Now the walls of the stairwell were cracked, as if tortured by some ancient blow or tremor. Worse, the steps themselves were splintered, chipped. Their undersides had given way, here and there, raining stone debris onto the stairs below. Some teetered in a fashion Maia found unnerving. There were gaps in places.
Maia was pretty sure, now. The huge, slag-rimmed crater wasn't volcanic, or natural at all, but an artifact of war. Some folk had once delved here, deeply, seeking protection. And someone else had come down after them, shaking the deepest levels. The scale of these ancient events frightened Maia, and right now the last thing she needed was more fear.
The sounds grew closer—distant, occasional plinkings. And a breeze. Fresh and decidedly cool.
Maia almost staggered when the stairs ran out. The tight spiral gave no warning, halting abruptly where a room opened ahead, featuring doors leading in three directions. At first she had to just walk the chamber's perimeter, trying to straighten the unconscious crouch she had assumed during the descent. Finally, Maia wet a finger to feel the breeze, watched the flickering of the dying torch, and peered for footprints.
That door.
Beyond lay a passage hewn from island rock, extending past room after dead-black room, as far as the dim pool of torchlight stretched. Maia extended the brand inside the first chamber, and found it stripped, save for one huge, polished stone bench that had a regular array of uniform holes drilled in its upper surface, as if someone had arranged it to hold dowel pegs for some strange game. Yet, Maia felt instinctively that "games" were never played in this cryptlike place. It gave her chills.
The plinking grew louder as she resumed walking. A low susurration also waxed and waned rhythmically. The torch began to sputter. It was time to decide whether to wind on more strips or let the thing go out. It took all her courage to make the logical choice.
Maia strode forward with her left hand touching the wall on that side, eyes trying to memorize the lay of the hallway before—Then it happened. The last flicker died. Plunged in sudden, total darkness, she slowed but grimly kept moving, fighting an urge to shuffle. Instead, Maia lifted her feet high to avoid making unnecessary sound.
Abruptly, her fingertips lost contact with the left wall, setting off a wave of vertigo. Don't panic. It's just the next doorway, remember? Move ahead, keep your arm out, you'll meet the other jamb.
It took ages ... or a few seconds. She must have turned to overcompensate, for the next physical contact came when she banged the far side of the entrance with her elbow. It hurt, yet restored touch felt reassuring. So did getting beyond the doorway. In pure blackness, it was even easier than before to fantasize monsters. Creatures that had no need for light.
The true Stratoins, she thought, trying to tease herself out of a panicky spin. There were silly tales that older siblings told their sisters, about mythical, primal inhabitants of Stratos, driven long ago from sight by the hominid invasion. Once shy, innocent, they now dwelled below-ground, far from the open sky. Bitter, vengeful . . . hungry. It was a fairy tale, of course. No evidence existed, to her knowledge, for anything like it.
But then, I never heard of hundred-meter craters gouging out the middle of mountains, either.
Another doorway swallowed Maia's hand, making her jump higher than the last time, convincing her susceptible imagination that vindictive jaws were about to close, all the way up to her shoulder. When the wall resumed, this time striking her wrist, she let out a physical sigh.
Stop it. Think about something else. Life, the game.
She tried. There was plenty to work with. The speckles that her visual cortex produced, for lack of input from the eyes, created a panorama of ephemeral dots, flickering like Renna's game board, set to high speed. It was alluring to think there might be meaning there. Some great secret or principle, found among the random, background firings taking place inside her own skull.
Then again, maybe not.
Maia grimly picked up the pace, passing another door, and another. Before long, she felt certain the sounds had grown louder, more distinct. Soon she knew her first suspicions were right. It could only be the surge and flood of tide-driven water. I must be all the way down, near the sea.
She caught a scent of fresh air. More important, Maia could almost swear that up ahead the awful darkness was relieved by a faint glimmer. A dim source of light. Even before she consciously made out the floor, it became easier to walk. Faint distinctions in the murky dim gave her more faith in her footing.
Soon they were more than hints. Up ahead, she saw what could only be a reflection. A wall, faintly illuminated by some soft source, out of direct view.
Maia approached cautiously. It was the face of a T-bar intersection, lit from one side. She edged along the right-hand wall, sidled to the corner, and poked around just one eye.
It was another hallway, terminating after about twenty meters in a large chamber. The source of light lay within, though not in view. As she began stalking closer, Maia saw that strange, rippling reflections wavered across the ceiling of the deep room. The plinking sounds were louder, an unmistakable dripping of liquid onto liquid. In the distance, a rolling growl of waves pounded against rock.
So that's it. Maia paused at the entrance, whose once proud double doors now sagged toward the walls, reduced to mold-covered boards bound by rusty hinges. Within, there stood another table, on which lay an oil lantern with a poorly adjusted wick. Beyond, half of the broad alcove descended to a wide pool of seawater. After ten meters, the placid surface passed under a rocky shelf, part of a low tunnel that led toward darkness and finally—judging from the muffled sounds—the open sea. A small boat lay tethered to a dock, mast down, sail furled but ready.
Maia gripped her wooden stave in both hands, ready to swing it, if necessary. She looked left and right, but no one was in view. Nor were there any other exits. The emptiness was more unnerving than any direct confrontation.
Where is she?
Maia approached the table. Next to the lantern lay a boxy case, open to reveal buttons and a small screen. She recognized a comm console, attached to a thin cable that led into the sea-tunnel. An antenna, presumably. Or perhaps a direct fiber link to another island? That sounded extravagant. But over time, it might prove worthwhile, if this prison-trap was used frequently.
The screen was illuminated with one line of tiny print. Perhaps the message would reveal something. Maia put the stave on the table and leaned forward to read.
THERE IS A PRICE FOR NOSINESS ...
Oh, bleeders ...
Maia snatched her weapon as a shattering din exploded behind her. Swiveling with the dead torch in hand, she glimpsed the ancient, moldy door strike its frame and shatter as a woman-shaped fury charged. Inanna's howl shook the stone walls, making Maia flinch, cleaving air and missing the reaver, who agilely dodged the wild swing, seized Maia's shirt and belt, and used raw strength plus momentum to fling her through the air.
Maia's arc lasted long enough for her to know where she was headed. Releasing the useless stave, she inhaled deeply before bitter water snatched her in an icy fist. Shock spewed half the air back out of her lungs, a force-uneven spray. Still, Maia kept from spluttering at once to the surface. By willpower, she ducked down and kicked, swimming as deep as she could manage and to the right. If it was possible to put in some distance without Inanna knowing, she might be able to clamber out quickly, setting the stage for an even fight—youthful desperation against experience.
An even fight? Don't you wish.
Maia felt her limit nearing. At the last second, she aimed for the sharp, black pool-edge and surfaced. Gasping, she threw her arms over the side, followed by an ankle, straining to lift. But almost at once a lancing pain struck her leg, knocking it back in. Blinking saltwater, Maia saw her foe already standing over her, foot raised for another blow.
Stoked by urgency, she focused on that object and lunged, seizing and twisting. Inanna teetered with a cry and came down hard, loudly striking the sto
ne floor with her pelvis.
Again, Maia struggled to get out. This time she had one knee on the shelf and pushed ...
The other woman recovered too quickly. She rolled over, knocking Maia back, throwing her into the water once more. Then Inanna's arms and fists were windmills, landing blows around the girl's head. One hand seized Maia's scalp, pushing her below the surface. Maia pulled hard to get away, to swim elsewhere, even the middle of the pool. The tunnel might offer shelter, of sorts, though beyond that lay the open sea and death.
She got some distance, then stopped with a sudden, jarring yank. Inanna had her hair!
Maia burst out, sucking air, and felt herself hauled back toward the edge. She kicked against the stone jetty, hoping to drag Inanna in with her. But the big woman held fast, pulling Maia near then, once again, resumed pressing Maia's head, forcing her under.
Bubbles escaping her mouth, Maia clutched at her belt. The blanket strips got in the way, but at last she found the sliver of stone. Working it free from folds of belt and trousers brought her almost to her limit before success rewarded her. Desperately, without much effort to aim. she flung her arm around and slashed.
A scream resonated, even underwater. The pressure gave way and Maia emerged, grabbing air with shattered sobs. Then, almost without respite, the hands returned. Maia stabbed at them, connecting another time. Suddenly, her wrist was seized in a solid grip.
"Good move, virgie," the reaver snarled through gritted teeth, biting back pain. "Now we'll do it slowly."
Still holding Maia's wrist, Inanna used her other hand to resume pushing Maia's head deeper . . . then yanked her up again to gasp a reedy wheeze. The blurred expression on the woman's face showed pure enjoyment. Then the moment's surcease ended and Maia plunged down again. Still struggling, she tried to leverage against the wall, straining with her thrashing legs. But Inanna was well braced, and weighed too much to drag by force.
Numbness from the cold enveloped Maia, swathing and softening the ache of bruises and her burning lungs. Distantly, she noticed that the water around her was turning colors, partly from encroaching unconsciousness, but also with a growing red stain. Blood ran in rivulets from Inanna's cuts, down Maia's arms and hair. Inanna would be weakened badly. Good news if the fight had much future.
But it was over. Maia felt her strength ebb away. The stone sliver fell from her limp hand. The next time Inanna hauled her head out, she barely had the power to gasp. Blearily, she saw the reaver look down upon her, a quizzical look crossing her face. Inanna started to bend forward, pushing for what Maia knew would be the final time.
Yet, Maia found herself dimly wondering. Why is there so much blood?
The woman kept coming forward, leaning farther than necessary just to murder Maia. Was it to gloat? To whisper parting words? A kiss goodbye? Her face loomed until, with a crash, all of her weight fell into the water atop Maia, carrying them both toward the bottom.
Astonished surprise turned into galvanized action.
From somewhere, Maia found the strength to push away from her foe's fading grip. Her last image of the reaver, seared into her brain, was the shock of seeing an arrowhead protruding through the base of Inanna's neck. Breaking surface, Maia emerged too weak for anything but a thin, whistling, inadequate, inward sigh. Even that faded as she sank again . . . only to feel distantly another hand close around her floating hair.
It was the last she thought of anything for a while.
"I suppose I could of conked her, or done somethin' else. I had one knocked, though, ready to fly. Anyway, it seemed a good idea at th' time."
Maia couldn't figure out why Naroin was, apologizing. "I am grateful for my life," she said, shivering on the chair, wrapped in what seemed a hectare of sailcloth, while the former bosun went over Inanna's body, searching for clues.
"That makes us even. You saved me from bein' a dolt. I figured on followin' the bitch, too, but lost her. Would of fell into that crater, too, if you hadn't lit the torch when you did. As it was, I had th' devil of a time, findin' those stairs after you'd gone in."
Naroin stood up. "Lugar steaks an' taters! Nothiri. Not a damn thing. She was a pro, all right." Naroin left the body and stepped over to the table, where she peered at the comm console. "Jort an' double jort!" she cursed again.
"What is it?"
Naroin shook her head. "What it isn't is a radio. Thing must be a cable link. Maybe to a infrared flasher, set up on the rocks, outside."
"Oh. I ... hadn't th-thought of that possibility." There was nothing to do about the shivering except stay here, enveloped in the sail taken from the tiny skiff. No dry clothes were to be had from the dead, and Naroin was much too small to share. "So we can't call the police?"
With a sigh, Naroin sat on the edge of the table. "Snowflake, you're talkin' to 'em."
Maia blinked. "Of course."
"You know enough now to figure it out, almost any time. I figure, better tell you now than have you yell 'Eureka' all of a sudden, outside."
"The drug . . . you investigated—"
"In Lanargh, yeah. For a while. Then I got reassigned to somethin' more important."
"Renna."
"Mm. Should've stuck with you, it seems. Never imagined a case like this, though. Seems there's all sorts that don't care what it takes to make use of your starman."
"Including your bosses?" Maia asked archly. Naroin frowned. "There's some in Caria that're worried about invasion, or other threats to Stratos. By now I'm almost sure he's harmless, personally. But that don't guarantee he represents no danger—"
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," Maia cut in.
"Yeah. Sorry." Naroin looked troubled. "All I can speak for is my direct chief. She's okay. As for the politicos above her? I dunno. Wish th' Lysodamn I did," She paused in silence, then bent to peer at the console again.
"Question is, did Inanna have time to send word o' the escape attempt tomorrow? Have to assume she did. Kind of sinks any plan to take advantage of our uncovering her. With a reaver comin', there's no way to even use this little dinghy." Naroin gestured toward the boat moored nearby. "Sure, you saved a bunch o' lives, Maia. The others upstairs won't sail into a trap now. But that still eaves us stuck here to rot."
Maia pushed aside the folds of rough cloth and stood up Rubbing her shoulders, she began pacing toward the water and back again. Through the tunnel came sounds of an outgoing tide.
"Maybe not," she said after a long, thoughtful pause. "Perhaps there is a way, after all."
Peripatetic's Log:
Stratos Mission:
Arrival + 52.364 Ms
I might have it all wrong. This grand experiment isn't about sex, after all. The goal of minimizing the anger and strife inherent in males .... that was all window dressing. The real issue was cloning. Giving human alternative means of copying themselves. If men were able to carry their own duplicates, as women does my guess is that Lysos would have included them, Psychologists here speak of womb envy among boys men. However successful they are in life, the best a Stratoin can hope for is reproduction by proxy, not the real creation, and never duplication. It's a valid enough point on other worlds, but on Stratos it's beyond dispute.
Preliminary results from the cross-specific bio-assays are in, showing that I'm not overtly contagious with any interstellar plagues ... at least none spreadable to Stratoins by casual contact. That's a genuine relief, given what Peripatetic Lina Wu inadvertently caused on Reichsworld. I have no wish to be the vehicle for such a tragedy.
Despite those results, some Stratoin factions still want me kept in semiquarantine, to "minimize cultural contamination." Fortunately, the council majority seems to be moving, ever so gradually, toward relaxation. I have begun receiving a steady stream of visitors—delegations from various movements and clans and interest groups. Security Councillor Groves isn't happy about this, but there is nothing, constitutionally, she can do.
Today it was a deputation from a society of heretics wishing t
o hitch a ride, when I depart! They would send missionaries into the Hominid Realm, spreading word of the "Stratos Way." Cultural contamination that is directed outward is always seen as "enlightenment."
I explained my ship's limited capacity, and they were little mollified by my offer to take recordings. Not that it matters. In a few years, or decades, they will get to deliver their sermons in person.
When I was sent to follow up remote robot scans of this system, I expected iceship launches to await receipt, my report. But the Florentina Starclade wasted no time. Cy informs me that her instruments have picked up the first iceship already. It appears the Phylum will arrive sooner than even I expected, sealing permanent reunion, making moot all of the sober arguments by councillors and savants about preserving their noble isolation.
Presently, despite their decaying instrumentalities, the savants of Stratos will know as well, and start demanding answers.
Brin, David - Glory Season Page 44