Glory Season (77 page)

“Might it show what happens in the
future
?” the man added, in a hushed tone.

Maia’s thoughts whirled. Leie’s question implied a machine that kept records, and was still monitoring events, as they spoke. To tap such real-time inputs would be a huge asset, in their present straits. Yet she doubted it was like that. What about all those galaxies and such? She couldn’t imagine a machine capable of monitoring the
universe
, constantly, over thousands of years.

The navigator’s idea was even wilder. Yet, in a weird way it made more sense. Maia still believed this was all a simulation, a vast, godlike cousin to the Game of Life. If so—if the facsimile took into account every variable—might it be able to project likely events, into the future? The implications were staggering, affecting everything from their present predicament to the temple’s teachings about free will.

“Let’s try to do something about that fourth coordinate,” Maia suggested, rubbing her scratchy eyes.

The young navigator coughed twice and bent over. “We’ve already been usin’ all the obvious movin’ parts.” Gently, delicately, he touched pieces of the sextant, until his hand stroked the eyepiece, where one normally looked
to sight horizon and stars. The image ahead of them jiggered slightly, and the number in the little indicator screen shifted just a little. “Of course,” he said, with another cough. “It’s the depth-of-focus adjustment. Give me room, please.”

Maia stepped back. Her eyes itched and she sniffed a smoky smell. Abruptly, at the exact same moment, she and Leie sneezed. They looked at each other, and for the first time in several minutes surveyed the room. The air had changed noticeably. There was a sooty, hazy quality.

Shouts came from the back. Maia turned to see the cabin boy hurry downstairs, calling and waving. Around his nose, he wore a torn strip of cloth.

“Ensign an’ doctor want t’know … you havin’ any luck?”

“That depends,” Maia replied. “We’re getting some exciting philosophical insights, but not many practical applications.”

The boy looked puzzled by her reply, and anxious. “
We’re
gettin’ smoke, ma’am. Doc says it’ll take a while, since we’re below the pirates, but the good air’s gonna get sucked out, in time. They may attack before that, when it gets hard to see.”

Maia had figured as much, from the evidence stinging her nose and lungs. This time she spoke earnestly. “Please tell the doctor and the ensign …” She turned to point at the forward wall—and instantly forgot what she had been about to say.

The image of the room’s past was changing moment by moment. What had looked like an elegant, well-appointed lecture hall began deteriorating rapidly. First the banners and cushions vanished. Then, in a single, abrupt instant, cracks propagated across the walls. The artificial light, which had bathed the chamber until now, went out, leaving the depicted room visible only by a strange, luminous glow, apparently given off by the rocks themselves.
In the speeded time frame, dust could be seen settling and spreading in thin, advancing ripples, like wavelets washing ashore. Then even the dust froze in place.

“That’s it,” the man said, standing up. On the sextant dial, the number read,

There was another click. The display went blank for two seconds, and relit.

Maia exhaled a tense breath. She had half expected, when the simulation caught up to its “present,” to come face to face with images of themselves, staring back as if from a mirror. But the room ahead of them lay dark and empty. “It won’t go any farther forward, in case you’re wondering,” the navigator said, with a note of disappointment.

Leie coughed. “This is all very interesting. But how’s it helping us get
out
of here?”

Maia’s lips pressed together. “I’m thinking!”

She glanced back and saw that the messenger boy had departed. The haze, which had already lessened visibility, caused things to get even worse when scratchiness in her eyes triggered the nictitating inner lids. From the hallway, she overheard harsh coughs and frantic mutterings.

Are they planning to charge out of here? It may come to that, if the reavers are willing to wait us out.

But if the smoke and heat were bad here, they would be worse upstairs, and the pirates’ wood supply was limited. So this might be just the prelude to an attack.

Maia shook her head, trying to break out of a desolate spiral. She reached for ideas, and found none. The picture wall lay static before them, showing—if not today’s desolation—then what might have been the scene when the simulation was last updated.

We could find out when that was, by using the other controls to go outside and check the stars … or, better yet, zoom over to the nearest town and read the date on a newspaper! Providing the simulation parses that finely.

Such thoughts were a sign of oxygen deprivation, she felt sure. Maia coughed, lowering her head.
At least Renna ought to be all right, wherever he’s gone to.
Stronger still, her never-absent concern over Brod caused her to pray briefly to the Mother of All, and also to the God of Justice honored by men.
Let Brod get out of this. Please let him live.

“I guess …” Leie wheezed behind a closed fist, “we oughta go join the boys, Help get ready … for what’s next.”

The air was going bad faster than Maia had expected. Visibility dropped rapidly, and breathing caused an ache in her chest. “I guess you’re right,” she agreed between coughs. Still, she was reluctant to leave.
I can’t help feeling we’re close. So damn close!

Leie held out her hand. With a grim smile, Maia turned and made a step forward to take it. When her weight came down on her left knee, however, it gave way and she fell, striking the hard stone floor beside the podium. The impact sent bolts of pain up her arms. Leie’s hands were on her, solicitous, helping, and Maia knew a kind of gladness. At the end, they would be reconciled. She looked up to meet her sister’s eyes, and felt refreshed by a wash of poignant love.

Refreshed? Her body bathed in a rush of welcome coolness. It
wasn’t
psychological, she realized, but a strong physical sensation. “Do you feel that?” she asked her twin. After a moment’s puzzlement, Leie nodded.

“Feel what?” the navigator said, squatting anxiously beside them. “Come on! They’re calling muster for—”

“Quiet!” Leie hissed. “Where’s it coming from?” She began crawling, casting left and right, searching for the source of the soft breeze. “It’s over here!”

Helped by the man, Maia followed on eager instinct, for by now there was no other supply of good air. It seemed to come from a crack where the many-ton podium met the semicircular platform. A thin breeze emanated from that narrow passage, though it would never have been detected except under present circumstances.

Overhead, smoke billowed. The plumes shook visibly as several rocking explosions concussed the air. The men in the hall were firing, either to repel attack or in preparation for one of their own. “Go!” Maia urged the navigator. “Make them hold on awhile longer!”

Without another word, he was on his feet and gone. “Help me up,” Maia told her sister, although leaving the fresh airstream was like tearing away from life itself. Coughing, they both managed to reach the sextant. “Aim downward!” Maia gasped as Leie seized one of the measurement wheels. It was increasingly difficult to see the image of the dim room, portrayed on the magic wall. It jiggled at Leie’s touch, then took a jerk upward. There was a glimpse of naked rock, some dark emptiness, a quick blaze of color, and then dark rock again.

“Don’t say it!” Leie snapped, bending over to focus on one thumb and forefinger, despite her body’s quivering. Maia marveled at her twin’s concentrated intensity. In her own case, it was all she could do to keep from folding over and vomiting.

The picture wall jittered, shifting in fits and starts.

Must break the sextant, if reavers get through
, Maia reminded herself.
Mustn’t let ’em see the simulation … or know that the wall can come awake.

More shattering booms echoed, and there were loud cries. Had battle been joined? If so, the scene outside was appallingly sinful even to imagine … men against women … a Perkinite propagandist’s dream come true. In fact, sex had almost nothing to do with the issues in question—crime versus law, ambition against honor. Gender
was incidental, but legend would say otherwise, when and if word ever spread.

The picture jogged again. A bright wedge appeared across the upper fifth of the wall, hurtful in its brilliance. Leie grunted and tried again; the bright patch shot downward so that now the lower half of the screen blazed.

Blinking through the choking haze, Maia saw something she hadn’t expected. It was not a simulated image of a room, some chamber below this one, but an abstract set of nested rectangles. Against a radiant background, three squares contained distinct glowing symbols—a snowflake, a fire-arrow, and a sailing ship. As Leie gradually nudged the scene so that it filled the wall before them, the borders around each of the squares began to throb.

A red dot appeared. Responding to Leie’s controls, it wandered about. Both twins reached the obvious conclusion, at the same instant.

“I’ll pick the sailboat,” Leie said. But Maia shouted, “No!” She coughed, a series of rasping hacks, and shook her head. “Too obvious … go … with the arrow.”

Behind them, they now heard screams. More gunfire and an angry clamor of combat. Leie’s brow furrowed, running with perspiration, her eyes riveted on the screen. Wheezing from the effort, she brought the red dot into the square chosen by Maia.

A deep-throated tone rose beneath their feet. A growling, deeper than the groans coming from the hallway. Those shouts grew closer as Maia and Leie fell back from the podium, which began vibrating powerfully. Rumbling from age and disuse, a hidden mechanism rolled the heavy stone aside. Light spilled from the widening gap, along with a welcome rush of cool, fresh air.

Masked figures were tumbling down the aisle behind them. The first rush of males arrived in an orderly fashion, bearing wounded comrades. After them spilled others, panicky, near-doubled-over, their makeshift smoke veils
askew. There was no time for organization. “In here!” Leie cried, guiding refugees toward a set of stairs that had appeared below the podium. Sailors tumbled downward, pell-mell, although Maia now wondered.

What have I done?

A rear guard fought on, five or six men wrestling desperately with twice as many smaller figures, expertly wielding trepp bills. A gunshot bellowed, and one of the men clutched his abdomen, falling.

“Come on, Maia!” Leie screamed, shoving her into the bright aperture. Howls of angry pursuit rose as three reavers broke free to leap down rows of benches after them. One tripped and fell, then Maia was too busy negotiating the steep steps to look back. At bottom, a waiting man took her arm, preventing her from turning.

It’s okay, Leie was just behind me
, Maia told herself as she fled with other fugitives along a narrow hallway, under a low luminous ceiling, between cables and conduits. The constrained passage filled with sound as everyone seemed to be shouting at once. Alternate steps sent waves of pain swarming from her knee. At last, they reached a set of double doors made of sheet metal. An
ad hoc
squad of wounded men were using whatever they could find to wedge one of the doors shut. As soon as Maia was through, they started on the other. “Wait!” she cried. “My sister!”

She kept screaming while they finished, ignoring her pummeling assaults. It was the doctor who took Maia’s face in his hands and repeated, over and over, “There was reavers behind ya, honey. Just reavers, a little ways behind ya!”

In confirmation, the doors shook resoundingly as they were struck from the other side, again and again. “Go on!” one dark, bloodstained man urged, leaning against the portal. “Get outta here!” Blinking, Maia recognized her recent fellow investigator—the navigator.

“But—” she complained, before being lifted into the arms of a massive sailor, who turned and ran, leaving crimson blemishes behind him on the cold stone floor.