Anvil of Stars (54 page)

What he did feel was not awe, but fear, and not fear for his life. He feared screwing up. He could just begin to see the scale of the blunders they might make here.

"Why should we make the effort?" the staircase god asked bluntly. Language was a true handicap here; nuances and subtleties could not be expected, and bluntness could not be interpreted as… anything.

"Do you believe we can hurt you?" Martin asked.

"It is possible you can destroy us, despite precautions we might take."

"Then accept my offer. Tell me about your past. I'm here to learn."

"In absorbing the information you have given us, I have tried to understand both those you call humans and those you call Brothers. You did not come from the same star systems; your chemistries differ in reliance on certain trace elements. This told us that your story was not true, and we had no difficulty putting facts together. But it did occur to some of us that your gesture of making a lie, of sending a disguised ship, was magnanimous. Your kinds seem to believe in deliberation before reckless action.

"But surely anything we tell you cannot be convincing. What compelling evidence can we provide? We could rearrange your brains, change you so that the beings on your ship would all believe we are innocent. How would you know the difference between compulsion and compelling evidence?"

"I hope to be able to tell the difference," Martin said.

"Your innocence, your ignorance, reminds me of many of our smaller neighbors that live on planet surfaces. There is an attractiveness, you might say a beauty, to their limited lives and thoughts, but unfortunately, faster and more capable minds can't share such illusions."

"Why did you tell Salamander and his people, all the hundreds of others, that you made them?"

"We did not. They concluded that we are their makers. We have chosen not to contradict their beliefs."

Martin was getting nowhere. Still, he would keep asking questions, keep probing. He could not, for justice' sake, do otherwise.

"Do you remember your makers?"

"No."

"They never met with you after making you?"

"They made us as growing potentials within this world. By the time of our maturity, they had changed, and they have not returned or looked at us, so far as we can sense."

"Why did they make you?"

"We do not know."

Martin looked up again. "Can you understand how frustrated I am, not being able to judge? Not having enough evidence?"

"No."

"What would you have me do?"

"Choose different masters, different guides," the staircase god replied. "It is obvious to me, and to many of our smaller surface species, that you have been poorly informed and poorly led. Those who seek revenge for wrongs committed in ages past are not thinking correctly."

"It's part of a system of justice," Martin said. "If you make machines that kill living planets, you know that you or your descendants will be punished."

"Has this prevented the creation of such machines, and the destruction of worlds like yours?"

"No," Martin admitted.

"Then such a law is useless. Ask yourself if there is only one law, or if others have made other laws; ask yourself why we feel that if there are many joined civilizations of the kind you describe, they must to us seem immature, not capable of judging.

"It seems likely now that you cannot harm our worlds, that you are weaker than we. You are not a threat. Any further discussion is wasted effort."

The vision faded, helix of light and glimmer dropping to the red circle.

Martin's audience was over.

Salamander, frozen throughout the dialog, lifted its crest and advanced a step toward Martin.

"You have talked? Have you what you need?" it asked.

Martin relaxed his clenched fists. An involuntary spasm clenched them again. He sucked in breath, shuddering with frustration and rage.

"Have you what you need?" Salamander repeated. Martin looked at the creature sharply, trying to see behind the barriers of physical form, language, his prejudice. He could not help but conclude that Salamander was not an illusion.

The creature in the Death Valley spaceship had been a kind of prototype of the bishop vultures, designed by the Killers, who also created all these beings now experienced… Creators of whom Salamander knew nothing.

To Salamander, Martin represented a monster as frightening as the neutronium bombs that had whizzed through the Earth had been to his father…

Martin was Death, Destroyer of Worlds.

"I should go back," Martin said.

Salamander advanced again, fingers held up. "You have not enough," it said. "You still think we are guilty."

"No," Martin said. What could he say? Nothing to reassure it; nothing to mislead.

"What can we do to defend ourselves?" Salamander asked, with sufficient ambiguity of meaning to confuse Martin.

"I need evidence that those who built the machines are no longer here," Martin said. "Your superiors either can't or won't supply me with the evidence."

"We know nothing of them," Salamander said. "There will be meetings. We must meet with you again."

"Please take me back," Martin said. In Salamander he recognized a type not so inhuman after all; diplomat, organizer, representative of many interests and individuals. He could not hate Salamander, or by extension, any of the others he had seen.

"You must recognize what is to be lost," Salamander said, waddling closer, fingers curling as if in threat.

"I know," Martin said.

"You are not capable of knowing, you are too small and limited," Salamander said. "I must teach you now, immediately, what can be lost. There is no time. What must I do? "

Martin did not want to confront Salamander. "We'll try to arrange another meeting."

"You have met with the superiors twice, and that has never happened in our history."

"Maybe there can be a third meeting."

"They have told you what you need. They will not speak to you again," Salamander said.

"How do you speak to them?"

"We send signals into this planet, and they respond, or do not respond."

Like calling monsters from the deep with songs. Leviathan, indeed; the staircase gods were great energy leviathans basking on the deep energy slopes of paradise, thinking unknown thoughts, disdaining surface creatures.

Noach blackout would end within hours. Martin had to speak with the other ships as soon as possible.

Salamander drew back its arms, dropped them to the floor, backed away, miter head bowed as if in supplication.

"I have been ordered to let you return," it said. It walked on all fours toward the opening of the tunnel. Martin followed, the timeless wash of the vast blue ocean growing louder.

With Martin's return and explanation of what had happened, Double Seed altered radically in design and ability. The crews stayed on the bridge as the ship drew in its extensions, armored itself against possible direct assault, and shielded itself against transmissions into or out of the ship's interior. Martin knew the ship's transformation could be taken as a sign of aggression, but they had to take the risk.

While they waited, Hakim and Silken Parts selected and displayed some of the, huge volume of information sent to the Double Seed in the past two hours from the surface of Sleep.

Images of planet-spanning cities on the inner worlds, scenes of daily life whose meaning they could hardly guess without reference to hundreds of thousands of pages of text, expertly Englished; the varieties of races, sounds of over twenty spoken languages, biographies and portraits of highly accomplished individuals, including long sequences on Salamander and Frog, more than just diplomats or representatives—creative artists famous throughout the Leviathan system, experts in planetary architecture, responsible for Puffball's construction over the past few hundred years, as well as designers of philosophical systems regarded as complex games…

They're trying to personalize themselves, be more to us than unfamiliar creatures and opponents. It's a tactic almost human… and it implies some understanding of or congruence with our psychology.

"They have opened their archives," Eye on Sky said, and curled to face Martin. "They are very afraid of we us."

Martin nodded.

"He knows that," Paola said.

"They couldn't give me proof that the Killers have gone," Martin said.

"Is that kind of proof possible?" Ariel asked. "They could only prove the Killers are still here if the Killers themselves talked to us—admitted they were here. Right?"

"Right," Martin said. "I'm thinking of the decision Stonemaker and Hans have to make. We've tracked the Killers, we've found conclusive evidence they once lived here…"

Talented Salamander and Frog, betrayed by their physique; leftovers from centuries, millennia of frantic creativity—and to what end? To make up for the Killers' sins, creation to atone for destruction?

Hans would not see it that way. Martin could not predict Stonemaker's reaction, but Eye on Sky was clearly sympathetic to the pleas of innocence, the urgent appeal for multitudes of intelligent beings, far more than just the leftovers of Killer habitation.

Hakim touched Martin on the shoulder. "We will be able to noach in two minutes," he said. "We will communicate with Greyhound directly. Through them, of course, Shrike as well, but Shrike is still out of direct range."

"What would you do?" Martin asked Eye on Sky.

"As a group? We we must decide—"

"By yourself," Martin said. "If you had the choice."

"What would you do if you alone, as a braid—" Paola tried to interpret.

"I we understand," Eye on Sky interrupted her. "It is not a question I we enjoy answering."

Martin stared at him and gave the merest nod.

Paola looked between the Brothers, who had stopped moving, waiting for Eye on Sky's answer.

"I we have not reached a decision," he finally said.

"You're wavering," Cham said. Cham pushed off from the ceiling and rotated to a reverse, landing with his feet on the floor, then performed the maneuver in reverse, exercising with nervous energy. "I think it's a trap," Cham said. "The very worst trap, perfectly designed to snare us. I think you should tell Hans that."

Ariel curled in mid-air. Martin could not read her expression.

"Nobody's asked the mom or the snake mother what we should do," George Dempsey said.

"George, you've always been a little dense," Donna told him.

"Hell, I know they're not supposed to influence us…" George said with a pained expression. "But they brought us here, they've given us this opportunity, and if we screw it up, if we decide wrong…"He blocked Cham's accelerated exercise with an arm, causing Cham to tumble and grab a stanchion. Cham mumbled something unintelligible but stopped bouncing back and forth and curled beside Erin. "If we decide wrong…" George repeated, but did not finish.

"We're guilty of a crime worse than the death of Earth," Paola said.

"Right," George said.

"Just what they want us to think," Cham said. "Perfect disguise."

"I don't think it's a disguise," Martin said.

"Nor do I we," Silken Parts agreed.

"Nor do we all," Eye on Sky concluded. Cham pushed his lips together and shook his head.

"Well, I'm in my place," he muttered.

"Stop it," Martin said. "We could argue for years and not know for sure. I'm goddamned confused myself."

"Amen," Erin said.

"But I'm not Pan. We don't make the decision alone. We present what we have to all the others…"

In the quiet, cool noach chamber, Hakim, Eye on Sky, and Martin sat, waiting for signals to be coordinated.

Stonemaker and Giacomo appeared first, three-dimensional noach images growing out of the air. Giacomo's face was pale and drawn, his eyes dark and tired. Stonemaker received Eye on Sky's report as Hakim prepared to transmit their findings.

"We're having trouble," Giacomo told Martin. "Hans will be here soon. He can tell you about it. I need to speak with Jennifer right away."

"After Hans and I talk," Martin said.

"Martin, this is really important. We've made some significant advances. The moms are making new equipment for us. I have to talk with Jennifer, and Silken Parts, too."

"I understand," Martin said. "Strategy first."

Giacomo's face reddened. "God damn it, Martin, Hans isn't here yet, and we don't have much time. We've learned a lot in the past few tendays, stuff I wouldn't have believed!"

"So tell me about it while we wait for Hans," Martin said.

"Bring Jennifer in. We'll all talk."

Martin did not relish being bogged down in technical details, but he relented and asked Jennifer to enter the noach chamber. Her expression softened when she saw Giacomo, then became worried as she saw the strain he was under.

"Jenny, we think this system is armed to the teeth. Blinker is probably a giant noach generator, but it isn't used for communication. The entire planet changes every few minutes… The moms have studied it, I've been working through the momerath…"

"Give us the important stuff," Jennifer said, glancing at Martin. "We'll talk momerath later."

"Blinker is their Achilles' heel," Giacomo said. "It controls a lot of things around Leviathan. We think we can use noach as a weapon against Blinker. If we can persuade Blinker, it'll be like their turning our ships into anti em, only much more powerful. Wormwood was deliberately primitive, compared to Leviathan. That's what I've told Hans, and the moms seem to agree. They're making noach weapons right now. I don't think we'll have time to test—"

"What can they do?" Martin asked.

"We might survive Blinker if it tries to attack us. Our neutronium weapons are probably useless. They can nullify them, even… I'm not positive about this, Jenny, but the momerath says they can convert our bombs to the limits of the system, or even after they enter a planet.

"That's the glory of Leviathan. Just looking at these planets long enough, we can think of a thousand new things, a thousand possibilities. The ships' minds are working all the time. All our weapons and delivery systems are being redesigned."