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Twenty

 

Vashtara
First Class Dining Room

Senior Scout Cho sig'Radia strode toward dinner with her mind more than half occupied with the report she was composing. Gone ahead of her, likely by the somewhat improper use of the crew corridors, was her immediate second on this mission, Trainee yo'Vala. She shrugged Terran-style to herself as she moved along the public promenade toward the dining hall; soon enough the trainee would discover that courtesy of ship varied considerably. That crew on this ship respected a pilot's jacket—was good to know. That the trainee had the happy gift of making friends was—well for the trainee.

For this portion of the trip, Scout sig'Radia had herself eschewed pilot leathers, wishing some relief from what had been a tedious, if necessary, chore of inspecting and certifying a new flight school. Too, she traveled at the expense of Ibenvue's planetary government on this newest of its cruise-passenger ships, a touching show of faith that she felt, in Balance, ought to be rewarded by a similar exhibition of discretion. That this reciprocity of good manners also allowed her the opportunity to explore the ship as if a mere tourist was—a bonus.

The school now, the certification of which had been so very important to Ibenvue's self-declared pacifistic and newly outward-looking government. Quite an interesting school, with the capability of producing . . . quite a number . . . of pilots. She had certified it, of course—how could she not? The school employed two Terran master pilots as trainers, either capable of approving a pilot's skill—and signing the all-important license. It was said—many times said, by the escort she and yo'Vala had been provided with—that Ibenvue's school sought to train pilots who would train pilots, thus bringing the homeworld fully into galactic commerce, and for this laudable goal both Terran Guild and Scout approvals had been sought.

An interesting venture, to be sure, this expected export of pilot-teachers. Match it against the investment of a staggering portion of Ibenvue's Gross Planetary Product in the acquisition of large, easily convertible "luxury" ships—such as the gracious Vashtara—and an enhanced military—necessary of course for the protection of both pilots and of ships, and one had a situation which . . . bore scrutiny. Perhaps even close scrutiny, and by those who were not put boldly forth as a Scout Inspector Specialist. Which suggestion she had made, very strongly, in her report.

Well, she told herself, as she approached the junction with the hospitality module, best to put the report and thoughts of the report aside for the next while and instead partake of those diversions created by one's fellow passengers. This being, by reason of a lack of handwritten invitations from the captain, an informal meal, tables were formed from random groups of hopeful diners, and the luck of the draw often provided amusement, and not infrequently, useful information.

From the corridor opposite came a sudden din, closely followed by its authors, the same small handful of academics she had briefly encountered yesterday.

That meeting had produced something akin to amusement, for the loudest of the group had mistaken her for a tour-aide and demanded her assistance. Professora, perhaps an attending bedmate or two, and a female halfling trailing, quiet and large-eyed, behind, all expectantly waiting for her to solve the universe in one quick answer. Well, except for the halfling, whose attention had been claimed by a pair of buskers, autopipes at volume, and donation dish well over the docking line.

The solving requested of Cho had been simple enough—she had simply pointed to the nearby help terminal. The buskers, alas, had not fared so well. A crewman, directed by a flutter of the dock steward's fingers, bore down upon them, snarling what Cho had taken by tone to be an insult in the local dialect. Scooping up the bowl, he'd thrown it at the taller musician's head, after pocketing the few coins it had held.

The halfling had seen it all, so Cho thought, though by then she had been on her way up the ramp, surrounded by the noisy confusion of her elders.

The professorial group burst into the corridor ahead of her, their talk filling the space with echoes. Cho took a deep breath in protest of the hubbub, and stood to one side, observing.

The first into the intersection was the halfling, skipping lightly through the change of the gravity field at the lock boundary as if she were born to such things. Behind her, one of the elders tripped, and bounced sharply against the wall. The halfling turned, one hand extended—

"Theo, please don't . . ." a woman's fine voice said, perfectly audible beneath the elder's loud exclamations. The halfling—Theo—spun deftly on one toe, removing herself from danger as the elder staggered, colliding with the other side of the passage. She barely kept her feet, her lamentations increasing in volume and degree, her uninformed actions elevating her rapidly toward a risk to passengers and to ship.

This, Cho thought, would not do.

Moving away from her watching place, she brought up her brightest meet-the-Terrans smile, and called out with calm good cheer, "Yes, these grav-interfaces can be quite shocking, can they not? That is why these yellow-and-green stripes line the walls—to warn of the coming field differential."

Now she was among them, pleased to see that they slowed in response to her tone and her posture of relaxed goodwill. With luck, the rest would avoid a repeat of the loud woman's misadventure.

Alas, that woman, rather than sensibly awaiting rescue, had wallowed into a turn and now blundered back across the divide, smacking the wall for a third time. She would, Cho thought dispassionately, have bruises on the morrow, which would have been well enough, had there been any remotest possibility that she would have also learned something.

"My stomach . . ." the clumsy woman moaned, clinging to the smooth wall and closing her eyes tight. "Why must we cross this chasm for every meal?"

A younger and considerably fitter woman moved toward the now-stable sufferer, her posture somewhat stiff, but well-enough for a grounder approaching a change of gravity.

"Chair, we needn't come to the dining room, after all," she said, her voice coolly matter-of-fact. "Our meals can be brought to us, if we like . . ."

"Chair" seemed to consider this point; at least her vocal agitation subsided. The cool-voiced woman turned slightly and directed a half-bow to Cho.

"Ma'am, you appear to travel comfortably. Do you take all of your meals on-board in public, I wonder?"

Cho gave the bow back, pleased to meet good intent with courtesy.

"I tend to do so, traveler, unless duty keeps me at my desk. Much of my joy in travel comes from the people." This was perfectly true, and something she often said. If certain travelers therefore assumed that they were the cause of joy—what harm done?

"Then you are an experienced traveler?" The woman's voice was trained—perhaps, Cho thought, she was a singer, or a teller of tales. She appeared not only sharp and alert, but also seemed to be one who had perhaps dealt closely with Liadens. The careful inflection, and the deliberate structure of a yes-no query was very nearly a challenge.

Cho laughed out loud, in fellowship more than amusement, and inclined her head.

"Travel is my life, I warrant! I do not willingly stay long on any world. It is not, you understand, that I dislike worlds, but that I prefer space."

Her interlocutor smiled, perhaps in shared fellowship, and several others of the group laughed softly, as people will who have recognized humor without entirely catching the joke. Beneath these sounds, Cho detected another, and glanced aside to discover the ignored halfling—winsome Theo—amusing herself with the gravity nexus. She leaned playfully forward, allowing the field to keep her upright, pale hair flowing—

"Theo, surely that's not safe!" Chair snapped. From Theo's blink and the stiffening of the woman with the storyteller's voice, Cho surmised that this input was both out-of-bounds and unwelcome.

"But I'm not having a problem, Professor Hafley," Theo said, holding her arms out at her sides, as if she were a bird gliding down a placid breeze. "It's like leaning into a wind!"

The thin young face was almost impish with the joy of her play and it took Cho's best effort not to laugh.

"Certainly leaning into the wind isn't safe!" Chair—but no, Cho corrected her thought—Professor Hafley—snapped. "You'll fall flat on your face when it changes direction!"

"Chair," the woman who knew Liadens murmured; "I think Theo has demonstrated that she's not in danger—"

"Even if she isn't, she's making me queasy! In my day, junior scholars stood up straight, kept still and displayed a proper respect for their elders in learning!"

"Orkan," the prettiest of the group's two males spoke up suddenly, his voice plaintive. "It's time for our seating, and I, for one, am hungry."

Cho's stomach quite agreed with the need for food; and the pretty one's complaint seemed to carry weight with Professor Hafley, who turned with heavy-footed care to face her nemesis once more. Moving quickly, Cho dodged past, waving Theo to her side with a wink.

"Youngling, if you'll favor me, we may walk ahead and claim a table for the group."

Theo glanced over her shoulder, but apparently whoever held her in care gave permission, for she came along willingly; and if she skipped a little in the lighter gravity of the access hall, who, thought Cho, could blame her?

* * *

They'd claimed the last full table—or rather, the woman with the short gray hair had, calmly telling the steward that, "the rest of our party comes at leisure, while we two madcaps raced before."

The tables in the dining hall were round, which Professor Crowley said neatly solved many potential problems of precedence and protocol. That it didn't solve all problems of precedence Theo had learned only at breakfast, when she had mistakenly taken the chair at Kamele's right. That chair also being to the left of Clyburn's onagrata, it was, so he had informed her—and the rest of the dining hall—his. Mere children were to stand respectfully aside until the adults were seated, and then quietly take the chair that had been left for them.

"Favor me, child," the gray-haired woman murmured; "and sit at my right. I am desolated to perceive a lack of mine apprentice, derelict in his duty to keep me upon my mettle."

The tone was suspiciously close to Father's over-serious voice. Theo looked into the woman's polite face, catching the faintest twinkle in the brown eyes.

"I'll gladly do that, ma'am," she said carefully. "But what if your apprentice comes—later?"

"Why then, he shall sit at your right to observe such technique as you will display, and to bask in my displeasure at a survivable distance."

Theo laughed as she took the chair the woman indicated. "We didn't do introductions," she said. "I'm Theo Waitley."

"I greet you, Theo Waitley," her seat-mate replied, with a heavy nod—almost a seated bow, Theo thought. "My name is . . . Cho sig'Radia."

Theo copied the nod. "I greet you, Cho sig'Radia," she said.

Her companion smiled—a smile quite different from the smile she had worn at the intersection lobby. As if, Theo thought, the other smile had been . . . deliberate, somehow . . . 

The sudden babble of familiar voices disrupted these musings. Theo turned to see the rest of their group at the steward's station.

"The remainder of our party joins us! How delightful, to be sure!" Cho sig'Radia exclaimed cheerily.

Theo glanced at her, and saw the other smile in place, too bright and too obvious, and then the others arrived, conducted by the steward. He held the chair for Professor Hafley and saw her safely seated with her napkin on her lap before leaving them in search of their waiter.

"Theo Waitley and I have introduced ourselves, as we had overlooked this nicety in the press of other matters. I immediately seek to amend this affront to civilized behavior by making the group aware that I am Cho sig'Radia."

There was a pause, so long that Theo began to worry that Professor Hafley was still upset enough to be rude. Across the table, Kamele frowned, which probably meant she was worried, too.

Finally, Professor Hafley produced a stiff smile, with no trace of liking or pleasure in it. "Cho sig'Radia, I am History of Education Chair Orkan Hafley," she said formally.

"Professor Hafley," Cho murmured, inclining her head.

Theo relaxed as Kamele introduced herself, "History of Education Sub-chair Kamele Waitley," she murmured, and raised her eyebrows in Theo's direction. "Mother of Theo Waitley."

"Ah, is it so? Allow me to compliment you upon your most charming offspring."

Kamele laughed softly. "You are too kind," she answered, and the introductions moved on.

"Emeritus Professor Crowley; Emeritus Professor Able; Clyburn Tang . . ." Theo let the introductions slide past her ear, watching Cho sig'Radia as she acknowledged each. The smile, she thought, like the earnestly polite expression Father showed to strangers, was a kind of mask. Like it was . . . amped up, unmissable, the emotional equivalent of speaking slowly and distinctly.

"Behold, the lost is found!" Cho exclaimed and rose from her chair, hand sweeping out to show them the boy with the rumpled hair and the leather jacket who approached their table.

"To the Delgado scholars I am pleased to present Trainee Win Ton yo'Vala, who has taken the not-so-short route to dinner."

The trainee bowed to the table, while the fingers of his left hand danced a pattern in the direction of Cho sig'Radia.

"Delgado scholars, I greet you," he said, his accent tickling the inside of Theo's ear. "Captain, I am at your feet. You were, as always, correct."

"Flatterer!" Cho reseated herself and waved him toward the seat next to Theo. "Comport yourself with courtesy, I pray you. When we are at leisure, I will entertain reasons why you should not be spaced."

"Ma'am." He bowed again, fingers quiet now, and moved smoothly 'round the table to Theo's side. Cho turned her attention once more to the scholars, and he leaned close to whisper, "Have pity on me, I beg you."

Theo turned her head, looking directly into a pair of merry brown eyes. She smiled at him without meaning to.

"What do you want?"

"Only to live out my allotted span," he said, smiling back. "Depend upon it, she will grill me on the names and occupations of everyone sitting to dinner, and if I do not have them . . ." He sighed, not convincingly. "Why, then, it's the airlock for me." He bent his head, and sent her a glance from beneath reddish eyelashes. "Without a suit."

Theo bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh, and shook her head. "Cho sig'Radia said I was to keep her on her mettle, since you weren't here."

"Look at her," he returned. "Have you ever beheld a woman more mettlesome? Were she any sharper, she would be a danger to herself."

Theo's rescue this time came in the shape of their waiter, who approached bearing a tray full of beakers.

"What's that?" she wondered.

Beside her Win Ton yo'Vala laughed softly. "Oho. Perhaps we might trade, Sweet Mystery."

She looked at him. "Trade?"

"Of a certainty. We each hold knowledge which the other lacks. Commerce may therefore go forth." He paused as beakers arrived before them.

"Here," he said; "I will show my earnest. This . . ." He touched the pale green glass with a light finger. "This, Sweet Mystery, is chilled vegetable broth. It is meant to prepare the palate for the delights to come. One sips it directly from the container."

A quick glance showed Cho and Kamele and Professor Crowley lifting their beakers as described, hesitantly copied by others of their party.

Theo glanced back to Win Ton. "My name isn't 'Sweet Mystery,' " she told him, picking her beaker up carefully. "It's Theo. Theo Waitley."

Win Ton's smile widened and he leaned closer to touch his glass to hers. "So," he said conspiratorially, "the trading begins."

 

By the time the plates bearing what Win Ton assured her was the "main course" arrived, he was in the possession of the names and positions of each of the Delgado party, and Theo had learned how to "address" three different "befores"—one cold, one tepid, one hot—and the uses of the various utensils provided at her place.

This was much better than breakfast, she thought, as she tried to imitate Win Ton's use of the tongs. At breakfast, the scholars had discussed their project, leaving her Clyburn for company. Since he considered himself above talking to children, except to issue directions, that meant she'd spent the meal trying to figure out a conversation she clearly wasn't meant to understand, and wishing she was back home.

As near as she could figure it in her head, it would be about time for Advertency. She'd wondered how Lesset had done with the last solo—which turned out to be a bad idea, because that made her eyes sting, and she wasn't going to cry in front of the whole Research Team; and especially not in front of Clyburn. Happily, the waiter had come to tell them that their table was needed for the second meal-shift before Theo scandalized everybody by pulling out her mumu and calling up a game.

She tasted a bit of what Win Ton said was poached Siclarian Walking Mushrooms, catching her breath at the unexpected burst of hot spiciness, and reached for her water glass.

With two strangers at the table, the scholars had to be polite, and to converse on topics comprehensible to everybody. Surprisingly, it was Emeritus Professor Crowley who carried the bulk of the conversation with Cho sig'Radia, admitting to her supposition that their destination was Melchiza.

Questioned regarding their purpose, he had tipped his head, ironically, Theo thought, and murmured, "We are to perform a literature search, ma'am. Quite tedious and scholarly. And yourself? Can we hope to have the pleasure of your company all the way to Melchiza?"

"Your hopes are fulfilled," she assured him with one of her real smiles. "We have business on the station there, my disgraceful apprentice and I."

"What business?" Theo asked Win Ton, as Clyburn—too long ignored—began a rambling commentary on the clothes worn by passengers at other tables.

"We are assigned to retrieve a ship," he said, matter-of-factly, and sent her a sharp glance.

"You sigh, sweet Theo! Is it possible to hope that you will miss me?"

"How could I miss you when I've hardly met you?" she asked prosaically. "But—'assigned to retrieve a ship' sounds so much more interesting than 'stuck at boarding school, studying'!"

"One may acquire a fondness rapidly, don't you find? As for study, there will be a wealth of that on my side, as well, I assure you! No one who travels with my captain is safe." He smiled. "Perhaps I will lose credit with you, but I confess that not a few of the lessons available to passengers of this ship tempt me. History, drama, the science of star travel, lectures on the arts and culture of the ports we approach . . ."

She blinked at him. "You make it sound like fun!"

He laughed. "And so it is fun! Shall I prove my point?"

"How?" she asked doubtfully.

"Meet me tomorrow at fifth gong in the morning lounge. They call it 'Breakfast All Year' because someone is always on a schedule where breakfast is the meal they need. From there we two shall visit the daily lecture at the Pet Library. Tomorrow is to be 'Introduction to Norbears,' if I recall correctly."

"What's a norbear?" she asked, and his smile became mischievous.

"Behold," he murmured, "an opportunity to learn. "Have we a bargain, then?"

"My tutoring should be over by fifth gong . . ." she said slowly, doing the time conversion in her head. Professor Able said they'd get used to ship's time quickly, but for now, her body still thought it was on Delgado.

"Send me a message via ship's web if circumstances overtake you. I am Passenger Nine-nine seven, six four-four. Otherwise, we shall test my proposition, eh?"

"All right . . ." Theo said, and then smiled. "Passenger ninety-nine, seventy-six, forty-four. I hope I can make it."

"I hope you can make it, too."

"In fact, no," Cho sig'Radia was saying to Clyburn, "the truth is that the attire you so admire three tables over is not worn by the least of those seated, but the first. I have been away from fashion this while, and so may be in error. However, he appears to be wearing the very latest from Rombert's, and would be welcome in any of the finest halls on Liad dressed thus. Alas, here he is—a bit too grand. Perhaps he thought to sit with the captain."

Clyburn didn't like to be corrected. He drew a breath to answer—and was quelled by a look from Chair Hafley, which warmed Theo toward her slightly, and mumbled his way into silence.

"It is difficult when traveling," Win Ton said into the small quiet that followed this, "to correctly read clothing and position." He paused and looked about, saw that he had the attention of the table and continued.

"The—you will forgive me, that I have no proper word in your tongue—the melant'i of those around one can only sometimes be determined by dress, or lack of it, when one travels. I have had cause . . ." He looked toward Cho, his cheeks darkening slightly. "On this very trip, I myself had cause to be surprised at a meal. A man dressed all in white, with the smell of spice and oil about him, and perhaps, too, a dash of sauce upon a sleeve, came to our table . . . I thought him a . . . servant, perhaps a worker in the kitchens. Rather he . . . wore the ring!"

Here he paused, fingers rippling, as if he were handing something past Theo to the woman on her other side—

"Rather," Cho sig'Radia said, taking up the tale, "he was Zed ter'Janpok, Clan Tangier. Tangier Himself, you will apprehend, whom one values as an old friend, come to visit." She paused to sip from her glass. "Mind you, the impulsive young apprentice had not entirely mis-observed, for my good friend is a chef of the first water, and so, indeed, a kitchen worker." She cocked an ironic eyebrow downtable. Professor Crowley and Kamele laughed in appreciation, echoed by the others.

"And now, unless I mis-observe myself—yes! It is our servers, with dessert!"

 

"Do candied dromisain leaves with sour sauce not please you, Sweet Mystery? You might call for a sorbet, instead, you know."

Theo blinked, her face heating. She'd dozed off, like a kid kept up past her bedtime.

"Stop calling me that!" she whispered fiercely. "It's stupid."

There was a small pause. A glance at Win Ton's face showed him suddenly serious, his lips pressed tight.

"I'm sorry." Impulsively, she reached out and put her fingers on his leather sleeve. "I'm—I'm not on ship time yet, and I'm falling asleep. And I miss my cat, and Fa—Professor Kiladi. But none of that's your fault, and I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"Ah." His mouth softened and he inclined his head. "It is forgotten. And it is my fault, I think, a little. You had told me your name." He frowned down at his plate and put the spoon carefully aside.

"In truth, the sauce is somewhat too sour for my taste," he said, and tipped his head, his eyes bright again. "Tell me about your cat."

There was a note of . . . wistfulness in his voice.

"Do you have a cat, too?" Theo asked.

Win Ton moved his hand in a sharp gesture, like he was tossing something away. "I, a cat? Never think it. My delm dislikes the creatures and refuses to have them in clan house or garden. So you must tell me: What is it like to have your own cat?"

"Well," she said slowly. "Sometimes, it's a lot of trouble . . ."

* * *

The conversation grew more interesting with dessert, which Cho welcomed—and welcomed again, as the beautiful Clyburn was effectively silenced by the ebb and flow of discussion. Truly, a vapid individual. On the other hand, his lady seemed pleased with his secret charms, and that of course must be what counted.

The senior traveler Crowley was sharp and quiet at once, and the Sub-chair Kamele Waitley—ostensibly second to her Chair!—was both sharper and quieter. Interesting melant'i play it was to see the discussion moved about at apparent random, where the Chair was sometimes at a loss, while the Emeriti appeared very much interested in the opinions and the process of the Sub-chair's thoughts. That this was not lost upon Chair Hafley was also apparent, and promised more adjustment of melant'i in future. It was to be hoped that the elder scholar would be wise, though Cho thought that she would be . . . otherwise.

Too, perhaps young Theo's presence could not be dismissed simply as a doting mother's whim. There was little of the doting parent in Kamele Waitley. And how convenient, to have another of one's house as extra ears, in what was surely a situation fraught with tension.

The halflings had kept good company, to the benefit of both. Their present topic . . . Cho spared them an ear, and hid her sigh inside a sip of wine. Cats! The gods send that there would be no opportunity for the boy to adopt a cat before she handed him off to other trainers.

"But it's the old 'unlimited energy' canard, brought to a new face!"

That was Crowley, taking fire from what was apparently a favorite topic. "We in education know—I can prepare cites if you like!"

But there, the youngest of them was nodding off in the midst of a recitation of the wonders of her personal cat, her dessert uneaten, spoon drooping in her hand.

Cho glanced aside, meaning to draw the mother's eye, but the sharp and formidable Kamele had seen, and was already in motion, pushing back from the table with a smile all around.

"Scholars, apprise me in the the morning if you solve this. I'm afraid Theo and I are not yet in sync with the ship's clock. Perhaps tomorrow evening we'll be more in tune."

"I wonder if I may suggest," Cho murmured for Kamele's ear alone as Win Ton helped Theo to her feet and deftly rearranged the chairs to clear her path, "that your daughter join some of the lectures and events offered to passengers. I know she will have lessons—as does my scamp of an apprentice—but with a table full of educators to draw upon it ought not be difficult to assign value to something far more—interactive—than rote read-and-repeat . . ."

Kamele gave her a sharp glance, and Cho produced a small bow for a mother's consideration.

"It must be admitted," she said, more quietly still, "that Win Ton has asked Theo to accompany him to a lecture at the Pet Library. If you are able to allow it, I would own myself in your debt, for the boy needs to practice his Terran against a native speaker."

"Ah." Kamele smiled as she put her hand on her daughter's shoulder and turned her toward the entry. "I think I can allow that."

The two departed. Win Ton reseated himself, and Cho returned her attention to the remaining scholars, who had taken up a debate of the educational opportunities available on-board. Cho smiled and leaned back in her chair, pleased that the politics of unlimited energy had been, for the moment, put away.

 

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