Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 579
When the swans dismantled my starship form, they did
not just discard it. They memorized its construction--digested
it, in a sense. Now they were building an entire navy of
replicas. With such a navy they could escape the vicinity of
Ventus, where they are now trapped, and travel... anywhere.
The Archipelago. Earth. Even leave the galaxy and take
spores of themselves to distant provinces of the universe.
When I realized what I was seeing fear struck me hard
for the first time. Ventus has awoken from its inward-turned
sleep. It is determined to clean the infection of foreign ships
out of even the farthest reaches of its system--and then what? I
didn’t know. I don’t know.
Something knocked me down. Metal hands clawed at
me, and I fended them off to find myself surrounded by
spiders. I kicked to my feet and bounded over to the half-built
replica.
Our own technology is far beyond that of the Winds, so
they had simply copied most of my body. That meant that
when I mounted the neck of the giant bird and plunged my
hand through its silver skin, I was in a sense reaching into my
own body--my old body, reborn.
The connection came as a savage blast of... pain, I
suppose you would call it. I felt the nervous system of the
replica, and could instantly feel the places where the Winds
had grafted their own mechal minds into it. It felt botched, an
abomination. More than that--the bird-form felt alien to me
now. I had grown used to this four-limbed little body, maybe
past the point of no return. Believe me, that realization was the
greatest shock I have ever felt.
In any case the silver body had lurched to life beneath
me. I held on, as it flexed its wing and half-wing, poured
energy into its flanks and took off. Behind me I saw others