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Saltation
Chapter Twenty One By Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
Theo's chores for the day were commonplace. The early morning schedule called for inspecting tie-downs and parking clearances on the civil aviation side, with Derryman opting to drive the cart and record while she spotted the gear and attached tension meters to the ties this time. The craft in this section were a mixed-bag of private and corporate with one thing in common: they all paid extra for the twice daily premium status checks instead of depending on luck and inertia to keep their wings safe. Derryman did this everyday, and he was a good teacher, in part because he'd been a teacher before he retired. He had not, as she'd first supposed, taught piloting or anything like it – instead he first sold and then taught insurance sales. "Outside work is good for the soul," he told her, "and a lot better for health, too. With all the steps I get in a day here ...." Since this was said as he was lounging back in the cart studying her at work, she flipped a quick walk walk walk when query in his direction, and he laughed. "You can say that today, but I do this everyday, and a lot of the year I don't have no hotshot apprentice pilots to mollycoddle and ..." She smiled outright this time. For the first five days of their time here Derryman drove the dozen students hired for the break like he was trying to make day laborers out of them. They'd carried cable, rope, tie-twine, twists, pins, and disposable snap readers from one end of the field to the other, it seemed like. They replaced aged and shredded cable tying down display craft, they'd learned the value of gloves – and of choosing the right glove – and they learned to respect the gage-color of the temp strips laid in quiet mosaic on the live strips and launch zones. Her blisters had healed quickly, but by then two of the students had recalled urgent necessity elsewhere, forfeiting the free meals, camaraderie, and income to return to the academy or accept sudden trips home. The afternoon the two returnees left Derryman had turned up with a bowli ball and a round of flavored ice-gel and declared the rest of the day free and clear. Once the first week's mollycoddling was done the crews had been given split-shift days, with the mornings given over to outside duties and the afternoons to tasks that varied by the day for everyone – except for Kara, who kept getting things in the machine shop and what she liked to call "below decks stuff." For all that she enjoyed keeping busy, and learning new things, Theo was starting to miss the forward motion of school: here everyday was clearly mostly the same for most of the staff and workers. Derryman, who liked being around pilots and flying things, didn't mind the sameness – in fact denying it, claiming each day brought new wonders and different challenges. Other than having different fingers jabbed by cable fringe not much seemed to change, but she guessed that being out on the tarmac with a breeze in the face and the smell of the water coming off the nearby lake might have something appealing to it year round, something like watching the sun come up over the bushes and trees of Jen Sar's Leafydale Place house... maybe there was something idyllic in it, after all. It was surprising how, among all the noise and motion of the port, one could stand out in a corner of it and feel basically alone and free, even with craft overhead and taxiing nearby. She bent under the nose of one of the three Indigo Speedsters on the route, admiring it the same time the voice in the back of her head told her it was mostly a toy. Derryman had it right: he'd told her the first time she checked one that, "The thing only has room for pilot and lunch, so it's a good thing it can't fly all that long!" Pressing the meter's probe against the tie-strap she knew there was a problem even before the complaining YEEP YEEP YEEP broke the relative quiet. The strap looked soft, and then yielded easily to her push... and it shouldn't. The meteorologists were calling for more of the seasonal lake-effect storms late in the day and it wouldn't do for something this light to lift and flip in a downpour, or worse, go sliding out into a taxi-way to endanger traffic. Derryman sighed noisily, calling out, "Do the right wing gear and I'll do the left..., but it's Batzer's Bat and I guarantee they'll all be forty percent light and using last year's recycled cable!" "Shall I call it in?" He might not have heard her, since she was crouched 'neath the wing with the monitor turned down but the yeep yeep yeep was still pretty noisy and -- "No, let's you not call it in. Batzer's heard of me before, and I'll check yours against mine so when we call it in we'll have the double-check in place. He always complains he's being picked on, but I got the chops to get something moving in a hurry." Right. There'd been some classroom time on these things – always do a double check before disturbing one of the Howsenda's regulars. She saw Derryman duck under his wing, a little slowly, heard the expected yeep and then a chuckle. "Guess I was wrong. This one here, it's only 39.977 percent low on the tension! And look out there – we gotta get someone out soon!" From Theo's vantage the tarmac and flight lines led to the bright line of the horizon, where blue sky glinted behind boiling clouds going from white to grey. "That'll be a gozwalla of a front when it gets here, Theo. I'll call this in – you get on down the line and I'll catch you." It was a gozwalla of a front, and it was far earlier than the usual evening storms, and from a vector slightly off from them as well. Wind and precocious rain drops buffeted Theo and Derryman as they finished the run – luckily only the one tie-down had needed attention – and Derryman rushed off, one of his rare pilot signs indicating open windows fragile things home. The day locker room was crowded with regular staff and the break-crew; ordinary activity of the port slowed as local traffic backed up with it's approach, and a call came from the Howsenda offering choice chow seating to crew members since several tour craft were rerouting, despite meal prep in progress. Kara, Theo, and a crowd of regulars took the underways beneath tarmac and buildings to arrive at the staff lift to the Howsenda, one wag counting the packed crowd and announcing "we're one shy of the load limit on this ship – should we wait for someone?" Theo and Kara managed to duck in, Kara hauling Theo to a supposed spot on the left corner, a spot made by the willing shift of other bodies, and the question was answered by someone close to the door saying, "Food before limit tests, Jermy!" who then palmed the panel's button and shot the lift to the back-corridors of the Howsenda's wait-staff area. Kara grabbed Theo's hand and rushed out as the lift door swished open, pointing to a side corridor and -- Directly in front of them stood the waiter who'd served Theo or her first visits to the Howsenda, and held both hands high, instantly quieting the raucousness. "Folks, I suggest you all stay onboard. The Skyliner banquet room is open and there's seating for all of you. We've got a delicious meal just moments from being served, and since it's a non-cancel event, we might as well all enjoy it!" He smiled generically, then did a double-take as people pushed themselves back into the confines of the lift. "Ah, pilot," he said, a sweeping hand gesture directing the pair of them back into the car as he nodded to Theo, "I'm so glad you could join us." The door closed summarily, and Theo grimaced as Kara elbowed her. "Wow, he's something to look at isn't he? He's ..." Theo lifted glance to the car-top, managing to say "He might be something to look at, but that's hard to trust. He always wears too much vya!" just before the car reached the banquet room. Theo could have had cream-crackers and soy sprouts and had a great meal, if only because of the setting. The tables were beautifully laid out, with flowers between guests, and the "room" was composed of three long arms, each with stunning views through transparent walls of the field and city to one side, and the lakes to the other; the ceiling itself was a transparent green. The room lighting was subdued, and the table cloth itself glowed gently. The storm walking across the lake threw lightning to the ground carelessly, and the cloud to cloud strikes built sudden pink blossoms with the great mass of roiling darkness. The meal, however, was far beyond cream-crackers and soy-sprouts; the viands included imported fishes and cheeses, fruit compotes made from berries that blossomed once every five standards, delicate tendrils of between serving desserts... and no wine or other such beverages. She went with tea, as did Kara, though more than a pitcher of near-beer made its way to the tables. When the front hit the smattering of rain drops on the window-walls was sheeted away instantly, the rain alternately coating and abandoning the wind-driven surface. Lightning strikes nearby brought thunder that shook the port. Most of the diners paused at one point or another in the proceedings to stare into the darkness. "You're not saying much," Kara chided. Free hand flickered watching watching. "Yah, it's a pretty good storm." "We don't much get to see storms like this in the Wall, and even at home, they aren't often like this." On the horizon toward the lake was a glow now, and the sheeting rains were palpably lessening. Conversation rose; someone from the grounds crew passionately bemoaned the expected fate of recent planting. Theo craned her head to look toward the departing storm, only to hear Kara say, "The very definition of wet!" She turned and saw a bedraggled man, in what might have been business clothes, moving from table to table hurriedly. His hair was dark and slick and he'd not bothered to take his soaked jacket off as he stalked across the room. A vague helpful hand at another table pointed toward their part of the room's arm, and the man rushed forward, quelling conversation as he passed. There was water on his nose; it was dripping from his hair. Theo saw that and saw his stance as he approached; she let her utensils rest on the plates ... "Which one of you is Waitely? You owe me a dinner and suit!" Theo was standing between Kara and the man, and there was commotion around but she was focused on his face and posture, not quite sure how it was that she'd got there. Echoes of her fight with... "I'm Batzer. You called me from my dinner and look at this! Look at this! How did you dare?" He shook his arms around, throwing water droplets as made great un-practiced motions, reminding her now more of Roni than Willsmyth. He pressed forward, and Theo willed herself to relax, fought to change her stance from prepared to aware. If he noticed he didn't react properly, raising his voice. She gave ground a half-step; feeling the people behind her moving chairs so she could escape if need be. "Answer me! I'm Brine Batzer and you owe me a ... "Batzer, you are intruding on a private function. Stand down and leave." The waiter. He came up behind Theo, backing her at first, then standing at her side. "I'm Batzer. This stupid called me to tie down my plane and she owes me ..." A rumble of thunder drifted over the proceedings as the waiter took a quarter step forward, insinuating his arm between Theo and the angry man, a twitch of hand suggesting mine now. "I repeat. You are interrupting a private function. This person is an employee and we will not brook this behavior from anyone." "I'm Batzer. I keep five ships here and you aren't going to threaten me! I'll go right to Hugglelans and have them toss both of you. She's going to apologize, and pay for my dinner and ... The waiter looked across the room, raising a hand slowly. The irate figure before them looked, too. To see a six uniformed guards standing at the ready. "Hugglelans Security will be pleased to escort you to a public area, Brine Batzer. You may leave now and this problem can be looked into." The man's face whitened and his hands shook. "I'm Batzer, do you hear? I'll speak to a Hugglelans before I move." The waiter nodded a half nod and shifted the way a fighter or dancer might. He looked larger now, and formidable rather than merely respectable. "Yes sir," he said, but his voice too, had changed slightly. "I am third son of the house. You may call me Aito. I will personally look into this matter, Brine Batzer, and take care of it appropriately. You may leave now, and let my people eat." ***
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