by Mary E. Lowd
An excerpt from Nexus Nine. If you’d prefer, you can start with Chapter 1, return to the previous chapter, or skip ahead.
Rheun’s reality shrank down to a pinpoint — pure thought, no physicality. Time could only be measured by the shape of her impatience, which came in waves. With no external anchors, only darkness, it was hard to keep track of who she was. Mazel the cat? Darius the dog? Augrula the bear? An octopus? Maybe even human.
When reality returned, the truth of being Mazel melted away like frost in sunlight. The cat was only a memory, and the physical truth of Rheun’s existence had changed. Zhe extended an arm to look at zir paws, but instead two limbs moved — a wing and an arm, zhe thought — and the appendage that appeared in zir view was not a paw. A talon, perhaps; covered in blue fuzz with darker ridges, creating a feathery pattern. Except the talon appeared dozens of times in overlapping, multitudinous views until Rheun figured out how to resolve all of the images into one.
Then zhe began giggling uncontrollably, and zir own voice sounded like a cello tuning. And zhe thought that was the strangest way to think of zir own voice… Omoleura had never thought about the sound of zir voice before. And zhe was quite sure zhe’d never heard of a cello, and yet now, the word conjured images of elegantly curved wooden instruments with long strings.
Huh. Omoleura didn’t mind that comparison. In fact, it was quite flattering and made zir feel like singing. But zhe was still giggling and couldn’t seem to stop the bubbling fit of laughter from vibrating through all of zir legs and wings.
As Omoleura laughed, zhe felt an itch all over zir body, especially in the crevices between zir exoskeletal joints. An itch that usually meant it was time to spit up the gummy silk from zir mouth for building a chrysalis. Time to metamorphose.
Rheun wiggled zir arms and legs and wings, trying to shake off the feeling. Zhe was Omoleura Rheun now, and zhe didn’t need to metamorphose to look more like a calico cat. That part of zir life was over. For now.
Although, Rheun felt a strange eagerness to undergo an experience first-hand that Omoleura had already lived through so many times that zhe tried to put it off as long as possible each time, like a calico kitten trying to stay up past her bedtime to watch a sitcom about the love affairs of a Maltese dog.
Egg shells! Omoleura’s mind was a mess of confusing metaphors and memories right now. Zhe felt excited by the experience of stretching out zir own limbs, just to feel them bend in new places, as if zhe hadn’t been living inside this body zir whole life!
And zhe couldn’t stop thinking about a birthday party for a puppy who had apparently been zir own son — strawberry cake with peanut butter frosting; brightly lit candles; and a bicycle that zhe’d wrapped zirself in paper that kept tearing until zhe’d used up a whole roll of it. The puppy’s smile when he’d opened the bicycle had been enough to melt anyone’s heart.
Except Omoleura had never been to a party like that in zir life. Zhe’d been raised by the Avioran scientist who found zim, and Aviorans didn’t celebrate their Hatch Days that way. Yet now zir memory was full of those birthday parties — years’ worth of birthday parties for a puppy zhe’d never met. And even for zirself, as a kitten. And a puppy, but longer ago.
Unhatched’s blessings! Omoleura couldn’t believe how calm and restrained Mazel had been, if this was what it had been like inside the calico cat’s brain.
Omoleura hadn’t understood what zhe was signing up for when zhe had asked the Mimminoi to insert the Rheun chip in zir own brain. And yet, a sense of gratefulness… calmness… self satisfaction? A warm feeling settled over Omoleura’s body as zhe remembered the great danger that zhe’d been in — that the Rheun chip had been in. If the Mimminoi had sent the Rheun chip away to the nearest Triloi’s laboratories to be studied, then Mazel and Rheun would never be reunited.
At least this way, there was a chance that Omoleura could keep Rheun safe, inside of zir own brain, until the chip could be returned to the calico cat.
And Omoleura could become zirself again. No offense, zhe thought. Except… no offense to whom? To zirself? Zhe was so confused…
Omoleura remembered thinking of all of these voices and memories in zir head — which had only been in zir head for a few moments now — as imaginary friends. Advisors. Companions. Back when zhe had been Mazel. That little cat certainly had a whimsical way of thinking of the world — so optimistic and creative. And suddenly, a mystery that zhe had been living with for a year — or that zhe had only encountered seconds ago? — was solved.
Now that Rheun could remember his life as Darius and all of the times he’d interacted with the funny little calico ensign — without those memories being directly colored by Mazel’s experience of them — zhe remembered how impressed zhe’d been by Mazel Tabbith. She’d been the only choice he’d have ever considered for inheriting himself… his Rheun chip. Plummeting wingless eggshells! Omoleura needed to rescue that little cat, and get this ancient biohazard of a computer chip out of zir brain.
“Is the Eminent Chrysaloi experiencing negative side effects from zir… interesting choice to undergo brain surgery?” asked a high, piping voice. Like a violin.
Omoleura recognized the voice — the Mimminoi who had been assigned to shadow zir, theoretically acting as zir personal assistant. But also possibly keeping the stray Chrysaloi in check.
That was Omoleura — a stray Chrysaloi. Because while half of Omoleura Rheun’s quest to discover zir origins had failed so far — there was no sign of a civilization of neural-chip enhanced octopuses — the other half had been a spectacular success. Of a sort. Omoleura was a Chrysaloi of the Hiviiarchy who had hatched from an envoy egg.
The Hiviiarchy explored new and already inhabited star systems by sending out envoy eggs. When the incubating Chrysaloi hatched, they found themselves perfectly designed to blend into any society they discovered. Through metamorphosis and mimicry, they could infiltrate the societies of any sentient life forms they encountered. And then when the Hiviiarchy descended, they had Chrysaloi on the inside, ready to share their gathered intelligence.
At this point, Omoleura was the Hiviiarchy’s foremost expert on the three galaxies. Zhe could commandeer an army of Carapids, a fleet of Mimminoi, and be on an accelerated path to joining with two other Chrysaloi to become a mated Triloi. Then zhe’d become the supreme ruler of Avia. That’s what the Mimminoi assigned to zim had explained.
That was the path laid out for a Chrysaloi who had hatched from an Envoy Egg and so successfully studied an entirely new society. New to the Hiviiarchy. Omoleura could tell from the Mimminoi’s readily apparent excitement that this was all meant to be a great honor.
Omoleura had returned home, and zhe’d been crowned a queen.
Except Omoleura didn’t want to conquer Avia.
Avia had been conquered enough, and it had hurt for Omoleura to watch the pain and suffering of the Aviorans under Reptassan occupation. The birds deserved freedom. Freedom to rule themselves. Freedom to be themselves.
And Omoleura knew that the Hiviiarchy wouldn’t like that answer. So zhe had played along. It had broken zir three hearts to watch Neera Jerysha’s face as the bird became truly convinced that their friendship had meant nothing to zim, that zhe could order her death without a second thought.
From what the Mimminoi had explained to Omoleura, death row was the safest place for zir friends on this lunar installation. No one would dare injure prisoners being held for execution by the Triloi. No matter how dimwitted and dangerously aggressive the warrior Carapids seemed, they would never cross their beloved queen mother Triloi.
Omoleura could experience that same kind of blind love and devotion directed at zirself, if zhe would only accept two other Chrysaloi as zir mates…
But zir three hearts belonged entirely to Neera Jerysha.
The Mimminoi’s voice sang out again. “I will summon the brain surgeons again — we will remove the Roooon chip. It is clearly damaging the Eminent Chrysaloi!”
“No,” Omoleura said, gathering zirself together well enough to rise from the silky, woven hammock where zhe had been laid out for the surgery. “The Rheun chip is working fine, and my memory has been greatly enhanced, exactly as expected.” Well, perhaps not exactly, but Omoleura hardly needed to share the details with a Mimminoi.
Feeling the swaying of the hammock rustling zir wings, Omoleura impulsively fluttered the membranous appendages and almost broke into fits of giggles again at the sensation. Zhe had never had wings before! Except… of course… for every other day of zir life, since zhe had emerged from zir very first chrysalis.
Now there was an experience that should be celebrated with peanut butter cake and paper wrapped bicycles! Emerging from a chrysalis for the first time had been Omoleura’s physical state of achieving adulthood. But instead of sugary desserts and recreational wheeled contraptions, the day had been marked with brain scans, agility tests, and general scientific poking and prodding…
No matter. Omoleura could hardly blame the Aviorans for their curiosity. Zhe felt a fair amount of curiosity about zirself as well. Or was that Rheun?
Regardless, Omoleura’s first chrysalis emergence had eventually been celebrated anyway — not with an Earth-style birthday party, but still. When Neera had learned of how Omoleura had been treated by the scientists who raised zir, she had surprised the chief with a proper Hatch Day commemoration featuring brightly colored flower crowns and necklaces of edible seeds strung in long, looping strands. They’d spent hours together stringing the seeds in patterns, nibbling them away, and stringing them again, all while sharing stories — mostly told by Jerysha. It had been a lovely and unexpected day. Zhe could have listened to that spunky bird tell stories forever.
Neera Jerysha had always been more than kind to Omoleura. Zhe loved the bird dearly.
To keep her safe, right now, Omoleura needed to focus on the present moment, rather than picking over the many strands of zir memories like the seeds on a Hatch Day string. Omoleura had power here, and zhe needed to learn its limits and its uses.
“Come,” Omoleura said, “now that I’m ready, I’d like to be shown around the installation. I have much to learn before meeting my mates!”
Omoleura had never been comfortable with deception; zir intense interest in honesty had been part of what drove zir into law enforcement. And so zhe was surprised how easily the deceptive words shivered out of zir vibrating limbs now. Perhaps, somewhere along the way over zir long history of lifetimes, Rheun had developed a facility for untruths. Omoleura wasn’t entirely comfortable with being more comfortable with lying… but zhe had to admit, it would come in useful as long as zhe was behind enemy lines in the galaxy Ennea.
The Mimminoi vibrated its translucent oval wings in excitement, and its long antennae bent forward, almost reaching toward Omoleura. The greenish insect looked much like a praying mantis — another image that was new to Omoleura via the wealth of memories in Rheun.
Like a praying mantis, the Mimminoi’s narrow green thorax swelled into a gracefully long yellow abdomen; its large multifaceted eyes and small mandibles gave it a demure, triangular face; and all of its limbs bent steeply, meaning it could have stood quite tall with them all stretched out.
“Indeed!” the Mimminoi exclaimed. “There is much for your Eminence to learn! It’s very exciting!”
This particular Mimminoi had clearly decided to attach its fate to Omoleura’s. If it could convince the new Chrysaloi from the triple galaxies that it was an essential advisor, then perhaps it could secure a more powerful position for itself when the Hiviiarchy moved on Avia.
The Mimminoi’s self-interested motives were painfully clear. Omoleura would have to make the best of them.
“What did you say your designation was again?” Omoleura asked the Mimminoi.
“Batch 59, 4th Hatched.” The Mimminoi’s antennae waggled proudly. “That means I’m called 59-4.”
“You’re doing a wonderful job of re-integrating me into my… true home, 59-4,” Omoleura said. “Do… I have a… different name? A truer one?”
“No, no, no, my dearest Eminence!” the Mimminoi exclaimed. “Envoy Chrysaloi are meant to adapt to the societies where they hatch, and so each one returns to the Hiviiarchy with a name in the style of the culture that they’ve infiltrated and intend to conquer.” After a moment’s consideration, 59-4 added, “Of course, not every Chrysaloi’s deployment is as wildly successful as yours. Your mates — who I’m told are already on their way! — of course, will not be keeping their own names when they join with you, since you will all be returning to this resplendent new galaxy together!”
“Wait, what do you mean — join with me?” Omoleura asked, hesitant. Zhe knew that zhe was merely playing along with the Mimminoi for information, and yet the mere idea of joining zir mind with even more minds was nearly more than zhe could handle.
“Oh, it is quite joyous!” 59-4 exclaimed, clasping its two largest talons together. It truly did look like it was engaged in heavenly prayer. “The three of you will build a chrysalis together — your last one! And when you emerge… oh! Oh! You will be a Triloi!”
“But… practically speaking… What really is a Triloi?” Omoleura couldn’t imagine sharing zir chrysalis with anyone else. Ever. It was the most private place and experience that zhe’d ever known. In all of zir lifetimes, and right now, zhe had experienced a lot of lifetimes…
59-4 practically vibrated in ecstasy as it described the different Triloi it had seen holo-projections of — the common thread seemed to involve a multi-part body with a long egg-laying abdomen in the back; at least a dozen different limbs; and a fore-body that maintained some of the mimicked aspects of the species who had influenced the three joined Chrysaloi before they’d become one.
The way that the Mimminoi spoke of Triloi reminded Omoleura of sermons zhe’d seen Avioran Vees give on the divine nature of the Unhatched. Except apparently, this insect’s gods were real. And Omoleura could become one of them.
Omoleura was stopped short by suddenly realizing two things at once: One, zhe had truly believed in the Aviorans’ Unhatched until only minutes ago; when zhe had prayed to them, those prayers had been more than mere words, mimicking the words of those around zim. And two, zhe no longer believed in them. At all.
Omoleura thought wryly, what a strange gift to receive from joining one’s mind with an extremely long-lived, ancient computer chip: too much life experience to believe in gods anymore.
Omoleura wondered if zir belief in the Unhatched would return when the Rheun chip was removed. Zhe had a nagging, disturbing suspicion that it would not. Can belief in gods ever truly be regained once one has outgrown it? Rheun didn’t seem to think so. Omoleura tried very hard to not be sure. But it’s hard to retain childlike naivete and wonder in the face of years of experience.
And suddenly Omoleura felt like giggling again: zhe never thought of zirself as childlike before. Even when zhe had been a freshly hatched grub, before zhe’d even metamorphosed.
“I have so much to learn…” Omoleura mused, pacing the length of the small medical room.
“Actually, my Eminence,” 59-4 said, “you are far advanced from where we would expect an Envoy Chrysaloi to be on zir first day returned to the Hiviiarchy.”
“Is that so?” Omoleura asked, genuinely surprised. Zhe stopped pacing in front of a mirrored work table and looked at zirself in the reflective surface. 59-4 came to stand beside zir.
Omoleura could see the resemblance between them — the fine hairs on their carapaces; the fundamental anatomical structure. And yet their coloring and the shape of their different parts were so disparate that it was still hard to believe zhe was one of these strange insects.
Omoleura thought of zirself as a bird.
“Indeed!” 59-4 exclaimed. The praying mantis seemed to be constantly excited. Omoleura supposed it must be very exciting for it to have been the first Mimminoi to discover — and thus ally itself to — a Chrysaloi Envoy from an entirely new galaxy.
Regardless, the Mimminoi’s excitement made Omoleura feel even more tired, and today had already been a very long day — filled with centuries of new memories to sort through and an entirely new galaxy.
“Most Chrysaloi Envoys only speak the language of their infiltrated societies when they return home,” 59-4 said. “I was actually quite surprised when you spoke in perfect Hiivon to me. The surgeons tell me that there are tiny robots in your brain that must be responsible.”
“Ah, yes,” Omoleura mused. “Translator nano-bots.” All Avioran officers had had the nano-bots injected into themselves after the planetwide vote was decided positively to join the Tri-Galactic Union. Well, a few officers had refused. They had been asked to resign.
Omoleura found the nano-bots incredibly useful, and zhe wished that zhe’d had them during the years of the Reptassan occupation. Many of zir unsolved cases might have actually been resolved if zhe’d had a greater ability to understand the Reptassans. As it was, Omoleura was good with languages, but the Reptassans had still been able to confuse zir and speak around zir knowledge when they wanted to hide information.
Omoleura didn’t believe in hiding information.
Well… not usually. Right now, zhe vaguely wished that Rheun’s memories could be hidden away. Ideally, back inside that calico cat’s head.
“The Triloi of our sector will be most grateful when you share the technology!” 59-4 said.
The Mimminoi’s statement sent shivers through all of the fine filamented hairs over Omoleura’s carapace.
If zhe was not careful, Omoleura could become a spy and traitor to zir entire galaxy. Zhe did not want the Hiviiarchy to become zir new home. But if zhe betrayed the Tri-Galactic Union and Avia — well, mostly Neera — then there would be no other home for zir to return to.
“These translation nano-bots will be a most useful advancement, Eminent Omoleura, and your ascendance as Triloi over the newly discovered sector will be doubly — no triply! — assured,” 59-4 continued in a staccato, allegro voice like a violin dancing its way through a symphony solo. “Why, between revealing the location of the nexus passageway, providing this incredibly useful technological advancement, and your intimate knowledge of the most relevant peoples in the new galaxy, you will most likely become the youngest Chrysaloi ever to ascend to Triloi of a new sector!”
Omoleura was profoundly grateful that zhe’d seen Grawf crypto-locking the shuttlecraft computer’s memory during the fight with the Carapids. If the bear had not been so savvy — and physically strong enough to withstand the Carapids’ attacks for so long — then the location of Nexus Nine would not be a secret that Omoleura could keep from the Hiviiarchy.
Omoleura had underestimated the bear. When they all returned to Nexus Nine Base, perhaps zhe would consent to rearranging the security shift schedules to incorporate more Tri-Galactic Navy officers into the station’s defense, as Grawf had been pressing zir to do for weeks now.
Omoleura’s thoughts strayed to zir future at the station — both as Mazel and as an un-enhanced Omoleura — as zhe followed the eager Mimminoi throughout the small lunar base. It was not an impressive outpost, and Omoleura had trouble caring about learning the precise caste differences between different types of Carapids and Mimminoi, all of whom saluted zir with clacking mandibles and talons as zhe passed.
The short version seemed to be: Carapids were warriors; Mimminoi were administrators. On this lunar base alone, there were whole squadrons of Carapids training in some form of martial arts in dark, dungeon-like rooms, and every squad of Carapids seemed to be supervised by a Mimminoi, watching over their dance-like fighting but not actually participating. Like a conductor in front of an extremely violent orchestra.
The brain surgery to implant the Rheun chip had been done by Mimminoi research biologists. Doctor wasn’t the correct term, because as far as Omoleura could tell, the Hiviiarchy didn’t bother with performing medicine on Carapids or Mimminoi. Instead, there were warehouses full of unhatched eggs of every kind, shipped to the lunar base from the nearest Triloi, and they could be hormonally urged into hatching at any time.
A Carapid breaks off one of its talons fighting? Fine, hatch a new one.
A Mimminoi suffers a blow to the head and can no longer think clearly due to brain damage? Fine, no problem, hatch a new one.
All the same. All replaceable. So, the surgeons per se were less doctors and more biological researchers, looking for ways to make use of the unique biological assets of any new species they encountered. Again, that was part of why Neera and the others had to be on death row — only a death sentence, setting them aside for murder by Triloi, could protect them from the lunar base’s Mimminoi experimenting on them.
Omoleura had been experimented on. Zhe did not wish the position on anyone.
The lunar base’s commanding Mimminoi, 59-4, had improvised a cell for Mazel, Grawf, Unari, and Quincy when it had still believed the cats, bear, and frog had somehow kidnapped Omoleura. 59-4 had ordered that Neera be kept separately, as Omoleura’s clear mimicry of her form suggested to it that she was the Chrysaloi’s attendant. But then Neera had been so defiantly independent, so wantonly disregarding of the supremacy ascribed to Omoleura by the Mimminoi that 59-4 had threatened to have a Carapid snap her neck. That’s when Omoleura had ordered her death zirself, protecting her, at least until the local Triloi came.
Omoleura would never want Jerysha’s subservience.
But zhe had to admit that 59-4’s cloying obeisance was at least convenient. Zhe could see the appeal of commanding a fleet of Mimminois, each of them in command of a squadron of Carapids. Then zhe could truly keep the order.
Except… wasn’t that what the Reptassans believed?
Omoleura was reminded of an old Earth saying that zhe’d never known before today: “Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
Besides, Omoleura did not want to spend the rest of zir life laying eggs. Zhe’d already had more than enough children throughout zir long lifetime. No wait, that was Rheun, and those memories would be gone soon, Unhatched willing.
Oh for goodness sake, did Omoleura still believe in the Unhatched, in spite of all of zir first-hand knowledge of how sentient lifeforms have a way of elevating others to godhood — humans, Triloi, imaginary birds that have existed since before the universe began — who do not deserve it? Who are nothing more than other people, fallible, complex, and struggling for meaning, each in their own way?
After the tour of the lunar base and its limited facilities was over, 54-9 brought Omoleura to a small round office with windows all around it, each of them looking out at the night sky. “Until better arrangements can be made, my Eminence,” 54-9 said, spreading its serrated, hooked talons wide, “please consider this workspace yours.”
“Is this your office?” Omoleura asked.
“Not anymore, my Eminence.” 54-9 quickly and surreptitiously removed several objects — possibly personal effects, although Omoleura didn’t recognize what any of them actually were — from the work table in the middle of the room. Then the Mimminoi activated a computer display and asked, “Would you like to see images of your intended?”
“You mean… the Chrysaloi I’m meant to join with?” Omoleura asked, feeling an unanticipated and unwanted curiosity. “Yes, yes, I would.” Zhe had to answer that way, whether it was what zhe truly felt or not. It was the answer zir Mimminoi attendant would expect. Never mind that it was actually what Omoleura felt…
The Mimminoi tapped at the computer console, and two holographic images appeared, hovering over the workspace, rotating slowly in the air and flickering slightly as motes of dust drifted through them.
One of the images, on the left, looked like a basket of snakes at first glance; a whole tussling bundle of ropy green cords, all tangled together. As Omoleura stared at the image, zhe eventually made out the familiar multi-faceted eyes that all members of the Hiviiarchy seemed to have, buried deep in the bundle of snaky appendages. The snakes themselves seemed to vary — some appeared to be a tattered form of wings with long strands of membranous tissue; others were actual limbs, many-jointed so they bent in many places; and some appeared to be nothing more than decorative spikes of carapace.
“I see you are looking at S’li’thee’tha,” 59-4 said, bending its two antennae towards each other until they nearly formed a heart over its head. The Mimminoi couldn’t know the cultural significance of that particular symbol to Earth species, but the effect was still upsetting. Patronizing. “Zir infiltrated society was entirely plant-based. Sentient shrubbery! Very unusual! Also, not especially useful to the Hiviiarchy, as it turns out. So, zir chances of becoming a dominant member of a Triloi joining are very low. However! Zir knowledge gained from living among those sentient plants will provide an invaluable… enrichment, as it were, to any Chrysaloi fortunate enough to have zir joined to them as a recessive mate. Zhe will make a good partner for you.”
Omoleura hummed a noncommittal response, but inside, zhe was deeply intrigued.
The other image, on the right, looked like a sculpture made out of crystal or glass. The Chrysaloi’s carapace gleamed like raw diamonds, and zir limbs were elegantly long and narrow. Zir neck swooped like a swan’s, and zir wings clustered on zir back like an outcropping of dahlia petals, brightly colored and manifold.
“An extreme beauty, is zhe not?” 59-4 said, noticing that Omoleura’s gaze had shifted to the other image. “The Chrysaloi on the right is Karaquen. Zhe infiltrated an insect society. Chrysaloi envoys who infiltrate insect societies are generally quite beautiful — our bodies are built from the same components, and thus other insects are easier for us to mimic.”
59-4 eyed Omoleura pointedly, and zhe suddenly felt very self-conscious in zir own faux-avian body. It was true that zir membranous wings were so poorly suited to imitating feathered avian wings that zhe had to combine both wings and folded legs together to imitate the appropriate bulk. But… Omoleura thought zhe had come to imitate the Aviorans quite admirably. Zhe’d certainly spent years practicing. And the Aviorans were a beautiful people with their jewel-toned feathers and gentle curves. Omoleura was proud to mimic them.
Besides, Neera had never made zir feel self-conscious. Neera told zim that zir version of the Avioran form was “adorable.” Well, she’d said it once, in zir defense against another Avioran calling zim “creepy-looking,” when she hadn’t known Omoleura was listening. Even so, Omoleura still treasured the stray word, holding it safe and close to zir three hearts like a lover’s keepsake.
Omoleura shifted zir wings and limbs uncomfortably.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” 59-4 said. “Have I made you feel self-conscious, my Eminence? Never you worry. S’li’thee’tha and Karaquen will be extremely lucky if you accept their proposals to join with you.”
“If I accept them?” Omoleura asked.
“Of course! No matter how beautiful they are, neither of these Chrysaloi has much chance of forming a mated Triloi without you. You have all the power here, my Eminence, for you know more about this new galaxy than anyone else in the Hiviiarchy.” 59-4’s jointed antennae leaned so close to Omoleura, their bent tips nearly brushed against zir wings, and the Mimminoi’s voice lowered to a whispered crooning. “If you do not feel, my Eminence, that these two Chrysaloi will bring you the enrichment that you need to become a fully satisfied laying Triloi in command of a whole sector, then we will search our records exhaustively, find you other options — as many as you need — and reach out to whomever appeals to you most!”
“No, no, they’re fine,” Omoleura said with a dismissive wave of zir own antennae. Zhe wasn’t used to using zir antennae to express emotion, as the Aviorans had no physical analogue to them, and Omoleura had always found that drawing attention to them disconcerted the birds. So, zhe had learned to repress the impulse. However, gesturing with them came naturally to zim now that zhe was speaking with another insect.
“Are you sure, my Eminence?” 59-4 pressed. “The combined features of the Chrysaloi blend together to create the Triloi, and the Triloi’s features determine the features of the Carapids and Mimminoi hatched from the eggs zhe lays. If you want to effectively dominate your sector, you must produce healthy eggs that hatch into appropriately designed Mimminoi and Carapids to serve you!”
“I’m sure,” Omoleura said in a huskily deep tone, turning away from the holographic display. “Quite sure.”
There wasn’t a problem with S’li’thee’tha and Karaquen appealing to zim. The Chrysaloi rendered in those flickering holograms were quite beautiful. Extremely appealing. Their images called to Omoleura in a way that even Jerysha’s presence did not.
Zhe wondered what it would be like to blend with them — become one creature who had lived as a bird, as a plant, and as an insect. Except… Omoleura had already lived as cats, dogs, bears, humans, octopi… Why did zhe feel such a hunger to know these new forms laid out in front of zir? Was it zir insect self, called biologically to mate with others of zir kind? Or was it zir neural chip self? A seemingly endless well of desire for more and new experiences… Omoleura was not sure, but either way, the desire zhe felt for these two Chrysaloi was immense and troubling.
Omoleura needed to find a way out of here, to rescue zir colleagues and escape… before zhe lost zirself.
Continue on to Chapter 9…