Martin asked, "Authors and sources, please."
The wand projected: Authors and sources not relevant.
"I'd like to know anyway. As Pan. As leader for the children."
Authors and sources: Translations and reinterpretations of materials devised by civilizations signatory to the Law.
"More details, please. Which civilizations? When?"
Not relevant.
"I'm demanding the answer, not asking for it," Martin said, still calm, but understanding even more Ariel's frustration. He had never tried this before; in his ignorance he had been content not to upset his preconceptions.
The basic texts and corresponding sensory additions were created three thousand four hundred years ago. A single civilization was responsible for the primary sources; other civilizations added to them, and adapted them. Names of the actual authors of the primal texts are not known.
"What was the first civilization like?"
Martin had asked for details about a good many civilizations, and had always been curious about the general nature of the answers, but not so curious as to seem disrespectful. Now it had been made his duty.
The originating civilization was severely damaged in a conflict involving offshoot spacefaring relations.
"Offshoots? You mean, its own colonies? Detail, please." Martin tensed his jaw muscles as he waited for a reply.
Yes, its own colonies. Further details are not known to this source.
He had never pushed so far, and therefore, never received such an answer.
"Open another source, then," Martin said, taking a wild chance. "Another library or whatever."
Please refer to the moms.
"I'm asking now," Martin said. "These facts are important to us. We need psychological insight."
Details of civilizations participating in the Law are not relevant to your Job.
"I say they are," Martin pursued, his voice rising. "I am Pan."
Please refer to the moms.
There it was, then. The wall Ariel and others had doubtless hit. Martin could see why the moms were secretive about some things; the civilizations signatory to the Law could easily imagine another round of death and destruction if their whereabouts and the details of their defenses were known.
Earth had been an easy target because of innocent radiation of energy into space, its baby-bird cheeping in the unprotected tree branch of the solar system.
Martin felt a weary sadness, an echo of all the sadness he had known since Earth's death. Was there ever a point in the scale of galactic civilizations when strangers could trust each other? Did civilizations ever develop sufficient scruples that not one of them would think of creating machines of mass destruction?
Perhaps; but humans were certainly not on that level.
Martin's reading of human history easily led him to imagine planet-destroying probes created by his people, and turned against others. And if hecould imagine it, the moms could imagine it as well.
What sort of equality could exist between children and Benefactors under those circumstances?
Martin waited in the empty schoolroom, uneasy, a tic in his left eye, simple nerves. He stood near the sphere. The stars appeared normal now, and the sphere was offering an unaltered view in the direction of Wormwood, which he could make out even without help as a slightly brighter spot of light among the myriads. Brighter still was the red burn of Behemoth. Leviathan was not visible from this angle.
The War Mother entered.
"Hello, Martin," it said. "How are the children?"
"Fine, physically. A few social problems. Some aren't meshing perfectly." He always seemed to optimize the situation, making it sound better than he actually thought it was. Was this part of what Ariel might have called toadyingto the moms?
"Have you developed plans for further training?"
He swallowed. "No," he said. "We feel stymied."
"Why?"
"We can't do the Job without knowing what might be waiting for us down there."
"All the information you need is being provided as we receive it."
"I mean background," Martin said. "Information about other civilizations, other incidents—how the strategies were created, how we can adapt them to suit our needs… I mean, to adapt them, we have to…" He swallowed again. For a Pan, he was not showing much fortitude. "You have to trust us with all your information. We're calling for full disclosure."
To Martin's surprise and concern, the War Mother did not speak for several long seconds. "The information provided should be adequate," it finally answered.
"We're being asked to show independent thought, to devise our own strategies… and the libraries aren't detailed. How did others fight against the planet-wreckers? How did yourbuilders fight them?"
More seconds of silence. Surely it did not need so much time to compute or think of an answer.
"Your requests cannot be met," the War Mother said. "The information you require is dangerous."
Martin was astonished by the word "dangerous." That doesn't make sense," he said.
"Cooperation was required to build the Ships of the Law. To encourage the cooperation of many civilizations and beings, certain precautions were necessary, among them, that security would be maintained. Ships of the Law might be captured, and their information used to seek out and harm those who built the ships."
Martin had never thought of being captured;it had seemed, from the very beginning, that at least the children were safe, traveling in a Ship of the Law, the ultimate power, the belated victor of the war that had destroyed Earth. But of course that was not a war— just a battle. Probably an unimportant battle, at that.
Martin was not about to budge. "We need to have all your information shared with us."
"Surely you hope to survive this mission," the War Mother said.
"Of course."
"Martin, if your brothers and sisters survive, you, too, could be dangerous. If you are given such information, you also might seek the builders of these instruments."
Martin swallowed hard. "We cannot create strategies out of nothing. I've asked questions that needto be answered, and received no answers."
"You have worked with the best information available. There are simply no clues to where the Benefactors might be found. The information you need is available. Use it."
"I've been told—"
"You are Pan," the mom said.
He swallowed harder, and his tongue seemed to grow thick. "We'll stand down."
"What is 'stand down'?" the mom asked.
"We'll refuse to enact the Law."
"If that is your choice, the ship will change from its present course."
Martin relaxed his clenched fists. He was not angry with the moms; he was not angry with the children. With regard to himself he felt nothing. He looked away from the copper-bronze robot, seeing too clearly how naive they all were.
"We're just asking to be trusted," Martin said, working to keep his voice level.