Napoleon ascended the ladder, a new set of signals racing through his brain. Something had changed, had turned—had gone. He was no longer trying to sort through his perceptions. He was merely hungry, hungry for this new prey which shifted its appearance as his own kind did color. Forgotten was the cold, dead food he’d accepted for so long; forgotten were the symbols of this new, softer world.
Reaching the top of the ladder, he prepared to take his prey in the Old Way. As Nano-Ts always had, before the Shape and the Long Sleep, before the Watchers beyond the Clear Barrier.
He would take it through deception—and ambush.
“That’s it,” the man urged. “Come on ... Come on ...”
He backed away slowly, his hands opening and closing on the prod. Napoleon emerged into the storm-light, pausing at
