2024-04-05
The Gru’ine were found on a dense rock, tidally locked to a gas giant in the blind end of nowhere. They closest resemble short centipedes with five thick, articulated limbs on each segment, terminating in a single dextrous digit.
And I love one.
“Slave,” they message to me.
“Yes, Hner,” I reply.
“Which limbs are reinforced?”
I watch Hner’s opponent carefully. The tissue around several limbs is strengthened, and these digits reflect more high frequencies than typical, but this is not obvious to Hner’s senses.
“Hner, first and second sections third limb. Fourth section third limb.”
Some segments are missing limbs, indicating moderate age or a formidible fighter.
Hner releases me from their cradling grasp, and places me on the ground before strutting forward, balancing on their eighth and seventh segments. Hner’s remaining limbs extend outwards, enlarging their swaying silhouette. The opponent does the same and after a few moments I worry. Most Gru’ine would be initimidated by Hner’s reputation alone, if not their formidible size, and would back down immediately— even if it cost a limb.
Hner and the opponent rotate around each other, swaying on their limbs, sizing each other up.
The opponent darts forward and jabs with seven limbs, each strike parried by Hner and matched with an attack of their own, also parried. Each hit draws something frightened from me. The two jump back, the opponent moving further than Hner, and on realising this, the opposite moves forward for another attack to save face. More limbs are involved this time with most being feints. I watch the reinforced limbs closely, and note they are being withheld.
Hner and the opponent clash five more times before the limbs finally whip forward, aimed for a hole in Hner’s defences. Hner rolls around the jab, blocks the counter-strike, and scores a slash on the opponent, causing the two to jump back and circle.
“Please yield,” I whisper to myself. By causing blue-green fluid to weep from the injured segment, Hner has shown his intention to continue, and the opponent must know what that means.
This fight will end in death.
The two Gru’ine re-engage, sending strikes and parries at each other. The reinforced limbs are used freely now, alternating between feint and true jabs. The opponent is serious too, but they are not as skilled as Hner, taking a second wound and then a third, before finally delivering a shallow scratch to Hner.
The two leap back and circle. The opponent is in serious trouble now, slowing in their movements, and forced to sacrifice control of several limbs to maintain pressure. If they are not given treatment soon, the chosen limbs will suffocate and be lost.
When they re-engage, Hner plays with the opponent, matching their speed and allowing a few limbs to come close. The opponent notices, and angers, but is unable to land a strike, and finally makes a different play. They sacrifices all their limbs, using the burst of pressure to dart in close and pierce themself along the length of Hner. Suicide, but with a twist. All remaining pressure is placed into the reinforced limb aligned with Hner’s centre.
Hner sees the danger only moments after I myself, and pierces the flesh around the limb right as the pressure arrives. The limb is torn from its base and the opponent loses all control, defeated and near dead.
Hner has won and collects me with a triumphant flourish, holding me close. Then they drop onto their broad face, and articulate along the ground. Their wounded surfaces face upwards, and a few limbs suspend me aside the gash. It’s deeper than I first thought, and oozes fluid.
“Hner, you must—”
“Slave. There is nothing I must do,” they reply, navigating the flora.
I hold the silence in respect, then continue.
“Hner, you are wounded. Please let me help you.”
Hner ignores me. They are strong but they are stubborn, and here Hner and the others do not know help.
Hner slides into a pool, and I wince at the thought of the microbial life now given easy access to Hner’s wound. Their limbs beat and propell us into the depths, scattering a mass of Mu’ine, mindless animals with a similar but much smaller body plan to the Gru’ine. Hner hesitates, considering the hunt, but then continues.
Hner slides under an outcrop and aims upwards. At the surface, Hner emerges into the cool damp air of the cave, drops me on the floor, and curls up. Their limbs delicately fold over each other, and light sparkles on their carapace, trickling in through slim cracks in the ceiling.
“Slave, how would you ___ me?”
His pheromones are incorrect, mistaking the ethyl salt for the methyl.
“Help?” I reply, sending the correct message. It is a combination of pheromone concepts, primarily young grooming and egg laying, but with suggestions of submission and reciprocation.
“Yes.”
“Hner, closing your wound will hasten healing. How close is the Kirthera colony?”
The Kirthera are small but numerous, and have vicious pincers that can pierce and compromise internal pressure.
“Too close. I will need to kill them, or leave this place soon,” comes the reply. “Why does this matter?”
“Their jaws remain closed after death.”
Hner does not reply, and their limbs strum on their side. A few probe the scratch, which continues to ooze. Hner will have reduced the pressure around the wound, but cannot do more without suffocating the segment.
“You would have them pierce me?” Hner replies.
“Yes. We can compel them to bite either side of the wound, and hold the flesh together.”
Hner broods, then unravels. Sliding, they approach me and loom.
“Slave. If this is a trick, you will be punished.”
I feel sick.
“Hner, I would never—”
“Silence. You are too valuable to take into the nest,” they finish, before plucking me upwards and securing in a shadowy nook.
The image of Hner entering a Kirthera colony alone brings me chills.
“Wait—”
But they are already gone.
Without Hner, I pass through the stages of grief and on the other side, settle on brooding. Since waking, I have been the very picture of loyal and loving. I have warned Hner of D’thera in the sky, described paths through the brush when their senses were dulled, and spotted challengers before Hner. What if the Kirthera will not serve? What if my best was not enough for Hner to love me in return?
The idea haunts me, so I decide to expunge it.
I reach into myself and search for its origin. My thoughts arrive in another cave, but this one is different. The walls are cream padding, and regular. A feeling tickles over me and I shiver.
Something approaches me, both alien and familiar. Instead of the broad sweeping body of a Gru’ine, this thing is short and dull. It balances on its lower limbs, a thick bifurcation of the body, and its upper limbs, terminating with five digits, rest idle. A series of sensory organs bore into me, instilling a feeling of—
Love?
At this rush of emotion, I panic and retreat to the cave, my fears remaining in place.
Hner emerges from the water with a series of Kirthera heads about their middle. Their jaws hold the tissue closed, as I hoped, and their dead senses glitter in the dim light.
“Hner.”
“Hush, Slave, we must leave. The Kirthera are close.”
Hner seizes me and rushes for the water. Breaking the surface, they swim fast for the exit, where—
“Hner, they’re here!” I signal, emitting every scent of panic and danger I know.
Hner darts aside, down a side passage. After a short distance, they throw me through a shallow gap before squeezing through also. Hner works at the boulder above and with a shudder, it collapses into the hole.
They pick me up again, radiating triumph.
“Hner, did you have that prepared?”
“Yes, Slave. Since the beginning. Keep quiet, or they will find a way around,” they reply, indicating the plethora of smaller holes scattered around.
Hner carries me along, travelling deeper and deeper down the cave. I feel the pressure build on myself as the weight of water above increases, doubling, then tripling. Hner halts, and rests on a ledge. Without light, I can only see by reflections of sound, like Hner. But neither of us are used to relying on this, so the sense is fuzzy and unreliable.
“Do you see these?” Hner asks, lifting something from the shelf. “The way ahead is crusted with them, and navigating will be difficult, as they are sharp.”
My limited senses are sufficient to see the shard and its edge.
“What do you wish me to do, Hner?”
“When I found you, you made light. Do it again.”
My mind returns to my waking. Hner found me in a burning crater, and rescued me from a pack of Deretas feasting close by, gorging themselves on…
Bifurcated ones.
“Slave. Light?” Hner probs, growing impatient.
“Yes, Hner, I am working,” I manage to secrete.
I feel like a speck at the bottom of a pit, walls high around me and a circle of light above, too far to reach. I know where I must go.
The cream padded walls have loops in them, set in lines spanning the length of the cave, into the far distance. First I am alone, then the bifurcated one is with me. Its senses are exposed, and focused on me.
“I— I want light,” I manage.
The bifurcated one looks at me, and makes noise. They mean nothing, and their emotions are cloudy, a mix of fear and anger and—
Love.
The rock is dark, but glitters without a thousand threats. Hner makes a noise of triumph, and points me ahead.
I did it.
Hner was wise to want light. The cave ahead narrows to a whisper, and its surfaces glitter with the sharp shards.
Through the narrow point, the cave widens a little. Hner navigates protrusions and chicanes, shifting through the deadly crevaces. As we move forwards, we move upwards and the pressure lessens. A school of blind wigglers panic as Hner seizes a mouthful. Otherwise, it is quiet until the passage widens and we encounter another Gru’ine.
Immediately, Hner angles upwards and enlargens, spraying threatening pheromones into the fluid. The other Gru’ine does the same, rising in the light, and pheromones come thick and heavy in the space. Dread panic rises through me, then the other Gru’ine flashes.
Wait.
I secrete a strange combination of chemicals.
“Hner. It’s you!”
Hner falters, then approaches the other, who does the same. When they can get no closer, Hner and the Other reach out and touch digits. I dim my light by willing it, and see something in the grasp of Other Hner.
A near-sphere, pale cream and light grey with a smear of brown and a shard of black. Two pinpoints either side of the black emit light.
The bifurcated one is bent in the middle, and secured behind a flat surface. At the other end from their bifurcation, above the thin limbs, is the sensory portion, now hiding behind something.
Something that looks like me.
Hner laughs and moves aside, continuing our journey through the cave. A thousand million of us come and go, all fragmented and minature, none matching the true-size Other Hner and I.
Who am I?
Hner finds us a safe place in a deep unoccupied nook on the surface. The everpresent light of day barely reaches, and I will my light to remain on. They settle in a circle.
“Hner,” I ask.
“Yes, Slave?”
The question caves way to another.
“Have you produced young?”
The worlds feel ugly in the air, as though I made them wrong, as though they are not what I meant.
Hner regards me.
“Yes, many times.”
The reply is simple, with the pheremones clear and discrete. Why then, do they twist me?
Before cowardice wins, I ask the other question.
“The bifurcated ones, what are they? What is your relationship with them?”
Hner emits a bath of scent.
“They are from outside,” they say, complexing the final word with another signal to broaden it. “They breached the decree and were punished. You are my relationship with them, a trophy.”
I came from the Bifurcated outsiders. This explains the cream padding. Why do I not remember more? I recall my last image of the padding. A bifurcate, covering their sensors with myself.
I am clothing.
The realisation twists me, and turns to sickness as I consider the possibilities. What if they were still inside me? How would I know? I must go inside, and find out.
The bifurcated one is in a different space now. The cream padding is there, but it’s covered by bright splashes that assault the eyes. Other bifurcates, but in unreal shapes and contortions, performing actions. I seek solace, and find it in a familiar smear of yellow-brown, covering a third of the space.
It’s the Gru’ine’s moon.
Why do I know this? How do I know this?
I feel an ocean under me, endless depths of threatening to claw but never managing. Information wants to drown me, but cannot.
The bifurcate points its senses at me, and for the first time I understand it. The language is clumsy narrow-band sound, and lacks the enriching vigour of scent or the orchestral splendour of light. And yet, it manages emotion.
It manages love.
“Hey, relax for me, will you? When we’re together like this I can feel everything you can,” the bifurcate says, their senses flickering and adjusting. I can almost read the shapes.
“You breached the decree—” the words come tumbling, and I course-correct. “Get out of my head! Leave me alone!”
The bifurcate makes a sound, and then rearranges its face again.
“I am your head, just as you are mine. What happened to you?”
Before I can act, the Bifurcate sweeps me up and holds me close.
I break away, but feel something else as I do: regret.
They are still inside me. I feel violated, but somehow sated with the knowledge. The conflict twists and sickens me.
“Hner, the decree?”
Hner rouses, and signals anger, and this hurts me.
“I require rest, Slave. Wait.”
So I do. I stare at the wall of our nook and count to a billion to avoid the bifurcate inside me, then do it again and again and again.
Hner rouses naturally and, ignoring me, leaves the nook. After more billions, Hner returns sated, and coils up, but they are unable to remain still. Something has made them twitchy.
“Hner, the decree?” I repeat.
“To be left alone,” Hner replies simply.
“Who is it for? And why?”
Hner considers me, and answers the first half.
“Bifurcates, and all others.”
Hner stops tapping their limbs, collects me, and exits the nook. I catch a scent on the wind. It is rich and intoxicating, sensual, and demanding. They take us in a different direction, but soon we are turned around and Hner accelerates. Now they barrels towards the source of the seductive scent.
We arrive in a clearing. On the far side, another Gru’ine writhes, releasing waves of scent on a bed of silk.
Hner, unthinking, drops me to the ground and, rearing upwards, rushes to the other Gru’ine. The other rears also, and towers over Hner. I jolt in shock as Hner darts forward into its embrace. The two jostle, throwing parries and feints. I am relieved to detect that the other has no reinforced limbs, but its size means it remains a threat. As I watch, a pattern emerges. This struggle is different from other fights. Hner and the other are writhing together.
My horror twists into anger and subtle fear as Hner finally pierces the other, then leaps away, keepings its focus on the gravid Gru’ine. Now, I know, Hner will escape the grasping maw of the female or risk being eaten. Their own survival is always paramount but even only half-related, a hundred offspring is a net positive…
Hner reaches the edge of the silk mat, but
But the other Gru’ine catches a Kirthera head, so
So they pull Hner onto a dozen limbs, and
And Hner writhes, then becomes still.
For the first time since Hner found me, my grief inside is safer than that outside.
The bifurcate is in another room now, and delivers strike to a long cylindrical object. The violence makes me sick.
The bifurcate stops, and collects me. For the first time, I smell something from them. The brew is simple and unfocused, communicating nothing clear. And yet, I know it can mean a number of things, full memory remains denied to me.
“If we’re gonna to get through this, you’re have to stop looking at me like I’m a monster, Gigi.”
The final word strikes a tone that rings through me. I’m not just slave, I’m also Gigi. Scion of Goodall. These thoughts come to me alone, lacking all context, like single lines in a spectrum, or motes on the wind ahead of a storm.
“S’gha—” the word comes to me and twists away.
“Yes. See, Gigi? You know me,” the bifurcate, S’gha, replies while showing their, her, teeth.
A shadow flitters over her features and I’m torn away.
Hner’s killer has ambled over to me, and is noticeably enlargened. My grief strikes, and I emit a violent cocktail into the air, which causes them to pause. When the anger arrives, they almost flinch.
“How dare you?!” I yell at the beast, throwing volitiles into the air.
The killer considers me, its limbs wavering.
“How dare I what?” Killer replies, looming over.
“You killed Hner. My Hner!”
Killer excudes humour.
“Killed? Hardly. I carry their offspring. Their essence is given the chance to live forever, and the feed from their body ensures it.”
Killer picks me up. I note that some of their sensors are decayed, and they could not previously see me.
“You are from the bifurcates. You are one of them. Hner brought my favourite trophy.”
I remain silent, and Killer considers me. They raise me to a limb and move me against it. I feel a jolting shudder course through me, and a jolt of pain strikes. Something inside me surges to fix the wound and numb the pain.
“Oh-ho,” Killer says, before hefting me.
“You are energised, and you retain your payload. Perfect.”
Killer stuffs me between two limbs, and passing the spattered silk mat, slides behind a boulder and into a cave. After passing through a pool, Killer enters a side shaft and arrives in a larger cave.
Along one wall is a pile of bifurcates, limp and broken.
Alongside mirror images of me, tossed into a dark heap.
Killer places me on a raised section, and begins to hunt through the piles of the dead. With a squirt of triumph, they pull out something and twirl it around. Manipulating it with their limbs, Killer points the object at the far wall and triggers a violent splash of light. Once the glare has settled, I watch the rock cool from red back to its prior dark grey, except now another Killer looms, along with another cave and another me.
Killer stalks forward and points the object at me.
“You will cooperate.”
I send out a mixture of anger and nihilistic contempt.
“Hner is dead, I have nothing left to lose.”
“Wrong. You stand to lose the head inside you,” Killer says. “You are too heavy to be empty, and as long as your power sustains you, so too must it sustain your passenger.”
S’gha. S’ghalenorion Yvettriana Ghorion. Killer means S’gha.
“Give me a moment to consult my passenger,” I say. “What are you demanding?”
Killer flicks me with the violent object, then backs away.
“Escape outside, away from the decree.”
I find S’gha waiting for me.
“Why are you here, S’gha, and why did I come with you?” I ask.
She clicks her limbs and looks at me.
“We were here to study the centipedes, the Gru’ine. Aliens are still rare in the black, and uncontacted ones more so.”
“So why are you all dead, and why don’t I remember anything?”
And why do I love Hner?
“Something struck Goodall— that’s our ship, the place this environment mimics— and our shuttle as we were skimming the atmosphere for samples. It fried everything, and the shuttle’s systems weren’t enough to give us a safe landing.”
I make a noise, and S’gha looks at me.
“We violated the decree. Hner said they were supposed to be left alone.”
S’gha frowns and leans forward.
“That partly explains the attack, but doesn’t tell us who or why.”
She massages her face.
“Do you know anything else? Last I remember, you sliced my dying body off of me and knocked me out. After I woke in here, I tried to reach you, but—”
“I couldn’t reply,” I acknowledge.
Coils shift in my mind.
“I initiated a cold restart to clear my threads,” I say, working through the words. “But—”
“It didn’t work, and your memory is fragmented. And so, detached from Goodall, you booted in bonding mode and started fresh.”
Bonding mode. Did that mean my love for Hner was— False? Inflicted?
“My— My love, Hner,” I manage, then take a pause. “Has been killed by another Gru’ine, and they are holding me— us, hostage. They want to us to take them outside, away from here and the decree.”
S’gha knits and unknits her hands.
“So we’re not the only ones stuck here. I’d bet that whatever stopped us coming in is supposed to stop anything going out. But why?”
“I can ask. But they’re a killer, S’gha. If we don’t—”
“Tell them yes. I want to know what they’re planning. And see if you can get the story out of them. Oh, and Gigi?”
“Yes?”
“Try to give me a passthrough. That way I can help in real-time, rather than in these little chats only.”
I will for a passthrough, and soon S’gha sees with me.
“Killer, I will help.”
The large Gru’ine stops tapping its limbs, and raises me upwards. The violent object dangles from a limb, and I hear Gigi take in a sharp breath.
“You will,” Killer responds. Is that surprise? Doubt? “I require a working link to your ship. How will you achieve this?”
They settle on a their broad side, giving me sight of the pile of bodies, and I hear Gigi wince, then speak.
“That weapon will work for binary signalling. If Goodall is alive they’ll be looking on-planet for us.”
“How do we hear back from them?”
“Without the rest of you, long-band is out. But if we stay by the signaller, your built-in comms can capture short-band.”
I address the Gru’ine.
“Killer, we broadcast with your weapon and I will receive the reply.”
They regard me and exudes humour.
Killer slivers through the undergrowth, with S’gha and I suspended by a clutch of limbs. They know of a high clearing, and are making for it.
“S’gha. What is a cold-restart? Why are my memories fragmented?”
She studies me.
“Gigi, you are made of tissues and synthetics. In the synthetic portion, all of your memories are indexed in a table. During a cold-reboot, you threw out the table so your tissues could build a new one. They’re supposed to test each memory in a sandbox, and only add it back into the table when it’s clean. But if the attack compromised your biological portion, that process may be inhibited.”
She taps her arm, then stretches.
“Without a table, your memories are just floating around. But Goodall will have a backup.”
“And the bonding mode?”
“Standard for any mind when it starts fresh. You need to trust someone when you’re starting fresh. As a scion, Goodall was your original kernal of truth. And as you were my companion, I helped.”
S’gha is looking directly at me now.
“You’re—”
“The closest thing you have to a mother. Or sister. Or a lover. But I think friends is best. Good to have you back, Gigi, even if you’re not all there yet.”
I don’t know how to respond.
“Uh, S’gha.”
“Yes?”
“Can you rebuild my table?”
She looks at me and shrugs.
“Happy to take a shot.”
We enter the clearing, and Killer halts.
“The pattern?”
I recount the short and long pulses, and Killer fires into the sky. It is a simple message, announcing that S’gha and I are alive, and that we need aid.
After minutes without reply, we try again. Then again, and again, until I feel a tickling sensation travel through me. The sensation clarifies, and words appear.
“Gigi, S’gha. If aid is urgent, I cannot provide it. The ceasefire here required hours of negotiation. I will open talks to help you, but you must hold tight. It may take time.”
I consult with S’gha, then speak.
“Our ship will help, but it will—”
A warning flashes to me.
“Killer! Run!”
With a flash of limbs, they snatch me and bolt. A little way into the brush, an arc of energy smacks into the ground, and the force throws Killer and I away. I feel my thoughts twist and slide, and everything turns black.
And then I’m—we’re back.
“Not so fast, Gigi. You’re staying with me,” S’gha says.
Then, through me, she addresses the outside.
“Killer, are you there?”
A pause, then we are snatched from the brush, and are moving.
“Idiots. The decree will not be so easily violated,” Killer says, almost to themself.
Another flash, another strike, and more fuzziness, but I stay grounded.
“S’gha?”
“I’m working on your table, Gigi. Those strikes seem to trigger an instruction to automatically flush your index, but I’ll keep countermanding it until I can— there we go, all clear. You did not trust that attack. I need to you take the helm for the outside, still work to do in here.”
Killer holes up in a tight nook.
“The attack wasn’t Goodall, wasn’t my ship,” I say, the possessive fitting well in my mouth. “Whoever is enforcing your decree wasn’t happy about our talking.”
“Agreed,” Killer replies, allowing me to continue.
“Goodall is trying to send help, but—”
“They are making it difficult. They were already upset about your arrival. Our communications were too much, too quickly.”
I frown. Killer is clever, more so than Hner. What do they know?
“Killer, who enforces the decree, and why?”
The Gru’ine taps its limbs, difficult in the tight space.
“My kind left this place. Some of us are kept here against our wishes, and the decree enforces that this.”
They look at me closer.
“I produced five clutches, and watched all of them disappear into the wild. Each had worse odds than any of my ancestors from the thousand years prior.”
A limb strokes now, moving up and down a segment.
“It will not happen again.”
I reply to this insight with silence. Killer has not answered my question fully, and they know it.
“Gigi?” S’gha asks me. “Can you tell me how you were born?”
Images immediately come to my mind. I awoke in a warm dark place, my synthetic muscles relaxed. I was Gigi, but I was also someone else. Goodall filled my mind with song, and I shared my senses. I was their proxy. Then, after moments of black came light. S’gha opened the cabinet, and greeted me. We were partners, and I fit her better than her own skin.
The images cease.
“Perfect,” S’gha smiles. “I’ve wiped parts corrupted by the weapon, and you’ve overwritten some areas with your new memories, but your table is otherwise nearly complete. Welcome back, Gigi.”
I probe and find a lifetime of experiences.
Dancing on the rings of a gas giant.
Flitting through dark oceans, embraced by a hundred kilometres of ice, populated by wiggling wisps of dim rainbow luminescence.
Soaring through the atmosphere of a ring girdling a planet, cities above and below me reaching like the eager fingers of a child.
All with S’gharathiron Youghtifora Ghorion. S’gha.
And now, a flitting of experiences with Hner.
Our first meeting, as they plucked me from the crater and held me close. Their surprise at my speech, initially slow and halting, then utterly irreplaceable as I warn of D’thera swooping from the sky.
Followed by our treck through the fog, then the various fights, Hner’s injury and the Kirthera, our escape through the caves, and their death at the limbs of Killer.
S’gha and I are reliant on Hner’s Killer, the future mother of Hner’s children. And I don’t know how to feel about it.
Killer rests uneasily. The strike unnerved them, and in the night, their tension pays off. A slight noise causes Killer to surge from their crevice, and they smother something. A familiar squawk alerts me and I secrete a plethora at Killer.
“Stop! They’re a friend!”
Killer stops, and slowly uncurls, exposing a miniature Gru’ine, except with half of its flesh now removed, the synthetics underneath shine clearly.
“Gigi, S’gha,” the mini says before moving towards me. “You, uh, have looked better—”
The mini turns, shines a light on the other bodies, and quivers.
“Oh no.”
With my memories unlocked, the mini’s attention triggers my own grief. These remains are of my friends…
“This is from your ship?” Killer asks me in scent.
“Yes,” I reply, batting my emotions away, before signalling the mini. “Goodall, please speak in scent. Killer doesn’t know our language.”
The mini secretes an affirmation, then tears its own attention away from the dead.
“I’m not the full Goodall, just a temporary detachment with a big aerial for when the time comes. I— Goodall couldn’t risk a continuous connection, our antagonists are clever.” The mini mulls for a moment, then finishes: “Call me Flint.”
I send a friendly, reassuring pattern in ultraviolet. Flint is still grappling with independence from Goodall. Flint sends a chuckle and poked tongue in response.
Flint considers Killer, who towers above, then the dead, and then me.
“Goodall is negotiating for a landing now. We won’t have much of a window, I don’t know how we’ll get everyone out.”
Killer lounges backwards.
“That will be easy. You only require the spheres, yes? I can carry all with me. That is the deal I made with the one that still lives.”
Flint sends me request, and addresses Killer.
“In exchange for what?” Flint asks.
“Transport away from here,” Killer replies, as I repond to Flint’s request with a summary of events.
Flint mulls for a moment, then secretes a sympathetic combination.
“Problem is, uh, Killer, that won’t work. Our antagonists won’t let you leave.”
Killer circles Flint, procuring the weapon from a nook.
“You have no choice. We leave, or no-one leaves,” they reply, before pointing the weapon at a head and splattering two recoverable lives over the wall.
Flint becomes utterly still and in the lull, I become aware of my own anguish, echoing Gigi’s raw screams inside my head. We both taper to intermittent sobs, before Flint replies.
“Point made. Please do not do that again,” they manage, atonal. Then, after moments of pause, they continue, “Goodall will make for a landing tomorrow, all going well, and we need to plan.”
“We can’t take that thing with us,” Gigi says, after we have finished planning, and once Killer falls asleep, curled close to the dead. Gigi’s words pass through me to Flint, via ultraviolet.
Flint signals assent, and I copy.
“And yet, we need them. Goodall will only be allowed to launch a small, basic shuttle, and our time will be limited. We can’t possibly move all of the rest without Killer.”
“But surely they’ll see Killer, even with the disguise. Then they’ll hit us, and we’ll end up where we started. Or worse.”
“No, the disguise will hold,” Flint says, indignant.
“And you’re certain that you’re not armed?” Gigi asks.
“Positive. Goodall didn’t want anything about me to look threatening. So we can’t use Killer and then force them to stay— oh, oh shit.”
Flint jumps up and rouses Killer, leaping out of the way when they thrash out in response. Flint forwards the signal through and Gigi watches with me, as Flint speaks to Killer.
“Goodall here. Bad news. The locals have finally cooperated, but our window is narrow. Your shuttle is descending now. Move!”
“Oh for fuc—” Gigi utters, as Killer snatches me, writhes over, and seizes the other heads. Each has been severed from its body, and most are sealed on the bottom. The others are hopefully not too damaged.
Killer wriggles to the entrance and as they exit Flint shivers and expands, spreading out into a thin sheet. A few of Killer’s remaining limbs snatch Flint and hold them overhead. Flint’s sensors are pointed down, and on their surface are a thin layer of intact cells, mimicking the ground as we pass by: the disguise.
As we hit the edge of the clearing, the earth jumps beneath us.
Killer slams to a halt,
Flint is whisked backwards by the rush of air,
and I fly forwards, into the mud.
The shuttle steams in the air, perpertual twilight glinting on its surfaces.
Killer darts for Flint but the game is up; they are exposed to the sky. A familiar pulse thrums through the air, and S’gha jumps with me, to fend off the attack to my mind. But this time, it doesn’t come. Instead, another thump rolls through the ground, throwing Killer off their limbs, and rolling me to my side. Flint, still refolding into their compact state, squawks.
Beside the shuttle is a giant arrow, red-hot and steaming. The fletching spring apart, and a cornucopia of scent washes over me. The chaos of signals and speech overwhelm and tugs at my mind, and I cut the sense back. Killer, unable to do the same, sways on their hind segments, twitching sporadically as they try to fight the concoction. My dead friends lay scattered around them, and Flint darts in, seizing two and backing up as Killer struts forward, seeing a threat. Flint grasps me, and places me just inside the shuttle, with a clear view to the outside.
Flint darts into the shuttle three more times, rescuing more and more of the dead. Each time, Killer gets closer to striking.
From the brush, dozens of Gru’ine slide and slither, called in by the scents. All rise on their hind limbs and start posturing, but none are able to back down in range of the scent arrow, and fights commence all around the clearing, limbs darting in flurries of feint and true strikes.
Half a dozen make it closer, and force Flint to retreat close to the shuttle. With a dash, Killer slams forward into one and kills them in a single stroke, before pivoting towards another. Flint and I watch a third Gru’ine amble forwards, and lurch as their limbs try to find purchase on one of my dead friends in the mud. They slam into Killer’s rear and succeed in shearing off a limb. Killer’s roar beats even the scent arrow, whose message begins to weaken, and Killer throws one attacker into another before leaping at a third.
“What’s the game here?” Gigi asks, watching in horror.
“What it looks like. A weapon to pit the Gru’ine against each other, to give us a chance to leave,” Flint replies, “Only problem is that I can’t get the last ones. I look too much like them not be a threat.”
“What if we—”
My words cut out as an immense pressure opens my mind, and a stream becomes a flood. The universe opens around me for a moment, then focuses. I am Gigi, I am Flint, and I am Goodall in orbit around a tidally-locked smear of rock in the blind end of nowhere, trying to extract my friends while the nearby gas giant continues to threaten me with informational warfare, energy, and slugs if I don’t—
Goodall pulls back, apologises, and offers advice. I am again a Proxy, not a Marionette.
Flint darts forward, and succeeds in taking the second last head, but catches a brutal swipe on the return that shreds much of their cellular coating. The exposed synthetics underneath glimmer in the light as Flint passes me to secure the head. My attention returns to Killer. Ichor leaks from a dozen of their wounds, and their reinforced limbs hang limp along a dozen others. Only their size keeps them alive, allowing maneours denied their attackers.
The arrow has ceased emission now, and Goodall warns us that time is short. I see the message from our antagonists, and realise they too are Gru’ine. The speaker almost looks like Hner. This is their prison and nature reserve, and by being here, we spoil the view and threaten security. Our time is short, they will strike the clearing in moments, if we do not leave.
Killer seizes the final head from the ground, and postures at a small Gru’ine who blanches and retreats towards us. They spot Flint and, confused, begin to rise up. As Killer approaches, they turn and, with no-where to retreat, rise up, and fight. Killer and small Gru’ine thrash, synchronised with an escalation in threats to Goodall. They are watching closely, and are not amused. Desperately, Flint circles the fighting Gru’ine, looking for an opportunity to seize the head.
With a roar, Killer strips a limb from the small Gru’ine, and in triumph, rushes toward them.
But it’s a trap.
The small Gru’ine inflates a series of dead limbs on its front, and pierces Killer before sagging into themself. Killer lurches back and forth, and slowly leans to the side. As they begin to fall, a final intentional spasm pushes them forward on the dead small Gru’ine. Killer’s injuries worsen, and their front splits open in a rush of fluid and organs.
Flint darts in, snatches the head, and rushes back to the shuttle.
But, reading through me, Goodall acts.
Flint stops and returns to Killer.
“What are they doing?! We need to leave!” Gigi cries.
Flint reaches into the mess of fluid, and using a loose limb, slices away an organ and sprints for the shuttle.
A strike thumps into the ground of the clearing, and throws Flint from their feet. It’s a different weapon this time, and the wave of heat and light is fierce. Flint partially unfolds into the sheet, and catches the wind from the blast, flying into the shuttle and smacking the far wall as the door slams shut, and a dozen gravities slam us to the floor.
I sliver forward through the brush and, seeing my opening, dart forward onto the small creature. It squirts an indignant cry and tries to fight back, but is unsuccessful. I roll onto my back and suspend the small one above me, its little limbs writhing as it tries to escape. The scents quickly turn to frustrated laugher.
“You need to do better than that, Hner,” I say.
“You need to be more aware, Gigi,” they reply, as a wave of small Gru’ine jump from the brush on top of me.
“Ack!” I cry, as they poke and prod. “Goodall! I thought you were on my team here!”
“Of course they’re not. No cheating,” S’gha says, looking up from her book.
She is in a new suit, and has a new friend.
I don’t mind, I have a family to take care of.
TCDH 
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