THE Overlord pondered the information scrolling across the screen. He tapped it to pause the flow briefly, studying the estimates from the engineering section. No matter how he fiddled with the figures, they remained the same. The five aircraft would be all he had for some months. Despite the raw materials now available, some of the smaller components would take time to manufacture, time in fact, to manufacture the equipment needed to begin constructing the specialised parts. He was frustrated at his inability to take the fight immediately to the humans. The primitive weaponry that they’d used to bring down the aircraft had been ridiculously effective, whatever it was. At every turn they’d surprised him. Accustomed to easy victory, the Overlord now quietly admitted to himself that he’d underestimated his opponents. If he had access to more aircraft it would be easy to overwhelm the technologically primitive humans – but he didn’t, and it was a source of major frustration to him. He jabbed at the screen with a manipulator arm again, and it resumed its scrolling. The Communications Chief had not changed his time estimates – another source of frustration. He closed the messages, and sat back, tapping the desktop irritably. He brooded over the lack of progress, and the devastation that the humans had wreaked upon his ship.
Most of all, he brooded on the slowly rising death toll from the feline still prowling within the defensive perimeter around the ship. Eight troopers were now dead or missing. He assumed that they were dead. The feline was a silent and deadly killer, leaving no trace of its presence. He leaned forwards again and tapped the screen several times. The images of the human beings in the comms room replayed themselves in an endless loop. An empty lift, followed by sudden chaos, then the abrupt appearance of several human beings and the huge felines who accompanied them. Again he pulled up the sensor readings for the felines. Nothing. None of them registered at all, or at least, not in a pattern that any of his experts had been able to determine.
He switched files as his annoyance grew, and in frustration reviewed the images captured from both the interior and exterior of the ship as the humans effected their escape. The feline now harassing his troopers must be wounded. He watched again as it erupted into a snarling spitting rage, tackling two of his troopers at once, but then blurring away, demonstrating an astonishing turn of speed despite its obvious injuries. Perhaps it might die of its wounds, he thought, but it had already been many days since the humans had escaped, and the hope was probably futile. He wondered why it remained in the area. It was only a beast, with no capacity for revenge. Perhaps it liked the taste of Garsal flesh. The thought chilled him to his vitals. Nothing preyed on the Garsal, they were the ultimate top order predator as they had proved time after time. Anger replaced the chill, and he tapped the console again. A frontal assault was out of the question right now, but he still had Trooper Hoth on the plateau, and raiding had always been a favourite pastime of the Garsal.
His mind turned the idea over. Fast hit and run attacks might well demoralise the humans. Prolonged attacks might be more satisfying but they carried higher risks, which in his previous arrogance he had neglected to consider. He tapped decisively at his screen again. “Zoash! I will meet with the senior commanders tonight.” His hatching sib sent an acknowledgment.
“I will set the meeting for after your tour of the new hive with the Matriarch, Overlord.”
The Overlord folded his manipulator arms, satisfied. There were ways to hurt the humans still, hurt them until he was ready to enslave them completely. It was time they began to understand who their new masters would be.
***
The Matriarch left the female section of the ship without a backwards glance. Her regal bearing was carefully calculated, and she kept her stately progress to a deliberate cadence. In her wake, her senior attendants maintained the same measured pace. They were well versed in the formalities, and she knew that there would be no hint of compromise in their postures.
Not so the four juniors included in her entourage for the first time. The four had been suggested as the most suitable for initiation by Laretai, and she had decided to include them in today’s procession so that she could observe them herself. They were trying hard to maintain the composure of the seniors, but their inexperience showed itself in small ways; the slightly awkward drape of their robes, and the uneven spacing as they struggled to maintain the measured pace. By her side, the Overlord gestured towards the entrance to the new hive. The archway was well-formed, she noted, and the sentries on either side of it moved promptly to positions of respect, shouldering their weapons in a display of devotion as she passed.
The hive was well lit, and she inclined her head to the Overlord as she passed one of the inset lighting units. The slight reddish cast to the light was easy to the multifaceted Garsal eye, and enhanced the colour of the female contingent’s robes. The clever paving smoothed the way underfoot, and the Matriarch’s group moved easily down the gentle incline. “Please, the left hand entrance, Matriarch.” The Overlord’s obsequious voice grated in the Matriarch’s ears, but she quelled her irritation. He knew no better, being only a product of his upbringing and culture. She took the indicated entrance, graciously nodding at the door attendants as she passed. Their slave garb was clean but colourless, their flat human faces downcast. She wanted to stop, to query them about their origins, to try and better understand the invaders who had been so close to her quarters when they made their way through the ship.
There were few humans in the female section of the ship, and most were too cowed to reply to any queries from a Garsal. She wished she could question the young female with the green eyes and the feline companions, a human who was not a slave – a rarity she’d never encountered. She turned her attention back to the job at hand, and entered the antechamber of what was clearly the female section of the hive. There was a small flurry of hastily suppressed surprise from behind her. Laretai would describe the potential initiates in detail for her later, but she motioned for them to step forwards with her as she paused to appreciate the details now pointed out by the Overlord.
Presentation trays sat on decorative pillars of native stone at the front of the antechamber, and neatly curtained alcoves lined each sidewall. An impressive doorway hinted at more luxuries deeper inside the hive. With the four juniors now in clear view of herself, the Matriarch decided that the Overlord had earned a few words from Laretai. She gave her attendant a coded arm motion.
“The Matriarch wishes me to indicate her satisfaction with the antechamber. It is tastefully done.”
The Matriarch watched the four juniors. Two of them stood impassively, but the other two had the air of a lesson learned. She was pleased to see them grasp the careful nature of her compliment. Voiced by Laretai, it only hinted of offspring. The same words voiced by herself would have been close to a declaration. It was not lost on either the Overlord, or the two juniors. The other two? She decided to watch and wait.
“You have more to show?” she asked the Overlord, careful to keep her voice imperious.
“Please,” he motioned to the doorway at the far end. The door slaves rushed to open the heavy metal doors. Engraved and embossed decorative panels were cleverly recessed into its heavy metal. The Matriarch was impressed, despite her irritation with the Overlord. Passing through the heavy doors, the Overlord directed them through a well-planned series of tastefully decorated rooms. Themes from many different worlds featured in the furnishings, and not for the first time, the Matriarch wondered at the many contradictions of her people. A capacity for beauty that was almost as unsurpassed as their capacity for destruction. The female quarters were everything any Matriarch could have hoped for. Individual accommodation spaces were interspersed with shared accommodations for the junior females. Technology was discreetly built into each room, always present but never jarringly so.
As the tour drew to an end, the Overlord stood to one side of an irised doorway. He gestured, and the Matriarch stepped through. It was a hatching suite. Her mood darkened abruptly. As beautiful as the female quarters were, the Overlord’s presumption angered her beyond belief.
“You overstep your rights, Overlord.” Her voice was cold and calculating. “Offspring approval has not yet been given to any male.” She felt and saw the startled reactions of the juniors. Her seniors knew better; at her first words they had closed ranks behind her, and they now faced him with her, displeasure in their bearing. She heard the shuffle as the juniors followed suit. She waited until the last one had ceased moving.
“We return to the ship now. You will remove this – immediately! No hatching suite is to be constructed until the first approval has been ratified.” She stalked from the room, her entourage moving in lockstep behind her. Laretai’s familiar step just behind her sounded outraged, and she knew that her attendant was mirroring her thoughts. The arrogance of the Overlord was insupportable, and stiffened her resolve.
As they walked, she mused on the four juniors. The tour and its aftermath would prove instructive for them. She looked forwards to interviewing them one by one; their reactions would be revealing, and help her to ensure that if any of them was unready for initiation it would be easy to weed them out. Yes, today’s indignity would be put to good use.
***
The Overlord fumed as he paced. The Matriarch had left in a fury, followed by her attendants. Her departure had been precipitous, and any who had encountered her party as they stalked back to the female quarters would know that the hive tour had not gone well. The slaves would say nothing, because they knew that their lives depended on their silence, but some of his underlings were not as reliable. Some would hope that his disgrace would lead to their elevation and the chance of their own offspring. Others might hope that the Matriarch might demand a change of commander. The hatching suite had been a monumental miscalculation on his part.
He paused and allowed his manipulator arms to tuck themselves back around his thorax. The nonfunctional communication equipment might yet be a blessing in disguise. There was no way that the Matriarch could communicate offworld to demand his demotion. He relaxed slightly, and the speed of his pacing slowed as he began to plan again. Rationality reasserted itself as he changed direction and strode towards the elevator to the equipment hangar. As he walked, he thought. Before he entered the elevator, he gestured to one of the slaves labouring away at a cleaning task. “Send word to the Architect. I will consult with him in the hangar.” The slave dropped his eyes and bowed, and then hurried off.
The Overlord pondered as the elevator descended to the hangar level. The hatching suite must be made unrecognisable, but what to turn it into? Perhaps the Architect would have an appropriate suggestion for him. In the meantime, he needed to take stock of the resources at his command.
The elevator doors opened and he stalked out into the hangar. One of his technicians hurried towards him, head bowed in respect. Obviously word of the Matriarch’s displeasure had not yet reached this level. He put the dilemma behind him as they walked down the neat rows of vehicles. He paused at the aircraft and surveyed them. The five of them sat there, sleek and shining, with their pilots arrayed in ranks before them. He had plenty of pilots. The thought left a sour taste in his mind.
“How long until we are able to manufacture more aircraft?” The technician consulted his tablet, manipulator arms flashing across its surface. The pause was probably unnecessary, he thought; the technician was most likely arranging his words carefully.
“The frames are easily constructed, Sir,” he said, “but some of the internal control components will take significantly longer. We have some spares in storage, but as this was a colony ship bound for an uninhabited world … the manifest was not designed with conquest in mind, consequently -”
“I know all of that!” hissed the Overlord. He was tired of platitudes, and underlings who bowed and scraped but were not forthcoming with the information he needed. “I need real figures, and real time estimates! You will provide them now, unless you wish demotion to follow very rapidly.” He watched the import of his words strike home in the underling, watched the internal struggle, mirrored by his posture, and waited.
“It will be moon cycles, Overlord, many cycles, at least more than five for the aircraft.” He shuffled uncomfortably, hesitated slightly, and then went on. “There are enough spares for two aircraft, but if we use them and something happens to our five remaining craft, then there will be no repairs.” He waited in silence as the Overlord quelled his rising frustration again.
“And the land vehicles? The climbers and crawlers?”
“We have more latitude there, Overlord. A colony world is expected to use their land vehicles hard, but again, early losses have us well over the estimated damage rate. The loss of four crawlers so soon after landing has set us back, and then the issues with the cliff face collapse have left us shorter of spares than we would like at this stage. We have more manufacturing capacity, but it will be at least two cycles until we are at full production.” He stopped speaking again and allowed his arms to flicker across the tablet. There was hesitation in his voice again as he spoke. “If we turn our resources to manufacturing land craft, we will have to divert some of our hive construction workers. We will be well behind schedule there within two cycles.”
The Overlord was tempted to break the wretched technician’s neck then and there, but at least the fool had been courageous enough to speak the truth, so he arrested the impulse before it translated to action. The technician looked at him, fear obvious in his stance, but still standing his ground. “Your name, technician?”
“I am Hath, Overlord.” The name piqued the Overlord’s interest.
“You were hatching sibs with Trooper Hoth?”
“Yes, Overlord.” The connection between hatching sibs was often strong, but it was unusual to have two in one colony ship.
“Are there more of your hatching on this planet?”
“No, Overlord. Many of our hatching have perished in the wars of conquest.”
The Overlord was oddly disappointed. Both Hoth and Hath had demonstrated more fortitude than most of his underlings. “You will advance a grade to Senior Tech and oversee the manufacturing process. You will have the hive construction workers within one cycle. There is construction work that must be completed first.” If he was to ever have any chance of offspring. “Your tablet?” Senior Technician Hath proffered the tablet with reverence, and the Overlord tapped rapidly, authorising the grade rise. Hath was his now. He could see it in the other’s posture. “You will continue to speak the truth to me when I ask.”
“I will, Overlord.”
“You will commence this task immediately. You will find that your orders have you reporting directly to Zoash, who will report to me. I will expect a report every five days.”
“Yes, Overlord.” Hath bowed himself with proper respect and departed on his new task, evidence of pride in every step.
The Overlord surveyed the aircraft and beckoned to the Senior Pilot.
“You will plan a raid. Three craft, in seven days time. The plan is to be lodged before sunset today.” The pilot bowed in acquiescence and returned to the ranks. The Overlord stood for a few more moments and then began to inspect the ranks of ground vehicles. For the moment, he dismissed the crawlers. Until there was easier access to the plateau, they were effectively useless for assaulting the humans.
The climbers, however... He beckoned to the Climber Squadron Commander.
“You have Hoth’s updates?”
“Yes Overlord.”
“You will plan a variety of assault scenarios for the plateau. Do not include aerial support in your estimates. I will see the early simulations in one moon cycle, and we will finalise the planning within two. Include casualty estimates and the likelihood of damage to machinery. You will also contact Hoth. He should bring us at least one human specimen to study. Tell him to obtain it as soon as possible.” He turned away from the squadron commander and stalked towards the elevator again.
‘Where was the Architect?’ he wondered. ‘Surely the slave had summoned him promptly.’ The elevator doors hissed open and the Architect, as if reading his thoughts, hurried out. His posture was deferential, but there was a hint of arrogance underlying it. The creature had advised against the hatching suite, and was no doubt wishing to capitalise upon the Overlord’s discomfort. The knowledge of his fall from grace with the Matriarch was likely to be common knowledge by now. He would have to be on guard against the ambitions of those, like the Architect, who had enough rank to have their own schemes for offspring and advancement. He went on the offensive immediately.
“The hive has flaws that displease the Matriarch. You will rectify them. The hatching suite design is not up to her standards, so you will restructure it into something more pleasing that bears no resemblance to what it was. She wishes no reminders of its poor workmanship.” There, the blame was laid firmly upon the Architect, and the Overlord could see several technicians listening avidly while pretending to be diligently assessing the machinery nearby. “She will notify us of her requirements in time. At that point, and only at that point, will a suite be constructed.”
There was a glint of enmity in the Architect’s eyes as he bowed, and there was still a hint of arrogance in his posture as he departed without speaking. He hadn’t been fooled by the Overlord’s prevarications. The Overlord watched him dispassionately. Trooper Hoth’s martial skills might well become useful on his return, should the Architect overstep his bounds. He knew he deserved offspring – they were his right.