Glory Season

"I don't think so. There's nothing special about it, except that it has a data tap."

"Lots of old ones do. If only I'd known, I mighta sweet-talked a reaver into fetchin' mine from Manitou. It's bigger, and in a whole lot better shape."

Maia grimaced. Everyone seemed to think she was negligent of her tools.

"What's it say here in the data window?" He went on. "Some sort o' coordinates?"

"Nah," Leie replied without turning. "Puzzle phrases, mostly. Temple stuff. Riddle o' Lysos." All of her attention was devoted to nudging the controls, while Maia carefully watched the sweep of galactic clusters, flowing from left to right across the wall, seeking anything familiar. Absently, Maia corrected her sister. "That's what they appear to be. Actually, I think they're commands. Starting conditions for whatever game is being played here."

"Hm," the navigator commented. "Could fool me. I'd have sworn they were coordinates."

Maia turned and looked at him. "What?"

His chin rested on the podium top, next to the tiny display, almost brushing Leie's wrist. He pointed to the row of minuscule red letters. "Never saw anything like this written in a temple. The numbers keep changing as she touches the controls. Seems more like—"

"Let me see." Maia tried to squeeze in. "Hey!" Leie complained. Politely, the young man withdrew so Maia could see four groups of symbols, glowing across the little array.

ACQ0 41E+18 –35E+14 69E+15

Apart from the first enigmatic grouping, the other three clusters of numbers quivered in a constant state of flux. As Maia watched, the "41" became "42," then briefly "41" again, before jittering further down to "40." Maia glanced at Leie. "Are you moving anything?"

"No, I swear." Leie showed both hands.

"Well, go ahead," Maia said. "Push something, slowly."

Leie bent to grasp one of the measuring wheels between two fingers. At once the second grouping began to blur. "Stop!" Maia cried. The numbers stuttered, then settled to tiny excursions around the value 12E+18.

"Again. Keep going that way."

Maia stood up, watching the screen as Leie resumed. Galaxies scrolled from left to right at an accelerating pace.

Only one of the number groups in the tiny window seemed affected.. The "E" shone steady, but Maia watched the "+8" turn into "+7" . . . and eventually "+6."

"You're right," she told the navigator. "They are coordinates. I wonder why they replaced what was written there before." She turned the other way. "Leie, let's try taking down to zero—"

Her words were cut off by shock waves that reverberated through the chamber. Echoing booms spread out from the entrance. This time, it was no single, warning shot, but a rapid series of loud reports, followed by clamoring voices. The men who had been watching from the benches leaped up, scrambling toward the door, rushing to aid their comrades on duty in the corridor. The navigator dithered only a second before making the same choice and joining the pell-mell dash.

Leie looked at Maia. "I'll go."

Maia shook her head. "No, I must. If they get past us, though …" .

"I'll smash the sextant." Leie promised.

"Meanwhile, make all the numbers small as you can!" Maia shouted back as she followed the men, limping. Her knee had swollen and was hurting more than ever. Behind her, the model universe resumed its blurry race across the wall.

Sailors jammed into a tight mob near the hallway's right-angle turn. All gunfire had ceased by the time she arrived, and the jabber of milling males evoked consternation and fear, not impending combat. Maia had to nudge and elbow her way through an aromatic throng of men. When she reached the front of the crowd, she gasped. The ship's doctor knelt beside, the prostrate form of the Manitou's first officer, stanching a flow of blood from a jagged wound. A knife, dripping crimson ichor, lay on the ground nearby. Of Captain Poulandres, there was no sign.

"What happened?" she asked the ensign she had spoken to earlier. The youth seemed distressed, his face as white as the wounded man's.

"It was a trap, ma'am. Or maybe the reavers just got mad. We heard lots o' yelling. The cap'n tried to keep 'em calm, but we could tell they were accusin' him of something. One of 'em pulled a knife while the other kicked the cap'n, real bad." He winced in recollection. "They dragged him off while guns shot at us from that end, keepin' us pinned down."

Damn, Maia thought, quashing her natural impulse toward sympathy for poor Poulandres. She had been counting on him to buy time, not provoke open warfare! Now what remained, but to prepare for Baltha's threatened assault?

The first officer was mumbling to the doctor. Maia crouched lower to hear.

"… said we must've helped the rads. . . .Cap'n tried askin' how? How an' why'd we help a buncha unniks do in our own ship? But they wouldn't listen . . ."

Maia rode out a lancing shock to her wounded left knee as she dropped to the ground beside the officer. "What did you say? Do you mean the Manitou is—"