Things had been... well, lucky, as of late.

But that luck was not only of the good kind. She was fortunate, in one sense, yes: everything had gone her way. Plans had unfolded, allies gathered, enemies placated. The pieces marched slowly into their inevitable, Orderly places.

It wasn't fast enough. It wasn't enough.

The Valkhounds--that was the bad luck. Her little spies could see them everywhere, this foul hornets' nest stirred to action, reproducing like deformed rabbits. Disgusting, and the thought shuddered down her mass.

She lay in a new Hive center. This one was not within the regular tunnels; it was still within Ursa, if only barely, and she had retreated to it after Pallas's warning of incoming invasion. When they had not even reached her decoy, she had considered how best not to waste such an asset; in the end, she had introduced Tahi-shei to the false center and the false Queen. To think he had spoken to a Praetor dressed in pearls-! That had been her gambit, then; she'd gambled nothing, to win everything. That was her preference: all reward for no risk. With Tahi-shei, had he attacked, she had intended to allow this Praetor to die; to let the foul nest think her defeated. If he'd left, intending to return with a scouting party-? He'd have taken them to the wrong chamber, to tackle the wrong "Queen." It had been an invitation for a second chance to sample her deception. Or, perhaps he'd have accepted her words, become her harbinger.

Time still had yet to play it out, but she thought it seemed promising.

Then there was Charon: granted his own freedom of choice, among a few others, in a fleeting bow to Tahi-shei's beliefs. That, too, was a game she could not lose. Such a beast would make for a fine member of their family. A worthy guardian-! Suited for this climate, too. But she had known he might refuse her and that was the point--was it not? It was why she had kept knowledge of Bone's involvement from him. The intent was for a report to reach Tahi-shei that the Queen mother had learned mercy; ahh, yes. Freedom.

That she would, in her benevolence, offer them at least an illusion of choice.

That one had delivered the message flawlessly, though she had lost a potential guardian in the process--but again it had been a ploy she could not lose.

It was time to begin the game in earnest. Come to me, she had whispered, to her most loyal, her favored son: and then she waited.

_____________

Her pulsating bulk lay immense in the cavern, a perfectly symmetrical (if somewhat larger) copy of the first. It was the same room, in design, that Pallas had seen--but the route to get there was different, and far longer. It had taken a great deal of time to move here, with dozens of her workers widening the holes to move her, closing it behind her with swathes of glassy "ice." Fungus strung from her massive abdomen to the ceiling once again, the entire chamber a soft carpet of white--from floor to roof. White light from stolen baubles illuminated all corners, and Praetors guarded the entrance--with Cleaners busying themselves about, here and there, feeding and cleaning her body.

The mess was perfectly mirrored.

Ahh--and here came Pallas now. She offered the requisite flood of chemical approval, the cold adoration of the insect mind, a love of which she felt nothing but understood everything. These soft, warm creatures--whose were they, again?--were so easily reprogrammed.

"My child..." came her voice, for Pallas's mind alone, filled with adoration. Surely her pustulant bulk was one of beauty; certainly the voice in his mind was one that whispered, 'beloved.' "I wished to speak with you... and only you," a secret, a little fear in Mother's heart, and only Pallas could be trusted-"-about our future."

She could have told him along the link--discussed it at a distance--but no; he was her beloved son, and this solemn call to attendance spoke of the gravity of the situation.

And, again... of her trust in him.

They were family, after all.

Her fingertip touch along the spine of his mind was delicate, a butterfly brush, just enough to incite a shiver. Her words--oh, such wise words!--came with caution, but soft peace, with the assurance that Mother would protect. "Pallas, my favored child... you have always been loyal to our family, and good. Good to me... good at heart..." A soft sigh echoed through the chamber, in the tail of her sibilant voice.

"I would live here in peace, forever, but it may not be an option for much longer. I have been watching... my eyes, throughout the caves... and I think we will soon be in danger. The Valkhounds--agents of the House of Chaos, of destruction--they are organizing. Multiplying. We will be their targets." The words slithered through the air, softly hissed, rife with quiet dismay. With worry. "I think we can no longer strive for peace, for calm. We must prepare for war: for they are creatures that know nothing else, and will continue to bring it until we are destroyed."

The quiet pooled, a peace blooming white through the cave, white through Pallas's mind. This was how it had to be, but it would be okay...

"You have always been my trusted, my favorite... I have a task to ask of you. But it will not be easy. You will need to travel... to risk yourself, perhaps..." (Mourning--she didn't want that-!) "...but if the caves are to erupt in war... we will need an army of our own. I cannot leave this place," and with this thought came an aching surge of regretful sadness, of guilt that she must risk her very own child--her Pallas!--while she lay here in the dark. "You know the creatures... better than I do... Can you help me to bring them to our side? Do you know... how we might do that?"

Hope; ahh, but she hardly dared-! (Or so it seemed.) All hung crystalline and fragile on Pallas in that moment: his next words, his thoughts, could save them all.

Ahh, his was a sharp mind, a keen mind--clever son, beloved son--and Mother was grateful for his wisdom. For his knowledge of these caves, where she--in her peaceful quietude--had avoided all. These were the words that her feelings spoke.

"These are wise ideas, Pallas," came her whispering voice, the click of mandibles beneath it. "You can find... those who would come to us... You can... if you wish... cover yourself with that shroud. But some day soon, we will need... a speaker, a Voice, who does not carry my gift. We can... perhaps... create it. It is a clever idea, my beloved son."

And it was. She might even know how to do that.

"To create new life... among us... is also wise. Do you think yourself... capable, of this?" she asked. A family, here, in the Hive nest, with a beloved child; Pallas as its parent, raising it to love Mother, to love their family, to love Order--could this be done..?

She paused, a mandible click of thought. "Your question... is wise. Requirements... necessities..." and for a moment, she considered her answer. "Loyalty. That is the only... true requirement. Shape... does not matter much... among the Gembounds. Loyalty... does. I can send someone... to recover these stones. If you tell me where to find them. Those are a wise idea, my son... For you... I have another offer."

There was a swelling sense of inspiration, of surprise, as if Mother was only just thinking of this now (and perhaps she was). "A painful option... the option of rebirth... truly of our family. Linked... not by fungus... but life, magic... itself. You would... lose your powers," though to her knowledge, Pallas did not particularly like magic; "and gain my own... But it would not... be a pleasant process." She pondered, the click of mandibles again signalling thought.

"Or... we may create young... I leave it to your decision. It is... after all... your body. Your... life." And there was no sense of influence either way.

This would be a child of the Hive: linked not by fungus but by magic, stone, and loyalty. If Pallas held any reservations they would fester, later, and she did not want that.

She considered.

"If you think... it is safe... to revisit that place." Grief, grief, over children lost. Over Reji-... Oh, how Mother had failed her child-!

"...You would not lose this power, my son. But these decisions... I leave to you. To... reform you, would not be easy. I do not know how much you would change. If you wish... to travel, without your link to me being known so easily... it is the way. If you would stay hidden... and create another to serve as the mouth for our words... I will abide by your choice, my beloved son. Your decision is your own..." A repeat, and again it was truth. it did not matter to Mother whether Pallas was her voice, or if he created another to serve; she should have time (she estimated) to train another.

Unless the Valkhounds got very determined, very fast. But she did not see her victory as inevitable. She was careful, planning and plotting and turning ideas over like faceted crystals in her mind, viewing each shining plane, each outcome, and comparing--contrasting--building pattern after pattern, laying them out like tiles, a road on which they would walk to victory.