“Received. C7-B4-119.” The Queen was not down in the command ring of terminals, screens and fidgeting humanites. Skthveraachk listened as the Banded female thinker hummed the tune, perched on a vantage far removed from the clustered bodies and cramped clutter of the temporary camp. Listened, discerning through the taste of voices laden with dwindling endurance and colored with blistering reds of fatigue, focusing upon the shafts of auditory light marking the drones and relayers and their crystal notes unwavering. Undaunted by the whining rises ending in explosive spurts of AV-tank fire. Unflinching even as the wind carried the stench of death signals from further afield. Unhesitating as she herself relayed the information on to the next. “Dispatch twenty formites. Vanguard pattern.”

“Received.” One scout. Valuable. Two decoy-scouts. Subterfuge. Four soldiers, eight drones, five menial-warriors. Affordable. Versatile. Compact enough to remain mobile; dangerous enough to retain lethal capabilities. It was the third such cluster, the third such movement taken from the stilled and repetitious performance of the many. She watched them break away, form from upward curved wings of bodies protecting the stretched convoy of unmoving vehicles. Watched them slip through holes made just large enough for them in the intwined bodies of their siblings, from protected inner warmth to hostile outer cold. And when they adopted their formation, shields of chitin before bodies of chitinous shielding, the Queen bound her vision to one of the smallest drones in the rear. Clutching the sling made of stretched humanite flesh. Plucking stones off the ground, pushing them through its feeding tube and into emptied second stomach. The wind whined through rocky teeth. The body of the female, next to Skthveraachk’s own, felt to hunch and shake. As humanites did to generate their inner heat. Or when their nerves were stretched and taut.

Solovyova-JustColonel’s softshell coat glowed at the neck and opened inner folds, and though Skthveraachk lay entombed in the cell that was her deactivated metal throne, the wisps of misting heat could be felt brushing across her synthetic carapace. Outcropping, raised and removed, afforded both the former Major and Queen a lengthened view of the procession. Halted. Stuttered. Carrion, rumbling their final breaths, while the Wyverns like enormous scavenger mites buzzed in lethargic circles overhead.

“Now that our three columns have combined, these forces number near triple those which moved on Guir.” Omission of information meant to lighten the darkness which clung to Solovyova. Much of that growth was of the colony, not of the Sovereignty’s forces; the guarding walls of formite bodies shaping a half-tunnel in which the vehicles and soldiers sat protected. Listening to the distant spats of lancefire and explosions of kinetic shrapnel. “The greatness of this movement, undertaking, is undeniable.”

Skthveraachk’s mind stayed with the female on their perch. Her eyes were with the newly formed cluster, probing towards the site of the drone-machine’s destruction. The soldiers and largest of them slipping through crevices and natural trenches in the landscape, while the scout and decoys in their helmeted garb darted along the exposed tops. The Solovyova expelled a droplet of fluid. It impacted the dust next to the landed throne.

“I would have once thought you to mean by this that you held a personal disagreement with Aadarsh-Who-Has-Been-Blessed. It does not fully coincide with what I now know is your mindset.” The venturing cluster could smell the smoke amidst the battle ash. Scout identified the black trail, battered and flailing in the heightened gale. The Queen was a watcher here, not a participant; most senior soldier received the relayed data, set the formation to come at the site in a crescent mandible pincer, and took its place in the center. Rearmost drone refused the order, informing it was now acting as an observer, and the faint murmurs of understanding were all but blotted by the Solovyova’s gruff and meaty laughter. “Does not fully coincide. It partially coincides. Yes. But you have exhibited repeated disregard for your own personal safety. You are not primarily concerned with your life.”

Agreement without wishing to sound like it was agreeing. A habit the humanite female shared with more than a few of her species, Skthveraachk found.

“The translator says, this is meaning a place of little importance?”

Colonel, JustColonel, narrowed the skin-slats protecting its eyes until the wrinkles and folds nearly obscured wet center. The touch of an attendant on her exposed leg cut the delay in half, unassigned drones naturally forming a physical chain of bodies to diminish the relay time of information. So, when one of the decoys of the searching group fell dead, its report of no sighted movement ended mid-composition, it took only breaths for the Queen to feel the drone hit the ground. Motionless.

“My understanding of the scale at which this conflict operates remains lacking. From your description, however, I believe the strategy to be sound. Other battlegrounds bear greater importance. By placing soldiers and ships here, you force the Coalition to divert resources from more critical engagements.” Four hostile humanites, at least. Pulling away, falling back, as soon as the first beam had been fired. The center of the cluster swarmed forward in pursuit, and the drone’s vision was shaken, blackened, as bits of chitin and orange blood ruptured out in a skyward crescent. Explosive device, set next to the downed machine. Two dead, three rendered ineffective for combat. Forward observers were notified. “It is a valuable service to your military.”

The incorrect name was not meant as insult. Skthveraachk did not take it as an insult. From the direction of the engagement, the sound and tremors of the explosion reached the Queen’s physical body, and Solovyova looked out to the new plume of black marring the grey horizon. She could not see the warrior-drones as they vomited rocks from their stomachs straight into their slings, the fluid making slick the stretched leather, hurling again and again the bullets for the glint of Coalition helmets. She shook her head. The Queen fanned hers, releasing a burst of calming signals. Only to twitch her claws in embarrassment, realizing the pointlessness of it. If it was not the species-divide, the wind would have made it fruitless.

“Soldiers do not live to serve. Soldiers exist to die. In ideal circumstances, they kill at least one, or some, others, before this occurs. Regardless, their deaths prevent damage to more vital portions of the colony. Substituting a less-valuable role for one of greater importance. It is a beneficial existence.” Solovyova’s facial flesh had more divots and creases within it than the rocky landscape on which they stood when Skthveraachk whirred the machinery to turn her head on the female. “Humanites would classify it as an honorable existence, if my comprehension of the note is sound.”

Excitement. Curiosity. She fumbled her mandibles for the internal controls, trying to activate the communicative song-toggle, but her focus was already split three ways. Sovereignty command had dispatched additional bots, their miniscule engines flaring as they soared towards the conflict, and the lasers from above pushed a hostile from its cover long enough for a drone to hurl a spear through its thin leg. Scout had retreated behind cover with the surviving decoy. Flying boxlike machines had taken down one of the hostile four. Even pinned to the ground, struggling, leaking and gushing, the skewered humanite blew the head off the first menial to get over the lip of the trench, and put two bolts through the second.

“It is effective. It is advised. Your own thinkers have made this a recommended tactic, and after seeing it turned against you, I believe our enemy reads the same scripture I have been given.” When the female soldier showed a lack of understanding, the Queen began to recite from memory. Found it incomplete, and instead, supplemented the knowledge from an unoccupied thinker. “’Choose the time and place of battle to your benefit, and the enemy’s loss. Wait at leisure while they labor. When their strength is exhausted, attack fully and with purpose.”

“My experience with your species indicates that any and every conflict will, inevitably, turn into an agonizing rush to engage the enemy while being shot to pieces, Solovyova-JustColonel.” Three soldiers descended on the howling humanite beyond the Queen’s sight. Three soldiers stabbed and bit and tore. Three soldiers evaporated into a mist of orange and black as the dying Coalition alien slammed its fist against its torso, and exploded to nothing. New. Grotesque. Admirable. Insane. An individual and colony, killing itself to ensure the deaths of three soldier drones. Pointless. She flowed away from the observer as the drones descended on the others, now keeping their distance and allocating a single soldier to deliver the final blows. Solovyova was laughing when the Queen returned to herself, though it was a wispy and uncertain tone.

“Why would you desire my stomachs be upset in your vicinity?

There was a dourness within the previously rambunctious humanite music.

“The Hathan assures me that it is the natural order of your structure. A linked chain of authority.” Though her throne was ‘alive’, active, turned on, there was no need to waste its energy and mass on propulsion and lift. But within the glowing confines, she sought the activation which would permit Skthveraachk again hear the dulcet, if foreboding, tones of the Aadarsh. “He has made it clear that it is expected for fecal matter to flow up this chain. My colony handles its own excrement, but should the need arise for additional haulers, I will be sure to inform the Sovereignty that our pits overflow.” The former Major just stared, mouth partially gaped. For her own part, the Queen managed to hold her stillness for eight whole breaths before the trembling in her antennae could no longer be contained. Clacking, clapping, laughing aloud as the humanite female joined in driving away the previous somber notes with her alien barking and yelps of mirthful approval. Sounds which were ended all too soon by the quick straightening, the jerk of boney point at the base of the alien’s skull, to the sounds of crunching steps behind the throne. Menials had notified her before the pair began their ascent, their smells lost in the flapping air. Solovyova saluted. The Hathan returned it.

Their hands came down. Skthveraachk had sought to attempt a bow of her own, but within the encapsulated throne, it was as useful as a seven-armed hycatha.

Lieutenant had already been frowning on her walk up the slope. When Hathan-Commander stifled but did not entirely suppress a smile at the response, and perhaps because she thought Skthveraachk could not see, the boney joint of an arm was ‘accidentally’ struck against the Commander’s body as his attendant straightened.

There was a small wheeze in the male’s lungs as he spoke, rubbing his side, yet his command was firm.

“Has there been any new information on the road ahead, Hathan-Commander?” Accursed console continued to defy her attempts, mandibles striking just too far to the left or just too high to the right. “Enemy forces have begun to utilize explosives upon their deaths. Set improvised traps for my probes and clusters. Bait smaller groups away from the many. All developments which were not present last measure.”

Both female aliens clenched bones of skull and digits of hands before the Commander had finished. The Queen noticed. The male noticed the Queen’s notice. Any attempt at protest was lost as the Colonel strode past the Lieutenant, taking a place at the Hathan’s side as he gave a quick nod to a nearby drone. Not to the drone. To Skthveraachk, knowing she was watching through the drone. Prompted, the menial bowed back on Queen’s command. They were gone. The Lieutenant remained. The lip of the rocky crest seemed mites colder than it had been previously. There was a similar chill to the female creature’s voice as her tap-pad was extended. Engaged.

A square rose from nothing and blotted out the Queen’s vision, the visor she wore making the false-light seem as real and as untouchable as the sun and the sky. The Sovereignty alien remained behind and away of the Queen’s view. And out of range of her legs.

“Your briefing is succinct. Your information is received. Task assigned by the Hathan-Commander is completed. Thank you.” Topography was different, that much was certain. There were routes around, many routes in fact, but these were thinner. Choked. Necessitating a splitting of forces, or a stalling so painful it would take measures to move the entirety of the army through a single one. Skthveraachk tried to focus fully. Too much of her remained oriented to the shifting female behind, silent now after being thanked, but neither departing nor coming closer. Staring with eyes that seemed to wish to emit lancebeams of their own, and a face that set itself in a desire to be anywhere but where it was now. And too late, did the Queen realize the Hathan’s order. Until the Lieutenant was pinged. It had not been pinged. It remained. And would remain. Silent. Stalwart. Stuck. Like being trapped in a nest cavern with an irritable culicidite. Ignore, or address. “…Are there, any new complaints against my colony?”

Like patches of thorny growth, the curved, guarding patchwork of formites along the road and trench stretched out of sight beneath them still.

“This word did not parse. Repeat last. I will update the translator.”

“It is a design meant to simulate the conditions of a tunnel while providing safety. It is security and reassurance in one.”

A wave of an antenna was enough to shrink the window into the future back into obscurity. It would do nothing to aid with the vitriol of the humanite behind her. The noise had no translation beyond displeasure and disgust. Subdued. But not subsumed.

“It has been erected to prevent humanite deaths. I cannot remove it without risking harm to your soldiers.” The desire was illogical. But there was something at least, familiar, in an alien race’s displeasure at the proximity of others who claimed to be there only for their protection. “…I will expand the walls another four lengths away from the center. It should provide more space for your people without coming into contact with mine.” Once more, silence. Once more, the chill of the grey sky and air tinted red by sand and dust. Four reports came of partial blindness, chunks of larger rock dislodged and striking the colony. Notice was sent.

“We were making each other’s stomachs sore.” Tentative. There was, at least, communication. Two more bots were reported downed; two more vanguard clusters were formed. Warned, of the new tactics the thinkers had already taken to processing and countering. “It is how the Solovyova-JustColonel attempts to form connection. Experiencing shared truths. Experiencing shared loss.”

“Not even the Solovyova is this foolish.” The Lieutenant spoke of the Herald as one of the colonies of the Hymnal Watchers would speak of the Triumvirate. Your beliefs were irrelevant. You did not disparage the Triumvirate before the Watchers. And the Solovyova’s beliefs were…not entirely known, after all. “She does not believe there is a frenzied among your ranks, who has revealed our plans to the enemy. I do not believe this either. She believes this makes the Aadarsh-Who-Has-Been-Blessed presence here unnecessary. I do not agree.”

Two steps brough the Lieutenant nearer, and even covered by mask and clothing as she was in the howling gale, the Queen was shocked to detect the pheromones of the colony upon her. Marked. Non-hostile. There came a warm content within Skthveraachk’s gaster and core. Danger signals had gone up from the new clusters sent as soloists from the symphony; enemy combatants engaged. Target priority, scouts. As soon as the decoy had fallen, they split into two prongs, avoiding the rigged Sovereignty drone which only nicked a single menial with its explosion. Lost only three soldiers, one for each of the Coalition, as the formites threw themselves on their attackers and watched the suicidal countermeasures finish the job for them. The thinkers within the safety of the harmony were bellowing a dies irea that bordered upon a cadenza in their celebration.

“Were I to mark a cavern of my nest as faulty, and send request to a hauler, the hauler would state the problem as a lack of channels to divert waste and refuse. If I sent request to a soldier, the soldier would state the problem as a lack of defensible positions and too open a space should the nest come under assault. If I sent request to an attendant, the attendant would state problem as an in sufficient softness in the soil for gestating eggs.” It was foreign enough to the alien, delicate enough, that the female did not seem to rise to anger at the comparison. “Problems, and their solutions, are tinted and colored by the role of those addressing them. The Herald is an extension of your Queen. The Herald’s role is the enforcement and upholding of your Queen’s will. It is natural, and right, that he sees a fault and believes it to be frenzy. It shows he is one of the few humanites I have met to fully embrace the single role of his existence, rather than wishing and acting to be something else.”

As the tiers of importance rose, it seemed even humanites held comparable reverence to the echelons of their roles. Or, perhaps once more the scale was something Skthveraachk merely could not fathom. How the meager role of a senior soldier could dictate the lives of millions, and thinkers, billions.

“I do know. This machinery refutes my every effort to adjust to the ninth channel.” Striking mandibles against the internal console once more, a hiss of irritation discolored the former joy of tactics undermined. “My jaws are not designed for these small touches. I will inform the Pod of this oversight when we return from our conquest of Tarasque.”

Surprise. Condescension? No. Genuine uncertainty. Movement, closer, and a touch of a gloved hand upon her shell as the mask concealing lower half of the Lieutenant’s face came into view below the Queen.

“Any bites suffered from me would be intentional, Lieutenant.” The opposing female froze mid-reach. Skthveraachk chittered, and offered an incomplete truth. “An attempt at humor. I do not intend to inflict harm upon you at this moment.”

Feeling them, more than she was able to see, the slight alien’s graspers nimbly slid through the gaps at the front of the throne. Twisting their way inside as the female creature leant and pushed her torso uncomfortably into the casing. Lines within the readout shifted, changed their formation. Dull repeated orders and notifications, redundant given the link, were cast aside by fervorous speech. At once, the confines of her synthetic shell were filled by the falsetto of the Herald’s speech. At once, those in torpor or unassigned amidst her thousands sent request after request for a relaying of his words. She acquiesced, letting them flow from falserock console, through her, and out into the choir.

It had the marks of a sermon, meant not for Skthveraachk, but for his own colony. For his own collection of individuals who made up something that was different, similar, greater, lesser, than anything the Queen had felt she once knew. The Lieutenant struggled back out into the gale , silent now, listening fully as Skthveraachk did herself.

“Solovyova-JustColonel did not seem to agree with the sentiment that those soldiers and individuals sent to this place constitute the great, or best, the Sovereignty has to offer.”

The Lieutenant was smiling. Not boastfully, not broadly. But the pull of skin and shine of eyes spoke of a sereneness under that mask. An attentiveness to the song.

It went on. Uncracking, unstilted, no matter how long the musical recitation progressed. It played behind the Queen’s eyes, beneath the joints in her legs. Tickling, sometimes. The Lieutenant, however, basked in it.

“Lieutenant. Miroslava-Lieutenant.” It still tasted foreign on her retracted tongue, but this was what it meant to converse. Individual to colony. Give, and take. Concession offered. “Thank you. For your assistance with this.”

Concession not taken. But not outright refused, either. Another cluster who had engaged the enemy reported similar success as the first. Fair trades. Good exchanges. Of the twenty that had been dispatched with the first probe, only three returned. One scout. Two menials. Seventeen deaths for four humanites, achieved only with support from the flying metal boxes. The next two probes; four for three, and five for three. Exceptional value. The happiness worked its way into her music as she sung truth to the Lieutenant.

“Humanites react with suspicion to every action, every transaction, every word and every deed. Before it was understood why this was the case, we believed it was out of insufficient communication. Now, knowing you are all liars, it is made unshaded. I do not insult; my scythes are sheathed.” It was a menial who caught the displeasure in the Lieutenant’s face before the Queen ever did. Quickly allowing clarification. “It is simply the nature of your species. You doubt. We do not. It is what made the Hathan’s manipulation of us so simple. Learning to treat everything your kind do and say with uncertainty has been a greater challenge than even fighting this war.”

“With you.” The Lieutenant sought to swat the notes from the air with a wave of her grasper.

“It is not.” Mandibles clenched as the Queen worked to maintain that sense of happiness. To preserve her harmony. “And I feel within me it is the distinction that separates your kind. The Aadarsh is blessed for his kindness in our treatment, as the Hathan and Solovyova have become welcomed despite their transgressions. Such harm is not forgotten, nor is it wholly forgiven, but there is a truth that remains present as it overrules all such considerations; your species is superior to ours, Miroslava-Lieutenant.” Anger, deep and primal in its articulation, was shoved down under the claws of reason. “Formite is inferior to humanite. Such is truth. Such is fact.”

“Slaves. Yes. We know what it is to be slaves.” Shivers, trembling wrath, shook the lengths of the link. Polluted and contaminated. The scentcrafters redoubled their efforts, but Skthveraachk demanded only smells of calming reassurance. Not of torpor or to dilute the senses. This anger was righteous. It would be overcome by reason, not by befuddlement. “And we know there are many among you who see us as slaves. Work for, not with, yes? The Pod. Her Amber. The cursed Captain Jacobson. You. Reminding us we are inferior. Reminding us we are beneath you.”

The alien did not use the word ‘bug’, did not sing the note ‘slave’. It offered title, but with remnants of the same timbre it would toss the lesser others.

“Inferiority is not irrelevance. Subservience is not slavery. Your species is more powerful than us, it is greater than us, and so we serve. We have never, not once, demanded otherwise. Not when we were taught your colorless language, not when we were shown visions of your cities and planets, not when we were stood before your Queens, Admirals; never once did we expect equality, and even now, it is almost never given.” Clenching claws around the handles of the artificial and metal scythe controls, the machinery clicked and ground as it adjusted. Unintentional movements, yet sufficient in causing the humanite to keep her silence as the Queen collected within her the thoughts of tens of thousands. “We do not expect to be treated as you. We do not demand those more powerful than us bow in thanks for our service. We are the weaker. Nature would see us killed, but beneath you, we survive. What the Aadarsh, what the Hathan gives us that permits our forgiveness of their actions? It is the only thing we have ever asked of your species in return, as we fight, kill, and die for you and by your orders.” The sled could not turn. The throne could not square itself to the humanite’s rounded bones of shoulders, as their kind did when the song was confrontational, demanding, sure. Skthveraachk instead filled her lungs, flared her vents, and exhaled the note with as much mourning as desire as fatigue. “Respect.”

Once more, the howling of the wind. Once more, the facing of four eyes and two, out over the line of seated soldiers, rumbling vehicles, enshrouding and shivering bodies of her colony, rotating their time in the wall before internal temperatures dropped to critical. What expression did the Lieutenant wear on its malleable flesh? A menial began to draw the pattern upon her, but Skthveraachk ordered it halt. She did not find it important to know. What was, was. Belief. Opinion. Secondary concerns. Luxuries. The realm of thinkers, and Queens not at war with a world, with worlds, of enemies. Her own priorities were assigned. Her own tasks, clear. It was reflex, now, when the sudden alarm sounded at the fore of the column, reaching the Queen entire bar before the Lieutenant’s tap-pad pinged, then pinged again. Humanite pitched voice interrupting the slew of commands Skthveraachk sought to deliver.

“I know. It moved too far outside the limits of the column’s protection. Multiple lance impacts from short range. Hidden Coalition soldiers.”

“Then those within are foolish. They have only endangered themselves, and more of my colony.” Lieutenant puckered and uttered something about ‘gratitude’. Queen’s mind was already departing for the front. “Grid D3-F5. Precise location unknown. I am mobilizing eighty soldiers and two hundred drones.”

“First priority. Preserve humanite life. Second priority. Eliminate hostile Coalition. Third priority. Recover or destroy Sovereignty assets. Received.”

“Supplemental. Allied humanites will potentially refuse assistance, and attempt harm. They can be unintentionally suicidal when they put minds to it.”

“Elaborate.” Message sent through the link was surprised. Recognized. Skthveraachk caught the scent of the former Ghescktyeelh scout, and there was a surprised revelation at its continued survival. Scouts had been dying frequently on this march. She had expected the next listing to contain the deceased marks of the male.

“They are sincerely trying, Skthveraachk-Queen. They have as of yet been only nearly-successful. Three helmets and six shields destroyed. I remain intact.”

“Repeating last. Elaborate.”

“Received.” She had not been harsh with the second order, but the scout’s colors as he rushed from the center to the front bore apology. “Have seen humanite soldiers refuse assistance unless companion is similarly rescued. Will at times attempt personal sacrifice for the chance to save a wounded comrade. All must be recovered. Even bodies.”

“Thinkers concur.” Complication upon complication. Would that their insane species share in the formite instinct to refuse aid if it could better serve another. “Reassigning Skthveraachk-scout to rescue cluster. Utilize experience. Ensure recovery of all Sovereignty individuals and materials.”

“Received.” A pause. “I will try not to die. Or lose another helmet.”

The musical interlude had concluded by the time the Lieutenant voiced her affirmation to the Queen’s vocalized confirmation of role. The organization of soldiers, menials, even a complement of spitters, all ranked and filed in position before the humanite had time to turn and begin dispersing her own orders to the flying machines full of anxious soldiers and assigned pilots. First priority. Preserve humanite life. At the cost of their own, at the cost of all. For now, as the hundreds charged forward into the unscented landscape, it meant recovery. The scripture, the Art within War, sung low of the future. For now, they merely needed die to preserve the lives of the Sovereignty. Dying was simple. Killing, that was more difficult. Killing without dying themselves? Within her throne, the Queen retracted leg from control of the artificial scythe, and brought the tap-pad bearing Hathan’s gift up to her sight once more. The false-light sheets and pages provided the guidance. It was to her to apply them. Thirty-six options. Only one needed to succeed.