The Flypaper flew casually through the Insectoid system, approaching Hive Prime on a precise vector that was laid out by an Insectoid behavioral algorithm.

They had made it through the first two checks – their responses to standard queries from Insectoid ships had been accepted. They signaled they were carrying grubs in stasis, and had been allowed to pass without comment. It was a common cargo, one Lauryna had recommended, especially as they could be bringing it to literally anywhere on Hive Prime.

They were on to the third check, the last one before Hive Prime. Close enough that its primary was a blue disc, not a faint white speck. They received a check-through – “Approach [main world] and [hold at junction] until [directive received]” – exactly as expected.

And then they received another transmission.

“New pathway – new pathway – [ignore] [main world] instead travel to [fifth moon] of [third planet] from [brightest light in the sky].”

“Frak,” Olthympo said, as she heard the translation. “This will complicate things.”

“It won’t be too bad,” Utti Larasin said. “We can get near to Hive Prime on this vector, even if we are to divert.”

“Still, makes coming back tougher. Ms. Idisoko, can…do the Insectoids request changes in direction? Ms. Idisoko?”

Glyta was looking intently at the raw signals. “Something’s wrong,” she said.

“Frak me. Are we compromised?”

Glyta shook her head. “I don’t…this doesn’t make any sense.”

“We’re gonna need to send a response,” Utti said. “Thought you said that they wanted a response right away.”

Glyta squinted. “Crewmate Larasin, sir…can you identify where that second signal came from?”

“Not precisely. Looks like it originated on a line at 52.4 carom 19.3.”

“The first signal – it originated around 384 carom null?”

“Yeah…383.2 carom 399.8. Why….”

Glyta’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “[Wrong saying] [wrong saying] instructed to [ignore] [main world].”

There was a pause, and then two signals burst in, talking over the top of each other.

“Contact, hostiles, two Ishaytan-Sevens, inbound from 381 carom 2.”

“Ms. Idisoko, what did you say?” Olthympo said. “Stand by for evasive action.”

“Ma’am, hold on, just one second. Crewmate Larasin, sir, we should see another inbound around 52 carom 20.”

“Hold on…gorram, she’s right, inbound Ishaytan-604 Heavy Raider…check that, Heavy Raider is turning and spinning up drive.”

The two Ishaytan-Sevens appeared at visual range just for a moment, led by a series of tiny white dots streaking across the sky. And then, there was a small flash.

“Heavy raider destroyed,” Larasin said.

A new signal – just one – came over comms. “[Wrong saying] [false Hive] vessel destroyed. Approach [main world] and [hold at junction] until [directive received]. Conduct [acceptable] [acceptable].”

Glyta laughed. “Acknowledge transmission,” she signaled, and leaned back.

“What just happened?” Olthympo said.

“Rogue insectoids. The dissension in Hive…we knew it was bad,” Glyta said. “Looks like they were attempting to cull us.”

“Hive trying to get rid of the dissidents?” Olthympo asked.

“Other way around. Not sure if they were trying to lure us in to try to take the cargo or see if they could turn more insectoids to their side. If a few insectoids start to misbehave, they’re generally culled, from what we understand. A few deaths keeps the behavior from spreading. But this…this behavior has broken containment.”

“You could have warned us,” Olthympo said.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, there wasn’t time…and if I had waited any longer to respond, probably all three ships destroy us before turning on each other.”

“Well, next time, try to do it without giving me a heart attack. Carry on, Mr. Larasin.”

“Ma’am, she did….”

Larasin had begun to plead Glyta’s case, but he could see that Olthympo had a very slight smile on her face. The kind that commanders usually have when their subordinates manage to impress them.

“…uh…she did raise my blood pressure a bit. Any other surprises we should look out for, Ms. Idisoko?”

“No, sir,” Glyta said. “But if there are breakaway insectoids in this system, it could complicate things. We’ll need to try not to stray too far from what we’re told to do, at least if we can help it. We don’t want them to think we’re part of the dissidents.”

“No,” Olthympo said. “I don’t think we do.”

The Flypaper continued on, swinging around the planet that Hive Prime circled, a dull, bluish gas giant. Their target was a hazy, bluish-purplish-orangeish world that might, long ago, have been pretty. It was no longer, at least not by the standards of titans or humans. Humans and titans show concern when they despoil the wilderness, after all. Not so much that they have always managed to avoid it, but enough that they have tried to mitigate the damage, or at the very least, have felt bad about it. Insectoids have no such compunction. If they leave local wildlife alive on a world they control, it is only because it either serves a function that is useful to them or because killing it is too much trouble.

Most advanced sentient species lament their early technological development; almost all can count thousands of species run into extinction before they realized it was happening, and thousands more before they learned to effectively balance the needs of their people with the needs of the environment.

The insectoid count is in the millions, and if they spared it any emotion, it would be pride.

“Gods, look at that,” Utti Larasin said.

It was clear what that he was referring to. One of the two primary orbital stations of Hive Prime was shattered into a half-dozen pieces. Insectoids were busy trying to put them back together, but it was clear from the debris and bodies floating around it that the attack on it had been successful. Streaming away from it, teased by gravity into the beginnings of a ring, were debris from dozens of insectoid ships.

“Emperor’s whiskers,” Olthympo said. “This isn’t just a minor skirmish. Ms. Idisoko, what do you think?”

“This…looks like someone was trying to cull Hive Prime. Or maybe Hive Prime was trying to cull this station. Either way…they’re hurting themselves pretty badly.”

“And me without kapavi to toast,” Olthympo said. “All right, we’re coming up on the drop zone in about ten minutes. Utti, signal the Acolytes to stand by to launch. Let them know we’re putting them into that debris field.”

“Ma’am?” Larasin asked.

“Cover, Utti. Cover,” Shagda said. “If we’re lucky, the Insectoids will never see anything but a few bits of garbage falling from orbit.”

“Of course,” Larasin replied.

About four minutes later, Ahek Uɉa spun a quick scan of the debris field around on her gool.

“There,” she said. “Twenty degrees – I mean, 22 carom 14 – that’s the spot.”

“Was just going to say that,” Olthympo said. “You ready for launch?”

“Affirm, Flypaper. Acolytes Six and 2-22, this is Acolyte Nine. Stand by for launch.”

“Thirty seconds to launch point,” Shagda said. “Good hunting, Acolytes. We’ll see you in 48 hours.”

“Affirm,” Ahek said. “Acolytes Six and 2-22, lift, gravs only. Acolyte 12, Major Wilson, you have the remaining portion of the wing.”

“Roger, Acolyte Nine. Godspeed.”

Acolyte Nine lifted, and the Flypaper’s rear hatch opened. The three fighters, half of half a wing, exited the ship, and in but a moment, they were flying through a dense patch of debris.

Acolyte 22 jerked sideways to avoid an incoming piece of metal, then spun off of a mass of wires. “Wow, that will wake you up!”

“Cut the chatter, 22, stand by to form up standard three formation on my mark. Three, two, one, mark,” Ahek said, letting the other two ships settle in behind her, one above and left, one below and right. “All right, Aram, need us oriented.”

“Stand by…got it. We have a lock on the location of the embassy.”

“Transmit it to the other Acolytes. Folks,” Ahek said, “let’s go down there and tell them hello.”

The Acolytes dove through the atmosphere, pilots relying on instruments rather than trying to eyeball through the persistent haze. Even on gravitics only, the Acolytes cut through the air gracefully on their slow, spiraling descent. They did their best to dampen the bow shock of re-entry; their descent was slower, but also far less noticeable.

After about 15 minutes, their target came into view. To call it a city was not entirely accurate; there was no sharp distinction between rural and urban in the insectoid world, just various nodes that were more-or less-dense. Imperial maps called this particular dense node Subhive One; Imperial linguists would tell you, however, that the Hive’s name for it was simply a series of coordinates defining its location on Hive Prime.

The insectoids did not waste time on names.

They were aiming for a building in the densest part of Subhive One. It would have stood out, once upon a time, as one of but a few examples of non-Insectoid architecture on the planet. The Imperial embassy stood near the Drazari and Tusolan embassies; each was different as the species that had built them, but there was a design to them, a sense that they were built not for function, but for beauty as well.

Those buildings were surrounded by tannish mounds of dirt that had been hardened into concrete, which appeared to be built with no rhyme or reason. Imperial mathematicians had shown their positioning appeared to follow some basic fractal rules; it was unclear whether the Insectoids had even consciously planned their building, or whether they were simply doing what their instincts told them to.

And so those three buildings stood out to visitors to Subhive One; they were an oasis of normalcy in a truly alien landscape.

They used to stand out, anyhow. They did so no longer. Instead, there was a sea of rubble, that encompassed all three embassies and tons upon tons of tannish dirt that had once been hardened to concrete, and now was a field of tannish rocks, interspersed with the bodies of workers and mantids who had been there when the blow came.

“Subhan Allah,” Isra al-Zayedeen murmured. “It looks like a nuclear strike.”

“No radiation warnings,” Hercule said. “But definitely conventional explosions. Merde. Where to even begin?”

“Acolyte Nine, this is 2-22,” Isra called. “What’s our vector?”

“Stand by,” Ahek called. “Aram, you’ve got the schematics up?”

“Yes, ma’am. Based on the design of the building, we’ll want to head for the lift.”

“I am aware of that, Mr. Akreyi. But where is the lift?”

Aram sighed. “I’m not seeing it from here.”

“Six, 2-22, eyes open, we are looking for an entry into the building, aiming for the lift,” Ahek said.

Hercule blinked. “There,” he said. “That should be it, two o’clock.”

“That” was essentially a mound of debris, but one that took on a squarish form. It was the broken wreckage of the elevator shaft, but barely one story’s-worth remained of it.

“Nice work, Mr. Desrochers,” Ahek called. “Form up on my six. Aram?”

Aram was determined not to let Hercule get the glory twice. “There’s a small gap, we should be able to gain entry there. Sending coordinates.”

“All right,” Ahek said. “Follow me in.”

The three Acolytes shot through the narrow gap and turned downward. They had to weave through a maze of debris, before they reached the false bottom of the elevator.

It was sealed up, but to Titan specs. A small ventilation shaft was all that would indicate that there was anything below it but dirt. It was into that small ventilation shaft that the three Acolytes flew, following it down hundreds of meters until a small beep alerted Acolyte Nine that they’d reached depth.

“Okay, turn and follow, in three, two, one….”

Ahek turned the Nine at a near ninety-degree angle, a move that would be impossible without gravitic assist. Aram used a simple gravitic pulse to knock out the grating that separated them from their destination, and the three Acolytes slowed to a simple grav-assisted hover.

“SHAKA!”

The shout was loud enough to shake the cockpits of all nine officers. On instincts, pilots turned their ships toward it, and then immediately began evasive maneuvers as the butt end of a phase rifle swung through their position.

“Frak!” Nasti shouted, as she swung at the small devices. They moved aside easily, as she’d expected, but she was hesitant to swing the rifle around and begin firing. “Mpola, drones!”

Mpola Vidol leaped to her feet, as did almost everyone else in the relatively-cramped room. There was a sudden cacophony of conversation as the three small fliers swept around them.

Mpola tried to get a bead on them. They moved fast, but reasoned – they weren’t simple AI. One spun away from Embassy-Guard, who tried to grab it – it had anticipated the move.

What the frak were they? They didn’t appear to be insectoid. If she didn’t know better, she would say they were Imperial, but a novel design, then scaled down….

“WEAPONS HOLD!” she bellowed. Bounding to the center of the room, she raised her hands up, freezing everyone in their tracks.

She walked carefully toward the nearest ship, which was back to hovering. She approached from starboard; it sat just below her nose. She looked at the hull – a triple-cockpit hull. Triple-cockpit. She stared through the crystalline domes carefully, and her eyes went wide.

“Frak me,” she said, softly. “Humans.”

“Humans?!” a blonde woman said. “What the frak are humans doing here?”

An older man shook his head. “This is how the Empire rescues us. Sending pets.”

“They aren’t pets, Dr. Regda. They’re people. But what are they….”

“Enough guessing!” Magister-Imperator Vidol barked, invoking all her authority. “They can tell us. Clear the table.”

“The table?” said a Titan man. The dragon next to him blinked slowly.

“The table, Stauseo. Imperator Vidol means for them to land. As the Tuolssorel says, ‘Ess olstuakterk orsta lo llollouluruk, telutleet orstuso lora.’”

“And what does that mean, Ambassador?” Stauseo asked.

“’If you wish to know why someone visits, you should ask them,’” replied the Tusolan. A very skilled linguist or xenosociologist would have heard the slight quaver on the s-sounds that gave away the laugh. Of course, Stauseo had been around the Ambassador long enough to chuckle as he swept debris off the table; he had learned more about the Tusola in the past few months than he’d ever wanted to know. Which might come in handy if he decided to request asylum.

The three tiny ships touched down on the table, and the people in the room began to gather around, until Mpola said, “All right, stay back, how would you feel if you were surrounded by giants? Embassy-Guard, Nasti, Ambassador Ssutassa, you three with me. The rest of you, please, give space!”

Four Titan men and women moved back, while the three Imperial officers and the Tusolan Ambassador stepped forward.

The center cockpit on the fighter in the center of the formation opened first, followed by the center cockpits in the two others. Presently, the remaining six cockpits opened, and nine tiny figures loosened restraints and clambered out of their seats. Vidol was surprised to see that three of those figures were wearing tiny facsimiles of Imperial flight suits, but almost more surprised to see that six wore suits that were unfamiliar. These couldn’t possibly be Terran craft, could they?

She followed the figure in the center, who slid along the nosecone of the fighter and alighted on the table. She could see in the posture of the woman a slight hesitation, as if debating whether to follow protocol strictly or to move forward.

The woman pulled her helmet off, and stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, Imperator Vidol,” the woman said, in non-translated Archavian. “And to the rest of you. I will be recommending we add speakers to the Acolytes if we end up in this situation again.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Mpola said with a grin. “It’s been pretty dull in here these last few months, good to get some exercise. It appears you know me, but….”

“Of course, of course. Colonel Ahek Uɉa, Joint Terrestrial Strike Force, Commander, Acolyte Air Group, Wing Two, Acolyte Nine, flying off the ISS Aertimus Bass. It’s good to meet you.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Mpola replied, frowning. “Aertimus Bass, you say. I’m…unfamiliar with that ship.”

“Colonel,” said Emidus Zery, “before you answer – Imperator Vidol, I am Zery, Emidus, Senior Crewmate Third Class. Mακi, δyaδεt, κεypv мpαjαэ, ᴋшᴏм, oᴋᴏм, zijαnδpop. Confirm.”

Mpola looked over at the miniscule man who had taken his spot to the left of the wing commander, and blinked. He didn’t seem to be play-acting an Imperial officer. The security code was precise, a verification protocol that she’d spent two weeks memorizing back in the academy. He was asking in code if she felt the people in the room could hear information that was, though not strictly classified, still reasonably sensitive.

She nodded. “Joqακpεφ, xoφox, jon, διэмi, мακо, jon, xδεмv, ҍfvкfiмop, xαnnwv, jαnon, jαnon, jαnon. Confirm.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Proceed, colonel.”

“Thank you, Crewmate Zery. The Aertimus Bass is the lead ship of a new class, we’ve just come out of shakedown.”

“I see,” Mpola said. “Aertimus Bass…it’s never been Imperial policy to name ships after living people.”

“Nor has it become your policy, ma’am,” Ahek said. “Navarchos Bass sacrificed himself at the Battle of Tau Ceti.”

Nasti Johkanen let out a long breath. “Gods, the Xifos.”

“No, the Xifos survived, Decanus. But we lost the Gyfjon, the Troji, the Jev Croumanea, and the Malanda Tenal,” Zery said. “It was a hell of a fight.”

“Sounds like it,” Mpola said. “So…how far has the Hive Ship made it? We’ve been trying to get information, but the inter-Hive battles are swamping any information on it. Did it go after Earth, or make the turn to Azatlia?”

Ahek straightened, and smiled, as did ever officer on the table who had defended the colony. “It didn’t go anywhere, ma’am,” Ahek said. “It’s currently a field of debris in the Tau Ceti system.”

“Semshaka! No chance. They’re lying to us!”

“Sibel, I don’t think I asked for your opinion.”

The young blonde woman in the back pointed accusingly; she did so with a temporary artificial limb. “You said it yourself, the Hive Ship was as strong as the gorram Imperial fleet. What, humans, did you blow it up with your tiny little toy ships?”

“We used our ‘little toy ships’ to save a couple million people, and buy time so Navarchos Bass and Dr. Freeman could save the Empire’s behind,” Sachini Ranatunga barked. “I ended up with a major concussion keeping bugs off the back of the Gyfjon, and my pilot got burned half to hell. What….”

“Maj. Ranatunga, as you were!” Ahek barked. “We are on a deadline, we do not have time to argue about who did what at Tau Ceti, understood?”

Sachini glowered at the civilian, but said, quietly, “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“And I apologize for Ms. Abidilidi. That is wonderful news. Emperor’s taint, it’s wonderful news. But how did they destroy it?” Mpola said. “I remember wargames – a two-ishaytan was enough to require three fleets just to draw even.”

“A suicide mission that worked. Exactly how it worked, well…obviously, we can’t go into detail in front of civilians,” Ahek said.

“Obviously,” Mpola said. “No wonder the Hive has divided. The fallout from a failure of this magnitude was bound to have repercussions.”

Ahek was about to ask what exactly “divided” meant, but her thought were interrupted by a voice from the back of the room. “I am glad to hear the Hive Ship was destroyed, and it is nice to have company. But I must ask, how do you intend to get us out in those ships?”

“Dr. Regda,” Vidol growled, but Ahek simply nodded.

“That’s a fair question,” Ahek said. “We were planning on three to evac, not eight, that will make it tight.”

The Tusolan Ambassador had been quiet up until now, but he blew out a quavering breath that was the equivalent of an extended laugh. “I can try to tuck my wings tightly, if it will help.”

Ahek smiled. “Obviously, we won’t be taking you in the Acolytes. We have a plan. But we do need to discuss this. In private, ma’am.”

“Of course,” Mpola said. “You and…Crewmate Zery, I believe you said?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Zery replied. “And the data stick that Mr. Desroches and Mr. Akreyi are removing from the back of Acolyte Nine.”

“All right,” Mpola said, looking around the room. “I can carry you, if you’re comfortable with it.”

“Didn’t go into the military to get comfortable, ma’am,” Ahek said.

“Fair point. Ms. Johkanen, Embassy-Guard, please make our guests at home,” she said, reaching out a hand. “And you two…come with me.”