Armorum Fidei Chapter 41

The Psybrid army retreated at full pelt, pulling back from battle in a tide of scampering forms. Many of the slaves nursed wounds, vicious cuts, burnt flesh and punctured organs, yet they were given no respite. Psychic compulsion drove them on till they dropped, and they did so in droves, leaving a trail of dead bodies in their dust as the mindless slaves were whipped on by their enraged masters. They were angry, the entire Psybrid race was seething, Chuqik had never known the Song to be clouded by such rage.

Loping at the head of the army Chuqik urged his comrades onwards, putting as much distance between them and the Praetorians as possible. His exhortations drove the mass forward and yet he was keenly aware he had no authority to be giving orders. Newek had been Praecentor, right up till he got himself killed. Ironic, after all Chuqik's scheming the fool had fallen to a human's blow, his screaming discomforting to hear, especially for a race that prided itself on aloof detachment.

At his side Mewak hissed, "Are we far away enough yet?"

"Not yet, not until we are sure they do not pursue."

"Surely they will come."

"Without a doubt, but they will need time to regroup. Praetorians do nothing by half-measures, when they will come it will be with overwhelming force. We both know it to be true."

Mewak slowed a hair in her stride and pressed, "What happened back there? We were on the cusp of victory, Newek's plan was effective, victory was within our grasp. Then the other humans came and the Song was thrown into discord."

"The Sour Note," Chuqik spat in disgust, "They were steeped in it, oozing out of their pores like sweat. Never have I seen the Song so repulsed, driven back before the loathsome certainty that festered in their plebian little minds."

Mewak sounded worried as she pointed out, "We have never encountered so many wrapped up in the Sour Note at once. An individual here or there, yes it happens, but never so many. If the humans have found a way to spread it amongst their kind then our situation becomes perilous. Look what happened to Newek."

"Newek was a fool, thinking direct assault was the answer to everything! He saw the Song repulsed with his own eyes yet could think of no other way to fight. He deserved his death. Unfortunately that leaves us leaderless."

As if his words were prophecy a great clamour arose in the Song. The whole army ground to a halt as the harmonies of the Psybrid race were thrown into confusion. They could feel it, Psybrids across the planet, their starships above and on distant worlds all shouting at once. The Gestalts fought to impose order but they were houses built on shifting sand. The Choirs that composed the Song were in flux, growing and shrinking as members abandoned their alignments and sought new prospects. Long-standing Choirs broke apart and formed new factions, splintering into smaller groupings, that then fractured again. It was a fundamental shift in the balance, a root and branch reorganisation of the Psybrid's collective will, all prompted by the unexpected defeat in the field.

Chuqik spun about and cried into the Song, "We cannot pause, we must withdraw in good order!"

"But we are running the wrong way!" a surly voice imposed.

From the milling crowds stepped forwards a new player. He was tall in his Exo-cuirass, heavily built and with piledriver fists. He stomped along with no grace or agility, all brute intention and lust for violence. Chuqik thought he looked like the warrior Newek wished he could be, but this one provoked a cautious manner in others, his threat evident to all.

He stepped forward and cried, "I am Batek, of the Choir for Revenge, and I say we should go back there and finish the fight!"

"Choir for Revenge?" Chuqik pressed.

"The Choir for War is done," Batek growled, "Too reserved and haughty. We should have embraced our bloodlust and let passions run wild!"

"Passion," Chuqik sneered, "You speak like a human."

"Better that than fleeing in terror like a whipped Scythian. We flee at the first setback, when we should return and slaughter them all!"

Echoes of agreement rang through the Song as the newborn Choir for Revenge attracted support, yet another voice intruded, "You compound your error!" A female Psybrid emerged, lanky and gaunt in her Exo-cuirass. She carried blister-rifles on the back of her arms, with spikey vambraces built over them. Her presence oozed disdain and calculation and she called, "I am Tofak, of the Choir of Destruction, and I say we leave this ground and annihilate every last human from orbit!"

The Song spiked in discord as the opposing groups formed together, attracting splinters who had yet to name themselves or join a larger Choir. The late Choir for War was split right down the middle, becoming two break-away factions, each bitterly opposed to each other. Chuqik sensed opportunity unfolding, these two groups were far fewer in number than their previous allegiance and if they could not form a unity that made them individually weak.

Chuqik faced her and asked, "You propose flight?"

"Yes," Tofak sniffed, "This disaster has cost us too much already, we should cut our losses and lay waste the planet."

"That is not the way!" boomed Betak, "We must stain our claws with the blood of the humans. Cut them apart and see the life fade from their eyes as we do so."

Tofak sneered, "You embrace emotions, a poor excuse for a Psybrid are you."

"We are the superior race!" Betak shouted, "We have forgotten that and become weak, we must prove it to ourselves again!"

"And we shall do so by wiping clean this planet from on high. Your way meets the humans on equal terms, giving them a chance to strike back. They deserve no such dignity, obliterate them all and let them feel their powerlessness as death falls on their heads!"

Chuqik sensed the bitter feud growing deeper in the Song, both sides becoming entrenched in their position, and was pleased and yet a fourth voice arose, "You are all making a mistake!" A lanky figure stepped from the crowds, his frame light and flighty. The exo-cuirass seemed built for speed and constantly twitched, fidgeting as if pained to be still. The arms carried a blister-lash, a curled whip covered in thorns and he oozed anxiety.

The newcomer cried, "I am Geyik, of the Choir for Exodus, and I say we must leave these stars at once!"

Shock and denial rang in the Song and Betak snarled, "You would run?!"

Geyik called out, "We faced the Songbreaker once and were nearly driven into extinction. We were fools to challenge him again. The least of his progeny breaks us, kills our Praecentor and drives us into defeat. We must leave this world, leave our nest. We must take to our ships and flee to the deepest reaches of interstellar space, as our ancestors did to survive."

"Cowardice," Betak hissed, "You propose fleeing before inferior races, this is not the Psybrid way."

Tofak concurred, "I must agree, to run away at a single setback is offensive. We do not flee before our prey, they flee before us!"

Geyik cried, "The Song was rebuffed! Do none of you see, the universe is changed, our greatest weapon is undone. We must flee while there is still time!"

"Pathetic," Betak spat.

"Craven," Tofak agreed.

Chuqik sensed the Song exploding into bitter arguments and judged his moment had come. He lifted his voice and called, "Is this what we have come to, knee-jerk reactions and petty squabbles?! We fight among ourselves, when we should be setting our eyes on the next step. The Choir for Prosperity sees the way, the way to survival!"

Betak growled, "You had your day as Praecentor, and it is done."

Tofak added, "Make way for new ideas."

Chuqik however responded coolly, "And what ideas do you offer? Carnage, destruction and flight: short-sighted instinctive reactions. You are driven by fear and denial, petty emotions below the dignity of a Psybrid. We have become the superior race by shedding such base urges, not embracing them."

"And what do you propose instead?" Geyik hissed.

"That we return to the original plan. Build the Nexus Array, cut off the Otherness and block the Songbreaker from reaching us. Once we are safe and secure, we can finish off these Praetorians at our leisure."

"Do nothing!" Betak spat, "Trust in tinkering with the Otherness, a fool's dream!"

"To sit out in the open and wait is not the way," Tofak scoffed, "You offer nothing."

"We cannot linger," Geyik cried, "We must flee before they come for us!"

However Chuiqk countered, "I offer the promise that there will be a tomorrow. That the Psybrid race will endure another thousand generations, sheltered inside our sphere of silence. Safety, security and prosperity, all these can be ours, if only we remember who we are. Emotions brought us to disaster once, Newek's pride and bloodlust drawing us towards extinction. We have been led astray, but no longer, we must return to the true way and shall preserve all that we are."

The trio radiated defiance but their words were lost in the shifting favour of the Song. Psybrids across the length and breadth of their nests giving their support to Chuqik and his plan. A tidal wave of favour fell upon him, new patterns settling in the Song. Order returned as stratifications and harmonies formed, varying from outright encouragement to wary agreement. The new Choirs of Revenge and Destruction became background notes, swept aside by the supremacy of Prosperity. Exodus was shoved into an echo chamber and left to stew on their complete dismissal.

Chuqik was Praecentor once more, given authority to command all forces in the hunting grounds without question. He swelled with the restoration of his mantle and cried, "On then, on to the Nexus Array! Ring it with our mighty armies and none shall pass. Soon the Otherness will be ours to command, we shall shape it to our will and the Songbreaker shall trouble us no more!"