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Hive Mind

Page 4

by Nicholas Woode-Smith


  in his chest, longing for something he could not ever achieve, he

  now felt nothing. There was nothing to long for. The hive was dead.

  He had killed it.

  There was nothing he could ever do to change that. Nothing he

  could do to reconcile himself. There was no hive to reconcile with.

  With a feeling of unfathomable void within himself, Peron left

  the hive and the living statues that now inhabited it. He never

  returned.

  ❖

  There had been other humans here. Peron found towns that

  dwarfed the settlement he had previously inhabited. These cities, as

  they were called, lay dead. Peron initially thought this the work of

  the hive, but footage found in the local eggs revealed a darker truth.

  The dark, metal figures from before. Small, orange creatures that

  looked awfully like the fluffy creatures that Peron saw fly and nest

  around the ruins. Armies of them, descending upon the humans and

  slaughtering them. In this city, only the surveillance footage of

  hidden cameras witnessed the slaughter. It was over seconds after

  the first human screamed. In some, they fought back. But these were

  not warriors. They were soft. They were fleshy, weak humans. For

  all their individuality, their free will, their intelligence that had so

  enamoured them to Peron – they died like vermin. There was little

  difference between the Glerans dying by slumping over from

  starvation, and the humans dying from blood spraying from their

  bodies. The humans screamed. The Glerans did nothing. But it had

  the same result. Both died. There was nothing either could do.

  Eventually, Peron reached a boundless horizon of cold wet. He

  sat down, crossing his legs and gazed out – across the edge of this

  world.

  This was the end…

  A dot appeared in the setting sun. A black speck, growing in the

  orb of crimson.

  It approached, becoming larger and more detailed.

  Peron had only seen them in videos – a space ship. A white and

  blue metal marvel speeding across the cold wet, leaving streaks and

  making waves.

  With a sudden jolt, the space ship stopped at the shore, its nose

  facing him. He blinked interchangeably with his six eyes. The ship

  lowered itself, sending the cold wet below vibrating. It stopped

  upon the surface, as the front opened and a ramp extended.

  A human exited. He wore a blue jacket over an impressive belly.

  His short beard and longer hair were both a reddish-brown. Peron

  did not stand. He just watched him as he approached.

  The human smiled. Peron noted that the man was carrying a gun

  at his side. Guns were rare on Vulzthan, but Peron knew about them

  from videos.

  “I am Captain Edmund Rex. Can I confirm that I am indeed the

  first human to make contact on this planet?”

  Before Peron could respond, Edmund’s face went red and he

  covered it with his hand.

  “What by Terra am I saying? If this is a first contact, you’d not

  be able to understand me.”

  “I understand you,” Peron responded.

  Edmund’s eyes lit up, but then went dull.

  “Oh, so I’m not the first human here…”

  “No. But you are the only human I’ve seen here.”

  “Um…how then do you know…never mind, probably Exanoid

  traders or whatever. Actually – what are you, anyway? You an

  Enque?”

  Peron shook his head.

  “Can’t be a Gleran,” Edmund muttered to himself, trying to

  figure things out. “Glerans can’t talk.”

  “You know about Glerans?”

  “This and that. Lots of them on the Fringe. The traders make

  deals with Queens and ship them across the galaxy to spread their

  reach. The hives tend to keep to themselves. Why? Don’t tell me

  you’re some sort of mutant Gleran.”

  “I’m not a Gleran,” Peron answered, honestly.

  “What are you then?”

  Peron paused, thinking. He leant his chin on his on fist to

  support it. Finally, he looked up.

  “I’m Peron. And I’m a Thinker.”

  “Must be stressful…”

  Peron’s look of incredulity signalled Edmund to explain.

  “Thinkin’. Like, I think sometimes, but I’m not expected to do it

  all the time. I gotta take a break. But if you a thinker, that’s all you

  do. Not meaning anything bad by it. Different strokes for different

  folks.”

  Peron was silent and then answered, completely sincerely.

  “I like thinking.”

  Edmund smiled.

  “Always good to like what you doin’… hey, I got an idea. I’m

  not much of a thinker myself. My ship is big and as empty as my

  noggin. This planet has had first contact already. So gonna need to

  think about where to go next. But I’m not that good at thinkin’, you

  see. So, maybe, you want to tag along?”

  Peron didn’t respond for a little while. Edmund waited, the salty

  wind pushing around his long hair. Peron blinked the salt away.

  “I’d like that.”

  Edmund grinned. “That’s great! Well, no point waiting around.

  Let’s go!”

  Note from the Author

  It is said that you should write what you know. The great

  limitation of that advice is pretty clear. If Tolkien had written about

  what he had known and experienced, we wouldn’t have had a

  Middle Earth of elves, orcs, dark lords, magic rings and countless

  other fantasy themes that we take for granted today. As interesting

  as it may have been by itself, I think we are all thankful that we

  received Lord of the Rings rather than just a story about Tolkien’s

  life as a linguist and English professor.

  In my own writing, I have also diverted from this creed of writing

  what you know. I’m not going to pretend that it is due to some vastly

  superior creativity, however. I might not be writing about my

  explicit experiences, but I am writing about something I know –

  usually.

  Even when writing from the perspective of aliens, there is always

  something distinctly human about them. They either exemplify a

  human trait, like a propensity for commerce (like the Exanoids), or

  the confusion of an individual. When writing from the perspective

  of Edals (like Re’lien) or Zangorians (like Leri), I can always base

  them in something human. Because they basically are.

  When writing Hive Mind, I initially wanted to avoid basing the

  Glerans on anything human. They are ants. They are bees. They are

  insects – the most inhuman thing that you can be. But, despite my

  efforts to achieve the impossible, I do feel that I humanised Peron.

  This is seen in Peron’s affinity for the humans he has never met.

  This highlights his alien-ness through his desperation to belong to

  something. As well as wanting to belong, Peron also strives for an

  ideology of individualism. This duality of desire is probably Peron’s

  most human trait.

  All of us have held twin desires sometime in our lives. We’ve had

  to choose. Sometimes, we can’t even do that. Other times, we make

  a choice and fail to achieve e
ither. Peron wanted to belong and

  wanted to be alone in his belonging. Instead, he could never belong

  – but neither is he alone anymore.

  For those wanting to know what happened to Peron between

  now and his escapades with Leri nuro Zeruit in the main series, I

  may write more about him. Peron is old. A lot older than we think.

  He has seen a lot and has thought a lot.

  I’m not going to say what he did in that time. Maybe because I

  don’t even know, and I can only write what I know. What I do hope

  is that, for at least a time, he found some sense of belonging – as

  impossible as that may be. But while he may never have his family

  ever again – he did find a friend. And that is worth all the hives on

  the Fringe.

  I hope you enjoyed Hive Mind. Don’t stop reading now!

  You can meet Peron again in the rest of the Warpmancer

  Series.

  Start your journey now with Shadow, the first book in the Warpmancer Series.

  Copyright © 2017

  Warpmancer Universe

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or

  dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

  retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means

  electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise

  without the prior written permission of the publisher and the

  copyright owner.

 

 

 


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