Glory Season

One pair of fancy ships swung around the south side of Jellicoe, waving temple banners. And up north, I saw several fast cruisers appear. Later learned these were from the Ursulaborg Commercial Police Department! A little out of jurisdiction, but who cares? Naroin had called 'em out as militia, it seems. Honest, local cops with no Council connections.

Just as this crowd was jostling into the lagoon, and smoke started pouring out of the old sanctuary, that's when a big, smuggy zep'lin showed! I didn't like the looks of the clones leaning out of the gondola. (They were mad as hell!) So I turned on the winch and lowered myself. Made it down in time to help my guildfolk settle with the temple nuns and Naroin's posse that we were all on the same side.

It took a while overcoming the reavers' rear guard — they're hellion fighters — then we ran after them while they chased after you …

Maia's eyes blurred. Although Brod's simple account was dramatic, she had only limited stamina and her mind felt full to bursting. Not rushing matters, she waited for vision to clear before resuming.

Things were a mess, especially outside the auditorium, where your Manitou people had fought the reavers. Fortunately, there were docs along, to care for the wounded.

That wall of lights stopped us cold for a moment, and I got scared when I saw Leie, groaning on the floor, and thought it was you. She's fine, by the way, but I already said that. Just woozy from a bump on the head. Leie wanted to chase after the ones chasing you. But I was told to help her out to where the air was better, while Naroin's pros led the pursuit from there.

We limped outside just in time to get knocked to our knees by what seemed like thunder. We looked up and saw the space launcher fire its pod into the sky . . . and what happened next.

I'm sorry, Maia. I know it must hurt awful, like when they brought your poor body out, and I thought you were dying. To me, that felt like you must have, when you saw your alien friend blow up.

Again, Maia's heart yawned open. This time however, she was able to smile poignantly. Good old Brod, she thought. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.

Leie and I waited outside while the nun-doctors operated on you. (That's the one group I still can't figure out where they came from, or why. Did you call them?) Meanwhile, there were so many questions. So many people insisting on hearing what everyone else knew, even though it meant repeating everything over and over. The story's still coming out, bit by bit, while more boats and zeps keep arriving all the time.

Oh, hell. I'm being called again, so this'll have to be it for now. I'll send more, later. Get better soon, Maia. We need you, as usual, to figure out what we oughta do!

With winter warmth, your friend and shipmate  — Brod.

There was an afterword in another hand — a left-handed scrawl Maia instantly recognized.

Hey, Sis. You know me. Lousy at writin'. Just remember, we're a team. I'll catch up, wherever they take you. Count on it. Love, L.

Maia reread the last few paragraphs, then folded the letter and slipped it under her pillow. She rolled over, away from the soft light, and fell asleep. This time, her dreams, while painful, seemed less desolate and alone.

When they wheeled her on deck the next day, to get some sun, Maia discovered she wasn't the only recuperating patient aboard. Half a dozen other bandaged women lay in various stages of repair, under the gaze of a pair of militia guards. Naroin's young clone — whose name was Hullin — told her that others rested below, too ill to be moved. The injured men were being carried separately, of course, aboard the Sea Lion, which could be glimpsed following a parallel track, so sleek and powerful it almost kept pace with this white-winged racer. Hullin couldn't give Maia any information about which of the Manitou crew survived the fight at Jellicoe Sanctuary, though she promised to inquire. There had not been many, she knew. The doctors, inexperienced at treating gunshot wounds, had lost several on the operating table.

That news left Maia staring across the blue water, dejected, until a presence wheeled up alongside. "Hello, virgie. . . . S'good to see you."

The voice was a pale shadow of its former mellow, persuasive croon. The rad leader's nearly-black skin now seemed bleached, almost pale from illness and anemia.

"That's not my name," Maia told Kiel. "The other thing's none of your business. Never was."

Kiel nodded, accepting the rebuke. "Hello, then . . . Maia."

"Hello." Pausing, Maia regretted her harsh response. "I'm glad to see you made it."

"Mm. Same to you. They say survival is Nature's only form of flattery. I guess that's true, even for prisoners like us."