“Aren’t you supposed to know already?”
“This was kind of a last-minute assignment,” Thalias admitted. “I spent all my time making sure I got to the spaceport before the shuttle left.”
“Oh,” the girl said, sounding a little confused. She was probably used to caregivers with more discipline. And competence. “I’m Che’ri.”
“Nice to meet you, Che’ri,” Thalias said, smiling. “What game were you playing?”
“What? Oh.” Che’ri touched her questis. “I wasn’t playing anything. I was drawing.”
“Really,” Thalias said, wincing a little. Che’ri liked to draw, and Thalias barely knew one end of a stylus from the other. No common ground there. “I didn’t know tap-click could be adapted to artwork.”
“It isn’t really art,” Che’ri said, sounding embarrassed. “I just take pieces already in the questis and put them together.”
“Sounds interesting,” Thalias said. “Like a collage. May I see it?”
“No,” Che’ri said, jerking back a little as she grabbed the questis and pressed it close to her chest. “I don’t let anyone look at it.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” Thalias hastened to assure her. “But if you ever change your mind, I’d love to see what you do.”
“Do you like to draw?” Che’ri asked.
“I’m not very good at that sort of thing,” Thalias said. “But I like looking at art.”
“You don’t think drawing is silly?”
“No, of course not,” Thalias assured her. “Having that kind of talent is a good thing.”
“I don’t really draw,” Che’ri said. “I already told you I just put things together.”
“Well, it’s still a talent,” Thalias said doggedly. “And talents are never silly.”
Che’ri lowered her eyes. “My last momish said it was.”
“Your last momish was wrong,” Thalias said.
Che’ri gave out a little snort. “She always thought she was right.”
“Trust me,” Thalias said. “I’ve seen momishes come and go, and I can tell you straight up that one was wrong.”
“Okay.” Che’ri peered at her. “You’re not like the others.”
“The other momishes?” Thalias tried a small smile. “Probably not. How many of them have you had?”
Che’ri lowered her gaze again. “Eight,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Thalias winced at the pain in the girl’s voice. “Wow,” she said gently. “Must have been hard.”
Che’ri snorted again. “How would you know?”
“Because I had four,” Thalias said.
Che’ri looked up, her eyes wide. “You’re a sky-walker?”
“I was,” Thalias said. “And I remember how it hurt each time they took one caregiver away and gave me a new one.”
Che’ri looked down again and hunched her shoulders. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”
“Probably nothing,” Thalias said. “I worried about that a lot, too, and I could never come up with anything. Except sometimes she and I didn’t get along very well, so that might have been one reason.”
“They didn’t understand.” Che’ri’s throat worked. “None of them understood.”
“Because none of them had ever been a sky-walker,” Thalias said. Though that hadn’t always been the case, if that personnel officer had been right. Fleetingly, she wondered why that policy had been changed. “Once we leave the program, most of us don’t come back.”
“So how come you did?”
Thalias shrugged. This wasn’t the time to tell the girl she was here to reconnect with someone she’d only met once. “I remember how hard it was being a sky-walker. I thought someone who’d been one herself might make a better caregiver.”
“Until you leave,” Che’ri muttered. “They all do.”
“But not necessarily because they want to,” Thalias said. “There are all sorts of reasons for caregiver transfers. Sometimes the sky-walker and caregiver just don’t get along, like you and your last one, and me and that one I just mentioned. But sometimes there are other reasons. Sometimes they need a special caregiver to watch over a new sky-walker. Sometimes there are family disputes—I mean between the various families—that get in the way.” She felt her lips pucker. “And sometimes it’s because there are shortsighted idiots in charge of the process.”
“You mean shortsighted, like they don’t see very good?”
“I mean shortsighted like they have the brains of a hop-toad,” Thalias said. “I’m sure you’ve met people like that.”
Che’ri gave her an uncertain smile. “I’m not supposed to talk like that about people.”
“You’re right, you probably shouldn’t,” Thalias said. “Neither should I. Doesn’t change the fact they’ve got the brains of hop-toads.”
“I guess.” Che’ri squinted at her. “How long were you a sky-walker?”
“I was seven when I navigated my first ship. I was thirteen when I navigated my last.”
“They told me I’d be a sky-walker until I was fourteen.”
“That’s the usual age,” Thalias said. “My Third Sight apparently decided to quit early. You’re—what?” She made a show of squinting at Che’ri’s face. “About eight?”
“Nine and a half.” The girl considered. “Nine and three-quarters.”
“Ah,” Thalias said. “So you’ve had lots of experience. That’s good.”
“I suppose,” Che’ri said. “Are we going into a battle?”
Thalias hesitated. There were things adults weren’t supposed to tell sky-walkers, things the Council in its odd wisdom had decided might upset them. “I don’t know, but it’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “Especially not aboard the Springhawk. Senior Captain Thrawn is our captain, and he’s one of the best warriors in the Ascendancy.”
“Because they wouldn’t tell me why I’m here,” Che’ri persisted. “There’s nobody very far away we have to fight, is there? They say we don’t go outside the Ascendancy to fight anyone. And if the people they’re fighting are close, the ship doesn’t need a sky-walker.”