Anvil of Stars

closely, and I think they’re going to take longer to adjust than the Lost Boys. Maybe it’s a snake or phallic thing. Just look at their faces when the Brothers move. Stephanie maybe, but she’s not with us any more.”

“They scare me, too,” Rex said.

“Here’s what I think we should do,” Hans said, and he told them.

Martin, Hans, and Cham waited in the weapons store. The air in the hemisphere had cooled to just above freezing and smelled faintly of metals and salt. Hans straightened his overalls and cleared his throat. “We’ll meet them casual,” he said. “No hands out, nothing. Let them make the first gesture.”

“What if we all just stand here?” Cham said.

“I’m patient,” Hans said.

A mom entered the store and floated next to Hans. “The craft approaches now,” it said.

“Christ, I’m nervous,” Hans said.

A field glowed around the pylon, which pushed through a darkness in the bulkhead. Faint clunks and hums resonated throughout the chamber. The pylon returned, bringing at its tip like a fly on a frog’s tongue a round craft about three meters wide with a conical protrusion, much like a squat pear. The pylon set the craft gently in a field, and the field wrapped it in purple, lowering it to the floor of the chamber.

“Our gravity will be slightly heavy for them,” the mom said. “But they are very adaptable.”

“Good,” Hans said. His throat bobbed.

Maybe he’s got a snake thing, too, Martin thought.

The pear-shaped craft opened a hatch. Within, like rope in a ship’s locker, coiled three of the Brothers: red and black, cords gleaming like rich leather. They did not move at first. Then, with uncanny grace, a braid uncoiled from the mass and slid to the floor, the forward end rising and making a faint chirping noise, like summer crickets.

The second and third braids followed, and stood before the three humans separated by only a few meters of floor. Martin smelled fruity sweetness, like cheap perfume. He did not feel repugnance, or even fear; only child-like fascination, as if these were wonderful new puzzles. I like them.

The central braid coiled its rear and lifted its front end two meters above the floor. Then, in birdlike, chirping English, it said, “We we are very pleased to be With you.”

Hans swallowed again, eyes wide, and said, “Welcome to the Dawn Treader. To our ship.”

“Yes,” said the central braid. “We we must all be curious to know. I we do not see any of females. Odd must be very odd to have two sexes when you together are thinking.”

Cham grinned. Hans swallowed again. “Not so odd,” he said.

“Let get closer, and touch,” the Brother continued. “It is perhaps best to know what we we are.”

Cham and Martin stepped forward as the central braid swayed and the other two lowered themselves to lie at full length on the floor.

“You may touch any of we us,” the Brother said. “I we am speaking because this individual is most skilled this time at your language. I we will pass this along to other individuals by teaching and by giving parts of myself.”

Martin bent down next to the leftmost braid and put out his hand. The cords glistened, their smooth skins finely wrinkled. Hans stood behind Martin, not stooping.

Cham touched the rightmost braid, stroked it with his palm. “It’s warm,” he said. “Almost hot.”

Martin could feel the heat even before contact was made, like a dampered stove.

The braid shifted beneath his touch, and a cord slowly uncurled four legs, touching, scraping Martin’s hand. Now he shivered; the touch was like pointed fingernails.

The smell became tangy and sweet, like wine.

“You are not touching,” the central Brother said to Hans. “Touch.”

Hans closed his eyes and gathered his courage. He reached out, and in a move that surprised Martin completely, wrapped his arms around the Brother and squeezed gently. The Brother wriggled beneath the pressure.

The air smelled like fresh soil.

“How do we look to you?” Hans asked, glancing up at the front end. Cords made a kind of knot there, small black eyes—four per cord—rising as the knot undid itself and the cords splayed to inspect Hans’ face.

“In your visible light, you are quite interesting,” the Brother said. “Like nothing familiar to we us.”

“We have creatures called snakes or worms,” Hans said huskily. Sweat beaded his cheeks and forehead. “You remind us of them…”

“You do not like snakes or worms? They mean harm or negatives to you?”

“I’ll get over it,” Hans said, looking down at Martin. “Not too bad, huh?”

“You’re doing fine,” Martin said.

“Thanks,” Hans said, stepping back. “You fellows would be great on a cold night.”

“He means,” Cham said, “that to us you feel quite warm, pleasant.”

“You are pleasing cool,” the Brother said. “Now companions will speak. Pardon language. Lacking tongues, we we make sounds with air expelled between parts of components, and with friction on legs interior we our fore part.”

“Like horns and violins,” Martin said.

“I’ll be damned,” Hans said.

“It is true that you always are,” the rightmost braid said, the tone sharp and scraping, vowels mere lapses between tones.

Martin, Cham, and Hans looked at each other, puzzled. Martin pondered if the aggregate was echoing Hans’ proclamation of damnation; Cham figured out that the statement was actually a question. “I think he’s asking, are we always the same person. Do our arms and legs run away when we aren’t looking.”

Hans grimaced. “We’re always the same,” he said. The central braid issued a series of cricket chirps and the air smelled of something rich and perhaps not entirely fresh. “Our bodies stay together:”

“We our guide tells us so,” the middle aggregate said. “It is difficult for we us to think about.”

“I understand,” Hans said. “Your lifestyle… your life is difficult for us to imagine, too.”

“But we we can friendly,” the rightmost aggregate chirped and sang.

“Friendly we are,” Hans said, smiling giddily at Martin and Cham.

“You do have no like we us?” the rightmost asked.

“Nothing like we us,” the middle clarified.

“Where we… come, came from,” Martin began, “colonial, aggregate creatures—beings…” He paused and took a deep breath. The three aggregates made a breathy noise as well. “Creatures made of parts existed only in simple animals and plants.”

“Insects,” Cham said.

“What?” Martin asked.

“Insects came together to make flowers,” Cham said.

“Different,” Martin said.

“Stuff it,” Hans said under his breath.

“May we we see records of these colonials?” the middle asked.

“Certainly,” Hans said.

“Do you regard them with disliking?” the middle asked.

“I’ve never met any of them, actually,” Hans said. Martin admired the insouciance of the answer and hoped it wasn’t lost on or misinterpreted by their new partners.

“Think in reality you are colonials, only individual is big social, society,” the rightmost said.

“I think he means we’re part of a social group, and that’s the real individual,” Cham said. “Interesting idea. Maybe we can discuss it when we know each other better.”

“Do you fight each other?” the middle asked.

None of the humans answered for long seconds. Then Martin said, “Not usually, no. Do you?”

“Constituent parts may fight outside we our control,” the middle aggregate said. “Do not interfere. It is normal.”

Hans controlled a shiver. Martin said, “We play games, competition, to keep ourselves fit. They are a kind of fighting, but generally, nobody gets hurt.”