They waited outside the over-pod. And so I entered, and She Who Remembers reached out, I responded.

But the moment we connected I felt fear and uncertainty. Why is she so afraid? She sends memories of war, feelings. The experience of being ripped appears. Of fighting, of losing.

But I shall not fight, I am creating tools... My thoughts are interrupted. Not her memories from those close. From allies, and even the last ones recorded by enemies. To create truly effective tools of war one must understand both sides of the experience, both sides of the conflict.

And yet. She does not want another to become one willing to see kill the enemy after seeing them as something else. I will become their killer, I will be given some of their memories as payment. Some of what makes them what they are.

And... I am too fragile I may break.

But if I don't fight, then other hive members' deaths are on my hand. The corruption must go somewhere.

To do that I must become He Who Creates Tools Of War. No, He Who Creates The Wings Of War. Ur-Im would not survive it.

We split apart, and I consider our thoughts. Yet I can create wings, a role a purpose, something to be. I will find a way, but I must do it.

So I gather my shards. I collect my pod. I look back. Reach out to her one last time. Gratitude. But I must be off.

And so I am.

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The one we are moving exists the over-pod. He carries a few shards a net of materials and his own personal pod. Delicately we take and wrap the shards and materials. The workers get into position, gripping his pod from the outside and we start carrying him off.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

It is speed, and he reaches out to me. Inquiry, Wim, She Who Flies.

She is in stupor, recovering.

Inquiry, sail-glider.

It has been damaged. Its use unknowable.

Inquiry, Location.

I reach back so that I can better share it with him, I am He Who Knows Where things are after all. We come when the vibration is sent up the net. And we find you the needed location.

He returns Gratitude. And the sendings end.

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They move me to a larger over-pod. There are others there and the bodies of sharks around. They guide me to a corner where I can put my pod, a closed path where to store my more personal memories. It is still accessible from the rest of the pod. But we do not intrude on the memories of others. It Is Not Done.

I feel embarrassed at the thoughts the doubts. It seems to have hurt them even to consider it. So I return my attention to the rest of the over-pod. There are others here, there is food to be eaten, this work is important to the war and must be completed as soon as possible.

I reach out to one of the others here. He returns and presents himself as Hwib, a compression of the thoughts, He Who Processes Beasts.

They have been working on the sail-glider. Trying to create more, in case the original creator had not the memories when he wakes from stupor.

I am the one and I have awoken, He hands me a shard, and I inscribe unto it the memories of the creation, the materials needed, and I project to him elements of the experience.

He struggles to understand some of it, but he knows what must be done for now.

He presents me to the others:

Twit - He Who Creates Stronger Strings.

Hwir - He Who once Created Traps.

Hlit...

Creb.

And others, Alas I cannot remember, I begin on the process of production, using their help, and helping them begin of their own.

I end up in the position of an organizer almost. One who best understands the functions of the world that allow this to work. He Who Has A Complete memory of the Sail-Gliders. But most importantly, Hwir-Im. He Who Creates Wings of War. And at some point I hope they understand what that means.