Glory Season

The old woman nodded. "There were elements of inquiry, certainly. Our Perkinite allies were interested in new gene-splicing methods, which might lead to self-cloning without males. Others sought improved defense technology, or to learn iceship weaknesses, so we might destroy them at long range, far from Stratos."

"Too far for the public to observe, you mean. So most would never know we're murdering tens of thousands."

"I was told you catch on quickly for a mouse," Odo replied. "Nor were those the sole ideas for using your alien friend and his knowledge."

Maia recalled Kiel's Radicals, who had hoped to alter Stratoin biology and culture at least as much as the Perkinites, though in opposing directions. Maia knew Renna would have disapproved of being used by either party.

"Let me guess about the Bellers. Their motive was strictly cash, right? But you Persims, you blue-bloods, had reasons all your own."

Odo nodded. "His presence in Caria was becoming . . . disruptive. The Council and curia had vital matters to discuss, yet were growing unpredictable whenever he was around. His calm restraint during summer had defied our expectations, winning him allies, and we realized it would only get worse with winter and first frost. Imagine how persuasive a fully functioning, articulate, old-style male might be then, to those with weak wills and minds! That describes many so-called 'moderates' who were fast slipping out of our faction's control. For reasons of political convenience, it was deemed necessary to remove him."

"What?" Maia stood up. "Why, you smug bitchie. Are you sayin' that's why—"

Odo lifted a hand, waiting until Maia reseated herself before resuming in a lower voice. "You're right. There's more. You see, we'd made a promise . . . one we were unable to keep."

Maia blinked. "What promise?"

"To send him back to his ship, of course. And replenish his supplies when his mission was done. It's why he came down in a simple lander, in the first place, instead of making other arrangements." The old woman exhaled heavily. "For months, those believing in him had been working to fix the launching facility, not far from here. The machinery functioned when last used, a few centuries ago. Our records are intact.

"But too many parts have failed. Too much skill is lost. We couldn't send him home, after all." Odo hurried on before Maia could interrupt. "To make matters worse, he was in constant contact with his ship. Some already wanted him put away to prevent relaying information useful to future invaders. Those demands grew urgent when he started politely asking to inspect our launch preparations. Soon, he was bound to report that Stratos no longer had access to space."

"But Renna—"

"One night, in a confiding mood, he told me that peripatetics — interstellar couriers — are considered expendable. With numberless lives already sacrificed in the new crusade sweeping Phylum space, that of recontacting lost hominid worlds, what does another matter? Ironic, isn't it? His own words finally convinced my clan and others to ally with the Perkinites."

Yes, that was Renna, all right, Maia thought miserably. Her late friend's odd mixture of sophistication and naivete had been one of his most charming traits, and most alien.

"I take it the new launcher at Jellicoe has changed a few minds?" she asked.

The aged clone tilted her head. "You'd expect so, wouldn't you? In fact, it is complex. Political tides are at work. The Great Former and its consort facilities are causing much dispute."

No kidding. I can tell you're scared spitless.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Maia asked. "What do you care what a var like me thinks?'"

Odo shrugged. "Normally, not much. As it happens, we have need of your cooperation. Certain things will be required of you—"

Maia laughed. "What in Lysos's name makes you think I'd do anything for you?"

A reply was ready. From her capacious sleeve, Odo drew forth a small glossy photograph. Maia's fingers trembled as she took it and regarded Brod and Leie, standing together beside a vast, crystalline, spiral-shaped tube — the muzzle of the great launching gun on Jellicoe Island.

Maia's sister seemed engrossed, drawing a closeup sketch of one of the machine's many parts, while Brod ran his finger alongside a chart, covered with figures, leaning over to say something to Leie. Only their hunched shoulders betrayed the tension Maia felt emanating from the picture. Nearby, at least a dozen women conversed or lounged casually for the photographer. Almost a third of them were clones of the matriarch sitting across from Maia now.

"I think you care about the health and safety of your sister and her present vril companion. That persuades me to assume that you will do us a favor, or two."

The noblewoman seemed impervious to Maia's stare of unadulterated hatred. "For your first task," Odo resumed. "I want you to accompany me tonight. We are going to the opera."