David Brin - Glory Season

Maia’s nostrils flared. Time was even shorter than she had thought. As soon as the scullery drudge entered the prison cell and saw Leie, all would be lost.

“I know why yer here,” the older woman confided, moving a little closer.

“Oh yes?” Maia’s hand crept toward her belt.

A wink. “You’re, hopin’ for clues. Peep on th’ boss women, then off quick, after the reward!” The middle-aged var laughed. “S’okay. I was a younger, too—full o’ frosty notions. Ye’ll get yer clanhold yet, summer-child.”

Maia nodded. “I… think I already found a clue. One all the others missed.”

“S’truth?” The scullery wench leaned forward, eyes glittering. “What is it?”

“It’ll take two of us to lift it,” Maia confided. “Come, I’ll show you.”

She gestured toward the nearest dark doorway, motioning the bluff, eager woman ahead. As she followed, Maia’s right hand slipped the cudgel from her waistband and brought it high.

Afterward, despite all her valid reasons for acting, she still felt guilty and mean.

The dim room wasn’t quite empty or devoid of hints at its past life. Bare rock shelves and flinders of ancient wood planking testified that once upon a time, a substantial library might have stood here. Except for curled bits of former leather bindings, all that remained of the books was dust. After dragging the cook’s unconscious body inside, and hurriedly fetching the buckets, Maia swapped coats and borrowed her victim’s bandanna, which she tied low, almost over her eyes. She finished in time to hear muttering voices and footsteps approach. From the shadows, Maia counted figures moving past, back toward the foyer of stairs. Six women, still arguing. From close range, Maia glimpsed seething anger in Baltha’s eyes.

“… won’t be happy to get nothin’ out o’ this but a little box full of alien shit. Some bugs taken from an outsider’s vrilly gut may help knock down a clan or two, but we needed a political deal too, for protection! Without his tech-stuff, it won’t matter how many smuggy clones die…”

Their voices faded. Still, Maia forced herself to wait, though she knew there was little time left. Soon, the first group—that had found her aboard the Manitou—would report “Leie” missing. That would set folk wondering how a fiver could manage to be two places at the same time.

With a pounding heart, Maia pulled the bandanna down further, picked up the food pails, and stepped out of the dim room. She approached the corner, turned, and made herself shuffle at a droopy, desultory pace toward the two burly vars guarding the sealed door. Trying to calm her frantic pulse, Maia reminded herself that she had one advantage. The wardens had no reason to expect danger in the form of a woman. Moreover, her arrival so soon after the leaders’ departure implied she must have passed them on the way here. That, too, should reduce vigilance.

Nevertheless, she heard a wary click, and glimpsed the warrior with the automatic weapon lift it in the sort of tender but firm embrace women usually reserved for their own babes. Maia had only heard rumors of such mass-killing machines, until she was four, when she had first learned how much lay hidden in the world.

Unbeckoned—a brief, recollected image of a stone portal, grinding open at long last to reveal what the Lamai mothers and sisters wanted no one else to see. In light of so many things Maia had witnessed since, what had seemed so awful on that day had been, in fact, dreary, mundane. The irony was enough to make one laugh. Or cry.

Maia had no time or concentration to spare for either. She trudged forward, keeping her head down, and in a low voice muttered, “Grubb stuff for th’ vrils.”

Laughter from the one cradling the gun. “Why’re we still botherin’?”

Maia shrugged, rocking from side to side, as if in fatigue. “Why ask me? Just lemme get rid o’ the stink.”

The second guard laid her trepp bill across one shoulder, and with her free hand took up jingling keys. “I dunno,” she commented. “Seems a shame to waste all these boys. There oughta be frost, sometime soon. We can pass it ’round, then make a big, pretty fire…”

“Oh, shut up, Glinn,” the guard with the assault rifle said, as she positioned herself behind and to Maia’s left, ready to spread fire at anyone who tried breaking out. “You’ll just get yourself all worked up and—”

Maia had been rocking in anticipation. As the door pushed open, she took a step, then swung the righthand pail in an arc, passing in front of her and then toward the guard with the gun. The riflewoman’s eyes barely registered surprise before it drove into her gut, doubling her over without a sound. One down! Maia thought elatedly.

And prematurely. The tough reaver, stunned and unable to breathe, nonetheless steadied on one knee and fought to bring her weapon toward Maia… only to topple when the second pail clipped the back of her head with a deep clunking sound.

Maia accelerated her return swing, releasing the bucket to fly toward the second guard. The second warrior was already swiveling, lifting her trepp bill. With the agile grace of a trained soldier, she dodged Maia’s hurled pail, which struck the door, spewing brown glop like a fountain. Maia charged, taking a glancing blow to her shoulder before plowing into the pirate’s midriff and driving both of them into the room.

Second by stretched second, the fight was a blur of continuous buffets in which her own blows seemed ineffective, while her opponent was expert. Desperately, Maia grappled close but was soon thrown back, giving the reaver room to swing her trepp. Dazzles of exquisite pain swept Maia’s left side. Another lancing coup ripped just below her knee.

Dimly, Maia was aware of figures nearby. Haggard men clutched outward, reaching to help, but were bound by chains to rows of benches lining the sloping walls. Meanwhile, the pirate’s hot breath seared Maia’s face with onion pungency, spraying her with spittle as they wrestled over the trepp. I can’t hold on, she realized despairingly.

Suddenly, another set of hands appeared out of nowhere, wrapping around the reaver’s throat. With a howl, Maia’s foe flung her away. The sharp bill barely missed in a frenzied swing, then flew off as the bandit let go to claw at her new assailant, a much smaller woman who clung to her back like a wild cat. Though her drained body tried to refuse, Maia forced one final effort. Sobbing with fatigue, she launched herself forward, and in a series of fierce yanks, she and her ally finally brought the thrashing, heaving guard within reach of Captain Poulandres and his men.

When it was over, they lay together on the ground, wheezing. Finally, Maia’s sister took her hand and squeezed.

“Okay…” Leie said between gasps, the expression on her face more contrite than Maia had seen in all their years growing up together. “… I guess my plan didn’t… work so good. Let’s hear yours.”

The nearby corner from which Maia had spied on Baltha and Togay would prove a handy enfilade looking the other way. Still, at first Poulandres was reluctant. He and his men were brave, angry, and fully aware of their fate should they be recaptured. Yet not one of them wanted to touch the automatic rifle.

“Look, it’s simple enough. I’ve seen the type before. You just slide this lever”

“I can see how it operates,” Poulandres snapped. Then he shook his head and lifted a hand placatingly. “Look, I’m grateful… We’ll help any way we can. But can’t one of you two operate the thing?” Revolted, he looked away from the metal machine.

Before she had met Renna, Maia might have reacted differently to this display—with incomprehension, or contempt. Now she knew how patterns established by Lysos had been reinforced over thousands of years, partly through myth and conditioning, as well as deep within their genes and viscera, all so that men would tend to loathe violence against women.