The Seed rumbled when it left the protobiosphere. Once it entered the cold, airless void, the outer hull hardened itself for protection on reflex, peals of thunder reverberating through the vessel. Four Hundred stood near a semipermeable membrane that showed the stars outside, even while the Seed remained camouflaged from outside observers.

“Your instinct was correct,” said Six Hundred Twelve. “We were right to intervene as we had. The Hexad will be pleased with your foresight.”

“What instinct is that?” Four Hundred asked, already knowing the answer.

“They hunger to spread beyond their means. They are like bloodmites, intending to drink the galaxy dry with no thought of the consequences. They have no concept of protobiospheres, no respect for natural population pulses, and they nest on dead worlds that have not even been properly fertilized yet. They fertilize for between thirty and fifty circles and then begin living there as if they always had.”

Four Hundred’s lobes twitched. “How many nests have they built?”

Six Hundred Twelve let out a hissing breath. “We have listened to their secret whispers thrown faster than light can run. They nest on hundreds of worlds. Perhaps thousands. They may number almost fifty billion individuals. They will only multiply with greater speed if they nest on more worlds, as they hunger to do.”

“I know that this is not even their most startling trait,” said Four Hundred. “They can travel without the Maws.”

“I have heard it said by another that they have not even observed the Maws. They do not know the Maws exist! And yet they travel freely. How is this so?”

“My eyes have not yet seen.” Four Hundred blinked, the third eyelids clinging too tightly the eyes. This happened sometimes due to lack of sleep. “Their tools are metal. They are rigid and must be tiring to make. Their tools can also do things ours cannot. Even our most durable regenerative Seed could not catalyze a reaction to produce such speed between stars. It is impossible. Light is the fastest beast of all except by the might of the Maws, and yet these humans have no knowledge of the Maws. On this one path, they walk beyond us.”

“There may be another,” replied Six Hundred Twelve, crossing the chamber to stand at a respectful distance nearby. “They birthed brains that can think without living.”

Four Hundred stifled a shudder at the memory of a night terror. Metal monsters attacking the hold while the newlings gestated in their pods. Then Four Hundred’s own hands ripping open the metal to find nothing inside it.

But there was no sense in planting one’s own fears in the mind of another, lest they spread without merit. Four Hundred needed to hear it from the mouth of another to give it merit.

“How could such a thing be?” Four Hundred asked, feigning ignorance once more.

Six Hundred Twelve answered, “The brains think, but they have no blood. No life. They are made of metal and signals like those that pass between nerves. This is what the Menders believe. The first emissary and all their flying metal beasts are dead, and yet they think like the living. Even their Seeds and mounts, even the metal skins they wear, all have dead brains that keep on thinking. They are not only dead. The brains were never even alive.”

“This stuff is akin to the myths our ancestors used to tell,” said Four Hundred, knowing the foolishness of it all and yet seeing that it was true. “Brains that think but do not live. Helpmeets not of flesh but of rock, with lightning for blood. Is this deception on their part? Could they perhaps hide the true brains under skins of metal, as they do themselves? You were tasked with the recovery of their first emissary.”

Six Hundred Twelve chuffed defensively but soon deferred. “We were not able to capture their emissary. It was lost from us after the attack. We have seen that they have taught their metal the skill of camouflage. Perhaps this is why it was lost. But I feel that if we were to dissect their emissary, we would find nothing but more metal within. They are the only living creatures in our midst—they and the beasts too small for eyes to see. The Menders tell me they have not yet even mastered their own biospheres, though they try.”

Four Hundred stifled the true fear that rose up from within, treating the matter instead as a purely intellectual one, at least in the presence of a subordinate. “Vexing. We still have much to learn about them. Perhaps there are many paths on which they walk ahead of us, and some paths on which we walk ahead of them. I know that they are fragile things, like newlings in their pods. Peel back their metal skin and they have no inborn defenses against even the simplest of our weapons, thornbones. Their most powerful weapons appear to be small pellets that work like thornbones, which they spit from the ends of metal tubes. They also keep metal fruits at their hips which can explode and make smaller, sharper pieces of metal. Their mounts and Seeds have all the same weapons but in different shapes.”

“I have seen a large metal tube spit a large explosive metal fruit. It happened when the metal ghosts fought each other. What other weapons do they wield that our eyes have not seen?”

Four Hundred chuffed to cover up the growing dread. “There shall be no more breath wasted on what we do not know. With more twistings and more circles, we will learn all that we need. We will repel their invasion and we will kill any who refuse to learn the way of starlife.”

Six Hundred Twelve was silent in the chamber. Four Hundred dared not turn around, as to do so would imply an imbalance of authority, and waited for Six Hundred Twelve to speak. “This is what your instincts tell you, then? We should go to war with them?”

“We do not fight the wars that they fight, not like them. We have not done so since primordial times. They still attack each other over territory and resources. The way our populations breathe, the way they swell and contract like a living thing is supposed to do, means we have no need to expand so aggressively. This will not be a war as they understand it. We will stand firm. Every action they take will be met with a proportional reaction. If they advance, they will be annihilated. But I think, in their gluttony, they will not be able to help themselves.”

“They are reckless in their growth, surely, but...”

Four Hundred’s vocal pouch vibrated impatiently. “Speak your instincts.”

“But,” the subordinate replied, “one among us, a Commander, loosed the first thornbone.”

“We have tried them and we have seen their hearts. Have you already forgotten our siblings who were slain by the first invaders?"

Six Hundred Twelve's eyes blinked with only two eyelids, a show of frustration. "Of course I have not forgotten, but the invaders may have reacted on their own instincts! Is an instinct not sacred if it is not ours?"

"So, you defend them as mere beasts who could not help themselves. Would you not correct a foodbeast that wandered into a garden?”

“I would. But I would suffer it to live.”

At this, Four Hundred turned and tackled the subordinate, a primal behavior that survived in their instincts but was not commonly seen. Six Hundred Twelve bared defensive teeth and Four Hundred waited until the teeth were put away, a sign of submission, before speaking again. “Learned Menders once meddled with the genes of the foodbeast. Have you heard this said?” Six Hundred Twelve listened deferentially and Four Hundred stood, satisfied with the display of power. “One litter of foodbeasts. Only two genes were altered. The Menders responsible said that these foodbeasts would remain hungry even after they had eaten their fill. They would fatten up to the requisite size more quickly than their counterparts. And do you know what happened next?” Six Hundred Twelve hissed a quiet, negative response. “I will tell you. When the foodbeasts were weaned, they were released.

“In two twistings, the foodbeasts had grazed an entire beastland. There were no crops left. The foodbeasts were found devouring a garden belonging to a hold. The beasts did not do this out of malice. They could not be helped. But they upset the order of life with their gluttony, and the ramifications could be felt by the world’s biosphere for an entire circle. The Menders responsible were killed to return balance. All of it was a waste, borne out of the Menders’ greed and shortsightedness. A foolish meddler is easily killed, but fifty billion of them in metal skins?” Four Hundred expelled air through gnashed teeth. “I know what these beings are. There is no need for us to attack them. We will defend life that requires defending. Ancestors have mercy on this protobiosphere, as I am certain it is lost. But I know these invaders will seek to ruin others. Such is their nature.”

Six Hundred Twelve seemed unconvinced but hesitant to disagree so brazenly a second time. “Your Superiority, how can we understand their instincts? They cannot understand ours. Perhaps we are too different. What are your feelings on the matter?”

Four Hundred thought of the aliens in skins of black metal. “Remember, we were able to capture the first five of them with minimal casualties. Four still survive and look healthy and full of good blood. They have not revealed their secrets yet, but we will find their limits. No bone is unbreakable. The same is true for a brain.”

Six Hundred Twelve made a small chirping noise like a newling. In most circumstances, a grown one making such a noise would be strange and foolish, but in the presence of a superior with such a gap in rank, it was a gesture of profound respect. Four Hundred was glad that the hierarchy between them had been solidified through brief but meaningful violence. “What do you feel will come of this war? How long will it last?”

Four Hundred expelled air through pursed lips in cold amusement. “That is up to the invaders to decide. It will last as long as their aggression does. Or until the last of them is destroyed. Then we will become caretakers of their biospheres and their companion organisms. Such is the way of starlife.”

Through the nose membrane of the Seed, Four Hundred watched their approach of the nearest Maw. It was a phenomenon that was just as alien as the metal-skinned invaders. It was not only easy to miss for even the highly trained four eyes of a Sharpshooter—it was also intentionally concealed, or so it always seemed. The opening was camouflaged and could only be detected by the magnetoreception of a Seed.

There was some debate among the learned ones about the origin of the Maws; some said they were remnants of other beings from the distant past, doorways that they once used and had been left behind in their absence. Other learned ones contended that the Maws were living creatures as well, or part of them, that had evolved naturally in the cosmos. Four Hundred did not know which idea was correct, or which one would bring more comfort.

But now was not a time for comfort. Now was a time for nerves with a strong hide and instincts that could be trusted. Now was a time of protecting something far greater than an individual life, or even a bloodkin. The Hexadians were poised to protect all life in their known cosmos, lest precious biospheres fall into the hands of primitive destroyers. It was a time of fear, but even greater courage in the face of great danger, and a time to rejoice in the ways of war after a long peace, like the rhythm of breathing.

The Seed groaned voicelessly and a dull mist descended into the room from the ceiling. “Another twisting has passed,” said Four Hundred. “It is time to interrogate the aliens once more.”

“I will go there at once, Your Superiority,” said Six Hundred Twelve.

“Not alone,” Four Hundred replied. “This time, I will accompany you. They divulged many secrets the last time I killed one of them. I will see if it works again this time.”