Win Ton sighed.
"Perhaps it did; for my part, I was involved in the fighting on station. I robbed the dead of their weapons. There were injured and wounded all around. I defended a hallway leading to the administrators who were holding me as prisoner, because the attackers were this same Department that had tortured me.
"Of course, the important news to the universe was that the Caylon's ship broke the back of the enemy, and that there is a missing yos'Phelium returned to Korval." There was real annoyance in his voice; he gave a half laugh, and a shrug.
"Far more important to me was the understanding that the catastrophic healing units were first for the casualties of the battle. Understand, Theo, that meant for the people they knew might benefit. But these things I've been infected with—the ordinary units, even the catastrophe units, they are not adequate."
"The healing units don't work?" Theo barely heard her own whisper.
"They stall matters for a while, it seems. Every time a fresh series begins, there's something new, as if the bugs learn the unit's cure, and so have restructured themselves. The techs therefore have held me free of autodocs and the like, afraid the bugs might learn all that the unit might do."
"And this place—Volmer. There's someone here with a cure?"
Win Ton sighed. "Not, I think, a cure. A lead, a chance. Headquarters cannot afford to have me take up healing space that is needed for others, and they do not want the Department to control Bechimo. They want no one to control Bechimo. And thus they mean to find it, and kill it—which they consider me too ill or too stupid to have deduced. So we come here; which intercepted your course—a bonus for me."
Theo touched her necklace, the familiar weight of it calming, soothing—active.
"Do they expect me to hand this over to them, then?"
Win Ton looked startled.
"Who? The crew with me? As I said, it is . . . not well known that there is a second key. Those who travel with me are doing a favor for a comrade who may not have much time left, by allowing me to meet with you for whatever we might bring to such a meeting. Call it a casting of Balances, and celebration of my life."
Theo reached for his hand then, barely covering his right hand with the strange scarring. His skin felt cool to her, even cold.
"And you, do you expect this to be our last meeting?"
That sounded hollow to her, but she didn't want to say . . .
"Do I expect to die? Yes—we all do, and pilots often earlier than others, it seems. I am not . . . advocating my death now, and I have an account I would prefer to Balance."
"Then this meeting delays you? You must get to your contact, Win Ton, because I'm not advocating your death, either. I'd rather settle accounts, if we have them, in proper time, than rattle off some unthoughtful words just to . . ." She stopped.
"Just to settle a dying man's mind?" Oddly, he smiled. "Sweet Mystery, yes, this heartens me. We will come into Balance, I have no doubt. And I cannot meet with this person, until they announce their presence to us—my crew is waiting for news now."
Barely were these words spoken when a knock came at the door, and a respectful two heartbeats after, one of the Scouts stepped in, with a Guild staffer.
Theo thought they'd overstayed their time, and rose to leave.
"Forgive us, Pilots. There is a message, the Guild holds a message, for Pilot Waitley."
The staffer showed the memory pad he held, and spoke with animation.
"Pilot, I can't believe this—someone has sent you a message marked urgent, but it's not pinbeamed and it isn't properly addressed! It goes by relay to the whole route of your ship, I gather. But you are here, I knew, and rather than send it on to the ship, or wait until I saw you again, I thought to gain what speed I could by bringing it now, here."
He handed the pad to Theo.
"Wipe and return before you leave, or if you must, take it and we'll deduct it from your credits."
Theo received the pad, staring at it like she'd never seen one before. A route-following message for her? But—if it was so important it couldn't be sent to her mail drop, why not a pinbeam?
The Scout and the staffer left. Win Ton was making a painful motion with his hand, and this time she could read the signs: privacy query.
She shook her head, tucked the pad against her side so she could sign—a moment only—and touched hand to key plate.
URGENT for Pilot THEO WAITLEY Hugglelans Lines from KAMELE WAITLEY.
She sat, heavily, waiting for the rest of the message to resolve. From across the table, she heard heavy breathing.
The message was short and wrenching, with the unsaid as unsettling as the said.
Daughter Theo, I am sending this to Hugglelans and to your Guild, and apologize if multiple messages reach you, or if the cost seems exorbitant. I act as your mother in this, and not as an accountant.
Jen Sar has disappeared in midsemester, without notice to me or to the Administration, on his off day before mid-tests. The only clue I can gather is of a small and dilapidated spaceship long unflown, departing Delgado the same day, from an airfield within easy drive, flown by one of his description. His car, keys on seat, fishing gear in place, sat in an assigned spot there. The spaceship, so station informs me, is not in Delgado space.
Within a day of his departure, I discovered that the house on Leafydale Place, all possessions, and especially the cats, are gifts to me. I continue the tea run, with fading hopes. I felt that you must be told, and can only hope your connections with your father are not as fully disrupted as my own.
Kamele
Theo banged the pad on the table as if the message might be shaken into something other, and then grabbed it up again and reread it, the sense of it the same, the whole of it senseless. Father wouldn't just leave!
"Theo?"
Win Ton was standing quite near; she'd been so concentrated on Kamele's letter that she hadn't heard him move. He was doing his best not to look at the memo screen, so much so that she struggled against a laugh and lost to a resulting snarfing giggle.
"Theo, is there . . . a problem?"
He stood with a steadying hand on table, and she managed to strangle the giggle into words.
"Win Ton, my father's gone."
His mottled face showed a change from intent interest to blandness back to some emotion she couldn't name, as if his illness betrayed his training.
Hand still braced against the table, he bowed a special bow, indicating respect for the elders, and said something in Liaden which she understood part of, and something else in Liaden, which got by her ear entirely. Within a heartbeat, he bowed again, murmuring in Terran, what must have been the translation: "May you have all joy in the memory of your loved one."
"No," she burst out. "He's not dead! He's gone. Missing! Run away from his classes in a beat-up spaceship and—his classes!"
Win Ton went through another set of changes, relief perhaps coming into his shoulders, while his eyebrows drew painfully together.
"And has he never before—"
"No, not ever not ever!"
Theo realized that she'd banged the memo pad onto the table again.
"Sorry," she said, very low, and then took it to Liaden, with proper gravity, "Forgive me if I offend in this moment of uncertainty."