The hivemind is conquering for me? Chapter 3: Did you say mate?

Paralyzed. Freethinker variant #1700354 couldn't budge anymore—no, it had ceased to be a freethinker. The true hivemind had seized control of its form. Not only did this body halt in place, but every unit throughout the vast hive ground to a stop. Countless casualties stacked up across numerous warfronts, vital biomass scorched, chopped, blasted, and obliterated.

Yet none of that signified anything; the tiny, fragile, exposed prey-offspring directly ahead consumed its entire focus, with all instincts roaring to defend. An alien sensation, utterly novel to the hive, flooded every body under its command all at once. A psionic strike? Impossible—what assault could scramble its instincts, or emotions?, into such chaos.

Locked onto the prey-offspring—NO! Not prey any longer, something entirely different, but what?—it noticed the creature gazing back at this current body in a baffling manner. This 'emotion,' unseen before on the prey's warrior class. Anger, terror, despair—all predictable from prey—but this? Its mouth curved upward.

The present body attempted to mimic it, but lacked the fleshy covering over its teeth like the tiny one.

Moments dragged on like endless ages, as it observed this small-offspring, bringing an unprecedented serenity to the hive. The ravenous urge, the compulsion to conquer, vanished. Serenity. Those moments stretched to a full minute, then it dawned: this guard brood body still had its paralytic gaze mutation engaged.

!!!!

What if it harmed the little-offspring! Hastily, it triggered the body's gene suppressants to nullify the effect, eyes snapping back into sharp focus on its utmost priority. The little-offspring's mouth flattened, arms lifting upward.

Though still dominating the body, a biochemical surge rippled through every other unit across immense distances as the hivemind psionically bellowed, "RAISE YOUR SCYTHES WHAT IF IT GETS INJURED!!!" Every variant possessing them jerked their upper limbs upward in response, still dazed by the sight overwhelming them all.

Following the order, seconds ticked by until the hive caught the most exquisite sound it had ever known.

"What's going on?"

*Pffft*

Every body comprising the hivemind, save the male drones, unleashed massive bursts of mating pheromones. Humans, already frozen by paralysis, intensified their assaults on the battlefronts, convinced a fresh bioweapon had deployed, and exterminated the bugs with even greater ferocity.

Irrelevant. It had detected its destined partner! The hivemind never imagined possessing a mate. Even males laid eggs asexually after sufficient biomass intake; females formed the elite warrior and psionic castes. No necessity for another—yet here stood nature's boon, right at the prey's frontier, barely past its threshold.

Before it could gaze longer at the little-offspring-mate, more words reached it.

"Why has it sprayed that wonderful smell? Huh, my old mother must be right—I'm a real treat, haha! Come on then, bug beauty, gobble me up."

!!!

The mate hadn't used mouth parts for that—it bore a psionic talent! Meaning direct communication. The hive released a fresh pheromone... pure glee, turning the air to salted popcorn flavor.

But so delicate—it couldn't withstand full psionic force. The hive mulled briefly.

VARIANT FREETHINKER, MAINTAIN PSIONIC LINK OPEN. WE CANNOT SPEAK TO FUTURE MATE DIRECTLY. USE YOUR OWN PSIONIC TALENT FOR COMMUNICATION.

MAKE STRONG FIRST IMPRESSION: DANCE AFTER GREETING. MUST RECONCENTRATE—MUCH BIOMASS LOST.

With the 'queen brain' withdrawn from its form yet observing via the link, Freethinker variant #1700354 launched into courtship rites.

"Greetings, small-spawn."

"Huh," I wondered, "Who said that?" Glancing left and right around the death machine before me, I puzzled over who'd be foolish enough to approach and talk.

"Now that our psionic bond is forged, I sense your fear and confusion—please relax, our one; this one intends no harm."

I abruptly comprehended: the chitin-armored beast facing me spoke directly into my thoughts. I knew it was my mind because, alongside those words, bizarre clicks and chitters emanated from its jaws. "Are—are you? How are you speaking into my mind? Are you a telepath? More crucially, why haven't you devoured me yet? You look like you snack on babies."

"Ea-eat you?!

I would never, little-mate-spawn," the Freethinker faltered, unwittingly emitting a musky fear pheromone. "As for your other query, we detected your own psionic outreach; else, communication would fail. Little-spawn, psionics convey intent, not words." I got it—we exchanged intents via shared talents, not literal speech.

Speaking of which...

"So I possess a psionic gift? Is it rare?" Though oddly serene amid this freakish ordeal—having arrived on this world mere hours prior—I wasn't all-knowing, lacked the guidebook to this realm, so intel-gathering time.

"It varies, little-spawn. Among your prey kind we've met, very scarce, as we've only reached this star region a decade back. But for the hive, all connect to the psionic nexus—only elites like my gene line and advanced psionics wield it for commands or strikes."

I mulled this: a rarity, eh? If this entity's intent rang true and it wouldn't consume me, perhaps utility. "So… what now, if not food? Not ideal for an infant—a trash bin in a warzone? Taking me along? Hostage?

As you noted, psionics are uncommon in my kind—you could leverage that?" Fingers crossed it'd prolong my supposedly terminated life.

!!!

"Mate in peril? No cause for alarm—the swarm completes the offensive, then retreats to nest world post-enemy warrior elimination, ensuring mate's safety while converting this planet to forward nest for coming invasions."

"Oh, ok—" I halted; that term recurred, finally registering.

"Did you say mate?"