Private Deep Minds

[Gristle]

A thing that is wholly unknown cannot be trusted.

That simple statement had been the entirety of the Nexus' descriptor for why it was necessary to make closer contact with the fledgling "Neti" raiders who had come to the Ykaradan colony. Though it had seemed exceptionally probable that hostilities would break out between the conquering Myka and the small band of infiltrators, instead they had managed to come to a kind of agreement, one whose full imports had been analyzed by more diplomatic and sociological minds than his own. Evidently, the gist of the agreement - the portion that had been shunted into his own brainspace - was that they would be provided with a grand opportunity to expand far beyond the dimensions of their own galaxy, to be able to conquest against far weaker souls than even the other Myka colonies had been.

Growth was the fundamental goal of all life and so this seemed to have been a well-accepted trade by the Nexus and all those whose experience had been called to bear. Gristle's own opinions on the situation had been relegated exclusively to matters of conflict and warfare, as well as to a brief interlude regarding the capacity of their new-found "allies" in terms of bringing about their end of the bargain. To be "allies" was a strange thing to Gristle, and he was still rectifying the new understanding within his own mind, attempting to devour whatever information had been left within the Thrum from ancient selves who had perhaps dabbled upon the idea. Of course, it was one thing to be non-hostile... the War-Form understood that, but to be bound together in oath and honor was... alien.

Could the Neti truly believe in such concepts? Did their own minds bind together as did the Myka so that they could come about a true consensus free of the groaning of the individual, or were they reliant entirely upon each individual perspective, unable to blend them together into a cognizant mix that detailed the logical, emotional, and political implications of an entire demography in mere moments. Such an absence would mean the capacity for greater failure between the utterance and the meaning would be high, and such problems there could lead to further difficulties down the line, not only in matters of political declaration, but also in terms of the expediencies undertaken by subordinates when more meticulous efforts would be warranted - and especially those deviations undertaken to suit the individual instead of the collective.

It was nearly beyond Gristle. He cared only for the capacity of the Neti to maintain their resolve as a people and to provide capable militants. He was dispatched onto a shuttle alongside several peers in order to determine such things about the foe. Each of their "diplomatic entourage", if they could be called that, was tasked with discovering something new about the Neti, and, in turn, they had been granted permission to share whatever seemed prudent - not everything, naturally, but enough to cement the relationship in its small state.

While several of the entourage would be abandoning ship shortly after entry to go about their task of analysis in regards to economic, emotional, and cerebral capacity, the half-dozen Synaptics; an incredible investment by the Nexus and the Ykaradan colony, for their loss would spell a not-insignificant hindrance, would be going alongside the War-Form to meet with the suspected "overmind" of the Neti. Normally his presence would not be necessary for such an endeavor... but the Neti were not Myka, and likely would not mesh well in the process. As a sensitive of that mystical power known as the Force, he was to provide additional enmeshing by means of whatever subliminal instruction was necessary to the Synaptics, though their resentment of his intrusion was well-documented and acknowledged. None of them wanted the reaver in their brains, but that was the command of the Nexus, and it would be carried out.

The shuttle-craft, a small and spindly thing lacking in weaponry or significant scanner capacity was wedged haphazardly against the Neti vessel, and an external Space-Form took the time to guarantee that the linkage was airtight before signaling for the crew to proceed from their cabin into the larger vessel.


TchKren’Anook

 

[TchKren’Anook]

Tense.

Too tense, brittle even.

TchKren'Anoon rustled his foliage, bulky form practically rumbling the surrounding spacecraft with the gesture. His kin were similarly unsettled beside him, soldiers one and all, yet faced with a threatening unknown. Peoples who could remain still for days on end in the right conditions were suddenly as jittery as a faulty pod racing engine.

"All because of some strange bugs," Kren mused darkly to himself.

In truth they were more than strange, they were fearsome, they were people too as best he could surmise. It would be far better if they could be seen as animals, as lesser. But there was a song which surrounded them, a melody not unlike the one which encompassed all existence for him and his people: The Grovemind. It was this similarity which had given him pause when they'd first met, and after they'd learned the fate of some of his core raiding party. Despite his rage and the urging toward violence by more than one of his advisors, cooler heads eventually won out.

And indeed, the Neti raiders had more in common with the Myka than they were yet prepared to admit. Time would tell. TchKren'Anook now took a gamble the likes of which he knew his father before him would have balked at. His father who had been a "good" man, but a stagnant leader. Kren grimaced, a few of his limbs creaking as many knotted fists clenched. Amber-green eyes blinked him out of brief reverie to again face the challenge at hand: be steadfast for his people so they might forge a symbiotic connection with these Myka.

Kren clicked "attention" in quick-speak, then "form up" and his half a dozen biggest raiders formed a semicircle around the bio-mechanical wall that Gristle 's shuttle-craft was docking to. Kren gave a nod to his lieutenant, a whiplash lean aspen skinned woman, to indicate she should open the hatch. One long limb extended to the living wall of their mother ship, twig like digits spidering out from a central palm, and soon the hiss of pressure stabilization greeted their senses.

When the porthole opened, the Myka war general and crew were face with a half ring of interconnected

"Well met," Kren rumbled the common language in a measured tone, "I extend guest rite for so long as you remain agreeable guests. You will be warned once of transgression and no more. We will be considerate of our differences and not judge hastily, so long as you and your kin return that consideration."

His face was solemn, the other members of his crew uncannily still, wooden watchers, not humanoid but not devoid of a sense of "humanity" or personhood either.

"Agreed?"

 

[Gristle]

An encirclement of vegetation. Mobile camouflage in sapient plant-life format.

Gristle took the initiative to disembark from the shuttlecraft ahead of his kindred. While it was true that he was the least diplomatic of the entourage, it was simultaneously true that he was a far better combatant and warrior than his peers. Better that any ambush be wasted against him than against the far more fragile Synaptics or the others of the party.

No ambush came except in the form of vocalizations from what was presumably the chief of the Neti. Gristle observed the leader of the strange and alien lifeforms while his siblings attempted to fabricate a response to whatever query or statement had been uttered. Language and communication was still something of a difficulty for the Myka, though they had been making strides wherever possible to understand and replicate the linguistic expulsions of the interlopers. Of course, the Myka could also communicate auditorially, but this was primarily reserved for outsiders and their interrogation, and so it was more uncommon than might be expected. Beyond that, the dissection and analysis of captive Neti had proven that the biological structure of the two races was vastly different.

The leading diplomat, a Synaptic Myka named "Mender" took to the center stage of the procession, and began the necessary coughing and whirring required to imitate even the most remote bastardization of the alien tongue. A meager and nearly indecipherable replication of the word "Agreed." spouted from the being, and Gristle felt Mender's self-satisfaction at what it considered to be a masterful reproduction of an otherwise impossible pronunciation.

All the while, the War-Form had kept his eyes placed upon the leader, attempting to ascertain its physical characteristics. What was the maximum quantity that it was capable of carrying, and how could this be ascertained through mere examination instead of through testing and analysis - was a faux musculature formed by the weaving and intertwining vegetation and did its bulk represent what it might in a fleshy counterpart? What about the bark skin? Gristle knew well that it was easy enough to shatter and crack, but could it be hardened with some form of organic resin or chemical composition, or were the Neti relegated exclusively to external armors?

Gristle's greatest question lay in whether or not the Neti were capable of communing with one another in a secretive and hidden way. Was there a pheromone trail that his sensory organs could not detect? Was there some manner of radiation spilling from one to the other that had not been noticed but that some sensitive floral pattern could detect within their bodies? What were they thinking? What were they feeling? How would they taste? How many bites would it take to kill one? Would the others feel its death, or did they possess some manner of evolved negation meant to preserve their psyches from the damage of feeling one die?

Gristle shook free of the thought and felt the accusing glances of his peers. He communicated his acknowledgment of the situation, and that he recognized he would need to behave diplomatically and well. There was no need to check whether he was being deceptive - for the Myka could not truly lie to one another through the Thrum - but they did question whether his particular hungers were fully under control. He shared them, and the repulsion they each felt was answer enough as to the need to perhaps stamp down on these particular inquiries to a greater degree. Gristle withdrew the context of his experience, allowing them to recover from the shock and appall at the violence swirling in his heart.

It was fine. Gristle could be peaceable for now. He attempted an utterance, but the sound came out a choking squealing gag, like the last expulsion of breath from a suffocated animal. It was not at all the comforting demonstration of language he had hoped for, but Gristle was not to be deterred by failure. Gristle lifted one of his forelimbs; the digitigrade manipulators having been planted on the floor previously to demonstrate a lack of weaponry, and promptly pressed it into his own throat, twisting and maneuvering the underlying flesh until the sound came out to a more low-pitched variant, and subsequently one more inclined toward the enunciation of the Neti.

"We... will... not..." He paused, racing for the word. He grasped for the assistance of the Synaptics, racing through their knowledge in a mere instant, settling upon terminology that seemed to indicate the kind of negativity he was promising not to showcase. He continued, "...slaughter... you... here."

Manipulator removed from throat, Gristle awaited the reply of the enemy - no the... ally - leader. He hoped that they would be ushered into the ship soon so that the work could continue, and so that he might begin the enmeshing of their overminds together.

Speed would be valuable. Gristle was already hungry.

TchKren’Anook

 

[TchKren’Anook]

Stern faces, various hues of bark-skin and dark body-markings (war paint) were all that differentiated the Neti in the low light of the hallway. Their bulky forms blocked out the full spectrum lights of the bridge deck which lay beyond. The Neti had purposely arranged their entry to the ship as far from the main living quarters as possible. As an accord was struck, when the last jarring syllables left the throat of Gristle, TchKren'Anook's people rustled as if in a faint breeze.

Their entangle roots pulsed, they clicked approval in quick-speech, and soon the enmeshed bases of their bodies which had formed a semi-circle of living wall receded to grant line of sight deeper into the ship. Nanalia, the willowy woman at Kren's right flank narrowed her eyes and willed the porthole closed behind the boarded new comers. Though the Neti crew had no visible weapons equipped, they remained warily welcoming of the odd and brutal insects.

Kren turned, gesturing with a thick arm for Gristle to follow while his people opened their ranks to usher his Myka crew amongst them. Despite their suspicion, they were curious too, creaking and clattering amongst themselves as they observed the newcomers with keen eyes. Something about them called to the Neti, something familiar yet foreign all at once. Their leader though appeared resolved, stoic in his lumbering manner, while his lieutenant was clearly focused on watching for wrongdoing. Gristle and the other Myka were led along the ivy covered hallway which opened up to the command deck which had a raised, tree-like dais at the center.

Nanalia gave Gristle et al. one more stoney look before she sprouted grasping vines to swing herself up atop the dais where she rooted herself firmly. Her lanky form unraveling so she soon appeared to be more like a loose brambled mass with no defined features such as a face or torso. What the Myka did not know but might be able to sense was the Neti melding her consciousness into the ship so she could serve as a more centralized brain, accessing data from across the ship's "eyes and ears" to guard her chieftain and peoples from afar.

Kren grunted his approval of her actions, his cool amber gaze falling to his fellow war leader as they moved, his eyes appraising. Their home ship had no need of stairs or doorways, as Neti were not truly bipedal and required very few private quarters given their communal living style. So the chieftain led them through arboreal and rather open ship space until they reached a hatch entry which required them to make a drop to the floor below. Kren, nearly over 7 feet tall in his current form, cast a look down to Gristle and without a word took one lumbering step over the edge of the darkened hatch opening. He plummeted but there was no sound which might indicate his landing. The others crowded close, watching the Myka leader and his kin expectantly, none of the rest of them making the leap until the others did.

 

[Gristle]

All seemed to have gone well. Perhaps Gristle had a future in further diplomatic processions. Hopefully not, though. These events were already becoming taxing on the War-Form, and all that could fill his mind were increasingly bizarre and gruesome methods by which the Neti could be slain and consumed for the good of the Ykaradan Colony.

Gristle wondered whether the leader of this band of Neti held dominion over all of their race, or only this particular group. They seemed possessed of the kind of stoic stillness that he himself sometimes demonstrated when it was time to offer reports on the strategic and tactical importance of various entities or locales. Perhaps the leader of the Neti was also a War-Form, or whatever variant their people possessed. They did seem somewhat inclined toward rather extreme shifts of their physiology, so it was not impossible that they maintained something of a "standardized" form to demonstrate to outsiders so that they might obfuscate their particular caste or role.

Gristle further indulged the idea of social camouflage and found the concept worthy and fascinating. He would question Terror on the subject at a later date to see if it could be expounded on further in ways beyond his mind.

An expression of the transformative nature of the Neti was showcased in the form of the leader's second, who promptly disappeared into a dais that seemed to imitate arboreal flora. It - for the Myka could not yet understand the features that showcased gender in the Neti - melded into this mass until all aspects that had differentiated it from the surroundings had been completely dissolved. Were the features present elsewhere within the vegetation? Perhaps they had been cast into other portions of the ship through some manner of biological teleportation, or maybe the being had been completely sacrificed and terminated, but its mind processed into a reservoir somewhere for future casting.

Gristle thought back to the time he had spent within the state of pupation, locked within a cocoon, his hide and flesh slowly and methodically stripped by means of self-produced chemicals until he had been flayed utterly, reduced to nothing more than a melted mass of amniotic fluids and acids, swirling about in the midst of the cocoon. He thought of what it meant to be truly formless, to touch the Thrum, to embody oneself fully in the viewpoint of others and to cast one's mind and memories outward so that one might entertain and educate themselves fully while the body rejuvenated.

He knew what it was like to be nothing and then to be blood, and then to be flesh, and then to be chitin and hide and desire, to feel chemicals and hormones flush the newly formed brain until once again one was constricted to the pervious construction of organisms who are forced to feel joy and sorrow and insatiable hunger.

Was it similar for the Neti? Did they become nothing only to become something anew again? Did they know the secrets of birth and death, that one could so swiftly pass into the other without ever really being final? He shrugged at the philosophy of it all as they were led to a precipice, a great yawning pit in the ground within which their guide vanished.

Gristle opened to the Thrum to consult the others as to how they wanted to proceed into the pit. Something like a conversation, and something like a thought, and something like a daydream overtook each as they contributed and parsed the information granted and the context of each one who stood there until all had been debated and determined: a congress of instantaneous performance.

A handful of the Myka outstretched their wings and dove into the midst, scouting out the central area below to the best of their ability, their eyes instantly attuned to the darkness within and scouring for any indication of interest or threat. The others twisted about the hatch until they had found secure footing and promptly began to crawl along it, entering the hatch, and proceeding along whatever walls and surfaces could be found as they maneuvered toward the bottom.

Gristle peered down into the pit and past the darkness, red eyes catching the light and turning his face into a gruesome effigy. With a slow and methodical movement he grasped onto the edge of the precipice and hauled himself through, allowing the shadow to engulf him completely. Approaching a level of silence that would be unexpected in a being of his size and nature, he began to creep along the ceiling of the room, observing all the while until he could maneuver himself vaguely above his peers.

And he waited, opening his vision to his kin as they opened theirs to his.

And the room was seen.

TchKren’Anook

 

[TchKren’Anook]

Discerning and judgmental eyes watched from all around. The ship itself even seemed to pause in its mechanical humming to judge what the large, possibly violent insects might do next. The raiders watched the Myka move with no small amount of athletic prowess and could only guess at the way they communicated. Neti chatted quietly in their native tongue.

"No roots" one noted with a tone of pity.

"Yet they seem not so lonesome as many two-legs," came the assumption of another.

For his part, Kren was an unmoving silent watcher from below where his large frame all but filled the hallway to their tribe's main living quarters. He shifted his form subtly as the large war leader appeared, making room once more in the passageway for others, stoic gaze following the creature's path on the ceiling as he seemed to lead his troops forward.

"This is our home…" he rumbled with great solemnity, "Until we claim another, until we have land in which to root."

And the hallway opened up into a huge open space with very high ceilings, bulkheads from the main structure of the ship created the two longest walls of what once had been a massive hangar. However the Neti had no need to bring smaller ships aboard since they were instead able to graft smaller vessels with living portholes when they visited this mothership. So the large open space had been converted and crafted into a communal living space.

Full spectrum lights were arranged in bright clusters, there were plush areas of raised moss lining parts of the walls, and the room was absolutely teaming with life. To see a full grove of Neti was an increasingly rare sight across the known and unknown universe. Gristle and his companions had no way of knowing that they in fact were witness to what was one of the last intact groves in existence.

Arboreal attention honed in on the newcomers, exact numbers were difficult to surmise but there were perhaps 80 or so individuals all now focused on their entrance. Most ranged in height of 7-10 feet tall but the Myka had already found that these peoples were incredibly varied in physique and indeed physiology. Skin tones, foliage types, and indeed even movement patterns between individuals was a spectrum.

While the majority of the people present seemed content to watch proceedings from afar, one smaller troop seemed to press forward. And indeed they were small in numbers but also stature when compared with other Neti. The little rustling and clattering gaggle of younglings rushed forward with all the excitement of youth, all of the playful ferocity of warriors in training.

Kren raised a long limb to forestall further approach and any negative reaction from his unpredictable guests. The half a dozen or so little warriors all formed up, standing to attention with decorative practice spears clutched as they looked with bright eyes past their chieftain to get their first glimpses of the "big bugs".

"Seedlings… Saplings…" TchKren'Anook said slowly in common for the benefit of Gristle et al.
"Children… you understand?"

It was perhaps the most tense the big Neti had yet been. The crowd rustled expectantly, chattering quick-speak and entangled roots passing murmurs of communication between grove members as they watched some of the very first newcomers they'd brought onboard in a very long time.

 

[Gristle]

The Myka listened intently to their hosts wherever it was possible, their sensory organs straining as they attempted to discern vowels from consonants and then to decipher these employing the shared knowledge available within each Synaptic. They had made some small strides toward understanding and translation of the language when they had first acquired captives of the Neti race, but additional work had been done since then to make communication easier for the two groups. Easier, of course, did not truly mean easy.

"They say that this is there... the context indicates a location, but it escapes me."
"A residence, but for all? Not a colony, but its site, its nest."
"They desire more."

Sensational recoil at accepting any thought from the War-Form, though they knew he was correct in his interpretation. It was only natural for a species to wish to expand - the Myka too wished for such things. While the Myka could only really have a single true nest without leading to rival colonies, perhaps this race was not bound by those constraints. After all, many living things could support vast and dynamic family groups and arrangements. It was one of the least bizarre traits of the Neti that they had parsed so far.

Even as they spoke and recounted their thoughts with one another, sharing their interpretation of words until they had determined which seemed most likely, they also took in other forms of information. The Myka examined the Neti as they passed, examined the nature of their constructions and how they had laid them out in a surprisingly open way, apparently without many doors or bulkheads. They tried their best to examine what this might mean about the race as a whole, but any conclusions were purely speculative. They simply did not know enough about their hosts to ascertain rightly why they chose to behave as they did - but they would compile all they could so that such conclusions could be made in the future.

"It must be very difficult for them to communicate with one another. They are not like us. They cannot feel one another, can they?"

Gristle contemplated back to the initial vivisections they had undertaken of the Neti prisoners. They did not seem to seem one another's pain in the literal sense from what he could recall, but it did seem as if though there was some sympathetic arrangement undergone. Occasionally one would recoil from something akin to pain, or verbalize something that might have been a cry or an agonized yelping. Perhaps there was some kind of link between each of them that could only be accessed under certain circumstances? Familial heritage? Proximity? Gristle questioned whether they could spray pollen into the air and commune with one another that way, but he hadn't detected the amount of dust and debris that he would expect from that method of communing.

They entered the large communal room, the biggest they had been within thus far, and gradually the Myka coalesced around one another until they formed a single diplomatic body as opposed to a myriad of scouts. This, they surmised, would allow them to put the Neti at ease as they would be easier to observe and examine.

Gristle fixated on an approaching band of Neti, a small troop that seemed to move with a significant alacrity at the arrival of the newcomers. They were minute in stature, and seemed to present as something like miniature Neti. Though they had seen Neti of all different sizes and shapes thus far, these were far smaller than the others, and Gristle presumed that they fell out of the range for average height among the adult phenotypes he'd witnessed thus far. Perhaps these were a separate caste from the others?

The words of the Neti leader seemed to imply as much as they were described as... small trees, or something to that effect. Perhaps ungrown? Gristle extended once again into the Thrum, listening as his kindred attempted to determine the exact meaning of the phrase. Gristle was under the impression that these were something like Nanitics. This would explain their small stature and seemingly undeveloped cognitive abilities. They were directed and commanded by the larger Neti as though they were slaved to their will.

They seemed undisciplined. What if the Neti required one of these to die for the good of their... garden? Would such meager things be able to do that? He thought he caught the glimpse of youthful vigor in them, and it reminded him of playing as a freshly eclosed adult with his peers. He doubted the aliens had any concept of recreational thought like that, though. These were probably more base instincts among their underdeveloped kindred, something like might be found in a mammal's learning of hunting mechanisms and the sparring it might perform with its denmates to sharpen these abilities.

It was not until these small Neti were defined as "children" that the Myka seemed to both understand and immediately break into confusion over the concept. These were the children of the Neti? They were... stranger than had been expected. It was odd that they seemed so developmentally underwhelming on a conceptual level. Should not the larvae - or sapling as they had spoken - stage of their development be something less similar? It seemed a wasteful devotion of resources to have a useless thing be given a useful body. What if it wandered into danger because it did not know any better? At least larvae would not do such things - they were effectively confined within their rooms until they had developed a true consciousness during pupation.

Gristle glared at one of the children for a long while, eyes unblinking as he attempted to analyze them for any physiognomic differences between the youth and their adult counterparts. While there were certain variations in the individual, he could not see anything approaching those witnessed in the Myka's own brood.

It would be best that he voice a potentially negative comment as opposed to the more diplomatic of his kin. Mender was certain of this, and the others assessed it too as the best option. Gristle did not mind being condemned by the strangers for stating the Myka's opinions, though it was a different kind of enemy fire than would normally be sent his way. He wrestled with his voice, eyes never leaving the child even as he wheezed once again in that shrieking pattern as he fought to find pitch and tone and enunciation. He wondered all the while if the sapling's throat would feel much like his own, or like its parents. Would it taste fresher?

Had he killed any of their relatives? Had he eaten them? He wondered for the first time in his lifetime if the taste of something could be transferred to its direct offspring. Could one farm a delightful meal for its children, and then snuff them out when it was mealtime? Something similar was already done with livestock beasts, but that was all about quantity and quality of the gene-stock, not about the proliferation of a single genetic heritage. This would be different - and something he might experiment with later when he had time to wrangle vermin beasts that were not allies of the Ykaradan.

"Your... brood... are... just... like... you?" He attempted to change the pitch so that the questioning aspect of his words could be taken into effect, but his digits slipped and the whole of the final pitch was something like a whistling call. He was not sure if it had been conveyed, or whether it had not, but he awaited a response all the same.

TchKren’Anook

 

[TchKren’Anook]

Energy in the room shifted as the Myka formed up, as their leader took apparent interest in the younglings who were of course curious about the newcomers in turn. Occupants of the large room hushed all at once, their tall arborous forms stilled so that time almost seemed to freeze amongst the raiders.

For his part, Kren listened with a stoney expression, silently wondering if these creatures felt emotion or experienced sentiment. In truth he had hoped the tribe's children would be kept busy elsewhere for the duration of the Myka's visit, but locking them away for their safety was antithetical to his ethos. So he watched Gristle carefully, ready to intercede if the war leader engaged in any untoward behavior. He did not however expect such an odd question and the Myka's halting words gave him pause.

Their guests witnessed as TchKren'Anook and his initial group of troops reacted in subtle confusion. The nuance of facial features in combination with unique shapeshifter body language might leave even a xenoanthropologist feeling uncertain. However, Kren recovered smoothly enough, deep baritone slowly spelling out his answer.

"They are not perfect copies…" he searched for the word in common, "They are not clones. They begin small and helpless, we grow slowly compared to many other species, but they learn to work and fight as soon as they are able."

The small troupe of saplings showed the first signs of growing restless and briefly Kren turned to dismiss them in quick-speak, a series of clicks and rustling sounds made his orders known. They were commended for their formation but sent away to aid with water reclamation, an important task all crew members were required to help with. Kren turned back to Gristle as the younglings moved away still casting curious looks back at their chieftain and his guests.

"What role do children play in your tribe? Is your brood just like you?"

 

[Gristle]

Gristle did not understand the Neti, did not understand the words that they spoke, or the ways that they shifted and communed with one another. Any attempt at understanding their facial expressions or the nature of their shifting physiology would be lost on him completely. Nevertheless, this lack of knowledge did not mean total ignorance for either himself or the other Myka within the diplomatic entourage. When the energy in the room so drastically shifted, when the tree beings became quiet and their foliage stilled it was known and acknowledged.

The tension was replicated among the insectoids, though in their own ways. Musculatures tensed, certainly, and Gristle would be surprised if this was not a kind of universal symbol of readiness among all organic and living things who were ready for the possibility of carnage and hostility, but the Myka had other methods of preparation too which were ingrained within them. They opened themselves one and all to the Thrum, feeling one another's locations and thoughts, aided by the presence of so many Synaptics in such short range.

Eyes turned outward, each Myka seeming to lock onto a differing portion of the room. They did not have the compound eyes of other insects, and thus could not naturally see all around them when confined to the individual - but the Myka were not alone; the Myka were never alone. The room was mapped out, understood, perspectives shifted hither and thither with the shifting of eyes, requests made in radio bursts between their minds that could scarcely have been matched by any verbal communique.

Gristle felt the attachments and the fear of the Myka as they revealed their states to one another, physical and emotional and cerebral all. He visualized personally the winding of selves into knots centered around the Synaptic castes, and with this thought, he pulsed with the Force, outstretched to these knots and what they represented. Gristle shut his eyes, but he could see the room so clearly even without them. He thought about what it would take to stoke his kin to hunger, to fervor that was unmatched among the generals and commanders of the Myka - to the kind of ravenous spirit only he could bring them.

And then there were words and the tension was broken, at least among the Myka. Why would the Neti talk if they intended to purge them? It was foolishness to assume that conversation would bely extermination, and so they gradually returned to their more conversational selves. Curiosity overtook fear, and ideas as to what the Neti meant by "clones" was considered. The fact there was a word meant to describe a being that was a perfect imitation was fascinating to them, but what did it mean. Some of the more aged of their complement seemed to suggest a kind of intrinsic mimicry, though the voice behind it all felt different than what they would expect from that.

Mender retook the lead among the group since it seemed that the possibility of danger had passed. All the better since Gristle wasn't actually certain how they would manage to cause enough damage to disable the vessel from within with their limited numbers and the lack of additional War-Forms. He was fairly confident he could kill their leader before the others could reach him, but leaders could be replaced with relative ease if the enemy worked anything like their own people.

The enemy... the ally... it all depended on circumstances, didn't it? Could one so easily change from one to another?

At least the remainder of the conversation seemed at least comprehensible to the Myka. They knew that many animals had a maturation period that was greater than their own exceptional development, and it stood to reason that these plantoids grew at a similar speed to others within the family of flora. Still, the Myka had always assumed that other sapients would have an equally rapid development to their own, and they had presumed at least that they would be more inclined toward the extreme physiological changes that the insectoids associated with their own growth. How could these aliens caste themselves appropriately depending on the needs of their people if they took so long to grow, and were completely identical to one another outside of a handful of benign differences in appearance?

Gristle attempted to envision a colony made up entirely of Workers. At least a portion of tasks could be accomplished without too great a loss in efficacy, but others certainly would benefit from the presence of others. Who would make all of the tools and research technologies if there were no Crafters? Who would haul the great titanic weights of the world and burrow through solid stones to lay the foundation for construction if not Majors? Who would house the repository of all knowledge and culture if not the Synaptics?

The answer was obvious, but it filled Gristle both with humor and horror.

There would need to be an extraordinary population dedicated to each individual work so that the merits of a single talented soul could make up for the overall inabilities and natural failings of their myriad coworkers. It was only through such numerical brute force that any colony could prosper without the kind of biological advantages that the Myka possessed in their genetic diversity.

Just how many Neti were there?

Gristle returned his attention to the conversation as Mender prepared an answer for the Neti leader on the nature of "children" in Myka society.

"The brood... they are valuable... among us. More than... any... possession. They are... our future." Mender explained, highlighting the value of the brood before moving on to discuss their exact nature. Perhaps Mender hoped to establish an emotional connection with the aliens, though the likelihood that they would care for their offspring in the same way seemed unreasonable to Gristle - did a tree care for the saplings it left behind?

"The brood are like... your 'sap... sap... le-ung. Weak. Killable." Mender paused, communing with the others for a fraction of an instant. "They begin as... packages... circles. Hatch into larvae... worms... hungry eaters." The voracity of the larvae was well-documented, Gristle thought. "Eat, eat, eat and then... unfold into... sludge for... the growth."

Thoughts raced between the Myka who attempted to better clarify the nature of children. Gristle thought about this for mere moments before a realization struck him. He was here to assist with interconnection, after all. Perhaps he could not speak the words of the Neti; he could not speak the language with confidence or clarification certainly, but he could think and presumably so too could the leader of the aliens.

Gristle tapped into that second binding web - the one that only some of his kin could - the Force. He outstretched his thoughts toward the Neti, and concentrated as best he could upon the life cycle of the Myka. He fixated on the laying of the eggs, and their growth in humid moist rooms deep within the darkest parts of the colony, and then of the hatching into hungering larvae which devoured every biological item brought into their midst. He focused too upon the pupation of the larvae, the cocoons and the amniotic fluids, and then of eclosure and what it meant to truly become an adult.

And then he repeated it, once and again in his mind as he tried to transmit the thought to the Neti in the hopes that some aspect of his telepathic ability could somehow reach these strange and alien minds.

But as he reached a third iteration, his focus began to slip, and more and more his thoughts ran to that hunger of the larvae - of the hunger of a particular larva. He thought of his own growth, of the starving maw that he had been, and of his waiting for a chance to devour anew within his cocoon. He thought of war, he thought of the feast that it brought, and the draining of blood from mammals and the suckling of hemolymph from the open wounds of his own kind. He tried to break free from the thought, but already he felt his stomach preparing the assorted digestive acids he would need to reduce organic material to delicious nectar.

The seventh attempt was enough to shatter any transmission he was making. He re-focused on the delegation, got himself under control, and tried to think of more pleasant things than slaughter and death.

He could not think of any.

TchKren’Anook

 

[TchKren’Anook]

Unintelligible whispers, like wind rustling through grass or the flutter of many banners hanging from battlements. It was at once a very natural sound but one filled with unease, curiosity, and distrust. The chieftain watched and listened like a statue but his gathered kin were not so composed. He could sense their concern, could intuit the way that familiar language seemed cold and twisted when delivered by the creatures that were now their guests. Alarm rippled faintly through the networking vines which grew along the walls and edged the living, mossy floors. TchKren'Anook remained steadfast however, simply listening.

He understood the concerns of his people, even felt a mild distaste of his own about the way in which the Myka described younglings. But there was something practical about the exchange, something real and forthright. The Neti chieftain looked as if he might speak as his counterpart amongst the insectoids concluded, but he paused and amber eyes widened as Gristle reached out in the Force.

The entire hangar suddenly stilled. Though unaware of its contents, every single Neti gathered there seemed suddenly aware that the Myka chieftain had touched upon the Weave. All murmurs and rustling ceased as the big leader was the only one amongst them who still seemed capable of movement while all others still present in huge open area watched on with unblinking eyes. Kren swayed, then took one lumbering step forward to loom nearer Gristle , as if straining his ears to hear some distant whisper. Even the hum of the living ship seemed to quiet in that moment.

Eventually, in Gristle's 5th or 6th iteration of the telepathic message he sought to impart, the broad man straightened up to gaze sidelong down at the Myka and his small troupe. He had not found absolute clarity, nor had the communication through the Weave fully imparted every meaning that Gristle perhaps wished to impart. It was all clear enough for Kren to make up his mind about a course of action though.

"Dangerous and competent alone." One heavy fist with an extended digit indicated himself and then the Myka.
"With union… with connection- We could be lethal and unstoppable."

Then he shook his head, as if waking from a trance, and turned to part the forest-like crowd. His kin only animated enough to clear a path but otherwise watched as living statues.

“Not for me alone to decide. You must meet the Grovemind.“

 

[Gristle]

It was impossible to know for certain whether the message that he had conveyed had been successful or not. With physical communication and speech there was at least the reverb of an entity's own vocal cords playing to their own auditory senses which alerted them that the message had been properly conveyed, but the Force guaranteed nothing from beginning to conclusion. Gristle knew that at least something had been broadcast because his mind was filled with the stillness and caution of the Neti as his kindred observed them at every angle.

The Neti leader stepped forward, and Gristle gazed upward at the plantoid, fixating for the first time upon the height advantage that was afforded to the tall being. If they were to duel with their hands using held implements, then Gristle would be at something of a disadvantage. Of course, he doubted that the Neti was as weighty as he, and the carapace that grew upon his flesh was sturdy enough to turn glancing blows that were not delivered with sufficient power. Would he now have to engage in a fight? Had he misstepped with his use of the Force and thrown any hint of diplomacy to the wind?

He tensed, and deep within he relished the idea of finally tossing any pretense of peace aside and snapping his teeth into the Neti's throat. He'd seen the carving and mutilation of the captives - but he'd yet to have the chance to turn one of their "allies" upside down and bleed them from their neck. Did they have something akin to arteries? Would it cause greater exsanguination? Salivation stirred in the deeper pockets of his mouth at the thought of getting one final bitter taste of Neti sap before they'd pierce him through.

But it didn't come, and though Gristle reveled in conflict, he was loathe to disobey the command of the Thrum and the colony and would not start a conflict if the Neti themselves would not bring it to his doorstep. For all of their brutality, the Myka were slavishly loyal to the whims of their brethren. Perhaps the Neti were too?

The Neti leader spoke, pointing out that while they were powerful alone, they could be nigh unstoppable together. Gristle attempted to imagine Neti warriors plugging the gaps in the Myka war strategy. The Myka could fly, of course, but surely beings comprised of plantlife and capable of such immense shifting would be excellent infiltrators and perhaps even astute fortifiers. The Myka could build tunnels and resin constructions, but more advanced architecture might benefit from the knowledge of the interlopers and their advanced materials.

Yes, Gristle thought - this appeal to their mutual lethality appealed to him, and he poured his approval into the Thrum, allowing it to brush against his kindred. They too sought union so that they might benefit from the alliance, though their own reasons were not quite as one-minded as the War-Form's own. Nevertheless, the Synaptics held in their minds something of a consensus from the Myka of the Ykaradan colony on what they desired and wished for, and would act accordingly.

A path was cleared, an invitation presented to meet a Grovemind.

None knew exactly what the Grovemind was or accomplished, or how it functioned and operated, but the general thought that it was something like the vegetative equivalent of the Thrum. Perhaps the Grovemind was composed of a similar entity that was forcibly given information from all living members? Gristle was fascinated, and the others with him shared this notion.

The Myka followed wherever their host would lead them. Gristle was prepared fully to accept any invitation from the Force into his mind, prepared to open himself fully to the idea of alliance for the first time since he had arrived. He would help the Synaptics see, and they in turn would help the Neti to see.

See how they could paint the galaxy in blood.

TchKren’Anook

 

[TchKren’Anook]

TchKren'Anook lumbered forth, moving as if with the weight of destiny upon him. The parted members of his tribe made room enough for them to pass single file if they used the floor and any Myka still traveling walls or ceiling could feel more than mere eyes upon them. It was like the very ship held its breath, every creak or hum one might associate with such a vessel was suddenly muffled.

The band of visitors was led deeper into the ship, where the overgrown hallways were humid and glowed with bioluminescence. It seemed the Neti's lowlight vision must be exceptional based on how they kept their home. Or perhaps they had some other sense or means by which to navigate. Gristle and company were followed by the Chieftain's initial greeting crew sans his lieutenant, who presumably still watched from afar.

Kren kept their momentum for a few standard minutes, their journey taking them into the veritable bowels of the ship. They passed a few other individuals who appeared to be busy at work on ship maintenance or other such tasks. Their last turn opened up to a new antechamber, a thick curtain of vines and flowering tendrils obscuring the room on the other side. Roots and moss along the floor, which had been ever present from the moment the Myka stepped on the ship, grew more abundantly the nearer they drew to this mysterious Grovemind.

The towering chieftain, who all but filled the smaller hallways with his bulk, straightened to stand tall upon reaching the antechamber and paused their momentum for a moment. Gristle could feel the soft tickle of fresh air like a rustling jungle breeze blowing faintly from the obscured entryway. It was strange, unnatural even to feel such a thing in a place like this. Deep within a space worthy vessel as they were, surely there couldn't be a biome which created wind… could there?

With that low baritone of his, TchKren'Anook called out in what was presumably his mother tongue. It came in a slow creaking cadence which seemed to reverberate through his whole body and vibrate out through the bio-mechanical material of the ship's flooring and walls. A passphrase perhaps? A greeting? Regardless, a more feminine voice answered from within and that seemed to be the cue he awaited.

With solemnity Kren turned appraising eyes upon Gristle and his ilk, rumbling a quiet invitation.

"You may enter, tread only upon the clearly laid path," he pointed with a gnarled finger to where lichen painted stones created a walkway through the vine laden bulkhead.

And he stepped before them to once again lead the way. Whether for deference or through necessity due to his great height, Kren bowed as he entered. When the Myka made their way through. They were greeted by the sight of a strange throne room and upon crossing the threshold, anyone sensitive in the Force would be struck by the sense of intense power welled just below and thrumming all around. It was as if they stepped inside of a great bell which had just been struck but the sense picking up the tune was one's entire being rather than with one's hearing.

At first glance it might appear to be just another overgrown but otherwise unoccupied chamber. However, the closer it was inspected by the newcomers, the more of its strange details would become apparent. Twisting roots and vines in this place looked much more like reaching limbs and tangled torsos. There was something sentient about the place and it was altogether more alien than any other thing the Neti had yet revealed about themselves. The throne itself had a proud high back and ornamentations which almost looked like grasping hands along the armrests.

Kren and his companions were hushed, appearing as chastised children before elders- no, even more like a humble congregation before the eyes of their god. And indeed, the Myka could feel many eyes upon them, could see living faces which loomed above and seemed to grow from the very walls.

 

[Gristle]

They would struggle to find their way back. The Myka had traveled so deeply into the vessel that now it seemed to Gristle that they had passed through its mouth and into its esophageal tract, sliding further and further until they had found themselves in root-infested intestines. The others could remember portions of the path they had taken, but all had been transfixed by not only the magnitude of the ship's floral infestation but also by what their guest might want them to see at the end of their journey.

When at least they arrived in the odd room, they were uncertain what was laid before them. The Myka had no concept of a throne room - they had no rulers per se and had never interacted closely enough with a race that idolized their leaders with such grandiose displays. Nevertheless, it seemed apparent that someone was meant to sit within the chair and that this would unlock some effect or outcome - though whether it was a privilege or a punishment to be placed into that seating receptacle was unknowable.

Gristle felt the pulsing throes of power as he stepped into the room. There was the Thrum still which connected him to the other Myka, but here too was a deeper thread. The Force had always been mysterious and uncertain and though they had made strides to understand and adapt portions of it, much of it was simply beyond the understanding of the insectoids. Yet, here within the chamber, Gristle felt as though he had become privy to some incredible revelation about that great and binding energy, could feel his spirit soar and uplift at the promise of such undiluted power coursing even through the very foundations of the room.

Mender was the first to notice that the walls of the room appeared very much like their Neti hosts, as though they had blended themselves into the structure. While odd, this recalled to mind the amniotic fluids of pupation to many of the Myka, and they considered whether or not these Neti were born from these walls or whether they returned here when they were unneeded so that they might take up less room and enmesh once again with their overmind.

Faces carved from the walls - no - faces that were the walls and made up the walls could be seen towering overhead, unnatural sentinels seeming to bear down upon the intruders with their ceaseless gaze. They could feel watched, and it seemed that this place was every bit as Neti as the ones who had stepped into the room with them.

Gristle felt it, that underlying thread again, that pulsing along the foundational makeup of reality. He felt like he had his finger in a spider's web and could feel the dripping of rain across its other end, every instance sending another vibrational sensation up his hands and through his exoskeleton and across his spine. A vestigial wing twitched in ecstatic recognition that what he felt could be felt by no others. He opened himself to the Force and to the Thrum all at once, allowing this sensation, this understanding to spread until it tensed and flexed the limbs of his kindred and they too saw the room with the same reverence.

They could do so much together with this power. These people, the Neti, could be worked with if it meant that the Myka could enjoy such powerful groves for themselves in the future. Could they do this to all of reality? Cleanse it of unworthiness and replace it with something so spectacular as this single ominous room? If the Synaptics of the group were dissuaded by the cataclysm of that reality then they did not express it, perhaps enthralled by the senses of the Force, or perhaps deluded by visions of the future, or perhaps quelled by the presence of the murderous Gristle in their midst and the vileness that suddenly reeked from him at the thought of a universe full of spilled blood to fertilize these groves and to satiate the starving young.

And in this paradisaic image did Gristle find his offer of peace - the offer of the Ykaradan Colony of a more permanent alliance than the meager diplomacies of the past, this thought of endless spread and endless growth and endless consumption. He envisioned Myka tending these groves too, envisioned peace that was something more than the ceasefire of a wounded animal, envisioned a future of coexistence that was beneficial and violent and splendid.

And this image was sent out to the watching sentinel faces, dispatched through the Force, and various adjustments and changes were made by the Myka of the entourage as they etched out their ideas of paradise into Gristle's overarching image until the colony was in agreement - and soon, they hoped, the Overmind would be too.

TchKren’Anook

 

[TchKren’Anook]

A lean figure stepped around from behind the strange throne and at once the hulking chieftain who'd shown very little deference to anyone or anything, made to kneel. His people followed and all raised woody appendages so each of them trailed some portion of themselves against the overgrowth within the room, contrary to the instructions given to the Myka visitors. Some actually contorted their bodies, lengthened limbs or shortened their trunks so they could more easily drape themselves nearer to the living architecture of the chamber.

TchKren'Anook seemed entirely unaware of the silent communication and musings occurring amongst his guests and was instead focused on the Neti who had clearly been awaiting their arrival. Though the nuance of gender difference might be lost on the insectoids, this new individual was dimorphic to the extreme. She was tall, as all the arboreal people seemed to be upon reaching adulthood, and she was incredibly slender. Her almost wispy form appeared nearly insubstantial in contrast to the hulking Kren or other warriors Gristle had since met, even the leader's lieutenant was sturdy in comparison.

The gathered raiders were hushed and brought to bow by her very presence though, as if the weight of their solemnity was spiritual. It might be deduced by more xenologically minded Myka that she was a holy leader or shaman. The form of her body appeared intricately woven, a strange light shone from where her eyes should be, and Gristle could feel that gaze upon him as if it bore down from all around. He and his companions were expected to lay themselves bare before the scrutiny of the Grovemind, that much was suddenly clear.

No sooner than the expectation was known did the trial begin and it was clearly a test for all present, not just the insectoid interlopers. The spiritual leader who stood before the throne suddenly glowed brighter, all other Neti fell eerily still, and little root like tendrils edging the pathway began reaching toward the gathered Myka - beseeching that they open their senses to the songs of their ancestors.

Gravity stopped making sense, the very chamber lurched then transformed, or at least it appeared to. In truth, time all but stood still as a kind of psychic phenomenon overlaid everyone's entire existence. Gristle was seamlessly made aware of many things all at once: his hosts were ancient- their lives spanning millennia and their memories reaching farther back than even that, they were nomadic out of necessity though not preference, and they'd splintered off from ancient brethren eons ago which they bore as a kind of scar that fueled much of their pragmatic ferocity.

Alongside these tangled roots of cultural lore, they were also granted insight about the inner workings of the tribe itself on both a micro and macro scale. The timelessness they experienced in the trance would no doubt require each of them to take moments for reflection later, but the information made available to the Myka during that enlightenment was profound. Where the Grovemind provided, it sought also to take in return. The entire chamber became resonate with their mind-binding and a wordless question seemed to ring in the air.

¿T H R U M ?​