“Aadarsh-Who-Has-Been-Blessed, there is no forgiveness, for there is no malediction muttered against you. It is known and appreciated that your role requires you to remain on Dracan.”

There was not much in the way of shuddering, turbulence the Hathan called it, and the Herald’s face came to the transport’s screen without a hint of the usual fuzz or discrepancy in image.

“I have never heard of this Herald.” True, she had never heard of any Herald, or Heralds as a caste, until not half a cycle ago, but.

“It was deemed most suitable.” She avoided the Herald’s smile by looking to the secondary screens. Displaying the Caldera’s rapidly shrinking circumference. Her daughter amongst the myriad black bodies, blanketing the red soil. The expanse of the colony entire, their farewells unheard yet seen in the swaying waves and unified designs they danced over one another. Joy of triumph, and sorrow in parting. Even with the new optimizations, the Palamedes would hold only forty thousand. They’d offered a secondary transit, but it was a good number. Forty to return home, near twenty-five to remain on their new, shared world. Left to grow, to multiply, and tend the fields both subterranean and surface, stretching clear to the coast with prepared soil. Fertilized with the corpses of the tens of thousands whose last notes would remain on Dracan forever more. “When we left Kayyhaitch, a Queen was needed on the surface to calm the ripples of dissent. I was the last to depart, and upon reaching the Palamedes, I learned near ten and more of my children had already been killed by incidents of proximity and fear from the Sentinels. A Queen, juvenile as she may be, now resides on this surface. I go first, and will ensure these miscommunications do not again occur.”

“The humanite term for this is, a gesture of good will?”

May be. Gesture. Unfortunate. From the Herald, any admission of guilt was coated by a layer of softness belying the faults beneath.

“This showing of faith and belief in my colony, and in me, is received with thorax revealed and scythes sheathed.” A showing, yes, as much as her exaggerated thanks was. All eyes returned to the primary screen. The Caldera nest now little more than a speck of black rezztuft in a limitless crimson expanse. “All that has been promised has been delivered, and I await instructions on how I might best serve my people by serving the Emperor.”

A closed-lip laugh made the noise sound like the alien was swallowing its own air. She made signs of confusion. Trusting, knowing, that the unspoken gestures would be enough for the Herald. The Herald signed the air. All four of her eyes remained upon the screen, but the packed transport of twisted limbs and bodies hummed in response when we gazed through them to the fore. The sky now black, and voided, with the outline of the Palamedes visible against the stars. Discomfort. Uncertainty and insecurity. The Herald admired her species, as she admired his, but the look upon the folds of flesh which constituted the alien’s face spread the meat so thin that the whites of bone shone from lips in only nearly-contained smile.

“Under His gaze, Aadarsh-Herald, yes.” They were compliments. Praises. Meant to instill a sense of rejoicing. It was something in the way the notes took shape, the phrasing of the composition, that made it seem a pitch improper. A key too low. Not how you would praise an equal. Not how you would compliment a partner. And that would not have bothered Skthveraachk, but for the Herald’s usual insistence on acting as though that is what they were. “I shall await your orders.” Head, nodded. Hands, clasped. Viewscreen, like the meat which slid across alien eyes more water than sight, closed to blackness. Idly, Skthveraachk rubbed legs against her Band, and more from her daughters across the translator affixed to her skull. She was, oddly, grateful for the silence until hearing the familiar shunting clicks of the sky-ship meeting with the bay of the Palamedes. Even, despite the surprise which filled her as doors opened and bodies tumbled free out onto the metal deck of the Wyvern’s private cavern, feeling a passing desire for that silence’s return when the light blinded her. When that thick, rich, wonderfully filling air of the machine swelled her lungs for the first time in hundreds of measures, and the slapping cracks of flesh meeting flesh echoed off chamber walls as the Captain, Lieutenant, and blue shelled staff assembled in their lines, snapped salutes with heavy formality. And as bodies like water poured forth, to allow the Queen to descend the ramp as they pooled around her and around the Hathan both, the humanite strode into the swarm unafraid amidst the panoply.

There were not enough of the aliens assembled for the transport of a hundred and more to feel surrounded, but their own surprise was an echo of her own. Yellow-colored, with traces of amusement swirling amidst the music.

“Hathan-Captain, have you confused our transports? This showing is more fit for the Herald, not those who have already lived aboard this machine for tens of measures.” They did not blare music, and they did not clap their graspers, nor did they smile with exaggerated joy. It was a silent, stalwart respect the Queen had seen gifted before, but rarely if ever received herself. The Hathan halted amidst the drones, who resisted the urge to pet and tap at the alien’s form with antennae and softened hairs.

“Almost more fearful of us than we were of you, as I remember the tune, Hathan-Captain.”

Sentimentality. It was unnecessary, and that was what made it enjoyable to witness. The great cupped symbol of the Sovereignty was held high above them as the Queen lowered her head in consent, and followed the humanite through the lines of officers. Humming directions to bring a thinned contingent of attendants with her, while the rest spread across the deck as the transports continued to land and empty their guts of chitinous passengers. All the aliens bore the slender rods beneath their facial vents or, when the larger hanger was departed for more comfortable tunnels and squared halls, heavier facial masks. The Queen followed where Hathan led, and basked in the temperature and fullness of the air. Waiting until they were rid of the other officers,

“You take your orders too seriously. The Aadarsh asked you keep me happy, not to pamper at every opportunity.”

“You have crawled beneath the intent of my statement, Hathan-Captain.”

“An interesting arrangement of dissimilar concepts. Accurate to my intent, regardless.” These corridors. The impossibly smoothed floors, the way Skthveraachk could yet hear the hundreds reach the first thousands as tapping, clicking, scraping limbs sent vibrations through the wonderous structure of the unliving behemoth. Silk and song, she should not have missed her former prison so. “You would not have risked sharing the Herald’s words, a song not meant for me, if you intended to follow such directive without question.”

A passing alien menial stepped aside. Saluted. The Queen found herself bowing her head in time to the Captain’s own returned sign of respect as they moved on.

“You are an exemplary soldier, Hathan-Captain. By your humanite standards, of course. Seeking to undermine the intents of your Queens, interpreting commands to best suit your desires, running the edge of scented trails separating frenzy and genius; these things would make you a horrendous formite soldier.” When they reached the separating doors, the bulkhead between sections, several of the small attendants climbed their way atop Skthveraachk’s plated limbs, squeezing close to fit in the gaps rather than obstruct the metal tunnel. Their chimed their music in time to hers. “I merely, question, whether these acts are natural, or in an attempt to compensate for previous wrongs. To alleviate old hurt with new overplayed kindness.”

His laugh was sudden, and deep.

“They would have been denied. Or worse; give in glimpses, so that our spawnling research would end up guided along a pre-determined path.” The Thinker’s warnings still clawed at her.

“Redundant. I am told it will be a challenge to repair my own throne, and the expenditure of resources is needless excess to spend on any but queen-caste, or perhaps thinkers and scentcrafters on the front lines.”

They reached the central intersection, and the Hathan came to a halt as Skthveraachk signed in request of elaboration.

“I have come to appreciate this more a Coalition sentiment, Hathan-Captain. The Herald had already promised assistance in our farming, cultivation and production. The birthing of new lives is the greatest ‘wealth’,” She used the newly translated word. “Which can be achieved. Trades between colonies, of hardstone or flora for aesthetics are of minimal importance to me, and breeding rights between castes or Queens is not possible.”

Perhaps she had let a bit too much defense into her music. Traversing once more under the buzzing lights, lowered in intensity she felt compared to previous measures spent aboard, the sounds of formite claws were replaced by the tromp of alien boots. Not like the Herald. Not like the Aadarsh. Admiration of a purer sort. A sort which made her attendants question and react with stroking when her vents flared and gaster rose a few tenthlengths in response, conscious suddenly of how exposed the underside of her head was as they came to a halt before the cargo lift. And while the elevator descended to their level, a ringing joy from back in the hanger drew her attention. Eyes, borrowed, as the liftoff of now emptied transports coincided with the arrival of newer, fuller ones. Both her children, and masked faces of alien soldiers as they exited their ships in lines to receive the smearing scents. Three of theirs, and one of hers, who had broken from the collective to speak under the cover of crates and wing.

“She is my Queen, not my birthing mother.”

The scout was unbothered by the volume of the trio, squeezing out a bit of fluid onto his hairs before combing it over the protesting large female.

“I am pleased at your excitement, Vish-Soldier. Out of all the humanites I have personally encountered, our dynamic and interactions remain the most bearable.”

th to a special detachment, I’ll say it’s all because an alien finds me bearable.”>

The one called Bram, despite usual exuberance, seemed the most quiet. Most reserved, as he gazed around like a juvenile during their first visit to the temples.

“Skthveraachk Queen sent queries to all Banded drones. If we had requests, wants, needs.” Vish was the next to receive the scent, after Shiv’s painting was completed. The scout did not bother correcting Bram’s wrongness, either; he had accepted that the average humanite simply lacked the mindset needed to realize with whom they spoke. “I advised that your inclusion to the Palamedes was good for everyone. Good for my enduring communication with your kind, good for the colony’s growing connection to your species, good to ensure you three didn’t die in combat and render the progress we have made together meaningless.”

The cords struck were sourer than they should have been, and the scout focused hard upon their past interactions. Seeking clues to the cause of the Vish-Soldier’s distress. Few others were reacting similar, there throughout the hanger. A soldier who had once cried over a young menial, another who had babbled thanks following a rescue and retrieval; those drones and Banded they had interacted with were unanimous in their desire, reflecting the Queen’s own mind. Understanding the aliens was a challenge. When comradery was formed, there was no desire to see it lost.

The alien waited until the scout had finished scenting him as designation ally before slinging its canvas sack across a shoulder, leaving to rejoin the lines before a single note more could be uttered. Bram watched his fellow soldier depart, and made an arrangement of his skin which sung visual apologies.

“He is heated by my attempt at a gift? You won’t tell me he would’ve rather stayed on that forsaken humanite-rump of a planet.” Shiv made wet face-noises in amusement.

“It is a sadness to depart from the collective. I know the feeling well. But, as a humanite, he is an individual colony, a singular being. He has not lost any part of himself, and will be able to form new connections on Kayyhaitch. With you, me, all of these soldiers around us, won’t he?”

Bram nudged the larger Shiv, and the thin link of slime left from the contact was brushed off by the scout as the marking was finished.

“Adolescents and the freshly hatched play ‘passalidite puncture’. So long as we forbid the usage of your ranged weaponry, I would be pleased to contest you in seeing how much biomass we could each accumulate.” Shiv’s face had already gone bright and enthusiastic as Bram’s mellowed, the last sight the Queen had before the abrupt jerking of their arrival stirred her from the observation. They had ascended past the holds, to the secondary layer above the emptied cargo compartments. Even here, warmth and air remained rich and filling, her questions halted to instead savor the feeling and to allow the Hathan his guidance out through the halls.

“A Queen’s chamber is not a thing of privacy, Hathan-Captain, but a space of centralism. Protection. Not like the chambers of your cities I have seen, meant to be a barrier between the ‘they’ and the ‘you’. It is a kind gesture all the same, as is ensuring I remain touching my colony.”

Wrongness. Confusion. Suspicion. The presence of Sentinels was something she had become accustomed to. The scraping sounds and rattling of hard hairs the attendants flashed at the sight of the ambers around the doorway to which the Hathan had been leading was distaste, and distrust. Emotions which the male shared, in the way he halted his speech.

“The Herald assured, mere beats ago, the ambers would not be significant presence upon this ship.”

Skthveraachk struggled still with their symbols, but the writ of identification on one of the several flanking the door was no issue for the Hathan. The amber tipping lowering its head, shallowly, in response to the captain’s own salute.

There was a gap. A breath, as the helmeted Sentinel oriented itself to the Queen’s blob of bodies, a living armor crawling beneath and around her.

Malika-mender. Doctor. The distrust now became disordered disquiet, the hardness of the Hathan’s face turning stony as the call from within was followed by the hiss of the room’s opening door. Through the screen containing the richness of the room’s air, like a waterfall made jellied and translucent, the oddly tinted humanite sat alone in what would have otherwise been shockingly prepared accommodations. A rounded orb of a seat, a layer of softer flooring which allowed for easier digging in of her claws. Dimmer lights, and even a smaller, smoothed feeding trough. She was eager to scent the room, and while each of the attendants entering behind them began scuttling into corners to begin the motions, Skthveraachk chittered patience as she crawled for the doctor.

“Then why make such a point of composing a music which should be expected of you?” The new doctor’s smile was insincere in its sharpness, and the Queen chittered. “When humanites state the obvious, it is either because they are imbeciles, or their words hold ulterior meaning. My brief interactions with you dismiss notions of the former.”

It sounded like praise. Yet something about it cause the fresh sheen of Skthveraachk’s shell to ripple and itch. She did not share the humanite ideology of ownership, but this space, this room was to be hers. The doctor was an intrusion, and the Hathan was as unhappy in his expression as he was hiding an uncertainty.

“This assignment is a vagueness in terminology. I must re-unite with the vassals, communicate with other Colonies, prepare the introduction of a star-sent race to an entire world.” She’d expected to be interrupted. Malika-mender, instead, waited until her song’s line was fully sung.

“Then you have been tasked with a role that may bind us in body for many cycles yet to come.”

‘Tasked with a role’, peel her, such language made the two tens of thinkers settling in the adjacent cargo section jitter and clack their legs together. Perversion of music, of suggestion that a role could be changed, that any sane formite would find offensive. Yet was complete and utter in its truth here.

The Hathan had kept silent. Flesh twisted, rigid, considering without giving away too much. The words sung question. The music left unsung asked, ‘Are you seeking to challenge me?’

There had not. It did not need to be vocalized. Only two severe injuries in her colony thus far in the thousands brought aboard, both caused by trampling as masses of bodies surged to get out of the way of travelling humanites. The shell, like the Pod’s, rippled along the ovular seat as single set of legs unfolded, then refolded.

The Queen’s attendants were licking and rubbing against the walls, the floors, obeying her commands to remain back and focusing on what they could reach in the meantime. Hathan-Captain no longer paid their presence mind, but the Malika, too, seemed as comfortable as those who had spent a cycle in close proximity.

Skthveraachk felt the swollen holes now hidden beneath her healed shell pulse. Hathan, too, narrowed the slats of his wet eye-folds as the whiteness was lost to black and blue. The Malika only smiled the wider, hiding bone beneath meat.

“I will consent to this.” He had waited. There was a small shiver from her vents, her right pair of eyes having seen how, rather than speak for Skthveraachk-Colony as she did, Hathan had looked to her. Asked without asking. Deferred. Her antennae swayed, and she had to consciously keep them from reaching to touch the male in a gesture he would not comprehend. “Once our exchange is concluded, we may resume our conversation, Hathan-Captain.”

“There is a conflict in the hanger marked as ‘A – 2’. A trio of humanites have damaged the exterior of a wyvern. They are arguing whether to inform superiors, or conceal the error. I do not know if you wish to address this.” It gave him purpose. A wrinkled look of annoyance, but a smile to her as he made a bowing of head and departed. Waiting until he was beyond the doorway, in typical humanite politeness, before she saw through the link how his smile vanished and his hands went immediately to his comms. Tens of drones still in the corridor lacked any tasking of merit. Skthveraachk bid a single one continue to watch the male, letting the image rest comfortably upon her whilst her own eyes focused all upon the doctor. The doctor, too, was no longer smiling. “I was not able to provide more proper greeting. I will rectify this. May the currents ebb and flow in their bringing of us into-“

Four of her attendants partially unsheathed their scythes at such blatant crimson hostility, and Hathan’s form flickered in her focus. Skthveraachk rolled her tongue over her mouth, slowly grating her mandibles together as she defaulted to a supplicating bow.

“I have offended you. I extend low apologies. My avoidance of you during the journey back to the Caldera nest was not of personal slight, but of greater priorities needing my attention.”

The Queen raised her head only by tenthlengths, enough to note how the doctor had unfolded her legs once more, and despite the way the seat was not made for her species, seemed perfectly perched in her lean forward upon it.

“You do not?”

“The tenor of your voice is sharp and unpleasant, Malika-mender.” Something was wrong here. The Queen did not raise herself, ensuring her forelegs were appropriately spread, her head at the correct angle to indicate submission. “My species is the lesser of our union. My people are of lower value than yours. My posture demonstrates this acceptance.”

Danger. A retort was already being assembled by her thinkers, but it was Queen herself who screamed caution. The Thinker, alone now in the darkness, was not remembered by the colony, but his knowledge was joined with them. The Band around her neck felt all the tighter, and the Queen knew that while their composition wore the façade of a duet, every note, every breath, was saved. Recorded. Kept, to be viewed by untold tens and hundreds and thousands and millions.

“I struggle with the details, but bind close your intention. That, like us, you admit your species lacks efficacy outside your assigned roles. An admission I have not come to expect from your Sovereignty.”

Refolded. Unfolded. Legs moving while remaining still, yet each gesture seeming practiced and deliberate. Danger. Danger. Skthveraachk ordered two of her attendants to the rear of their collective, hiding their spurts of warning signals upon the floor. A humanite shouldn’t understand the significance, but there was something wrong with this humanite. Something the Queen gnawed at, recalling their previous meetings, trying to parse the change.

“Outside of Tarasque, yes. You professed admiration for the construction of the throne.”

“They…” Off-balanced, the juxtaposition of seriousness and satire making their music manic, Skthveraachk hoped the doctor did not notice the pause which any formite would have leapt upon. “Herald Jyoshi has mentioned his desire to do so, yes. He feels it will serve well in communication with my people, to see one of their own elevated by your technologies.”

“An accident.” It slipped from her shell before the Queen could stop it. And she fought back the desire to purge her stomachs, and vents, and sacs all as those drones nearest murmured confusion, reaching to tap and rub upon her. Questioning why she suddenly reeked of revulsion. Skthveraachk trembled, tried in vain to find a way to explain, and then lied again to cover the other lie. Not to the humanites. To her own children. Sorrow. It was only sorrow they felt. They believed her instantly. Something was dying inside her. She refused to think on it further. “A dark and terrible mistake.”

“Your Bands reach for terms easiest translated into the ideas your species can relate to. Your assessment is correct, but likely the music has been sung into not quite adequate colors. I do not imply frenzy. Only that I wish I had been present, in my own form.” Not a lie. A small error, that’s all it was. She was not frenzied.

“She was an upsetting, disagreeable and confused humanite who caused as much harm as she did benefit.” Accusation would not unbalance her again. Truth. Truth. Even Malika-mender seemed briefly taken aback, but Skthveraachk brandished the truth as a shield of chitinous plating now. “We did not part in pleasant hues or joyous sounds, no. But she was the first of your species I communicated with. The first to see my efforts, and understand. She was unpleasant in her choice of companionship, and she was foolish in her efforts and acts, and I will miss her.” To sing was to exchange information, to reach consensus through harmonizing of voice and thought. When Skthveraachk looked to Hathan, it was with the pleasure of reaching such union. When the Queen looked at Malika, she found herself questioning now, only, whether her words were believed or not. Malika, darkened-pink meat and pearlescent shell perched and watching, seemed to be asking herself the same question. And there was no knowing, now, what conclusion was reached. Only that the humanite, after pause long enough to lay at least three eggs, straightened and clicked behind the bones of its mouth.

Some humanites wanted answers to questions. Some asked only for the sake of asking. Skthveraachk readied an answer, just in case, but it was not needed.

“The requirement of role and life.” That, she did not give the humanite time to answer for her. “The conviction of purpose, to execute the tasks for which you were born with neither hesitation nor question.”

“Then there is a fault with the Band, and your thinkers should have it rectified.”

Again the alien leaned in, and rather than lower, Skthveraachk leaned to match. If unable to show supplication, then unwilling to show weakness.

“That we both struggle and battle with this is similarity of its own, Malika-mender.” She wished she had more thinkers aboard. Somehow, though, despite their scratching suggestions, it was the Queen who took the forefront in the exchange. Her thoughts. Her words. “A basis, a foundation, exists. Must exist. A desire for life. A need for reproduction. A hope and desire for better futures. Concepts, ones which were at first unique to my species, that now bind and unify us both. I toil to comprehend your kind because I must, and as the star-sent before you, I refuse to accept there is but the inevitability of failure.” Her body swayed, slightly, seeking solace in the motions of the stories and memories of old. In the lessons of mother, and of mother’s mother. “Unity is all. There is no task nor challenge that cannot be overcome, and the only variable is the number of legs which must be raised to the work to see it concluded. Once and Again, as the Founders promised.”

“Once, and Again.” The sacred mantra echoed through the bulwarks and breast of the Palamedes, sometimes whispered, sometimes sung, until it had passed through the shell of every one of her children. Significance may have been lost upon the creatures from beyond the stars, but the weight of it was felt all the same as the glances and pauses from crew across the ship came reflected in the privacy of the room itself. In Malika-mender’s silence, consideration, and finally, reply.

The warning was blatant. As blatant as if the accusation was spoken aloud, the piercing and penetrating holes within the humanite’s skull boring through her crest and into her brain. She noticed the way the Queen bristled her hairs again. Somehow. Amidst the panicked, terrified swirling miasma of Skthveraachk attempting to verify that she had just heard the humanite claim the individual, the Herald, as older than some colonies entire. A translation error. It must be.

Silence. Almost immediate, to coincide with the way a ripple seemed to pass through the interior of a ship. A drone at the edge of the cargo hold noticed it first, heard at the furthest prow of the vessel the disquiet. Those humanites nearest repeated the words, which then were repeated on. Communication devices pinged, their recipients stiffening. Hathan was the first contacted, by a span of eight breaths. By the time he had entered the room again, cutting his song short with the maintenance crew with whom he had been ‘undressing’ as she’d heard the term used, nearly eight-tenths of the vessel had already been informed as well. Wide eyes through the stoically maintained composure of his rank were enough to indicate the heavy emotion contained within, Malika-mender’s own murmuring into her communicator now behind Skthveraachk the first time thus far the Queen had seen the female truly disquieted.

“Gate activation.” The Queen repeated the words that were now being nearly chanted by the bodies aboard. The great ring of traversal, out in the black, pictured to begin its pulsing and lighting. “A vessel enters this world?”

Reverence and awe. Soft-spoken surety. The crushing weight of inevitability.

She went, without further word.