"I doubt I've ever managed to cross all four of those lakes on one flight before, pilot. Well plotted!"

    She'd filed a flight plan with those crossing points in it, recalling the Ts, as they were called: Turn Time Twist Throttle Talk of her early training; it gave her an excuse to see, if there was anything to see, and to practice timing the turns, adjusting the the throttle, talking to air control...

    "Thank you sir," Theo managed, wondering if she'd overstepped somewhere, but by then she was on the landing leg and had less time to be concerned than during the middle of the flight, when she was essentially flying on instruments above the dense blackness of a lake.

    The "King Six," as the flight instructor would have it, could have flown itself from campus to Portcalay if necessary.  Theo daren't waste a moment of flight time though, hugging every moment to herself like a precious thing, and finding the night challenge not as daunting as she'd expected, though no doubt the fine weather helped that.  If either of her mentors noticed that she took the sightseers route, crossing the mountain as well as three rivers and four lakes, they didn't notice it, outside of  yos' Senchul's remark. 

    The instruments were familiar enough, as were the flight controls, and from her vantage point in the pilot's seat she'd couldn't see the hand span difference in rated wing length, though she certainly felt the more powerful engines from the moment she touched the throttle. 

    The details though: remembering the right way to sync with the local and regional traffic control, remembering to use  the correct aircraft designation, remembering to use a social rate of climb in general airspace, making sure she covered everything in the pre-flight check.  Geesh, King Six was pretty....

    The flight instructor took the radio for one brief moment, calling ahead to reserve a table, using her flight plan numbers without hesitation and without consultation, declaring himself "yos' Senchul, sitting second." Huh... the first time anyone had said that. Her co-pilot and not her instructor!

    The plane was so well-behaved that Theo got to sightsee, both over the mountains and the lakes, and now across plain and lake, looking north to the nearly edge on lights of the planet's largest spaceport and manufacturing center, and south across the sudden divide into the criss-cross of the commercial farm belt.  The radar kept her company, and ground control; several times she actually sighted beacon lights of aircraft in the distance, and could identify them by the scan.

    Ahead was the Conglomeration of Portcalay; within it were several million of people, and the air strip center she was set for. 

    The maps and positioning were fine so far; what she hadn't expected was that the place would be so bright. The runways themselves were lit, or course, and the various beacons were running their types through her mind as she spotted them – this strip was the emergency strip, that was back-up for regional commutes, the pair of general strips lay to edges, one north south to the east of the vague square that was Portcalay and the other well to the south of center, running to the west for her.

    That section glowed with multiple colors, the whites and yellow seeming of the airport infrastructure along: there in fact a tower for visual back-up, there rows of hangers cross ramps, and the parking maze. She tried to identify what she was seeing as she got closer, banking slightly to air control order as flashing lights rose rapidly from below, crossing her path well ahead, before changing color with a steep climb and brief ruddy flush that was probably lights flashing through and illuminating a small cloud. Still, it was as if there was a brightness shining from the edge of the field, and mist or smoke, and what might have been solemnly flashing beacon if the color wasn't a variant deep purple-violet not at all a standard hue for  any air control signal she'd heard of.

    Conversation in the cockpit had been quiet and then nonexistent as Veradantha fell asleep;  yos' Senchul sat the co-pilot's seat as observer only and several times appeared close to drowsing himself. The only thing she'd said was confirming that air control wanted he to use runway Portcalay G East.

    Drowsy or sleeping before, her confirmation must have woken them for the final turn into the landing had them both chattering away about sauces of choice, whole grain and svelte, and ...

    Well before her the white line became a thicker line, and she unlocked and touched the landing gear switch, felt the drop and lock, and now the thick line was a runway, gleaming in the night, marks of myriad previous landings approximating her landing zone, the lights guiding her true; she backed the throttles slightly, looked at a sudden wind speed change and confirmed that with the ground and sighed. Almost over.  The headwind bobbled the nose, and she trimmed out the elevators with a touch.

    The King Six smoothed into the final seconds, the wind allowed her just a touch of flare at the very last moment and ...

    Touchdown.  Whoa, did this plane have great gear! She couldn't even feel the gear bottom out.  Soft as a pillow.

    A glance to the screen and she made a face.

    "And there's a problem worth a grimace?" Pilot  yos' Senchul's voice was not concerned, but interested.

    Theo knew she probably blushed, but the instrument lighting wouldn't betray her.

    Theo reduced throttle, let the craft slow, watched for the runway ahead to take on a green stripe, to the left, and she followed the green stripe, toward those bright lights ...

    "According to the chronometer I was seventeen seconds late on touchdown," she admitted. " I can't figure..."

    From the back a sneeze that might have really been a strangled laugh, while the flight instructor peered into the night, his reply bouncing off the windscreen after a moment.

    "Oh, that much, Pilot Waitely?  Where do you think your error lies?"

    She pondered that while steering the plane through the sudden maze of lights and lines, the beacons and strobes of a dozen or more craft in her sight.   The arrows guided her left once more, around the large hanger and maintenance areas she'd spotted from on high, into a kind of court yard. He lead lights flashed, steadied,  --

    "The Howsanda Hugglelans," the yos' Senchul intoned, entirely unnecessarily, since the name was emblazoned in intricately flashing purple signs taller than the control tower.
    The parking slot for her King Six was there: Number Eleven. There were picnic tables just ten or twelve plane lengths ahead, and beyond that a bulky building that was all balconies and torches, with smoky fire pits and ... motion. 

    People. Dozens. Hundreds! Some were waving at her plane, some were seated at benches, some were moving in a strange line right hands on the hips of the people in front of them, some ....

    Theo checked clearance carefully, used the correct brake to slide the plane into position, trying not to gawk at the same time.

    "Part of it was the headwind. Maybe a second or two.  And ...."

    "Part of it, no doubt," he said dryly, reminding her much of Jen Sar's tone when something obvious escaped her",  is that the flight plan didn't extend to you needing to switch runways. The default is north, but that would have been a nasty little crosswind, and traffic didn't warrant making you fight it on manual.  In any case, late or not, we are here and hungry. Let's eat!"




    "Let's eat," was easier said than done, even after they got their table number: they had to follow their guide up three levels worth of ramps into the rambling building before coming to a wide expanse of terrace.  The noise was incredible, with many of the tables supplying their own music and somewhere a drumming beat, beat, beat noise that overpowered the sounds of planes landing nearby.

    She'd looked at the menu painted above the reservation desk, knowing none of the names of thing, and shrugged toward her mentors, who'd asked, almost in unison, "today's special?" before nodding to each other and to the desk-manager, who'd whistled sharply into the din, producing someone to guide them.

    Theo didn't mind following the guide – he was dressed in a tight sleeveless and shirtless vest, and moved quite well for a non-pilot, his bell-bottomed slacks encasing what was probably a dancer's body. His stride was forthright, his eyes, when he looked behind to see that they were still with him, compelling. He carried a bundle in each hand, and Theo was finding it hard to remember that the evening had started out with a fight and an emergency meeting.

    Everyone she saw was having a good time, everyone was eating – well, not everyone. Some  the smaller and less well-lit tables seemed reserved for couples, sipping together with straws from tall cylinders that glowed. Some of the couples were awfully close together, and perhaps getting closer.

    Their own table was at terrace edge, with a view of the airport, and a fire pit right there, with a small table top leaning against it.  Veradantha chose her seat, and perforce, Theo found herself between her hosts while their guide bent in front of them and busied himself with the fire pit, dancing quickly...

    Surprisingly close came Veradantha's whisper.

    "Admirable, is he not? It is a shame we can do no more than admire, at our ages, Theo Waitley. I for not having the energy beyond my eyes and nose, and you, you for being below age to wrestle three falls with someone who wears Vya so extravagantly."

    She opened her mouth to say ... and closed it. Yes, she knew what what Vya was, and obviously so did Veradantha.

    As if oblivious, yos' Senchul turned to them both hands wide, saying, "And now the show!"

    The table top leaning against fire pit was deftly picked up, a small spindle depending from it placed precisely into a matching notch, leaving about three quarters of the thing over the fire zone.

    Wait, now she saw it! Their guide was their cook, too!

    The cook spun the "table" hard with his hand and it continued to rotate. With a practiced air he wiped it with a small paper cloth, gave the table an extra spin waved at the pit, which dutifully roared into flame, and proceeded to carefully portion stuff onto the cook surface.
    Theo did as she was told: she watched.  His implements were wood and ceramic, his hands quick and sure, and --

    "Thus we clearly see," Veradantha said, waving their attention to herself by waving at the cook for a moment, "that the universe encompasses more than the kitchen and grounds of Anglingdin Academy. The choices are varied, and the methods are, as well.  Some assume that a proper education instills particular beliefs and necessities as much as it instills knowledge, indeed, some would have it that the failure to assume these beliefs indicates a lack of knowledge."

    Theo took the cue, offering "The Simples are like that on Delgado – in fact Delgado is like that on Delgado!"

    The pilots looked on, alert, interested, so she continued with "I mean, the whole thing about the college is that they want to raise people to do what they do, the way they do it."

    The flight instructor coughed lightly.  "Yes, and after all, pilots wish there to be more proper pilots. This is the way of the universe, is it not?"

    Theo paused as the cook flashed his knife rhythmically across something on the inner section of the whirling disk, heard it sizzle as a flash of vinegar was added ...

    She put her hand to the side of her head, where it itched, then drew it away suddenly, glancing at her hand to make sure she hadn't compromised the dressing on her wound.

    "No," she said after a moment, "there's a difference.  If an instructor tells me that I ought to use landing gear, and I don't, then I have probably made a mistake, a bad one. A demonstrably bad one!  If someone tells me that I need to read a particular chapter of a book three times each year and repeat a  sentence from that book everyday else the universe will collapse on itself... that is not demonstrable."

    Neither of the pilots spoke: still the intent interest.  Maybe she hadn't --

    "We need pilots.  We need people who know about rugs, and people to sell things, and ... but they're all doing something.  I want to do something. I don't want to go to a meeting and .. I mean look Kamele and Jen Sar have to go to meetings and spend time – waste time is more like it! -- because they have all these silly levels of things to keep track of, all these holes to put people into.

    "Adjunct," she said firmly, holding up her left hand, one finger up. Using her right to tap that hand she said "Assistant adjunct. Associate adjunct. Associate assistant adjunct. Assistant associate adjunct."

    She stopped, gathered herself – "I can't imagine wanting to spend my life worrying about how many credit-months I've sat listening to someone tell me about something I know about already!"

    She made a face, scrinching up her eyes, and when she opened them found a beverage cart stopping. 

    So many choices... but "Nothing with alcohol," she said austerely. "Not for me, I'm flying."

    "Of course, pilot.  Something to increase attention? Soft drink, tea, coffee?"

    "Do you have real tea? Liaden tea?"

    The server laughed.

    "Yes, real tea, pilot. It could be worth my life to serve anything else to a pilot, could it not?"



    The meal was served with flourish, each plate filled first with a third of the outer circle of the wheel, then with a third of the next orbit, and finally from the center, each expertly scooped, each precise. 

    The sauces were extravagant, and Theo too busy eating to speak. The cook stayed, using the now still disk over the warm pit to encourage a slowly rising bready dessert, which was covered in fruit and folded on itself before serving.

    "And so," yos' Senchul offered as the cook was arranging their final dish, "what would you, Theo Waitely, if you had no need to sit in classrooms for a certain number of hours? Would you hie yourself off to a yos' Phelium?"

    Theo waited a moment, raised her hands from the table, palms up, in question, then flashed repeat query please."

    The instructor sighed, very gently.

    "This Jen Sar, your father. He was a pilot. He told you nothing about clans? You do not know of Tree and Dragon and –"  He stopped, momentarily at a loss, then went on. "Do you not sit around with your classmates, pining for a ship – perhaps a liner? Don't you pine for  a berth with a special company, or have plans to own a freight line of your own?"
    Theo shook her head, nibbled delicately at the dessert now to hand.

    "No, about my father. He didn't even tell me about being a pilot until I said I wanted to! And then he warned me how hard and dangerous it is!"

    The instructor touched the sleeve where his arm should be.

    "Danger, yes. There can be danger, after all."

    Theo nodded, nibbled, "But, I played bowli ball with some cruise liner pilots..., and there are like six on at a time.  I think ..."

    "Bowli ball with liner pilots? And how did you do? You played this at some school or ..."

    "No, when I traveled to Melchiza, we borrowed an empty ballroom.  They were really good, and it wasn't easy keeping up with  them. I'm sure they were holding in reserve..."

    Veradantha made a rude noise.

    "Pilots    play hard, Theo Waitely. Now answer the question, do."

    "I'm not sure I'm good with people, really. I'm not sure about being part of a six-team. I just would like to be able to pilot, to go places. To do something. Shuffling the same information out to rows of students year after year so I can add a ribbon to my graduation robe every year... no!"

    "To pilot, eh?"  The instructor's arm waved toward the night. "You'll have your chance to pilot on the way home, I assure. Look!"

    She'd been so busy eating and talking that she hadn't noticed what she should have seen: the breeze off the lake had filled the sky with fog.

    "I have a morning class and then a meeting," he said conversationally, "and I intend to sleep though the return trip. Please, pilot, lead on."