Gear down and locked.  The gear down part she felt in the touch of the controls, and the locked part Theo felt firmly through her seat as the well-used and surely misnamed Star King Mark II settled into landing mode.  The instruments confirmed it, 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 signed and then touched her key, plugged in and counting her PIC – Pilot in Command time that was – with each passing second.  The hand-talk shorthand go good was sufficient, really, even if not as satisfying as saying it, 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 awhile she'd heard 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. Still there were good days when she could smile and wave, or even chat and play bowli ball with the 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 this thing 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, or even a proper interior wipe-down.

    The problem with touch-and-go for her was that after awhile 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 up 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.

    The altitude ticked down and she backed the throttle just a little more, watched the altitude read zero while she flew on another moment, felt the touch of the rear gear and then the front, felt the craft decelerating and 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.

    That quickly she pulled back, felt the rotation and rise, chinged the gear up, reveling in the pressure on her back, and saw blue --

    If there'd been a camera on her face instead of a recorder logging the instruments it would have caught a wide wicked grin. This was her last go round today and she meant to break her personal best time to altitude yet again. The ship might be an old one, but it was willing to press her hard back into the seat and climb out into the clouds.

    It was good to get a thrill just before another run at math for dummies...




    Peeved.   As good as things were going in the air, was how bad they were on the ground today.

    This was the second time in six days  AP44 was stuck in a holding while some student controller bobbled the patterns, and then when things were fixed she'd been last in line, with her math a forced-march across campus if she missed the jitney.

    The landing, like the touch-and-go series, was quiet and fine, and then they'd backed a shuttle food cart out into the taxi-strip where it stalled, and then --

    There was only so much hurry-up she could do.  The taxi run finally at halt at slot 5...

    "AP44, can you pull that on down to maintenance bay while you're at it and save the crew a hike?"

    AP44 was not a road racer on the ground and she hardly saved anyone a hike since they had to bring by a student ground-guide with his paddles to direct her.  She tried not to frown at him – she'd done ground-guide for the first time not long before and knew it to be one of the more anxiety-producing things at the school.  Having all those wings at the end of things made even small turns potentially dangerous.

    Regs being regs, she didn't pop the canopy until the engine was winding down. The key read 36.1 as she palmed it, and she was in such a hurry she kept the helmet on until feet touched ground.

    The ground-guide nodded, smiled – "Good landings pilot, good go!"

    She smiled back and waved, hurling "Thanks" into the air behind her and ran up the ramp toward the ops office to sign out.

    Wil, her chiefest tormentor from the Vestrin, stood at ramp-top, wearing the blue cap and arm band of the Shift-boss, waiting for her, his official shift-book in hand.

    "Well there, Waitley, looks like you're doing real good in the air. Real good.  Better than a lot of us that's been through on regular time, looks like, even in the old ship.  Shame they still got you stuck in backwards math, don't you think?"

    When he said "old ship" he waved the book in that direction, and in hers.

    Way being blocked, Theo stopped, hand sign saying, next class, can't talk.

    "Yeah, well, we all got classes sometimes, don't we?  Look, I was thinking it's a shame you keep getting stuck with the old lady out there, you know?  I mean, you got the luck of the draw I guess.  But look, you're doing better than some of us figured you would, and I wonder if you'd like to stop up to Castlin Quad later.  Senior's are looking for a couple quick hands to  back us up for the bowli-ball challenge at ..."

    "I have class, Wil. Really. And I've been working out with Belgraid, anyway..."

    He waved the shift-book in her direction, not gently, but said her name.

    "Theo. Really. Listen, you see, come on up to the quad, get some high class bowli ball in, maybe stop by for some refreshments – and we can get you set. Chelly said you had a rough upbringing, didn't know better about some stuff, and he thinks you'll get through school if you get a break.  Let Belgraid see who the good hands belong to, see? Get that break, you know? Might even be able to get you into the new Star King.  It's type certified a Mark II, but I mean, this is brand new. It's really a Mark III in disguise."

    Theo heard what he was saying almost as through a filter: no matter what nonsense he was offering, she needed to get to moving. The thing was she needed to get by him.

    "Thanks, no. I'll stick with Belgraid,"

    "Just no? You think 'no' is the right answer?"

    This was not good. He'd begun waving that shift-book with even more energy and Theo felt herself go into that attitude-mode Kara talked about. "

    "I've got to go to class.  Let me by!"

    "Right," he said with some kind of finality. "I hear what you're saying. But this isn't all social, you know.  I need your key clicked in here – you were last PIC on that plane and we've got to synch the records. You know the drill!"

    From the Ops room ahead of her someone yelled, "New shift coming in!"

    "Right with you Bell, right with you," Wil looked in that direction – "You're on my shift. Key!"

    Theo raised her free hand to her eyes and then dropped it to grab the key from her public pocket as he offered the plug in at an awkward angle.  She pushed, the accept light lit orange, and then he almost dropped the instrument, forcing her to let go of the key or risk twisting the connection. He grabbed the book more firmly, peering down at it, and muttering loudly as he manipulated some keys.

    "You really think you're something, don't you? Can't figure why it is you got no math but fly like a vet.  You tell everyone your father was a pilot, hey? Can't no one find a current pilot by that name. Something about you ain't right, Waitely."

    "Key," she said around the growing coldness in her stomach, and then "my father is a retired pilot."

    Wil snarfed a laugh, waving the shift-book, with the key still on it.

    "Retired? Or was that decertified?"

    Not good, Theo, she though, and found herself centering, and ...

    "Key," she insisted between gritted teeth.

    "Not going to talk about Daddy?"

    "My key.  Now." She straight ahead, ignoring the attack.
   
    "There you go again, always looking for a fight. You act more like a smuggler's get than you ought, girl."

    "Key," she said, closing in slowly.

    "Well, your choice.  Play with Belgraid and live-down a decert dad if you can..."

    The key clicked out and he tossed it, nearly beyond her, chuckling at her scramble.

    She lad to leap for it, and was on her way around him, when she caught the gist of the words he was saying...

    "Close to thirty three hours on there. Who'd have thought someone with no math could have got so far ..."

    Theo froze, turned, staring down at the key in her right hand, clutching the helmet in her  left and then up at his forced grin.

    "Say again," she said softly from her crouch. "How much time?"

    Wil shook the shift book, glancing down casually to consult the face of the instrument again.

    "You really can't count, can you? Three two point nine hours. Says so right here."

    He turned the display for her, his grin even less certain.

    "Fix it," she heard herself saying. "I have more time than that."

    "No," he said carefully, "you don't. This is the official shift-read..."

    "I had more time than that when I started today."

    "The key is official," he insisted. "This is your time...."

    "Fix it."

    She got quiet, her gaze not leaving his face.

    "You're really pushing it, Waitely.  You just can't expect to everything to go your way if you don't work with seniors..."

    The shift-bell sounded, pulling Theo's attention back to the rest of the world.

    Math!

    "You'll fix this when I come back," she said, making a dashing detour to go around him, but he used the shift book like a shepherds crook.

    "Thumb print, Waitely.  Validate it"

    This was almost too much.

    "Later."  She started to go around the shift-book again, and he it he waved it now, hard, following her into the shift room where Bell was lounging against a desk with an interested expression his face.

    "Sign it now," Wil was yelling, almost striking her with it, but she fended the thing off with her elbow. He waved it again, catching on her a stinging blow flat on the cheek and ear, and before she realized it Theo was moving at him.

    She swung her helmet into his gut, but he danced partly out of the way, now using the book to prod at her face. She'd learned the moves for that though, and with a ducking. twisting motion she was away, half behind, now fending off his elbow as he tried to strike rather than dance.

    He swung hard, cussing and yelling, and there was blood dripping from somewhere on the left; but this move she'd seen on the ship when the other pilots were playing and all you needed to do really was --

    Wil was flat out on the floor, dazed, his breath coming in large gasps. The shift-book lay against the desk almost at Bell's feet.  Bell, eyes wide, was standing with hands low, nonthreatening, looking between Wil and Theo in wonderment, and then directly at Theo

    "One handed! I can't believe it, you took him one handed!" His face changed then and went white, and he reached to the desk, slapping at a button.

    The security gong rang about the time Theo realized that blood was coming from the stinging area on the side of her face. She held her hand there, to stop the blood, but the gong kept ringing.