Humans and Druff both paradoxical, but opposite. Humans social but selfish; Druff solitary but happy to share. Druff prefer to be lonely, but feel unthreatened by presence of other Druff. Humans like to be part of group, but hoard and exclude. Want to be with others, but don’t want to share resources. Don’t want to share world.

I don’t point out species folly. Instead, I fuse man’s exoskeleton to deck plates as told. Sparks jump and sprinkle like flickering insects. Lance hisses. Smoke curls. Melting metal smell momentarily drowns reek of human food. But still smell humans in room. Smell their undertone through my fingers. Spicy, like vinegar and fetid berries. Greasy like dripping remains of fatty animal caught in forest fire.

Welding sparks fall like rain caught in shaft of sunlight.

Pattering onto the world.

Illuminating.

Hissing.

But fingers itch. Hound of Difficulty riddled with silly faults. Needs fixing. Always fixing.

Repair, replace, work, and maintain.

Work and maintain, until time comes to return to World Tree. Then maintain World Tree until die.

Serve ships.

Build nest.

Good nest. Probably best nest ever.

Love sleep.

Love World Tree.

Love Hound of Difficulty like own tree of world.

Understand ship.

Don’t understand humans.

Humans all broken.

Thirty-Two: Ona Sudak

THIRTY-TWO

ONA SUDAK

The individual stairs were too deep to take at a normal pace. To descend, we had to turn sideways and step down one foot at a time, our cold palms sliding against the smooth, pale wall for support. It was a painfully slow process, and I was constantly aware of the speed at which the crawlers would be able to swarm after us if they reached the opening in the canyon wall. Shadows jumped and leapt in the beams from our torches. My thighs and knees, already fatigued from two days of almost ceaseless walking, burned with the repeated strain of lowering my entire body weight on one leg.

After several revolutions of the spiral, I called for a rest. I estimated we had made a descent of around ten metres, which put us just below the floor of the canyon network. And, if anything, the temperature down here was colder than it had been on the surface. Our breath steamed where the torchlight touched it. The end of my nose felt numb, and icy to the touch—like a piece of raw meat taken from the refrigerator.

“Just give me a moment,” I said, inwardly cursing each and every evening I had forsaken additional physical training for wine and verse.

Adam cast troubled glances at the gloom behind us, fearful of pursuit. He hadn’t had time to drift out of shape. He still had that teenage elasticity that all adults secretly resent losing. The scratches on his hands and face would heal faster than the ones on mine. His bones and muscles were young and flexible, and he could take almost anything in his stride.

How I hated him for that.