Chapter 6: The Bloom of Sustenance
Orchid's—now known to me as Kimchi—panic was almost palpable, a tremor rippling through her massive, alabaster chitin plates. She was struggling, caught in the unfamiliar snare of inventing names. To her, this simple human ritual was a labyrinth of uncertainty. The effortless grace with which I had conjured her name seemed to mock her hesitation—a testament, perhaps, to my genius in her eyes. "Truly worthy to be our mate," her silent thoughts whispered through the psionic link.
"Forgive me, mate-spawn," Kimchi's voice trembled gently through our shared mindscape. "Orchid—Kimchi—does not know how to craft a name for you. The entire notion is a newborn puzzle, alien and unwoven. Orchid wishes to choose one that you would cherish, not disdain."
I smiled inwardly, letting a slow wave of calm wash over me. "It's alright. Take all the time you need. I'm sure there's a moment to spare before we reach wherever you are guiding me now." Our footsteps crunched against the dust-choked rubble of the city outskirts, a settlement no older than a decade, its scars still fresh beneath the ruins of the hive's recent assault. This place was less a city and more a sprawling basecamp—crude shelters clustered beneath looming gas vents.
Kimchi replied softly, her tone steadying with the familiar cadence of explanation. "Kimchi escorts mate-spawn into this world's frontier, beyond the prey's air defenses, where a void-swimmer shall ferry us back to home space. Few such cities exist on this dwarf planet, chosen by prey for the rich underground gases. We decided to consume it for the same reason."
Her words, though mechanical, carried a faint undercurrent of pride—a hive predator's ruthless pragmatism. Intrigued, I peppered her with questions about their home world, the rigid gene-caste hierarchies, and the kaleidoscopic array of species entangled in their vast network. Each answer painted a richer tapestry, revealing an intelligence far deeper than her imposing, insectoid silhouette suggested.
Then, with a weight settling in my chest, I posed the question that gnawed at my conscience. "Kimchi, your hive's upper elite are sapient, yes? Don't you ever feel conflicted consuming other sentient beings?"
Kimchi halted abruptly, the chitin of her forearm catching the sun's dying light as she processed my words. "The hive is one predator, mate-spawn," she finally said, her voice tempered with solemnity. "We hunt and consume flesh, plants, and all forms of biomass—not from emotion, as many of your species do—but out of pure instinct and necessity. Without this, we cannot grow nor evolve into our truest form."
I considered this cold, alien logic. As a human, my gut twisted at the thought of Kimchi and her brethren devouring humans, yet from their perspective, it was pure nature. Like lions tearing into a gazelle, brutal but untainted by malice—simply survival.
"You're right, Kimchi. I'm sorry. I hadn't considered it from the hive's perspective. I'm only human, after all. Mistakes... and misunderstandings are part of our nature."
"You need not apologize, mate-spawn. Kimchi and the hive cherish your curiosity." Her warmth seeped into my mind, a balm to my anxieties. But then—
grglglgl
My stomach betrayed me with a loud, rumbling growl, echoing off the ruins. Six hours had passed since I'd last been fed, a scant meal from my adoptive mother before this cosmic upheaval.
"Kimchi," I relayed sheepishly, "I need sustenance."
Without hesitation, her voice shifted into pragmatic reassurance. "No worries, mate-spawn. Will regurgitated biomass suffice? My stomachs harbor plenty."
I nearly gagged at the mental image. "Don't get me wrong—I'm all for human soup as much as the next guy—but as an infant human mammal, I require milk. It's all my fragile digestive system can manage."
Then, with a swift, fluid motion, her scythe-like limb tore through the tough chitin of her torso, slicing into the living flesh beneath. A thick chunk of blue-ichored muscle, slick and pulsing, was ripped free in an instant, dripping with a viscous, alien fluid.
Before I could recoil in horror, her voice soothed the shock. "Do not fear, mate-spawn. Granted new freedoms by the hive, Kimchi may now alter her genes at will, unshackled from nest-pod presets. Kimchi will craft an exocrine gland to nourish mate-spawn fully."
The psionic link pulsed outward briefly, reaching into the vast hive mind. "Another freethinker variant has consumed a female human prey and shared data on her 'breast' gland's exocrine structure. Kimchi will commence genetic transformation."
I shifted slightly, and with the flat edge of her other scythe, she gently turned me sideways so I could witness the miracle unfolding. The wound, already sealed with coagulated ichor, began to ripple, swell, and twist—a metamorphosis that defied simple explanation. Not magic, no—magic was but a childish term for the hidden science we mortals failed to grasp.
Watching this gene-weaving spectacle, my eyes shimmered with wonder.
This is art.
If humanity had even a fraction of this power, who could say what miracles we might birth? Right then, an unspoken vow was forged within me: I would learn all I could from Kimchi about this wondrous science of bodily transmutation.
Within minutes, a rudimentary but functional exocrine gland emerged from the newly formed cavity. A grey nipple jutted awkwardly from the torn chitin, alien and out of place but undeniably real. Functional.
"That was incredible, Kimchi," I said through the link, my voice thick with awe. "Your ability to alter your own genome in such an exquisite, deliberate way... it's a sight beyond any human imagination."
Kimchi nudged me closer with a scythe, the gesture gentle despite its lethal nature. "Kimchi enjoys your praise, mate-spawn, but you must feed now. I implore you." She jabbed the scythe back and forth with impatient tenderness.
'Well, here goes nothing,' I thought as I latched on, my lips trembling at the strangeness of it all.
The first suckling sent a warm cascade of creamy sweetness flooding my senses, melting on my tongue like frozen nectar under a midsummer sun. My initial unease ebbed away, replaced by a cozy, soothing comfort.
'Not bad at all—like melted ice cream,' I mused, mouth full.
After I'd had my fill, I unlatched and sent her a grateful mental message. "Very tasty, Kimchi. You've made yourself quite the excellent boob, haha."
Yaaawn.
"What a strange day," I murmured, eyes closing as exhaustion finally claimed me. "Wake me when we arrive."
Kimchi turned away, whispering softly through the psionic veil. "Thank you, mate-spawn. Kimchi enjoyed nourishing you and is glad you liked her taste."
But as she reconnected with the hive's vast collective, something shifted within her—something unfamiliar, something achingly human.
For the first time ever, despite the hive's infinite multitude, the vast collective felt an emptiness—a lonely void.