by Sharon
Theo looked at him doubtfully. "You sound like you—don't want me to try."
He raised an eyebrow. "Child, this choice rests with you."
She bit her lip. "Did you . . . work . . . as a pilot, Father?"
He might have sighed, very gently. "Yes."
"Was it—do you wish you hadn't?"
"Never in my blackest hour." He laughed softly. "What a poor advisor I am, to be sure!"
"No," she said seriously. "A bad advisor lies just to keep somebody safe." She took a breath, but, really, her mind had been made up the moment she had heard Captain Cho's offer.
"I want to go." she said firmly.
"Go where?" Kamele asked from the doorway.
* * *
"How long, then," Kamele said, "to bring up those math scores?"
Father moved his shoulders. "I can tutor her, if you like it. Or I might assist in choosing an appropriate self-study course . . ."
"Would you teach me?" Theo asked diffidently. It was late, and her head was heavy. As far as she was concerned, the decision was made, all that was left were details. Kamele, though, seemed to want every corner nailed down tonight.
They'd long since repaired to the common room, breaking once to rustle sandwiches, and again to brew a new pot of tea.
"I will," Father said, lifting an ironic eyebrow. "If you will endeavor to recall that you desired me to do so."
"I will," she promised him, and smiled when Coyster, asleep on her lap, rolled over on his head and yawned hugely. "Really."
"How long?" Kamele repeated her question.
Father moved his shoulders. "If she is an apt pupil, she may be ready to enter the lower class at Anlingdin by the end of Delgado's current semester."
Kamele nodded, eyes thoughtful, and sipped tea.
"Is Eylot a Liaden world?" she asked then, and Theo blinked. She hadn't even thought to ask that!
"Eylot is what is politely termed 'an outworld' by proper Liadens," Father said. "Roughly, there is parity between the Liaden and Terran populations."
"So I should learn Liaden, too," Theo broke in, "before I go."
"You may wish to make a beginning, yes," Father said. "It's never amiss to carry an extra language or six in one's pocket."
"Conservatively, then, Theo will remain on Delgado for at least six—local—months," Kamele said.
"I believe that a fair estimate, yes," Father murmured.
"Well, then." She rose. "If you will both excuse me for a moment . . ." She left the room at a brisk walk.
Theo yawned, belatedly raising a hand to cover her mouth. "Is there any more tea?" she asked.
"A bit," Father answered. "We have drunk epic amounts, but I believe to good effect."
Theo giggled sleepily. "Would you pour me some more tea, please, Father?"
"Certainly, Theo." He did so and handed her the cup.
Theo sipped. It was the bottom of the pot, tepid, and absolutely delicious. She closed her eyes to savor the astringent flavor—and opened them as Kamele's step sounded in the hall.
Her mother re-seated herself on the sofa next to Father, and put the slim packet tied with pink ribbon on her lap.
"Theo," she said, leaning slightly forward. "Today is your fifteenth birthday."
"Today?" Theo sat up straighter, and looked over her shoulder at the clock. "You mean tomor—" But it was, so the clock told her, past midnight. She looked back to Kamele.
"Today," she agreed.
Her mother nodded. "You are now eligible to celebrate your Gigneri and to be entrusted with the tale of your grandmothers," she said slowly. "If you will allow me to advise you, I would suggest that you choose to have a small, private ritual in the old style at the earliest possible moment." She tapped the packet on her lap. "This morning, in fact."
Theo thought about that. If she had her Gigneri, she would be a beginning adult, with increased advantages—and responsibilities. She could, for instance, decide whether or not she needed a mentor. Unless she was condemned as a public hazard, the safeties couldn't force her to do anything . . .
"I see the advantages," she said, her hand flat on Coyster's upturned belly. "But—'old style'?"
It was Father who answered. "Your First Pair would be put off until a time and place of your choosing," he murmured. "Fifty local years ago, the mode was to celebrate the coming-of-age first, with one's inaugural sexual encounter to be arranged by the beginning adult herself, taking such advice from her elders as she deemed necessary."
Theo blinked. "Well, that makes sense," she said, and wondered why Father laughed.
"If it's acceptable to you, Theo," Kamele said seriously. "We can celebrate your Gigneri right now. Just the three of us."
"With," Father added, "the appropriate announcement in the Scandal Sheet."
Theo nodded, and gave Kamele a smile. "It's acceptable."
"Good." Kamele stood, and Father did. Theo struggled briefly before she managed to push Coyster off her lap, and stood, too.
Kamele held the packet out on the palms of her hands.
"Here is the tale of those who went before," she said solemnly. "You are the sum and the total of us. We rejoice in you, daughter, and are amazed."
Theo swallowed in a throat gone suddenly tight; stepped forward and took the packet in both hands.
"I am humbled," she said, and the phrase she had memorized as mere rote was suddenly, achingly true. "I am humbled before my ancestors, Mother, and will strive to do my best, in honor of those who went before me."
She stepped back, the packet still cradled in her hands. There was silence. Kamele's face was wet with tears, through which Theo plainly saw pride, and love—and, yes, amazement.
"Congratulations, Theo," Father said quietly. "I am proud that you are my daughter."
—END—
Afterword
Daughter of the Thing that Swallowed Georgia
or . . .
Why This Book is Special
All books are special. Writers invest so extravagantly in their work—time, love, money, worry—how can the result be anything other than special? To say that one story is more special than another . . . That's a matter of taste, really.
So, when we say that Fledgling is something a little out of the common way—special, in a word—we're referring not so much to the story you've just read, but to the circumstances of its birth.
Fledgling is a child born of necessity, fostered onto the internet, and left to soar.
That it did . . . but we're getting ahead of ourselves.
In December 2006, it became apparent that our long-time publisher's "cash-flow problems," had impacted our household finances, and not in a good way. Our situation was on the approach to dire, and we were seriously looking at having to live outdoors—not optimum in a Maine winter. We needed to do something, fast, in order get that old cash flowing, and there's only one thing we really know how to do—
Tell stories.
The rights to the "main line" Liaden books rested with our publisher. But we had this character, this off-the-beaten-universe story, this side book that we felt—not only confident that we could write, but that it would be fun to write. Ghu knew, we needed a little fun in our lives about then.
So, we announced to our readers on the internet that we would be starting a new project: We would be writing the first draft of a novel, live on the web. We'd post the first chapter on January 22, 2007. Subsequent chapters would need to earn $300 in donations before the next was posted. Readers who donated $25 or more would receive one copy of the dead tree edition of the novel, if it was ever published.
We figured, you see, that we would start off strong, then donations would slope away, and we'd be posting a chapter every, oh, two or three weeks.
Before December was over, readers had funded ten chapters. By the time the first chapter was posted, we were committed to writing twenty weekly episodes in the life and times of Theo Waitley.
But our readers did more than donate; they took
an interest—in Theo, in her problems, in her growing up, in the writing, and in the Live Journal community created to discuss the progress of the plot. They nourished the story; encouraged the heroine like fond aunts and uncles, commiserated with her, and loved her, with all her faults and foibles.
They gave Theo her wings, and they cheered when she soared.
In between it all, we had put aside enough of that flowing cash to print a paper edition of Fledgling limited to those people who had donated $25 or more, through our own small publishing company, SRM Publisher, Ltd.
By then, though, our former publisher had returned the rights to the mainline novels, and Baen Books had expressed an interest in new Liaden material.
So, we asked our agent to contact Baen, to see if there was interest in publishing Fledgling for a wider audience.
The answer was a resounding YES.
And that—all of that—is what makes this book special. What makes it . . . magical, really. Without the eager participation of hundreds of readers, and a publisher's willingness to try something new, you would never have met Theo.
There's more, though.
Not only did the readers nourish Theo, they nourished us; and the writing—well, we'd thought it would be fun, and it was. Maybe even a little too much fun.
In January 2008, we commenced writing the second novel about Theo Waitley, Saltation. Watch for it soon, from Baen Books.
Thank you—all of you—so very much.
Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
Waterville Maine
January 1, 2009
THE END
For more great books visit
http://www.webscription.net