<h2 style="text-align: justify">Chapter 2: The Colony</h2>


    They say dreams reveal our deepest truths. If that''s the case, then my truth is a nightmare of clicking mandibles and alien whispers. I''m drifting in and out of consciousness, my mind floating in a sea of fragmented memories. The Horizon Drifter. Captain Mercer''s gruff voice. The trap. Patel''s scream as the drones breached her suit. The cold sensation of something foreign entering my bloodstream.


    And through it all, a constant presence pressing against my thoughts. Not painful, exactly, but persistent—like waves eroding a shoreline.


    I snap awake with a gasp, my body jerking upright only to be stopped by restraints around my wrists and ankles. My heart pounds against my ribs as I take in my surroundings. I''m no longer in my EVA suit. Instead, I''m wearing a plain gray jumpsuit made of a material I don''t recognize—something between silk and synthetic fiber. The surface beneath me is smooth and slightly yielding, not quite a bed but not hard either.


    The room around me is unlike any I''ve seen before. The walls curve organically, almost like I''m inside a massive shell or cocoon. No sharp angles or straight lines anywhere. The lighting comes from bioluminescent patches embedded in the walls, casting everything in a soft amber glow.


    Definitely not a human vessel.


    "Hello?" I call out, my voice sounding strange in the acoustics of the rounded room. "Is anyone there?"


    No response, but I notice a slight vibration in the floor beneath me. We''re moving—I''ve spent enough time on ships to recognize the telltale signs of engines at work. I''m on a Nexari vessel, being transported deeper into their territory.


    I pull against my restraints, testing their strength. They''re not metal or synthetic cuffs like humans would use, but some kind of fibrous material that gives slightly but doesn''t break. The more I struggle, the tighter they seem to become, so I force myself to relax.


    Think, Andrew. Assess the situation.


    I do a mental inventory of my body. No pain, which is surprising. My head is clear—clearer than it should be after being drugged. I can move my fingers and toes, and all my limbs respond normally within the constraints of the restraints. It''s as if they''ve deliberately kept me in good condition.


    But why am I still me? The Nexari are known for assimilating humans into their hive mind. By all accounts, I should be a mindless drone by now, my consciousness subsumed into their collective.


    The memory of that pressure against my mind returns. The way I somehow pushed back without even trying. Was that real, or just a hallucination from whatever they injected me with?


    A seam appears in the wall across from me, widening to form a doorway. A Nexari drone steps through—not one of the tiny scouts from the ship, but a worker, about five feet tall with a humanoid body structure but definitely insectoid features. Its carapace is a deep amber color with intricate patterns etched across the surface. It carries something in its multiple-jointed arms.


    I tense, prepared for... I don''t know what. Torture? More injections? But the drone simply approaches, sets down what appears to be a container of liquid on a small shelf that emerges from the wall, then backs away, watching me with compound eyes that give nothing away.


    It chitters softly, the sound fluctuating in pitch and rhythm. To my shock, I almost understand it—not the words, but the sentiment. An instruction to drink.


    "I can''t exactly reach it with these on," I say, nodding toward my restraints.


    The drone tilts its head, seeming to consider this. Then it approaches again and touches one finger-like appendage to the restraint on my right wrist. The fibrous material loosens and retracts into the surface I''m lying on.


    I slowly sit up, rubbing my wrist and watching the drone carefully. It makes no move to stop me, simply standing there expectantly. I reach for the container, finding it warm to the touch. The liquid inside is clear with a faint blue tinge.


    "What is this?" I ask, not expecting an answer.


    The drone makes another chittering sound, and again I get that strange sense of almost-understanding. Sustenance. Not harmful.


    I sniff the liquid cautiously. It has no odor I can detect. If they wanted to drug me further or poison me, they could have done it while I was unconscious. Still, I take only a small sip at first. It tastes... neutral. Not unpleasant, just lacking any distinct flavor, like water with the slightest hint of sweetness.


    My thirst suddenly makes itself known, and I drain the rest of the container in several long gulps. The effect is immediate—a wave of energy flows through my body, chasing away the lingering fatigue.


    "Thank you," I say, not sure why I''m bothering with politeness under the circumstances.


    The drone takes the empty container and retreats to the doorway. It pauses there, making a beckoning motion with one of its upper limbs.


    "You want me to follow you?" I ask.


    It repeats the gesture, more emphatically this time.


    I glance down at my remaining restraints, which promptly loosen and retract like the first one. Apparently, I have permission to move freely now. But to where? And for what purpose?


    I stand slowly, testing my balance. My legs feel surprisingly strong given how long I must have been lying there. The drone waits patiently as I take a tentative step forward, then another. When I reach the doorway, it turns and proceeds down a corridor that follows the same organic design as the room.


    The hallway curves gently, sloping downward. Other Nexari pass us—some workers like my guide, others smaller or specialized forms I can''t identify. They pay us little attention, focused on their tasks. The walls here are more translucent, allowing glimpses of what lies beyond—a vast network of chambers and tunnels, all interconnected in a pattern that makes human ship design seem crude by comparison.


    We pass what appears to be a hydroponics bay, where plants unlike any I''ve seen before grow in spiraling patterns. Further on, there''s a chamber filled with equipment that might be communications technology, though it''s so alien in design I can''t be sure.


    The further we walk, the more I notice something odd. There are humans here. Not many, but they move among the Nexari with practiced ease, performing tasks alongside them as if they''ve been doing it their whole lives. Their expressions are placid, almost serene, but there''s something vacant in their eyes.


    Assimilated. These are the people who never came back from Nexari space—or more accurately, came back changed, their minds absorbed into the collective.


    One of them, a woman with short gray hair and technician''s hands, passes close enough that I can see her face clearly. Her eyes slide over me without recognition or interest. I shudder involuntarily. Will I end up like her? Is this tour some kind of psychological preparation before they try again to assimilate me?


    The corridor finally opens into a much larger chamber—a central hub of activity where dozens of drones and specialized Nexari move about in coordinated patterns. The ceiling arches high overhead, glowing with the same bioluminescence but brighter here, creating the illusion of daylight.


    And there, at the center of it all, is a Nexari unlike any I''ve seen yet. Larger, more elaborate in design, with a carapace that shimmers with iridescent patterns. It sits upon a raised dais, surrounded by attendants.


    A Queen. It has to be.


    My guide stops at the edge of the chamber, gesturing for me to continue forward alone. The activity in the room doesn''t cease, but I can feel attention shifting my way as I step into the open space. The Queen''s compound eyes fix on me, and I feel a subtle pressure against my mind again—not the overwhelming force I experienced on the ship, but a gentle probing, like someone knocking politely at a door.


    I stop several meters from the dais, unsure of the proper protocol and unwilling to get any closer than necessary. The Queen makes a series of complex sounds, clicks and chittering that rise and fall in what almost sounds like music.


    To my shock, I understand her words perfectly.


    "The anomaly appears functional," she says, though her mandibles don''t form human speech. Somehow the meaning translates directly in my mind. "Approach closer."


    I take two reluctant steps forward, every instinct screaming to run. But to where?


    "Your designation?" the Queen asks.


    "My name is Andrew," I respond, my voice steadier than I expected. "I was a maintenance technician on the transport vessel Horizon Drifter."


    "Designation is no longer relevant," the Queen states. "You are now Specimen 7-A. The first human to resist phase one integration."


    A chill runs through me at her clinical tone. "What happened to my crew? Captain Mercer, Takeda, Patel?"


    "Successful integration. Their knowledge and skills now contribute to the collective." There''s no cruelty in her tone, just matter-of-fact efficiency. "Your resistance was unexpected. Fascinating."


    "I don''t understand," I say, struggling to keep my mounting panic contained. "What do you want from me?"


    "Understanding." The Queen shifts slightly, her attendants adjusting their positions in response. "Humans who enter our territory are assimilated into the collective. This is efficient and beneficial to both species. Your resistance suggests a variable we have not encountered before."


    "So I''m a lab rat," I mutter.


    The Queen''s head tilts, reminding me unsettlingly of a curious bird. "Your metaphor is imprecise but acceptable. You will be studied. Your anomalous brain patterns will be mapped. This will improve integration protocols."


    "And then what? You''ll try again to assimilate me?"


    "If viable. If not, you will be assigned appropriate tasks within the colony."


    My hands clench into fists at my sides. "I won''t help you assimilate more humans."


    The Queen''s response holds a note that might be amusement. "Your cooperation is preferred but not required. The study will proceed regardless."


    Before I can respond, there''s a disturbance at the chamber entrance. Another Nexari enters—this one with the build of a soldier but more elaborate markings than those I saw on the ship. It approaches rapidly, bypassing the normal routes through the chamber, and addresses the Queen directly in their chittering language.


    Stolen story; please report.


    The Queen responds, her tone shifting to something more urgent. The pressure against my mind increases momentarily, then withdraws.


    "Circumstances have changed," she announces, returning her attention to me. "You will be escorted to containment until further notice."


    Two worker drones appear at my sides, grasping my arms firmly with their multi-jointed limbs. I don''t resist as they lead me away from the Queen and back into the corridors, though in a different direction than we came.


    "What''s happening?" I ask, but receive no response.


    We traverse several levels of the colony, moving deeper into its structure. The passages become narrower, the lighting dimmer. Finally, we reach a section that appears to be dedicated to storage or perhaps quarantine—small chamber-cells lining a central corridor.


    They guide me into one of these cells, which contains nothing but a simple platform that might serve as a bed. The entrance seals behind them as they leave, the seam in the wall closing until it''s nearly invisible.


    I''m alone again, with nothing but my thoughts and the lingering sense of the hive mind''s presence just beyond my awareness. I pace the small space, trying to make sense of everything that''s happened. The trap, my capture, the Queen''s interest in my resistance. What was the disturbance that cut our meeting short?


    Hours pass, marked only by subtle changes in the bioluminescence—dimming slightly in what I assume is the colony''s night cycle. I lay on the platform, staring at the curved ceiling, when I notice something strange.


    There''s a faint vibration running through the structure, different from the engine hum I felt earlier. It''s irregular, almost like... impacts. And it''s getting stronger.


    I sit up just as the vibration becomes a definite tremor. Dust or some equivalent drifts down from the ceiling. Something''s happening. An attack? A malfunction?


    The seam in the wall suddenly appears, widening to reveal not a Nexari drone but a human figure in the corridor outside. I jump to my feet, hope and suspicion warring within me.


    It''s a woman, middle-aged with military bearing, wearing what looks like a modified environmental suit. Her eyes meet mine, alert and definitely not vacant like the assimilated humans I saw earlier.


    "Come with me if you want to get out of here," she says briskly, already turning to check the corridor. "We don''t have much time."


    I hesitate only a moment before following her out of the cell. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"


    "Lieutenant Reyna Voss, Border Command Special Operations," she replies without slowing her pace. "And I got in the same way we''re getting out—making a very loud distraction on one side of the colony while sneaking in through the maintenance access on the other."


    She leads me through corridors I haven''t seen before, narrower and seemingly less used. Occasionally we pass dead Nexari drones, their carapaces punctured by what look like high-powered projectile wounds.


    "Your work?" I ask, stepping over one such casualty.


    "My team''s," she confirms. "We''ve been tracking this colony ship since it took your transport vessel. Standard protocol is to write off anyone captured by the Nexari as lost, but our intelligence suggested something unusual about this situation."


    Another tremor shakes the passage, stronger this time. Reyna picks up her pace.


    "What kind of distraction are we talking about?" I ask, jogging to keep up.


    "The kind with a lot of explosives," she says grimly. "The main assault team is hitting their propulsion systems and defenses. They''re buying us time to extract any survivors."


    "I think I''m the only one," I tell her, the reality of my crew''s fate hitting me anew. "The others were... assimilated."


    She glances back at me, her expression unreadable. "We''ll talk about that later. Right now, we need to reach the extraction point before—"


    A chittering sound interrupts her. Ahead of us, a Nexari soldier emerges from a side passage, its weapon-limbs already raised. Reyna shoves me against the wall and draws her sidearm in one fluid motion, firing three rapid shots. The soldier falls, green ichor leaking from its punctured carapace.


    "Run!" she orders, pulling me forward again.


    We sprint through the increasingly shaking corridors, alarms now sounding throughout the colony—a high-pitched wailing that sets my teeth on edge. More Nexari appear, but they seem disorganized, as if the attack has disrupted their normal coordination.


    Finally, we reach what appears to be an external access point—a small airlock with a Border Command shuttle visible through the viewport.


    "Get in," Reyna instructs, keying a code into the airlock controls. "I need to set the final charges."


    I step into the airlock as she places small devices at strategic points around the entrance. She joins me seconds later, sealing the inner door behind us.


    "Extraction team to Command," she speaks into her comm unit. "Package secured, preparing for departure."


    A voice crackles back: "Copy extraction team. Primary objective achieved. Colony ship defenses neutralized. Get out of there now."


    The airlock cycles, the outer door opening to reveal the shuttle''s extended docking collar. We push through into the small craft, where two more Border Command officers wait—a pilot already at the controls and another armed soldier who secures the hatch behind us.


    "Go, go, go!" Reyna shouts, and the shuttle detaches with a jolt that nearly knocks me off my feet.


    I grab a handhold as the craft accelerates away from the Nexari vessel. Through a small viewport, I can see the massive colony ship now, its organic-looking hull scarred with explosive damage. Smaller Border Command vessels dart around it, firing precise shots at key systems.


    "Thirty seconds to safe distance," the pilot announces.


    "Detonating charges now," Reyna says, activating a control on her wrist unit.


    The explosives she planted blow in sequence, creating a chain reaction that tears through the section of the colony ship we just escaped from. The Nexari vessel lists to one side, now venting atmosphere from multiple breaches.


    "All units, withdraw to minimum safe distance," the voice on the comm orders. "Preparing to deploy EMPI."


    Reyna guides me to a seat and helps secure the harness. "You might want to close your eyes for this part," she advises.


    I barely have time to comply before a blinding flash penetrates even my closed eyelids. The shuttle shudders as a shockwave hits it, but the pilot compensates skillfully.


    When I open my eyes again, the Nexari colony ship is dark and motionless. No lights, no movement.


    "Electromagnetic pulse impulse," Reyna explains, seeing my confusion. "Designed specifically to disrupt Nexari bio-technology. Doesn''t kill them, but it knocks out all their systems temporarily."


    "Enough time to get away," I realize.


    She nods. "Exactly. We''ll rendezvous with the command ship in about twenty minutes."


    Now that the immediate danger has passed, I have a moment to actually look at my rescuer. Lieutenant Voss is probably in her early forties, with short-cropped dark hair streaked with gray and the weathered skin of someone who''s seen their share of action. A thin scar traces from her left temple down to her jaw, old but still visible.


    "Thank you," I say, suddenly aware of how narrowly I escaped becoming a permanent research specimen for the Nexari. "But why risk all this for one transport vessel? We weren''t military or even important."


    Reyna''s expression becomes guarded. "That''s something we''ll discuss once we''re back on the command ship." She studies me intently. "You said you were the only survivor. The others were assimilated?"


    I nod, the memory of Patel''s vacant eyes flashing through my mind. "They tried to assimilate me too, but... it didn''t work."


    Her eyebrows rise slightly—the first real surprise she''s shown. "Didn''t work how, exactly?"


    I struggle to articulate the experience. "They injected me with something. I could feel their hive mind trying to... I don''t know, override my consciousness? But I somehow pushed back. The Queen called me an anomaly. Said I was the first human to resist ''phase one integration.''"


    Reyna exchanges a meaningful look with the other soldier. "And they were studying you because of this resistance?"


    "That''s what the Queen said. She wanted to understand why I was different."


    She falls silent, clearly processing this information. The rest of the journey to the command ship passes without further conversation, the hum of the shuttle''s engines the only sound.


    When we dock, I follow Reyna through the airlocks into a standard military vessel—all utilitarian design and efficiency, a stark contrast to the organic architecture of the Nexari colony. The familiar human environment should be comforting, but instead I feel a growing sense of unease.


    Border Command ships don''t mount rescue operations for ordinary transport crews. They especially don''t risk direct engagement with Nexari colony ships just to save one maintenance technician. Something else is going on here.


    Reyna leads me through the corridors, nodding to crewmembers we pass. Some look at me with open curiosity. Others with something that might be suspicion.


    Finally, we reach what appears to be an infirmary. A doctor in a Border Command uniform approaches immediately.


    "This is the survivor?" he asks Reyna, already reaching for a scanner.


    "Andrew from the transport vessel Horizon Drifter," she confirms. "I want a full workup. Priority on neural activity and any sign of Nexari biotech."


    The doctor nods and gestures me toward an examination bed. "Please remove your jumpsuit and put on the medical gown," he instructs, turning to prepare his equipment.


    I look to Reyna, who gives me a reassuring nod. "Standard procedure after Nexari contact. We need to make sure you''re not carrying any hitchhikers—biological or technological."


    Reluctantly, I comply, changing into the thin medical gown behind a privacy screen. The material from the Nexari jumpsuit feels strange as I take it off, almost alive against my skin. I''m not sorry to be rid of it.


    The examination is thorough and uncomfortable. Blood samples, tissue samples, neural scans, full-body imaging. The doctor is professional but detached, treating me more like a specimen than a patient. Not unlike the Nexari, I think bitterly.


    Throughout the process, Reyna stands by the door, watching. I catch her speaking quietly into a comm unit several times, though I can''t make out what she''s saying.


    Finally, the doctor steps back. "Preliminary results look clean," he tells Reyna. "No sign of biotechnology implants or integration markers. Neural activity is... unusual, but within human parameters. I''ll have the full analysis in a few hours."


    "Unusual how?" I ask, sitting up on the examination bed.


    The doctor glances at Reyna before answering. "Your brain is showing patterns typically only seen in certain specialized military personnel. Enhanced interconnectivity between regions that normally don''t communicate so directly."


    "Is that why I could resist the hive mind?"


    Again, that glance toward Reyna. "Possibly. We''ll know more after additional tests."


    Reyna steps forward. "That''s enough for now, Doctor. Andrew needs rest, and the Admiral will want a preliminary report." She turns to me. "I''ll have someone show you to temporary quarters. You should clean up, get some real food, and sleep if you can. We''ll talk more tomorrow."


    I swing my legs off the bed, suddenly aware of how tired I actually am despite the strange energizing liquid the Nexari gave me. "The Admiral? Am I going to be debriefed?"


    "In time," she says vaguely. "For now, just recover."


    A junior officer arrives to escort me through more corridors to a small but comfortable cabin. It contains a bunk, a tiny bathroom unit, and not much else, but after my cell in the Nexari colony, it feels luxurious. Clean clothes in approximately my size have been laid out on the bunk.


    "Mess hall is two decks up if you''re hungry, sir," the officer tells me. "The door will lock from the inside only." He emphasizes this last point slightly, as if wanting to reassure me that I''m not a prisoner.


    But as he leaves and I hear the subtle click of an external lock engaging, I know that''s exactly what I am. I''ve traded one captivity for another, and I still don''t understand why.


    I shower, washing away the lingering scent of the Nexari colony—a strange mix of something like cinnamon and ozone that I hadn''t even realized was clinging to my skin. The human-made soap and shampoo smell almost overwhelmingly artificial in comparison.


    Dressed in the provided clothes—simple gray fatigues with no insignia—I sit on the bunk and try to put together what I know.


    The Nexari trap. My unique resistance to their hive mind. Border Command''s surprise rescue operation. The doctor''s interest in my "unusual" neural patterns. None of it adds up to a coherent picture.


    What made me different from Patel, Takeda, or Captain Mercer? Why could I resist when they couldn''t? And why does Border Command seem to have expected something like this?


    I lie back on the bunk, staring at the ceiling. The questions swirl in my mind, keeping sleep at bay despite my exhaustion. And beneath them all, a growing sense that my life as an unimportant maintenance technician is over. Whatever happens next, nothing will be the same again.


    Just as I''m finally drifting off, a new sensation jolts me back to alertness. A familiar pressure against my mind—not as strong as the Nexari Queen''s probe, but unmistakably similar. I sit up, heart racing, looking around the empty cabin.


    There''s no one here. No Nexari. And we''re far from their colony ship now.


    But as I focus on the sensation, I realize it''s not coming from outside at all. It''s coming from within me. As if something awakened in my mind during my captivity, something that''s now reaching out, seeking connection.


    And somewhere, distantly, I feel an answer.