Deep Eyes

1. A Mantis Blankness

He and Quath found the alien machine in the yawning darkness. Quath sent an emag warning, a crisp orange pinprick popping through Toby’s sen-sorium—then silence.

Toby waited. Quath moved silently to his right, enclosed in a sullen black so deep he could not see his hand without using his sensorium. The Mantis was up ahead somewhere. Senses he could not even name told him that other creatures moved here, too. They had little or no emag but they were tracking, following chemical trails left by others—scents seeping from deep glands, puffs of clinging odor released by accident or design. Everything here had mastered these chemical channels.

Toby’s natural senses were deaf to them. Humans drank in sounds and sights, the primate strong suits. Here the small noises of burrowing and scampering told him that there were other theaters, other plays in progress, and he would never be in the private audience. Yet he and even Quath had been of that theater, graduated from it perhaps to this curious shadow world of electromagnetic scents and jolting voltage deaths.

A trickle of inquiry eased into his sensorium. There: Quath. Together they moved up through snatchy brush. They took the time to slip by the snags. Even a small tear could alert the Mantis and there might be a trap, too.

Quath shivered with anticipation. Rivulets of silvery magnetic excitements came to Toby, scattershot and short-range, involuntary effusions.

The mutter of chemical life stopped. Silence. Toby could see nothing, through eye or sensorium inboards. Quath came closer, a presence he felt by a wedge of blocked air, to his left now. Then he caught it. The Mantis was a slab of nothing to the right. He could not have felt it unless he was standing absolutely still and ready.

His sense of it did not come from rich spatterings of his detection gear, sprinkled down through his nerves and bones. Those were silent. The Mantis was still well enough to make itself a blankness, an absence.

It moved by them at indeterminate range but Toby could somehow smell it. The old senses brought a stink, sour with a cool rot. He did not dare to move but the smell floating on a slight chill wind told him enough. The Mantis was moving fast and the empty patch shrank. Grey rimmed the spot now. It looked ordinary but he knew it was a Mantis blankness. Out of it could come in any split instant a forking spike. Death or injury, on emag wings.

Then it was just a point. Still moving. Toby whispered on short-range comm to Quath,—Got its signatures?—

—How bad?—

—Think it can shed them?—

—Then we’ve got to get it.—

They retreated then. Carefully, at first, they went back through the still total blackness and creatures stirred in their path. The Mantis was not even a dot now and Toby let himself go, not minding the rips as they got through a wall of thorny brush. His suit would self-heal in a while but the time lost now could not be made up except by head slogging. He and Quath had tracked and searched for a long time now, and beneath the buzz of energy in his legs he felt the seep of weariness.

The wind was picking up as the ground also moved under them. Here the esty shifted and deployed with a sullen energy and they had to be careful of their footing. The terrain itself was of alien making, a labyrinth made of space-time by forces ancient and unknown, and the Mantis seemed to know it better than humans did.

They picked up the supplies they had dropped earlier. Toby had shed his weapon, a sharp-darter long and elegant with power simmering in the butt.

Quath said,

—You’re sure?—

—We know a few, too.—

—You’re half mech yourself, fella.—

—Seems to me that just makes it a patch job—