by SF Edwards
Bichard shambled across the ridge, revealing himself to a heavy weapons trooper below. His unique thermal signature made him an ideal target for the man’s heat-seeking missile. Bichard had no sense of self anymore and ignored the rocket that sped towards their location. Deniv was not so entranced and screamed for Bichard to dive and to get away before the rocket could hit.
Bichard proved deaf to his pleas. Deniv dove out of his guile suit, tackling Bichard in an attempt to save them both but the warhead crashed into the ground beside them, before exploding. Bichard did not hear or feel the pain of the blast as it enveloped him in crimson flame. He felt only peace as it quieted the queen’s siren song.
Star System: Classified, UCSBA-13, Dorm Room 305
Terrified and shaking, Bichard almost jumped out of bed when he awoke from his uneasy slumber. His mandibles clacked together in a rapid staccato, the plates of his exoskeleton clattering together. He sat there shaking—his antennae erect. In the dream, Bichard hadn’t been able to muster the strength to resist the queen’s call and had failed his friends. His own inability to overcome his own instinctual desires had led them to their deaths. These dreams were not new to him but they always ended the same way.
He sat for several pulses, staring at the chrono on the opposite wall, while he tried to meditate in an attempt to calm his nerves. The sheets of his bed lay crumpled and torn as secretions from the orifices on his arms clung to him, hardened into dagger-like blades. Bichard waited, dwelling on the dream and forced solvent into the blades, melting them from within. After each dagger softened, he snapped it off and threw it into a waste receptacle on the other side of the room. I’m too tired for this right now. It might be better to discuss it with the others at breakfast. With that, he lay back down.
The faint luminescence of the floor level glow panels seemed magnified in the wake of the dream. He grabbed the sleep mask his foster mother had made for him and pulled it on over his massive, lidless eyes to close out the light. A smile creased his snout as he focused on his kind foster mother while he drifted off to sleep. Her visage soon changed, however, and a queen leapt upon him.
Terror filled Bichard and he looked about what he could only assume was an egg chamber. There was no escape from the chamber, workers sealing it shut in preparation for the virgin queen to mate with her first drone.
Bichard steeled his nerves; the queen was not so much larger than he. Maybe I can fight her off. She called for him to approach, her screeching voice seducing him in a way he hadn’t expected.
He tried to resist but his body was no longer his to command. The primordial drive to mate overrode every thought. He fought every step he took.
Bichard’s mind froze in panic when she latched onto him and pulled him near. The smell of her pheromones flooded his olfactory system, intoxicating him. He tried to resist but his body refused to cooperate. Lust and desire drove him even though his mind screamed out to run.
Unable to hold back, the shell that covered his reproductive aedeagus shattered filling the room with his own sexually aroused pheromones.
His musk drove the queen mad with passion as she threw Bichard down onto the soft ground in preparation to mount him. His mind screeched in terror and he looked for possible salvation.
In the corner of the chamber Bichard noticed a series of figures standing. I’ve never seen them here before, but they’re familiar - why? The group was small and was made up of all the Coretherian castes; from the lowest single-striped worker drone to the highest three-striped queen hanging from the ceiling with an egg chute three times her body size. Bichard stared at the group. “Help me!” he managed in his native Coretherian.
The two-striped neutered warriors simply stared back at him, blank looks upon their faces. Enslaved to the queens, the two-striped female nurses watched with sad eyes next to more two-striped male drones. In that instant Bichard realized the truth.
I’m not like any of them. I wear three ridged stripes atop my head. I stand like a hominid while they all but crawl, just like large insects. Except in this instance, my mind is my own. I have grown independent of the hive.
He looked to the three stripes; the queen and another female standing beside her but wasn’t a queen. The female was more like him in appearance and stature. She looks more intelligent than the lower castes, but who is she and what does this all mean? Behind the strange group lay two corpses. One was like him with its body ravaged and left to rot. The other was the last type he recognized. It was the massive three-striped brute. Is that the one who broke into the hive and freed me?
Before Bichard could even begin to understand the scene before him, a direct concern presented itself and the queen mounted his aedeagus. He stared back at the queen trying to resist as her inner warmth enveloped him. The virgin queen scrunched her snout and clacked her mandibles together rapidly in pleasure as he released yet more pheromones. His body screamed with delight from the penetration despite his mind’s resistance. He imagined the most horrid images his mind could hold in a vain attempt to keep from reaching the moment’s inevitable conclusion. It was to no avail because in only a few moments, the act was over.
Bichard’s body had betrayed him as it offered up his seed to the queen, despite his internal protests. His whole body went limp in response as the first shot of his own natural neurotoxin began to pump through his veins. Please let me die before she… He was unable to finish the thought before he felt a distinct pull at his crotch.
Screaming in his mind, unable to fight, Bichard felt the queen tear his aedeagus free. His testes came out of his body with it. He wished he could close his eyes watching her pull his genitals into her own body. There, she would keep his seed alive and fertilize herself for up to an annura.
Bichard flexed his hand. The pain of his castration gave him a conduit for control again. His senses fogged, he clawed at the dirt in a desperate bid to escape. His arms felt like stone as the neurotoxin raced through his veins. He focused on the agony, it alone allowing him any sway over his body He managed to roll over. He reached forward, digging his claws into the ground, but even that felt spongy. He could almost trace the progress of the poison in his veins. His biological imperative fulfilled, he had one role left. That was something he had no desire to fill but with each movement he had less control as more nerves died.
Bichard slammed back to the dusty floor a moment later. Unable to feel anything else, another gland in his body began pumping a natural preservative into his system. He panicked, despite the lack of sensation he felt as his muscles froze. Please no, not that!
Bichard resisted but with each passing moment his body was weakening. His muscles failed and, to his horror, his exoskeleton started softening. He tried to scream out for help. Before even a plaintive gasp could escape his snout, his vocal cords seized and snapped like a set of dried-up elastic bands.
Bichard’s antennae rattled when the queen leapt upon him. Gratitude was not an emotion he would use to describe anything in that moment, but he felt it just the same while watching his carapace fall to the dusty ground. He felt only twinges of pain as the queen feasted upon his flesh. The air exploded out of his lungs a moment later and he faced the ceiling again, the queen standing above him. Terror filled his heart as she brought a blade formed from her own natural resins up to his eyes.
Why couldn’t evolution have gifted me with eyelids? The queen sliced into his body tissue with no more effort than she would a sheet of pulp paper. He watched helpless, unable to resist or fight back while she discarded the blade and ripped his abdomen open. She tore his organs free and feasted upon his steaming entrails. Bichard watched in revulsion as she took one cannibalistic bite after another until the muscles in his neck gave way and his head lolled to the side.
Even with the queen at the edge of his vision, Bichard’s focus shifted away again to the group from before. He focused on the three-striped female. Tears were forming in her massive multi-faceted eyes. Can we even cry like that? That act seemed more
alien to him than anything in his experience hitherto. Can we Coretherians care for one another at all? Such was not the way of the hive and yet here she was, crying for him. It took all his of will, but Bichard reached out to her. To his amazement, she reached back touching his hand and he managed a scream.
Bichard rocketed upright in his rack. His body extended to his full height, consciousness wresting control away from the nightmare queen. His roommates didn’t even stir at the high-pitched scream roaring from his snout. Aching for air, Bichard’s cry for help reduced itself to whimpering pants of horror as he curled up in fear, alone.
UCSBA-13, Medical Bay 2
Bichard sat defeated in the waiting room. This cycle seemed more of a terror than the dream. When Doctor Sares entered the waiting room, he perked up. Bichard waited patiently for the doctor to read his macomm checking the phonetic spelling of the name.
“Eggedon Bi-chard?”
Relief flowed over Bichard and standing up, he followed the doctor into his office.
With a nod, he took the seat across from the doctor’s, the plates of his exoskeleton clattering together before the doctor sat in his own chair.
“Relax, cadet,” Doctor Sares said, pulling up Bichard’s medical record on his terminal.
Bichard felt Doctor Sares look over him. He may have experience with other insectoid races, but even amongst them, and the Coretherian, I am unique.
“So, Doctor Queld sent you. His notes don’t say why. What’s the trouble, cadet?”
“It all starts with this dream. A duwn-terror actually. It has haunted me my whole life but this last…”
Bichard read the look on the doctor’s face, the worried tone from his snout disturbed the man.
Doctor Sares held up a hand. “I’m not a psychologist, cadet,” the doctor explained with a forced chuckle.
“I know this, sir,” Bichard explained. Pausing to pull up the courage to ask what he had asked so many doctors in the past, he continued, “I want you to remove my Galdric and Simpcam glands.”
“I’m afraid I’m not sure what those glands are…”
Bichard braced for the worst as Doctor Sares looked back at him with a raised eyebrow and pulled up something on his terminal. “The Galdric gland is primarily responsible for my body’s production and reaction to pheromones. The Simpcam gland is what produces the neurotoxin and preservative that terminates my life and keeps me fresh while a queen eats me after mating,” Bichard explained, the memory of the dream still fresh in his mind.
Bichard recognized the look of horror on Doctor Sares’ face. It wasn’t new to him. Anytime he had made the request in the past he got to see it.
“I don’t think I can do that,” Doctor Sares managed.
“Why not?” Bichard implored him.
“Beyond the ethical problems of removing two glands essential to your mating process,” the doctor began, crossing his legs.
Bichard recognized that movement. His friends did the same when he described Coretherian mating.
“I don’t know enough about your physiology, the removal of those two glands might kill you.”
“But if they are not removed then I can come under a queen’s thrall should I come within range and no one knows exactly how far that is,” Bichard explained, his mandibles and antennae twitching.
“Cadet, according to your file you escaped Corether and it was covered by queens.”
“I was immature then and their grip had not yet become unbreakable.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Doctor Sares said. “I will look into your request and run it over with the chief surgeon and certain members of the scientific community. What I can tell you right now is that you are a special case. Your physiology might prove the notion of single generation evolution. These glands might not work the same way in you if they do at all. We have to consider all the options before we go any further but I promise you I will find out how to help you.”
Bichard slumped back in his seat, relief washing over him. Someone finally listened to my request and didn’t run me out of their office in disgust. “Thank you, sir. I can ask no more of you.”
“You’re dismissed cadet. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Bichard made his way out of the office and decided it would be best to go somewhere to clear his head before returning to his room.
UCSBA-13, High Gravity Rings
A pit formed in Blazer’s stomach as he stood at the edge of the deep ruts and stared in. Clad in his Armored Combat Hostile Environment Suit, ACHES, for only the third time, he checked his macomm again. The blip that represented Bichard’s macomm sat at the bottom of the deepest level of the high gravity rings.
Blazer flipped his left wrist over and checked the power level on the suit. The ACHES was no mere suit of armor. The muscle fibers woven into the body glove beneath allowed supreme feats of strength. For Blazer it would allow him to move as normal despite the higher gravity as he walked outspin in the deep rut.
A movement behind Blazer caught his attention and he turned around to find Seri rushing up in her own suit. He raised a curious eyebrow at her approach.
“Is he still down there?” she asked.
Blazer nodded. “All the way down in the high-g ring.”
“All this over a bad dream?”
“Look I told you before. This is personal for him. You didn’t have to come.”
“First off, I’m his squadron leader so his mental well-being is my business. Second, Arion described the dreams to me earlier. He thought my time on Corether might give me some insight.”
“And do you?”
“Yes. When I was there I saw all that the Coretherians have to offer.”
Blazer shook his head. Why hasn’t she told us any of this before? She’s had plenty of time but the topic never came up. They had a long walk ahead of them. There were no lifts into the deep ruts.
Blazer felt the gravity increase with every step and the ACHES activated, the muscle fibers easing the load in the higher gravity. Blazer always found it strange going into the deep ruts, each step down becoming harder and his weight increasing. It was the opposite of what he’d felt when climbing uphill in the academy or going up into the hangars. As much as Blazer liked places with varying gravity, he hated the deep ruts and higher gravity.
Blazer and Seri soon reached the lowest level and he thanked his suit with each step. Even though he could feel the additional weight bearing down on him, each step felt as easy as if he were at home. Both walked along the bottom until they came to the point that the macomm indicated but there was no Bichard.
Blazer looked around, curious. The resolution on the macomm-tracking screen was not detailed enough so Blazer slipped it into a slot on the arm of his suit. Pulling up his arm, he pressed a key. A holographic display opened and Blazer selected the tracking function. The suit’s computer linked with the macomm and displayed a more detailed holographic map of the area. Blazer noted where the hologram indicated Bichard’s location and, looking up, spotted the entrance to a tunnel.
“He must be in there,” Blazer said pointing to the opening.
“Are you sure?” Seri asked.
“It makes sense. Whenever he would get like this back home he would either go up by climbing some tall object so that he could look out on the world and gain some perspective or, he’d go in. He’d find or dig himself a tunnel somewhere where he could hole up and reflect without distraction.” Blazer called into the tunnel, hoping he wouldn’t have to go in. “Bichard, are you in there, Big Bug?”
“Call him on his macomm,” Seri ordered.
“Gee, why didn’t I think of that? It’s not like I haven’t been trying that ever since I found out about his doctor’s visit. He either has it turned off or he’s ignoring it.”
Seri shook her head and Blazer turned back to the tunnel.
“Bichard, I need you to come out of there, pal. I’ll come in there if I have to but I don’t want to get lost, and if I do you better come f
ind me.”
Blazer sighed when a familiar clicking noise returned in response. It increased in intensity with each passing breath and Blazer strained to listen to it.
“Do you know what that means?” Seri asked.
Blazer shook his head and held up a finger to quiet Seri. “I’m getting too much echo to really tell but…”
The clicking stopped and then started again.
“Yeah, he’s on his way out.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
***
Inside the tunnel, Bichard listened to their conversation with the same clarity as if he was standing between Blazer and Seri. He smiled to himself, skittering towards the mouth of the tunnel. He knew why Blazer was there but Seri’s presence was a curiosity. Rounding the last bend, light appeared and he sped up before leaping out into the open. Blazer and Seri jumped back at his appearance before he skidded to a halt and stood erect in front of them.
“How are you doing, big bug?” Blazer asked.
“I’ve had better cycles.”
“Bichard, the others told me about your dream.”
Bichard turned on Blazer, his mandibles flexing outwards in an attack posture. Blazer held up his hands and shook his head in response.
“Arion told me,” Seri interrupted.
“I don’t like too many people knowing about them. They’re private,” Bichard announced.
“Bichard, I have been to Corether, remember?” Seri reminded him. “I know a lot more about Coretherians then even you probably do,” she finished.
Bichard sat down in front of her and rubbed his snout, motioning for the both of them to sit. “So tell me then. Why am I different?”