Anvil of Stars

“Let’s love,” Theresa said. “As if we were free, and our own people.”

And they tried. It worked, partly. At the very least it was intense, even more intense than in their first few days together.

“When I’m free,” Martin said, as they floated beside each other in the darkness, “I will choose you.”

“I am free,” Theresa said. “For this minute, I’m free as I’ll ever be. And I choose you.”

One hour before partition, Rosa stood in the schoolroom, next to the star sphere, less than twelve meters from the silent War Mother. Her eyes were heavy lidded, head bowed. Her hands shook slowly like leaves in a small breeze. She was naked but for a scarf tied around her neck. Dull light from the star sphere limned her pale skin.

Liam Oryx came into the schoolroom looking for Hakim, saw her, and immediately called Martin on his wand. He also called Ariel.

Martin arrived with Theresa, but William had gotten there first. William approached Rosa slowly, saying nothing.

“I don’t need you,” Rosa told him.

“Something wrong?” Ariel called from behind William. “Rosa?”

“I’ve seen it again,” Rosa said. “There’s something in the ship with us. It spoke to me. I can’t stop seeing things that are real.”

William stopped three meters from where she stood, beside the War Mother, which did not speak or move. “What did it say?” he asked.

Martin bit his lip, watching, his stomach sinking. So little time. Every child precious.

Theresa climbed around the schoolroom, hovered beside Ariel. Other children arrived until finally fifteen occupied the chamber, all Rosa’s Tree family and five others besides.

“What did it say?” William repeated.

“It’s alive,” Rosa said. “It lives out here, and it sees and hears things we can’t. It’s very large. I think it might be a god. Sometimes it hates us, sometimes it loves us.”

Martin closed his eyes, knowing now—in his flesh and bones—what he had only known intellectually. She saw herself inside. She saw nothing real to us.

“It said Martin is a bad leader.” She raised her head. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s going to lead us to our death. He doesn’t understand.”

“How could anybody else know how good Martin is?” William asked.

“Stop it, Rosa,” Ariel said.

“It isn’t true,” said Alexis Baikal. “That isn’t what I saw.”

“Quiet,” William said, gaze fixed on Rosa. “Rosa, everybody saw something different. That means they saw what they wanted to see.”

Rosa shook her head stubbornly.

“I think we are having a bit of panic,” William said. “Only to be expected. We’re young, and this is all very strange and difficult.”

“Be quiet,” Rosa said, tilting her head back, a large, naked Valkyrie in an opera. She appeared so vulnerable, and yet Martin could feel her threat to the Job as palpably as if she were a wasp stinging his flesh. No time to waste.

He said nothing, watching William.

William nodded to Ariel. “She’s your friend, Ariel,” he said. “She needs your help.”

“She’s a victim,” Ariel said.

“Stop it,” Rosa said.

“It’s panic,” William pursued. “You’re feeling our panic, our anxiety. You’re very perceptive. You see what we feel, Rosa.”

“Come with me, Rosa,” Ariel said.

“I will not fight,” Rosa said. “None of you should fight. The Pan is wrong. He’s—”

“Enough, please,” Ariel said, voice thick with emotion.

Martin saw Theresa crying, and Alexis Baikal; but only when William turned back to look at him, and Martin saw his face was damp, did his chest hitch and his own eyes fill. He stepped forward.

“You don’t have to fight, Rosa,” he said.

Rosa Sequoia looked at the fifteen companions around her, clasped her trembling hands together, said, “But I’ve trained. I deserve it as much as any of you. Pan can’t take my duty from me.”

Pan/panic. The words danced. If she goes on it will spread and we’ll all go mad. We’re that close.

“I hate you,” Rosa told Martin, eyes slitted, lip curling. “I hate everything you stand for.”

Ariel took her by the arm. William took her other arm. Together, they led her away.

Theresa stood by his side as Rosa left the room. “Who’ll take her tasks?” she asked him.

“Ariel can do them,” he said, looking at the empty space where Rosa had stood. “Rosa will be confined to quarters.”

“And when we split?”

“She stays on the Hare. Tortoise can’t afford her.”

“You’d better talk with Hans, then,” Theresa said.

“Why does she hate me?” Martin asked.

“That’s silly,” Theresa said, taking his hand. “You can’t take what she says personally…”

“William was right,” he said. “I don’t want anybody to hate me. I want everybody to love me… Hell of a thing for a Pan. Hans wouldn’t have this problem.”

Theresa tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the door. “Forty-five minutes,” she reminded him. Martin stared at the War Mother before yielding to her pressure. During this entire episode, the War Mother had done nothing. So little time.

The War Mother preceded Martin and Hans down the second neck as they made final inspections of the points where the Dawn Treader would split. The War Mother would go with Tortoise.

Hans and Martin shook hands, clasped each other. “Do it, brother,” Hans said. “We’ll come back for the mopping up. I envy you, Martin.”

“I don’t envy myself,” Martin said, then blushed. “I wish they’d chosen you Pan.”

“I voted for you,” Hans said, smiling, not very sincere. “I’m just a born slacker. You’ll get the Job done.”

William waited behind Martin. The children mingled to say their fare wells, hugging, kissing, patting shoulders, even singing one round of the wordless hum.

Rosa was not present.

In a few minutes, in the narrow space around the weapons store, all the children divided, Hare team to the right behind Hans, Tortoise team to the left behind Martin. William and Theresa hung beside each other as the teams parted again. Martin felt a sudden misgiving, taking both of them with him. This time brought nothing but qualms.

The teams backed farther away, around the curve of the weapons store. Already the children in the rear of each group could not see each other.

They parted.

Throughout its length, the Ship of the Law made a sound like a sigh, as if it laid down some tremendous burden, only to take up another. The children of the Tortoise crew surrounded Martin in a newly made space beside the weapons store. They waited apprehensively, listening to the ship’s noises, some holding on to each other. Despite the drills, they were afraid, and Martin was certainly not least afraid among them. He remembered Theodore’s words: “No machine works perfectly. Every machine can fail. Every day we are in danger.” But Theodore had added, “No planet lives forever. Every day on Earth, our lives were in danger …”

No safety anywhere. And the Ship of the Law had never failed them before…

Nor had it broken in two before.