Hive mind Beyond the veil

CT-771B's eyelids flickered open to the faint hum of the life support systems. Light filtered through the small porthole of the barracks, casting cold patterns across the grey walls. The sterile scent of recycled air was the first reminder — they were still alive, for now.

The routine was as mechanical as the systems that kept them alive.

771B rolled out of the bunk, stiff joints creaking under the weight of enhanced muscle. The others in the room stirred simultaneously — 772B, 773B, 774B, all rising like clockwork automata. They offered no words or greetings. Efficiency was drilled in from their inception.

They started at a steady jog, quickly building into a full sprint. All around them, other clones mirrored their pace, each spaced a few meters apart. No one spoke. No one made a sound. The silence was ritual their mind focused on the battles to come.

The first phase of their training ended as they broke formation, shifting into close-quarters drills. Single combat came first—swift, brutal exchanges meant to test reflex and endurance.

Then came group engagements, coordinated skirmishes that blurred into chaos, muscle memory and instinct taking over.

Finally, without pause, they returned to sprinting.

They all knew the truth.

Their enemy was faster, stronger and more efficient.

They trained not to surpass them but to survive them.

And as the final round ended, leaving bruises and scorched padding behind, none of them complained. Survival was their only goal.

As a group, they moved to the adjacent wash bays, automated water jets sprayed the clones as they entered semi-enclosed stalls. He barely flinched as the shower started.

The cleansing was clinical — cold water mixed with antibacterial agents, designed to wash away the accumulated grime of combat simulations and industrial labour. The water sluiced through their fur until it reached their skin, it was chilling yet invigorating.

Once dry, they retrieved the underlayers worn beneath their armour. With methodical care, they inspected each piece, checking for cracks or stress fractures. After basic maintenance was complete, they suited up, fitting each plate with a practised motion.

The matte black armour was light but resilient, designed to balance protection with mobility. Their helmets were equipped with updated multi-spectrum HUDs — and rested on docking racks, waiting for the moment to seal.

They had a brief pause to consume a green nutrient paste from sealed packages engineered to optimize energy without unnecessary bulk. The taste was synthetic and bland, but functional. No need for sensory pleasure when survival was the goal.

"Target practice in ten," 774B announced, voice monotone but steady.

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The hallway to the training range was narrow and dim, lit by overhead light strips. They moved in formation, footsteps echoing hollowly.

At the range, holographic targets flickered to life: multiple BCU silhouettes in varying postures, tactical dummies replicating enemy manoeuvres. The clones ran through multiple drills — precision firing, rapid reloads, close-quarters combat simulations — each shot was calculated. Misses were noted but never vocalized. Each clone reflected on their failures and moved to perfect their mistakes.

Between rounds, their conversation was always short and mundane talking about the latest rumours in the clone network.

"I heard they are growing a new batch of C series clones. Do you think they'll be better than us?"

"Not likely," replied 778B. "Were for more sufficient than the A series they'll probably be cheaper"

"Speaking of Clones," 775B added, "the new C series might be focused on manual labour.

Might reduce our brothers' time out on the field."

Once their shift began, they entered the corridors and moved in perfect formation toward the command centre, relieving the night crew without a word. For several hours, their duties remained as monotonous as ever—directing orbital traffic, logging transmissions, processing updates from dozens of factories and facilities across the sector.

Reports were created, recorded, categorized, and forwarded to the Overseer Aegirarch with clockwork precision. This cycle repeated endlessly, day after day, without deviation. Their routine had become so rigid and exacting they seemed more like extensions of the machines they monitored than living beings.

Today was no different—until it was.

Without warning, the command centre's screens flickered, the stable glow that bathed the room dimming and surging in sharp pulses. Something had changed.

772B stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the satellite feeds. Across many channels, a swarm had been detected. It was distant, but growing fast. From the fractured edges of the Ebon Ring and Shattered Veil sectors, thousands of BCU vessels were on the move.

The feeds showed masses of BCU moving like a tide against the stars.

"Swarm approaching Veridia," 772B reported crisply.

CT-771B keyed in commands, switching overlays between tactical scans, fleet statuses, and ground defences.

"Alert level one to all stations," 773B ordered, voice low and commanding.

"All orbital platforms. Initiate power-up sequences and prepare laser defences. Report status."

"Activate dormant defence stations across the planet. Deploy automated drone patrols over the scorched surface." 774B added

The command centre hummed to life as a flurry of coordination unfolded.

"Bunker personnel, initiate full lockdown protocols," 775B ordered. "Seal entrances. Prepare for ground assault contingencies."

The clones' fingers moved swiftly, feeding data and commands into the vast network linking every defence node on the planet.

Then, CT-776B activated the secure comm channel to Overseer Aegirarch.

The Overseer's deep, unyielding voice crackled through.

"All fleet assets and orbital platforms stand ready for engagement. Initiate defensive postures and prepare for immediate combat." Aegirarch said, resolute.

"Broadcast to all automated factories: increase production to three hundred per cent, maintaining structural integrity."

The clones acknowledged the command, confirming that each facility was responding accordingly.

"Mobilize all clone units. Prepare for deployment," 777B added.

"Patrol drones rising. Swarm protocols engaged," 778B reported. "Automated units are now active. Initiating automated search and destroy patterns now optimizing for early threat detection and rapid response."

In the command centre, a wall of screens projected real-time surveillance — tactical maps rendered in cold blues and reds, the BCU swarm approaching like a dark storm.

CT-771B felt no fear — only the weight of responsibility.

"This is our moment," 771B muttered, eyes locked on the approaching enemy.

Outside, orbital stations once dormant stirred, multiple offensive and defensive powered up, drone bays hissed open.

On the ground, bunkers were sealed tight, personnel ready.

Millions of drones, clones, and automated defence systems moved in perfect, deadly synchronization.

Veridia braced itself for the inevitable storm.

———

As always, timing, strategy, and logistics dictated the pace of battle. Moving from a defensive posture to active assaults demanded a greater logistical chain to sustain the swarm.

I had adopted the portable feeder pods deployed by the Ghost Maws in the asteroid belt, now modified to be larger and were used to feed and resupply Zhyrraaks mid-flight

These allowed my forces to test enemy weak points with coordinated missile strikes, and then withdraw before counterattacks could be mounted. The vast distances between targets only made this more necessary.

Each wave approached just inside Veridia's maximum defensive range, locked onto pre-selected targets, and released a storm of missiles before pulling back into the void. It had become a daily ritual—refining the pattern, testing angles of attack, and studying the enemy's responses.

Most of my Zhyrraak production had now been relocated to Phaedra, accelerating my numbers. A select few were enlarged and modified into support variants—capable of carrying harvested biomass and Star lance payloads to supply their smaller kin during harassment runs on Veridia.

I intended to keep this cycle of pressure relentless. Probing for any mistakes or weak points in Aegirarch's strategy.

The real operation would begin when the first hundred Neskar were ready.

That would mark the launch of the first true wave.