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mc776[This was sitting in my notes file for far too long.]
Only when Chief started talking about the gods entering into our forest did we clue in that the hive-voice was repeating everything he was saying for the gods that remained in the hive. But we were only getting what Chief was saying, and the hive was not the addressee: had he been speaking directly with the hive, surely we (being literally pressed against the body of the hive itself) would have been picking up its side of the conversation?
We scarcely let ourselves breathe as we strained to pick up what was being played through the radio antennae. We were now past the hostage phase of our orders: communications with the other side having already been opened up, we were venturing into a much more uncertain space than our initial orders.
Chief had given us audio-only codes for the following:
While we were stuck outside the door we listened to Born-Of-Death and Broken-Name rapidly exchange bits and pieces of dialogue, along with the constant chatter of the sounds coming from the radio device, occasionally getting bits of what Chief was saying. It all made my head hurt, though not from any particularly baffling alien mind-twistedness but merely the annoyance of being able to listen to only part of a multi-way conversation.
"That's it! Let's go!"
I blinked. "What?"
"Shit, did you tune out? Chief gave the whistle, let's go!"
"Yes, of course. Let's."
Our bodies are made for forward motion. There are some climbing animals that are not quite like this; some of their feet are pointed backwards, or other feet can swivel, so that they can hang from any angle and climb up or down at full speed facing where they're going. People are not like that; we have to ooze a lot more just to avoid plummeting to our deaths, and back down slowly creeping along like a worm.
In retrospect we could easily have gone upwards and around the hive the way we had come, and gotten out of view immediately without incident. But we were soon only a few metres off the (mostly) soft, sandy ground, and once we were down it was a quick squirm under the hive and out of sight and into the water - and we were tired and all too glad to have the chance to take the shortest beeline back home that was in sight.
We would learn much later that the hive had an eye near the door that was always passively picking up anything that went by it - including the sight of two apprentice Meditators falling past the doorway on either side. But even notwithstanding that, as we shook ourselves off and started tunnelling I heard from inside: "Born-Of-Death, did you hear that?"
And moments later we were told to stop digging and stay exactly where we were by a shining fungous tentacled god somewhere right behind us.
The janitor-god looked like a giant white mushroom on legs. I use the term promiscuously: they could have been many legs or none, all coming out of the base of the mushroom at strange angles that made my head hurt to think about.
Except the outer sheen it looked nothing like the slayer. Its thoughts smelled very little like the slayer. It was as though it were a different kind of god entirely - neither slayer nor hive, nor mindless death-pod.
So there were even more kinds of gods. What else could be out there? A whole universe of bizarre and terrible angry gods in the stars, all with bizarre and incomprehensible anatomies... twisting to incomprehensible thoughts and dissonant melodies in the unspeakable black void... a maelstrominous menagerie of unthinkable mind-breaking monstrosity, crimson slime-beings squishing about in multidimensional skeletons of maddening stonework, beings of mindlessly violent utter apathy toward mankind...
I blinked. What a load of rubbish. I was a Seeker and a Meditator, confound it! This first contact with things from beyond our ken was a gift - and fully worthy of a warrior's hospitality.
"I am Child's-Pet-Maggot-Dashed-Against-The-Noon-Boulder, Knowledge-Seeker and apprentice Meditator to Very-Large-Hunter-Weeping-At-The-City-Gates. We welcome you to our world, strange one." I bowed before the god.
The shining white mushroom-cap made slight dip forwards; the aliens seemed unused to human bowing motions. "I am Broken-Name-of-the-Black-Foe Father-of-Golems, a warrior of no rank or status in this hive, which is named" - he paused for a split second, which I'm told would have been undetectable in the noise of a purely auditory communication, and I felt his thoughts flit about as though he were uncertain of the hive's name - "Tiny-Burrower-Who-Has-Taken-The-Male-Essence-For-Herself. Well met."
Only then did I notice that the god was cradling one of those death-pods in his... arms? legs? tentacles? branches? ... like a father with a baby.
As if he noticed that connection and wanted to correct any misapprehensions, the mushroom god continued. "I should introduce the others here on the beach with me. On the other side of the hive is the broken body of our friend The-All-Encompassing-Love-That-Serves-The-Greatest, who sends their greetings by sound waves. We now stand upon the body of my son:" He looked back in the general direction of the interior of the hive. "Golem-Born-Of-Death, are you still busy with the others in the forest?"
The hive gave off a much higher-pitched sound utterance, and the mental voice was that of a child's: "No, Papa. Chief" - he meant their Chief, of course - "is dealing with the little sea-bugs now. There is no danger, but they are talking too fast for me to relay faithfully. Greetings, Child's-Pet-Maggot-Dashed-Against-The-Noon-Boulder!"
The little sea-bugs. I was never a particularly large person, and yet if I stood to my full height I would easily tower over this mushroom-god before me; most of our fighting men were similarly taller than the slayer. And this hive that fell from the sky, taller than a watchtower and three times as wide, which was apparently at once a mobile building and an extension of the body of the mushroom-god's son, was called what now? And why didn't they defend their coast when they thought we (or at least the Worthless) looked like sea animals?
Perhaps their minds were more alien and nonsensical than one might have hoped.
Only when Chief started talking about the gods entering into our forest did we clue in that the hive-voice was repeating everything he was saying for the gods that remained in the hive. But we were only getting what Chief was saying, and the hive was not the addressee: had he been speaking directly with the hive, surely we (being literally pressed against the body of the hive itself) would have been picking up its side of the conversation?
We scarcely let ourselves breathe as we strained to pick up what was being played through the radio antennae. We were now past the hostage phase of our orders: communications with the other side having already been opened up, we were venturing into a much more uncertain space than our initial orders.
Chief had given us audio-only codes for the following:
- Retreat: Shepherd's whistle. There was nothing further to be done with the hive.
- Hold: Three rapid barks - the signal given by a battle-virgin to her platoon to hold formation. We could retreat or reposition if there was a clear danger, but otherwise our continued presence was required.
- Attack: Rage-howl. All the shit has hit the fan and there's nothing left to do but delay the invasion of our world and the rout of mankind as long as we could.
- Surrender: Merchant's cry. We (carefully) reveal ourselves to the hive's denizens and allow ourselves to be captured in a mutual hostage-taking to ensure each side's good faith.
While we were stuck outside the door we listened to Born-Of-Death and Broken-Name rapidly exchange bits and pieces of dialogue, along with the constant chatter of the sounds coming from the radio device, occasionally getting bits of what Chief was saying. It all made my head hurt, though not from any particularly baffling alien mind-twistedness but merely the annoyance of being able to listen to only part of a multi-way conversation.
"That's it! Let's go!"
I blinked. "What?"
"Shit, did you tune out? Chief gave the whistle, let's go!"
"Yes, of course. Let's."
Our bodies are made for forward motion. There are some climbing animals that are not quite like this; some of their feet are pointed backwards, or other feet can swivel, so that they can hang from any angle and climb up or down at full speed facing where they're going. People are not like that; we have to ooze a lot more just to avoid plummeting to our deaths, and back down slowly creeping along like a worm.
In retrospect we could easily have gone upwards and around the hive the way we had come, and gotten out of view immediately without incident. But we were soon only a few metres off the (mostly) soft, sandy ground, and once we were down it was a quick squirm under the hive and out of sight and into the water - and we were tired and all too glad to have the chance to take the shortest beeline back home that was in sight.
We would learn much later that the hive had an eye near the door that was always passively picking up anything that went by it - including the sight of two apprentice Meditators falling past the doorway on either side. But even notwithstanding that, as we shook ourselves off and started tunnelling I heard from inside: "Born-Of-Death, did you hear that?"
And moments later we were told to stop digging and stay exactly where we were by a shining fungous tentacled god somewhere right behind us.
The janitor-god looked like a giant white mushroom on legs. I use the term promiscuously: they could have been many legs or none, all coming out of the base of the mushroom at strange angles that made my head hurt to think about.
Except the outer sheen it looked nothing like the slayer. Its thoughts smelled very little like the slayer. It was as though it were a different kind of god entirely - neither slayer nor hive, nor mindless death-pod.
So there were even more kinds of gods. What else could be out there? A whole universe of bizarre and terrible angry gods in the stars, all with bizarre and incomprehensible anatomies... twisting to incomprehensible thoughts and dissonant melodies in the unspeakable black void... a maelstrominous menagerie of unthinkable mind-breaking monstrosity, crimson slime-beings squishing about in multidimensional skeletons of maddening stonework, beings of mindlessly violent utter apathy toward mankind...
I blinked. What a load of rubbish. I was a Seeker and a Meditator, confound it! This first contact with things from beyond our ken was a gift - and fully worthy of a warrior's hospitality.
"I am Child's-Pet-Maggot-Dashed-Against-The-Noon-Boulder, Knowledge-Seeker and apprentice Meditator to Very-Large-Hunter-Weeping-At-The-City-Gates. We welcome you to our world, strange one." I bowed before the god.
The shining white mushroom-cap made slight dip forwards; the aliens seemed unused to human bowing motions. "I am Broken-Name-of-the-Black-Foe Father-of-Golems, a warrior of no rank or status in this hive, which is named" - he paused for a split second, which I'm told would have been undetectable in the noise of a purely auditory communication, and I felt his thoughts flit about as though he were uncertain of the hive's name - "Tiny-Burrower-Who-Has-Taken-The-Male-Essence-For-Herself. Well met."
Only then did I notice that the god was cradling one of those death-pods in his... arms? legs? tentacles? branches? ... like a father with a baby.
As if he noticed that connection and wanted to correct any misapprehensions, the mushroom god continued. "I should introduce the others here on the beach with me. On the other side of the hive is the broken body of our friend The-All-Encompassing-Love-That-Serves-The-Greatest, who sends their greetings by sound waves. We now stand upon the body of my son:" He looked back in the general direction of the interior of the hive. "Golem-Born-Of-Death, are you still busy with the others in the forest?"
The hive gave off a much higher-pitched sound utterance, and the mental voice was that of a child's: "No, Papa. Chief" - he meant their Chief, of course - "is dealing with the little sea-bugs now. There is no danger, but they are talking too fast for me to relay faithfully. Greetings, Child's-Pet-Maggot-Dashed-Against-The-Noon-Boulder!"
The little sea-bugs. I was never a particularly large person, and yet if I stood to my full height I would easily tower over this mushroom-god before me; most of our fighting men were similarly taller than the slayer. And this hive that fell from the sky, taller than a watchtower and three times as wide, which was apparently at once a mobile building and an extension of the body of the mushroom-god's son, was called what now? And why didn't they defend their coast when they thought we (or at least the Worthless) looked like sea animals?
Perhaps their minds were more alien and nonsensical than one might have hoped.