Sleepily the mare raised one eyelid. Peri moved closer, being careful to move toward her left side, as Tambor had instructed her, keeping away from the yearling and its quick hind feet. The mare was not in a stable, was not haltered to a ring, could move away the moment she suspected danger.

"Hi, there, gal," Peri continued not realizing that she was falling into the prevalent drawl, "how're ya doin'? You're sure a pretty thing! All shiny black, like satin - dusty satin."

Curious, the mare stretched out her neck, nostrils flaring slightly as she made identification of Peri. Her nose whiskers tickled and Peri took another cautious step forward. The yearling poked its head over the black's back to take notice of the intruder, but it also wasn't startled.

"Hello, there, li'l gal," Peri went on, close enough now to stroke the nose. Another slow step and she was at the mare's side, one hand still under her nose, the other stroking her neck and down her shoulder. The mare whuffled into her hand, then abruptly raised her head and pulled her lips back from her teeth, shaking her muzzle in the air.

"Don't tell me I still stink of disinfectant?"

The mare stamped but drew back when Peri attempted to stroke her again. Suddenly her ears pricked up, her head went erect, and she stared off to the foothills.

Faintly Peri heard the distant sound of an airborne vehicle and judiciously stepped away. While most of the horses on the Preserve were well accustomed to such noises, they could all spook, and she'd be smart to retreat.

By the time Peri reached the corral fence again, the aerial disturbance had passed off to the northwest. She stood for a long while, watching the little mare move, noting her conformation, everything about her. Then she went back to her quarters. Maybe a good long soak would eradicate the last of the medicinal stink. One good thing about the Preserve: there was no water rationing when artesian wells drew upon hidden reserves deep in the mountains.

After some desultory lounging about after her long shower, Peri realized how busy she had been: healthily tired at night in a way that was never possible in the Linear, no matter how hard one exercised or worked. She also didn't like doing nothing. In just three weeks she was attuned to the pulse of the Preserve in a way she had never been to the Residential rhythms. How odd!

She could put this time to better use than napping, so she dressed and went up to the mess hall. Since she hadn't even had time to explore the research library, she went right to its shelves of tapes on the history of the Preserve. She was in one corner when she heard the voices. Then a phrase stood out and, shamelessly, she listened.

"So far so good, but you know the percentage of failure, Steve." Tambor was speaking and not in his drawl.

"Wouldn't much matter if she failed the last test," she heard the other man say in a rueful tone, "she's good enough on the practical. Seems to fit in."

There was a snort. "Who'd know? She doesn't say much - just sits there with those big eyes of hers watching. A real Residential graduate."

"Hmm. What's wrong with being quiet? That's better than those motormouths you always complain about. All wind and no substance. You said she does whatever she's asked, does it well and no complaints. Not even when the bike pitched her off. Cookie saw her using the box, and from the reading it was a bad fall. Did the mares like her?"

Tambor laughed. "Yes, and she really liked working with them. All but wept to see 'em loaded."

"Isn't that your usual criterion, Tambor King-Sangster-Mahmood?" asked the other man ironically.

"I just wish she was a tad more outgoing. She's too self-contained. The quiet ones can surprise you."

"Are you talking horses or humans, Tam?"

The two men moved off down the corridor and Peri didn't hear Tam's response. She remained stock-still, one hand on the spine of a tape, the hairs risen on the nape of her neck and a sick sort of cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. There wasn't anyone else they could have been talking about but herself. Tambor had been testing her all along and she hadn't realized it?

A second shock jolted through her. Tambor King-Sangster-Mahmood? The tape she had been reaching for - one of the foundation texts. Adaptation Techniques for Equine Types on Colonial Worlds - had been compiled and taped by T. King-Sangster-Mahmood. She'd read every tape he'd produced before she got here. Drawl and all, that undistinguished man who had worked her butt off was the real boss of Idaho Preserve. She gulped.

"But he did say I was a good little worker." She clutched at that praise as she crept back to her quarters. What was wrong with being quiet? If she had something to say, she said it... except not to ask if you could ride a horse. You were afraid to ask that, weren't you? Maybe if you had...

She couldn't just suddenly talk a blue streak at dinner; that would have been too out of character. Especially in the vicinity of Steve or Tambor. That'd be a real giveaway.

And this final test? What could it be? If she'd been tested all along and hadn't realized it... Worry made her more silent than ever. She wished she could ask someone but, as she looked over those in the mess hall, she realized now that she'd had very little contact with anyone but -Tambor.

"That's a deep sigh for a li'l gal," Monty said, slipping into the seat beside her.

She managed a genuine smile, frantically casting about in her mind for something to add, for she couldn't just grin at him like a fool.

"The mares left today. I was sort of sorry to see the last of them."

"Glutton for punishment, huh?" Monty grinned at her. "Conditioning's not my favorite chore but we all gotta do it. Didn't I see you out in the pasture?"

"I had a half day," she said, almost apologetically. "Splodge was friendly."

"He likes pretty gals too." Monty had a very winning smile. "Saw you with that black mare. Didja like her?"

"I couldn't get near her," Peri said ruefully. "Do I still smell of debugger?" she asked him.

"Nope! Or I wouldn't be sitting this close to you!" His grin got broader. "Say" - and he cocked his head at her - "wouldja care to have a go at the big board?"

"With you?" She was astonished.

Monty was a formidable gamesplayer, the solo champion of the Preserve. She had watched his lightning reflexes often enough and admired his strategy, but the game board was a popular evening occupation and she hadn't wanted to put herself forward.

Monty grinned, full of devilment. "Wal, I don't rightly think you'd want to go agin me, but I've a bet on with Pedro and Chelsea and you're the only partner they'll allow me."

She exhaled with gusto. "I think they're rigging it"

"Could be. But I've a notion you aren't as slack a player as you make out."

"I'll do my best!"

"S'all anyone can ask of you."

She didn't disappoint him nor did she grin at the chagrin suffered by Pedro and Chelsea.

"We demand a rematch," the two losers chanted.

"Late to start another one." Tambor spoke up, having joined the audience about the board and players. "We've got some ponies to break tomorrow an' you-all's gonna need your wits fer sure."

"An' I sure as shootin' don't want no soreheads breakin' bones on me," Monty added.

"Rematch tomorrow then, Monty!" Pedro eyed him with a stern eye.

"Sure" Right, pardner?" And Monty gave Peri a friendly clout on the shoulder.

"Sure!" she said, not at all certain.

She lay awake far too late, worrying about the final test and her incurable taciturnity, hearing owlhoot until the rhythmic sound finally lulled her to sleep. There was a buzz of excitement the next morning in the mess hall - an excitement to which Peri, despite her fretting, was not immune. Not everyone was to take part in the breaking, so those assigned elsewhere shouted cheerful encouragements and Peri heard wagers laid. There were evidently four in the breaking team, Monty, Pedro, the dark-haired Chelsea, and a lanky girl named Beth.

"You might as well come watch too," Tambor told Peri, who hadn't been assigned to any duty. "See how it's done."

When she reached the smaller corral, Tambor gestured for her to take a seat on the rail as others were doing, but unlike them, she could think of no banter or jokes to exchange. She noticed her little black satin mare in the pen just beyond the corral with ten or twelve others that were milling about uneasily.

Then Monty entered the pen, gracefully swinging his lariat loop over his head, and the animals began to canter about, whinnying in alarm. She thought he was aiming to catch a sturdy piebald but, instead, at the last moment, the little black mare seemed to run into the noose.

"Change your mind, Monty?" someone yelled in a bantering tone.

"She'll do as well," Tambor called.

The black had other ideas and valiantly tried to run away from this sudden restriction, head down and bucking, but Monty had snubbed the rope on a post. With his quarry captured, the others were let into the next pen.

"It's the old-fashioned way." Tambor said, appearing beside Peri, arms draped over the top rail. "She'll be a range horse. Doesn't have the quality for one of the advanced schooling saddle stock. Nice enough conformation, a shade too short in the back, a trifle more bone, but that's all to the good in these parts."

Fascinated, Peri watched as Monty walked his hands up the rope to the rigidly straining mare. He stroked and talked to her and gradually slack appeared in the rope. The mare was still tense, head held high, nostrils flaring, but Monty persisted, stroking and then slapping her more casually - neck, shoulders, withers, rump - until she stood more easily.

Before either Peri or the mare was aware of what he intended, he had a blindfold on her. Chelsea and Pedro approached with breaking tackle and the little mare, trembling now, was saddled and a hackamore slipped over her head. Chelsea stood at her head, one hand on the blindfold. Pedro hovered on the same side, stroking the mare's shoulder.

"At my word," Monty said, taking up the thick reins and springing lightly to her back, not quite putting his full weight in the saddle. The little mare tensed on her splayed legs. Peri held her breath. Then Monty sat down. "Let 'er rip!"

Blindfold whipped off, Chelsea and Pedro sprang back and the mare sprang up, all four feet off the ground. Head down between her knees, she bucked and twisted, turned and sunfished, trying to remove the weight on her back. Everyone along the corral was yelling, whistling, shouting. Peri wasn't sure whether they were encouraging the mare or Monty, who kept kicking her forward.

He looked far too big to ride that little mare. Peri thought. It just wasn't fair.

"Nope, it isn't," Tambor said, and Peri was appalled that she had spoken out loud. "But he's a great hand at riding 'em out. She's spunky but she's smart. See, she's had a chance to figure out that she can't buck him off. Now she'll start running."

"I don't think so." Some perversity made Peri say this just as the mare planted her feet and came to a jarring halt. And refused to move despite Monty's heels and the shouts and yells from the onlookers.

"Hmm. How'd you figure that one out?" Tambor asked. She grinned at him. "She's smart, too smart to wear herself out running around in circles."

Monty, with Chelsea at the mare's head, dismounted. She snorted, sweat staining her neck and flanks, but her legs remained stiff, propped like an immovable scaffolding.

"G'wan down there, Peri," Tambor said, and before she knew what he was about, he'd shoved her off the rail into the corral. "G'wan! Monty's taken the buck out of her for you. Your turn now."

Pedro was beside Peri, slapping a crash helmet on her head, propelling her inexorably to the mare, who was again blindfolded. Monty grabbed her by the leg and hoisted her toward the saddle. Reflex actions found her settling into the deepest part, finding the stirrups, responding to drills learned on inanimate surrogates. But there was a vast difference to the feel of the mare between her legs, the trembling under her buttocks, the acrid aroma of sweaty fear rising up to her nostrils. Mixed with her own.

"When you're ready. Peri. Now's the time to put theory into practice," Monty said, his grin encouraging.

Gulping, Peri managed a short nod of her head and Chelsea whipped off the blindfold. The others stood back.

"Easy, girl. Easy now, girl!" Peri said, her voice trembling as much as the mare.

"G'wan there," roared Pedro, and he must have swatted the mare with the rope end for she barged forward with an incredible surge.

This was totally unlike anything Peri had ever experienced, even when the surrogate had been programmed for random and violent movements. Peri's teeth jarred together and she felt the jolt through her entire body, but those long hours of practice saved her as her thighs tightened and she leaned back, against the forward motion of the bucking mare.

Buck! Buck! Switch! The mare was determined to relieve her back of its burden. Rear!

Unexpectedly the black neck came up and cracked Peri painfully across her nose. She grabbed for mane, feeling her leg grip loosen in surprise at the shock. Grimly she clung, one hand on the rein, the other on the mane, struggling to regain her seat, but she was off balance and the mare wasn't underneath her anymore but to one side of her and she was falling....

For a frantic moment Peri was afraid she'd never be able to breathe again. That ground, for all the sand, had been very hard. Much harder than occasional tosses to the matting around the surrogate had ever been. She was aware of the sudden silence from the onlookers, a congregate bated breath, waiting for her reaction to the fall. She elbowed herself to a sitting position, smearing blood and dust across her face as she looked around for her recent mount.

"Grab her, someone! Don't stand there eating flies!" She climbed to her feet, aware that her shoulder ached, her ribs, that her nose was leaking blood. And very much aware that this was her final test. She rubbed her bloody face on her sleeve as she strode purposefully across the little corral to where the mare was backing away from Pedro as fast as she could. Peri intercepted her circuit, jammed her foot in the stirrup, and hauled herself back up into the saddle before the mare or Pedro realized what she had done. Before she herself realized what she had done. But no flesh-and-blood critter was going to get the better of her. Not when she had practiced and practiced and practiced. All that time and effort was not going to be wasted by one lucky buck of a range-bred mustang. Settling herself as deep as she could, Peri grabbed the rein from Pedro's hand and dug both heels in the mare's heaving flanks. "C'mon, you mangy wall-eyed bangtail, show me your worst!"

"Kick her. Peri! Ride her, cowgirl! Yahooo! Keep her moving! Ride her out! Give her what for!"

Advice came from all sides and Peri, determined not to measure her length in the sand again in front of this audience, kept after the mare until she settled to a weary trot, her sides pumping with exertion, and finally reeled to a halt, head down.

She got a rousing cheer from her audience but, wiping her face in her sleeve, Peri swiveled to face Tambor.

"Well, now, Tambor King-Sangster-Mahmood, it appears to me that it isn't only the hosses you rough-break here. Do I pass muster now?"

There were a few hoots and good-natured hollers at her question. From the corner of her eye, she saw Monty grinning, sheer devilment in his eyes. Pedro had flung his hat to the ground in a sort of triumphant way. Chelsea was slapping her legs at her impudence. Obscurely encouraged by their demonstrations, Peri kept her eyes fixed on Tambor. He glanced around as if taking in the attitudes of the assembled, but Peri knew it was his verdict that mattered, that he'd been her examiner in all the skills she would need here at the Preserve. She couldn't stand it if she were rejected. She'd never felt more alive than at this moment, with a heaving mare between her legs, sweat and blood trickling down her face, the hot sun above and the mountains around. She waited, aware that her breath was no less ragged than the mare's.

"Wal, Tam, do I?" She'd never been so bold before in her life. But this time it mattered too much to remain silently, obediently waiting.

Deliberately he pushed the hat to the back of his head and slowly let a grin break over his weathered face. "I reckon you do at that. For all you're a quiet li'l gal, you're full o' grit. I reckon we just better sign you on permanent."

And Peri let fly with a wild yell that startled even the tired black mare.

"Did I say 'quiet'?" Tam asked. "Now you put that mare up and I doan wanta find a single sweaty hair left on her hide. Didn't I larn you nothing in that barn?"

If Madam Likes You..

It's green for go, fellas," said the Systems Engineer, his bony face wreathed with a weary but satisfied expression. He leaned back in the chair, arching his spine until all heard a muted crack.

Migonigal, the Portmaster, winced and grinned comically at his assistant, Sakerson; his shipmate, Ella Em; and Rando Cleem, who manned the suspect glitched main-frame.

"And?" Migonigal prompted.

"And what? You had a couple of sour chips, five worn circuits, a wonky board, and some faulty connections - according to my diagnostics. Nothing serious."

"Nothing serious! Nothing serious?" Migonigal echoed himself as he turned a stunned expression to the others.

"But what caused the..." Sakerson began, but Migonigal cut him off with a sharp slice of his thick fist.

"Your basic system is jolly good," the SysEng said, rising and stretching his arms over his head. This time a crick in his neck went pop. He patted the console affectionately. "Well designed. However, I upgraded your mainframe with a couple of new programs. An internal systems check so this won't happen again. You know how cost-conscious the Space Station Services are," he went on as he packed up his service kit. "And I installed new holographics software to help you guys dock faster."

"Docking isn't a problem," Migonigal said, disgruntled, but he signed the others not to pursue the matter. "Look, need any fresh tucker from our hydro garden?" he asked ingratiatingly as the SysEng zipped himself into his space gear. "We've got some beaut..."

The SysEng gave a scornful snort. "I got better'n they issue you lot, and I don't have to share." He beckoned closer to Migonigal in a conspiratorial fashion. "The ghost I hear tell you guys got..." Migonigal leaned away from the man in denial. "Just a sour chip in the visualization program. You won't have trouble now."

"A sour chip?" Migonigal's bass voice traveled incredulously up an octave to end on a despairing note. Sakerson crossed his fingers behind his back and he noticed Rando making an odd warding gesture. Ella grunted her disgust with the SysEng.

"Hey, what's this?" The SysEng had picked up his helmet, in which now reposed a yellow banana. "Hey, maybe you guys got something I haven't at that? Got any more where this came from?"

Migonigal stifled a groan and shrugged again, spreading his hands and grinning. "Could be. But I'm hoping that is the last one."

"Yeah, well, ta very," and, peeling the fruit, the SysEng bit off a hunk, chewing with pleasure. "Hey, just ripe too. Okay, I'm off. Check me out, will you, mate? I'm due at Wheel Four in two days. Gotta bum it!" Migonigal signaled for Sakerson to escort the specialist to his vehicle, moored at Dock 4, which was nearest the control module.

"Anything we should know about the updates?" Sakerson asked as he followed the SysEng down the corridor, his felt slippers making no noise on the plasrub flooring.

"All I did was wipe the glitches and load the new programs. Same general format as the old..." A wicked grin over his shoulder at Sakerson. "And exorcised your ghoulies and ghosties." He chuckled his amusement.