SERPENT’S REACH BY C.J. Cherryh

“Blue-hive,” it murmured, deep baritone. And then with a distressed waving of its palps: “Danger.”

“There is danger everywhere for blues:’ Raen offered her right hand to its mandibles, willful hazard, comforting gesture. “Hive-friend. Do you also bear taste of reds? Of Kethiuy? Of killing?”

Mandibles clashed as her hand withdrew; jaws smoked, strongly enough to decapitate human or majat. “Killing,” it moaned from its chambers, deep harmony. “Red-hive, killings, yess.”

“I was there, on Cerdin, when reds killed blues. Does Kalind blue remember that? Messengers went out from Cerdin then. Surely some got through. Some must have lived.”

“Not-clear. Drone-function.”

“But you know Cerdin.”

“Cerdin.” It sucked air and expelled it softly. “Yess. Cerdin. First-hive. This-unit does not make full understanding. This-unit will report. Blue queen of Istra will interpret. Queen will understand.”

“Surely she will.”

“This-unit will not see Kalind again. This-unit is cut off. I can carry this message no farther than the Istran queen. Then I musk unMind.”

“Perhaps the Istran queen will take you instead, Warrior, and change that instruction.”

“This-unit hopes.”

“This-unit also hopes, Warrior.”

Palps caressed her face with great tenderness. Truly neuter, Warrior had no concept of any function but duty; yet majat units could feel some sentiment on their own, and Warriors were—very slightly—egocentric.

She laid her hand on its forelimb. “What brings you here? What message, Warrior? Answer me.”

The great armoured head rotated in that gesture that had so many nuances to majat vision. “This-unit does not know; I taste of revenge, Kethiuy-queen.”

It was complex, then, locked within its body-chemistry; it gave her Warrior-reading only, and the Warrior-mind conceived it as revenge. A chill ran over her skin, an echo of things past.

“I have known you before, Warrior.”

“Warrior memory,” it confirmed, and touched at her, touched at them both. “Meth-maren. Yesss. Not all Kontrin are friends. Trust you. Trust you, Kethiuy-queen.”

A message had gotten through, eighteen, nineteen years ago. Warrior was with her. She touched it, her hand trembling.

“We will be docking soon, Warrior. You must secure yourself for your own protection, and not trouble these beta humans. They are no harm, no harm to you.”

“Yes,” it agreed. It reared up and looked about, head rotating half this way and half that. “Lost,” it complained. “Human-hive. Lost.”

“Come,” she bade it, and brought it to a security panel, took its right chela and touched it to the emergency grip. It clenched it, secure then as a human safely belted. “You must stay here, Warrior. Let your skin dry. You’ve come high enough. Hold and wait, and harm no human who doesn’t threaten you. I’ll come for you when it’s time.”

“Lost. This-unit must find Istra blue.”

She stroked the sensitive side-pales, reckoning what a complex and fearful task Warrior faced, with no sun overhead, encased in one cold metal structure after another on its way. Majat did not easily comprehend that it was not all one sun and all one world. It had entrusted itself to betas for hire, hoping it was given right directions, set on the right ship; and blue messengers faced other obstacles, for Kontrin discouraged their travelling, and accidents befell one after the other. “I will guide you,” she told it. “Stay. Wait for me.”

“Blue-hive,” it breathed, bowed under the pleasurable caress. Jaws clashed. “I wait. Yesss.”

“My-chamber is twelfth door beyond the turning-left, as you face.”

“This-unit guards.”

“Yes,” she agreed, touched the pulps and drew back. The halls were cold; its processes were slow: it was all too willing now to sink down and rest. She thought of bidding it instead to her own suite, but there was Jim, who stood against the wall in a seeming state of shock. She soothed it a last time with her hand, turned away and took Jim with her, trusting it would be safe; indeed, no one would likely venture that ball, and if someone would have harmed it, of those aboard, that would have been done while it slept, helpless—not now.

This messenger would get through.

Is this the best action? the Mother of Cerdin had asked. Among majat there were no children, only eggs, and adults. Mother had asked a human for advice, and a child had answered: Mother had not known.

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