Read Online Scout's Progress by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee - Free Book Online
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Tags: Science-Fiction
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know their cards, and the house camera, beside." He grinned, irrepressible boy bursting free of the solemn gentleman he had been a moment before.
"Scholar Caylon, you don't say the game was false?"
"The game was entirely true," she said tartly. "Nor was it at all necessary for you to offer your cantra. His Lordship's line was irretrievably flawed." She held out the coins in question. "I thank you for your aid, though it was in no way required."
"Ouch," said Var Mon mildly, and took his money with a bow.
AELLIANA SHIFTED IN the pulldown tucked between the pilots' stations and inner hatch, and considered her circumstances.
It would appear that she was, in unlikely truth, the owner of a spaceship, which she was even now on her way to inspect.
She closed her eyes, feeling how quick her heart beat. She owned a spaceship; possibilities proliferated.
If it was, as she suspected, a rich man's toy, she would contrive, discreetly, to sell, thus ensuring outpassage and a stake upon which to build her new life.
If, against all expectation, Ride the Luck was a working class ship, she would—
She would keep it.
A pilot-owner might find work anywhere, she was tied to no single world. A pilot-owner need owe none, was owned by no one.
A pilot-owner was—free. Alone, independent, autonomous, sovereign . . . Aelliana leaned back in the pulldown chair, stomach cramped with longing.
If Ride the Luck was a working ship. . .
Of course, pilot-owners held piloting licenses, which Aelliana Caylon did not. The life she so avidly envisioned required she be nothing less than a Jump pilot.
"Asleep, Scholar?" Var Mon's voice broke in upon these rather lowering considerations.
"Not entirely," she replied, and heard Rema, at first board, chuckle.
"Good," Var Mon said, unruffled. "We set down in three minutes, unless Rema forgets her protocols. I'll conduct you to Binjali's, if you wish, and make you known to Master dea'Cort."
Aelliana opened her eyes. "Thank you," she said, as a flutter of her stomach reported the ship was losing altitude. "I would welcome the introduction."
"MASTER JON! JOY to you, sir!" Var Mon strode into the center of the repair bay, head up and voice exuberant.
Aelliana, trailing by several steps, saw a stocky figure come to the edge of shadow cast by a work-lift, casually wiping its hands on a faded red rag.
"I'm not lending you another cantra, you scoundrel," the figure said sourly, for all the mode was Comrade. "What's more, you're due in Comparative Cultures in twenty minutes and I'll not have it said I was responsible for keeping you beyond time."
"Not a bit of it," Var Mon cried, apparently not at all put out by this rather surly welcome. He reached into his pouch and danced into the shadow. Grasping a newly-cleaned hand, he deposited two gleaming coins on the broad palm and closed the fingers tight.
"Debt paid!" he said gaily and spun, bowing with a flourish that called attention to Aelliana, hesitating yet between light and shadow.
"Master Jon, I bring you Aelliana Caylon, owner of Ride the Luck . Scholar Caylon, Master Jon dea'Cort, owner of Binjali Repair Shop."
"Caylon?" Master dea'Cort at last stepped forward into the light, revealing a man well past middle years, sturdy rather than stout, his hair a close-clipped strip of rusty gray about four of her slender fingers wide. Eyes the color of old amber looked into her face with the directness of a Scout.
"Scholar Aelliana Caylon," he asked, big voice pitched gently, though he still spoke in Comrade mode, "revisor of the ven'Tura Tables?"
She inclined her head, and answered in Adult-to-Adult. "It is kind of you to recall."
"Recall! How might I—or any pilot!—forget?" He bowed then, distressingly low—the bow of Esteem for a Master—and straightened with his hand over his heart.
"Scholar, you honor my establishment. How I may be allowed to serve you?"
Aelliana raised her hand to ward the reverence in
"Scholar Caylon, you don't say the game was false?"
"The game was entirely true," she said tartly. "Nor was it at all necessary for you to offer your cantra. His Lordship's line was irretrievably flawed." She held out the coins in question. "I thank you for your aid, though it was in no way required."
"Ouch," said Var Mon mildly, and took his money with a bow.
AELLIANA SHIFTED IN the pulldown tucked between the pilots' stations and inner hatch, and considered her circumstances.
It would appear that she was, in unlikely truth, the owner of a spaceship, which she was even now on her way to inspect.
She closed her eyes, feeling how quick her heart beat. She owned a spaceship; possibilities proliferated.
If it was, as she suspected, a rich man's toy, she would contrive, discreetly, to sell, thus ensuring outpassage and a stake upon which to build her new life.
If, against all expectation, Ride the Luck was a working class ship, she would—
She would keep it.
A pilot-owner might find work anywhere, she was tied to no single world. A pilot-owner need owe none, was owned by no one.
A pilot-owner was—free. Alone, independent, autonomous, sovereign . . . Aelliana leaned back in the pulldown chair, stomach cramped with longing.
If Ride the Luck was a working ship. . .
Of course, pilot-owners held piloting licenses, which Aelliana Caylon did not. The life she so avidly envisioned required she be nothing less than a Jump pilot.
"Asleep, Scholar?" Var Mon's voice broke in upon these rather lowering considerations.
"Not entirely," she replied, and heard Rema, at first board, chuckle.
"Good," Var Mon said, unruffled. "We set down in three minutes, unless Rema forgets her protocols. I'll conduct you to Binjali's, if you wish, and make you known to Master dea'Cort."
Aelliana opened her eyes. "Thank you," she said, as a flutter of her stomach reported the ship was losing altitude. "I would welcome the introduction."
"MASTER JON! JOY to you, sir!" Var Mon strode into the center of the repair bay, head up and voice exuberant.
Aelliana, trailing by several steps, saw a stocky figure come to the edge of shadow cast by a work-lift, casually wiping its hands on a faded red rag.
"I'm not lending you another cantra, you scoundrel," the figure said sourly, for all the mode was Comrade. "What's more, you're due in Comparative Cultures in twenty minutes and I'll not have it said I was responsible for keeping you beyond time."
"Not a bit of it," Var Mon cried, apparently not at all put out by this rather surly welcome. He reached into his pouch and danced into the shadow. Grasping a newly-cleaned hand, he deposited two gleaming coins on the broad palm and closed the fingers tight.
"Debt paid!" he said gaily and spun, bowing with a flourish that called attention to Aelliana, hesitating yet between light and shadow.
"Master Jon, I bring you Aelliana Caylon, owner of Ride the Luck . Scholar Caylon, Master Jon dea'Cort, owner of Binjali Repair Shop."
"Caylon?" Master dea'Cort at last stepped forward into the light, revealing a man well past middle years, sturdy rather than stout, his hair a close-clipped strip of rusty gray about four of her slender fingers wide. Eyes the color of old amber looked into her face with the directness of a Scout.
"Scholar Aelliana Caylon," he asked, big voice pitched gently, though he still spoke in Comrade mode, "revisor of the ven'Tura Tables?"
She inclined her head, and answered in Adult-to-Adult. "It is kind of you to recall."
"Recall! How might I—or any pilot!—forget?" He bowed then, distressingly low—the bow of Esteem for a Master—and straightened with his hand over his heart.
"Scholar, you honor my establishment. How I may be allowed to serve you?"
Aelliana raised her hand to ward the reverence in
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