Game tokens lay scattered across the cover of the cargo hold — small black and white tiles with whiskerlike sensors protruding from their sides and corners. At first, Renna had marveled how each piece was built to meticulous precision. But, after spending all morning winding one after another of the-watchspring mechanisms, some of the romance went out of contemplating them. Fortunately, the efficient gadgets needed just a few twists with a winding key. Nevertheless, Renna and Maia had only finished prepping half of the sixteen hundred game pieces by the time lunch was called.
How do I keep getting talked into weird stuff like this? Maia wondered as she got up and stretched her throbbing arms. I'll be a wreck by evening. Still, it beat peeling vegetables, or the other "light work" tasks she'd been assigned since being let out. And the prospect of her first formal Life match had Maia intrigued, if not exactly breathless.
Maia dutifully supervised the dishing out of Renna's food, making sure it came from the common pot and that the utensils were clean. Not that anyone expected an assassination attempt way out here on the Mother Ocean. More likely, someone on the crew might try to dope him, just to stanch the endless flow of alien questions. It was always easy to find Renna on board. Just look for a disturbance in the sailors' routine. On the quarterdeck, for instance, where Captain Poulandres and his officers took on harried looks after long sessions of amiable inquiry. Or teetering precariously, high in the rigging, peering over sailors' shoulders as they worked, thoroughly upsetting the protective pair, Thalia and Kiel, who watched anxiously below.
When Renna mentioned his curiosity how the Game of Life was played at sea, Poulandres seized a chance to divert the strange passenger's attention. A challenge match would take place that very evening. Renna and Maia against the senior cabin boy and junior cook.
Hey, Maia thought at the time. Did anyone hear me volunteer?
Not that she really minded, even when her wrists ached from the endless, repetitive twisting. A fresh east wind filled Manitou's electric generator and stretched its billowing sails, causing the masts to creak gently under the strain. It also filled Maia's lungs with growing hope. Maybe things are going to work out, this time.
I'm going to see Landing Continent.
If only Leie were here, so we could see it together.
Unlike the creaky, old Wotan, this was a fast vessel, built to carry light cargoes and passengers. Its sailors were well-accoutered, befitting members of a prestigious guild. Cabin boys, newly chosen from their mother clans, ran errands with enthusiastic dash. Maia found the officers' uniformed splendor both impressive and more than a little pompous.
After her spell in Long Valley, where men had been scarcer than red lugars, it seemed strange now, living with so many around. Her experience with, the Beller drug undermined Maia's confidence in winter's sure promise of male docility. What was it like before Lysos? she wondered. You never knew which men were dangerous, or when.
Surreptitiously, she watched the sailors, comparing them to Renna, the alien. Even the obvious things were startling. For instance, his eyes were of a dark brown hue seldom seen on Stratos, set anomalously far apart. And his long nose gave the impression of an ever-curious bird. Mild differences, really. But if Renna's not from outer space, Maia thought, then he's from someplace equally strange.
Other differences ran deeper, Renna was always peering. His visual acuity was fine; he simply hungered for more light, as if daytime on Stratos was dimmer than he was used to. This counterbalanced an uncanny sensitivity to sound. Maia knew he overheard the jokes people made about him.
No one made fun of his beard, now lustrous and curly dark. A summer beard few Stratoin men could match this time of year. But there was some teasing concerning his diet. Normal ship's fare was all right — grain and legume porridge, supplemented by fish stew. But he politely refused red meat from the ship's cooler, citing "protein allergies," and would not drink seawater under any circumstances. The cook, grumbling about "finicky land-boys," tapped a freshwater cask just for him. Kiel shrugged and paid for it.
Maia felt she was well over the hearth-pangs that had filled her lonely solitude at the prison-sanctuary. Except in his intelligence and essential goodness, Renna bore no resemblance to the person she had pictured while exchanging coded messages in the dark. It was just another loss, and no one's fault, in particular.
Still, why did she find herself occasionally washed by illogical feelings of jealousy when Renna spent time talking to Naroin, or Kiel, or other young vars? Am I attracted to him in a … sexual way? It seemed unlikely, given her youth.
Even if I were, what would jealousy have to do with it?
Maia sought within. Some thoughts seemed to make her feel all wound-up inside. Others provoked disconcerting waves of warmth, or desolation.
Then again, maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing.
It might have helped to talk out her confusion, but Maia wasn't comfortable confiding in strangers. For that, there had always been Leie.
The sea had Leie, now. Although an endless reach of ocean surrounded her, Maia didn't like to look upon it.
After lunch, Renna excused himself to the curtained platform that extended from the poop deck over open water. He always took longer than others with his postprandial toilet, and there were wagers concerning what he did in there. Passersby reported strange sounds coming from behind the screen.
"Sounds like a lot o' scrubbin' an' spittin'," one sailor reported.
Maia made sure nobody intruded. Whatever his alien needs, Renna deserved privacy. At least he kept himself cleaner than most men!
The women on board, all vars, fell into three types Maia could discern. Half a dozen, including Naroin, were experienced winter sailors, comfortable working side by side with the more numerous male crew. Worldly and capable, they appeared more amused than interested in the political obsessions of the paying passengers.
Next were twenty-one rads, partners in the bold scheme to hustle Renna from captivity. Thalia and Kiel must have taken jobs at Lerner Forge to cover their real mission, ferreting out where the Perkinite clans held their prisoner. Maia wondered, had her ex-housemates cleverly followed the alien's trail halfway around the world? More likely, their team was one of many sent to scour the globe. Either way, the Radical cabal appeared large, resolute, and well organized.
In high spirits after their successful foray, the rads were talkative, excited, and clearly better educated than the average var. Their soft-voweled city accents hardly impressed the third group — eight rough-looking women, most of whom spoke the low, drawling dialect of the Southern Isles. As Naroin put it, Baltha and her friends were along as "hired sticks." Mercenary guards to fill out the expedition's complement. The southlanders scarcely concealed their contempt for the idealistic rads, but seemed happy to take their pay.
Renna emerged from the toilet platform, zipping his blue pouch. He stretched, inhaling deeply. "Never thought I'd get used to this air. Felt like breathing syrup. But it kind of grows on you after a while. Maybe it's the symbiont at work."
"The what?" Maia asked.
Renna blinked and was thoughtful for a moment. "Mm — something I took before landing, to help me adjust to walking around on a different planet. Did you know only three other hominid populations are known to live at such atmospheric pressures? It's because of the thick air that Stratos is habitable. Keeps the heat in. Normally, no one would look for real estate near such a small sun. Lysos made a brilliant gamble here, and won."