Archon Yort screamed blazes of light as the half-swarm attacking the enemy nests took horrendous casualties. The assault had started out well enough, but the closer his forces came, the more died. By the time the loss rate became untenable, it was too late. The physics of pursuit committed him to action.
When his Mandibles finally came to grips with the enemy, progress improved. The skins of the enemy nests, while tough, were not impervious, and his forces reported successful burrowing, using everything from suicide explosives to the diamond-hard teeth and claws of millions of Scourgelings. Yort reminded himself that almost half a billion of his infantry had begun the assault, five hundred million jaws and two billion claws.
He could afford to lose millions and still win.
One enemy ship suddenly retreated at an alarming rate, and he wondered why the others did not do the same. It never occurred to him that any enemy would voluntarily engage in battle with his swarms. That seemed to make as much sense as offering one’s own limb to feed an enemy. Yet, these nests remained, frying his Mandibles in great swaths of flame.
Yort exulted as first one and then another of the nests expired. Now the real power of the Race showed through. It really did not matter how many infants were lost, as long as they achieved victory for their Archons. And once his other half-swarm joined the battle, the nests would fall quickly.
So closely did Yort watch the grinding battle that it took one of his officers actually touching him to get his attention. The Archon jerked and swung a saw-toothed limb at the offending servant, who scuttled out of the way. “Archon,” the creature flashed when it had his attention, “we are under attack!”
“I know we are –” Yort’s sneering retort cut off in mid-sentence as he examined his displays. A large mechanical warship, fully as large as his own mothership’s armored core, had appeared out of nowhere. Shaped like a decorative crystal teardrop with its sharp point forward, the vessel seemed utterly alien, like nothing either his own race or the Jellies would build.
Before he could say anything further, alarms blinked and strobed.
“Archon, the enemy is firing large numbers of energy weapons and high-speed physical projectiles. Our lattice has taken catastrophic damage!”
Yort snapped, “They are fools. The lattice is of no consequence. The core must survive. Engage with all weapons and move away at maximum. Instruct all swarm elements to return immediately, emergency speed!”
“Archon, the enemy is launching a swarm of their own.”
On the displays, Yort saw small craft resembling Claws, Lances and Mandibles spewing from the rear of the teardrop, but far, far fewer than he expected. “That is hardly a swarm,” the Archon said. “That is barely a cluster of, what, perhaps a thousand elements?”
“Yes, Archon.”
“If they think to board, we will defeat them. Alert the breeding pens. All infants more than half grown are to be driven to defensive positions inside the armor. Cadre are to exchange training weapons for combat versions and take charge of the infantry. All others are to arm themselves as appropriate. And awake the Constructs.” Yort laughed. “A thousand elements? Do they think my core is empty of defenders? That they will simply devour us? Have no fear, my subjects. We will repel them, and then our returning swarm will eat their single warship.”