Текст книги "Anvil of Stars"

Автор книги: Грег Бир

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"I suppose we're growing up, more mature. There's less upset… not as much squabbling about sexual stuff. Fewer arguments and noise. I talked about this last tenday."

"These are all expected events."

"Well, they're still significant," Martin said, irritated by the mom's attitude, or non-attitude. "I'm trying to use this… calmness, whatever, to help us focus on the training. It's working, a little, anyway. We're doing better in the trials. But there's still grumbling about how well informed we are. I'd like to suggest fuller participation. I've suggested that before."

"Yes," the mom said.

"That's about it. Nothing spectacular."

"I see no signs of major trouble. You are doing well."

With a characteristic lack of the minutiae of social grace, the mom glided from the schoolroom along its own unseen ladder field.

Martin puffed his cheeks, blew out a breath, and turned to leave, then spotted Hakim Hadj in the doorway below.

Hakim moved aside for the mom's passage and spread his ladder to where Martin waited by the star sphere.

"Hello, Pan Martin," Hakim said. He climbed to within a couple of meters of Martin and assumed a floating lotus. "How are you today?"

"As usual," Martin said. He bit his lower lip and gestured at the door with an unenthused hand. "The usual friendly brick wall."

"Ah yes." Leader of the search team, Hakim was shorter than Martin by seven or eight centimeters, with smooth brown skin, a thin sharp nose, and large confident eyes black as onyx. He spoke English with a strong hint of Oxford, where his father had gone to school.

To see Hakim blink was a wonder; his face conveyed centuries of equanimity in the midst of strife, his lips composed a genial and unjudging line. "I am glad to hear it."

He had taught Martin Arabic a few years before, enough for him to read Arabic children's books from the libraries, but the lingua franca of the Dawn Treaderwas English, as it had been aboard the Central Ark, Earth's death having frozen the American moment in history.

"The search team may have a suspect," Hakim said. "I would like to present the evidence to you, and then to the moms. If you do not agree, we will keep our thoughts from the moms until better evidence comes along." Hakim was usually cautious and taciturn to a fault about the search team's work.

Martin arranged himself in a less graceful lotus before him. "I just gave my tenday report…"

Hakim apologized. "We cannot be certain enough to render final judgment—but there is sufficient evidence that we believe the ship should send out remotes…" He caught himself, apologized again, and said, "But that is your decision, Martin."

Martin said, "No offense taken, Hakim."

"I am glad. We have found a stellar group of three stars less than a light-year from our present position. The spectra of the two contain a mix of trace radioactive elements and rare earths in proportions similar to those in the remains of the captured killer machines."

Hakim presented the facts for Martin with his wand; they appeared to float before him, or he among them, words and images and icons and charts, a visual language created by the moms. Martin had become used to this method of teaching on the Ark; now he took it in stride.

At the center of the displays hung diagrams of three stellar systems. Figures surrounding the diagrams told him that these stars were no more than a trillion kilometers from each other.

The moms used stellar classifications based on mass, diameter, luminosity, age, and percentages of "metals," elements heavier than hydrogen and helium. Martin was more used to this scale than the one that would have been familiar to his father. The children had converted some of the moms' technical terms to more informal language: Thus, the closest star was a Buttercup Seven, about nine tenths the mass and diameter of Sol, bright yellow, relatively high in metals. The second closest was a Cornflower Two, one and a half times Sol's mass, with a lower percentage of metals. The third star in the group was an aging Firestorm Three, a brilliant bloated red giant. The Buttercup Seven had four planets, two of them peculiar, diminished gas giants.

Hakim noticed his interest in these worlds. "They are substantially smaller than might be expected—evidence of gas mining, perhaps," he said.

Martin frowned. Tough to refuel the Ship of the Law in a system that had already been tapped out by an old civilization.

Two rocky planets hugged close to the Buttercup Seven. In addition, there were several—perhaps as many as five—invisible bodies close to the star. Together, they might have added up to the mass of Earth's moon.

The Cornflower Two, a pale yellow giant, had ten planets, two of them apparent gas giants. The Firestorm Three was surrounded only by small rubble; at some ninety million kilometers in diameter, it could have swallowed several planets when it ballooned.

Numbers flickered in and out of his awareness; his eyes shifted around the display, picking out what he needed to know.

Martin examined the intrinsic spectra of the stars. There were intriguing diffraction patterns, unnatural ratios of infra-red versus other frequencies. A technological civilization had been at work around at least two of the stars, the Buttercup and the Cornflower.

"How long ago did the Firestorm balloon?" he asked.

"We estimate five thousand years," Hakim said.

"Did they armor?"

"The civilization around the Buttercup apparently armored. We have no direct evidence yet for the Cornflower."

"But they haven't built an all-absorbing envelope…"

"No," Hakim agreed. An envelope around each star—a Dyson construct of multiple orbiting structures surrounding the star in many layers—would have reduced the stellar images to heat-waste, dull infra-red only. Martin checked the information available on the interstellar particle fluxes surrounding the stars—the stellar winds—and felt a tickle of apprehension.

The Ship of the Law was one point eight trillion kilometers from the nearest, the Buttercup. Martin reached out to touch a glowing geometric shape pulsing slowly next to the star images. The shape unfolded like a flower into a series of pentagonal petals. He touched the petals in sequence until he had the information he desired. "The Buttercup may have large structures in orbit, besides these five dark masses. You think that's sign of armoring?"

Hakim nodded. Martin summoned and inspected occultations, spectrum variability, brightness fluctuations. He called up absorption spectra for the stellar atmosphere, outer stellar envelope and "wind" of particles, and planetary atmospheres.

The Ship of the Law had not sent out its remotes, and the information he received obviously came from angles and distances not their own.

"I have obtained this additional information from the moms, three months ago," Hakim said, as if reading his thoughts. "They've kept watch on this group for a long time. Perhaps thousands of years."

The Benefactor machines that had destroyed the Killers around Sol had collected a fragment of a killer probe and analyzed its composition, checking for minute traces of radioactive elements and proportions of other elements. Martin thought it likely the Benefactor machines knew the characteristics of populations of stars for thousands of light years around Sol, and had sent the Dawn Treaderin a direction likely to encounter stars matching the suspected origins of the killer probes. Perhaps the moms know even more…

Martin suddenly didn't like being alone with Hakim in the schoolroom, talking about such things. He wanted the others to share his responsibility and back his conclusions. He wanted a mom present. "How about the assay?" he asked, swallowing too noisily.

"You can refer to it."

He flushed, touched another shape marked with a spinning atom symbol, and it blossomed. The comparison between the probe's composition and the Buttercup's stellar spectra and estimated planetary makeup was close. The killer machines couldhave been manufactured in this system.

Additional information came up beneath his questing fingers. Four other inhabited worlds within two hundred and ninety light years of the group had been attacked and transformed by killer probes, all within the past thousand years. There were one million three hundred thousand stars within this radius, or roughly one star for every seventy-eight and a half cubic light years. Four civilizations had been murdered, five including the Earth; only two besides the Earth had left any survivors.

And where are those survivors? On other Ships of the Law?

The four victim stars lay within a hypothetical sphere determined by the density of stars within the possible paths of killer probes, and complex analyses of how often those probes would reproduce, and how quickly they would saturate such a sphere. The center of the sphere was within two light years of this group of three, Buttercup, Cornflower, Firestorm.

Hakim had been through this material already, and with growing excitement, embellished details he thought might not be obvious.

"All right," Martin said. His hand shook. He controlled it. "It seems… interesting."

Hakim smiled and nodded once, then watched intently while Martin perused the data again.

On Earth, Martin's father had compared the attempt to destroy killer probes to the murder of Captain Cook by distrustful Hawaiians. To the islanders, Cook had been the powerful representative of a more technologically advanced civilization.

If Earth's Killers lived around one or more of these stars, the Ship of the Law would be up against a civilization so advanced that it controlled two or perhaps even three star systems, commanding the flux of an entire star, perhaps even capable of armoring that star against the expansion of a red giant.

If this was the home of Earth's Killers, the children's task would be much more difficult than just killing Captain Cook.

Such adversaries could be as far beyond human intellect as Martin had been beyond his dog Gauge, long dead, powder and ashes around distant Sol.

"The assay match is… I won't say unique," Hakim said softly as Martin's thoughtful silence lengthened. "Other stars in this portion of the spiral arm might share it, having come from the same segment of old supernova cloud. But it's very close. Did you see the potassium-argon ratios? The indium concentrations?"

Martin nodded, then lifted his head and said, "It does look good, Hakim. Fine work."

"Tough decision, first time," Hakim said, awaiting his reaction.

"I know," Martin said. "We'll take it to the children first, then to the moms."

Hakim sighed and smiled. "So it is."

The call went out to all the wands, and the children gathered in clusters, a full meeting, the first in Martin's six months as Pan.

A few glued on to Martin's trail as he laddered forward to the first homeball. Three cats and four parrots joined as well, using the children's ladders to scramble after them into the schoolroom.

George Dempsey, a plump boy of nineteen from the Athletes family, came close to Martin and beamed a smile. Dempsey read muscles and expressions better than most of his fellows. "Good news?"

"We may have a candidate," Martin said.

"Something new and startling, not a drill?" asked small, mouse-like Ginny Chocolate, of the Food family. She spoke twenty Earth languages and claimed she understood the moms better than any of them. Ginny cradled a tabby in her arms. It watched Martin with beautiful jade eyes and meowed silently.

"A high-tech civ," Martin said. "Search team has a presentation." Ginny spun on her tummy axis and kicked from a conduit, flying ahead of him, towing the relaxed cat by its tail. She did not make much speed, deliberately choosing a low-traction ladder field, and the rest quickly caught up, dancing, bouncing, climbing, putting on overalls and stuffing other clothes into knapsacks.

"We're the lucky ones, hm?" Hans Eagle asked him as they matched course in the first neck. Hans served as Christopher Robin, second in command. Martin had chosen Hans because the children responded well to his instructions. Hans was strong, well liked, and kept a reserve Martin found intriguing.

"We'll see," Martin said.

By the specified time, there were eighty in the schoolroom, two missing. Martin summoned faces quickly and sorted through names, then spoke into his wand, to connect with their wands and remind them of the summons: "William Arrow Feather, Erin Eire." He had seen neither of them in the wormspaces. He felt a pang of guilt and wondered what William was doing, ignoring his wand summons; that was uncharacteristic. Because of me?

Rosa was present, bulky, red hair in tangles, large arms and fists. She was almost as tall as Hans.

Theresa was there, as well, hiding in the middle ranks, short black hair and small, strong frame immediately drawing Martin's eye. The sight of her made him feel hollow in his chest.

How long had it been since he last saw her? Barely seven hours… Yet she was discreet, expressionless but for a slight widening of the eyes when he looked directly at her. She did not show any sign of the passion they had shared.

Others in the crowd Martin hadn't seen in weeks.

Each carried the brand of dead Earth in memory; all had seen Earth die, that hours-long agony of incandescence and orbiting debris. Some had been only four or five years old; their memories were expressed more often in nightmares than in conscious remembrance. Marty had been nine.

This was the Job and they all took it seriously.

Martin called Hakim forward. Hakim used his wand to display the group of three close stars and what information they had. He concluded with the analysis of planet deaths near the group.

"We have to make a decision to launch remotes," Martin said. "We can gather a lot more information with a wide baseline. We also become a little more conspicuous. Our first decision is whether to take the risk now…"

"The moms should let us know what they think," Ariel Hawthorn said from across the schoolroom. "We're still not being told everything. We can't make final decisions before we know…" Ariel Hawthorn did not appear to like Martin; Martin assumed she did not like any of the Lost Boys, but he knew very little about her sexual tastes. She was irritable and opinionated; she was also smart.

"We shouldn't waste time on that now," Martin said.

"If we're going to make a decision that involves risk, we can't afford to be wrong," Ariel pursued.

Martin hid his exasperation. "Let's not—"

"You're only going to be Pan this watch," Ariel said sharply. "The next Pan should have a say, as well."

"If we make the judging on this watch, Martin will be Pan until we finish the Job," Hans reminded her.

Ariel shot a withering look at Hans. "We should select a new Pan to lead us into the Job," she said. "That should be our right."

"That's not procedure. We're wasting time," Hans said softly.

"Fuck you, Farley!" Ariel exploded.

"Out," Martin said. "Need a Wendy to second the motion."

"Second," said Paola Birdsong, lifting large calm eyes.

"One hour in the wormspaces," Martin said.

Ariel shrugged, stretched with a staccato popping of joints, and climbed out of the schoolroom.

"You'll talk with her after, won't you?" Paola asked softly, not pushing.

Martin did not answer for a moment, ashamed. Pans should be calm, should never discipline out of anger. "I'll tell her what we decide," he said.

"She has to decide, too. If it's a close vote, you'll ask her for her opinion, won't you?"

"Of course," Martin said. He did not think it was going to be a close vote. They were all impatient; this was a strong suspect.

"You'll work out your differences, won't you?" Paola pursued. "Because you're Pan now. You can't be out with her. That cuts."

"I'll talk," Martin said. He lifted the wand again. "We know enough to decide whether to release remotes. We can do the figuring ourselves. And I think we should all do it now."

The math was complex and did not guarantee an absolute answer. The possibility of detection when they issued the remotes—very slight at this distance—had to be weighed against the probability that this group contained the star or stars they were looking for.

Martin closed his eyes and ran through the figures yet again, using the techniques the moms had taught him, harnessing their inborn ability to judge distances and speeds, algorithms normally not accessible to the intellect, but far more powerful than higher, conscious calculation. The children had decided to call the new techniques momerath, suggested by Lewis Carroll and, some claimed, short for Mom's Arithmetic Math.

Martin blanked all thoughts and fell into contemplation of a convergence of spaces and planes, saddles and hills, balls rolling across territories and joining in colored pools.

What Martin visualized when he had finished his momerath, almost as clearly as if his wand projected it, was the group of three stars and a synoptic of the most important local stars. Systems that had been exploited by outside visitors flashed bright red; systems that had probably been explored, but not altered, flashed hot pink; systems showing no signs of external interference flashed green. Ships of the Law did not show up in the mental picture. They never did; the moms could not know where they were.

The children finished their momerath within minutes of each other. Jennifer Hyacinth and Giacomo Sicilia opened their eyes and glanced at Martin first. They were the sharpest at momerath, or any kinds of math and physics theory. They were followed by Stephanie Wing Feather, Harpal Timechaser, Cham Shark, Hans Eagle, and then the others. The last was Rosa Sequoia, but she did complete the work.

Five had difficulty and said, "Not clear." That was normal; they would not participate in the voting.

Hans as Christopher Robin did the counting as each raised two hands or none. He made a quick recount, and everyone lowered their hands.

"Fifty-two aye, twenty-two nay, five outs, three not present," Hans reported. "Pan calls it now."

"This is our first decision," Martin said. "I'll ask the moms to release the remotes. If the stars still look suspect, our next decision will be whether to go in closer, whether to enter the systems…" Some children stretched and groaned. They saw a long, boring process, rather than quick action. "We have to be sure. If we go into a—"

"We know," Paola Birdsong said. They knew it all by heart. If we go into a civilized stellar system, we are in danger. All sufficiently advanced civilizations arm themselves. Not all systems subscribe to the Law. Not all know about the Law.

The occupants of this group of stars did not know about or subscribe to the Law.

"But for now, the decision is to release the remotes. That's a start."

Martin looked around the assembled faces in the schoolroom. All solemn; the impatience and irritation had been replaced by anticipation and barely hidden anxiety. They had been traveling for five and a half years. This was the first time they had actually made a decision, the first time the search team had come up with a likely prospect.

"This is no drill, Martin? You're sure?" Ginny Chocolate asked with a quaver.

"No drill," Martin confirmed.

"What do we do now?"

"We wait and we practice," Hans said.

Most of the group raised both arms. Others sat in stunned silence.

"Time to grow up," Paola said, patting Martin's arm. Martin wrapped one arm around her and squeezed her. Theresa shot him a glance. No jealousy—he was being Pan, reassuring them all.

Martin released Paola, touched Theresa gently in passing—she smiled, caressed his shoulder—and they parted to go aft. He wanted more than anything to be with her, to get away from this responsibility, but they wouldn't get together for hours yet.

About ten went with Hans to exercise in the wormspaces. The rest vanished into their private places in the expansive maze of halls, spaces and chambers. Two birds stayed behind, preening themselves, floating with claws curled on nothing.

Martin had three errands now: speaking to Ariel to bring her back into the group as best he could, and then finding and speaking with William and Erin Eire.

By the time he had finished with them, Theresa would be attending a Wendys party in the first homeball, and that would keep them apart for additional hours.

In the farthest depths of the ship, where the Dawn Treader'stail tapered to a point, among the great dark smooth shapes that had never been explained, Martin found Ariel floating in a loosely curled ball, seemingly asleep.

"You and I aren't getting along too well," he said. She opened her eyes and blinked coldly.

"You're a moms freak," she said. "You swim in it, don't you?"

Martin tried not to react to her anger. Still, he wondered why she had ever been chosen from the Central Ark volunteers, years past; she was the least cooperative, the most stubborn, and often the most assertive.

"I'm sorry. You know our group rules. I'll be just as glad as you when I'm not Pan. Maybe you should try—"

"I'm sick of it," she interrupted, curling her legs into a lotus. "We're nothing but puppets. Why did they bring us out here in the first place? They could do everything by themselves. How can we help them? Don't you see that it sucks?"

Martin felt her words like a slap. Still, he was Pan; he had to keep his calm or at least not let her see how angry he was. "It's not easy. We all volunteered."

"I volunteered without being told what I was in for," Ariel said.

"You were told," Martin said dubiously.

"We were children. We were playing glory games. Out for quick revenge. They're asking us to get serious now, and we don't even know why… Because they won't tell us everything."

"They haven't asked us to do anything yet. Hakim's team found the group—"

"The moms have been watching those stars for thousands of years. Don't you knowthat?"

Martin swallowed and looked away. "They're telling us all we need to know."

Ariel smiled bitterly and shook her head. "They sent us out this way deliberately, to track these stars. Now they're going to use us to kill somebody, or get ourselves killed," she said. "I'm not alone. Others think this is shit, too."

"But you're the only one with the guts to come forward," he said. He felt he had to leave soon or lose his temper completely.

She regarded him with nothing quite so strong as hate; more like pity, as if he were a mindless demagogue not responsible for his actions.

"I'm not alone," she said. "You remember that. We have our… doubts about all this. The moms had damn well better do something about it."

"Or what, Ariel? You'll leave?"

"No," she said. "Don't be an ass, Martin. I'll opt out for good. I'll kill myself."

His eyes widened. She turned away from his shock and pushed out from a curved cylinder mounted to an interior conduit. "Don't worry about blood on your watch. I'm giving them time. I still hope we can do what we came out here to do. But my hope is fading fast. They have to tell us all, Martin."

"You know that they won't," Martin said.

"I don't know that, and why shouldn't they?" She turned around and echoed back, coming on like a slow tiger, extending her ladder field and hooking to a stop just seconds before they collided.

Martin did not flinch. "The Benefactors have a home, too. They come from somewhere."

"No shit," Ariel said.

"Hear me out, please. You asked."

She nodded. "All right."

"If the whole galaxy is full of wolves, no bird peeps, not even eagles. The moms need to protect their makers. If we knew all about the Benefactors, in a few hundred years, a few thousand years, we might become wolves, too. Then we'd know where they were, and we'd come and get them."

"That is so… cynical," Ariel said. "If they are so worried about us, why did they save us at all?"

This was a question with many answers, none of them completely convincing. They had all debated the point, and Martin had never been satisfied with any of the answers, but he tried to put his best theories into words.

"They believe in a balance," he said. "Whoever they are, they made the Ships of the Law to keep single civilizations from scouring the galaxy and having it all to themselves. Maybe it started out as self-defense—"

"Maybe that's all it is now," Ariel said.

"But they must believe that we'll contribute something eventually, when we're grown up."

Ariel blew out her breath.

"The moms tell us all that they can. They tell us what we need to know. We could never avenge the Earth without them. You know that. There's no reason to hate the moms."

"I don't hate them," Ariel said.

"We have work to do, a lot of decisions and thinking. I'd like us all to be together."

"I won't disappoint anybody," Ariel said.

"Please don't talk about killing yourself. It's stupid."

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "It's the only thing that's really mine, out here. Leave me that much."

"I'm not taking anything from you," Martin said softly. His anger had flown, replaced by a cavernous awareness of what they were heading toward, what they were planning to do. "I ask nothing of you that you didn't volunteer to do."

"How could we know what we'd lose?"

Martin shook his head. "We've never had a chance to be people, much less to be children. We're a long way from a home that doesn't exist any more. We won't grow much older until after we do the Job. If we go back to the solar system, thousands of years will have passed for them. We'll be strangers. That's not just true of you, it's true of all of us. We need to stick together."

She seemed startled.

What kind of blind, unfeeling monster does she think I am? "We never will be children," he concluded. "Come on, Ariel. We don't need to lose any more, and I don't need threats."

"Why didn't the moms stop them?" she asked plaintively.

Martin shook his head. "They don't want us to be cattle, or zoo animals. Maybe that's it. I don't know. We have as much freedom as they can give us, even the freedom to die."

"We're getting so sad," Ariel said, looking away from him. "It's been so long."

Martin swallowed hard. "I…"

"Go, please," she said.

He pushed away abruptly and bounced from wall to conduit to wall, then summoned a field and climbed up the length of the neck toward the second homeball, where William kept his quarters.

"Why weren't you in the meeting?" Martin worked to keep his voice level. William Arrow Feather twisted within his corner net, pulled himself out, and nudged his head against a climbing field summoned with a mudra-like hand signal. "I didn't want to make things tougher for you."

"You're supposed to be present for Job discussions," Martin said. "And you didn't vote."

William smiled and shrugged. "No harm. I got the info. I can make my decision for the big one." His expression shifted slightly. "Have you made yours?"

"We're going to investigate—"

"Not that," William said. " Thatwas a foregone conclusion. I mean, have you decided who you are, what you are?"

"I don't understand," Martin said.

"It's important for you." William looked away. "And for Theresa."

"I thought you approved."

"I said I approved, but then we made love again, for the first time since you started this thing with Theresa—and I saw things a little differently."

Martin settled grimly in an opposite corner, as if he were about to be forced to take medicine. "Explain."

"Your heart wasn't in it."

"I've always enjoyed you."

"Martin, how many lovers have you had?"

Martin looked away. "I'm not a fruitpicker," he said.

"Right. You're not shy, you're just a little afraid… of hurting somebody, of being hurt."

"Wise William," Martin said.

"Slick that," William said, not unkindly. "You picture me as some sort of brotherly saint, Saint Francis maybe. I'm not. I'm a fruitpicker. Most of us are. You… and Theresa… are not."

"She's had and been had," Martin said, eyes rolling.

"Right. But nowhere near the average."

"More than I," Martin said. Weak defense.

"So how many have you had?"

William had never asked before; such things were seldom mentioned, being almost common knowledge in a group so small and tightly knit. "It's not important."

"Some say you're a bad choice for Pan because you lack connections. That you have to slick with somebody to understand them, and you haven't made love to enough of us to know who we are."

Martin frowned. "Nobody's said it to my face."

"They wouldn't, because they're gossips and cowards, like all the humanson this ship."

"I'm not human?"

"You try not to make mistakes."

"Oh, Christ, William. What are you talking about?"

William spread out his muscular brown arms and legs. Martin noted the play of muscles, the ripple of skin on strong arms, the beautiful sheen of upper thigh—and felt nothing physical—a mental admiration, a brotherly recognition and approval of William's health and supple vigor. "I'm homosexual, most of the time," William said, "one of eight males and seven females among the children. You're a crosser. You can slick or fall in love or whatever you want with so many more people… But I know something about you, Martin—you're probably more passionate than I am. I've crossed, and found the experience enjoyable but not fulfilling—so I've slicked with maybe twelve of the children. You've had five or six, I'd guess. What are you afraid of?"

Martin pushed from the corner, angry again.

"You hate the idea of rejection. You really don't like understanding people, accepting them for what they are. Why?"

Martin's face muscles worked. "You're not in a good mood," he said, kicking off the opposite wall, rolling past William.

William laughed. " I'mnot?"

"You've never been cruel before." He put out a hand and stopped himself on the edge of William's door.

William's face contorted. "I'm not being cruel," he said sadly. "I just know what's going to happen, and I hate for you not to know, when it affects you so much… and Theresa. You're one of our best." William's expression warmed, as it always did when he praised Martin. "At least Ithink so, and the children voted you Pan."

"You'll be next," Martin said, avoiding his eyes.

"No, I won't," William said, very subdued. "Hans maybe. He wants it. I fantasize about it, that maybe it'll make more Lost Boys willing to cross… But it won't be me. I'm a soldier, not a general. You're a general. You don't believe it, though, do you?"