“But…” Al’iastov stopped, feeling confused.
“I’m not mad at anyone,” Vorlip said. “It’s just…it took me fifteen voyages, in four different ships, before I developed that kind of awareness. This Mitth’raw’nuru did it in one.”
“Is that strange?”
“Very,” Vorlip assured her.
“He seems nice,” Al’iastov said. She paused, thinking about what he’d said about paths. “What happens to me when I leave here?”
“You’ll be adopted,” Vorlip said. “Probably into one of the Nine Ruling Families—they like to have former sky-walkers.”
“Why?”
“It’s a prestige thing,” Vorlip said. “I’m sure you realize that girls with your ability are very rare. It’s an honor for one of you to be made a merit adoptive.”
Al’iastov felt her throat tighten. “Even when we’re no use to anyone?”
“Don’t say things like that,” Vorlip said sternly. “Every person is valuable. My point is that you’ll be welcomed into whatever family adopts you. They’ll take care of you, send you on to further education, and eventually find a career that you’re best suited for.”
“Unless they throw me out.”
“I told you to stop talking like that,” Vorlip said. “They’re not going to throw you out. You’re prestige for the family, remember?”
“Yes,” Al’iastov said. She still didn’t completely believe it, but there was no use talking any more about it now.
But there was one more point. “Do I get to choose which family I want?”
Vorlip frowned. “I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t know any of the details about how these things are done. Why, are you looking at a specific family?”
“Yes,” Al’iastov said. “The Mitth.”
“Really.” Vorlip glanced over her shoulder. “Like Cadet Thrawn?”
“Yes.”
Vorlip huffed out a thoughtful breath. “As I say, I don’t know how it works. But there’s certainly no reason you can’t ask. Actually, now that I think about it, a former sky-walker with your record should be able to ask for whatever you want.”
And there it was. Vorlip had said it. Former sky-walker.
Al’iastov’s navigational career was officially over.
But strangely, it suddenly didn’t seem to matter so much now. “That’s what he said,” she told Vorlip. “He said I’d be able to choose my path.”
“Well, cadets say all sorts of things,” Vorlip said, dismissing both Thrawn and the conversation with a wave of her hand. “Come—I need you and your caregiver in my office. There are forms we need to fill out.”
Mitth’raw’nuru, he’d named himself, Al’iastov reminded herself as she and the captain walked. Mitth’raw’nuru. She would remember that.
And when the time came, the Mitth family would definitely be getting a request.
The personnel officer shook his head. “Request denied,” he said briskly. “Good day.”
Mitth’ali’astov blinked. Had she just heard him right? “What do you mean, denied?” she asked. “I have all the datawork right there.”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “Unfortunately, it needed to be filed four days ago.”
Thalias clenched her teeth. She’d had to fight the Mitth family bureaucracy the whole way, tooth and tongue, to get them to agree to this. Now, too late, she understood why they’d suddenly backed off the fight and given in to her request. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said, forcing back her anger at the family. The man sitting in front of her was the key to getting her aboard the Springhawk, and she needed him on her side. “I’m a member of the Mitth family, the Springhawk is being commanded by a member of the Mitth family, and I was told the fleet offers the right of observation.”
“Yes, it does,” the officer confirmed. “But there are limits to that right.” He tapped his questis. “Proper timing is one of them.”
“I understand that now,” Thalias said. “Unfortunately, the family didn’t make that clear to me. Typical. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, a little less truculently. Putting the mess onto the Mitth family instead of him had edged him at least a little closer to sympathy for her current situation. “There’s processing time to consider, especially since the other senior officers’ families have a right to challenge.”
“I see,” Thalias said. “Always comes down to the families, doesn’t it?”
“It does seem to go that way a lot,” the officer said, his stiffness bending a little more.
“Well, if I can’t get aboard as an observer, is there any other way I can join the ship?” Thalias asked. “Some other job I could do? I’m proficient in computers, data analysis—”
“Sorry,” he cut in, stopping her with an upraised hand. “You’re a civilian, and the Springhawk doesn’t have any positions for civilians.” He frowned suddenly. “Unless…just a moment.”
He keyed his questis, paused, keyed it again, scrolled slowly down the pages. Thalias tried to read along from her side of the desk, but the text was upside down and he was using one of the scripts specifically designed to be hard to read that way.
“Here we go,” he said, looking up again. “Maybe. There’s one job you might be able to take. The Springhawk’s just been assigned a sky-walker, but a caregiver hasn’t been appointed yet. You have any experience or qualifications in handling children?”
“Not really,” Thalias said. “But I was once a sky-walker myself. Does that count?”
His eyes widened. “You were a sky-walker? Really?”
“Really,” she assured him.
“Interesting,” he muttered, his eyes shrinking back to normal, and maybe just a little in the other direction. “A hundred years ago all caregivers were former sky-walkers. Or so I’ve heard.”
“Interesting,” Thalias said. There was her opening.
If she wanted to go for it.
It wasn’t an easy or obvious answer. That part of her life was far behind her. More than that, it was filled with some memories she’d just as soon leave there.