David Brin - Glory Season

By the time standing room was available, and the twins squeezed into the back of the sweaty room, the program had finished with the headlines and main features, and was into a nightly segment called “Commentary.” The young interviewer on the big wall screen looked familiar, naturally, since the same show appeared back home in Port Sanger. Her guest was an older woman, from attire clearly a savant from the university.

“…despite all assurances we have received, what guarantee do we have that our Outsider friends are harmless, as they claim? We Stratoins recall with horror the last time danger arrived from space—”

The interviewer cut in. “But, Savant Sydonia, when the Enemy came, it was in a giant vessel, big as an asteroid! We can all see—those of us living in towns with astronomy clubs—that the Visitor Ship is far too small to carry armies.”

Maia felt, a thrill of luck. They were discussing the aliens, after all. On the screen, the wise-looking savant nodded her head of noble gray hair. Camera beams highlighted wisdom lines around her eyes, though Maia suspected some of them might be makeup.

“There are dangers beyond outright invasion. Serious potentialities for harm to our society. Remember, consciousness isn’t everything! Sometimes the race has more wisdom than its individual members.”

The young interviewer frowned. “I don’t quite follow.”

“There are signs—portents, if you will. For example, one might mention the increase, during the last several seasons, of—”

A sudden, jerky shift. Maia would have missed it, had she blinked. Studio editing. Something excised from the interview before transmission.

“—making it impossible to completely dismiss the prospect of harm coming from restored contact with the Phylum… much as we deplore some of the wilder fear campaigns being waged by certain radical groups…”

Blips like that were common on shows ’cast by Caria City. So common, Maia might not have given it much thought, if she hadn’t been so intensely interested in the answer. Now, she wondered. The heretic has a point. Vars grow up not expecting to be told much. We get used to it. But aren’t we citizens, too? Doesn’t this affect us all?

Just having such thoughts made Maia feel bold and rebellious.

“…so we must all strive together to reinforce the underpinnings of this good world left us by Lysos and the Founders. One that tests our daughters, but leaves them strong. Even the interstellar Visitor proclaims wonder over all we’ve achieved, especially our remarkable social stability, as hominidal colonies go.”

Maia took note. The savant seemed to be confirming the common rumor, that just one alien had actually landed on the surface of Stratos.

“It is important, therefore, to keep all other aspects in perspective, and remember what is fundamental. These accomplishments—this world and proud culture of ours—are worth defending with all the dedication we can muster from our souls.”

It was a stirring speech, uttered with passion and eloquence. Maia saw many of the heads between her and the screen nod in solemn agreement. Of course, those up front would be clones from lesser families, or rich vars. Anyone who could afford front seats already had a vested interest in the social order. Yet, many others seemed as moved by the savant’s words. Even Leie, when Maia turned to glance at her sister.

Of course Leie, the perpetual optimist, assumed it was just a matter of time before the two of them established their own clan. They would someday be revered grandmothers of a great nation. Any system that let quality rise in such a way might be stern, but could it be called unjust?

Could it? Maia long ago gave up arguing the topic. She never won contests of opinion with her twin.

“…so we are asking all citizens, from clanhold to sanctuary, to keep on the lookout. If anyone notices anything peculiar, it is her—or his—duty to report it at once—”

The change in the thread of Savant Sydonia’s words caught her by surprise. Maia whispered. “What’s she onto now? I missed—”

Leie hushed her curtly.

“…to inform the local guardia office in any large town. Or go to any major clanhold and tell the senior mothers what you have seen. There are rewards, up to a Level Three stipend, for information serving the interest of Stratos in these times of stress and danger.”

The young interviewer smiled ingratiatingly. “Thank you, Savant Sydonia, of Clan Youngblood and the Caria University. Now we turn to this month’s summary of tech judgments. Reporting from Patents Hall, here is Eilene Yarbro…”

Leie dragged Maia outside by the wrist.

“Did you hear?” she asked excitedly, once they were, some distance away, beside one of Lanargh’s countless canals. “A Class Three stipend… just for tattling!”

“I heard, Leie. And yes, it’s enough to start a hold, in some inexpensive town. But did you notice how vague they were? You don’t find that strange? Almost like they’re desperate to learn something, but julping at the thought of anybody finding out what they’re looking for!”

“Mm,” Leie grunted. “You have a point. But hey, you know what?” Her eyes gleamed. “That must mean they’re underplaying what they’re actually willing to pay. A stipend for information… and how much more for keeping quiet afterward? A whole lot, I’ll bet!”

Yeah, lots more. Like a garrote in the dark. There were legends of ancient parthenogenetic clans whose daughters brought status and wealth to the hive by hiring out as stealthy assassins. Not all scary stories told to little summerlings were baseless.

But Maia didn’t mention this. After all, Leie lived for possibilities, and her enthusiasm tugged at something similar within Maia—a zest for living that she might otherwise have been too reserved, too withdrawn to tap. She differed so from her sibling, even though they were as alike genetically as any pair of clones. It had made Maia more willing than most vars to accept the notion of individuality among winter folk.

“We’ve got to keep our eyes open!” Leie said, turning a great circle with her arms, and finally staring up at the starry vault overhead.

Constellations had emerged while they were inside, painting the heavens with sweeping, diamond brilliance.

The radiance of the galactic wheel. At expected intervals, Maia caught sight of rhythmically pulsing pinpoints that weren’t stars or planets, but rotating satellites vital to navigators at sea. She saw no sign of the Visitor Ship, but there was the black obscurity of the Claw, which bad little girls were told was the open, grabbing hand of the Boogey Man, reaching for children who failed their duty. Now Maia knew it as a dusty nebula, nearby in stellar terms, obscuring direct line of sight to Earth and the rest of the Human Phylum. That must have been comforting to the Founders, providing added shelter against interference by the old ways.

All that was over, now. Something had emerged from the Claw, and Maia doubted even great savants knew yet whether it meant menace or promise. The dark shape made her shiver, childhood superstitions clashing with her proud, if limited, scientific knowledge.

“If only we knew what the savants are looking for,” said Leie wistfully. “I’d shave my head to find out!”

Practically speaking, if the grand matrons of Caria sought something, it was doubtful two poor virgins on a frontier coast would stumble across it. “It’s a big world,” Maia sighed in reply.

Naturally, Leie took a different spin on her sister’s words.

“It sure is. Big, wide open, and just waiting for us to take it by the throat!”