He did not leave. He spoke, in Adult-to-Adult mode, very precisely, so the accent of Solcintra rang sharp against her ear.
"I regret that my presence troubles you, Scholar. Allow me to bring Trilla, so that she may sit second board for you."
His presence
did
trouble her: Tall, slim and graceful, with his odd, twisty earring and neat, overlong hair, the black eyes bold in a sharp, compelling face—He troubled her as the cat had troubled her, and for the same reason.
The cat—so soft, so
comforting
. Once she had started to stroke it, she could not stop; the joy the creature received from her caresses had awakened some dangerous nameless need—
The cat had
seen
her.
Tall Daav, with his bright black eyes, had
seen
her as well and knew her to be—real.
"Scholar?"
"I—" She shook her hair away from her face, forcing herself to meet those sightful eyes. "I beg your pardon yet again, sir—pilot. The last few days have been—uneasy. It would be best, I think, not to lift today."
"Hah." His mouth curved slightly—a gentle smile—though his eyes remained neutral. "Sky-nerves, we had used to call it at Academy," he said, in Comrade once again. "The best cure is to lift as planned."
Lift as planned.
Aelliana felt the words strike somewhere at the nearly-forgotten core of her.
She took a deep, trembling breath and inclined her head.
"That is doubtless excellent advice," she said evenly and saw something move in the depths of the Scout's dark eyes. "I will ask that you pilot the jitney, however. It seems the surest course for arrival."
The smile became more pronounced. "I drive with delight," he said, and moved 'round the jitney to the driver's slot.
AELLIANA FILED A COURSE on the challenging side of the equation, scrupulously remembering to bring the navcomp on-line, and took the opportunity of the quarter-hour wait to tour
Ride the Luck
.
The refurbished hold was eminently satisfying, though the pilots' quarters remained in their previous state of lavish comfort, lacking only the ceiling mirrors.
Aelliana looked about the chamber, feeling the slight vibration of the ship's gyros, hearing the hum of the support system, the muted clamor of Port chatter feeding in over the mandatory open line, and sagged against the wall, the room blurring through a rush of unaccustomed tears.
Hers.
The fierceness of possession warmed her, terrified her. It was dangerous to want something this much. So many things might go wrong—and the clan . . . Until the day she cleared Liad orbit, heading for her Jump-point, she was an asset of Clan Mizel; her possessions no more her own than the clan's. Mizel could as easily dispose of Aelliana Caylon's ship as it was legally able to dispose of Aelliana.
"Pilot?" Daav's voice came quietly from the wall speaker at her shoulder. "We are cleared to lift in two minutes."
"Thank you," she said, pushing shakily away from the wall.
Sky-nerves . . .
"I am on my way."
THE LIFT TO OUTYARD Eight was almost—restful. Master pilot that he was, Daav kept a serene second board. He took communications to his side with a murmured, "By your leave, pilot," and offered neither chatter nor any other assault upon her privacy.
Not so Yardkeeper Gat.
"What ship?" It was not so much query as demand, loud enough to pierce Aelliana's concentration on the approach path, so she shot a glance full of startlement to her co-pilot.
A wiry golden hand moved to flick the proper toggle. There was a band of lighter gold about the third finger, Aelliana noted, and a faint indentation, as if Pilot Daav had left off an accustomed ring.
"
Ride the Luck
," he answered the abrupt query. "Pilot Aelliana Caylon at first board. Daav from Binjali's on second. Yard comp downloaded ship's particulars two-point-four minutes gone, Keeper, and cleared us for Bay Thirty-Two."
"I don't care what her name is or how good she can add! I've got a second class provisional on a non-standard approach to my Yard. What does she know about docking? How do I know she won't hole the ring?"
Daav grinned, which did unexpectedly pleasant things to his foxy face. "Ah, the sweet anticipation!" he said gaily. "Never fear, sir, all shall be resolved in a very few minutes. Unless you would rather we simply jettison the cargo and leave?"
"All a good joke, is it?" the Yardkeeper snarled. "Bay Thirty-Two ready to accept
Ride the Luck
. You've got eight minutes to get in, unload that cargo and dump out."
"Unless, of course, we hole the ring," Daav murmured politely.
The in-line hummed empty.
Daav laughed, sending a bright glance toward Aelliana. She ducked her head, but did not entirely turn away.
"Non-standard approach?" she asked, voice breathless in her own ears.
"Dear Gat. He only means to say that, measured against other first approaches to ring-docking by provisional second class pilots he has seen in the past, this one is a bit too quick, a bit too flat—very nearly Scout-like, in fact." His fingers moved, swift and certain among the instruments. "Two-thirds local velocity must be dumped within forty-three seconds, pilot, else we buy a bumpy docking and Gat's disapprobation."
"Good gods." Aelliana spun back to her board.
SEVEN-POINT-NINE MINUTES later,
Ride the Luck
tumbled out of Bay Thirty-Two, oriented, and commenced descent.
The boards worked sweetly under Daav's fingers; he was agreeably surprised in
Ride the Luck
, which seemed to sing with joy around them.
He was likewise surprised in Aelliana Caylon, who, for all her skittish, wary ways, knew what to do with a ship in her hands. From power-up to dump-out, there had been not one false move. The minor flutter of hesitation upon approach he assigned to Gat's account, for breaking the web of her concentration and recalling her to the chancy world of human interaction.
The course she had chosen to OutEight had been ambitious for a second class provisional, though well within her abilities. Daav had several times noted her pushing the navcomp, as if she found its entirely respectable response time almost too slow to bear. The filed descent was worthy of a Scout and Daav had no doubt she would execute it with aplomb.
Aelliana Caylon, he thought, watching her fragile hands flickering over prime board, might very well be that rarest of precious things: a natural pilot.
Guild law required a master pilot engaged in evaluating a junior to judge and implement appropriate training. Aelliana Caylon, in the judgment of Scout pilot/Master Daav yos'Phelium, was easily capable of achieving first class. It was likely that master pilot was within her grasp, did she care to leave her own work for a relumma or two and devote herself to study.
Thus, a variation from the simple meeting of second class flight-time requirements was mandated. Daav ran an experienced eye over his scans, double-checked the filed approach and addressed the pilot, pitching his voice soft out of care for her concentration.
"I wonder," he murmured, keeping his eyes scrupulously on his board, "if you might wish to attempt a sling landing."
"Now?" she asked, voice sharp with surprise.
"You will have to master the skill, soon or late," he said, all gentle reason. "Why not begin today?"
"To refile the course, to tie up the Port's emergency sling. . ."
"The most minor readjustment of course," Daav soothed, "and no need to discommode Port at all. Binjali's has a sling."
Hesitation. Daav consulted his scans and dared push his point a bit, before time became too short.
"I can call Jon, if you like it, and see if we have clearance. We will come in on automatic first time, of course." He paused. "Unless you have already trained on sling-shots?"
"No. . ."
"I'll call now," Daav said, flicking the line open.
"Good-noon, Captain darling!" Clonak ter'Meulen's voice filled the tiny cabin a moment later. "What service shall my humble self be delighted to perform for you?"
Daav's lips twitched. "Where's Jon?"
"Up to his neck in a gyro-fix. Service?"
"Sling-shot, automatics, current coords—" he reeled them off, confident of Clonak's abilities as of his own. "Flight plan downloaded—
now
. Cleared?"
"Cleared, oh Captain. You and the pilot can take a nap. Until soon."
"Until soon, Clonak." He cut the connection and turned his head to glance at Aelliana Caylon.
She was looking directly at him, green eyes wide, less misty than he recalled, and holding something akin to—amusement.
"It seems a sling-shot is mandated," she observed, and there was the barest thread of laughter, too, in the weave of the fine, strong voice. Daav grinned.
"Your pardon, pilot. Of all people, you must know what Scouts are!"
"Bent on mischief," she agreed, astonishingly tranquil, "and decided entirely upon their own course." She turned back to her board and her hair shifted to conceal her. "I shall file an amended descent."
THEY WERE WELL INTO the amended descent when a certain subtle lack called Daav's attention to the upper left quadrant of his board. Apparently the navcomp's inefficiencies had become too burdensome to tolerate, for it was shut entirely down. He reached for the reset.
"That's wrong," Aelliana Caylon told him sharply.
"Wrong?"
"Off by two places." Her fingers were flying over the board, as well they should, he thought abruptly, with her running such a course on manual. He punched navcomp up.
Wrong, indeed, and off by nearly three places. Swearing silently, he called for the back-up. It came on-line with a suspicious stutter, accepted its office—and failed.
In the absence of clan, a partner, comrade or co-pilot may be permitted the burdens and joys of kin-duty. In the presence of kin, duty to partner, comrade or co-pilot must stand an honorable second.—From the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
"COMP TWO DOWN," Daav said, eyes raking the scans. It was too late by several minutes to change course now.
"We're committed to the sling. I'll call Jon and file the change. Begin sending your numbers to me for verification."
"Yes," she said, never looking away from her board. Daav hit the comm.
"Navcomp suspect," he told Clonak a heartbeat later, "back-up's dead."
"How lovely for you, darling."
Daav grinned. "Pilot Caylon will be bringing her to the sling on manual."
A short pause, then a cheery, "Right-o!" in what Clonak fondly considered an Aus accent.
"
Ride the Luck
out."
"Ta-ta."
Daav slapped the line off, dumped his holding bank and leapt into a river of numbers.
Ordered and swift, the equations flowed, through his bank, into the board and out, a continuous perfect stream of checkpoint and balance. He forgot about the navcomp, which should have been tested and cleared as standard procedure. He forgot the oddities of the woman beside him. He forgot Delm Korval.
There were the equations flowing to him, cold and pure, to be verified and fed in. There were the scans. There was the sense of the ship around him. There was the background chatter along the open line.
"When you feel the sling lock," he said, hardly hearing his own voice through the wall of his concentration, "you will cut the gyros. Immediately."
The small portion of his mind not urgently concerned with equations, scan and ship expected an outcry, for to cut the gyros was to be immediately and irrefutably within the talons of gravity. Cutting the gyros meant the ship would
fall
. . .
"Yes," said Aelliana Caylon and said no more.
He picked up the next sequence, noting that it was the set-up—the final equation. He scrutinized, verified and locked it, leaning back slightly in the web of safety straps.
"Twelve seconds. Mind the sling-lock, pilot. . ."
It came, a distinct sensation of ship's progress halted, of plate metal and blast glass grasped tightly in the jaws of an inconceivable monster. . .
Aelliana cut the gyros.
The stomach twisted, the inner ear protested, the heart clutched as for an instant it seemed that the monster's jaw had slackened, and the ship sliding free to—
"Caught," Daav announced quietly. "And retained. A difficult task, executed well. Ge'shada, pilot."
"No need for congratulation," she said. "You were correct, after all. I shall need this skill." She threw him a glance, eyes brilliantly green in a pale golden face. "What is the procedure for clearing the sling?"
"Jon sends a workhorse and hauls the ship to its berthing—heading out now, your two-screen."
"I see. And the pilots?"
"In this case, I believe the pilots should make haste to Master dea'Cort. The luck was in it, you caught that error in time."
Once again, that brilliant green glance. "I know regs demand the navcomp be running—but I find it distracting. Doubtless it is my inexperience and I do expect to learn better, s—" She paused, lips tightening. "I cannot help but keep checking the equations, and when it started giving me bad numbers. . ."
"It was even more distracting," Daav concluded amiably. "Perfectly understandable. Point of information: Normal procedure in such circumstance includes engaging the secondary comp."
She looked abashed, the brilliancy of her eyes dimming a fraction. "I had no notion there was a back-up navcomp, sir."
"Daav. Ships of this class carry a primary navcomp and one back-up as standard. Most pilots will install a second back-up. Some prefer more. It is wise to check before dropping to manual, especially if you are running solo."
She bowed her head. "I will remember."
"Good," he said and retracted the webbing. "Lessons being done for the moment, I suggest we wait upon Jon."
"A BEAUTIFUL LANDING!" Jon dea'Cort announced, raising a large, heavy-looking tea mug. "Not at all like some I've seen, where the ship comes in upside down and backward, eh, Daav?"