Scouts Progress

by Sharon Lee

  So. Ran Eld bowed once more to hide his smile of triumph. "I am, as always, at your service, ma'am," he said and followed her into the dining hall, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  Tea had barely been poured when he heard footsteps on the stair, and saw a slim shadow flicker across the half-open doorway. Half a heartbeat later, the front door moaned on its hinges, and snapped softly shut.

  AELLIANA STRODE DOWN Mechanic Street, head high and face glowing. She was to train with Trilla this morning, after which she was to lift with Jon himself, who had sworn to put her through an emergency drill like no other.

  The door cycled and she stepped into the huge dim cavern of Binjali Repair Shop.

  Around the teapot was a cluster of leather-clad figures: Jon, Trilla, Clonak—and a tall man, dark hair clipped neatly back, silver twist swinging in one ear, cat sitting tall on his opposite shoulder.

  Aelliana felt her heart lift; she very nearly laughed for the sheer joy of beholding him.

  As if he heard her unvoiced joy, he turned, a smile lighting his eyes.

  "Hello, Aelliana."

  "Daav." Her own smile felt wide enough to split her face. "It's good to see you."

  "It's good to be seen," he returned gravely and she did laugh then, standing before him with her face tipped up to his.

  "Good comes in odd packages," Jon commented from his stool.

  "Jon scolds me for carrying Patch," Aelliana told Daav, reaching up to offer the cat a finger. "He says I'll spoil him."

  "The damage has long been done, I fear," he replied as Patch bent his head and allowed her to rub his ears.

  "Spoil a cat when there are the rest of us, hungering for a smile!" That was Clonak.

  Aelliana finished the cat's ear and stepped forward. "Good morning, Clonak."

  "Good-morning, goddess fair! Will you rub my ears?"

  She made a show of giving it consideration, head cocked to one side. "No."

  "Heart-torn again! Hold me, Daav, I'm bereft!"

  "Perhaps if you grew fur on them?" Daav suggested, not noticeably moved by this plea for comradeship.

  Clonak glared. "Mock me, oh Captain."

  "If you insist."

  "The pirates' delm came," Aelliana said, turning back to Daav, "and fetched them home." She grinned, throwing a glance over her shoulder to Jon. "Or mostly."

  He snorted. "Ring-and-monkey show."

  Daav smiled down at her, one eyebrow slightly askew. "I surmise that they were not clanless, after all?"

  "Not—entirely," she said, slowly. "It did seem to be all in a muddle. But the end of it is that they shall come here to work off—work off a debt Delm Reptor feels most strongly is owing, for Jon having given good wages for grunt-work. In the meanwhile, they—the pirates—shall live under Reptor's roof and—and—strive to—amend their difference." She looked up at him. "Or so he said."

  "Ah. And do you believe what he has said, I wonder?"

  She frowned, chewing her lip. "Yes," she said finally, "I do. He seemed an honest man—and honestly joyed to find them." She lay her hand on his sleeve and smiled. "It was good of you to send him."

  Both brows shot up. "I?"

  "Well, it must have been you," she said reasonably. "He knew exactly where to come, and asked for me by name. Jon didn't tell him, nor Trilla nor Clonak. I certainly didn't—I hadn't the least idea of how to go about finding their clan! So—"

  "When you have eliminated the impossible," Daav murmured, in Terran, "whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

  Aelliana blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

  He grinned. "An observation by a Mr. Holmes, I believe, on the nature of solutions."

  "The game is afoot!" Clonak shouted, clattering off his stool with a flourish. He looked to Jon. "I'll get on that maintenance update, if you like."

  "Always after the sit-down job," the old Scout grumbled. Clonak laughed and headed toward the office, flipping a casual hand at the rest. Patch jumped from Daav's shoulder and followed.

  Across the half-circle, Trilla slid to her feet and tossed Aelliana a grin. "Set for a bit of dancing, pilot?"

  "If you have the patience for me," she said. "I am aware I cannot give the challenge you might like."

  The other woman laughed as she unbuckled her tool belt. "Oh, and can you not?" She turned to the dark haired man as if she'd heard him speak. "Just a bit of menfri'at, Master Daav. No harm in it. Quite of a bit of good."

  He inclined his head. "As you say."

  He watched them walk away, noting the set of Aelliana's shoulders, the light, confident walk.

  "Hard to believe that's the same woman slunk in here half-a-quarter ago and whispered for her ship," Jon commented from his side. Daav looked down into a pair of speculative amber eyes.

  "We'll have her brawling in taverns before the year is done," he agreed, watching Aelliana shed her jacket and face Trilla across sub-bay one. "Fine work, Master Jon."

  "Now, now, I can't take all the credit. It was a certain young captain set her feet on the path by handing her a bowli ball and telling her to fight."

  Daav laughed. "Cow-handed as that? Poor captain."

  "Well, as I say, he's young, but his ideas aren't too bad. Usually."

  Trilla's first pass was fast and low—rather faster and lower than he would have expected. He felt his own muscles tense as Aelliana slipped gently to the left, sidestepping the attack and spinning, establishing her rhythm and the range of her dance.

  "How long has this been going on?" he asked Jon.

  "Matter of two days."

  "She's good."

  "Not bad. The fast stuff don't bother her, but come at her hard, like you're going to do damage and damn me if she won't back down every time." Jon sighed. "Never did hear who beats her."

  The crew door cycled and Daav looked around in time to see Sed Ric bin'Ala and Yolan pel'Kirmin step through. They came forward, the girl to the boy's right, stopped and made their bows.

  "Captain."

  "Children. Pilot Caylon tells me you are joyfully re-clanned."

  Yolan made no answer to that, though the look she flung him held no amazing charge of joy. The boy was likewise somber, but replied courteously enough, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  "Show the captain here your toy, young Sed Ric," Jon directed, pointing at the boy's belt. "Look at this, Daav."

  The jang-wire came out with a flash and a snap, held in the down position, limp and almost pretty.

  "Hah." Daav extended a hand. "May I?"

  Sed Ric offered the leather handle and Daav slid his fingers into the loop.

  "I believe this may be original," he said and went back a sudden, silent step, snapping the wire up and flicking his wrist, so.

  The limp wire went stiff, becoming an arm's length of double-edged blade, Daav grinned, shook the blade carefully and handed the quiescent weapon back to its owner.

  "Very nice, indeed. Where did you come by it?"

  "Uncle Lip Ten left it to us," Yolan said, "in a crate of things he'd gathered, star-hopping. Aunt Fris said it was junk and wished us joy of it."

  "Doubtless Aunt Fris has other virtues," Daav murmured and Yolan laughed, short and bitter. Over in sub-bay one, Aelliana spun and kicked, dancing neatly away from Trilla's snaking grab.

  "What—" Daav began, but the question was never finished.

  "Aelliana!" Clonak was on a dead run from the office, face, for once, entirely serious. "Aelliana!"

  In the circle of the dance, she spun, dropped her stance and came forward.

  "What is it?"

  "Tower on the line. Fellow on Outyard Five toppled into the mechanics. Autodoc mended the worst, but his heart failed him. Can you lift the spare and the health tech—"

  "Yes!" She snatched up her jacket. Clonak was already on his way back to the office.

  "Daav." She paused before him, hand on his sleeve, green eyes bright as she looked into his face. "Ride second board for me?"

  Adrenaline su
rged. He grinned. "Yes."

  "Thank you," she said, and was gone, running at the top of her speed.

  In the next instant, Daav was likewise gone, his shadow merging with hers as the crew door closed.

  THE DELM HAD DECIDED against a partnership with bel'Fasin.

  Oh, she had reasons, and gave them in-depth, her wish, she said, was to instruct him, so that when he was come delm. . .

  He scarcely attended her; sat, cold and disbelieving, while she spoke—rambling, meaningless sentences that meant, in final cipher, one thing:

  He was ruined.

  In his apartment abovestairs, Ran Eld riffled accounts that had been squeezed dry years ago, called up balance sheets and dismissed them, his hands shaking so badly he must make two and three attempts to strike the proper key.

  At length, he rose from his desk, poured himself a brandy and wandered the room, wracking his brain for something—for anything—he might sell or take loan against, that would keep San bel'Fasin at bay.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Emergency repairs at Tinsori Light. Left my ring in earnest. The keeper's a cantra-grubbing pirate, but the ship should hold air to Lytaxin. Send one of ours and eight cantra to redeem my pledge. Send them armed. In fact send two. . ..

  —Excerpted From A Beam Letter From

  Jen Sin Yos'phelium Clan Korval To His Delm,

  Written In The First Relumma

  Of The Year Named Dalenart

  THE TECH WENT INTO the hold with his life unit, strapped into the rumble-seat and reported himself ready.

  Daav checked the webbing, made certain the unit was properly dogged, advised the tech to take a nap and walked back to his station.

  "End," Aelliana said into the comm as he slid into the co-pilot's slot and pulled the shock-straps tight.

  "Confirmed," Tower announced half-a-heartbeat later. "Lift at will, Ride the Luck."

  She shot him a look from eyes more brilliant than emeralds. "Ready?"

  "Ready."

  "Engage gyros."

  JON DEA'CORT STOOD before the command wall in the side bay, working the dials, swearing ferociously at a shower of static. The band caught suddenly, delivering the curt tones of Port Control.

  ". . .shift lanes immediately. We have an emergency. Freighter X38519, slipshift to alternate path R9. Tansberg's Folly on approach, divert to Binjali's sling—"

  "Trilla!" Jon shouted.

  "On it," came the laconic response as the alert sounded overhead.

  "Allow me to provide visuals, Master dea'Cort." Clonak stepped to Jon's side, his hands dancing over the screen-controls, bringing the four most pertinent to sharp life.

  "This is Pilot Aelliana Caylon, Ride the Luck." Calm as if she were discussing the likelihood of rain. "We have our package and are ready to lift at pilot's two minutes. Mark. Request clearance, Tower. Route computed, checks in line, transmitted . . . End."

  "Markham's Mistress, change lanes now!" Tower snarled. "Lift at will, Ride the Luck. All ships, priority clearance to Ride the Luck. We have an emergency. . ."

  There was a roar and a shifting whine, which was the gyros spinning to full, and then the muted, held-out throb of power that was lift-off, close by. On the visuals, Ride the Luck cleared Solcintra Port and hurtled upward. The radio had a moment free of chatter, into which Trilla's exuberant, "Caught her!" sang savage with delight.

  The chatter took up again, grousing about skewed schedules, hovering deadlines, pile ups, back ups and—

  "At nearest convenience, will Ride the Luck put navcomp on line?" Tower requested with unusual politeness. Clonak gave a shout of laughter and Jon grinned. The pirates, hovering at wall-edge, looked at each other with wide-stretched eyes.

  "At nearest convenience," Tower repeated—"Thank you, Pilot Caylon."

  There was a gabble of chatter—wonderment, such like: "Caylon? The Tables? That Caylon? . . . chel'Mara's ship . . . Flies her like a Scout!"—and then another voice, overriding all the others.

  "Aelliana Caylon, Ride the Luck, amending filed course. Projected time savings seven-point-three minutes."

  "Continue," Tower directed, while the rest of near space held its collective breath.

  "We'll be adding a delta vee of 23.8 percent at 14:01.33; and we'll be crossing shipping intersections 14, 15, 16 and 23. At 14:08.14 we will change attitude to 170 degrees exactly and add a delta vee of 33.6 percent plus or minus a tenth. As we hit the tidal effect zone we'll pick up an additional delta vee of 17.04 percent and also be south of the main equatorial shipping lanes so we'll have no clearance problems. My window is 13:59 to 14:03, which at my mark begins in three minutes. May I have confirmation?"

  Silence hummed through the lines for a full thirty seconds, broken, at last, by Daav: "Verified."

  "In her head!" a Terran-tinged voice whooped from close in. "Working it in her head, damn me for a mudhog! Who's running second—"

  "Ride the Luck, we have a confirm on that." Tower sounded just the tiniest bit rattled. "You're all go."

  The chatter broke over the comm in waves: "Tower fifty-eight seconds behind, running a comp as big as your homeworld!" I'll drink for free tonight! Caylon at the board, is it?"

  There was more of approximately the same, which Jon ignored, glancing instead to the wall of screens.

  "What's she got in—"

  "The tide!" Trilla cried, leaning over his shoulder to point as Sed Ric and Yolan crowded closer. "She's going to catch the tidal effect at the juncture with planetary grav—"

  "She's what?" Clonak cleared a screen and flung the equation into it, fingers blurring as he built the schematic. "I'm damned," he said suddenly. "Jon, look at this."

  "I see it. A rare wonder, our math teacher."

  It was pretty much textbook then, with one more small adjustment, as Daav kicked them onto an auxiliary approach that put them practically in the 'yard's back door. It shaved another minute and would have been counted very pretty, had it not been overshadowed by Aelliana's stunning bit of work. Jon backed the chatter down and shook his head, Terran-wise, in admiration.

  "The woman's unbelievable," Clonak murmured, keying up the replay. "On the run, in her head . . . I'm in love, Master-mine."

  "For the fifth time since yesterday," Jon snorted, elbowing himself a spot at the board. He watched the replay in reverent silence, lost in the beauty of the maneuver. To shave seven minutes—seven minutes—off a lift measured and calibrated and understood to the nanosecond, while she was running board, close in traffic, with the possibility of someone breaking out—in her head, as Clonak said. . .

  "I'd sign her first class this minute," Jon murmured, "and a blight on the regs. Anyone who can fly like that—"

  "A goddess," Clonak sighed, sounding more than half-serious. "I claim the privilege of naming her first class, sir, and I am prepared to duel for the honor."

  "Yes, but she'll never believe she earned it that way," Jon said, keying the replay to storage. "The book is the path and the math teacher aims to follow it through every twist and cranny."

  "We've been avoiding the tidal effect ever since the first ship shed atmosphere," Clonak was almost singing. "Avoiding it! Compensating for it! Aelliana Caylon uses it and speeds her package on its way! Poor Daav."

  "His trick lost in shadow, eh?" Jon grinned. "He won't mind."

  "No, I suppose he won't. Anything that improves the lift is joy to Daav, no matter if your grandmother conned it."

  Jon started, eyes widening, then going narrow. "There's a notion, though." He turned from the screens and strode down-bay, snagging his jacket from the hook as he went by.

  "I'll be back!" he called and vanished through the door, as Trilla, Clonak and the pirates exchanged puzzled stares.

  TECH AND PACKAGE off-loaded, Ride the Luck rode a holding pattern, waiting for Port Control to sort the scrambled traffic and give them clearance to land.

  The pilot had gone to fetch tea from the pantry, leaving the board in charge of her co-pilot, who had rec
lined his long self at his station, watching the go-lights through half-closed eyes.

  Brief as it was, Daav thought, one ear cocked toward the radio, this lift had thus far been among the most remarkable of his career. Who but Aelliana Caylon could have conceived the notion of using the tidal influence every other pilot in the universe so busily avoided? Who but that same amazing mind could have framed, checked and executed so exciting a new maneuver in the time—

  "Daav? You did want tea?"

  He opened his eyes with a grin and extended a languid hand for the mug. "It's a lazy second you're burdened with, pilot."

  "Yes, certainly." She laughed softly and perched on the edge of her own chair, eyes flicking over screens, lights, readouts.

  "It was fortunate you had known of that auxiliary route," she said. "I should have lost us three minutes at the last, lining up the primary approach."

  "No more than one-point-five," Daav corrected. "And you had already gained us seven that were utterly unlooked-for."

  She moved her shoulders and glanced down into her mug. "I had been working on a notion about the tidals about a year ago," she said. "It wouldn't come together, so I put it aside. Something—shifted—when you showed me Little Jump the other day. And then today, when I saw the numbers and the relationships—" She looked up, pride apparent, though she fought to keep her features composed. "It all just tumbled into place." Abruptly she gave up the struggle for dignity and allowed the grin its freedom. "Pretty, isn't it?"

  "A thing of astonishing beauty," Daav agreed, smiling into sparkling green eyes. Those same eyes widened, then moved aside, flashing over the stat-lights.

  "You did send Delm Reptor to find the pirates, didn't you?" The look she gave him was quizzical. Daav sighed.

  "I suppose I will have to own the act, though I refuse to bear all the blame." He raised his mug to her in light salute. "Jon found who they were."