“Good. It needs to know. Details are not its strong suit.”
Not true, actually, he thought. But it was finite.
The timestone high above suddenly flared into a rich, golden-orange arc. The bleat of intense flux hammered Nigel down and he crawled under one of the trees. He could tell it was mostly infrared, but the visible alone nearly blinded him.
<Ah—No—> Quath scrambled under the canopy with him.
“It prefers simple solutions.”
Vapor burst from the tree decks. The sudden fog hissed and through it Nigel could see the photovores. They were instantly overloaded and their wings burst into smoldering black. Parts fell away.
The entire high stack of them, a gyre of hundreds, began tumbling in slow motion toward the plain. They would join those they had so recently dispatched with nonchalant abandon.
“I’ve seen these buggers work before,” Nigel shouted into the steam that cloaked them. “They’re beautifully engineered, but not for this.”
<Elsewhere, I have seen them deliver esty bombs.>
A photovore tumbled into a tree nearby. The thick trunk went down with a sharp crack.
“Damn, where’s that bird? We have to get out of here.”
He knew the mechs used esty bombs now, destabilizing a patch of space-time so that it tried to straighten out and go flat. That ripped apart anything nearby. Anything that needed geometric structure to exist, maybe even a Magnetic Mind. No defense.
<It is your savior, not mine.>
“You said you carried a human, right?”
<I did. But hasten, see the fires—>
“I’ll trade you a ride for that human.”
<It would be opportune if you could escape this Lane.>
He couldn’t, of course. But the bird was somewhere here and to it, matter itself was a soufflé of empty space and furious probabilities.
“That human—bet I can guess his name.”
<Perform your exit first.>
“Quite. Where’s that bird when you need him?”
Nigel sent a blaring call. Sure to attract photovores, even in their final torment. But there were only shaved seconds left. As had become his habit of late, he thought of Nikka for an instant, savoring it, just in case this was truly it. This time.
FOUR
Finitudes
No use running, of course.
The Mantis came as a fast flickering at the edges of Killeen’s vision. He was tired and something went out of him when he caught the swelling blankness, mute evidence of how easily it could avoid them.
Killeen got up slowly from their campfire. Toby and Cermo followed suit; Bishops stood, ready to move, even when it seemed pointless. He wished they had not indulged in the liquor, but then, that probably would make no difference.
Foolish to fire at it. Like shooting at the wind to bring on sunshine, his father Abraham had said once, describing a dumb idea on long-ago Snowglade. Well then, try bravado.
“Surprised to see us?”
We do not properly have a reaction like your surprise. All orderly forms integrate new data instantly, remaking themselves. They retain no memory of their attitude in the moment before, so no comparisons are possible.
“Must be dull.”
That too is a category without application in us.
Cermo whispered, “If I go left—”
“Stay still. It’s a damnsight bigger than we know,” Killeen said.
Toby nodded. “The Mantis we saw on Snowglade, it was a sort of stripped-down version of this.”
If you imply that I am simply more terms in a linear sequence, the issue has eluded you.
Killeen remembered how it had killed Andro, Fanny, and so many others. Killed, used, then discarded like so many materials expended in a hobby.
Again I speak as conduit for the Exalteds. They cannot express in serial order, as your acoustic modes do.
“Sounds pretty limited to me,” Killeen said. As long as it was still talking they were still alive.
They delegate such cramped tasks. Do not presume, or I shall make your termination painful.
