Nugget was bored.

  He understood the herd rules of the humans, the big one was the leader, the darker one wanted to be a leader, and the little one, his rider, was like him–the best.

  Most of the time, when their herds came together, it was fun.

  Or at least interesting work.

  But today was boring.

  They had been here yesterday, and that had been fun! They had run real fast home, and his rider had used her loud stick!

  Exciting stuff!

  But now they were going sooooo slow. And every time Nugget tried to speed up she tugged his reins.

  Even the little predators weren’t any fun today.

  Well, the dark mean one was never fun. He only did boring or scary.

  But the little fuzzy one was usually super fun—she liked the same things Nugget did, running and jumping and eating things.

  But not today, today she followed behind the other predator and kept looking at the humans every few moments.

  Also, why were they all ignoring the monster?

  Vesper and Raulski were both keeping an eye on it, but the human herd, even the little predators, were ignoring it.

  It had been following them since they crested the ridge. It was being very quiet, which was sneaky, but it was right there–just back in the trees to their left. Skulking along, glowing.

  The monster wore the strange glow—not the scary way fire glowed, or the glittering way the sun bounced off things. It was the unsettling glow like some flowers had, or like the moss that shimmered at night. Parts of it pulsed too bright, then faded, shifting oddly.

  He didn’t like it. His rider should use the loud stick again.

  “Pffffthbt.” Nugget said, to share his thoughts.

  ***

  Sierra was bored.

  They were going sooooo slow.

  They knew where the rock was, surely they could cover some ground and then slow down.

  Also, Nugget was being annoying.

  He kept trying to speed up, and something on the left was catching his attention. He would turn and tilt his head, trying to get both eyes on it every so often.

  They weren’t on a trail, they were picking their way thru the forest. He was going to walk them into a tree if he didn’t pay attention.

  “What is your problem?” she asked him.

  Nugget responded by huffing air forcefully from his nose and mouth, flapping his lips.

  “Pffffthbt yourself,” she replied, tugging on his reins gently, trying to make him focus his attention forward.

  —

  “Uncle Cal?” Savannah asked, “Do horses see things we don’t?”

  Cal answered absentmindedly; he was working through his own theories. “Yeah. Their vision is pretty different from ours actually.”

  “What about the dogs?”

  “Them too, less colors than us. Less sharp vision in general. Good at movement. Mostly they use their noses for important things.”

  “No, sorry, I meant…” she paused to shape the thought, “Do the horses see things we can’t see and the dogs can’t see?”

  Cal thought about this for a second, “Ultraviolet I think–” And then it clicked.

  Raulski had been favoring the right side of every tree and rock as they traveled—instinctively avoiding their left. Several times Callan had to intervene to stop her from turning entirely.

  He pulled his mare to a halt and turned his head slowly to the left, noticing the girls doing the same in his peripheral vision.

  That’s when all hell broke loose.

  —

  Subject behavior indicates possible detection, it processed.

  Immediately activating a self-diagnostic protocol.

  No anomalies detected, it processed.

  Active Camouflage: Functional and operating within expected parameters.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  It reviewed the last 78 seconds of vibrational records.

  No atmospheric vibrations exceeded detection thresholds during specified period.

  Likelihood of detection by primary subjects: <7%

  Likelihood of detection by subservient sensory companion species: <19%

  It ran a sweep of its sensors.

  No additional subjects detected, it processed.

  Likelihood subjects are reacting to third party: <1%

  It began rapidly running through databases, several in parallel, terabytes of data being analyzed in less than a second.

  It discovered that the horses could see ultraviolet light.

  It had not been filtering ultraviolet emissions.

  Records had shown humans relied primarily on canines to augment their sensory perception limitations.

  Horses were classified only as transportation and labor animals.

  Likelihood of detection by subservient transport species: 100%

  Likelihood subservient transport species communicated this information to primary subjects: >92%

  Detection confirmed.

  Filtering response protocols.

  ***

  The horses, having been able to see the drone the entire time, were not alarmed when its camouflage dropped.

  Junkrat also took this development in stride, offering little more than a low growl and raised hackles.

  Tracer, however, lost her freaking mind.

  “WHATISIT?! WHATISIT?!” Tracer shrieked, racing in a wide half-circle around the thing’s flank. “WHATISIT? WHATISIT?!”

  Sierra was yelling at her, telling her to come back.

  Tracer looked at her, asking again, “WHATISIT?! WHAT. IS. IT?!”

  The thing moved, Tracer did not approve.

  “NO! NO NO NO! NNNNNO! NO! nnnnnnno.”

  It had no eyes she could find, where was it looking?

  Did it even see her?

  “HEY! HEY HEY HEY! HEY!”

  —

  “Quiet!” Callan snapped at Cecil as she called after the damn dog.

  They should have taken the dogs back.

  They were only a short distance from the ridge, a fair way from where the girls estimated they had found the rock.

  What was it doing out here?

  Had it been here the whole time?

  Was the rock even related to this thing?

  “No one. Move.” Callan’s voice was low, calm—but tight with stress.

  “Tracer!” he hissed. She stopped barking, turning her head toward him.

  “Down!”

  The border collie dropped to her belly but continued to growl, low and defiant.

  The only movement the thing had made since appearing was a slight adjustment of its… appendages.

  It had three.

  They were attached to an oval body—more sphere than egg. Its exterior was a flat, matte gray. Almost black, but not quite.

  Thin seams traced its surface, intersecting in precise, deliberate patterns. There were no bolts, no welds—just fine seams, subtle divisions marking what he assumed were assembly panels.

  Two of its “arms” were planted firmly on the ground, acting as legs—long, spindly, segmented. From what Callan could tell, they were incredibly flexible, capable of impressive articulation. Each ended in a circular disc, its surface covered on both sides with the same strange pattern he had seen in its tracks.

  The third was identical, but was currently being used as an arm.

  Like the others, it had started with a disc—but now it was shifting, splitting along its intricate cracks, reshaping itself.

  The disc collapsed inward, folding into a tapered point.

  Aimed directly at Tracer.

  Callan had no idea what to do.

  “Don’t,” he said. It wasn’t a command—just a word. A plea. He had no expectations, but he had to say something.

  “We’ll leave. Just… don’t hurt anything.”

  “Use of force is not authorized outside of self-defense,” it replied.

  It talks.

  It talks and understands.

  And it was deescalating?

  Callan swallowed.

  “The dog won’t hurt you. I don’t think she could if she wanted to.”

  That sounded terrible. He winced.

  “None of us want to hurt you–None of us will hurt you.”

  He wasn’t impressing himself right now.

  He took a slow breath, gathering his thoughts.

  Slow it down. Think.

  “I can call her back. I’ll have her return to us.” A pause. “Will you hurt her if I do?”

  “Use of force is not authorized outside of self-defense,” it repeated.

  Callan hesitated, please don’t kill the damned dog in front of the girls, he begged silently. “Tracer, come. Heel. Come on.”

  Tracer let out a low, conflicted whine but obeyed, creeping back toward them, belly low to the ground. Her eyes never left the thing.

  The drone did not react.

  Callan exhaled slowly, the tension thick in his chest.

  "Alright. We're going to leave now," he told the thing.

  "Juvenile subjects removed less than one orbit prior.” it replied, “Now accompanied by mature subject. Probability of return with additional mature subjects: High."

  The way it spoke was frustrating—each phrase had to be unraveled.

  It wasn’t just annoyed that the girls had returned.

  It expected escalation—believed Callan’s presence meant more were coming.

  "You're concerned we'll come back, with more people?"

  "Evasion protocol failed." it reported.

  “Deterrence protocol failed.”

  "Use-of-force protocols: Unauthorized."

  "Diplomatic protocols: Authorized in Emergent Situations."

  "Diplomatic protocol active.”

  “Escort subjects to Host Vessel."

  The thing turned, and began walking.

  "Escorting." it stated flatly.