Hive mind Beyond the veil

Walking the Ark-Ship's corridors felt like a dream.

Everything around Seer was clean-cut metal, all of it uniform, rigid, and especially silent. No twitching muscle walls, no pulsing tendrils, no living lights that blinked with every breath. For once, nothing bled when it broke.

He had grown far too used to the biological grotesqueness of Trumek's creations—ships made from spliced flesh and alloys, architecture that seemed more fantasy than function.

As he passed into another section, he saw more of Trumek's bodies moving through the halls in lock step, patching damage left over from their battle with the Ark-Ship's crew.

The crew themselves fell into three neat categories now.

The first were stunned and dazed into silence by their swift subjugation. They spoke little, if at all.

The second had cracked under the strain. Some had tried to end themselves after Trumek had peeled through their minds like paper, laying bare their secrets and memories. Five had even attempted to sabotage the ship. All five had failed. All five now walked as hollow-eyed puppets.

And the third… had simply accepted it. They'd adapted and got back to work. Carried out their duties as if nothing had happened. Seer never imagined the Grithan psyche could bend so easily. But everything bent eventually, under the right pressure.

He continued onward, passing more repair crews before entering a plain chamber. The walls were lined with screens, each one streaming data and stellar readouts. A central display showed their convoy escorting the Ark-Ship toward the asteroid belts.

Trumek stood waiting.

"You're thirty-four seconds late," he said without looking up.

"I got distracted," Seer replied. "Had to admire my new ship."

Trumek turned to face him. "Your ship? In what way is this yours?"

"Well," Seer gestured casually, "since this ship's security system is laughably thin, someone needs to run things properly. You won because of numbers, not tactics."

"I thought you wanted to farm."

"Yeah. That plan's dead. Your system's irradiated, and most habitable planets are freezing over. I can't grow roots in poisoned rock."

Trumek nodded and turned back to the scans.

"What's next?" Seer asked. "War with the Triumvirate?"

"Yes and no," Trumek said. "I intend to return this ship to civilised space, filled with mined Nullite mostly low-grade stock. I've already altered the data logs that will blame the impurity on the infighting and subsequent sabotage of this system by the expedition."

"And then what?"

"Then the ship disappears. I'll take it beyond mapped space—into neighbouring systems. Quietly expanding. As for the Triumvirate…. I'll encourage a rebellion, they'll tear themselves apart first. When the timing's right, I'll strike."

Seer gave a slow nod. "And that's where I come in, right?"

"Indeed," Trumek replied. "Kraklak will stay with the Ark—researching the surrounding region. Ankrae... she's broken, convinced she's dead, merely animated by my will. But she could be useful, I've peered deep into her mind. She is ambitious and will be the face of this rebellion."

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"Is she stable enough for that?"

"No. But she will be. With the right push, the right narrative… she'll do everything I order her to do."

Seer gave a slight shrug. "And us clones?"

"You'll accompany her. I intend to modify your genetics—make you more adaptable. Tailored for infiltration and long-term resistance warfare."

Seer groaned. "Sounds like a headache. Maybe I'll take that asteroid farm after all."

"Too late," Trumek said. "You're under contract now."

"Does it come with health care?"

"Good food, full medical, and you get to live."

Seer snorted. "Fair deal."

He left the room and made his way to his new quarters, a section of the ship he'd already claimed. Robots had stripped out the Grithan design—replacing aquatic curves and translucent gels with solid sectioned alloy walls.

One chamber now held soil instead of water. The hydroponic chamber, once a Grithan lounging sphere, had been converted into a crude greenhouse. Rows of alien sprouts poked from the earth, growing slowly but steadily.

He inspected the plants. Trumek's seeds had produced strange crops. They tasted… wrong. Not foul—just confusing. Some resembled meat. Others tasted of fish or poultry. None tasted like plants.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of translucent seeds. Trumek had said one of them, if planted, would taste like Grithan flesh.

Seer stared at the tiny thing, then sealed the pouch again and shoved it into his locker.

No, thanks. Curiosity only went so far.

———

With Seer returning to his quarters, I turned my attention to the next phase.

A direct war with the Triumvirate was still out of the question. Their strength was vast, their resources nearly unmatched. But brute force wasn't the only path to victory. I had more elegant, insidious tools at my disposal.

I could destabilise their worlds—disrupt ecological balances, corrupt biospheres, even seed plagues and engineered viruses to quietly erode populations. It was possible, even efficient, to hollow out a civilisation from within.

But I wanted something more complete.

A controlled collapse. A network of rebellions—each one carefully timed and ignited to fracture the pillars of the Triumvirate's power. Let them burn from the inside out, their trust devoured by uprisings and sabotage.

When their leadership crumbled, someone would need to rise.

Ankrae was the logical choice.

She would fill that void, consolidating power and claiming legitimacy in the chaos. With her in control, the Triumvirate territory could be preserved from opportunistic neighbouring empires. Once stabilised, she could reconquer what was lost—and rule in my shadow.

It served my goals well.

Silent expansion.

Remaining hidden.

A war waged openly would only draw attention. My uniqueness, my origin, my methods—too many eyes would look too closely. And the powerful players of the galaxy would come sniffing, investigating and interfering with my growth.

That couldn't happen. Not yet.

So I would remain unseen, spreading like roots beneath the soil—deep and wide.

Beyond Ankrae, I would need more than puppets and drones. My influence required arms and fingers across the stars. Criminal syndicates. Mercenary companies. Multinational conglomerates, built or subverted to serve me.

Information would be power.

And perhaps… a religion.

A few billion zealots chanting my some divine name wouldn't hurt. Especially if they believed they found purpose, salvation—or punishment—in my doctrine. The right myth could move empires. The appropriate faith could erase questions.

Everything would need to be calculated to gauge the impact.

Contingencies needed to be prepared in case my existence were exposed. I would have to gauge the reaction and model my next plans for when the great powers of the galaxy discovered me. My secrecy wouldn't last forever, but by the time they looked my way, it would be too late I could rightfully overpower them in numbers alone.

I thought of the next phase of plans: industrialisation of this system would be split along two paths.

One biological, grown in secret. The other mechanical was made public, and explainable. A facade of normality to keep curious minds content if they reach here.

I could use the Valurians for that purpose—have them act as the visible face of my influence. A hundred thousand carefully crafted Valurian agents would serve as diplomats, mediators, and buffers. They would be the first to greet any external force that ventured into this space, engaging in negotiations and masking my true presence.

And then… There was humanity.

The fragments of knowledge I'd gathered were limited, but enough to confirm their existence here—and more importantly, that they originated from my reality.

It would be fascinating to observe how they had survived, adapted, and perhaps even thrived in this strange version of the universe.

———

The dreamscape shifted around her, slowly bleeding away the vibrant hues of a once-lush alien world. Blue, purple, and emerald forests vanished like mist, their skies once teeming with serene fauna—both elegant and strange—replaced by something colder and more familiar.

Now, she stood in a mimicry of one of the Triumvirate's core worlds. Her home.

Endless oceans stretched in all directions, their surfaces broken by immense, towering structures mimicking natural coral made of glass and alloy rising from the sea.

No coral, barnacle or sea life lived near them. And yet, their colours imitated the ecosystems they once replaced—an illusion of nature, that was hollow and controlled.

Above and below, the lower Grithans moved along, rushing to their next jobs. A cloned aquatic species—engineered solely for obedience—patrolled as security forces, their presence standardised across every Triumvirate-controlled world.

The clans beneath the Triumvirate's iron gaze held no power. They were allowed to exist, not to threaten. The watchful systems of the Triumvirate ensured control, its reach absolute.

Those outside the core clans, the lesser Grithans, lived further from the shining towers in fragile constructed settlements. Their homes were cheap, easily assembled, and now half-consumed by the reclaiming touch of the ocean—living coral creeping over broken and rusted metal, algae swallowing forgotten domes.

And she was told to break this world.

To seize it.

To rule the Grithans as their new sovereign.

While Kraklak was given a different path, which she found quieter and simpler… but far deadlier.

The task before her felt impossible. To take control of an empire so deeply entrenched, so heavily fortified—it felt like being forced out of the water and stranded on land.

And yet…

A whisper stirred in the recesses of her mind. Not Trumek's. Not anyone else's. Her own voice—darker, curious, and hungry.

If they obeyed you… If they kneeled at every word you spoke… what would you do?

What kind of ruler would you become, if the whole of this nation bent beneath your will?