"Detectives actually. Freelance. Our clan stays small on purpose. We specialize in solitary field work. Normally, you never see two of us together, outside the hold, but I was sent out when we got Naroin's urgent-blip."
It was hard to credit. The fiver spoke with a crisp, upper-clan accent. She had none of Naroin's scars. Yet, in her eyes danced the same vigorous zest, the same eagerness for challenge.
"I guess you don't think me a threat," Maia suggested, "to break your cover."
"No, ma'am. I've been instructed to be open with you."
Sure. What harm can I do? Maia trusted Naroin to some extent, enough to pull strings so that Maia's next cage would be more pleasant than any she had occupied before. That didn't mean letting her run around Stratos, blabbing what she'd seen.
The fiver placed the table-tray securely over Maia's lap and lifted the cover. There were no pancakes, but a predictable, medically appropriate bowl of thin porridge. Still, it smelled so heady Maia felt faint. Rivulets of orange juice ran over her fingers as she clutched the tumbler in both shaking hands. The reddish liquid tasted like squeezed, refined heaven.
"I'll wait outside," said the young winterling. "Call, if you need anything."
Maia only grunted. Concentrating to control her trembling grip, she pushed a spoonful of porridge into her mouth. While her body quivered with simple, beast-level pleasures of taste and satiation, a small part of her remained offset, pondering. I wonder what their family name is. I should've known. Naroin was always too damn competent to be another unnik var.
Sooner or later, Maia knew she must start cataloging her ream of losses, against her slim resume of assets. Later sounded better. One thing at a time—that was how she planned living from now on. Maia had no intention of giving up, but neither was she ready yet for linear thinking.
Despite her earlier famishment, she couldn't more than half finish her meal. Feeling suddenly fatigued, Maia let Naroin's younger version carry off the tray. Not once did she look directly at the neatly folded letter, but she kept in physical contact with it, as a drowning woman might hold onto a plank from a shattered ship.
When she next awoke, it was dark outside. Shreds of a dream were evaporating, like shy ghosts fleeing the pale electric lamp by her bedside. Her body was prickly with goose bumps and beads of sweat. Her thoughts still seemed dispersed, one moment focused and coherent, and the next hurtling somewhere else, like windblown leaves.
That made her recall Old Bennett and his rake, in the courtyard of Lamatia Hold. What would he think of where I've been . . . what I've seen? Probably, the coot no longer lived. Which might be best, given what Maia had done—inadvertently delivering into the archreactionary hands of Church and Council the last remnants of that secret hope the old man had kept next to his heart. A dream gone blurry from being passed down generations in secret lodges—as if men could ever know the constancy of clones.
Renna, Bennett, Leie, Brod, the rads, the men of the Manitou . . . there was room enough for all on the honor roll of those she had let down.
Stop it, Maia told herself numbly. The deck was stacked long ago. Don't blame yourself for things you couldn't prevent.
But she might as well tell the winds and tides to stop, as shuck off that sense of fault, which seemed less refutable for being so vague.
Maia saw that she still tightly clutched the letter. Red bits of crumpled wax lay scattered across the coverlet. She tried smoothing the paper with her hands. Lifting it to the light, she peered to make out, amid wrinkles, a fine, flowing hand.
Dear Maia,
Wish I could be with you, but they say we're needed here. I've got to play tour guide, showing all sorts of vips around the defense center. (They sure act mad, so I guess it was secret from a lot of high mothers in Caria, not just the public!) Leie has a job, too—
Naroin had said they both lived, but this confirmation was stronger. Maia abruptly sobbed, her vision clouding as emotion flooded back from being dammed away.
—Leie has a job, too, demonstrating that incredible simulation wall you found. Neither of us can match you for figuring this stuff out, but we're helping each other, and look forward to talking to you, soon as you're well.
I guess by now they've filled you in, and I'm kind of rushed getting this off before the Gentilleschi takes you away. So here's what happened from my point of view.
When you didn't return by an hour before dawn, I pulled in the cable, as you made me promise to do. I hated doing it, but then something changed my mind. Just after sunrise, fighting broke out, down on the ships. I later learned it was the rads, who you'd helped escape—
Maia blinked. I what? All she had done was make a promise to Thalia, one she never got a chance to keep. Unless the big var had managed to use the scissors, somehow. As a lockpick, perhaps? To slip their chains, then trick the guards? Or perhaps Baltha and Togay had already pulled the sentinels away, when battle seemed imminent with the men.
The revolt went well, at first. But then reavers rushed out before the rads could set sail. There was shooting. Some rads escaped in a little boat after setting fire to both ships.
It didn't seem a good time to lower myself down. I paced like crazy, worrying about you, till I arrived at the east end of the tooth, looking to sea. That's when I saw the flotilla coming up from Halsey. Not just the creaky old Audacious, which had been on duty when I was last there, but the Walrus and the Sea Lion, too! I guess the guild finally decided it had enough of its former clients, and was coming to settle accounts.
I ran to the elevator, went downstairs to the bathroom and broke a mirror. Grabbed a piece and hurried back up. The sun in the east made it easy to signal the ships. To give them some idea what to expect. There was shooting when they tried to enter the lagoon, then Sea Lion broke through just about the time everyone else in the world arrived!
One pair of fancy ships swung around the south side of Jellicoe, waving temple banners. And up north, I saw several fast cruisers appear. Later learned these were from the Ursulaborg Commercial Police Department! A little out of jurisdiction, but who cares? Naroin had called 'em out as militia, it seems. Honest, local cops with no Council connections.
Just as this crowd was jostling into the lagoon, and smoke started pouring out of the old sanctuary, that's when a big, smuggy zep'lin showed! I didn't like the looks of the clones leaning out of the gondola. (They were mad as hell!) So I turned on the winch and lowered myself. Made it down in time to help my guildfolk settle with the temple nuns and Naroin's posse that we were all on the same side.
It took a while overcoming the reavers' rear guard—they're hellion fighters—then we ran after them while they chased after you ...
Maia's eyes blurred. Although Brod's simple account was dramatic, she had only limited stamina and her mind felt full to bursting. Not rushing matters, she waited for vision to clear before resuming.
Things were a mess, especially outside the auditorium, where your Manitou people had fought the reavers. Fortunately, there were docs along, to care for the wounded.
That wall of lights stopped us cold for a moment, and I got scared when I saw Leie, groaning on the floor, and thought it was you. She's fine, by the way, but I already said that. Just woozy from a bump on the head. Leie wanted to chase after the ones chasing you. But I was told to help her out to where the air was better, while Naroin's pros led the pursuit from there.
We limped outside just in time to get knocked to our knees by what seemed like thunder. We looked up and saw the space launcher fire its pod into the sky . . . and what happened next.
I'm sorry, Maia. I know it must hurt awful, like when they brought your poor body out, and I thought you were dying. To me, that felt like you must have, when you saw your alien friend blow up.
Again, Maia's heart yawned open. This time however, she was able to smile poignantly. Good old Brod, she thought. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.
Leie and I waited outside while the nun-doctors operat
ed on you. (That's the one group I still can't figure out where they came from, or why. Did you call them?) Meanwhile, there were so many questions. So many people insisting on hearing what everyone else knew, even though it meant repeating everything over and over. The story's still coming out, bit by bit, while more boats and zeps keep arriving all the time.
Oh, hell. I'm being called again, so this'll have to be it for now. I'll send more, later. Get better soon, Maia. We need you, as usual, to figure out what we oughta do!
With winter warmth, your friend and shipmate —Brod.
There was an afterword in another hand—a left-handed scrawl Maia instantly recognized.
Hey, Sis. You know me. Lousy at writin'. Just remember, we're a team. I'll catch up, wherever they take you. Count on it. Love, L.
Maia reread the last few paragraphs, then folded the letter and slipped it under her pillow. She rolled over, away from the soft light, and fell asleep. This time, her dreams, while painful, seemed less desolate and alone.
When they wheeled her on deck the next day, to get some sun, Maia discovered she wasn't the only recuperating patient aboard. Half a dozen other bandaged women lay in various stages of repair, under the gaze of a pair of militia guards. Naroin's young clone—whose name was Hullin—told her that others rested below, too ill to be moved. The injured men were being carried separately, of course, aboard the Sea Lion, which could be glimpsed following a parallel track, so sleek and powerful it almost kept pace with this white-winged racer. Hullin couldn't give Maia any information about which of the Manitou crew survived the fight at Jellicoe Sanctuary, though she promised to inquire. There had not been many, she knew. The doctors, inexperienced at treating gunshot wounds, had lost several on the operating table.
That news left Maia staring across the blue water, dejected, until a presence wheeled up alongside. "Hello, virgie. . . . S'good to see you."
The voice was a pale shadow of its former mellow, persuasive croon. The rad leader's nearly-black skin now seemed bleached, almost pale from illness and anemia.
"That's not my name," Maia told Kiel. "The other thing's none of your business. Never was."
Kiel nodded, accepting the rebuke. "Hello, then . . . Maia."
"Hello." Pausing, Maia regretted her harsh response. "I'm glad to see you made it."
"Mm. Same to you. They say survival is Nature's only form of flattery. I guess that's true, even for prisoners like us."
Maia was in no mood for wry philosophy, and made her feelings known through silence. With a heavy sigh, Kiel rolled a few feet away, leaving Maia to watch the world-ocean glide by in peace. There were questions Maia knew she should be asking. Perhaps she would, eventually. But right now, her mind remained stiff, like her body, too inflexible for rapid changes of inertia.
A little before lunch, ennui began to rob even petulance of its attraction. Maia reread the quick-scrawled letter from Brod and Leie a few more times, allowing herself to begin wondering about what lay concealed between the phrases. There were tensions and alliances, both stated and implied. Local cops and priestesses? Acting at odds from their official bosses, in Caria? Had their union with the Pinnipeds extended only to wiping out a band of pirates? Or would it go farther?
What of the special, secretive defense clans who had also arrived at Jellicoe to secure their hidden base?—which was no longer hidden, after all. Then there were Kiel's radical supporters, on the mainland. And the Perkinites, of course. All had their own agendas. All felt passionately endangered by possible change in the order of life on Stratos.
It might have been a situation fraught with even more violent peril, perhaps risk of open war, had the object of their contention not evaporated in midair before everyone's eyes. With the centerpiece of struggle removed, the frantic mood of excess may have eased. At least the killing had stopped, for now.
It was much too complicated to focus her mind on, for long. She was glad when an attendant came to wheel her back to her room, where she ate, then took a long nap. Later, when Naroin knocked and entered, Maia felt marginally better, her mind a little farther along the path toward rational thinking.
The former bosun carried a stack of thin, leather-bound volumes. "These were sent over before we sailed, for when you felt better. Gifts from the Pinniped commodore."
Maia looked at Naroin. The detective's accent had softened quite a bit. Not that it was posh now, by a long shot. But it had lost much of its rough, nautical edge. The books lay on the side of the bed. Maia stroked the spine of one, drew it closer, and opened the fine linen pages.
Life. She recognized the subject instantly and sighed. Who needs it?
Yet, the paper felt rich to the touch. It even swelled voluptuous. Brief glimpses of the illustrations, featuring countless arrays of tiny squares and dots, seemed to tease a corner of her mind in the same way that a bright, sharp light might tickle the beginnings of a sneeze.
"I always figured that for some men it was, well, addicting in a way, like a drug. Is that how it is with you?" Naroin seemed genuinely, respectfully curious.
Maia pushed the book away. After several seconds she nodded.
"It's beautiful." Her throat was too thick to say more.
"Hm. With all the time I've spent around sailors, you'd think I'd see it, too." Naroin shook her head. "Can't say as I do. I like men. Get along with 'em fine. But I guess some things go beyond like or dislike."
"I guess."
There was a moment's silence, then Naroin moved closer to sit on the edge of the bed.
"That's why I was on the ol' Wotan, when you first came aboard, in Port Sanger. My experience as a sea hand gave me cover for my assignment. The collier would make many stops along the coast. Let me look around all the right places for clues."
"To find a missing alien?"
"Lysos, no!" Naroin laughed. "Oh, he was already kidnapped by then, but my clan wasn't brought in. Our mothers knew somethin' fishy had happened, all right. But a field op like me sticks to her assignment ... at least till given clear reason to switch tracks."
"The blue powder, then," Maia said, remembering Naroin's interest in events at Lanargh.
"That's it. We knew a group had started pushin' the stuff again, along the frontier coast. Happens every two or three generations. We often pick up a few coinsticks helpin' track it down."
There it was again, the change in perspective separating vars from clones. What a summerling had seen as urgent must appear less pressing in the patient view of Stratoin hives. "The powder's been around a long time, then. Let me guess. Each appearance is a bit less disrupting than the last time."
"Right." Naroin nodded. "After all, winter sparkings don't have any genetic effect. It's only during summers that new variants come about, when a man's efforts profit him in true offspring. Males who react less to the drug are just a little better at stayin' calm and passin' on that trait. Each outbreak gets a smidgen milder, easier to put down."
"Then why is the powder illegal?"
"You saw for yourself. It causes accidents, violence during quiet time. It gives rich clans unfair advantages over poor 'uns. But there's more. The powder was invented for a purpose."
Maia blinked once, twice, then realized. "Sometimes ... it may be useful to have men ..."
"Hot as fire, even in the dead o' frost season. You get it."
"The Enemy. We used this stuff during the Defense."
"That's my guess. Lysos respected Momma Nature. If you want to push a trait into the background, fine, but that's not the same as throwin' it away. Thriftier to put it on a shelf, where it might come in handy, someday."
Maia's thoughts had already plunged ahead. The Council rulers must have flooded Stratos with the stuff, during the battle to fight off the Enemy foeship.
Imagine every male a warrior. Almost overnight, it would have multiplied the colony's strength, complementing female skill and planning with a wrath like none other in the universe.
Only, what happened after victory?
/> The good men—those who might have been trustworthy on any Phylum world, even before Lysos—would have voluntarily given up the powder. Or at least kept their heads until it ran out. But men come in all types. It's not hard to picture a plague like the Kings' Revolt erupting during the chaos after a war. Especially with tons of Tizbe's drug floating around.
Was that enough cause to betray the Guardians of Jellicoe?
Maia knew that the Council didn't do things without reasons.
"I guess your assignment changed, by the time we met again," she prompted Naroin.
The petite brunette shrugged. "I heard some odd things. Known mercenaries were gettin' offers, down the coast. Radical agents were reported drifting into parts around Grange Head. Wasn't hard to figure where I might get a billet close to things going on."
Brin, David - Glory Season Page 63
