Anvil of Stars

Ariel rubbed the palms of her hands together, glanced at Martin with a wry expression, and dropped her hands to her sides. Paola seemed transfixed, eyes wide, looking from one being to the other. Eye on Sky, Silken Parts, and Strong Cord at least seemed calm and in no difficulty.

“I am Frog, who first spoke to you,” the second bishop vulture said. “Are you well?”

Eye on Sky slid across the gray surface to raise himself beside Martin. “We we are mystified,” the Brother said. “What is your purpose?”

“Your deceit is more than matched by our own,” Frog said.

Martin’s chest went hollow and he held his breath, waiting for extinction; he had known it would come, that childsplay would not suffice.

“We exist at the sufferance of greater powers,” Frog said. “Since we are neither of us anything more than surrogates, there is no need for ceremony.”

Paola closed her eyes. Ariel’s lips moved, her face ashen.

“It is no coincidence that your ship arrives in the train of destruction from an exploding star. You represent higher powers as well. Your artificial construction is convincing, but the coincidence is too great to be accepted.”

Do they know about the other ships?

“We serve as extended eyes,” Salamander said, lifting its crest. “Do you have access to your creators?”

Martin tried frantically to understand what they were saying. They seemed to believe that Brothers and humans were themselves created, artificial…

“We we do not understand,” Eye on Sky said.

“You are representatives of higher intelligences, as are we. Are we communicating clearly?”

“We’re still confused,” Martin said. “Are you saying others control you, like puppets?”

“We are not puppets. We have a separate existence,” Frog said.

The elephantoid stepped forward. “There are four hundred and twelve types of intelligent being in this planetary system.” Its voice sang high and rough, but intelligible. “Those of us before you serve political and other roles. We speak with our creators and represent the other types. Do you have a direct connection with your creators?”

“We we are autonomous,” Eye on Sky said.

“But you are created,” Salamander continued. Martin’s body ached as if with fever; they might be undergoing the interstellar equivalent of interrogation, the third degree.

“We understand now,” Martin said, hoping Eye on Sky and the others would let him take the lead, catch on to the implications. “If the time has come to drop all pretense, we are ready.” Ariel’s face stiffened with apprehension. Paola closed her eyes languidly, as if ready for sleep.

“It is clear that precautions are necessary in high-level interstellar relations,” the elephantoid said.

I’ll call him a babar, Martin thought, and held his jaws together tightly to keep from laughing. He couldn’t believe they had traveled for centuries, across so many hundreds of trillions of kilometers, to stand in this place, in this situation, meeting layer upon layer of lies with more lies. It was comic in an acutely painful way.

William and Theresa and Theodore and so many others had died to bring them here; had been killed by these things, or by their higher authority.

Eye on Sky said nothing, deferring to Martin. Martin wondered what the Brothers were thinking, but he could not turn back now. “That seems to be the rule,” he answered. “We appreciate your not harming us.”

“It would not be courteous,” Salamander said. “Do you understand the intentions of your creators?”

“If you’re asking whether we can… discuss issues with you, make decisions, the answer is yes, to a limited degree.”

“Are your superiors in this vicinity, within our planetary system?” Frog asked.

“No,” Martin said.

“Are they listening through you?”

“Not directly,” Martin said.

“Can you provide a more direct means of communication, to allow more rapid agreement?”

“No,” Martin said.

“This much all seems true,” the elephantoid babar said. “Are you tiring, or do you wish to make preliminary agreements now?”

“Let’s get something agreed to now,” Martin said.

“We feel it is best, if you are prepared, to meet directly with our creators, that you may carry more accurate knowledge to your own.”

Martin could not speak for a moment. Eye on Sky swiveled his broad head, cords held tightly together in a defensive posture, and said to Martin, “We we are ready.”

“All right,” Martin said, ant in kitchen, diapered infant on a diplomatic mission. “Let’s meet them.”

* * *

The white walls bent inward and sank out of sight.

The five representatives moved closer to the humans and Brothers.

“This is not dangerous,” the babar said in its high, irritating voice, “but it is difficult to fold one’s thoughts around, even if you have witnessed it before.”

“This fourth world is a home and reservoir,” Salamander said. Martin much preferred listening to the bishop vultures. “Our creators live inside, in layers around the dense core, where there is much flow of energy.”

“Did they always live here?” Paola asked.

“Since we have existed,” Frog said.

“How long is that?”

“Two thousand years by your measure,” Salamander said.

The killer probes may have been made long before that, Martin thought.

The red circle appeared again, larger this time, and gracefully dropped to the floor of the tunnel. The edge of the circle rested less than two meters from Martin’s feet.

“I reassure you, there is no danger,” Salamander said. “We will witness a part only of one of our creators.”

The floor vibrated as if with the passage of a train. Something shimmered within the red circle. The shimmer extended into a tube rising to the top of the tunnel. The red circle vanished. Within the shimmer lifted a multi- colored brightness, dazzling in the tunnel’s obscurity.

The brightness took a helical form, like a staircase of light. Along its length dripped brilliant colors, yellows and oranges dominant, as if the light itself congealed and condensed and evaporated again.

The sight was intense and beautiful, but Martin was far beyond being impressed. He stifled urge upon insistent urge to laugh.

He could see little more than the brightness. It became a staircase with dancing beetles. His vision faded in and out. He wondered how much time he had before he fainted or lost control…

The next voice shocked him to full alertness. Richly feminine, fully human, it sounded like Theresa, but the similarity was more his making than real. He stood straight in the skeletal suit and saw the others motionless around him, all but Silken Parts, who swung to look in Martin’s direction, head cords drawn almost to a point with fright.

“Only you and I we,” Silken Parts said. “Others…”

Their companions were all frozen, locked into immobile fields. Ariel and Paola had become posed mannequins within the still white cages of their suits.

The voice again, without age, smooth as ice and equally cold. Not unfriendly. Not friendly. Not caring. Not aloof.

A voice to be described only in negatives and absences.

“Tell me why you are here.”

Martin could not summon enough spit to answer. Silken Parts made no effort to speak English. Martin faced the helical staircase of light and saw jeering faces ascending its twist.