"Buggie-daddy! Buggie-daddy! Pick me up!" the shout was from a tiny, relatively, young male primate running pell-mell across the house.

The big Treana'ad squatted down, his bladearms behind his back, and caught the little boy as he jumped into the air.

"Oh!" the Treana'ad laughed, ruffling the boy's hair as he stood up. "How was school?"

"It was good! I got a Exceptional on my test!" the boy said.

The Treana'ad moved through the house to where his pair-bond mate was, listening to the young boy describe his school day with the rest of the children that were like him.

It is important that he spends time with other Terran children, the Treana'ad warrior thought to himself as he entered the meal preparation and consuming area. There was the nutriforge, the appliances, the table where everyone ate, and the chairs.

One of the chairs had a ladder on the side and a comfortable padded seat.

"Buggy-Mommie!" the boy cried out, wiggling.

The Warrior let the boy go, watching with amusement as the boy ran over and threw himself into the Matron's arms.

"What is for lunch, oh Wise and Powerful Matron?" the Warrior asked.

"Peanut butter and pickle sandwiches with a vanilla ice cream orb," the Matron said, holding the boy tight to her chest and squeezing. The boy giggled and wiggled, a solid mass of muscle and bone, against her chitin. She smiled down at him and he gave back a smile missing two teeth.

It had been slightly alarming when the little boy's dentition started falling out, but a quick scan of the "So You're Raising a Human Child" site had shown that it was perfectly normal for something called "milk teeth" or "baby teeth" to fall out, to be replaced by bigger ones.

"Are you hungry?" the Matron asked.

The boy nodded and the Matron moved around the table, setting the boy in the upraised chair, then pulling the cloth from over the plate in the middle of the table, revealing several sandwiches.

The Warrior watched the boy eat. Even after two years it was still startling just how much he could eat, how fast, and how he almost crammed the sandwiches in his mouth in his hurry to eat.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, sweetie," the Matron said, clicking her mandibles with amusement.

"Yes, Buggie-Mommy," the boy said.

He finished up quickly then climbed down, running into the washroom to clean his hands and face. When he ran back he was shaking his hands, getting water everywhere, little droplets that spattered the waters. He ran up to the Warrior, holding his arms up.

"Can we go to the park, Buggie-Daddy?" the boy asked.

The Warrior glanced at the Matron, who gave a slight nod.

"Get your safety harness, Bobby," the Warrior said.

"YAY!" the boy ran off and the Warrior looked at the Matron.

"He's gone a week without crying at night. Take him for ice cream, K'Mik," the Matron said.

"As you command, oh Wise and Honorable Matron," the Warrior, K'Mik, said to the Matron.

The Matron clicked with amusement as the boy ran down the hallway, waving a harness over his head.

The Matron helped the Terran boy put on the harness and then strap onto the Warrior's lower abdomen, then lifted him up into the 'saddle' on the back of the Warrior. The Warrior maneuvered to outside of the house then jogged to the park, the child on his back yelling with glee the whole way.

At the park the boy played with other Terran children, running around, yelling, rough housing, and tumbling around, till almost dark.

The Warrior took the child to have a small bowl of ice cream, listening as the boy recounted every little bit of the play time. The Warrior listened to all of the stories, clicking with amusement or approval at all the right times.

The Warrior jogged back, taking it easy, making sure that he kept a nice smooth pace. The boy went to sleep a mile from home, laying back on the abdomen, snoring slightly, as the Treana'ad warrior jogged home.

The Matron put the child to bed, listening to the tired but excited story about how the boy had ran faster than the other boys and then "Buggie-Daddy" had ran home. The Matron ran the boy one of the ancient Terran 'bed-time' stories, the boy falling asleep before it was done. The Matron tucked him in and then went into the lounging room.

"He's doing better," the Matron said.

The Warrior nodded. "I have noticed."

The Matron sat down on a reclining couch, leaning back and taking out her power-smoker. She took a couple puffs off of it then tucked it away.

"It is not the burden that I was afraid of," the Warrior admitted. "Terrans are exuberant and energetic and Bobby is no different."

The Matron nodded. "Indeed. I have been a Matron for nearly fifty years," she clicked with amusement. "And I feel as if I have aged more with Bobby in our lives than in all that time," she paused for a second to puff on her power-smoker. "Strangely, I also feel younger than I have."

The Warrior nodded. "I agree. I was nervous when you chose me to be your raising partner for a Terran child, but I am enriched by what I have experienced."

"And I, also," the Matron said.

"They grow up so slow," The Warrior said, shaking his head. "I went from an egg to a full grown warrior in a year. It will be until he is twenty years old before he is fully grown, over ten more years."

The Matron nodded. "And he will grow more energetic, more exuberant, as time goes on," she shook her head. "I do not look forward to adolescent moodiness. The parent groups often comment on it."

"Perhaps he will be able to run it off, as us Warrior do," K'Mik said.

The Matron laughed, exhaling smoke. "The more that a Terran does, the moodier they become," the Matron said. She checked her wrist, looking at the telltales. "We will have to increase the psychic shielding on our home."

K'Mik nodded. "The moodiness will increase his emotional output."

The Matron clicked her mandibles. "It will be interesting, oh Mighty and Bold Warrior."

The warrior snickered.

"How long do you think the war will go on?" the Matron asked.

K'Mik shrugged. "I do not know."

"Does it disturb you that you are not involved in the war?" the Matron asked.

K'Mik shook his head. "No. I have been part of your personal guard for nearly twenty years. I know that something terrible must happen for me to leave your service," he looked back toward the bedroom. "I have been tasked with caring for a Terran child. The child of the people who have held tight to our hands even when governments have fallen. For eight thousand years they have been our friends. To care for a child of their people is an honor and a most profound duty."

The Matron nodded, checking her wristband again, sighing that the telltales were all green.

"I find myself growing more attached to him each day," K'Mik said.

"So this burden..." the Matron started.

"It is not a burden," K'Mik corrected. "It is a joy."

The Matron smiled.

-----

The howling of an alarm woke K'Mik from sleep. He was on his feet, bladearms in the guard position, looking around him for the source of the alarm.

A glance told him and he felt his ichor grow cold.

Bobby's medicomp was wailing.

K'Mik rushed out of his room, down the hallway, to find the Matron looking down at the small Terran boy child.

He was blue in the face. Blood had run from his ears, nose, and mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and open, and he looked confused.

"My child! My child!" the Matron wailed out, scooping the boy up in her arms. "My child!"

Chemicals flooded the Warrior's brain and he went cold and prickly, his emotions receding. K'Mik activated his comlink and pinged emergency services.

It took twenty clicks before anyone answered.

"Smokey Cone Emergency Services, please state your emergency," a living voice said.

That startled K'Mik. The computers and VI should have picked up it.

"My child! My child!" the Matron wailed. She brushed his hair out of his face with the tip of one bladearm. "Wake up, Bobby. You're scaring Buggy-Mommy. Wake up, honey."

"My child's life signs have ceased. I need medical assistance," K'Mik said.

"Have you checked to ensure the monitor is not faulty," the technician said.

"The monitor is fine. My Terran child..." K'Mik started.

"You are fostering a Terran child?" the responder asked.

"Yes."

"Please, sweetie, wake up, you're scaring Buggy-Mommy."

"Dispatching emergency services. It may take a minute, we're overloaded and we'll get to you as quick as possible," the technician said. "I cannot stay on the line. I have many more calls to answer."

K'Mik stood there, watching the Matron plead with the Terran boy, until the emergency services arrived and whisked him away.

-----

The house was dark. It was lit, there was plenty of illumination, but to K'Mik the house seemed dark. The ice cream tasted sour. The cigarettes were tasteless.

The Matron sat across from him, staring at the table.

"All of them. They all died," she said softly.

K'Mik said nothing.

"All over the Confederacy, they all died," the Matron said.

She suddenly looked up. "They killed our son, K'Mik. Someone, somewhere, somehow, killed our son."

K'Mik nodded slowly.

"I do not release you from my service, Warrior K'Mik," the Matron said. Her voice was low, intent, and seemed infuse with the darkness that filled the house. "You shall enter the Confederate Armed Services. You will find out who killed our son."

K'Mik nodded again.

"And you will visit upon them my wrath," the Matron said. She sat up all the way, slamming her bladearms into the table. "Find them, K'Mik! Find them for me! Find them for Bobby!"

K'Mik stood up. "As you command, Matron."

The Matron lowered her head, making sounds of grieving, pulling her bladearms close, leaving long deep gouges in the table.

"My heart hurts. I did not know there was so much pain in the universe. It is truly a malevolent universe if it would take something so precious as our Bobby," the Matron said softly as she sat down again. "Find them, K'Mik, and punish them."

K'Mik moved slowly through the house, going to the quiet and dark room. He could smell the missing occupant.

It brought memories of laughter, rough housing, and curiosity. Of a small pink creature with startling green eyes that climbed on everything and had a dozen questions for every answer.

He moved over to the blanket and lifted the corner. He smelled it, just to hold tight to the memories of the boy, then sawed off the corner with the edge of his bladearm.

K'Mik tucked the piece of cloth into his harness pocket then silent moved through the house to stare at the Matron.

"I will find them," K'Mik swore. "I will find who did this to our soft son."

"Hurt them, K'Mik, as they have hurt us, as they hurt our boy," the Matron said quietly.

K'Mik nodded and left the house silently

-----

The servitors had held the Inheritors of Madness at the line for nearly a month. They had been pushed back six times, but had retaken the ground each time as they were replicated or reinforced. Servitors had found themselves manning the trenchworks next to copies of themselves in a headache inducing experience.

But things had changed with the arrival of the massive insect people.

In the last week they have been pushed back four times and had been unable to retake the ground no matter how many reinforcements they had.

Among the servitors there were whispers that these insects were different. That there was something about them that even the Great Masters could not withstand.

They slept fitfully, watched over the edge of their trenches nervously. They learned to fear the shriek of the bladed missile, the soft krump of the spooky particle white phosphorus, and the shriek of the high-vee rounds.

They heard the whistles first.

Then the thudding sounds of footfalls as the whistles grew louder. The thudding grew louder until the ground started to shake.

Servitor officers and the few Atrekna there urged calm. There was no artillery storm, no close air support, which had preceded all other assaults upon the servitor lines.

Smoke rounds started landing. Prism mist, radar defeating smoke, microchaff, thermal masking smoke.

Within seconds the servitors couldn't see anything further than a few meters from the trenchworks.

One of the servitors looked up in time to see them erupt from the smoke.

Over three meters tall. Their armor painted in patterns of brownish paint to blend in with the terrain. Instead of standard helmets they wore gas masks as they charge through the smoke. They had no miniguns on their backs, no mortars, no missile launchers.

Their eyes glowed bright red.

The servitor gave a shout of alarm and the others raised up from behind the trenchwall, lifting their weapons.

It was too late, the insects were lunging into the trenches.

Some had cybernetic replacements for their legs, their arms, their bladearms. Rather than the smooth edge of a vibroblade or a standard replacement, the cybernetic bladearms had a rotating chain with saw teeth on the outside that howled and clattered.

The two Atrekna rocked back from the assault as their senses were assaulted. Gone was the normal joy and glee of carnage that the insect people usually radiated. Instead it was wrath, all consuming burning wrath, full of images of small lemur young.

"KILL THEM ALL!" one of the larger warriors roared out as he grabbed up a servitor in his two hands and sawed through his body with a cybernetic bladearms. "KILL THEM WITHOUT MERCY!"

The Atrekna went to flee, turning to glide away as they found their ability to warp space and time suddenly and brutally shut down.

Two of the warriors leaped into the air, grabbing the Atrekna, pulling them down.

They didn't instantly stab, instead they turned and yelled to the other insects.

"THESE ONES! THEY DID IT!" the two warriors roared out.

Other warriors ran up, each grabbing an arm or a leg.

The Atrekna screamed as one grabbed each of their heads.

"For Bobby," the massive warrior holding one of the Atrekna snarled.

They all pulled at the same time, ripping the Atrekna into pieces. Some ran up and bent down, slashing the corpses with their bladearms, roaring in rage.

"FORWARD! KILL THEM ALL!" the shouts rang out.

The Treana'ad charged the next line, sprinting as fast as they could. Their rage demanded nothing less.

[Matrons Special Blend Has Joined the Server]