Dr. Veyla adjusted the drone’s viewport, scanning the tundra of Eidon-IV. Ice stretched endlessly, save for the black spires jutting from below. The spires had appeared overnight—organic, pulsing.
A comm alert flashed. “Surveyor Veyla, report. The anomaly grows.”
She hesitated. The spires weren’t just growing—they were mimicking her equipment. A tendril now resembled her drone’s antenna. Another, her own gloved hand.
She reached out. The nearest mass quivered and reshaped, a crude reflection of her face. Understanding flickered behind its shifting features. Not invasion. Not mindless growth.
Replication.
Veyla exhaled. How do you negotiate with something that doesn’t know if it’s separate from you? She keyed her comm. “It’s not an anomaly. It’s learning.”
Silence. Then: “Terminate it.”
The spires shivered. They weren’t weapons—yet. Veyla raised her torch, hesitating. If they mirrored destruction, what would they become?
She lowered the torch. “I think we should teach it something else.”
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