David Brin - Glory Season

The screen flickered several times, with boxes rearranging themselves across the screen, each containing one or more of her spoken words. An array of interlinking arrows kept shifting connections between the boxes as she spoke. Maia had to concentrate to keep the dazzling puzzle from transfixing her. “… there was a girl from one of the pleasure clans, I think they use an emblem with a bull and a ringing bell. She’s carrying the bottles like some sort of courier”

Suddenly the boxes seemed to collapse, as if her thoughts had abruptly resolved in neat cubes, coalescing into a configuration of pristine clarity, a logically consistent whole. The picture lasted just an instant, too brief to read consciously. Maia felt a pang of loss when it vanished.

The pattern was replaced by a human face—a woman wearing her slightly wavy brown hair in a simple fall down one side, kept in place by an elegant gold barrette. In handsome middle age, the woman regarded Maia for a long moment, then spoke with a voice of authority.

“You have reached Planetary Equilibrium Security. State name and nascence affiliation.”

Maia had never heard of the organization before. Nervously, she identified herself. For official purposes a var used the last name of her maternal clan, though it felt strange mouthing the words—“Maia per Lamai.”

“All right, please go back over your story. From the beginning this time, if you please?”

Maia was gnawingly aware that charges had eaten half her meager savings. “It all began when my sister and I took our first var-voyage jobs on the colliers Wotan and Zeus. When we hit Lanargh I saw a man in fancy clothes who wasn’t a sailor come down to the docks and meet three of our sailors who then acted real strange, pinching me and saying summery stuff even though it was autumn and I was filthy and, well, they couldn’t have smelled any, well, you know, I’m just a …”

“A virgin. I understand,” the official said. “Go on,”

“In fact, my sister and I …” Maia swallowed hard, forcing herself to concentrate on bare facts. The Lysos-damned clock seemed to be speeding up! “We saw men acting that way all over town! Then in Grange Head I got this job working on the railroad and I saw the same thing happen in front of a house in Holly Lock that’s run by the same pleasure clan and Tizbe—”

“Hold… hold it!” The woman in the screen shook her head in puzzlement. “Why are you talking so fast?”

In agony, Maia watched the counter take up her last savings. Now she was doomed to a month working for the Joplands. “I … can’t afford to talk to you anymore. I didn’t know it would be so expensive. I’m sorry.”

Downcast, she reached for the cutoff switch.

“Stop! What are you doing ?” The woman held up a hand. “Just… hold it a second.”

She turned to her left, leaning out of Maia’s field of view. Maia looked up at the corner of the screen where the counter spun on for a moment and then… stopped! She stared. An instant later, the digits rippled, turning into a row of zeros!

“Is that better?” the woman asked, reappearing. “Can you talk easier now?”

“I … didn’t know you could do that.”

“Your mothers never mentioned reversing charges on important calls to the authorities?”

Maia shook her head. “I guess… they must’ve thought it’d make us spendthrift, or lazy.”

The policewoman let out a snort. “Well, now you know. So. Are we calmer? Yes? Let’s backtrack, then, to where you say you first saw this bottle of blue powder.”

In the end, Maia realized she hadn’t a whole lot to offer.

Her fantasies had ranged from disaster—her story proving to be trivial or stupid—all the way to miraculous. Could this be what that savant on the tele in Lanargh had been talking about, when she offered big rewards for “information”? She had wondered.

The truth seemed to lie somewhere in between. The official, who called herself Research Agent Foster, promised Maia a small but worthwhile fee to come to Grange Head in fourteen days, and tell her story in detail to a magistrate who was scheduled to pass through about then. Her expenses would also be covered, so long as they were modest. Agent Foster did not volunteer any explanations for the events Maia had seen, but from her demeanor of attentive but unbothered interest, Maia got the impression this was one of many leads in a case already long under way.

They seem awfully calm about it, Maia thought. Especially if someone was meddling with the sexual cycle of the seasons. It had already caused one accident, and who knew what chaos might ensue if it got out of hand?

The agent gave her a number to use if she ever had to call again, then signed off, leaving on the screen something else Maia hadn’t heard of before, a requisition on Jopland Clan for one night’s guest lodgings and a meal, at Colony expense.

When she went to the door, Maia found the matriarch standing there, wearing a broad smile. “Did you finish your consultation, daughter?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes. I’m finished now.”

“Good. I’ll have one of the servants show you a pallet in the barn. In the morn we’ll discuss how you’ll work off your debt.”

For the first time in weeks Maia felt a sense of relish, of anticipation. Leie would have loved this.

“Your pardon, Revered Mother, but the barn won’t do. In the morning, after a good breakfast, I’ll be happy to discuss your, um, lending me transportation back to town.”

The Jopland elder blanched, then flushed crimson in a reversal that was surprising, given her dark complexion. She pushed Maia aside and hurriedly read the screen, gargling in rage. “How did you do this! I warn you, if this is some city trick—”

“Lysos, I don’t think so. You’re welcome to call Planetary Equilibrium Security, if you want to verify it.”

Maia did not even know what the words meant, but they had dramatic effect. The old woman swayed as if she had been struck. Only after visible effort did she manage to speak in a harsh whisper. “I’ll take you to your room.”

Out in the hallway, Maia heard distant sounds of music and laughter. Apparently, a decent party had gotten under way, after all. As a var, she was used to not being invited to such affairs, and was unsurprised when the crone led her in the other direction. It was a bit disturbing, though, when they descended steps into the farmyard.

Two dogs came to growl briefly at Maia before sidling away at a sharp command from her host.

“It’s not the barn I’m taking you to, don’t worry. But we’re goin’ around the house. I don’t want you disturbing our guests.”

Through front-facing windows, Maia heard hearty male laughter. Farther along, they passed before several dimly lit rooms from which came breathy, hoarse sounds unmistakable as anything but passion. Well, she thought, feeling her ears grow warm, the Joplands ought to be happy. Seems they’re getting their money’s worth tonight. Odds-on, at least one winter clone would be ignited by the labor of these hardworking men.

At the far end of the southern wing stood several small apartments, each with its own door and plank porch. There were no keys or locks. The matriarch pushed into the last one and stood on tiptoe in order to tighten a bare bulb. Only wan illumination spilled forth, explaining why there was no switch. That bulb would never get too hot to touch. Over in one corner, a pair of folded blankets lay atop a packed-straw mattress. Maia shrugged. She had slept worse.

“Cockcrow for breakfast, or none,” her reluctant host said, departing without another word. Maia closed the door, then set to laying out the bedclothes. Finding a pitcher of water on a rickety table, she washed her face, took a long drink from the spout, and reached up to turn out the light.