There was an element of diplomatic flattery, since I left all my troubled questions for another occasion. Time and observation will surely reveal cracks in this feminist nirvana, but that by itself is no indictment. When has any human culture been perfect? Perfection is another way of spelling death.
Some in the audience seemed eager for my proxy recognition of their founders’ accomplishments. Others smiled, as if indulgently amused that a mere man might speak to a topic beyond his natural ken. Many simply stared blankly, unable to decide.
Then there was the quiet, polite rancor I could not miss on the faces of a large minority. Their hostility reminded me that Lysos, for all her scientific genius, had also been leader of a militant, revolutionary band. Centuries later, there remains a deep undercurrent of ideological fervor here on Stratos.
The season of the year is no help. Can it be coincidence that consent-to-land was finally granted during midsummer, when suspicion of males runs highest? Were opponents of contact hoping I’d misbehave, and so sabotage my mission?
Perhaps they count on assistance from Wengel Star. Or from hot season’s shimmering aurorae. If so, the Perkinists will be disappointed. I am unaffected by glowing cues in their summer sky.
Still, I must take care. The men of this world are used to being few, surrounded by womankind, while I was shaped in a different society, and have just spent two lonely years of my own subjective span in cramped isolation between the stars.
16
Incised figures on a granite wall… geometric forms… nested, twining-rope patterns … a puzzle, carved in ancient rock…
I Focus on an image… of a child’s hand… reaching upward toward a star-shaped knot of stone…
…yes, this one. The star-shaped knob. She must touch the stone. Twist it a quarter turn. A quarter turn to the right.
It was hard to do, though. Something was making her sluggish. A force of will was needed just to make her arm extend, and motion felt like pushing through a jar of bee honey. The dank air of the cellar felt humid, smothering. The stone outcrop receded, even as she stretched out for it.
… a star-shaped stone… key to the sequence of opening.
The image wavered. Her own hand warped, growing indistinct behind swells of dizzying distortion. The surrounding, twining-rope carvings began to slither, twisting and writhing like awakening snakes.
What hurt most was a vague sense of betrayal. Not by her sister, but the patterns. She had felt so certain of them. The figures on the wall. She had put her faith in them, and now they wouldn’t play.
Blurry patterns. Fickle, blurry forms, carved in living, moving stone…
It was a woman’s distant tenor that surged and faded so … as if each word came floating out of a mist, packaged in its own quavering bubble.
The reply, when it came, was much deeper, like a sea god intoning from the depths.
“…think … so. … doctor said… hour ago… ought to … soon.”
At first, the voices were welcome intrusions, stirring and dissipating the clinging terror-strands of a bad dream. Soon, however, the words became irritants, luring her with hints of meaning, only to jerk away all sense, teasing her, thwarting an easy slide to quiet sleep.
The tenor returned, wavering less with each passing moment.
“Good thing … or those… heads would be … same as … ing murderers.”
A pause. The sea god intoned, “I … never forgive myself.”
“…had nothin’… with it! Damn fools, tryin’ to … her behind, like some kid. Could’ve told ’em she… stand for it. … Spunky little var.”
At least they were friendly voices, she realized. Soothing. Unthreatening. It was good knowing she was being cared for. No need to worry yet over things like how, or why. Natural wisdom counseled her to leave it for now. Let well enough alone.
Wisdom. No match for the troublemaker Curiosity.
From that moment, each word arrived defined. Freighted with meaning, context.
“So you’ve told me,” the deeper voice resumed. “We had some chance to exchange life stories in prison, but she never mentioned the details you told me. Poor girl I had no idea what she’s been through.”
The man’s voice… was Renna’s. A small knot of worry unraveled.
“Yeah, well, if I’d kept my ears an’ eyes open, I’d have connected her with those rumors goin’ around, an’ gone ashore to check for myself instead of sittin’ on the ship like a dorit.”
The higher voice was also familiar, tugging at Maia’s recollection from what seemed ages ago, in a different life.
“And how about me? Swallowing a Mickey Finn, and letting those women carry me off like a partridge on a pole?”
“Swallowing a Mick…? Ah, you mean a Summer Soother.”
Maia’s breath caught in surprise.
Where is here?
“Yeah. Pretty dumb, all right. I thought spacemen were supposed to be smartguys.”
Renna chuckled ruefully. “Smart? Not especially. Not by the enhanced standards of some places I’ve visited. The main trait they seem to want in peripatetics is patience. We—Say, did you hear that? I think she’s stirring.”
Maia felt a small cool hand along the side of her face.
“Hello, Maia? Can you hear me, younger? It’s me, your old master-at-arms from the
The hand was callused, not smooth. Yet it felt good just having someone touch her again. Someone who meant her well. Maia almost feigned sleep, to prolong it.
“I …” Her first word came out more a croak than decipherable speech. “C-can’t… open my eyes…” The lids felt locked shut by crusty dryness. A damp cloth passed gently over her brow, moistening them. When it pulled away, the world entered as brightness. Maia blinked and could not stop. Without conscious will, her leaden hands lifted to rub her eyes clumsily.
Two familiar faces swam into focus, framed against wood paneling and a ship’s porthole.
“Where …” Maia licked her lips and found her mouth too dry to salivate. “Where bound?”
Both Naroin and Renna smiled, expressing relief.
“You gave us a scare,” Renna answered. “But you’re all right, now. We’re heading due west across the Mother Ocean, so our destination seems likely to be Landing Continent. One of the big port cities, I figure. Better for their plans than where they found us, out in the boondocks.”
