The great weave of battlefield’s scent-trails was as ten thousand strands of silk, draped from shattered cleft of rock and lighting against burning tank. Where the swarm had charged, the strands tightened and swelled, interwoven into a blazing path that even a blinded drone could follow. Threads strayed and ended in bursts of color, resting on the bodies that had died where they had fell, their exoskeletons trampled flat under a legion of legs. Creeping, one could follow that bloody trail over rise in the greenless sea of stone, down into the plain of ditches and trenches humanites had dug. Until with greatest flash that still hurt to gaze directly at, the scents become an explosion of red pain. The mighty cord of formed threads scattering like water against an unmalleable wall. Hurt and death. A charge destroyed. An attack made retreat. Threads snapping and spiralling out into that vast pockmarked field that no longer boiled, but lay silent as the beast after final scythe of the hung was plunged within it. Dead as those piled atop and around it.

“Fire in the sky.” They all froze. Waited. Just another five stilled songs amongst the choir of the dead. “Sovereignty.”

“Been hitting the Coalition all rise, yes? Yes. Disregard. Proceed. Scout, tighten to five lengths.”

“Hostile lines at two hundred fifteen lengths. We draw too near the range of their lances. Should return.”

“Sealant almost depleted. Is depleted? No. We leave when it is depleted. Not before.” Skthveraachk mender did not let the intangible thread in her graspers slip, even as the sky went green from the plasma-charged masses hurtling overhead. Soaring into the unseeable distance, booms like the drums of the Composer Himself thundering across the plain. A blind drone could follow the path left by the army, yes. But discerning one voice from the clamor, following one thread from the weave, that was different. Her legs, crawling delicately through the dirt and squishing against organs spilling from cut torsos, followed that thread. Her lungs soaked in that smell of pained fear, disregarding the pheromones of the drones which crept in a line behind her. Until they reached a divot cleaved from the dry and treeless soil. Until the trail and thread ended, at the gaster of the motionless soldier.

Breathing? Yes. Assessment? Male. Adolescent, two cycles at most. Brown carapace, second generation removal, mediocre stock. Missing foreleg. Missing mandibles. Head shoved into mud to stop bleeding. Good. Smart. Likelihood of infection, moderate. Worth the attempt. Signalling to the drones behind her, the mender tugged one half-dry ball of goo from beneath her vents and dabbed it into the opened bowl hanging from her belt. Fastening the sealant around the nub of the male’s arm as her assistants seized his remaining limbs, tugging him from the insufficient cover into the nearest impact crater. The corpses within stacked up three-quarters of a length where they had collapsed; no spires reached here. No shields had provided cover from the destruction Skthveraachk-Colony had ran screaming into, then ran shrieking from.

“Movement at sixty lengths. Coalition colors.” She tasted dirt as her body compacted into the dry ground, the four menials around her adopting a protective screen before too minimizing their profile. The scout who had sung the alarm elevated his head only enough to protrude over the crater’s lip. Scanning across the dim horizon before flipping himself from their hole, rolling into the nearby trench for greater cover. A slow ascent brought the ends of his antennae and half of his eyes into view. “Eight. Nine.”

“Sector was marked clear, yes? Yes. Is it clear? No. Sovereignty error.” There was a strained movement from the soldier she had dragged into the crater, stirring in response to the danger, but a hard blow to his core reverberated through the wounded warrior. Another ball of translucent spit slathered over the stumps where mandibles had once been. “Signal hostiles once departed. Yes. We return to bivouac.”

“…mposer…to the songless sky… where memories end…” Skthveraachk mender gave another look over the mumbling soldier, trying to wipe clear the clumping dirt that had turned muddy at the site of his wounds. Mandibles torn off, yes, but additional impacts along the male’s crest. Left scythe blown off. Survivable. He could still be used, yet she had spent all her reserves of excretion. Her slim and pale leg gave another smack atop the warrior’s vents, reaching into the passage of his lungs to pull free less-suitable goo that could at least serve to clog the lancer holes in his head.

“Carry?” One of the drones queried the possibility. Skthveraachk refused it immediately.

“Would take three to lift, yes? Yes. No. No carry. Signal for cart.” Holding up a leg for momentary halt, she let her voice raise as well to drift towards the trench ahead. “Hostile actions?”

“Scouting pattern. Remaining within trenches.”

“Received. Cart. Now.” Protruding from the rear of the pit, the quick dance and puff of pheromones was all that was needed. It was difficult to make out for the mender, her eyesight never particularly noteworthy even for her caste, but she knew the observers scattered across the battlefield would note the movement. It took only a tenth of a bar for the rattling to be heard, though they tried to muffle the revealing noise. Wheel slid down into the crater as mid-sized menial came to halt, and pained tremble rippled from the soldier as the four lifted as one. Settling the tattered body into the tray of the held cart. Just one of the many new tools that had made its way up the link from the nest. It assisted. She did not question it. “Secondary muster. Secondary priority. Clean, then clot.”

“Received.” Wheel shook as the back legs of the drone fastened to the arms made of broken lances. Skthveraachk clicked closed the lid of the chitinous jar below her vents, not that there was barely any fluid left.

“Hostile actions?”

“Continuing towards risefade. Even spread. No recogni-“ The air snapped as a beam of white struck from across the field, striking the scout’s crest between antennae as he toppled backwards. Not a breath passed before another three bursts flew the distance. Their sites of impact erupting as heat localized miniature explosions in the sodden earth. They flattened into the crater once more.

“Skthveraachk scout!” No reply. Skthveraachk doubled her heartrate, preparing her body for what was to come. A sound of kicking legs. Another volley of beams. Then, a note ringing out.

“Received!” She angled her head, and brought a single eye up over the cleft of crater. Saw the scout once more sticking his head over the lip of trench, ducking low, repositioning, and rising again. The metal of his helm glowing bright red where the beam had impacted the armor. “Additional group! Taking firing positions!”

“Wounded retrieved. Withdrawing, yes? Yes! Drone screen, move on scout’s order. Scout leads.”

“I lead! Wait. Wait.” Hold for their overheat. Cold Dracan air warming, heating, sizzling, as the white fire roared over their heads. Until, for just a moment, ten beams became two. “Moving!”

“Received!” Out. Out of the crater, and onto that open field. The awkward belt bounced against her carapace as the mender gripped the side of the cart and tugged with the hauling drone. Others would form a wall around her, but so long as she remained near the warrior, her protection would be his. Scout leapt from his trench and scurried back to join them, and his zigging was joined by her screen to confuse the shots now striking the terrain all around them. Push. Pull. The wheel bounced and struck off every dip and bump on the open plain. Alarms on both ends of the battlefield were being raised. Scent and sound. Cry and song. “Right! Right! Within! Within!” A glancing hit to one of the drones behind her, its carapace beginning to sag and melt from the heat at the site. Upon the carrier, warrior began to spasm and shake, but the mender ignored it. Two, even three drones, were worth the cost of retrieving a warrior who could still fight. They toppled all into the nearest trench, and Skthveraachk scooped up two clawfulls of mud to dump upon the seared drone. Dispersing the heat.

“Observers are signalling attack. I am reassigned.” The scout remained at the edge, always at the edge. Always looking out to receive the information incoming. “Spitters are being assembled. Sovereignty approaching. I will guide. Trench tunnels fifteen lengths to sopra. You must go.”

“Received.”

“No deviation.”

“Received.” She repeated the acceptance with a snap of her mandibles. Another flash of green painted the sky as additional plasma was thrown. Pressure. Deterrence. Drive them back. Not her role. Refocus. There was movement all around them now, and the scout did not need to wait long before the shots strayed to another scout followed by his link. The one within her trench scrambling up, over; armor clinking, helm jostling, guarded legs pushing him on and out of sight. She watched the lines of white follow him. “Over the edge, yes? I lead.” Up. Over. Run. Run.

The threads were tangling once more. The dead field was coming alive once more as the shielding drones rushed from holes and gullies towards them, streaming around the cart to their forward positions. Spitters swollen with acid leapt from one trench to the next where the lines did not cross and diggers had not yet reached, latching themselves down before heads were thrown over the lips and acid was squirted in high arcs towards the opposing side. A hail of fire was returned, and the seared drone to her left went down as his core was split open. Spewing heart and charred lungs across her body. Wasteful. Wasteful. Follow the markers back. No more sealant. She could not help here. She could not help.

“Help… help… help… help…” Alert. The cart nearly toppled as they all dove into the occupied earthwork, but drones forced its balance. The mender had ceased focus upon it, and her head swung wild as she sought to fight through the chaos of fresh strings. Trailing behind the multitude bodies swarming to refill the forward trenches. Soldiers. Spitters. Arcs of acid, and beams of light, now both firing against them and behind them. Sovereignty and Coalition, exchanging their blows while the ground glistened with charging carapaces. Ignore the new. Find the old. Touch the music, work it back and discern the path. A past attack. A past retreat. Impact. Wounded. Unable to retreat. Warning signal. Danger marker. And call for aid…there. “Return to muster. Use tunnels.”

“Will clog and block passage.” Skthveraachk cursed, already her attention fading from the secured warrior.

“Disregard. Return to muster. Field travel.”

“Received.” Likelihood of being struck at this range was lower, but present. Necessary risk. She was needed. The distress was aged, but its color was vivid. It was important. Soldiers were pouring one after another from the triangular tunnels cut through the trenches, leading back to the exploratory nesting ground. She waited until a mass had formed before joining them in their advance. Her drones and her, forward. The trundling, bouncing cart, back. There. There, under a mass of humanite and soldier corpses. Movement. A waving of antenna. Something was shrieking overhead, and reflexively, all nearby threw themselves down for cover. When the plasma struck, it was fifteen lengths away. More than close enough to shower the surroundings with a black rain of mud, sound and pain. Up. Up. Forward. Forward. Take cover by the pile. Let the three drones left encircle as the army surged ahead once more. “Skthveraachk mender. Identify.”

“Help…priority…help…priority…” Corpse of a tending drone was pulled up and tossed to side, crackling as its songless shell split under the claws of the horde. Breathing? Yes. Barely. Assessment? Adolescent. Unable to discern shell color, too much muck. Split down back. Two eyes blinded. Visible meat at crown. Impossible. Impossible. Critical status, no sealant available. Would be dead in half a bar unless treated. “Priority… priority…” No cart would make it through this stampede. The three drones would have to suffice. Likelihood of her death, present but minimal. Skthveraachk would get the warrior onto their backs, then…

“*^&*…*^&*……*^&*…” Frozen. The composition of thoughts ended. Moving the body would be dangerous and painful. Moving the body was required. She dug her spurs into the ground and heaved, the cries of the warrior muddying his music, and saw. Saw the armor and helm, red on black, black on red. Sigil of the Sovereignty inscribed on its shoulders. Holes in its chest cavity and cuirass, filled with the white foam the aliens used on their own soldiers. Its breaths… slow? Labored? Pained? Skthveraachk was not experienced enough to know. It had not moved. It did move, but only its hand, reaching forward while head slowly rolled from side to side.

“Priority… priority… priority…” Half a bar until the soldier would be dead. Humanite had lived for entire fade since last rise’s battle. Unknown if such would continue. Warrior resisted her raise, trying to lower his core down once more. Trying to place his body over the wounded warrior, where he had lain. “Priority… defend... priority… defend…” She did not need the reminder. She did not want the reminder. Three drones. No carts nearby. Would take two to haul the humanite, three for the soldier. Numbers did not add. Outcome obvious. Another shriek overhead, the music of war rising over the field. Perform role. Perform role.

“Two drones to the humanite. We will shield.” The soldier flailed his legs as they lifted him again, fighting against any attempt to aid him. He knew his role. Stilling only when the alien was dragged from beneath him, to be laid across the pair of readied menials. It struggled, but they tried to ignore it. Humanites did not know how to call for help. They did not know how to help themselves.

“Priority… priority…” Fifteen lengths back to the safety of the trenches. Coolness of the planet lost in the sweltering heat of thousand bodies and hundreds of beams now flung all around them. She prepared to mark the soldier for retrieval, but stopped when she saw the slipping of his stomachs out from his gaster. The movements rupturing what little had held the male together. No sealant left to give. Skthveraachk brought herself down to his head, into his unblinded eyes. “Priority… defend… priority… humanite… humanite…?”

“Role performed. Humanite status, alive. Objective successful.” His breath was let go. His body, stiffened, went lax. The note he gave was of pain, and it was of sorrow, and it was of satisfaction. It would take half a bar for his body to fully shut down. She waited until his last note was given before bringing her mandibles to his neck, severing the column, and silencing his song. It toppled to the side, and the humanite called all the louder. Skthveraachk offered a quick praising, assurances to those watching from the Composer’s side, feeling the spurts of faded red wash across her skull from snipped neck. The sounds of death slowed as beams lost their intensity. Go. Go. They went.

Menials did their best to remain steady; the aliens could not suffer the rocky terrain as they could. Skthveraachk reared onto four legs, and covered the humanite while pressing claws down over the sites of impact. Pressure to damaged spots. The only knowledge they had of aiding the creatures. A spitter went down hard as two beams punctured its gaster, and the bile within spewed in all directions. Melting down the legs of those soldiers unfortunate enough in their placement, charges turned to desperate crawls in the opposite direction. Unable to assist. Move forward. Messages flowed through her and the link back to the thinkers and Queen; fifteen voices silenced on the leftmost advance. Twenty-three gone at the front, artillery impact. Unable to assist. Disregard. Unclench mandibles, wasted effort. Move forward. Something struck the ground at her claws. Something whizzed over her head. The trench was there, spewing forth bodies to the front like a great black wound in the world. They ran. They leapt. They impacted. Safe. Alive. Unable to assist.

“Tasking?”

“Delivery, wounded. Empty tunnel.”

“Use field. Unacceptable delay.”

“Wounded is humanite. Priority.”

“Received, emptying tunnel.” Walls of earth rose high around them, one after another the soldiers emerging from the slanted holes only large enough for one direction of travel. The message passed. The figures stopped. Skthveraachk thrust herself within, and with the lamely struggling humanite still affixed to their backs, they ran through the dark for length after length. Heartrate told to slow, pulse made to decrease, the need for energy no longer paramount. Signalling the critical need, she puffed scent and fanned it forward with hard exhales from her sides as they ran. So that by the time they emerged from the pit all into the synthetic lights and blue tint of skyshield beyond, two haulers with stretcher were already present, humanite menders running towards them from the roads further within.

“Single puncture, chest cavity.”

“Received. Will relay to humanites.” The Banded mender signalled receipt as the alien was hoisted from shells into the white and silver sheet, clutched between the fore and rear legs of lead and rear menial. Tools, devices, they bounced and glinted under the standing lights as the Sovereignty forms clustered around the stretcher. Menders, and two soldiers. One of whom, after look to Skthveraachk’s bloodied and sodden form, straightened in her facing. Raising its hand to snap their sign of salute. Respect. Complex emotion. She made the appropriate bobbing of head, and the creature fell back with smile to join the others leaning over the wounded comrade, carrying it together off into the camp. She began to follow, only to feel her legs tremble and falter, sending her stumbling into the nearest slope for support.

“Wounded? Assistance?”

“Would be in best attendance if such was the case, yes? Yes. If you possess energy to sing and stand, should have allocated more effort into quicker movement.” It was a needless reprimand, and a basic one. The drones unfolded their antennae, their apologies vocalized. Menials always struggled with energy allotments. It was like reprimanding a thinker for being insufferable.

“Skthveraachk mender.” A call from the encampment. All around, soldiers were reforming now that the nearby tunnel was clear. Ready to stream back through the passageway. Clean and reflective shells showing only the clinging filth that decorated Skthveraachk and menials all. “Yes. No. Practice. Sing in the chorus this fade. Redesignate yourself to reserve groups. Feeding. Yes. Go.” They received, and in a line they passed beneath the erected glimmering barricades that held back the soil with nothing more than light. Around the bend where a beam thicker than the Queen supported floating discus, its red eyes scanning up, around, and down to the larger mender approaching. Reared, with bactum and fabric in graspers. Skthveraachk could not find the energy to signal a greeting, and only sung instead. “You are late. Your turn on the field was done a bar past. Your music could not be found in the link.”

“Skthveraachk mender. Is my role limited to time? Yes? No. I had sealant. There were injured beyond my zone. I cut from the song to reach them.”

“You found a humanite.” Statement of what was truth and seen was an annoyance, as was the way the former Ckhehnvraahll was forced to angle her head upward to gaze upon the larger. The size of Skthveraachk, from colony to individual, was usually an attractive feature. It was less so when one had not slept or fed for bars uncountable. “The aliens honored you with recognition.”

“Do not use these notes. Do not beat your heart to this tempo. ‘Honor’ is a humanite word, yes? Colony has yet to parse whether it is positive or negative intonation.” She remained propped against the slope, letting her breath return to her in fullness despite the thin air. “Where is Skthveraachk mender? I am late. He is yet to come and relieve me.”

“Skthveraachk mender was silenced earlier this rise. I am Skthveraachk mender. I fit now to his role.” The other female extended the linen first, the creation of the humanites to serve in the absence of lichen. Gingerly did Skthveraachk rise and accept it, feeling her shell itch already in anticipation of the coarse fibrous strands. “You are late. Another was sent a bar ago. We are reassigned.”

“Rest?”

“Dissection and disassembly.” Her warble of protest made the line of soldiers nearby flinch, even as she tried to smother the noise in brisk rubbing of the scouring towel across her muddied form. The other female knocked her antennae together, if just for a moment. “I acquired biomass in expectation of your arrival. Delivery in less than a quarter bar.”

“The hours of rest are shortening. Skthveraachk mender held experience of cycles, and now is gone. Is Skthveraachk Queen frenzied? Our voices are strained to rawness. Too few. Too few of us.”

“Additive duties are marked as high importance.”

“Higher than preserving the lives of the army. Queen should birth new menders, or create new roles entirely.” Shoving from the wall, there being little point in cleaning while resting in muck, Skthveraachk made way past the line of soldiers. Up, towards the center of camp. Pausing her song only when the thunderous guns spat their fire to the sky, drowning out all else. “Thinkers should be correcting her direction, rather than playing with humanites.”

“New clutches will be hatched in but measures.” So was the word from the primary nest, at least. The larger of the pair strode behind, still reared, seeming comfortable with the position despite the lack of necessity. “Menders will be ready soon. Soon, soon enough.”

“A few more measures like our rise previous, there will be not much of a colony to await them, yes?” There was no need for an additive. The other mender fell into ruminating silence, giving Skthveraachk the empty quiet she needed to focus upon the wiping of her forelegs and graspers especially. Whatever was missed on her shell, the bactum could handle. Whatever was missed on her forelegs would be spread to the rest. Humanites walked as pair past them, upon the metal gangplanks designated for their legs instead of hers, but it was hardly noticed. They had been marked so many times that they practically smelt identical to any other drone. Under the projected images of the Sovereignty colors and images flanking central roadway, dips and bends in the terrain led to bunkers and common areas. Tunnels for temporary caverns and towers for temporary guardianship. The cool blue of the shield above them only rarely flickering from absorbed impacts, only occasionally vanishing in sections where returned fire was thrown through the barrier and to whatever similar fortifications awaited across the battlefield. It had been a marvel the first time she had seen it. By the eighth, it was simply accepted as commonplace.

“You sung of mass?”

“You are not purged.” Soldiers gave way to menials. Armored humanites began to vanish in favor of blue and pale shells. Coming to halt alongside one of the hardstone tents, the fluttering flaps that yet were as hard as steel if they struck you, Skthveraachk turned to face the other. “You are more black than wan yet.”

“I have been in field for near nine bars, yes? I have not fed since before I left, yes? I will crawl down your throat and get it myself if you do not deliver, yes? Yes.” It was hard to sound threatening while her vents heaved and panted after each sound. Skthveraachk doubted it had been effective. “Pass me the bactum, I will wash head then proceed to the rest while feeding.” Tittering amusement, the larger female obliged, and after a smearing of the palmidia so quick that Skthveraachk herself would have chastised any who performed such pathetic ‘cleaning’, her mouth extending out to wrap around and bond. Sealing to the other mender’s as warmed mass was expelled down passage, to be greedily sucked up with shudder of relief. Her song clearer now that the two were connected. “May your head duck low through the trenches. It is most unfavorable beyond.”

“Census is of four thousand lost. Almost as many as were used taking the primary nest.”

“Thinkers failed? Sovereignty failed? Queen failed? Irrelevant. We clean the result.” Mouths locked, her stomach slowly filling, graspers worked to run both the fabric and tingling bactum along her body. Chunks of flesh, hunks of mud, all falling away to reveal the far paler hue beneath. When she struggled to reach low enough to encompass abdomen, the other female took over the task, their cores pressing together to reduce the distance. “Dissection orders tripled after retreat. Entire new priority listing for almost every role. Trust in Composer that information gained was worth cost.”

“Not our role.” Graspers continued to pick at her openings. The few humanites who passed quickened their pace upon reaching the pair; physical contact disturbed their species. Previous thoughts were weakness. Now, argument was being made for simple distaste. Aliens. “We should hurry. Delivery is scheduled for opposite end of the camp.” The flow of biomass ceased. Skthveraachk swallowed down what was left, then took hold of the now blackened and soiled towel’s remaining cleaned edge. Using it to unlatch the belt from around her thorax, and throwing it, the bactum, the lot, out into the pathway. It had barely struck ground before a disposal drone had scooped up the sodden articles and made off with them.

“Received. Numbers?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Good. Likelihood high of at least five or six dissections then.”

“You bemoaned this task.”

“I disagree with its importance. Queen directs. We will obey to fullest ability, yes? Yes. She wishes dissections, we will hope for hundreds and hundreds.” There would not be hundreds. Breaking contact, remaining reared now out of the need to keep graspers pristine and unmarred by the alien soil, they kept scythed and forelegs folded as they traveled towards the sound of shouting. Of humanite discontent. The exchanges always took place at the edges of the encampment, on the fringes where braced walls fell into ditches. A reasonable precaution. Even humanites did not tolerate their enemies’ presence deep within their nests.

Twenty, just as the mender had indicated. Lined up, still wearing their tinted shells made to match the terrain of Dracan. Haulers had already been assembled, and another pair of menders was equally awaiting when they reached the cleared space beneath a nearby tower. Watching as the Sovereignty soldiers walked alongside the kneeling Coalition figures, patting down and feeling through their protections as others looked on with raised lances. Skthveraachk kept her scythes folded close, seeing the four or so ambers who watched from sidelines, more focused upon them all than the other aliens present. The figure at the far end of the line, its assessment concluded, was hauled up onto feet and shoved off, sent to a blue shell who made notes on a screenpad and fastened bindings to their wrists.

“Skthveraachk mender. Any so far?”

“Skthveraachk mender. No, they just started.” The next followed the first. It was odd, seeing them without their helms. The designs in the field were obvious, the squarer rigidity of the Sovereignty at odds with the almost carapace-like shells of the Coalition. Here, though? Blondes, browns, pale skins, darker skins, though those were always quite a bit more bloodied than the other captives, green eyes, blue eyes, even the occasional vibrant yellow. It was difficult to discern any true difference between them, though the aliens seemed to manage just fine. “It was whispered through the link you had died, Skthveraachk.”

“I am a bar late, cleaning up sectors the rest of our menders seem to have overlooked, and it is oddity enough that the Colony begins to tremble in fear?” One of the darker skins was hauled up, given smack with lance as it was shoved off towards the blue. Brief moment of hope, but lost as the bindings went on. “Yes? You would think I was one who had stood before the Triumverate.”

“You deliberately avoid your own importance rating. There are thinkers who are prioritized lower.”

“Hold-over from the Queen’s designation of former Ckhehnvraahll soldiers. All received a boosted ranking over birthed Skthveraachk-Colony soldiers.”

“Should be forbidden from field roles. Next time you go missing, procedure will be the same for lost thinker. Mobilization. Many deaths for individual recovery.” The male had let his scythes lax, and the patrolling of a nearby amber made them all stiffen up. Keeping their blades firmly turned in. “Excessive for a mender.”

“Agreed. Submit request for reassessment, yes? Yes. Yes, it can join the last two I sent to the thinkers.”

“*^&**^&*!!” The lances all spun on one of the kneeling figures. Its fingers coming unlocked as it waved its hands through the air, the soldier who had been feeling down its body recoiling with glistening metal symbol in hand. “*^&**^&*! *^&*! *^&*!”

“*^&*! *^&**^&*, *^&* *^&*--” Attempts made by the Coalition warrior brought only the slamming of a weapon, like a falling tree, into its back. Sending it face-first into the dirt. Others along the line screeched and hooted their alien noises, but did not rise.

“There’s the first. Yours?” Skthveraachk chittered, mandible points scraping against one another, and signalled refusal.

“We will take the next.”

“There is the next.” The soldiers had neglected their attentions. At line’s opposite, while all eyes had turned to the fallen humanite, one in the line surged to feet. Turned, and bolted towards the pillars flanking either side of the entryway. Her partnered mender clicked antennae, and the menials joined in the laughter. “Humanites are insane. If they wished to flee, why not do it outside the walls?”

“‘Honor’?” Skthveraachk lazily offered the empty word, and the mender laughed again, consenting to the point made. Leave it for the thinkers to puzzle them out. Sovereignty red shell balanced, aimed, and fired. Lancer beam struck cuirass, and the Coalition alien stumbled. Three more shots cracked out, and stumble became fall. Toppling down into the dirt, while Sovereignty approached without ever lowering weapons. “That will be ours.” Sure enough as the rising sun, humanite rose up with another shining maker pulled from the corpse. Haulers broke into two groups, as did the menders, though not before Skthveraachk ensured to compose a filling recitative. Keeping it polite, pure, unmocking in its pitches. “We will sing together after work’s conclusion, Skthveraachk mender. I will assist in your complaint and suggestion to thinkers and Queen. Perhaps she will listen if enough of us protest.”

“I accept fully your aid. I do not wish to lose ten voices for the sake of your one.”

“Nor I.” The humanites waved the haulers over, stepping away from the bodies both dead and alive. As hers was lifted onto the hauler’s shells, another inspection was made from her reared posture on high. Fair brown hair, pale pink meat, chestical buboes indicated female sex, but no other signs of remarkability. One of the Sovereignty expelled fluid from its mouth, the wad striking the ground, but the other merely gestured them onward. ‘Kchreestchaahn’, ‘Hmooslhum’, the names meant nothing to her. Only indicators of colonies, nests perhaps, that always ended up under her scythes. The menials headed for the caverns below, and not until the sounds of feet and claws were but distant rumblings overhead. Their cordoned pen of boxes and bins empty only for as long as it took to begin peeling free the shell of the dead alien, focused upon their own task without look to the other sets of menders pursuing their own disassembles amidst scuttling menials hauling off the trays full of materials or bringing new, empty containers to replace them.

“Do you prefer to sing while working?”

“I do.” Armor first. Easy enough to snip at the joints, preserving the overall structure of the precious plating. “Yes. Skthveraachk mender and I sung together often. But, only if it is not music of the work itself.”

“Acknowledged.” The other mender had experience herself. Many preferred to start at the core, but she went straight for the feet. Grasping boots each a time with paired graspers, before yanking off the armor. “Soldier from the advance column passed knowledge through me. Assault report. Losses from battle will not be repeated. Sovereignty and Queen combining forces, eliminating Coalition emplacements both to the sopra and alto of the line.”

“Center column suffered greatest damage. Many voices silenced. A new strategy?”

“No. Another push. Losses suffered to hidden artillery. Flanks left exposed on purpose, knowing center push is coming. Coalition adapts to Queen. Queen adapts to Coalition.” Legs. Chest. Red shell was set aside to reveal pink skin, marred only by the spreading red at chest. Skthveraachk took to shearing away the brown filaments at its head; ropes and cords could be fashioned with enough length, like a weak silk for smaller bindings. “Two measures to dismantle defenses, then another push to the center.”

“Should notify the rest of the menders. Prepare for more dismemberments from artillery. Prefer removal of internals first, or meat?” Incision was made along the center, between the bared mounds, and the red blossomed upwards to fall upon the slab which suspended the alien.

“Current knowledge is a cleaner dispersal when beginning with internals.” Skthveraachk signed acceptance, and began to saw her scythes into each mound as the other began to sever the multi-pronged feet. “Once through line, only remaining defenses on peninsula are Pelal, and Guir.”

“Seven measures remaining to reach Guir in the Hathan-Commander’s promised timeline. Another battle like this, yes? No. We will not arrive in time if mistake is repeated.”

“Will not be repeated. Queen has learned. Queen will lead.”

“Queen learns quickly, yes? Yes. But.” They rolled the body together, carefully working their scythes under the layer of the unpleasantly stretchy meat. Cutting it free of the redder biomass beneath, to be lain as only few sheets on suspended rack. Treatment of the binding flesh took time and did not last long, but crafters continued to experiment. Skthveraachk’s own belt had been made of the stuff. It served. “Queen’s knowledge never completed. Faith falls to reality. The Composer’s scribings are unknown to us. Colony is unsure if He can even see us here, away from the world.”

“Split consideration. Composer is all. Composer creates all. Humanites are songless, but they are not from beyond the song. Simply a new addition to the great work.”

“An unwelcome addition, yes? Yes.” Snapping rung out as they pried together, splitting wide the internal cage of rigid white. Scooping, ripping and dumping the unsuitable meats into containers for disposal. There were no farms to fertilize here, no use for their fluids or paste. The real prize was that hard endoskeleton. Each elongated piece like a section of chitin in and of itself, like the corpse of a menial being wheeled past them to be dumped on slabbed table nearby. The menders there proceeding with their own disassembly. Their crates began to fill with bone and skin, haulers arriving to carry away the materials to the crafters. What could not be peeled was severed and discarded. What had no use was marked for dumping in the pits far from the encampment. The other mender gave short laugh, and the clacking rung in the dim cavern. Punctuated by a booming from above, another shower of firepower.

“We push to the end, Skthveraachk. Seven measures and this fight will be finished.”

“I do not deny. But I do not rejoice. Fight will be finished.” Pressing scythe’s edge at the corpse’s neck, it thunked into the stone as the head was cut clean. Skthveraachk carefully finding best place to split the skull hidden within, so that even the shallow natural curve of the alien’s crest could be repurposed for more useful end. “Then Coalition disperse? War is ended? Yes? No? No. Queen will take this ‘Guir’, humanites will celebrate, and next target will be selected. And Queen will rush into it, and maybe that will be the measure she dies.”

“Founders forbid.”

“Yes.” Skthveraachk found herself pausing. Her carefully pressuring graspers ceasing their inspection to instead bring the head up to her eyes. Its eyes were opened, unseeing, its jaw hanging from cleaned dome. She stared. The alien stared back. If she stared hard enough, could she discern some new insight? Could she make sense of these things from beyond the stars? It was wasted time and effort, and it drew a curious look from her fellow mender. Feeling along the cut made in neck, mandibles making marks in flesh as she bit and tested the strength of the bone, the small design painted into the skin too taut to peel from the skull only made her shake with another hopeless confusion. The small, lopsided ‘X’ with one leg longer than the other, seared into the creature’s skin just below the hole to side of its head. It was not her role. She was glad of it. The aliens were insane. She brought the skull to the table and crushed the flat of her scythe to it, a crack of splintering followed by wet schlops as she pried open and emptied the grey contents. “Yes. Founders forbid.”