<Though it is crippled, it knows a thousand ancient tricks.>
—We know a few, too.—
<It lives in the electromagnetic world. We only visit there.>
—You’re half mech yourself, fella.—
<In brute fraction, true. But my mind is Natural, with all the happenstances which evolution brings. The Mantis has revised itself time and time over.>
—Seems to me that just makes it a patch job.—
<I believe you are manifesting a bias born of insecurity.>
—Ha! Insecurity? When the Mantis and its kind have killed so many of us?—
<Perhaps I chose too weak a word. I do not wish to anger you.>
—Family Bishop’s lost over half its members to that Mantis.—
<I know, and do not wish to excite primate responses.>
—Huh?—
<You are known for your grudge-bearing and love of territory.>
Toby had only a vague idea what Quath meant, but that was not unusual. She was a blend of an insect-like organic race—her “substrate,” as she put it—and machine additions. In her bulk she carried the computing capacity to communicate with humans. The reverse path, people speaking to the Myriapodia in their digital staccato, had been a failure. Humans did not have the capacities or capacitances.
—We’re known for being hard to kill, mostly.—
<That too.>
—A Bishop sights the Mantis, we go after it. Is that “grudge-bearing”?—
<Never turn your face from the central fact of its alien nature. It is of the kingdom of machine. I, despite my modifications and encrustations of mechanical artifice, am of the kingdom of the flesh. As are you.>
—Uh, guess so. Right now this flesh needs some rest.—
TWO
Territories of Thought
The bird came fluttering in from high up in the esty vault.
“I appreciate the extra effort.” Nigel studied it. “Good sim.”
“An inappropriate word,” it said, hovering in air.
“I was trying to be polite.”
“Category error.”
“How so?”
“Politeness occurs between peers.”
“Ah.” And we aren’t. Not by a Phylum or two.
No wind came from its wings. It was an anthology of motes so he should expect none, but somehow this little detail was unnerving. “Soon your part will be complete,” the collection said.
“This the push-off, then?”
“Termination? Not necessarily.”
Not terribly reassuring, he thought. A hand tugged at his sleeve. “Whussis?” Abraham asked.
He had forgotten the Bishop elder. The man had wandered off to inspect the vegetation, probably looking for something to eat. These Bishops were incessantly foraging. The others, Killeen and Toby and Quath, had fled immediately, after the Mantis. The Hunker Down types were often quite keen, but Bishops had turned it into a positive fetish.
“A manifestation of the Old Ones. Also known as the Highers.”
“Not mech?” Abraham asked suspiciously.
“Much older.”
“Looks mech.”
“Looks like anything you like.” Nigel waved at it. “Be different.”
It stopped beating its wings and hung in air. This was more unnerving. Nigel waved again and it became a slimy, coiling thing. “Christ! Back to the bird.”
