Anvil of Stars (41 page)

Martin said he thought they would.

"Because the more we learn, the more ambiguous this all is," Hans said softly. "I don't think it's going to get any better."

"Terribly ambiguous," Cham said. He pulled down a more detailed image of Leviathan's third planet. Smooth, lovely green continents and blue oceans, no visible cloud cover, surface temperature about twenty Celsius, land masses checked with immense tan squares. Surrounding it like a fringe: huge puff-ball seeds, perhaps a thousand kilometers long, touching ocean and continent. The seeds did not limit themselves to the equator; a few even rose from the poles.

Fourth planet, huge and dark, surrounded by seas butting against dark continents spotted with glowing lava-filled rifts. The fifth planet: volatile-rich gas giant, surface temperature of eighty five kelvins, two point two g's, hints of wide green patches and black ribbons, rotating storms. Again enormous structures studded the upper atmosphere, these shaped like giant nested funnels. The sixth: a smaller gas giant, about the size of Neptune, artificial constructs floating in orbit like braided hair, brilliantly reflective. Thick streamers of gas rose from the giant's surface along the equator, drawn up by the constructs.

"Looks like paradise for the fuel-hungry," Cham said.

"A very masterpiece of bullshit," Hans said. "Designed to do just what it's doing to us."

"Or—" Joe said.

Hans raised an eyebrow.

"I can think of two or three ways what we're seeing could actually be what's there."

"Camouflaged with real races and cultures," Hakim said, taking Joe's hint.

"Explain, please."

"Well, Hakim seems on my wavelength," Joe said.

"I think I see it, too," Cham said.

"Somebody should explain it to the poor old boss-man," Hans said.

"The Killers have given up sending out probes," Hakim said. "They have aligned with other cultures, made alliances, and now hide among them."

Hans cocked his head to one side, squinting one eye dubiously.

"Or they've died out," Joe said, "and other spacefaring races have taken over the system."

"If we don't accept that these planets are all projections or something as crazy as that," Hans said. He slumped his shoulders and closed his eyes. "Has anybody asked the moms what they think?"

"I've asked for a formal meeting with a mom and a snake mother," Martin said. "I've asked that Stonemaker and whoever he wants to bring should be there, too."

"Shouldn't I be there?" Hans asked, opening one eye.

"Of course," Martin said.

Hans pinned Martin with a fishy gaze, then smiled. "Good. We've been exercising for a tenday now. Everything's smooth."

"There are still problems with some of our crew," Martin said.

"But they're doing the work," Hans said.

Martin hesitated, then agreed.

"Let me deal with just a few hundred things at a time." Hans stood and stretched. He had put on weight around the stomach and his face seemed puffy. "Rex is staying out of sight. I hope his example keeps the others in check. I need a plan. What are we going to do if the decision is to investigate, get right in close before we drop weapons?"

"Split the ship," Joe said.

Cham agreed. "Maybe into two or three ships, dispersed to swing back at different times, from different angles. All black, all silent."

"My thoughts exactly," Hans said. "Martin?"

"The ship that goes in first… it's a fantasy to think it will stay hidden for long, if at all."

"So?"

"Maybe it should go in openly. Maybe it should be disguised. A Trojan horse."

Hans leaned his head back, looking at Martin over his short nose and open mouth. "Uh, Jesus is simple, Satan is complex. We come in openly, we're traveling merchants, we're not hunting killer probes. We've just come to show our wares—"

Cham cackled and slapped his legs. Hakim looked around, still bewildered. "Don't you see?" Cham asked him.

"I am not—"

"Slick them at their own game," Joe said. Hakim caught on but suddenly frowned.

"They know we were at Wormwood," he said. "They know—"

"They may not know anything," Martin said, energized by his own idea, and Hans' elaboration. "They could easily assume Wormwood killed us in the trap. They're more vulnerable, but for that reason, they can't afford to throw off their disguise—if it is a disguise—"

"Because traveling merchants might tattle on them, or be expected somewhere else, and missed if they don't show," Hans said. "And they have a reputation in the neighborhood to maintain. They let the Red Tree Runners go… Martin, my faith in you has paid off. Anything after this is bonus."

"It is not a bad idea," Hakim agreed, smiling at Martin.

"But it needs development," Hans said. "I want a full proposal, with details, before we talk with the Brothers."

Giacomo and Jennifer picked up quickly around their compartment, embarrassed that Martin had come to visit unexpectedly. Clothing, scrap paper waiting to be run through the ship's recycling, sporting equipment for joint human-Brother games, were quickly stacked into piles and shoved aside. "This would be a real mess if we were coasting," Jennifer said.

"Don't worry about it," Martin said, waving his hand. "I'm just dropping by on my own initiative. Hans hasn't asked for a report on the translations, but I thought I'd inquire…"

"We're working with two of the Brothers now, Many Smells and Dry Skin," Jennifer said.

"Those are complimentary names," Giacomo said, smiling.

"Dry Skin has even chosen a human name. He wants to be called Norman. Sometimes Eye on Sky helps."

"So what do we have?" Martin asked. "Are their libraries better than ours?"

"They're certainly different," Giacomo said. "We've barely begun to translate the really technical stuff, but the snake mothers seem more open with their facts, more trusting. There's less fear of influencing the Brothers, I think—that is, taking away their freedom to choose by overawing them. The Brothers are pretty solid, psychologically."

"Can we learn anything more from their libraries?"

Jennifer looked at Giacomo. "Possibly, if they help us translate."

"Shouldn't you know one way or the other by now?"

"If their libraries stored key concepts in words, yes," Jennifer said. "I'm sure we'd know. But the reason we had to call on Many Smells and Dry Skin/Norman is because we were having such a tough time dealing with the synesthesia—with translating smells and music into human language. Their math is disintegrated, literally—no integers. They deal with everything in probabilistic terms. Numbers are smears of probability. They don't see things separated from each other, only in relations. No arithmetic, only algebras. How many planets around Leviathan? It's expressed in terms of Leviathan's history, the shape of its planet-forming cloud ages past… Only after a Brother understands everything there is to know, will he have an idea how many planets there are. Even their most simple calculations are mind-wrecking, to us—parallel processing of cords in each braid. It's math for much more powerful minds than ours."

"We talked about that already," Giacomo said. "But the definite article is also missing from their languages. They have three languages, auditory, olfactory, and written—but writing is supplementary to the rest. All we've gotten access to is the written, so far. Norman is trying to convert olfactory into written, but he says it's the most difficult thing he's ever done."

"What do the annotations tell us?" Martin asked.

"They're intriguing," Jennifer said, leaning forward, eyes narrowing with enthusiasm. "The snake mothers trust the Brothers—"

"Like we said," Giacomo interrupted.

"The snake mothers seem to think there's no chance the Brothers could ever turn into planet killers."

"But they're not so certain about us," Giacomo said.

"The Brothers were littoral, beach grazers—at least, in their earliest forms," Jennifer said. "Almost all their cities were located along coastlines. They made artificial beaches inland to feed the growing populations—that was the beginning of civilization for them. They seem embarrassed by their past, as if hunters and gatherers—us—might think beachcombers are inferior."

"I think their world had little or no axial tilt," Giacomo said. "No seasons, but with two moons—"

"We haven't heard any of this!" Martin said, astonished. "Why didn't you tell us about this sooner?"

"We were waiting to be absolutely sure," Jennifer said.

"Couldn't you just ask Norman or Many Smells?"

"Not nearly so simple," Jennifer said, looking away, fiddling with the overalls at her knees. "The snake mothers may have told them to be careful about telling us too much. "

Martin let his breath out with a low moan. "Why?"

"Because while we've been exploring their libraries, they've been going through ours, and they're a lot better equipped to understand them."

"They're awed by our capacity for violence," Giacomo said ruefully. "They became really interested after Rex attacked Sand Filer."

"Our history is so different," Jennifer said. "Many Smells watched some of our movies. We tried to interpret for him."

"The Longest Day," Giacomo said. "Ben-Hur. Patton. He was particularly confused by The Godfather and Star Wars. Jennifer tried to explain The Forever War. He was pretty quiet afterward, and he didn't smell like much of anything."

Martin shook his head, puzzled.

"They don't release scents when they feel threatened and want to hide," Jennifer explained. "Sand Filer stunk things up because he was injured. That was his distress call."

Martin shook his head. "Why weren't you a little more… selective about what he watched?"

Jennifer blinked owlishly. "I don't see how we can expect them to be open with their libraries, if we aren't open with our own. We tried to find some movies we thought they might appreciate more," she added. "Domestic comedies. Family films. He watched Arsenic and Old Lace. We couldn't erase first impressions, and after Rex's attack, who would blame them?"

Martin let out his breath and closed his eyes. "All right."

"I think they're having a hard time accepting anything made-up," Giacomo said. "We had to explain the movies were not about real events. Except the history films—and even those were reenactments, fictionalized."

"What about literature?"

"They're just getting into some now. No reaction yet."

Martin felt a sudden rush of shame: collective, human shame. He rubbed his nose and shook his head. "We may be allies, but not trusted companions."

"Exactly," Giacomo said.

"We didn't want to tell Hans until we were sure. We thought he might take it badly."

"With him in charge, I don't wonder the Brothers are worried about us," Jennifer said.

"He's under a lot of pressure," Martin said.

"Hans has gotten us through some tough times," Giacomo said. "But he's fragile. Who knows what will happen when things get tough again?"

"Don't blinker yourself," Jennifer said.

Martin looked down at the floor, hands clasped. "Tell me more about the annotations, about whatever you think you've learned."

"Their information on other worlds is extensive. The snake mothers have told them more about types of civilizations, levels of technology, past encounters with different civilizations that went killer. We're still trying to work out the implications."

"Is it possible," Martin began, face brightening, "that the Benefactors simply built the snake mothers and the Brothers' ship after they built ours? Maybe things loosened up. Maybe the Benefactors became less concerned about the Killers getting strategic information."

Giacomo shrugged. "Possibly."

"Maybe we're being a little too self-critical," Martin suggested. "Letting our guilt complexes lead us by the nose."

"Let's not worry about it for now," Jennifer said. "What we need to worry about is how much in their libraries is new and useful to us. I think in a couple of tendays, we'll know enough to make a strong report to Hans."

"You should talk with the snake mothers," Giacomo suggested. "Not Hans. You."

"Bring Paola with you," Jennifer said. "They may think we're more stable in male-female pairs."

"Too bad Theresa couldn't be here," Giacomo said wistfully. "You and she, together, would have been just what they're looking for."

"They like working with dyads," Jennifer said. "They really like Giacomo and me."

"If we could all be in love and connected to each other—" Giacomo began.

"They'd feel more affinity for us," Jennifer concluded.

Martin grinned. "We'll try to make do."

PART THREE

MARTIN FOUND TWICE GROWN IN THE SCHOOLROOM, COILED IN deep discussion with Erin Eire and Carl Phoenix. Paola squatted on a cushion to one side and knitted a blanket, clarifying when necessary.

"But you don't have fiction in your literature," Carl was saying. "And you don't have poetry. You have these symphonies of odors… I suppose they'd be like music to us. But nothing comparable to literature."

"It has made things difficult for learning," Twice Grown said. "I we have adjusted to thoughts that things described in your literature, in fiction, did not actually happen. Even your recorded history is indefinite. Is it not better to know something is truth before communicating?"

"We like experiencing things that didn't happen," Erin Eire said. "There's a difference between writing fiction and lying."

"Though I'll be damned if I can pin it down," Carl said, smiling.

"Carl means," Paola said, lifting her chin but keeping her eyes on her knitting, "he can't easily describe what the difference is between writing stories and lying. But there is a difference."

Erin turned to Martin. "We're having difficulty explaining this to him," she said.

"We we do not create situations for our stories," Twice Grown said. "It seems possible to confuse, especially the young."

"I we—" Erin cleared her throat. "I think we know the difference. Fiction is relaxing, like dreaming. Lying, not telling the truth, is to gain social advantage."

"We we do not dream," Twice Grown said. "We our method of sleep is unlike yours. We we sleep rarely, and are not braided when sleeping, but we our cords are inactive for a time every few days."

"Do cords dream?" Paola asked, looking up from her knitting.

"Cords have mental activity not accessible to braided individuals," Twice Grown said. "They are not smart, but behave on programmed paths."

"Instinct," Carl Phoenix suggested.

"Does this make fiction a kind of waking dream, something two or more people do together?" Twice Grown asked, smelling of peppers and salt sea. He was intensely interested; but Martin also detected a whiff of turpentine, and that might have been nervousness.

"I suppose," Erin said. "One or more people make up a story—"

"But it is known to resemble the real?" Twice Grown interrupted, coils rustling.

"Fiction is based on real settings, sometimes," Carl said.

"We're getting into pretty abstract territory," Martin warned.

"Based on real behaviors, such that it is not unlikely for humans to behave in such a fashion?"

"Well…" Martin said.

"Characters in fiction sometimes do things real people would like to do, but don't dare," Erin said, pleased that she had scored a point of clarification.

Twice Grown did not understand. "I we have a question about this. I we have read short stories, and are now reading novels, which take long to eat."

"Finish," Paola suggested.

"To finish a novel. In some pages, I we see closeness with human behavior in a story, and in reality. But in other pages, other texts, behavior surpasses what I we have experienced. Are these behaviors not available to the humans we we know?"