What next? she wondered, picking up her cudgel and sticking it in her new waistband. The rads might be imprisoned on the Manitou, but Maia doubted Renna would be kept anywhere so insecure. Probably, he was deep inside the sanctuary. Did she dare try to brazenly walk in, looking for him? The more she thought about it, the idea of springing Thalia and the others made sense. If the rads could take over Manitou, then lay doggo while Maia snuck near the sanctuary entrance, they might at a chosen moment create enough distraction to let her slip inside.

First task is eliminating their guards. Sounds simple. Only, how am I supposed to do it?

She pondered possibilities. I could go to the cargo gangway and pretend to be a messenger . . . shout down some made-up call for help. When one emerges, I'd knock her out and then … try the same thing again? Or go down after the other one?

What if there are three? Or more?

It was a lugar-brained scheme . . . and Maia felt fiercely determined to make it work. At least once that phase was over, she wouldn't be alone anymore. Maybe the rads would have an idea or two of their own to offer. Maia cast around the room one last time for weapons. She only found a small knife, embedded in the wooden post of one of the bunk beds, which she wrestled out and slipped into the coat pocket.

She was halfway up the ladder when the door suddenly swung aside, spilling light upon her face and outlining a large figure. Maia could only stare upward in dismay.

"Thought I heard someone down here," a gruff woman's voice said. "Come on, then. No duckin' work. I won't cover for ya, next time!"

The silhouette turned, leaving Maia blinking in surprise. Hurriedly, she followed, hoping to catch the reaver from behind while they were still out of view from the Reckless. At the doorway, however, Maia's heart sank upon spying four other women on deck. They were wrestling open a sealed box, pulling out long gleaming objects.

Rifles, Maia realized. They seemed well-supplied, this bunch. Even the Guardia at Port Sanger wasn't better armed. Maia was past being shocked, however. It is the victors who write history, she now knew. If Baltha and her gang succeed amid the chaos they want to create, no one is going to quibble over a few extra crimes.

"Well? Come on!" The first woman called to Maia, who shuffled forward unwillingly with her head averted, eyes downcast. She concealed her surprise when three of the slender, heavy weapons were thrust into her arms, and clutched them tightly, not knowing what else to do.

"Don't forget to bring enough ammo, Racila," the leader told a slight, scar-faced pirate, who pounded the crate shut again. "All right, you lot, let's get back, or Togay'll have us eatin' air for a week."

Maia tried to take up the rear, but the leader insisted that she go ahead, tromping with the others down the gangplank, onto the pier, and then along thumping, resonant wooden slats toward where bright sconces cast twin pools of brilliance on both sides of the sanctuary entrance.

Loaded rifles, shouted calls, groups of anxious women hurrying through the night. This was surely no Farsun Eve celebration. What in the name of the Founders was going on? For Maia, the worst moment came as they climbed spacious, cracked steps and passed under the fierce electric dazzle of the sconces. When she wasn't denounced on the spot, she realized it hadn't been darkness that saved her, back at the ship.

Either there are so many women in the gang that they don't all know each other — which seemed highly unlikely — or else they think I'm Leie.

The possibility of playing such a ruse — pretending to be her sister — had naturally occurred to Maia. Only it had seemed too obvious, too risky. All Stratoin children, whether clone or var, learned to notice subtle differences among "identical" women. Leie no doubt wore her hair differently, carried distinct scars, and would acknowledge with a thousand disparate cues that she knew these people who were utter strangers to Maia. Besides, what to do when Leie herself showed up?

Maia had finally chosen to try the subterfuge only if stealth utterly failed.. Now there was no choice. She could only try brazening it out.

"This dam' hole is big as a scullin city!" One short, rough-looking var in the group told Maia sotto voce as they marched up the broad, splintered portico, then between tall, gaping doors. "We must've sniffed a hunnerd rooms already. Can't blame ya for duckin' out to catch a snore."

Shrugging like an unrepentant schoolgirl caught playing hooky, Maia muttered in mimicry of the other woman's sour tone. "You can say that again! I never signed up for all this runnin' around. Had any luck yet?"

"Nah. Ain't seen beard nor foreskin o' the vrilly crett since watch shift, despite the reward Togay's offered."

That confirmed Maia's dawning suspicion. They're searching for someone. A man. Her chest pounded. Renna. She suppressed her feelings. You can't be sure of that, yet. It might be another prisoner. One of the Manitou crew, for instance.

The entrance showed signs of that long-ago battle that had shaken Jellicoe with blasts from outer space. A rough-cut, makeshift portal of poorly dressed and buttressed stone led from the shattered steps into a vestibule that might once have been beautiful, with finely fluted pilasters, but now bore jagged cracks. Rude cement repairs had peeled under attack by salt and age.

These effects ebbed as the group passed into the sanctuary proper, where thick walls had sheltered a grand entrance foyer. From there, broad hallways stretched north, south, and east. Strings of dim electric bulbs cast islets of illumination every ten meters or so, powered by a hissing, coal-fired generator. Beyond those light pools, each passage faded into mystifying darkness, broken by brief glimpses of occasional bobbing lanterns. Distant, echoing calls told of feverish action, nearly swallowed by the chill obscurity.

At first sight, the place reminded Maia of her first imprisonment — that smaller, newer sanctuary in Long Valley — another citadel of chiseled passages and thick, masculine pillars. Only here, the scent of ages hung in the air. Soot streaks and daubed graffiti on the walls and ceilings told of countless prior visitors, from hermits to treasure hunters, who must have come exploring over the centuries, torches in hand. By comparison, the pirates were well-equipped.

There was another difference. In this place, the walls were lined with a deeply incised frieze, running horizontally just above eye-level. As far as Maia could make out, the carved adornment ran the length of each hallway, snaking into and out of every room, and consisted entirely of sequences of letters in the eighteen-symbol liturgical alphabet.

Taking the center route, which plunged deeper into the mountain, Maia's party passed through a stately hall where flames crackled in a spacious, sculpted hearth, underneath gothic vaulting. There was no furniture, only a few rugs thrown on the ground. Bottles lay strewn about, along with mugs and gambling equipment, all abandoned in apparent haste. "Seems an awful lot o' trouble," Maia probed, choosing the nearby short var who had spoken before. "I don't s'poze anyone's suggested we just set sail, and leave the vril behind?"

A wide-eyed glance from the husky little reaver told Maia volumes. The spoken response was barely a hiss. "Go suggest it yerself! If Togay 'n' Baltha don't quick make ya swim like a lugar, I may say aye, too."

Maia hid a smile. Only loss of their chief prize would provoke such wrath. Although this would make Maia's own task of finding Renna harder, it was nevertheless great news to hear that he had given them the slip. Now to reach him before they get really desperate.

Abruptly, Maia recalled what she was carrying in her arms — long, finely machined articles of wood and metal and packaged death. The weapons gave off a tangy smell of bitter oil and gunpowder. Apparently, after hours of searching, someone had decided that which cannot be recaptured must not be lost to others.