Broken World: Liars

Broken World: Liars (Chapter 4)

One, Item'qar Worker on board the Xlnfrag

One walked through the part of the engine deck that led to the hyperspace engine, his steps measured, his thoughts busy. Or rather, what passed for busy with an Item'qar Worker. He was quite painfully aware of his minds limitations, but while his brain and blue chitin might make it impossible for him to ever leave his caste, or even not to be thought of as inferior by the Leaders, Thinkers, and Warriors, he knew that there were things he could do that they couldn't. The Warriors, they were there to hunt and fight and kill, and the Thinkers were there to find new things for the Workers to build. He wasn't sure what the Leaders did, actually. Obviously they led, sure, but even with his low intelligence, he knew full well that evolution did not provide a caste that fit in with politics. Maybe the Thinkers knew, but they certainly weren't going to tell him. Just another Worker.

They knew, just like he did, that the Workers were what made the Item'qar capable of competing with the Sherim, and the Tarifel. They were slow, both in body and mind, but they were strong. A Worker could, on average, lift five times his weight. The higher castes could never have built their empires without them, neither the planetary ones in the old times, nor the one that existed now, the one they called the Confederacy. And they hated that fact.

One entered the hall, barely looking at the giant cube in the middle. He jumped from the path, the only straight line free of levers, switches, buttons and lights, into one of the circles. He pressed a button there, enabling the ship to send a message faster than the speed of light, then tilted his head. This was a new model of the hyperspace engine, and he didn't quite recall all the details yet. But he did remember that more measures needed to be taken as long as the ship was in a star system, or else the gravitational forces wouldn't allow any message to enter hyperspace. He didn't understand why that was the case, but that was what the Thinkers had told him, three hundred and twenty-two years ago, when they had discovered how to send messages through the void.

He jumped into another circle, and another, and another. There it was. He flicked a yellow switch, and the cube began to hum. He took a few moments to listen. It was always a different melody, usually slow, but today it was fast and high pitched. It sounded almost happy.

He didn't have time to stand around, though, so he jumped his way back onto the path, and then left the room. Another Worker, his last Thinker had called him Bilash, waited for him near the door.

"Where is the human?", he asked.

"Elizabeth Birch has been given permission to go onto the planet's surface", said One. "It was something that the humans' Leaders promised them when they sent them on this ship."

"I understand", said Bilash. "I have made a mistake then, Head Worker." His antennae lowered in shame and apology. "I assumed that Elizabeth Birch would be at his post in the engine room. Now that he is not, the schedule will need to be adapted." He hesitated, then said, grudgingly, "It will need to be adapted quickly, Head Worker"

One nodded, a gesture he had copied from Elizabeth. It included a vast amount of meanings, apparently. Understanding, agreement, obedience... It seemed that a nod could get you through every situation. This time, it was understanding. In emergencies, the workers required a Thinker to, well, think for them. Even he, smarter than most, possibly all other Workers, could not do such a thing as adapt the work schedules of the hundreds of Workers in the time necessary. "I will ask Thinker Asilish. He will most likely have time."

"I am sorry, Head Worker." Bilash's antennae hung so low that it seemed like they were about to fall off. One didn't care. Had the subordinate Worker not made a mistake, he would not need to be ashamed. He deserved his shame. That was how things were with Workers. It would have been inappropriate to comfort the other. Such behaviour invited sloppy work, and that invited death. So One walked away without another word, finding his way to the lifts that would get him out of the engine deck for the first time in months.