“Raven’s dead,” he said to Rieka. “I know you said it’s a machine and it can be fixed, but … you can’t fix this. A Construct needs its crew. It needs the Call. Raven is dead.”
“It’s not!” shouted Brann. “You’re just saying that because you’re Wolf!”
But Rieka said, “Brann, I’m sorry. He’s right. We can’t fix this.”
“We just need to find my crew,” insisted Brann. “Then we can fix her.”
“But where?” asked Coll. “Something took them, so you say—”
“It’s true! Dragon took them!”
He shrugged. “Fine. Then where? Where did it take them?” Brann scowled but didn’t answer. “Dragon’s south now, a hundred klicks away for all we know. And the only way to catch it is in this –” he waved his arm at the wreckage – “and this will never fly again. Raven is dead.”
He turned to Rieka. “So what’s your plan?”
Rieka stood and searched the ground. She picked up a feather and scraped away the plastic and burnished metal until she was left with a tiny scoop of anthryl. She held it in her palm, silver grey and shimmering with that strange grainy texture.
“We have everything we need,” she said. “Raw materials, working computers, anthryl … and the four of us.” She looked at Coll. “You’re right, we can’t repair this.
“We’re going to make a new one.”
“You know what this is,” said Rieka, holding the little dribble of anthryl in her palm. “You know all the Constructs need it. But what exactly is it?”
She tipped her hand and it moved in its strange not-quite-liquid way. The tiny grey grains seemed to climb over each other like insects – half alive, half mechanical. “Anthryl isn’t magic; it’s technology. These are auto-assembling nanothread loops. They’re like tiny smart machines and they bind Constructs together. And give them their shape…”
She nodded to Fillan. “Hold out your hand.” She tipped the anthryl into his palm and pointed her device at it, tapping the screen. “Now, think of something you like. Something you really like. Try to see it in your mind. OK?”
Fillan nodded. He closed his eyes and, after a second, the anthryl grains began to move.
They pooled and swirled, and then climbed up over each other, making a shape, which became a head. It had shaggy thick hair, and heavy eyebrows, and its mouth was a scowl. It was a boy’s face – Coll didn’t recognise it, but it seemed familiar somehow. It was a bit like Alpha, he thought, only younger. And angrier.
Fillan opened his eyes and looked at it in delight, and then glanced at Coll. “Very good,” said Rieka. The girl Brann burst out laughing.
“What?” asked Coll, confused.
Rieka tapped her scanner again and the grains collapsed. “This is what Constructs are,” she said. “We think about our creature. We imagine it – we create a psychic field – and the anthryl turns it into reality. We are Wolf. That’s what it means. We are Wolf.
“The software handles some of the basics, like the dorm rooms and power systems, hydraulics, stuff like that. But the rest – the whole ‘Wolf’ or ‘Raven’ thing? It could be anything.”
“No!” protested Coll. “Wolf is special! She’s not just parts. She’s alive; we can feel her!”
“Raven isn’t some machine!” snapped Brann.
Rieka shrugged. “This is science. Reality doesn’t care what you believe. It doesn’t care about your feelings. It just is. The point is, we have anthryl, we have material, we have a processor and we have people. Raven is wrecked, but we can make something new.”
“But if this is all we need, can’t we repair Raven?” asked Brann.
Rieka shook her head. “Raven’s too big. It took a whole crew to sustain it, and now look.” She pointed to the remains. “We can’t bring it back. But we can let it revert, and then make something small that the four of us can maintain.” She looked at Brann. “If Dragon really did take your crew, this is the only way to catch them, understand?”
Brann’s face was fixed into an obstinate scowl. But eventually she nodded.
“Just till we catch Dragon,” she whispered.
“And find Wolf,” said Coll.
Brann shrugged.
“I’ll reset the field now,” said Rieka. “Stand back.”
Suddenly Fillan raced forward. “Wait!” he shouted. He leapt up on to the wing and then on board.
“Fillan, stop!” snapped Rieka, but the boy had disappeared.
He returned a minute later, holding a sack.
“Got him!” he called. “He’s safe! I got him!”
The sack was wriggling. Rieka groaned. “Fillan … is that the Ant?”
Fillan grinned. “Yeah! I saved him!” He held the sack up, grinning proudly.
“Nobody cares about an Ant, Fillan,” said Coll. Fillan looked confused, and Coll waved him down. “OK, well done, you saved the Ant. Don’t let it go! If it makes it back to its nest, we’ll just end up with more.”
Fillan clambered down. “I’m going to keep him,” he said. “He’s all bashed, but I’ll take care of him. I’ll give him a name! I’ll call him … Kevin.”
“Kevin?” asked Coll. “Not, I dunno … Anthony?”
