The hull sang high and sweet like the tremolo of a flute.
Martin's scream came and he choked on it, struggling against the mercy of the healing doers.
Tortoisemoved slowly between the worlds, her children ignored by Nebuchadnezzar, by Ramses, by Herod. The silence of these grim barren worlds proclaimed defeat.
Within, as the ship repaired itself, as the Wendys and Lost Boys healed, Martin thought about the Killers, the tricksters, impersonal, unseen.
As on Earth, so it was with the traps of Wormwood. Luring, testing, destroying.
He slept to the humming of the golden doers, finishing their work.
Came William this time. "You're dreaming of me, aren't you?"
"I guess so."
"I'm glad, Martin. I was pretty sure you wouldn't forget."
But he could not dream of Theresa.
Until now, Martin had wanted revenge, but he had not felt the extraordinary burn of hatred.
These monsters had cost him too many worlds, too many loves.
The children had been brushed away with a casual swat, crippled by an enemy who knew more tricks than their Benefactors. The survivors had been left to starve in a depleted void.
Tens of billions of kilometers away, Harefell downward to the brightness.
Martin came out of his healing field to arrange things, to talk on the noach with Hans, who suppressed emotion in his voice, as Martin expressed no emotion in his. And then he led the children into a long sleep. No dreams, just coldness.
Tortoiserose from the pit of Wormwood to meet her sister.
There would be no defeat, no giving up.
And no peace.
PART TWO
TEN YEARS IN COLD, TRACKING EACH OTHER ON THE RIM OF A shallow welclass="underline" Tortoiseand Hare. In defeat, caution, conserving resources. Ten years would not matter in this war of centuries.
While the crew slept, the ships came together again and made a new Dawn Treader, half its previous length, only two home-balls connected by a short neck. Some old spaces came back, though empty of pets and personal effects.
The schoolroom and cafeteria remained. No damage showed, but the fuel reserves wrapped around the neck were much reduced.
Martin awoke a month after the rejoining, to consult with the moms. Field-wrapped in a cushion of warm air, he laddered through the cold, evacuated chambers of the Ship of the Law, approving or suggesting changes. He was not sure why he had been awakened; perhaps the moms were interested in the changed psychology of a crew facing defeat and death, and sought to study one individual's response. If so, they found Martin taciturn.
He had suffered no ill effects from the long cold sleep. He thought he much preferred sleep to years between the stars, these brief silent deaths between bright lives.
But there was a handicap to cold sleep. They would all awake with disaster fresh in their minds, their emotions raw, and immediately have to go to work. Martin was angry and frightened and twisted to such an extent he wondered if he was ill. How much psychological damage had he sustained? He could not know; there was no time for grieving and readjustment.
None of the moms carried a mark of paint. Either the marks had flaked away completely during the ten years, or the War Mother had returned to the bulk of the ship, emerging with Martin from a different kind of sleep.
Martin completed his inspection in five hours. A mom accompanied him to the chamber where the crew slept. "It is time to awaken everyone," it said. "Final deceleration will begin before they are revived. We will approach the inner worlds within two tendays."
"Good," Martin said. "Let's go."
He listened to the winds blowing through the ship as atmosphere and warmth returned. Isolated in a small room next to the sleep chamber, he felt weight return, and stood on his feet for the first time in ten years.
The others came awake in groups of five, were tested by the moms for any health problems, cleared, and gathered slowly, quietly, in the schoolroom.
The ship's floor felt cool to their bare feet.
Martin stayed away from the crew until they gathered in the schoolroom. His mind wandered; he thought of the children's pets, which would not return; Dawn Treaderdid not have reserves to spare. Martin did not know how this would affect morale; he thought they had other and larger griefs to deal with first.
He could hardly bring himself to face the crew and tell what had happened; he did not want to feel their grief as well as his own.
But duty at least remained, if no direction or feeling, and he spoke to them, to start and to finish, to do what he knew must be done.
"We're no longer children," Martin told them. The schoolroom at least had changed little, with a star sphere at the center, filled with thirty-eight men and thirty-seven women. "We've fought and lost. We may not be mature, or very smart, but we're no longer children."
The crew listened in silence.
" I'vefought and lost," Martin said. "I missed what should have been obvious."
"The moms missed it, too," Hakim said, but Martin shook his head.
"A decade has passed. My term as Pan has long since expired. It's time to choose a new Pan. We should do that now."
Ariel sat looking at her folded hands.
"I nominate Hans," Martin said. "Hans is my choice for Pan."
Hans stood in a group of Hare'screw, big arms folded, lips tightening slightly, pale skin reddening. "We usually measure time by how long we're awake," he said. "By that measure, you still have some months left."
"Hans did a fine job commanding Hare," Martin said, ignoring the comment. "His instincts are better than mine." He looked briefly at Hans: Do not make me say it more clearly. Hans looked up at the ceiling.
Alexis Baikal seconded the nomination.
"We'll take any other nominations," Martin continued.
The crew looked among each other, then Kimberly Quartz said, "I nominate Rosa Sequoia."
Rosa's broad face flushed but she said nothing. Decline, Martin silently suggested, swallowing back an even deeper sense of dread. No sane person would nominate Rosa.
"I second the nomination," Jeanette Snap Dragon said.
Martin surveyed the crew.
"I nominate Hakim Hadj," Paola Birdsong said.
That was a pretty good choice, Martin thought. Hakim looked up in surprise and said, "I decline. I have my place, and it is not as Pan."
"I renominate Martin son of Arthur Gordon," Joe Flatworm said.
"Decline," Martin said.
There were no further nominations.
"Vote through wands," Martin said. The voting was quick: sixty-seven for Hans, eight for Rosa. Martin projected the results, then laddered forward to offer his hand to Hans. Hans shook it lightly and broke the grip quickly.
"Hans is the new Pan," Martin said.
"I don't want any ceremony," Hans said. "There's work to do. I appoint Harpal Timechaser as Christopher Robin."