He wanted to think. He needed time, space, separation, to fully delve into the meaning behind what had been discovered. These, the final stretch of the birthing chambers, rife with the smell of young and chitin so supple it could yet be seen almost clear through, were not where he wanted, needed, to be. Walls curved inwards, directing the sickly-sweet scents which rose from the beds back down to the masses. Suffocating closeness, the usual joys of connection made terrifying to any outsider, to the smallest of divergences. This was the last place someone like Chkervthnaakt should have been. The attendants carried heaping legsful of the stuff beneath them, yet through the abject terror rooting his own legs to the raised platform like a goldenbough in the monsoon, all Chkervthnaakt wanted was to think.

<”Listen to this, listen, thinker;”> This was the last place he wanted to be. And this was the last being he wished to be there with. The Pod, as the humanites put it, refused to shut up. <”‘Doctor Jennifer Dulac. Your latest submission to the König Institute has caused equal parts excitement and disparagement, as the information you have provided demonstrates equal parts erudition and deviation from agreed-upon protocols.’”> She stood alongside him, or rather, paced a track so wide his eyes could barely follow it, but the thinker was barely listening. He had not burst into flames. Been struck deaf to the unity, or found his desires torn from those of the Queen. He felt…no different. <”’Though your expertise lies far outside the focus of this think tank, few here are denying the value of this most recent report from your station on Dracan. Specifically, on the inner workings of caste structure related to the crossbreeding of species despite non-genus taxonomy.’ Unbelievable, right?”>

“It is quite unbelievable.” But feeling the same, that opened entirely new links. He had lied. Knowingly. Had just done it again; there was nothing unbelievable about thinkers mocking one of their own. He was, by all definitions, frenzied. If there was no new sensation, no new indication, however, did it mean he had already been frenzied long before this point? Or was the definition of ‘frenzy’, as well as its hallmarks, now called into question?

<”We hand them the most comprehensive study they’ve probably got on you stealing genes/traits from the animals…ah, ‘fauna’,”> Another correction. Her attempts to an accurate vernacular were routed by her ignorance. Was that it, perhaps? <”And still, they can’t even bring themselves to offer a damn compliment without making it backhanded.”> That they simply lacked the information needed on frenzy to properly classify it, all this time? <”Yahhta yahhta, more insults, more praise…here it is. ‘But given the sudden surge of this data from you, it is clear you have found a way to secure the cooperation of the formites you are attached to. This despite the standing directive on K-H-13 to avoid direct interference which could taint research outcomes. While we are willing to accept continued information from you, my colleagues and I strongly urge and request you put us in contact with these cooperative elements, that the most professional and experienced minds of the empire could benefit directly from-‘, just so rutting unbelievable!”> Light which had illuminated the Pod’s emerald eyes and knit brow was deactivated, the tap-pad stowed and tucked back into her pocket. <”Same line! The same line they used on me the first time, and, what, I’m supposed to fall for it again!?”>

“You are referring, again, to the events which occurred following our transit to Dracan. Again?”

<”’Let the experts handle it’, that’s what they said. That’s what they told me when that pompous posterior on the Palamedes got picked to stay with Chevva-Colony on K-H.”> Tens of nursery drones jittered and skritched their claws along the grooves of the canal system, the opened pipes and troughs dug into the cavern through which the pupae’s excretions flowed, at the casual mockery made of the Slough Queen’s name. The Thinker calmed it with truth and clarity. The Pod was not malicious, the Pod was just stupid. <”Promised me that my work, my building of the Bands, facilitating the first communication with an alien species, would be recorded and remembered forever. Then when the first reports go to the desk of the Emperor himself, where’s my name?”>

“Page eight hundred and seventy-“

<”Page eight hundred and seventy-six! Two sentences, recognizing my ‘Quick thinking in applying existing technology to the problem’, allowing the REAL scientists to get to work on the IMPORTANT things!”>

“Though none were intelligent enough to do as you did, in extending your leg and joining as one with the music of a colony.” Perhaps those frenzied in the wild were purged too quickly, never given the chance to reintegrate for fear of the madness spreading. Fear of the taint spreading to the rest of the composition. Chkervthnaakt did not feel tainted, but again, that just took him right back to the first issue all over again.

<”More likely it’s as Doctor Cass said in this transmit, and nobody is being allowed deep interaction yet on your world. Here though? Only excuse is the rest of the teams being too focused on your adventitious flora and military applications to care about the rest. And nobody has their own personal thinker, like I do, ready to answer any and all questions.”> Her smile beneath the nasal filter, the rods privileged humanites used in lieu of masks for air purification, was meant to be friendly. It reeked worse than the chamber itself. <”Who’d you set me up with today? I have another five-bar pass, ready to make the most of it!”>

“Skthveraachk birthing queen is recovering from her last laying. She has hummed acceptance at answering any queries you may have about our hatching process.” He wanted to think. He wanted to leave. From the edge of his vision, he saw the wobbling clawfuls of that skyward substance carried from the rear passageways to the twitching juveniles. Not yet fully untangled from their threaded egg cocoons, not yet given voice of their own. Even scented as she was, the Pod’s presence was a disturbance within the area, a strange anomaly which confused and tensed the occupants. Skthveraachk wanted her gone. Chkervthnaakt needed her distracted. “Proceed to the birthing chambers, down that passageway, and your second right. If you reach the cistern, you have gone too far.”

<”Thanks, Thinker. I left those things you asked for with the menials out front, though if you want my opinion,”> He didn’t. <”I wouldn’t waste energy making that guest of yours so comfortable. Get what you need from him and get rid of him. I’m getting rid of the logs every fade before I turn in, but sooner or later, someone’ll notice.”>

“Once I have what I need from the humanite, I will be sure to see it removed as a threat to us.” Strange, though. He was capable of speaking untruths freely, yet no matter how he practiced, that ingrained blackness discolored his innards at each utterance. Truths were much more palatable, even if only given in partial amounts. “Please, do not allow me to distract you. Your single-minded desire to study my people is of great importance to the future.”

<”Don’t I need an escort? Guards, or, guides? I’m not going to disturb the babies down there?”>

“Such things are for lesser humanites. Jennifer-thinker is known to us. Even without our markers upon her, I estimate at this point that few would notice or be bothered.” He bowed as she tittered and stepped away, descending the ramp down into the rows of hatched infants. Down to the scentcrafters, injecting dollops of perfectly measured chemicals to the goo. Down where the great mounds of jelly were being fed to each child in turn, their hollow eyes lighting and their first notes burbling out as colorless world became vibrant. Soundless world, now a symphony of life. He could smell it even up here, hear within the sugary goo distant chimes promising a lifetime of knowledge, of truest harmony. When he caught himself flexing his stomach, unconsciously preparing to intake mass, he turned and fled the room without a glance backward. Waiting, outside the boundary wall, until the mender came to him. Offering forward the re-sealed silver box. He hesitated, his single foreleg half-extended.

“What is wrong, thinker? Have done as directed, again, yes? Am no longer needed here, yes?”

“No. Yes, I mean, that you are no longer required.” Mark of the Sovereignty, that curved cup and stem, was imprinted upon the thing. Staring at him. Unable to contain, even here, the lingering smell. “I need, needed, but a moment. Your resistance to this place is admirable.”

“Resistance? No. No resistance. I do not fear the jelly. Skthveraachk Queen does not use it to enslave. Does not use it to erase what was, does not replace it with herself. Skthveraachk-Colony does not do this.” Two quick inhales. Angling of vents away from the box as he reared and clutched it into a single grasper. “But you are still frightened. Yes. Yes. Curious.”

“Your voice carries contention and spite. Your distaste for me and our work is clear. I have distanced you from the humanite. I have lessened your role. You are once more with your sisters, measuring bactum shipments for the frontlines. Your music should ring orange with gratitude, bearing all the aromas of bountiful hunting reserves.”

“What fear would you have?” He tugged. She did not release. He tugged again. Her mandibles snapped together, sharp. “Is our voice not one? Are our goals not the same? Our minds, congruent, our actions, synchronous? Fear is only for the frenzied. Fear is only for the guilty. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“I have no fear of being jellied, pallid mender. Prioritized female, elevated former-Ckhehnvraahll.” Nearby drones, the endless trains of motion through the tunnels, deviated around the pair. They did not listen to the insults, for the exchange was not for them. But they sensed the turmoil. Avoided, instinctively, the growing threat of discord. The mender gripped the box so tightly, he feared her claw would puncture the thin metal. “I fear only what it represents.”

“Loss of the self. Of memory. Of truth. Yes?” Something groaned. The metal tin? Himself? Antennae were upon him, the mender’s limbs stroking along his head as she tasted and felt and probed him. She would find only compliance. It was what he wished her to find. “You fear this. I fear this. All living things should fear this. Bound to another’s song not by choice. By force. Consensus not found or crafted, but imposed. You fear this.” The tin rose. Like a silver sin on the horizons of their vision, a shadow on the moon of her eyes. “You fear this. But you will use it.”

“This is not your role, not your concern! Frenzied? Disharmonious!?” Accusation lashed forward, and nearby drones slowed. Chittered. Extended the first tenth of their scythes, smelling upon both thinker and mender the possibility of deviance. Chkervthnaakt had expected the sky-sent female to immediately retreat at the verbal stab. Had been relying upon it. She was gaunt, thin, spindly and waspish in the delicacy of her limbs and core. It did not stop his heart from pounding when she leant in to eliminate distance, stroking her widened mandibles along either side of his skull.

“Skthveraachk Queen does not make slaves. Skthveraachk-Colony does not impose order. Skthveraachk will kill you when she learns. Yes. Yes? Yes.”

“Skthveraachk Queen fights for the survival of our species, utilizes every tool, every knowledge, against the aliens. Skthveraachk mender believes she knows the mind of the Queen, that the mender possesses the strength needed to do what must be done? Skthveraachk Queen has ordered. We obey. Adapt and overcome. At any cost. At any cost.” Her own repetitions were barbed and biting. He ensured his own cut just as cruelly. When he yanked, her grip had been startled loose just enough to see his gaster strike the earthen wall, his legs skittering up and angling his body away from the touches of Skthveraachk’s jaws and legs and limbs. Pursuit was possible. It was not taken.

“Skthveraachk-Colony carries a billion lives with her, Thinker. Former-Chkervthnaakt thinker. She betrays her song for them. She betrays herself, for them. Thinkers may know her mind better than menders. Menders know her heart better than thinkers.” No harmony here. Agreement only in disagreement. The passage of drones quickened once more, but each squirted a spray of unifying dew in their passing. Reinforcing the trail from the toxic disturbance of the pair’s music. “Skthveraachk Queen will kill you. It will be good. You are brilliant. You are genius. You are threat. Queen’s mistake was only in believing you to be worth the risk.”

“Skthveraachk mender! Do not question Queen!” It was not a message for him. The queenling’s condemnation seared so vividly he simply could not help but hear as it struck the mender through the link. “Skthveraachk thinker’s priority near your own! Skthveraachk thinker assists in shaping our future! Queen has decreed! Resume your tasking. Resume your role.”

“Received.” Mender turned in an instant. Untangled from the exchange, slipping into the line of marching bodies without a single stumble. The thinker, meanwhile, simply stood and shook. Sole foreleg holding tight the box, its aroma only furthering the distance he felt. But it was normal. He always felt this way. Had always felt this way. Hadn’t he?

“Skthveraachk thinker, are you well?”

“I am well.” Turn. Move. Down through circular, triangular, sometimes even octagonal passages. Delvers and crafters were experimenting more often now. Building. Destroying. Retrying. Endless progress. Queenling was riding in his mind, following him through the link, using his eyes. His strides grew quicker. “Disagreement. Shall be resolved in the future.”

“This is good. You are both of highest ranking. Your thoughts are greatly valued. My mother would not want discordance between you.”

“Our conversation was not for the colony. Our song, not sent through the link. You must retreat from me soon. I must be alone to perform my task.” Careful. He already relied much on this female, and though shaken, his thoughts began to reorganize the closer the thinker got to his private sanctum. “I do not condemn. I sing praise. You are growing much more mastered at regulating the colony’s actions and voices.”

“I bow my head as humanites! Your praise is welcomed. I do not believe Skthveraachk Queen will entrust me with Skthveraachk-Colony, but if the aliens are pleased with us upon her return, I do not doubt she will bestow this nest to me.”

“The Caldera is her only nest. Our, only nest.”

“She will not remain on Dracan. It is known. It is truth. Once victory is ours, she will return to Kayyhaitch, and we will remain here. To farm. To grow. To make green this world. A world!” Excitement raced through him, an emotion not his own. “No other colonies! No wars! No threats! The humanites say it will be a thousand cycles of peace. Paradise. Heaven.”

“Humanite words. And humanite truths are not always formite truths. But, I believe they believe what they say. They wish this red planet made lush. We will grow and spread here, with them. For them. Trusted by them.” He cut through the second elevator shaft, crawling over boulders unmoved and hewn rock yet to be transported. It was not completed, but already, the single primary lift showed signs of reaching load tolerance. Plans had been submitted for a second shaft, and had been almost immediately approved. “I must go now. My role.”

“May your discoveries herald new orchestras for our people.”

“May your diligence remain untouched and trust unguarded.” He felt the queenling’s mind leave him, taking with it the others who sought to assign him tasks or join in his relay. Tens of thousands, gone in an instant. Unbothered. Alone. No. He felt an antenna down to his Band, and the living thrum which emitted from it. Not truly alone. Box went up to his antennae as he reached the tunnel which did not exist, his claw needed to gather up the wrapped jars and packages Jennifer had, through menials, delivered. Teetering under the awkward weight, past the pair of guarding spitters, until he could deposit the entire mess within the center of the lighted room. No longer dank. No longer dark. No longer cold. The Parker-Corporal looked up from his bed of linens, but did not rise. The wraps around his feet denying it, even if he had wished.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

<”You know, I was just laying here, thinking that all things considered? Today/This rise was going pretty well. I managed to deal with two ingrown hairs, and when I changed my bandages, there was barely any blood. You couldn’t have shown up yesterday/last rise, when I was already feeling like feces?”>

“Last rise, I was preoccupied with preparing for this rise. I wanted you at your zenith for this exchange.” Routine. Procedure. First, check on the floating discus light; still eighty-percent power. Would last another two rises. Then, a chitter to the spitters. No new threats, no hidden tools. Humanite had tried only once to hide the sharpened shearing-tool it used on its face, but had likely realized of his own accord the futility of assaulting anyone with something smaller than the most malnourished menial’s scythe. He approached, and the Parker-Corporal struggled to his side, shell of clothing ill-fitting, but the Pod assured it was more for warmth than physical comfort. Raise the leg slowly, offer the metal tin. Don’t let the shaking show. “Do you wish to make another guess as to the contents?”

<”Stopped being funny tenmeasures ago, bug. If I somehow live through this, I swear I’m never touching beef again.”> He flipped up the lid, and the smell of fire-charred mass, mixed sugars, dry carbohydrates, filled the room. Prepared as the humanite would have prepared them. Mixed as he had mixed. But these were not the scents the thinker cared for. His leg remained steady, waiting. Watching, from above. <”Though getting it ready-made is still a nice touch. Is it that you don’t trust me anymore to make my own ration-packs, or is it part of this ongoing attempt to woo me?”> A gesture, to the meager furnishings and discarded piles of tins and even the reeking bucket-like stool in the corner. Chkervthnaakt allowed the humanite to take hold of the tin fully, offering the spiked intake-tool in his pinched graspers.

“We are attempting a new approach, yes. After it was made clear by both you and the Pod,”

<”The bitch-Soff in the coat.”>

“That attempts to compel your cooperation through violence would be doomed to failure.” The humanite poked the foodstuffs. The thinker held his breath. Nothing was different. It had not been detected before. There was no need to doubt. Not until the Parker had stabbed the mushy meat, taken his first mouthful, did the thinker begin to relax in body. His voice, however, remained as congenial as it had ever been. “I have been asking you for truths, yet neglected to provide truths of my own. Interrogation was not exchange, and our following conversations, charged as they were, proved far the better.”

<”You mean you coming in here and having a lil’ breakdown. Was the first emotion I’ve properly seen from your kind, I’ll admit that much. Wasn’t sure you things could even experience it. Fear.”> Interruptions between chewing, a slow waving of hand. No sign of distress to the meal’s additive before. None now. Good. But no sign of anything else, either. Not so good. <”Joy. Emotions.”>

“Your experiences are isolated, your ability to seize upon our truths, limited. Individually, we feel a range of emotions. But it is our togetherness which moderates and filters these things. Do we feel fear? Yes. Yes, we do. When within the link, we can choose whether or not to heed it. Remain outstretched, I will inspect your wounds.”

<”They’re healing fine, don’t need you prodding at them.”>

“I insist.” Fresh white rolls, made of the same texture the tents and seals of the Sovereignty, were amongst the packed items. They were set upon the bedding, lined up in preparation for usage while the male continued to eat. Struggling, somewhat; humanites were not designed well, and could not well consume when proned, even while on their side. This one, like most, recoiled usually from their touches. There was distaste still. But, in a moment of consideration, no longer outright disgust. Interesting.

<”Fine. Figuring if you wanted to take my foot off, there isn’t much I could do about it anyways.”>

“Acceptance of the situation is a wisdom. It frees the mind to deliberate on more important matters. What can be changed. What can be altered.”

<”I’m who knows how deep underground, struggling to breathe when I sleep still, with a few thousand giant mantids between me and an army of Soffs. If I had any actual intel I was afraid of you things getting, I’d have already killed myself. Right now, I’m more trying to figure out why its you that’s got me, and not the Imperials.”> Perfect. Now came the delicate work. Not just of unwrapping the sealant-fabric the humanites used, but in the extending of secondary leg to the dry ground. Where dirt overlapped the rock, so as to ensure the sound was almost undiscernible. Discovering that the Coalition Digger had been lying, as all humans lie, was disheartening. Demeaning, that he had not realized his own foolishness. Much had been learned since then, however. Logic was not the way to the alien’s mind. They were intelligent only in their capacity, not in their execution. Reason was not enough of an incentive. Emotions needed to be manipulated as well. A new approach. Commence.

“Simply put, because you are of greater interest to us than the Imperial Sovereignty. We are not exposed to many humanite things, despite appearance. We are not permitted your technology, for study or usage beyond limited exceptions. We are not allowed access to your histories or data. Your kind learns much of us. Though there are those like the Pod who wish to share more, they are forbidden from doing so. You are, shall we say, a concession.”

That was what his voice sung. That was what the humanite heard. But the thinker ensured, stood as he was at an angle, that the Parker could not help but gaze down to the dirt floor. And the pattern which had been carved upon it, in the blocky diagrams the aliens called ‘letters’:

SOFF LISTENING.”

Study of the Hathan’s gift had brought the Queen many benefits already, and had taken much of her focus during her layings and birthings over the cold season. Deciphering the text, though, had been more than half the struggle. Such work, parsing the alien language, was necessity to the access of knowledge, but otherwise little applicable to their situation. Hathan occasionally tested the Queen’s progress, pointed to signs of ‘Medical’ or ‘Disposal’ or ‘Mess Hall’ for their meaning. There had never been need of it beyond. There was a use now. A need, now. Parker froze with the spiked tool clenched between his grinding bones, and looked slow to the thinker. Who was all too happy to point, slowly, to the band about his neck.

<”Concession. Right.”> He had insisted the male remain prone for a reason. Drooping arm down, it was easy enough for the humanite to reach and draw on the floor himself. The male was a quick learner. All of its species seemed to be. <”So, you’re not as interested in troop positions, numbers; you’re wanting something way more basic. Information about my species. About humans, Earth. Shame you kidnapped a former DVI-driver, and not a history teacher.”>

WHY AM I HERE?

NECK. CROSS MARKER. BELIEF. SOFFS KILL IF FIND.

The language was broken, quick and brutally to the point. It was challenge enough to pull off the dirtied fabric which had drunk up the bloody fluids, to was the spot and grasper with bactum and cleansing solutions from the alien pack, and replace it. He didn’t have the attention to spare, or the energy to expend, on flowing sentences. Besides, the impact was successful; the Parker looked like he had been slapped by a scythe.

“Is it so strange? More and more, from our interactions as individuals and as a colony to your collective, I have come to realize the similarities in our peoples as much as the differences. I suspect, despite our physical disparity, some things are simply required to become the dominant species upon a world. Curiosity. Aggression. Unity, to a point.” A clacking came from his antennae. “Some have insisted that the Composer, beyond our knowledge, would be a being of infinitely different and unknowable traits. I myself never felt resonance with such beliefs. Look at his creations, and you will learn of the creator.”

<”Maybe. Some people figured if we did meet aliens, it’d only be for one of two reasons; them wanting the resources we had, or to turn us into resources ourselves. Think that’s irony; that they were right, just focusing on the wrong species.”> Dirt was wiped. Resettled. Redrawn. <”Alright, bug. We’ll make it a game. Question for a question. Fair exchange, like you said. You ask, I’ll answer, but then I get an ask of my own.”>

ILLEGAL. NOT ALLOWED. AGAINST AGREEMENT.

OCCURS. HAPPENS.

YOU WANT TO KILL ME?

NO. POD DOES.

“This is fair. And fairness is what we are attempting now. Very well. I will even concede to allowing you the first question.”

<”Why the fuck do you butcher/disassemble us?”> Emotion was beginning to leak into the humanite’s voice. The thinker did not believe, was almost sure, the Pod could not actually see through rock and ground and stone. If they could, the cell would not still exist. But if an excess of emotion leaked into the Parker’s tenor, then suspicion could be aroused. Why the humanite had chosen this of all topics, however, was beyond Chkervthnaakt.

STAY CALM. ANSWER IS TRUTH.

“We attempted to eat you early on, but our bodies are, to a point, incompatible. Your kind can consume us without consequence, but we grow ill and sickly should we take in your mass.” This was not helping. The humanite was curling his lower digits, gritting his teeth. The thinker softened both his touch, and the tone of his winding tune. “All we do is for the colony. All we are, is for the colony. It is the greatest of insults not to provide, in either life or death. Everything is used. Everything is recycled. Bodies are consumed, their mass returned. Shells, crests, can be turned into sealant for the menders. Glands, to the scentcrafters. Carapace segments, to form armor for the warriors. Such is done to our kind, and to that which is hunted. We asked for the right to do the same to your kind, those we slew. It was granted.”

GIVE YOU BODIES?

YES.

EXECUTED?

YES. ? ?

HIDING. NOT ALLOWED, TO KILL. YOU CUT UP AND USE. THEY DENY IT HAPPENED. USING YOU.

Already, success. Already, knowledge. Allowed? It had been said multiple times before. Rules, charters, laws, these things had been mentioned by many. Was there a third body, colony, overseeing this conflict? Unlikely. More certain, as the Accords of the Hunt, the humanites had agreed to a certain set of principles in their conflict. The Sovereignty reacted with shock and anger at the use of kinetics. It seemed the Coalition reacted similarly to the killings of their surrendered or captured people.

<”We don’t do that. Humans. Only the most fucked up, savage person would cut up someone else on the battlefield. *^&*, anywhere.”>

“The Sovereignty does not allow us to do the same with their fallen, no. They are instead wrapped and sent away, back to the sky. We do not know what becomes of them.”

<”Buried, usually.”>

“Fertilizer. What cannot be consumed is used the same for us-“

<”No, not for fertilizer, we just bury them.”> He wiped away the note, began to write firmer, faster. <”You get a plot of land, you buy a *^&*, it gets hermetic seal on it, they put you in the ground so you don’t rot and nothing eats you and you just stay there.”>

“While this is not the most asinine thing I have heard from your species, I can with confidence state it ranks among the upper echelons of your wasteful tendancies. I assume it has something to do with your emotions, or religious structure.”

<”Is that your question?”>

“No.” The wrapping was redone. It was satisfactory only. Since he was but half a cycle in age, Chkervthnaakt could compose a hymn with voice, scent and touch all at once. To sing once line, and ‘write’ another, was a multitasking of his facilities which pushed his brain to its capacity. Fortunate that the humanite did not seem intent on exploiting it, the male focused itself on rapid motions in the dirt. Much to ask. Start at the start. “How long did it take you to reach the stars? To break free of your own world?”

<”If you want to go by the established start of society, then about fifteen thousand cycles to get to space, and another few hundred to figure out how to use the Gates to actually go anywhere meaningful.”> A hundred, hundred lifetimes, and Chkervthnaakt would not even see the first formite attempt, if they followed as the humanites had. How long ago had they already progressed? A thousand cycles, at most? It was an age of myth, before the memories were recorded within the temples and colonies. It could have been ten thousand, none knew! <”Are you allowed to tell me how the war is going up there?”>

WHY DO YOU FIGHT US?

He had been expecting questions to do with their own weaknesses, perhaps their origin, things the thinker would have had to lie about. These were not dangerous questions, they were not even important questions; this was almost trivia.

SOVEREIGNTY FOUND WORLD. HUNDRED THOUSAND DEAD. MAYBE MORE. COULD NOT FIGHT. HAD TO OBEY.

“For us, or you? Poorly, if I had to be accurate, in either case. Your General Prescott is an exceedingly devious humanite who has turned to kinetic weapons, strapping explosives to your soldiers, and striking only to retreat. It has cost us thousands of formites and Sovereignty both.”

<”What’d you expect us to do when we saw what you did to us after death? Prefer a bomb on my chest to slowly being cut apart anyrise.”>

“We do not dissect and disassemble those who are still living. This would be needlessly cruel. They are ensured dead first.” The humanite had ceased writing. Letting his arm hang, food only half consumed. The thinker gave the tin a nudge. Alien vacantly continued the motions of feeding itself. “But he is outnumbered almost ten to one. Forty thousand, if that, of your garrison remaining. Defeat is a certainty. Tarasque will fall within twenty measures.”

<”Sovereignty outnumbers the Coalition about double that. They tell you that?”> He was looking down to the dirt, not to the thinker. <”Fifty billion Soffs. The Coalition was maybe nine, ten, when we broke away. Being outnumbered is nothing new to us the last three cycles, and still isn’t. General was outnumbered five to one before your race showed up, and he fought the Imperials to a standstill since they landed here. Will take more than numbers to take Tarasque.”>

“Perhaps. But if experience is any indicator, while the losses will be great, the Queen will bring victory. It is our-“

DO YOU WANT FIGHT THE SOFFS?

Keep talking. Keep talking. If the Pod heard a sudden interruption, who knew what conclusion would be drawn. But he needed to process! Talk! Curse this isolation, if only had had a few more sky-sent thinkers to link with. No. He was alone, and he was enough. “Our, singular goal. For success here means the freedom to return to our home.” Fighting the Sovereignty was impossible. The Sovereignty were humanites, and humanites controlled the stars. The Coalition controlled the stars as well. When the stars, the sky, their ships were removed from the equation? Damage was certainty, death assured, but victories had been won. Victories could be achieved. It was the only piece, the only note, they needed to remove from the music. And then, what was lament would be a triumph so pure that not even odes could contain it.

YES. BUT CANNOT. TOO STRONG.

There were more questions. There was more to be gained from this exchange. Information, obviously, but that had been the Queen’s failure back on the Palamedes. Her obsession, in knowledge, in data. She had mistaken it for truth, and all the species had paid the price. Chkervthnaakt would not make that same error. Knowledge was valuable, yes, and it was a weapon. But there was a greater tool, one which could be turned both upon and against the humanites of both sides. Skthveraachk had sent him here to become an expert on humanites, so that she could weaponize their knowledge. Watching as the humanite finished consuming the remains of the jelly-infused biomass, and to the newest symbols it had drawn, Chkervthnaakt would instead focus on weaponizing their trust.

I CAN HELP.