Four measures. A younger Skthveraachk may have balked at that number, at the work needed. A lesser Skthveraachk, a Skthveraachk deprived of her masses, would have gazed upon her colony in restrained fear, calculating how much must be asked of each and every number amongst them. Attendants would not have lined her sides, massaging free the distracting tensions. Thinkers would have not sent her their priority listings, queenlings would not have distributed themselves to assist in the relaying of complex instructions. Hathan had shown his capacity for truth amidst falsehoods once more, and when the last of the landing crafts had returned and lower decks were fully emptied of humanite presence, the space was at last sufficient, if cramped, in its capacity for segmentation of her nest. Temperature was brought higher, air no longer felt as though it were a strained belly of pasty soup. When he had called, she had taken only herself and four of her thinkers to the bridge, where Commander had orchestrated a presentation of the false-light and fake table imagery. A different Skthveraachk may have been overwhelmed by the information. The Skthveraachk Queen of the now walked, and was carried, by the horde of attendants and drones feeding information from each room of her nest. The Skthveraachk Queen of the now had not wasted those four measures.

“Identify.” Twenty wide, thirty deep, the ranks of scouts felt as design was drawn out on the carapace of a worker. A design then mimicked by the front row, then the next, then the next. As one, the voices shuddered the fixtures of ceiling and coils of wire used for transport.

“Stationary Anti-Vehicle Lancer.”

“Firing pattern?”

“Linear.”

“Effective range?”

“Two hundred lengths.”

“Threat assessment?”

“Individual, devastating. Column, acceptable. Swarm, minimal.”

“Acknowledged. Identify.” The thinker abruptly switched designs. The elongated tube and power source of the artillery piece swapped for the more expected support vehicles. A squared cube of hovering long-ranged suppression. Scouts received the pattern, and not a voice was out of pitch.

“AG-Armored Vehicle.”

“Firing pattern?” The first measure, some had struggled with the outline variations. Sometimes arcing plasma. Sometimes merely for transport. By the second, none were in conflict.

“Singular heavy lance. Linear.”

“Effective range?”

“One hundred eighty lengths.”

“Threat assessment?”

“Individual, devastating. Column, minimal. Swarm, disregard.”

“Acknowledged. Identify.”

They passed from the sweeping room to the next, where the soldiers had been cycled from the previous two thousand to the next. She had mingled Ckhehnvraahll’s reinforcements into her own forces, broken them into smaller subsections. It was necessary. They would fight under unity of Ckhehnvraahll’s making were they to retain proximity, tactics and reactions befitting their home. Not the humanites. A slender and flexible drone had been chosen, and instructions cycled. At the head of the perfectly spaced lines of the armored warriors, it reared onto four legs, miming a humanite stood and readied.

“KILL.”

Single note echoed across entire deck as the ranks lunged. Bit. Their mandibles sliced the air horizontally at what would be waist-level, the section of armor weakest compared to more protected torso and plated legs. Sever the internal spine. Halved humanite was harmless. Pulling back, they resumed the neutral readied stance, until the drone at the head of the room toppled backwards. A proned body, fallen with stomach raised.

“KILL.”

Left scythe down for stability. Right brought up. Two thousand legs were pulled back, two thousand pointed tips emerged from above claws, and two thousand scythes descended with ringing clang into hardstone deck. Heart, left side, elevated in core. If missed, lung would be sufficient damage. Once pain or damage was overwhelming, rear ranks could sever head or dismember the enemy. The drone was back upright. Turning, attempting to retreat back to safety. Its rear exposed and vulnerable.

“KILL.”

“Maximize surface area.”

“Received.” The drones not actively engaged were folded, silent, conserving energy and limiting their biomass necessity. Thinkers had been working for the last two measures on the most efficient patterns, a disagreement within the colony being processed as they arranged the bodies against the carapaces of the scattered soldiers within next space. Drone crawled atop the still soldier, abdomen between its mandibles with body draped up over crest and thorax. Legs wrapping down and around core.

“Most suitable position.” The female thinker had been insistent in her song. “Gaster is thickest section. Cover the head with it, will absorb multiple lancer hits. Greatest benefit.”

“Refused. Gaster blocks vision and antennae. Worker will likely be dead when enemy is reached, and legs will be stiff around soldier’s core with abdomen blocking mandibles. Adjust opposite.” The drone scurried in circle, until head and neck were between the soldier’s mandibles instead while gaster rested over thorax and body’s core. Legs still wrapped around below, simulating the rigidity of death, of corpse struck too many times by the lighting-flinging weapons of the humanite creatures. “Thorax provides sufficient cover. Does not fully block sight. When reaching enemies, bite can sever head of drone to free jaws for combat.”

“Limiting cover from incoming fire defeats point. More soldiers will die reaching hostiles.”

“More projected deaths in approach compensated for by increased combat potential for those that do engage.” The Queen did not interrupt their projections and conflict. It had not spread elsewhere, and unless stalemate was maintained until the point of the fighting itself, she would leave the deliberation to those who had concocted the problem in the first place.

Weapons knowledge. Tactics used by humanite forces. Machinery employed on the battlefield. Hathan-Commander’s briefing had been extensive, though undoubtedly restrained in many areas. He had readily shared the ideas behind the individual lancer weapons carried by their soldiers, the body-armor employed less to halt the impact of puncturing scythes than to disperse the energy of the searing bolts. They were even spread of arm and curled of claw when it came to questions of the influx of new alien presence, most of whom stopped only briefly on the Palamedes before being ushered on, down, to the planet. Thinkers, specialist castes from their homeworld, all gathering down in Ckhehnvraahll’s Last. It was the questions posed for supplemental considerations that found the Commander silent, and one of the new blues to answer in his stead. Questions, like the nature of their appointed enemy.

“What are their goals?” When the enemy advanced for your eggs, you bunkered about the brooding nest. When they sought your biomass, you ensured the battlefields were far from their lines of retrieval. “What targets do they seek?”

The humanite spread its lips. It was not a friendly movement.

Despite the immediate sharpness of that same smile now turned on him, Hathan provided further explanation.

“And your ships.” Five-armed thinker, the only other of the small group to be Banded, was already growing far too comfortable entering exchanges. “How will it be expected the colony contend with beams of light and fire from high above us?”

Very unfriendly bones. Very narrow eyes. Commander was in charge. Blue shell, inferior. But when she spoke, Hathan did not. Why?

“Lances. Artillery batteries. Vehicles. Thin armor. We fought worse when you landed troops on our world. It is strange that we will encounter fewer threats in this conflict.”

Caution rang out in Hathan’s musings.

Neither she nor her most disagreeable thinker could pull further from the humanites. It was already mountains above where they had stood before, and thoughts and efforts were turned to integration of the information to the colony rather than the pursuit of more. Still; she whispered to a thinker, saw through his eyes as they left the stoop of Hathan’s core in their wake. Humanites lied. They knew more than they shared. The blue shell did not wish to give them information. The Commander did, but could not. Caution. Caution, sung her thinkers. She had scratched at the floor as the doors to the bridge whooshed closed.

Birthing queens had all been impregnated. Premature, perhaps, but regardless of the outcome of their first engagement, the spread of resources was ultimately to be unchanged. Seventy percent soldier, ten percent worker, five percent spitter, the rest to specialist castes. Such would be a mocked skew back on her world; no colony could sustain itself under such weight towards combat and barely-present menial support. With the humanites providing biomass and four birthing queens from whom to generate the next generation, they would not need it. They would maximize their lethality, swell their ranks, and swarm into their enemies. If the spat of knowledge was correct, if they truly could not eat the fallen aliens, then they would instead be used to grow their fungal crop. In each cavernous room the Queen passed, preparations were being concluded to the very last bar. Rows of menders cutting and swallowing the few remaining scrapes of chitin from the dead when they boarded, lines upon lines of the resting drones who’s only movement was the twitch and grate of arms as knowledge gained was shared, distributed and compartmentalized. No more memories would be lost. No more stories silenced. On through the corridor in which only she and one attendant to each side could fit at a time, on past the glistening secretions used to form tiers in the wasted vertical space of each cargo bay. On, to the final section at very fore of vessel’s base. To, herself, squeeze what preparation could yet be fit into the bars left to her.

The twenty or so attendants all began to hiss and crawl along her, fanning out at her front as the clicking of lances switching to active disrupted her considerations. Forced a stillness in her movement. Hathan had ensured, at her level request, that the lowest bowels of the Palamedes were deprived of humanites, for his sake and hers. They still milled above in the walkways, leered down through glass ceilings in certain rooms, but were not within the boundaries of the nest. Not conflicting with the colony’s natural drive to protect and secure. Except here. Except these, the heavily armored amber shelled supplements from Earth itself, all aiming their weapons at her.

“My offered apologies.” The strain in her voice was unmistakable. “As with measures previous, I am here at the Pod’s direction.”

It, he, if voice was indication, stood at the center of the gathering. The thirty or more soldiers who, unlike those guards she had grown accustomed to beneath Hathan, did not converse with her on their Commander’s desires. Did not approach her freely. These remained at distance, remained masked, and remained violent.

“I had thought I smelled Jennifer’s presence. She is in the air, but not here.” Mistake? The attendants forming shield before her with their bodies tasted, shook out their antennae while hairs erected. Skthveraachk checked each. No, the salty currents assured she was near even if eyes refuted. Why did the disagreeable amber practically reek of her? “Accident. I will wait.”

Hissing and folding of attendants was dismissed. Their protests overruled as they were directed back to her sides, where they gave a thunderous drumming as the pleasant shockwaves stirred at her insides. Both soothing her temperament and muscles in preparation. This was where most of the Queen’s four measures had been spent, when not overseeing the tasks of others. Here, in the spacious bay behind freighting elevator, both at the Commander’s firm suggestion and Pod’s sky-near insistence. She heard lift coming down, and raised forelegs to garner the ambers’ attention before carefully moving out of corridor’s path. Just as Jennifer flew into the room, trailed by the floating sled.

The drop of the lead amber’s lance was immediate, and while it did not power down, the barrel was aimed firm to the floor. A quick word ensuring the rest followed suit.

“We are growing accustomed to the presence of these new soldiers.” Neutrality was maintained. The notes, precise. “Their observations are no longer considered distractions.”

“Our memories tell of humanites more restrained. Less present. The colony was prepared for critical inspection. It was not prepared for threats. Perceived threats.” She promptly made the adjustment, seeing the lance clutched by the obtuse soldier begin to rise again. “Of course, they are not blamed for defending themselves against their own, perceived, threats of my people. There is often confusion, suffocation, rare but present trampling when moving nests. It was accounted for.”

She prepared to thank the amber’s courtesy, but the Pod gave him such a pinched look that it seemed her face would wrinkle from her skull. A meager strangeness, and she scribbled claw over chitin of an attendant to make note and thought of it later. Focus to the now. Attention to the powerful thrumming emitting from the sled, lifted from the floor by just enough that a slimmer drone could perhaps slip beneath unscarred. Two great scythes protruded from its front, and segmented sheets of gleaming hardstone metals layered at its squared base. The enormous quadratic shape of its rear, a rectangle of rounded edges, sloped upwards with space enough for her entire body, save quarter above thorax, to fit within. The newest editions, however, were more than off-putting. Her attendants stroked her more fervently as her pulse began to rise.

“What are the purpose of these … spurs?” From all parts save where they would thrust into the ground, the sled now bore harsh, pointed protrusions. Long enough to skewer her, if not clean through then peelably close to it. “They are an addition to its weaponry?”

“The biomass that makes the machinery run.” The Pod liked explaining. The Pod did not even care about interruptions if it meant she could launch another tangential rant on the technology of it.

And if it meant she could fawn over the progress of her specimen. The repeated usage of the pet-name was beginning to tense the Queen’s limbs.

“I understand.” It was truth. The concept was sound. The ludicrous aspect of admitting a dead thing of stone and wood and glass and ‘nanocarbons’ needed biomass as much as the living was something she would just need to accept. “It appears almost as your great ships, from the outside. The way the spires strike out from amidst the crevices of hull.” Ambers about the room were silent; they were always silent. But the leader amongst them was always the most animate, always portrayed visibly what the others thought. And he now shifted and scraped feet against deck, harsh dragging sounds of metal on metal. Jennifer did not even notice. She was too busy gleaming. Baring bone. Wringing her hands together and knotting the wormlike fingers around her tablet.

“That amount is four.”

Musical intakes and exhales gave a sense of great happiness, as least in humanite standards, as the Pod laid a hand against the hovering sled. She gave pause so Skthveraachk could input the translation manually. Tapping at her pad, the elevated lift autonomously and like a phido being shepherded by a menial, glided across the deck and away from the Queen. Away from all, by almost ten lengths, while the disagreeable amber with his disagreeable smell rolled neck.

Their lances went up, and Skthveraachk’s presence both calmed and served to panic the drones clustered around her.

“Queen safe? Dangerous. Humanites, violent. Unmarked.” Lone twin was routing the tales of the many times weapons had been in the Queen’s presence to the others, an effort to reassure, and Skthveraachk made easy her pulse in confirmation of the probe. The colony shuddered. Its hairs were rigid and scythes sharpened. Her reason called for stability and restrain. Her instincts cried out to taste alien blood. Crystals within the hearts and barrels of their weapons heated as the three took aim. Power, pulse; energy rose from a whisper to a shrill wail. She knew this music.

Light on light. White on white. They shot for the sled, the air warmed and rippling, and a flashing surrounded the vessel. The vehicle. Not some trick. Not some unknown power. Remember the diagrams, remember the images. To look at the sun, pain. Magnify, pinpoint, use just the right sort of glass and stone? Pain became agony. Agony transcended to heat. Not lightning. Laser, they called it. A light that had been weaponized. It was spat to creation in the breath between beats, yet rather than strike off the hovering sled, the crackle of energy like audible rebuke sung out. Between the spikes, turquoise and violet flashed. Triangles between the prods, lifted from the metal of the craft, suddenly made manifest as the heat and power washed across it. With a series of blasts, the lattices grew out from the spires, soaked and ate the offending light, then retracted back to their black towers. Ambers lowered their lances. The Pod flapped her hands together like wet tongues.

Barrels of lances down to floor again. Her attendants remaining as living barrier to their Queen. Skthveraachk, meanwhile, gazing with rapt seizure on the sled. Scaling the lattice shield up from individuals, to areas, to entire sky-sent ships and floating nests. Four of her thinkers added to their priority list the possible applications, with what knowledge they had.

It came not from the walls, but from the Band. Hers, and the humanites’ own as several clutched hands to their helms. It was Jennifer who responded.

Just one moment. Just for one breath, she felt herself forget the now and her antennae tap briefly together. Perhaps it was a universal thing, for Queens to suffer the predilections of their thinkers.

Eyes now. Unseen watchers on high. Commander, deeper in his unliving nest, relayed information through wires and cords rather than arm and claw. The floating set of protective plating was sent towards her, and her nearby drones sprayed it with a fresh coating, until it smelled no different than Skthveraachk herself. She needed no explanation of process; she did, though, need prompting.

“You have fixed the previous issues? Around my vents? I will be able to breathe?” The spikes were daunting. From the side, she slipped slowly through them. First her right legs nestling into the grooves within the sled and clutching hard at the handles.

“Should.” Left legs now. Ramp assembled under her claws, attendants stacked atop one another, as they hoisted together to lift the Queen’s mass fully within. Air, jets, gave a bellow from opposite end to push back against the momentum and keep the vehicle steady. Jennifer first tried to explain the meaning, the science as they termed it, behind the power. It was beyond Skthveraachk to comprehend. “Sealing in.” Softness on her underside, a bed curved and raised which fit to her every contour. The metal already swallowed gaster entirely, but once she was settled and tapped the point of her scythe across the glowing buttons within their sleeve, clattering of sheets run out as the sectioned armor slid forward and forward, up and up. Surrounding her, submerging her, wrapping her up and holding her down. Over her antennae and head the helm, thinner and less proud than the noble armor the War Queen had once adorned, locked into place at her crest while the translucent visor was brought down across her eyes. Lifting the fog. Sharpening the world in azure blue light. A guarding brace erected at the fore of the craft, and a tentative breath told her she could indeed fill her lungs easier now. It still felt like she was being smothered. Or swallowed.

“I cannot be severed from the link. Already this limits my hold and strangles my presence in the chorus.” Her legs within the armor, her gaster pinned, there was no touch she could make. No contact with the attendants surrounding the suit. “I would be as a humanite with only my voice to guide should be smells be snuffed within this shell as well.”

The Pod walked forward, unafraid. She would have been permitted the approach without incident. The mind of the ambers strode with her, his colony’s emotions unclear, and so instead they were met with scrutiny as Jennifer laid hand on the floating sled, hovering suit, gliding throne.

“Ultimatum is not my intent. I would be content, if tepid of blood, to war for you with the protections I bore the first time. Your concern is unnecessary.” Her forelegs were brought up. Machinery rattled to its unlife, her claws fitted within gloves as the humanites wore. Within the shell, her powerful scythes were raised. Without, styled in their image, gleaming silvery edges extended. Arms that had been built for her, attached to the sled, styled in the image of the Queen’s own form. Twice and more the size of her legs, the edges always extended and scythes always bared. She clashed her limbs together, and the great jagged constructs outside rang out as they mimicked her motion. “These weapons are suitable for my purposes.” Jennifer jumped at the noise. The amber fingered the trigger. Both stepped away, the Pod hugging her pad to her chest while raising palm to the room.

She was.

Racing through the obscuring grass with a raiding formation, chasing and encircling the prey of the rise. Feeling the dirt scrape beneath her and the air whistle against her crest. The burn of her legs when they finally stood atop the corpse. Now? Second leg pairs merely pressed down, and forward roared the sled. Exhaling fire from its rear as she was thrown forward. Marks across walls rushed to meet her, where she had collided measures before. Rear left, press. Orientation adjustment. The vessel spun and turned without losing its momentum, and she was gliding now in a circle. There beneath her were the scrapes from when panic had seized and the lack of air had stolen her sense. Instinct would say to clench claws; she relaxed them instead, eased back on the four pedals beneath her legs, and the craft slowed as it reached and rounded corner of the room. Humanites had gathered within the center, her attendants waiting near entry, but when she spun the craft and sent it streaming forward, call made brought them swarming to her, struggling to keep up with her speed but no longer burning themselves on the engines around and beneath. Match their pace. Balance the thrust. She was still and the world flew around her. Exhilarating.

A melody in her mind, spoken through the Band. The armor rattled through her, and individual voices were difficult to make out. Even now, her attendants were focused on her every twitch and gesture within her metal cage, keeping her linked. Blue-tinted world brought forth a floating arrow, a bleeping warning on her carapace. Not real, she reminded herself as she flew towards the hovering marker. Do not swerve. Do not halt. Compress back right and forward left, swing to the direction indicated by the triangular end. Turn here. Turn made. The arrow vanished from her eyes. The Pod slapped its hands together.

Forward, back, turn and halt. Attendants signed their weariness but did not falter in their step. Cold air was pumped into Skthveraachk’s lungs, and she drank greedily. The suit was a prison. The suit was a freedom. The aliens watched her glide on their artificial wings, and could not follow. It was pleasure, and she could not quite determine why.

Rudeness, courtesy, and now back to discontent. It kept using that word. The translator kept trying to process it. Slave? Speck? Lower-lifeform? The Amber shell was beginning to lax in its straightness, but such languid posture was not indicative of relaxation.

Blue shell countermanding superior. Soldier dictating to thinker. Skthveraachk brought the suit to a standstill, but her discomfort was no longer purely physical.

“The thinker’s role is of procedure and information. The soldier’s role is of obedience and protection. Does the soldier rebel against its role and position within the Palamedes, or does it desire to elevate past its responsibilities?”

The Pod had peeled lips before. Now, it was grimacing with the fatty meats pursed as the disagreeable amber took a step forward.

“Refused.” Discomfort was changed to indignation. They were under the eyes of the Hathan here, the hypocrisy of this soldier was a growing discordance. “I was not informed of such a role. You are to assist. To protect. To aid Hathan-Commander and myself when needed. You do not dictate to thinkers.” Guardians. Protectors of their nest. She was not threat, but the amber had begun to raise lance. Caution. Caution, called her thinkers from the rooms beyond as the smells of warning began to trickle from the attendants. “Your music is dark and unfitting for your position. You should be replaced with more agreeable soldier.”

Hathan-Commander. Watching from on high. Only now interceding, and only to what? Request information? The Pod waved her arm upward.

The Queen swelled up as the thought of the flashing triangular lights, the coating rendering the shots of the lances ineffective. Demonstration as the soldiers had already given, only from within? She chittered with a reserved excitement, and at the displeasure made a more amusing jab. Good. The amber was ready to actually serve his role. Let them see just how effective the discordant humanite was.

“Such is agreeable. You are unbothered by a moving target, I reason? Commence when you are ready.”

She pressured middle claws hard to the hull, flattening as the pedals beneath brought surge of force and belching of flame. Scythes folded in as the sled was flung forward, ensuring they could not catch or cut, though she was confident in her ability to stop. Attendants streamed forward to follow her charge, the meager twenty lengths between them and the ambers already closing. Every lance raised. Jennifer was shrieking noise as she leapt to the side. Sound filled the room and her body, band and broadcast.

Pain.

Pain!

Her body contracted as she began to lift claws from pedals, to obey. She found she could not, as every muscle and limb contracted and clenched. The white fire. The piercing spears. Skthveraachk had forgotten the breathlessness as her lungs clamped, the way her eyes would overload with color and shapes. But she had not forgotten the pain. Had not forgotten the sight of the Pod, finger pressed to pad, sending the surging harm tearing at her body. Unable to stop. Claws unable to loosen. Momentum. Slow. She was going to hit a humanite. Panic. Arms were already down, the jagged metal crossed. She slammed the tips into the deck. Screeched in fear. Do not attack. Do not attack! Stop! Attendants grappled and dragged back, trying to find traction in the smooth floor. Pain was ceasing, claws were movable again. Off all pedals, no, hard press to the rear, reverse thrust. The ambers were shouting. The Pod was shouting. The walls were shouting. She was dragging to a halt when the lances went bright, and the air before her went alive with colors and patterns from nothing as the lattice formed before her eyes. Most blasts struck her. Some did not. An attendant collapsed as two beams seared into its back. It was releasing hostile warning markers. Composer save her.

“Designate non-hostile!” Forty thousand heads were pivoting in their rooms beyond to the scent. “Designate non-hostile! Humanites, non-hostile! Disregard scent, disregard warning!” Her orders streamed outwards.

The struck attendant was still. Good. Good. Two other drones were pulling it away behind the sled, and a mender was already racing from the rooms beyond. Not fatal. Do not attack. They were training to kill other humanites. Not these. Never these. By the sky, obey.

“Queen in danger?” Overwhelming, the query came.

“Negatory. Queen is safe. Maintain current assignments.” One of her attendants was creeping towards the retreating ball of white and gold, ambers and pale shell. The others reinforced Skthveraachk’s commands. Pain was dripping from the Queen’s gaster, but it was strained under the armored husk. Praise small fortunes. Further the attendant scuttled. Now, the others were physically gripping and tugging the drone back. The smell of blood oozing from the two perfect holes in the fallen menial’s shell mingled with the threat signs. “Disperse marker! Replace with nest scent. Non-hostile. Accident. Accident.” What by the Voice of the Composer was wrong with those peelable ambers!? All of the attendants, even the wounded and motionless drone awaiting the fast-approaching mender, signalled understanding. All but the one.

“Humanites hostile. Attack Queen.”

“Humanites non-hostile. Queen safe.”

“Attempted harm.”

“Shield protected.”

“Harmed colony.”

“Unintentional!”

“Threaten colony.”

“Designation, allies.”

“Threaten world.” Skthveraachk stiffened as the attendant extrapolated data, following line of information from reasonable to dangerous. The mender burst through entryway, and the ambers heading for it and the elevator beyond brought up their lances. They would not fire. The Commander had ordered no fire. “Threaten world! Threaten colony! Threaten mender!”

“Cease movement.”

“Defend colony!

“Cease movement!”

“Defend Queen!”

“Obey!”

“Refusal!”

“FRENZY!” The Queen made no hesitation as the warning was roared. The alarm. The sentence. Three attendants were on the discordant drone in an instant. Getting it away from the others. Biting, slashing, tearing at legs and carapace. The drone did not strike back. Too focused on reaching the ambers and Pod disappearing into corridor. Skthveraachk tore her forelegs clear of the deck, waited for the attendants to pull away and focus their attack on the gaster, so blow could be delivered to neck. It was poorly aimed, and landed just shy of the connection. It didn’t matter. The metal scythe struck metal floor, and the chitinous armor was torn through like jaw through leaf. Biomass was marked for disposal, rather than risk infection amongst the colony. Eight-by-eight length of cargo bay next to area set as latrine was selected by the time the frenzied attendant ceased its reflexive struggles. Drone was pulled from superfluous menial duty and assigned to fill the role now left vacant by the time the mender had reached and begun to tend to the injured. And by the time Hathan had turned his song, furious, to the already frantic Queen, the body was halfway to its new resting place. The colony returning to its tasking. Skthveraachk’s task; to have her answers from these aliens. One way, or another.