Glory Season

The books helped pass time while Maia's knee finished mending. Gradually she resumed a regimen excercise, building her strength while keeping eyes peeled for any chance of escape.

A week passed. Maia read and studied, paced her garden, tested the relentless vigilance of her guards, and worried ceaselessly over what was happening to Leie and Brod. She couldn't even ask if there were any more letters, since Brod had apparently been forced to smuggle out the last one. The inquiry itself might only give her friend away. . .

She refused to show frustration, lest her captors gain the slightest satisfaction, but at night the image of Re

One day the guards a

"I know who you are," Maia said. "Re

The patrician sat down on a chair and sighed. "It was a good plan, which you helped snarl, in several ways."

"Thank you."

The noblewoman nodded, a genteel gesture. "You're welcome. Would you like to know why we went to so much risk and trouble?"

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 Re

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 Re

"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, wi

"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 Re

"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 Re

"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.