all be accommodated in one of Glory 's multiplicity of empty holds. But plainly the Yamatans had only a vague notion of the dimensions of the vessel they would soon be boarding and fully expected to walk her unprotected decks.
It appeared to be a quirk of the colonial man to forget the nature of the ships that had carried his ancestors into Near Space. Pictorial evidence abounded, but the ships were overbearing. There was a reluctance among Earth’s children to acknowledge the vastness of the ancient technology.
The result was that colonials almost always suffered culture shock when they approached a Goldenwing. The reality of Glory and her sisters was stunning to men and women who had spent their lives either downworld or, at most, in low orbit.
The Dragonfly was decorated for the occasion with flags bearing the mon of the Minamotos, their silk held extended by frames in the airless void. The barge was a substantial ship used by the Shoguns of Yamato primarily for inspections and planetary surveys from orbit. As spacecraft went, the Dragonfly went slowly. It was a ceremonial craft, gilded and decorated like the ships that once had sailed the seas around the Japanese Home Islands on Earth. The sled Damon and Anya had ridden downworld from Glory was stowed (with some difficulty) in the belly of Dragonfly . The barge’s Captain, a gray-haired samurai named Honda, the head of a clan that had served the Minamotos for two hundred years, had been cautioned to keep a sharp lookout for the small craft that had been launched from the Goldenwing to guide Dragonfly and the accompanying flotilla of MD ships to rendezvous with Glory .
Anya Amaya, uncomfortable but resplendent in a brocaded kimono (a gift from the Shogun she was assured she must accept) stood with Minamoto Kantaro and several other shogunal court notables (whose names she had great difficulty pronouncing or even remembering) near the forward-facing quartz windows. Dragonfly was still laboring into orbit, struggling to match the orbital parameters sent down from Glory . The effort created a low gravity and a disorienting pitch to all onboard movement.
From where Amaya stood she could see two of the MD craft accompanying Dragonfly . To Amaya the experimental light-speed ships were unprepossessing. If anyone had ever told the New Earth woman that she had the aesthetic sensibilities of an artist, she would have scorned the notion. Centauri colonists were known for their hard-rock feminism, political intolerance and a well-developed taste for severity in all things. Amaya’s nurturing had been as austere as any New Earther’s, and she had been sold to Glory 's syndicate because she had denied the Population Authority’s right to artificially inseminate her. In the absence of a Goldenwing fortuitously in orbit, her punishment could have been far worse. Nothing in Amaya’s early life as a New Earth clone had nurtured aesthetic appreciation. But life aboard Glory had remade her. At this moment the beautiful kimono she wore seduced her (comfort was another matter--as was wearing finery over space gear), as other fine or beautiful things often did now.
The bronze-colored clouds below her pleased her innate sense of color, and she awaited with pleasure the moment when Glory , in all her splendor, would appear above the advancing planetary horizon.
Anya regarded Kantaro-san’s handsome face and wondered what his reaction would be to his first true sight of a Goldenwing in space. Not an image, but the real thing. For that matter, how would the Shogun react? In the Ross Stars, Glory had awed the bitter folk of Nimrud and had made them a trifle less formidable. But for that, the intervention of the Terror might have finished them all while they were fighting among themselves. She shivered at the memory.
“Are you uncomfortable, Amaya-san?” Minamoto Kantaro showed his concern for Amaya with some reticence. Women were valued but not highly ranked on Yamato. “Females are
It appeared to be a quirk of the colonial man to forget the nature of the ships that had carried his ancestors into Near Space. Pictorial evidence abounded, but the ships were overbearing. There was a reluctance among Earth’s children to acknowledge the vastness of the ancient technology.
The result was that colonials almost always suffered culture shock when they approached a Goldenwing. The reality of Glory and her sisters was stunning to men and women who had spent their lives either downworld or, at most, in low orbit.
The Dragonfly was decorated for the occasion with flags bearing the mon of the Minamotos, their silk held extended by frames in the airless void. The barge was a substantial ship used by the Shoguns of Yamato primarily for inspections and planetary surveys from orbit. As spacecraft went, the Dragonfly went slowly. It was a ceremonial craft, gilded and decorated like the ships that once had sailed the seas around the Japanese Home Islands on Earth. The sled Damon and Anya had ridden downworld from Glory was stowed (with some difficulty) in the belly of Dragonfly . The barge’s Captain, a gray-haired samurai named Honda, the head of a clan that had served the Minamotos for two hundred years, had been cautioned to keep a sharp lookout for the small craft that had been launched from the Goldenwing to guide Dragonfly and the accompanying flotilla of MD ships to rendezvous with Glory .
Anya Amaya, uncomfortable but resplendent in a brocaded kimono (a gift from the Shogun she was assured she must accept) stood with Minamoto Kantaro and several other shogunal court notables (whose names she had great difficulty pronouncing or even remembering) near the forward-facing quartz windows. Dragonfly was still laboring into orbit, struggling to match the orbital parameters sent down from Glory . The effort created a low gravity and a disorienting pitch to all onboard movement.
From where Amaya stood she could see two of the MD craft accompanying Dragonfly . To Amaya the experimental light-speed ships were unprepossessing. If anyone had ever told the New Earth woman that she had the aesthetic sensibilities of an artist, she would have scorned the notion. Centauri colonists were known for their hard-rock feminism, political intolerance and a well-developed taste for severity in all things. Amaya’s nurturing had been as austere as any New Earther’s, and she had been sold to Glory 's syndicate because she had denied the Population Authority’s right to artificially inseminate her. In the absence of a Goldenwing fortuitously in orbit, her punishment could have been far worse. Nothing in Amaya’s early life as a New Earth clone had nurtured aesthetic appreciation. But life aboard Glory had remade her. At this moment the beautiful kimono she wore seduced her (comfort was another matter--as was wearing finery over space gear), as other fine or beautiful things often did now.
The bronze-colored clouds below her pleased her innate sense of color, and she awaited with pleasure the moment when Glory , in all her splendor, would appear above the advancing planetary horizon.
Anya regarded Kantaro-san’s handsome face and wondered what his reaction would be to his first true sight of a Goldenwing in space. Not an image, but the real thing. For that matter, how would the Shogun react? In the Ross Stars, Glory had awed the bitter folk of Nimrud and had made them a trifle less formidable. But for that, the intervention of the Terror might have finished them all while they were fighting among themselves. She shivered at the memory.
“Are you uncomfortable, Amaya-san?” Minamoto Kantaro showed his concern for Amaya with some reticence. Women were valued but not highly ranked on Yamato. “Females are
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