Anvil of Stars

Martin didn’t particularly enjoy swimming. He had almost drowned in the river beside his family home in Oregon when he was four; that memory tainted any enjoyment of the swimming hall.

“I should have been at the meeting, right?” Her smell was brisk, clean and tangy. Though she was naked, her manner removed any ambiguity about sexual arousal. She was straight-forward, natural, not in the least coy with him. The thought simply did not cross her mind. Martin compared her quickly to Theresa; with Theresa his instincts were clear. Though Erin was well-formed, he simply did not feel much sexual attraction to her.

“Right,” Martin said. He hated being stern. “Why weren’t you?”

“I trust your judgment, Martin.”

“That’s no excuse, Erin.”

She shrugged that off, smiled again. “Theresa’s very nice. I hope she takes the sting out of working with people like me.”

Martin was exhausted from the strain of the day. His face reddened. “Erin, why are you so bloody obtuse?”

Eyes level, she said, “Maybe because I’m afraid.” She wrapped herself in a towel, took an end of the towel and dried her short hair. Most of the Wendys kept their hair short but Erin’s was little more than bushy fuzz. Her startling green eyes emerged from behind the folds of towel, anything but nervous or afraid. Whatever she felt, her appearance betrayed nothing. “I’m not questioning your authority. I don’t side with Ariel. Not many of us do.”

“I count my small blessings,” Martin said.

“Did she agree with the others? About the decision? I’m curious.”

“She’s withholding judgment. Did you listen to the meeting on your wand?”

“Of course. I’m not a shirker. I just didn’t feel like being there. I hate formalities.”

“It’s important all the same,” Martin said. “We do the Job together. I need your input like I need everybody else’s.”

“I appreciate that, even if I don’t believe it.” She folded the towel and let it float while she put on her shorts and shirt and tied the tails below her sternum. Over these she slipped the obligatory overalls. Then she looked away. “I won’t make things any tougher on you.”

Martin started to add something but decided enough was enough. With a nod, he left the anteroom, glad to get away.

The Wendys’ party had gone on longer than expected, and Martin, fresh love exaggerated to a peak during the past few hours, worked alone in his quarters, digging through the training and resource materials available in the ship’s libraries.

Unable to wait any longer, he went in search of Theresa, and found her where she had said she would be. His relief was balanced by his chagrin at being so driven, by impatience and longing and an unspecified worry that something, anything, could go wrong.

The Wendys were making garments from materials supplied by the moms. Thirty had gathered in Paola Birdsong’s quarters; the door was open, and he entered. Theresa kneeled at the periphery of four women. Kimberly Quartz projected patterns from a wand onto a wide, bunched sheet of cloth on the floor. Theresa held one corner of the cloth, smoothing it as Paola drew on it with a blue marker. A few of the women noticed him, smiled politely. Paola glanced up, and then Theresa saw him. For a moment, he was afraid she would be angry, but she gave her corner of the billowing fabric to Kimberly Quartz and came to hug him.

“Time passes,” she said. “Sorry I was late.”

“No problem. I’ve been hitting brick walls.”

“Can you wait just a few more minutes?”

He took a seat near the door and looked over Paola’s quarters, which he had never been in before. She had covered her walls with paintings of jungles, wide green leaves, flowers, insects. A parrot flapped around the room, delighted by the view.

Only two children not at the meeting. It could have been much worse.

Martin shook out of his musings and saw the cutout pieces of cloth suspended in a translucent, colorless field for inspection. Other Wendys talking or singing or working on quilts started to break up and wander out now, nodding cordially to Martin as they passed.

“Come see,” Theresa said. She manipulated the projected images of the pattern, assembling them in the air. Paola Birdsong and Donna Emerald Sea smiled as they watched their design take shape. Donna’s cockatoo preened itself on a rack that held samples of cloth the moms could manufacture.

“It’s a gown. This is what it will look like, when it’s cut and sewn together,” Paola told him, smoothing the sheet of fabric.

He had never paid much attention to her, but in Theresa’s presence, he felt a sudden affection for her, and by extension for all the Wendys, and he regretted not having that kind of loose, undemanding, insightful affection.

“Paola and I designed it,” Donna said. She was quick and nervous, with generous eyes and a small mouth and short blond hair.

The final design showed a long white gown covered with tiny glass beads, glittering magnificently in a rotating light unseen beyond the projection. “A ceremonial gown,” Theresa said. She stepped into the projection.

“My turn,” Paola said. Theresa adjusted it for the smaller woman.

“It’s for when we find our new Earth, after we do the Job,” Paola said. “The first Wendy to step on the planet will wear this. The wedding of the children to the new Earth.”

Martin had heard nothing of these plans and he found himself suddenly filled with emotion. “It’s beautiful.”

“Glad you like it,” Theresa said. “Do you think the Lost Boys would like an outfit for their first step?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He had never given much thought to that time. Then, “We’d love them. Will everybody wear them?”

Donna looked at Theresa. “We were only making one…”

“Martin’s right. Everybody will want them,” Theresa said.

“Then we’d better plan more,” Donna said. “A good excuse for more parties.”

They tried a few more fittings, then Theresa made her farewells.

Martin escorted Theresa down a shadowed hall. They passed Rosa. She edged around them with a furtive nod. Martin wondered when he would have to talk with her, deal with her; she had few friends and no lovers. She was slowly opting out of their tight-knit society.

Theresa said, “It would be nice to make a gown for her,” looking back at Rosa. “She needs something, Martin.”

“I know.”

Theresa took his earlobes in her fingers, pulling him lightly down to kiss her. “We’re alone here,” she said. “You’ve been very patient. Talking to everybody… It must have been difficult. Ariel can be tough.”

Martin looked up and down the corridor. “Let’s go… to my quarters,” he said between her kisses.

“Why?” she asked, teasing with her hips.

“Because I’m shy. You know that.”

“Somebody will see us?”

“Come on.” He tugged her hand gently as he led the way.

“It’s because you’re Pan, isn’t it?”

“Theresa…”

“All right,” she said wistfully. “Nothing adventurous for a Pan’s lover.”

He frowned, then pulled her toward him and unsnapped her overalls. “You’ll make me do anything, won’t you? Shameless,” he said into her ear.

“Somebody in this dyad has to be adventurous.”

He kissed her while mulling over that word, dyad. They certainly were that; he had not called their relationship such, reserving the word for what he and William had had, but what he felt for Theresa deserved it more.

“Wedding dress,” he said, holding her high to suckle.

“For all of us,” Theresa said, eyes closed, grinding her hips against his stomach. “Lower me.”