Queen of Jarilo

As efficient as the Bugs were, it still took a while for the whole group to feed. While the room was packed with individuals from every caste that he had seen so far, this could not be the whole hive, there must be many rooms such as this spread throughout the tunnel network. Just how big was this place? How many Bugs lived here?

Hive ships were smaller than jump carriers, and it had always been assumed that only a few hundred Bugs would have been able to live on one for any length of time, but that assumption relied on human standards of living. Perhaps they had been packed like sardines, making use of every inch of available space in a way that humans just wouldn't have been able to tolerate, or was it possible that they just reproduced at a rate that far exceeded anyone's expectations? In either case, the ground war did not look like it was leaning in the UNN's favor.

Feeding time seemed to be over, the Bugs had eaten their fill, and they were starting to file out of the room. The Repletes were mostly empty, their huge bellies and hanging breasts had shrunk back down as if they were made of elastic, leaving them with flat chests and abdomens that resembled those of their fellows. Not all of the food had been eaten however, a handful of the Repletes were still bloated with the amber fluid, reminding Walker of pregnant women as they held their heavy bellies and walked with a cautious determination. He was surprised to see some of the heavier ones drop down onto all fours, using their lower pair of legs to walk, their swaying bellies hanging beneath them. That was why their lower limbs were so heavily reinforced, to let them move about while at full capacity. They might be moving to another room to feed a different group of Bugs, or perhaps their stock of honey would be consumed the following day.

Now the different castes were breaking off into groups, the Drones going down one tunnel, the Workers and Pilots heading towards their own respective exits. There was an aura of fatigue about them, their relaxed pheromones instilling a desire to yawn in Walker as Fig took his wrist in its hand, leading him towards the group of Workers that was filing out of the room. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was in these dirt tunnels, lit only by the luminescent moss that clung to the ceiling, but he got the distinct impression that it was the end of their day.

Contrary to popular belief, ants did sleep. The Queens could slumber for anywhere up to nine hours, while the Workers took a series of short naps throughout the day, ensuring that the maximum possible number were awake at any one time. The Betelgeusians were sentient, far smarter than earth ants, and so it stood to reason that they would require more sleep. The Krell and the Borealans slept, the UNN had not encountered any species thus far that didn't. Although science understood little about the process or its purpose, it seemed to become increasingly necessary as the complexity of the animal in question grew.

It was intoxicating. Walker found his eyelids growing heavy as the sleepy pheromones washed over him, his body responding to the signals. He was ready to turn in, the day had been long and trying, but he had expected Fig to lead him back to his cell when they had finished with their alien job hunt. This was a different tunnel, however, Walker was becoming adept at identifying the different scents. If they weren't going back to his cell, that might pose a problem, his MREs and his water were back there. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything since Fig had come to collect him, it had been at least twelve hours or more. Fig had obviously expected him to feed with the rest of the hive, the concept that Walker might have done otherwise would not have crossed its mind. They lived regimented lives, and his divergent behavior seemed to be a source of perpetual surprise and frustration to the Bugs around him.

Could Walker make his way back to the cell under his own power if it became necessary for his survival? Yes, he was pretty confident that he could follow his nose. The more time he spent in this hive, the more the different scents and pheromones jumped out at him. He found that he was making a mental map of the tunnels that he traveled in much the same way that he would take note of landmarks and points of interest in the field so that he might orient himself in hostile territory. He was surprised by how quickly his new senses were merging with his old ones, his brain adapting to this new environment remarkably quickly.

As they marched down the tunnel the column of Workers narrowed, shifting towards one side of the dirt passage. Walker was a head taller than the Bugs, and so he could see over them, watching as a second column of Workers passed them to the right. These were alert, energetic, a few of them turning their heads to watch him as they walked by. Efficiency was the name of the game in this self-contained society, and Walker was certain that these Workers had just woken up. They would be resuming their tasks with a minimal delay as the different groups cycled through.

They continued down the winding passages, and Walker wondered how the Bugs planned them. It seemed random to him, chaotic, the tunnels rising and falling as they branched off in directions that didn't make any sense. What might a map of this place look like? He would have liked to make one, had they not confiscated his wrist-mounted computer.

They emerged into a new chamber made of packed dirt, smaller than the large domes that contained the factories, about the size of an average subway station. There was less luminescent moss clinging to the ceiling than in other parts of the colony, and while it wasn't completely dark, the glow barely served to light the room. It was even warmer and more humid here, bordering on unpleasant, but the Bugs seemed to like it. They spread out into the space, jostling as they found places to sit and lie down, personal space was apparently not in their vocabulary.

It was clear that they were going to sleep, and Fig led him over to one of the clusters of Bugs, shuffling into a pile of maybe five or six and trying to pull Walker in. This did not look like an environment where he'd be getting his regulation eight, and so he struggled, trying to pull away. Fig's grip was like iron, and the Workers around his handler reached out to grab him, two dozen pairs of hands gripping his fatigues as he fell forward into their midst.

Once again he resigned himself, sitting on the dirt floor as the Workers around him shifted and moved about, the ground surprisingly soft now that he thought about it. The resin that they usually used to seal in the soil was not present on the floor, it was fresh and a little damp from the humidity. He had slept in far more uncomfortable places in his time.

He wasn't sure what the Workers were doing, but whatever it was, they weren't sleeping. They began to fawn over each other, their many hands seeming to stroke their immediate neighbor's shells, brushing off dirt and rapping on each other's carapaces. It reminded him of the way that the Drones had calmed the upset Workers earlier in the day, petting them. Perhaps the Bugs found the percussive sensation somehow soothing. They were grooming one another like monkeys, fingers probing into the breaks between their chitinous plates, picking put any flecks of soil that might have become lodged in there during the day. Most of them were diggers who spent their time covered in dirt, it made sense for them to groom one another at the end of the day.

This must be how they bathed, and it might be a form of bonding too. Ants cleaned their antennae meticulously, and many species of insect were remarkably clean, like the cockroaches who so notoriously hurried away to wash themselves when touched by a human.

He felt hands grasping at his clothing, several of the Bugs exploring, seemingly confused by his fatigues. The Betelgeusians did not seem to wear clothes, but the Drones wore armor, perhaps they would be able to draw a parallel?

His suspicion was confirmed as they began to tug at his jacket, figuring out that it was some kind of artificial material and that his true body lay beneath it. He tried to fight them off, he wasn't being restrained in any way, but the sheer number of Bugs that were boxing him in and tugging at his garments made escape impossible.

He did not fear them, he knew that they meant him no harm. The Workers seemed to have no concept of violence, and their pheromones were reassuringly calm and curious. This was another line that he did not intend to cross, however. He had to make his displeasure known to them at some point.

Their claw-like fingers found their way beneath his clothes. They were dull, and the Bug's exoskeletons were somewhat flexible, reminding him of softer plastics. He shivered as he felt their hands pull open his jacket and roam across his skin, their expressive eyes wide and curious as they leaned in closer to examine his alien physiology. There were two dozen hands roaming across his chest and belly, more on his back, and he flinched as he felt one of them run its fingers down his spine. They would never have been this close to a vertebrate before, nor a mammal, a warm body with an endoskeleton must be a novel thing indeed.

They were gentle in their explorations, tracing the lines of his ribs, pausing at his nipples and his navel to examine them. His muscles were a curiosity to them, and they tested their firmness, prodding softly and letting his flesh spring back. More Bugs were joining the group now, leaning in to place a hand on his body, those that were too far away to reach him rubbernecking instead.

He twitched in surprise as he felt something warm and wet on the back of his neck, snapping his head back to see one of the Bug licking him, its tongue long and sinuous like a worm in its own right. It left a smear of that sticky saliva, Walker reaching an arm behind his head to wipe it away, and it clung to his fingers with the consistency of jelly.

Had the Worker just wanted to taste him? No, the other Bugs were doing the same, polishing each other's smooth shells with their winding tongues. It was like they were buffing a car, the strokes of their muscular organs cleaning away any dirt and giving their carapaces a bright sheen. These were such deeply social creatures, innocent in a way, and he had to admit that he found their care and nurturing nature somewhat endearing.

During the opening years of his military service, he had hated the Betelgeusians with a fiery passion. He had referred to them as roaches, buggers, reveling in his spite along with his fellow soldiers. The Bugs had deserved their hatred, they were needlessly aggressive, incapable of diplomacy and cruelly callous towards their enemies. They employed painful and unethical weapons against civilian population as well as against enemy combatants, respecting no rules of engagement and seeming to desire only the extermination of any foreign species that occupied their chosen planets.

Over time Walker had grown tired of hatred. As he had gained experience, so too had he started to see the war in a different light. You could not hold an animal in contempt, you could not expect civil or rational behavior from creatures so alien, and thus his malice had subsided. It had been replaced with a sense of duty. The Bugs needed to be removed for the safety of UNN and Coalition worlds, they were a threat to civilized life, and so he took on the role of an exterminator. His kills were clinical, methodical. When he shot a Bug he did not feel pride or enmity, it merely put him one step closer to solving a larger problem.

He was reminded of a famous quote from old Earth. A reporter had asked a sniper, embroiled in one of the many conflicts of the era, what he felt when he shot an enemy. The sniper had shrugged his shoulders and replied, recoil.

This new, more sympathetic side of the Bugs was making him reconsider his position. They were not mindless machines whose only desires were to kill and feed, and although he wasn't about to start regretting his military career, he would have to reevaluate his position. They were still the enemy, these new revelations did not diminish their abhorrent actions during the war in any way, but there was something deeper going on here. He would have to get to the bottom of it.

He was roused from his thoughts by an alien hand sneaking below his belt line, making him jump, and he batted the questing limb away. It was soon replaced by more, they had removed his jacket, and now they would remove his pants. He fought against them, but to no avail. Even if he was to punch one squarely in the face, it would do little against their hard exoskeletons. He didn't want to get violent with them either, he knew that they were just curious, trying to involve him in their daily routine as best they could manage despite his alien physiology.

He felt a tongue lash at his neck again, warm and wet with their special brand of viscous saliva, tickling his skin as it writhed. One of the Bugs was attempting to wash him, and though he had no shell, the insect was not deterred. Perhaps it enjoyed his taste, his skin was covered in salt due to the exertion during his brief stint as a tunnel digger.

They were fascinated by his hair, too. One of them ran its dexterous lower hands across his head, stroking him in a way that might have been quite pleasant under different circumstances.

Fortunately for Walker, his belt was an enigma to the aliens, an exotic locking device that they could not comprehend. Several of them crowded around, leaning Walker back against the Bugs behind him as they fumbled with the clasp, confused pheromones filling the air that only served to attract more Workers. They were curious creatures indeed, fixated on the problem at hand, Walker forgetting his discomfort as he watched them.

It spoke to their social nature. When the Workers encountered a problem, they released scents into the air that alerted any individuals nearby, two heads being better than one. Working together, they finally succeeded in unfastening the clasp, Walker protesting as they pulled his trousers down around his ankles. They had neglected to remove his boots, however, and again they crowded around as they attempted to solve the enigma of his laces.

They overcame the problem remarkably quickly, they were smarter than he gave them credit for, pulling off his boots and his pants along with them. He felt more hands on his legs, so unlike the jointed limbs of the insects. They seemed fascinated by the hair on his shins. He wondered what they could feel through that shell, how sensitive their fingers were. Did they approximate the human sense of touch or was it like feeling something through a thick glove?

He felt more tongues now, a Worker with a deep purple shell and a horn like an elk leaning down to drag the damp organ across his belly. The tip snaked into his navel, making him shudder, leaving snail trails of goo. Another was washing his inner thigh, its slimy tongue grazing his erogenous zones.

This was all becoming a bit much for him. There was a bulge in his underwear, Walker could never have been aroused by these alien insects, but his body was responding to them regardless of his feelings on the matter. One of them seemed to smell the dirt that still remained on his fingers, the tips stained black from when he had been digging earlier in the day, and he felt its tongue take hold. It guided his hand towards its mouth, its oral opening scarcely large enough to pass both his digit and its tongue, drawing his index finger inside. The Workers did not seem to eat solids, only the honey from the Repletes, their mouthparts looked ill-suited to much else.

It was warm inside, Walker grimacing as he felt fleshy walls close around his digit, the material similar in texture to the inner cheeks of a human. The alien's drool made it slippery and wet, and there was a powerful suction as the Worker cleaned off the dirt, again lending credence to his theory that all they ate was honey.

More of them crowded around, sucking his fingers, their long tongues glancing across his skin as they washed him.

It was so hot in this chamber, he couldn't think straight. The muggy air was making sweat pour from his body, and the aliens were licking it off him like he was a damned ice cream cone. They might be treating him as a living mineral lick. Many animals visited mineral deposits to lick away the nutrients and biometals in order to supplement their diets, it was common for farmers and hunters to leave out blocks of salt for their animals. Human sweat contained sodium and chloride, bicarbonate and calcium, along with other electrolytes and minerals. The Bugs might well be attracted to it, perhaps gleaning some nutrition from him that they could not obtain from their diet of honey alone.

He leaned back against the Bug who was sat behind him, its four arms supporting his weight effortlessly despite its smaller stature, its tongue roaming across his shoulders and neck. All around him were more Workers, curious hands probing, eager tongues tasting every inch of his skin.

Sparks were flying in his brain, his beleaguered body twitching and shivering at every touch, the sensation was overwhelming. His erection was beating like a heart now, straining against the fabric of his shorts, a purely physiological reaction. At least that's what he kept telling himself. More of them were coming over to see what all the fuss was about, as if Walker was the center of the room, every Bug clamoring to get a taste of him.

There was something else in the air too, something that was tickling at his new sensory organ. It was musky, thick, a scent like strawberries that came through pink and syrupy. It was so hard to describe, his brain fumbling as it passed the information through familiar filters, like a kind of synesthesia. With a start he realized that it was coming from him, seeping through his pores, pheromones that were piggybacking on his sweat. The Bugs seemed especially interested in it, tasting it on his skin as they licked, nipping at him with their hard mandibles and chittering. They became excited, the air in the chamber filling with their own scents, a reciprocity of pink pheromones. There were other emotions mixed in, expectation, urgency. What was happening?

Could it be possible that this new organ not only allowed him to sense pheromones, but to produce them too? Would it be possible to communicate with them directly as they did with one another?

He felt chitinous fingers tug at the elastic of his waistband, dragging down his underwear, his member bouncing free. The pheromones were clouding his mind, his breath becoming ragged, a heat rising in his cheeks. He had never been so aroused. His heart was hammering in his chest, his mind fogging as their scents washed over him.

The sensation was similar to the others that he had felt during his explorations of the hive, the signals in the pheromones inducing a powerful, almost primal urge in him. To eat, to follow, and now...to mate.

He could fight it, overcome it if he had wanted to, but when combined with his own brand of human excitement it was a powerful aphrodisiac indeed. He found himself making excuses like a horny teenager, anything to justify indulging the burning need that was rising within him. He told himself that nobody would ever find out, that the pheromones were controlling his mind, but deep down he knew that it wasn't true.

He felt as if the sensory organ had tapped into the deepest and most base recesses of his brain, bypassing his conscious mind as it communicated with his primal instincts directly, his evolutionary source code. The clouds of pheromones that the Bugs were emitting were making his mouth water, the scent of females powerful and prominent in his mind. It was not the Bugs themselves that smelled so enticing, but once again his brain was filtering the information as best it could, correlating the scents with his own memories and experiences. They flashed in his mind like a slide show, each smell linked with some long forgotten memory.