In front of her was a paper copy of the safety manual, and she had no doubt what was going to happen--someone eventually would read the thing to them, and they'd have to sign each page and hand it in. She'd taken a couple of minutes to read through her manual just in case they also threw a test at them before or after.

She'd been part of the first group in, and had been able to claim a choice seat in the middle back, where the office staffers and drivers at the front might obscure her, and where her coloring might aid invisibility. The rest of the early arrivals didn't have much to say to her, since she was low board until Mileeda came back or somebody else got hired to fill her slot. That was all right; she didn't really want to draw attention to herself, as per Uncle Orned's Rule Four.

And anyway, as much as she liked being singled out for jobs, she disliked being noticed by the staffers who didn't actually deal with couriers, who couldn't appreciate the kind of balance and reactions and speed that the travelers needed to do the job.

This morning she was particularly pleased with balance and reactions. Her uncle was sharp when it came to timing things, and he'd have noticed if she left too soon or too late, so she'd carefully left exactly as she would on an ordinary day. That meant she missed Kay, ducking his mom by going off early to the zoological preserve. That was just as well, though, because she had plenty of time to work out the feel of the revamped slideboard.

And did it feel different! She definitely had a bit more height on straight-line travel, and much firmer cornering. All that meant that she had to readjust the grips on her boots for the optimum ride. She had to stop three times before she got it right, but after that everything was smooth.

What she hadn't quite expected was that, with the proper technique, she could up the speed out of a corner considerably, and go deeper into corners before needing to slow. On some routes she'd easily be able to chop time, or maybe take on side jobs. . . .

The thought of side jobs triggered a line of speculation about Mileeda. Her body learning the new parameters of her board, Jerel wondered if Mileeda had gotten greedy on a "tipper"--a job run on the side for a tip, or sometimes even a favor. Tipping was risky, according to Uncle Orned, because the kind of folks who wanted to send an unregistered package quicktime might not be, as he put it, the very best people.

Tipping was a topic the company didn't like to talk about. As long as they had a policy of supplying new slideboards and requiring on-call couriers to have them available at all times in case of special jobs coming up, the risk of a boarder making a little spare money off side jobs was always there.

Jerel had stayed away from outside jobs, partly because of Uncle Orned's caution--though he often enough asked her to slide somewhere to pick things up for him--and partly because she wanted her study time free. She was going to be ready, the next time there was a challenge exam for ship-engine school!

"We'll be starting in a moment," a slightly nasal voice announced from directly in front of her, startling her out of her thoughts. The company didn't stint on training equipment, so the seats all had locational stereo, as well as a nifty fold-out keypad. Everyone in the place would have heard the voice as if its owner had been standing directly in front of them. She sighed; if she'd been following Rule One she'd have seen the bustle up front subside as the training director settled into the podium. . . .

"Ready?" came the voice again, and Jerel saw the training director point to someone. The lights came down, and the straggled edge of conversations cut off.

"Thank you," the director said. "We'll begin our safety review in a moment. First, though, Vice-President Vasindo has a few words to say about the tragedy of the third line-of-duty death in company history."

The words took a moment to hit, and then Jerel's stomach felt as if it were in free fall. Dead? Not just missing or gone AWOL, but dead in the line of duty? Mileeda? Around her the rest of the room seemed split between those who'd known something had happened and those who hadn't. The announcement also explained why all the office workers were present. The exclamations of surprise had given way to whispers, but then they faded as the lights on the front podium brightened.

Vice-President Vasindo was a lanky young man not particularly well dressed in his young-executive outfit, nor particularly attractive. Jerel had seen him maybe twice in the time she'd worked for the company, and both times had thought him nothing more than an upper-level office worker. Of course, she thought now, that might still be the case; there were about half a dozen vice-presidents on the company letterhead.

Whatever he did, he hadn't made much of an impression in the past, and his monotone, semi-solemn voice wasn't making much of an impression now, especially after the semi-shuffle he used to get to the front. It didn't look or sound like Vice-President Vasindo was pleased to be there. Jerel frowned at herself, wondering what he felt like, standing in front of a bunch of strangers and trying to act sad about a person he'd probably never met. For that matter, he might be afraid of talking to crowds; Uncle Orned had told her public speaking was often a bigger fear for people than going to war.

Jerel alternately gripped and stroked the slideboard in her lap, her eyes not really focused on the vice-president, minding maybe half of his words. Without pausing or changing his tone, he went from telling them what a good worker and nice person Mileeda had been to announcing that they'd find police questionnaires in their go-boxes in the courier room, that failure to respond was a misdemeanor worth a fine--and that there would not be a public funeral, at the request of the family. Public or not, Jerel knew the death and funeral would be a real problem for her now. After Uncle Orned's talk about sending her away to school . . .

Absentmindedly Jerel rubbed her right wrist, catching the phrase " . . .if you want to authorize a donation to the family from your paycheck, simply . . ."
She slid the board out of the way a moment, tapped the required ID info into the keypad, authorizing a donation amounting to about a half a day's pay. She could afford that, she guessed.

What if Uncle Orned did as he'd threatened? she thought as she settled back into her chair again. Pulled her out of school, pulled her off her job, sent her to some "safe" boarding school, off-planet? She'd hate it! Most of the nearby planets weren't much more than big farms, and if he sent her to one of the habitat schools she'd be stuck watching the same projected, and fake, outside view for weeks on end, with no real outside to go to. Besides, all those other planets were just--places. Arantha was an administrative hub. Most planets only had one little fourth-level spaceport, if they had any. Some really backward places, the only way you could get to them was by gate. Arantha, though, not only had a prime class spaceport, it had four big gates. Plus, she bet there wasn't anything like Simka's Alley on the habitats--and nothing like the formal garden, or--

This, she thought despondently, had the potential of going seriously not well. . . .

Vice-President Vasindo had stopped speaking, and shuffled away from the podium. There was a moment of uneasiness while people wondered what was supposed to happen next. Jerel reached for her slideboard, hugging it to her as if it were a pet, or a friend, and let her fingers stroke the bright orange surface. Smooth and cool, smooth and cool, a comfort to touch, a comfort to ride . . .

Finally the safety director came to the podium.

"I'd like each of you to please open your copy of the manual to page six and read the company's pledge of safe working conditions. That's the second block of text, right after the company motto and the mission statement. . . ."

Jerel's wrists itched; she rubbed the right one absently, sighing. It was being just as bad as she'd feared it would be. Not only wasn't there anything new, but reading along while someone read what she was reading out loud to make sure she understood it was going to put her to sleep. There were whole sections of the manual she could have repeated from memory anyway, so this nonsense was worse than a waste of time, and wouldn't do anything for Mileeda either.

Along the way a lot of the office workers were getting dismissed back to their jobs, a small group first, then another, then another.

"Internal Slideboard Regulations is the next section," said the safety director. "Those of you from shipping who are not backup boarders, and anyone left from finance, or routing, please turn your signed manuals in at the front after you use the keypad to indicate your agreement with what we've covered. . . ."

Jerel sniffed, shifting in her chair. It was comfortable, but that didn't mean she wanted to sit in it all day when she could have been out in the streets. And now with these people getting to go to work and her needing to sit even longer she was irritated as well as restless.

Apparently the suits and staff didn't need to know all the stuff that the boarders did! Well, Uncle Orned always said that one of the joys of being on the spot was needing to know more than the people who boss you and get paid better.

The other stuff he said, like the Rules . . . well, they were pretty useful sometimes.

And the Rule about being alert . . . A quick glance around the room showed her that the remaining people in the room were boarders, security people, a couple of bosses--and two policemen, one leaning about midway down the right wall, the second leaning a little closer to the front against the left wall.

Jerel sighed, and listened as all the regulations about care of equipment, using only certified contact boots, not tampering with company-owned boards, and the like rolled by. Then they went on to road rules, and then to the awareness and office notification points and . . .

Eventually the book was done. Jerel touched the keypad to signify her agreement, and prepared to take the book down to the table.

"Now," the safety director said, "we're going to ask all boarders not on a current run to please bring your board and manual to technical services."

There was some mumbling and grumbling going on, but Jerel wasn't among the grumblers. Rather, she was quiet a moment, then gathered up her board and book, a weight in the pit of her stomach. Technical services, huh?

She stood, as did the other boarders, and headed down the aisle, where several members of security were directing them to the left, toward the tech lab. She remembered Kay's well-meant, and unheeded, warning--and knew that if she fled now she'd certainly be breaking Rule Four.

The tech section had four board bays, each with multiple inspection and work desks, but today the staff was working one board to a bay, with a supervisor of some kind-- the tech on the far left had Vice-President Vasindo him- self as a helper!--standing by. More ominously, a couple of the security crew were also standing about, and the two policemen, not nearly as inconspicuously as Jerel would have preferred.

She was third in line at the far right bay, which meant she got to see Atran, first in line, catch heck from the tech guy for applying tacky purple stickit dots on the top deck of his old-style, and a note in his folder for not reporting that his board needed a refinish to look "professional and sharp."

Problem was that Atran shifted from foot to foot so much it was hard for Jerel to see exactly what was being examined. She saw the board go into a check-it bin, but after that, nothing.

Next up was Coren, and she was shaking so hard Jerel thought she'd vibrate the whole tech bay. She didn't, but it was probably a close call.

What she did do was hold on to her board a bit too long, so the tech had to practically yank it out of her hands. Jerel bent her head to hide the smile. One glance made it obvious why the girl was so worried. Coren's boyfriend's name was written all over the board in multiple colors of some glittery paint.

Jerel's view was clearer now than it had been with Atran. She saw the tech shake his head and the administrator, the woman the boarders all called the Galloper because of how she moved between desk and counter, actually grimace.

Other than the scribbled graffiti, though, Coren's board passed with flying colors. The tech suggested a complete beauty dip for it, and there was that note for the folder again.

Jerel'd been watching the other lines as she could, and realized that they were moving at about the same rate as hers, with most of the riders being upbraided for the condition of their equipment, which was unfair because most of them were proud of their boards.

The Galloper practically smiled at Jerel, who numbly advanced as the jittery Coren moved on, her board scheduled for a re-skin at her own expense.

The tech took Jerel's board almost gently, carefully showing its lack of stickit dots or outlandish markings to the staffer, who nodded and smiled, obviously pleased. A flip and the board hovered over the diagnostic pad-- At which point a small red light flashed on the tech's 'nostic panel. In a moment a dial twitched and twittered, and the tech deftly use his override to turn the board full ON.

It sat perfectly still. The Galloper still beamed. The tech glanced at his gauges, and reached for a hand scanner, tentatively pushing down on the board with his free hand as he did.

Without using the scanner the tech looked at Jerel. "Ah, well, might need a bit of adjustment on this," he said without heat, "looks like it's a bit tall, as we say." He held his hand under the board, thumb on the bottom, pinky not quite touching the tabletop.

"Right," he said, "a bit tall." He thumbed the scanner into life, pointing it at a spot Jerel recognized.

He sighed then, and turned to the Galloper.

"Someone's been inside this board, it looks like. They didn't know enough to reset the seal orients. One's close on, but the other's a good twenty degrees out of true. Hard to see the alignment if you're not running with a bit of ultraviolet in your light when you open it up."

Jerel, feigning serenity, looked on with interest. It was all she could do. That, and cuss the instructions she'd followed, which had never mentioned seal orients. . . .

"These orients, " the tech said, lecturing the Galloper while keeping a half an eye on Jerel, or so it seemed to her, "these are telltales a good tech shop will use. Helps make it clear why things are scummed up, if they are. Now this board's riding high, which it oughtn't do. Be real useful for someone as slight as this rider. Could give her an extra ride or two a week, say. Course if it's been really messed with . . ."

That fast he'd shut the board down and put it on its back in the cradle. A quick, practiced motion, and the board was open.

The tech turned to face Jerel, no longer pretending to be talking to the Galloper.

"See, if you was someone with a real tool shop, and some experience, this could have been done so I wouldn't have found it on a quick check. Might be, oh, twenty percent of the boards going through here have been to a pro shop . . ."

Jerel started to say something, but her mouth didn't seem to want to work.

The tech turned back to the Galloper.

"It's up to you. This board's been opened and adjusted. It's not set to spec and before I'd certify it I'd want to tear it down and do a complete safety and mod check. You want I should issue another board until this one's straight . . ."

But the Galloper was staring at Jerel, as were some of the people from other lines.

"Is this true?" she asked. "Did you know about this?" Jerel raised her left hand to her eyebrow in a kind of salute.

"Yes. I did know. Would have been pretty stupid of me not to know if my board had been opened, wouldn't it?" She hadn't meant to sound like a smart mouth, but as soon as the words were out Jerel knew she'd overstepped.

The woman's eyes got wide and color drained from her face.

She spun, looking down toward the vice-president, and made a kind of huffing noise, like she'd tried to whistle and it hadn't worked.

"Impound the board," she said to the tech. "Our rider will be having a talk with security and sign over three days' pay as a fine. There will also be a note in her folder. That, or she's fired!"

Jerel sensed someone closing in behind her. She reached for her board but the tech snatched it from the diagnostic cradle before she could grab it.

"You can't fire me!" she shouted at the Galloper's astonished face. "I quit!"

All of a sudden, without really having decided to do it, Jerel was running.

"Hey!" somebody called. "You!" But she didn't stop.

"I quit. Leave me alone, I quit!"

It was the work of but a moment to leave the gaping security guy behind, and another to rush by the police officer who'd been leaning, bored, against the wall.

Turning the corner, she dashed down the hall, angry and upset. The elevator was open and she reached in to punch the Down key before rushing on, toward the stairs.

Her steps sounded loud in her ears; it was a wonder everyone in the building hadn't come running to see who was making such a racket. Her boots weren't clodhoppers, but they did have the contact and control blades for the board built in and the edges clicked as she ran. She skidded slightly as she approached the manual door, the side soles of the boots bringing her to a satisfying halt so she could twist the old-fashioned knob.

Then it was down the stairs, out the emergency door with its blatant blaring horn, and down the side alley.

If she'd had her board, it wouldn't have taken her half as long to get to the end of the alley as it did.

If she'd had her board, she probably wouldn't have been grabbed by two men as she turned the corner.