Out of Reach

       B613 crawled toward new troubles in a rather tense atmosphere. The Geographer and the Businessman still hadn’t returned, and the Prince kept checking the notebookevery half an houror so. Each time, I silently willed them to vanish for good. So far, luck held. Rose kept asking to be left alone, sometimes behind the house under the apple tree, sometimes inside. All according to plan. And since the Prince’s garrison was halved, and no one wanted to reduce the escort to just one person, they’d extended their shifts. By the end, the Hunter and the King were growing lax. And they had to mind the asteroid’s course while the Prince rested. Turning them against each other didn’t work, their interests didn’t overlap enough. Even poker without stakes bored them all. So they handed over duty to the Prince with relief. I pointed out that some course adjustment was needed. The Prince hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave me alone with just the Fox and the ex-gloomy. Then he hit on the idea of ordering me onto the roof with him. Now it was my turn to hesitate. Should I refuse? What could he do if I wasn’t being aggressive? He wouldn’t strike first. But joining him seemed more useful. Turns out, I guessed right. While the Prince steered the horses, the Rose watched me, and I admired her face-on—a perfect idyll. Until the traitorous ex-gloomy, squeaking with effort, hauled the Fox onto the roof. Instantly, it got noisy. The wind picked up too, cutting through my jumper. How wasn’t the Rose cold? She was squinting content, her petals turned to the breeze. When the Prince checked the notebook again—still no Geographer or Businessman—an idea flickered. Unlikely to work, but harmless to try. “Can I borrow the notebook for a second?” The sheer audacity stunned even the Fox into silence. The Prince turned, baffled: “No. Why? I mean, it’s obvious you’d want to destroy the biggest threat to yourself. But how were you planning to explain why you needed it?” Right. One plan failed; another remained. “Destroy?” I scoffed. “Well, theoretically, yes, but I know perfectly well it’s impossible in practice. What could I even do with it? Toss it overboard? You’d catch it on the bird, or this one,” I nodded at the blue gloomy, “would fetch it. Chuck it down the chimney? There’s no fire down, and I’d never get past you, I’m not that deluded. Tear a page? Doubt that’d affect its properties. Eat it in half a second? Not even the Fox could manage that. No, I just wanted to, as they say, cushion the blow if I end up in there again. Shade one page, create at least a half-darkness. Blank paper irritates me terribly. You could even do it yourself if you don’t trust me. You’re all about humane treatment of prisoners, aren’t you?” “Oh, you’re scheming something, worm,” the Fox rasped behind me. I didn’t turn. The Prince’s reaction mattered more. He looked away to scan the course ahead, so I decided not to wait and cast another hook: “Just one page. You wouldn’t save my destroyed world anyway like you do for others.” The Prince whipped around. “You brought that on yourself by taking my Rose and forcing me to find your planet. And I had to destroy X000 to free the worlds you had devoured.” I waved him off. “I don’t mean X000. That wasn’t a planet—just an illusion, a half-material trophy case, nothing more. It vanished because you dragged me beyond the universe’s edge. The moment the Fox and the Rose, “ I nodded at her, “freed me, it reappeared.” Rose looked up, alarmed. “So your planet exists again now?” “I don’t know,” I admitted for pity’s sake. “I can’t hear it now.” “Then what did you mean about your world?” the Prince steered back. Perfect, he had bitten the bait. “I’ve told you before,” I met Rose’s eyes, “but I’ll repeat for everyone. My native world is darkness and void, absolute nothingness before all your galaxies. Just me. And I was perfectly content. Then—bang—everything sprang into being. Light, noise, voices, chaos…” “Big deal,” the Fox muttered. “Just crawl away from our universe if it bothers you so much.” “Impossible,” I sighed. “You don’t understand the nature of void. There’s no space, no concept of ‘away.’ This universe would always be nearby, blinding your eyes, buzzing in your ears with billions of voices. You material beings can’t fathom it. “Now for a dramatic pause. Good, they all kept silent. Don’t overdo it. “So I did the most natural thing: I started tidying my home, sweeping out the rubbish.” “Oh, come off it, “the Fox spluttered first. “What rubbish?! We’ve seen you—you just revel in others’ suffering.” “One doesn’t exclude the other.” “Classic you. “Rose folded her leaves and grimaced, then flashed a sly smile. “But actually… You said you can’t hear your planet like before? And the whole universe, too?” Blast. She really ought to be a bit dimmer. A dangerously logical train of thought. “So?” I tried to discourage further conversation, but no luck. She’d already reached the obvious, inconvenient conclusion: “Then your problem is easily solved: stay human like this, and the world won’t bother you much. And we can even tolerate you this way.” Oh, how delightful. “Well, yeah,” the Prince smiled too. “Stay, won’t you? Less harm, easier for you.” “No, thank you. Imagine: if you were an immortal, omnipotent entity—not even a being—would you confine yourself to a pitiful human form?” The Prince pondered, scratched his chin, surveyed the outer space. “To experience the world like this? Vast, unknown, vivid, tangible? Yes, I would, “ he concluded, utterly serious. And I wouldn’t. I didn’t say it aloud, nor did I agree. Let them interpret my silence as they pleased. Maybe the Prince, in his kindness, would think he could reform me? How amusing it would be to disappoint him later. Rose, however, broke the silence with a raspy, barbed tone: “You told me you enjoyed travelling in human form with me and the Little Prince. Were you lying?” “What, really?” the Prince beamed. Damn you both! That’s not what I’d meant! I had enjoyed their ignorance, their trust, how they took my encouragement at face value, thanked me for help without suspecting they were following my plan exactly. But admitting that now would only set them against me further. No matter, another explanation would do. “I didn’t lie, but it was different. Back then, I could revert anytime. I was still myself, the darkness still within reach. It’s not the same when you’re trapped, unable to return, not even knowing why.” “Oh, I’m about to weep,” the Fox simpered, shifting to keep balance on the roof’s steep slope. “And I understand that,” the Prince cut in, unexpectedly solemn. “I love travelling, flying to nearby planets—as long as I know I can turn the plane home anytime. But when I had to chase you, not knowing when, or if, I’d return or see my Rose again… It wasn’t so fun.” He turned back to the course ahead. A pause settled, even the Fox stayed quiet. But the Prince couldn’t brood for long. He turned to me again with a revoltingly cheerful grin. “I’ve been thinking about,” he nodded at me, “this human form. You copied it, right? Imagination isn’t your strong suit; you only mimic what you’ve seen.” Phew. Was that all? He’s practically begging for a stab. “Of course I did.” “So there’s an identical boy somewhere?” the Prince brightened. “And his name’s really Louis?” “Yes, there was. Yes, it was.” “What did you do to him?!” the Fox snapped. Ah, he had caught the hint. Indignation vibrated in his voice—any moment, he’d lunge. “I didn’t do anything, enough with the assumptions!” I feigned outrage. “We talked, that’s all.” “And the details?” the Prince frowned. “Do you really want to know? It’s not exactly… warm here.” “What’s ‘warm’ got to do with it?” the Fox was puzzled. “Probably he means scary stories from the K’ivi planet,” the Rose piped up, nose lifted in pride of guessing first. “Horror tales help to cope with the heat.” “Clever girl,” I smiled. “But our climate is comfortable, no need for extra chills.” Naturally, my evasion made the Prince insist: “We’ll manage. Why? Because I want to know. No telling you what for, just spill it.” An excellent chance to unsettle them further… But no—not if I’m rebuilding trust. And what did he mean by ‘want to know’? “There’s nothing much to tell.” I tilted my head to study the stars, buying time to edit the story. “Once, there was a kid called Louis on an asteroid… ah, I never asked its number. At the very edge of your galaxy. Between chores, he’d stare into the black intergalactic rift and dream of what lay beyond. Dreamed a real lot to know what there was. Then I happened by and granted his wish.” “You Brought him here?” the Fox interrupted, seemingly competing with Rose in quick-wittedness. “No. Too much effort. I just told him what was there. Planets spinning, stars burning, folk weeding gardens or gawking at the sky. Same as his galaxy. He deflated when his dream fizzled so pathetically. So I gave him a new dream. I told him of another black abyss, full of utter mystery, one all humans and others cross sooner or later. Even I don’t know what’s over there. He didn’t exactly perk up, but pondered it. That’s how I left him. When I passed through again later, the asteroid was empty.” There. The smoothest, most neutral version, with a pinch of lies. No need to shock them with details. No need to mention that the real Louis took barely a day to decide, with me beside him the whole time. Right to the end. Or how I’d advised him to peek beyond death’s veil: seal the windows and chimney, pile in extra logs, take sleeping pills, and drift off to wake on the other side. But I had played with my prey. The dose was just enough to let him wake alive. He had tried reaching the window. I couldn’t have stopped him due to damned protection for willful, conscious beings! But his fear spawned a swarm of gloomies, and they held him until he suffocated entirely. “So what happened?” the Fox pressed, and the Prince blinked, equally confused. “Oh, come on,” I caught his gaze. “You’re smart, you’ll guess in three tries.” It was the Rose who got it first. She gasped, clapping leaves over her mouth. Her fright led the Prince to the answer. But his reaction was suspiciously muted, just a slight droop. “He… died?” “Yep.” “Hey, you said you created B613, but now it turns out you stole someone else’s asteroid!” the Fox latched onto the outrage, though his voice shook. He was pacing the roof as if it burned his paws, staring at the tiles. Ah, the story got to him. “Don’t fret, this isn’t the same house, just a copy. One I made because I had erased the original asteroid.” He sat heavily, now gaping at me with the same horror. I didn’t care for him, but what about the others? The Prince squinted skeptically; Rose turned away again. “This form,” I patted my knee, testing a hunch, “is purely an appearance copy. If you hoped to learn the original’s weaknesses or quirks, it’s useless. Any other questions?” “No, I meant something else,” the Prince nodded breezily, then veered off. “Tell us about the planet we’re heading to. You said it’s close? What did you do there?” “What’s the point? You won’t believe me anyway. Ask the locals if they’re alive.” “No, no, I won’t take your word, but I’d like to hear your version. I’ll draw my own conclusions. The locals, in my experience, usually repeat what you’ve lied to them.” Hmm. How much can I trust his distrust? Ah, it wouldn’t be much worse.        “Okay. We’ll be arriving shortly, just a quarter of light-second away. To put it short: the locals mistook the planet’s breathing for earthquakes and the end of the world, so they tiptoed about and enforced absolute silence. Which is rather inconvenient for living, so they’ve likely gone extinct by now. That speck there, by the way, between the two white stars.” Not that my calculations agreed—the locals should still be twitching—but best to feign surprise. Let the do-gooders think the natives survived despite me, just to reinforce their righteousness. The Prince adjusted the reins, steering the asteroid neatly between two dwarf stars (still blisteringly hot). The Fox went to rouse the others. I slid off the roof. The speck grew steadily into a mottled marble-brown sphere, its surface etched not by vegetation but by topography—rounded gullies and trenches scoring the barren ground under ever-present daylight of either of the two suns. And yes, like the last one, this planet was enormous. And utterly lifeless at first glance. The anchor plunged into a narrow fissure, and our diminished party lined up along the cable. Still no movement below. “Um, my Prince…” Rose spoke softly, avoiding his gaze. “Let me stay behind this time too. Under the apple tree or on the porch. For communications. You go on ahead.” Ah. The cautionary tale from the k’ivi planet had done its work. The Prince looked mildly surprised but didn’t object. He even offered to leave her the ex-gloomy for company, which she accepted. The Fox grumbled about “losing his best mate” until I pointed out that if he was considering mating with a genderless blue orb with eyes, he urgently needed a proper vixen. “None of that in front of the children!” the King roared, lunging to the Fox’s defence by seizing my collar and dragging me down the anchor chain. The Fox cackled as the Prince carried him more gently behind. We all landed on the coarse surface together—or rather, I was dropped onto it. But I had a retort ready (and a few minutes to make noise safely, assuming any natives still crawled about). “Says the grown man who sat alone on his asteroid so long he later called the Fox his wife…” The King turned purple but didn’t strike, just tried to shake me like a dusty rug until the Prince grabbed his sleeve. “That—that was a ruse to rescue our dear Fox! Snivel another word like that, and—” “Enough, please!” The Prince darted between us just as the King’s sceptre halted a hand’s breadth from his head. Was he defending me? Clinical. But convenient. If only he’d mind the others as well—the Fox was circling behind me, and the Hunter had unslung his rifle. “I don’t see what of Snake’s words could offend you, but he’ll apologise if—” I raised an eyebrow. Words cost nothing, and this faux-king might yet meet his end here if pushed correctly. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I merely wished to remind you of what you lack.” The King snorted, tilted his chin up, and stalked off. Without watching steps. Retribution was swift: he tripped into a trench. Alas, only his shoe heel broke. As everyone rushed to help, the incident dissolved. “What do the locals look like?” The Hunter sniffed the air. “Any game here?” “Just livestock. Was once, anyway. The natives are something of ants and spiders alike. About your size. So watch your step.” Trenches crisscrossed the ground—or rather, fissures of every scale, from Fox-ankle-deep grooves to King-sized ravines. Some were partially filled with a tough, rubbery grey substance. The Hunter sniffed for tracks but concluded the entire area was trampled. The retinue followed the Prince in a loose diamond formation, with me at the centre, as if I’d bolt. For once, I kept quiet. Gradually, B613 set behind the ‘equator’, a low ridge spanning the horizon. No one grew suspicious. Then the Fox decided to take the lead with a daring leap over a deep trench—and was yanked down by a burst of white threads from below. The King charged to his aid with a battle cry, only to faceplant as a spindly head emerged from another fissure and spat adhesive at his heel. The Prince rolled aside from another attack, as the full creature emerged: eight spindly legs flanking a round, brown body— BANG. The bug’s head snapped back, tangled in red mist. The Hunter, blast him! The ground shuddered. A low rumble built as the soil convulsed. I dropped to one knee, avoiding the King’s fate; he had tried to stand up only to somersault neatly into the trench, shoes flashing. Then he went silent, likely gagged by webbing. More bugs popped out around, their number tripled by two shadows cast by the opposing suns. The earth tilted; cracks spiderwebbed. No, no, no! It’d end before it began! Behind, the Hunter cursed. Three bugs had surrounded him, each his own height. One wrenched away his rifle; another swept his legs; the third fumbled to muzzle his shouts. The shaking worsened. The eight-legged locals, steadier than humans, finished trussing up their noisy captives. One approached me but since I stayed silent and listless, it just clicked its mandibles as a threat. The quake ebbed. Luck, for once. What now? If these bugs turned carnivorous, I’d have to rescue at least the Prince for the Rose. Unarmed, without even words to wield… The natives stirred, waving antennae and forelegs in silent communication. The Hunter’s victim crawled out, its forehead stained red but intact. Their blood ought to be greenish-yellow. Had the Hunter used paint rounds? How had this fool planned to hunt tigers on the rose planet? The tagged native scurried around to all his comrades, waving its antennae frantically, and the others stopped their bustling, bowed their heads before him, and crouched. Having received their orders, they began sorting out the prisoners: lifting them carefully with their jaws and knees, they dragged them off in a chain. One native hoisted the Fox; it took two for the Prince. As those two carried him past me, he shot me a look that was, to put it mildly, deeply unimpressed, and mumbled something through the webbing. I merely shrugged and put a finger to my lips. He fell silent, but the Hunter kept twitching and grunting stubbornly, and the three natives hauling him had to keep stopping to add more webbing. At that point, my ant sentinel also stirred, nudging me in the back. I took the hint and followed the procession as quietly as I could. It took all five of the remaining porters for the tall King, as I managed to notice with a glance back, before concentrating on the ground underfoot. They’d probably count stumbling as a breach of the silence. At least it’s easier walking in sneakers. But even so, I was beginning to tire and felt a pang of envy towards the others when the caravan reached its destination. The bugs unceremoniously dumped their captives, though nothing in the landscape had changed: the same ground… ah, no, there were a couple of differences: a large, triangular area was free of cracks, and its surface was more glossy and pale, almost yellow. “It is safe here,” the stained bug suddenly creaked, and the others began unpacking the guests, slicing through the webbing with sharp mandibles, pulling at the ends. The sticky mass came away from skin and fabric, albeit with difficulty—the Prince hissed repeatedly during the process—but it was utterly unwilling to detach from fur. I sat down on the ground again (why waste energy standing?) and admired how the ants were cutting away the webbing with jeweller’s precision, taking the fur with it. The Fox ended up with a mange-like trim; the Prince got off with a neatly trimmed nape; the Hunter, whose few remaining hairs were on the back of his head anyway, and whose moustache had thinned, was making quite a racket about his separately packaged rifle (still not returned to him). I shushed him and clarified that it was safe to speak here, not to yell. He lowered his volume, but then the Prince rounded on me: “Couldn’t you have warned us in advance?” “I did,” I shrugged. “Did I say the locals enforce silence? I did. You were the one planning to draw your own conclusions, so? Was it so difficult to deduce they won’t be like those who make a din? Not particularly. So how is any of this my fault?” “And the earthquake?” the newly freed Fox growled in a whisper. “You definitely didn’t mention that! No, I remember, you said something about the 'planet’s breath', but this isn’t breath, it’s a bloomin’ consumptive cough! Hey, excuse me,” he called to the nearest bug. “What was that? Does that happen often?” “Not tell a thing. Orders.” It waved him off with an antenna. Our bickering attracted the red-tagged native, and it headed towards the Fox. The Fox tucked his tail, but the Prince picked him up. Ah, shifting to diplomatic offensive. He introduced himself, named the Fox, and after a second’s hesitation, referred to the rest of his company collectively as 'friends'. Smooth. Of course, how was he to introduce me? As the Snake? What if the natives remembered me and held a grudge, like the crabs on the Planet of Roses, and the whole party suffered for my sake? Use my pseudonym? He wouldn’t want to lie and be reminded of the real Louis’s history… “So what is happening to your planet? Perhaps we can help?” “We not know. All’s as always,” the red-tagged one creaked. “We soldiers. Our task guard order. You almost woke the Abyss. The Queen soothed it. Messenger report to the Queen; she decide what to do with you.” “We didn’t mean to, we didn’t know. And… could you take us to your ruler to talk? We won’t make any more noise, I promise,” the Prince placed a hand on his chest… ah, no, just a gesture, he didn’t shift to his enhanced form. “Not,” the ant stuck to its line. “You suspicious. The Queen is our life. Outsiders not approach her.” “You say, a Queen?” the King spoke up, still lying a little way off. He was rather long; the bugs were still extracting him from the webbing. He spoke rather loud, and one of the soldiers immediately snapped its mandibles by his ear. The King continued in a loud whisper: “And I… am a King. A royalty, that is. And as one monarch to another, I demand to be taken to your ruler. I cannot converse with common rank-and-file soldiers.” “Royalty? Drone?!” the Red was taken aback, even sinking back onto its hind legs. Then it jumped up again, waved its antennae, and rushed to feel the King over, squeaking in a higher, more energetic pitch: “A real Drone? We need a Drone. Desperately.” “The most genuine and absolute!” the King tilted his nose up and pointed his sceptre-finger at his crown. The painted one felt the long, thin points with his antennae, clicking in delight. He tested the King’s sceptre with his mandible and became utterly inspired. “Healthy Drone,” he creaked under his breath. “Solid Drone…” Thanks to the peculiarities and customs of these bugs, the King was about to land himself in a great deal of trouble even without further nudging from me. “So, may I see the Queen?” the King reminded of his request. The ant froze, scratching a faceted eye with an antenna. “The puzzle… Shouldn’t. But he’s a drone. A Drone is needed. But he’s a foreigner. Noisy, stomping.” Oh, the perfect time to intervene, before the Prince offered to ferry everyone on a bird, which was undesirable. “Then carry him yourselves, the way you brought him here,” I suggested. “You walk quietly, after all.” Just in time. The Prince had already opened his mouth, but closed it again. The idea seemed harmless on the surface; the Red also clicked as approval and waved its antennae at the subordinates. The five moved towards the King again, but without enthusiasm, muttering something about upstarts and bossing around. The Red hissed at them, reared up onto its four back legs. “I lead squad!” it snapped almost loud and pointed a front leg at the spot on its forehead. “Since not long,” the last of the porters grumbled, and immediately got bitten in the hindbody. “There’s no need to quarrel!” the Prince immediately rushed to mediate. “We only wish to help, and to do that we need to know what is happening with you. But if you are so concerned for your ruler, then let the King go alone; we will wait here.” “What?” the royalty himself was outraged and nearly slammed his sceptre on the ground, but thought better of it in time. “They are my retinue and must accompany me! I vouch for them, and…” I coughed. “Well, except for that one,” he immediately corrected himself, jabbing his sceptre-finger in my direction. That’s better.        “Perfectly alright, Your Majesty,” the Prince interjected to smoothen things. “We’ll respect our hosts’ wishes. Visit the Queen alone and ask her to grant us an audience. Or inquire about the planet’s tremors yourself.” The King, still half-reclined, folded his arms. “Very well. Wait here, my friends. I shall send for you shortly.” And with that, he was borne away on his insect palanquin toward the plateau’s edge. “Remember about silence outside the safe zone,” I reminded him. Then, the finishing touch: “My, it’s been ages since you received proper royal treatment.” He huffed but said nothing. Good. The Prince, however, eyed me suspiciously. “Anything else you’ve conveniently forgotten to mention?” he pressed once the King vanished into the ravine. I shook my head. “Like what they eat,” the Fox cut in. “I wouldn’t mind joining their feast. Oy, many-legs! When’s dinner?” “In your turn,” an unmarked native piped. “Scarce even for us…” The red-tagged sergeant scuttled over, antennae whipping like admonishing fingers. Ambitious bug, that one. The rank-and-file clicked resentfully but obeyed, dispersing toward the fissures. Did they respect colour red that much? Under the Fox’s reproachful stare, the Prince offered assistance. The sergeant hesitated, then rasped: “You gave me mark. Made me sergeant. In thanks…” He gestured to two subordinates. “You two, fetch aphid. Now.” “But out of turn—” “One aphid. No herder. Perhaps noisy strangers milk it.” The Hunter, predictably, blundered in: “Just return my rifle! I’ll—” “No!” The sergeant’s mandibles snapped shut. “Too noisy. Forbidden.” The Prince intervened: “He’ll swear not to fire it here—” “Forbidden!” Time to stir the pot. I turned to the Hunter: “Can’t even guard properly now. Shall we rename you into ‘Slacker’?” “Why you—!” He lunged, only to trip as a soldier spat glue on his boot but otherwise didn’t move. Interesting. Minor infractions aren’t punished too hard. Need to check something, but not right now when everyone was busy with calming down and freeing the Hunter, and the Fox stared at me too close. And I needed an occasional glimpse of attention. While I waited for a right moment, the foragers returned, herding a towering, leaf-green and equally thin aphid, though its bulbous hindbody was nearly my height, dwarfing its negligible head and legs and thin, long rostrum. “How delightfully peculiar!” The Prince clapped. “Like a walking tree leaf!” “Just a standard aphid,” I muttered. His enthusiasm grated. The sergeant clarified the obvious: “Herders make aphid give syrup. Soldiers can’t. Few herders left. Old. Dying. Then we starve. But the Drone save us.” “Pfft!” The Fox raised his tail and circled the aphid. “The Little Prince can do anything, so where are my napkin, knife, and fork? Right, and… Is this actually edible? For us, I mean?” The bugs remained silent. “Ah, if only the Geographer were here…” the Prince sighed, checked his notebook just in case, before approaching the aphid. Then he suddenly looked back at me. “But we have another expert. What would you say? Is it not poisonous? And what about the herders, wat happened to them?” “Not the best person to ask,” the Fox bared his teeth. “And you bear in mind, when you answer, that we’ll be sharing it with you.” But a rank-and-file ant was the first to reply. “Without Drone, the Queen bears just soldiers. No herders, no nurses, no…” “Shush!” The Red cut it off, though he’d let quite a bit slip himself earlier. Revelling in the authority, no doubt. “Stop chatter to outsiders. You, try,” he flicked the aphid with an antenna. “It’s edible. Probably,” I pondered. “Can’t say for certain, though. Culinary matters never interested me.” The Prince snorted and scratched the aphid under its proboscis, then ran his hand along its ribbed flank. Seizing the moment, he asked the Red directly: “And what happened to your Drone?” “Unknown,” he grunted and scurried away from the questioning. The Prince glanced back at me, at the nearest bugs, and whispered: “So, where did the drone go? Was it your doing? And you didn’t mention they have problems with food and a king, not just the silence. Trying to cheat in small ways? The truth will be out anyway.” You don’t say. I feigned mild exasperation, though everything was proceeding according to plan. No need to mention that nutrition and reproduction were just secondary problems for these bugs. The main one he wouldn’t find, even though I all but named it. But I had to say something about the Drone. I moved closer so the locals wouldn’t overhear. The Hunter was practically treading on my heels. “There was a Drone once, long ago, but he expired: all the locals, except the Queen, have short lifespans. And no new ones have arrived. For this species, the so-called Drones—the males—fly to the planet’s Queens from other colonies.” Precisely so, they hadn’t arrived. I overlooked one rather weedy specimen, but he didn’t last long anyway. The rest, the viable ones, with a little hint from me, mistook the planet-oyster for their destination, crawled inside, and the pearls in the shape of flies were still lying there to this day. Meanwhile, the Prince had figured out which green stripes on the aphid’s flank to stroke to make it vibrate. Droplets of a clear liquid began to swell along the stripes. “Syrup!” all the ants started clicking and rushed, forgetting about strangers entirely, to collect the droplets with their mandibles. The Fox joined the throng, licked up a smaller globule, and exclaimed, “Sweet!” Fine, there was no alternative; I had to replenish this body’s energy reserves. When would this end? I was already so tired of it… The droplet proved to be sickeningly sweet. I made an effort to swallow it as quickly as possible and did not take a second helping. I still had a minor act of sabotage to stage. Trying to lick my palm clean of the sticky filth, I moved to the edge of the platform. One ant made as if to follow me, but I stopped at the border of the yellow zone, and it returned to food. Right, now to choose the spot precisely. I glanced as inconspicuously as possible at those still eating. The Hunter caught my eye despite my efforts and silently shook his fist at me. I gave him a nod. Let him try to unclench his fingers now. For the moment, I needed to move a few paces sideways along the edge so that, when I sat on the rim of the trench, my back would be squarely to the Hunter, but slightly angled towards the Fox, who was dashing around the aphid. The Fox needed to notice… The trench here was half-filled with the same whitish solid substance. I settled myself comfortably and tried to pry the mass loose with the toe of my sneaker. No, it was well-seated, firmly set. And if I kicked it? Better; the substance pulled slightly away from the wall. Now to give it a proper thump nearby, but not to get carried away. Mustn’t actually wake anything that shouldn’t be woken. Right, where was the Fox? What inconvenient peripheral vision humans have… Aha, a flash of ginger, and I kicked the mass more forcefully. “Hey, what are you playing at over there?!” he roared, forgetting all about the silence. Great. A bundle of furious fox immediately slammed into me. Fortunately, he didn’t resort to biting, but he tried to pull me back from the edge by my sleeve. The Prince was beside us in an instant, helping him, asking what was the matter. “Jis vile worm waj chrying to open a crack on je quiet and make je planet ekshplode!” the Fox reported through teeth clenched on my sleeve. The Hunter ran over too. He still hadn’t unclenched his fist, but managed with his left hand alone, dragging me back by the scruff of my neck. Unpleasant, but not fatal. Another point, all three of them had inadvertently shielded me from the ants, who were clicking their mandibles and also rushing towards me. White blobs of webbing were visible between their jaws. “Alright, alright, I won’t do it again!” I assured everyone present and tugged at my collar to get the airways free. Then I added, very quietly, just for the Prince: “But a bit of a shake would do the planet good.” “Yeah, pull the other one,” the Fox released my jumper and started spitting. Now, he had put holes in the elbow. “And don’t think I can’t stop you just because I haven’t got my rifle,” the Hunter added. And he presented his still-clenched fist. I sat quietly, no longer struggling, and the bugs decided that spitting wasn’t necessary, since my own lot had already given me a thrashing. One by one, by the Red’s command, the rank-and-file soldiers scurried to the trench and spat some extra glue-webbing into it. Essentially, the whitish mass was their hardened saliva. The Red didn’t participate in the repairs; it made its way to the Prince, who was already observing the natives' work with interest. “Your friend damaging seal? Yes?” he creaked in a lowered tone. “He’s no friend of ours!” the Fox clarified immediately, as the Prince nodded. “Quite the opposite! We only drag him along to keep an eye on him, so he doesn’t cause any more trouble.” “Then keep a better watch!” And Red went off to distribute kicks among his subordinates, organising a perimeter patrol. The Prince turned to me, planting his hands on his hips. “Were you genuinely planning to pick the adhesive off the entire planet by yourself?” he raised an eyebrow. Was he doubting it? Had it been unconvincing? I needed to correct that. “Water wears stone, as they say. If you find the right weak spot… I’m telling you, it would be for the best, but you refuse to believe me.” Time to redirect his attention. “And it seems we have all the time in the world. If the King has already been eaten…” The Fox actually jumped on the spot; the Hunter became agitated too. The Prince immediately went to intercept the Red for an explanation. The bug refuted all concerns, stating that their kind only ate the syrup from the aphids. The Fox growled under his breath, shooting a glance at me. Well, how could I not tease him? “It was a joke, for goodness’ sake. He’s probably over there stuffing himself with sweets, enjoying the company of his social equal, and has forgotten all about us.” “If you can’t tell a joke, don’t bother,” the Fox snapped. “Hearing about someone being eaten from you isn’t the least bit funny.” “Oh, come on. What, are jokes about food your exclusive monopoly?” The Hunter didn’t participate he was mourning his rifle dumped by the Red into another trench. The Prince was in no hurry to break the bickering up. Something else was troubling him—he paced back and forth, then stared intently in the direction where the King had disappeared. Yes, I had anticipated he would be detained for a long time, ideally forever, but he could have at least sent word to his friends that he was more than alright. Otherwise, the Prince would start to worry, would go off to rescue the King, would meet the Queen, and she could easily let something slip. Eventually, the Prince could stand it no longer and went to petition the Red again. But the bug categorically refused to let the outsiders approach the Queen. The Prince returned to the Fox empty-handed, but judging by how he was surveying the area and the natives, he was hatching a plan. And suddenly, he smiled. By the void, a plan indeed. Deliberately, he placed a hand over his heart, shifted into his dress uniform, even drew his sword, but did nothing except wait while the ants marvelled at his changed appearance and came closer to look and touch. To make matters worse, he gestured for the Hunter and the Fox, whispering some instructions to them. With sly grins, the two sat down tightly on either side of me. Well, well. And the Prince began to draw a line on the ground with his sword, like it was nothing special. A very meandering line. Moreover, he was gradually circling me with it around the perimeter. Ah, I see. He’s planning to escape the guards on a bird, drawing it right beneath us. No, that wouldn’t do at all; time to alert the bugs. Where was the Red? But before I could speak, a blow to my back nearly sent me pitching face-first into the dirt. The Hunter, with an agility surprising for his bulk, clamped a hand over my mouth. And on my right wrist, the Fox’s teeth closed rather painfully, though not to the bone. But I had no desire to test whether he’d nick an artery. Immediately, the ground beneath was replaced by the glowing white material, and the Prince flashed past as a blue shadow. The bird rocked, its wings beat, the ants squealed, but they were too late to either grab its edges or spit glue at it. “Let him go,” the Prince permitted quietly once the plateau was far behind. “That was just a precaution, in case you got it into your head to give us away too early.” The Hunter and the Fox obeyed. I tried to wipe my face with my sleeve—the Hunter still hadn’t properly washed the sap from his hands. That’s it, he’s next for elimination. Only then did I look around. The bird was flying over a wide gorge, the very one down which the King had been taken. The Prince hadn’t asked for directions. Evidently, he had no intention of trusting me whatsoever. And the gorge, though it still wound about, was growing wider. Quite an obvious direction. Naturally, a chaotic heap of rubble and fragments of resin of various shapes soon came into view in the distance, sprawling across the ravine and over the adjacent slabs. Yellowish ones, as in the safe zone.        The locals would be frightened for sure, but since this was a safe zone, they wouldn’t immediately restrain the visitors. The Prince might even talk his way into an audience. Bad. That meant I needed to stay close and steer the conversation away from dangerous topics. To remain nearby, I’d have to refrain from sabotage or sudden movements—for now. No one was in sight, anyway. The bird landed near the largest, circular entrance to the anthill. Another labyrinth. “What a massive burrow…” muttered the Hunter, peering into the dim passage. “The palace’s grand entrance,” I corrected. The Prince headed toward the opening. Careful now, soldiers could be lying in ambush. Best to send someone expendable ahead. “What’s wrong?” I addressed the Hunter. “Lost your courage without your rifle?” He spluttered, clenched his fists, and barged in first. His ridiculous hat, of course, caught on the entrance ceiling and tumbled to the ground, making him freeze and glance back in panic. But he quickly recovered, snatched it up, straightened— —And a local darted out from a side crevice. Smaller than the soldiers, lacking massive mandibles, but with a segmented body and at least twenty legs. It was hard to say who recoiled faster, the centipede or the Hunter. The Prince, ever the diplomat, ducked into the tunnel after it, calling out peaceful intentions. I let the Fox go next, while the Hunter brought up the rear, stammering excuses for his retreat. With this circus in pursuit, the bug didn’t stop until it scurried into a large chamber where the Hunter finally managed to refit his hat. The terrified native vanished behind a makeshift throne, a dais with a canopy and armrests but no back, presumably to accommodate the wings of the figure perched atop it. Crimson wings and sweeping antennae gave her the look of a moth, while her pearlescent scales made the Prince and the others gasp in admiration. Yes, many would find her beautiful. More importantly, the glitter distracted from her powerful forelimbs, folded inward in a prayer-like array. “Invaders! Guards!” she screeched, leaping up. “No-no, my dear, these are my friends!” The King’s voice rang out. He lounged nearby on cushions, platters of food before him. “Has something happened?” he asked the Prince with genuine surprise. The Prince faltered. “Well—no, we just… It’s been ages without word. We grew concerned.” “And nearly starved,” the Fox grumbled, ducking behind the Prince as more bugs emerged from the tunnels. Only one non-combatant remained—the centipede from earlier. The demographics hadn’t improved. “Really? Forgive us, we were… deep in conversation.” The King had the decency to look away. He might’ve blushed under his makeup. “Aye, happy hours fly unheeded,” the Fox sneered. The Prince prodded him as a standard conflict management. Careful now, he’ll surely— “Your Majesty,” the Prince addressed the moth, “we meant no harm, only to ask about your planet’s troubles and offer help—” “Though you seem to manage splendidly,” I cut in before he could mention me. “How do you do it?” Before the Prince could reclaim the narrative, the moth began clicking—softly at first, then faster until the rhythm became a melodic chirr. No one dared interrupt, not even the soldiers who’d filed in behind us. “I sing the earth a lullaby,” she explained after the final trill. “But it grows harder. Today, I barely succeeded. My sentry claims one of you caused the quake. Is this true?” “Yes, Your Majesty,” the red-tagged sergeant piped up, pointing at the Hunter. “This outsider with the thunder-stick. I confiscated it. Shall we bury him too?” “Please don’t! He didn’t mean to!” The Prince stepped between them. Here’s my chance to thin the herd. “Indeed, Your Majesty,” I added. “He merely fired in fear.” Go on, dig your own grave, runt. “Fear?!” The Hunter predictably bristled. “I fear nothing!” “So you attacked my soldier deliberately?” The moth’s voice sharpened. The soldiers closed in, mandibles glistening with adhesive. “Time to vanish into the notebook,” I purred. The Hunter heard me. And, of course, stayed put, though his bravado wavered as the bugs surrounded him. When one spat glue on his boot, he froze, hands raised. The Prince couldn’t shield him from all sides. He shot me a glare, then smiled at the Hunter. “Is it so bitter to admit fear? Especially,” he winked, “when you fear not for yourself?” Damn him! He’d figured out how to manipulate the Hunter. The oaf straightened, suddenly eager, and bowed to the moth before she could unleash her army. “Y-yes, Your Majesty! I feared for my friend the Fox—thought your, er, valiant warriors might… eat him. So I fired, but with a harmless paint pellet! I apologise for the noise. Won’t happen again.” Slick save. The moth resettled on her throne with a chirp, and the soldiers retreated. Though they left the Hunter to peel his boot from the floor. The sergeant scurried to her side, antennae drumming a report. “My sergeant says you milked the aphids,” she mused. “I’d command you to stay, but now that we have a Drone,” she glanced proudly at the King, who bowed from his cushions, “we are saved. New herders, builders, nurses will come…” “You can’t keep him against his will!” the Prince protested. “My young friend,” the King interrupted, “what gave you that idea? I remain willingly. I’m needed here far more than with you. At your tiny planet I was useless at best. Here, I’m home.” One down. The Prince sighed. “If this is your wish, I’m happy for you. But,” he turned back to the moth, “might I ask: has your land always trembled like this? Could it simply be… breathing?” Ah, testing my story. “Impossible!” The moth’s scales ruffled. “It began after I hatched here. At first, all was calm. I know no more.” Of course she didn’t. She and a few aphids had arrived as eggs from a distant colony, with only pictographic instructions (stolen soon by a passing swarm of Gloomies). I had merely… clarified things for the frightened young queen. Best leave before she mentioned that. “Your intentions are kind,” she continued, “but you’re too loud to soothe the earth. Your departure would help more than your presence. Leave swiftly.” “But we can soothe ground, too!” The Hunter perked up. “I have sleeping-gas cartridges. If you return my thunder-sti—er, too noisy. But your soldiers with those formidable jaws could crack the capsules in a deep fissure! Let the gas seep to the planet’s core.” He had those? Convenient. And what colour were they? The Hunter scooped a handful of cartridges with dark blue casings from his bag. So what, then, was in the green and lilac ones? I feigned displeasure just enough to seem genuine. The Prince glanced at me, then reached for his notebook. For what? “A pity the Businessman and the Geographer haven’t returned yet…” he murmured and began sketching something with his pencil. “But I have an idea for a lullaby for your planet, too.” He blew on the page, and a box with a funnel on one side and a crank-handle on the other appeared before the monarchs. “This is a musical box,” the Prince explained. “If you place the funnel against the ground and turn the handle, the sounds of the lullaby will permeate the entire planet, and you will be able to rest and take a walk. Your servants can stand watch over the earth’s slumber for you.” The Queen quivered her antennae. I did hope she accepted the gift and wasn’t afraid of losing her importance in the eyes of her people. Oh, but of course, she had many other functions. And the most crucial thing, the Prince believed in precisely the opposite of what I said. “Then we can take our leave with peace of mind.” Now, don’t let the triumph show.