The exodus across the plains had a syncopated cadence—long intervals of boredom punctuated by anxious, heart-stopping minutes passing through each town. Nevertheless, all seemed to be going well until just before noon. Then, at a town called Golden Cob, they were met by an unpleasant sight—a lowered customs gate, barring their path. In lieu of the Musseli station master, a squad of tall redheads waited on the platform, all armed and dressed in militia leathers, comparing the engine’s markings with numbers on a clipboard. Maia and the vars ducked out of sight, but despite the engineer’s complaints, the guards-women insisted on inspecting the loco.
There followed a stretched moment as two groups of women stared at each other in jittery silence. One guard spotted Renna, opened her mouth to shout…
A shrill ululation pealed from above. The lead redhead looked up—too late to duck the dull end of Baltha’s crowbar, which caught her along the jaw. From the metal roof, where the lanky southern var had lain, Baltha threw herself upon the close-pressed mass of militia.
Instantly, a free-for-all burst in the close cabin confines. Women screamed and charged. There was no room for fancy action with trepp bills, so both sides forsook polished staves for flailing fists and makeshift cudgels.
At first, Maia and Renna stood frozen at the rear. For all her adventures, Maia’s first battle rocked her back. Her stomach flipped and she heard her heart pounding over the din. Glancing up, she saw Renna’s alien eyes widen impossibly. Sweat prickled and veins stood out. It wasn’t
The melee surged toward them. One redhead slugged Thalia’s friend, Kau, knocking the petite var down. When the militiawoman raised her foot to follow through, Renna cried out, “No!” He took a step, fists clenched. Suddenly it was Maia’s turn to yell.
“Get back!” she screamed, diving between Renna and the guard, managing to fling them in opposite directions. A fist rebounded off her right temple, setting both ears ringing. Another blow struck between two ribs, and she retaliated, hitting something soft with an elbow. Ignoring lancing pain, thrashing in the tight press of struggling women, Maia succeeded at last in dragging the fallen Kau out of the fray.
“Take care of her,” she shouted to Renna. “And don’t fight! A man mustn’t!”
While he absorbed that, Maia turned and dove back into the brawl. It was a torrid, grunting struggle, devoid of ritual or courtesy or elegance. Fortunately, it was easy to tell friend from foe, even in the stifling dimness. For one thing, the enemy had bathed today, and smelled much better than her comrades. It was a resentful comparison that lent her the strength to wrestle women much larger and stronger than herself.
Terrifying while in doubt, the battle grew exhilarating when she realized her side was winning. Maia helped pin one thrashing redhead so Thalla could truss her with loops of preknotted cord. Getting up, Maia saw Baltha holding two clonelings in necklocks, banging their heads together. No assistance needed there, so she hurried past to help a southern var who was preventing one last militiawoman from diving out the door.
With an opening clear, Kiel leapt like a dark blur from the slowly crawling train, and ran ahead to raise the customs gate just in time. Hands reached down to haul her in as the driver poured on amps.
At the outskirts of town, the victorious refugees slowed down long enough to dump the squad of bruised and bound redheads beside the tracks. Then the Musseli opened her throttle again. The engine whined, accelerating westward at high speed.
Maia and the others were too keyed up to relax, talking loudly and pacing until their hearts began to settle. The sole exception was Renna, whose demeanor remained icy-deliberate while performing first aid on various cuts, bruises, and one broken wrist. He was a soothing presence, so long as there was work to do. When that was done, however, he began shivering and broke into a sweat. Maia watched his fists clench as he walked stiffly to the open door by the engineer and rinsed his head in the rushing breeze.
“What’s wrong?” Maia asked, coming alongside, watching his tendons tauten like bowstrings.
“I…” He shook his head. “I’d rather not say.”
But Maia thought she understood. On other worlds, men used to do most of the fighting. Bloody, terrible fighting, by accounts. For all she knew, it was still like that, out there. During the battle, Maia had briefly read his eyes. Something had been evoked that he did not much like.
“I guess Lysos knew what she was talking about, sometimes,” Maia said in a low voice.
Renna shot her a look under furrowed brows. Then, slowly, there spread across his face a smile. An ironic smile that this time conveyed respect, along with affection.
“Yeah,” he answered. “I guess maybe now and then she did.”
Fortunately, that was the last substantial town before the coastal range. Their engine had to decelerate to climb the steepening grade. But then, so would any pursuit sent after the commotion at Golden Cob. Watching Kiel and Baltha pore over a map, Maia saw they were more worried about what lay ahead. Looking over their shoulders, Maia guessed the Perkinites had one more chance to stop them, near a village named Overlook, where a narrow defile seemed perfect for a hastily organized roadblock.
Too perfect, she later discovered. An ambush had, indeed, been ordered. Nearby clans dispatched squads in response to warnings from Golden Cob, and began throwing up barricades. Yet, by the time the locomotive reached Overlook, the danger was passed. Local vars had surprised the gathering militia with mob force, driving them away before the train arrived.
The counterstroke turned out not to be as spontaneous as it looked, Maia learned. Several of the mob leaders crammed in among the escapees, joining the final leg of the exodus as soon as the last barriers were cleared away. Maia soon realized they were friends of Thalla and Kiel.
How could a bunch of vars be so well organized? Such long-range thinking was supposedly limited to clone families, with generations of experience and a view of life that stretched beyond the individual’s.
With shouted cheers, the refugees at last waved goodbye to Long Valley. The locomotive was more crowded than ever during the final stretch over the pass, but no one minded. First sight of the blue ocean triggered an outbreak of singing that lasted all the way down to Grange Head.
Two more of Kiel’s friends were waiting in town, so that a fair contingent bid thankful farewell to the engineer, then trooped together from the railyard to the Founders’ Gospel Inn, a hostel overlooking the harbor. The new women wore garb of sailing hands—small surprise in a trading port. No doubt most of Kiel’s bunch, and Baltha’s, had worked their way over on freighters like those moored in the bay.
Thinking seriously about the future wasn’t something she had done in a long time. One compensation of helplessness, of living like a leaf, blown by winds far stronger than yourself. Soon, the downside of freedom would present itself—the curse of decision-making.
Kiel installed the elated adventurers on the hotel veranda, arranged for rooms, and set off with Baltha “to do business.” Presumably that meant dickering with the local magistrate, and probably making comm calls to officials halfway round the world. The rest of the party was to stick together, watching out for any last-minute
