Maia backed away, watching as the Earthman patiently described how the array of black or white cells crudely simulated a kind of "life." Despite the simple level of his explanation, he seemed intent to look only at the game board, avoiding direct contact with his audience. For the first time, Maia noticed a sheen of perspiration on his brow.
"They got plans for him, you know."
Maia whirled. A tall, fair-haired woman had come up from behind. The rugged easterner, Baltha, picked her teeth with a wood sliver and leaned against the aft capstan. She grinned at Maia. "Your Earthman is worth a lot more to these rads than they're lettin' on, y'know."
Maia felt torn between curiosity and her dislike of the woman. "I know they need information, and advice from his ship's library. They want to know if something in it can help make Stratos more like other worlds."
Baltha raised an eyebrow. Perhaps the acknowledgment was mocking. "Information's nice. But I bet they seek help of a quicker sort."
"What do you mean?"
Baltha tossed the toothpick in an arc that carried it overboard. "Think about it, virgie. You see how they're already workin' on him. He'll be asked to earn his keep, in Ursulaborg. An' I just bet he's able."
Maia's face felt warm. "So? So he sparks a few—"
Baltha interrupted. "Sparks, hell! You just can't see, can you? Think, girlie. He's an alien! Now that may mean he's too different even to spark Strato-fems like us. Can't tell unless they try. But what about th' other extreme? What if his seed works, all right? What if it works the old-fashioned way, even in winter?"
Maia blinked as she worked out what Baltha meant. "You mean, his sperm might not spark clones … but instead go all the way and make vars?" She looked up. "No matter what time of year it is?"
Baltha nodded. "Then, what if his var-sons inherited that knack? An' their sons? An' so on? Now wouldn't that throw a spanner in Lysos's plan?" She spat over the side.
Maia shook her head. "Something sounds wrong about that—"
"You bet it's wrong!" the big var cut in again. "Meddlin' with the design set down by our foremothers an' betters. Arrogant rad bitches."
Actually, Maia hadn't meant "wrong" in that sense. Although she couldn't spot the flaw at that moment, she felt certain there was something cockeyed with Baltha's reasoning. It struck Maia intuitively that the design of human life on Stratos wouldn't be so easily diverted, not even by seed taken from a man from the stars.
"I thought you hated the way things are, as much as the rads do," she asked, curious about the venom in Baltha's voice. "You helped them get Renna away from the Perkinites."
"Alliance of convenience, virgie. Sure, my mates an' me hate Perkies. Stuck-up clans that want a lock on everything without keepin' on earnin' it. Lysos never meant that to happen. But from there on, we an' the rads part. Bleedin' heretics. We just want to shake things up, not change the laws o' nature!"
Why is she telling me this? Maia wondered, seeing a gleam in Baltha's eyes as she regarded Renna. "You have ideas about using him, too," Maia surmised.
The blonde var turned to look at her. "Don't know what you mean."
"I saw what you collected in your little box," Maia blurted, eager to see how Baltha would react when confronted. "Back in the canyon, while we were escaping."
"Why, you little sneak . . ." the woman growled. Then she stopped and a slow grin spread across her rugged features. "Well, good for you. Spyin's one of th' true arts. Might even be your niche, sweetums, if you ever learn to tell enemies from friends."
"I know the difference, thanks."
"Do you?"
"Like I can tell you'd use Renna for your own ends, at least as much as the rads want to."
Baltha sighed. "Everybody uses everybody else. Take your friends, Kiel an' Thalia. They used you, kiddo. Sold you to th' Bellers, in hopes of trackin' you to jail, an' maybe findin' their Starman wherever you were stashed."
Maia stared. "But … I thought Calma Lerner . . ."
"Think what you like, citizen," Baltha answered sarcastically. "I know better than tryin' to tell nothin' to a upstart fiver, who's so sure she knows who's her good pals, who ain't."
The eastlander turned and sauntered away, wandering the railing that overlooked the cargo deck, where she began a low conversation with a large blonde woman, one of the female deckhands serving aboard the Manitou. Below, on the main deck, Naroin's voice could be heard, pulling a small band of women away from bothering sailors to take their turn at obligatory combat practice. Baltha grinned back at Maia, then picked up her own polished short-trepp, and slid down the gangway to join the session. Soon there came a staccato clicking of sticks, and a thump as somebody hit the ground.
