It was a negotiation every bit as arduous as imagined, and one that could not be recorded in any written form.
Too many minor details required scrutiny and verification. Both sides were issuing empty checks; the true crux of the matter lay in how those checks would eventually be cashed. This was further complicated by the barriers of tribe, bloodline, and factional alignment that stood between them.
"Regarding the explanation of my identity... I want to see the full report first, and then I intend to make a trip to Camlann."
This was no mere prevarication; Sakdi himself had many unanswered questions. Hypotheses were merely hypotheses; they could not be equated with verified facts.
"There are many things I haven't fully cleared up myself, and I require more information. I can guarantee only one thing: as long as you and I walk the same path, I will not answer with any form of betrayal."
"I believe a face-to-face explanation would be more direct than a report."
The Sub-King, who had also skimmed the identification results, said nothing more. He did not explain whether he believed these claims or not. Instead, he directly summoned the Grey-wing technicians, ordering them to report the situation in detail.
"It is... complicated."
This task was a hot potato, carrying the constant perceived risk of being silenced forever. Consequently, the few insects who returned to the conference room chose their words with extreme caution. They provided a general overview before offering a final summary.
"This body does indeed belong to the Hard-wing tribe, but it has been mixed with something else."
The technician in charge of the examination wore an expression that was difficult to describe. "It is infused with a significant portion of... human, as well as several other impurities for which we have yet to reach a conclusion."
That was a peculiar way of putting it.
Sakdi felt tempted to ask which insect nowadays didn't carry more or less human DNA.
"Not human genes in the conventional sense."
The technician looked at him as if he were an illiterate, his previously bowed back straightening as his voice took on the disdain a top student might have for a failing one. "This is a hybrid body. Like a new species cultivated in an experimental nest—it has Hard-wing blood, but its origins are difficult to determine."
High-tech insects were generally blunt and gave little thought to their audience's feelings. Fearing Sakdi hadn't grasped his point, he added helpfully, "I would almost think someone was using human and insect corpses for composting."
"..."
Sakdi desperately wanted to weld that mouth shut. An insect even less capable of reading the room than Kleeman had been born.
However, Sakdi possessed formidable mental fortitude. Once a person accepts that they woke up and immediately ate a mouthful of insect droppings, there is no hurdle in this world they cannot overcome.
He was a master of psychological redirection.
"‘Difficult to determine’—meaning you haven't fully figured it out. Spending half a day only to reach a useless, common-sense conclusion... I have never seen such slothful efficiency."
He was quite professional when it came to lodging complaints to a superior's face.
The lead Grey-wing researcher, a Core Gene worker-female, was so incensed that her multiple legs began to scuttle erratically, looking as though she might drop her humanoid mimicry altogether.
"Our orders were to identify if this body belonged to the Hard-wings!"
Another victim falling into the trap of self-justification, attempting to argue logically and reclaim dignity before an unreasonable individual.
"You lack the consciousness to perform expansive search and research, and you possess zero passion for your work."
"You observed points that confused you, yet you chose not to clarify them... Your so-called completion of work is based entirely on obedience to the Sub-King’s orders, rather than your own inquisitive nature. You lack the essential qualities of a researcher."
The Grey-wing’s face practically screamed, *“I only get paid this much, what do you expect, man?”*
Yet Sakdi’s expression remained serious, devoid of contempt or mockery. He reasoned with the other calmly. "Your work attitude will cause you to stagnate here. This time, you cannot answer Clark’s or my questions. Next time, should something similar occur, you will still be unable to provide a clear explanation."
"You detected traces of human and other suspicious components in this body, yet these details failed to trigger your vigilance—you assumed the insects listening to your report would be too foolish to press further on these discrepancies."
The Grey-wing was utterly stunned.
He did not yet realize he was facing a king of psychological manipulation who could talk anyone into a corner. Nor had he experienced the agonizing, ruthless exploitation that the Short-wings, led by Islin, had endured. He had never considered the miserable possibility that one could be forced to do three jobs for a single salary.
Sakdi often felt that the insect lifestyle—getting some fries when hungry, having a scrap when bored—was far too lax. For an insect, living without "grinding" was no different from wasting one's life.
The Short-wings had already finished their grind and were now on the right track of actively creating value and self-management. Now, it was the Grey-wings' turn.
"Take more time. Give me a more complete report."
The Sub-King, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, bringing the matter to a close.
Watching the technician nod and bolt for the exit, Clark let out a soft sigh.
"You are quite adept at ordering my tribesmen around."
"They had best get used to it quickly," the Core-species replied.
"The swarms under your command are only excited and proactive when it comes to battle. When it involves anything related to production, they seem quite disinterested."
In truth, "disinterested" was a rather polite euphemism. When Sakdi first took over the energy planet, he had endured a great deal of wailing and howling. This race was universally stubborn, resistant to discipline, and loathed mechanical labor. But the moment a situation arose where heads might roll, they became as hyperactive as if they’d been injected with hormones, descending into a frenzied dance of demons.
Even though more than half a Great Universal Cycle had passed, he could still clearly recall the rising and falling hum of Angon.
They would show up the moment a fight was called, but they dragged their feet when it was time for work.
Their... or rather, their history told these creatures that if resources were low, they should go pillage. If technology was outdated, they should go pillage. If food, territory, or incubation beds/mates were insufficient, they could pillage them all.
It was much the same logic as why nomadic peoples disliked farming. Interstellar bandits never deigned to engage in honest production.
"But if you truly wish to establish long-term cooperation with humans, your tribesmen need to adapt to a new way of life sooner rather than later," he warned his brand-new partner.
"The current Empress is not someone to be trifled with. She will not accept any form of overstepping or testing. My reason for opening trade routes is the hope of winning a long-term, stable peace, not to incite a war between the two sides."
This conversation had consumed nearly half a day.
A single meeting obviously couldn't resolve everything; it could only establish a general direction. Later, Arthur, Gela, Kleeman, and the Armed-species would join their discussions as circumstances dictated.
"Let us stop here for now."
The Sub-King made a gesture to halt. "As for further matters, let us wait until we see the full report and the second head you promised to deliver to me."
The Core-species nodded compliantly. "Fine. Inspect the goods first, pay later. I have no problem with that."
A very considerate boss—no, partner—he had appropriately stopped the difficult tug-of-war just when Sakdi needed to eat.
He planned to go to the Great Information Nest to pick up Gela and share some honey dew with him... If other males had honey dew to eat, his partner must have some as well.
However, the moment Sakdi stood up, the silver-grey female insect gripped his shoulder.
The one being held raised an eyebrow at his counterpart. Clark didn't have a habit of being handsy, nor did he seem like the type to burn bridges immediately after crossing them. Thus, Sakdi remained silent and still, questioning him only with his eyes.
Fine scales covered Clark's right hand as his fingers curved into sharp talons. He raised his hand, allowing the lethal weapon to press lightly and slowly against the side of Sakdi's neck.
The sensation of danger approaching a vital point almost caused the black insect to bristle his scales. Exposing his non-renewable head to the attack range of a Sub-King nearly triggered his automatic counter-reflex.
Sakdi felt clearly as that cold, slender claw-tip rubbed against his neck in a steady, emotionally complex slow motion.
There was a negligible, tiny sting, accompanied by the faint scent of blood.
Clark withdrew his arm, which had already reverted to its humanoid mimicry, and lightly rubbed his fingers, which were usually unstained by dust. A faint red trace remained on them.
The Sub-King brought his fingertips to his lips and licked them expressionlessly.
This baffling action nearly shocked Sakdi. For a moment, colorful banners flew through his mind: *Brother, what on earth are you doing?*
But immediately after, the Core-species understood the behavior—the other's scent gland was carefully discerning the scent of his pheromones.
Having retained too many memories of being human caused this fellow, who had only been an insect for one Great Cycle, to be frequently helpless in daily life.
Certain behaviors of the insect race would cause a "pupil earthquake" if performed in human society. Cultural differences always ambushed him in the strangest places.
The phrase "I am willing to share with you every shattered scale, every piece of stripped flesh" was not a metaphor or hyperbolic rhetoric to the insect race. They truly believed in blood for blood and a tooth for a tooth—in the literal, physical sense.
Even someone as gentle as Gela had once expressed, word for word: "I shall feast upon your remains, and together we shall turn into the silt and plasma at the bottom of Angon."
The swarm lacked a concrete consciousness of love and hate, yet the practice of conspecific cannibalism they followed merged the two into one through actual deeds.
His proposal had been accepted by the Sub-King, so Clark was carefully identifying his aura, his pheromones, and the taste of his blood.
Insects relied on smell and taste even more than sight; a large portion of their brains was dedicated to processing such information. Faced with a deliberately left mark, they could notice the trail of an enemy or companion from a vast distance. They also possessed an instinctive craving for specific blood-meals—such as the remains of an Insect Mother.
In the present day, with technology developed to a certain level, many advanced means had replaced these old traditions.
But in this setting, just as a wolf or a leopard would cautiously identify its own kind, the silver-grey female of the King-insect lineage was informing him in a formal and rigorous manner: *I remember your blood and your scent. From this moment on, your blood flows within my body.*
They had not yet reached any formal verbal agreement. But the Sub-King of the Grey-wings had given a subtle, obscure answer through his actions. It was very much in the style of the Core Gene Tribe's direct lineage.
"I don't suppose I need to... bite back?"
Understanding was one thing; participating was another. Sakdi’s face was a mask of agony. Your "brother" had offered the highest etiquette for treating an ally, but you were allergic to such etiquette. It was like a straight man who couldn't stand the "bise" cheek-kissing greeting.
Then, he saw the other man's face turn into one of reserved disdain.
The Sub-King exuded an aura of "don't touch me" from head to toe as he took a step back.
"Stay away from me," Clark said. He wiped his hand, restoring himself to a pristine state. "And your blood truly doesn't taste much like a Hard-wing's."
"..."
Sakdi took a deep breath and turned to leave.
*Brother, you are seriously ill.*
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 实验巢穴 | Experimental Nest | A facility for biological engineering or cultivation. |
| 大信息巢 | Great Information Nest | A central hub for data or communication within the insect society. |
| 蜜露 | Honey Dew | A specialized food source or nutrient for insects. |
| 大宇宙循环 | Great Universal Cycle | A unit of time measurement in this sci-fi setting. |
| 安贡 | Angon | Likely a location or planet associated with the insect race's history. |
| 核心基因工雌 | Core Gene worker-female | A specific caste/rank of female insect focused on labor or research. |
| 瞳孔地震 | Pupil earthquake | Chinese internet slang for extreme shock or surprise. |
