Hive mind Beyond the veil

3… 2… 1…

"Release."

The first group of test pods detached from the ten Zhyrraaks in orbit, slipping loose like seeds cast into a storm. They began their journey down toward Imreth's scorched surface, dropping through choking clouds of dust and radiation.

Each pod's eyes scanned the environment as they fell. Their sensors recorded wind speeds, radiation spikes, ground conditions, and proximity to active firestorms all of it was fed to my mind and was analysed by the intelligence sub-mind for review.

I was testing their designs to check how well they did against impact, their resilience, and dispersion if their drop was chaotic.

Imreth was no gentle teacher, its atmosphere boiled with chaotic storms, each one laced with lethal doses of radiation

As the pods hurtled downward, I triggered a nearby salvo of Star lance missiles. Several detonated close showering the pods in scorching plasma and kinetic fragments. A few were vaporized instantly. Others spiralled out of control, blackened and broken.

The results were predictable. Many pods shattered on impact, their hulls crumpled like shells beneath a giant's foot. Equipment and supplies spilt into the wastelands below.

Multiple drones lay dead or limping from twisted craters. Some pods had splintered midair, shedding their cargo all over the drop zone and further away.

Still, not all was a failure.

The lighter drones deployed midair, snapping their wings open and adjusting descent vectors. Assault and Infiltrators landed with grace. Snipers dropped into vantage points.

Only the Heavies plummeted without control I had left them wingless as they were designed to hold a location, They hit like falling monoliths, some surviving and others cracking apart like dropped statues.

My conclusion? A long battle for orbital supremacy was the only acceptable outcome to reduce losses. Pod drops remained a high-risk deployment strategy.

Ground defences would have to be neutralized before any mass landing. The pods were necessary for the Heavies and bigger drones, for equipment, and for bulk supply. But the others… they could adapt.

With enough drone wings, most units could self-deploy without needing a coffin to carry them to the surface, once they made the planet fall, they could attack and move to suppress ground defences.

Still, there was a bigger issue.

The Zhyrraak was a good offensive and defensive ship, but it couldn't support the scale of my vision of a full planetary invasion. It wasn't enough, not any more.

I required a drone that could act with more roles than a warship. I required a leviathan. A swarm of drones that could deploy forth endless waves of drones and swallow continents whole.

A true behemoth of the stars.

I grabbed a cluster of resin tablets and arranged them in a wide arc on the wall. The dim gland lights above pulsed and brightened the room, reacting to my thoughts. A portion of my mind separated from less priority tasks and was dedicated solely to the task ahead.

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I began to design.

My clawed hands moved with furious speed, elegant strokes scratched into the hardened resin. Lines coiled and intertwined like living veins.

This would be the first of its kind. A vessel that could land, deploy, and then ascend again with its cargo—or at least jettison that cargo in pods that could.

It could have two roles a host carrier, an orbital assault platform, and maybe act as a psychological weapon.

It had to frighten and give awe with its presence alone in the thousands.

I began sketching the basic frame it would be 1.3 kilometres long, possibly 200–300 meters wide. Its surface would be crustaceous, with an exoskeleton composed of mineral-fused bio-plates, its colour would be a dark grey interlaced with reactive cartilage for structural flexibility. And numerous disposable plates act as a first layer of defence.

And now came the hardest part—giving it a name. Naming things had always been a strange struggle for me.

I tried dozens of names, each sounding wrong the moment it left my mouth.

Nothing fit.

Then finally, I settled on one: "Neskar."

It came from the Valurian tongue, an old dialect only spoken by me and a few clones. It meant The Grey Ark. The name felt right, and perfectly suited to the silent dread the drone would inspire.

Yes. That would do.

Its internal muscles would contract in synchronicity with massive bio-thrusters. These would align with the twin fusion cores, embedded deep within its gut.

I etched deeper, faster.

Sections of its belly would open up, they would contain large ventral hangar bowels capable of releasing thousands of pods. Pods would slither out and rain down like insects to the surface below.

Its sight would have they are standard multi-spectrum eye-clusters positioned across its entire body giving it 360-degree vision, with overlapping sensory fields. It would see everything and miss nothing.

It would need weapons. Many weapons.

Fourth to Sixty star-lance missile bays, arranged in quad-helix formations along the dorsal and lateral sections. Six large dorsal bone spike launchers, capable of firing multiple bone spikes tipped with armour-piercers or different load-outs such as plasma or acid.

Fifty laser defence modules are integrated into its skin, positioned to provide full coverage from projectiles and orbital debris.

Then, the cargo for a full assault group.

5,000 drones minimum, across four types: Assault, Infiltrator, Sniper, and Heavy.

200 Mosquito Drones for rapid deployment, harassment, and aerial recon.

15 Hexapods for siege and artillery support.

30 Striders, for full front-line combat.

The first wave would consist of only a handful of ships, each filled with Beetle drones.

These beetles would lead the charge, crawling and skittering across no-man's land to latch onto enemy bunkers, fortifications, and hardened positions before detonating in coordinated waves.

Each class of drone requires its own support infrastructure. That meant birthing modules calibrated to specific genetic blueprints, repair sacs to regenerate organic tissue or appendages, and tailored weapon-production glands.

Its core systems would break down organic slurries and scavenged alloys, processing them into replacement limbs, carapaces, weapons, and drones.

To that end, I embedded biomorph hives at its heart supporting them were Architect drones. They would tend to the ship's systems, maintaining the twin fusion cores, repairing punctures or tears in the hull, and replenishing organic subsystems as needed.

I designed the mechanical components to remain separate from the biological mass—stored within sterile, shielded vaults deep inside the ship's structure, reinforced with hardened bone and living insulation.

Would I risk a planetary landing? The ship was built for it—at least in theory. But the theory wasn't experience. Real atmospheric insertion required further testing. Once this war ended, I'd have to trial it on worlds with varying gravities and dense, volatile atmospheric zones.

Only then would I know for sure if the design could hold up under pressure—or come apart in descent.

The only option was still delivering everything with orbital drop pods. The Neskar would remain in orbit with the rest of the fleet, raining death on every enemy position.

I stepped back and studied the sketches until I realized something was missing.

It would need a central brain—but not just one. That was inefficient for a drone its size.

Three would suffice. They would be interlinked by a neural network, each handling different aspects of cognition offensive reactions, defensive reactions, and maintaining its internal compartments.

I labelled the core chamber: The Triune Cradle.

Even with this blueprint, the cost was astronomical. The biomass required… nothing on Phaedra could support such a size.

I sent out orders to begin harvesting the largest asteroids, to lash them together and form growth pods. The Neskar would be grown in the belts.

At least 100 to 200 large growth pods would be required for a full group to cover every aspect of the invasion and more.

And time?

Time I didn't have.

Aegirarch's forces were nonexistent in the belt. The last hauliers had been intercepted. The window was closing fast before his reinforcements could arrive. Once the final cores for the last Zhyrraak were in place, I would begin the campaign for Veridia's orbit.

I was so deep into refining the ship's design that I didn't notice Seer standing beside me, silently observing the monstrosity taking shape across the resin tablets.

"Is that a new ship type?" he asked, scanning the dozens of schematics mounted across the wall.

"It's your ship," I replied without looking up. "I designed it for you to pilot."

He stepped back slightly. "Is it… alive?"

"Of course," I said. "Like all my creations."

He grimaced. "Yeah, I'm not sure how I feel about piloting something that has more organs than I do."

I paused, briefly considering the implications. Then tilted my head. "That's a good challenge. I might test that—the possibilities are endless."

"You're joking, right?"

"No… not really. Would you consider adding a second layer of armour to yourself? Like your armoured personnel carriers?"

He didn't answer. He just muttered something under his breath and quickly retreated to his station.

I shrugged and made a mental note: Test the feasibility of dual-layer armour for clones.