David Brin - Glory Season

“I can’t say much about the venture,” the examiner had said, referring to the enterprise her clan was funding. “Except that it involves transport and communications, using improved traditional techniques.” Brill’s smile was thin, wry. “Our clan likes anything that lets us spread ourselves out thinner.”

“So it doesn’t have to do with the Former, or the space launcher?”

Brill’s green eyes had flashed. “What gave you that idea? Oh. Because I was with Iolanthe and the Pinniped, that night. No, I only came along to be introduced. As for the Jellicoe finds, those are sealed by Council orders.” Brill lifted her satchel. “You must have known there was no other prospect. A dragon’s inertia is not shifted by yanking its tail.”

Aware of the Persim clone trailing nearby, Maia had asked one final question at the door. “I still can’t figure how you knew about our visit to the Lamatia bone room. The Lamai never found out, did they?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Then you must’ve spoken to Le—”

“Don’t make assumptions,” the older woman had cut in. Then, after a beat, she held out her hand. “Good luck, Maia. I hope we meet again.”

It wasn’t hard to interpret Brill’s meaning. I hope we meet again… if you survive.

Those words came to mind as the carriage bore Maia and Odo by the marble portico of Council House. Fewer demonstrators held banners, which hung limper than ever. There was no sign of Naroin or her father.

The strike is failing, Maia sensed. Even if it were still active on the coast, how could loosely organized men overcome great clans and win back things lost ages before living memory? What did ancient Guardians, or the Great Former, mean to the average seaman, anyway? How long can passion be maintained over an abstract grievance, nearly a thousand years old?

Something unsettling occurred to Maia. Brill’s examination had covered many of the skills needed by the pilot or navigator of a ship. Might it be part of a scheme to recruit strike breakers ! There were enough women sailors to staff some freighters, after all. Without officers, those ships would soon founder, but what if women were found as replacements on the quarterdeck, as well?

I’d refuse, Maia vowed. Even if it turned out to be the one thing I was born to do, I could never help deprive men of their one niche, their one place of pride in the world. The Perkinite solution would be more merciful.

She knew she was leaping to conclusions. The situation was making her paranoid and depressed.

Watching the faltering demonstration, she saw Odo smile.

The next day, the heavens opened and there was no ride in the park. Maia tried to read, but the rain turned her thoughts to Renna. Strangely, she found it hard to picture his face. Eventually, he would have gone away, anyway, she told herself. You never would have had anything lasting together.

Was her heart hardening? No, she still mourned her friend, and would always. But she owed duty to the living. To Leie. And she missed Brod terribly.

That night, Maia woke to words in the hallway. She heard passing footsteps, and shadows briefly occulted the line of light under her door.

“… I knew it couldn’t last!”

“It’s not over, yet,” commented a more cautious voice.

“You saw the reports! The vrilly lugs’ll accept the token offer and be happy about it. We’ll be moving cargo well before spring!”

The words and footsteps receded. Maia threw off the covers and hurried to the door in her nightgown, in time to see three figures round a far corner—all Persims, ranging from early to late middle age. After a moment’s temptation to follow, Maia turned and headed the way they had come, her bare feet silent on the hand-woven carpet. No guards were stationed to keep her prisoner anymore. Either they felt sure of their hold over her, or cared less what she did.

Her way lay past the main foyer of this wing and into the next, where a staircase led up to an ancient tower. Voices drew near, descending. Maia ducked into shadows as another pair of Persim entered view.

“… not sure I like sacrificing so many to the courts, dammit.”

“Ten is the least the Reeces say’ll pass. Sometimes you must trust your lawyer clan.”

“I suppose. What a farce, though. Especially when we’ve won!”

“Mm. Hard on those going down. Glad it won’t be me.”

The pair turned past Maia, the second voice continuing with a sigh. “Clan and cause, that’s what matters. Let the law have its …”

When the way was clear, Maia hurried up the stairs the two had just vacated. The first landing was dim, and she felt sure her goal lay higher. From her room, she had watched a light burn many times, accompanied by reverberations of tense argument. Tonight there had been jubilation.

Three levels up, an open set of doors faced the landing. An electric bulb burned under a parchment lampshade, casting shadows across towering bookshelves. An ornate wooden table lay strewn with papers, surrounded by brass-studded leather chairs in unseemly disorder. Presumably, the mess would be cleaned up in the morning. Maia entered hesitantly. It was a more impressive room, by her prejudices, than the ornate opera house. She yearned for the volumes lining the walls, but headed first for the detritus of the adjourned meeting, uncrumpling bits of scrap paper, poking through sheets apparently torn out of ledgers and covered with scribbled accounts… until she found something more easily interpreted. Another newspaper, complete this time.

Indictments Filed in Visitor Kidnapping

The tragic events which took place in the Dragons’ Teeth, during Farsun Week, reached a climax today when the Planetary Prosecutor presented charges against fourteen individuals allegedly responsible for the abduction of Renna Aarons, Peripatetic Emissary from the Hominid Phylum. This event, which led to the alien’s unfortunate, accidental demise, aggravated an unpleasant year of turmoil which began when his ship…

Maia skimmed ahead.

…rogue individuals from the Hutu, Savani, Persim, Wayne, Beller, and Jopland clans are now expected to file guilty pleas, so the case will likely never go to trial. “Justice will be served,” announced prosecutor Pudu Lang. “If the Phylum ever does come nosing around, they will have no cause for complaint. An uninvited guest provoked some of our citizens into unfortunate actions, but this will have been dealt with, according to the traditions of our ancestors.”

To demands for an open public trial, officials of the High Court reply that they see no need to inflame today’s atmosphere of near-hysteria. So long as the guilty are punished, added sensationalism will not serve the civic interest…

This explained some of what she had overheard. The good news was that even the winners in the political struggle, Odo’s side, could not completely co-opt the courts. Public servants were enforcing the law, by narrow Stratoin standards.

Yet ironies abounded. The law emphasized deeds by individuals . That might have made sense back in the Phylum, but here, actions were often dictated by groups of clans. As in elections, the law pretended universal rights, while securing the interests of powerful houses. There was another article.

Twelve Guilds Accept Compromise

Agreement appears to have been reached in the labor dispute now disrupting commerce along the Mediant. In giving up their more absurd demands, such as shared governance of the newly created Jellicoe Technical Reserve, the sailing guilds have at last acceded to logic. In return, the Council promises to erect a monument in honor of the Visitor, Renna Aarons, and to pass regulations allowing male crew to help staff certain types of auxiliary vessels which heretofore …