I crawl over to the new suit, hoping into it before I find it just as power deprived as the first.
>Terran Thena: It’s not turning on?
>Executrix Alaea: No reactor, moving it over now.
The reaper jetpack and twin reactors move over to the new suit, , still running at half power.
No spare reactors means that Kerrigan will be exposed to lethal radiation. Who was dumb enough to nuke a mining world anyways? Even as the question enter’s my mind I groan, knowing Jim’s alien download will answer my question.
Syrak-9 is a mining world now, but serves as an intergalactic punching ground. Each month a new army is dropped off on the distant continent, a place that was long ago depleted of Solarium. Where I am now. To participate in simple wargames that boil down to you get to mine one pound of Solarium for every acre of land you hold. So simple, yet so impossible. Eight factions currently hold ground with only the Singularity, Technocracy, and Tulverians actively trying to gain ground while the others hide within ancient fortifications, digging deeper every day. Better to hold a fortune for a thousand years than to risk your future for a monopoly. Especially when there are hundreds of warships waiting in orbit, ready to add their army to the great game. Once a month the nameless caste grants permission for a single ship to enter orbit and secure a landing site. Of course, ship displacement is regulated so as not to pollute the skies with an endless legion of cargo freighters. They must also be a warship with shields and guns, as the easiest way of eliminating one faction is to destroy the ship on approach, before it can land and deposit troops or fortifications upon the surface.
To keep things interesting, each existing faction is allowed one resupply during that time. When a ship is allowed into atmosphere; a way of giving planetside cannons multiple targets. No matter what, there will be more soldiers sent, more blood spilled, and more for the nameless caste to observe. Though their motivations are unknown.
Speculation suggests they enjoy watching other races die, or that this world -alongside hundreds of similar mining worlds- acts as an aggression vent. Somewhere competing factions can use to expend their growing armies with limited collateral damage. Other cynics suggest there is no purpose in life, and that the nameless are collecting intel on different faction’s armies and technology levels. But no one listens to them, because the wealth that comes from Solarium mining is well worth the enemy seeing your latest weapons.
A fact the Azhurai conglomerate takes full advantage of. Their territory hasn’t fluctuated in six hundred years, despite thousands of incursions into it. Gears turn inside my head. One of the factions detonated an EMP. Of the current competing factions, only the Tulverians would gain any advantage, but the Singularity has enough Earthling weapons to fight off iguanas with knives.
Outside the bunker artillery begins to land once more, walking closer towards the Juggernauts. Those tanks are sitting ducks, only able to fire the most basic autocannons. The thought of those abominations sitting helpless as artillery crews walk shells onto them makes my heart beat a little faster.
“Roach! Go kill the nearest Juggernaut! It’s got guns aimed at our ramp so you’ll have to tunnel–”
The damn bug sprints headfirst into the wall, not pausing as he hits. How that isn’t a grade A concussion is something I’ll never guess, but the roach is jogging through the earth, faster than a normal human can run. My thoughts turn to Kerrigan.
Who I find sitting against the nanofactory, helmet and chest plate open. Exposed to the radiation. A fact she seems to be unaware of. Since she’s sitting on top of the armor happily chomping away on ration packs.
“Saved you one Phena.” She says, her tail darting into the suit and retrieving a chocolate ration.
She’s changed. Her eyes were always purple, but now her ears stick out of her hair, long and pointed. Like a space elf’s. Stranger still, her skin is now a dark olive, as if she’s a peeled apple and oxidizing before my eyes. So many questions run through my mind that i activate the suit’s scanners, giving her a full sweep. Kerrigan’s skin darkens a shade and the results nearly make me facepalm. She doesn’t show up at all.
“Thanks Kerrigan.” I manage to say, kneeling in front of her.
After the day we’ve had, chocolate tastes amazing. Good enough I’m not bothered by the normal scents of trench warfare or the gutted engineers around us. We eat quietly. Not difficult considering my suit is the only electronic working within sensor range.
>Terran Thena: Hey, can you scan the person I’m next to? I need to know how bad her radiation poisoning is.
>Executrix Alaea: Someone picked up my interference. That EMP might have been for me…
>Terran Thena: You got my suit working easily enough. Don’t worry about it.
The words trouble me as I say them, Kerrigan is going to die over the next few days as her body falls apart. Skin will fall off in patches. Cells will divide incorrectly, creating cancer. Her hair will fall out, then her nails, probably the tip of her tail as well. I still have the flechette pistol, if it’s bad enough I might be able to end her misery.
Light blinks around Kerrigan engulfing her in an instant. Once more faster than I can blink.
“What was that?” Kerrigan asks, her jaw moving in a more humanlike way.
I give her another once over, noticing more than just her skin has changed. How could I have missed all these changes? She’s six inches taller, with dark scales forming over her ladyness. Smoothing everything out, almost like a mannequin.
>Executrix Alaea: DAMN TECHNO IDIOTS STOLE MY CAT!
The venom in Alaea’s message makes me jump.
“Ah! Oh, nothing, it was nothing Kerrigan, I’m just checking to see if you’re hurt.” I say.
>Matriarch Hygieia: Sad, no space cats for you.
>Terran Thena: Can you not scream in my mind please?
>Executrix Alaea: Did I just scan your Kerrigan?
>Terran Thena: uhh… yes? How bad is it? She’s a Technocracy bioweapon… right?
>Executrix Alaea: NO. She’s my cat! Those assholes stole my cat! Well, it’s not really a cat, kinda. More like a warmblooded tiger lizard thing that helps my race regulate our powers.
>Terran Thena: She doesn’t look like a catgirl… More like an elf mixed with a scorpion.
>Executrix Alaea: Radiation will heighten her mental emanations. She’s fine. I beamed out the vials of acid in her spine and skull. She won’t pop. Damn cyborgs. I’m going to have a word with father about them. Cat thieving is ENTIRELY UNACCEPTABLE!
“Uhm wow. You’re healthier than I am Kerrigan. The suit doesn’t actually help you…”
“How will I carry all thethes. Ahem, these, snacks.” She says, tongue accidentally separating her lower jaw.
What kind of alien cat could make a Kerrigan? I wonder, but decide to leave that thought alone. Opting to salvage everything we can from this bunker. Which isn’t much. The zerglings chewed through any portable guns, and none of the engineers were carrying a flechette pistol. Captured gear is less common this far back, but all their own tech is currently fried. So, for the first time since coming to this world, I relax.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
For now we are safe, isolated inside a bunker with food and a friend. Artillery shells land methodically, slowly dwindling as each Juggernaut is zeroed and destroyed with repeated strikes. Roach McRoachy manages to dig a tunnel to one Juggernaut and burn through the tank’s bottom, tearing into the entombed flesh and eating the pilot before artillery destroys their empty husk. A meal I’m more aware of than I would like to be. But our connection seems set, like a TV playing a channel that we can’t mute or turn off.
No matter, the Technocracy is out of gear, their Juggernauts destroyed and engineers crippled. They’ve lost the surface war of Syrak-9. I should wait here until Singularity forces arrive, that should give the Matriarch and Executrix time to get their resources sorted out. Then we can take down the Tulverians. One step closer to taking the planet. An idle thought occurs to me, what new faction came down with my reinforcement wave? The nameless caste always lets one ship land…
—
My last human memory was of me, naked in a tube filled with goo. Then Jim, the Singularity tax collector who plundered four billion people for their war machine, pressed a button and I felt no more. I could hear myself talking but all sensation was gone. I was no longer Athena Finley the college student on probation.
So… Who was I? My memories were hers, old corridors I re-explored as space ticked onward. Baz, Ashley, mom, dad, savannah. They were all present. In hindsight, it was hard to miss Dad’s cheating, harder still to miss the signs Baz showed. Always spending a bit too much time with my friends. Always arriving at my apartment an hour before I got home. The other girls must have known.
I sighed, hoping death would find them and I would never again have to see those four people again. Unfortunately, I’ll probably die in this sensationless cryotube. It would have been nice to meet my youngest simpling, or start a family with someone I love. But that’ll never happen-
Darkness suddenly filled my world, the sort of darkness that you see with closed eyes. Not total black because some light makes it through all lids. Sense returns. My face starts to regain feeling, warm humid air blowing across me. Sound comes next, creatures move, some hooved, some clawed. Grunts and squawks rattle around my head until I hear Jim speaking. Jim, that damn tax man.
“There ya go, all brainwaves rising. She’s coming too. Might even be awake already so be conscious of that. Oh, give her some time to adjust, from a human to–”
There is a pause, Jim is probably gesturing towards her. “Whatever you put her in will take some adjusting. Anyways, congrats on your own personal Matriarch. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
A raspy voice answers, somehow moist and sounding bitey, as if the speaker has a mouth with too many teeth or multiple jaws. Maybe even a split jaw. I exhale, thinking how ugly such a creature would be, as my own jaw splits into four jaws. I cock my head, neck feeling more weight than it has ever supported before. Something feels wrong, actually scratch that. EVERYTHING feels wrong. Taste returns, and my three tongues explore my mouth, categorizing each tooth with an ‘ouch’ factor. Or approximately how deeply each of these sawblades cut my tongues.
Three tongues? Savannah once brought home a boy with a split tongue, said he was great at kissing but not much else. Is that what i’ve become? A good kisser? I can’t feel my arms yet, but feeling is slowly creeping down my torso, I waggle my shoulders, discovering that my front assets have moved rearwards. Oh no. Someone’s turned me into a blow up doll, and they’re an ass guy. Why take away my tits! Then the feeling reaches my ribs. My chest isn’t just reduced, it’s totally flat, now covered in a smooth carapace. Hands regain feeling, these arn’t human limbs, thin muscular, and once more armored with chitin. More flexible too, I reach back to explore my backside and find a dorsal crest running down my spine, skin that keeps spikes protected. Venomous spikes, to kill predators. Or large prey.
On reflex my mouth begins to water, two of my four jaws clicking in front of my face. No, they aren’t jaws. I have mandibles, like an ant but sharp enough to crush power armor. I know because this body remembers tearing technomancy engineers apart, invading their world, tunneling beneath their cities and eradicating all human machines. More memory’s split my skull, flooding me with thoughts of who this body once was. A matriarch of the endless, a sort of experimental warlord within an organic army.
Experimental? Then it hits like a wrecking ball. The mental blocks. The endless only push forward, we conquer, never looking behind, never seeking our creators. It bores into my conscious like a thousand fireants, digging long after tears of blood drip down my cheeks. I weep. Losing sensation as I once again fall into a sleep.
Hours later I awake. Though it could be minutes for all I know. Green light fills my bedroom. Except the bedroom is a green pool of bioluminescent fluid, which tastes surprisingly delicious. Slightly sweet, with just enough salt to compliment the wonderously savory chunks of meat. Texture is underrated when it comes to food. There is something uniquely satisfying about sinking two jaws into a piece of meat and sheering it. Flesh resisting just enough to know it was once a formidable foe, before fangs touch their opposites, cleaving flesh.
I’m eating my enemies.
Was not expecting this today…
My eyes finally open, exiting the pool I somehow slept in, fully submerged. Which is how I realize this body isn’t remotely humanoid. More legs than I can count propel me out of the pool, not quite centipede, but more than six. Each limb bearing six joints. More flexibility than a slinky. Green liquid flows off my lower half, revealing an even greater change. As a Matriarch it is my duty and honor to bear the next generations of warriors and earn the name of endless. Four wombs are visible on my back, with creatures growing in each of them. Spawned from the biopool and my own genetic material with guidance from the marquis of survival, Zazathur.
I’m pregnant. With quadruplets.
“How did this even happen? I’m a virgin!” I grumble, the alien mouth mauling speech.
If I have to carry something to term, I should at least be able to enjoy a little sex! What the hell. Memories chide me, this body is a Matriarch, I’ve carried thousands of children in my perpetual war, and will bear many more. Four visible uteri are only the tip, I have twelve. Worse, I’m capable of selectively editing genetic material. My memories have no personality, instead they offer up information that should be relevant. There are no male Matriarchs. No need. We are capable of self insemination.
In short, only I get to fuck myself.
“Jim. What the hell.” I whisper, exploring my new body.
The closest thing imaginable to this is a Drider or Centaur fron Dungeons & Dragons, a game Baz and Ashley convinced me to play. It really wasn’t my thing, I had decided to play a shhy roque, the quiet type, while Ashley went with a moonlighting Bard so she could romance the NPCs. A game she soon aimed at Baz. How could I have missed that? Just how long were they going behind my back?
Sorrow translates into fear, and three prehensile stingers push out of sheathes glistening with lethal venoms. Roughly eighty two dorsal spines push out of skin sheathes, each an envenomed blade I can forceful eject towards enemies. Kinda like intentionally sharting death at mach speeds.
This body is actually pretty great. Potent, larger than a horse, or bull… No, those creatures are too small to compare, I’m more of a zerg Queen, the Wings of Liberty variant not the flying eyeball with buck teeth. Except I have four shoulders connected to my torso. Two ar small things, positioned where the human half of a centaur’s would be. Consequently pushing the other two arms down to my waist where the insectoid thorax with wombs meets my torso. There my arms are folded. Like a praying mantis with spear tips and serrated edges. I extend one, wincing as my human mind rewrites itself to this body. It’s as if my pinky finger is suddenly a complete arm and the limb shoots out, punching a six foot slash into the wall.
Mental chastisement grabs my neck, choking the life out of my brain. I have no idea where it is coming from,.
“WHY HARM ME?” It demands.
“Eck- so- sorry! Accident!” I gasp, all dozen of my limbs jerking awkwardly.
The force releases by body. I’m not sure if it intended to toss me, but the release flips me back into the biopool. Worker drones, creatures similar to ants appear and seal the gash in the ship, ignoring me.
Okay, lets not do that again. I think, slowly working through each muscle, stinger, limb, and inch of the new me. Which is when I see the first message.
>Executrix Alaea: Is someone there? I’m Athena…
I close my eyes, but the text remains. Weird, but I’m doing zerg yoga right now, may as well respond.
>Matriarch Hygieia: I’m Athena… Sorta. Last thing I remember was being pulled out of my body.
>Executrix Alaea: Matriarch Hygieia? Like, Hygieia Athena? Weird reference. But if you’re not human anymore… I guess that makes sense.
>Matriarch Hygieia: I’m not even close to human. Like a pregnant zerg queen. More armor, and twelve wombs I have to fuk myself.
>Executrix Alaea: Lol. wtf. That’s gross, not funny.
Blue light appears around me, a field of psychic power that pops in the same milisecd it forms. Or my senses are too slow to capture lightning.
>Executrix Alaea: WTF! I thought you were joking… Girl, i’m so sorry.
>Matriarch Hygieia: Relax, this body doesn’t seem to have a pity circuit. I make warriors. Simple as.
We spend hours talking, each subtly testing the other, suggesting false memories only for the other to correct us. There is no doubt, we are one being.
I pass the time weaving genetic strands together, incubating life not seen in this galaxy before. Though the psychic voice -the ship- only permits me one living specimen. A rule I do not attempt to break. Our mission is clear, a world with a forested half, beautiful and taller than Lothlorien, and the other half an irradiated husk. Dead, but we must fight to acquire Solarium. A rare mineral only found in the galactic core, deeper than ships can traverse safely. This world must have once been a rogue planet, somehow transiting the galactic core and being bombarded with the mineral hundreds of billions of years ago, before Earth was even dust.
Oh, that’s right. Earth, that’s home. I must take over this planet to save home. That is my deal with Jim. The price of mom’s safety.