Anvil of Stars

“Are the bombships pulling away?”

The star sphere showed that the ships were indeed pulling away, four of them surrounded by glowing halos. The halos faded as they gained altitude.

“Four of our craft show strong anti em traces,” Hakim said.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Martin said. “Is there a layer of anti em in the atmosphere…?”

“Not possible,” Hakim said, looking to the War Mother for support. The War Mother agreed.

Tortoise had passed beyond Nebuchadnezzar and was now dipping below the ecliptic. The bombships, one by one, had dropped their loads. Three of the ships, upon spreading their mines filled with makers and doers, had produced merely the flowering of immense atmospheric explosions across thousands of kilometers, leaving turbulent scars on the planet’s surface.

The fresh scars made very little difference.

The planet looks like one huge scar, smoothed over by time.

“It’s been attacked before, hasn’t it?” Harpal Timechaser asked.

Martin shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“That’s it. We drilled on that. Nebuchadnezzar has been attacked before. It’s always survived.”

But three of the ships’ weapons had found their marks and dropped to the surface, leaving no flowers of radiation behind; falling and entering, unseen from this distance but tracked by the bombships responsible. These ships rose from their close approach, clearly visible to anyone watching on the planet, to Tortoise, but minus halos of light.

The bombships began their acceleration to be picked up by Tortoise. Nothing followed them; nothing attacked. The defense craft around Tortoise stayed in formation, unchallenged.

“How long until we pick up the bombships?” Martin asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Hakim said. “They have to accelerate and decelerate on combat schedule—they will be almost out of fuel. We could be more leisurely about it, perhaps.” But he didn’t sound convinced. Unexplained things had happened; not all the mines had made it to Nebuchadnezzar’s surface.

Martin bit his fingernail.

“We’ve gotten ourselves into something,” he said softly.

“What?” Hakim asked.

They waited, the crew in the cafeteria silent, or whispering softly. Harpal approached the star sphere, examining the planet closely. “We’ve failed, haven’t we? The seeds from the outer cloud will have to do the Job now.”

“That will take years,” Martin said. He turned to the War Mother. “We can’t get volatiles from Nebuchadnezzar. We’ll have to move on to Ramses and try again. Do you know what happened?”

“There is deception here,” the War Mother said.

“No shit,” Harpal said.

“Bombships are returning. Something’s wrong,” Hakim said.

In the sphere, Martin could see them outlined by tiny sparkles of white light.

“What’s the discharge?” Martin asked the War Mother.

“Not known,” the War Mother said. “The effect produces intense gamma rays, much like anti-matter reactions.”

“Do we keep the bombships out?” Hakim asked.

Martin masked his face with intense concentration, eyebrows knit, lips tightened and pushed out, breath harsh in his nostrils. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said.

The six bombships drew closer to Tortoise, came into position for pickup, signaling their status on noach. All were intact, all weapons dispersed. The first ship in line-up for retrieval was William and Fred Falcon’s.

William’s voice came over the noach. “Mines discharged. I’ve got sparkles all around me. I think I picked something up in the upper atmosphere. Why would my mines discharge? Tortoise!”

Martin asked, “Is it possible the mines were defective?”

Hakim shook his head. “I think not.”

“We’ve never been in combat. Could something on the planet deactivate the mines?” He turned to the War Mother.

“No conclusions are possible. Deactivation of the mines is not inconceivable, but simple deactivation would not cause an explosion. The atmosphere may contain seeker and doer systems designed to attack incoming weapons, but we have detected nothing of that nature. Shielded anti-matter dust does not seem a likely possibility.”

“The weapons could be disguised, or hidden, like our own ships,” Hakim suggested.

“That is possible,” the War Mother said.

“Then they do have defenses,” Harpal said. “Maybe the defenses are trying to break through to the bombships—maybe they’re carrying some back with them.”

“Are they carrying anything?” Martin asked.

Hakim examined the bombships again. “There is no atmospheric residue around them. We are trailing a residue ourselves—a very faint cloud of discharged ions and molecules… That is all I detect. I do not know what the sparkles are. The craft look clean otherwise.”

Martin gritted his teeth, relaxed his face, opened and closed his eyes slowly, found his chest bound with tense muscle, relaxed the muscle and exhaled.

“Bring them in, one at a time,” he said. “Fred and William first. Keep them isolated in a one way field— nothing gets out.”

“Martin, I don’t feel very good,” Fred said over the noach. “My skin’s changing color, or my vision is going bad. William’s sick, too.”

Something was very wrong. Don’t let them in.

Hakim and Jennifer floated nearby. “Bring Fred and William in,” he instructed the War Mother. “Isolated, like I said.”

The bombships took formation behind the Tortoise’s aft home-ball, awaiting instructions. Fred and William’s craft was first in line.

Hakim inquired on the other bombships: “Theresa, Stephanie, any reactions? Problems?”

Their ships also sparkled as if surrounded by fireworks. The other four did not sparkle. Martin thought: The mines from these ships did not explode in the atmosphere.

Stephanie Wing Feather responded: “I feel a little ill. We might have been swept by radiation. The fields should have kept it out, but there was such a burst from our mines…”

“Theresa?”

“I’m okay. I’m a little dizzy but I’m not sick.”

The first bombship entered the hatch. The arresting boom, glowing with a bubble isolation field, reached out to attach to the craft.

Hakim switched the star sphere to a view of the weapons store. Martin’s eyes narrowed.

The War Mother said: “There is danger of—”

Time ran out.

The arresting boom touched William’s bombship. The star sphere filled with light and winked out, leaving dark dazzles swimming in their eyes. Hakim cursed loudly in Arabic.

A violent shudder slammed the crew against the walls. Fields rose instantly between them, suspending them from further harm, but already there were screams of pain and smears of blood.

Anti em, Martin’s inner voice said, too late. The bombships and mines were changed into anti-matter.

The star sphere flickered back for a fraction of a second, showing a lump of twisted, torch-bright wreckage careening through the weapons store, setting off violent blasts and shrapnel wherever it touched. The bombship disintegrated into hissing, sizzling shards; ambiplasma filled the weapons store, and again the sphere disappeared.

Martin’s wand sang with warnings and messages, too many to be projected at once. The ship