Brin, David - Glory Season

by Glory Season (mobi)

  The last and largest swarm of balls coalesced into a new entity—a thick slab of phosphorescence. The slice of shimmering color seemed to strum like a bowstring as it crossed into sight from the lower right. As their point of view continued its apparent climb, the slab shrank in dimension. More such membranes entered the scene, linking to form a thrumming, vibrating, many-sided cell, like that of a quivering honeycomb. More cells thronged into view, becoming a multitude, then a foam, of iridescent color.

  Leie was perspiring, tugging gently at the tiny sighting arm while Maia leaned forward to see the foam scintillate, fade, and in an instant, vanish!

  The wall was a terrible, empty blankness. "Uh!" Maia's twin grunted in dismay, her features glistening by the faint light of the electric bulbs behind them. "Did I break it?"

  "No." Maia assured. "The wall was pale before. The machine's still on. Keep going."

  "You're sure? I can go back the other way."

  "Keep going," Maia repeated, this time firmly.

  "Well, I'll pull a little faster, then," Leie said. Before Maia could respond, she yanked harder at the little arm. The blackness lasted another fraction of a second, just long enough for an eyeblink swarm of pinpoint sparkles to flash. Then, all at once, the colors were back! Again, the simulated point of view fell backward, climbing imperiously as waves of convoluted rainbow brightness crowded in from the borders. All of this happened in the moment it took Maia to shout, "No! Stop!"

  Motion ceased, save the slow, coiling dance of patterns and their constituent particles, merging and separating like entities of smoke. "What?" Leie inquired, turning to stare at her sister. "It's working again . . ."

  "It never stopped working. Go back," Maia insisted, suppressing the impatient urge to push her sister aside and do it herself. Leie's marginally better coordination might make all the difference. "Go back to the black part."

  Sighing, Leie turned around and delicately pushed the tiny lever. Once more, there was the sense of plunging forward, downward ... of getting smaller while everything around them grew and loomed outward.

  The blackness resumed in a blur, and was gone again, even faster than the first time. They were already across it and amid the foamy, lambent honeycombs before Leie could arrest the motion of her hand. "It's not easy, dammit!" Maia's sister complained. "The levers move jerkily. I wouldn't ever let a machine get in such disrepair."

  Maia almost retorted that Leie never had to carry a tiny device on horseback, trains, ships, while drowning, crashing, climbing cliffs, and fighting for her life. . . . But she let it go while Leie bent over the tool, trying to pull the balky arm in microscopic units. As before, the cell structures became foam and then vanished into blackness.

  Blackness that was unrelieved, save for an occasional, sudden blur that crossed the scene too quickly to follow.

  "Do you . . . mind tellin' me . . ." Leie grunted. ". . . what it is we're looking for?"

  "Just keep going," Maia urged. All around her, she sensed the confusion of the men. Put off by the disappearance of the transfixing patterns, but awed by her intensity, they crowded forward, staring at the blank wall as if peering through dense fog for some miracle light of harbor. Their company was welcome, especially when one of them cried out "Stop!" before she could form words.

  This time, Leie reacted quickly. The brush of illumination the man had noticed still lay in the upper left corner. At first glance, it was almost pure white, although there were pale dustings of blue and reddish yellow. Leie moved over to the finely knurled measuring wheels, which controlled lateral motion. Nudging them gently, she coaxed the object into view.

  It was a bright, pinwheel shape. A "cyclone," one sailor identified. A hurricane, or whirlpool, suggested others.

  But Maia knew better. Old Bennet would have identified its species on sight. Renna would perceive a friend and signpost.

  She stared in wonder at the majesty that spread across the forward wall, a galactic wheel, its spiral splendor filled with shining stars.

  ... Todm otMEJTs Pi® coUHs (oHim

  Captain Poulandres sent word for her to come. There was to be another parley with the foe. Maia's curt message of reply, carried by the hesitant cabin boy, suggested irritably that the captain choose someone else.

  "I need time!" she snapped over her shoulder, when Poulandres came in person. "I was just there for show, last time. All I ask is that you buy us more time!"

  Maia barely heard his muttered promise to try, "And send your navigator down here, will you?" she added, calling after him. "We can use help from a professional!"

  Relieved from guard duty with the rifle, the young, dark-complexioned officer arrived as Leie and Maia managed to pull back from the spiral nebula, revealing its membership in a cluster of gauzy galaxies. And that cluster proved to be but one glittering ripple in a sinuous arch that lay draped across the void, shimmering like a cosmic aurora. The navigator exclaimed upon seeing the wondrous display.

  Maia agreed it was a sight, but what did it mean? Was this a clue to whatever path Renna had taken? She had to assume so, since nothing else in the vast game-simulation seemed to make the slightest sense. Were they supposed to find a particular destination amid this macrocosm, and "go" there? Or were the whirlpool entities meant to be guideposts in another sense?

  Problems barred progress at many levels. Nudging the controls was like trying to pilot a coal barge through a narrow, twisty channel, a trial of fits and starts and over-compensations. Inertia and mechanical backlash kept jerking the image too large in scale, then too small. Moreover, Maia soon realized that nobody, not even the navigator, had any idea where in the sky they "were."

  "We, don't use galaxies to chart our way at sea," he started to explain. "They're too fuzzy and you need a telescope. Now, if you could show me stars .. . ."

  Unable to keep her frustration from spilling out, Maia muttered, "You want stars? I'll show you smuggy stars!" She took the controls and with a yank caused the point of view to dive straight toward one of the galactic wheels. It ballooned outward at frightful speed, causing some of the onlookers behind them to moan. Suddenly, the wall was filled with sharp, individual pinpoints, spreading out to fill the artificial sky with constellations.

  But what constellations? Among the patterns sifted by her mind, no familiar friends leaped forth. No well-known markers flashed out longitude, latitude, and season to a practiced eye.

  "Oh," the navigator murmured slowly. "I get it. They'd be different, dependin' on ... which way we looked, an' from where . . ." He paused, struggling with new notions implied by the wall. "It's prob'ly not even our galaxy, is it?"

  "Great insight!" Leie snorted, while Maia's own irritable mood shifted toward sympathy. These concepts were probably difficult for a man rooted in traditional arts. "We don't know that any of these galaxies is ours," she commented. "They may all be just artificial models, arising out of a complicated game, having nothing to do with the real universe. We better hope not, if my idea's to mean anything. Back up again, Leie. We've got to try finding something familiar."

  As the island starscape receded to take its place once more among the others, Maia knew the search might prove impossible. The only intergalactic object she had much hope of recognizing was Andromeda, nearest neighbor to the Milky Way. What were the odds against catching sight of that particular spiral, from just the right angle, however long they searched?

  All of this assumes my hunch is right and that maneuvering around inside this fancy pretend reality has something to do with how Renna escaped.

  If so, it would have been much easier for him. The Visitor might have programmed his game board to search for traits specific to the Milky Way. A shape to the spiral arms, or perhaps even a color profile. Once specified, the machine would do the rest.

  Whereas I don't have a game board. Nor his knowledge. Nor the slightest idea how any of this relates to escaping from pirates.

  "You move around by twiddling that little se'xter?" asked the navigator
as he bent over to watch Leie delicately prod the tiny, recalcitrant controls. "Does it have to be this one?"

  "I don't think so. There's nothing special about it, except that it has a data tap."

  "Lots of old ones do. If only I'd known, I mighta sweet-talked a reaver into fetchin' mine from Manitou. It's bigger, and in a whole lot better shape."

  Maia grimaced. Everyone seemed to think she was negligent of her tools.

  "What's it say here in the data window?" He went on. "Some sort o' coordinates?"

  "Nah," Leie replied without turning. "Puzzle phrases, mostly. Temple stuff. Riddle o' Lysos." All of her attention was devoted to nudging the controls, while Maia carefully watched the sweep of galactic clusters, flowing from left to right across the wall, seeking anything familiar. Absently, Maia corrected her sister. "That's what they appear to be. Actually, I think they're commands. Starting conditions for whatever game is being played here."

  "Hm," the navigator commented. "Could fool me. I'd have sworn they were coordinates."

  Maia turned and looked at him. "What?"

  His chin rested on the podium top, next to the tiny display, almost brushing Leie's wrist. He pointed to the row of minuscule red letters. "Never saw anything like this written in a temple. The numbers keep changing as she touches the controls. Seems more like—"

  "Let me see." Maia tried to squeeze in. "Hey!" Leie complained. Politely, the young man withdrew so Maia could see four groups of symbols, glowing across the little array.

  ACQ0 41E+18 -35E+14 69E+15

  Apart from the first enigmatic grouping, the other three clusters of numbers quivered in a constant state of flux. As Maia watched, the "41" became "42," then briefly "41" again, before jittering further down to "40." Maia glanced at Leie. "Are you moving anything?"

  "No, I swear." Leie showed both hands.

  "Well, go ahead," Maia said. "Push something, slowly."

  Leie bent to grasp one of the measuring wheels between two fingers. At once the second grouping began to blur. "Stop!" Maia cried. The numbers stuttered, then settled to tiny excursions around the value 12E+18.

  "Again. Keep going that way."

  Maia stood up, watching the screen as Leie resumed. Galaxies scrolled from left to right at an accelerating pace.

  Only one of the number groups in the tiny window seemed affected.. The "E" shone steady, but Maia watched the "+8" turn into "+7" . . . and eventually "+6."

  "You're right," she told the navigator. "They are coordinates. I wonder why they replaced what was written there before." She turned the other way. "Leie, let's try taking down to zero—"

  Her words were cut off by shock waves that reverberated through the chamber. Echoing booms spread out from the entrance. This time, it was no single, warning shot, but a rapid series of loud reports, followed by clamoring voices. The men who had been watching from the benches leaped up, scrambling toward the door, rushing to aid their comrades on duty in the corridor. The navigator dithered only a second before making the same choice and joining the pell-mell dash.

  Leie looked at Maia. "I'll go."

  Maia shook her head. "No, I must. If they get past us, though ..." .

  "I'll smash the sextant." Leie promised.

  "Meanwhile, make all the numbers small as you can!" Maia shouted back as she followed the men, limping. Her knee had swollen and was hurting more than ever. Behind her, the model universe resumed its blurry race across the wall.

  Sailors jammed into a tight mob near the hallway's right-angle turn. All gunfire had ceased by the time she arrived, and the jabber of milling males evoked consternation and fear, not impending combat. Maia had to nudge and elbow her way through an aromatic throng of men. When she reached the front of the crowd, she gasped. The ship's doctor knelt beside, the prostrate form of the Manitou's first officer, stanching a flow of blood from a jagged wound. A knife, dripping crimson ichor, lay on the ground nearby. Of Captain Poulandres, there was no sign.

  "What happened?" she asked the ensign she had spoken to earlier. The youth seemed distressed, his face as white as the wounded man's.

  "It was a trap, ma'am. Or maybe the reavers just got mad. We heard lots o' yelling. The cap'n tried to keep 'em calm, but we could tell they were accusin' him of something. One of 'em pulled a knife while the other kicked the cap'n, real bad." He winced in recollection. "They dragged him off while guns shot at us from that end, keepin' us pinned down."

  Damn, Maia thought, quashing her natural impulse toward sympathy for poor Poulandres. She had been counting on him to buy time, not provoke open warfare! Now what remained, but to prepare for Baltha's threatened assault?

  The first officer was mumbling to the doctor. Maia crouched lower to hear.

  "... said we must've helped the rads. . . .Cap'n tried askin' how? How an' why'd we help a buncha unniks do in our own ship? But they wouldn't listen . . ."

  Maia rode out a lancing shock to her wounded left knee as she dropped to the ground beside the officer. "What did you say? Do you mean the Manitou is—"

  "Gone. . . ." The sailor sighed.". . . didn't say how. Just took th' cap'n, and ..." His eyes rolled up in their sockets as he swooned.

  A moment's stunned silence followed, then arguing broke out among the men, many of them shaking their heads with the hopeless passivity of despair.

  "Don't see any other choice. We've got to surrender!"

  "Cap'n blew it with somethin' he said. We should send 'nother embassy ..."

  "They'll come an' cut us to bits!"

  Somebody helped Maia stand. Suddenly, it seemed that everyone was looking at her.

  Just because I broke you halfway out of jail—and got you all into even worse trouble—that doesn't make me a leader, she thought caustically, seeing incipient panic in their dilated eyes. Robbed of their top officers, they fell back on old habits of childhood, looking for a woman authority figure. The time of year didn't help. "Wissy as a winter man;" went one expression. Still, Maia knew that seasons alone weren't decisive. The crew might stand a chance, if someone got them busy, building momentum based on action. She saw an older bosun standing next to the corner, holding the automatic rifle. "Can you handle that thing?" she asked.

  The gruff sailor nodded grimly. "Yes, ma'am. I figure. Just half o' the bullets left, but I can wait an' make 'em count." . .

  That fierce statement helped change the mood a bit. Other males murmured tentative agreement. Maia poked her head around the corner and peered down the gloomy corridor. "There's plenty of old trash and debris in nearby rooms. The quickest of you could dash from one to another, too fast for them to draw a bead in the dark, and toss stuff into the main hall. If not a barricade, the junk might at least slow down a charge."

  The ensign nodded. "We'll look for planks and stones . . . things to use as weapons."

  "Good." Maia turned to the doctor. "What can we do, in case they use smoke?"

  The old man shrugged. "Tear pieces of cloth, I guess. Dampen them with—"

  A sharp cry interrupted from behind them. It was Leie's voice, resonating even out here.

  "Maia! Come back and see this!"

  Torn by conflicting duties, Maia bit her lip. If the men fell apart now, there'd be surrender or worse just as soon as the reavers chose to push. On the other hand, even tenacious resistance wouldn't do much good in the long run, unless an overall solution was found. All hope for that lay at the end of the hall.

  "As senior officer, I should stay," the navigator told her, and Maia knew he was right, by normal standards. These weren't normal circumstances.

  "Please," she urged. "We need you below." She turned to the young ensign. "Can your guild and shipmates rely on you?"

  The young man was but a year older than Maia. Now, though, he stood up straighter, and squared his shoulders. "They can," he answered, and seemed as relieved as Maia to hear the words. "Count on it!" he finished with determination, and swiveled to face the men, snapping orders to implement Maia's suggestions.

  "
All right," the navigator said, reassured. "But let's hurry."

  When they turned to start down the hall, Maia almost fell as her left leg threatened to give out. The young officer took her weight on one arm, and helped her limp back toward the chamber containing the miracle wall. Behind them, sounds of brisk, organized activity replaced what had verged, only moments before, on outright panic. During the brief walk, Maia fretted. Something's happened to the Manitou. Something that made the reavers throw out their promise to Poulandres.