Fledgling, page 27
"Not here, I guess," Theo said, slipping her key out of her pocket. "Let's—"
The knot in Kamele's stomach tightened more, making her regret the coffee she'd drunk in Crowley's company. She stretched her legs. Win Ton looked up, put his hand on Theo's sleeve . . .
"Are you looking for me, Daughter?" Kamele asked.
Twenty-Five
Number Twelve Leafydale Place
Greensward-by-Efraim
Delgado
A warm breeze wandered the garden, stroking the new leaves with fingers full of promise. Overhead, the stars stretched in a glittering tapestry, made finite by the spill of light from Efraim and the Wall.
Jen Sar Kiladi reclined upon a bench that would later in the season be hidden by a fragrant tumble of westaria vines; one soft-shoed foot on the stone seat, one braced against the ground. His head was on the cold arm rest; and his eyes on the stars. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere.
Theo was not the target, Aelliana said, her voice quiet inside his head.
"I consider it unlikely. What we must consider is if Kamele is the target."
There was silence for a time, save for the flirtatious rustling of the leaves. He did not have the sense that she had withdrawn, however; merely that she was considering the matter. As he was.
No, she said eventually. It would require conjoined efforts from Housing and Info Systems—and how yet would they know which room she would choose as her own? There are too many hands, and too much left to chance.
"Chance," he murmured. "Are they so slovenly, do you think, Aelliana? Or are they—" He stopped and sat up so suddenly last season's vines clattered around him.
What is it?
"What if it is not sloven chance, but bright cunning? Recall that Technician Singh told us 'old wire' was woven all through the elder apartments. Why confine the Serpent to one apartment?"
If, indeed, it could be confined.
"Precisely."
But how to prove it?
He smiled. "We ask an expert, of course."
* * *
"You needn't wonder if I'm in, Theo," Kamele said sharply. "I've just returned from a meeting."
Right, Theo thought, another meeting. And not a good one, either, judging by her mother's tone and the set of her shoulders. Kamele being in a bad mood wasn't going to make Win Ton's apology any easier, but it was obviously too late to go away and come back later.
Kamele looked past her, pointedly.
"Trainee yo'Vala, how good of you to escort Theo."
The words were polite, but spoken in that too-sharp tone. Chair Hafley, Theo thought, must've been at the meeting. Maybe Clyburn, too. Out of the side of her eye, she saw Win Ton bow, slow, as if he wanted to convey some special meaning.
"Professor Waitley, I enjoy Theo's company, and . . . appreciate her kindness in permitting me to attend her—your pardon!"
The last phrase held a note of surprised excitement. Theo turned, her eye following his, but—really, there was nothing to see except the seam where the stateroom door sealed against the floor. Or—
Win Ton went to one knee, his hand going inside his jacket.
"Please," he said, with a glance up to her face; "mark where this goes, if it escapes me."
He produced a clear tubular container, thumbed the lid off as it came into view.
"What do you have?"
Theo jumped. Kamele was at her side, peering with her at the edge of the door. Win Ton's back and head were mostly in their way but there was something brownish, very nearly the colors of the floor, moving—scuttling—up the frame . . .
With a practiced air, Win Ton suddenly flicked at the scuttling something with the lid and pressed it down on the tube.
"I am not certain what I have, Professor Waitley," he said, rising easily to his feet. "Here."
He showed them the tube: within was an insect . . . or maybe not.
"If you see any more of these, would you please point them out?"
Theo frowned, staring at the thing in the tube. "It doesn't look quite right, does it? I've seen lots of bugs but this one . . . it isn't really an ant, or a beetle." She touched the tube gently. "It looks hurt or something."
Kamele leaned in, her shoulder against Theo's, looking closely at the tube.
"It also seems to be changing color," she commented, and at least she didn't sound snappish any more.
Win Ton glanced at the tube with its transforming burden, and inclined his head.
"Perhaps," he said softly, "we should take it out of the hall. Theo, do you see any more?"
She looked around the door seal, to the ceiling, along the edging that ran the length of the hall . . .
"I don't see any," she said, "but I don't think I would've seen that one. You've got quick eyes!"
"As you do," he returned. "And now that you have seen one, you will know what you are looking at, if you should see another."
Kamele approached the door, key out, and paused a moment to do her own visual check.
"It seems that it was acting alone," she said ironically.
"Good," Win Ton answered seriously.
Kamele used her key, and waved them into the stateroom.
"Should we report an infestation to the ship?" Kamele asked, staring at the tube, "Or does that require multiple sightings?"
Win Ton glanced away from tube, and looked directly into her face.
"If I had found this elsewhere, simply sitting or walking randomly on a wall or table . . . it might have been a curiosity. I would still likely have . . . taken it for a specimen, since they are rarely seen. However, finding it . . . working, as indeed it may still be working, I am made far more curious. An infestation . . . that would be an extreme. As to reporting it—"
He held the tube out to her.
"Look closely, Professor Waitley. Theo has very good reactions. Very good."
Amazing Theo, Kamele thought as she received the tube, which was lighter than she'd expected. She held it up to her face.
The . . . insect was about the length of a finger joint, and it was testing the tube's seal. Thwarted, it turned and . . . ran! . . . toward the opposite side. Stopped precipitously by the end of the tube, the insect tried to climb the slippery stuff . . .
"It appears to be autonomous action, does it not?" Win Ton's voice was so soft that it barely pierced her attention mist. "For all we know it is recording, what we say, or what it sees of us. Or it may need to establish a location before it can transmit."
She looked up at him. "You're saying this is a construct? A . . ." She groped for the proper word—"A spying device?"
"So it would seem to me. I will show it to my captain and gain the benefit of her knowledge of such things. In the meanwhile, perhaps we should let it rest." He reached into his jacket again and withdrew a small bag. It shimmered as he flicked it open, as if it had silver woven among the threads.
"What're you carrying in there," Theo asked, "a laboratory?"
Win Ton laughed gently as he slipped the tube into the bag and sealed it.
"I am carrying a sampling kit, Sweet Theo, which I am required to do at all times by my captain, since I failed to carry one when I should have on another occasion. I am also carrying this . . ." He tucked the tube away, produced a bowli ball, and handed to Theo, ". . . which we shall wish to discuss shortly, and some ration bars, and candy, which I always do."
"Why," Kamele said slowly, "would it be here?"
"Maybe it got lost," Theo said.
"Perhaps it did, as Theo suggests, become lost," Win Ton answered seriously. "Or perhaps it was meant to be here. It may, after all, be a ship's tool, though if that were so, we must surely have seen others."
"Well." Kamele sighed. "I'll be interested in learning what you find out about it."
He bowed. "Certainly."
Kamele took a deep breath and smiled at the two of them. "As fascinating as this episode has been, I gather that it was not the reason I am afforded a visit to my stateroom."
"No, ma'am, it is not," the Liaden agreed, bowing again. "My captain instructs me that I should . . . be offering apologies." He glanced at Theo, a friendly, even a warm glance.
Kamele felt her stomach tighten all over again, and held onto her smile.
"In that case," she said brightly, "perhaps we should sit down."
* * *
Do you think it will lie? Aelliana asked.
"Perhaps it will," he answered, pouring a glass of wine. "Certainly, it has demonstrated some craft. We shall see."
Twenty-Six
Vashtara
Mauve Level
Stateroom
Kamele sat over there in the big chair, while Theo and Win Ton sat together over here, on the sofa. The feeling that she was a guest in her own stateroom warred with the feeling that she and Win Ton were on one team and Kamele was on an opposing team. Which was just silly, Theo told herself, fidgeting with the bowli ball. It rolled from one hand to the other, unsteadily, its erratic motion drawing her mother's eye.
Cheeks hot, Theo brought the ball under control, pressing it firmly onto her thigh. The internals vibrated against her restraining palm, like Coyster, purring. Theo blinked.
Coyster would have taken just this moment to stretch and yawn before curling around in her lap. She took a breath, pressing harder on the ball, feeling the vibration in her bones. There. She'd hold the ball like it was Coyster. That would make her feel . . . less strange.
Win Ton cleared his throat. "Professor Waitley," he said formally, "I wish to make known to you the certain activities that Theo and I have enjoyed together." He paused, like he did when he was trying to find an exact match between the Liaden word he knew and the Terran word that—usually—didn't exist.
Kamele's mouth straightened slightly, which meant that she was concerned, but trying not to interrupt.
Win Ton's pause was too long for her though, and she leaned forward—carefully, Theo thought, her fingers pressed tightly together.
"Could you continue? You have my attention."
Seated as he was, Win Ton bowed.
"Yes," he said; and again, "Yes, of course, Professor. The circumstance . . . my captain has pointed out to me that, according to the customs of her homeworld, Theo has yet to attain her majority. Since I have become accustomed to Theo's company, and to her common sense, my captain feared that I was perhaps presuming . . ."
He paused again, his careful search for words leaving a pause into which Kamele leaned, so alert she seemed to quiver.
"My captain's concern," Win Ton began again—"and mine now that I am acquainted with my error, is that I may have presumed too much about Theo's . . . autonomy."
He paused again, and sent a glance to Theo. Since she wasn't sure what point he was making, and she didn't think she'd fool anybody by trying to look autonomous, she looked down, where the silly ball, rather than the silly cat, sat on her lap. The thought made her want to laugh, and she struggled to stay serious, gripping the ball as if in fact she were wrestling a cantankerous feline.
"Autonomy." Kamele repeated carefully, and she, too, sent a glance at Theo. "Indeed, I've found Theo to be showing distinct signs of autonomy, not to say levity."
Theo looked up, mirth startled away. Kamele waved a careless hand in her direction.
"Please," she said to Win Ton, "let's not permit Theo's mirth or her toy to interfere with your disclosure."
This isn't good, Theo thought rapidly. It was never a good sign when Kamele started talking like Father.
"In fact, "Win Ton answered slowly, "My . . . disclosure—an excellent usage, which I shall remember!—my disclosure is very nearly about Theo's toy."
Abruptly, he stood, surprising Theo and, judging by the way she sat straight up, surprising Kamele, too.
"As you know, we conquered the dance machine on our first attempt. Theo has a—a very mature approach to the dance, intuitive, one may say. That she was . . . amazed to discover herself so very apt a dancer was enlightening. Self-discovery is a good thing."
"Self-discovery is often a good thing," Kamele said after a moment. She glanced at Theo, who tried to keep her face calm. It wasn't comfortable being talked about like she wasn't there. She looked at Win Ton in order to avoid her mother's gaze.
"After our run, my captain forbade us to dance further at the Arcade, and, truly, the machine is so easily beaten that we would very soon have lost patience with it. However, there was still the question of energy, and exercise and, and comradeship. I therefore located several convivial acquaintances on-board, and we discovered an opportunity to continue with the theme of . . . mature self-discovery. I will also say enjoyment of discovery, for Theo so enjoys a challenge."
Theo felt her shoulders relaxing and realized that she was petting the bowli ball, in small, quiet motions. Her mother glanced at her again, and this time Theo met her eye.
"So," Kamele said to Win Ton, though she continued to look at Theo. "You arranged for a . . . mature challenge for Theo."
Win Ton bowed lightly, danced one pace toward the door, one pace back.
"Yes, exactly!" he exclaimed. "The pilots, you must understand, were known to me. We found a private room, and—Theo is such a joy to challenge. I knew all this, but in my enthusiasm, I fear that I did not fully explain to Theo what we would be about, nor did I ask your permission beforehand . . ."
Kamele leaned slowly back into her chair, her hands finding each other, her fingers locking together, interleaved. What scared Theo was that Kamele's face was nearly blank, and she was staring at her hands rather than at either of them.
"I see," Kamele said quietly, but Win Ton was now following his course with some vigor, pacing energetically in the small space, and using his hands for emphasis.
"And thus, with a room, and partners, and a willing novice, I'm afraid we introduced Theo to a game many never play, a game many lack the urges and reflexes for. Knowing how physically apt Theo is, it never occurred to me that I ought to ask permission from her parent for her to play bowli ball. So I ask, Professor Waitley, that you please hold Theo blameless, and lay it all to me . . . ."
Theo saw her mother's face go from blank to . . . confused.
"Wait," she said; "if you please. I understand you to say that you and your friends found a private room so that you might play bowli ball with my daughter?"
Theo picked up the not-cat from her lap and tossed it in the air, very gently, to illustrate the phrase "bowli ball."
The motion caught Kamele's eye, so Theo tossed it higher, whereupon the ball took it upon itself to perform a mid-air detour of several hand-widths. Theo snatched it down and wrestled it guiltily to her lap.
"One of these!" she explained.
In wonder, rather than enlightenment, Kamele said, "I see. Bowli ball."
"Yes!" Win Ton said enthusiastically. He plucked the ball away from Theo, carefully cuddling it into quiet before placing it into Kamele's hands.
"It is a complex game, Professor Waitley," he went on with energy; "requiring physical dexterity, concentration, mature thoughtfulness, luck . . . it is a favorite game of pilots because of these things!"
Experimentally, Kamele tossed the ball from hand to hand, barely managing to keep it under her control.
She shook her head, and tried it again, using less energy and across less distance, really just rolling it from one palm to the other.
"What a strange idea," she murmured. "Why should you need permission for Theo to play a simple game of ball?"
"Well, it isn't so simple!" Theo broke in, indignant. "The ball goes every which way and you've got to be ready for it, and you've got to see where it gets thrown and how it's rotating and which spiral is next and . . ."
Win Ton caught Theo's eye with a motion of his hands, and she subsided, hoping that she hadn't just gotten him in more trouble with Captain Cho.
"Professor, some call bowli ball a game of wit and physics. That might suffice if it were played on a snug lawn among . . . office workers, let us say. But, with pilots, the game can become quite challenging. This is what I forgot, and why I should have asked your permission for Theo to play."
He paused, glanced at Theo, and faced Kamele directly.
"It is not unknown for those playing the game to accept a broken shoulder in order to return a pass, to sprain an ankle on an interception-and-launch, to . . . forget harm in order to follow the flow and make the connection. Truly, it is a game for pilots."
Kamele held the ball in one hand, turning it this way and that way, studying it, as if she had never seen something so gaudy and irregular in her life. Suddenly, with no warning, and without preamble, she threw the ball at Theo. Hard.
