There was an itch on her back.

There was no fade in the false cavern, nor was there rise; it was a perpetual, endless light that sat unmoving above her. But guessing by her two periods of sleep, it had been around three measures. Two measures of slowly circling the small space in which she had been confined. Two measures of waking to find piles of dead lumbrites in corner of the cavern, and suffering the indignation of having to cut and pulp and swallow the things herself. Two measures of watching as the foreign drones entered, slapped their wiggling noodles upon rocks, then left through a hole in the outer room which opened and closed on its own. Skthveraachk had been too hungry to consider whether the food had been tainted, and once she had eaten, she had presumed these creatures had a thousand easier ways to kill her. They stared at her, and she stared back, and they would spout their meaningless noises that could not even be called songs before going back to their ground forsaken rocks. And then the third measure came.

And there was an itch on her back.

Claw raked at the floor, bringing blessed silence to the antithesis of song which croaked around her as the creatures snapped their holes shut. It did not provoke the punishing pain, and seemed to cause at least a small amount of discomfort amongst her captors, but such was secondary to the brief respite it provided from the spark on her back. The floor was sure. Real, to both eyes and voice. Not like the walls which surrounded her. Invisible walls. Walls she could not see but which existed true. She had not expected the impossibilities to end with these monsters, and thus refused to allow herself to be surprised when they just kept coming.

But there was an itch on her back.

Her claw raked the floor again, but she was pushing the limits and she knew it. Saw the way a creature outside her cavern within the larger room began to shuffle towards the pain rock. It had taken near full measure for her to realize she still wore her armor, was still clad in the sculpted husk of fallen allomyrite. She at first rejoiced inwardly, comfortable in her second skin, knowing the power such display had over other colonies and thus no doubt over these creatures as well. Such joy was quickly lost as mind processed the understanding that she had no workers to unbind her from it. No attendants to soften and make liquid the sealant attaching it to her frame. The spit from her menials had hardened like rigid wood, flaking and cracking, the type used not designed to last for so long a period. It broke down slowly. It chafed and splintered.

It made an itch on her back.

The ground shuddered as she threw herself onto her side, and focusing both on the discomfort of body and discomfort of the ever-increasing attention her movements were earning distracted from other thoughts. Thoughts she would have assigned to thinkers, even crafters, had she any to speak with rather than suffer them alone. Her vomit had been cleaned when she awoke the first measure of her imprisonment; they had a way to enter and exit her invisible cavern. Her wounded leg was obvious, but they did not advance; if they wished her pain or death, nothing stopped them. But she was here, and she was alive, and so it was not her death they sought but something else. Skthveraachk had nothing to give. Except that which she was even now taking from them, watching as the small crowds of the ‘pale shells’, as she had come to call them, crowded forward while their soldiers remained on outskirts of the room. Information. What they would do with it? Only one path made sense to her. Find better ways to kill her kind, as she had killed theirs. The impotent anger and fear once more began to worm up their throat like regurgitated lumbrite, cutting her thoughts short. She hammered it back down.

Because she was focused on the sky-taken, Composer forsaken, colonyless, nestling mad and peel her raw itch on her tuneless back.

“*^&(**^&(*?” Warbling rattled without rhythm through the unseeable walls, and while she no longer winced whenever the creatures gaped their pink holes, she found even the droning hums of the rocks within the cave beyond more tolerable. Propped half on her back, she struggled to drive the crest of the shell armor into the floor. The wax and polish coating it was slippery enough without adding the sheen of the floor itself to the mix. Adjusting her angle, mindful of the tender and glistening nodule over healing leg’s joint, Skthveraachk braced and tried again. It was futile, but it was good. It was movement. Action. Three measures she had spent without graspers, without eyes, without thinkers, without her colony. Three measures, alone. Frenzy stirred within her, and shiver traveled the length of her body. Was the rest of her even alive? Would it recognize her at this point even if it were? The stirring became a whispering behind her eyes.

“*^&(*--*^&(*--*^&(*--*^&(*” Punctuated, repeated noises from the outside place set a contrasting baseline to the increasing tempo of the lone Queen’s heart. ‘Where had they come from?’ The whispering was insistent, the curling of her claws and flex of her scythes tried to again force thoughts down, but the frenzy flexed against the dam of her composure. Leaked through crevices and oozed past gaps. The frigid ends of the world, where her kind could not farm nor grow nor hunt? Had they been growing larger and more dangerous, undisturbed by the cycles of the rest of the choirs? Were they from some deeper place, some older period, forgotten in the strife of the Founding Colonies before the litany was crafted and unity was formed? Lesser-threats, deemed unimportant as the colonies together purged with hook and mandible the dangers to their survival, who hid away to build themselves anew? Information. Information. She needed more. She had none. The frenzy called to her. She had no voices but hers to still it.

“*^&(*. *^&(*. *^&(*. *^&(*. *^&(*.” No voices but these peelable creatures. Sagging to ground, she turned eyes to the now endless and repeated sound. And found one of the pale shells, less than three lengths from her, bent forward, striking the unseen wall of her cavern. Notes dull, sound hollow, the thin and wriggling prongs at its limb’s end curled to fleshy node and slapping at the barrier. But when she looked, the pale shell ceased. Began to move. Not from its discomfortingly close proximity, but its upper half. Motions which made no sound, done only now that Skthveraachk focused upon it. Something different. Something new. She rolled herself upright, the disharmony within her receding as her attention sharpened on the creature. Something… curious.

Focus. The upper limbs of the creature- no. Their ends were graspers more than hooks, used to grip and hold and manipulate. Not for locomotion, but for interaction. Arms, then. The arms swung forward, halted, and were brought back to body. Not quite touching, but held there while stringy graspers closed together. A quick breath’s pause, then repeated. Forward, curve, drag towards body, pause. As though the air were dirt, shoveling it and scooping it towards core. Quick calculations ran through Skthveraachk’s mind, risk versus reward, summation of what was known. Decision was quickly reached. The creatures were dangerous, but she shifted their designation to non-hostile for the moment. They wanted something. There was nothing to do but discover what. Settling on her back four legs, the caged Queen brought scythes and claws forward. The meat on the creature’s head contorted, but it did not step back. Skthveraachk extended the limbs, keeping full length between herself and the forbidden wall, scooped the air, and dragged it back to her chest.

Well, that did something. Two eyes kept hold of the creature below her while the others scanned the space beyond as activity seemed to erupt from nothing. The soldiers made little activity, that was reassuring, but the twenty, thirty or so pale shells had all given her attention as one. It had been quiet before; garbled sounds erupted now from all around her. Their groups of two and three formed again, arms waved towards her, the humming rocks were touched and poked. Mimicry of the action had brought the focus of these creatures. She was unsure if it was a good thing. The pale shell in front of her, though, ceased the motion and trembled. Spasmed, almost, flailing its limbs around and jerking its head and midsection from side to side. Skthveraachk repeated the scooping pull. The spasming continued. Skthveraachk stopped. The creature stopped.

Communication. Information. She compiled as quickly as she could, and had to force herself to not reach out for the arm of attendant who was not present to relay what she had learned. The creatures were intelligent enough to adapt, intelligent enough to plan, and intelligent enough to plan and collaborate together. What they wanted, it seemed, was to communicate with her as well. This one before her, was it a thinker then? It was too small, too similar to the others to be attendant or commander or elder drone or Queen of course, but it was something. Something different. Something new. The itch on her back intensified as she lowered herself, brought eyes closer to the thing’s level. Pallid white shell from where head met core to near halfway down legs. Meat pinkish and splotched, dotted with discoloration. A sort of puddle blue bulge set around the top of head, lumpish, containing vague shapes Skthveraachk could almost make out through the material. She tried to avoid focusing on the grotesque hole splitting the center of the creature’s head, unhidden, to the smaller wet gaps set above. Eyes? Probably. Of some kind. They were white, and black, and ringed with something that seemed nearer the colors of the fungal fields, and followed her when she moved her head slowly from left to right. A rich yet sickly green. Pods. Like the unpalatable green growths which burst to send new seeds and smells scattering across the landscape. These creatures would be called Pods.

The Pod did not want mimicry. Very well. The other pale shells milling about, performing whatever they were tasked with performing, were ignored for the moment. After pause, the motions came again. But, different. Scythe dug back and unconsciously tried to dig at the coagulated adhesive along her carapace as the Pod formed meaty ball with graspers again, then extended single prong. Aimed it for Skthveraachk, arm outstretched. Direction? Indication? The aimed prong was dropped and the digging pulling resumed. There was nothing behind her but empty cave. Testing, she raised scythed limb, and poked the claw at its end to her core. The Pod spasmed again, but rather than side to side, it was an up and down motion. The scooping did not cease, but became more insistent. Information. It was not too dissimilar to the most rudimentary physical aspects of speech of her kind, she supposed. The pale shells were buzzing with activity now, their muffled voices passing through the invisible barrier. Beyond, at the outer cave’s edge, entry opened as another pale shell waddled in. Headed straight for the Pod with loping, wide steps. Indication, then gesture. Point to Queen, then prompt. ‘You, do this.’ Interesting. The scooping pulled air like dirt, or water, towards the Pod. Skthveraachk took a single step forward.

“*^&(*! *^&(**^&(* *^&(* *^&(**^&(*.”

The newly arrived pale shell approached the Pod, and the gestures halted. The Queen halted herself as well, choosing not to risk further interpretation without reinforcement. Pod and pale shell turned to one another, and the pale shell’s volume was decibels beyond the other’s.

“*^&(**^&(*. *^&(*, *^&(**^&(* *^&(* *^&(*.”

“*^&(* *^&(* *^&(**^&(*!”

“*^&(*.”

Was there something different about this one as well? This was not an exchange of information, of that, Skthveraachk was quite certain. Arms were swung about, the skin on their heads pulled into macabre and unnatural angles, and the volume of their words varied wildly. Nor, did she notice, were the creatures touching one another. It occurred, from time to time, in those around the outer cave who had turned their gazes on the pair rather than the Queen herself. Touching. Their arms or gaspers binding or brushing, but almost never when they sung, if it could even be called singing. It made distinguishing the rankings, the roles, almost impossible. Were these two even of the same colony? They acted as relay drones would in failing communication between rival Queens.

“*^&(**^&(*. *^&(*.”

“*^&(*, *^&(**^&(**^&(* *^&(**^&(**^&(**^&(*.”

The pale shell turned and strode towards entryway. No, not to entryway, but towards the rock elevated slightly above the others. The pain rock. Skthveraachk backed away from the unseeable barrier hurriedly, and noted how the Pod rushed after the pale shelled…subordinate? Rival Pod? No answers, and no desire to investigate further if it would elicit punishment from these creatures. They reached the rock together, and their conflicting music collided into turmoil. Neither soldiers nor other shelled creatures interceded; whatever these two were, they held authority of some kind, of that she was now utterly certain. Pale shell reached for the pain rock, and Skthveraachk sucked in a breath to brace her core. No pain came. It was watching her, arm on the rock, the Pod stood next to it. Scooping the air again. Beckoning. Beckoning. A curse to the composure slipped out with her exhale, and Skthveraachk wished inwardly she could instead return to focusing on the itch. Legs extended, claws curled, and she took two steps towards the wall nearest the pain rock. No punishment came.

The Pod bobbed up and down, the confirming motions. Beckoned again. This was what it wanted, for what reason Skthveraachk could not yet understand, but the intent had become clear. Their position alongside the pain rock was warning, a whisper and wind away from violence if needed, but stillness was stagnation. She was trapped here. They had trapped her. Until she knew what they wanted, in this room of false sunlight, there was no foreseeable escape. She would not sit and wait for a colony that could very well no longer exist to come to her aid; she was a Queen. Another step, then another. They wanted something. She would discover what. Step, step, step, until once more she was but a length away from where her voice told her wall was located. And the peelable Pod beckoned. Again.

The wall was off-limits. Forbidden. This much had been made abundantly clear. The two stood right beside the pain rock, warning and reminder of this established rule. Any steps further would put her practically in contact with the barrier once more, and still, the Pod beckoned. A trap? Some kind of testing of their own? If they wanted communication, she would give the disharmonious things communication. Taking a step back, she did not mimic; uncurling the claw below the scythe of frontal arm, she ‘pointed’ to the rock. Feeling like frenzied spawnling who could not grasp the song. The Pod stopped its scooping, pointed its grasper to the pain rock, seeking confirmation. A small shiver raked her; they learned quickly. Very quickly. Making the confirming bobs of body, raising and lowering her head and midsection, she turned the edge of her scythe towards her core and slashed at her carapace. Not enough to pierce, but with savagery enough that she expected even these creatures could gather meaning. Pain. She was not interested in being speared by invisible jaws again.

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“*^&(*?”

“*^&(**^&(*. *^&(*!”

“*^&(*, *^&(**^&(* *^&(* *^&(**^&(*.”

“*^&(**^&(*?”

They went at it again, the Pod and the pale shell. Different colonies, or different roles, there was no other explanation. They were exchanging information, sharing their discoveries, yet both saw what she was doing. A single colony would assess and respond in one bar, one brief exchange of song, once it was established which part of the nest or colony was best suited for the task. Soldiers for fighting. Scentcrafters for environment. Drones for labor. These creatures were in conflict, they did not act and move as one. The Pod’s Queen had made it her will in this, the pale shell’s Queen disagreed with whatever was being proposed. Discord. She set the information to side and as the pair belched foreign songs to one another, Skthveraachk dropped herself back to the ground as gracefully as she could muster to return to task of trying to get the armor off her endlessly twitching back. Founders hear her, she would give a thousand drones for a single attendant at this moment.

“*^&(*!”

“*^&(**^&(*?”

“*^&(*! *^&(*!”

The clamoring caused her leg to slip from beneath as she aimed to again try and brace the crested ridge of armor between her body and floor, her antennae thrusting upwards to vainly try and place the noise. Other pale shells had moved towards the pain rock, but they pointed and gestured to her in groups. Clutched what looked like pieces of…wood, or more clear rock or something, and wiggled their graspers against them. Slapped the humming rocks around the room. The Pod stepped forward, but with grip on the other pale shell standing before the pain rock, pulled the creature away from its vantage. It resisted, briefly. The Pod pulled harder, and it obliged.

“*^&(**^&(*!”

Creatures clustered from all around the cave, all save the soldiers remaining steady, but even they had turned their heads to watch the proceedings. As the Pod sung, pale shells moved away from the pain rock, gave it space. No threat. No potential harm forthcoming. Dangerous, but not hostile, for the moment. Skthveraachk did not need the Pod’s repeated scooping, which it resumed all the same, to understand. The unseeable wall was, for the moment, permitted. Hesitation was palpable, but information was worth the risk. It was forward movement. Not risking scythe or claw, the Queen brought head to angle down, stepped forward, and gingerly touched antenna to the wall.

No pain. No burning spears inside her. Her first instinct, the frenzy’s instinct, told her to resume her attack on the barrier immediately. Her harmony, instead, knew full well there was little chance of breaking through before the creatures rushed back from the odd ring they had formed to bring life to the still thrumming black square, the carved pain rock jutting from the floor. And even if she could, what then? Dig her way out of this foreign nest, fight her way free and even then, hope she was near enough to an allied or neutral colony that had not been destroyed to beg for aid? Better her colony was gone in that case, rather than face the shame of returning to them in such a way. Thoughts turned from the inner to the outer, to the smoothness of the wall, as with the Pod making the bobbing confirmation movements the Queen truly felt for the first the nature of her cave.

Cool. Not quite cold, but certainly not warm like the earth of her chambers. Hard. Very hard. She had damaged it before, of that she was certain in hindsight, the web she had formed like cracks in a mined rock. Only this rock, you could see through. Yet that had been with rage and fury behind her blows, and it had but fractured. Slippery. Smoothed, to prevent grip or any kind of purchase. Tentatively, she placed claws of her forelimbs against the surface, tried to haul herself forward. It made a screeching noise as she was slid quarter length downward, and the creatures beyond it recoiled and placed graspers on their heads. Better not to try that again. She tapped, prodded, felt. Voice and touch confirmed. It was real. It was here. Information. Interesting.

“*^&(*. *^&(*-*^&(*-*^&(*.”

Alright. The wall was permitted. Skthveraachk received. Now what? The Pod was moving again. Pointing to her. Identification. The Queen ceased her examination of the strange invisible rocks surrounding her, raised a scythe’s claw to point to herself in confirmation… and the Pod made the wrong-spasms. The back-and-forth shakes, not the up and down ones. Pointed again with the spindly grasper, and the Queen focused harder. It was off-centered. Not quite to her core, but higher. Past the side of the horns on her helm, and towards her back? She turned around, waited in silence, then turned back. The no shakes, again. Not a direction. What was this. Curiosity suppressed her displeasure at circumstances, and despite herself, Skthveraachk found there was something pleasant murmuring within her as the Pod made bizarre waves and turned to sing to the other pale shells around it. Discovery. Information. She was learning. And even here, amongst creatures not hostile but enemies all the same, her purpose was being fulfilled. She was a Queen. She existed to learn.

“*^&(*. *^&(*, *^&(*… *^&(*, *^&(*?”

Pod grabbed one of the milling pale shells, its former target watching with arms laced across its upper core. Skthveraachk focused, dropped down once more to better see. It occurred to her that the section of cave, her own private cavern, was slightly elevated from the rest of the room. When the creatures, the Pod, stood right next to the unseeable wall, they barely reached over halfway to her antennae. Flattening lower was the only way to better see the motions they made.

Pod pointed to Skthveraachk. Identification. Received. With grasper around the arm of another pale shell, it turned its sibling around and pointed to its back. Identification? No, that made no sense, it was beyond the wall and unreachable. Its back. Her back? She processed for a bar, and realization rose soon after. They had left her alone for near three measures. They reacted only when she began to thrash under the itch. They identified it, perhaps identified her pain or discomfort. Her back. The wall. Permission given. She tapped the invisible wall once more, testing that no retribution would yet come. The creatures did not move. They watched. Even the one with folded arms was stalwart. Very well; she received.

It took a few moments to get her positioning right. She left side into the wall, not wishing to strain her still healing leg. Dug her weight down into floor, though it offered little grip. Aligned the ridge of the armor on her back with the flat surface, made the wall her fulcrum. Made her body the lever. Rudimentary, but the adhesive was brittle and aged, and it was not as if she was trying to build another pillar of Hollowcore here. It would suffice. Locking down into place, braced, a single click of mandibles was made before she pushed with everything she had. And for a brief moment, felt the rock bend every so slightly.

“*^&(*!”

“*^&(*, *^&(* *^&(**^&(*!”

The pale shell with folded arms and the Pod again, but she did not halt her prying to watch their exchange. The scraps of flaking adhesive spit began to crack. To chip and flake free. Pressure was heavy on side of her carapace, but a cool stream of air slithered against her top, between the plating. Something cracked, and it wasn’t the wall. A chunk of spit popped free and skidded away into the interior of the enclosure. Limbs strained, mandibles clenched, her body protested the force being leveraged against it. With a final shoved, the sound of tearing filled the space, and a heavy crash as the largest section of armor was ripped free of her to crunch down into the ground. Skthveraachk was on her back in moments, legs in the air, rubbing and grinding to dislodge the stubborn clumps of hardened goo that remained, and basked in the momentary joy of the itch’s death upon her. Barely noting the wild noises and movements occurring beyond her pen.

The process was quicker for the rest. She dug and pulled away the sealant on the elongated sections coating legs and joints, used the wall for the wider sections on gaster and abdomen. Her helm, the wide and high horns providing easier lever, was the most delicate procedure. When she first braced down, she felt the carapace around her head pull painfully against her flesh. Threatening to tear off her natural plating. It was only after careful whittling down with foreclaws of the adhesive that she tried again, and succeeded, with only minor strain and twist to her antennae. Considering she had never been forced to strip off the protective shell alone before, Skthveraachk considered it a resounding success. Only after she had picked and piled each section of her regal war garb to ‘corner’ of the ovular space did she return her gaze to the outer world.

Eyes down to rocks, to planks of see-through rock and blue light. Eyes up to her. Noodly appendages flapping and striking like a harvester milking a phido. Pulling their bodies along from one lighted stone to the next, then back again. Activity was a buzz, and the song, however crude, bore a strange sort of unity. The Pod was at one of the rocks, undertaking the same actions as the others. She could not discern what had happened to the pale shell with folded arms, and found herself not particularly caring. The pain rock was unattended. There was no present threat. With a glance upward, the Pod noted her attentions, and made foreign motions. The Queen did not analyze them, not now. Her itch was sated. She had been armed with information. Around her were creatures which sought understanding, communication, study, perhaps. They chose to do so as a river which flowed both up and down stream. They studied her. But she could study them, as she had already studied on the battlefield the make of their bodies and protections and not-rocks used against her. They studied her mind. She would study their minds.

Tap on the wall. She extended her claw to carefully, almost delicately, knock against the barrier as the Pod had done before. Attention. The Pod perked up visibly, its body going more rigid and those two white-and-green eyes locking on to her. Good. She dropped the claw, and scooped at the air. Outward, cup, drag back to chest. Beckon. Come here. The Pod set down one of the planks of strange wood, and advanced.

“*^&(*? *^&(*, *^&(**^&(*.”

“*^&(*. *^&(*, *^&(*.”

Another pale shell warbled to the Pod, and the Pod belched back. Once more, others gave their attention. Watching as the leader neared the barrier separating Queen from creatures. When it had clicked its way to the barrier, she stopped her beckoning. The Pod stopped in response. Now, it was her turn. A simple exchange. They had concepts of exchange, concepts of pain, concepts of fear, similar enough to her own kind. She would give appropriate response to boon granted. Curling claws towards her body and away from the other, arms were placed one atop the other. The scythes rescinded, the most inopportune position to launch into attack. Mandibles clicked safely shut. Angle towards her right, elevating the folded limbs in motion of welcomed beginning, was adopted. Each motion slow, deliberate, allowing the creature to watch. And once completed, reinforced with a brief scent marker, and a song.

“Thank you.”

If she had thought there was a buzz before, this new response was a roar. All save the soldiers attacked their respective humming stones. All save the soldiers touched at themselves, at their rocks, and false wood planks, and yowled unknowable noises to one another. All save the soldiers, and the Pod. The Pod watched. The Pod made tugging of flesh and skin, folded meat across eyes to change them from orbs to slits. And then the Pod formed meaty bulbs with the ends of its graspers. It folded its arms awkwardly, held out from its body. It adjusted the angle crudely, but to the correct effect. And with opened portal to head, sung in response.

“…*^&ck…*^&(**^&(*oooo?”

She had not really expected perfect mimicry. She did not even expect the Pod understood the meaning of her message. That was not what she sought. Dropping forelimbs back to floor, redistributing her weight onto all six legs, she made the up and down movements. The confirming bobs. They desired to study her. But it seemed they also desired to learn from her. And that is what she wished, and now had, confirmed. At least the Pod’s colony, the pale shell of folded arms she could not yet know of, wanted her alive. Wanted her to cooperate. Wanted her not to attack, to be in this one place, and to be watched.

The Pod dropped arms when she dropped her legs, and making the bobs, peeled skin back over hole in head to expose slick and square white bulbs. Clenching them together to hide the tunnel behind. Skthveraachk stepped back towards center of her cave and, for safety’s sake, tried not to express her revulsion too openly. Letting her excitement still the distaste, make silent the tinges of frenzy sonorously droning at edges of her mind. They would learn from her, and she would learn from them. They would teach her, and she would teach them. Her brooding nest was gone, and in all likelihood most if not all of her colony had followed close behind. But she was alive. Alive amongst the most dangerous creatures that may exist in this world since the purges. And they brought to her knowledge. Her losses were incalculable. But these were beings of impossibility, of impossible violence and impossible construction and impossible talents. She knew what she had lost. Now, she would murmur an aria, a solo, and dedicate it to the future. Settling onto the floor, legs folded beneath her, Skthveraachk watched. She hummed. And she waited.