tasted a little flat, suddenly. Maybe, she thought, it was getting cold. She pushed it aside and wrapped her hands around her tea cup.

  "You asked what I had learned," she said slowly. "Besides the signs themselves, I've learned that hand-talk is . . . fun, but that you can't say everything in it."

  "Do you think so, indeed? It is true that hand-talk developed for speed and clarity in . . . radical environments. A survival tool, you see? Still, pilots are inventive, and there are some who discuss philosophy in it, and those who use it to—"

  "Philosophy?"

  "Assuredly. In this ship's public library archives you may find, in translation or transliteration, a copy of The Dialogs of the Hospice. Two rescued pilots were for some years among a sect forbidding writing and speech. They thus held lengthy debates in hand-talk. After a second rescue, this to a civilized world, they transcribed their discussions, verbatim as it were. Do not think that hand-talk is so limited. And, of course, the more used among friends or associates, the more it becomes personal."

  Theo thought about that.

  "So everyone who hand-talks has their own accent?"

  "Yes, that is a good way to see it. Terran pilots will have a different accent from Liaden pilots, and a Scout may bear yet a third accent. However, we may all speak together in an emergency, for the basic signs are held in common."

  "And this," Theo asked, striving to reproduce the sign Cho had flashed in the aftermath of the chair rescue. "This means . . . ?"

  "Ah!"

  Cho repeated the sign. It came with overtones of extrafine best ready complete perfection, and a ghostly finger-snap at the very end.

  "This is a phrase mostly in use among Scouts. To speak it, we would say binjali. Consider it to mean . . . well, it can mean ready or excellent or all things are fine and good."

  "So, that's a Liaden word? Binjali?" Theo smiled, liking the feel of the word in her mouth. She tried again to wrap her fingers around it, and found that felt good, too.

  "No," Cho said slowly. "Many Liadens will not know this word, which has only accidentally become a Scout word and thus slithered into hand-talk." She smiled. "I had said that pilots are inventive, did I not? Scouts are trebly so—and that may serve you as a warning!"

  Theo laughed, her fingers moving, it seemed of their own will.

  Captain, she signed, this spaceship voyage binjali!

  Thirty-One

  Vashtara

  Breakfast All Year

  ". . . back-up?" Aelliana inquired. Credit where credit was earned, her tone was no more acid than was necessary to carry the point.

  "Suggestions?" he countered, slouching into his chair and closing his eyes. "Who shall we risk? Ella, charged with guarding Kamele's back? The Dean of Oriel? The Bursar?"

  Monit Appletorn, his lifemate stated.

  He opened his eyes, staring startled at the ceiling.

  "What an . . . interesting . . . suggestion."

  * * *

  She was packed. All of her blue clothes were in a special bag provided by Vashtara, which would be stored in a locker on Melchiza Station. The claim-ticket was sealed safely in the innermost pocket of her travel-case; her school book was asleep and tucked into a protected sleeve.

  Melchiza-cash—thin rectangles of blue plaslin woven with data-thread, the denomination of each bill stamped in white—she had in several places. The mandated three-days-eating-money was in the inside pocket of the new red jacket Kamele had bought her when she realized that Theo's jacket and all her thickest sweaters were blue. The rest of her Melchiza money, her cred from home, and the mem-stick with Win Ton's
letter on it, she had in a flat pouch that hung around her neck by an unbreakable cord. She'd bought the pouches during the same shopping trip that had produced the red jacket—one for her and one for Kamele.

  Kamele had looked . . . kind of funny when she opened the bag, but she'd only said, "How foresightful, Theo. Thank you."

  She sealed her bag and pulled it out into the main part of their stateroom. Kamele was curled on the big chair, her attention on her book.

  "I'm going down for my lesson with Captain Cho," Theo said, adding silently for my last lesson with Captain Cho.

  Her mother looked up and gave her an abstracted smile. "Good. Please give her my warmest regards, Theo. It was a pleasure to travel with her."

  Throat tight, she nodded, and turned away.

  * * *

  The public halls were crowded, even over-crowded, as if everyone on the ship had thought of something that they needed to buy before Melchiza and were resolved to visit every shop on-board until they found it. By contrast, Breakfast All Year was very nearly empty. A man and a woman sat with their heads together in a booth in a corner of the room; a threesome she vaguely recognized as being attached to the Visitors' League were sitting on stools at the counter.

  Captain Cho was at their usual table, but that was all that was usual. Theo stopped in amazement, staring at the formal tea service, the dainty cakes, small breads, and cheeses . . .

  Cho's fingers rippled like water.

  No alarm—(smooth face!) budget mine!

  Right, that lesson was on-going with the finger-talk, though Theo was pretty sure she'd never manage to perfect the smooth, uninformative expression that Cho considered polite for everyday use.

  Please sit, Cho motioned now. Feast celebrate joint learning.

  Parting? Theo asked, her hands giving the word more energy than she had intended.

  "Those who part," Cho said aloud, "may anticipate the joy of reunion. Sit, child. I wish to mark in this small way the pleasure you have brought to me, as a student, and as a fellow traveler. Truly, this journey would have been much duller without your companionship."

  Theo felt her eyes sting. She blinked, and bowed—one of Father's brief, crisp bows that could mean anything from "thank you" to "your point," and slid into the chair opposite.

  "Excellent." Cho poured tea for them both, raised her cup and sipped. Theo followed suit, and put the cup down, and looked up, wondering what—

  "If you will excuse me," her tutor said briskly. "I will return in good time." With that, she rose and was away, leaving Theo to contemplate the plates of goodies, none of which she felt hungry enough to eat.

  "Sweet Mystery, may I join you?"

  She gasped, spinning in her chair. Win Ton inclined his head, his smile looking, not quite certain. He was wearing his leather jacket—his pilot's jacket, she corrected herself—and his hair was rumpled, like he'd just pulled off a hat . . .

  Her fingers were more eloquent than her voice, or maybe it was that she was smiling so hard there wasn't room for any words.

  Welcome well met sit be at ease.

  "Thank you," he murmured. He sat next to her, his smile not so tentative anymore, in fact looking positively joyous.

  "Theo, I'm so very glad to see you. I received your note, and treasure it. Duty has been stern, for of course, once I was on-roster this and that little thing could be found to occupy my time. I have been hoping to match schedules . . . However, that is last shift! I have just now overseen the docking of the ship carrying the Melchiza pilot to us, and therefore have, as even my shift boss admits, earned a break."

  "Officer In Charge?" Theo asked, peering at the name tag affixed to his collar.

  "So they say. May I share tea?"

  She blushed, her fingers dancing, pleasure friend sharing.

  Remembering Cho's deliberate motions as she had poured, Theo strove to match them. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't, but at least she didn't spill the tea, and Win Ton took his cup with a serious, "My thanks to you."

  He sipped, and she did, each putting their cup on the table with care.

  Goes well lessons query, he offered. Mine good. Theo watched his face as well as his hands as Win Ton signed, seeing him offer emphasis as well as concentration.

  Binjali, she returned, and he laughed.

  "Binjali?" he said aloud. "Excellent! You've been among pilots, then!"

  Theo made her eyes very wide, the way Father did when he was pretending to not to know what you were talking about.

  "Isn't Captain Cho a pilot?" she asked.

  He grinned and inclined his head, fingers accepting her true point.

  "She is that, a pilot," he murmured. "She also is very careful of her language at all times. I think the captain approves of you."

  Win Ton sipped delicately at his tea, judiciously eyeing the cheese plate before making a graceful swoop with his right hand and nodding his thanks to Theo.

  "Captain Cho," she began, "provides . . ."

  "Assuredly, she does, but she would not be if she did not approve of you. If she did not approve of you, I would not be permitted to sit here now, for it is certain that she barely approves of me."

  Theo scanned his face, but all she could see was bland politeness.

  "Is that true?" she asked.

  Joke his fingers told her, while he answered dryly, "It is the fashion, I believe, to disapprove of one's apprentice."

  She grinned and took some cheese for herself, suddenly hungry, after all.

  "Time flies, my shift boss swears," Win Ton murmured. "And I fear that I must find him correct in this, as in so much else that he has taught me. So, quickly, before I squander all to no purpose—there are two topics I must press for . . ."

  His hands motioned with your permission only, and Theo answered continue without really thinking about it, then interrupted herself.

  "I'm surprised Cho has been gone so long . . ."

  "It has been some time," he agreed; "but she must be, else she would be party to a conversation which is not hers and which is . . . of a nature perhaps not entirely covered by the Code."

  "She's hiding while we talk?" Theo blinked. "Isn't that silly?"

  He bowed, very lightly.

  "'Silly' is among the more difficult of Terran words to translate," he said gently. "Let us say, rather, that, in Liaden terms, her absence is a nice balance of courtesy and esteem."

  "Then we should get on with it," Theo said, "before her tea gets cold."

  Very good his hands signaled, while he bit his lip.

  "First then," he said when he had recovered his composure, "I will repeat myself and say I have been pleased to make your acquaintance, and to have been permitted to spend time with you. And while it is . . . statistically and logistically unlikely that we shall meet again, I . . ."

  Theo felt herself go bland, nearly blank.

  "Theo?"

  She was quiet a moment; the blank feeling went away, and suddenly her head was filled with whizzing thoughts, and a dreadful understanding that he could be right.

  For some reason, her eyes were wet.

  "That's hard . . ." she managed, voice wobbling.

  Win Ton paused, watching her, his hands fluttering true true true. After a moment, he gathered himself and went on.

  "This accident of our meeting is, I think, a fine accident. The odds of our meeting again—as an accident—those are not good. It is perhaps this bit of pilot lore which my captain required me to learn best on this part of our journey. The necessities of the Scouts and those of my clan being only slightly less aligned with each other than the necessities of Delgado with either, and none of them aligned with the necessities of Kamele Waitley—Theo, we dare not depend upon accident if we wish at some future time to be—or not to be!—in the same place."

  He paused—his searching-for-a-word pause—then rushed on.

  "The problems are complex. Simply said, my clan has no interest in me or my affairs until it is time for me to marry. The Scouts, being of
the opinion that only clan and life-debts have call upon me greater than their own, thus do not pass on any communications save their own. This means that the only address I have which may be permanent for someone in your condition is one that . . ."

  "My condition?" Theo hadn't realized she was going to speak; it seemed as if Win Ton was babbling. As if he were nervous—but of her?

  "Yes," he said, quickly recovering from the break in thought. "Yes, your condition. The condition of a student on the verge of becoming her own person, yet tied still by necessity to a world for which she is not best fit."

  The look he gave her was nearly a glare, while his hands motioned, permission to continue?

  Theo felt her cheeks warm, muttered, "Sorry . . ." as her fingers agreed, continue now.

  "Yes." Win Ton sipped his tea, carefully, Theo thought.

  "Given your condition," he said, more moderately, "I propose to share with you my Pilots Guild address, which will be stable for the next seven Standards and likely the seven Standards after that, and the seven after that. It is the only address I might consider permanent, for even if the Scouts cast me aside as unworthy I cannot imagine being other than a pilot."

  His fingers, flickered—not hand-talk, but rather a motion to his pocket and then an extension to her.

  Held between the first two fingers of his right hand was a card, light gray in color. She took it, the paper rough against her fingertips, and looked down.

  His name was rendered in shiny black letters in Trade beneath what she assumed was his name in Liaden; there were also numbers and letters but they were hard to read . . .

  She sniffed through her tears, looked into his face. "I so wanted to see you before I left," she said, her voice wobbling, "and now I'm a wreck because you're here!"

  He sighed and spoke softly, "I have training as a Liaden, which indeed is fearful training, else I might weep as well. You see, this is why my captain is presently standing where she and I can both pretend that I cannot see her, waiting patiently for me to leave!"

  Theo laughed shakily, sniffed, and wiped her eyes.

  "When you are someplace," Win Ton continued, "where you feel the reply address will be good for some while, if you feel that you would like me to know about your doings, or that you wish to know about mine, use this address."