Glory Season

Maia's smile widened in sudden sincerity when she saw, coming toward her, a tight group of figures, two of whom she knew. Shortest, but most intense, strode the detective, Naroin, looking out of place in a simple, dark evening suit. Next to her, and half again as tall, walked Clevin, the frowning, earnest commodore of Pinniped Guild. My father, Maia contemplated. The reality seemed so detached from her dreams of childhood, it was hard to sort true emotions, except to relish the proud light when his gray eyes saw her.

Two women accompanied Naroin and Clevin, one of them tall, silver-haired, and elegant. The other was darkly beautiful, with mysterious green eyes. Maia did not know their faces.

Odo slid alongside Maia as the group approached, "Iolanthe, how good to see you back in society. It seemed so dull without you."

The tall woman nodded her simply-coiffed gray head. Her face was delicately boned, with an air of quiet intelligence. "Nitocris Hold has been mourning its friend, who came so far across the galaxy, only to meet betrayal and untimely death."

"A death drenched in irony, and by his own hand," Odo pointed out. "With rescue just meters away, if only he knew it."

Maia would have gladly, unrepentantly, killed Odo on the spot. She remained rigidly still, save to give one quick nod to Naroin, another to her father.

"So you feel delivered of your crime?" the woman named lolanthe asked, her voice prim, like that of a savant. "We'll find other witnesses, other testimony. Such a grand cabal of tensely diverse interests cannot hold. You play dangerous games, Odo."

Odo shrugged. "I may be sacrificed at some point. In Macro Chess, a side may lose many queens, yet still win the game. Such is life."

It was Clevin who spoke next, to the surprise of both disputing women. "Bad metaphor," he remarked in a terse, gravelly baritone. "Your game isn't life."

Odo stared at the man, as if unable to credit his effrontery. Finally, she broke into derisive laughter. Behind Maia, others of the conspiracy joined in. The Pinniped commodore didn't blanch. In his stern silence, Maia felt greater weight of argument than all their ridicule. She knew what he meant, and said so with her eyes.

Naroin stepped toward Maia. "Missed ya, varling. Sorry, I didn't figure on a snatch like that. Underestimated your importance once again."

That was the part Maia still couldn't figure out. What's so important about me?

"You all right?" Naroin finished. "All right," Maia answered, almost a whisper. “How about yourself?"

"Fine. Catchin' hell for lettin' you get taken. How was I to know you'd get t'be a livin' legend?"

Around them on every side, people were watching. Maia sensed attention not only from stately matrons, but quite a few male onlookers, as well.

Iolanthe spoke again. "It won't do, Odo. She cannot remain your prisoner." The savant turned to Maia. "Come with us now, child. They cannot prevent it. We'll protect you as our own, with powers you cannot imagine."

Maia somehow doubted that. She had, of late, seen forces beyond anything this pale intellectual could have known. Moreover, like the sword of Lysos breaking symbolic chains on the Lanargh City statuary clock, events had shattered all fetters on Maia's imagination.

On another level, she felt the offer was doubtless sincere. Though Iolanthe's side in the political conflict was probably doomed, she could almost certainly shield Maia's person. All Maia had to do was start walking.

There are many kinds of prisons, she thought acidly.

"That's kind of you," she replied. "Some other time, perhaps."

The elderly savant winced at the rejection, but Naroin looked unsurprised. "I see. You like it in Persim Hold? They're your friends now?"

Maia first thought Naroin was expressing bitterness. Then she read something in the ex-bosun's eyes. A feral, conspiratorial gleam. Her sarcasm had another objective.

Maia nodded. She took a deep breath. "Oh — yes. Odo — is — my — friend . . . as — much — as — she — was — Renna's."

It was the general message she had been ordered to convey, delivered so woodenly, no one with sensitivity would believe a word. Maia heard Odo hiss sharply restrained anger.

Leie, Brod, have I just murdered you? On the other hand, maybe Naroin would now add two and two, and realize how Maia was being coerced. Perhaps there were still honest layers in government, who could be called on to rescue two innocent fivers from captivity. To get that message across was worth stretching the Persim's patience. Once.

Clevin growled. Maia watched his gnarled hands clench and unclench. In the dead of winter, she felt a kind of blazing heat from the man. His trouble wasn't remembering how to make a fist, but controlling his wrath. Naroin took his elbow, applying urgent pressure to his arm.

"This won't stop the strike," he rumbled.

Strike? Maia wondered.