She was squandering what unknown time she did have to keep, and Skthveraach did not need the constant disapproving looks from the thinker to remind her of it. Her mother, even a younger Skthveraach herself would chide her for acting like a queenling when much, all, was ready to topple into the churning river. Two of the soldiers had returned to their sleep, rolled up like red tinted boulders within their cells. The third looked to her across the lengths of room, unceasing. The Queen did not flutter or falter in her sharp regard of the caged soldier, and let him see the raise of her hairs and stretch of scythe. Let him know her desire to peel him and eat of his flesh.

“Cease movements. Fortunate for you your joint did not mend crooked. Leave you sore and pained for cycles in your old age. Cannot seal this hole if you keep twitching.” Spearing of claw was jabbed against her carapace, and though it was not with force enough to puncture, it brought Skthveraach’s attentions back into focus. The mender’s legs were spindly, but the prod was reminder of the uncanny strength she possessed when her mind was one with body. It had not been the first of the jolts the Queen had received since freeing the mender from her cell.

“Spitters from the creatures melt like our bile. It did not reach flesh. There is no significant damage.” Two of the mender’s claws were inside the hole to the side of Skthveraach’s head, and her sentiments only earned another digging of blunted tip against the pulsing layer of flesh just beneath thin film. The twins to either side of her bolting upright as they felt her flinch, to pat rapidly along her thorax in massaged soothing. Snapping displeasure to the mender, who paid them no mind.

“Dirt or grime reaches the membrane, your carapace could reform over it. Trap it. Get sick. Die.” It was a less than pleasant feeling, the claws feeling into her body and digging along ridges of melted shell.

“I have seen and smelled no dirt here. No wind. The creatures would not allow us, me, to fall ill.”

“And creatures know better than me how to care for you? Yes?” It seemed wisest not to respond to the mender, not with the tender meat beating so close to those prodding hooks picking away at her insides. “Have had wounded die because they chose to lick wounds instead of amputate. No bactum to clean you with here. Safe instead of sorry. Queen focuses on her role. Leaves treatment and care to me. Yes? Yes.” The attendant twins began to slow their tapping on her body, drifting back towards the stillness of sleep. Protesting would only rouse the mender’s irritation and rouse the attendants once more. Unproductive. The measure had run long as cells were opened one after the other, the floor was cold and ungiving, sleep had been furtively chased for long bars, and despite the unchanging lights above the huddle of restive bodies around her, Skthveraach could feel internally that rise was coming. They would need their energies for whatever came next.

Most of them, at least. The Queen heeded her mender as, satisfied it seemed with the cleaning, the female atop her began to hork and spill sealant from her mouth. Pooling it within the space made by the creature’s weapon in defense of their own Queen, layer applied, smoothed, breathed against to make hard before the process was repeated. Head straight, she looked to the thinker and her delver in the heart of the wide space. Separate from the sleeping colony, focused on their own dealings. As soon as Skthveraach had asked and been granted the delver’s freedom from the watchers on high, the thinker had waited only for the Queen to welcome the male to their colony before tugging him aside. Waiting for no questions on the war, if there was a war, beyond the mountains. Neither sleeping nor sharing song with the others freed as they trundled around the room. Light within it unchanged, the soft vibrations from beneath the floor as persistent as ever, yet it was quieter beyond the room. The footfalls and movement of the nest was restrained, the creatures needing their own rest most likely. Even still, the air within the creatures’ nest was unnaturally still outside of the enclosures, and the tentative songs of the pair of males hunched in the distance were louder now than the sounds around them. But they were too far to hear clearly, and were deliberately keeping voices low so as not to disturb the rest of the colony. The colony of two, then four, and now, more.

Two within the cells had fallen to frenzy. Three, the soldiers, remained trapped and confined. Eighteen. The Queen herself included; her colony had grown to eighteen bodies in slumbering balls all around her. Two spitters, though their sacks had been emptied and there were not leaves to replenish their stores of acid. Most were workers, drones taken from colonies scattered to the faderise of the mountains. Some even of Kthcvahlaatch, taken during the flight from their nests. She questioned several, if any could recall how they came to be in this place, but all responded as she herself could only answer. A battle, a collapsing, fear and confusion, fatigue, nothing, and then here. The thinker had not participated in the song, but the mender, upon hearing of how Skthveraach had collapsed after the accident with Hhatheenh Queen, posited own information.

“Possible. That creatures control sleep. Yes. Rare, but have traded for pods from the fungal fields across the ocean. Emit scent and taste, cause fatigue. Forced sleep. Gas, spores. Clouds of white from your cell may be similar.”

“I only saw this once. During the violence.” The Queen had ensured to keep her voice calm and music a serenade, the separation and time apart causing the workers distress almost as much as watching others slowly succumb to frenzy one after the other. “But I have slept peacefully every fade here. Even the first measure, when I was of highest alert.”

“Said. Is possible.” Her mender had been quick to accept the new colony and designation, something Skthveraach was finding less and less surprising. Even drones chose quickly when offered only a foreign unity, or death. “Frightening. Inspiring. Means access to large amounts of flora. Ability to process and refine. Highly evolved stomachs. Delicate crafting.” Frightening and inspiring. Two usually contrasting notions that nonetheless seemed to harmonize here, with these beings. When the mender tried to examine her first, Skthveraach refused and bade the female check over the others caged. To assure of their health and fitness for whatever was to come. Scrapes, fractures, cuts, damages sustained before their capture and from within their cells absorbed the mender for bar after bar. Only now while the others were at rest did she permit the attentions. Not so weak that she would demand aid before her colony. Not some timid queenling who would fall against two, even three soldiers. Not her.

“Rest remains best treatment for damage.” The mender no doubt felt her head begin to turn back to the far cells. Skthveraach signed and sung refusal.

“We do not require spotters. There is no danger here, at present. I have slept enough for a cycle these past measures. I wish to see where the food comes from when we wake.”

“They deliver it. While we sleep. Obviously. Tell me ‘no’ if you refuse advice. Do not make excuses. Yes?”

“You remind me of my last personal mender. They had biggened chest and head as well.” She did not turn away from the still full cells again, the hole in her natural armor slowly filling with the sticky saliva and gel. A subtle offense had slipped its cords into the music, but the mender either did not notice or gave it no thought.

“Role is to keep alive those who should be dead. Difficult task. Made more difficult with uncooperative colonies and Queens. Should not be large issue with this colony.”

“Appreciations.” The final coat of blended goo was applied, smoothed over with the mender’s slender arm to match the curve of the surrounding chitin before Skthveraach’s eyes. “The colony is an oddity, too small and improper. But your presence here assists us greatly. Your efforts are welcomed.”

“Clarifying; should not be large issue due to colony’s death in near future.” She felt a harsh tap on her back as the pasty white clouds of the sealant hardened under the soft blowing from mender. “Familiar with Skthveraach Queen’s story. Joins combat and raids in the van. Will be dead soon. Will attempt to keep you alive until we are free of this place. Maybe. Yes.” Skthveraach twitched her antennae, thinking to reach down and reassure the mender. Then she saw the turn of the mender’s own antennae. Bitterness, not sorrow.

“I do not charge with the vanguard. I prefer to remain in the central column.”

“Adjusting designation Skthveraach Queen. Remove designation ‘stupid’. Add designation ‘reckless.’” Moving down off the Queen, the female took to cleaning her mouth and mandibles. Denying closeness needed to touch and continue the exchange naturally enough to remain respectful of role, despite disrespect of individual. And any chance of pursuing the mender was lost at sight of the thinker trudging in limp towards the sleepers. Taking a place before Skthveraach, the delver scurrying five lengths behind, while mender slipped away to find spot of her own to settle. He brushed a leg back, knocking free one of the few remaining sections of molt still clinging to his body.

“Still planning on keeping our strongest available fighters locked up?”

“If such was not plan, they would be released, thinker.” Her notes were soured as her mood already. The overt familiarity and equalness with which the thinker spoke did not aid in easing her music. “They are a risk. Too great a risk. Designated enemies of the colony before, remaining enemies of the colony now.”

“I’ve noted my disagreement. I won’t waste energy restating it.” His back legs rubbed and hummed, the delver behind him scuttling closer as his head dragged along the polished floor. It took the Queen a moment to realize he was licking the ground over and over as he approached. “We’ve made a discovery. This room, perhaps the whole nest, is composed of hardstone.”

“Mm. Palerock. Bloodrock. Some softrock?” Lifting head, tongue was left extended from opened mouth as the delver sung. Skthveraach was still reeling from the thinker’s statement to express disapproval at the crudeness. “Difficult to tell. Corrupted. Or, changed, somehow? But the base is the same.”

“It takes tens of measures to melt hardstone, and the strongest of guts to formulate the acids.” She did not use the word impossible. It was a notion no longer of her vocabulary. “It would take tens of cycles to coat a room a hundred lengths in any manner of hardstone.”

“Not coated. Composed, made of.” Raising scythe, the point was driven down to the delver’s legs, hard. Hard enough to send a shiver up his limb at the impact, and to bring subtle indent into flooring. Those nearest the Queen woke, signalled their protest, and returned to sleep. “You hear? Vibrations, travelling down and through. Twelfth of a length thick, if that, but solid. Not coated in hardstone, but made of hardstone. Only ever have seen hardstone half as thick in the temples. On the great gates. The statues.” He spoke of things Skthveraach had only ever heard of with the experience of one who had touched them. It would have been enough to make her as giddy as he sounded now, had her mood been otherwise. “Incredible. Suspected. Could not be certain until I could taste it myself.”

“Which you have my thanks for, War Queen. Allowing me to use the delver without distraction.” Her hairs rose as she shot a look towards the Thinker, but he had already positioned to face the other male. “Either there are a hundred thousand of these creatures solely dedicated to digesting hardstone in quantities unheard of, or they have found a method to speed its use. And speed its locating, as well.”

“And its manipulation.” She tracked the thinker’s line of reason, doing best not to let her growing discontent discolor her song. “To first locate in insurmountable quantities, then process in unfathomable amounts, then refine and mold to suit their purposes. This is one cavern. If it is a cavern.” Skthveraach made sweep of legs to the thinker even as he began to protest the terminology, feeling the attendants stir around her. “I came from another above. And passed under several others felt in the tunnel I traveled. The scale of their production and abilities is incomprehensible.”

“I cannot understand why they do not destroy us.” It was an admission which surprised her, but one she repeated back in agreement as the thinker began to shift weight. Pacing without moving. “They have the capabilities. This room tells us of their power, yes, but also their scope. Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? Where have they been, why appear now? We are not facing single, perhaps not even double or triple colonies. We see many, but they are legion. And they are superior to us. What purpose do inferior beings have?” His song drew sullen, and was soon a ruminating silence. Skthveraach processed and logged the information, ensuring it was the first shared amongst the colony when they awoke. What were weaker lifeforms for? Food, producing or providing by their biomass. Labor? If they could build such wonders, what use had they of her people? Slaves taken or vassals claimed exist only to further the power of the prime colony, but her mind rebelled at notions of being forced to cater to these creature’s young. They wanted something more. Something else.

“The temples.” Her music drew a groan of protest from the thinker.

“Queen, there are more important discoveries to pursue than-“

“The City, the Halls of Remembering. Report their status, delver. You were of Jchlehaalhn-Colony. Deliver last known information of your nests.”

“Unknown.” He uttered report succinctly, with sudden rapt attention that yet did not see that unrolled tongue slip back into hole of mouth. “I was dispatched to aid construction of a cathedral below the mountain barrier, twenty-eight measures ago. Our workers delving near Chkervthnaakt-colony when the attack came. Many died. I was trapped beneath the ground. When I awoke, I was here.”

“Jchlehaalhn-Colony is not threatened?”

“Unknown.” The repeat was placating. The fear in her voice all too recognizable despite her efforts. “There was no danger signals or threats felt before the attack. Alarm was sent back through the links as soon as damage was sustained. They were warned. Unknown if attack came after my fall.”

“If you fear for the safety of the memories and histories of our people, War Queen, perhaps constant talk of them in presence of the creatures is not advisable?” The thinker pushed himself back up on four legs, his fifth crossing about his core. She bit back with as much dismissal as the thinker sewed into his own words.

“The creatures hear, but do not understand. They are learning. They would not understand the importance of such places even if they heard of what we speak, and I hear few around us to listen.”

“Oh they are listening, and we have established their intelligence already.” Jittering, the leg unfolded to point as crooked branch towards far side of the room, to the flat and stretched boards glistening with light and color. “You know of the hurting, yes? They gave me pain when I tried to get closer to those there. They are watching, and not so benevolent as you seem to indicate as truth.”

“Perhaps not to you, thinker.” Pushing from her folded seat, the twins joined to her rose abruptly at her movement. Ready, attentive. She ignored them for the moment, tired of waiting and tired of rest, testing the adhesive poured into her carapace and finding it well suitable. “The pain is a warning, not an attack. I have felt their attacks. Heed the warning and there will not be pain. If they wish you remain away from the wall, then remain away from the wall. I share your curiosity. Do not invite their anger under any circumstance.”

“I am more interested in why such examination would anger them in the first-“ His song was swallowed. The colony rose, sleep ended and antennae raised as the air trembled and changed. Her scout raced from the collective, maintaining distance of under ten lengths, while a worker filed behind him to assure that he stayed linked to the rest.

“Wall at end of room is opening. Five creatures present. Scattered formation.” The bodies around her linked and clasped arms as the smallest and spitters moved to center, nearest Skthveraach, while the largest of the workers formed perimeter. A report was unnecessary. Even those with dimmest sight could likely make out the movement less than forty lengths down the rectangular room, and warning signals were sent up. “Creature spitters, and the Pod.”

“Designate creatures non-hostile.” She sung clear, letting her confidence be the foundation for the others to set selves again. They were a colony, which made this room their nest. Even the non-hostile designation would not distract the drones from intruders within the heart of their home. Let alone soldiers of another colony so near the Queen. “Recall scouts.” She only had one peeling scout, what did she mean ‘scouts’? Focus.

“Received.” The scout retracted back towards the central ball, backing up without letting eyes falter in their duty. “Creatures halting thirty-five lengths from colony. Pod is making unknown movements.” A waving of arms over its head, notification followed by beckoning.

“Pod requires Queen’s presence. Hold position. Queen departing.” Discontent was more a wave than a ripple at the command, and she felt the grip of the twins beside her tighten uncomfortably. Testing, she took a step forward. The colony stepped with her as one. And the Pod and creatures, immediately, stepped back. This was a problem. “Pod requires Queen’s presence.” She repeated the information. “Colony’s numbers seen as threatening. I will take the attendants. Creatures designation is non-hostile. There is no threat. Approaching the creatures will create threat. Remain where you are. Hold position.” The discus shaped attendants latched to her legs as another step forward was taken. The bodies around her resisted, but not as forcefully. They understood, but their instincts battled their reason. This was not her old colony. They did not know her. They did not trust her. Skthveraach strode forward another two lengths, and their hesitation stalled their claws enough for the Queen to break through the ranks of bodies. Disconnecting herself from the collective, leaving them to remain with her last commands as she and the pair of diminutive former nesters advanced. Towards the Pod, and the four shelled soldiers around her touching and cradling their spitters out openly in their arms.

“Jhenaafhur-Colony. We sing joy and relief at your return.” The Queen could see the plank in the Pod’s white shelled arms, and crossed her scythes in respect. Feeling the heavy trembling of the attendants to either side of her as they halted within two lengths of the creatures. The Pod mirrored her, and Skthveraach was surprised to admit that were the female not completely the wrong greeting and given the pod only had two legs, the sheathing was almost actually formal and correct. “Thank you. For your opening of the cells. The walls.” Plank let out small bleep of noise, and the leftmost twin yelped in surprise as it dug mandibles into her leg. One of the soldiers jerked and adjusted to face the attendant, but kept its spitting arm pointed mostly to floor. Jhenaafhur waggled her graspers at it, focused on the false plank. “Some are frenzied. Too sick to be set free. They must be killed.”

“*^&(**^&(*, *^&(*.” The bipedal female lurched forward, a wide black ring clutched in her grasper. The pod hastened to the Queen without hesitation, waving the thing forward. Skthveraach could feel the tension turn to aggression in both of the smaller attendants, and thrust her legs back to pull both herself and the pair away from the pod.

“NO! No, no, halt. Please. Apologies.” Condensing her words, the recoil and shock in the Pod’s body was obvious, as was the jerking reaction of the soldiers. “Do not touch. Your smell, it is wrong. This room is our nest. The colony will be angered.” Her rhythm started strong, and faded weak. Once more explaining details of a life she had no words for to those who perhaps had no concept of it. Pointless. She hummed a quick tune to either attendant. “Collect scent marks from me. Designate creatures vassals of colony.”

“Received?” The acknowledgement was half query, but the Queen reaffirmed the decision. Leaned back as the twins began to press and pressure the glands along her gaster, bringing fluids seeping into their claws.

“Jhenaafhur-Colony. Remain still. No attack. Allies. Friendly markings. Peace.” Jhenaafhur stared down as flesh folded around the white eyes, flesh twisting as it did when she focused or thought. Clawfuls of the thin paste were held by the yet shivering bodies, but it was something the twins could grasp and understand. Foreign entities, strange voices, made part of the growing choir. There was procedure. There was process. Safety in familiarity.

“*^&(*?”

“*^&(*, *^&(**^&(*.”

“*^&(**^&(*! *^&(*!”

There was no translation needed to register the unhappiness of the soldiers, but the Pod was on them in body and voice. Thrusting the wormlike protrusions of her graspers to their cores while keeping grip on both the strange black ring and false board. When she returned face to the trio, the Pod threw her arms wide and bared the bone of her skull. Taking half-step nearer the Queen, with nod of consent. Consent which Skthveraach let pass to the attendants.

“Caution. These creatures are thin of shell and flesh. Treat them as you would grub, or egg. Extreme delicacy in your movements.”

“Received.” More confident now, reassured, the pair were forced up onto four legs to reach up to the Pod’s head. But reach they did, and though Skthveraach stared down with tepid caution, the jiggles and spasms from the female as the attendants lathered her with the thin layer of juice. Reeking blend of ugly meat and rotting flora replaced with the natural odor of the colony now worn by them all. Odd jolts shot through Jhenaafhur when the attendants worked their claws at the female’s core and crevices of arms and legs, but when they backed away to collect more and repeat motions on the soldiers, no red blood flowed. No damage was done. Relief slipped her lungs to sing out praise.

When the unhappily rigid soldiers too had received their bathing in the unifying scent, even Skthveraach was less unnerved by the approach of the Pod. The way it pointed between the ring, itself, and the Queen. Or more specifically, it and her necks. The thinness below head.

“This thing. It is for me?” Nod of confirmation once the plank had given blip. Progress. Their gestures were becoming familiar, their intents clearer, and their understanding of her queries far smoother. She reached to take the ring, but Jhenaafhur drew back, shook refusal. Compared to the caged soldiers and the bonding of her new colony, Skthveraach was almost grateful for the simple problems once more. Simple problems, and simple tests. A drag of her antennae signaled her intent to her attendants. The Pod was a very large egg to them, flailed somewhat more than a proper one as they bit carefully around her core to carry the creature up and onto the Queen’s back. Skthveraach did not shrink from the sound and fury of the soldiers this time, focused only upon Jhenaafhur. And as expected, despite initial struggles, her safe delivery brought a dismissing wave to the others. Good. It had been established before, and confirmed now. The soldiers and their spitters were not the threat. The moods of those in control of them, were.

“*^&(*, *^&(*.”

“I do not understand, but I am at ease.” It had not been whimsy. She felt Jhenaafhur move around on her, the distribution of weight, how unsteadily she crawled along the Queen’s back and made note of the weight. Tension was within her as the Pod grew nearer to her neck, innate worry of exposing so vital an area. They could kill her at any time. They chose not to. She was always near death. Reminders to keep her steady; this was no different than any other moment. A clacking, a pressure around her airway and the unarmored flesh pulsating. Friction as she lost sight of the creature, and could only stand as formal as possible before the gaze of the shelled soldiers. Their holes flapping in response to the female.

Skthveraach bucked. Shock, not pain. The half-composed music filled her as from nowhere, rushing through her. Her eyes shot downward, and the scuffing of legs and dull graspers on her back reminded the Queen of her precious cargo. A vivid and quite terrifying image of the Pod striking hard ground, popping as red fluid scattered about below her brought immediate stillness to her motions.

That was not the Pod. That was a soldier. Not her drones, but one of the shelled spitters clustered around the entryway. Its hole twitched. Sounds unrecognizable belched. But the vibrations which reached her sung, with melody enough for crippled yet cohesive comprehension.

The black ring about her neck thrummed, its pitch varied. She knew the Pod was speaking without turning to confirm, though turn she did. The both of them unbothered by the way her curved mandibles almost fully surrounded the smaller of the females.

“I mean no harm to Jhenaafhur-Colony.”

The spitters strayed upwards as she swiveled her eyes around, whipping in equalled surprise to the Pod’s entourage. Forcing Jhenaafhur to flatten herself on Skthveraach to avoid being clubbed, or more likely from experience, gouged, by the interior curve of her mandibles. What was this. What was this? Something new. The walls and floor no longer sung to her, but now instead this band about her neck shuddered to the beat of the sounds spoken around her. Denoting direction. Denoting volume even, perhaps? Quick enough to well be considered instant.

“Queen? Queen safe? Queen alright? Queen speaks to us?” The twinned attendants alternated their weight, their eyes cutting lines between the spitting orifices of the soldiers and the Pod atop her. The Pod who had begun to whoop and shriek, slapping her graspers rapidly but without real power against the Queen’s carapace.

“I am safe. I am processing information. You,” They did not share her startled state. The dead things of the room were not singing. Only the ring. “Cannot hear the creatures? Jhenaafhur Pod, what are you doing to my thorax?”

The rapid pats, slaps, ceased with the pitched sounds. Her attendants signing negation to the query as Jhenaafhur answered too. The constant blips in the translation caused subtle flinches as their harsh alien frequencies now dug directly into the Queen. Straddled legs slipping to one side as the female atop her slid lower.

“The Band will make music all may know?” Two raps of her scythe on the ungiving floor brought the attendants forth. Happy to be useful, to be distracted by their role, even if it meant providing a ramp of their bodies for the pale shell while Skthveraach dropped low for her dismount. Perhaps calling them ‘shells’ was wrong. An errant thought. The feel of the white husk coating the Pod’s legs, arms and core was neither brittle nor rigid. It fluttered when she slid, stroked against Skthveraach like tight bands of silk. And recalling how it, with flesh, had been torn from Hhahtheehn so easily made her doubt its efficacy as protection.

Again, the soldier interjected. Again, Skthveraach set her sights on it. But when she sung again, it was with the clicks of warning creeping out from under her.

“Your voice is not of the Jhenaafhur-Colony. You bring your music to our exchange. To whom do you belong?” The flesh curled down to hide the soldier’s bones within its head, and the meat scrunched in thought, or irritation. It was difficult to differentiate.

The Pod used single syllable, but the Band turned it to a flat recitation of her name.

“It,” She clicked again. A part of her preferred when the creatures were amorphous blobs that could be classified as object, enemy or entity. Understanding was good; education bringing closer familiarity with the foreign bodies unsettled her somewhat. “…He, should not sing against our established rhythm. You should speak if there is need to speak, not have him do so.”

Her blunted claws striking the floor, Jhenaafhur tucked the false plank beneath the crook of her arm. There was discontent in the unintelligible grumbles the spitter-soldier uttered, but the ring about her neck did not translate. Meaningless noise, forgotten as soon as the Pod was once more at her front.

“Restating last. It is called the Band?”

“It does not translate.”

The plank was out. Skthveraach had already begun to lower once more, ready for the Pod to adjust the thing as needed, yet no more than beats had passed before a few pokes and wave were lighted on the flat surface of the rectangle Jhenaafhur carried.

“Yes.” A simple answer for a question that was anything but. “Explain. You change the Band without touching it. You open walls without being present. There are strings? Binds?”

A simple answer for a question, she supposed from the amusement worn now on the creature’s face, that was anything but. Unpleasantly irritating. But Jhenaafhur was already advancing, in both thought and walk. Heading further into the sweeping cavern, her eyes drawn to the laughable attempt at fortification the colony had adopted in its center. Skthveraach walked at half-pace, to match the smaller female’s speed while both attendants and soldiers joined in the advance.

“Frenzy.” At long last they circled back to what the Queen had first tried to share. A few of the drones began to emit warning signals as the creature’s spitters drew nearer, but the Queen hastily signalled peace back. The Pod was aimed for the cages, not the colony. Safe enough. “They have been apart from a colony too long. Their eyes are clouded and minds dark. They must be killed, hastily.”

Paired eyes seemed to grow.

“Frenzy.” Simpler. A pressure came beneath her as the twins scurried beneath the space of her body, placing themselves opposite the alien soldiers. Non-threats, but unsavory. “They had no Queen. They had no purpose. Without purpose, they create purpose. They can no longer function in their role. Sick.” She tapped at her head with both antennae. “Head sickness. Madness. Frenzy. Must be killed.”

A new expression was gripping the Pod’s face. If the words were of sympathy, then these awkward pitched hole edges and squeezing of eyes must be of the same. She made note, and then made point to look away from the unpleasant meaty manipulations.

“Sympathies accepted. Unfortunate and wasteful. These two, frenzy.” They reached the rows of cages, of transparent cells. The bodies of the two drones convulsing and shaking, murmuring tunes only they now understood. Skthveraach indicated them first. Then, more deliberately, brought attention to the last three. Their swollen frames giving torrential exhales. All but the one ignored her. The one, as he had since she first caught his sight, peered from beneath the crested plate of chitin curved around his head. Brutish. Animal. “These. Not frenzied, but… dangerous. Enemies of my colony. Designation hostile.”

“They are Vhersckaahlhn-Colony.” Oh how that word dripped from her, oozed and puddled. “We have been at war for many cycles. Many tales have been collected and formed and made ballad off the deaths suffered between us. Many responses and plans structured from our conflicts.”

Skthveraach had already stopped moving when they reached the pens. She looked to the command uttered with confusion. One of the boney, twiggish graspers jutted first to the center cage, then to the next.

“Vhersckaahlhn-Colony. Yes.” The Pod’s head was scrunching again. “They are raiders. Slavers. From the lands to the sopran of the mountains near my colony. Lesser now, than they were in my mother’s cycles. Lesser,” She made a driving butt of her head forward. Not quite enough to ram against the wall she knew was present, but to make her displeasure known. The soldier within had not the space to mimic the gesture, and strangely, did not even attempt to do so. “But not weaker.”

Now that pointer was upon the Queen. Skthveraach was glad to see the difficulty with familiarity went both ways; they used her designation correctly, but treated it as though it was foul taste on their tongues. A small spurt of danger marker shot from one of the twin’s gasters, splattering the floor as the Pod pointed to it. The quartet of spitters stepped back and away from the smear in a rush, and the Queen smacked scythe along the back of the timid drone in reprimand.

“Yes. Skthveraach-Colony. They are of me now, of us. I do not know if it will last, or how many will survive. But we cannot be without colony, without voices bound in unified purpose.” There was something wrong. Not of danger, but in the way Jhenaafhur seemed no longer to be listening. Something, however subtle, had changed by the Queen’s words, and what once was, was no longer. The Pod’s graspers danced into blur on the false plank. “Is something wrong, Jhenaafhur?”

Or perhaps not. Concern waned when the woman confirmed her status. Her gaze and head still pulled and pulped, making valleys and cliffs of meat, but it was not of concern or worry. So said the Pod, and the Queen knew it as truth.

Yes. With all her heart and breath and beating core. There was nothing she wished more than to see them no more, to think of them no more. She tried not to notice the furious twitching of the thinker’s antennae within the ball of the colony beyond the Pod’s stance. She failed completely.

“No. Those lost to frenzy are beyond saving. These are enemies. Contained. Not a threat, and wasteful to kill. For now.” Their resources were near nonexistent. Their colony was miniscule. Everything was a resource; everything was an opportunity. She would not free these things from their cells. But as much as she heated under the thought of silencing their song forever, the Queen chilled at how quickly the Pod had accepted her assessment. Two of her species frenzied by the creatures’ actions, now consigned to death by hers. It was good and right. These were three of her species alive, whole. She could kill them. She could keep them alive. Protection of resources took priority over her feelings, and never did such a sentiment make her hate her role as this just had. “Keep them within their pens. Please.”

Jhenaafhur had hurried into the room with excitement and frantic tempo. It seemed now she wanted little more than to leave, her notes cut short and eyes sealed to her rectangular device.

“Of course!” Her emphasis was firm. “I will assist Hhahtheehn-Colony in any way I can, if it assists in saving my people.” The pale shell fluttered around her legs as she hunched and hurried back towards the door, the soldiers with her not turning their backs on Skthveraach until they were out of reach. “Let him know this, Jhenaafhur! We will make ready!” An eighteen-sized colony was nothing. It was also nine times greater than she had been when it was but her and scout. Nine times more capable. Nine times greater. The song within her swelled, but bit and clawed at her as well, the Queen looking on as the drones again ignored her previous call of safety to rumble alarm and danger when the marked creatures passed nearby on their way to the door. Nine times more discordant. Nine times less unified. Always it came back to time, that unknown factor. Pass every test. Accept every request. Food first. Rest second. Then, Hhahtheehn. Insurmountable problems cut into pieces she could swallow. When she caught smell of the lumbrites wafting from beyond the doorway as Jhenaafhur disappeared into the space without, Skthveraach could at least take smallest refuge and victory in the knowledge that for the first time since her arrival here, those nine-timed disparaged voices meant she would at least not need to consume flesh like a common animal. A chirp escaped her.

Progress.