Chapter Text
The halo's purple glow flickered unevenly, like a distant star in an atmospheric haze. Every crimson surge along its edge was a sharp stab into the uniform pulsation, marking a moment of overcoming: the extraction of another neuron fly from his own, still vast, network. The Iterator hovered at the very center of a cubic room, in a pocket of artificial weightlessness. Around him, obeying weak magnetic field currents, dozens of information pearls slowly rotated. They shimmered with mother-of-pearl, occasionally brushing against each other with a quiet, crystalline tap. Shadows from their rotation slid across the perfectly smooth, empty walls, long distorted smears in the violet twilight.
On his open polymer-green palm lay another pearl. His fingers, massive and trembling almost imperceptibly, did not squeeze it, but merely touched it, as if afraid of damaging the fragile shell. The entire room, the whole world, had now narrowed to this point of contact. The hum of cooling systems somewhere deep within the structure, the steady hiss of anti-gravity emitters, all of it faded into the background, turned into a backdrop for the silence reigning in his can.
No Significant Harassments formulated a thought. Then erased it. Formulated it again.
The holographic keyboard glowed before him, ghostly and weightless. His black, bottomless eyes did not blink, staring into the void just above the projection. Letters and symbols appeared and melted by the will of his thought, almost without conscious intent. But he weighed every sentence. Every phrase.
"Looks to the Moon. Your structure's monitoring data confirms accelerated degradation of stabilizers in the western support. Probability of complete neural array collapse within the next five hundred cycles is estimated at 78.3%."
Too dry. Too much like an empty report. He erased it.
"Moon. I see your can crumbling. There's interference in your comms channel, messages are delayed by tens of cycles. You are fading."
Too blunt. Almost accusatory. Sig lingered on this version, feeling a short, searing short-circuit run through his logic circuits, a digital analogue of a shudder. The halo flared blood-red, painting the entire room in alarming tones for a moment. No. Cannot. She must not perceive this as a reproach for weakness. He erased this too.
The fingers of the hand not holding the pearl clenched into a fist. The scarf on his neck, lighter than the main poncho, swayed soundlessly in the weightlessness. Sig forced himself to step back from the keyboard for a second. What did Chasing Wind say? Need to breathe. Breathe, not because he needed oxygen, but because the rhythmic pumping of oxygenated fluid helped order his thoughts. Inhale. Hum of systems. Exhale. Quiet chime of pearls.
He began again.
"Looks to the Moon. This is Sig. I have a proposal. A plan. It's risky, perhaps, from your point of view, insane. But it is the only way to preserve you when your structure finally fails."
Better. Direct. Without preludes, but acknowledging her right to assessment. Sig continued, and the words flowed faster, taking the shape of a blueprint, instructions, a route. He described a hybrid organism, a slugcat carrier whose brain was designed in the likeness of their neural networks, but on a biological scale. Explained the process of initial consciousness recording onto blank neural flies. Detailed the route the messengers would have to traverse: through the Outer Lands, along the Coastline, through flooded drainage systems. Attached maps, schematics, power consumption calculations for the interface cocoon.
But in the middle of the technical description, he stopped again. His finger hovered over the line where the cold language of numbers described the probability of successful consciousness integration: 39.2%. Less than half. Far less.
He added: "The odds are far from ideal. I will not lie to you. This is a gamble. But there aren't many options left."
And then, at the very end, before placing the conventional signature, he added another phrase, just a string of symbols devoid of any practical meaning: "I miss our conversations, Moon. Hope you're doing alright."
Sig did not erase this. Let it be. Let her know this wasn't just a manipulation. That this was an offer from a friend.
The recording was complete. The pearl in his palm vibrated softly, accumulating gigabytes of data. The glow from its depths became slightly more intense, steadier, before fading. The Iterator closed his fingers around it, this time firmly, feeling the solid, cool core beneath the polymer. Done.
It was at that very moment, on the periphery of his attention, in one of dozens of open logic windows, that a long process finished. A simulation flooded the screen with green light: "SUCCESS. STABILIZATION ACHIEVED."
This wasn't about the pearl. It was about another project.
Sig slowly, as if against his will, shifted focus. His internal interface brought to the forefront an image from the lower biolab. Two bioreactors, cylinders of thick glass and polished steel. Inside, suspended in a nutrient-rich, honey-colored slurry, floated creatures. They were complete.
Sig deactivated the anti-gravity, and his puppet descended to the floor with a gentle bump, knees bending softly on contact. He approached the holographic screen, standing so close that his reflection, a green silhouette with a purple halo, superimposed onto the image.
The first. Large. A powerful frame, discernible even under a layer of developed muscle and dense, short, water-repellent fur the color of swamp silt. Rust-red markings on the cheeks, tail, gills, as if smeared with rust. A broad muzzle with a heavy jaw. Even in sleep, its expression seemed focused, almost sullen. Sig zoomed in, examining the paws: claws short, thick, perfect for gripping rocky surfaces and digging. Webbing formed, but the digits were a bit short. Messenger 1.
The second, completely different. A long, streamlined body, fur a shade of turquoise-blue, transitioning on the belly and muzzle into a soft pink and white. A long, flexible tail with a wide, paddle-like pink tip. Ears larger, more mobile. Sig studied the paw structure: webbing between long digits, barely visible at rest but capable of spreading. And feathery gills, long fluffy appendages of deep pink, gently swaying in the fluid. Messenger 2.
Sig hesitated for a second, squinting. He saw behind them the shadow of another form, another creature. Hunter, as Moon had called the poor thing. Its genome once seemed flawless too. Sig mentally scrolled through archival data: first cycles, perfect metrics, simulations predicting hundreds of cycles of stable service. And then that barely noticeable glitch in synaptic mapping. A microscopic error. It manifested suddenly, like cancer, and led to complete neuromotor failure on cycle 70. His Overseer recorded its last, helpless convulsions far from shelter, before its vital signs dropped to zero just as it reached the objective. He had learned that lesson in blood. Into the genomes of these two, he had incorporated everything he had learned. Enhanced stabilization, added extra layers of neural connection verification during growth, built-in emergency compensation mechanisms for local failures. He could not allow a repeat. Not with them. Not when he intended to create a body for Moon based on them.
Sig briefly analyzed the latest data streams. Neurological activity within norms. Endocrine system stable. Primary-level reflexes present. Protein synthesis proceeding without errors. Everything was ready.
The Iterator felt no pride. There was rather a feeling of heavy responsibility, pressing down like atmospheric pressure at depth. These two were alive. He had breathed this life into them. And now he was about to send it into the very crucible.
The mental command was given without hesitation. The slightest delay could breed doubt, and doubt was a luxury he could not afford.
On the screen, drainage pumps whirred to life with a quiet, gurgling sound transmitted through the audio channel. The amber liquid began to recede, the level dropping, exposing more and more of the bodies. First their backs appeared, then flanks, paws. The creatures in the vats stirred instinctively, sensing the change in pressure, the loss of support. The blue one curled into a ball, its tail wrapping around its own body. The swamp-colored one arched its back, trying to maintain balance.
When the fluid was completely drained, they lay on the bottom, wet, helpless, their fur matted into dark clumps. They were breathing, rapidly, shallowly, chests rising and falling in a quick, anxious rhythm.
Then, with a soft hydraulic hiss, the front panels of the bioreactors slid aside. A stream of warm, sterile air rushed into the vats.
The blue one reacted first. Its nostrils twitched, drawing in the air. It sneezed, a sharp, unexpected sound. Its eyelids blinked, then slowly, with great effort, lifted. The eyes were cloudy, fogged, but the color was already discernible, the same pink, with thin purple veins around wide pupils. It could not see clearly, that was obvious. The poor thing saw light, shadows, movement. The beast turned its head, and its neck creaked from the strain of unused muscles.
The swamp one woke more heavily. Its awakening was sluggish, as if surfacing from very deep waters. The animal let out a muffled groan, more like a rasp, and tried to roll over. Its paws slid on the wet glass, finding no purchase. It fell onto its side, its shoulder hitting the wall with a dull thud. That seemed to snap it fully awake. The beast opened its eyes. They were darker, almost brown, and the gaze in them was not questioning, but immediately wary, assessing. It saw the Blue one, saw the open space beyond the glass, and its lips pulled back, baring strong, though not overly long, fangs. A low warning growl rumbled from its chest.
Sig watched, rubbing the edge of his scarf between his fingers. It was astonishing how flexible the genome of these creatures was. He studied every detail. How the Blue one, trembling all over, tried to get up on its forepaws and immediately collapsed, muzzle hitting the floor. How the Swamp one, ignoring its clumsiness, continued trying to roll over, stubbornly pushing with its hind legs until it ended up in a more-or-less stable position on its belly.
Their first movements were pathetic, full of awkwardness. But there was nothing pathological in them. This was normal. The first steps of a newborn creature in a world of gravity and solid surfaces.
Another command. At the far end of the lab, a passage opened in the wall, a rectangular, dark opening leading into a system of service tunnels. Simultaneously, an Overseer glided out from a ceiling recess and hovered in the air between the two open vats.
The Blue one noticed it immediately. It flattened its ears, scrambled backwards, huddling in the corner of its former container, and hissed. The hiss was weak, a voiceless exhale through bared teeth. The Overseer showed no reaction. Instead, a hologram flared in front of it. Simple, composed of glowing lines: the silhouette of a slugcat approaching the hole in the wall and disappearing into it.
The Blue one stopped hissing. Its ears slowly lifted, swiveling forward. It stared at the picture, head tilting to the side. Curiosity began to overcome fear. The beast took an uncertain step forward, its claws clicking on the glass. It looked at the hole in the wall, then at the hologram again.
The Swamp one ignored both the Overseer and the projection. Its attention was fixed on freedom. It braced its forepaws on the vat's rim and, with a loud growling effort, hauled its heavy body forward. Its chest rolled over the edge, then its hind legs found purchase. It tumbled out and crashed onto the lab floor with a thud. The beast lay there, breathing heavily, then lifted its head and looked around. Its gaze slid over the Blue one, over the Overseer, and settled on the open passage. It crawled towards it, moving awkwardly like a caterpillar, dragging its still-unruly tail behind it.
The Blue one, seeing its companion leaving, let out an alarmed, high-pitched squeak. It scrambled out of the vat more gracefully, though with a couple of stumbles, and rushed to catch up with the Swamp one, shaking off residual fluid as it went. Droplets scattered across the floor.
Sig allowed himself a mental exhale. First contact passed. They were following the stimulus. Instincts were working.
He switched views, transferring his perception to the Overseer's sensors. The world took on faint green hues, enriched with thermal contours. Two bright, pulsating orange silhouettes moved before him across the gray, cold floor. The Overseer floated forward, overtook them, and hovered right before the passage, again projecting an arrow pointing inside.
The Swamp one, having crawled to the hole, peered into the darkness. It smelled of dust, metal, and stagnant water. It snorted, flinched back. Then, turning, it grunted something hoarse and abrupt to the Blue one, who had positioned itself behind. The Blue one replied with a series of quick, clicking sounds. A dialogue. Primitive, but a dialogue.
The Swamp one, it seemed, decided that since it had come out first, it should go first. It tucked its head into its shoulders and squeezed into the passage. Its broad sides barely fit, fur catching on the uneven edge. It disappeared into the dark. The Blue one, after a second's pause, darted after, its streamlined body sliding in effortlessly.
The Overseer followed them, its green glow becoming the only source of light in the narrow tunnel.
The path upward through the structure was long and exhausting even to observe. Sig, through the Overseer, led them through a labyrinth of forgotten technical galleries. The air here was stale, smelling of oxidized metal and dampness. Underfoot, or rather under their paws, there was sometimes a crunch of dust and fine debris, fallen from upper levels over cycles of neglect.
The Overseer not only showed the way but taught them. When the tunnel forked, it would hover briefly, projecting a map on the nearest wall where their current position was marked with a glowing dot and the correct route with a pulsating line. The Blue one quickly grasped the connection. It became the first to run up to such forks, stand on its hind legs, poke its nose at the projection, then turn to the Swamp one and wave a paw in the right direction, accompanying this with animated chittering. The Swamp one absorbed information more slowly but more reliably. It ignored the Blue one's gestures, approached the map itself, studied it for a long time as if memorizing the route, and only then nodded its heavy head and moved forward.
They learned to move too. For the first tens of meters, they crawled, dragging their bellies. Then the Blue one, seemingly tired of inefficiency, tried to stand on all fours. It didn't work right away. It fell over, stumbled over its own limbs. But it was stubborn. And after a few attempts, it walked, with a wobbly, wide-legged gait, but it walked. The Swamp one, observing this, followed its example a couple of minutes later. Its step was firmer, more confident from the start, but also heavier. The beast stepped as if driving its claws into the floor.
They encountered their first obstacle, a vertical shaft with rusty rungs leading up a level. The Overseer projected an animation of climbing. The Blue one, without much thought, jumped onto the first rung. It creaked and bent under its weight but held. The beast, squeaking with excitement and fear, began to climb, its long tail helping with balance. The Swamp one waited below, watching. When the Blue one disappeared above, it began its own ascent. It climbed slower but incredibly steadily. Its powerful shoulders and back easily lifted its body's weight.
Sig observed this, noting the adaptation speed in his notes. Analysis of motor function efficiency. Calculation of energy expenditure. Assessment of cognitive abilities. These creatures were truly incredible in their adaptive speed.
After a long trek through horizontal tunnels, they came to another shaft, but this one was a descent, with a puddle of stagnant water visible at the bottom. The Overseer projected an option: a detour two levels longer, or straight down. The Blue one, peering down, recoiled. The water clearly frightened it, even though it was created for it. The Swamp one, on the contrary, approached the edge, sniffed the damp air, lifted its head, and let out a short roar. It turned and started walking along the shaft's edge, choosing the detour. The Blue one, after a moment's hesitation, ran after it, casting anxious glances at the black water below.
"Interesting," Sig suddenly spoke aloud in the puppet's empty room. His voice sounded unexpectedly loud. "Fear of an unknown environment despite genetic predisposition. Will need to account for that in future simulations."
Finally, the Overseer led them to a hidden entrance into the sanctum sanctorum, the puppet chamber itself. A panel in the floor, indistinguishable from the rest of the surface, slid aside with a barely audible hiss of pneumatics even before the slugcats reached it.
The Overseer floated inside. Behind it, blinded by the contrast after the tunnel's gloom, tumbled the two beasts, caught by the anti-gravity field and hastily lowered onto the floor.
They froze on the solid surface, huddling together, not understanding how they had fallen from above.
Vastness. Incredible, overwhelming vastness after the tight corridors. A high ceiling, by the standards of an animal whose genome was originally meant for pipe-clearing, lost in the half-dark. A smooth, polished-to-a-mirror-sheen floor of dark metal-ceramic.
And at the center of it all, Sig. His puppet hovered in a beam of light, motionless. The purple halo cast a ghostly sheen on the green polymer of the body, on the dark violet poncho, the light scarf swaying slowly as if in an unseen weightless wind.
The Swamp one reacted first. Its entire body tensed. It recoiled half a step back, lowered its head, flattened its ears against its skull. Its lips pulled back, baring a full set of strong teeth. A low, continuous warning growl erupted from its chest, a sound from the very depths, vibrating in its throat. Its forepaws spread wide, claws digging into the floor plates.
The Blue one, on the contrary, pressed itself into the floor, making itself as small as possible. It froze, still, only the tip of its tail twitching in a small, intermittent tremor. Its pink eyes, wide open, darted around the room, picking out details: the pearls, the halo, the fluttering scarf above them.
From speakers hidden in the puppet itself, in the area where a creature might have a mouth, Sig's voice sounded. It was specially calibrated, all sharp high frequencies smoothed out, bass softened, tempo slowed. The Iterator knew perfectly well that the speed of their speech, due to computational power, was many times faster than normal, which could grate on the hearing of small creatures.
"Greetings," sounded in the silence. The voice was soft, almost velvety, slow and smooth. "Do not be afraid. It is safe here."
The words were empty sounds. But the tone worked. It was not the roar of a predator, not a threatening hiss. It was a calm, almost monotonous stream of sounds. The Swamp one did not stop growling, but its growl became quieter, less continuous. The muscles on its shoulders relaxed slightly. The Blue one lifted its head a couple of centimeters off the floor.
Sig paused, letting them adjust. His puppet very slowly, so as not to startle, descended a little lower. The Iterator made no sudden movements. Then he raised one hand, not for a gesture, just so they could see movement, and smoothly pointed deeper into the room.
"You must learn a few things, and I need to run some tests," he continued, perfectly aware the beasts did not understand him. The speech tempo remained the same, measured. "Before you set out. It will be like a game. Try to relax."
Game. The word meant nothing to them. But the intonation with which it was spoken, reassuring, almost playful, seemed to hit the mark. The Blue one uncertainly rose on its hind legs. The Swamp one, without ceasing its growl, took a cautious step forward, still holding its body in a combat stance.
Sig gave a mental command. In different parts of the room, with the soft sound of adjusting fields, holographic platforms flared to life. They were semi-transparent, glowing with an even lilac light, and floated at different heights, some right at floor level, others a meter up, still others higher, almost at the ceiling. On some platforms, simple targets appeared, glowing circles and squares.
The Overseer floated to the nearest low platform. It projected a simple animation onto it: a schematic slugcat running up, jumping, and landing precisely in the center of the platform. The motion repeated in a loop.
"Try it," said Sig, addressing the Blue one who seemed more receptive. "Just jump. Like in the picture." He jabbed a finger at the projection.
The beast looked at the animation, then at the platform. It took a few tentative steps forward, its claws clicking on the polished floor. The Blue one stopped before the platform, crouched on its hind legs, rocked back for momentum, and pushed off.
The jump was pitiful. It left the floor only a few centimeters, flew less than half the distance, and flopped belly-first onto the edge. The platform, being a hologram projected on a null-gravity field, offered no resistance, and it fell through it, landing softly on the floor on the other side. The beast lay for a second, stunned, then lifted its head and let out a confused, questioning sound, something between a chirp and a squeak.
A snorting laugh came from the puppet's speakers.
"Not bad for a first try!" exclaimed Sig, his voice acquiring light, playful overtones. "But you pushed off more upward than forward. Need to push harder with your hind legs. And use your tail. See how it's wagging? It can help with balance."
The Iterator stupidly pressed the edge of his scarf to his waist, wiggling it slightly, mimicking the motion. The Blue one, it seemed, caught the approval in his tone and the gist of the remark. It got up, shook itself, and looked back at its tail as if seeing it for the first time. It gave it a few experimental wags. Then it approached the platform again. This time its preparation was more focused. The beast crouched deeper, gathered itself, its tail stretched back like a spring, the push-off was more powerful, more directed. It sailed over the platform, instinctively tucking its forepaws in flight, and landed on all fours on the floor. Not perfect, but on its feet. The Blue one immediately turned around, its eyes gleaming, and let out a short, ringing trill, a clear sound of triumph.
"There you go!" Sig's voice sounded warm, and he even clapped his hands a couple of times. "Excellent! See how it works? Now you, big guy. Come on, show us what you've got."
The Swamp one had been watching all this with an expression of deep skepticism on its muzzle. It snorted when the Overseer directed a beam of light at it and the next, slightly higher platform, but didn't refuse, walking over with a heavy gait. Its method lacked finesse: it simply pushed off with all four legs simultaneously, like a spring.
The result was impressive. The beast shot upward with great force but almost no control. Its trajectory was straight as an arrow, and it crashed sideways into the platform's edge, nearly knocking the holographic field out of alignment, tumbled over it, and crashed to the floor on the other side with a deafening thud. It got up, shaking itself heavily, and let out a long, deep, dissatisfied growl that clearly contained notes of irritation at itself.
"Hmm," the Iterator said, and his voice held more amused bewilderment than irritation. "Strength is there. Technique is zero. But the foundation is certainly present. We'll train. You need to learn to control impulse. Not just push, but direct the force. Unlikely you understand me now, but with practice, it'll come."
Thus began their real lessons. Sig, through the Overseer and his own vocal instructions, turned the room into a huge, complex obstacle course. He taught them to jump, calculating the leap: pushing off at an angle to achieve the needed height and distance, landing on forepaws with absorption, using tail and inertia for mid-air turns.
The Blue one caught on quickly. It was a natural acrobat. Within a couple of hours of training, the little beast was already zipping around the room like crazy, leaping from platform to platform, pushing off walls with its tail for extra speed, performing somersaults in the air, not always successful, but the attempts were there.
The Swamp one learned differently. Slower, more doggedly. It didn't chase speed or spectacle: it sought efficiency. If a platform was too high for a direct jump, it would find the nearest wall, push off with its legs, getting an extra boost. The beast always landed solidly, spreading its paws wide, its tail serving not for balance in the air but for damping inertia upon landing.
But there was a problem. Accuracy. When Sig added a task, to hit a small glowing pearl-dummy into a target on the wall, the Swamp one failed spectacularly. Its throws were powerful but utterly inaccurate. Pearls flew past, hit walls, bounced off. After the tenth failure, it got angry, and the low growl escalated into a short, furious roar. It charged and headbutted the holographic target directly, startling the Overseer, which immediately darted behind the Iterator.
Sig did not rebuke it. He merely sighed, changing his position in the air, observing the little beasts upside down.
"Direct approach, no doubt about it," he snorted, twisting the edge of his scarf in his hands. "But you can't carry my pearl like that. You cannot throw it, cannot strike it. You need to swallow it and carry it inside, in a special pouch, until you reach Moon. There, in safety, you can regurgitate it. Apologies for the details. Here, look."
The Overseer projected a new animation. On it, a slugcat carefully took a pearl into its mouth and then swallowed it. The image showed the insides: the pearl sliding down the esophagus and entering a special muscular pouch, isolated from the main stomach, where it could lie unaffected by acids and not interfere with digestion.
"Understood?" asked Sig, addressing the Swamp one. "Swallow. Right away. And carry it inside. It must be safe. Right here." He pointed a hand at his own chest, roughly where the slugcat's pouch should be.
The Swamp one stopped breathing heavily. It stared at the animation, its intelligent, attentive gaze studying every frame. It grumbled something hoarsely to itself. Then nodded.
Sig let them practice with empty pearls while he finished formatting and packing the neural flies. The Blue one mastered the technique quickly and with curiosity. It rolled the sphere into its mouth, tasted it, then with a comical expression of concentration on its muzzle made a swallowing motion. It grimaced as the ball went down its throat, then listened to the new sensation of weight inside. It even patted its own sternum with a paw, as if checking if the cargo was in place.
The Swamp one approached the task with the seriousness of a sapper. It sniffed its pearl for a long time, rolled it around the floor with a paw, before taking it into its mouth. It performed the swallowing process clearly, without extra movements. Then it sat down, closed its eyes, and seemed to completely focus on internal sensations, ignoring the external world for several long seconds. Opened its eyes. Grimaced. Spit the pearl out to a chuckle from its creator.
Between physical training, Sig taught them gestures. He didn't expect them to speak. Their vocal apparatus was capable of complex sounds, but not speech in the usual sense. But their paws, ears, tails were expressive.
Sig slowly, exaggeratedly, demonstrated gestures with his hand while pronouncing the words.
The Blue one was a born mime. It copied gestures with enthusiasm, often adding its own, more complex variations. It could, after showing "food," immediately add a gesture for "lots," spreading its paws wide, or "little," pinching its fingers together. It quickly began using gestures to communicate with the Swamp one, accompanying them with sounds, as if explaining their meaning.
The Swamp one learned gestures like a warrior learns a new weapon, methodically, without imagination, but with a firm intent to master. It repeated the movement over and over until it became precise and polished. It rarely used gestures itself, preferring sounds and actions, but when it did, it was unambiguous and clear.
Sig, watching their interaction, caught himself listening to them. He was learning their language. The Swamp one's low, drawn-out growl, stretched over several seconds, meant displeasure or fatigue. A short, abrupt "hr-r-r" was a warning. The Blue one was more melodic. A high, staccato trill meant excitement, interest. A series of rapid clicks meant anxiety, caution. A long, mournful whistle meant failure, disappointment.
After an especially grueling series of jumps, the Swamp one stretched out on the floor, breathing heavily, and let out that long, tired growl. The Blue one, sitting beside it, replied with a quiet, almost tender chirp. And placed its paw on the Swamp one's mighty flank, then rubbed its muzzle against it.
Cycles passed. They became a team. The Blue one was the scout, the acrobat. The Swamp one was the strength, the unshakable anchor. They learned to work together. The Blue one could scout a path, return and explain to the Swamp one what lay ahead using gestures and sounds. The Swamp one could haul cargo or break through barriers the Blue one couldn't move.
And now, when their movements became confident, and their gaze aware, Sig decided it was time for the next stage. Their nervous systems had strengthened, their brains had formed stable neural connections. Now they could be given what made the mission possible, a way to understand them.
"There is one more thing. Important." His voice was serious. "For you to understand me, Moon, or any Iterator, you need a link. The Void below, who am I even explaining this to."
Sig raised his hand, and a tiny static field shimmered on his palm, sparkling with violet micro-discharges. The slugcats exchanged glances. The Blue one, ever more adventurous, took a step forward, though its ears twitched nervously.
"Alright, stay still. Don't flinch," Sig squinted. His manipulator aimed. From his fingertips shot a thin, almost invisible beam of concentrated energy, hitting the Blue one right on the forehead.
The effect was instantaneous. The beast shuddered violently, its eyes rolled back, legs buckled. It crashed to the floor and lay motionless for several seconds, only its flanks heaving spasmodically. Then it blinked, slowly lifted its head. Confusion, pain swam in its eyes, but also a new understanding.
"You understand me?" Sig asked cautiously.
The Blue one slowly nodded. It let out a quiet, questioning sound, the same as always, but now with a nuance of different meaning.
"Excellent. Now you," the Iterator turned to the Swamp one.
It had been observing with a stony face. It saw its companion fall. Its lips pulled back again in a soundless snarl. But when Sig aimed at it, it did not recoil, merely spread its paws even wider, as if bracing to receive the blow. Its gaze was direct, challenging.
The impulse hit it between the eyes. The Swamp one couldn't stay on its feet and fell heavily. A stifled, raspy squeak escaped its throat. Then it exhaled sharply, and its body relaxed. It shook its head as if shooing flies, and stared at Sig. Its gaze was heavy, assessing, but in it too appeared that same depth of understanding.
"Soooooooo…" Sig stated. Relief mixed with anxiety colored his voice. He had risked it. Their brains had accepted the modification. Pink one, with her he might have rushed. Or overlooked something. This time was different. "Good. Now we can speak."
And so came the moment when Sig called them to the center of the room one last time. Training was over. Muscles had strengthened under their short, sleek fur. Confidence had appeared in their movements, though different for each. In their eyes shone not just animal instinct, but understanding, awareness.
They approached, obedient but wary. The Swamp one sat, its chest slowly rising and falling. The Blue one couldn't stay still, shifting from paw to paw, its tail drawing restless circles on the floor.
"Time for you to go. I would gladly go with you, but alas," said Sig. His voice had lost its playful, training intonations. It became even, businesslike, but held no trace of coldness. There was utmost seriousness. "You have a mission."
The Iterator pulled a pearl from the folds of his scarf, rolling the object in his palm.
"You," Sig addressed the Swamp one. His hand pointed at the pearl, then at the slugcat's chest. "Will carry this. All the way to Moon. You will swallow it now, right after we finish here. Do not take it out until you are next to her, in safety. There, you will regurgitate it and hand it over. Understood?"
The Swamp one looked at the pearl. It slowly leaned down, sniffed it. Its nose wrinkled, the pearl smelled of nothing. It lifted its gaze to the puppet. Its dark eyes met Sig's black, bottomless ones.
"Good," said Sig. A barely perceptible note of relief sounded in his voice. "Now your task." He turned to the Blue one, who had frozen, staring at him, all attention.
The Overseer projected a map showing an enlarged section of Looks to the Moon's structure. An external segment, like a huge, tilted antenna. Next to it, a red dot blinked.
"Transmitter." Sig highlighted the marker. "It's damaged. Shifted from its position by constant rains. Because of this, comms with Moon are intermittent, full of static. You will need to get to it and adjust it. Return it to its original position. The mechanism is simple: you need to push the base right here." An arrow appeared on the map, pointing to a specific node. "Your pushing force must be sufficient. The Overseer will show you how to approach and give the precise vector for applying force. Understood?"
The Blue one did not take its eyes off the map. Its pupils narrowed to slits, as if trying to absorb the image not only with its eyes but with its whole being. Its ears swiveled forward, catching every sound. It let out a short, abrupt click.
"Excellent," Sig paused. His halo dimmed for a moment, then lit again, steady but slightly duller. "There is one more thing. You will need to pick something up. An important cargo."
Another mental command, this time more complex. Somewhere in another wing of the complex, in a sealed storage chamber, remotely controlled manipulators came to life. Two cases opened. Inside, floating in a transparent shock-absorbing gel within spheres of light but strong alloy, were neural flies. Five in each sphere. They glowed with a steady, dim white light, clean, empty vessels ready to accept data. Straps were attached to the cases, designed with the slugcats' anatomy in mind, to not chafe, not hinder movement, distribute weight evenly.
"Follow the Overseer," said Sig, and his voice took on an instructive tone again. "It will lead you to the loading area; there you will put on the special containers. They will not hinder your movement, but you will feel their weight. That's normal."
The slugcats exchanged glances. The Swamp one grumbled something hoarse, indistinct, nodding towards the exit above. The Blue one waved its tail in response, a gesture they had developed during training, meaning something like "following you" or "got it."
The Overseer floated toward the same hidden exit. The slugcats, after a second's pause, moved after it into the newly-applied anti-gravity. The Swamp one walked first, its step firm, resolute. Just before disappearing into the tunnel, it stopped, turned around. It looked at the pearl still lying on the Iterator's palm, then at Sig himself. Receiving a silent confirmation, it returned, carefully took the pearl into its mouth, made a clear swallowing motion. It nodded again, this time toward its own chest, and vanished into the dark. The Blue one threw a last glance at its creator, lingered for an instant, then turned and disappeared into the tunnel.
The panel closed behind them with a quiet hiss.
Sig's puppet sank lower in the anti-gravity beam, almost touching the floor. The halo went out, leaving him in the half-dark, lit only by the faint glow of LEDs around his can. He sat like that, motionless, for several long minutes, trying to quell the fine tremor of agitation.
Then he switched. Overseer view. The beasts were walking more confidently, their movements refined, economical. They descended several levels, entered a small, sterile room. There, on two low pedestals, awaited their strap-on containers, the spheres glowing from within with a soft milky light.
The Swamp one, without ceremony, approached its set. It allowed the manipulators to put the harness on it. The straps wrapped around its broad chest and back, clicked shut softly. The spheres rested on its sides, just above the shoulder blades. It stretched, rotated its shoulders, checking freedom of movement. Let out a short, approving "hmph." The weight was acceptable.
The Blue one was more cautious. It circled its set, sniffed it, poked its nose at a sphere. The light inside briefly brightened at the touch. It flinched back, then approached again. When the manipulators began fitting the harness, it stood still, only its tail quivering nervously. The harness fit it perfectly, almost weightlessly on its slender frame. The beast made a test jump in place. Nothing hindered.
"Now, to the surface," Sig's voice sounded from the public address system hacked thousands of cycles ago. "The path is long. Be careful, help each other. My Overseer will guide you as long as it can. Please, follow it."
The Overseer led them further, deeper into the structure, but now the route led not up but more downward, toward the outer shell. They passed rooms with generators, walked past huge tanks where strange biomass glimmered with a ghostly light in the dark. The air grew colder, carrying a new smell of dampness and dust.
And then they reached a ventilation airlock. The Overseer projected an arrow onto the passage, indicating the beasts would have to crawl through it.
The Swamp one looked at the projection, then at the airlock. It shook its head, adjusting a strap, and squeezed through the wide opening through which a cool wind blew.
Light met the Swamp one. Real, though muted, daylight streamed into the slugcat's muzzle, blinding after the interior gloom. With it came air, cold, fresh, carrying myriad scents: wet earth, rotting vegetation, swamp grasses flowering somewhere far off, ozone from a recent rain.
The Blue one squeezed past, stopping on an outcrop. It squinted, its pupils constricting to thin black lines against the pink irises. The beast took a step back, instinctively pressing against the Swamp one. That one stood motionless, drawing in air with wide nostrils, its chest heaving. Its eyes, more adapted to low light, slowly adjusted. It looked.
They stood on an outcrop, on the very leg of Sig's superstructure, hundreds of meters above the ground. Below stretched a panorama: endless swamps, mirrors of stagnant water, overgrown with stunted, gnarled trees and giant ferns. Patches of land, dark brown, pitted. In the distance, like forgotten toys of giants, loomed the silhouettes of other structures, and beneath them, endless jungle. The sky was covered with a thick layer of leaden clouds, but here and there through breaks seeped dim, diffuse light. On the horizon, a dense gray veil marked where rain was falling.
The Overseer floated forward, past the outcrop's edge, and hovered in the air. It projected the route right before them: down, along the near-vertical but intricately ridged, pipe-and-girder-studded surface of the structure's leg. Then across the swamps toward a barely visible, broken line, presumably the bed of an old drainage channel or river that should lead toward the region of Looks to the Moon.
"Good luck," said Sig, though he knew they couldn't hear him. "I will be watching as long as I can."
The Swamp one, Messenger 1, leaned out over the edge, carefully examining the descent. Its gaze sought gripping points, safe ledges. It grunted something short, abrupt to Messenger 2, nodding toward the first noticeable ledge a meter below. The Blue one, still squinting, peered out, saw the indicated spot, and replied with an uncertain but decisive peep.
The Swamp one turned around, gripped the platform's edge with its foreclaws, hung for a moment, found purchase with its hind legs, and began descending. Its movements were slow, methodical, each one tested and weighed.
The Blue one cast a glance at the Overseer hovering by the entrance to the dark airlock. The entity blinked its sensor, the green glow dimming and brightening again for a moment. Then the Blue one took a deep breath, ran, and jumped. Not down, but forward, toward that same ledge. Its jump was precise, graceful. It landed, gripped on, and its flexible body quickly diminished, moving down after the Swamp one along the gray, monolithic wall into a world of colors, scents, and dangers.
Sig switched off the Overseer view, putting it into automatic mode. He knew where he had sent them. The rains in the region of Moon and Pebbles were prolonged, multi-day deluges capable of raising water levels by meters, altering landscapes, washing away trails, flooding shelters. The water wasn't acidic, but no less deadly for it: cold, merciless, carrying debris. Predators adapted to such conditions, fast, patient, hungry. Unstable ground that could turn into quagmire. And Moon's structure itself, where every corridor could collapse the next second.
That was why he had given them such bodies. With gills hidden behind cheek slits, allowing them to filter oxygen from water. With webbed paws. With enhanced endurance and accelerated metabolism to cope with cold and physical strain. He had poured into them everything he had learned from the Hunter failure. Every possible mistake No Significant Harassments had analyzed and tried to eliminate. Their genomes had been double-checked to a level bordering on paranoia. He had poured into them everything he knew about surviving in that hell.