The dusty floor was to her left and in the blue gleam she could see Hummingbird almost directly opposite her. Again, Russovsky was asleep under the red-and-black blanket. The table and lantern were – as far as Gretchen could tell – in the same position. Nothing seemed to have changed. The circle of faintly radiant ground cover was still interrupted by the dead, broken section. Crystalline fronds still hung from the jumbled ceiling.
What now? she wondered, turning her head slowly to look at Hummingbird. He did not move, but his attention was fixed on the sleeper, not on her. Thinking of nothing else to do, Gretchen started to count again. Bored, she began a more complicated sequence.
More time passed and Anderssen suddenly became aware something had changed in the cavern. She stopped counting but managed to keep from stirring or opening her eyes. Without seeing Gretchen became uncomfortably certain the Russovsky-shape had woken up. She strained to listen but heard only a faint, dry rustling – no more than stone settling in the vault of the mountain. Her heart began to beat faster, but she did not leap up. A queer, electric tension began to build in the air. The prickling feeling on her neck returned, stronger than before. A terrible desire to leap up and shout in alarm came over her.
Gretchen resisted, resuming her count. 2579, she thought, 2591, 2593, 2609…As she did a feeling of heat became apparent on her face, as if a torch or open flame were coming closer. The desire to open her eyes was very strong. Instead, she let her breathing slow and settled back, her limbs growing heavy again. The heat became very apparent, verging upon painful. Something brushed against her face, then withdrew… 3217, 3221, 3229…
The warmth moved, shifting to her right, and then suddenly ceased. With its absence, Gretchen realized the intermittent sound had stopped as well. The cavern felt empty, though now – as if a veil of static or noise had been drawn back – she became distinctly aware of Hummingbird sitting opposite her. She could hear him breathing. Gretchen opened her eyes.
The blue circle was empty. Russovsky, or her copy, was gone. Hummingbird was right where she'd felt him. Gretchen felt a jolt, a bright flash behind her eyes, and wondered if the sick, queasy feeling in her stomach was supposed to be there. The nauallis slowly unfolded himself from where he'd been sitting cross-legged. As he did, Anderssen realized her skin was soaked with sweat and she felt clammy from head to toe. Oh Sister, why do I feel so scared?
"Well done." Hummingbird's voice was almost inaudible, tinny in the thin air. Gretchen moved to turn on her comm, but the nauallis shook his head. "You did well to remain still. But I do not think it is safe to move yet. Stay where you are."
"Why?" The word came out as a choked whisper. Her throat felt raw. "What happened?"
"The shape rose up," he replied after a moment's silence, "and became aware of you. She cleaned up the camp, as I related before, and turned toward you. For a moment, she seemed to reach out, but then returned to the pattern I saw before."
"Oh." Gretchen remembered heat on her face. "And vanished again."
Hummingbird nodded. "I fear," he said, in a very cautious tone, "the inhabitants of this world may sometimes express their curiosity through imitation. Those here – and be assured, if you cannot feel them, I can – are not so adept as those who made the Russovsky which came aboard the ship. Perhaps…" He paused. "Perhaps these ones are immature."
Gretchen watched the nauallis puzzle over the matter, but soon found her attention drawn to the dusty circle where the shape had appeared. After a moment she frowned. "Crow? You're thinking the thing we see is the microfauna – grown enormous, assembled into something which can move, which wears the shape of a human? Why would it repeat these actions over and over again? Why vanish?"
The nauallis regarded her. Gretchen saw the corner of his jaw clench, then loosen.
"This cavern," Anderssen continued, "the fronds, the moss – it's like a recording mechanism. One that's broken, looping, showing the same 3v over and over again. We know Russovsky was here – she must have taken at least a full day to install the relay, maybe even two – and she killed off most of the blue stuff on the floor. Maybe this particular species is one of the imitators. But this one is injured."
Now she paused, still staring at the dusty floor. There's something here. "What does this stuff eat, anyway? It must take a lot of energy to make imitations of things."
"Does that matter?" Hummingbird sounded sour. "If you're correct, then destroying the rest of the microfauna here will remove the traces of Russovsky – What are you doing?"
Gretchen ignored the nauallis, stepping carefully into the dead circle. She went down on her hands and knees and began to examine the rumpled, dirty floor centimeter by centimeter.
"Anderssen!" Hummingbird's voice was noticeably strained. "Can't you feel it? We're being watched."
There was a queer tension in the air, an almost electric sensation. Gretchen paused, shutting out the sound of the old man's querulous voice. There was something – a presence – around her, but while there was a sense of sharpness, of intent focus, she did not feel threatened. Anderssen resumed her search, wishing she had brought some of the tools from her gear bag. The edge of her hand would have to suffice and she began to brush back the first layer of dust in short arcs.
Her fingertips moved across a lump of dirt and the feeling of tension in the cavern spiked. Gretchen stopped, hand frozen above the dust. Hummingbird made a gargling sound and she heard him moving – away, scuttling back up the passage. The faint blue glow brightened, throwing a steadily sharpening shadow beneath her.
Without looking up – a little afraid of what she might see – Gretchen plucked a smooth, round stone out of the dust. As she did, something flickered in the air – a shadow, a shifting light – and there was a glimpse of another hand – a gloved hand – reaching for the stone as well. Gretchen's fingers curled tight around the stone. The shadowy glove vanished. The light went out, leaving her wrapped in darkness.
"Hummingbird?" Her whisper fell on dead air. Bastard!
Anderssen eased back across the floor, wondering if the tik-tik-tik sound in her ears was the comm channel muttering to itself or something moving in the rubble. Now her heart was hammering, her throat tight. A heavy sense of oppression pressed down on her, inspiring a cold sweat. One of her boots touched stone and she scrambled back into the tunnel mouth. A moment later, Gretchen threw aside the filament screen, bounded across their hasty campsite and out into the midday Ephesian sunlight. Hummingbird's incoherent voice rang painfully loud in the enclosed space.
The horizon was a blue wall rising above the curving white dome of the eastern plains. Jagged mountains tumbled away to her left and right, leaving only empty air and the colossal plunge down the face of Prion before her. Gretchen set herself, swung back one arm and flung the stone out and away into the empty vastness.
Swaying a little, she started with surprise when Hummingbird caught her arm.
"What was that?" His fingers were tight on her bicep.
Gretchen wrenched her arm free of his grip. "Hands off, crow."
"Tell me what you found in there. Why did you throw it away?"
Smirking, Anderssen brushed dust from her hands and knees. "The cave really creeped you out, didn't it? You – the tlamatinime, the all-knowing one – you ran out of there pretty fast for such an old man."
Hummingbird drew back and the line of his head, the clenched fists and stiff shoulders, told Gretchen she'd scored a hit – a palpable hit, she thought smugly.
"You weren't kidding," she said after a moment of silent gloating, "about this male and female business, were you? I thought you were being difficult."