The Hives of Titan

The Hives of Titan

Author's note: All characters have grown from larva to pupa and have hatched as fully mature adults. (Er, all characters are over 18.)

* * * * *

Everyone in the hive had a purpose. Workers had huge abdomens and thoraxes so they could excavate and carry away debris. The thick exoskeleton of hunters protected them when they ventured outside to gather food and ice. Black-haired blessers educated and chanted, and tenders saw to the needs of the Queen.

Everyone had a purpose but me. I was a breeder. I waited.

We breeders were twenty in all. Not only were we the smallest caste in number, but, at half the height of tenders and blessers, we were also the shortest. We ate when hunters brought us hydrocarbons from the surface. Other than that, the colony ignored us. We groomed each others emerald fur. The rest of the time, we waited.

I could only wonder why the hive needed me, a short little breeder.

My antennae twitched and tingled. The tunnels were lined with pheromones, guiding workers and hunters to their tasks. I had thought pheromones were for other castes, but this scent was impossible to ignore. My brother breeders smelled it too. Their antennae danced, and their black eyes widened.

The pheromone led us into the tunnels, lit with the cyan light of glowstones. We dodged the massive bulk of workers and hunters impeding our path. They were oblivious to the pheromone beacon that only we could see, as if it were laid only for breeders. For us, the pheromone was more than a line to follow. It was a compulsion, a command that must be obeyed.

We found a blesser in the chamber where the pheromone ended, its head and thorax protruding from its black robe. Its antennae stood high, and its black fur grew in patterns and whorls over its gray skin. We sat and quieted. The chamber could have held triple our number.

"Every caste in the hive has a purpose, even breeders." The blesser addressed us, cyan glowstones reflecting in its black eyes. "Your purpose is to father the next generation."

My ears and antennae turned toward the blesser. It had my full attention.

"Between your legs, you have a propagator." The blesser's words were true. My fleshy ochre appendage rested beneath my green robe. "This makes you breeders the most important caste in the colony--after the Queen. With your propagator, you can fertilize her eggs. No other caste in the colony can do that."

The blesser explained that the hive's other castes--workers, hunters, blessers, and tenders--were sexless. Only us twenty breeders were male, and the Queen was the sole female.

The Queen calls to her breeders during Reve, and Reve will soon be upon us. That is why I called you here, so you will know how to respond--how to fulfill your sole purpose to the hive."

And I had wondered if I had any purpose at all.

"None of you have seen the Queen. Breeders are only allowed in her chamber during Reve. You might be surprised to learn that she looks like no other member of the colony." The blesser raised a sheet of slate and leaned it against the chamber wall. A representation of the Queen had been etched into the slate. "She is long like a worm, naked and white. She has eighty-six legs, forty-three on each side of her body, but she is too fat to move. To fertilize her, you'll need to squeeze between her legs. Your small size will enable you to do so."

The blesser displayed one slate diagram after another. As it continued to lecture, the diagrams and our genetic memory combined to give us a full understanding of the Queen's anatomy. We learned of the many orifices between her legs, and the egg vaults behind them. The blesser explained how larvae are born, how they pupate in the nursery chambers, and how they hatch, fully mature, ready to conduct the work of the hive.

As the blesser continued its lecture, Someone entered the chamber, and I turned. It was a tender.

I rarely saw one. They spend their lives serving the Queen, feeding and cleaning her. Like all tenders, this one was twice my height, almost as tall as the blesser. It looked at me with its black eyes, like spheres of polished carbon. Above the neck of its yellow robe, golden fur covered its head and thorax.

"You won't need anyone to tell you when it's Reve," the blesser said. "You'll know it's time to fertilize the Queen by her pheromones."

The tender took this as a cue and entered the room. It carried a ceramic amphora sealed with cream-colored wax. It passed the amphora to the blesser.

"Behold, the Queen's secretions!" The blesser held the amphora high in the light of the glowstones. "Harvested by tenders during the last Reve. For blessers, tenders, hunters, and workers, it is inert. But for you breeders, the scent is a powerful aphrodisiac, and has been known to cause aberrant behavior." The blesser broke the wax seal.

An aroma danced on currents of air, and I sampled it with my antennae. It was dank and musty, a primal chemical scent that spoke directly to the core of my soul. Some change overcame me, a metamorphosis beyond my understanding. My propagator swelled and throbbed.

My brother breeders had a similar experience, as evidenced by their wide black eyes and protuberances beneath their robes.

But this was more than some physiological reaction. I couldn't get enough of that scent. I had to be with the Queen, and I would not let anything stop me.

"One more thing," the blesser said. "Our colony is shrinking. To ensure strong seed, you will..."

What it said next, I didn't hear. Once I sampled those pheromones, I could no longer focus on its words.

Then we were dismissed. My brother breeders crowded around the chamber entrance to leave. I imagined we made quite a sight, twenty little breeders with engorged propagators under our robes.

As I was about to leave the chamber, someone pushed me from behind, and I fell to the hard dirt floor.

"Move aside!"

I looked up at one of my brother breeders. No light reflected in his malevolent black eyes, and his ears had flattened hatefully.

"Eat my seed sac, larva."

I tried to rise, but he planted a foot on my chest and pushed me into the worn stones as he marched out of the chamber. Other breeders followed, chittering as they left.

The tender helped me to my feet, and I brushed the dirt from my green robe. It studied me with its black eyes, and the corners of its mouth parts angled into a smile. "Let me help you out of the chamber," it said, and I held its hand as it led me into the tunnels beyond.

The tunnels buzzed with workers and the occasional blesser. We stepped aside to avoid a hunter with its hairless black exoskeleton, its wings folded back, a chunk of hydrocarbon in its mouth parts. The tender did not let go of my hand. It seemed to have some destination in mind. We passed glowstone after cyan glowstone as we navigated the maze of passages. Where the tender was leading me, I did not know, nor did I care. My antennae still tingled from sampling the Queen's intoxicating aroma. My throbbing propagator knocked against the tender's leg with every step we took. All I could think about was the Queen and what I wanted to do to her. The tunnels took on new meaning, as if they were orifices that only I could penetrate.

The tender stopped where a dark tunnel branched away. There were no workers here, no other members of the colony. We were alone.

It grasped my hard propagator through my robe. "Would you like help with this?"

I had no idea what the tender had in mind. I knew they saw to the Queen's needs. This tender probably knew all sorts of things about her. Maybe it would tell me secrets to ensure my success in the next Reve.

I looked into the tender's black eyes. "Yes."

It nodded.

We proceeded down the dark tunnel. It was empty, excavated by workers in better times when the hive was strong, but abandoned as each new generation shrunk in population. We walked carefully to avoid crystals of sodium and silicon growing from the unfinished walls. The air in this tunnel was cool and carried a fresh wet smell of liquid hydrocarbons. As we went deeper, the tunnel brightened, and a pink light illuminated the stones and crystals ahead.

At the end, we were at the bottom of a vent chimney. It towered above us, ending at a circle of magenta sky. Fresh nitrogen and methane poured into the hive from above, moist with the perfume of propane rain that shrouded the world outside in misty curtains.

We sat together on a rock bench--the tender, myself, and my throbbing propagator.

"You're probably thinking about the Queen right now," it said.

I was. One whiff from that amphora had rewired my brain, and I could no sooner forget the aroma than forget to breathe. Every thought revolved around the Queen and her heavenly scent. If I could, I would spend the rest of my life pumping my propagator into her orifices, lost in the delirium of her aroma.

"Sometimes, I wish I were the Queen. It sounds crazy, I know. But it's true."

"But you are not the Queen. You are a tender. You are sexless." We were all born into our caste. A tender could no more be the Queen than I could be a hunter.

"Maybe we could pretend I'm female. If you think of me as female, it will help with this." The tender grasped my propagator through the robe, stroked her hand over my firmness through the cloth. "So, I'm female, okay?"

With its hand on my propagator, I would've agreed to anything.

"Okay," I said.

"Maybe we could pretend you're fertilizing me." It--she--raised my robe, and my naked ochre propagator throbbed. She caressed me with her hands. No one had ever touched my propagator like that before, not even me.

Before encountering the Queen's scent, my propagator had been a flaccid appendage, something unique to us breeders, with a utility we could only speculate about. Now that I'd inhaled the Queen's pheromones, it stood hard as a rock. With her hand stroking up and down, my propagator felt like it was drifting on currents of methane, and I needed that air, needed to swim in it, needed her touch.

"Should I tell you about the Queen's orifices?"

The blesser's diagrams flashed in my memory. "Yes, yes."

"They're warm and wet, like this." She bent over my propagator. Saliva, clear and thick with polymers, drooled from her mouth parts. Each stroke of her hand lubricated my throbbing shaft.

My propagator responded by hardening even further. Veins ribbed my rod, and my seed sac felt suddenly heavy.

"Close your eyes. Imagine you have squeezed between the Queen's many large legs. Imagine you're at her orifice, wet and pungent, penetrating it with your hard propagator."

The imagery came easy. The sensation of the tender pumping my shaft overtook my consciousness. This--yes, this--was how it would feel to fertilize the Queen. A Thrilling and vibrant feeling. A certainty that my breeder body was designed for one sole purpose. A tingling from the fur on my ears to the pads of my feet.

As she stroked my slick shaft, she dribbled still more saliva, and the chimney above us echoed with the wet slapping sounds of her hand pumping my hard propagator. When she suddenly let go, I almost cried out.

But the tender had something else in mind.

She stood and pulled her yellow robe from her shoulders. The garment dropped to the rubble, and she stepped out of it. Her naked golden fur, glowing from the small circle of magenta sky above, took on a heavenly glow. She kept her black eyes on mine, and I stared back, entranced. Starting at her thorax, she petted her fur, ending at the sexless valley between her legs. She turned slowly and caressed her backside, covered with the same glowing hair. Lower her hands went, until she massaged the furry globes at her bottom. She sat on the bench, raised her legs, and with both her hands, she spread her globes apart.

"The Queen's orifice is tight and deep," she said, her voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. "Put your hard shaft inside my tight hole."

I stood behind the tender. In the dark crevice between her two spread globes, her excretion hole puckered and gaped. I moved closer, drawn to that orifice and the tight, warm promise it held. The bulbous head of my rod, dripping with her slippery saliva, pressed against it. The hole seemed too small, my propagator too large. Yet, with the aroma of the queen's pheromones still fresh in my memory, that tiny orifice begged for penetration.

I drooled saliva from my mouth parts. The polymer-rich goo landed in a slick glob on her puckered orifice. I rubbed the spittle within the dark crevice with my throbbing propagator. Then, transfixed, I held her furry abdomen and pushed inside.

"Oh. Oh, yes." She spread her globes further, pushing back, an unspoken plea for my propagator to plunge deeper.

Her hand had felt wonderful, but couldn't compare to this warm, deep excretion hole. As I pushed in, it gaped and yielded, and as I pulled out, it gripped and sucked, reluctant to let go. My propagator swelled and ached with every thrust. My one purpose, my one reason for being was to ram my stiff rod into this tight, wet orifice.

"Fuck me," she said. "Fuck your Queen with that hard rod. Spill your seed deep inside me."

My entire body felt an excitement, a growing desire, a revelation of my purpose, primal and unstoppable. With every fiber of my body, from the tips of my antennae to the engorged head of my throbbing rod buried deep inside her, I knew that I must fertilize this orifice, fill it with my seed, and pump until I am spent.

"Ohhh!" A deep visceral sound erupted from my mouth parts. My eyes clenched shut, and explosion of stars appeared inside my eyelids. My seed sac begged for release. Every muscle in my body tightened.

My stiff rod convulsed and spasmed. With thrust after thrust, I shot my seed deep inside her, filling her excretion hole with goopy white liquid. I kept pumping, and with each thrust, more of the liquid squirted out and puddled at my feet. Soon both of us were covered in my slick essence.

After I withdrew, we sat and caught our breath. The aroma of the Queen's pheromones was gone from my memory, and my senses returned. Between my legs, my flaccid propagator drooled slick white goo over my seed sac.

Twice my size, the tender held me in her arms. "That must be what it's like for the Queen in Reve." She stroked the fur at the base of my antennae.

"Your excretion hole was wonderful. I don't know how the Queen could feel as good." I drew a line with my finger where her fur parted over her abdomen.

"If I were a queen, we could do this all the time." She looked down as if ashamed. "I think I was born into the wrong caste."

"The wrong caste? Why, you're a tender. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, if you like being a tender. But I feel like a Queen inside. A Queen locked in a tender's body."

That was hard to imagine, but I could see how it would be a problem. Suppose, instead of being in a breeder body, I was in a hunter body. Everyone would think I knew how to fly and gather hydrocarbons. But in my heart, all I would want to do is fertilize the Queen.

"I can't imagine how hard that would be."

"Just be happy all you want to do is breed."

I did want to breed. When the Queen's pheromones called, I would be ready.

* * * * *

Time passed. The hive lived. Tenders saw to the feeding and cleaning of the Queen. Hunters gathered hydrocarbons and crystals from outside. Workers cleansed and prepared the nurseries inside. Blessers consecrated and sang hymns. Each caste contributed to the health of the whole.

Except breeders. We went back to waiting.

I didn't know what purpose waiting served. I suspected the blesser had deceived us. If I had to imagine the truth, we had no purpose in the hive at all. We would not fertilize the Queen. There was no Reve. Why should I believe otherwise? After all, each moment was much like another.

Until it wasn't.

Tenders must have noticed first, a sudden change in the Queen. Soon her sweet secretions drifted through every tunnel and chamber. The moment my antennae sampled that irresistible aroma, I knew deep within my abdomen that she was calling her breeders.

It was true--I had a purpose!

At the appointed time, I gathered with my brother breeders in the antechamber, lit red from the light of ceremonial glowstones. The Queen's scent had rewired us, stirred us into an angry and desperate frenzy. Breeders paced without aim, as did I, agitated as we were. Scuffles broke out as we brushed against one another. One breeder sat in a corner, pulling out clumps of his own fur. Another swayed back and forth, chittering to himself, staring at nothing. More than one of us manipulated our own propagators, and the stonework was slick with our seed. I would charge into the Queen's chamber given half a chance, but workers blocked the passage.

Two tenders towered over me. With the Queen's pheromones saturating the air, I hardly cared as they removed my robe, exposing my stiff propagator. They used sharp blades to scrape away my emerald fur, then slathered oil upon my naked ochre skin. Their fingers probed every fold and crevice for body hair they might have missed. Only vaguely did I notice tenders doing the same to my brother breeders, all of us naked, our seed sacs heavy, our propagators oiled and erect. When the tenders' work was complete, the red light of glowstones danced in tiny reflections on my brother breeders' oily skin.

A blesser--perhaps the same who had explained fertilization, they all looked the same--sang praises and consecrations upon us. Its songs echoed through the silos where hunters stored food, resounded in the nursery chambers wet with embryonic fluids, and reverberated within the empty tunnels of our shrinking hive. Though beautiful, I found it hard to focus on its paeans. The Queen called to me with her pheromones. My propagator was stiff as stone, and I needed relief. If this blesser continued to croon, I would bend it over and take its excretion hole, as I had the tender's.

We'd been cleaned, shaven, and oiled. Finally, the blesser had consecrated us to our task. We were ready. Except...

"One final preparation remains." The blesser looked around the antechamber. "As we all know, the colony is shrinking. We must become stronger. To help us grow, we must ensure strong seed."

The blesser approached me. It twisted a band of twine around my arm, and I felt the weight of a sheathed blade. As the blesser spoke, black fur flapped around its gray mouth parts.

"May your seed propagate," it said.

It moved on to the next breeder, and the next, until sheathed blades adorned the arms of every breeder.

"You will fight to the death. The last breeder standing will fertilize."

This was insanity. We were breeders. The role of our caste was clear.

One breeder stepped forward. "But, how can we fight? We are not hunters."

"Do you want to fertilize the Queen?"

We all grunted, our propagators throbbing.

"Then you will fight to win. Only one will fertilize."

The polished surface of my carbon and iron blade reflected the frenzied dancing light of the glowstones. My fellow breeders looked around the antechamber with their emotionless eyes. They were my brothers, but I was a breeder. Nothing would keep me from the Queen. If I must kill my brothers to breed, so be it.

The blesser bade us present ourselves before the Queen. The workers moved aside, standing in mute respect as we stepped past.

As I was about to enter the passage, I felt a hard shove from behind and fell to the stone floor.

"Out of my way, larva."

With the Queen's pheromones stirring me to frenzy, I rose too quick, and he shoved me back to my knees--the same breeder from the classroom chamber.

He pushed at my mouth parts with his rigid propagator. "I'll kill you first, then the others." He shoved me again and chittered as he stomped past.