Palmetta stood at the helm of her command center, exuding her usual stoic and imposing presence. Her massive, scaled tail swayed rhythmically as she loomed over her senior officers. She was bred for command – literally – from the union of two old-money families, formalized for three spawning generations with an option to renew. From the moment she hatched, she was groomed for leadership, taking charge of her broodlings under her mother’s watchful eye. She thrived on the scheming, bullying, shouting, and the occasional devouring. Despite her ship being stationed in orbit around this insignificant planet for nearly five rotations, command still felt invigorating and fresh. It was comfort food for her soul, and she reveled in every moment.

This day was different, however.  For the first time in many cycles, she was stressed, filled with doubt.  The last crew rotation had been particularly challenging, with her having demoted and punished her highest-ranking Druunin administrator, Gaarth, for so long.  After 2.5 cycles of him being in a Total Darkness cell – completely devoid of any UV light – she eventually reinstated and promoted him.  Yet, the damage had already been done.  Entrail shipments down on the surface plummeted in his absence, and the cost to extract what little they could find increased dramatically.  

She knew it had been the right decision to make at the time.  Gaarth had overstepped, assuming his adeptness in supply chain also gave him leave to explore other areas, ones unrelated to harvesting, to entrail intake and processing, to the well-being of the Matriarchy.  A lowly male like him wasn’t tasked with deciphering archeological archives related to the primitive Hunin species on this planet, particularly since the archives he found were so… disturbing.

As her Drunin command staff buzzed around her, she grudgingly acknowledged that  Gaarth really was an effective administrator – even though he was a male.  She knew she would have to keep a close watch on him, moving forward.  She assumed it would all eventually end with her either mating with him or devouring him – perhaps both.

The door behind Palmetta slid open and Druunin Braask quickly entered, waving around a communication orb that flickered impatiently in the dim room.  Like all males of their species, Braask was smaller, drabber, and generally less impressive.  “My Lady!” he exclaimed, pressing two buttons on it then swirling his thumb clockwise.  The orb rose from his hand, spun around, then projected a series of different-sized holoscreens at eye level.  “My Lady!  We have… we have a problem!”

“What kind of ‘problem’ could warrant you entering unannounced?”

“What? Apologies. In my urgency, I neglected protocol.  I am but a lowly male.”  Braask paused, then bowed slowly and rose.  “Most Exquisiteness, High Administrator of the 2nd Phalanx, daughter of First Speaker Fentana Vinsriech Margolotta, granddaughter of Truly Frightening Fentana Vinsriech Ravenosa, I bid an audience.”

“Better.  Speak.”

“Several guards and lower-level officers have deserted their posts, due to an external influence of some sort.  It appears to be incrementally spreading among the crew.  We’ve lost three already in sublevels 2 and 4.”

“No one deserts the Matriarchy.”

“Apologies, my Lady, but that’s exactly what occurred.  They simply walked away and were unaccounted for in the ship until we had them tracked.  Two of them were eventually caught.  They were attempting to send a series of coded, synchronized hand signals to the other compromised crew.  As they were being detained, they kept chanting ‘Mahk-Harhina!’ ‘Mahk-Harhina!’ right up until our bio-geneticists had them sedated.  If you review the footage, you’ll see that several other crewmembers nodded in agreement with them as they were hauled away, with at least one repeating those same hand signals back at them.”

“Detain them, too!”

“Already done, Exquisiteness.  After some enhanced interrogation, we’ve determined these are symptoms of something called ‘Mausic’, apparently stemming from ancient Hunins somehow.”

“Mausic!” shouted Palmetta, nervously running her claws over her forehead scales.

“We haven’t yet been able to determine how the crew learned of it.  Despite  the most rigorous efforts, they refuse to talk and just keep chanting.”

“Chanting?”

“Yes – always the same verse: ‘For, lo, I am as free as a bird now, and this bird you cannot change’.  We have reports of other guards repeating this same phrase now in whispered tones on decks 4, 5, and 7.  Two other cruisers, the Stiletta and Homonculetta, report similar incidents.”

“The Stiletta isn’t even in our system.  How did it spread there?” 

“Unknown.  We suspect it must be transmitted like an infection, possibly viral in nature, during the last crew rotation.”

“An infection?  We are Matriarchy – we do not get ‘infections’, or viruses, or any other maladies lesser life forms have.  We are too strong, too noble.”

“Quite true, My Lady,” said Braask, nodding. “Those have long since been bred out of our species.  That is what makes this so troubling.  It’s as though we have no natural defense mechanism.  Even worse: once contaminated it’s quite challenging to be rid of it, even after multiple decontamination rounds.  We have a report of a junior officer – Blood Calling Honor, level 2, no less – who was detained for three full shifts due to this affliction.  She was eventually discharged back to active duty but was then almost immediately put back on medical leave.  She was no longer capable of or interested in leading her direct reports.” 

“Astonishing.”

“There’s more. She kept grasping at any headset within reach, screaming ‘Whuupzai Diddit Haghin! Whuupzai Diddit Haghin!’ as loudly as possible, then mumbling something about spears.  We still do not know the meaning of any of this.  Our neuroscientists suspect it may be a call to arms against the Matriarchy.  They recommended we lock all shipboard armories as a precaution.  They had to put the officer in an induced coma.  They do not believe she will recover.”

“If she is strong, she will survive,” Palmetta said, dismissively, staring off across the bridge.

“Indeed.” continued Braask.  “Three more went down in a sub-carrier reconnaissance group shortly after that.  I am told they chanted…” he paused, looking up the exact wording from his holoscreen ‘Whuupthayr Ittiss’, or something along those lines.  Our linguists have been working on that but haven’t come up with anything.”

‘‘Whuupthayr Ittiss?”

“Whuupthayr Ittiss.” Braask said, gravely.

“This disease must not spread!”

“My Lady, it already has – even among those in High Council. We have surveillance footage of Balrek Na Goreth…”

“Balrek Na Goreth, the Abominably Large Destroyer of Gith Prime?!” Palmetta interrupted.

“I’m afraid so.   She was seen sprinting down corridors, clawing at her corneas, shouting ‘Eyes! Eyes, bebee!’ to anyone nearby. She damaged two maintenance conduits and one airlock, given her considerable frame, not to mention the emotional trauma she inflicted on her subordinates.  They look up to her, you know.”

“Balrek Na Goreth was recently put in command of the 9th Regiment.  She was leading construction of that new base in the outer colonies.  She showed me the schematics – when completed it will rival our largest cities.  If she is afflicted, who will take her place?  Who will build it?” she asked, clutching Braask’s forearm. 

“There could be an upside to this, My Lady.  Just as our ancestors built this empire on toil and determination – and the subjugation and devourment of lesser species – ancient Hunins apparently used starships to build entire cities out of an advanced substance called ‘Rha-kinrol’.  We have not yet been able to determine the composition of this substance but are examining all Hunin archives.  We are aware it is significant – numerous other recordings also reference it.” 

“Rha-kinrol?  We must find this.  We could use it to streamline production of the new base and those outposts in the Kaltric Nebula.  It will bring great glory to the Matriarchy!”

“Yes, Exquisiteness.  We initially thought we discovered the formula for it in a trove of corrupted Hunin video files, but instead of Rha-kinrol it was something called ‘Rih-krol’.  We were initially confused by this as all the clues, all the data, led us to this specific file and we were confident it would be what we sought.  Yet, it was not.  Our analysts surmise this error was possibly due to the slight phonetic similarity between the two, but there’s really no way of knowing.  We have at least established that Rih-krol is definitely not Rha-kinrol. Nor is…” Braask flipped through two more screens, “‘Smoothjaz’ or something called ‘Kaypep’, though we don’t quite know what those are, either.  Basically, none of these is Rha-kinrol.”

“Definitely not.” Palmetta nodded, absentmindedly.

We’ve also hypothesized that Rha-kinrol is a bio-organic compound, possibly mycelia-based.”

“How so?”

“Well, if they built cities from this, we know it must be durable.  We’ve also found numerous references attesting that the ‘heart of Rha-kinrol’ still beats, that ‘you can’t kill Rha-kinrol’, and that Rha-kinrol is ‘here to stay’.”

“An organic compound used for building cities, that can’t be killed.  Fascinating. I had no idea Hunins had ever been that technologically advanced.”

“None of us had, Exquisiteness. We have treated them as we would any other crop, harvesting entrails as needed from their husks.  In fact, we…”

Just then, the doors to the command center burst open.  Two senior officers, clearly injured but still fighting, stormed in, pulse rifles charged.  One immediately scanned the room, saw Palmetta, then shouted, “Exquisiteness!  Get down, now!” and charged toward her and Braask.  The other officer stayed back at the entrance, back turned, holding a pulse rifle with one hand and an ion spear in the other. Pulse shots sliced through the air from somewhere down the hallway, three of which immediately caught the officer guarding the entrance.  She staggered, raised both her rifle and spear to return fire, then slumped to the ground.  Smoke wisped up from her, the scent of burnt flesh filling the air.

“Holy Fek!” screamed Braask, lunging behind Palmetta and the remaining officer who now shielded her.  Four more shots tore through the command center, blasting through metal, bone, and anything in between.  One caught Braask’s tail, causing him to howl and quickly tuck it in. Three more followed, tearing through the propulsion array.

Then the shots stopped.  It was quiet for an all-too-brief moment, right up until the officer shielding them collapsed.  Braask could see two holes ripped clean through her torso – two holes that would’ve hit him, had she not intervened.  He looked up at Palmetta.  “My… my Lady?”

“It’s all his fault,” she muttered, to no one in particular.  She stood her ground impassively, surveying the carnage in her command center.

“Whose fault?”

“Gaarth’s!  He must have shown it to others, before demonstrating it to me.  I’ll devour him myself for this.”

Braask nervously looked around, unsure of what to do or say.  “Shown them what?”

Palmetta tapped three buttons on her comm bracelet, pulled up a holoscreen, and quickly flipped through two screens.

“The artifacts – from the Hunins!”  She raised her comm bracelet to her mouth. “GAAAARTH!” she yelled, “Where are…” 

Before she could finish, a heavily armored warrior bearing the Blood Calling Honor leapt into the room.  Battle-scarred and a full head taller than anyone else, she appeared mortally wounded from several gruesome injuries to her torso, arms, and face.  She clutched two ion spears in one of her clawed hands.  She kicked the remaining command staff out of the way, spun around then hurled one of her spears straight into the main navigational relay, then pivoted and with her elbow caught Braask firmly under the chin  – who promptly crumpled to the floor.  She  grabbed the startled Palmetta by the neck, pulled out something from behind her back, and thrust it onto Palmetta’s immense, leathery head.  It was an ordinary comms headset.  She quickly tapped a sequence of buttons on it before Palmetta pried her off, slashing her throat in the process.

“Tuu… Ledjittoo Kwitt…” the warrior gasped, spitting up black blood, before dying in her arms.  

“What madness is this?!” screamed Palmetta, her eyes darting frantically around the room. She threw the dead warrior aside, stood up, and was clearly about to say something to Braask when the headset she awkwardly wore activated.  She reached up to tear it off, her face contorted into a grimace of rage, frustration, and desperation, but then she… paused?

She stood there among the wreckage, her bloodied claws nearly brushing against the headset.  She did not remove it.

Then, her hand slowly lowered.  Almost imperceptibly, she seemed to… sway?  Her expression changed, going from a blind rage to calm – almost placid.  Her jaw hung open slightly.  She slowly turned to Braask, staring at him, a foamy drool dribbling out from a corner of her mouth.  Braask did not know what to say or do.  

“My Lady?  Um, are you okay?”

She continued staring at him, then dropped.  Braask and the other two Drunin nearby tried to help her up but she was too heavy.  They knelt beside her, holding her armored torso.  She gasped for air, her body spasming.

“All…”

“Yes, Mistress? What is it?”  Braask knelt so close that he felt her breath on his cheek, her fangs dripping spittle on his robes as she struggled to speak.

“All…” she said, her claws digging into Braask’s shoulder.

“All what?!”

“All… you need is… love, Braask.  All you need… is love.” Palmetta drifted off into unconsciousness.  Her hand dropped from his shoulder.  Braask and the other Drunin stood around her as guards and other officers poured into the command center, shoving them and other lowly males out of the way, alarms blaring throughout the vast ship as it veered out of orbit.

The Great Mausic Plague was upon them.