Glory Season (84 page)

A pause. “Talk if you want. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Odo spread her hands. “There were countless individuals and groups who wanted the Outsider put away. Most for visceral, thoughtless reasons, as if his deletion might turn back the clock, erasing
de facto
rediscovery of Stratos by the Hominid Phylum.

“Some fantasized his removal might stop the iceships from coming.” Odo shook her head with aristocratic derision. “Those huge liners full of peaceful invaders will arrive long after we now living are dead. Time enough to worry out a solution. Taking revenge on a poor courier would only weaken our position, when and if full contact is restored.”

“So much for the motives of others. Of course,
you
had more mature reasons for grabbing Renna. Like squeezing information out of him?”

The old woman nodded. “There were elements of inquiry, certainly. Our Perkinite allies were interested in new gene-splicing methods, which might lead to self-cloning without males. Others sought improved defense technology, or to learn iceship weaknesses, so we might destroy them at long range, far from Stratos.”

“Too far for the public to observe, you mean. So most would never know we’re murdering tens of thousands.”

“I was told you catch on quickly for a mouse,” Odo replied. “Nor were those the sole ideas for using your alien friend and his knowledge.”

Maia recalled Kiel’s Radicals, who had hoped to alter
Stratoin biology and culture at least as much as the Perkinites, though in opposing directions. Maia knew Renna would have disapproved of being used by either party.

“Let me guess about the Bellers. Their motive was strictly cash, right? But you Persims, you blue-bloods, had reasons all your own.”

Odo nodded. “His presence in Caria was becoming … disruptive. The Council and curia had vital matters to discuss, yet were growing unpredictable whenever he was around. His calm restraint during summer had defied our expectations, winning him allies, and we realized it would only get worse with winter and first frost. Imagine how persuasive a fully functioning, articulate, old-style male might be then, to those with weak wills and minds! That describes many so-called ‘moderates,’ who were fast slipping out of our faction’s control.

“For reasons of political convenience, it was deemed necessary to remove him.”

“
What?
” Maia stood up. “Why, you smug bitchie. Are you sayin’
that’s
why—”

Odo lifted a hand, waiting until Maia reseated herself before resuming in a lower voice. “You’re right. There’s more. You see, we’d made a promise … one we were unable to keep.”

Maia blinked. “What promise?”

“To send him back to his ship, of course. And replenish his supplies when his mission was done. It’s why he came down in a simple lander, in the first place, instead of making other arrangements.” The old woman exhaled heavily. “For months, those believing in him had been working to fix the launching facility, not far from here. The machinery functioned when last used, a few centuries ago. Our records are intact.

“But too many parts have failed. Too much skill is lost. We couldn’t send him home, after all.”

Odo hurried on before Maia could interrupt. “To
make matters worse, he was in constant contact with his ship. Some already wanted him put away to prevent relaying information useful to future invaders. Those demands grew urgent when he started politely asking to inspect our launch preparations. Soon, he was bound to report that Stratos no longer had access to space.”

“But Renna—”

“One night, in a confiding mood, he told me that peripatetics—interstellar couriers—are considered expendable. With numberless lives already sacrificed in the new crusade sweeping Phylum space, that of recontacting lost hominid worlds, what does another matter? Ironic, isn’t it? His own words finally convinced my clan and others to ally with the Perkinites.”

Yes, that was Renna, all right
, Maia thought miserably. Her late friend’s odd mixture of sophistication and naïveté had been one of his most charming traits, and most alien.

“I take it the new launcher at Jellicoe has changed a few minds?” she asked.

The aged clone tilted her head. “You’d expect so, wouldn’t you? In fact, it is complex. Political tides are at work. The Great Former and its consort facilities are causing much dispute.”

No kidding. I can tell you’re scared spitless.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Maia asked. “What do you care what a var like me thinks?”

Odo shrugged. “Normally, not much. As it happens, we have need of your cooperation. Certain things will be required of you—”

Maia laughed. “What in Lysos’s name makes you think I’d do anything for you?”

A reply was ready. From her capacious sleeve, Odo drew forth a small glossy photograph. Maia’s fingers trembled as she took it and regarded Brod and Leie, standing together beside a vast, crystalline, spiral-shaped tube—the muzzle of the great launching gun on Jellicoe Island.
Maia’s sister seemed engrossed, drawing a closeup sketch of one of the machine’s many parts, while Brod ran his finger alongside a chart, covered with figures, leaning over to say something to Leie. Only their hunched shoulders betrayed the tension Maia felt emanating from the picture. Nearby, at least a dozen women conversed or lounged casually for the photographer. Almost a third of them were clones of the matriarch sitting across from Maia now.

“I think you care about the health and safety of your sister and her present vril companion. That persuades me to assume that you will do us a favor, or two.”

The noblewoman seemed impervious to Maia’s stare of unadulterated hatred. “For your first task,” Odo resumed. “I want you to accompany me tonight. We are going to the opera.”

The elegance of it all did not take Maia completely by surprise. She had been to the Capital Theater many times, vicariously, via tele broadcasts and scenes in drama-clips. As a little girl, she had fantasized dressing in the sort of fancy gowns worn by rich clonelings, gliding in to watch magnificent productions while, all around her, the whispered intrigues of great houses went on behind demure smiles and shielding fans.

Fantasies were one thing; it was quite another matter to struggle with unfamiliar fasteners and stays, coping with billowing, impractical acres of drapery that could have no function other than to advertise the wealth and status of the wearer and the wearer’s house. Finally, a pair of young women from Odo’s hive came to help Maia prepare for her first evening of make-believe. They managed to arrange the puffy sleeves and pleated trousers to conceal most of her recent scars, but Maia drew the line at makeup, which she found repulsive. When Odo arrived, the old woman concurred for her own reasons.

“We want the child to be recognized,” she ruled. “A small bruise or two will cause notice. Besides, doesn’t she cut a superb figure, as is?”

Maia turned before a precious, full-length mirror, amazed by what she saw. The outfit emphasized what she had barely noticed till now, that she had a woman’s body. She was four centimeters taller and much fuller than the scrawny, gawky chicken who had shyly stepped out of Port Sanger, months before. Yet it was her own face she found most surprising: from one thin, healing scar under her right ear; to her cheekbones, now entirely free of baby fat; to the sweep of her brown hair, brushed to a fine gloss by one of Odo’s attentive servants. Most astonishing were her eyes. They remained unlined, apparently youthful and innocent, until you took them full on. Slightly narrowed, they seemed at once both skeptical and serene, and from an angle she recognized the brow of her father, master of ships and storms.

It was an image of herself she had never envisioned.

Damn right!
Maia thought, nodding.
Take things as they come. And let ’em watch out, if they leave me a single opening.

That didn’t seem likely, unfortunately. Leie and Brod relied on her good behavior for their lives. Still, Maia turned away from the mirror with a smile for Odo.
You made an error, letting me see that. Let’s find out how many more mistakes you make.

The Great Theater sprawled gaudily a short distance down the acropolis esplanade from the Temple and Library. Horse-drawn carriages, lugar-litters, and more than a few motor-limousines coursed up to the steps, depositing the topmost layer of Caria society for tonight’s revival opening of a classic opera,
Wendy and Faustus.
High priestesses, councillors, judges, and savants climbed the broad steps. In many cases, the matrons of great clans were accompanied by younger cloneling daughters and nieces, too callow for real power, but the right age for procreation.
These youthful ones, in turn, escorted small groups of men, tall and erectly impressive in their formal guild uniforms. The winter cream of Stratoin maledom, here to be wooed and entertained.

Maia watched from the carriage she shared with Odo and a half-dozen older women from various aristocratic clans. It had been a chilly ride. Some of the old trepidation returned under their withering disdain. That enmity was based on a wide range of fanaticisms, but what made these women powerful went far deeper, to the core of the society established by Lysos long ago.

From the moment she stepped down from the carriage, Maia felt eyes turn her way. Whispered comment followed her up the steps, through the ornate portico, and along a sweeping, ceremonial stairway to the box where Odo arranged for her to sit prominently forward, on public display. To Maia’s relief, the house lights soon went down. The conductor raised her baton, and the overture began.

The opera had its points. The musical score was beautiful. Maia hardly paid attention to the libretto, however, which followed a hackneyed theme about the ancient struggle between womanly pragmatism and the spasmodic, dangerous enthusiasms of old-fashioned males. No doubt the drama had been revived at the behest of certain political parties, as part of a propaganda campaign against restored Phylum contact. Her presence was meant to signify approval.

During intermission, Maia’s escorts took her to the sparkling elegance of the lobby, where var waiters circulated with trays of drinks and sweetmeats. Here it would be simple to elude her escorts … if only Leie and Brod weren’t counting on her. Maia choked down her frustration and tried to do as she’d been told. Smiling, she accepted a fizzy beverage from a bowing attendant, a var like her, with eyes lowered deferentially.

Maia’s smile widened in sudden sincerity when she saw, coming toward her, a tight group of figures, two of whom she knew. Shortest, but most intense, strode the detective, Naroin, looking out of place in a simple, dark evening suit. Next to her, and half again as tall, walked Clevin, the frowning, earnest commodore of Pinniped Guild.
My father
, Maia contemplated. The reality seemed so detached from her dreams of childhood, it was hard to sort true emotions, except to relish the proud light when his gray eyes saw her.

Two women accompanied Naroin and Clevin, one of them tall, silver-haired, and elegant. The other was darkly beautiful, with mysterious green eyes. Maia did not know their faces.

Odo slid alongside Maia as the group approached. “Iolanthe, how good to see you back in society. It seemed so dull without you.”

The tall woman nodded her simply-coiffed gray head. Her face was delicately boned, with an air of quiet intelligence. “Nitocris Hold has been mourning its friend, who came so far across the galaxy, only to meet betrayal and untimely death.”

“A death drenched in irony, and by his own hand,” Odo pointed out. “With rescue just meters away, if only he knew it.”

Maia would have gladly, unrepentantly, killed Odo on the spot. She remained rigidly still, save to give one quick nod to Naroin, another to her father.

“So you feel delivered of your crime?” the woman named Iolanthe asked, her voice prim, like that of a savant. “We’ll find other witnesses, other testimony. Such a grand cabal of tensely diverse interests cannot hold. You play dangerous games, Odo.”

Odo shrugged. “I may be sacrificed at some point. In Macro Chess, a side may lose many queens, yet still win the game. Such is life.”

It was Clevin who spoke next, to the surprise of both disputing women. “Bad metaphor,” he remarked in a terse, gravelly baritone. “Your game isn’t life.”

Odo stared at the man, as if unable to credit his effrontery. Finally, she broke into derisive laughter. Behind Maia, others of the conspiracy joined in. The Pinniped commodore didn’t blanch. In his stern silence, Maia felt greater weight of argument than all their ridicule. She knew what he meant, and said so with her eyes.

Naroin stepped toward Maia. “Missed ya, varling. Sorry, I didn’t figure on a snatch like that. Underestimated your importance once again.”

That was the part Maia still couldn’t figure out.
What’s so important about me?

“You all right?” Naroin finished.

“All right,” Maia answered, almost a whisper. “How about yourself?”

“Fine. Catchin’ hell for lettin’ you get taken. How was
I
to know you’d get t’be a livin’ legend?”

Around them on every side, people were watching. Maia sensed attention not only from stately matrons, but quite a few male onlookers, as well.

Iolanthe spoke again. “It won’t do, Odo. She cannot remain your prisoner.” The savant turned to Maia. “Come with us now, child. They cannot prevent it. We’ll protect you as our own, with powers you cannot imagine.”

Maia somehow doubted that. She had, of late, seen forces beyond anything this pale intellectual could have known. Moreover, like the sword of Lysos breaking symbolic chains on the Lanargh City statuary clock, events had shattered all fetters on Maia’s imagination.

On another level, she felt the offer was doubtless sincere. Though Iolanthe’s side in the political conflict was probably doomed, she could almost certainly shield Maia’s person. All Maia had to do was start walking.

There are many kinds of prisons
, she thought acidly.

“That’s kind of you,” she replied. “Some other time, perhaps.”

The elderly savant winced at the rejection, but Naroin looked unsurprised. “I see. You like it in Persim Hold? They’re your friends now?”