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Description
Nonessential Prosthesis

By Aaron C. Richards

The pain comes in waves like a hole in the head. A hole in the head. A hole in the head. And as each wave comes I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead. I wish it was dead.

Then the overlord comes around and everything changes. It’s all “Hail Spectrum”, and “Song of Ages” and “Whose thrum is loudest to please the queen?” I’ve been waiting a long time for my chance to please the queen. But my thrum is weak. The prettiest sounds I make are inside my head: the one place that the hive doesn’t seem to be able to get to. Because the only place darker and more twisted than the hive around me is the inside of my fucking brain. So the queen gets no pleasure from me. My DNA does not make a contribution to the hive. And my thrum doesn’t join their song.

My days are darkness, stillness, and pain. The darkness threatens to put me to sleep, and the pain wakes me back up. My food is the hive itself, or whatever I can reach in the combs around my cell. It tastes horrible. I keep thinking, hoping that my body won’t be sustained by it. But every time I wake up, I’m still alive. I’m feeding the hive with my thrum, however weak it is. And I can feel the queen. The sexiness of her body, all strong and lithe and developed. I can smell her. She’s ready for pleasure. I wake up in pain.

Humans are not meant to live like this.

We should have ended it the moment they came. We were about to…and then the queen showed up. Irresistible, even before the new hive was built here. Her thrum was captivating. Seconds after her arrival, the whole world knew her thrum. She’d broadcast it over the social networks. It was what had drawn them to our world in the first place: an intangible hive of our own, hanging in cyberspace. We communicated globally at faster than the speed of life. Even the hive couldn’t do that. They had to thrum at one another, restricted by the limitations of sound. But these ambitious little insects…they did it for fun.

I think I was someone important, back out in the world. Or the son of someone important. I remember a weapon, though I don’t remember what it was. I remember the smell though. It was metallic, and burnt. And loud. It was the reason that the hive was keeping me alive, even though I didn’t network. They were curious about it, and me. Why would a human do this to himself?

There were lungs here I didn’t use. A heart that was odd and regular in its pulsing, more like our computers than our organs. Besides, I already had a perfectly normal human heart. Why did I need two? But it pulsed away just the same, and that’s why the queen kept me. She liked the pulse. It helped her sleep. The thrum was pitiful, but the beat was unique.

That was a long time ago. It was long enough so that now I can’t remember what those organs are for either. But I’m still here, and somewhere in my dim human brain, I remember that this is where I need to be. It’s important. My organic heart tells me so.

The soldiers in the hive didn’t trust me. They wanted to tear me apart. But the queen forbade them, and what the queen wants, the queen gets. She liked the beat, and the soldiers could not reassure her that the beat would survive being outside my body. She didn’t care for the body, but if the beat inside died, so would the soldiers. So they put me and my nonessential prosthesis in with their larvae: some place where I could be of the most benefit, close by to their queen, and do the least harm. I couldn’t get to their soldiers from here. I couldn’t disrupt their food supply. All I could do was hear, and be heard.

The pain comes again like a hole in the head, a hole in the head, a hole in the head. And as each wave comes I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead. I wish it was dead.

The thrum comes suddenly, from somewhere inside. It’s unexpected, powerful and strong. I don’t know this noise. And all around me, the hive goes silent. It’s the first time since they came that the hive has been entirely silent. No song at all around me, as the strange and exalting thrum comes within. My brain is still weak, and my body frail…the thrum does not come from me, but within me.

I’m moving. I am brought before the queen. The exaltation comes to me at last: to be in the presence of the galaxy’s most beautiful creature.

Her body is long, and slick, and shiny. Her limbs unfold gracefully from the rest of her, all beauty and desire. Her thrum comes from some place low, and resonates more deeply. I’ve never heard it in person before. The song joins with mine, and for the first time in my life, I understand the “song of ages”. I’m crying “Hail spectrum” for the first time with utter conviction.

The pulse, which was there before, but always subtle, turns into a high, shrieking alarm. The queen is taken by surprise at first, but then she skitters over to me, and I feel her fingers on my skin. She is desirous of that noise, and I am desirous of her. We entangle with one another, ignorant of the differences in our bodies, as the pulse begins to speed up, though it retains its regularity. The shrieking becomes a scream, and then a long-sustained note.

And then I remember everything.

The faces of the human people in the room as they place those nonessential prosthetics inside my body. The air of expectation and dread hope as they plant the device inside my chest cavity. They tell me things about how they have remote detonators if anything goes wrong, but once the device recognizes the queen’s thrum, it will take care of that by itself. They make jokes about how I will die in eternal happiness, but the fear tugs at their eyes. They are terrified. And so am I. Because they are the last outside the hive. And they are losing their leader. If I do not come to please the queen, this is the end for them.

The sustained note becomes too much for the queen now, and her thrum is beginning to be dragged out. I clutch onto her tightly, not allowing her to distance herself from it. I want her to hear it. I want her to feel that agony, that unstoppable torture, as I have known it. As my planet has known it. As my people have known it. I lean closer to her, and just before the scream becomes an inferno, I whisper to her.

“Whose thrum is loudest to please the queen?”

Description
Nonessential Prosthesis

By Aaron C. Richards

The pain comes in waves like a hole in the head. A hole in the head. A hole in the head. And as each wave comes I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead. I wish it was dead.

Then the overlord comes around and everything changes. It’s all “Hail Spectrum”, and “Song of Ages” and “Whose thrum is loudest to please the queen?” I’ve been waiting a long time for my chance to please the queen. But my thrum is weak. The prettiest sounds I make are inside my head: the one place that the hive doesn’t seem to be able to get to. Because the only place darker and more twisted than the hive around me is the inside of my fucking brain. So the queen gets no pleasure from me. My DNA does not make a contribution to the hive. And my thrum doesn’t join their song.

My days are darkness, stillness, and pain. The darkness threatens to put me to sleep, and the pain wakes me back up. My food is the hive itself, or whatever I can reach in the combs around my cell. It tastes horrible. I keep thinking, hoping that my body won’t be sustained by it. But every time I wake up, I’m still alive. I’m feeding the hive with my thrum, however weak it is. And I can feel the queen. The sexiness of her body, all strong and lithe and developed. I can smell her. She’s ready for pleasure. I wake up in pain.

Humans are not meant to live like this.

We should have ended it the moment they came. We were about to…and then the queen showed up. Irresistible, even before the new hive was built here. Her thrum was captivating. Seconds after her arrival, the whole world knew her thrum. She’d broadcast it over the social networks. It was what had drawn them to our world in the first place: an intangible hive of our own, hanging in cyberspace. We communicated globally at faster than the speed of life. Even the hive couldn’t do that. They had to thrum at one another, restricted by the limitations of sound. But these ambitious little insects…they did it for fun.

I think I was someone important, back out in the world. Or the son of someone important. I remember a weapon, though I don’t remember what it was. I remember the smell though. It was metallic, and burnt. And loud. It was the reason that the hive was keeping me alive, even though I didn’t network. They were curious about it, and me. Why would a human do this to himself?

There were lungs here I didn’t use. A heart that was odd and regular in its pulsing, more like our computers than our organs. Besides, I already had a perfectly normal human heart. Why did I need two? But it pulsed away just the same, and that’s why the queen kept me. She liked the pulse. It helped her sleep. The thrum was pitiful, but the beat was unique.

That was a long time ago. It was long enough so that now I can’t remember what those organs are for either. But I’m still here, and somewhere in my dim human brain, I remember that this is where I need to be. It’s important. My organic heart tells me so.

The soldiers in the hive didn’t trust me. They wanted to tear me apart. But the queen forbade them, and what the queen wants, the queen gets. She liked the beat, and the soldiers could not reassure her that the beat would survive being outside my body. She didn’t care for the body, but if the beat inside died, so would the soldiers. So they put me and my nonessential prosthesis in with their larvae: some place where I could be of the most benefit, close by to their queen, and do the least harm. I couldn’t get to their soldiers from here. I couldn’t disrupt their food supply. All I could do was hear, and be heard.

The pain comes again like a hole in the head, a hole in the head, a hole in the head. And as each wave comes I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead. I wish it was dead.

The thrum comes suddenly, from somewhere inside. It’s unexpected, powerful and strong. I don’t know this noise. And all around me, the hive goes silent. It’s the first time since they came that the hive has been entirely silent. No song at all around me, as the strange and exalting thrum comes within. My brain is still weak, and my body frail…the thrum does not come from me, but within me.

I’m moving. I am brought before the queen. The exaltation comes to me at last: to be in the presence of the galaxy’s most beautiful creature.

Her body is long, and slick, and shiny. Her limbs unfold gracefully from the rest of her, all beauty and desire. Her thrum comes from some place low, and resonates more deeply. I’ve never heard it in person before. The song joins with mine, and for the first time in my life, I understand the “song of ages”. I’m crying “Hail spectrum” for the first time with utter conviction.

The pulse, which was there before, but always subtle, turns into a high, shrieking alarm. The queen is taken by surprise at first, but then she skitters over to me, and I feel her fingers on my skin. She is desirous of that noise, and I am desirous of her. We entangle with one another, ignorant of the differences in our bodies, as the pulse begins to speed up, though it retains its regularity. The shrieking becomes a scream, and then a long-sustained note.

And then I remember everything.

The faces of the human people in the room as they place those nonessential prosthetics inside my body. The air of expectation and dread hope as they plant the device inside my chest cavity. They tell me things about how they have remote detonators if anything goes wrong, but once the device recognizes the queen’s thrum, it will take care of that by itself. They make jokes about how I will die in eternal happiness, but the fear tugs at their eyes. They are terrified. And so am I. Because they are the last outside the hive. And they are losing their leader. If I do not come to please the queen, this is the end for them.

The sustained note becomes too much for the queen now, and her thrum is beginning to be dragged out. I clutch onto her tightly, not allowing her to distance herself from it. I want her to hear it. I want her to feel that agony, that unstoppable torture, as I have known it. As my planet has known it. As my people have known it. I lean closer to her, and just before the scream becomes an inferno, I whisper to her.

“Whose thrum is loudest to please the queen?”