Glory Season

living. To Leie. And she missed Brod terribly.

That night, Maia woke to words in the hallway. She heard passing footsteps, and shadows briefly occulted the line of light under her door.

“… I knew it couldn’t last!”

“It’s not over, yet,” commented a more cautious voice.

“You saw the reports! The vrilly lugs’ll accept the token offer and be happy about it. We’ll be moving cargo well before spring!”

The words and footsteps receded. Maia threw off the covers and hurried to the door in her nightgown, in time to see three figures round a far corner—all Persims, ranging from early to late middle age. After a moment’s temptation to follow, Maia turned and headed the way they had come, her bare feet silent on the hand-woven carpet. No guards were stationed to keep her prisoner anymore. Either they felt sure of their hold over her, or cared less what she did.

Her way lay past the main foyer of this wing and into the next, where a staircase led up to an ancient tower. Voices drew near, descending. Maia ducked into shadows as another pair of Persim entered view.

“… not sure I like sacrificing so many to the courts, dammit.”

“Ten is the least the Reeces say’ll pass. Sometimes you must trust your lawyer clan.”

“I suppose. What a farce, though. Especially when we’ve won!”

“Mm. Hard on those going down. Glad it won’t be me.”

The pair turned past Maia, the second voice continuing with a sigh. “Clan and cause, that’s what matters. Let the law have its …”

When the way was clear, Maia hurried up the stairs the two had just vacated. The first landing was dim, and she felt sure her goal lay higher. From her room, she had watched a light burn many times, accompanied by reverberations of tense argument. Tonight there had been jubilation.

Three levels up, an open set of doors faced the landing. An electric bulb burned under a parchment lampshade, casting shadows across towering bookshelves. An ornate wooden table lay strewn with papers, surrounded by brass-studded leather chairs in unseemly disorder. Presumably, the mess would be cleaned up in the morning. Maia entered hesitantly. It was a more impressive room, by her prejudices, than the ornate opera house. She yearned for the volumes lining the walls, but headed first for the detritus of the adjourned meeting, uncrumpling bits of scrap paper, poking through sheets apparently torn out of ledgers and covered with scribbled accounts… until she found something more easily interpreted. Another newspaper, complete this time.

Indictments Filed in Visitor Kidnapping

The tragic events which took place in the Dragons’ Teeth, during Farsun Week, reached a climax today when the Planetary Prosecutor presented charges against fourteen individuals allegedly responsible for the abduction of Renna Aarons, Peripatetic Emissary from the Hominid Phylum. This event, which led to the alien’s unfortunate, accidental demise, aggravated an unpleasant year of turmoil which began when his ship…

Maia skimmed ahead.

…rogue individuals from the Hutu, Savani, Persim, Wayne, Beller, and Jopland clans are now expected to file guilty pleas, so the case will likely never go to trial. “Justice will be served,” announced prosecutor Pudu Lang. “If the Phylum ever does come nosing around, they will have no cause for complaint. An uninvited guest provoked some of our citizens into unfortunate actions, but this will have been dealt with, according to the traditions of our ancestors.”

To demands for an open public trial, officials of the High Court reply that they see no need to inflame today’s atmosphere of near-hysteria. So long as the guilty are punished, added sensationalism will not serve the civic interest…

This explained some of what she had overheard. The good news was that even the winners in the political struggle, Odo’s side, could not completely co-opt the courts. Public servants were enforcing the law, by narrow Stratoin standards.

Yet ironies abounded. The law emphasized deeds by individuals. That might have made sense back in the Phylum, but here, actions were often dictated by groups of clans. As in elections, the law pretended universal rights, while securing the interests of powerful houses. There was another article.

Twelve Guilds Accept Compromise

Agreement appears to have been reached in the labor dispute now disrupting commerce along the Mediant. In giving up their more absurd demands, such as shared governance of the newly created Jellicoe Technical Reserve, the sailing guilds have at last acceded to logic. In return, the Council promises to erect a monument in honor of the Visitor, Renna Aarons, and to pass regulations allowing male crew to help staff certain types of auxiliary vessels which heretofore …

So Brill was right. The men and their allies couldn’t fight inertia, the tendency of all things Stratoin to swing back toward equilibrium. The guilds had won a token concession or two—Maia felt especially glad that Renna would be honored—and Odo’s side in the struggle might have to sacrifice a few members. Nevertheless, Jellicoe was restored to its old wardens, who would now quietly resume their deadly exercises, practicing to blow up great, unmanned ships of snow.

Maia glanced at a photograph accompanying the article.

Commodores and Investors Discuss New Venture, the motion read. Pictured were several sailors dressed in officers’ braid, looking on as three women showed them a model ship. Maia bent to look closer, and stared. “Well I’ll be…”

One of the women in the photo was a younger version of Brill Upsala, eagerness lighting her eyes like fire. The sleek ship was of no design Maia knew, lacking sails or smokestacks. Then she inhaled sharply.

It was, in fact, a zep’lin.

Is that the “auxiliary vessel” they’re talking about? But that would mean—

A voice came out of nowhere.

“So. Always one to show initiative, I see.”

Maia swiveled catlike, arms spread wide. Behind the door, in a dim corner of the room, a solitary figure lay slumped in a plush chair, clutching a cigar. A long ash drooped from the smoldering end.

“Too bad that initiative won’t take you anywhere but the grave.”

“You’re the one that’s going to feed the dragon, Odo,” Maia said with satisfaction. “Your clan’s dumping you to buy off the law.”

The elderly Persim glared, then nodded. “We’re taught to consider ourselves cells in a greater body…” She paused. “I never considered, till now… what if a cell doesn’t want to be sacrificed for the smuggy whole?”

“Big news, Odo. You’re human. Deep down, you’re just like a var. Unique.”

Odo shrugged aside the insult. “Another time, I might have hired you, bright summer child. And left a diary warning our great-granddaughters to betray your heirs. Now I’ll settle for warmer revenge—taking you with me to the dragon.”

Maia fell back a step. “You… don’t need me anymore. Or Leie or Brod.”

“True. In fact, they have already been released to the Nitocris. Their vessel docks in less than a week.”

Maia’s heart leaped at the news. But Odo went on before she could react.