It was a waking death. It was a stillness of cycles past. A silence that was not just of the voice, but of the mind and body. When Skthveraachk had first been taught the patterns, shown the path, his fear had been a thing of pincers and jaws that consumed his efforts and screamed to his face its fury. Steady your breathing; once every ten beats. Limbs do not move. Vents do not flare. Tread the line between song and death, vision blurred by the lack of air and slowness of heart. Watch as the enemy approaches with crunching step on gravel path above you, see it with weapon slung against its back. It does not see you; you do not move. It does not hear you; you do not breathe. It does not smell you; you are not marked. Closer. Closer. A foot steps. Stones tumble down the embankment and strike your eyes. You do not move. You do not move.
Move. The darkness was flung away as his lungs filled with the alien air, and the dust billowed off him as Skthveraachk leapt. Threw himself forward from the ditch, claws uncurled and mandibles wide. See the turn of the humanite’s head, mouth widening, eyes sharpening, all too slow. See the reaching for its weapons, the scrape of its heels as it tries to turn, all too late. Foreclaws around its arms. Worn helmet cracking against his own, face making contact with its head. Thorax and core strike its torso, cloak billowing out behind in his leap. Two breaths in the open, suspended, wrapping around the foe. Then, impact on the other side of the pathway. Feeling snapping under the thing’s armor, and the breathless, soundless screaming whispering out of its maw as his jaws closed around its throat.
<”Don’t kill him! *^&*, no kill! No kill!”> The landscape was rocky and barren, red and shaded by the mounds and hills. A stone moved, its surface rippled, and an arm extended from beneath its crust to pull free a lance. Shoving the barrel’s end down into the wheezing alien’s helm where tube from pack met the holes of its face. <”And you, *^&**^&*, shut/seal *^&* rutting in upward!”>
“Your order has not been forgotten. It has been but beats, not cycles.” The Band around Skthveraachk scout’s neck gave off irregular spasms, trying to accurately parse the coarse meanings. Experience and the memories indicated if there was talk of mating from the humanites, it was probably an insult. Speckled and red in garb and features, the alien in his mandible writhed, and the scout clamped tighter until blood began to leak from the flesh. “It will be safer to kill it.”
<”It won’t. They’ll know.”> The Markus-Sergeant emerged next, and the soft scrabbling of claws was close behind him. The gully was almost too narrow for two to stand side by side, and a crimson dust still saturated the area from the tumble off the path. Sovereignty soldier jerked his weapon back behind the rocks, and Skthveraachk began to drag the stiffening humanite to the others. <”But if he tries to scream, bite.”>
“Received.” In the distance, down the trodden road and slope, voices drifted up towards them. Tens of lengths away, but closer than the scout was comfortable with. It was harder to hear in the rickety helmet, and the fluttering alien fabric that had been secured at his neck and petiole, but the scout watched closely the Sergeant’s lips for further command. The only visible skin beneath helm and plating. “How far would we need take it before Coalition could not smell or hear its death?”
<”About a *^&**^&*/thousand lengths back the way we came. Move it, *^&*, *^&**^&* down and sit there.”>
“Incredible. Even with your machines, half their bodies must just be giant noses-“
<“*^&*, stop trying to explain tech to the bug/lesser. Cut his comms and get clasps on him.”> It took careful adjustments of his head to ensure the alien’s more tender neck was not torn from him, but the humanites commanded, and he obeyed. There was never a link to rely on, never a choir to support. Perform role without deviation. The speckled creature was sat behind the boulder while the subordinate of his two masters set to fiddling with its shell, pulling weapons and devices from its body. Skthveraachk released his sharp grip only when its hands and feet were locked in black cords which folded over themselves like living worms. <”Are we still safe?”> It was a question for them. Skthveraachk made quick chitter, catching the song of the foremost scout who had remained unbudging in the gully behind them.
“Yes. The sounds are at eighty-two lengths. Twelve or fifteen. They are not approaching.”
<”You’re sure?”> Markus-Sergeant squatted, keeping his profile lowered in their meager cover. Blood was shook from Skthveraachk’s mandibles as he made the nodding.
“As the pupae shakes.” Markus remained motionless, and Skthveraachk tried again. “Yes. It is certain.”
<”That’s light for a border post. Either they’re stupid, or short on guards. Good news for us either way. *^&*, all done?”>
<”Done.”> Pieces of equipment were snapped, fabric had been stuffed into the alien’s facehole, and the Sovereignty soldier had slung the creature’s weapon across its own back with its own.
“We are to leave the enemy here? It will escape. It will be discovered.”
<”By the time they notice his *^&* isn’t moving, we’ll be long gone. If we kill him now, they’ll be on us in beats. Signal your males/troops, we’re moving.”> There was no singing this deep into enemy territory. Two stamps on the barren gravel and a ticking made by antenna on shell; the subtle call was returned, and by the time they had left the struggling enemy in its cranny and made it to the next outcropping in the wasteland of stone, the other four covered scouts had rejoined the massing. Their helmets smeared with mud to hide the glinting of light, and their bodies covered like the humanite’s with the stretched single sheet of fabric each. Skthveraachk updated the others, and quick-made their sights his own.
“Ridge remains the best vantage. But it is exposed, and only of a few tenlengths tall.”
<”You’ll be fine. Just keep the cloaks on, and their *^&* will pass right over you.”> The slope was long and rolling, and the further down it went, the louder the sounds of life became. Foreign, mechanical, lumbering and grinding. Skthveraachk kept to the middle as their column of seven crept from shadow to shadow. He was Banded. He was vital. It was a surprising comfort. <”When you get to the top, I’ll walk you through setting up the *^&*/eye. In, out, and we’re back at the FOB by next rise.”>
“Received.” Four tenlengths, accurate to half a length precisely. The wall rose up out of the ground and protruded like an antenna over the head that was the terrain. Something heavy was clanking on the horizon that he could barely see, that empty sky ran with grey and black overhead, and twelve-and-three-quarter lengths to the right, a smell of ammonia and salt from humanite waste. No contact; remain vigilant. Goals one through twelve currently met. Begin conversation for standing interrogative orders. “If these materials we wear eliminates the chances of detection, why are they not more common amongst soldiers?”
<”It reduces the chances, doesn’t eliminate them.”> Information logged and stored. Skthveraachk made sure one other in the slowly advancing column was directed to keep the knowledge until they returned to the colony, in case he was killed before they arrived. <”And the same reason we don’t each get a MK.III *^&**^&* AV to cruise around in.”>
“Absence of materials. Acknowledged.”
<”I hear once the printers on *^&* are finished, we’ll be getting gear that’ll put the Coalition’s kit to shame.”> Lighter voice was kept at whisper. <”New ships, new armor…”>
<”It’ll be *^&*/tenmeasures before they start producing, *^&*/tenmeasures to actually build the damned/songless things, and another *^&*/tenmeasures to arrive at Earth.”> Foremost scout reached the cliff, and the Markus-Sergeant pressed into the wall next to it, hands deft and experienced as they slung his weapon and brought out his pack in what seemed like one motion. <”And then it’ll go to the frontliners at *^&* and *^&**^&*. Keep dreaming, *^&*; we won’t see any of that stuff for hundreds of measures.”>
<”Oh no need to worry about it, then. Since the war’ll be long done by then, right Sergeant?”> Both chuffed and horked on the air, and though Skthveraachk did not understand the humor, the scouts all tapped their antennae together softly with respect. All was soon silenced as they squatted in the shade of the great protruding rock formation, the aliens unwinding a cord and fixing it to a ball no larger than one of Skthveraachk’s eyes. <”We’re connected.”>
<”Alright. You, take this,”> Skthveraachk reared, and accepted the orb into his foreclaws. <”And carry it up there, to the top. Keep low, and don’t let the cable snag on anything. So long as its connected, the *^&* won’t be broadcasting/singing a signal, and they won’t be able to see it. If it comes out, bad. Trouble. Understand?”>
“Orb is vital. Protect and ensure it remains connect. Ascend cliff. Place at edge. Confirm?”
<”Yes. Once you’re up, I’ll guide you through the rest.”>
“Received.” The confirmation doubled as a relaying to the rest of the group, and when Skthveraachk passed the small sphere into the mandibles of the nearest scout, it began the ascent without hesitation. Another joined it, helping unspool the cord from the pack of the lesser alien subordinate, who was forming a protest already.
<”You’re the one with the translator, why aren’t you going?”>
“The Band must be protected. I will relay your instructions to the others.”
<”It’s a forty *^&* cliff, we’re supposed to be keeping quiet, not shouting back and forth.”>
“Acknowledged. I will ensure my song remains quiet.” Subordinate soldier/queenling designation seemed unsatisfied, but the Markus-Sergeant silenced it with a waving cut of his hand.
<”Bugs can talk to each other with just smells sometimes. Don’t think too hard about it; Command said they can communicate without *^&**^&* over distance, so here they are.”>
“Our songs are layered expressions denoting meaning from the precise application of movement, sound, and smell harmonizing their pulses with-“
<”I don’t care.”>
“Received, Markus-Sergeant. The orb has been placed.” The cliff was far more exposed than was preferable. Skthveraachk took a quick look first through the spotter at its base; the shadows were on their side, and the ascent had gone unnoticed. Switching to the view of the thin plateau, the highest scout flattened down to match the crimson rocks while orienting and adjusting the sphere in its jaws. It emitted small whirrs, internal organs that could be felt but not seen, and when Skthveraachk returned to his own eyes, it was to see the aliens unroll a square of silver. A square that shimmered, and suddenly grew light from its surface.
It showed the slope to their right, marred with boulders and pathways well trodden. It showed the growths that Skthveraachk could just barely make out, the unnatural wood shapes and leaves of off-colored green. As though a different world from the barren emptiness they had seen merged below them. It showed the falling of the hills into the water, a river that sat placid for who knew how many lengths, the miniature representation of light a confusing scale. It showed the small squares flowing up and to the risefade, breaking away from the nest. And yes, it showed the nest. The sharp-edged towers upon which sat the outlines Skthveraachk had come to memorize; plasma throwers, artillery pieces, barricades and the heavy bags of dirt mixing with funneling chokepoints fashioned from metal and the clear glassy material. Beyond the perimeter, buildings and humanite constructions the likes of which he had only seen in the nest of Pelal. Breeding chambers and residence caverns, but erected above-ground. Wide streets that ran the length of the sweeping outdoor spaces, shaded blue by both the light of the map and the shield erected over its entire length. Light which shone over the weapons that, they were told, could fire clear into the sky beyond should the need arise. Taller than the buildings themselves. Vegetation sprung even from their stonework and hardstone pillars flanking the perfectly set bricks. Tens of lengths. Hundreds of lengths? Skthveraachk could not fully parse it, and instead internalized it for the thinkers to handle and crafters to shiver over.
<”*^&**^&* was right, that’s an evacuation. They’re sending *^&*/drones up the river to the capital. Scale back, I bet they’re doing the same across the channel.”> Details were lost as the nest, town, city; as the false-Guir depicted on the holographic map shrunk. Details became hazier and hazier, less defined, the smaller the images became. But there, at the far end of the sweeping watery barrier, was another nest. So close. Sibling, twin, a mirror image of Guir in every meaningful regard. The symmetry was beautiful. <”Look at all those ships, they must be trying to empty the entire town.”>
<”With the pace of our advance, I’m not surprised. If we can get the army here before the evacuation is complete, they’ll be caught between us and the river-“>
<”Hold on. *^&* back in, grid uh…C-6 there, along the defensive wall.”> The subordinate ran his fingers along the base of the sheet, and Skthveraachk recoiled as the rectangles and rhombuses grew so abruptly he was afraid they would leap from the sheet. <”Down, further.”>
<”It’s the same kind of barricades we’ve seen, intelligence already said to expect similar defenses…wait, the breeding rut is that?”> Heavy lance emplacements. Bunkers, coated with reflective composites to disperse the heat of impacts. Skthveraachk followed the extension of the alien’s spindly digit, and saw an outline he did not know. That they were not taught.
<”Kihnnehtics.”> The world held no meaning, but it was spoken with awe. Reverence.
<”*^&**^&*…”>
<”All across the wall, waterline to waterline. Five, maybe six batteries… *^&* Composer/*^&*, look at the barrels, they’re railed.”>
“My apologies for the interruption.” Reverence, and fear. Fear from an alien was not desirable. It demanded exploration. One of the scouts reported movement down the slope, at the fringes of the vegetation line, but it was distant enough to ignore for now. “We have no information on these weapons. What is their significance?”
<”They kill things.”> The simplicity was, somehow, not reassuring. <”They fire a projectile, a solid object.”>
“I do not understand. How does this differ from your plasma? Your artillery?” The subordinate hesitated, and would not respond. The Sergeant showed fewer compunctions on the matter.
<”P-*^&* launchers take a hunk of rock, *^&*, whatever, and superheat it. By the time it hits the dome, its more energy and melted slag than solid. A shield can stop that. It’ll strain, P-*^&*’s are meant to put strain on the output, but it’ll be stopped. That won’t be.”> The straight tubes set with grooves cut into their length seemed sharper as Skthveraachk copied every detail into his mind. <”Could have the generators of a capital ship; something half the size of a tank is shot at you, it doesn’t stop.”>
<”We need to get back. *^&**^&* Diggers putting kihnnehtics on their towns, what in the death of the song will the capital look like?”>
<”Bug, any changes?”>
“Slow approach of ten enemies at eighty lengths. Difficult to make out. No other pertinent information.”
<”Alright, bring the eye down.”> A few breaths were needed to consider, settling on the agreement that it was but another name for the orb. Humanites began to pack up, to roll the sheet of lights and wind down the cable as Skthveraachk sung for a slow retreat. He did not understand how a rock could become liquid. He did not understand why the great curved lightwalls would halt the white beams of death, but not a thrown chunk of metal. It was not his place to know. Log the information, share it, return it to the colony. When the two scouts had finished their precipitous descent, a check was made for cuts or tears in the hugging cloaks, and then, they were gone from that site of future battle.
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They did not stop until the light was gone in its entirety, Skthveraachk’s vision cut to but ten or twenty lengths ahead. On their own world, they would be lucky for five lengths of sight in the fade. It was different here, even a lack of sun allowing for a grey and brown shimmer. The Sovereignty was unobstructed, their visors believed to be like that of the Queen’s. But where the scouts could yet travel but not see, the aliens could see but needed rest. They erected their canvas and silvery cube from interlocking, extending poles that moved on their own, and built within a fire that leapt to life with a peeling of black disk’s face. Neither light nor heat escaped the cube when it was closed, and such was good. Skthveraachk established a marked perimeter with the others, traded food from their second stomachs, and accepted role as third-watch. Those who had not climbed nor fought would provide lookout first, and rest last.
He did not dream, thankfully. When the scout arrived to pressure claws on his shell, he did not mistake them for the visions that had caused accidental assaults and deaths in the past. Too often did a newly hatched drone awake startled, thinking the wraiths and false images of slumber were threats. In a nest, the calming scents would shake away this instinctive fear. Out in the wild, cut clean from the link, soldier would occasionally kill soldier in fit of confusion. Skthveraachk took an elevated position on one of the most protruding stones he could find, an extra length of height being an extra length, and was nearly settled when the movement was detected.
Three breaths to crawl downward, mandibles flexing wider. Two breaths to parse the appropriate response as the shape darted between stones. Four breaths to assume a hunting patterns, break from cover, and charge. The path was good. Intercept trajectory, precise. A whistling screech, barely audible, was raised as his claws wrapped around the intruder that had tripped the scent barrier. It lashed, it bit, and it dug tiny razor teeth into his certain with force enough to dent the exoskeleton of his graspers. Staring at the thing, reared back on his four legs, Skthveraachk searched through his memories for recognition. The scout found none. He rushed to the cube, and made a patting at its surface. Unhelmed, black hair cut close and eyes barely visible through wrinkled skin, the Sergeant stuck out its torso.
<”*^&*, what is it?”>
“I have captured an intruding creature.”
<”*^&**^&*? An attack? Coalition?”> Stirring was heard from within, and after some adjustment and a duck back within, the humanite emerged with but thin shell and worn boots. Trying to peer through the darkness.
“Unknown. It lives. It attacks me. Should it be killed?” Another scout had awoken and was requesting an update. Skthveraachk requested it standby for further instruction, just in case. He held up his claws, and though beats passed in silence, eventually a long hissing of air was sent from the alien’s lungs. “It is Coalition?”
<”Sometimes, its hard to believe you things wiped out an entire brigade of ours.”>
“I do not understand.”
<”Keep a hold of it. Carefully.”> It did not cease its thrashing, but it had stopped trying to bite upon finding the action unproductive. A long, whiplike protrusion swept from side to side as its body glistened in the grey light, Markus disappearing once more into the habitat only to bring out a stick of chalky brown. Offering it forward. Skthveraachk at first thought it was for him, but the creature within his grasp promptly seemed to calm and still. Twitching pink bulb at its pointed tip shivering in the cold air, before tiny hands were thrust out to seize and capture the offered rod. Hugging it near its carapace that split and jutted like a thousand tiny, tender needles while biting and assaulting the gift. <”You can put it down now.”> It was a relief to let the stinking thing free, and a greater relief to see it dart away into the fields of dust and stone.
“Not a threat?”
<”In large numbers, maybe a nuisance. You’ll see them around the closer you get to *^&**^&*/habitable parts of the planet. They’re a pest that gets into the food stocks, nothing more.”>
“Then it should have been eliminated.”
<”Wasn’t hurting anyone.”> The Sergeant rubbed a hand across its eyes, Skthveraachk left to try and use the silence productively. He signalled to the scout on tentative alert, and bade it return to sleep.
“I will ensure this information is taken back to the colony. I thank you for your intervention. I will no longer interrupt your rest.”
<”Already awake.”> Its mouth was flung wide, trails of clinging fluid visible in the recesses, and Skthveraachk felt his stomach turn at the sight. Hot air was billowed free, and it stank. <”Its near oh-six-standard anyways. We should leave soon. Soon!”> Both of its hands raised in the halting motions as Skthveraachk prepared to call for the scouts to rise. <”Not quiet yet. Gonna let the pupae sleep a bit longer. We should reach Pelal in just a few bars, and be back with the army by mid rise.”>
“Acknowledged. I will return to my watch.” Skthveraachk expected the alien to return to his cube. He did not expect him to emerge so soon after, hardstone container in hands, only to take a seat on the rock beneath the scout himself.
Another shadow darting around the perimeter, the same size as the previous intruder. Skthveraachk ignored it. The clinking of forked rod into container as it was laden with some sort of white and orange mush, then clicking as it was placed between the bone of the humanite scout’s mouth. Skthveraachk tried to blot it out and maintain his focus. But when the alien spoke, orders demanded he answer.
<”I appreciated your help. Back at Guir. We’re not built for climbing the same way you are.”>
“Skthveraachk-Colony is here to serve the Sovereignty.”
<”Yes, I know that, I meant, you. Specifically.”> The alien took another mouthful of the paste. He could hear it, though made sure his eyes stayed in their scanning of the wasteland that was the surrounding. Flat like a desert, but with great mesas that rose sporadically and at random.
“It is my role.” Watch, but also be cautious. “Scouts were required. I was selected.”
<”Why you?”>
“Because I am a scout.”
<”*^&*…”> The laughter was shallow, its mouth stuffed. <”Y’know, I’ve never really talked with one of your kind, and I’m starting to realize why that is. Some people still can’t quite climb over it; alien life, sitting here, *^&* with us. Me? I dunno. Maybe I thought it’d be something…more.”>
“We did not consider the possibility of life beyond our knowledge. The last sky-sent were killed near eight tenthousands of measures ago. We sung joy. We believed they were the last, ever.”
<”They came from space, like we did?”>
“No.” It was better. These were questions he understood how to answer. Had it been a query from the colony, perhaps he would have added mirth. Here, Skthveraachk considered every syllable before its addition. “Perhaps. They are the oldest of our songs, the foundation of our music. The Composer purged the sky-sent from His place on high, and they fell to the lands of the Founders. It was only when the last of them had been devoured that we knew ourselves as one. That we proved ourselves the only beings who were worthy of the Composer’s voice. And the voice raised us from those who would be mass, and the song filled us with a life that was ours alone.”
<”Until you met us.”> Its tool was laid to rest. The clinking of metal on metal was gone.
“Yes. Now, our voice serves yours.”
<”You don’t have a problem with that?”> The questions began to stray once more. He tried not to let the fear leak from his gaster. <”Going from masters of your world to … well, realizing you aren’t at the top of the mountain/chain anymore?”>
“The sky-sent rivaled our strength. We killed them. You do not rival our strength. You exceed it. If we fought, we would die. We do not wish to die. Our voice serves yours.”
<”I’ve seen your kind die, though. Often. I’ve seen your people drag wounded soldiers back to the medics, even though they were missing legs or chunks.”>
“Yes.”
<”Hard to think that we’re not all that different then, really.”> Skthveraachk did not angle his head, but let his scan halt so that his rightmost eye could catch the very top of the alien’s head. <”We don’t really want to die either, humans I mean. But when you gotta fight, you do what you have to do.”>
“It is good.” Slowly, he felt his muscles loosen from their instinctive clench. “Your kind is more valuable than mine. Our deaths serve to save yours, so that your deaths can be of even greater effect. To be silenced preserving the voices of two, perhaps even three, or four of my colony would be a precious thing. To be silenced in the act of preserving a humanite would be revered.” He looked down, seeking confirmation or acceptance. The scout found only the back of the alien’s head, looking at his now emptied meal tin. It rose, and Skthveraachk quickly reprioritized his tasking to observation.
<”I’m going to get *^&*/get my shell on. Have your people ready in eighty beats.”>
“Received.” No condemnation. No anger. The humanite did not even look back as it made for its cube, and his vents fluttered in relief. In another life, perhaps he would have been fed more proteins and been born a thinker. Satisfied, Skthveraachk scraped his claws across the terrain, and stomped until the rhythmic pounding awoke the others. Sharing with them the curious, but successful, exchange.
The exchange would be preserved forever. It would be necessary. It would be demanded when they returned to the advanced nest, when the blood in their, in his, in all their mandibles was questioned. Kicking, screaming, the subordinate alien fought until his armor rent and his blood welled from the gashes. Skthveraachk and another scout both biting their mandibles around his body, and digging their claws against his limbs as they held him behind the shining and reflective wall.
<”Stay still, Markus! Keep pressure- get the rut off me! Markus!”> There would be no answer. They had no line of sight from behind their cover, but in the opened passageway between the soaring eight-length tall buildings, the wet gurgles and heaving was the only response offered. The scout who had been bringing up the rear of the column kept himself on the opposing side of the alley, singing in shortest tempo all he could.
“Markus-Sergeant exposed. No sight on enemy. Elevated angle of beam’s descent.”
“Skthveraachk scout status?”
“Dead.” He could smell the corpse. The first shot had burned clear through the alien’s chest, shell and all. The second had been pulsing and warbled. When it struck the scout trying to drag the Sergeant behind the wall, the drone had simply exploded. Bits littered the walls, the passage, the opened square and all. “Attempt rescue.”
“Requires two. Unable to release Sovereignty soldier. Possible frenzy. Humanite.” Skthveraachk tried to match his voice to the subordinate’s shouting. “You must remain behind this wall. The enemy is nearby.”
<”Markus!”> Response? Order? Its lance was strewn on the smooth, almost slippery street. Another crackling of energy, a snapping of heat, left a red and melted trail on the rounded corner of the barrier as one of the scouts stuck head out and withdrew it in test. <”Let go, I’m ordering you to let fecal Composer-pap go from me! Get out there and help him!”>
“Received.” Pelal had been cleared. They had moved through it freely on the journey to Guir, they had darted from hidden alcove to shaded cover. Abandoned. Empty. Why only now? Why now? Skthveraachk did not lax his grip; the humanite reached and shoved for the alleyway. The enemy soldier had prioritized the Sovereignty. It would kill their alien first. It would not be allowed. “Emerge. Charge for opposite end of open path. Other leaps for Markus-Sergeant. Retrieve and retreat.”
“Received.” The first left its cover, seeking to draw fire. It succeeded. The beam into its thorax was singular and precise. Head was thrown forward, gaster was rolled backwards, and abdomen simply evaporated into chunks of black and orange. The second scout was halfway to the humanite, but Skthveraachk beat his claws wildly to send it back into the safety of the building’s face. Through his eyes, he watched the Sergeant raise a red-soaked hand, trying to claw at the ground and drag himself nearer. Even if it had reached the Markus-Sergeant, it would have been dead before ever reaching cover. The subordinate alien punched for his head, and he forced his mandibles not to clench in retribution.
<”Get me my lance, I’ll provide cover, you all get out there and get him back here!”>
“Enemy is too accurate. Position unknown. Risking one humanite life for another is madness. We retreat.” Severed head attached to melted remains of thorax clawed forward on single leg, tried to sing report. The scout on opposite side of the alley’s gap murmured a melody and plunged scythe between its eyes, ending its song and pain. “Markus-Sergeant will be dead soon.”
<”Breeding bugs *^&**^&* to the sky, I’ll kill you!”>
“Threat?”
“Unclear.” Skthveraachk tried to tap at his Band with leg, though the removal of its brace saw the fighting alien shove itself off the wall before being slammed back into place. Was it broken? Were his words not correct? “Sovereignty humanite will die if it exposes self.”
<”I don’t *^&* care, get off me!”>
“Humanite’s death will serve no purpose.”
<”Markus! Sergeant, hold on!”>
“Are you frenzied?” The mere suggestion saw claws curl harsher into the alien’s body, but it could not be done. Preserve the humanites. Protect the Sovereignty. There were no thinkers, there was no link. There was only them, and their orders. Protect.
“Protect the Sergeant. If all three remaining charge, one may succeed.”
“If we release subordinate alien, he will charge.”
“If he charges, he will die.”
“We cannot release him.”
“We cannot assist the humanite.”
“Acknowledged. Retreat.”
<”Go! Save him! You *^&* bugs, *^&* monster *^&*, let go of me and help him! Help him!”> The third scout threw himself across the gap, and though the beam boiled a hole clear into the glimmering street, it missed the drone by a tenth of a length. Gathering up lance and pack, the scout reared as Skthveraachk and the other spun the alien stop them. He, holding its arms wide and to the side. The other, clasping claws around its legs. The pattern used for a third to skewer the creature through the core, adjusted to instead provide restraint. For an instant, Skthveraachk thought he heard the Markus-Sergeant calling for aid. It was not possible. The shot was killing him; it was not a great death. But it was a death that would at least save one other. And if the information gathered from Guir saved even one other, it would make the Sergeant’s life well lived. They ran, the humanite atop them, from that place of shadows and recesses, fearing every step could lead to beams ringing out from above, from behind, from below. None came. Only the raging, the struggling, the sobbing and the pleading of their cargo. Perhaps the aliens would kill them all for this when they returned to the nest. Skthveraachk felt his breath lighter at the thought. Dying to save a single humanite?
It would be revered.