“Unsuitable. Not ‘suitability unknown’. Unknown nature of the site makes, by definition, the viability a negative.” The thinkers heard his song, and would even respond to it. Skthveraachk delver had walked the rows of the Silent City. His claws had touched the hardstone statues depicting The Mother herself, his tongue had scoured the base of the thrones which had once seated the Founders. Had tasted the berylstone from which the great seats of the Triumverate had been hewn. They would hear his song. They would respond to it. But they would not listen to it.

“The Queen has sung clearly. This is to be the site of our nest. It is decreed and true.”

“Queen is not questioned. Truth of the decision, not contested. I do not argue that this has become our nesting site. I state that it is an unsuitable site.” They heard. They would respond, once his music made its way out of the depths in which he worked and up to the surface where thinkers shaded comfortably beneath canopies of wound fibres. A menial passed him another clump of dirt, and he buried his maw into it. Thrashing tongue from side to side, and letting the particles drool free from him when information was gathered. Hard over soft. Weight over light. What in the name of the sky-sent had been done to this world?

“Suitability must be created, then. We argued long and fruitlessly; our Queen raging from fade to rise. The Sovereignty has permitted us only this canyon and the mesas beyond. We must convert it into primary nest.”

“Then Sovereignty is frenzied, or deliberately seeking to sabotage.” Lights were absent down in the deep places, but it was a luxury, not a requirement. Skthveraachk felt each of his colony passing by, their colors dulled and muted by distance. They moved, but did not stride. They dug, but did not tunnel. “Upper crust is gneiss. Below, granite. Below that, shale. Excavation cannot proceed. We cannot begin hollowing caverns through softrock with such weight above, it will collapse. Even if water is located, it is meaningless.”

“Remove excess weight from upper layer?” The thinker who offered solution sent it with sympathy, and the delver felt his irritation soften. The colony was hurting in the absence of direction, and all felt the strain of their roles being suffocated from without. “Peel the crust, use the hardrock and hardstone found for outer upward constructions?” He folded forelegs, and considered.

“Acceptable solution, but with problems. Hardrock is heavy. Breaking through, difficult. Will need to double worker distribution to the problem. Even then, will take ten, fifteen measures.”

“Impossible.” Another flash from another increasingly taciturn thinker. “Maximum allocation has already been reached for excavation duties. All others are dispersed.”

“Then it will take tens and tens of measures.” The menial carted the chunks of dirt away, the rocky fragments ground down to finer debris, and the delver remained latched at his angle in the angular passageway. Never had he seen a composition of stone such as this. Heat, pressure, the formation of the layered geology would have only occurred under such conditions that should have made this area unlivable. Uninhabitable. Yet they were here, they breathed, they sung, and no trace of the wrath that had plagued this place remained. As though the world itself had been changed. He shuddered. “It is unsuitable. It can be made tolerable, but it will take time. The more legs I am given, the less time it will take.”

“The Queen will return in fewer than thirty measures. We must have progress before then. The eggs are already lain. It is too dangerous to leave them so close to the surface.” They heard. They responded. But Skthveraachk was done attempting to make them listen. Their priorities were different, their role affording them a greater view of the now. He simply could not imagine what was more important than the creation of the nest in which their future would be crafted. When his silence spoke for him, all were at last unified in their understanding. The issue would not be resolved. “Proceed as you are able. When menials are freed from their respective taskings, we will assign priority to excavation.”

“Received.” Their focus went elsewhere. Skthveraachk delver’s own was requested two layers up. Exploratory tunnel had been mapping the potential depths, and it was the one bit of data that sung of promise and potential. Once through the gneiss nearly two layers thick, five layers of harsh but still manageable granites was present. It was a good stone, and by his initial borings, containing many reagents for the creation of more complex hardstones. He had often used the compositions in the casings around statue molds, in lining walls, but the time spent amidst humanites had brought questions anew as to the possibilities. Even his vast experience was not enough to differentiate the minerals they used as basis for their works, but the rocks here reminded him of their clear barriers, the taste of their ‘glass’. Their walls. Even the internal components of some of their machinery. A deposit had already been located on the seventh layer, brownstone that tickled the tongue the same way alien blood did, reeking of their filaments and tubes. There was wealth here. Wealth was not the same as suitable nesting grounds.

“Issue?”

“Stability.” He swore to the bodiless songs of the ice upon arriving, drones bracing themselves to the straight slope of the tunnel’s walls. “Signs of stress. Pressure.”

“Evacuate lowest three layers. Reassign to scavenging.”

“Received. Previous teams report fewer materials. Outer colony already depleted.”

“Continue triangular brace formation. I will assist with the selection. Continue tasking.” Peel the Sovereignty. Menials angled themselves up the curved walls as the delver joined the outbound line of workers. Ensuring he carried with him a chunk of rubble rather than depart empty mouthed. Peel them raw. Any assistance needed, that had been their claim. That had been the message given to the colony, the promise internalized, but now did Skthveraachk know the truth of it. Requests to repurpose the Coalition AGs? Refused. Requests to stockpile lances and weapons? Refused. Their spires, their vehicles, even parts of their shells and armor! Refused. Refused. Refused. Thinkers and crafters leaking scent over the prospect of finally inspecting the inner workings of their technology had been directed to return the items. Then, the scant pile of smallest marvels was turned over too, when Hathan-Commander had asked the Queen directly if she was holding any further contraptions back. What was left? The delver emerged from the triangular opening into the unflinching alien sun.

Only three measures had passed since the battle within the canyon basin, but none would be able to tell now. Ridges where artilleries had howled were barren, ditches had been filled in and smoothed, the metal structures had been torn down and cut into more manageable pieces, pieces which had been stockpiled across the floor of the circular chasm. Canvas stretched for tens of lengths in squares, supported by tall pillars as hundreds labored beneath them. Smoothing terrain in preparation for digging, or transporting biomass from the larders to the open-aired troughs. Up on the mesas, though the fog made by the unpleasant light clouded proper sight, the newly erected buildings of the humanites sat squat beneath the spires stretching out of view. The encampment moved nearer the nest, now that most of the aliens had departed further into the peninsula with the Queen and army. What was left? Scraps and castoffs. He tossed the rubble onto the pile for the other menials, then took to assisting the search.

“Prioritize beams. Any stretch of metal two tenthlengths thick and a length or more tall.”

“Solid or porous?”

“Humanite metals sometimes contain holes to save on material. Test strength of these first. If suitable, include.”

“Received.”

“Addendum. Do not scavenge from alien corpses. If located, mark and transport as priority to crafters.” Even now, a few Coalition bodies turned up from time to time. Found under fallen structures being harvested for materials, hidden in the rocks where they had expired. Unlikely that any would be located by his workers, but after the dispensing of battle’s information, the colony had discovered the validity of repurposing the coalition’s shells into armor for their own warriors. Tens of crafters labored now to experiment for the best arrangements. “Nothing further. Resume tasking.” They scattered. The area cleared promptly, leaving the delver to stand momentarily insensate beside the pile of excavated stone, still looking up to those square buildings ringing the section of mesa. Envy. Annoyance. Respect? Irrelevant. He pushed off, and made for the central canopy.

“Skthveraachk!” The call was at distance, not through the link. He reached outward, waiting for his leg to be grabbed, but it did not come. “Skthveraachk delver! Temporary halt!” He rounded, and ran hairs over his eyes to clean them for fear of dust marring vision. Hazel and onyx, lean in both gaster and thorax, legs quickened in pace across the heated ground, a thinker was advancing on him. The male stood, antennae twitching, until the other could grip against him. “Skthveraachk.”

“Skthveraachk.” He knew that name. He recognized that music. “You are the thinker who sung with me just now? Advising of top layer’s removal.”

“Confirmed. Skthveraachk thinker.”

“We should move beneath cover. Even aliens do not enjoy this sun.” It was not until a few bars of exposure that you began to feel the itching, the way it felt as though your shell was flaking away. The dryness in your vents that brought spasms until refreshed with drink or secretions. Thinker signed consent, and the two followed assigned trail to the nearest canopy. “Purpose?”

“Reassignment.” The female was a bit too tight in her grip, but he did not point it out. Thinkers were not as versed in the link, or in matching their strength to their partners. That, and likely something else. “Was previously overseeing the menders with those who had eaten the humanites.” The unnecessary information struck him, and despite immediate destabilization, he internalized it.

“This area, not mine. Knowledge unneeded.”

“I am designating you as backup for this information. Your compendium of data already labels you as critical survival priority.” There it was. Skthveraachk felt the female add notes of admiration to her composition, and he worked diligently to keep the shadows from his own.

“Received.” Readying himself to learn, he found place within to file the new points. “Previously learned conflict. It was truth gained that aliens could not be consumed.”

“Yes. But, that information was gained from a humanite thinker, and it was coupled into knowledge of the humanite capacity for untruth. One in sixty were selected to intake alien biomass for two measures. Failure. Yes.” She acknowledged the way his claws scratched at the ground in irritation. “Expelling. Thrashing. Liquid fecal matter. Most recovered. Alien biomass has been designated as only suitable for fertilization of crops now.”

“The capacity for untruth is accepted. However maddening. Does not indicate that every word sung is an untruth. Energy wasted pursuing needless suspicion.”

“Humanites were deemed to have a vested interest in the information that we could not digest them. Thinker’s policy at this time is to test any truth for falsehood if both, one, it is a truth that came from a humanite, and two, it is a truth that gives sole advantage to humanites as individual or species.”

“Wasteful. Wasteful. So much energy expended when we have known problems to address.” Fifteen hundred menials stretched out before him, testing the ground for weakness as they marched in a grid. Digging mandible down, scrabbling with claws, then advancing. Coordinated and precise. “Good that thinker was assigned to this problem, at least. Will have fewer than two thousand workers if all are moved from delving, boring and digging to excavation of the upper layer of gneiss. Best estimate; thirty-eight measures to clear the top layers. Digging then commences into proper chambers.”

“It is too slow.” She followed his attention out over the mustered forces. “Section the digging? Begin chamber excavation as soon as stone is removed from appropriate square of the upper layer?”

“Would mean diverting those clearing to digging. Dangerous. Doable. First chamber would be done in fifteen measures, perhaps, but clearing would not be done for nearer fifty.” His mandibles clicked twice together, and another curse sent his vents shaking and stomachs rolling. “Have thinkers developed way to turn one menial into two?”

“No.” Her antennae clacked together, and the sound soothed as much as it bit. “No, that we have not yet done.” Of course they hadn’t. They were not humanites. Shade around him was cooling, both to his mind and body. Her grip remained on Skthveraachk’s leg, but he made effort to keep the stroke of his hairs soft along her.

“Song carry your memory. My thanks for sharing this knowledge.”

“I am attempting to distract you from your intent to continue your tasking. It is succeeding.”

“Confusion. Why do I require distracting?”

“When was the last time you fed?”

“I do not prioritize this information.” His mood was growing terse again. Her grip was too firm. Skthveraachk was regarding himself through her eyes, and saw the way his mandibles arranged themselves unshapely on his blacker shell. An adjustment was made, to make them protrude more pleasantly. “Near a measure. I have been preoccupied.”

“Your role demands maintenance. You will allocate tasking to secondary delver, then travel to the feeding troughs.” The thinker did not use the melody of suggestion as her song struck forth. Skthveraachk felt fine, fatigued perhaps and a touch breathless in the strange world, but he could survive longer without biomass. He considered requesting a check from a mender, then thought of his raging against wasted effort. They had their graspers occupied. A thinker told him he required sustenance. The delver accepted.

“Received. Will dispense orders to begin excavation of top layer, then feed myself.”

“I will accompany you. We will solve the issue of labor.” It was not a request. He did not need to sing acceptance. Crawling from the thinker, Skthveraachk reared and raised forelegs to signal the ranks settled over the future nest’s entrance. The front row halted, notified the second, who halted and notified the third. All eyes raised to him, and for the briefest moment, it was like he was back in the lands of the Triumverate. About to embark once again on greatest endeavor of the time. Signals were made, voices were raised, and the simple digging commenced. Fifty measures until completion. Hiss escaped him as he sunk back to all six, and walked with the thinker to the feeding line.

“How do they erect such creations so quickly?” The mass was sticky and warm. There were not enough stomachs to feed directly from, and the fluid spilled into communal trough coalesced quickly even under the protection of green fabric cover. Even as the delver’s tube extended into the slurry, his eyes never strayed from those cubes and rectangles in the high distance. Thinker stood opposite, trying not to let personal inexperience with the troughs show.

“They use lifts. Like their AGs, but designed specifically for role of construction. But, many of their structures are not designed for permanence. These in the field are made only to be temporary, to be quickly taken apart and moved.”

“Then we should request their aid. Ask they demonstrate their vaunted powers in way that contributes to our efforts for their benefit.” Slurping came all down the line of the trough, the simple stone blocks that had been made indented and then sealed together to form long dip surrounded by menials and even the rare soldier. A bloated worker waddled behind the thinker and leaned over the edge of the channel, pulsing as it poured out the contents of its second stomach into the soup. Skthveraachk shuffled nearer, sucking up the freshest mass before it had chance to stagnate. “Crafters still await their promised delivery of hardstone and metal.”

“What is the core purpose of our work here, delver?”

“Specify which role. Soldiers? Queen? Menials?” Rudeness to interject? Ruder not to? She was wasting time and energy. Interject to assist in task. “Latch foreclaws to basin’s edge. Settle rear four at eight-tenths distance square. Tube extended.”

“I sing thanks. Trough feeding … difficult.”

“Not enough menials to provide individual delivery, even to upper castes. Work priority.”

“Acknowledged.” The thinker’s positioning was far better, and she was quick to regain the phrasing of her rhythm. “Primary purpose for Skthveraachk-Colony; extoll virtues of species. Demonstrate traits desirable to humanites. Adaptability. Combat. Obedience. We cannot be seen as overly relying on their aid. They provide us already with biomass.”

“Deliveries yet to arrive.”

“There is enough mass from our fallen to sustain until supplies come. They provide us with building materials.”

“One-twentieth of total salvaged resources.”

“They provide us with knowledge.”

“Refused.” Skthveraachk’s tube retracted with a slurp, stomach only half full, but any more would slow him in his labors. “They deliver only fragments of greater understanding. Active denial of more complex understandings.” The thinker continued to suck back the slurry of meat and bile as his back legs danced at the tunnels bored through rock. “Have ceased circular tunneling. Changed to triangular pattern. Why? Humanite construction uses triangular support struts, seen in their Palamedes’ images and structures. Why? Unknown. Crafters now assembling armor from fallen Coalition for solders. Why? Provides superior defense against lancer beams, able to withstand heat where our carapaces cannot. Why? Unknown. Colony has not internalized knowledge. Colony has internalized scavenging pattern. Adoption of alien technology and techniques without comprehension of foundation.” His brooding spread down the intake line of drones, and their vibrating bark sour agreements. Even the thinker scraped her rear legs together unpleasantly.

“Not incorrect. Acknowledged. Skthveraachk sings all as one of distaste in this.” The thinker spoke as they all felt, as was her role. It did not make it any easier to listen to. “We are of subservient status to the humanites. Adoption of their technologies narrows the gap, but it is not pleasing. We enslave ourselves to their progress.”

“No different to the works of the Founders.” His truth slipped. Curses were flung from him like the phlegm of clogged vents as a stillness came over the feeding area. All other exchanges ceased, and even the menial pouring another stomachfull of mass into the trough froze mid-vomit. The thinker continued to suck up the paste, but antennae waited, baited, on his continuance.

“The Silent City must not be sung of.”

“I do not sing of it. I sing of its deadness. I do not sing of its wonders. I sing of our bondage to them, of Jchlehaalhn-Colony’s reticent foolishness.” There were only more enraptured now. Those holding his legs to either side felt along his hairs as though touching the great onyx gates themselves. Even two hundred of his diggers clear on the other side of the dry caldera had slowed to listen through the link. Peel his twitchy legs. “We cleaned. We maintained. We touched the greatness of the marvels within, but never was it permitted to examine. To study. Threat of damage, too great. Chance of losing sole surviving creations, unacceptable. Copy. Duplicate. Efforts to recreate like trying to build a complete nest by only looking from the outside. Impossible. Pointless. Slaves to a past. Ignorant of a future.” His former colony or here. Interactions with Jchlehaalhn or the Triumverate. The delver was marked. He had tasted of their history. ‘Critical survival priority’. Always and forever. He signalled his finality in the discussion of subject, and slowly, the other drones returned to their tasking.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Humanite lands are not the same as the Silent City.” Skthveraachk felt his antennae spasm. The female was not pursuing his knowledge? No. She was calculating something new. “But we cannot request their aid in this issue. And could not speak to them even if we wished.”

“You are not Banded?” It was the thinker’s turn to emit smells of displeasure, a bassline that thumped with concern. “I know of a thinker who is Banded. Had thought others would follow suit.”

“Skthveraachk thinker has his predilections for the aliens. They border on obsession. He has designated self as primary on their social structure. He has only requested a small number of Bands. All traveled with him and the Queen.” The delver had not seen the five-legged male for many measures. This explained his more recent absence. It did not explain the way all desire for cross-caste cooperation had vanished as soon as the thinker had been Banded by the humanites. Refocus. Prioritize.

“We cannot ask them for aid. We cannot speak with them.”

“But the study of their tools and technology is not expressly forbidden. It is not expressly ‘aid’.”

“Semantic?” The female adopted a more juvenile posture, attempting to deflect the criticism as the delver probed. “They have taken complex Coalition technologies to prevent their examination.”

“Sovereignty technologies have always been present, and their examination tolerated. To a degree.”

“To degree of being pried open and dissected?”

“They have never issued a blanketing, specific refusal.” Seeing him already protesting, the delver found his response stifled by awe as the thinker slowly beat antennae together. “And if we are not located in the action, they will have no need to issue such refusal. Yes?”

There was no evidence that the humanites even struggled to see in the dark. It was one of the many criticisms that arrived when the plan was expressed to the other thinkers. Eighteen drones were then identified who had traveled near the Sovereignty encampment in their labors, and had seen the great erected dishes that poured light across their cubes and structures. Added noticed of the constant state of illumination within their vessels and ships, Palamedes to Wyverns. Wasted energy, unless necessary. So now, they crawled at the mesa of the sloped basin’s ring, and watched shapes moving leisurely between the spires and squares. Flattened themselves against the rocks, their line stretching back over the edge of the cliff where thinker and crafter had nestled.

“Skthveraachk delver, it is unsafe.”

“Obvious. Also, necessary.” Her song came through the frail and single link of bodies. The twenty or so drones stretching behind him to relay his messages. Only a single scout was ahead of him, its head poking around from behind one of the spires. For tenlengths and tenlengths their encampment stretched, short walls and raised towers ringing its perimeter. Skthveraachk did not focus upon it, necessity and nerves both dictating the action. His eyes, and eyes of the scout, were on the great vehicles outside the bounds and protection of the light. The stretching, craning arms and opened rectangular stomachs bearing stones or planks of unknown material. Hollow tubes. Flatbeds of rolled meshes made of glass? His tongue was quivering.

“Scout can relay the information to you. There is no need to be so far up the link.”

“Possibility of only moments of available study before retreat. Need for personal tasting of components. Link is unacceptable delay.” It was the correct decision. His personal survival priority was interfering with the thinker’s judgement. It would not interfere with his. In the gloom of the almost pitched blackness, there could be made out scant ten shapes facing the flattened mesa where they crouched. Two in the towers. One at the entryway. The rest lounging on the walls. Almost blackness, save those pair of great discs in the voided sky, shining down on them. Like two unflinching eyes. Unnerving. Very unnerving.

“Moving. Follow.” The scout darted forward, kicking up a small trail of dust in his wake, and the delver sprinted after him. His eyes were unsuitable here, and he did not waste the scout’s energy in requesting updates. Avoid all humanites. Locate technology. Examine. Withdraw. “Stop. Here.” They slipped behind one of the vehicles. Tongue was freed and lathered its base almost immediately. Graspers felt around the wide curve, reached to the very handles guarding entrance to the brain of the unliving thing, but crafter confirmed what he already suspected.

“AG vehicle. Floating. Deactivated.”

“Unsuitable. Too advanced. Advancing.”

“Received.” Scout and crafter both trembled their acceptance, and once more the delver could only hunch and wait as the motionless pools of illumination shone on the blurry shapes of armored aliens. What of their machine eyes? Their ships high overhead? It was pure supposition that they even required a line of sight to establish presence. This was foolish. Rash. And only within the octagonal halls of the temples of Silent City had the former Jchlehaalhn ever pulsed with such excitement.

“Moving. Follow.” One of the drones behind them tripped and skidded a length before regaining herself, the lack of a scented trail or vibrations forcing only the use of eyes. Bodies curled up inside the hollow hardstone tubes, stretched out under the spaces beneath vehicles suspended on struts; anywhere they could cover and hide their silhouette. The delver felt over his own piece of cover. Another AG. ‘Anti-gravity’. The words meant nothing to him, other than the antithesis of some unreachable concept. Studying them was pointless. They needed something simpler. Something grounded. “Movement. Twenty lengths. Remain still.”

“If discovered, immediately withdraw. No hostile movements even if attacked. Designation of Sovereignty is vital superior vassal.”

“Received.” All hurriedly reconfirmed their understanding. Not a one intending to put the colony in more danger than they already were. The delver ran his tongue over the angles guarding access to the brain of the sedimentary unbeast. Discerning the flavors of brownstone again … sleetstone, drystone, cragstone. It was smooth, cold, with space enough to wrap his tongue all the way around. How could they blend all the different metals together so thoroughly? Skthveraachk gave a tug as winding tongue retracted. A click sounded. And he toppled backwards as the barrier to vehicle’s head swung wide, suddenly freed, to smack the scout across the thorax.

“Moving! Moving! Follow!”

“Vehicle moved!”

“It sees us?”

“Unknown, back, back!” The link was broken as drones frantically repositioned, the scout shoving the delver back onto all six before they too scurried off and dove into the nearest crevice. A gap barely half a length tall, situated beneath a six-wheeled monstrosity reeking of pungent crudeness the aliens themselves emitted. Oily. Bitter. He tried to catch his breath, and regretted every inhale. Only here, able to see the movement the scout had indicated. The sweeping of a single narrow beam, barely thicker than an antenna. A red line that waved and swayed. The crunching of claws, boots, whatever the aliens had. One of their own drones making his way out into the yard of vehicles. “Twenty-one lengths. Approaching previous location. Remain still.” Remain still. His breathing wanted to quicken, to fill lungs with greater helpings of the thin air, but he forced his pulse to begin lowering. Danger present. Do not leak. Focus elsewhere. Forward? Lights and sounds. Back? Unable to turn. Up? Up. Focus up. Antennae stroking, eyes oriented; curves, grooves, stinging liquid, hollow spaces, smooth rounded shafts.

Wait. Focus. Up. The delver kept his head balanced, but his antennae were alive with motion. Wrapping, tapping, feeling along the grooved … thought needed. Tube affixed to wheel; rigid, bonded into place. Axle? Axle. Beneath the flat of the vehicle. He had seen this before. On the Palamedes, the dancing attendant scooting on smoothed floor. Wheels which could turn, yes, but how? Rigid structure should prevent turning.

“Delver. Remain still. Humanite approaching.”

“Relaying information. Open link. Listen.” He began to feed back the knowledge, the nearest drone watching from its upside-down hang on elevated crane his signals. It was not rigid. There; he ran his tongue over a bump in the shaft. Opened circle. Some kind of fetid paste? The axel ran through it. Supported, but able to turn. Wheel and rod. Under such weight? How. How. Footsteps drew nearer, the red beam scanned. Skthveraachk slid himself out the opposite side, and raised to stand on but two legs as the other four felt within.

“Delver! Remain still!” The thinker, crafter, the entire link signalled distress. “Humanite nearing!”

“Relaying information.” Bed and raised walls. Distributed weight. There must be a tolerance threshold, or the axel would snap. They would test. Perhaps a rectangle could be constructed? Too complicated. And they had not smooth surfaces to roll such four-wheeled, six-wheeled, ten-wheeled behemoths. It did not enhance individual strength. It did not turn one to two. Leverage would be flat against its side, not like how the five-armed thinker had raised weight. Unless … if you centralized the distribution to a single point...

“A lever, a fulcrum, and I shall move the world.”

“*^&**^&**^&*!” The volume was too close. The cry too precise. It cracked out with force equal to any lancer, and the call was raised without delay. Snapping the delver from his thoughts.

“Retreat! Retreat! Flee! Flee!”

“Distraction! Distraction! Wait…wait! Now!” A ringing bang. The red laser whirled about, seeking the source of the impact. Like one of the humanite’s own plasma artilleries had the crafter created their escape. Though, the hurling of a heavy stone into one of the vehicles seemed far less grand than the alien’s abilities. Bodies slithered and legs scuttled. A gaster was briefly seen disappearing behind boulder. Mandibles vanished over the edge of the cliff. Run. Run. The scout darted with core so close to the mesa that it could be heard scraping when bit of rock protruded at all from the leveled surface. Skthveraachk wheezed. Skthveraachk fled. And Skthveraachk felt his claw catch as he reached the edge of the cliff, watching that red beam fly over his head before he toppled and flew out, crashing down the caldera’s embankment.

A drone flung an arm out to catch him, and was pulled along. The scout sought to seize the flailing drone, and his claws were pulled clean from the rock’s wall. Down they toppled in the black, splintering shells and twisting limbs. A plateau in the cliff rose to meet his battered body, the stars and hanging discs of light spinning infinitely above him as impact after impact drove goo and air from his vents. Bodies flung themselves down and stretched out, clasped in leg, and as one did the great ball of figures slam into the undersides of the thinker and crafter. The two crying out in pain’s success as the fall was cushioned on their cores. They should have moved. Got further under cover. Red beam’s laser scanned behind them, was joined by another, and another. None dared to move. None even tried to breathe. Blood flowed from shattered legs, thinker sagged as air was crushed from her lungs by the weight of black bodies. The point drew nearer. Traced towards them. Slipped forward, until it rested just between the gap of mandibles before the delver’s eyes. When it winked out, Skthveraachk did not need to check if he had squirted the fear markers. He could feel the emptiness of the sack.

“Leg broken.”

“Shell cracked.”

“Rise. Move. Priority to thinker.” The delver slid off the female, and she gasped out, hissing and panting. Spread wide on her back. He could not tell if her exoskeleton had been split, amidst the other liquids saturating the plateau. But by the way her antennae tapped weakly together and her body remained motionless, a private relief began to flood him.

“Rescinding concern. Skthveraachk delver does not require additional biomass. Weight is well within bounds of expected for his size.” One of the drones was the most critical, one of his eyes having been split open by a pointed stone. He was first to be carried down the cliff. The others slowly filing after, those who had not been sundered supporting those who had. When he checked over his body, he found onto two splits on his back, shallow, and the spur of his left-central claw had been torn off. It would be missed. He and the scout supported the thinker between them in their descent, her singing never fully silencing. “I understand your intent, delver. What will be required?”

“Stone. Metal bars. And chitin.” His mandibles clicked as the procession wound down towards the canyon floor. “We require significant amounts of chitin.”

Eight bars with two separate crafters to create the first successful rendition. Two more spent testing the limits of its capacity. By the time the sun had begun its cresting towards rise, the order had been put out for materials, spitters, and all the chitin the menders had not yet consumed. Though, some had been sacrificed simply to seal and cover the injuries sustained the fade prior. They sat together in the shade once more, listening to the great pounding that rang out through the caldera to echo from cliff to cliff. Skthveraachk trying not to express further irritations, however mild, as the thinker continued to stroke over his shell. Filing down the hardened sealant until it matched his natural body.

“Three more thinkers have been reassigned to the crafters. There has been argument for the last six bars whether the armoring project, or this, should be receiving greater attention.”

“It is not my role to determine this.”

“I have been stating value of adaptive technology. Suggesting that at least four thinkers be permanently allocated to hypothesizing advancements based off the rudimentary foundations we have.” Another cracking from the opened field, lined with those same fifteen hundred bodies. Two to a material pile, both to assist in the manufacturing and positioning of the gathered items. Drone graspers were not nearly as developed as those of a crafter, and it was a pair of crafters who stood on the elevated ledge. Demonstrating the needed movements, bringing scythes down to chip and cut away at the flattened stones. “It is unknown if such will be accepted. Without Queen, we already are needing temporary head. The humanites banded him early this rise.” The delver stiffened, the thinker tapping his shell reassuringly. “There is no punishment. They are ensuring Skthveraachk-Colony knows we are not permitted freely near their installations.”

“Blanketing refusal?”

“There is a degree of interpretation to be found in their exact notes used.”

“Acknowledged.” He would be needed soon. Returning to the depths of the delving tunnels while the thinker resumed her oversight. Smoothness in the crafters’ stone had almost been achieved, and Skthveraachk sought to return to his claws. There was an aching where the spur had been torn from him; it would be difficult to ever climb as he used to, perhaps impossible in many circumstances. He would be confined to the flat ground now, or the tightness of tunnels. “What is your reassignment?”

“I have not been reassigned.” Letting him up, the female rose alongside male. Keeping her arm engaged with his. “My role remains most useful here.”

“Problem has been solved. Excavation of upper layer in ten measures, twelve at most, multiple chambers by twenty. Time has been halved. No additional drones required.”

“Problem has been solved because problem was created.”

“You sing an empty statement?”

“I repeat without insult.” Her wider head aligned to the rows of drones stretching out and out, the synchronized bodies striking down with scythe and jaw. “Problem arose. Solution demanded. Impossible circumstance. Creation adopted to achieve objective. A new story written into the memories of the colony. Skthveraachk upon the Nameless Mesa.” Stone was set down, and final sharpening of the dead limbs was done. Empty, rigid legs from their fallen siblings, two to a set. “Solutions have always been found in the adding of mass, in the birthing or killing of new drones, even the most dire answered with the combining of traits within the brooding nests. Never before has option of this alien technology been explored. It must be explored. You will create problems.” The delver gave a clacking at the mocked insinuation. “And I will assist you in finding … scientific,” The music was new. “Solution.”

“Secondary drone! Wheel is raised vertical!” The crafters proceeded to final assembly, and the delver felt any desire to continue the exchange suppressed under the focus of his gaze. Watching as seven hundred pairings below brought the smoothed stone discs to stand upright. “Metal rod, inserted!” Tunnels had collapsed all throughout the caldera from the number of supports taken for this. It would not matter. They could be remade once rocks were removed. “Attach legs, angle to set elevation!” Single tube through single wheel. Able to roll loose, with the dead legs providing the carriage and arms. Sealant poured to bind and fasten at the joints, to ready for the basin. “Tray, inserted, dome downward!” Raised slopes had been unnecessary. A half-deep curve, formed from the cut carapace of the gaster, provided the bed in which stones could rest. The wheel, both fulcrum and point of greatest weight. It could not haul mountains. It could not move entire structures as the aliens did. But it could double, triple, the weight that could be carried in mandibles. “Set down. Primary, position as so!”

Seven hundred and fifty bodies faced forward. Three thousand legs dug into the ground, the frontal four of each drone. Of each, the rearmost pair raised to hook around and lift the arms of the hauling tool, and it was lifted from the grit and soil to balance. To rest on that single wheel. Seven hundred and fifty bodies. Seven hundred and fifty of the wheeled barrow.

“Advance! Resume tasking!” How loud was the scraping. How long trundled the laborers. And how easily did they move with their new additions in tow. Proceeding to the excavation site as menials loaded each barrow’s tray with the carved gneiss. Piling until legs strained, the drone carting off the refuse material, only for another to take its place. The delver lifted his gaze to those gleaming structures and spires ringing the caldera. Saw the barely discernable dots of figures, gazing back down. Watching. Watching them. The distance to them seemed somewhat lesser this rise.

“So? Has Skthveraachk delver discovered how to turn one menial into three, now?”

“No.” The delver clicked his mandibles twice together, and his music’s refusal no longer sounded of the impossible. “…Not yet.”