Anvil of Stars

“We find a ship full of corpses, and the moms force us to go take a close look, stick our noses into the stink of failure. Meanwhile, we’re waiting to receive strangers—new crewmates, not even human beings. Any wonder we start listening to Rosa?”

The six said nothing, waiting for a point to be made. Hans drew his lips together, said, “Am I right?”

“Right,” Rex said.

Hans raised his hand over his head, spread the fingers, contemplated them.

Very melodramatic, Martin thought. Child-like.

Hans’ mood was unreadable. Nobody else dared to speak. Martin felt some dreadful kind of grit being revealed in their Pan; tough, determined and perhaps a little perverse, even uncaring.

“The moms say we won’t practise in simulations for a tenday, perhaps two,” Hans said. “The hell with waiting. We forget games and free-for-alls. I don’t want anybody slicking with anybody until this ship is fully prepared. I want some real tensions and angers, not these fake, shitty boredoms we have now. I’m going to have to slap this crew, hit them with work, busy work if necessary. Martin, can you figure the moms?”

Martin showed his surprise. “Beg pardon?”

“Any more insights into what they’re up to?”

He fumbled for a second, shrugging, finally said, “They’re making repairs still. I don’t know what you—”

“Repairs hell. They made your goddamned racing boat to visit the death ship. They gave up a quarter of the fuel we gathered around Wormwood—at the cost of how many lives? Are they keeping anything else important from us?”

“I don’t think so,” Martin said. Ariel did not react. She seemed frozen, listening, waiting.

“We train ourselves, without simulations. We drill for discipline and to keep our blood flowing. We fight each other in physical combat. All of you will be drill instructors. Martin, Rex, and I will work up a schedule of physical endurance and combat. Hand to hand. Winners get to slick. Nobody else. We’ll ask for volunteers to be rewards.”

Only Rex returned his smile. The rest were astonished into blank expressions and silence. Ariel closed her eyes, swallowed.

Before now, except for his outburst following the neutrino storm, Hans’ leadership instincts had always seemed acute. But Martin’s gut reaction to this pronouncement was abhorrence. To go up against crewmates in zero-sum games, physical exercises, competing for the physical affection of a few—he could think of no other words for them—prostitutes, whores, seemed as far wrong as they could go.

But nobody objected, not Martin, not even Ariel. That horrified Martin more than anything else.

“Then let the games begin,” Hans said.

Martin faced Jimmy Satsuma. They bowed to each other, circled warily, clinched.

In the schoolroom, fifteen other opponents faced off, circled, clinched. The room filled with grunts and shufflings, outrushes of air as bodies hit the resilient floor, slaps of flesh on flesh. Wendys wrestled Wendys, Lost Boys faced off against each other.

The family groups, already reduced and weakened by the deaths, became even weaker as Cats opposed each other, Trees and Places wrestled together, Fish and Flowers grappled with Fish and Flowers.

The ship was finding a new social order. Victors emerged; Martin came in sixth out of the top fifteen Lost Boys.

Hans picked out the top fifteen as instructors, and the next round began with additional competitions: running, variations on football, soccer, handball.

There was some satisfaction to Martin in seeing that most of the victors eschewed Hans’ rewards, walking from the matches with wary, embarrassed glances. Rex Live Oak eschewed nothing, taking Donna Emerald Sea to his quarters.

Exhausted, bruised and sore, Martin spent half an hour in his quarters before sleep exploring the libraries of Dawn Treader. The libraries had re-opened in the past few days. There were gaps, but not large ones; about ninety-five percent had been saved or reconstructed from damaged domains. The libraries now integrated the remnants of the derelict’s deep time memory store.

With the libraries restored, he felt some of the pressure of turning inward pass away. He could venture outward again, through the ship’s information universe.

The zero-sum competition was not nearly as divisive as Martin had feared. There were casualties; there were abstainers. Rosa Sequoia and a few of her followers did not compete, and Hans did not compel them to. Some refused after a few attempts, and Hans did not subject them to ridicule.

Days passed.

Nobody talked much about the upcoming rendezvous. It would be like inviting strangers to join a family already having enough troubles; the thought frightened Martin, and he realized with some elation that at least now he could genuinely feel uneasy, that the journey and Hans’ outrages had pulled him out of the gloom that had returned since the voyage to the death ship, lifted that gloom sufficiently to have emotions other than blanketing, all-too-comfortable despair. Perhaps Hans had been right again.

Sixty-four of the crew listened to Rosa’s storytelling. Hans was not there; Ariel and Martin, at his request, attended.

Ariel had accepted Hans and Martin’s attempt to bring her into the fold of authority with surprising composure. Martin thought of two explanations for her placidity: proximity to the center of things gave access to crucial information, and Ariel was no fool; and she would be closer to Martin.

Ariel sat beside Martin in the cafeteria. Martin was reasonably sure she had been making her moves on him, in her peculiar way, since the Skirmish.

He had been celibate since Paola Birdsong. The lure of the flesh was nothing compared to the other conflicts he had to resolve.

The crew came to the cafeteria singly and in triples; few entered in pairs. The dyad structure had broken down in Hans’ exercises and rewards; those who had lost partners in the Skirmish had not yet made new matches, and only one or two new dyads were apparent.

Rosa began her session with a parable.

“Once, back when Earth was young, three children came upon a sick wolf in the woods. The first child was a girl, and her name was Penelope, and she was sweet and younger than the others, and spoke with a lisp. The second was Kim, her brother, who did not know where to go in life, and who always worried about fighting and winning. The third was Jacob, a cousin, the oldest, frightened of his shadow.

“They circled the wolf and Penelope asked the wolf what was wrong with it.

“ ‘I am in a trap,’ the wolf said, and Penelope saw that this was so; the wolf’s paw was caught in a steel jaw chained to the ground. ‘Please release me.’

“ ‘Wait a minute,’ Kim said. ‘What if the trapper sees us? We’ll get in trouble…’

“ ‘The trapper only comes once a week,’ the wolf said.

“ ‘If you know that, then you must know where the trappersets his traps. How did you fall into a trap if you knew where they were?’ Kim asked.

“ ‘You are a very smart boy, so I will tell you something,’ the wolf said. ‘Something very important. But first you must release me.’

“ ‘Are you a magic wolf?’ Penelope asked. She had heard of such things.

“ ‘I am a sorcerer, pretending to be a wolf. I can change my shape at will, unless I am caught by iron—and this is iron.’

“ ‘I think we should release him,’ Jacob said. ‘I don’t like to see live things in pain.’

“ ‘Wait,’ Kim said. ‘Maybe this is the wolf that’s been killing our sheep. Maybe the trapper is doing us a favor.’

“ ‘That was the cougar, not me,’ the wolf said. ‘Have you no trust?’

“ ‘I trust nothing, and care for nothing, because I have been hurt when I trusted before,’ Kim said.

“ ‘I trust you,’ Penelope said.

“ ‘I don’t know whether to trust him or not, but he’s in pain,’ Jacob said.

“ ‘What will you give us if we set you free?’ Kim asked.

“ ‘I can grant no wish while I am trapped by iron,’ the wolf answered.

“ ‘So you can’t prove you’re a sorcerer. I say let’s leave him here for the trapper,’ Kim said.