"There!" he exclaimed. "Now curiosity is satisfied!"
Kamele laughed again and shook her head. "No, my friend, curiosity doesn't begin to be satisfied." She nodded toward the common room. "Why don't you get the screen ready? I'll refresh our cups."
"Well," he said conversationally, as on screen the little glide-plane played with its tow string. "A flight sim, and very agreeable it is, too."
"Theo is flying this—this craft?" Kamele asked from beside him.
He nodded. "We are seeing from the pilot's perspective—her instruments, her environment. If we wished—and had the equipment to hand—we might fly it with her and thus learn something of her technique; a useful tool for teaching other pilots."
Kamele nodded, her face rapt as she watched Slipper Fourteen raise its nose, dip its wing and slip free of its tow.
"That was neatly done," he said for Kamele's benefit. "Ah, and see? She has caught the thermal. With luck, this will be a long glide."
"How beautiful," Kamele breathed. "Look at those mountains! I had no idea that flying could be so peaceful."
"It can be," he said cautiously, watching the mountains with mistrust. Treacherous things, mountains, and a glide-plane no equal partner for the winds that often danced around such places.
"Flight GT S14, Academy GT S14," a man's voice, terse and businesslike, broke into the peaceful sail through sunny skies. "Academy GT S14, acknowledge."
"Flight GT S14 here." Theo's voice was—not calm. Bright. Sharp, even. Jen Sar scanned the instruments, took note of variometer and altitude.
". . . everyone out of the sky . . ." the flight-master was saying, urgently. "Emergency."
Beside him, Kamele had gone very still.
"I can stuff it on the plateau in five minutes," Theo said, and it was the utter surety in her voice that made Jen Sar's stomach tighten.
"A drill," he managed, for Kamele's stillness. He touched her hand, and smiled when she glanced at him. "She will need to learn to react correctly in an emergency. Of course, there are drills, so that she may prepare while others more experienced watch over her."
Instructor El is worried, Aelliana commented, which he had thought, too, and which he was not about to say to Kamele's strained smile.
The little ship went sideways, and he felt Kamele tense beside him.
"She needs to adjust altitude, and quickly—Ground had said it was an emergency," he said, keeping his voice soothing. "She is being perfectly safe." Safe, but aggressive. His fingers twitched when she hit the standing wave, the slip-string snapping and the variometer beginning to squeal.
"The nose . . ." he murmured, but there, she had it; the nose was down, and she was on course. The wings thrummed, protesting the service she required of them, and the radar telling stories to frighten children—
But Theo was no longer a child; she was a pilot in command of her craft. Amid the din of scolding instruments her soarplane dutifully sideslipped, crabbing against the sheer wall. She was in charge, keeping her craft level—and the nose was up; she was rising, far too close to the wall, and—
"Not great, Theo," she said, her voice torn by the wind and the noise of the instruments. "Not great."
He scanned the plateau, saw the spot, and his fingers twitched again, reaching for levers that weren't available to him, and they were down—no! A bounce, sternly brought under control, and then they were down, in a chancy location, but safe enough for now, and the pilot had reported her situation and received the order to clear the craft.
Inside his head, Aelliana cheered.
He relaxed into his seat, suddenly aware that he had tensed forward, and sighed.
"That was . . . dangerous," Kamele said in a small, shaken voice. "Wasn't it?"
"Oh." He turned. Her face was paler even than usual, her eyes wide. "Kamele . . ."
"Tell me," she interrupted. "If what we just saw—was Theo in danger? Yes or no? That was not a drill!"
"There is always a risk, in piloting," he said slowly. "Was Theo in danger—I cannot say—" He raised his hand as she began to speak.
"No. Kamele. I am not softening this for you. The truth is that I cannot say. In my experience, a pilot is in danger when a pilot feels that she is in danger. It seems to me that Theo did not consider herself to be in danger. She had a knotty problem to solve, and a good deal of maneuvering to do. But I had no sense—from the action of the craft, or from her voice—that she felt endangered." He sighed, and put his hand over hers where it was fisted on her knee.
"Likely it was not a drill."
"And Cho sig'Radia is selling this—this frightening—"
"To pilots," he broke in, remembering to keep his voice soft. "To pilots, such a tape is not so much frightening as—exhilarating." He moved his shoulders at her look of disbelief. "Pilots are a disreputable lot, I fear."
"You were worried," she accused him. "You stopped talking, and leaned forward, reaching for—as if you would fly it down yourself!"
He looked toward his hand, still forward on his knee, ready to take the stick, and back to Kamele.
"I was worried," he admitted. "One worries about one's daughter in treacherous moments." He smiled suddenly, pride washing him. "But I worry about her far less now." The smile widened, and became a grin.
"Kamele, on my honor—that was a beautiful landing!"
Thirteen
Ozar Rokan Memorial Flight Center
Anlingdin Piloting Academy
Gear down and locked.
Theo felt the gear down part in the touch of the controls, and the locked part firmly through her seat as the well-used and surely misnamed Star King Mark II settled into landing mode. The instruments confirmed what she already knew, and she sang out to traffic, who acknowledged visual politely, and gave her permission to do what she was going to anyway, which was touch-and-go number nine.
For luck, she touched her key, plugged into the board and counting her PIC—Pilot in Command time that was—in one-second increments. The hand-talk shorthand go good was sufficient, really, even if not as satisfying as saying the words, but she was learning not to talk to herself so much, and this time she managed not to say anything at all, except what was business. The PIC timer showed 35.5. Not so long to go, after all.
She sighed noisily, communicator button off. No need to share that, either. For a while, after she'd gotten pushed into the Advanced Power, she'd hear mock-cloned, "Not good, Theo," half-whispered or louder when she walked anywhere around the airfield.
More than once she'd also heard "Prissy little attitude case" or worse from students she'd passed in the flight lists.
Still, there were good days when she could smile and wave, or even chat and play bowli ball with Kara, Vin, and the rest of the crew from Belgraid.
The cross-breeze was minimal and she let the little jet drift a hair left of the centerline before applying a modest correction. The altimeter on the Star King was off by at least a short hop, she was sure, and the stick had a click in it—but what could you expect from one of the planes anyone air-rated had to fly for fifty hours in person and another fifty on sim before they could move on? It rarely got a good cleaning or airing out, or even a proper interior wipe-down.
The problem with touch-and-go for her was that after a while the sheer sameness was boring—no new scenery, and not much of a new challenge. It probably didn't help that the catch-up schedule Veradantha had pushed through meant she was in the plane or in sim every day, no break. And this plane, nearly surplus, was the one she'd been saddled with most times because she was the push-through. Serviceable yes; comfortable, not exactly.
On the other hand, next week she was scheduled for a run over the mountain and up the coast for a landing at an airstrip she'd never seen, and a run-back the same day. That would be good . . . whatever plane she was in.
Now, the field zoomed up at her; on the instrument panel the altitude ticked down and she backed the throttle just a hair more. The altitude annoyingly read zero while she flew on another moment, and before the touch of the rear gear, and the front. The craft decelerated and she saw disinterested crew working strip-side and heard the confirming "Touch AP44," from a bored voice just as she began to really kick the power up.