Anvil Of Stars Part 8

"Somebody's going to scream at you that you questioned the moms," Cham said.

"They'll find some reason to scream, no matter what," Joe said.

Theresa stood with arms outstretched under revolving spheres of sunbright light. She kept her room small and tidy, a scholar's room she had once called it, and Martin liked the style, although it differed completely from his large, messy sprawl. He stood in the open hatch before announcing himself, pleased just to be near her.

"h.e.l.lo," she said. She came forward and he hugged her, nuzzling her neck. His response was not immediate; he felt a sour burn in the deep of his stomach.

"It wasn't so bad," she said. He lowered himself to his knees and she combed his hair with her fingers while he kissed her navel and belly. "The first drill, I mean."

"It was awful," Martin said. He pressed his cheek against the warmth of her stomach, chin nuzzling curled hair. "I'm going to speak with Hans now, and then I'm going to the moms." He stood, head bowed, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"No time?" she asked, teasing him with her fingers, rubbing the overalled cleft between his b.u.t.tocks. She pressed his coccyx. "I'm sorry," she said, still touching him. "Not making it any easier."

"No," he said, sighing. "Are you going to a Wendy party this evening?"

"There is one," she said. "I'd like to. I'll stay for you."

"I won't be done until then, I think," Martin said. "But we've been together so much, I don't want to wear you out."

"Do I act worn out?" she asked, lip-tugging the tip of his nose.

Martin bowed awkwardly and curled his face into her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and felt for the nipples. Lip-tugged and suckled. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were small and firm-looking, yet still soft to his touch. He thought about other Lost Boys touching her, felt vaguely neutral for an instant, realized he did not like that thought, bit her gently to emphasize his presence. "I don't want to bore you," he said.

"Do I act bored?"

She held on to his shoulders, wrapped her legs around his hips and moved her pubis against him. His erection was quick despite the distractions and he pushed her back to the pad.

"Don't ruin me," he said.

"Touch touch," she said, "then you can go."

He touched each thigh with two fingers on his left hand, lifted her easily to his lips, tongued her lightly. Then he let her go and Theresa slid to the floor.

"Delicious," he said. "After the party?"

"Sleep here."

"Pans sleep in quarters where they can be found."

"Set their wands. They'll know."

Martin had always been shy of announcing the obvious. "Maybe," he said.

Theresa turned back to the revolving lights. For a moment he thought she might have completely forgotten him, so swift and decisive was her motion; as if he were easily dismissed. But she smiled and said, "Go now. Come back when we both have time."

Martin hesitated by the door, then pa.s.sed through, walked down the hall, found a main shaft and laddered outward to the level where he would meet with Hans.

Hans was seldom in his quarters. He slept where exhaustion took him; he slept rarely, some said, exercising or researching for several days before finally collapsing in a corridor in a makeshift bed he carried in the backpack that was always with him.

Martin found him in the swim room. The water lay slowly rippling on the floor now. Hans lay back in the water up to his neck, pushing it toward one wall with broad sweeps of both arms. The water bounced from the wall and washed over his head, bounced from the rear wall and bobbed him up gently as he swam toward the edge of the pool.

Martin watched the water's behavior for a moment as if it were completely unfamiliar. Hans stepped out and toweled off. He finished by tousling his short blond hair. It stood up in insolent spikes.

"The past Pans think we should confront the moms and ask for full disclosure," Martin told him.

"Do what Ariel wants?" Hans asked.

"I suppose."

"Poor Martin," Hans said, chuckling. "What a grind."

"Don't worry about Ariel," Martin said, irritated.

Hans pasted the towel on the wall to dry, flinging it up so that it spun flat and its wetness made it stick, and when it started to slip down, deftly pinned it with a ladder field. Even in full g, Hans was incredibly skillful in subtle physical acts; he had the best control of any of the children. On Earth, he might have become an acrobat.

"Any suggestions how I go about it?" Martin asked.

"Spring it on the moms at a tenday conference," Hans said. "Unless they're listening and already know. In which case, they ignore us, or they do something."

"The moms don't eavesdrop."

Hans made a face but did not accuse Martin of naivete.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it, they don't don't," Martin said. "They have no reason to."

Hans put on his overalls, his face slightly pink at Martin's tone. "If you say so, brother," he said tightly. "I just think they'd want to keep track of everything we do. Zookeepers and all that. They're responsible for us-or at least responsible for seeing that we get our Job done, according to the Law, and if I I were them, dealing with a bunch of Wendys and Lost Boys, I'd sure as h.e.l.l want to keep tabs on us." were them, dealing with a bunch of Wendys and Lost Boys, I'd sure as h.e.l.l want to keep tabs on us."

Martin stood back as Hans walked by. Hans lifted his arms, shook his head. "But you you believe them, that's okay." believe them, that's okay."

Martin was speechless. "Has everybody on this ship gone flat cynical?" he asked.

Hans turned on him swiftly, pointing a finger. "Everybody feels bad and confused. What if we slick this whole Job? Who's to blame? You're Pan."

Martin said, without hesitation, "I am."

Hans stared, then grinned. "We are the leaders, brother. You and me. Maybe they'll cook us and eat us. The children, I mean, not the moms. But h.e.l.l, I think it's a good idea we ask for...full disclosure, is it? I call it full partnership. My father was a businessman. Sold cars. I remember him talking about confidence and trust. He said he had to believe what he was doing was good for the customer, that they were actually partners, or he couldn't convince them. Even if he didn't tell the truth, he had to think think he was while he was selling...I was ten. The Benefactors didn't think he deserved to..." He lifted his eyes and didn't finish. "Let's go for it." he was while he was selling...I was ten. The Benefactors didn't think he deserved to..." He lifted his eyes and didn't finish. "Let's go for it."

Martin put a finger to his cheek and rubbed gently at the light bristle there. He hadn't shaved in two days; still not much of a beard.

"Together," Hans said. "More impact that way."

"Not together," Martin said.

"Why not?" Hans appeared puzzled.

"Because I'm Pan," Martin said, looking away from him.

Hans rubbed his nose. "Better you than me, brother."

Martin sat alone in his cubicle within the darkened quarters, wand in hand, concentrating. What were were their limits? How much had they been told, and how much had they simply neglected to ask? It was time to find out, before he went to the moms and made a fool of himself. their limits? How much had they been told, and how much had they simply neglected to ask? It was time to find out, before he went to the moms and made a fool of himself.

"Strategy discussions," Martin told the wand. A list of possible topics floated in the air before his face and he picked two: Armor and Deception in Deep s.p.a.ce Warfare, Armor and Deception in Deep s.p.a.ce Warfare, and and Galactic Ecology and Galactic Defense Strategy. Galactic Ecology and Galactic Defense Strategy. He had studied both topics before; nearly all the children had. Theodore had recorded some useful glosses. But no one, to his knowledge, had actively pursued the question of where these literary and visual productions had originated. He had studied both topics before; nearly all the children had. Theodore had recorded some useful glosses. But no one, to his knowledge, had actively pursued the question of where these literary and visual productions had originated.

Martin asked, "Authors and sources, please."

The wand projected: Authors and sources not relevant. Authors and sources not relevant.

"I'd like to know anyway. As Pan. As leader for the children."

Authors and sources: Translations and reinterpretations of materials devised by civilizations signatory to the Law.

"More details, please. Which civilizations? When?"

Not relevant.

"I'm demanding the answer, not asking for it," Martin said, still calm, but understanding even more Ariel's frustration. He had never tried this before; in his ignorance he had been content not to upset his preconceptions.

The basic texts and corresponding sensory additions were created three thousand four hundred years ago. A single civilization was responsible for the primary sources; other civilizations added to them, and adapted them. Names of the actual authors of the primal texts are not known.

"What was the first civilization like?"

Martin had asked for details about a good many civilizations, and had always been curious about the general nature of the answers, but not so curious as to seem disrespectful. Now it had been made his duty.

The originating civilization was severely damaged in a conflict involving offshoot s.p.a.cefaring relations.

"Offshoots? You mean, its own colonies? Detail, please." Martin tensed his jaw muscles as he waited for a reply.

Yes, its own colonies. Further details are not known to this source.

He had never pushed so far, and therefore, never received such an answer.

"Open another source, then," Martin said, taking a wild chance. "Another library or whatever."

Please refer to the moms.

"I'm asking now," Martin said. "These facts are important to us. We need psychological insight."

Details of civilizations partic.i.p.ating in the Law are not relevant to your Job.

"I say they are," Martin pursued, his voice rising. "I am Pan."

Please refer to the moms.

There it was, then. The wall Ariel and others had doubtless. .h.i.t. Martin could see why the moms were secretive about some things; the civilizations signatory to the Law could easily imagine another round of death and destruction if their whereabouts and the details of their defenses were known.

Earth had been an easy target because of innocent radiation of energy into s.p.a.ce, its baby-bird cheeping in the unprotected tree branch of the solar system.

Martin felt a weary sadness, an echo of all the sadness he had known since Earth's death. Was there ever a point in the scale of galactic civilizations when strangers could trust each other? Did civilizations ever develop sufficient scruples that not one of them would think of creating machines of ma.s.s destruction?

Perhaps; but humans were certainly not on that level.

Martin's reading of human history easily led him to imagine planet-destroying probes created by his people, and turned against others. And if he he could imagine it, the moms could imagine it as well. could imagine it, the moms could imagine it as well.

What sort of equality could exist between children and Benefactors under those circ.u.mstances?

Martin waited in the empty schoolroom, uneasy, a tic in his left eye, simple nerves. He stood near the sphere. The stars appeared normal now, and the sphere was offering an unaltered view in the direction of Wormwood, which he could make out even without help as a slightly brighter spot of light among the myriads. Brighter still was the red burn of Behemoth. Leviathan was not visible from this angle.

The War Mother entered.

"h.e.l.lo, Martin," it said. "How are the children?"

"Fine, physically. A few social problems. Some aren't meshing perfectly." He always seemed to optimize the situation, making it sound better than he actually thought it was. Was this part of what Ariel might have called toadying toadying to the moms? to the moms?

"Have you developed plans for further training?"

He swallowed. "No," he said. "We feel stymied."

"Why?"

"We can't do the Job without knowing what might be waiting for us down there."

"All the information you need is being provided as we receive it."

"I mean background," Martin said. "Information about other civilizations, other incidents-how the strategies were created, how we can adapt them to suit our needs...I mean, to adapt them, we have to..."He swallowed again. For a Pan, he was not showing much fort.i.tude. "You have to trust us with all your information. We're calling for full disclosure."

To Martin's surprise and concern, the War Mother did not speak for several long seconds. "The information provided should be adequate," it finally answered.

"We're being asked to show independent thought, to devise our own strategies...and the libraries aren't detailed. How did others fight against the planet-wreckers? How did your your builders fight them?" builders fight them?"

More seconds of silence. Surely it did not need so much time to compute or think of an answer.

"Your requests cannot be met," the War Mother said. "The information you require is dangerous."

Martin was astonished by the word "dangerous." "That doesn't make sense," he said.

"Cooperation was required to build the Ships of the Law. To encourage the cooperation of many civilizations and beings, certain precautions were necessary, among them, that security would be maintained. Ships of the Law might be captured, and their information used to seek out and harm those who built the ships."

Martin had never thought of being captured captured; it had seemed, from the very beginning, that at least the children were safe, traveling in a Ship of the Law, the ultimate power, the belated victor of the war that had destroyed Earth. But of course that was not a war-just a battle. Probably an unimportant battle, at that. But of course that was not a war-just a battle. Probably an unimportant battle, at that.

Martin was not about to budge. "We need to have all your information shared with us."

"Surely you hope to survive this mission," the War Mother said.

"Of course."

"Martin, if your brothers and sisters survive, you, too, could be dangerous. If you are given such information, you also might seek the builders of these instruments."

Martin swallowed hard. "We cannot create strategies out of nothing. I've asked questions that need need to be answered, and received no answers." to be answered, and received no answers."