The hives were clearly not meant to be large population centers, or cities. They were slaughterhouses, the places where cattle were raised, herded; and the freshly hatched Forstagers looked distinctly out of place.
They were immaculate, clean... and looked like living, breathing works of art, different tones of blues and greens and reds, all blending together on a shining fresh quasi-insectoid carapace. As the six-limbed creatures, over a dozen of them in this room that had once stored... members of their species waiting to be slaughtered... cleaned bits of chrysalis off of themselves, quietly speaking to each other in a soft, musical language. Most of them were sitting on crates, their insect-like mouths working to clean themselves and each other. If he hadn't seen so many crabs of various size over the past years, the enormous bugs might be disturbing.
Eyeball blinked, stopping as he entered and looked at the 'bugs'. No, these creatures looked nothing like humans. But.. while their children were ugly blobs, these things....
One of them stepped forward, and gave a brief nod, spreading its limbs wide. "Seer! You have slain the butchers. Are they returning? Will you be our masters now?"
Eyeball almost lost track of the translation as he caught himself nodding along to the musical intonations of the creature. Was everything they said singing? Would his own voice sound like guttural nonsense to them until the translator got hold of it? Ahh, wait. The helmet would mute him. The only thing they would hear was the translation.
"No masters; I came to kill the Butchers, and now I will be leaving. They may return; I will slow them as much as I can, and I suspect they will chase me as well. I would recommend you leave these hives and go out from here. Build in the wilderness, stay underground. I'll leave the buildings here with you, and the Jernal; if you can mount any sort of defense, the Jernal will likely be extremely helpful in that... though they will have food supply problems."
An eye that looked like a ruby the size of his fist focused on him. "The Butchers did not plan for our species to survive. If they return, there will be more fire from the skies, more mass death. We will be dead. Or food. Will you take us with you?"
Eyeball grimaced. "Ahh... no. I don't have room for all of you. I plan on killing more of the Butchers." That was an apt enough term for them. "If I can manage, I want to break them."
A slow back and forth shift. The jeweled creatures singing back and forth to each other, then turning back to him. "Break them. How? Can you? There are many Butchers, and they are strong."
He looked at them thoughtfully. "Butchers are strong... for here. The.. Seer... comes from a place where there are bigger, stronger things, and he killed things like that before coming here by accident. To the Seer, the Butchers are.... like ants." He chuckled. Some species of ants would vaguely resemble these creatures, but hopefully the translation would get through. "They are only a threat because there is just one Seer, and many Butchers. The machine will help with that. The machine, like the Seer, is much stronger than a Butcher. It will make many machines. Seer and machine, together? We will crush them, in time."
The Forstagers went back to their discussion. Each of them had a different, unique tone to add to the harmony; they sounded like a series of flutes and various woodwind instruments trying to piece something together. There was quite a bit of gesturing; at Eyeball, at a Jernal who was sleeping in the corner of the room, and at the Ascension drone standing in the corner.
The first speaker stepped back over. "We would like to send enough so that some will live, if the Butchers return for our world. How many would you be willing to take? Any children?"
Eyeball sighed. "Helmet, mute. Ascension, how many would we need to take to ensure a viable population could start up elsewhere?"
A display popped up on his screen, showing various tiers, and survival probabilities; starting with just a pair, and rising with time. "These creatures are already below the minimum I would recommend for genetic diversity. All but a tiny number of the survivors are from the same genotype. With the exception of a few dozen of the children, any of the Forstagers you were to settle on another world would be suffering from inbreeding-related genetic defects within at best five generations."
Eyeball turned away from the creatures, nodding to himself as he walked to the nearest wall of the hive. "...That's... why? Why so little diversity left?"
"This specific genotype is the only one that the Marrick did not consider to have good taste as children. They decided to allow these to mature before harvest so that they could acquire silk as well. The others mixed in are likely by accident, as they aren't visibly that distinct until maturity; or possibly simply preserved for later consumption."
He gently tapped his fingers on the wall, considering that venting by punching a few holes in it might give the creature the wrong impression. "...This isn't just bullshit, is it? You're not making the Republic sound worse than they are just to give me someone to be angry at, something to focus on in this new galaxy?"
The machine stepped closer. "Negative. While I could conceivably deceive you if I believed it was required for your own preservation, the optimal path for that would be to minimize the actions of the Founders, as this conflict is the most likely means for your death in this galaxy, and defusing tensions would increase the probability of your long-term survival."
A long, low whistle. The insects all perked up; apparently, they could hear it despite the muting effect of the helmet. "Assuming the genetic problem can be sorted eventually, how many would we need to make a small colony; and how many can we take?"
"The heavily remodeled 8AD is not designed to carry many passengers, but multiple cargo bays can be refitted to carry them, and each could hold up to two hundred twenty of their species, albeit not comfortably. Forstagers produce roughly fifty to sixty eggs at a time. Under normal conditions, the eggs absorb each other, ending with one to three surviving embryos. If the eggs are seperated immediately after fertilization, a colony of a few dozen Forstagers could reach thousands within a single generation; with outside help."
Eggs that absorb each other? "...Get it ready for two of the cargo holds to hold them. We'll give them a bit of room to stretch out. They use base six math?"
"Affirmative."
He turned back to the creatures. "Choose two hundred and sixteen of your people. Likely mostly children, and adults to care for them. How... capable are you, right now? You've only been adults for hours now, you just hatched?"
The speaker gave a strange gesture, stretching out its limbs. "We are able to work and function the moment we emerge from the chrysalis. We hear and learn while we are children, and in the chrysalis our minds put all of that information together and build our adult selves. Normally, we train our children for years, and then subject them to educational stimuli in the chrysalis. The children who spent all their childhood in the hives..." It looked back at its companions. "Will be quite possibly the worst of our species for a thousand generations unless we do truly miraculous things. I remember a few things from before the Butchers. But half of my life has been imprisoned in dull grey darkness. I know basic math, our songs and language, and the rudiments of hand-to-hand combat; but that is all. Us, the eldest of them, the best off of the survivors..."
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It looked back at its companions. "We... are functionally so heavily retarded in mental development that we are almost as stupid as the Butchers."
Eyeball stared at him. Looked at the others. If he stayed here, he could defend this place. He had weapons to kill the heaviest enemies now. Between them, he and Ascension could handle a fleet, an army, so long as they didn't come too fast. But... it wasn't the best route to stop them. There were a hundred, or a thousand, or even ten thousand other worlds just as terribly abused. "...Ascension will be leaving some of its drones behind to help, and hopefully we can keep the Republic at bay for a while. Do your best.
He glanced at the drone. "Get them loaded up. I want to hit that gas giant and get things started as soon as possible. I'm not a hundred percent about what it will do... but I know that sooner is better."
***
The assault shuttle ride into space felt... a bit strange. Two coffins containing sedated Jernal, and a few weeks worth of their food were the most prominent fixtures; but aside from them, and a trio of extremely strange-looking drones that were essentially crates with a mass of what were obviously prosthetic arms and legs bolted on, the crate was filled with racks of guns, power armor, and the personal belongings of thousands of Marrick soldiers, each in its own neat crate.
Apparently, the Marrick had their own version of a 'footlocker'; each soldier had a slightly rounded cube of a crate of personal belongings; and Ascension had simply loaded the lot of them onto the shuttles, the strange drones sorting through them even as they were loaded; and now even as they were being taken to the ship. Apparently, two of the smaller space-capable craft were being loaded onto the 8AD; while the rest were being either scrapped or left behind for use by the Forstagers and Jernal.
A fancy, custom handgun that seemed to have someone's name carved into it. A picture of a loved one on another world; a cute Marrick girl in a scandalous outfit akin to what Charis had been wearing when he'd met her in Paradise. A few treats; a couple of them had bags of dried Huory sticks. Clothes. Credits; apparently mostly in the form of flat disks that were typically carried in wallets or pouches.
Each of the hundreds of crates inside the ship represented another soldier who had died. Some to himself and Ascension, some to the Jernal. A rare handful were still alive, Pale Ones, still moving in torment at the wires of a controller.
He sighed as he settled in behind the co-pilot's seat. So many things in common; so many differences. Is the Republic what humanity might have become if someone like Hitler had led them into the stars? As the craft smoothly slid into place beside the 8AD, he looked it over thoughtfully. This... looked like it was actually a designed starship. A bit boxy, at the front, and the rear, growing thicker in obvious stages from the narrow front to the wide engine bays; but...
He studied the design. Right now, hull plates were still being welded into place, and the inside was a work in progress. She wasn't even a tiny bit as durable as the Jeanne had been; in fact, right now a good solid kick would make it fall apart. But by the time they reached the next system, he had every confidence Ascension would make it a real ship.
As the lower cargo bay opened; a pair of Pale Ones actually physically sliding the panel into place as the assault shuttle floated in, and clamped to the floor with a dull thunk; he could even see tiny gaps here and there where the darkness of space was visible through gaps in the hull.
He shook his head, chuckling. "Ascension, what's our ETA on being spaceworthy?"
~1.7 hours til we arrive at the gas giant; at which point, we will be ready for warp. Another two hours before I would consider the ship combat ready, and another six before it would be 'comfortable' for its organic crew. When you are consuming breakfast tomorrow it will be in a dining chamber for the combined crew which will have been assembled two hours beforehand.~
He nodded. "Alright. Can you move a flight control pad to one of the airlocks temporarily? We'll figure out something better long-term later... but I want to be able to fly the ship the moment I pull the trigger."
***
The Forstagers had called this world the 'Foreshadowing of Doom'; it's four moons usually combined to form an arrow when visible from the planet's surface, and on the closest part of it's 300-year orbit, it was so close to Forstage that it actually disrupted the planet's tides and gravitational pull, causing incredible upheaval. They knew that the apocalyptic events that heralded their own advancement to their greatest, most powerful stage; and shortest lived one; was caused by this world.
That cycle had shaped them; creating the strange life-cycle of most of the larger life-forms on their world, and the structure of their cities. It had driven them into the skies; and when the Republic had arrived, the evolutions it had driven had doomed the Forstagers to an early grave; after having briefly but with great ferocity repelled the invaders.
And now... it would, hopefully, be their salvation.
Eyeball watched the trajectory of the 8AD as it slowly shifted; Ascension had easily placed a set of controls on the wall, simply feeding the display into his HUD; and he carefully arranged the ship to be just so; between the gas giant and the now-distant planet. "...Are we ready to go, Ascension?"
~Everyone is strapped down. All welding has stopped. If there are significant maneuvers we are as prepared as possible.~
He took a deep breath, raising the handgun, focusing it on the planet. He focused on his lessons, wishing he'd spent more time on them. Magic was formed by life energy, by powerful emotions. It had a personality to it, a shape. It worked best when you used a variety of forms, combining them together. Channeling your own intense emotions into a focus of some sort, and feeding a sacrifice of life energy into it.
Everything he'd learned had taught him that the Titanslayer handgun should be an especially effective focus; and that the blend of emotions and life-energy that had embedded themselves in this bullet should serve as an excellent power source. All he had to do now was will it... and to pull the trigger.
He wished one of the Jernal, or the Forstagers, had the same sort of life energy he did. If they had a fraction of his power, the emotions, the will they would bring to this, would make it even stronger. So. He just needed to think about something to trigger a strong emotion.
What was it he felt the most? Hate for the Republic? Pity for the fate of its victims?
He gave a long sigh. No. What he felt the most strongly was... something he'd avoided even thinking about since he had arrived in Andromeda. Something that he had been afraid, at some level, that if he let himself even think about it, it would drag him down. Possibly put an end to this mission he'd decided to put himself on. Sorrow. Loneliness. He'd left behind everyone he'd ever loved on some crazy quest to kill a monster. Made an endless chain of mistakes, and done so many horrible things, in the name of... quests he'd given himself.
To be a hero. To slay the monster. To destroy the republic. Was he always going to have to give himself another quest, another mission, something to focus on not to think about the fact that his choices would leave him alone until he died; and that that might very well be an event that never happened?
He could feel tears running down the inside of his helmet; something so rare that he'd never planned for it, never built the device with them in mind... as he pulled the trigger, focusing everything he could manage into that moment.
The entire ship shook with the force of him being pushed back against the wall. Without his foresight, he would have kept his grip on the joystick Ascension had provided, and snapped it right off.
With it... he could see.... A wall of death was about to start racing for them. He had just shy of eleven seconds to get the ship moving; firing the thrusters at maximum, hurtling away from the planet that would turn into the harbinger of his doom any moment now; keeping an eye on the future, looking for the first moment he could flick that warp drive on; if it took too long, they'd be screwed. Hopefully his powers hadn't played him wrong this time.