Skthveraachk heard, if unable to see behind the barrier, the scrape of chairs as bodies rose. The thundering strides of the thick female warrior pounding the platform of the ship’s room. Shells rustling as arms raised in salute.

Shifting weight. Uncertain feet. st Infantry while attached to the Expeditionary Fleet. Nevertheless, I’m known for being fair to my officers. So if any of you silver-spoon fucks got issue with that, or serving beneath me, you don’t gotta sit. I’ll approve whatever excuse you want to get you back Earthside, and you get the hell outta my briefing and brigade right now.”> Shuffling intensified. In fact, the hiss of the doorway was audible, followed by three, four sets of feet departing? It had never been Skthveraachk’s place to ask, no more than she would have desired her own name to be questioned, but whatever had occurred long ago between the Solovyova and Prescott that had shamed the female’s name so was a story she wished one day to hear.

A few snorts, one even from the Colonel herself, filled the room. The pad’s glow in the rearmost section shone cruelly in the Queen’s eyes. Sixteen transports had landed already. Acceptable progress.

The Queen, unable to see, instead focused on sending another confirmation through her pad. This was but brief assistance. And necessary. She would be there soon.

A few murmurs came from the room’s occupants. Sounds the Queen found almost pleasantly familiar. Like listening in on the comments of her own thinkers. Focused. Utterly absorbed in their duty.

This was why she was here. This was why it was necessary. The confusion was expected. The rigid structure of authority was bent. The Solovyova rapped bones of her hands against the wall. The screen slid back. The blinding light set to humanite comfort bathed her. Mouths partially opened, eyes split wider than meaty lips, bodies frozen or slowed halfway to upright posture. Skthveraachk saw it all as she emerged. The crown was unsuitable for this space. The rest of her armor, though, scraped and slid with her movements as she strode on four legs to the fore of the space. Accompanied, now, by the soft clink of the cupped red-and-black sigil hanging from her neck. A respectful sign twitched to the Colonel, who had snapped a salute to her presence. Ensuring that the others, most of the others, followed. The Queen scanned and identified three potential targets for the demonstration, their arms never raising to show the deference due. All waited. She did not make them wait long.

“I sing admiration for your welcome, Lieutenant-Colonel Solovyova.” It still tasted wrong, the notes out of order. But it was how the humanites operated. How she would need to sing to be heard amongst them. Female’s hand fell, and seats were, shakily, retaken. Mandibles and labium chewed over the air, giving them something to focus on. “I am Skthveraachk Queen of Skthveraachk-Colony, vassal and magistrate of the Imperial Sovereignty of Earth. I welcome you to my system, and to my world, knowing you mostly to be volunteers in this, the Emperor’s work.”

It was not the only utterance made at volumes the black and red shelled creatures believed would not be heard. Whispered to one another. They were good sounds. The Queen ignored them, and focused upon the bad ones. The mutters. The thinning of flesh over optics.

“You have heard your leaders’ music of us. Some is true. Much is not. In our shared duty, I will seek ever to dispel the colors of falsehood and guide you into chorus of actuality. Not for my own sake, but for yours; to preserve your life and safety, as is my mandate, as much as those of my people. Thus the first wrongness.” Keeping her forelegs folded, it was an antennae which reached low to gesture to Solovyova’s silent stance. “The Solovyova sings that you were guided to the belief you would leading soldiers in combat under guidance of your military. The rightness is that it is I who will be dictating your use. The where, the when, and the why.”

One of now two targets. There, on the third layer of the tiered floor, desks which stretched and curved across the room providing barrier and seat for the tens of humanites of rank. Thinking she could not register his sneer.

The addition was meant to be a warning. As one would wield a memory of past victories to caution hostility among her kind. Only here, it was a reliance on the victories of others. Yes. This was what she had wanted.

Her mandibles popped, twice.

“It is both.” Eyes swung in sockets for her. The Queen tensed and relaxed her legs, preparing them in inner stretches. “It is neither. Your confusion is acceptable, and I will simplify. You are ordered by the Lieutenant-Colonel.” Antennae clacking once, they lowered to rub at the Queen’s shell. “The Lieutenant-Colonel is directed in her actions by the Devries-Captain, Captain Devries adheres to the commands given by me; you take your orders from me.” ‘I wasn’t speaking to you’, is what the humanite’s face read. His eyes, again, strayed to the symbol upon her underside plating, and a poor effort was made to conceal the contempt.

A look around her. Through her. To the real perceived authority here. Amazing. Somehow, effort to sound less crude had made the utterance even more offensive. Her antennae clacked again, the muscles and blood in her legs pumped and readied.

“These are expected beliefs. These are anticipated beliefs. Your technology is superior, as are your numbers as a species. Your opposition is against bugs lacking vehicles, lances, air power or ships of space. It is comical. For what could a single primitive do against you, a member of the greatest empire and power in all that is known?” The sneer softened somewhat; condemnation relaxed to mere superiority. The places were solidified, the roles established. Easing, the Herschel-Major reflected the posture of many within the room. Skthveraachk silenced the insisted warnings from the drones kept outside the room, and chuffed. “This.”

Desks buckled. Carpeted flooring tore. Her route was precise, and the two or three alien obstructions were observant enough to hurl themselves from her path. One length had taken her off the platform and into the risers. The second brought her claws and legs gripping the tiered seats, bracing. The third and final length, traversed only by the Queen’s own right scythe, pinned the Major to the flat of the desk risen behind him. By the ruptured flesh and penetrated bone of its upper limb’s joint. A good strike; too high to sever the vital line of blood her soldiers aimed for in combat, and too shallow to tear the limb off entirely. Their technologies could repair this. But not before the startled, pained shout emerged, and the scattering of seats brought all others near pushing back and away.

Solovyova roared over the now lessened grunting of pain, the scrunched shock and fury which cascaded from suspended and pinned soldier-thinker. Not a one obeyed that order immediately. A part of the Queen still mocked the lack of control the humanites had over their subordinates, even as she relied upon it.

“None, Solovyova. He will live.” Scathing fury was about to be spat her way. It was killed in formulation with a widening of her mouth, showing the pinned male the inverted feeding tube and rippled edges of her lower labium, which could swallow his head entire. “You will hear me, Herschel-Major. You will hear me because you would hear nothing but the snapping of bone were you upon Kayyhaitch now instead. The lies you have been sung on your world were tolerable there. The lies you sing yourselves were forgivable when they only harmed the image of my people. My kind does not lie. There can be no lies here any longer.”

A subtle twist of her scythe, enough to cause his boney chewers to clench back together. Impotent threat. Disregarded. Others looked for support in Solovyova, and found none. Slowly sinking back to seats.

“Your technology is superior exactly to the point a formite is within striking range. Your armor is meant to disperse the heat of a lance, not the force of a scythe. Your numbers as a species are beyond vast, but the twenty-five thousand you will lead to my world do not even surpass my weakened colony. Each humanite on the field will expectedly, assuredly, enter combat outnumbered by margins of more than eighty to one. The tactics of your species are of dissuasion, fear, control; your weapons and strategies facilitate this. They have not told you of our first encounter.” Her voice rose, song empowered by rightness and volume both. “You will witness retelling following my departure. In the first combat between our species, which lasted no more than eleven of your called ‘minutes’, over six hundred humanite soldiers were killed, seventy armored carriers and lancer artillery was disabled or destroyed, thirteen wyverns were brought down, and orbital weapons were utilized to prevent the complete annihilation of Sovereignty assets in the area of operation.” The notes were yet unfamiliar on her shell, the vibrations they made, but they were the correct terms. The best sounds to bring a sobering attentiveness to the room. Even a slowing of struggles from the pinned Major, leaking out crimson to soak the wood, the uniform, and the floor. “As we work together on Kayyhaitch, my colony will tutor you so this event is not repeated. Formites cannot be suppressed. Formites cannot be pinned. Formites are not dissuaded by minefields, will not avoid artillery fire, do not heed injuries which will lead to silenced song and will not, ever, stop trying to reach you. For if even one gets as close to you as I was upon entering this room, you no longer hold a single advantage. And to a formite, thirty dead is an acceptable loss in exchange for a single slain humanite. This is now our shared truth.” Scythe tugged itself back. Body slid down, groping for something within its shell, injecting a capsule into its shoulder as the aliens did on the battlefield. Delicately retracing her motions, back to the stage, resentment amidst the new consideration burned in the Major’s eyes. Good. Good. These were her soldiers, now. Pity was dangerous. Fear meant respect. Not for her. For her people.

Half on her communication device, half to the still gobstruck room, the Solovyova was back in control with seamless transition. Back. Aside. Lowered as the lights dimmed, and sounds of voices and exchanges were just as audible from the officers as it was from the false-light being emitted onto the stage where the pair had just stood.

“A necessary one. They must be readied. I have fought your kind enough to learn their failings, and the colonies on the surface will be quick to adapt to those same weaknesses. Do not think I missed the amusement in your gaze.”

“I am uncivilized savage. I can do what you cannot and escape judgement. But we must be better. You must be better.”

“Do not use this title in private, it offends.”

The Queen had prepared laughter, but the tone of the Solovyova was the seriousness of death and dark. Holding hardened eyes on just as hardened shell.

“A choice you, too, made once.”

Paper. A wonderful addition to repertoire of knowledge, however unpleasantly it had been learned. She had asked for many sheets; few had been provided. But even they had held not just sight, but smell, and even a taste, though it damaged the sheets to extract it. Still, the crafters sung delight at the possibilities, even while Queen had ruminated on the darkness of what had been done.

“Yes. Albeit an unfair one. Alternative was still provided; obedience, or reduction back to but a working drone in the great colony of the Sovereignty. I would be no help to my species without the authority to remain present. I sacrifice what I must. As you have.”

Even here, hidden by the Queen’s bulk from the few probing eyes glancing from the battle’s display, the Solovyova stole a drink of the fluid which eased and aided her tempers.

“The design of this Daguenet is incredibly similar to that of the Palamedes. I will follow signage and signals.” Though it was a delay of breaths, Skthveraachk kept her stillness until the metallic receptacle was fastened and hidden away before leaving. The sounds of screams and lances as her dead children of the past tore the star-sent apart the sung panoply to her departure into the hall, ignoring the tens of humanites who quickly scattered. Pretending they had not been watching, waiting, observing the attendants and soldiers who now swarmed her, reapplying their scent. Only one seized her scythe, immediately. Dragging it down as the ball of activity began to move as one for the elevator.

“Prime and foremost directive. Preservation of humanite life. Formite blood on scythe, no? No. Risking humanite death, to make point?” The palest shade of grey encircled the limb as the mender wiped down the gore. Not with tongue or hair, but a patch of fabrics. Soaked in scents of bactum, dabbed into a pot of liquid buckled to the female’s shell and smeared over to eliminate the combative odour.

“Humanite anatomy known. Frail species, but surprisingly robust. Cuts and impacts coagulate without sealant. Non-critical areas, identified. Injury certain. Death almost impossible.”

“Ninety-nine in hundred chance of injury is one in hundred chance of death. Then point made quite different. That Queen is very stupid, yes? Yes.” Pod, Malika, the once Ckhehnvraahll drone; Skthveraachk was quite confident now in her previous belief. That menders existing to torment and chastise others was no longer a fact of species, and was instead a universal truth.

“Reprimand accepted. Necessary, but still risk. Single higher-risk act to prevent numerous lesser-risks. Proper act of force subverts need for repeated occurrences.”

“Every piece of humanite knowledge acquired warps harmony of colony. Advise suspending. Thinkers given too much flexibility.”

“Skthveraachk Queen first among formites to be of humanites. Must not slow ingestion of knowledge. Must increase pace.” Keeping to the half of corridor reserved for bow-to-stern transit, bulkheads and intersections were traversed as though they were within the Queen’s own nest. “Bringing humanites to Kayyhaitch means teaching formites of them. Must be expert. Must make humanite truth our truth.”

“Does Queen wish to no longer be formite?” They had not the time to pause. When Skthveraachk was stopped still by the question, there was not a moment’s hesitation in how the larger soldiers scuttled beneath her. Lifting, and carrying the Queen onward.

“Redefine question?”

“Refused. Unnecessary. Query is apparent.”

“Skthveraachk is formite. Cannot be otherwise.”

“Skthveraachk appears formite. Skthveraachk’s body is formite. Skthveraachk no longer thinks formite. Species is only form? Species is only mind? Yes? No. Both.” The scythe shone clean as the mender lowered. Partly keratin, partly in the coated silver metal of the stars. “Star-sent come to kill formites. Queen fights to save formites. Queen says to live, we must stop being formite. This is saving, yes? No? Star-sent come to kill body. Skthveraachk goes to kill mind.”

“The Parable of the Aadarsh. Kill caste to save nest. Kill nest to save colony. Kill colony to save species. Kill soul to save world.” Waiting before the doors of the lift, their opening brought relaxed humanites into flattened shock. Pressing into the walls as the legs and gasters tucked in to fit the entire mass into the deck-traversing square. “Spitters. Stingers. Changes in body, accepted. Menial-warriors. Delver-crafters. Changes in mind, accepted. The song is eternal. A flourish of music is not silence.”

“Then why is Skthveraachk mender here?” The growing ire had been building within the greyed formite, and bubbled now out of her vents. “Thousands already on Kayyhaitch. Scout. Soldier. Delver. Only mender remains with Queen. Not silence? Then why do I not sing with my colony. Why do I not go to sing with Ckhehnvraahll?”

The blue-shell awaiting them as, once free of the lift, they traversed the smaller and far more cramped hanger area of the more slender ship, stuttered. Skthveraachk knew how to read a map and understood the concept of priority in travel. It simply didn’t know that.

“Thanks uttered and extended. My Band struggles with exceptional distance. Request communication with the Hathan-Captain-“ Damnation. It was going to be difficult to break the cultural habit, mandate, compulsion. “Once we are in transit.”

They had come by wyvern, and would leave the same. One of the larger, boxy transports meant for the moving of vast alien troops was excessive for the mere ten and ten she had brought with her. Cramped it may be, it was sufficient, and Skthveraachk rattled hairs to get the soldiers out from beneath her. Each contorting one after the next to minimize the used space as they crawled and adjusted to the seats unfit for their girth.

“All but mender are not to listen.” The Band did not register the noise. Her children reacted as though she had just turned orange.

“Repeat last?”

“All but mender are not to listen to Queen for next eight beats.”

“Rephrase note of listen?”

“Queen will sing. Song is not for the colony. Song is for mender. Song contains information for mender caste only.”

“Colony will listen and disregard information.”

“Refused. All but mender are not to listen.” Packed as they were, leg against leg and head to head, she felt the pure sickness the notes elicited from her children. Confused, repulsed, trying to parse the order. The mender, herself, writhed with shared disgust. “Information is dangerous to colony.”

“Understood. But cannot not-listen.”

“Queen will sing. Queen is not singing to you. You will hear Queen. You must not listen to Queen. Information will not be brought to the memories. Received?”

“Song is…not for memories. We will hear. We will not listen. Re…cieved?” It was as much a question as an affirmation. There would be confusion when these drones joined with the rest. A hole in song and thoughts where one should not exist. Queen had ordered it so. It would not be understood, but it would be accepted. It was not their role to question. The ramp and doors sealed. The wyvern thrummed into activation, and even as their voices resonated within each present, it was only the Queen and mender who formed a duet of ideas now.

“Could not send you alone to Ckhehnvraahll. Would be cruelty.”

“Perversion of role. Corruption of song. Hear but do not listen? Skthveraachk soldier!” The mender sent query through the link. It arrived. It was heard. It was ignored. The mender looked like she had swallowed a lumbrite whole.

“Formite do not lie.”

“You sing do not. You do not sing cannot.”

“Formite do not lie.” Repetition was hard. “Skthveraachk does not know of the Thinker and Parker, of Jennifer and Caldera. Ckhehnvraahll does not know. Only I know. Only you know.”

“Ckhehnvraahll will not ask. Ckhehnvraahll could not know to ask.”

“What if Ckhehnvraahll asks?”

“Skthveraachk would answer!”

“Skthveraachk does not know. Skthveraachk would answer truthfully. What if Ckhehnvraahll asked Skthveraachk mender?” Quaking. A shivering coldness as the mender began match the Queen in pace and pitch. Forced towards a deplorable comprehension. “What if Skthveraachk mender was Ckhehnvraahll mender again? What if Ckhehnvraahll mender shared memories with Ckhehnvraahll-Colony?”

“You know my music.”

“I know your music.”

“You knew I wished return to Ckhehnvraahll-Colony. You taste my fear, you hear my voice cry out as I am forced to keep silent a part of myself. This is not formite. I must share all I am, or I am not of the colony. Outsider. Outlier. No formite can live as this. I cannot remain Skthveraachk. Skthveraachk is sickness. Skthveraachk is broken.”

“Formite must learn. Formite must change. I know your music. I know you wish to be Ckhehnvraahll again. It cannot be allowed. It is forbidden.”

“Feed me your jelly.” That was the beauty of song. The horror of it. The humanites would never understand, could never understand, how it felt to pour all that you were into your voice. To be as peeled, bare, felt so perfectly by another. So that when their pain was uttered, you did not hear it. You became it. You knew it as if it had been experienced by you your entire life. Desperation and sorrow flooded the Queen. Choked her. Drowned her.

“Refused.”

“Force my unity. Change my music. Make me of you.”

“Refused!”

“I cannot live as this.” Each utterance was the sinking of a claw into the quagmire. A sucking cold into oblivion. “I cannot sing what I know is half-truth, hide what I know is real. I cannot be of Skthveraachk but not. I cannot sing love of Ckhehnvraahll knowing Ckhehnvraahll-Colony would despise what we are now.”

“Will not use the jelly! Will never use the jelly! Unity is found, build, joined as consensus!” Her pad, automatically paired to whatever screen the vessel housed, pinged, just once. “To forge harmony is guiding principle of the Founders! Never will it be forsaken! Never will shortcuts, debasement, force used to enslave the wills of others!”

“Would rather have sung last note on the Palamedes than live to know what I know now.” Truth. Unmitigated. Unsoftened. Refused. The mender was not Ckhehnvraahll any longer. Ckhehnvraahll of the past may have believed as she did. That was not the Ckhehnvraahll of the now. Ckhehnvraahll would understand. Accept.

“Skthveraachk mender cannot leave Skthveraachk. Skthveraachk mender cannot rejoin Ckhehnvraahll. Must live. Must learn. Must change. If impossibility…” Breath. “Can silence. Send to Composer. Peace in the chorus, conflict fixed.”

“Humanite Queen.” Accusation carved her. “No longer formite, yes? Yes. Yes. No harmony through force, through jelly. But order is greater than unity. Obey or die. Sovereignty notes. Empire’s music.”

“What is necessary is right. What is right is good. Am Queen. Role is to colony, to species. Would rather bring harm to one drone than risk Skthveraachk and Ckhehnvraahll colonies. The Thinker must continue work. The Parker must not be revealed. For us all.”

“Wonderment. Thought. Reasoning is of thinkers, not menders. Logic, accurate. How many hundred million humanites are given for tens of billions others with same judgement? Good.” Ping. Ping. Ping in the dark of the hull in the quiet of the void. “Skthveraachk mender will remain. Skthveraachk mender already becoming humanite. Skthveraachk Queen? Not becoming. Sacrifice mind. Sacrifice song. Sacrifice voice. Good creature from the stars. Good humanite. Yes. Yes.”

“There is no problem, Captain Hathan.” The Hathan-Captain frowned. Could he see her, truly? No, not enough to understand. Tap-pad activated, the Queen was as yet alone. Another two beats before the colony of twenty would hear her again. Only one heard, and she was no longer listening. “My task aboard the Daguenet is concluded.”

“You will handle it with grace, as you have always done.” He chuckled. It was a pleasant sound. The Queen held to it, clutched it the legs of a line of bodies, cast into the water from the shore. “It is believed, after exposure, the appointment of title ‘magistrate’ was intended as formality. Propriety. That excuses could be given for mistakes, when the memories are reviewed in cycles.”

“I have no intention of using this authority to interfere with their, or your, operations. Even if you insist upon adhering to it so literally.”

“I will tolerate the Solovyova’s insistence on this because she, at times, can frighten me. You have no such luxury. Desist in that title.” A song that never ended. A thought which never ceased. The first probative touches came from the colony, and she re-embraced them gratefully. “Herald Lievens. Have you ever met him?”

“One which shall never again be repeated, for I must now fight my own thinkers to prevent them assigning soldiers to your security at all times.”

“That is your assessment?” It conflicted. This was a formal method of communication. The Thinker, the Aide himself, had confirmed there was nothing here that would not be recorded. It was now an omnipresent concern. What to sing. What to avoid. The Hathan dipped head in affirmation. The Queen rotated her jaws. “I do not share in it.”

“That he wishes to keep us in the darkness of obliviousness to your ways. Technologies. Culture.” It was a distraction, after the panic of the briefing and even now. Thinking on the subject, reading off her pad, as a notification had brought alongside the Art of War a new title. A role, she had found in the translation, of office and monarchy. Not quite a Queen, but just beneath. And alongside the writer, the Machiavelli, an offered message from aide Berndsen. ‘If you are going chronologically, this will be somewhat out of order. Let me know when you reach the works of Thucydides, I’d be interested in what you take from them.’ Already, she had poured over the contents. Already, began to apply them. “I no longer believe this to be the goal of the empire.”

“Have you seen one of my colony carrying a primitive lance?”

“Did you know none have ever ordered its removal? Inspection, even? Not on Dracan, when the Aadarsh surely was informed of it, and not here, now that the Lievens must know of its existence.”

“It is a technology with military applications. So is this pad, which has not been seized.” Waving the device, as though the Hathan could see through its own screen, the Queen chittered. “So was my throne, and while I cannot claim even rudimentary knowledge of its inner workings, they must have known I would learn its basics. The need for fuel to operate your vehicles. The feeling of whirring wires and filaments, simulations of muscle and cartilage, to move its arms. Controlled and minute explosions within to propel and move pumps. We cannot make these things, no, but we are not senseless and as often as I try to believe otherwise, not all of your kind are fools.”

“None would want this. It is reasonable to hold every power you have over another in close guardianship. Yet I question. Begin to query. I do not believe the goal is to keep us in a state of primitiveness indefinitely, for I do not believe the Sovereignty thinks such a thing is possible. I have come to believe that what they desire, have always desired, is control over what it is we are learning.”

Skthveraachk had not asked this question. Wanted to, but had not. She had not wished to risk the Hathan lying to her, and yet now, it was certainty there was no falsehood as he stared back up from the pad.

“And if they had stated such things were in breach of their desires?”

“Which is all in conflict with the same mandate you may read from. It is oddity. Curious. That despite your disagreement with the literal translation of their commands, you were appointed as my minder. That when you broke letter to obey spirit, it was not punished. They may not have been the ones to order your actions, but they selected and approved an individual who would undertake them of his own will.” A furrowed brow and deep gaze had overtaken the face upon her screen. Reaching down, she only realized the futility of stroking the image with an antennae after it had been done. Only realized the impropriety of it a breath after that, hastily retracting the feeler before the humanite could notice.

“This is possible, Captain Hathan. It was a thought, and my music is a tender gold at your indulgence of it.” Perhaps it was incorrect. There was no reason to argue it over the communicator, for all to hear. What was truth? That when she had needed fear, she had been shown weapons on scales previously unimaginable. When they then asked her to fight, she had been given a treatise on how best to kill. When there was uncertainty, she had been offered rewards and sights of paradise. And now, as there was a need to control, texts and histories on how best to rule were slid slyly across the stars to her eyes. Coincidence? Possibility. But the Composer did not wave legs at random, and patterns in the rains were ignored at a colony’s peril. “I do not wish to retain your valuable attentions. You may, must, commence the landings of your soldiers as soon as the Solovyova assures their readiness. They must acclimatize to my world, and prepare for operations upon it.”

“I receive and will remember this. Once I gather the knowledge I require from Kayyhaitch, am apprised of current events and situations, I will direct efforts more directly. Consider it training for now. Getting the soldiers used to interactions with my kind.”

“Do not be afeared, Hathan-Captain,” More sympathetic title replaced the formal one, despite her efforts. “I do not intend to begin conflict with my people unduly. Your weapons are an option, not a demand. But the Herald and Admiralty are expecting soldiers. My soldiers. For this, I need nests. I need many nests.” The rattling, chittering force behind Skthveraachk began to shake. Eager. Anticipating. “I know where to acquire these nests. And how best to utilize their acquisition in our strategy.”

Warmth once more in closed smile. An urge came within her to poke and tug at that bizarre outer meat as the Hathan’s cheeks were made full in their pull.

“I partake of your kind’s custom of indicating a finality of exasperated communication. Do not interpret it as interruption, for it is not my desire to be rude.” So sung, the Queen thrust grasper for the screen, and promptly ‘hung’ the call upward. The pad already passed along the rows of entwined bodies, to be safely guarded until it was needed again. Distraction, yes. Thinking was a distraction now, a way to harness energies away from where they fought to dwell. Skthveraachk had felt the rumbling that indicated a passing into the boundaries of a world, or ship, already. She tried not to disappear into the past, into memories of a near identical traversal when she had been someone else. Something lesser. Thousands had followed her in joyous belief, taken from the fields and forests. Thousands had died on an alien world. Thousands stayed there, now, a new home from which they would never willingly depart, the tales of Kayyhaitch and of the birthing world of the formites a legend to be recorded and kept. What returned was something new. Would it be rejected, as the mender rejected? Embraced, as the Khchechteeyh and Ghllencheechlak had come to embrace? The Queen could have asked, or ordered now, the pilot to activate screens which would have shown the outer world. Fear and hesitation kept her voice silent. If she questioned whether the world would recognize the colony, did that not mean she too questioned whether the Queen would even recognize the world?

The wyvern touched ground. The seals broke and hissed. The thinness of the air vanished as a crack of bluest light worked in through the creases of parting ramp, and the smells of colony, of fungal root and goldbough tree. Of the lands in which her mother and mother’s mother were born. Of rivers at their fullest in season of rains and growth. Phidites being drummed and milked. Freshly cut palmidia stalks. Decomposing sweetness of those who had gone peacefully to the Composer making fruitful the soil. Her own scent had brought hundreds of her drones from the thousands already landed clambering to reform their link. Streaming amidst bodies humanite and formite both. The ramp lowered fully. The Queen, the first to step from the metal, to feel the grass under claw-…oddity. Not grass. Concrete? Constructive material used in their cities. Landing pads. Understandable. Now lining the opened and better cleared sections of the forest that had once presented enveloping canopy of vine and bough. Space made for the growing structures of hardstone and rock, the trails between for traffic of foot and vehicle. But it was familiar, it was known! Ckhehnvraahll’s Last, the mocked nest-name of oft dismissed vassal. The same, almost the same! There were the walls of thorns, reinforced by the barricades and ramparts of humanite watchtowers. There was that perfect, cultivated dome of branches to deny any invader, now glinting in the fading sun, as the rays reflected off the sheet of thass that had been erected beneath the canopy to shield all within. The colony tasted her growing uncertainty, questioned the sense of forlorn as eyes rapidly took in each alteration, each difference. Humanites were approaching, crossing the circular strip towards wyvern. Apparitions. Vague shapes. Skthveraachk mender had broken from their shared touch. Sprinting on all six across the distance, with the Queen and all her nearest drones behind. Pale white attendants behind the aliens. Soft hued soldiers and menials along the perimeter. Veil and leg-coverings, fabrics wrapped over vents and shell. Skthveraachk’s voice broke. Core shattered, then reformed. Fluid began to pour from the slats barring her lungs, gaster slammed the ground again and again in her run, trying to emit the smells of horror and unspeakable joy and sadness and longing all at once. Whitest of Queens, softest of shells, in pinks and reds of alien dressings with no purpose took a single leg back as Skthveraachk rushed. Bracing herself. It did not save her as they collided, the aliens knocked off-balance and stumbled by the air of their wake. And a cycle, a million, million lengths of distance, secrets and lies and truths they could never share. None of it mattered. Skthveraachk Queen was against her. Below her. Atop her. Body after body, black and white, joining into the growing ball of contact.

“Skthveraachk Queen! Skthveraachk-Colony, I am-… Ckhehnvraahll Queen, of Ckhehnvraahll-Colony, vassal which sings-…War Queen!!” A sigh as much a cry of stunned delight exhaled from a thousand lungs as Skthveraachk sent twenty legs against the Slough Queen’s underplating. Soldiers streaming in lines from their formations along the nest where the Hathan had landed them to provide a bedding of chitin. One which could carry the mass away from the pair of uncared for humanites.

“Later.” She did not waste effort on the Band’s translation. It was too great a need, too strong a rapture. Males had already begun to accumulate, from both colonies, to follow behind the roiling mesh of bodies. She’d have to be firm. There was too much work ahead to be bogged down by eggs. Thinkers were commanded, demanded, to ensure the Queen did not give in to distraction.

“I sing ease! I sing hesitation! My colony queries whether I am attacked, you must slow your movements!”

They’d already received her answer. The next came in the tossing of one of the needless, pointless additions to what was already and always sublime. Perfection, ever since her mother had first touched antennae to the other Queen, long before Skthveraachk had ever been born. The alien fabrics were pulled, removed, tossed back in trail as the humanites found themselves blocked by wall of bodies, collecting the discarded items as the Queens were dragged, and dragged one another, towards the entrance of the nest.

“War Queen, the humanites are of propriety and importance, they must not be ignored! Control your actions, for I cannot restrain the emotions of my core if you continue in such behaviors!”

“Bathed I have been in the light of another sun.” Her own mandibles closed around Ckhehnvraahll’s head, raising her high so tongue could run the length of its underside. Bodies poured forth to reciprocate and repeat the movements. “Burned have I been by fires of war and loss. Suffocated, my lungs, in lands unsuited to our kind. Torn, my claws, on creations built to house and guard our masters.” Ckhehnvraahll’s former mender wept, and praised, and cared not for how the hairs from carapace scraped between both largest bodies as they tumbled down. The dark of the tunnel’s mouth, yet coated and haloed by the skulls of Vhersckaahlhn, had only just enveloped them when white legs so numerous were pushed through Skthveraachk’s vents that she could not so much as inhale. Slough Queen shifted to aggressor. The pain was beautiful. “All I have endured for our masters. All have I borne unflinching for our Emperor. The star-sent will wait. My voice is only for you.” Somewhere, somehow, a touch of old hurt registered. Not a lie. Just a slight adjustment of truth. Fabrics and armor tumbled down behind them as they descended, and it was only Skthveraachk’s voice which briefly broke the embrace to whisper against the Band.

“Hathan-Captain. I inform as was promised. If you receive, this is not something you should observe.” The device was deactivated. And for bars, for the first time in a cycle, the world above and beyond was forgotten.