Anvil of Stars Page 14

  Some leftovers from that program still floated amid the scoured dust of the irregular ring, spread here and there across the billions of kilometers like sand in an ocean tide.

  The search team, probing the nearest extent of the ring, had found artificial needle-shaped bodies, the largest no more than a hundred meters long; inert now, perhaps experimental models, perhaps ships that had malfunctioned and been abandoned after being stripped of fuel and internal workings.

  Luis projected for the jury, and all the children, graphics of what these needle ships looked like in their cold dusty junkyards. He then produced pictures they were all familiar with: the shapes of the killer machines when they entered Earth’s solar system, when they burrowed into the asteroids between Mars and Jupiter, and into the Earth itself:

  Long needles. Identical in shape and size.

  Hakim valiantly argued that these shapes were purely utilitarian, that any number of civilizations might produce vessels such as these, designed to fly between the stars. But the shapes of Ships of the Law, including Dawn Treader, countered that argument. Space allowed many designs for interstellar craft.

  The conclusion seemed inevitable: dead killer machines orbited the extreme perimeter of the Wormwood system.

  Hakim’s next suggestion was that this system had itself been entered by Killers, that the inhabitants had been wiped from their worlds, and that the worlds were not perpetrators, but victims. Luis countered that in such a case, it was their duty to expunge the final traces of the Killers from the victim’s corpse.

  And if there were survivors?

  That did not seem likely, judging from Earth’s experience.

  But the Earth, Hakim argued, had been an extreme case; the Killers had been faced with strong, eventually fatal opposition. Perhaps they would behave differently with more time to perform their tasks. Perhaps there were survivors.

  Luis pointed to the natural composition of Wormwood and its planets, the apparent origin of the machines themselves.

  And if the machines had merely been manufactured here?

  The debate went around and around, but these arguments were not convincing, however Hakim worked to make them so.

  “If Wormwood is indeed the origin of the killer machines, why leave these wrecks out here for evidence?” Hakim asked, making his final attempt at a sound defense. “Why not sweep the cloud clean, and prepare for the vengeance of those you have failed to murder? Could there not be some other explanation for this evidence, allowing a reasonable doubt?”

  No one could answer. No one doubted the evidence, however.

  The jury was sequestered in unused quarters near the schoolroom.

  The verdict was two hours in coming.

  It was unanimous.

  Wormwood must be cleared of all traces of Killers and their makers. Even if they had become ghosts, lost in their machines…

  Hakim seemed perversely despondent that he had not presented his case more strongly. He moved to the rear of the room and curled behind the children, eyes wide and solemn.

  Martin stood before the children, the weight of the judgment on his shoulders now. The hush in the schoolroom was almost deathly: no coughing, hardly a sound of breathing. The children did not move, waiting for him to issue the orders.

  “We start dispersal as soon as we split,” he said. “Shipboard weapons team will launch makers into the Wormwood system. There are no visible defenses, but we’ll be cautious anyway. Instead of trying for three or four large-mass gravity-fuse bombs, we’ll let the makers create a few thousand smaller ones out of the rocks and debris. If we fail, makers in the outer cloud will assemble their weapons and send them in later.”

  “That’ll cost much more fuel,” Hans said. Stephanie and Harpal nodded.

  “There aren’t enough volatiles to make enough bombs and escape quickly. We should act as soon as possible. We’ll destroy the rocky worlds first, then concentrate on the bald gas giants…”

  “Destroy them, too?” Ariel asked from the rear.

  “If we have enough weapons,” Martin said. “We can gather the remaining volatiles for fuel from the debris clouds afterward.”

  “All of them?” William asked.

  “Every world,” Martin said.

  The children thought this over somberly. They would reenact the battle fought around the Sun, centuries past. This time, they would be the murderers.

  “It’s not murder,” Martin said, anticipating their thoughts. “It’s execution. It’s the Law.”

  That didn’t make the reality any less disturbing.

  “You didn’t need to put me in your crew,” Theresa said as they ate together in her quarters. This was the last time they would have together, alone, until the Job had been completed. These were the last four hours of the Dawn Treader as a single ship, as they had always known her. If they survived, they might reconstruct the ship again, but chances were, they would have to make her much smaller, perhaps a tenth of her present size, and live in comparatively crowded conditions…

  “I had no reason not to have you with me,” Martin said.

  Theresa watched him, eyes bright.

  “The Pan needs to think of himself now and then,” Martin said softly. “I’ll work better, knowing you’re with me.”

  “When we finish the Job, where will we go?” she asked, finishing her pie. The ship was an excellent provider; this meal, however, tasted particularly fine. There would be little time to eat after partition, and the meals would be fast and small.

  “I don’t know,” Martin said. “They’ve never told us where they’ll send us.”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  Martin chewed his last bite thoughtfully, swallowed, looked down at the empty plate. He smiled, thumped his knuckles on the small table, said, “I’d like to travel very far away. Just be free and see what there is out here. We could travel for thousands, millions of years…Away from everything.”

  “That would be lovely,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

  “And you?” Martin asked.

  “A new Earth,” she said. “I know that’s foolish. All the Earth-like worlds are probably taken, but perhaps the moms could send us to a place where nobody has been, find a planet where we could be alone. Where we could make a new Earth.”

  “And have children,” he said. “Where the moms could let us have children.”

  “No moms,” Theresa said. “Just ourselves.”

  Martin considered this, saw nations arising, people disagreeing, history raising its ugly head, the inevitable round of Eden’s end and reality’s beginning. But he did not tell Theresa what she already knew. Fantasies were almost as important as fuel at this point.

  “Do you think they’ll know when they die?” Theresa asked. Martin understood whom she meant. Down at the bottom of the gravity well, on the planets. The Killers.

  “If they’re still alive…” Martin said, raising his eyebrows. “If there’s anybody still there, still conscious…not a machine.”

  “Do you think they can be conscious if they’ve become machines?”

  “The moms don’t tell us about such things,” Martin said.

  “Can they be guilty if they’re just machines now?”

  “I don’t know,” Martin said. “They can be dangerous.”

  “If there are a few still in bodies, still living as we do, do you think they are…leaders, prophets…or just slaves?”

  “Machines don’t need slaves,” Martin said, grinning.

  Theresa shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean slaves to their own bodies. The others might be so much more free, immortal, able to think and do whatever they please. Haven’t you ever felt as if you were a slave to your body?”

  Martin shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Having to urinate every few hours, shit every day or two or three…Eat.”

  “Make love,” Martin said.

  “Have periods,” Theresa said.

  Mart
in touched her arm.

  “I’ve never had a period,” she said. “I’ve grown up, but they’ve taken that away from me.”

  “The Wendys don’t seem to miss them,” Martin said.

  “How would we know?”

  “My mother didn’t miss them on the Ark,” he said. “She told me she was glad.” Has she had any children since we left…on Mars? He had never thought of having brothers or sisters he would never know.

  “What if they were thinking very deeply, solving very large problems, just working all the time, without worrying about bodies?”

  “No passions, no sorrows,” Martin said, trying to stay in tune with her musing.

  “Maybe they feel very large passions, larger than we can know. Passions without physical boundaries. Curiosity. Maybe they’ve come to actually love the universe, Martin.”

  “We don’t know anything about them, except that they’re quiet,” Martin said.

  “Are they frightened?” she asked. “Hoping not to be noticed?”

  Martin shrugged. “It’s not worth thinking about,” he said.

  “But all the strategists say we should know our enemies, be prepared for anything they might do by knowing what they must do, what they need to do.”

  “I hope they die before they even know we’re here,” Martin said.

  “Do you think that’s possible?”

  He paused, shook his head, no.

  “Do you think they already know?”

  Shook his head again, acutely uncomfortable.

  “We have an hour before you go back,” Theresa said. “Pan must take his scheduled free time, too. To be healthy.”

  “I wouldn’t deny myself that. Or you,” Martin said.

  “Let’s love,” Theresa said. “As if we were free, and our own people.”

  And they tried. It worked, partly. At the very least it was intense, even more intense than in their first few days together.

  “When I’m free,” Martin said, as they floated beside each other in the darkness, “I will choose you.”

  “I am free,” Theresa said. “For this minute, I’m free as I’ll ever be. And I choose you.”

  One hour before partition, Rosa stood in the schoolroom, next to the star sphere, less than twelve meters from the silent War Mother. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, head bowed. Her hands shook slowly like leaves in a small breeze. She was naked but for a scarf tied around her neck. Dull light from the star sphere limned her pale skin.

  Liam Oryx came into the schoolroom looking for Hakim, saw her, and immediately called Martin on his wand. He also called Ariel.

  Martin arrived with Theresa, but William had gotten there first. William approached Rosa slowly, saying nothing.

  “I don’t need you,” Rosa told him.

  “Something wrong?” Ariel called from behind William. “Rosa?”

  “I’ve seen it again,” Rosa said. “There’s something in the ship with us. It spoke to me. I can’t stop seeing things that are real.”

  William stopped three meters from where she stood, beside the War Mother, which did not speak or move. “What did it say?” he asked.

  Martin bit his lip, watching, his stomach sinking. So little time. Every child precious.

  Theresa climbed around the schoolroom, hovered beside Ariel. Other children arrived until finally fifteen occupied the chamber, all Rosa’s tree family and five others besides.

  “What did it say?” William repeated.

  “It’s alive,” Rosa said. “It lives out here, and it sees and hears things we can’t. It’s very large. I think it might be a God. Sometimes it hates us, sometimes it loves us.”

  Martin closed his eyes, knowing now—in his flesh and bones—what he had only known intellectually. She saw herself inside. She saw nothing real to us.

  “It said Martin is a bad leader.” She raised her head. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s going to lead us to our death. He doesn’t understand.”

  “How could anybody else know how good Martin is?” William asked.

  “Stop it, Rosa,” Ariel said.

  “It isn’t true,” said Alexis Baikal. “That isn’t what I saw.”

  “Quiet,” William said, gaze fixed on Rosa. “Rosa, everybody saw something different. That means they saw what they wanted to see.”

  Rosa shook her head stubbornly.

  “I think we are having a bit of panic,” William said. “Only to be expected. We’re young, and this is all very strange and difficult.”

  “Be quiet,” Rosa said, tilting her head back, a large, naked Valkyrie in an opera. She appeared so vulnerable, and yet Martin could feel her threat to the Job as palpably as if she were a wasp stinging his flesh. No time to waste.

  He said nothing, watching William.

  William nodded to Ariel. “She’s your friend, Ariel,” he said. “She needs your help.”

  “She’s a victim,” Ariel said.

  “Stop it,” Rosa said.

  “It’s panic,” William pursued. “You’re feeling our panic, our anxiety. You’re very perceptive. You see what we feel, Rosa.”

  “Come with me, Rosa,” Ariel said.

  “I will not fight,” Rosa said. “None of you should fight. The Pan is wrong. He’s—“

  “Enough, please,” Ariel said, voice thick with emotion.

  Martin saw Theresa crying, and Alexis Baikal; but only when William turned back to look at him, and Martin saw his face was damp, did his chest hitch and his own eyes fill. He stepped forward.

  “You don’t have to fight, Rosa,” he said.

  Rosa Sequoia looked at the fifteen companions around her, clasped her trembling hands together, said, “But I’ve trained. I deserve it as much as any of you. Pan can’t take my duty from me.”

  Pan/panic. The words danced. If she goes on it will spread and we’ll all go mad. We’re that close.

  “I hate you,” Rosa told Martin, eyes slitted, lip curling. “I hate everything you stand for.”

  Ariel took her by the arm. William took her other arm. Together, they led her away.

  Theresa stood by his side as Rosa left the room. “Who’ll take her tasks?” she asked him.

  “Ariel can do them,” he said, looking at the empty space where Rosa had stood. “Rosa will be confined to quarters.”

  “And when we split?”

  “She stays on the Hare. Tortoise can’t afford her.”

  “You’d better talk with Hans, then,” Theresa said.

  “Why does she hate me?” Martin asked.

  “That’s silly,” Theresa said, taking his hand. “You can’t take what she says personally…”

  “William was right,” he said. “I don’t want anybody to hate me. I want everybody to love me…Hell of a thing for a Pan. Hans wouldn’t have this problem.”

  Theresa tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the door. “Forty-five minutes,” she reminded him. Martin stared at the War Mother before yielding to her pressure. During this entire episode, the War Mother had done nothing.

  So little time.

  The War Mother preceded Martin and Hans down the second neck as they made final inspections of the points where the Dawn Treader would split. The War Mother would go with Tortoise.

  Hans and Martin shook hands, clasped each other. “Do it, brother,” Hans said. “We’ll come back for the mopping up. I envy you, Martin.”

  “I don’t envy myself,” Martin said, then blushed. “I wish they’d chosen you Pan.”

  “I voted for you,” Hans said, smiling, not very sincere. “I’m just a born slacker. You’ll get the Job done.”

  William waited behind Martin. The children mingled to say their farewells, hugging, kissing, patting shoulders, even singing one round of the wordless hum.

  Rosa was not present.

  In a few minutes, in the narrow space around the weapons store, all the children divided, Hare team to the right behind Hans, Tortoise team to the left behind Martin. William and Theresa hung beside each other as
the teams parted again. Martin felt a sudden misgiving, taking both of them with him. This time brought nothing but qualms.

  The teams backed farther away, around the curve of the weapons store. Already the children in the rear of each group could not see each other.

  They parted.

  Throughout its length, the Ship of the Law made a sound like a sigh, as if it laid down some tremendous burden, only to take up another. The children of the Tortoise crew surrounded Martin in a newly made space beside the weapons store. They waited apprehensively, listening to the ship’s noises, some holding on to each other. Despite the drills, they were afraid, and Martin was certainly not least afraid among them. He remembered Theodore’s words: No machine works perfectly. Every machine can fail. Every day we are in danger. But Theodore had added, No planet lives forever. Every day on Earth, our lives were in danger…

  No safety anywhere. And the Ship of the Law had never failed them before…

  Nor had it broken in two before.

  Martin sat above a low couch in the center of the room. All around him, the children floated, squatted, stretched out, looking at each other or at nothing, trying to sleep, playing games with their wand projections, waiting, waiting.

  The sigh turned into a strong wind moaning through the halls outside their chamber. Air pressure was being distributed before the walls closed.

  Theresa came close to Martin. He held her in front of all, acknowledging this bond. No one seemed to mind; few seemed to notice, not even William, who played a game of matching colors with Andrew Jaguar.

  “How are you doing?” he asked Theresa. She shook her head briskly as if shivering away the question.

  “Waiting,” she said. “You?”

  The floor beneath them vibrated. Their cabin rotated as the orientation of this part of the dividing Dawn Treader changed. Again the wind outside the walls, roaring like a storm; this was their only safe place, their calm cell within the turbulent body.