The children groaned. They had done much of the momerath themselves, but hearing it from Martin—losing all hope of fast action and sacrifice of fuel to boost up and out, knowing what they had already suspected, that he would choose the most conservative and practical course, however time-consuming—brought the truth home hard.
Over three years. Awake and vigilant. And then, unlikely to have enough fuel to accelerate to near-c, perhaps centuries to move on to Leviathan…
At the very least, under those circumstances, they would have to sleep. There were dangers in such a long sleep; even a Ship of the Law could grow old.
Saying the plan aloud, when he had hardly thought it through clearly himself, made it seem both more real and strangely beyond real. Young human beings saying such words, planning such things.
As if to highlight the absurdity, Mei-li giggled. Her giggle died quickly and was not picked up around the room.
"We will be in position to release the bombships in six days," Hakim said.
Nebuchadnezzar was easily visible to the naked eye, a bright diamond among the lesser points of stars. Day by day, it became even brighter, and Martin ordered a star sphere expanded in the cafeteria. As they ate their meals, or gathered in quiet social groupings, they watched their target grow.
The remotes spread their photon-intercepting fields like webs and gathered in clear images of the brown world, as if opening an eye ten kilometers wide.
There were no bugs in the atmosphere—no life crawling on the surface, no organic chemical activity within the upper layers of soil.
Nebuchadnezzar's subtle motions resembled a feeble, irregular heartbeat, but the profiles of the internal vibrations did not match tectonics. Unlike Ramses', Nebuchadnezzar's heart was cool; any internal heat had fled long before.
Martin finished examining Hakim's figures while the other children slept, two days from H-hour.
The five inner masses remained enigmatic. From this angle to the ecliptic, they could not measure the objects in transit across Wormwood, but a chance star occultation allowed Hakim to confirm that one of the dark objects was three thousand kilometers in diameter, with a mass of approximately fourteen billion trillion kilograms, and only as dense as water. The dark objects might be clusters of neutronium with large spaces between, surrounded by a shell… or they might be balloons filled with water, a tantalizing idea, but unlikely.
"I have no idea what they are," Hakim said, shaking his head, expression grim and exhausted. "They worry me greatly, Martin."
Martin replayed the inner mass star occultation and associated graphics and measurement reports, trying to glean with supernatural intuition what could not be seen. "The War Mother has no suggestions?"
"The objects are outside the moms' experience, I think," Hakim said. He looked as if he were thinking, but would not say, Or they will not tell us.
But that would be absurd.
"We should pull in the remotes now," Martin said, shivering slightly.
"Still no signs of defense, no awareness of our presence—no preparation to fight," Hakim said.
"Nothing we can detect," Martin added.
"I would appreciate more time with the remotes—more time to find something…"
Martin thought that over for a few seconds, then nodded. "Another twelve hours. But let somebody else keep watch. You sleep."
"No," Hakim said. "This is my only duty. I watch, I calculate, I keep you informed… For now, I do not need to sleep." His eyes stared up at Martin out of sunken orbits. His hair tufted on his scalp, his face gleamed with oil, he smelled faintly sour.
"Sleep for five hours, and get cleaned up," Martin said, touching his cheek with one hand. "You'll make mistakes if you push yourself too much. We don't need mistakes. "
"I will get along with two hours of sleep," Hakim said. Then, smiling his angelic smile, "And I will take a shower, not to offend."
"All right. Put Jennifer in charge. She'll keep an eye out."
"It is because I am so worried," Hakim said. "What we do not know…"
When the remotes had been withdrawn, Martin conferred with Stephanie Wing Feather and Harpal Timechaser. Theresa and Jorge Rabbit hovered on the periphery in the otherwise empty quarters, representing the children aboard Tortoisein this final meeting of Pan and Tortoise'sshare of ex-Pans.
"Stephanie…" Martin said. "Your thoughts. Twelve hours and we release the bombships. What have I neglected to do?"
"Nothing," Stephanie said.
"Harpal?"
"Nothing. We've done everything we've been taught to do, everything we know how to do… But…"
"It's too good," Stephanie said. "No defenses, no reaction, quiet and almost dead. Nothing like what we've been led to expect, what we've trained to fight. And…"
"No volatiles," Harpal said. "It's going to be damned difficult to refuel."
"Right. If there's anything here at all, it's a tired old civilization dreaming in its own high-tech grave," Stephanie said. "Not much satisfaction killing an old codger who doesn't care."
"Wormwood doesn't fit any profiles, does it?"
"It doesn't," Martin said. "The War Mother has nothing to suggest, except that this could be—"
"A sham," Stephanie said. "Something to draw us into a dead system we can't pull out of, something to waste our energy and time. Flypaper, baited with nasty evidence of past sins."
Martin touched finger to nose, shrugged. "The War Mother thinks the evidence is pretty conclusive." He glanced toward Theresa. She seemed to be daydreaming, staring at the wall beyond him.
"What if it is a trap, and we are wasted completely for nothing?" Jorge Rabbit said. Martin didn't answer.
"We've made our decision," Stephanie said quietly. "We have no proof it's a trap. We just don't know everything for sure."
"The five masses," Jorge said.
"Nothing's ever for sure," Harpal said.
Martin covered the unmagnified image of Nebuchadnezzar with his hand, edge of palm to edge of palm sufficing; or fist. Soft brown world like a dirty rubber ball. The search team conferred among themselves in the cafeteria, leaving the nose temporarily empty, and Martin had chosen this opportunity to see their target alone, photons reflected directly to his eyes.
We can kill you, whatever you are or were. Why don't you react? Why so silent?
"I don't think it's a sham," William said. "I think they've left Wormwood as a kind of sacrifice." He had entered the nose behind Martin without his noticing. "I think this was their home world, but it's old now, and they're old. Maybe they've left behind the responsible types, the builders and planners, to wait for execution."
Martin frowned over his shoulder at William.
William smiled a fey smile in reply to the frown, lifted a hand as they floated beside each other, looking through the transparent nose. "If we were to land and explore their… caverns, tunnels, whatever they have, we'd find the guilty ones waiting for us, ready for justice."
"Jesus, William," Martin said, turning away.
"It's a freaky thought, isn't it?"
"You said it."
"The planners would give themselves to us, and the entire world… And it wouldn't be enough. We want all of themto die, don't we? Just getting the planners, the leaders, wouldn't be enough."