Текст книги "Anvil of Stars"

Автор книги: Грег Бир

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The pear-shaped craft opened a hatch. Within, like rope in a ship's locker, coiled three of the Brothers: red and black, cords gleaming like rich leather. They did not move at first. Then, with uncanny grace, a braid uncoiled from the mass and slid to the floor, the forward end rising and making a faint chirping noise, like summer crickets.

The second and third braids followed, and stood before the three humans separated by only a few meters of floor. Martin smelled fruity sweetness, like cheap perfume. He did not feel repugnance, or even fear; only child-like fascination, as if these were wonderful new puzzles. I like them.

The central braid coiled its rear and lifted its front end two meters above the floor. Then, in birdlike, chirping English, it said, "We we are very pleased to be With you."

Hans swallowed again, eyes wide, and said, "Welcome to the Dawn Treader. To our ship."

"Yes," said the central braid. "We we must all be curious to know. I we do not see any of females. Odd must be very odd to have two sexes when you together are thinking."

Cham grinned. Hans swallowed again. "Not so odd," he said.

"Let get closer, and touch," the Brother continued. "It is perhaps best to know what we we are."

Cham and Martin stepped forward as the central braid swayed and the other two lowered themselves to lie at full length on the floor.

"You may touch any of we us," the Brother said. "I we am speaking because this individual is most skilled this time at your language. I we will pass this along to other individuals by teaching and by giving parts of myself."

Martin bent down next to the leftmost braid and put out his hand. The cords glistened, their smooth skins finely wrinkled. Hans stood behind Martin, not stooping.

Cham touched the rightmost braid, stroked it with his palm. "It's warm," he said. "Almost hot."

Martin could feel the heat even before contact was made, like a dampered stove.

The braid shifted beneath his touch, and a cord slowly uncurled four legs, touching, scraping Martin's hand. Now he shivered; the touch was like pointed fingernails.

The smell became tangy and sweet, like wine.

"You are not touching," the central Brother said to Hans. "Touch."

Hans closed his eyes and gathered his courage. He reached out, and in a move that surprised Martin completely, wrapped his arms around the Brother and squeezed gently. The Brother wriggled beneath the pressure.

The air smelled like fresh soil.

"How do we look to you?" Hans asked, glancing up at the front end. Cords made a kind of knot there, small black eyes—four per cord—rising as the knot undid itself and the cords splayed to inspect Hans' face.

"In your visible light, you are quite interesting," the Brother said. "Like nothing familiar to we us."

"We have creatures called snakes or worms," Hans said huskily. Sweat beaded his cheeks and forehead. "You remind us of them…"

"You do not like snakes or worms? They mean harm or negatives to you?"

"I'll get over it," Hans said, looking down at Martin. "Not too bad, huh?"

"You're doing fine," Martin said.

"Thanks," Hans said, stepping back. "You fellows would be great on a cold night."

"He means," Cham said, "that to us you feel quite warm, pleasant."

"You are pleasing cool," the Brother said. "Now companions will speak. Pardon language. Lacking tongues, we we make sounds with air expelled between parts of components, and with friction on legs interior we our fore part."

"Like horns and violins," Martin said.

"I'll be damned," Hans said.

"It is true that you always are," the rightmost braid said, the tone sharp and scraping, vowels mere lapses between tones.

Martin, Cham, and Hans looked at each other, puzzled. Martin pondered if the aggregate was echoing Hans' proclamation of damnation; Cham figured out that the statement was actually a question. "I think he's asking, are we always the same person. Do our arms and legs run away when we aren't looking."

Hans grimaced. "We're always the same," he said. The central braid issued a series of cricket chirps and the air smelled of something rich and perhaps not entirely fresh. "Our bodies stay together:"

"We our guide tells us so," the middle aggregate said. "It is difficult for we us to think about."

"I understand," Hans said. "Your lifestyle… your life is difficult for us to imagine, too."

"But we we can friendly," the rightmost aggregate chirped and sang.

"Friendly we are," Hans said, smiling giddily at Martin and Cham.

"You do have no like we us?" the rightmost asked.

"Nothing like we us," the middle clarified.

"Where we… come, came from," Martin began, "colonial, aggregate creatures—beings…" He paused and took a deep breath. The three aggregates made a breathy noise as well. "Creatures made of parts existed only in simple animals and plants."

"Insects," Cham said.

"What?" Martin asked.

"Insects came together to make flowers," Cham said.

"Different," Martin said.

"Stuff it," Hans said under his breath.

"May we we see records of these colonials?" the middle asked.

"Certainly," Hans said.

"Do you regard them with disliking?" the middle asked.

"I've never met any of them, actually," Hans said. Martin admired the insouciance of the answer and hoped it wasn't lost on or misinterpreted by their new partners.

"Think in reality you are colonials, only individual is big social, society," the rightmost said.

"I think he means we're part of a social group, and that's the real individual," Cham said. "Interesting idea. Maybe we can discuss it when we know each other better."

"Do you fight each other?" the middle asked.

None of the humans answered for long seconds. Then Martin said, "Not usually, no. Do you?"

"Constituent parts may fight outside we our control," the middle aggregate said. "Do not interfere. It is normal."

Hans controlled a shiver. Martin said, "We play games, competition, to keep ourselves fit. They are a kind of fighting, but generally, nobody gets hurt."

"Components may be violent," the middle said. "No interference. It is normal. They have no minds alone."

"Make a note," Hans said to Martin facetiously. "Don't step on them."

"We we are interested how we our components react to you," the middle said.

"So are we," Hans said.

The rightmost braid touched "heads" with the middle braid and smoothly disassembled. The air smelled of vinegar and fruit. The components, fourteen of them, lay in an interwoven pile, like centipedes or snakes taught macramé. Slowly, the cords crawled apart, spreading out on the floor until they encountered the humans.

Hans' face dripped and he smelled rank. Martin felt no better.

"Shit shit shit," Cham said, but kept his place.

The cords gently nudged their feet and calves. Several cords used this opportunity to lock lengthwise and roll back and forth.

"Mating?" Hans asked.

"Dominance on their level," the middle braid responded. "It is not fighting to kill. You might call it rough play."

"Your English is wonderful," Martin said, trying to hide his fear.

"I have fine components, and am blessed with interior harmony," the middle replied.

"Congratulations," Hans said.

The two aggregates chirped and whistled-to each other. The air smelled of baking bread and sulfur.

One component advanced up Cham's pantsleg, front feelers spread wide. Martin had noticed that the feelers fit into rear invaginations when the cords locked together.

Cham could barely control his trembling.

"Our companion is not comfortable," Martin said.

"I'm fine," Cham said.

"We we anticipate distress," the middle braid said. "Must you get accustomed."

"We must," Hans said, more to Cham than in answer.

"Right," Cham said. The cord crawled up his leg to his side.

"It is not behaving violently," the middle braid reassured.

"By the way," Cham said, his voice high-pitched and shaky.

"We use names to address each other." The cord advanced around his chest, slipped, grabbed hold of the overalls material.

"You may touch it," the middle braid said.

"How do we… what names can we use for you?"

"We we have discussed," the middle said. "As each of we our aggregates learn language, they will pick names. You may call I me mine Stonemaker. Disassembled braid, when together again may be Shipmaker. Other may be Eye on Sky."

"Enjoy stars," the leftmost braid said.

"Like Hakim," Martin said.

"Your names," the middle braid requested.

"Our names are sounds, sometimes without meaning," Martin said. "I am Martin. This is Hans. And this is Cham."

"Bread and jam food," the leftmost said.

"Cham, not jam," Cham corrected.

"Martin animal," Stonemaker observed. "From word lists."

"Hands for picking up with," said Eye on Sky.

Hans smiled stiffly.

"Do you like component, Jam?" the middle braid asked Cham.

"It hurts when it grabs," Cham said. "Can you speak to them?" The cord's feelers explored his face. Cham bent his neck back as far as he could.

"No," Stonemaker said. "But we we make them assemble. Looks it enjoys humans."

"Wonderful," Cham said.

"No biting," Stonemaker observed.

"Yes, we've had some concerns… about that," Hans said. "Can they hurt us?"

"That would be distressing," Stonemaker said.

"End of aggregate whose part did wrong," Eye on Sky added.

"Wouldn't want that, would we?" Cham said. He put his hands up to stroke the cord, which had crawled lower. It had wrapped around his chest, tail under right arm, head and feelers under left, and stopped moving.

"It likes the way you smell," Martin said to reassure his crewmate.

"Very true," Stonemaker said. "To me self my you smell friendly."

They don't know us very well. We stink of fear, Martin thought.

"Good," Hans said. "If Stonemaker agrees, we'll try a larger group next. Twenty of our crew, twenty of his individuals. Then we'll combine Dawn Treaderand Journey Houseand carry on with the Job."

Stonemaker chirped and the room smelled of tea and lilac. The cord dropped abruptly from Cham's chest and landed on the floor with a hollow smack, then aligned with the other cords beside Stonemaker and reassembled. The braid reared and stretched until it touched the base of the pylon, twelve feet over their heads.

"We my components reproduced and made Shipmaker," Stonemaker said. "He is either brother or son, perhaps we we talk which sometime."

Twenty of the human crew and twenty Brothers gathered in the schoolroom. Martin could not tell the Brothers apart yet. Clicks and chirps and bowed violin speech; Rosa Sequoia, approaching and embracing a Brother; Paola Birdsong singing to another; there was a carnival atmosphere to the meeting that set Martin at ease. However strange the Brothers might seem, there was enough common ground and likable traits for both sides to demonstrate quick, almost easy friendship.

Ariel stayed close to Martin after the first ten minutes. "It's going well," she said.

"Seems to be."

"I thought it would take a while," she said.

"So did I. They haven't broken down into cords yet. Cords aren't quite as personable."

"So Cham told me. The difference between animals and people. Will that cause problems?"

Martin pushed his lips out, frowned. "Probably," he said. "I think we can adjust."

"We've been stuck with each other for so long," said Jennifer. "It's nice to have somebody new to talk to." She walked past Martin and Ariel, a Brother following closely, chattering in broken English about numbers. Martin smelled cabbage cooking and wrinkled his nose.

Giacomo played a finger-matching game with another braid. He lifted his closed hand, shook it twice, opened two fingers. The aggregate reared back, shivered with a sound like corn husks, weaved its head through a figure eight, said, "I we am wrong, wrong."

Rex Live Oak approached Martin. "Hans wants the past Pans to convene in a few minutes in his quarters."

Cham and Joe Flatworm accompanied Martin along the connecting hallways. Joe was ebullient. "Christ, they're snakes, but they're real charmers."

"Snakes charming us, is that it?" Cham asked.

"Ha ha. Much easier than I thought," Joe said. "We can work with them."

Hans seemed gloomy as they entered his quarters. They sat in a broken circle and Hans squatted to finish the loop. Rex Live Oak stood outside the circle, arms folded.

"Stonemaker and I talked a little," Hans said. "He still has the best English. I asked questions about their command structure. Here's what I've learned so far. Every few days—our days, not theirs—they create a command council by pooling cords, each braid donating two. The pooled cords make a big slicking braid called Maker of Agreement or something like that. This braid uses memories from all the cords and makes decisions. The cords take these decisions back to their braids. There's nothing like giving orders. That worries me. "

"Why?" Joe asked.

"Because it implies no flexibility. What if we're in the middle of a crisis and we have to communicate with them? I think they'll stick with what Maker of Agreement told them, no matter how things have changed… Unless they can go through the whole process again, and we can talk to Maker of Agreement directly. I couldn't get a clear answer on that."

"You think they'd do that in battle?"

Hans shrugged. "It's too early to tell, but it's never too early to worry. That's all I'm saying."

"We should find out what their disaster was like," Cham said, looking down at his crossed knees. "Where they failed."

"I'm working on it," Hans said. "Martin, you don't seem to have hit it off with any of them… Paola and a few others have made fast friends."

"I haven't made friends, either," Joe said.

"The more we bond, the faster we can learn. Like marriage," Hans said.

"And we should help them improve their English," Joe said.

"They're quick, no doubt about it," Hans said. "They may be a lot quicker than we are. But there's still a hell of a lot to learn before we can mesh with them in battle. Am I right?"

"Absolutely," Rex said from the sidelines.

"I want to find out how our ship's mind and the moms are going to integrate with Journey House'smind, whether there will still be moms, or some form acceptable to both groups…"

"The libraries have become huge," Martin said.

"Anything we can use?" Hans asked.

"Right now, it's just a big light show," Martin said. "I hope it can be translated."

Hans nodded. "I'm satisfied with our progress, for the time being. But I don't want the crew to be so ecstatic about our new friends that we lose sight of the problems."

Cham and Joe nodded. Martin fingered the cuff of his overalls leg.

"Something to add?" Hans asked, observing this fiddling.

"You're managing Rosa now," Martin said.

Hans hesitated, then nodded with a bitter expression. "I'm managing," he said. "It isn't easy, believe me."

Rex snorted. Hans looked at him with sharp disapproval, and Rex colored and backed away.

"How's Rosa going to integrate the Brothers into her world view, her… religion?" Martin asked.

"She'll find a way. She's good at that sort of thing."

"I know," Martin said. "But what you're doing is dangerous. It's a game that could backfire any day."

"Better than letting her run loose, am I right?" Hans asked.

None of the ex-Pans answered.

"Or getting rid of her," Hans said. "Of course, I'd hate to have to do that. But if worse comes to worse, there's always that possibility."

Martin's face paled. Nobody said anything for a long time, ten seconds—an impressive lull for such a conversation. "Not very smart," Joe said finally. "Making a martyr. "

"Well, shit, something will happen," Hans said. "We're facing a lot of problems more frightening than Rosa."

Hans invited Stonemaker to meet the full complement of Dawn Treader'screw, to familiarize them with a Brother, and to explain, in person, the Brothers' history, in particular their experiences with the Killers.

Hans led Stonemaker into the schoolroom, laddering toward the central star sphere. The crew watched in polite, stiff silence as the Brother undulated through his own ladder field—a cylinder—into their midst.

Martin had learned to identify Stonemaker by the color patterns of two components in his "head"—bright yellow and black stripes on the anterior portion.

"Stonemaker is a friend," Hans said, arm around the braid's neck. Smell of burnt cabbage—a sign of affection, Martin had learned, and one he hoped he would find more pleasant as time passed.

Those of the human crew who had not yet met a Brother wrinkled their noses apprehensively. To hear tales was very different from direct experience.

"We we have similar lives, memories," Stonemaker said.

The repetition of pronouns was going to be unavoidable. By linguistic and cultural convention even deeper than religion, Brother language used two personal pronouns, the first referring to an individual braid or a group of braids, the second to the braid's or the group's component cords. I we, we we. Possessives became more confused: we mine, with cords first, individual's possessive second; we our or we ours for group possessives. Other complications– this we, I we myself, we our ourselves—crept in on an unpredictable basis.

Interestingly, references to humans always relied on single pronouns. Martin hoped this did not reveal prejudice on the part of the Brothers.

"I we myself will pass on to you some of we our lives," Stonemaker said. "When we we work together, to kill those who killed we our past—" smell of something like turpentine "—we will find common thought, strength.

"We we believe we our worlds were much like your Earth and Mars."

Inside the star sphere, images of two planets, the first a rich and almost uniform green, the second half as large and yellow ochre and brown in color. "We our kind grew young first on the world you can call Leafmaker. We our time past was long, hundreds of thousands of times year." Smell of dust and warm sunlight on soil. "Your time past shorter than we ours. But we we able to travel between worlds often, as you did not. We we made young on second other planet, Drysand I we will name it. Ten thousand times years we we lived there, not making weapons, having no enemies.

"Killers come to we us as friends, smelling we our innocent radiation. Killers come as long friends made of jointed parts."

Stonemaker projected an image of a collection of shining spheres beaded together, a giant chromium caterpillar. Martin was instantly reminded of the Australian robots, shmoos they had been named; these might have been variations on the same form. "Long friends like machines for you, but living, alive within. They tell of wide places beyond, full of interest, that we we are invited to join, to learn, and then we we smell we our world is sick with weapons, it is dying. We we make power-filled ships, leave our kind to die. We we can't travel between suns, but leave anyway, and watch we our worlds be eaten, made into millions of killer machines. Then come the ones you name Benefactors, and there is a war. We our worlds are gone, only a few alive, but we we are taken in by Benefactors, and removed from the war, to seek Killers. This is short version; long when library smells good to you.

"We our weakness comes when we find suns and worlds infested by Killers, too late to save, hundreds of times year past. We we are caught in this tide, Journey House, and many die, Journey Houseis damaged. Hundreds of times year past. We we flee." Smell of turpentine.

Martin saw tears on the cheeks of both Wendys and Lost Boys.

"We we hear there is another Lawship." Smell of lilac and baking bread. "Hear we we will join and work with others not smelling of our own, singles not manyness. We we are fearful, for singleness is strange, manyness is accepted. I we am proud both can grow together, fight together. We we are all manyness, all aggregate, group brave, group strong."

Stonemaker, Martin thought, had the makings of a good politician.

"We our Lawship is watched over by machines. They are long and flexible like ourselves, but I we mink they are the same as your machines. Ships' libraries will join and we will teach each other to smell, to read, to see.

"Our ships will be one ship, manyness made one, group strong, group brave." Smell of cooked cabbage, not burnt. "We all selves will wait in one space while ships aggregate, " Stone-maker concluded.

The human crew rustled uneasily. Martin heard whispers of assurance from the familiarized, and saw nudges of encouragement. Not so bad. Wait and see.

Rosa stepped forward and raised her arms. Martin wanted to turn away, embarrassed for her, for all of them.

"They are truly our brothers," Rosa said. "Together, we'll be doubly strong."

Hans put his arm around Rosa, smiled, and said, "We're grouping here in the schoolroom. It's big enough to hold us all. The Dawn Treadercan make food for the Brothers. We'll stay here, all of us, and all of the Brothers, until the ships have joined."

No grumbling from the crew. Martin sensed an electric anticipation that had only the slightest tinge of fear.

Joe stood by Martin as they awaited the arrival of the full complement of Brothers. "We keep using the masculine pronoun for them," he observed. "Is that justified?"

"No," Martin said. "But they are Brothers, aren't they?"

Joe gave him a quizzical look, one eye squeezed shut. "Martin, you're getting a bit…" He waggled his hand. "Cynical. Am I wrong?"

Martin zipped his lips with a finger.

"The comment Hans made about Rosa…"

Martin looked meaningfully at the crew a few paces away.

Though he had spoken in an undertone, Joe sighed and said no more.

Fifty Brothers, seventy-five Lost Boys and Wendys, for the time being separated, with a star sphere in the middle of the schoolroom, showing the ships already joined bow to stern, like mating insects:

The air smelling of cabbage and lilacs and all manner of unidentifiables:

The moms and the Brothers' robots, quickly called snake mothers, two of each in the schoolroom, the moms bulbous like copper kachina dolls, the others resembling flexible bronze serpents two meters long and half a meter thick in the middle, biding their time:

The schoolroom sealed off with an exterior sigh of equalizing pressure:

Martin: We've been through this before. This is not new.

Hakim saying to him: "I am learning to interpret their astronomy. Jennifer says they have marvelous mathematics. What a wealth, Martin!" Hakim is overjoyed:

Ariel not coming very close to him, keeping a fixed distance, watching him when he is not looking at her:

Have I truly gotten cynical, or am I just terrified? We are such a dry forest, any spark, any change—

Sounds throughout the ships, silence among the humans, and no smells now, the air swept clean of communications, the equivalent of Brotherly silence, and vibrations under their feet.

Rosa stood strong and quiet near the star sphere in a theatrical attitude of prayer.

One of the Brothers quietly broke down into cords. The cords seemed stunned and simply twitched, feelers extended, searching, claw-legs scratching the floor. Other braids quickly moved to gather the cords into small sacks carried in packs strapped around their upper halves.

Chirps and strings of comment; smells of turpentine and bananas. The cords struggled and clicked in the sacks.

"Fear?" Ariel asked Martin, moving closer.

"I've never seen the cliche brought to life before," Martin murmured.

She raised an eyebrow.

" 'Falling apart,' " he said.

She raised the other eyebrow, shook her head. Then she chuckled. Martin could not remember having heard her chuckle before; laughing, smiling, never anything between.

"Not a very good joke," he said.

"I didn't say it was," Ariel replied, still smiling. The smile flicked off when he didn't return it; she looked away, smoothing her overalls. "I'm not asking for anything, Martin," she said softly.

"Sorry," he said, suddenly guilty.

"I haven't changed," she continued, face red. "When you were Pan, I said what I thought you needed to hear."

"I understand," he said.

"The hell you do," Ariel concluded, pushing her way to the opposite side of the group of humans.

Another braid disintegrated. Hakim bent over a straying cord. A Brother clicked and swooped down to grab the cord, head splaying, extended clawed tail sections from two of its own cords closing on the stray. He paused with the limp cord hanging just under his head, then said, "Private."

"Don't mess with them," Hans warned Hakim. "We've got a lot more to learn about each other."

"Merging begins," a mom said, moving to the center, near the star sphere. Martin looked at the sphere intently, watching the two ships melt into each other, impressed despite himself by the Benefactors' capabilities.

The snake mothers chirped, sang, and released odors. Martin's head swam with the tension and the welter of scents; more bananas, resinous sweetness, faint odor of decay, cabbage again. Snake mother voices like a high-pitched miniature string orchestra, braids responding; stray cords mostly grabbed and bagged, the last few pulled from the air by Brothers coiling like millipedes in water.

So damned strange, Martin thought, feeling the hysteria of creeping exhaustion. It's too much. I want it to be over.

But he floated in place, one hand clinging to a personal ladder field, eyes blinking, head throbbing, saying nothing. Hakim also clung to a ladder, eyes closed, as if trying to sleep. Actually, that was sensible. Martin closed his eyes.

Giacomo patted his shoulder. Eyes flicking open, disoriented by actually having slept—for how long? seconds? minutes?—Martin turned to Giacomo and saw Jennifer behind him.

"Completion of merger in five minutes," the mom announced, its voice sounding far away.

"We can't wait to get into their math and physics," Giacomo said, round face moist with tired excitement. Humans were adding their own smells to the schoolroom, now seeming much too small with two populations. "Jennifer's spoken to their leader—if Stonemaker is their leader."

"Spokesnake," Jennifer said, giggling, punchy.

"Some fantastic things. Their math lacks integers!"

"As far as we can tell," Jennifer added.

"They don't use whole numbers at all. Only smears, they call them."

Martin's interest could hardly have been less now, but he listened, too tired to evade them.

"I think they regard integers, even rational fractions, as aberrations. They love irrationals, the perfect smears. I can't wait to see what that means for their math." Giacomo saw Martin's look of patent disinterest, and sobered. "Sorry," he said.

"I'm very tired," Martin said. "That's all. Aren't you tired?"

"Dead tired," Jennifer said, giggling again. "Smears! Jesus, that's incredible. I may never make sense out of it."

Martin smelled lilacs; dreamed of his grandmother's face powder, drifting through the air in her small bathroom like snow, spotting her throw rug beneath the sink. In the dream, he lay down on the rug, curled up, and closed his eyes.

When he awoke, the schoolroom was quiet but for a few whispered conversations. Hakim slept nearby; Giacomo and Jennifer lay curled together an arm's reach in front of Martin. Joe Flatworm slept in a lotus, anchored to a ladder field. The moms and snake mothers floated inactive.

The Brothers had all disintegrated. Cords hung from ladder fields like socks on a neon clothes net.

Cham was awake. Martin asked him, "Is that how they sleep?"

"Beats me," Cham said.

"Where's Hans?"

"Other side of the schoolroom," Cham said. "Asleep with Rosa holding his head."

Martin turned to the star sphere and saw for the first time their new ship, the merger largely completed. He judged it to be perhaps as big as the original Dawn Treader, with three home-balls again; but this time the aft homeball was larger than the others. There were no obvious tanks of reserve fuel; Martin assumed the fuel must now be stored in the aft homeball. That might reflect a design improvement; the more he saw, the more he was convinced that the Brothers' Ship of the Law was a later model, with major differences in equipment, tactics, perhaps even general strategy.

"I wonder if they dream?" Cham asked.

"They're allasleep?" Martin stretched out, peering between the fields and sleeping bodies. He could see no intact braids, only cords.

"Wonder if they ever get confused and end up with parts of each other? It's scary, how much we're going to have to learn."

Deceleration began. Up and down returned to the Ship of the Law; humans and Brothers explored the new order of things. The quarters were divided into human and Brother sectors in the first two homeballs. A buffer of empty quarters and shared hallways gave cords spaces in which to hide and conduct their private, instinctive affairs. Provisions were made for human capture of straying cords; boxes mounted in well-traveled halls were filled with specially scented bags (tea and cabbage odors) with which to sedate and carry any cords they might find in human quarters.

Some practise sessions were arranged; Martin learned where to pick up a cord, before and after it had been covered with a scented bag. The best place to hold a cord was along the smooth, leathery body forward of the claw legs and behind the feelers. The cord mouth parts opened ventrally just to the rear of the feelers. The only danger—as yet untested—was that a cord, away from its fellows, might defend itself if the pick-up and bagging ritual was not properly observed. It might then nip or chew on a human, and certain alkaloids in its saliva might cause a toxic reaction, perhaps no more severe than a rash, perhaps worse, so why take chances?

What the humans learned soon enough was that the Brothers' diet was simple. They ate a cultivated broth of small green and purple organisms, resembling aquatic worms, neither plants nor animals. These organisms—Stonemaker suggested they might be called noodles—grew under bright lights; they could move freely within their liquid-filled containers, but derived most of their nutrients from simple chemicals. At one stage in their growth, they ate each other, and the remains of their feasts contributed substantially to the broth.

Brothers always ate disassembled, the cords gathering around the vats like snakes around bowls of milk. While the cords dined, two or more braids watched over the diners.