Frustrated, the snake-necked sloth sat on its haunches and tore with hooked and knobbled fingers at the earthen hole, hissing from its slitted mouth.

It dug and dug, growing more agitated the whole while. The roots were hard, the ground rocky, and little progress was made. Then the hunter reached into the burrow with one long finger, attempting to scoop out the centipede.

A screech rang forth as the snake-necked sloth yanked back its hand. Blackish blood dripped from finger’s end.

The creature howled, though not with pain but with anger. It thrashed its head and trampled across the underbrush, crushing fronds and flowers and fruiting bodies. Again it howled, and then it grabbed the nearest trunk and shook it with such force, the tree swayed.

A crack echoed among the sweltering forest, and a cluster of spiked seed pods fell from the canopy and struck the sloth on the head and shoulders. It yelped and collapsed into the dirt, where it lay twitching and kicking while foam formed at the corners of its gaping maw.

In time, the kicking stopped.

Later still, the centipede-like creature ventured forth from its burrow, slow and timid. It climbed onto the slack neck of the sloth and sat there, feelers twitching. Then it bent and began to eat the soft meat of the throat.

…

Another of the now familiar disjunctions. She was crouched next to a tidal pool, shadowed from the heat of the harsh sun by a spur of volcanic rock. In the pool floated a translucent orb no bigger than her thumb.

The orb was not alive. But it was not dead. It was a thing in between. A potential unrealized.

She watched with hope, waiting for the moment of transformation, when potential might become actuality.

There. A soft movement of light from within, and the orb pulsed as if taking its first tentative breath. Happiness and wonder replaced hope at the gift of first life. What had been done would change all the fractures to follow, first here and then—given time and fortune—in the great whirl of stars beyond.

And she saw it was good.

CHAPTER XII

LESSONS

1.

Kira felt surprisingly well rested when she woke.

A thick layer of dust fell from her body as she sat up. She stretched and spat out the few grains that fell into her mouth. The dust tasted like slate.

She started to stand and realized she was sitting in a hole in the bedding. During the night, the Soft Blade had absorbed most of the blanket and mattress, as well as part of the composite frame beneath. Only a few centimeters of material still separated her from the reclamation equipment below.

Kira guessed the xeno must have needed to replenish itself after fighting the previous day. In fact, it felt thicker, as if it was adapting in response to the threats they’d faced. The fibers on her chest and forearms in particular seemed harder, more robust.

The responsiveness of the suit continued to impress her. “You know we’re at war, don’t you?” she murmured.