Anvil Of Stars Part 16

The children squatted and clasped their hands in front of them like so many Buddhas. Martin reached for Theresa's hand, gripped it tightly. She smiled at him.

All so very brave. No choice.

"Let's do it," Martin said.

"Super deceleration will begin in one minute," the War Mother said.

"Count!" Andrew Jaguar shouted, and they counted as the numbers from Martin's wand gleamed in the air above them.

Five, four, three, two Martin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Like a soft electric hand probing his body, the volumetric fields diffused through him. He heard a tiny distant whining noise in his ears, felt the blood stop in his veins, all the protoplasm in his cells pause, then the blood start again, pause, start: the vibrating jerkiness of fields controlling the path of each molecule, adjusting to allow normal vectors, to cancel the effects of the deceleration, temporarily paused thought, jammed his mind with half-aware impulses, threw him into blankness.

He could not see. His eyes hurt but he could not be fully aware of the pain. They would be in this state for days, but fortunately, the fields would soon give them a semblance of normality. They could see, move, talk, eat, however slowly and carefully.

If all goes well. No machine works perfectly. Every machine can fail.

The wands would not work under super deceleration. The War Mother would be inactive. They would have only themselves, in this small s.p.a.ce, for days as they dropped from the top of the universe to the bottom, as they drained their momentum into ma.s.sive sumps...as they let themselves be guided like pigeons in the head of a bomb, pigeons ready to peck their final destination, coo their final judgments, hoping to put out the eyes of those who had eaten their eggs, their young, their very coop.

Theodore came into the room where Martin sat alone with just the drip of thoughts to occupy him.

"Is it sadness then that makes you think of our enemy so?"

"Ah, Christ, Theodore. I miss you. Why did you kill yourself?"

"Because we're just pigeons, that's all."

"You never said so."

"I was never omniscient, Martin. You have original thoughts, you know, some better than mine ever were. Death just makes me larger, and that's silly. I'm actually very small now, being dead; a dust mote in your mind."

"I'd like to have you back in more than just dreams..."

"Hardly a dream. You're awake."

Martin sighed, shook his head. "I think we've gone through the worst part, and this is me, sleeping and dreaming, waiting for the whole thing to end. Boredom can do this to us. I think we're all sleeping now, tired of each other, bored with being in a tiny room."

"You've been thinking of Ariel, haven't you?"

"I suppose...What can you tell me about her?"

"Nothing you don't already know. The disadvantage of being dead. I can only be the image of your thoughts."

"So what do I know about her that I can't recognize?"

"She's tough, she keeps her mind about her, she believes in very little, and she has a capacity for great"

love Theresa lay next to him, snoring lightly. Martin stroked her hip, feeling the tingle of field adjustment in his hands, the constant bind of constraints as the fields decided (if such was the right word) what motion was permitted, and what might be the beginning of a disastrous tumble into one-thousand-g deceleration.

love for individual, for family, for group, for companions, for ship, for world, for Earth.

How does one come to love a world? Born into it, suffused with it, the world is part of everything and not differentiable. The Dawn Treader Dawn Treader was a world, as large in its way as any human lifetime; plenty of places to live, plenty of dreams to dream, even allowing them fragments of Earth. Scientific, curious Theodore Dawn, always observing, making notes, bent over his lenses and clear tanks of pond water in the quarters he shared with Martin, his personal equivalent of the cats and parrots other children kept as mutual pets and mascots. The lenses-the moms' equivalent of microscopes-hovering in the air before Theodore's face like tiny white jewels, light-refracting fields of optical strength and clarity far better than fluorite. Caught in a small spherical field that allowed in oxygen, but kept water from escaping, several was a world, as large in its way as any human lifetime; plenty of places to live, plenty of dreams to dream, even allowing them fragments of Earth. Scientific, curious Theodore Dawn, always observing, making notes, bent over his lenses and clear tanks of pond water in the quarters he shared with Martin, his personal equivalent of the cats and parrots other children kept as mutual pets and mascots. The lenses-the moms' equivalent of microscopes-hovering in the air before Theodore's face like tiny white jewels, light-refracting fields of optical strength and clarity far better than fluorite. Caught in a small spherical field that allowed in oxygen, but kept water from escaping, several chaoborus chaoborus specimens, the larvae of phantom midges that Theodore favored so highly. The specimens were kept from escaping by gentle fields...fields within fields, allowing Theodore access to these living creatures that would have been impossible on old Earth. specimens, the larvae of phantom midges that Theodore favored so highly. The specimens were kept from escaping by gentle fields...fields within fields, allowing Theodore access to these living creatures that would have been impossible on old Earth.

"Quite lovely," Theodore said. "And even better-harmless. Aren't you glad I'm not raising mosquitoes? You'd sneak in at night and destroy my tanks."

"We'd put up with it," Martin said.

"No you wouldn't," Theodore said. "You're much too judgmental..." Chaoborus, Chaoborus, zooplankters, phytoplankters, varieties of beautiful algae, and above the pond, flying about the room, adult phantom midges buzzing, almost invisible, preening themselves on the walls; ignorant that they were no longer on Earth. zooplankters, phytoplankters, varieties of beautiful algae, and above the pond, flying about the room, adult phantom midges buzzing, almost invisible, preening themselves on the walls; ignorant that they were no longer on Earth.

"Do you think we understand where we are?" Martin asked.

"You think we don't and can't, not where it counts. Not in our guts and cells. We always carry Earth with us. When a parent dies, the genes remain, and the memories, which are only lesser and weaker threads."

"My parents are alive, probably, but I can't feel them. them."

"We're on opposite sides of a gulf of physics difficult for us midges to understand, in our guts," Theodore said. Musing over his spherical field-bound pond, stirring it with a gla.s.s rod, watching the algae twine on the rod, making history among the micro-organisms, the paramecia and rotifers, the euglenoids and diatoms, the desmids, amphipods, ostracods, wreaking havoc among the daphnia.

The comparatively large chaoborus chaoborus larvae thin as ghosts with vicious curved beaks and black-eyed heads, pairs of beautifully patterned buoyancy organs fore and aft, whisking themselves away with a wriggle to avoid the currents. larvae thin as ghosts with vicious curved beaks and black-eyed heads, pairs of beautifully patterned buoyancy organs fore and aft, whisking themselves away with a wriggle to avoid the currents.

Martin rolled over and opened his eyes and felt the tingle in his lids. Sometimes he made moves that were resisted: sudden moves, alarming the fields perhaps, though dropping his substance only a few ten thousandths into the forbidden chasm of one thousand g's.

It was best not to move at all, and so most of the children did not.

Theresa and Ariel sat talking quietly about Hans the Eternal and others; as they talked, Martin saw Hans and Theodore together, though they had not been close friends, had rarely spoken to each other. Hans asked Theodore what he thought of Martin, whether Martin had what it took to be Pan.

"He doesn't think so," Theodore said, winking over his shoulder at Martin. "He thinks he cares too much."

"Do you think I I have what it takes?" have what it takes?"

"n.o.body who wants to be Pan should be," Theodore said.

"I don't want want to be..."But there was something like hope on Hans' face. to be..."But there was something like hope on Hans' face.

Theresa and Ariel discussed the gowns the Wendys would wear when all was done, and they married another world.

Theresa wore this gown as she marched down a vast cathedral aisle. The gown draped white, like a weave of quartz crystals and diamonds, supernaturally supple and beautiful, and in her hair threaded rubies, emeralds, opals, beryls, flowers of sulfur, selenite, celest.i.te, amethyst, garnets, agates, sapphires, and on her hands she wore constellations of Iceland spar, white aragonite, green azurite, blue lapis, representing the dowry of her Mother, and Theodore gave her away, dressed in a suit woven entirely of shimmering midges and b.u.t.terflies and moths, and Martin waited at the altar. Behind him opened the arms of another world, even more beautiful than Earth, and that meant a guilt of unfaithfulness.

Now the women were talking about having children someday, and Ariel shaking her head stubbornly, saying she would not be a good mother, she was too tough on others, no sympathy, but Theresa said instincts will kick in and they will be tender.

Three days, top to bottom, in this small room, sleeping and talking, eating only a few times, for food did not digest well under the tyranny of volumetric fields grumpy about adding new molecules to the body's equation.

The bottom of the universe, perversely, was bright, and the top was dark. The Dawn Treader Dawn Treader had fallen out of the darkness, away from the muddy twisted ring of stars, but there was still this vast cliff to descend, from three quarters of the speed of light to less than one hundredth of one percent c, a profligate excretion of momentum that must later be regained from fuel in the very system they would try to kill. had fallen out of the darkness, away from the muddy twisted ring of stars, but there was still this vast cliff to descend, from three quarters of the speed of light to less than one hundredth of one percent c, a profligate excretion of momentum that must later be regained from fuel in the very system they would try to kill.

They tumbled toward the central furnace, their almost straight-line course gradually curving like an expertly drawn wire. They slowed to one half c, one quarter, one tenth, one hundredth, and now, one thousandth, one ten thousandth.

Breaking and entering. Intent to murder.

The enormous burden of momentum pa.s.sed away, and the children were no longer fast G.o.ds, but pigeons in the head of a very quiet, dark bomb, stealing through the house, the solar system of Wormwood.

Martin opened his eyes and spread his arms, his fingers, savoring the freedom of no tingle, no tyranny.

Theresa leaned over him, already awake. "It's over," she said. "We're here."

In the first few hours of freedom from the cramped super deceleration s.p.a.ce, the children reacquainted themselves with the ship. Martin led them stem to stern, following the map projected by his wand.

Tortoise had taken the shape of a squat dumbbell, the third homeball having split into two hemispheres, absorbing and redistributing the second neck to become a connecting bar between them. The nose was a mere blister on the blunt face of the fore hemisphere, and there was no tail. had taken the shape of a squat dumbbell, the third homeball having split into two hemispheres, absorbing and redistributing the second neck to become a connecting bar between them. The nose was a mere blister on the blunt face of the fore hemisphere, and there was no tail.

Hakim set up the search shop in the nose of Tortoise Tortoise to see what there was to see. The new star sphere quickly filled with information, and Hakim immediately reexamined their target worlds one by one as Martin observed: rocky Nebuchadnezzar, innermost, Ramses next, and far beyond, on the opposite side of Wormwood, Herod, the ma.s.sive depleted gas giant. There were still no major surprises at this distance, half a billion kilometers from Nebuchadnezzar, but the images in the star sphere were gratifyingly crisp and clean. to see what there was to see. The new star sphere quickly filled with information, and Hakim immediately reexamined their target worlds one by one as Martin observed: rocky Nebuchadnezzar, innermost, Ramses next, and far beyond, on the opposite side of Wormwood, Herod, the ma.s.sive depleted gas giant. There were still no major surprises at this distance, half a billion kilometers from Nebuchadnezzar, but the images in the star sphere were gratifyingly crisp and clean.

"It's very good," Hakim told Martin. "What would we like to know?"

"The makers in the outer cloud should be ready in a few tendays," Martin said. "We need to confirm our first target, or inform the makers by tight-beam whether we've chosen another." The makers were beyond noach range; a tight-beam message would take days to reach them. "We need to know which is the most active world, and whether there are any defenses."

Tortoise was one sixth the size of was one sixth the size of Dawn Treader, Dawn Treader, but still large enough for the children to rattle around in. The unfamiliar corridors smelled new, like fresh clothes made by the moms. Martin took in as much of the new design as he could, judging its suitability for their needs, finding it adequate, but with an intense, childish kind of disappointment, missing the huge s.p.a.ces of the but still large enough for the children to rattle around in. The unfamiliar corridors smelled new, like fresh clothes made by the moms. Martin took in as much of the new design as he could, judging its suitability for their needs, finding it adequate, but with an intense, childish kind of disappointment, missing the huge s.p.a.ces of the Dawn Treader. Dawn Treader. He put that disappointment aside. He put that disappointment aside.

Martin leading, the thirty-five children in the Tortoise Tortoise crew echoed and laddered down a smaller, shorter neck to the redesigned, rearranged weapons store, where the pods containing the makers and doers that would infiltrate the inner rocky worlds of Wormwood had been moved to prominent position. crew echoed and laddered down a smaller, shorter neck to the redesigned, rearranged weapons store, where the pods containing the makers and doers that would infiltrate the inner rocky worlds of Wormwood had been moved to prominent position.

Paola Birdsong and Stephanie Wing Feather moved the first pod groupings into six bombships, part of the ritual demanded by the moms-that as much as possible, the children should take responsibility for their weapons, for their a.s.signed tasks, to complete the Job. Martin confirmed the loading, and the War Mother inspected the results. Training was paying off; the work had been done perfectly.

With the first part of the Job done, Martin gave them permission to establish new quarters and manufacture those things they needed. No personal goods or pets had been transferred to Tortoise. Tortoise.

The first group meal would begin in an hour.

Within three days, as Tortoise Tortoise slid farther down the well of the Wormwood's gravitation, all their familiarization, establishment of quarters, manufacturing of goods, might go for nothing; the ship might have to change again, to deal quickly with whatever defenses the planet killers could muster... slid farther down the well of the Wormwood's gravitation, all their familiarization, establishment of quarters, manufacturing of goods, might go for nothing; the ship might have to change again, to deal quickly with whatever defenses the planet killers could muster...

But until that time, Martin wanted to establish a sense of normality, to keep his children as stable and contented as he could.

Still, they all knew that their home had fled. The chances of Dawn Treader Dawn Treader being rea.s.sembled as it had been were nil. The chances of all of them surviving...of Wormwood having no defenses, no sensors able to detect their presence...were also nil. being rea.s.sembled as it had been were nil. The chances of all of them surviving...of Wormwood having no defenses, no sensors able to detect their presence...were also nil.

Hakim came to Martin in the weapons stores as he finished his inspection, waited patiently, approached the Pan with face alight with enthusiasm. "There's news," he said. "More information, and very interesting, too."

Martin looked at the arrays of craft in the stores, at the bombships on their pylons and the pods of doers attached to toruses. Stephanie Wing Feather and Paola Birdsong floated between the ships like birds between two gray footb.a.l.l.s, listening. All the children in the stores listened.

"We should all hear the news together," Martin decided. "We'll update at mess."

Hakim projected his information after their hasty meal. He showed them Nebuchadnezzar first, as seen from Hare Hare as it streaked through the system: a tan world with spots of reddish-brown and thin ribbons of green. as it streaked through the system: a tan world with spots of reddish-brown and thin ribbons of green.

"As we observed from farther out, this is the more active of the two planets, judging from its crustal vibrations," Hakim said. "Nebuchadnezzar is very quiet, but it is definitely inhabited-if only by machines. Hare's Hare's sensors tell us, on its pa.s.s through, that there are very likely some sorts of machines within the planet. We think the machines occupy the upper crust, nothing below, and they are very efficient. They use fields to transfer substances-possibly gases, water and other cool liquids, molten rock, molten metals, solids, slurries. We cannot judge how many individual biological creatures might be served by these machines, but there are none apparent on the surface. The surface is deceptively calm. Too quiet, as a soldier or cowboy hero might have observed. Perhaps they feel a need to hide..." sensors tell us, on its pa.s.s through, that there are very likely some sorts of machines within the planet. We think the machines occupy the upper crust, nothing below, and they are very efficient. They use fields to transfer substances-possibly gases, water and other cool liquids, molten rock, molten metals, solids, slurries. We cannot judge how many individual biological creatures might be served by these machines, but there are none apparent on the surface. The surface is deceptively calm. Too quiet, as a soldier or cowboy hero might have observed. Perhaps they feel a need to hide..."

Martin shook his head. "They're not very good at hiding. If we can detect something, others can, as well."

Hakim acknowledged that, and continued. "The planet, as we noticed earlier, lacks obvious weather patterns. Its air currents are fixed and stable, a highly unnatural situation. What were once ocean basins have been empty for thousands of years, and there are no reservoirs. For the most part, except for some ancient construction activity, the entire surface seems to be abandoned desert. We conclude that the water in the old oceans was either lost through abrupt weather changes-unlikely-or sacrificed to provide volatiles across thousands of years."

"For conversion to anti em?" Martin asked.

"Perhaps," Hakim conceded. "Here is our surprise for the day. Ships much too small to have been noticed before, much too few to really be called commerce-perhaps ten ships traveling in low-energy orbits between Nebuchadnezzar and Ramses, and only one traveling outward to Herod. They all appear to be trailing radioactive particles, indicating primitive anti em drives or perhaps fusion. The ships may be trivial, toys, like..."

"Yachts in a bathtub," Stephanie Wing Feather suggested.

"Yes. If they are mere toys, then there is no longer s.p.a.cefaring commerce in the Wormwood system...none that we can detect."

"If there are any inhabitants, are they physical?" Martin asked.

"My guess is they are not. Not in discreet biological bodies, at any rate. All the moms' profiles of other worlds and their development characteristics tell us that Nebuchadnezzar and Ramses are old, perhaps a billion years older than Earth, and that their civilizations, if any remain-if there are any intelligences in control of the planetary activity-have transferred to a non-biological matrix."

"Perhaps they've fled Wormwood entirely," Paola Birdsong suggested.

"Something's going on down there," Hakim said, the merest frown crossing his brow. "If the primary civilization has abandoned Nebuchadnezzar and Ramses, they've left machines to perform some task or other."

"It doesn't make sense. If n.o.body's here, and if we destroy these worlds, what do we accomplish?" Ariel asked.

"I believe there are intelligences here," Hakim said. "There is activity-it is just very low-key. Perhaps they have been hiding for a long time, and they are simply growing lax..."

Martin pondered this for a few seconds. "We go ahead," he said. "We drop the planetary makers and doers, and if possible, we reconnoiter. Still no evidence of defenses?"

"None," Hakim said.

"And the five ma.s.ses inward from Nebuchadnezzar?"

"Still unknown," Hakim said. "We're giving them full priority now."

The system of planets around Wormwood spanned fifteen billion kilometers, the major axis of the outermost planet's...o...b..t. The Tortoise Tortoise would not resort to extreme acceleration except in an emergency, and that made the system as vast, with regards to their present flow of time, as the s.p.a.ces between the stars. It could take them years to explore, reconnoiter...Or they could do their Job and get out as best they could, to rendezvous with would not resort to extreme acceleration except in an emergency, and that made the system as vast, with regards to their present flow of time, as the s.p.a.ces between the stars. It could take them years to explore, reconnoiter...Or they could do their Job and get out as best they could, to rendezvous with Hare, Hare, and perhaps begin the new life. and perhaps begin the new life.

Martin made his quarters small and spare, just large enough to suit two comfortably. He did not request many goods, hoping to set an example for the others.

There were still tough choices to be made, but they would not be made by vote of the children. The decisions were his alone now. The judgment had been pa.s.sed; the system was condemned. But how much could they contribute to the total effort against the planet killers? How much could they learn here about the development and growth of such civilizations, about intelligences so inclined to destroy and murder?

If Wormwood contained clues to the morphology of such civilizations, Martin argued with himself that they had a duty to learn as much as they could, to help the Benefactors. That meant time, and study-and greatly increased danger.

"I'd like to speak with the War Mother," he said to his wand. A few minutes later, the War Mother appeared at the hatch to his quarters, and he asked it to enter. The black and white paint on its surface had started to flake. They might have to renew it soon.

He expressed his thoughts about exploring in a few brief sentences, and asked for advice.

"Any knowledge gathered could be most useful," the War Mother said. "Should we ever be in a situation to pa.s.s on what we learn to another Ship of the Law."

"Would it be crucial?" crucial?" Martin asked. Martin asked.

"That is impossible to judge until the knowledge is gathered."

Martin smiled wryly, wondering why he engaged in such conversations at all. As Pan, it was all up to him-to his instincts, which Martin did not trust.

He bit his lip reflectively, sucking in a lungful of cool air. If things went bad on Mars and Venus, if the solar system was (or had been) had been) attacked again and the Benefactors had lost, then the children and records of Earth contained within the Ships of the Law would be all that remained... attacked again and the Benefactors had lost, then the children and records of Earth contained within the Ships of the Law would be all that remained...

Far more than just their individual selves could be at stake. He wondered if, at some crucial moment, all Earth might scream through him, the world in his genes reaching up to his mind, the spirit of terrestrial creation demanding survival at any cost.

Martin sleeved sweat from his forehead.

I fear the ghost of Earth.

"Then we concentrate on doing the Job," he said, "and we learn what we can."