FLIGHT 00: QUEEN GLEAM, MYRMEX CLUTCH

The presence of the Myrmex aboard the Refugium caused Kutoth no small amount of delight and set the biologists a flurry of excitement. This handful of dragons were the very last of their kind, hunted to the brink of extinction by some gathering of warrior races that disagreed with the myrmex practice of acquiring bonds without asking. Ordinarily Kutoth would contact the esteemed Dr. Krum over the possibility of cloning for the sake of preserving the species, but this magnificent creature, this Queen, possessed the solution they needed already contained inside her abdomen.

The Queen strut through the arching cavern of the subterranean biome, scratching at the hard earth with a judgmental claw. A contingent of smaller, flighted drones hovered around her, examining every nook of the cave with tight expressions. They flowed together like a single organism, their dance both highly orchestrated and utterly effortless.

"I will make many eggs." The Queen's mind voice screeched like static in Kutoth's head.

Even the pain of it couldn't quell his glee. "You find the cavern acceptable, then?"

"Drones will make it acceptable." The Queen folded her massive form to the cave floor, tucking her segmented legs artfully beneath her body. Her decision made, the collection of drones set to work, gnawing and scratching at the tunnel walls.

The Refugium had terraformers on staff for this exact purpose and the entire lot of them would malfunction like so many bad computers if they were witness to the Myrmex shenanigans, but perhaps nest making was important to the species.

"And how many eggs are we expecting?" Kutoth pulled a datapad from his coat. It was unlikely the Queen would know her exact clutch size, of course, but a rough estimate for the number of candidates the Refugium would require was always useful. His fingers poised ready above the screen.

In lieu of an answer, the Queen projected an image into Kutoth's head.

The indecipherable fog of chittering clunked together piece by piece until Kutoth faced a field of round eggs, pearlescent and taut with liquid. They stretched to the ends of an abyssal cavern, scaled up the walls with gleaming intent, dripping the floor to sticky ooze.

The image faded.

"Do not worry," said the Queen, laying her head down to rest," Many will be eaten, nothing is wasted."

Kutoth tapped the comm link on his datapad.

"We're going to need a lot of candidates."