Shy, blue eyed boy, third of seven tow headed children born to help with the farm work on the newly settled planet, AG 1046 T3 51. Colonization and agriculture are labor intensive, so the farmers and builders left the process of formally naming the planet for more than fifteen harvest cycles. Most vivid of his early memories were the parades and crowds of shouting workers quarrelling over which name was best. The list of names already in use included the obvious names like NewHome and Providence and it was generally agreed that no one individual contributed enough to the settlement to qualify for the privilage of giving a name to the planet. So the matter came to public vote.

The social climate was ripe for politics and this once the weather was perfect. Late rains kept breezes cool and the valleys green long past the second harvest season, so that instead of retreating indoors from the extreme temperatures of summer, people flocked to business centers and memorial gardens for parades and picnics and social functions hosted by one of several campaign committees vieing for the votes of all carded citizens.

Iyon thought AG 1046 T3 51 sounded fine and important. The numbers made it official and grown up; names like Thedello and Tricycle were like names for children without cards. Iyon was a summer, two harvests and another summer from being carded, so his opinion did not matter much. Still, the excitement of an election was a change from literacy lessons and chores.

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In a hollow created by drooping upper branches, Iyon climbed along the central stem of crexcu shrub for a better view. His legs wouldn't be long enough to see the <Great Way> in a crowd this thick for several summers and the parade was coming along it now. This was not an annual Second Harvest festival parade, this was something special, and he was not about to miss it because a forest of legs stood between him and the road. Iyon stopped his upward progress where the stem narrowed and became flexible, gripping it with his knees while he moved broad purple leaves to the side, creating a window.

First to come was the band, strutting bright in new uniforms. He heard his father say it amounted to bribery by the Tricyclers to "donate" the gold trimmed green satin costumes, but Iyon had seen the ornate covered bandstand built in the memorial gardens by the Thedello faction and agreed with the prevaling sentiment that the old uniforms looked shabby there.

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[can I replace narrative with dialogue here?]

Votes were counted and the passions cooled before Iyon got his L card status. He felt a small prickle of disappointment mar his pride when the the yellow card arrived and he found only the new official planetary name in the printed information beside his picture and the infodot. Since he had a number of his own, he felt his planet should have one, too. By the time he traded his Limited function card for the R card of an adolescent, he knew he did not want to be a farmer on Thedello for the rest of his life.

It wasn't the chores. Iyon found a sensual pleasure in working hard and drew satisfaction from watching the pulses of life in the cycles of planting and harvest. Son of generations of pioneers and explorers, he simply did not want to live in a place that had a name. Especially a name like Thedello.

Whenever he could, he escaped to Downside and watched the docking shuttles land and take off, hauling cargo and occasional passengers between Thedello and FTL drive ships waiting in orbit (Lagrange Points?).

The red card he carried marked him as a minor, too young for admittance to spacer lounges, but it did not dampen his enthusiasm. His language reflected spacer's slang and he imitated the spacer's walk, a rolling drag of the feet, which appears more like a drunken shuffle in planetary gravity.

It didn't take him long to read the available material about space travel in a limited colonial library devoted to agriculture and engineering. When he demanded a wider reading selection, he was told that there was work to do; the farmers of Thedello had no time for fiction.

For a time, his father lectured without effect about the value of home and freedom of security, eventually threatening further restrictions on his R card to stop the Downside visits. Iyon's mind was not open to persuasion or threats, it was on the stars and the spaces between them.

His mother was also heir to generations of pioneers. Recognizing the look in her son's eyes as congenital, she quietly made arrangements for Iyon to apprentice aboard a supply ship owned by <company> as soon as the law allowed. There were objections after the fact, arguments that the boy was needed on the farm now that he could carry his weight, but children belong to the mother and there was nothing his father could do if Iyon was willing to go.

Iyon passed the necessary exams when he was old enough but remained to help with the farm that year. Convinced by his father that he owed it to his family, he delivered the first season harvest to the docks at Downside. Before the shuttle left, Iyon returned with a twisting gut to his father and the farm, resigned to plowing the fields for the second planting. Second season was long with waiting while the plants grew and the fields ripened. Early summer browned the hills and the harvest was sold before Iyon left AG 1046 T3 51.

The <company> put a green stripe on his R card and that first night aboard the <freighter> the Mate bought him a drink to celebrate his upgrade to probationary adult status. Iyon was not entirely to blame for what followed. The colonists on Thedello had no time for recreational drugs, so he had little experience with the effects of alcohol. Planet bound for his short life, he had even less experience with the exaggeration of movement within the FTL drive field. The Mate had played pranks like this before and the crew was waiting to see how the new clayfoot would react. Newcomers could be counted on for a good laugh while they adjusted.

Over the first drink, the Mate informed Iyon that it was common courtesy to return the favor when someone buys you a drink, so Iyon, in generous naivete, did just that, and then again, for another round. Dizzy and reeling, he bounced out of the crew lounge headed for his quarters. Encountering the Master Pilot's PeriCat, he leaned down to scratch it's ears. This is not recommended, but no one warned him about it on his first day. He leaned too far and lost his balance. By thrashing his arms in the air, he pivoted to land squarely on the fleeing PeriCat.

Later, while the Master Pilot was verbally skinning him for a list of offenses including undue familiarity with the telepathically sensitive PeriCat, the whirlygig dizzies caught up with him again and Iyon vomited on the front of the Pilot's formal blue robe before he passed out at her feet.

It is true that the Captain called the Mate to task for his part in the events, but Iyon was never told of it. He bore his embarrassment alone in an environment that left little room for privacy. Corporate thrift and profit margins gave cargo space priority over crew luxuries; Iyon quartered with two others who survived their own hazings and had little sympathy to offer. He could hear them laughing at him when he left the room, and felt the eyes of the crew watching him, waiting to catch him at another mistake.

The large smoke colored PeriCat was more generous, accepting small tidbits of cheese and meat offered in apology for the heavy landing, and took to keeping Iyon company on the late watches that were his lot as an apprentice. There were times that Iyon thought he heard the PeriCat talking through it's purr, particularly when he rubbed the soft furred knob on it's forehead. Certainly, there was a rapport between the farm boy and the PeriCat. It is possible that the PeriCat communicated this to it's bondmate, the Master Pilot, because Iyon was selected for training as a Navigator and taught the First Disciplines, which are required for both Pilots and Navigators of FTL ships.

Iyon expected these to be Arcane Mysteries and was disappointed to find they were math, physics and calculus, all available in the basic programming of a common handcomp. They became Disciplines when he was required to remember formulas and do calculations without relying on his handcomp.

Deeply absorbed in his studies, he withdrew entirely from his berth mates into the patterns of algorithms and the clean logic of numbers. He did the grunt work expected of him at port calls with a quiet distracted air, and spent his recreational periods at the reader screen or observing unobtrusively in the Navigation Center. He did not snub his companions in the Food Service or the halls, he simply did not hear them talking to him, or about him.

What they said was untrue and does not bear repeating, but it came, never the less, to the ears of the Master Pilot, who called Iyon Harrich to attention while he watched from his corner in the Navigation Center.

"Son of Harrach, stand before me." Both Navigators were working at the consoles in the Center and her voice startled them as it cut through the thrumming silence. They turned to watch Iyon, wondering what he had done. More embarrassed than usual he stumbled forward and nearly kicked the PeriCat as it jumped down to greet him from its perch beside the Pilot.

"I'm sorry." Iyon stooped to stroke the PeriCat from knob to tail in a flowing affectionate gesture and then straightened to face the Master Pilot, remembering their first interview. Her face was unreadable to him. "As you require'M?"

"Boy. We have spoken before about the sensitivity of PeriCats." Her voice was harsh, "Still I find you do not keep your hands from my bondmate."

"Th.. the PeriCat per permits it, 'M." The feline in question was twining itself around Iyon's ankles, threatening to unbalance him as he stood at attention. It did not give mere permission, but demanded scratching in front of the ears. One Navigator hid a smile by turning back to work.

"So it seems. You are doing well in your studies?" She paused, waiting for Iyon to answer a question he didn't hear. There was a moment before he realized he was expected to respond.

"I I try, 'M. There's a lot that I don't quite see, but sometimes it's clear and so beautiful I want to laugh!" Iyon realized with sudden delight that here was someone who could discuss what he was learning, answer the questions he was discovering. The Navigators who gave him study assignments discouraged conversation, and his peers knew nothing of the Disciplines, mocking him when he attempted to share his enthusiasm with them.

"Good." The Master Pilot's tone did not invite discussion. "<company> has an outpost at WrongEnd. When we put in there, I will recommend that you be given a provisional Green Card and a small scout ship. We'll see if you can Navigate it past the Edge and map your journey. If you succeed I will sponsor you for Training on Perilane. We'll adjust your studies to that end in the meantime." She glanced at the Navigators who were attempting to look as though they had been minding their own business. "Navigator Aijara, daughter of Lanarre. You will teach this child what he needs to know. His need is mechanical, not theoretical, keep this in mind. You may begin at once."

The Master Pilot extended her hand and the PeriCat left off knocking at the ankles of the stunned Iyon, and ascended weightlessly to her shoulder. It licked her ear and wraped its tail around her neck, giving Iyon a knowing look, expecting further bribes and dainties as thanks for this favor he just received.

Iyon wondered if he had just been cursed. Operating an FTL scout ship was not difficult with onboard navcomps and a set of system maps but a navcomp is only as good as the maps it accesses. Past the edge of the maps, in unknown, uncharted space, the navcomp requires manual programming to operate the FTL drive. To go out in an FTL scout ship into unmapped territory is hazardous, with no way of knowing where an unfocused drive pulse would bring the ship. Survival depended on long range scanning and a solid background in gravitational physics.