Her mind flung itself around the ball's absurd motion, as her body reacted, took the ball and spun it against the spin it demanded, nearly catching the tall guy in the head, his touch more a pass than a catch, so the short guy could take it, and Theo was charging for the point where the ball had to go, when—
"Full halt!"
Theo went down on one knee, obeying that order. She shook her hair out of her face, and looked up, not at the short guy, but at Pilot yos'Senchul—but no, it wasn't.
In one hand, the pilot held the bowli ball, hard and steady, though Theo knew it was kicking to get free. In the other hand, the pilot held a data transport bag.
Theo took a breath and climbed to her feet. It was yos'Senchul, but—two hands?
He shook the ball at the assembly. "No one leaves until I have some answers. First. This ball—it has an owner? Someone who should claim it?"
The question was penetrating and serious.
The tall guy cleared his throat. "That girl there, sir, she threw the toss and should get the return."
yos'Senchul looked to Theo, grim.
"Pilot Waitley, do you own this object?"
Theo shook her head.
"Sir, no. I just got in the game. It is my catch and toss, and I've got it figured now so—"
"Yes, Pilot, I could see that you have it figured." yos'Senchul turned, holding the ball out like a weapon.
"Pilot ven'Arith, does this bowli ball belong to you?"
Kara was on her feet, breathing hard, her face wet with sweat. She bowed, some special thing with hand motions, and knee tucks, performed without a stutter, though an instant before she'd been shaking.
"Master Pilot, it was brought to the game by someone else."
yos'Senchul turned to the tall guy.
"You, sir, who wished the ball returned to Pilot Waitley?"
He gulped. "I brought the ball, but I don't own it, I mean I got it from—"
"I see," yos'Senchul interrupted. He looked to the shorter player, who was staring at the ground. "And you?"
"I've had the ball awhile," the guy muttered. "I mean, you know, a guy needs an edge."
"Ah. Tell me, how long have you had a death wish?"
The short guy looked up, eyes wide. "Death wish, sir?"
"Surely, a death wish. It is one thing to play a clean, high stakes game among pilots; for surely pilots delight in such things. It is another thing to bring into play between uninformed pilots an amateurishly modified gladiator ball. I have saved your life, not because I am your friend, but because Pilot Waitley would have blamed herself for your suicide or that of your comrade."
The man went pale but said nothing.
"Did you not hear Pilot Waitley say she had figured the ball out? Look!"
yos'Senchul put the data case down against his knee, and pulled back his other sleeve, revealing a metal and ceramic arm adorned with a plethora of readouts.
"As I hold this ball, it contains enough stored energy to launch itself to the nearest town. Pilot Waitley says, and I trust her enough to have her pilot my own craft, that she has figured the ball out."
The instructor bowed toward Theo, gently.
"Tell us, Pilot: what do you see?"
Theo returned the bow.
"There's something extra in the ball, like a resonance. It takes the ordinary changes and, I sort of plotted it, I think. The more often the ball is thrown quickly, the more energy it takes from the spin and every so often the energy comes out in a throw. I can see the timing of that release."
"Enough. Close enough. And your strategy?"
He looked at her expectantly, and Theo raised both hands, weighing the phrasing.
"I was going to take the pass from the shorter player, dive, roll, and give the ball to the taller, chest high. He keeps his hands too far on the fringe, and he's not quick—"
Enough, yos'Senchul signed. He bowed again.
"Pilot, thank you. An able strategy, indeed, and more than sufficient to have told the tale."
Turning to the two men, now standing well isolated from the DCCT players, yos'Senchul waved them casually before him with the admonition, "Sirs, you may thank me for saving your lives, while we walk together to the Commander's office. A discussion of the source of the modification kit will not be out of order."
Twenty-Four
Diverse Cultures Celebration Team
Anlingdin Piloting Academy
Yberna was more than just tired, she was ill. Theo didn't think she'd ever seen anyone that exact shade of yellow, especially considering how pale the girl usually was, and the color didn't go well at all with scrapes and bruises. With yos'Senchul gone DCCT was acting like a team, indeed—someone had broken out extra oxygen and there were a couple first aid kits circulating among the combatants.
"I'll be fine," Yberna said, her hands trembling and her lips going blue, "I just need a little oxygen."
But oxygen didn't help, nor did the simple remedy of keeping calm that some were loudly advocating. Even before yos'Senchul and his wards were out of sight, Kara was on the comm with the infirmary, demanding an emergency pickup at DCCT.
"Yes, we have first aid providers," her voice rose, shutting down adjacent conversations, "but none of us has prenatal training and Yberna is pregnant."
The words struck Theo's ears like a sonic boom, and she wasn't the only one whose near-squeaked "pregnant?" broke the air. She managed not to ask "how" as a follow-up, but surely Yberna wouldn't have planned a pregnancy for this late in her school career!
"It isn't silly to rest, Yberna," Kara was saying, "and we're not going to carry you down the hill over our backs like a day pack! Here, use this for a pillow, and try the relaxation exercises for concentration. They've got a crew out the door already."
"Thank you, Pilot Waitley, you have done well for your friend, and you, Kara ven'Arith, you have great empathy!"
Theo nodded to the crew chief's bow, pleased to see him, surprised to be recalled.