Terrifying while in doubt, the battle grew exhilarating when she realized her side was winning. Maia helped pin one thrashing redhead so Thalla could truss her with loops of preknotted cord. Getting up, Maia saw Baltha holding two clonelings in necklocks, banging their heads together. No assistance needed there, so she hurried past to help a southern var who was preventing one last militiawoman from diving out the door.
With an opening clear, Kiel leapt like a dark blur from the slowly crawling train, and ran ahead to raise the customs gate just in time. Hands reached down to haul her in as the driver poured on amps.
At the outskirts of town, the victorious refugees slowed down long enough to dump the squad of bruised and bound redheads beside the tracks. Then the Musseli opened her throttle again. The engine whined, accelerating westward at high speed.
Maia and the others were too keyed up to relax, talking loudly and pacing until their hearts began to settle. The sole exception was Renna, whose demeanor remained icy-deliberate while performing first aid on various cuts, bruises, and one broken wrist. He was a soothing presence, so long as there was work to do. When that was done, however, he began shivering and broke into a sweat. Maia watched his fists clench as he walked stiffly to the open door by the engineer and rinsed his head in the rushing breeze.
“What’s wrong?” Maia asked, coming alongside, watching his tendons tauten like bowstrings.
“I …” He shook his head. “I’d rather not say.”
But Maia thought she understood. On other worlds, men used to do most of the fighting. Bloody, terrible fighting, by accounts. For all she knew, it was still like that, out there. During the battle, Maia had briefly read his eyes. Something had been evoked that he did not much like.
“I guess Lysos knew what she was talking about, sometimes,” Maia said in a low voice.
Renna shot her a look under furrowed brows. Then, slowly, there spread across his face a smile. An ironic smile that this time conveyed respect, along with affection.
“Yeah,” he answered. “I guess maybe now and then she did.”
Fortunately, that was the last substantial town before the coastal range. Their engine had to decelerate to climb the steepening grade. But then, so would any pursuit sent after the commotion at Golden Cob. Watching Kiel and Baltha pore over a map, Maia saw they were more worried about what lay ahead. Looking over their shoulders, Maia guessed the Perkinites had one more chance to stop them, near a village named Overlook, where a narrow defile seemed perfect for a hastily organized roadblock.
Too perfect, she later discovered. An ambush had, indeed, been ordered. Nearby clans dispatched squads in response to warnings from Golden Cob, and began throwing up barricades. Yet, by the time the locomotive reached Overlook, the danger was passed. Local vars had surprised the gathering militia with mob force, driving them away before the train arrived.
The counterstroke turned out not to be as spontaneous as it looked, Maia learned. Several of the mob leaders crammed in among the escapees, joining the final leg of the exodus as soon as the last barriers were cleared away. Maia soon realized they were friends of Thalla and Kiel.
I get it. Kiel and her pals can read a map as well as Perkies can. If one place is perfect for an ambush, it can also be just right for ambushing the ambushers. Maia learned that the newcomers had recently taken jobs in the village, just in case of an eventuality like this.
How could a bunch of vars be so well organized? Such long-range thinking was supposedly limited to clone families, with generations of experience and a view of life that stretched beyond the individual’s.
Never mind, she told herself. What matters is, it worked!
With shouted cheers, the refugees at last waved goodbye to Long Valley. The locomotive was more crowded than ever during the final stretch over the pass, but no one minded. First sight of the blue ocean triggered an outbreak of singing that lasted all the way down to Grange Head.
Two more of Kiel’s friends were waiting in town, so that a fair contingent bid thankful farewell to the engineer, then trooped together from the railyard to the Founders’ Gospel Inn, a hostel overlooking the harbor. The new women wore garb of sailing hands—small surprise in a trading port. No doubt most of Kiel’s bunch, and Baltha’s, had worked their way over on freighters like those moored in the bay.
Maybe someone’ll put in a word … get me a job on one of the ships.
Thinking seriously about the future wasn’t something she had done in a long time. One compensation of helplessness, of living like a leaf, blown by winds far stronger than yourself. Soon, the downside of freedom would present itself—the curse of decision-making.
Kiel installed the elated adventurers on the hotel veranda, arranged for rooms, and set off with Baltha “to do business.” Presumably that meant dickering with the local magistrate, and probably making comm calls to officials halfway round the world. The rest of the party was to stick together, watching out for any last-minute move by the Long Valley clans. They weren’t out of Perkinite reach, yet. Safety still lay in numbers.
Which suited Maia fine. For the first time, it really seemed likely she wasn’t going back to prison. Her worries had started evaporating on first sight of the beautiful sea. Even the drab stucco and brick warehouses of the trading port seemed more gay than the last time she had been here, an innocent fiver, immersed in mourning and despair.
With its view overlooking the harbor, but some distance from dockside fish smells, the hotel was far superior to the cheap transients’ lodge where she had lain wracked with fever, months ago. When Maia learned she would have her own small room, with a real mattress, she hurried to look it over, finding herself barely able to conceive of such luxury. You could even walk alongside the bed and spread your arms without touching a wall!
The impression of spaciousness was enhanced by her lack of worldly possessions. I’d hang something on the clothes-hooks, if I owned anything but what I’m wearing.
Back on the veranda, her compatriots had settled in with bottles of beer, watching the shadows lengthen. A few had chipped in for a newspaper, a luxury since in most towns the press was run by subscription only, for the richest clans. The rads sourly disparaged the Grange Head Clipper, which featured mostly commodities prices, along with bickering among candidates in upcoming elections, to be held in a month, on Farsun Day.
“Perkies runnin’ against Ortho-doxies,” sniffed Kau. “Some choice! An’ look, barely any mention of planetwide issues. Nothin’ to tempt a var or man to think about votin’. And not a hint about any missin’ Visitor from space!” She and Thalla spoke longingly of the two-page weekly put out by their own organization, back in Ursulaborg. “Now there’s a newspaper!” Kau commented.
Maia paid scant attention. Freedom was too fresh and pristine to complicate with politics. Everyone knew such matters were worked out long in advance, by ancient mothers living in golden castles, in Caria City. Instead, she scanned the hills rimming the bay. Perched above all other structures, the Orthodox temple of Stratos Mother was a white sanctuary, shimmering in the afternoon sunshine. Maia recalled the refuge with gratitude, and made a note to visit the reverend mother. Partly to pay respects, and partly … to ask if any messages had come for her.
There wouldn’t be any, of course. Despite all that had taken place, all she had done to insulate her grief, Maia knew what would happen when the priestess shook her head and compassionately spread her hands. Maia would experience all over again her sister’s loss, the sense of hopelessness, that yawning pit, threatening to swallow her whole.
That visit could wait another day or two. For now it would do to lean back with the others on the hotel’s long porch, have a glass of tepid beer, share a tall tale or two, and keep her mind diverted with simple things.
All I really want from life right now is a hot shower and a soft place to sleep for days.
By consensus and natural gallantry, everyone agreed that Renna should take his turn with the bath first. The man started
to protest, then chuckled, and said something mysterious about what one does when in a place called “Rome.” Two women accompanied him to stand watch outside the bathroom door, guarding his privacy.
After Renna left, several vars began pounding the table in earnest, shouting gaily for more ale. Except for Thalla, Maia hardly knew any of them. Kiel’s friend, Kau, passed the time polishing a wooden truncheon with a barely legal edge and point, wincing on occasion when she gingerly touched Renna’s bandage over her right ear. One of Baltha’s companions, a woman with a strong South Isles accent, kept pacing, looking toward the mountains and then out to sea again, muttering impatiently.
Maia found herself unable to stop scratching. The mere idea of a bath had infected her mind, causing her to notice itches that, till now, she had pushed to the background.
Fortunately Renna didn’t take long, for a man. He emerged wearing a smallish hotel robe, transformed with a trimmed beard, combed hair that curled as it dried in the breeze, and a rosy tone to his fresh-scrubbed skin. He bowed to the approving whistles of the southlanders, and accepted from Kau a stein of the local, watery brew. “It’s a wonder what a scrub can do for a boy,” he commented. Toweling his hair one-handed, he took a long swallow. “So, who’s next? Maia?”
She started to protest. She was lowest in status. But the others agreed by acclamation. “After all, it’s been as long for you as it was for him!” Thalla said kindly. “That Perkie jail must’ve been awful.”
“You’re sure …?”
“Of course we’re sure. Don’t worry about th’ hot water, sweets. Soon, we’ll be able to afford a lakeful. Shower good an’ sit in the tub long as you like.”
“Yeah, we’ll be busy, anyway,” Kau added, sitting next to Renna.
“Busy getting drunk as dic-pigs, you mean,” Maia jested, and felt warmed when they all laughed in a comradely way. Renna winked. “Go on, Maia. I’ll make sure everyone behaves.”
That brought more hooting. Maia gave in with a smile of gratitude. Before hurrying toward the luring smell of steam and soap, she unstrapped the little sextant from her wrist and handed it to Renna. “Maybe you can stop the sun filter from wobbling. Give you something to do with your hands.” Thalla sputtered in her beer and several others guffawed. “Shouldn’t be too hard for a hotshot star traveler to do,” Maia finished.
“You kidding?” he protested. “I barely make it to the can and back without a computer!”
“Would he be here with us, if he didn’t have a knack for getting lost?” Thalla agreed, shouting after Maia, then added, louder still, “Innkeeper! More ale!”
The bathroom lay up a double flight of plank stairs. Closing the door behind her, Maia could still hear the women below, joking and laughing, and Renna’s deeper voice joining in occasionally. Mostly, his contributions sounded like questions, though Maia could not make out words. Often, his queries brought on gales of laughter, which he seemed to take in good grace.
It felt strange undressing in the richly tiled bathroom, equipped with amenities she had to remind herself how to use. Maia kicked her soiled garments into a corner and went first to the shower, adjusting the knobs until hot water from the rooftop heater flowed steadily. They probably use good ol’ Port Sanger coal, she thought incongruously. Stepping under the stream, she proceeded to lather her body. The soap was harsh and doubtless homemade, but less expensive than importing the real thing from some specialist clan, far away. Nevertheless, it felt luxurious. Turning off the water between rinsings, Maia proceeded to scrape off layer after layer of grime, until her skin squeaked when rubbed. Then she started on her hair, scrubbing her scalp and working out tangles.
Don’t know why I bother, she wondered. It’s in such a state, I’ll probably have to hack it all off anyway.
Rinsing carefully one last time, Maia turned off the tap and tiptoed over to the broad wooden tub, by a small window overlooking the wharfs of Grange Head. She flipped back the hinged cover, exposing the steaming surface. To her relief, the water was pristine. There were stories about male sailors who forgot—or had never been taught—the proper procedure, and who actually used the bath for cleaning themselves, leaving the tub coated with soap and scum for the next person. With men, one just never knew what to expect, and as an alien, Renna might have been doubly confused.
Then again, perhaps there was only one civilized way. However barbaric their unmodified sexual patterns, cultured people on other worlds probably bathed the same way as on Stratos.
Alas, there would be no time to ask about that, or countless other quandaries, before escorted aircraft came from the west to whisk Renna away. At odd moments during their escape, she had pictured going with him all the way to Caria and seeing the city’s wonders. But in more lucid reflection Maia knew—she might as well ask to be taken along when he departed for the stars.
I wonder if he’ll remember me when he’s hobnobbing with savants and council members … or flying between planets long after I’m food for worms. It was a tough, wry contemplation, appropriate for the type of hard, worldly person she decided to become—ready for anything, shocked by nothing. And, especially, vulnerable to nobody.
The shower had been tepid, but the bath was so hot that it stung her innumerable cuts and scratches. Maia slipped lower by stages, until water sloshed over the sides into a waiting drain.
Heaven! Heat seemed to melt every part that was tense or callused, uncoiling muscles that had been taut without her noting. Troubles and worries she still had, but they went limp for the time being, along with her body. The sensuousness of lying completely motionless matched any active pleasure she knew.
Languidly, Maia lifted one arm to look at it from all sides, let it drop, and did the same thing with the other, regarding where recent months had left their marks. Next she examined each leg. A small scar on this shin, a healing scratch on that ankle, a couple of tender spots saddle-rubbed during that long ride on horseback … and one small battle wound that she made a mental note to keep clean over the days ahead, lest it get infected. Even here, in “civilization,” medical care was catch-as-catch-can, and she hardly had the resources to pay.
There was a knock, and the door started swinging. Thalla stuck her head in. “Everythin’ all right?” the stocky woman asked.
“Oh! Fine, great … I’ll get out.” With a sigh, Maia reached for the rim.
“Don’t be silly. You just got in!” Thalla chided. “I just heard the innkeeper’s got a washload goin’. We’re tossing in our grungies. Want yours done, too?” She nodded toward the filthy garments in the corner.
Maia winced at the thought of ever wearing them again, but they were all she had. “Yeah, please. Kind of you.”
Thalla swept up the clothes. “Don’t mention it. Enjoy your bath. An’ have all the luck in the world.”
She closed the door and Maia sank back into the tub, relishing how the heat swarmed in again. It had been disappointing, thinking it was over so soon. Now she felt happier than if she had been left undisturbed! Not that everything melted in the hot water. The sound of the locomotive, its electric thrum along the rails, was still in her head. Nor, try as she might, could Maia push aside all her worries.
Staying ashore was out of the question. Tizbe and the Joplands would surely catch up with her. The sea was her only option. With what Maia had learned about navigation—and the Game of Life—perhaps some captain could be persuaded to give her a trial billet on crew, not just as passenger, second class. Ideally a slot to last through late spring, when rut season forced women ashore. By that time, she ought to have saved a credit or two.
In all justice, she should get a small portion of the reward Kiel and Baltha were collecting. Maia trusted Renna to stick up for her, though from the size of the getaway cabal, her share still wasn’t likely to be large.
There was also the matter of her appointment with the PES investigator, now long overdue because of circumstances beyond her control. Was it too late to make good her promise? Would testim
ony before a local magistrate suffice? Part of her determination was personal. Tizbe Beller locked me up to keep me from talking. So that’s exactly what I’ll do! Of all the sensations warming her—freedom, cleanliness, the physical luxury of the bath—she dwelled for a few minutes on revenge. The Bellers and Joplands will be sorry they ever made me their enemy, she vowed grandly.
It wasn’t a sound that tickled Maia’s attention. Rather, she grew gradually, uncomfortably aware of a certain lack of sound. Frowning, it began to dawn on her that it had been a while since she’d heard the murmur of conversation on the porch below. Or the pacing of the var on watch, or the clinking of bottles, or Renna’s persistent, naïve questions.
Suddenly, the bath no longer felt luxurious, but confining. I’m probably turning into a prune, anyway, she thought. Her relaxed muscles had to be coaxed into lifting her weight out of the tub. While toweling herself, Maia could not suppress a rising sense of foreboding. Something was wrong.
Maia lowered the cover of the bathtub and climbed on top to reach the solitary window, wiping the foggy pane and pressing close to peer down, onto the veranda. Rows of empty bottles lay along the balcony railing, but where the women had been sitting, no one remained in sight.
Probably Kiel and Baltha came back with news, she thought. But nobody was visible near the main entrance, either. Did they go in to eat? she wondered.
Maia shoved upward against the window until it slid along wooden tracks, sash weights rattling on both sides. Fresh, chill air streamed in, sowing goose bumps as moisture evaporated from her skin. She stuck her head out and called, “Hey! Where is everybody?”
A few locals were in view near a warehouse, loading a horse-drawn wagon. When she stretched a little farther and turned left, she saw a crowd down at the embankment, far below, moving toward one of the piers. Maia’s heart surged when she recognized Thalla’s stocky form and Baltha’s shock of blonde hair.