Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Yor tossed and turned in Lima's arms.

The grass cage had been re-formed, but Yor couldn't sleep. His mind kept circling back to the same thing—there was a worm larva in his belly, Leonius's worm larva...

He turned over, then turned over again. One moment he was lying on Lima's arm, the next he was pillowing his head on Lima's stomach. He idly played with the grass blades, then turned to study how the male mother's abs differed from a Blue Star human's...

He even wondered—if they all looked roughly the same, why couldn't little Lima be big and strong...

When Yor's hands started getting more restless, Lima finally sat up.

"Let's go." He scooped Yor out of the grass cage. "Time to do some work."

Yor was baffled. In the middle of the night? What work could there be?

Lima didn't explain. He simply scooped Yor up and carried him to the hovercar.

The night wind on Wona Star was cold, and the moment they stepped outside, it blew away the last of Yor's drowsiness. He pressed his face against the hovercar window, watching the yellow sand along the road cast deep and shallow shadows under the starlight. He knew the route—it led back to his own place.

But when they reached the hillside, Lima led him to Herman's front door.

Herman had probably turned off the shield to save energy before he left.

Lima pointed at the driveway, already half-buried in sand. "Usually when he's out on a mission, I keep an eye on things for him. The weather forecast said a big storm was coming, so I came to turn the shield back on." He paused. "I've been at your place these past few days—I forgot."

Yor had been at Zhuoluo's workshop for three straight days, and Lima, worried, had been staying nearby with a few war bugs on watch.

Lima walked over to the tool shed like he owned the place, fired up Herman's old loader, and patted the seat. "Come on, I'll teach you how to drive it."

The loader wasn't big. Yor hesitated, then swung onto the narrow metal plate in front of Lima, settling between his legs.

Lima's arms came around him, gripping the wheel and pulling Yor into his embrace.

"Put your foot here." Lima's voice was right against his ear. "Push forward to go, pull back to reverse. This is for steering."

The loader rumbled to life, humming low.

Yor placed his hands on the wheel, and Lima's covered them, guiding him through the motions. He pushed the lever forward, and the bucket scooped up sand, dumping it aside with a whoosh.

The edge of the bucket left a clean arc behind, like a knife slicing through cake. Yor was instantly hooked.

"Turn here," Lima's voice came again. "Put your foot here."

The bucket tilted slightly, skimmed across the ground, and pushed away another load of sand.

It was simpler to operate than Yor had expected. Following Lima's guidance, he gradually relaxed.

The loader vibrated with a low hum. Sand slid off the bucket's edge in a fine, steady stream—noisy in the silent night, but just enough to drown out the thoughts churning in his head.

At some point, Lima's psychic energy had crept over—a faint wisp, like a thin vine, pressing gently against the edge of Yor's mental sea to soothe him.

It was so light Yor barely noticed. He kept his focus on the bucket, pushing sand away again and again, then using the rotating broom at the rear to sweep up the last traces of dust.

After a few tries, he could operate it on his own. He was slow, and sometimes scooped crooked or came up empty, but Lima didn't say much—just sat beside him, watching, that wisp of psychic energy stroking gently, calming his Broodmother's mental sea.

When Yor finished clearing the last patch of sand and killed the engine, he hopped off the loader. His arms were a little sore, but his mood had calmed down surprisingly well.

When your mind was racing, mindless physical labor was a real stress reliever.

With the sand outside cleared, they pushed open Herman's door. There was a layer of fine dust inside too. Luckily, the sofa and bed were covered with dust sheets, so no washing needed.

Lima got a ladder and climbed up to clear the sand from the vents. Yor thought for a moment, then found a rag and a basin of water and started wiping down the tables and furniture.

Maybe he'd been tense driving the loader earlier. Now that he was relaxing, bending over to wipe the table made his lower belly ache dully again.

He straightened up, bracing himself on the table edge, his other hand unconsciously pressing against his belly.

Lima was busy, but he kept an eye on Yor. The moment he saw Yor move, he jumped down from the ladder and grabbed his waist. "Want me to rub it for you?"

Yor looked at him, saw the concern in his eyes, and didn't bother acting tough. He nodded and sat down on the sofa.

Herman's sofa wasn't big enough to lie flat on. Lima just pulled Yor into his arms, letting him lean against his chest, and put both hands on his lower back.

The pressure was steady, his fingertips pushing, kneading, pressing along the muscle lines.

After last time, Yor had expected to be nervous—after all, this was Herman's place... But Lima's hands were steady, no extra moves.

He stared at the mining planet map Herman had hung on the wall across from him for a while. His eyelids grew heavy, and slowly, he drifted off...

Lima lightened his touch, grabbed an old jacket Herman had left on the sofa arm, and covered Yor with it.

The morning star hadn't risen yet, and dawn was still a ways off. In the warm house, under the soft yellow light, with Yor warm and fragrant in his arms, Lima leaned back and closed his eyes too...

But he'd barely closed his eyes when the door slid open with a whoosh.

Herman stood in the doorway, covered in dust, sand from the jump point still clinging to his shoulders. He stared at the scene inside, completely bewildered.

On his sofa, Yor was held in someone's arms, face flushed with sleep, breathing evenly, covered with his own jacket—almost exactly like that night, except...

The male bug holding Yor wasn't him.

One hand gripping the doorframe, the usually composed great warrior's expression cracked a little.

Lima started, "...I can explain."

Herman didn't say anything.

His gaze paused on Lima's face, then swept over the half-finished cleaning—the rag draped over the basin, the table half-wiped, the ladder still leaning against the wall by the vent.

He shook his head, walked over silently, leaned in to look at Yor's sleeping face, then circled to the other side of the sofa and sat on the floor. He took one of Yor's hands in his, slowly releasing pheromones, and closed his eyes.

Lima watched him for a long moment, then let out a soft sigh.

When Yor woke up, he blinked at the hand holding his.

Herman, though, woke the moment Yor stirred. Seeing Yor's confused face, he said softly, "I'm back from my mission. You been alright these past few days?"

Yor nodded blankly. "Yeah."

It was just... waking up to two male bugs staring at him.

So strange.

His standards really were dropping by the day.

Stupid bug race.

A call on his terminal saved him—apparently an interstellar package had arrived. Yor scrambled out of Lima's arms, flustered. "That's probably my medicine. I'll head back first."

Once home, he tore open the package and saw it was indeed the soothing agent Lima had helped him buy, with Lima even fronting the money. Though Lima said there was no need to pay it back... but how could he not? It's not like he didn't make his own money.

He flopped down hard into the sleep pod, staring blankly at the ceiling, silently running through his current situation in his head, trying to untangle the knot of thoughts in his mind.

There was plenty of bad news.

The biggest piece of bad news was, of course, the pregnancy confirmation. The recent desperate need for male insect pheromones was probably because of the pregnancy, but soaking up that much male pheromone would push him closer to becoming a true Broodmother, and closer to his worst nightmare—"getting found out, locked up, and forced to pop out bugs nonstop."

But if he didn't take in male pheromones, his instincts screamed that he'd die—sucked dry by the bug babies.

The second piece of bad news was that the soothing agent was here, and paying Lima back was the least of his worries. The real issue was... yeah, he really wanted to keep using the soothing agent to suppress the Broodmother gene, ideally chugging a ton of it to turn into a male bug on the spot... but being pregnant, he had zero clue what the soothing agent would do.

He had a feeling he'd still wind up dead.

Bottom line: pregnant, so it's either become a Broodmother or die.

Yor rolled over. He wasn't exactly scared, and he wasn't numb either—just tired.

There was other scattered bad news too.

He'd reached out to an interstellar funeral service; the centaur clan's ashes were all packed up, but there was no direct route to Vorna—he'd have to transfer three times on interstellar flights. They could handle it, but it wasn't cheap, so he'd have to keep saving.

A couple days ago, that dumbass pure bug who'd been cussing himself out while trying to snap his photo—Wicks, or whatever—was still on Vorna. If he came around again to take pictures, that'd be a real pain in the ass.

Lima was fine, Zhuoluo was fine, Herman was fine, but if his Broodmother identity ever got out—especially if Zane or the guard clan found out—they'd all get dragged down with him.

He also really missed Dexter and Taste, wondering how they were doing, and that... yeah...

He fiddled with the medal by his pillow for a bit, then patted his own face.

The bad news was like a pile of rocks. He flipped through each one, confirming none of them were light—at least, not something he could lift right now.

But he could only grit his teeth and keep going. Nothing mattered more than staying alive.

He got up, poured himself some water, then opened his terminal and texted Lima: "When's the next auction?"

Lima shot back fast: "I was just about to bring that up. I'm planning a private auction in the next couple days. A bar's not great for picking clients, but a private event can be—only bugs with invites get in."

That'd effectively keep out annoying guests like Wicks.

As for clientele... Lima already worked as a mission broker on the side, so connections were a non-issue.

Yor curled his lips into a slight smile: "Gotta hand it to you. When's it happening?"

"Let's talk in person."

"The auction can happen anytime," Lima's voice came from the doorway, a hint of amusement in it. "Even though you haven't been out these past few days and hardly any bugs have actually met you, Mika... has already become the hottest topic in the mining district."

It was actually simple: in mining, machines could detect the rough layout of minerals, but when it came to actual digging, war bugs were needed to assist with mental detection. The stronger the perception, the better the efficiency.

And over these three days, two teams in the nearby mining area had seen their output skyrocket past everyone else.

Of course, those were the two teams that had bought the Mika package.

The mining field had no secrets. Male bugs quickly caught wind of Mika and of... the Broodmother Yor. The district's supervising bug had gotten in touch with Lima through middlemen, already asking about the auction.

Lima wanted to host a private event, and the two sides were on the same page right away.

"Tomorrow night, then."

It was settled fast. Though not widely advertised, any bug with connections had gotten wind of this private auction.

Meanwhile, Wicks—that pale pure bug—was staring blankly at a string of data on his terminal screen at his workbench.

That day, the war bug had still handed over the Mika, and that scent... he couldn't shake it, so he'd run tests on the Mika. Now, the results were in.

Seeing the number on the screen, so high it was almost blinding, Wicks couldn't believe his eyes.

How was that possible?

It was higher than he'd expected, and even... higher than the Broodmother data the lord had released.

The lord had announced the Broodmother experiment was a success, and he'd found a better specimen than the lord's own?

Or a specimen that had escaped on its own.

Wicks closed his eyes, feeling like he was dreaming—and also like he was asking for death.

But the data was hard proof, line by line, right there on the screen. Wicks stood up and paced the lab, all worked up.

Part of him didn't want to touch this with a ten-foot pole.

But... that was a Broodmother. No experimenter could resist that kind of temptation. And no bug could either.

Hours had passed since the data came out, and the bloodshot veins in Wicks' eyes were spreading.

He shut off the screen, stood up, paced three laps, then sat back down and opened the screen to check again.

The curve held steady at that spot, not budging.

In the end, he opened his terminal and dialed an encrypted channel—a mercenary outfit.

"I need a squad of guys," he said, his voice barely hiding the tension but buzzing with excitement. "One of my specimens got loose. I need it caught, on Vorna, ASAP."

Wicks offered a hefty price, so that very night, a whole squad of High-Grade Insects, led by Wicks, moved toward Yor's place.

On the sandy slope leading up, a row of fine, boot-packed footprints glistened faintly in the moonlight.