Anvil of Stars

by Greg Bear

  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 Treader in 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 could have 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 iridium 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 base-line. 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, were 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’s tail 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 know that?”

  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 g
et 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—“