"We want the child to be recognized," she ruled. "A small bruise or two will cause notice. Besides, doesn't she cut a superb figure, as is?"

Maia turned before a precious, full-length mirror, amazed by what she saw. The outfit emphasized what she had barely noticed till now, that she had a woman's body. She was four centimeters taller and much fuller than the scrawny, gawky chicken who had shyly stepped out of Port Sanger, months before. Yet it was her own face she found most surprising: from one thin, healing scar under her right ear; to her cheekbones, now entirely free of baby fat; to the sweep of her brown hair, brushed to a fine gloss by one of Odo's attentive servants. Most astonishing were her eyes. They remained unlined, apparently youthful and innocent, until you took them full on. Slightly narrowed, they seemed at once both skeptical and serene, and from an angle she recognized the brow of her father, master of ships and storms.

It was an image of herself she had never envisioned.

Damn right! Maia thought, nodding. Take things as they come. And let 'em watch out, if they leave me a single opening.

That didn't seem likely, unfortunately. Leie and Brod relied on her good behavior for their lives. Still, Maia turned away from the mirror with a smile for Odo. You made an error, letting me see that. Let's find out how many more mistakes you make.

The Great Theater sprawled gaudily a short distance down the acropolis esplanade from the Temple and Library. Horse-drawn carriages, lugar-litters, and more than a few motor-limousines coursed up to the steps, depositing the topmost layer of Caria society for tonight's revival opening of a classic opera, Wendy and Faustus. High priestesses, councillors, judges, and savants climbed the broad steps. In many cases, the matrons of great clans were accompanied by younger cloneling daughters and nieces, too callow for real power, but the right age for procreation. These youthful ones, in turn, escorted small groups of men, tall and erectly impressive in their formal guild uniforms. The winter cream of Stratoin maledom, here to be wooed and entertained.

Maia watched from the carriage she shared with Odo and a half-dozen older women from various aristocratic clans. It had been a chilly ride. Some of the old trepidation returned under their withering disdain. That enmity was based on a wide range of fanaticisms, but what made these women powerful went far deeper, to the core of the society established by Lysos long ago.

From the moment she stepped down from the carriage, Maia felt eyes turn her way. Whispered comment followed her up the steps, through the ornate portico, and along a sweeping, ceremonial stairway to the box where Odo arranged for her to sit prominently forward, on public display. To Maia's relief, the house lights soon went down. The conductor raised her baton, and the overture began.

The opera had its points. The musical score was beautiful. Maia hardly paid attention to the libretto, however, which followed a hackneyed theme about the ancient struggle between womanly pragmatism and the spasmodic, dangerous enthusiasms of old-fashioned males. No doubt the drama had been revived at the behest of certain political parties, as part of a propaganda campaign against restored Phylum contact. Her presence was meant to signify approval.

During intermission, Maia's escorts took her to the sparkling elegance of the lobby, where var waiters circulated with trays of drinks and sweetmeats. Here it would be simple to elude her escorts … if only Leie and Brod weren't counting on her. Maia choked down her frustration and tried to do as she'd been told. Smiling, she accepted a fizzy beverage from a bowing attendant, a var like her, with eyes lowered deferentially.

Maia's smile widened in sudden sincerity when she saw, coming toward her, a tight group of figures, two of whom she knew. Shortest, but most intense, strode the detective, Naroin, looking out of place in a simple, dark evening suit. Next to her, and half again as tall, walked Clevin, the frowning, earnest commodore of Pinniped Guild. My father, Maia contemplated. The reality seemed so detached from her dreams of childhood, it was hard to sort true emotions, except to relish the proud light when his gray eyes saw her.

Two women accompanied Naroin and Clevin, one of them tall, silver-haired, and elegant. The other was darkly beautiful, with mysterious green eyes. Maia did not know their faces.

Odo slid alongside Maia as the group approached, "Iolanthe, how good to see you back in society. It seemed so dull without you."

The tall woman nodded her simply-coiffed gray head. Her face was delicately boned, with an air of quiet intelligence. "Nitocris Hold has been mourning its friend, who came so far across the galaxy, only to meet betrayal and untimely death."

"A death drenched in irony, and by his own hand," Odo pointed out. "With rescue just meters away, if only he knew it."

Maia would have gladly, unrepentantly, killed Odo on the spot. She remained rigidly still, save to give one quick nod to Naroin, another to her father.

"So you feel delivered of your crime?" the woman named lolanthe asked, her voice prim, like that of a savant. "We'll find other witnesses, other testimony. Such a grand cabal of tensely diverse interests cannot hold. You play dangerous games, Odo."

Odo shrugged. "I may be sacrificed at some point. In Macro Chess, a side may lose many queens, yet still win the game. Such is life."

It was Clevin who spoke next, to the surprise of both disputing women. "Bad metaphor," he remarked in a terse, gravelly baritone. "Your game isn't life."

Odo stared at the man, as if unable to credit his effrontery. Finally, she broke into derisive laughter. Behind Maia, others of the conspiracy joined in. The Pinniped commodore didn't blanch. In his stern silence, Maia felt greater weight of argument than all their ridicule. She knew what he meant, and said so with her eyes.

Naroin stepped toward Maia. "Missed ya, varling. Sorry, I didn't figure on a snatch like that. Underestimated your importance once again."

That was the part Maia still couldn't figure out. What's so important about me?

"You all right?" Naroin finished. "All right," Maia answered, almost a whisper. “How about yourself?"

"Fine. Catchin' hell for lettin' you get taken. How was I to know you'd get t'be a livin' legend?"

Around them on every side, people were watching. Maia sensed attention not only from stately matrons, but quite a few male onlookers, as well.

Iolanthe spoke again. "It won't do, Odo. She cannot remain your prisoner." The savant turned to Maia. "Come with us now, child. They cannot prevent it. We'll protect you as our own, with powers you cannot imagine."

Maia somehow doubted that. She had, of late, seen forces beyond anything this pale intellectual could have known. Moreover, like the sword of Lysos breaking symbolic chains on the Lanargh City statuary clock, events had shattered all fetters on Maia's imagination.

On another level, she felt the offer was doubtless sincere. Though Iolanthe's side in the political conflict was probably doomed, she could almost certainly shield Maia's person. All Maia had to do was start walking.

There are many kinds of prisons, she thought acidly.

"That's kind of you," she replied. "Some other time, perhaps."

The elderly savant winced at the rejection, but Naroin looked unsurprised. "I see. You like it in Persim Hold? They're your friends now?"

Maia first thought Naroin was expressing bitterness. Then she read something in the ex-bosun's eyes. A feral, conspiratorial gleam. Her sarcasm had another objective.

Maia nodded. She took a deep breath. "Oh — yes. Odo — is — my — friend . . . as — much — as — she — was — Renna's."

It was the general message she had been ordered to convey, delivered so woodenly, no one with sensitivity would believe a word. Maia heard Odo hiss sharply restrained anger.