Brin, David - Glory Season

by Glory Season (mobi)

  Brod frowned, trying to remember. "She asked if I had ever met an old commodore or captain, back at my guild's main sanctuary in Joannaborg. One named Kevin? Calvin?"

  Maia sat up quickly. "Do you mean Clevin?"

  He tapped the side of his head absentmindedly. "Yeah, that's right. I told her I'd heard the name. But they shipped me out so quickly after adoption, and so many crews were still at sea that I'd never actually met him. The shipname, Sea Lion, was one of ours, though."

  Maia stared at the boy. "Your guild. It's the Pinnipeds."

  She stated it as fact, and Brod shrugged. "Of course, you wouldn't know. We lowered our ensign before the fight. Pretty shameful. I knew right then things were no good."

  Maia sank back down, listening through a roil of conflicting emotions—astonishment topping the list.

  "Starkland Clan has known the Pinnipeds for generations. The mothers say it was once a great guild. Shipped fine cargoes, and its officers were welcome in High Town, winter and summer both. These days, the commodores take jobs like staffing Halsey Beacon, and now even hiring out to reavers." He laughed bitterly. "Not a great billet, eh? But then, I'm no prize, either."

  Maia examined Brod with renewed interest. From what the boy said, he might be her distant cousin, several times removed . . . only a temple gene-scan could tell for sure. It was a concept Maia had to struggle with, along with the irony that here, after so many frantic adventures, she had finally made contact with her father-guild. The manner wasn't at all as she'd imagined.

  They sailed on quietly, each of them deep in private thought. At one point, a swarm of sleek, dark shapes cruised into view, some meters below their tiny vessel, undulating silently with sinuous power and speed. The largest of the creatures would have outmassed the Manitou, and took several minutes to progress, yet its smooth passage scarcely caused a ripple above as the skiff passed at an angle. Maia barely glimpsed the monster's tail, then the mysterious underwater convoy was gone.

  A few minutes later, Brod shifted forward in his seat, staring as he shaded his eyes with one hand, his body abruptly tense. "What is it?" Maia asked.

  "I'm . . . not sure. I thought for a second something crossed the sun." He shook his head. "It's getting late. How close to Jellicoe?"

  "We'll be in sight after that next little spire, ahead." Maia unfurled the chart. "It seems to consist of about two dozen teeth, all fused together. There are two anchorages, with some major caves noted here." She looked up and gauged the rate of sunset. "It'll be close, but we should have time to scout a channel before dark."

  The young man nodded, still frowning in concern. "Get ready to come about, then."

  The maneuver went smoothly, the wind snapping their rugged sail into line as it had all day. Maybe our luck really has changed, Maia thought, knowing full well that she was tempting fate. Once they were cruising steady on the new tack, she spoke again, bringing up another imminent concern.

  "Naroin made me promise to try calling her superiors, in case we find a radio at Halsey."

  It wasn't a vow she relished. Maia personally trusted Naroin, but her superiors? So many groups want Renna for their own reasons. He has enemies on the Council. And even supposing honest cops answer a call, will the reavers let Renna be taken alive?

  One disturbing thought after another had occurred to her. What if the Council still has weapons like those that burned Grimke? What if they conclude a dead alien is better than one in the hands of their foes?

  Brod's answer sounded as halfhearted as Maia felt. "We could try for the comm room, I suppose. It might be unwatched late at night. The idea gives me a pain in the gut, though."

  "I know. It'd be awfully risky, combined with burgling the chart room—"

  "That's not it," Brod cut in. "I'd just . . . rather someone else called the cops on my guild."

  Maia looked at him. "Loyalty? After the way they treated you?"

  "That's not it," he said, shaking his head. "I won't stay with 'em after this."

  "Well, then? You're already helping me go after Renna."

  "You don't understand. Another guild might respect me for helping you save a friend. But who's gonna hire a man who's squealed on his own crewmates?"

  "Oh." Maia hadn't realized the added risk Brod was taking. Beyond life and freedom, he could lose all chance of a career. Something I never had, Maia almost murmured, but recanted. It takes courage for a person with prospects to gamble them on a hazard of honor.

  The skiff began rounding the nearest headland. Beyond, just as Maia had predicted, a large, convoluted island hove gradually into view. To Maia, it looked as if a great claw had frozen in place while reaching out of the sea. Some mysterious geological process had welded the fingerlike talons, joining multiple slender spires in a mesh of stony arches.

  Jellicoe Island had been even bigger, once upon a time. Stubby, fused remnants showed where a more extensive network of outlying islets had been blasted apart by an ancient power, presumably the same as excavated Grimke. Linear tracks of seared stone glistened like healed scar tissue across the jutting cliffs, adding contortions to the convoluted outlines ordained by nature. The resulting coastline had the horizontal contours of a twisted, many-pointed star, with rounded nubs instead of vertices and edges. Irregular openings broke the rhythmic outline.

  A few minutes later, one of those gaps let Maia glimpse a lagoon within, as placid as glass.

  "There it is!" she announced. "Perfect. We can sail right through and set anchor—"

  "Shiva an' Zeus!" Brod cursed. "Maia, get down!"

  She barely ducked in time as Brod steered hard, sending the boom flying across the little boat, whistling where Maia's head had been.

  "What're you doing?" she cried. But the young man did not answer. Gripping the tiller, his hands were white with tension, eyes all concentration. Lifting her head to see, Maia gasped. "It's the Reckless!"

  The three-masted, fore-and-aft schooner bore toward them from the southwest, almost directly out of the setting sun. The sight of its gravid sails, straining to increase a speedy clip, was breathless and dreadful to behold. While Maia and Brod had been wrestling their tiny vessel on a series of sunward, upwind tacks, the reaver ship had already crossed most of the space between two islands.

  "Do you think she's seen us?" Maia felt inane for asking. Yet, Brod was clearly counting on that hope, trying to duck back behind the spire they had just passed. If only the reavers had lazy lookouts. . . .

  Hope vanished with the sound of a whistle—a shriek of steam and predatory delight. Squinting against the glare, Maia saw a crowd of silhouettes gather at the bow, pointing. The image might have triggered deja vu, bringing back how the day began, except that this was no little ketch, but a freighter, augmented for speed and deadliness. Smoke trails told of boilers firing up. Maia's nose twitched at the scent of burning coal. She did a quick calculation in her mind.

  "It's no good running!" she told Brod. "They've got speed, guns, maybe radar. Even if we get away, they'll search all night, and we'll smash up in the dark!"

  "I'm open to suggestions!" her partner snapped. Perspiration beaded his lip and brow.

  Maia grabbed his arm. "Swing back westward! We can tack closer to the wind. Reckless will have to reef sails to follow. Her engines may still be cold. With luck, we can dodge into that maze." She pointed at the corrugated coastline of Jellicoe Island.

  Brod hesitated, then nodded. "At least it'll surprise 'em. You ready?"

  Maia braced herself and grabbed the boom, preparing to kick. "Ready, Captain!"

  He grimaced at the standing joke. Maia quashed rebellion in her stomach, where the bilious, familiar commotion of fear and adrenaline had come back, as if to a favorite haunt.

  So much for that string of luck, she thought. I should have known better.

  "All right," Brod said with a ragged sigh, clearly sharing the thought. "Here goes."

  Everything depended on nearest passage. How tight could the bigger vessel turn? What we
apons would be brought to bear?

  As expected, the diminutive skiff was far better at drawing a close tack. The Reckless hesitated too long after Brod changed course. When the reaver ship came about at last, it fell short and wound up abeam to the breeze. Brod and Maia gained westward momentum, while seamen struggled aloft, lashing sails so the still-warming engines would not have to fight them pushing upwind. The rest of the reaver crew watched from the railings. Do they recognize the skiff? Maia wondered. By now surely they know something's happened to Inanna and their friends on the ketch. Lysos, they look angry!

  Even with the big ship wallowing, there would come a moment when the two vessels passed by no more than a couple of hundred meters. What would the pirates do about it?

  Working hard to help Brod maneuver as tightly as possible, Maia trimmed the sail for maximum efficiency. This meant having to throw herself from one side of the skiff to the other, leaning her weight far out, wherever balance was most needed. She had never sailed a small boat in this way, literally skating across the water. It was exhilarating, and might have been fun if her gut weren't turning somersaults. In glimpses, she sought to see if, by some chance, Renna stood upon the pirate ship. There were men on the schooner's quarterdeck, as during the taking of the Manitou, but no sign of Renna's peculiar dark features.

  As the skiff swung broadside to the wallowing vessel, Maia heard furious shouts across the span of open water.

  Words were indiscernible, but she recognized the livid, red-faced visage of the ship's male captain, arguing with several women wearing red bandannas. The man pointed at more reavers wrestling a long black tube at the schooner's portside gunwale. Shaking his head, he made adamant forbidding motions.

  Underneath his outrage, the captain seemed blithely certain of his authority. So certain, he showed no suspicion as more wiry women, armed with truncheons and knives, moved to surround him and his officers . . . until the man's tone of command cut off abruptly, smothered under a sudden flurry of violent blows.

  From a horrified distance, Maia could not make out whether trepps or blades were used to cut the men down, but the attack continued many seconds longer than seemed necessary. Loudly echoing yips of pleasure showed how thoroughly the women pirates relished a comeuppance they must have long yearned for, breaking a troublesome alliance and the last restraint of law.

  "We're puffin' away!" Brod shouted. He had been concentrating too hard even to glance at his former shipmates, or hear meaning in the recent spate of shouts and cries. A good thing, for the fall of the officers had been just part of the coup. When Maia next found time to scan the rigging, most of the remaining male crew members had vanished from where they were working moments before.

  The Pinnipeds may be suffering hard times, Maia reflected, still in shock from what she'd seen. But they drew the line at deliberate murder. So, they get to share our fate.

  These reavers were fanatics. She had known that, and had it reinforced during this morning's ambush. But this? To deliberately and cold-bloodedly attack and slay men? It was as obscene as what Perkinites constantly warned of, the oldtime male-on-female violence that once led to the Founders' Exodus, so long ago.

  Renna, she thought in anguish. What have you brought to my world?

  Maia cast a brief prayer that her sister, part of the engine crew, hadn't been involved in the spontaneous bloodletting. Perhaps Leie would help save any men belowdecks, though realistically, the pirates seemed unlikely to leave witnesses.

  Right now, what mattered was that the mutiny had won Maia and Brod seconds, minutes. Time that they exchanged for badly needed meters as the shouting reavers reorganized and finished turning the ship. "Ready about!" Brod cried, warning of another jibe maneuver. "Ready!" Maia answered. As her partner steered, she slid under the boom and performed a complex set of simultaneous actions, moving with a fluid grace that would have shocked her old teachers, or even herself a few months ago. Practice, combined with need, makes for a kind of centering that can increase skill beyond all expectation.

  The next time she glimpsed the Reckless, it cruised several hundred meters back but was picking up speed. The gunners kept having to reposition their recoilless rifle each time the schooner shifted angle to track the fugitives. They could be seen shouting at the new helmswoman, urging a steady course. Straight-on wouldn't do, as the larger vessel's bowsprit blocked the way. Eventually, Reckless settled on a heading that plowed thirty degrees from the wind. It reduced the closing rate, but finally allowed a clear shot.

  Shall I warn Brod? Maia pondered, more coolly than she expected.

  No, better to let him stay focused every possible moment.

  She watched her friend flick his gaze to the trembling sail, to the choppy water, to their destination—the rapidly nearing cluster of vast, stony monoliths. Using all this data, the boy made adjustments too subtle to be calculated, based on a type of instinct he had earlier denied possessing, seducing speed out of an unlikely combination of sailcloth, wood, and wind.

  He's growing up as I watch him, Maia marveled. Brod's youthful, uncertain features were transformed by this intensely spotlit exercise of skill. His jaw and brow bore hardened lines, and he radiated something that, to Maia, distilled both the mature and immature essences of male-ness—a profound narrowness of purpose combined with an ardent joy in craft. Even if the two of them died in the next few minutes, her young friend would not leave this world without becoming a man. Maia was glad for him.

  A booming concussion shook the air behind them. It was a deeper, larger-caliber growl than the little cannon of this morning. "What was that?" Brod asked, almost absentmindedly, without shifting from the task at hand.

  "Thunder," Maia lied with a grim smile, letting the hot glory of his concentration last a few seconds longer. "Don't worry. It won't rain for a while, yet."

  Water poured down from the heavens, soaking their clothes and nearly swamping the small boat. It fell in sheets, then abruptly stopped. The cascade, blown into the sky by another exploding shell, sent Maia with a bucket to the bilge, bailing furiously.

  Fountains of falling ocean weren't their only trouble. One near miss had spun the skiff like a top, causing the hull to groan with the sound of loosening boards and pegs. All Maia knew was that her bailing outflow must exceed inflow for as long as it took Brod to single-handedly find them a way out of this mess.

  The gun crew on the Reckless had taken a while settling down, after their mutinous purge. They shot wide, frustrated partly by the skiff's zigzagging, before finally zeroing in amid the deepening twilight. For minutes, Maia nursed the illusion that safety lay in view—an open channel leading to the anchorage of Jellicoe Lagoon. Then she glimpsed a familiar and appalling sight—the captured freighter Manitou, anchored within that same enclosure of towering stone, its deck aswarm with more crimson bandannas. All at once, she realized the awful truth.

  Jellicoe must be the reaver base! I led Brod straight into their hands!

  "Turn right, Brod, hard!"

  A sudden, last-minute swerve barely escaped the fatal entrance. Now they skirted along the convoluted face of Jellicoe itself, alternately drenched by near misses or the more normal ocean spume of waves crashing against obdurate rock. There were no more delicate, optimizing tack maneuvers. They were caught in a mighty current, and Brod spent all his efforts keeping them from colliding with the island's serrated face.

  Darkness might have helped, if all three major moons weren't high, casting pearly luminance upon the fivers' imminent demise. It was a beautiful, clear evening. Soon, Maia's beloved stars would be out, if she lasted long enough to wish them goodbye.

  Again and again she filled the bucket, spilling it seaward so as not to watch the glistening nearness of the "dragon's tooth," which towered nearly vertically like a rippling, convoluted curtain. Its rounded fabric folds seemed to hint a softness that was a lie. The adamantine, crystalline stone was, in fact, passively quite willing to smash them at a touch.

  Maia couldn't
face that awful sight. She poured bucket after bucket in the opposite direction, which fact partially spared her when the reavers tried a new tactic.

  A sudden detonation exploded behind Maia, bouncing the skiff in waves of compressed air and near vacuum, pummeling her downward to the bilge. To her own amazement, she retained full consciousness as concussions rolled past, fading into a low, rumbling vibration she could feel through the planks. Reflexively, she clutched at a stinging pain in the back of her neck, and pulled out a sliver of granitic stone, covered with blood. While purple spots swam before her eyes, Maia stared at the daggerlike piece of natural shrapnel. While the world wavered around her, she turned to see that Brod, too, had survived, though bloody runnels flowed down the left side of his face. Thank Lysos the rock fragments had been small. This time. "Sail farther from the cliff!" Maia shouted. Or tried to. She couldn't even hear her own voice, only an awful tolling of temple bells. Still, Brod seemed to understand. With eyes dilated in shock, he nodded and turned the tiller. They managed to open some distance before the next shell struck, blowing more chunks off the promontory face. No chips pelted them this time, but the maneuver meant sailing closer to the Reckless and its weapon, now almost at point-blank range. Looking blearily up the rifled muzzle, Maia watched its crew load another shell and fire. She felt its searing passage through the air, not far to the left. An interval passed, too short to give a name, and then the cliff reflected yet another terrible blast, almost hurling the two fivers from the boat. When next she looked up, Maia saw their sail was ripped. Soon it would be in tatters.