His limp had not worsened, but neither had it improved after four measures of marching. Or worse, of being carried upon the thrice-sent sky-peeled carts the crafters dare label a breakthrough to rival the first successful breeding of a spitter. Skthveraachk thinker hobbled along the width of the path, set as a line between canopies to allow the sun in, and bathed in the warmth it provided. Their humanites claimed it caused damage with lengthy exposure, that it would degenerate the health of those who made habit of excessive time spent in the open, but so too did they have methods to combat this. Remedies, to allow them the joy of stupidity without any of the consequences. So he walked, freely in the poisonous light, and tittered his antennae together in laughter at the slightest bite of burning it caused just above his vents.

“Eighteenth group arrives. Transport contents; six carts of biomass. Two carts of armor and metal. One priority item.”

“Mask priority cargo until underground.” The thinker rubbed his single foreleg across his middle-left appendage, the spot where that green-eyed beast had struck him before fleeing the confines of his fabricated office. The drone, who had carried the message, slipping under him to change the side of its contact as he continued. “Deliver to Queen’s antechamber. Biomass priority to nesting chambers. Skthveraachk birthing queen’s brood expected to pupate first.”

“Received.”

“Mark priority cargo with … phidite pheromone, would be best.” A pleasurable tickle ran through the thinker, causing his humor to broadcast out and ripple in the colony. It was both effective, and amusing. Vassal would be permitted free movement, and Skthveraachk bore no scentcrafters experienced enough in the subtly of their work to accurately reflect the Queen’s intent. Livestock would be kept secure, safe, but also controlled. The warmth of that burning sun vanished as Skthveraachk bent and stooped to fit within the tunnel’s entrance, quickly earning messages of confusion and just as quickly dismissing them.

“You should prostrate.”

“I rear.”

“It blocks tunnel.”

“Then tunnel is insufficient.”

“Skthveraachk thinker,” The chastisement in their music was not nearly as clever nor subtle as they thought it was. Her tones were that of speaking to a queenling, knowing the role was above that of the female thinker, yet believing herself the intellectual superior. “Efficiency drops entire percents each time you insist on this behavior.”

“You and Skthveraachk delver are responsible for this technological advancement, but your eyes are muddied when they are not focused above you.” His chastisement did not even attempt subtly, and he had no need to extoll cleverness. “The aliens advance by their tool-usage. Their tools are only usable when limbs are freed for manipulation. All must learn to rear, almost at all times. We must free our graspers. We then free our advancement.”

“Adoption of tools is not universal. They are not applicable for all situations.”

“Not yet. But soon. I intend to be ready for that future. You may continue to drag behind.” Hairs upon his legs bristled, signalling his lack of desire for continuation, and the other thinkers consented with middling reticence. That female thinker had stolen his delver, a delver he had introduced to the revolutions of the humanites aboard the Palamedes, and now spent days with this other thinker in the creation of curiosity after breakthrough. The drone was more crafter than delver now. Insufferable. His contributions were only the opening notes of the operas being composed in dedication to the strides made, his role paid homage to before being knocked aside to make way for the true bearers of regard. Layer after layer he traveled, past the ramps dug with grooves for the wheels of the lifts and channels carved for the flow of the diverted underground stream. Through the tunnels cut into triangles rather than circles; his doing, his discovery, the shape both stronger and more expedient, allowing for drones to travel three across each passage without the excess space above. Past the emptied side rooms and offshoots from the central tunnel; wasted space, they rattled and protested, unable to see as he saw how the future need must be made now, readied for the generators and devices the humanites operated to provide power to their dead metal slaves.

They derided his obsession to the aliens, following in the footsteps of the beings all the same. The thinkers tried, consistently, to reallocate his responsibilities to the construction projects, the nest, the struggles with seeding and farming this unsuitable land. They reverberated anger when he refused, but always thanked and cheered when he returned with new discoveries they always quickly adopted. Skthveraachk Queen did not enjoy his presence, but she embraced it. She needed it. He was the one sent to these most critical tasks, he who was designated a priority survival rating only birthing queens, Skthveraachk Queen herself, and that one ever cherished mender exceeded.

The slope leveled out, the smell was already caught, and Skthveraachk thinker felt himself grow giddy in anticipation. Paired soldiers, soon to be obsolete next to the brood that Vhersckaahlhn giant had provided, parted from their readied stances as he approached. And in the near pitch-black of the chamber, a few clicks made to feel the surroundings, Skthveraachk did not so much as pause before he rushed the short distance. Feeling his foreclaw along the sealant that had been used to lock legs and arms into as comfortable a position as they could approximate. Across the fabric, in lieu of armor, worn against tender and malleable flesh. The thing recoiled. Spat fluid onto his shell. Tried to struggle, as the Band the male wore went active.

Coalition armor had already been thrown in with the rest, likely cut to pieces and disassembled by now. Briefly, Skthveraachk wondered as to the method these aliens used to emblazon their skin as they did, rubbing his uncurled claw over the wide cross-shaped insignia on the creature’s face. But he pulled away, hurriedly, when the thrashing threatened to accidentally cause the humanite to slash its own face on his claw. The order was clear, and even if it had not been given, the thinker would have raged and fought for its inclusion until it was reality. No harm was to befall this alien. No harm but what was necessary. Because for all their promises, the Sovereignty refused to provide certain answers. This alien would provide all they asked. All he asked, and more. Mandibles clicking over and over, the thinker took a stride back, and though it would be a tool needing removal soon enough, the Band thrummed around his neck as he gazed down to the bound male. Bumped, bruised, carried across the entire peninsula in secret, marked and scented as livestock.

“I am Skthveraachk thinker, of Skthveraachk-Colony. And we...I…have many, many questions.”