Glory Season

especially, vulnerable to nobody.

The shower had been tepid, but the bath was so hot that it stung her innumerable cuts and scratches. Maia slipped lower by stages, until water sloshed over the sides into a waiting drain.

Heaven! Heat seemed to melt every part that was tense or callused, uncoiling muscles that had been taut without her noting. Troubles and worries she still had, but they went limp for the time being, along with her body. The sensuousness of lying completely motionless matched any active pleasure she knew.

Languidly, Maia lifted one arm to look at it from all sides, let it drop, and did the same thing with the other, regarding where recent months had left their marks. Next she examined each leg. A small scar on this shin, a healing scratch on that ankle, a couple of tender spots saddle-rubbed during that long ride on horseback… and one small battle wound that she made a mental note to keep clean over the days ahead, lest it get infected. Even here, in “civilization,” medical care was catch-as-catch-can, and she hardly had the resources to pay.

There was a knock, and the door started swinging. Thalla stuck her head in. “Everything all right?” the stocky woman asked.

“Oh! Fine, great… I’ll get out.” With a sigh, Maia reached for the rim.

“Don’t be silly. You just got in!” Thalla chided. “I just heard the innkeeper’s got a washload goin’. We’re tossing in our grungies. Want yours done, too?” She nodded toward the filthy garments in the corner.

Maia winced at the thought of ever wearing them again, but they were all she had. “Yeah, please. Kind of you.”

Thalla swept up the clothes. “Don’t mention it. Enjoy your bath. An’ have all the luck in the world.”

She closed the door and Maia sank back into the tub, relishing how the heat swarmed in again. It had been disappointing, thinking it was over so soon. Now she felt happier than if she had been left undisturbed! Not that everything melted in the hot water. The sound of the locomotive, its electric thrum along the rails, was still in her head. Nor, try as she might, could Maia push aside all her worries.

Staying ashore was out of the question. Tizbe and the Joplands would surely catch up with her. The sea was her only option. With what Maia had learned about navigation—and the Game of Life—perhaps some captain could be persuaded to give her a trial billet on crew, not just as passenger, second class. Ideally a slot to last through late spring, when rut season forced women ashore. By that time, she ought to have saved a credit or two.

In all justice, she should get a small portion of the reward Kiel and Baltha were collecting. Maia trusted Renna to stick up for her, though from the size of the getaway cabal, her share still wasn’t likely to be large.

There was also the matter of her appointment with the PES investigator, now long overdue because of circumstances beyond her control. Was it too late to make good her promise? Would testimony before a local magistrate suffice? Part of her determination was personal. Tizbe Beller locked me up to keep me from talking. So that’s exactly what I’ll do! Of all the sensations warming her—freedom, cleanliness, the physical luxury of the bath—she dwelled for a few minutes on revenge. The Bellers and Joplands will be sorry they ever made me their enemy, she vowed grandly.

It wasn’t a sound that tickled Maia’s attention. Rather, she grew gradually, uncomfortably aware of a certain lack of sound. Frowning, it began to dawn on her that it had been a while since she’d heard the murmur of conversation on the porch below. Or the pacing of the var on watch, or the clinking of bottles, or Renna’s persistent, naive questions.

Suddenly, the bath no longer felt luxurious, but confining. I’m probably turning into a prune, anyway, she thought. Her relaxed muscles had to be coaxed into lifting her weight out of the tub. While toweling herself, Maia could not suppress a rising sense of foreboding. Something was wrong.

Maia lowered the cover of the bathtub and climbed on top to reach the solitary window, wiping the foggy pane and pressing close to peer down, onto the veranda. Rows of empty bottles lay along the balcony railing, but where the women had been sitting, no one remained in sight.

Probably Kiel and Baltha came back with news, she thought. But nobody was visible near the main entrance, either. Did they go in to eat? she wondered.

Maia shoved upward against the window until it slid along wooden tracks, sash weights rattling on both sides. Fresh, chill air streamed in, sowing goose bumps as moisture evaporated from her skin. She stuck her head out and called, “Hey! Where is everybody?”

A few locals were in view near a warehouse, loading a horse-drawn wagon. When she stretched a little farther and turned left, she saw a crowd down at the embankment, far below, moving toward one of the piers. Maia’s heart surged when she recognized Thalia’s stocky form and Baltha’s shock of blonde hair.

No. They wouldn’t do that to me!

But there was Renna. Taller than Baltha, walking awkwardly with his arms around two of the women, rocking from side to side.

“Lysos!” Maia cried, hopping back onto the tiles. Her clothes were gone—no doubt to help strand her here. With a curse, she now recalled Thalia’s parting words, which had seemed odd for someone you expected to see again!

Clutching a towel, Maia dashed from the room and swept downstairs, only to be blocked momentarily by the innkeeper, holding a cloth bag and a paper envelope.

“Oh, it’s you, miss. Your friends told me to give you—”

Her words cut off as Maia pushed her aside and streaked out the front door, leaping down the steps onto the gravel road. Shopkeepers stared and a trio of three-year-old clones giggled, but Maia dug in, kicking pebbles as she ran, ignoring the bite of cold sea air. Turning fast at the embankment, she skidded and sprawled hard onto hands and knees, but was up again in an instant, not bothering to check for bleeding or to pick up the spilled towel. Maia ran naked past loading cranes and moored ships, to amazed looks from sailors and townswomen alike.

Two longboats had already set out from the pier, oars-women pulling with steady, even strokes. When Maia reached the end of the wharf, she screamed at Kiel, who was near the helmsman in the second boat.

“Liar! Damn you! You can’t just—” Stamping, she sought the words to express her fury. Kiel’s jaw dropped in surprise, while several of the vars Maia had fought next to, now laughed at the sight of her standing there, unclothed and quaking with anger.

The dark woman cupped her hands and called back. “We can’t take you along, Maia. You’re too young and it’s dangerous! The letter explains—”

“Julp on your damn letter!” Maia screamed in anger and disappointment. “What does Renna have to say about…”

Then she saw what she had not noticed before. The man from space had a glazed, unhappy look on his face, and was not focusing on anything or anybody in particular. “You’re kidnapping him!” she cried, hoarsely. “No, Maia. It’s not what you—”

Kiel’s voice cut off as Maia dove headfirst into the frigid water and came up sputtering. She inhaled a painful, salty rasp, then set out after the boat, swimming with all her might.

Peripatetic’s Log:

Stratos Mission:

Arrival + 41.051 Ms

Cloning, as an alternate mode of reproduction, was used long before the emigration from Florentina World. An egg cell, carefully prepared with a donor’s genetic material, is implanted within a chemically stimulated volunteer, or the artificial womb recently perfected on New Terra. Either way, the delicate, expensive process is generally reserved for a world’s most creative, or revered, or wealthy individuals, depending on local custom. I know of no planet where clones make up a significant fraction of the population… except Stratos.

Here, they comprise over eighty percent! On Stratos, parthenogenetic reproduction is as easy or hard, as cheap or dear, as having babies the normal way. Results of this one innovation pervade the whole culture. In my travels, I have never witnessed such a bold experiment in redirecting human destiny.

This was the essence of my address before the Reigning Council in Caria. (See appended transcript.)