seem to appear out of nothing. These regions, each perhaps as wide as the star system itself, but having no depth—located perhaps at the periphery of the system—would act like giant projectors, revealing convincing full- spectrum images of… a nonexistent system.”
Hans poked his finger into a projected image of the fifteen-planet system. “Like this one, but a lot bigger. You mean, if we were to enter, we’d pass through the deception, see what was really there?”
“Not at all,” Hakim said. “It would be possible to shift these ray-altered regions to continue to deceive. I admit, it would be a massive undertaking, but not nearly so great as wrapping the entire solar system in a sphere of deception.”
Silken Parts said, “Our ideas cross difficult. Please project.”
Hakim quickly sketched in diagrams showing their positions, regions of ray-alteration shaped like shields, camouflaged or deceptive images perceived from great distances.
“Very powerful,” Silken Parts said. “Could change field of battle. Great blindness and confusion.” He explained to Eye on Sky and Shipmaker.
“Scary stuff,” Hans said. “Any way we can penetrate it?”
“If it is constant, no,” Hakim said. “But if the images are maintained only at certain intervals, we may receive a correct image with constant vigilance.”
“But we wouldn’t necessarily know which was correct.”
Hakim shook his head, eyes downcast.
“So what do we plan for?” Hans asked.
“Stonemaker should be in on any planning,” Harpal said. Martin agreed.
“Right. But what I’m asking is, how can we make plans, when we can’t know what to expect, what is real and what is not?”
“Possibly nothing is there at all,” Silken Parts said.
Hans’ eyes seemed to glaze over. He put his hands behind his neck, shook his head slowly, said, “I haven’t the slickest notion what we can do, but we need a war conference.”
As they prepared to leave, Paola Birdsong arrived with a string of ten braids, all eager to see the unobscured stars. She smiled at Martin as they passed, happy with her new occupation. “They feel better if they can see the stars once or twice a tenday,” she said.
The braids rustled like leaves poured from a bag.
Martin learned from Silken Parts that Stonemaker would not be available for four days. Hearing the search team’s latest information had caused quite a stir among the Brothers, and Makers of Agreement had been called for.
Donating two cords apiece, the Brothers had created three large new individuals, the Makers of Agreement. They served one function only: to look over the present situation and render fresh judgment, unclouded by whatever prejudices the former braids might have had.
Hans received this news from Martin and Eye on Sky with intense vexation. He conferred with Rex for a few moments in one corner of the schoolroom, then returned and said, “All right. We’ll hold a conference with the Makers of Agreement. Is that okay with you?”
Eye on Sky smelled of cabbage and old tobacco smoke, showing intense cogitation, and replied, “It will be adequate.”
“Maybe they’ll give us a fresh perspective as well,” Hans said. Martin watched from one side, arms folded behind his back.
The discussion took place in the Brothers’ territory. It was dark in the corridors there; the air smelled moist and electric, like a storm. Sometimes Martin caught a tang of beach, salt and organic decay. Eye on Sky led Hans, Rex, Paola, Martin, Harpal, Cham, and Joe to a small, close chamber. Martin had requested that Paola join them, since she was most expert at Brother speech.
The walls were coated with dripping oil. On the floor of the chamber, three braids lay, undulating slowly to a steady wind of intensely organic, fishy smells and the sound of waves breaking on a shore.
The braids rose and coiled like cobras as the humans entered. Martin could not recognize any of them; all patterns had been rearranged. They did not even smell familiar. In the past few tendays, Martin had learned to pick up a few of the subtle odors of individual braids, even giving some of them code names: Teacake, Almond Breath, Kimchee, Vinegar.
Eye on Sky, the best of the Brothers at speaking English, would act as translator for the temporary braids. “Makers of Agreement will seem disoriented for a time, but when the braids return cords to all, we they all will remember discussions.”
“Not ideal,” Hans commented dryly. “Still, we’re coming into Leviathan in the next three months. We need to begin strategic planning. War councils. Understood?”
Eye on Sky translated, with Paola’s help. While Paola could not make Brother sounds, she had modified her wand to provide a basic vocabulary.
Hans wrinkled his nose at the effusion of smells. “I’ve been studying your conflict. We all have, I assume.”
“Conflict?” Eye on Sky asked.
“Your battle. When your ship was severely damaged.”
“Yes,” the braid said. “We might translate it more as the Sadness.”
“You entered a stellar system ten light years from here, to take on what you assumed was a world colonized by Killers… And in fact, you were probably correct. You made an effort to be certain your judgment was correct. That took a year and a half, our time… An extraordinary effort. During that time, you were detected, but you maneuvered through the defenses, sterilized the surface of the planet, then encountered a squadron of killer probes fleeing from the destruction. You were subjected to a bombardment of neutronium weapons; you survived with high casualties and severe damage to your ship.”
He paused. Eye on Sky added nothing to this summary.
“You accelerated out of the system, and with your available resources, looking back, you saw what might have been the surviving killer probes returning to the planet.”
“Yesss…” said Eye on Sky, with the peculiar musical upturn in its voice. “Mostly correct.”
“Anything incorrect?” Hans asked, eyebrow raised.
“Mostly correct.”
“All right,” Hans said, shoulders slumping, hunching his upper body over where he sat. He lifted his wand and projected some crude colored sketches of the Brothers’ battle. “It seems obvious to me that you faced a decoy world, much as we did around Wormwood. It may have been a less sophisticated decoy—it was farther away from Leviathan—but that in itself could be important. We both got our asses wiped. Pardon me—”
“The analogy, for we us, is cords were skinned,” Eye on Sky said. “I we understand.” A steady progression of violin sounds, chirps, and smells wafted from Eye on Sky to the three temporary braids.
Hans smiled. “And after you were done, it seemed likely the killer probes would repair the decoy, start all over.”
“Yes,” Eye on Sky said.
“So in effect, your sacrifice was for nothing.”
“Yes,” Eye on Sky said.
“We’re all pretty awful at anticipating what the Killers can do. But then, so are the moms—your snake mothers, too, I assume. The closer we get to Leviathan, the more sophisticated the traps, until Wormwood itself seemed to actually be the target. I think we can assume Leviathan is the real center of interest. And the deceptions and defenses are going to be extraordinary. Am I right?”
The three braids stirred as Eye on Sky conveyed this to them.
“There is general agreement we our survival not good chances,” Eye on Sky said.
“But we have an advantage,” Hans said.
“Combined resources and knowledge,” Eye on Sky translated for the largest braid.
Martin added, “And the chance to compare notes and pool our minds. The Killers don’t know that we
