My split jaw saves me from an offensive smile.

“Never forget my place. The Endless will take the planet.” I say.

Before another thought enters our brains an overwhelming precedence joins the link.

Fleetmind: All ships detach. Landing team, take the planet.

Matriarchs are already in their pods alongside their broods. Battle plans, troop deployments and spawning orders fill my mind not caring how I felt about the omniscient presence. We had a mission. All seems accounted for, except projected casualties for landfall. Zazathur’s estimation is ninety percent survival. Impossible, the Singularity alone is projected to shoot down twenty percent of our drop pods. Innaccuracy shouldn’t be possible within a hive mind, if anyone lies it’ll be detected immediately and we can’t forget that ninety nine percent of the Collective’s brains are smaller than peanuts and lack any ability to invent a lie.

“These reports are overly optimistic. To land with this few casualties we’d have to take effectively zero fire from the ground. What are you not telling me Hygieia?”

I keep my face emotionless, a surprisingly easy feat given the amount of chitin covering it.

The orbital topography is valuable, and as I speak I mentally copy paste the information to Panoptes and Apollo.

>Terran Apollo: This is gold. We know the exact locations of every fortress and bunker! Hell yeah!

At least thirty seven fortresses stand each with enough anti ship batteries to cut our bioship in half then slice and dice into a hundred pieces. A flawed plan.

“I’m not a strategist. Rearrange as you please.” She rasps, turning and half slithering half gliding into my pod.

She claw-delivered these orders for a reason. We are both part of the hive mind so this face to face meeting could have been a sort of psychic email, but she came in person. Our pod begins to warm, entering the atmosphere

I begin to formulate my own drop, one that prioritizes arriving in one piece and not subatomic particles. We only have time for small adjustments. I scramble to surround myself in chaff pods, scattering them near the Azhurai Conglomerate’s fortress, a truly marvelous structure of crystal that must have taken thousands of years to grow.

Unlike the other factions they do not attack, opting to entrench themselves deeper with each supply ship. An expected tactic from one of the oldest known species in the galaxy. Patience is more than a virtue to them, it is the core of their being.

Interestingly enough our plan involves landing near them, then retreating. Possibly a feint aimed at deceiving the other races, after all there is no logic in burning power cells when you can force an opponent to burn theirs.

Still, it troubles me. The Azhurai are known to have centuries of weapons and anti ship batteries in place. They are one of the progenitor seeded, those who live for thousands of years. On a whim I contact Ardain.

Zazathur: Your position is close to our proposed hive location. Care to switch?

Ardain: Ah, a prudent recommendation. Indeed, let us switch landings.

She pulls up proposed trajectories and recommends a revision. It’s sloppy and kinda slow, with lots of noticeable pauses and bursts of speed. I frown, this isn’t how a wise member of the Collective should plan.

Zazathur: Too many course corrections. Any observer will believe we are a piloted craft and not a chaff pod. Go straight to ground.

Ardain: Excellent plan. Corrections made.

Confusion fills my mind. She is so agreeable yet independent. As if she is someone pretending to be-

-me.

“Hey, was Ardain reincarnated recently?” I say, asking Hygieia.

“She was on Tarsidium with you, both your bodies were destroyed and had to be reincarnated by myself.” She answers.

The ship bucks, receiving its first blast from Tulverian pulse cannons. Technocracy batteries hit us three times in quick succession all shots fired at a single point.

My heart begins to race, they’ve cracked the outer hull. The ship rotates. Chaff pods are jettisoned while in high orbit. With limited fuel and a long decent enemy sensors will be able to distinguish subtle differences between the pods and pick off the genuine articles. Not even one minute later Matriarch Krohith’s line goes silent. Sensors indicate she was cut in half by a single Azhurai shot. Such a lucky shot.

Around us the biopool’s liquid heats, congealing into a thick gel meant to cushion our impact. Or a glue so our remains stick together, that way survivors can reclaim our biomass more easily. Zazathur and I expand our limbs, in the sort of hug I expect spiders to share. Ick.

My pod lurches. All pods burst away from the ship. Too early. This isn’t the plan! An energy beam bright enough to carve lines through the biopod’s chitin illuminates the sky like lightning. We hear the rumbling thunder as Shipmind explodes, the ship cut in half by an Azhurai supercannon.

That’s their second decapitating shot.

Stolen story; please report.

“We didn’t ally with the Azhurai… Right?” I hiss into Hygieia’s ear. Gel muffling my anger.

While the biopool fluid is oxygenated the gell feels like inhaling liquified horseshoes. Or Elmer’s glue. We’re plummeting through atmosphere. Pods jenk and tremble or blaze ahead, each on preset trajectories. As biological creatures we cannot use chaff in the conventional sense, there are no clouds of metal winged flies, or creatures that fire flamethrowers. Instead we rely upon smooth carapace and pods full of raw materials to cover our entry.

Across Singularity territory artillery begins to aim up, energy batteries are wheeled into position for their monthly battle. Tulverian pulse cannons vaporize three pods in a single shot, carving a hole into the decapitated bioship. Casualties exceed ten percent in seconds. Yet none of the Collective panic, its an impressive level of stoicism. No emotional response whatsoever.

Hygieia braces. “Azhurai conglomerate is our primary ally. With the Novan Technomancy of Steel acting as a support contractor.” Her voice is a low whisper, finally sounding hydrated through the saturation of gel.

Pop

More pods explode, blown into dust by Technocracy missiles. Those damn Juggernauts will kill half the pods!-

-Tingles run across by brain wrinkles. Radiating across my entire body. Silence.

Terran Athena’s conversation with Alaea shows exactly why we allied ourselves. What our spent biomass has purchased. A continent wide electromagnetic pulse; and a knife in the back.

Azhurai supercannon speaks again, cutting the hive ship in half along its length. Shielding and armor are both defeated entirely, with a two mile descent. It’ll take years to recover that scattered biomass, we’ll have to create slugs to eat dirt and differentiate between protein and astrolith.

Four pods in my escort explode. Including the pod nearest my original trajectory. Another Matriarch dies. That isn’t right, if we’re allied they shouldn’t be targeting my step-sisters directly, not with the hundreds of other pods falling from the sky. Gel dampens vibrations, giving us a generally smooth ride. A sort of motile hibernation that will get all of us killed. I reach out to the hive, warning them.

“We’ve been betrayed, accelerate the drop. Get us down!”

Six Matriarchs raise queries. Only six left. Half our commanders gone. One disappears from the hive mind as her drop pod becomes one with the atmosphere.

“Drop faster!” I scream.

This time there is no deliberation, no delay. All pods contract, pulling chitinous flaps inward to decrease atmospheric drag. The others are aware of the danger and maneuver pods into the line of fire. Bioforms can be remade, but a Matriarch is a complex being, without Zazathur, an existing Matriarch, and a hive cluster, no true reincarnations can occur.

Four Azhurai cannons combine their firepower drilling a hole no wider than a german shepherd through six pods. Another step-sister burns. Her head annihilated with accuracy bordering on precognition. Like a doctor lasering a wart. Precision fire of that magnitude reveals the master plan. Our alliance is and always was a sham. We’re dog soldiers, about to become an environmental hazard.

This displeases the hive mind, the first great displeasure it has felt in five thousand years. There was no need for this betrayal. We’ve been robbed! In milliseconds the hive mind connects to another of its kind, the only one who can barter faster than Planck’s Constant. I feel a deal being struck with the Novan Technomancy of Steel. They have nothing left to lose. The EMP cripled them, as has Apollo’s vendetta.

But one more destroyer lost is a worthy exchange for the corridor of worlds offered. A century long truce in exchange for one Technocracy battlesphere. Sanctions will sting, but I detect the nuclear launch.

Eighteen missiles launch. All bearing the distinct nuclear signal.

Damn Apollo, you pissed these guys off so bad they were prepped and ready to nuke our asses.

Silently I applaud him. Proud of myself. The nameless caste act a moment too late. Granting fire permission just as the first missile enters the atmosphere. Of the thousand ships in orbit, over nine hundred fire upon the battlesphere. A second sun appears in the skies above Syrak-9, blinding defensive batteries that could have shot down the remaining missiles.

Psionic energies ripple through the universe. One of the nameless is intervening directly. Time halts, flowing in reverse for several seconds.

Our Collective shatters, bioforms driven mad as a schism rends us from the rest of the whole. Minor adjustments are made to the past. Only eight hundred ships fire at the battlesphere while a hundred intercept the nuclear warheads. Father time reasserts his dominance and breaks free of the nameless psionic. The reversed seconds fast forward, Steak-9 experiencing one minute within three seconds as the galaxy returns to normal.

My brain shudders. Able to comprehend the strength of the -nameless- now that I have witnessed it firsthand. Did Kaalra do this? Though I still do not believe it. The power to reverse time with a mere thought. What the fuck? This isn’t strong, it’s godly. Worse, I know of only two -nameless- monitoring this system. Exec Kaalra, and Praetorian Panoptes.

Before I can shout at him I’m slammed into the pod’s floor. It alters shape once more, this time flaring open for maximum drag like an umbrella. Azhurai target locks swing wide firing every megawatt and phased particle they have at the oncoming nuke. But it’s too late.

White light illuminates the inside of my eyelids. Shockwaves ripple through my pod. I cling to the Matriarch and wait for the end.

And wait.

We impact the ground. Chitin shatters. Gel does its job, venting pressure out of specially designed ports evolved over trillions of iterative splats. Green goo squirts in geysers to redirect the force of collision and we are left on the surface. Alive. Although I feel as though sledgehammers hit every part of my armor at once.

I glance back towards the nuke, to see an energy shield with an inverse circumference to the planet containing the blast. It’s a hard blue, more evidence of the -nameless- caste.

“Dig!” I order, pushing Zazathur away.

We scramble into the dirt, claws and limbs moving earth like our lives depend on it. Not five seconds later I see what remains of Shipmind. Little more than a chitinous dart plows a hundred meters into the earth, screaming as heat bends the hull.

Then an overwhelming stillness settles. I can no longer sense a reassuring tingle at the base of my mind. Nor does a Matriarch answer my call. We’ve been cut off.

Without Matriarchs the endless multitude becomes feral, scattering to the four winds in order to satiate their basal needs. Shelter, food, water. Warriors are now meat for the galactic grinder. A war-hazard on a cursed world. Within minutes of our landing, the alliance is in shambles.

I should be upset, but then a seething rage settles in.

>Straingineer Zazathur: Apollo, I need to kill the Azhurai.

>Terran Apollo: …

>Terran Apollo: I’m still mad about spiderman. Really, what the shit?

>Terran Apollo: But… I feel ya. Take Syrak-9.

I know what she is asking and smile at the simple mantra, completing our -now unified- mission.

>Straingineer Zazathur: Save Earth.

No hive mind can stop us now.

>Terran Apollo: Guess this means I’ve unlocked the hatchery. Welcome to the war.