“Thirty-eight two seven—down a hundredth from last year; Devann’s come into production, though we judge their product only third-rate. I think the market’ll be back up, but we’ll see.”

Ky knew her uncle had brought this up mostly to distract her, but it did make the journey easier. “What’s their production base?”

“Twenty thousand hectares, five thousand in eight-year-olds, five each in seven, six, and four. Rumor has it they lost their entire planting five years ago, and all the surviving trees lost a year’s maturity. Soil’s good, climate’s marginal.”

“Labor force?”

“Well, now, that’s more of a problem for them than they want to admit, and that’s where their quality falls off. They recruited from the immigrant lists, and none of ’em are experienced. Most of the ag-credentialed immigrants are row croppers who know nothing about trees. What I hear from the market is that their pickers are damaging the fruit, and the packers aren’t tossing the damaged stuff. It’s been a year longer than they planned, after all, getting any income off the place at all, so they’re trying to make it up.”

Ky glanced out the window as the car swerved; they were nearing the private airfield now, and a truck with the blue and red Vatta Transport insignia had slowed for the turn into the cargo bays. Their car sped on to the passenger entrance, paused at the check station for their driver to flash the scans, then followed the service road past the elegant little charter terminal with its tropical garden and colonnade, for those departing or arriving on chartered flights, and on around past the private terminals to the Vatta Transport complex, all in blue with red trim. Sitting out on the apron was the sleek little twin-engine craft in which Kylara had flown from island to island most of her life.

“You can’t pilot yourself today, Ky,” her uncle said, as the car slowed. “Under the circumstances—”

Her vision blurred. She knew she wasn’t safe to pilot anything, not like this, but—

“It’s Gaspard; you remember him.” She did; Gaspard Ritnour had been her first flying instructor, though the family wasn’t supposed to know that. “Let’s get you aboard.” Kylara moved quickly from the car to the aircraft. Automatically she put her feet in the right places on the step and wing, and started to slide into the copilot’s seat.

“You’d better ride in the passenger compartment,” her uncle said.

Ky felt herself flushing. “I won’t try to grab the controls,” she said.

“It’s not that, Ky,” her uncle said. “Gaspard—explain it to her; if she’s going to ride up front you’ll have to take steps. I need to get back—”

Ky buckled in and one of the ground crew slammed the door.

Ky said nothing as Gaspard finished preflight; he didn’t explain what her uncle had meant. She sat quietly, waiting. One thing she’d learned at the Academy was how to wait without fidgeting. She did not even put on the copilot’s headset.

Gaspard murmured into his own voice pickup—contacting traffic control, she assumed. Then he turned to her.

“Put your headset on,” he said.

“Why?” Ky asked.

“You’re visible up here.” It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. Anyone looking in—with a long lens for instance—could see her, whereas back in the passenger compartment the smaller windows had little shades.

“Damn,” Ky said, snatching the headset. It wouldn’t be enough, she knew. She shrugged out of her uniform jacket and tossed it onto the seat behind; Gaspard pointed behind her. A Vatta crew flight jacket, matching Gaspard’s, hung there. She pulled it on quickly, then twisted to see if she could shut the window shades back in the passenger compartment… but someone had already done that.

“They’ll assume a regular flight crew,” Gaspard said. “Unless you’re sitting there in cadet blue… with insignia…” Ky fumbled at her blouse collar; she’d forgotten the collar insignia, which a long lens might be able to catch. They were embroidered; she would have to turn the collar under. She did that while he signaled the ground crew, and let the plane roll forward slowly.

“Better,” Gaspard said.

Would the headset obscure enough of her face, though? She swung the voicelink up as far as possible. They were out from between the Vatta hangars, onto the taxiway. A single-engine yellow plane swung onto the taxiway in front of them. Ky looked down at the familiar checklist. If she was to be the copilot… this is what she would be doing.

They moved on. As they passed the little terminal parking lot, Gaspard said, “Do something that looks good.”

Immediately, Ky pulled up the manual checklist and reached overhead as if going through a final preflight.

“What I love about flying with you, Ky, is that you always react the right way,” Gaspard said. Ky looked at him, surprised; the grin he was aiming down the centerline of the taxiway looked genuine. “That couldn’t have looked more natural if you’d rehearsed it for days. I spotted a fire truck in the wrong place. Now… we’re going to be really exposed during takeoff and for the first hour. Since you’re already up here, and I entered for two crew just in case, you’ll have to stay here.” He paused. “I know your uncle said no flying, but someone’s got to be traffic watch, and if you can help…”

“I can help,” Ky said.

“Good. I’ll take ’er up, but you stay on the controls with me.”

Ky turned up the volume in her headset and heard traffic control give them clearance for takeoff after the little yellow plane. They paused as the yellow plane swung into position; she could see it shudder and then begin its takeoff roll. She checked the boards. This plane had every avionics gadget, and an AI autopilot perfectly capable of handling almost every contingency, but Gaspard preferred to take off and land on manual, to keep his skills current. “And because it’s just plain fun,” he said now, as he usually did. “There’s something atavistic about shoving the throttles forward myself.”

She felt the same way, as they turned into position and the power of the engines fought the brakes for a moment before Gaspard released them. She loved it all, from the acceleration down the runway to the moment when they left the ground to the steep climb out over the factory district.

Once they were a half hour offshore, at cruising altitude, Gaspard relaxed and pulled out his hotpak of coffee. “Well, girl, I’m not sure what anthill you kicked—or kicked you—but your father and uncle were certainly upset. Want to tell me about it?”

“I… can’t. Can’t fly and talk about it, anyway.”

“Fine. Let me finish this and I’ll take it back.” He swallowed quickly and relieved Ky at the controls. “Not that I’m pushing you, you understand, but.” But he wanted to know. Of course.

“I had to resign from the Academy,” Ky said.

He whistled. “Didn’t you keep your antifertility implant up to date?”

“Not that! I wouldn’t…!” She stole a glance at him.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just—what else could make you do it? Your family’s not yanking you out for some business reason…?”

“No,” Ky said. “I… did something stupid. It caused a stink. Such a big stink they wanted me gone.”

“You? I can’t imagine what big stink you could cause. Now if you were a bonehead like that kid who told a Miznarii priest that he was being treated unfairly and prevented from practicing his religion, and that the service was hostile to Miznarii and had a policy of putting them—how did he say it? first in danger, last in promotion—that is what I’d call a big stink.”

Ky’s heart sank. “That… was my fault.”

“Your fault? How? You aren’t even… oh shit, Ky, you were just helping someone again, weren’t you? What’d you do, get him in contact with this Miznarii?”

“Yes.” She could hear that her voice was choked with tears.