Hivemind Beyond the veil

I let out a sigh, the first sound I’ve made in what feels like an eternity while walking around in circles. The cave expansion has been completed.

I set out to create enough resources to continue living, the entire cave now covered in a dark grey resin, producing small pockets of air to supply the cave.

There were a few leaks at the entrance, but it's been sealed tight, looking down at my claws caked in dust and fragments of stone and resin. The quiet of the cave was disturbed by the click my new legs made.

Then a new thought presses in on me, a weight almost as heavy as the stone I’ve been tearing through. The echo of each breath, sealed off from the void, was a reminder of my fragile survival.

The expansion of the cavern had gone well. I’d dug deeper into the moon’s crust, crafting new chambers, sealing them with resin, and filling them with fungus that would keep me alive.

Each one was a sterile, silent pocket of life amidst the death that lingered in the vacuum outside.

But now… I had to think. Strategy. I couldn’t just keep digging mindlessly.

I raised one of my smaller hands, watching as my chitin-covered fingers flexed mechanically. How long can I keep this up? I can’t rely on fungus and scavenging indefinitely, not with what’s above.

The enemy fleet. If they haven’t left yet. They could come at any moment. And if they find me, it’s over.

I need a plan. I turn, stepping toward the rough wall of the cavern. My tendrils stretch out behind me, brushing the air like the tails of serpents as they feel the layout of the cave.

I glance back at them, wondering just how far my body can take me. How much can it do?

Drawing on the wall is crude but necessary. I flex my claws and scrape through the hardened resin and stone, tracing a rough outline of the cavern.

A sprawling network of chambers and tunnels snaking through the moon’s interior, all of it connected. What started as a single cavern had become something more—a subterranean dwelling designed for one thing: survival.

But that’s not enough. I drag my claw along the wall again, sketching out a wider, more expansive design. I need defences. Something more than just walls and fungus. If the fleet comes, I need to be ready.

The first line of defence should be here, I decide, scratching a mark near the entrance to the cave system. A long tunnel leading into the heart of my network. Narrow. Easily controlled.

I can reinforce the walls with the iron I’ve been pulling from the rock. Make it difficult for anything—or anyone—to get through without alerting me first.

Then I draw further, expanding the tunnel system in my mind. It’ll need to twist and wind, confusing intruders, and forcing them to slow down. Dead ends. Trap points. Places where I can release drones.

I could create them with enough resources. They’ll be basic at first, rudimentary, but the older models can be broken down and recycled.

Not like me. But something else. Acting as an extension of myself. But could the designs work here, I had memories of the process and numerous examples of swarms from fiction.

Creating a few dozen shouldn't cost much, having them expand the tunnel work and fungus farms for a few meters.

I had the designs already for artificial wombs, but the process was complicated, needing larger amounts of biomass.

The one thing blessing I could praise was not laying eggs, the momentary stray thoughts of laying eggs caused me to shudder.

I drag my claw along the wall again, outlining a new chamber, deeper within the cave network. This will be where I grow it. A central organ—a drone womb, capable of producing what I require.

It’ll use the biomass I’ve stored, converting it into raw material, and I’ll be able to control the process. Creating a few dozen diggers, fungal farmers and resin drones.

I pause, feeling the weight of my thoughts as they crash into each other. The plan is taking shape. Slowly being shaped into something reasonable.

The fungus will need to continue growing, and I’ll need more pockets of it maybe even a new strain. I trace several more chambers on the wall, each connected to artificial arteries to biomass storage pods.

As I draw, the plan in my mind becomes clearer.

The network will be vast. Tunnels winding through the moon’s crust, each one reinforced with layers of resin and iron.

At key points, I’ll install the drone wombs connected to the central system, allowing me to produce and control drones as needed.

The drones themselves will be scattered throughout the system, patrolling the tunnels, guarding the fungal farms, and reporting back to me. My eyes and ears, spread throughout the cavern.

But what about the entrance?

I pause, turning back to the wall. I’ve fortified it with layers of stone and resin, but it’s not enough. If the fleet comes, they’ll break through that in seconds.

I trace another line on the wall, outlining a new defensive chamber. Here, I’ll place traps. My mind comes to a stop as a new thought comes forward weapons, I need to create weapons.

My hand falls to my side, and I step back from the wall, studying the rough sketch I’ve made. A sprawling network of tunnels and chambers, reinforced with iron and resin. Drone production centres. Fungal farms. Traps.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

I pace the length of the chamber, my thoughts racing. I stop, my tendrils twitching behind me.

No. I can’t risk it. Not yet, I can't risk damaging the cyberware.

First, I need to finish the cave network. I have to build the drone womb, create the drones, and establish my defences.

Once I’ve fortified this place, then I’ll consider integrating the cyberware. But for now, I must focus on survival.

With a final glance at the wall, I turn back to the deeper tunnels. There’s still so much work to be done. The cycle will continue—dig, expand, reinforce, grow. But now, there’s a purpose to it. A strategy. A plan.

I’m not just surviving any more. I’m preparing.

And when the time comes, I’ll be ready.