---CASSIA HIPPOLYTA SUTLER, SCIENCE OFFICER OF THE GPA BATTLECRUISER LIONHEART POV
The sound of pursuit fades, and not long after, I precisely spot what I need. I race up a huge fallen tree trunk. My intent is to hide the egg at the top and then either race back down or jump off. I quickly place the egg. The egg is light, and I obviously didn’t grow super strong while running like I had thought. I doorknock on the shell to confirm the truth. The edges of a minor, jagged crack are glistening black with my blood.
Did my nanorobots eat the contents? Use the fluids within to repair my thigh and close my body wound?
It all makes sense now, maintaining my strength instead of tiring. I follow my plan and hide the egg in the open end of the hollowed log. Shortly after, I am on the run again, but not because of the sounds of their chase, which have gone silent. I want to make time to wade in a stream I know of and complete my recovery.
---
A wailing scream disturbs my water-induced peace. Female? The Matriarch? Birds scatter from their perches, their fluttering only marginally covering the heartbroken howl. The pain in her voice is real. Their chase must have found the egg. The Matriarch has now received the news.
Over the next few days, I played the long game. I would bait them with my sudden appearance, day, or night, and then run my naked bottom off. Splashing across streams to lose my scent and to heal my bare feet. I improved my night vision by force of will or wish until the difference between daylight and starlight was minimal.
Whenever they followed afterwards, I wounded one and ran from the rest. Then I circled back to finish him and recover my spear. I slew two this way and had to wait for the fourth wounding to ambush the ambushers. I am uncertain why they didn’t set this after the first loss.
---
“You are the last!” I shout across the clearing.
The Matriarch is slimmer than the males. As tall as them, I think.
“What monster are you?” she screams at me as she appears in the doorway of her sizeable wooden cottage.
“Your worst nightmare, who didn’t appreciate being hatchling food.”
She staggers out of the doorway as if wounded. I recognise the pain in her voice. “That was my daughter you destroyed, my heir. The She Slime would slay most females because she knew they were our future. And you only saw food!”
“What of the humans in the incubators? Don’t they have a right to live?”
She hisses, breathes, and hisses again. Laughter?
“They are meat. Half will live, why some have been pair survivors many times. The She Slime captured many humans. They would fall to her human enthralled so easily. She recognised Lizard Folk as the stronger of the two species and favoured us.”
“You were still under her control, though,” I snipe.
She hisses.
With each exchange of words, we draw closer. She carries no weapon or hope, while I hold a spear and a determination to survive. Would we hug when close enough?
“Puppets to her power. The humans were her cattle, unknowingly led to their slaughter. You knew! You knew a better existence could be possible. But as her servants, you were forever hers,” I say with venom.
Her hidden arms swing around, and in one clawed hand, she awkwardly grasps my small pistol and lets off a shot. I am glad I didn’t dodge; her shot was way off.
I charge her as she steadies her hand again to aim. Her hand waves around. She squeezes off another round. There is a sting in my chest, and my next step falters.
“Ha, green abomination, die!”
Recovering, I see the uncertainty in her eyes as I continue to close the distance. Another shot and another hit. The flesh of the shoulder this time.
I throw my spear and follow. She is lining up another shot, and her eyes go wide. Recovering, she flings her body to one side, and the spear flies past.
Climbing to her feet, my naked foot slams into her chin, snapping her head and body back. She tries to lift the gun, and my foot stomps down on her gun hand. A scream of pain. I am sure a knuckle breaks in the trigger guard of the pistol.
She hisses and claws with her free hand at my leg, leaving behind deep wounds as I bend down and rip the pistol from her fingers. The trigger guard shreds her leathery skin from the digit. She hisses and rakes her claws down my leg. I command my nanorobots to numb the pain as they heal, and the relief allows me to aim the gun at her head.
“Stop that now, as it hurts,” I say.
She draws her claws back. “Now what?”
My heel stomps on her throat and stays in place. Survival is my sole purpose, I remind myself. The claws on both of her hands reach for my calves and try to dig in. After a time, her resistance fades. I recover my spear and push the tip through an eye socket and into her brain.
I withdraw the spear and stare at my conquest. Am I the savage now? Have I forsaken my humanity? The former Science Officer of the GPA Battlecruiser Lionheart is now a hideous, green-skinned abomination.
---
I searched her cabin and recovered all that was mine before they captured me. As before, my overalls conceal my combat suit. I will need every advantage to survive, and foes underestimating my body protection is a useful edge.
The incubators contained similar contents: multiples of two humans nesting a Lizardman egg between them. After my ambushing of the Lizardmen, I thought it would be impossible for them to keep up the regular care and feeding. However, after checking, I determined each incubator has its own power. A feeding nozzle lowers on a regular schedule. The ‘juice’ provides fluid and a nutritious paste.
I can only assume The She Slime conceived and constructed this modification to the self-contained habitation units on the Battlecruiser as a favour to her Lizardmen. It is an all-care, low-maintenance solution.
There was a problem, of course. This world didn’t need a plague of humans rising from these ashes and drawing the attention of the GPA. They wouldn’t permit a former human, now hobgoblin, to want to use Shifter-engineered technology to return to a perfectly normal human body. If they didn’t want to study the technology themselves, they would probably destroy it. I can’t risk that happening.
I found what I needed in the third incubator unit. The first was an advanced microscope, and the second was a female and male incubating pairing. Using the microscope and my enhanced vision, I examined my blood and Lord Klar’s seed. His seed piggybacks on an altered nanorobot.
The scientist in me believes the only reason for that would be to design and then embed some pre-programmed functionalities. What does a successful birth need? A high conception rate; otherwise, everything is over before it begins. Efficiency? Use only a single seed? A healthy mother who can carry to full term and survive the birthing.
There was more, though. The altered nanorobot accepted commands and could, therefore, accept programming. I followed this line of scientific investigation by pure chance. Call it a benefit from having to listen to wife chatter. His wives on the shuttle flight freely discussed their Lord Klar’s control over contraception. He controlled when his seed would conceive, much to their present frustration.
---
With the incubator units sustaining the humans, I could prepare. I removed all the armour, weapons, and clothing from the Lizardmen and left them in the specific shelter where I found their corpse. To dispose of the Lizardmen’s bodies, including the Matriarch, I found the perfect place, a nearby ravine. Most of the shelters held a store of food, but where one was short, I redistributed from another. Next was the Matriarch’s cabin, which had a hall or meeting room at the front and a smaller bedroom or privacy area at the back. A solid wooden wall with a stitched hide door separated the two. I shifted two tables into the bedroom.
The buttons on the panel matched the number of hooks in the incubator. The hook lowered, and instead of standing on their feet, the male and female bent their legs at the knee and hung on. I cut the chest rope first and eased the Lizardman egg from between them. With the egg removed, the hip rope fell to the floor. As quickly as I thought I should destroy the egg, my nanorobots ‘spoke to me’. These are not words; they are more of a subtle influence or want. So, I set the egg safety aside. Unhooking the female first, I leave the wrist binding on and loop her arms around my neck. I do the same for the male. With an arm around each of their waists, their weight is nothing, and we leave the incubator unit.
Once inside the Matriarch’s cabin, I place the naked male and female on separate tables in the bedroom.
The male received by mouth a drop of my blood containing my nanorobots. These I commanded to sterilise their host and, as compensation, neutralise any disease or infection. Once done, they would flip dormant until I needed to command them again.
The female received via a vaginal examination a drop of my blood containing my nanorobots and several of Lord Klar’s seed. Even without medical training, I felt the odds were good that implanting his seed in a human womb would result in conception. I commanded my dose of nanorobots to ensure success and, as compensation, they would protect the host from disease or infection.
I arrived at my solution after much guilt-ridden contemplation. Why do this to these survivors? I considered their lives mine. Without my intervention, they would have died, if not immediately, later when the Lizardmen continued to use them as incubators. While I wanted to kill them all, I couldn’t bring myself to and hope to keep what little remained of my humanity. At substantial risk, I allowed this generation to live, banking on the GPA, being too busy elsewhere to discover this survivor generation of human contamination on this planet and investigate.
No more humans on this planet were an absolute. But if I died before returning to a human body, half-humans or half-hobgoblins, if possible, would be my legacy to this world. The scientist in me also wondered if humans could carry a half-hobgoblin to term.
My two patients regain consciousness by dribbling water into their mouths while under the influence of my nanorobots. I assist them off their tables and lead them to the closest roof-only shelter. With my help, the previous occupants had thoughtfully left them a water gourd and a selection of fruit, root vegetables, and dried meat.
I continued with the male and female pairs. The ninth pair was the last.
Returning to the cabin after delivering the ninth pair to a shelter, the first couple of pairs waited for me inside.
“What are you?” the first male asks.
I cock an eyebrow and shake my head.
“Didn’t you understand his words, miss monster?” asks the second male.
“Names?” I ask.
“You first,” barks stupid number one.
A female comes forward between us. “He is Barnabas.” She points to Stupid One. “He is Aridus.” She points to the second male.
“I am Septima,” interrupts the second female.
The first female places a hand briefly on her chest. “I am Galla, and I am certain we all thank you for rescuing us. Am I right?” She looks at each of them until they reluctantly wave or nod back.
I don’t give them my human name, but an abbreviation like Tinuna has adopted. There is no point associating a human name with an abomination, especially since I want to reclaim a human body in the future.
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“I am known as Cahisu and called a hobgoblin in this world. And you are welcome.”
“Why?” asks Septima. “You aren’t human. What are we to you?”
“I was their prisoner.” I shrug. “It was a tough decision because I had never seen your race before and didn’t know how you would react. I took a chance.”
“Can we help?” asks Galla. There is a respectful tone in her voice.
I smile, but I don’t think they take it as welcoming. They withdraw slightly. “I intend to leave as soon as possible, so you must grow stronger quickly. Food and water are your priorities. The Lizardmen left behind some, but when you can, you need to forage and hunt.”
“What will you be doing?” asks Septima.
“I will continue to free the others, although I ask you not to destroy the Lizardmen’s eggs. I would like to examine them and see if they have any value. If nothing else, they may be an excellent food source.”
The females shy away, their faces screwing up in disgust. All the males laugh.
---
Over the next several days, I free and treat the remaining females. With four to every shelter, the humans have simply replaced the Lizardmen. There is a well-worn Lizardmen track to a waterfall at the back of the clearing for water and bathing. Other paths lead to fruit trees and native vegetables. Some humans are agriculturalists, many are science types, while others are chefs, waiters, and porters. I learnt one ship boarded by The She Slime was a Passenger Cruise Ship.
After observing and eavesdropping, I learnt that all the survivors are non-combatants. For example, none effectively wield the Lizardmen’s spears except to pick them up and pretend to stab. Fortunately, crop plantings shortly cover the clearing. Most are between twenty and middle thirties in age. It seems like The She Slime selected a ‘type’.
---
Satisfied the survivors took their survival seriously, I spent more time investigating the Incubation Units. There was a control panel on the outside, for example. Dead until I swiped my battlecruiser identification. I then made the mistake of pressing the ‘Preparation’ button. The solar panels packed themselves away, and then the top half of the Incubator Unit descended onto the bottom half. The intervening wall disappeared equally into both halves. A three-metre overall height reduced to just under two metres. A perfect fit for a Cargo Shuttle. The ‘Anti-Grav’ button then flashed at me.
There were no windows in this configuration, and you needed identification to gain access. This is how the Lizardmen loaded them into the Shuttle and why no one questioned the fact humans were inside incubating Lizardmen’s eggs. Fortunately, the ‘Deployment’ button also lights up, and I press it. The intervening wall splits the two halves apart until both halves lock. The solar panels once again deploy.
---
My nanorobots call to me. I gather Lizardman eggs around me in a semicircle. After a couple of uncomfortable starts, I work out a satisfactory seating arrangement and routine. Lounging back in the sole chair in the Incubator Unit, I place a hand on a different nearby egg. My blood seeps through the pores of my skin, and once through the shell, the goodness they feed on hits me like a blissful drug.
They are moisture and food in one. The first discovery is that the number of nanorobots within me grows, roughly one or two per egg consumed. The second discovery is that I developed a preference for meat. While it is not required to sustain myself, the urge becomes annoying. It is not until I hunt and eat that it diminishes.
Moving to the second Incubation Unit, my thoughts turn to his seed. What would they, if anything, add to nanorobot spawning? Linmere, while rejecting her hobgoblin form, mentioned Tinuna’s insistence on consuming his seed. The multiple tubes of his seed were a burden on many levels. The need to carry them safely, decide when to use them for conception, and finally, when and if I should consume them. Were they a prize or a curse?
---
“What is happening to you?”
His voice penetrates my deep slumber. I imagine my current state is like a bear in hibernation as my consciousness slowly slides to awareness.
My eyelids refuse to open, and I use my fingers to clear a weight on them.
My fingers are black with sludge, hands are as well.
“Your face, hands, and feet are the same. It looks like someone has squeezed you, and a thick black slime has oozed out of your extremities.”
No, I say to myself. My combat suit has prevented me from oozing from everywhere. My calmness is because I know why. I consumed his seed while feeding from two fresh Lizardman eggs, and my body is throbbing with strength and vitality.
---
“Why do you spy on me?”
There is always one who lingers. I commanded the few bathing and washing clothes in the waterfall and runoff stream to leave. My disgusting ooze-covered appearance encouraged compliance as much as my growling voice.
“I am a scientist, and you are unique.” Her voice is low, mousy.
“If you stay on this planet long enough, you will discover many more of me.” I had cleaned myself off and waited for any other additional ooze, so I was good to leave. My lab coat was a loss unless I wanted to wear it with black ooze-stained cuffs and a collar. I would need to wear my combat suit openly until I found another lab coat.
There is a splash. The human female, arm in the air, one hand holding an unrecognisable scientific instrument, wades towards me.
“Do you really think this is the time or place?” I grouse.
“We are alone, and the instrument works best with direct skin contact. Also, my being naked shouldn’t bother you as you rescued us the same way.”
Raven black hair, shoulder-length, skims across the water. Two thin black eyebrows, once thick, possibly mono, and currently well-trained. High cheekbones. Tiny nose, although her beating nostrils and rising heartbeat reveal something more than she admits.
She places the instrument on the naked flesh between my breasts. The pounding of her heartbeat is clear and loud. The rhythm increases in pace.
“What wonderful readings…” A small cry rings out from between her lips.
The scent of her iron-rich red blood almost overwhelms me. My two hands on her shoulders steady her body as my teeth and tusks puncture ever deeper into her throat. My need for human flesh and blood incrementally subsides as I consume this fresh kill.
The Lizardman eggs. There is some primordial need for them to consume flesh and blood on hatching. I have somehow absorbed this fetish.
I throw this human corpse into the bubbling water of the waterfall. Her blood is no longer fresh.
I know where there are others.
---ZOROTTOR BLACK TOOTH, CHIEF OF OATH KEEPER GOBLINS POV
My two Black Tooth originals keep me company around the low campfire. Deep in the dark, old-growth forest at the entrance to Hobgoblin Valley, I declared the risk of detection small. Some others crumbled, and typically, I wouldn’t have heard them. Goblins know how to remain unheard when in the company of other goblins, yet I heard them.
Shadows from those around the campfire wave and flutter over our prisoner. He is bound around the wrists and ankles, and we have also tied him to a medium girth tree. Safe and sound.
He isn’t a priestess, but his blood must still contain their secret. The secret of Lord Klug’s blood. What I once feared, I knew I could now embrace. How I wish we captured the priestess instead.
I climb to my feet and stroll over to confront our hobgoblin prisoner. Standing before the sitting hobgoblin, I feel a sense of power over him. His eyes close as he turns away, and I lean forward, intent on whispering into his ear.
A sharp pain stabs at my neck. Then I feel them. Invading nanorobots. He directs them, ordering them even. I linger.
When I believe I have welcomed as many as I hope I can handle, my dagger point is under his throat, pushing his jaws away. His triumphant, bloody smile greets me as I take a step back.
He programs his for destruction, but my nanorobots convince them otherwise. His trick should have succeeded. I see fear grow in his eyes after witnessing my recovery. My passive, inactive, and certainly weaker Oath Keeper nanorobots would have fallen. Not now, though. Former priestess nanorobots had become mine. With their strength and my will to succeed, I shortly after recruited his nanorobots.
I reach for a waterskin and take multiple sips while eyeing our prisoner and encouraging my nanorobots to heal my neck. I assumed my blood would be Klugite lineage, yet the more accurate description would be not Oath Keeper lineage. Only the services of a crone could identify my changed blood for sure, I reasoned.
During the repair of my neck, I realised my blood now supports three versions of nanorobots. The priestess nanorobots conversion of my original nanorobots didn’t result in exact duplicates. They were slightly stronger yet still weaker than the prisoner’s nanorobots—something so obvious now, yet not so obvious when her nanorobots dominated.
Several of my original nanorobots, even though stronger, ended. The remaining nanorobots devoured them. Acceptable losses. Shortly after, one or two of the priestess nanorobots also ended.
Turning away from the prisoner to stare into the campfire, a reality struck me. My nanorobots couldn’t increase in numbers to replace the spent ones, only decline. This includes my former original nanorobots, but I was not truly aware of this happening at all. It must have been because of the significant number in my bloodstream at my age and their inactivity.
Will I need to keep capturing and slaying Klugite priestesses to replace the stronger nanorobots? Will the same go for the prisoner? What of my original nanorobots? Could I simply drink the blood of some of my troop’s goblins and not have the priestess’ nanorobots convert them in the hope they will then regenerate after any losses? Or were their numbers high because Oath Keepers kept them in hibernation until required?
Will my two Black Tooth originals be competitors for the same nanorobot renewal as me?
---
As we decamp at dawn, I finally reach a decision.
Resting a hand on the shoulder of one I believe I can trust; I issue a fateful order.
“I give you command of the troop. Take the prisoner to the High Priestess without me. I believe it is my duty to capture a Klugite Priestess or die trying.”
There is the usual murmuring, of course, and my two originals immediately volunteer to escort me. I, of course, begrudgingly accept. I counted on them to volunteer. They needed to volunteer instead of being commanded to allay any suspicion that this separation was some sort of Black Tooth ploy. Like me, my two originals kept to themselves, spoke only when spoken to and shared no stories around the campfire.
All the others in our troop don’t recognise us as one of them anymore. Their furtive glances and the hushed chat between them were an obvious giveaway. Now, as they leave, many look over their shoulders with relief on their faces.
---TINUNA, SHIFTER OF THE GPA OBSERVER SHIP POV
Humans have a silly survival rule, which goes something like three minutes without air, three hours in a hot or cold environment, three days without water and three weeks without food. Fortunately, the Shifter spirit in a Hobgoblin body with plentiful nanorobots in their blood defies such limitations. This is fortunate because the days and nights taken to explore false tunnels in our quest for freedom from the mountain were unnumbered. My blood sustained the Crone, ignoring her protests. Many a time, I would leave her to rest at a tunnel junction, only to return with disappointment.
Success, though, was subtle. Piercings of starlight through the infravision haze. This hope drew me closer. With the removal of small rocks and then larger ones, I made an opening. Squeezing through, a fresh chill breeze on my face greeted me. Relief and joy filled my heart as I took step after step on the top of this mountain instead of within. I never appreciated the stars’ light in the night sky as I do now.
She latches on to one of my legs. I hear her sobbing. I feel her chest hitching.
“Forgive my doubt, great one.”
My hand tousles her hair. “Stand and breathe in your freedom, for we renew my vengeance at dawn.”
---
My head rests on a rock outcrop near the entrance of our escape tunnel. The Crone sleeps within the shelter of the entrance to escape the chill wind. Her steady breathing comforting me as much as for her, I suspect.
I study the stars in the night sky, searching for the exception. I know once, a long time ago, the Observation Ship orbited above this planet in a steady, self-correcting geostationary position. Unfortunately, fuel for the micro-jets is now exhausted, so perfection will slowly slip into decay. Until then, the Ship will be my tool of destruction.
I am rewarded for my patience as, finally, my eyes trace reflected light from this solar system’s sun instead of light from a distant star. With my tool insight and the light bridge for guidance, my mind reconnects with my presence in the Observation Ship. I am whole once again.
The night hours flow swiftly as I prepare the ultimate weapon against the High Priestess of Klug. The sensor array will randomly beam down instructions to all nanorobots within the Klugite Town and its surroundings for as long as possible. They will drain the flesh of their host of water.
While appreciating my effort, I detect the feeble attempts of another to insinuate themselves into my control and command circuits. Secondary ones, yes… a shuttle. On request, the Shuttle reports its position, planet surface, far north, and coordinates.
With ease, I deflect another attempt to penetrate the Shuttle’s control and command circuits. This avenue of attack lends itself to automatic detection and closure. As the sameness now bores me, I program a countermeasure to prevent future attempts.
My challenger can only be another shifter. The only other shifter I know is Linmere, or Linia Clymere Virgoe, the Assessor onboard the GPS Scout Ship. She was the one I chose to be Lord Klug’s wife and mate. The one who, like a small-minded fool, refused. I should have realised her independent streak as soon as I learnt her hobgoblin name. She couldn’t even use the first two letters of her human name.
---
Wow, such determination! I slam down that possibility swiftly. Again, this game is fun, especially since Linmere doesn’t conceal any emotion. Desperation, fear of failure, and the promise of reward slipping away are all present in abundance. She strives to grant access to someone else. Odd. This explains the promise of reward to some degree, I suppose. Has Linmere, now condemned to a hobgoblin body, embraced the future she once spurned?
I could open a communication channel for her so we could chat. I could also demand a sample of her blood via the Shuttle’s medical system to check a theory. Her last attempt was brute force, drawing on, for lack of a better terminology, magic. Lord Klug could be the only source or catalyst, as I predicted.
Did I want to be proved right, or did I want to be rewarded by Lord Klug? A reward that Linmere was so desperate to secure. I smile to myself as I complete the final touches of my plan.
“It is good to see you smile with such joy, High Priestess,” says my Crone as the first rays of morning light break above the far distant western mountains.
“It is good to see you up and about,” I reply. “If it is not too much trouble, tell me about lineage and blood tasting.”
She doesn’t immediately answer. I suspect food and water are higher on her list, yet I am her protector.
“Yes, Priestess.” Her voice is neutral and, in the circumstances, proof of her self-control. “Right. Blood testing to determine linage. Well, some blood is easy to read. Aggressive. Other blood, especially Oath Keeper, is distinct because it is gentle, almost calm. This calmness is almost always a giveaway of identifying its presence.”
“Aggressive?” I ask.
She bobs her head. “Klugite blood, my Priestess.”
I wave my hand for her to continue.
“Some blood, though, is simply blood without a distinct taste. Crones accept that some tribes have interbred too much, either willingly or because of kidnapping and/or slave-taking, which destroys any significant lineage. But this is also a trap. A crone must develop their sense of taste to detect subtle differences, especially to pick out a lineage from interbred blood or where the blood contains more than one lineage.”
“Are there many with no lineage?”
“Few, they tend to be groups of wanderers, their lack of lineage binding them. A tribe with lineage would eventually lose that if they allowed those with a non-lineage to settle amongst them.”
“Anything else?” I ask.
“Some Crones say a sense of smell is also important. None of them can explain why. They simply say that smell can sway the determination when taste cannot discern blood lineage differences.”
“What do you say?”
“A Crone should taste as much blood as she can, so when the determination of lineage is important, you have as many as possible to draw from.”
Yes, I agree, and in fact, I will ensure that all who I meet submit a blood sample first. I climb to my feet and point to a spot further along our mountain ridge.
“Is there game there, Priestess?”
“Perhaps,” I reply. “There is nothing here to eat.”
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