Glory Season

Nearly, the matron thought the test-taker's visit a chess move by her faction's opponents, and was writhing to figure it out. Also clearly, it frustrated Odo to spend so much time worrying over a mere pawn.

Was that all it was? A gambit to waste the enemy's time? If so, Maia was pleased to help. The exams were exhausting, but a pleasant diversion. She only wished Brill seemed more sensitive to her own efforts hinting at messages to be relayed to Naroin and her father.

"The Upsalas are a fu

Maia shook her head.

"Then let me enlighten you. They are a successful clan by normal standards, numbering about a hundred—"

"Eighty-eight adults," Brill corrected, regarding Odo with relaxed, green eyes.

"And my sources say their fortune is secure. Not first rank, but secure. There are two Upsalas on the Reigning Council, and forty-nine with savant chairs at various institutions. Nineteen at Caria University itself, in diverse departments. And yet, do you know what's most peculiar about them?" A servant refilled Odo's glass as she leaned forward. "They have no clanhold! No house, grounds, servants. Nothing!"

Maia frowned. "I don't follow."

"They all live on their own! In houses or apartments they purchase as individuals. Each makes her own living. Each makes her own sparking arrangements with individual men! And do you know why?" Odo giggled. "They hate each other's guts."

When Maia turned to regard Brill, the examiner shrugged. "The typical Stratoin success story demands not only talent, upbringing, and luck to find a niche. Gregarity is another customary requisite . . .self-sacrifice for the good of the hive. Sisterly solidarity helps a clan to thrive

"But humans aren't ants," she went on. "Not everyone is born predisposed to get along with others identical to herself."

Nerves and alcohol had transformed the normally-aloof Odo, who laughed harshly. "Well put! Many's the time a bright young var gets something going, only to see it spoilt by her own pretty, bickering daughters. Only those at peace with themselves can truly use the Founders' Gift."

Maia recalled countless times she and Leie had been less than selfless with each other while growing up. They had attributed it to the rough passage of a summer background, but was that it? Might the tense affection between them worsen with prosperity, rather than growing into perfect teamwork? Maia sensed an evolutionary imperative at work. Over generations, selection would favor the trait of getting along with different versions of yourself. If so, perhaps the twins' plans had always been moot, as likely as frost in summer.

"There are exceptions," Maia prompted hopefully. "Your clan manages, somehow."

Brill sighed, as if bored with the topic. "Eventually, we Upsala learned how to maintain the needful functions of a clan, without all the trappings or constraints."

"She means they have grand meetings, about once an old Earth year. Half of 'em don't attend, they send their lawyers!" Odo seemed to find it hilarious. "They don't even like their own clone daughters. That's why their numbers grow so slow—"

"It's not true!" Brill snapped, showing the first strong emotion Maia had seen. The woman paused to regain her composure. "Everything's fine until adolescence, then . . ." She lapsed a second time, and finished in a low voice. "I get along fine with my other kids."

"Your var, you mean. That's another thing. Upsala prefer summer breeding! Makes 'em popular with the lys, it does," Odo slurred as she sloshed more wine.

"Your way would never work in the countryside," Maia told Brill, fascinated.

"True, Maia. City life offers public services, a wealth of career choices. …"

"Tell her about career choices! Don't you all pick different professions 'cause you hate to even run into each other?"

While Odo chuckled, Maia stared. Apparently, the Upsala excelled at anything they tried, starting from scratch with each cloned lifetime. Maia wondered if Re

In their case, genius overcame a crippling lack of harmony. Leie and I aren't geniuses, but we don't exactly hate each other, either. Maybe something in between is possible. If we both get out of this mess alive, perhaps we can learn from the Upsalas.

Brill took out a pocketwatch and cleared her throat. "That was awfully pleasant, yes? Now might we get back to work? I'd like to finish soon. My babysitter charges extra after ten."

The next series dealt with Maia's "cryptomathematical talent," or her unforeseen affinity for games like Life. For an hour, Maia waged midget battles on a computerized board like Re

"Why are you doing this to me?" she moaned at the end.

"It is suspected that you may qualify for a niche," Brill answered dryly, turning off the machine. Maia rubbed her eyes. "What niche?"

Brill paused. "I can tell you what not to expect. Do not hope for entry to the university based on your talent with patterns and symbol systems. If it carries across generations, a winter child of yours might apply on its basis, but for you it is already too late to be a mathematician."

Thanks, Maia thought, with bitterness that surprised her. Who asked, anyway?

"Moreover, you appear to have too high an action potential for the contemplative life," Brill went on, sca

Maia sat up quickly. "Client? You mean this isn't for the civil service?" She sensed the Persim clone edge forward, suddenly alert. Brill shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "I've been commissioned by a member of my own family, to seek workers for a new venture. Frankly, it's a long shot, not a safe niche, by any means."

"But . . ." Maia sensed anger in the tense silence of the Persim cloneling. "Odo assumed this was for—"

"I'm not responsible for Odo's assumptions. Any potential employer may contract with the examination service. This isn't relevant to Persim Clan's present political struggles, so Odo has no cause for concern. Now, shall we get back to work? Our last item will be—"

"I'm a good navigator!" Maia blurted. "And I'm pretty good with machines. My twin's better. We're mirror twins, you know. So maybe . . . between us . . ." Maia's voice trailed off, weighed down by embarrassment over her outburst. Some lurking, childish remnant had leaped out, pleading a case she no longer even cared to make.

"Those factors may be relevant," Brill commented after a beat. There was a brief light of kindness in the examiner's eyes. "Now, the last item is an essay question. I want you to describe three episodes in which you solved puzzle locks to enter hidden chambers. You know the events I speak of. Succinctly note what factors, logical and intuitive, led you to surmise correct answers. Limit each answer to a hundred words. Pick up your pencil. Begin."

Maia sighed and started writing. Apparently, everyone knew of her adventures under Jellicoe Isle. By now, the place was back in the hands of those same conservative forces that had, for centuries, maintained the Defense Center. But the secret was out for good.

… so our success at the red-metal door was partly luck . . . she wrote. I once overheard some words which made me realize the symbols in the hexagons could mean . . .