Glory Season

She had tried peering at individual dots, in order to decipher the position-by-position rules of play. At first, she had thought she could make out a total of nine colors, which responded four times as powerfully to nearest neighbors as to next-nearest, and so on. Then she looked more closely, and realized that every dot consisted of a swarm of smaller specks, each interacting with those around it, the combination blending at a distance to give the illusion of one solid shade.

"Maia." It was Leie's voice, accompanied by a tap on her shoulder. She drew back and turned as her twin gestured toward the back of the hall, where a messenger could be seen hurriedly picking his way down the stair-aisle. It was a tricky task in the shifting, ever-changing illumination. The cabin boy arrived short of breath. He had only three words for Maia.

"They're comin', ma'am."

It wasn't easy to tear herself away from the dazzling wall display. She felt sure she'd be more useful here. But after several fits and starts, the reavers were apparently sending their delegation, at last. Poulandres insisted Maia join him to speak for the escapees.

"Why can't you do it yourself?" she had asked earlier, to which he replied enigmatically. "No voyage lands without a captain. No cargo sells without an owner. It is necessity."

Poulandres met her at the doorway. Slowly, allowing for her limp, they walked toward the strategic corner. The shifting colors followed and Maia kept glancing backward, as if drawn by a palpable force. It took effort to shake free of the contemplative frame of mind. Their prospects for successful negotiation did not look good, and she said as much to the officer.

"Aye. Neither side can charge the other without taking heavy losses. For now, it's a stalemate, but with us stuck at the wrong end of a one-way hole. Given enough time, they can flush us out several ways."

"So it's a death sentence. What is there to talk about?"

"Enough, lass. The pirates can tell something's happened down here. They won't rush us till after trying persuasion."

Maia and the captain found the ship's navigator prone at the corner, nursing the rifle, peering along its sights toward a faint glow that hinted the distant flight of stairs. That much light remained so that the reavers could detect any assault staged by the men. Otherwise, a surprise melee in the dark might cost them their advantages of arms, numbers, and position. The impasse held, for now.

Two faint blobs moved against that remote grayness. Even at maximum dark-adaptation, it took Maia's eyes time to clearly discern twin female silhouettes, approaching at a steady walk.

"Ready?" Poulandres asked. Maia nodded reluctantly, and they set off together with the navigator aiming carefully past them. Now that it was a matter of protecting comrades, she felt certain the officer could overcome his queasiness, if necessary. At the other end, markswomen were just as surely drawing bead past their own emissaries.

The blurry forms took shape, resolving into arms, legs, heads, faces. Maia almost stopped in her tracks when she recognized Baltha. The other delegate was the assistant to the reaver leader, Togay. Maia swallowed and managed to keep walking, half a pace to the captain's right.

The two groups stopped while still several meters apart. Baltha shook her head, a swish of short, blonde hair. "So. What d'you curly-pecs think you're accomplishin'?" she asked.

"Not much," Poulandres replied in a lazy drawl. "Stayin' alive, mostly. For a while."

"For a while's right. You're still here, so don't pretend you've found a secret way out. What's your pleasure, Cap'n? Want to see your men die by fire? Or water?"

Maia overcame her dry mouth. "I don't think you'll be using either right away."

"Stay outta this, snip!" Baltha snarled. "No one asked you."

Poulandres replied in a low voice, icy calm. "Be polite to our adopted factor-owner."

Maia fought her natural reaction, to swivel and stare at the man, who spoke as if this were a negotiation over some contested cargo. Clearly, his feint was meant to shake up the enemy.

"This?" Baltha asked, pointing at Maia, as incredulous as Poulandres might have wished. "This unik summer trash? She's even lamer than her dead prissy-sis."

"Baltha, use your eyes," Maia said evenly. "I'm not quite dead. Anyway, where does a shit-stealer like you get on, calling others names?"

". . . Shit-stealer . . . ?" Strangling on the words, Baltha abruptly stopped and stared. Moving involuntarily forward she breathed, "You?"

Pleasure overcame Maia's reticence. "Always a fast learner, Baltha. Congratulations."

"But I saw you blown to—"