Blood Impulse

Part 40.4 - HER MAJESTY

Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Crimson Heart's Base of Operations

The ghost found it sitting in a damp, cold cell. The humidity of such a prison would never have bothered it, rather helped maintain the integrity of its scales, but the cold... Well, the cold would have been nothing short of well-deserved torture, slowing its reaction time and dulling its so-called blindsight. Oh, it surely would ache for the warmth of its Mother Nest.

Still, such a creature would never stoop to plea for a heater, never show weakness to the cold, particularity when the filth that guarded it showed no such fragility. The ghost was not fond of pirates, but she knew how it would have seen them: vile things.

Twisted creatures of their own ambition.

Abominable violations of the great Hydrian Bylaws.

Reflections of humanity's inherent sickness.

So repugnant were those cyborgs that it had declined to look at, let alone speak with them for years now. It was appalled to have ever spoken the human tongue, and refused to further dirty itself by associating with half-machine, half-biological offenses to the natural order.

When those had dashed away from the entrance of its cell, it could not have cared less. When it heard the sharp, unrhythmic crack of firearms, it had hardly concerned itself, for it had long determined that this hastily carved out cell would be its execution chamber. It expected a crude death, something it considered dishonorable, as that fate would deem it unable to help sustain the hive, even as food. Its body would rot here instead, one of the endless wastes humanity made as they fought among themselves. Truly, humanity never stopped, rendered weak by its inability to make progress as a cohesive whole.

Even during the War, the hive had seen signs of unrest. Humanity's civil war had been only a matter of time. It had come a few cycles too late to alter the end of the War, but had provided the hive a few decades of delightful entertainment.

These thoughts coursed through her, its despicable mind an open book, and a rather simple one at that. A hatred as deep and vast as any she had ever known surged within her as she felt it on the edge of her perception. It was such a fragile presence, feeble by her standards, and yet so spiteful. In that, it was not so different from the pirates. She may have disregarded it, had it not been the exact taste she'd been looking for, and had Colonel Zarrey's team not steered so near it.

It was an interesting find, but it was a disgusting, needy thing. She cared not for its thoughts, for its underserved assertion of superiority. It was an insect.

But it was an insect that had answers.

Thus, she wove herself into its perceptions, giving it a taste of something it hadn't felt in years. It stirred to life, letting out a pitiful question, laden not with desperation, but hope. "Her Majesty?" it queried in its native tongue.

She hardly cared for its hope, for its wishes. It was an insect, but every once in a while, it was enjoyable to play with the ants. "Not quite," she replied in its language, unable to keep the bemusement from her tone. "Though it is truly adorable you think that broodmothering bitch would care to rescue one of her drones at all, let alone come in person. It was my understanding she rarely left the Mother Nest. Some cowardly decree about a human-conjured demon?"

"But you carry the presence of my Queen." It, or technically he, though pronouns could only be so accurate in this situation, could feel that pressure along the organs that detected his Queen's proximity.