Mind Like a Hive – Part 3

I lost a couple of days to illness this week.  Yesterday was an absolute wash: I was barely cognizant for any of it.  I get glimpses, but nothing solid.  Today, the son is home because of the crud that he gave me yesterday spiked a fever, so no daycare for him. 

I have such grand plans for the world I’m building with Mind Like a Hive.  It’s… man it feels so very open.  There’s practically no limit to what I can do with it.  It’s interesting to watch my mind unfurl these vistas before me.  Honestly, for the most part, I’m just as surprised by them as you are.  There seems to be no limit to the new horizons that I can create.  It’s a little unnerving, but maybe it’s not so bad to be broken.  More light shines through the cracks.

Mind Like a Hive – Part 3

 Sheraith sat in a chair in the corner of General Hawthrone’s tent, almost insensate as the Medical Corp handler went through the motions of rousing her porrebug.  The eyestalks and tentacles move sluggishly, resenting their call to action.  Catching the sent of kovan blood on the air, the stalks immediately began fanning out over the arrow wound, inspecting it from half a dozen different angles.  The medic gently uncoiled the porrebug from around her shoulders as the creature slithered it’s way around Sheraith’s injured leg.  Even on the edges of consciousness, Sheraith couldn’t fight the cry of renewed pain as the porrebug tightened into a tourniquet.  The tentacled end of the porrebug was finally freed from the medic’s shoulders, and it began to probe the edges of the slowly bleeding wound on Sheraith’s leg.

The tentacles lunged with the speed of a striking cobra, tearing the arrow free from Sheraith’s leg with clinical detachment.  A hammerblow of nauseating pain struck Sheraith, who was forced to lean over and retch onto the dirt of the tent floor.  She almost followed her gorge downward, but the medic caught her and pushed her back into the chair before any shameful landings occurred.  The porrebug, heedless of its patients discomfort, began closing up the wound.  The tentacles split along the ends, each one wielding a mouth covered in a gleaming saliva.  Their bites were small but the liquid was an analgesic adhesive, and as the bites sutured closed the wounds, the secretion held it fast and numbed the pain.

Sheraith’s head lolled back, but the waves of pain threatening her stomach and her ability to remain upright began to recede.  Her head cleared, the fog began to lift, and although she felt shaky and weak, it was enough for her to remember the sense of urgency that had given her strength to reach the tent.  Recognizing the commanding presence of General Hawthorne, Sheraith felt a rush of adrenaline.  Seated, woozy from blood loss, slightly giddy from the porrebug secretions, Sheraith still managed a crisp salute, her hand automatically snapping smartly against the carapace armor over her heart.  “General Ma’am!  I bear grave news from the front lines.  We’re losing ma’am, badly.  It could become a route at any moment.”  The cold, calculating eyes of the General swept over her, searching for any hint of doubt or insecurity in Sheraith’s assessment.  Finding none, her mouth and whiskers set themselves in grim lines of determination. “Very well Knight Bohigdon.  Thank you for bringing me this news.  Are you fit to fly?  I have messages which need delivered.”  Sheraith blanched, but her hand once more beat out an affirmative tatoo against her armor. 

to be continued…

Porrefully,
Justin