Free Saltation by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

like he'd been dipped in plastic and left to dry, staring down into the open white box, the lid held loose in his off-hand.
    "Chelly?" She moved forward, carefully. His face was almost as green as his gym shirt and she could see sweat on his upper lip. "Hey, Chelly," she said.
    He looked up, eyes wide, face looking—soft. Unformed. He focused, first on Theo, then on Asu; his face firmed and he put the lid back on the box.
    "I'm calling Security," he said, his voice absolutely steady. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his key, tossing it underhand to Theo. "You're in charge, Waitley. First Bunk in the absence of the senior, right?"
    She swallowed, the card warm in her hand, and nodded, once. "Right," she said, acknowledging the chain of command.
    "Good kid." He went over to the comm, not even bothering to kick Asu's discarded wrappings on the way.
     
    Security had come, and Security had taken Chelly into custody, as he must've known they would, Theo thought, as she lay on her bunk, staring up at the dark ceiling. She'd overhead a little of his low-voiced conversation with the two officers who had answered his call—enough to know that the box, whatever was in it, was from Hap. Since Hap was dead, it was probably somebody's idea of a joke, Theo thought—a really cruel joke, too; baiting somebody with his dead bestboy's name. She could see why Chelly would be upset, but calling Security seemed an overreaction.
    The Security team hadn't thought so, though. And now she was in charge. Until Chelly got back. Which ought to be, she told herself, as she had every fifteen minutes since he'd gone, Real Soon Now.
    She and Asu had cleaned up; Asu had stowed her presents, except for the stuffed octopod Jondeer had sent her. That, she had improbably taken to bed with her, sleeping curled around it, like it was a cat—or a friend.
    Theo, alone in the top bunk, envied her, but she couldn't sleep—it didn't seem right to sleep—until Chelly got home. She'd have to let him in; she had his key.
    On the other hand, she ought to try to get some sleep. She had an early class. History of Piloting. Boring .
    Finally, she got bored with the ceiling and her thoughts, sat up, turned on the minispot and pulled Win Ton's package out from under her pillow. Carefully, so she didn't wake Asu up, she slit the wrapping and opened the small box.
    It was a note; written in careful but perhaps hasty Terran on a skinny sheet with a trick underlay that changed color as the paper moved. Blevins Transit Services, Gas, Groceries and Gladthings , it said—and then it didn't, and she could read the words he'd sent.
    Sweet Mystery, dear friend Theo, the Terran words ran, I trust and hope this finds you well, in the aftermath of your recent successful soaring flight made under such trying circumstances.
    She blushed at the memory of telling Win Ton it was stupid of him to call her "Sweet Mystery" . . . but there, their friendship had survived that setdown, and she was glad they had.
    The news of your flight reaches here in the latest of piloting updates, where it is shared among pilots full of admiration, and some with jealousy that one so new to the art should perform so well. For me, I am not surprised that you go on so well, but expect it.
    In her head she heard his voice, trying to be both formal and light, and saw him suppress a smile as he did so often.
    It is the nature of the universe to provide us with both challenges and frustrations, and this challenge you have borne so well, while I, alas, have labored under the frustration of being a mere two jumps away from you, and thus, close enough to consider coming to you in celebration and far enough away that given time and my duty schedule it is impossible to route myself to you. But there, know that I celebrate and that in honor of your flight, I bestow upon you the enclosed, which of course you must wear only if your grade permits, and only if you desire it, and feel it appropriate.
    If it matters,