Anvil of Stars

  “Yeah?” The word came out loud and harsh.

  “She’s warm and cozy in his arms. He says something, you know, about the Job, and our relation to God, something like that. She’s happy, she’s flattered. She’s never been an ascetic by choice. She listens. She goes his way.” Ariel spread her arms, eyes narrow, puzzled. “So for him, everything’s great.”

  Martin felt like hitting out, and he went so far as to clench his fist. “Why are you following me?” he shouted. “Why don’t you just stay the hell away from me?”

  “Hans is dangerous,” Ariel said in a conspiratorial husky voice. “He’s hollow inside, and the more he settles in, the hollower he gets. He thinks the Wendys are cattle. He thinks we’re all cattle.”

  “Crap,” Martin said.

  Ariel’s face reddened and her eyes narrowed even more, to angry slits. She spat out, “What are you, celibate? Do you plan on being solitary for the rest of the journey? Is that why you hate me?”

  Martin grimaced and laddered into the neck, leaving Ariel behind.

  “God damn you!” she cried out after him.

  Giacomo and Jennifer hung beside the star sphere in the schoolroom. The ship had stopped accelerating twelve hours before, and all drifted free now. Ladder fields crossed the periphery of the schoolroom and shimmered along what had once been floor and ceiling.

  Hakim, Li Mountain and Luis Estevez Saguaro quietly arranged for echoes of the sphere to appear around the schoolroom.

  Martin entered alone, stared at the central sphere, and took a deep breath.

  They were nine billion kilometers from their future companions, about two days from a merger. The two ships had matched courses and now edged slowly closer.

  Harpal came in behind Martin. “Why so many?” he asked, sweeping his arm at the five spheres.

  “Hans aims for effect,” Martin said.

  Hakim climbed along a ladder field, hooked his foot, and hung beside them. He did not smile. “Races over?” he asked.

  Hans was making sure the crew was exhausted before bringing them into the schoolroom.

  “Almost,” Martin said. “Ten, fifteen minutes.”

  “It seems silly to me, all this exercise,” Hakim said. “We could be doing science, anything but rolling like squirrels in a cage.”

  “Hans has his plans,” Harpal said.

  “Who’s winning?” Jennifer called from across the schoolroom.

  “Rex,” Martin said carelessly. He climbed in closer to the main sphere. The image of the other Ship of the Law appeared distinct, about two hand-breadths wide, three eggs swallowed by a snake. “They don’t look damaged,” he said.

  “The ship is smaller than Dawn Treader used to be,” Giacomo said. “About half the size. It must have taken some pretty substantial hits. I wonder where they fought? What they did?”

  “I don’t see any fuel cells,” Harpal said.

  A mom entered the schoolroom. They had seen so little of the moms in recent tendays that Martin was startled by it. “Hans has not made a tenday report,” it said to Martin and Harpal, matter-of-factly, no judgment implied. “Is there something wrong?”

  Martin swallowed; for Hans to ignore the tenday was…What? What did they expect? Hans had restructured the society of the Dawn Treader, just as the ship itself had been rebuilt. Why should anything surprise Martin?

  Hakim looked to Martin, no sign of natural cheer or even excitement; eyes wary. Betray nothing.

  “I don’t think so,” Martin said. He no longer wanted to play the advocate for the office of Pan, to defend Hans, to judge the situation in the best light. He could not ignore the knot in his stomach whenever he saw Hans’ confident, strong features, or Rosa’s intoxicated beatitude.

  “There is information to be presented to the crew,” the mom said. “I am here to report. Is a meeting scheduled?”

  “Yes,” Martin said.

  “Hans shouldn’t shirk the reports,” Harpal muttered.

  “There are problems?” the mom asked. Martin’s embarrassment turned to anger in a flash and he crossed his arms, shook his head.

  “No problems,” he said. Nothing I can pin down in words. Hans does nothing overt; the worst he does is change things without consulting us…and why should he? The crew follows him almost without question. He doesn’t act like a tyrant; he just glowers, and that’s enough.

  We’re back to being children again. Hans is Daddy; Rosa is Mommy. So what will we call the moms now? Auntie?

  We’re one big happy family.

  “When will the crew convene?” the mom asked.

  “In a few minutes,” Hakim said.

  “I will wait.”

  The Wendys and Lost Boys started filing in a half hour later, sweating and flushed. Hans had insisted on trying new sports in the weightless conditions. Three or four had arms in makeshift slings. They gathered in loose groups, no longer according to family or namesake; Hans had dissolved those connections.

  Hans and Rex came in last.

  All eyes turned to the spheres, weary, interested but shielding responses.

  Hakim began his description: the second ship’s length, mass, the approximate amount of fuel it carried. He glanced nervously at the mom, wondering if it would merely repeat what he was saying. He seemed to fear becoming redundant; Hans seldom conferred with the search team.

  “I think the mom has something to tell us,” Hans said when Hakim stammered into silence. Hakim nodded and backed away.

  “We will now prepare you for the meeting with your new partners,” the mom said. “Noach communications have been established with this Ship of the Law, which is called Journey House by its crew. We have many more details. May I take control of the displays?”

  “Of course,” Hans said.

  The first image in the spheres puzzled the crew: a long black cable. Martin had to concentrate to understand what he was seeing. The first guess would have been a tentacle, or perhaps a snake, but close inspection showed that this was more than an individual being. The image moved, and the crew reacted with shock.

  The cable disassembled into a squirming pile of serpents, and then quickly reassembled. Martin wondered whether this was a simulation or the image of a real creature.

  “These are colonial intelligences,” the mom said. “Such a configuration is not unusual. Many worlds support bionts that combine to form larger bionts, even in more advanced evolutionary phases. Your new partners are of this type. Between ten and twenty components come together to form an intelligent individual. The components—“

  A single blunt-ended tube with grasping hooks at one end and millipede-like feet at the other—

  “Are seventy to eighty centimeters long, and are not in themselves intelligent, though they perform many social and practical roles. The components are responsible for gathering food, though not for agriculture or preparing food. They are responsible for reproduction and nurture their offspring. When the offspring are mature, they are instructed in the basics of forming combinations, and these combinations are then raised and educated by fully mature aggregates.”

  More images: aggregates ranging in size (a human silhouette for comparison) from two meters long, comprising ten intertwined components, to five meters, and fifty centimeters to a meter thick.

  “They are oxygen breathers. An atmosphere conducive to both species, human and aggregates, will be maintained in all common areas of the ship, though separate quarters will also be available.”

  Martin glanced at Hans. Not a hint of shrewd speculation, not a trace of anything but shock. Here was strangeness that exceeded Hans’ expectations.

  “Their foodstuffs are not edible for humans, nor is your food sufficient for their needs. Contact is not dangerous, provided certain rules are followed. Components must not be molested or impeded in their duties; they can’t respond socially beyond a limited—“

  “Like my wanger,” Rex Live Oak cracked. Some of the crew laughed nervously.

  “A limited range of i
nteractions with their kind, guided largely by instinct. Components can be dangerous if they are molested. They can inflict a painful bite. We do not yet know how toxins for this species might affect humans—“

  “Christ, they’re poisonous?” Rex asked, astonished.

  “That is a possibility. But they will not attack unless severely molested. Aggregates are highly intelligent, capable of complex social interactions. We are confident they can mimic human speech better than humans can learn their methods of communication, which are chemical and auditory. To your senses, their variety of smells should be pleasant.”

  The promise of pleasant smell wasn’t cutting much ice. The crew looked on the images with open-mouthed amazement and half-controlled revulsion.

  “What do we call them?” Ariel asked.

  “Good question,” Erin Eire commented. “I don’t think calling them ‘snakes’ is a good idea.”

  “Or ‘worms,’” Jeanette Snap Dragon added.

  “What in hell are they?” someone else asked.

  “They are aggregate intelligences,” the mom said, not making the mystery any shallower.

  “But what the hell is that?” Rex asked. “How do they think? How do they fight?”

  “The proper question,” Hans said, “is how—and if—we’re going to cooperate with them.”

  Martin stepped forward. “Of course we’re going to cooperate,” he said, as if challenging Hans directly. Hans took the challenge without hesitation.

  “Martin’s right. We’re going to get along, whatever they’re called. Which takes us back to an earlier question. What do we call them?”

  “What will they call us?” Erin Eire interrupted.

  Hans ignored her. “Suggestions? The moms seem to be leaving this up to us. I assume they don’t use any name we could smell, much less pronounce…”

  “Do they have sexes?” Rosa asked, voice sweet and clear over the murmuring.

  “The components can be male or female or both, depending on environmental conditions. They give live birth to between one and four young every two years. Aggregates do not engage in any sexual activity; sex occurs only among separated components.”

  The crew mulled this over in silence; stranger and stranger, perhaps more and more alarming.

  “We could call the components cords,” Paola suggested. “The aggregates could be braids.”

  “Good,” Hans said. “Anything better?”

  “We’ll call them Brothers,” Rosa said, as if it were final. “A new part of our family.”

  Hans raised one eyebrow and said, “Sounds fine to me.”

  The names stuck. Cords, braids: Brothers. A new addition to the family of Wendys, Lost Boys, and moms.

  Dawn Treader and Journey House would merge to make a single vessel nearly as large as Dawn Treader had originally been.

  Communication between Dawn Treader and Journey House passed along the noach at a furious rate; hour by hour, the libraries expanded.

  Martin, just before sleep, toured the libraries’ new extensions and found himself in territories that had not existed before, filled with streaming bands of projected colors, tending to the reds and greens; sounds like aspirated music—haunting, sweet, and disturbing at once; and images of enormous complexity, swimming and flowing as if projected on dense fog. Some images were expressed in rotated and skewed multiples, as if they might be viewed by many eyes, each having a slightly different function.

  He checked to see how many of the crew were exploring these fresh territories. The wand reported fifteen so engaged, including himself; the rest, it seemed, were waiting to be pushed.

  The size of the libraries had trebled in just a day. If the libraries had been reduced by a tenth during the neutrino storm, then the Brothers’ libraries had held just over twice as much information as theirs. Martin was eager to have that translated, if translation was possible; perhaps they would have to learn how to see and understand differently.

  Before shutting off the wand, he requested a kind of judgment from the libraries: how the Brothers compared to other beings of whom the Benefactors were aware.

  “In a range of deviance from your norm, the Brothers are perhaps halfway along an arbitrary scale of biological differences,” the library voice responded.

  Martin sensed something new in this answer; something fresh and perhaps useful. They might be dealing with the merged intelligences of both ships’ minds; and he thought it more than a little possible that, for whatever reason, the new combination would be more informed, and more willing to inform the crews.

  Before falling off into muddled dreams, Martin realized what this could mean, if true.

  They’re more confident. We’re closing in; there aren’t many surprises left.

  Another voice—it might have been Theodore’s—seemed to laugh ironically. How wrong do you want to be? Keep working at it…You might break a record…

  Hans gathered the remaining ex-Pans—and Rex Live Oak. They met in the nose, with the search team absent, and looked across a few infinitesimal kilometers to Journey House.

  “The ships join tomorrow at fifteen hundred. We’ll all wait in the cafeteria,” Hans said. His face looked drawn, older. Circles shadowed his eyes. “But we’re going to meet a few of the Brothers first. They’re coming over in one of their craft in two hours. Three of them, three of us. The moms say they can’t predict how we’ll interact. For once, I think they’re being absolutely square with us. I’d like Martin and Cham to join me. We’ll meet them together. Before then, the moms are going to give us background on the individuals.” He looked around the group with one eyebrow raised, as if expecting a challenge. Quietly, he asked, “Any suggestions?”

  Harpal said, “As Pan’s second, I’d like to go.”

  “Cham is better suited to meeting live ropes,” Hans said. It wasn’t clear to the others whether that was a joke or not.

  “Then I’d like to resign as Christopher Robin,” Harpal said.

  “Fine.”

  Harpal waited for someone to object, to rise to his defense. No one did. He nodded, jaw clenched, and backed away.

  “Not that you haven’t done a good job,” Hans said. “I’m not appointing anyone in your place. Anything you’d like me to ask our new friends?” He made the enquiry with unctuous solicitation, rubbing the moment in.

  “Ask them what they regard as a mortal insult,” Harpal said. “I don’t want to get on their bad side if they’re poisonous.”

  “We’ll get all this culture stuff straightened out. Right now—and I think that’s a good question, Harpal, but it can wait—right now, I’d like to see just how much personality the braids actually have. How we connect, what sort of fellows they are.”

  “I think a woman should go with us,” Martin said. “A different point of view.”

  Hans cocked his head to one side, considered for a moment, and replied, “Bad idea. I’ve watched the Wendys closely, and I think they’re going to take longer to adjust than the Lost Boys. Maybe it’s a snake or phallic thing. Just look at their faces when the Brothers move. Stephanie maybe, but she’s not with us any more.”

  “They scare me, too,” Rex said.

  “Here’s what I think we should do,” Hans said, and he told them.

  Martin, Hans, and Cham waited in the weapons store. The air in the hemisphere had cooled to just above freezing and smelled faintly of metals and salt. Hans straightened his overalls and cleared his throat. “We’ll meet them casual,” he said. “No hands out, nothing. Let them make the first gesture.”

  “What if we all just stand here?” Cham said.

  “I’m patient,” Hans said.

  A mom entered the store and floated next to Hans. “The craft approaches now,” it said.

  “Christ, I’m nervous,” Hans said.

  A field glowed around the pylon, which pushed through a darkness in the bulkhead. Faint clunks and hums resonated throughout the chamber. The pylon returned, bringing at its tip like a fly on a frog?
??s tongue a round craft about three meters wide with a conical protrusion, much like a squat pear. The pylon set the craft gently in a field, and the field wrapped it in purple, lowering it to the floor of the chamber.

  “Our gravity will be slightly heavy for them,” the mom said. “But they are very adaptable.”

  “Good,” Hans said. His throat bobbed.

  Maybe he’s got a snake thing, too, Martin thought.

  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 childlike 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.