Seven
Mail Room
Anlingdin Piloting Academy
"Do you see that?" Asu whispered fiercely to Theo as they took their place in line. "They're still throwing packages around like they don't care down here! Why doesn't the school just pay for a package system instead of using children like that to do the work?"
The children Theo was seeing were all bigger than her, and a couple of them were worth watching as they quietly hauled packages from the semi-pods that brought them directly out of the small transport sitting tubed to the building.
Not only that, for all that they were moving the packages rapidly out of the semi-pods, they didn't seem to be harming anything. As Father had pointed out to her on more than one occasion, the more noise you made, the more likely it was that you were using too much force.
The mail handlers were making a minimum of noise, their motions precise and controlled. There was no spinning, no random flinging, no purposeful shoves. Rather each package was selected, tossed gently by the tall young woman in the blue work top or the muscular guy with the strange mostly-bald-but-ponytail hairdo, and caught quietly, with an odd twisting motion . . .
Asu's complaints were subdued at the moment, and Theo gathered that the young man on the left side of the receiving line, the one with the shorts and—one willingly imagined—overall tan, was the object of her distraction.
That interesting twisting motion wasn't entirely a show-off, either, Theo saw. Instead, it looked like the handlers were making sure a read strip on each package was illuminated by a quick rainbow of light . . .
" 'Ware!" cried Blue Top over the bustle of the room, as the package she was in the process of moving took on an uncharacteristic wobble.
"Hah!"
The shorts and their inhabitant moved smoothly, the wobble was corralled, the read strip rainbowed, and the package passed on, no fuss, really, and nothing dropped or broken.
Asu's exclamation followed another pair of transfers.
"Security! The strips are passive, so they don't give off an ID to anyone with a listener. You can't just flash a frequency and hope to get a reading, and you can't get a type count that way, and you—"
"Next, please!"
Next was not them, but they had to move up in the slowly shortening line so the view of the workers was not as interesting. The overhead apparatus was more visible now, though, with multiple light sources and small buttons that were probably actually cameras.
"Guess it makes sense to keep it simple—" Theo said.
Asu harrumphed.
"I guess it works, but it seems slow. The refids are fast and self-reporting, though, and these are slow and require people. People are nosy. People are expensive! And they create lines!"
There was a gentle laugh from behind, which turned into the words. "Economy is such a variable concept, do you know. In some places, people work and expensive machines replaced thereby. Having people, conditions may be noticed without an official record being made. With people, you may reward and advance individuals, and train leaders for practical direction, without using sims and psych tests, both of which have surprising margins of error."
Even on a campus full of pilots and would-be pilots, Theo was becoming unused to being surprised by the silent approach of anyone. Flight Instructor yos'Senchul's voice was as smooth as his bow.
"Pilots," he said bowing to Theo, and then to Asu.
Asu's bow was instant, and probably overdone: obviously she'd been studying something, but yos'Senchul hadn't bowed any fancy bows, just a bow of acknowledgment and even a taste of "in this line together" with that motion of his hand . . .
Theo bowed as if acknowledging a remark from Captain Cho or Win Ton.
The pilot's hand flurry said is good, combined with a nod that was almost a wink.
Asu was by now waving a polite hand forward, as if to offer her place to yos'Senchul. He flipped his hand with a practiced equanimity.
"Thank you, but no. This is my off-hour just as it is yours, and as pilots, we ought practice standing in line together as well as orbiting harmoniously, since we need do the first more often than the last—or so it seems."
"Erkes," Asu said with some asperity when they at last arrived at the head of the line, "Suite three-oh-two. Package pickup note."
"Well, we're so glad you could make it! Any longer on all these and we'd have been charging you rent!"
The rather pale young man on the counter tossed a crumpled ball of paper or plastic over a short wall lined with tables, calling out at the same time, "Hey, wake up back there! Bring out that Erkes mountain, will you?"
"Any longer?" Asu demanded. "We'd have been here sooner except we had a line in front of us, you know!"
Theo admired Asu's restraint.
"They've been here for hours!" The counter guy answered. "If you didn't sleep late you could have had this out of here at breakfast!"
Asu started to say something, but then choked the words into a really ugly face and a good seething hiss, apparently in deference to yos'Senchul, standing quietly behind them.
Her accent with her hands wasn't all that good yet, Theo saw, but still, the words thrown toward the floor were quite indignant, and included rude, useless, slow, and maybe sunless.
"Which Erkes package is that?" came a firm voice from the back, followed by, "Will you recycle your own snack pack, Turley? Not my fault you drew the line again. I think they're trying to tell you something!"
Clanks and plastic squeals ensued, followed by a thud.
"That big one fell again!"
"If they've dropped something of mine, I'm going to . . . I'm going to . . ."
Theo grinned and filled in, "Going to go to the Delm of Korval?" she asked, remembering how Father had challenged her as a child, leaning on her favorite book to help bring a sense of proportion to her young complaints.
"Do what?" Asu turned, squinted down at Theo with a wry expression, waving her hands at the same time.
Theo's fingers told Asu will repeat suggestion and she said out loud as seriously as she could muster, "Are you going to take this problem to the Delm of Korval?"
"How could he help?" the other girl asked, apparently genuinely puzzled. "I mean, that's silly. He's dead, anyway, even if he could."
"He's dead?" Theo stared at her, feeling her grin slide toward a gap. "You mean there is a Delm of Korval? Or—was?"
Asu shook her head sadly.
"Yes, there was one, of course there was. But he died. Very sad."
"No, wait," Theo said. "I thought he was a story—a myth for littlies!"
A voice from behind the short wall interrupted their discussion and promised more delay.
"This thing is tagged by you, Turley. I need your signature before I can move it!"
"You got a go from me," the counter guy called.
"I need your signature or a thumbprint, not a verbal!"
Turley sighed dramatically, looked at the line, which had grown considerably at yos'Senchul's back, and called out, "A moment more only, duty calls!" before hurrying toward the back.
Asu shook her head, continued: "Why would you think Korval was a myth? They've got ships everywhere. They make Diamon Lines looks small!"
Asu sounded exasperated, so Theo continued in the same tone. "I thought the Delm of Korval was a myth because I saw him in a storybook for kids!"
"Ah . . ."
That was yos'Senchul, who had obviously been listening in with some interest.
Theo rounded on him.
"Well, that's where I knew about him. The book was called Sam Tim's Ugly Day, and it was by Meicha Maarilex. I found it at a Try and Trade when I was a littlie, and made Father read it to me over and over—it had the story in Terran at the top of the page and in Trade at the bottom . . . and 'way in the back, it was written out in Liaden. That's how I started reading Trade and Terran together—even though the words weren't always exactly the same as Father read to me from the back."
She sighed, knowing exactly where that book was, and knowing that with any luck at all Coyster would be sitting on the desk under the bookshelf, staring up at the mobile, or curled asleep on the bed or . . .
"And this book was all about Delm Korval? I think I have heard of the author but did not know she had written about Korval."
The instructor's voice was low, but she'd managed to catch his words despite her own distraction.
"No, but that's why it was interesting. There was Sam Tim, you see, and his day was ugly to him. He complained some. Nothing was going right, over and over, and he kept wanting it all fixed. Everyone in his family, and all his neighbors, and the storekeepers, they kept saying to him, 'And if we can't solve this for you, what will you do? Take your problem to Delm Korval?' "
"Ah, an excellent question to ask someone suffering from the day without delight, Al'kin Chernard'i, as we have it in Liaden."
Theo nodded, and looked back to Asu.
"See, it was obvious that Sam Tim was always looking too high for his answer, that he ought to be able to solve some things for himself. That, really, you only go to Delm Korval with really important problems. So then we started using that for us. If I was having problems with something, or complaining, Father would ask me, 'So, is this problem worth taking to Delm Korval?' It was a joke."
"Truth, also," yos'Senchul said. "One would wish not to be seen by Delm Korval over matters of little consequence."
"But you say he's real! I thought he was like, you know, Mr. Winter who lives over the mountain and brings the snow."
"No, not so powerful and more powerful too, that is Korval." yos'Senchul raised one hand, fingers curled slightly, as if weighing Korval's power. "A mighty clan, Korval, and very old. They are considered, perhaps, a bit odd, even dangerous, though none doubts their melant'i."
Asu nodded as if he'd given a lecture, and blurted out breathlessly, "If you think Korval's a myth you might as well think that Diamon Lines—and me too—are myths!" She waved her hand, not hand-talk, just finger-junk, and went on quickly. "But, anyway, Clan Korval doesn't have a delm right now. He committed suicide!"
"This news . . ." said the instructor, leaning forward earnestly. "Of a suicide I have heard. Might you share? Is it recent?"
"You didn't know? Delm Korval's life-wife was shot on Liad, right in front of him. I mean, she died, stepping in front of a pellet meant for him. And there, it was like he kept going a few days, and then turned everything over to staff, and left. They say he took his wife's spaceship and just flew it right on into the sun!"
"Ah," said the Liaden carefully. "Do you know, I think that I may have heard this—it happened some Standards ago, if I recall correctly."
Over a sudden clatter and squeaking, yos'Senchul hand-spoke a determined attend me, leaning forward so they might both hear.
"Even at the time, there was some measure of disbelief in this death. It seemed . . . unlikely, at best, given what they say of Korval—and what Korval says of Korval. Korval is ships, Liadens say. A delm so distraught as to consider self-death . . . even such a delm, being Korval, I think would not, and could not, kill a ship. Korval is ships, Korval is pilots."
Asu looked aggrieved.
"Well, have you seen Delm Korval? There is none!"
She straightened abruptly, fingers pressed to lips, as if just recalling that she spoke with one of her instructors.
yos'Senchul smiled lightly, his hand signaling a soothing this will clear.
"Indeed, this is not the first time that Korval has waited upon a delm—and it is true that yos'Galan never spoke against the reports. Be assured that there will again be a Delm Korval, and Sam Tim's lesson is a good one to recall. Go to Korval Himself only in extremity!"
"Do you guys want this stuff or should we just send it back now?" Turley leaned on the counter in front of them, hands spreading apart in question.
The stuff was overwhelming, and the first five pieces of it, including two large packages requiring signatures and thumbprints both, were for Asu, who cooed over the return addresses, each from one of the stops on the pro scavage tour. Covered in customs stickers, postage marks and symbols, freight notes, and handling instructions, the collection massed more than Asu.
Theo nodded to herself with casual understanding: this was why Asu wanted her to come along—not out of a concern that Theo wasn't getting enough "fresh air," but to have help carrying it all! It was a shame, she thought, that most of her hangers-on had found other things more interesting than her over the last few days.
No, on second thought—it wasn't. All that company had made her twitchy and bad-tempered. She'd rather not have to deal with a crowd, even if it would have been useful to have more hands to push Asu's mail across campus.
"Two more," Turley called out.
Asu looked around, spied a community-use handcart across the room and darted off, leaving Theo to cope with whatever came across the counter next.
. . . which turned out to not be so bad.
Package number six was a white box bearing local postage only—for Chelly. It had the look of a box of candy or pastries. There was no return address and no sign-for; Theo took that in hand with a shrug, as Asu came back, pushing the cart ahead of her.
The clerk from the back tossed the last package over the wall.
"Heads up! That one needs special handling!"
It wasn't a big packet; slightly smaller than Chelly's box. Turley caught it casually, and glanced at the tear slip.
Asu reached for it, but Turley lifted it out of her range.
"Ahem, student. This object has traveled light-years to reach us, so I think it ought to go to the person it's for. Erkes, Suite 302, Theo Waitley."
He looked at Theo suspiciously, hamming it up for the line.
"Are you a pilot, Trainee? Or do I have to sign this for you from my lofty height?" He tapped the stylized delta wing on his collar for emphasis. "This, my friend, is pilot post."
He held the package out tantalizingly, as if daring Theo to take it.
From behind her came yos'Senchul's voice.
"If you please, Second Class Provisional Pilot Turley, it would honor me to sign for this package if you feel that Pilot Waitley's bona fides are lacking. In fact, I insist. I'm sure we all know the Terran refrain, 'Pilot post travels faster on the wings of a master.' "