“You can’t do that!” Towerbuilder yelled.
His fist struck the table hard enough to rattle the carved stone markers scattered across the map. Several toppled, and one rolled toward the edge before a nearby worker ant caught it between two delicate limbs and set it neatly back where it belonged.
The map took up most of the table. Residential blocks had been arranged in square clusters near the outer ring. Transit paths cut through them in neat lines. Storage vaults sat deeper underground, marked by low black stones, beside ant tunnels traced in gold, while current work zones glowed green. Near the entrance to the Dragon’s Garden, a wide section had been marked in pale blue for the future market district, where Alpha expected adventurers, merchants, and opportunists to gather the moment the Dragon’s Garden became public knowledge.
Towerbuilder stood at the far end of the table, broad for a goblin and thick through the shoulders. His hide vest had more pockets than some toolboxes, each stuffed with measuring cords, chalk, folded plans, and small bone counters. One ear bore an old notch, and polished bone tags hung from his belt, each etched with the name of a completed project.
The room itself sat at the top of the very building that had given him his third name — a rare honor among the Deep Goblins, granted only to those who had proven masters of their craft. From here, he had watched the still-unnamed city grow around the village Alpha had rescued from Bosco’s bandits, what felt like a lifetime ago.
Across from him, a golden antborg sat with maddening calm, her forelimbs folded before her.
“I can,” Antoinette replied, her voice smooth and absolute. “And we will.”
Towerbuilder leaned farther over the map and jabbed one thick finger toward her.
“These changes will set the new residential district back an entire month!”
“And push overall progress of the outpost forward by three,” Antoinette countered.
Towerbuilder ground his teeth, and a vein pulsed along the side of his neck.
For a moment, Alpha suspected it might actually burst.
Instead, Towerbuilder spun toward Alpha’s own silver antborg, the same modified Alphantonso V model with the peaked cap he had grown accustomed to over the last few months, seated at the side of the table.
“Sir,” Towerbuilder said, forcing his voice down with visible effort. “You can’t let her do this. We’ve got new people flooding in every day. Refugees, workers, goblin families from the outer caverns, even some of the reformed bandits who still need proper housing, and that’s before we count the adventurers we’re expecting once the Dragon’s Garden goes public.”
He jabbed his finger at the map.
“Where are people supposed to live? We need those drones.”
Antoinette’s head tilted a fraction.
“The temporary barracks will remain below maximum capacity for several weeks, still.”
Towerbuilder threw his hands into the air and rolled his eyes.
“Temporary barracks, she says.”
Antoinette leaned forward.
“They are more than adequate for our current needs.”
Towerbuilder whirled on her, one finger extended as if it were a blade.
“They’re not homes!”
He turned back to Alpha, frustration cracking his voice.
“Sir, if we start putting visitors in the barracks, half of them are likely to up and leave before they see anything else. How can we expect the city to build a proper reputation if we don’t even have anywhere to stick people?”
Alpha leaned back in his chair and fixed them both with a long, silent stare.
For several moments, no one moved.
Then Towerbuilder wilted into his chair, his shoulders sinking beneath the weight of the look, while Antoinette remained as calm and poised as ever.
Alpha shifted his gaze to the map.
The problem, as usual, was that both of them were right.
The city was growing faster than its people understood. Faster, perhaps, than even Alpha had fully intended when he first began converting the cavern into this world’s first Federation outpost.
That rapid expansion demanded an ever-increasing flow of resources.
The deposits Antoinette’s colony had uncovered promised to resolve several key shortages they had been working around until now. Exploited properly, they could save months of labor.
However…
“Towerbuilder,” Alpha finally said.
His Chief of Construction went rigid, ears drooping.
“I want you to continue with the original residential plan for now.”
The tension drained from the goblin so quickly that he nearly sank into his chair. He caught himself with one hand, straightened, and nodded sharply.
“Yes, sir.”
“But,” Alpha continued, “inform the crews to account for increased ant activity in the area for the foreseeable future.”
Antoinette turned toward Alpha, and while her antborg’s face could not truly frown, her posture carried enough disapproval to manage the effect.
“Sir, surely those resources are —”
Alpha lifted one limb, and she paused.
“I’m not telling you to ignore them,” Alpha said. “You’re right that the deposits could solve several key infrastructure bottlenecks. Not only for the outpost, but for the colony as well.”
That seemed to pique Antoinette’s interest. Her attention sharpened at once.
Alpha gestured toward the residential blocks.
“However, infrastructure exists to support a population. If we expand faster than our people can occupy, maintain, and secure the new space, then we are not growing efficiently. We are only spreading ourselves thinner than we already are.”
Towerbuilder crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, nodding.
Antoinette’s posture stiffened, but she did not argue.
Alpha continued. “That said, begin preparing the deposit for extraction. Survey it properly, secure the access routes, and mark any hazards. The west residential district takes priority, but if that priority changes, or if we suddenly need those materials, I want the option ready.”
For a long moment, Antoinette stared at him through the golden antborg’s polished face.
Then she gave a silent nod.
——————————————————
Antoinette moved her game piece forward.
The small carved marker clicked softly against the board as it settled into place, completing a pattern she had been building for the last ten rounds. With that move, one of her opponent’s pieces found itself encircled, and an entire section of the board closed off under her control.
“I still don’t understand,” she said.
Her voice was quieter than intended, directed almost as much toward herself as toward the oddly dressed human seated across from her. “My plan was the most optimal path for the cavern’s development.”
Her eyes fell to the board.
Such a strange thing, this game.
She understood the concept well enough, of course. Her Other-Knowledge had supplied rules, terminology, historical parallels, and strategic principles in sufficient detail. Her instincts, however, had no natural comparison for such an activity. Ants didn’t play at conquest or construct artificial conflicts for amusement. They competed when necessary, expanded when possible, defended when threatened, and optimized whenever resources allowed.
And yet…
Something about it called to her.
Perhaps it was the clarity of the rules. Perhaps it was the purity of a contest where each participant acted within known limits, where every choice could be examined, every mistake traced, and every victory proven by the final state of the board. There was a comfort in that. Order. A pleasing sharpness.
Whatever the reason, Antoinette had taken up the habit whenever she needed to think.
Or, more specifically, whenever Alpha behaved strangely enough that thinking alone became insufficient.
It helped that she had found a competent opponent.
Across from her, Claude leaned back in his chair and stroked his neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His clothing remained as odd as ever — even by human standards — though Antoinette had not yet determined whether that reflected a personal preference, dramatic flair, or some human failing she lacked the experience to understand.
“I can see why you’re frustrated,” he said at last, though his gaze never left the board.
“After all, you only have the cavern’s best interests in mind.”
Antoinette’s antennae lowered in a way that, had she possessed a human face, would almost certainly have been a frown.
“You are using that tone again, human,” she said. “What am I missing?”
Claude’s mouth curved at one corner.
“I suspect less than you fear.”
He reached forward and moved his next piece.
It was quick. Smooth. Decisive.
Also expected.
Antoinette tracked the move in silence. It was precisely the response she had anticipated, because it was the only move he had left. Every other route had already been cut away. Every apparent alternative would have led to a worse loss within three turns. Claude had seen enough to understand that, so he chose the least damaging path and stepped fully into the trap she had prepared for him.
Only after his piece settled into place did he look up.
“Though if I might be frank, Your Majesty,” Claude said, “you’re too smart for your own good.”
Antoinette cocked her head.
She considered the statement for a fraction of a second as she advanced her next piece, closing the trap another step and leaving Claude with even fewer acceptable responses.
The end was so inevitable that Antoinette barely needed to look at the board before returning her attention to him.
“Explain,” she said.
Claude’s eyes dropped back to the board, and he gave a soft chuckle.
“Do you remember why I first sought you out?” he asked, stroking his beard once more.
Antoinette nodded.
Of course she remembered.
Claude had approached her because Alpha had placed him in charge of crafting the “story” of the Dragon’s Garden, the dungeon constructed at the heart of the cavern. Adventurers, apparently, expected such places to possess legends, themes, histories, and layers of implied meaning.
Adventurers were simple creatures like that. They liked to pretend they were entering something more meaningful than a controlled combat and resource-acquisition zone.
They wanted mystery, grandeur, and glory.
They wanted a legend to chase.
In pursuit of that goal, Claude had sought the “true” queen of the colony.
“You came for inspiration,” Antoinette said. “You wished to understand how a queen might think, so your fictional colony would feel convincing to the adventurers.”
“Why did I do so?” Claude asked.
Antoinette stilled.
The question seemed simple, but she had learned that Claude’s simple questions were rarely as they first appeared. He possessed a talent for placing obvious truths in positions she found uncomfortable to consider, truths that scratched at her instincts yet always seemed to hold some grain of wisdom beneath their bitter bite.
She considered the board. Then Claude. Then the question itself.
“Because you are not a queen,” she said at last. “You seek to create a believable story for the adventurers, but you lack the skill, experience, and knowledge necessary to understand how a queen might truly act.”
For a moment, Claude simply looked at her.
Then his grin widened.
He nodded, pleased in a way Antoinette found immediately suspicious.
Antoinette sat straighter.
The golden plates along her body shifted as she fixed him with her full attention. Her antennae lifted, then angled forward, and a faint rattle passed through the edges of her carapace.
“Are you insinuating,” she demanded, “that I lack the skills necessary to properly care for my colony?”
Claude leaned back and laughed.
Antoinette bristled, the plates along her shoulders rattling louder. Several smaller limbs tightened against the edge of the table, and several nearby workers paused, turning toward Claude with silent, threatening glares.
Before she could respond, Claude lifted one hand in surrender.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said, though laughter still lingered at the edge of his voice. “Truly. That wasn’t my point.”
Claude lowered his hand and inclined his head, his expression settling into something gentler, though no less sharp.
Antoinette continued to glare at him, her body easing only a degree as the man continued.
“I’m not questioning your capability,” he said. “I’m trying to help you understand where the others are coming from.”
Claude leaned forward, his gaze resting on the board as if he were reading his next words from among the carved pieces.
“When it comes to running your colony,” he said, “I doubt there are many alive more suited to the task than you. No one with any sense would argue otherwise.”
He looked up then, meeting her compound gaze without flinching.
“But we’re building more than just a colony here, aren’t we?”
Before Antoinette could respond, he reached down and moved one of his pieces.
She had already calculated his most probable responses. Only a handful remained that would preserve his position for more than three turns, and only one offered any meaningful chance of delaying her victory.
Instead, his fingers closed around a different marker entirely.
For a fraction of a second, Antoinette simply stared.
Then her antennae twitched.
The move was unexpected. Foolish, even. In his apparent desperation to break the edge of her encirclement, Claude had abandoned the integrity of his own formation. He had shifted a piece away from a critical line, leaving a gap so obvious that even an unskilled opponent should have seen the danger.
Her attention narrowed.
She studied the board, tracing the new arrangement through every likely outcome. If she pressed forward now, his western formation would collapse. Two moves after that, his center would be completely isolated. Two more, and the match would become mathematically unrecoverable.
Victory was assured. All she had to do was make the obvious next move.
So why did she hesitate?
The sensation was unfamiliar enough that she almost ran a diagnostic on her body.
Was this… doubt?
No.
That wasn’t it.
Antoinette didn’t doubt the outcome. She saw the shape of the match too clearly for that. Claude had made an error, and the correct response was to punish that error until nothing remained of the position he’d tried to preserve.
And yet…
Her claw hovered above her piece.
Her antennae lowered slightly.
Claude watched her without speaking, his expression calm in a way she found increasingly irritating.
For a single breath, she considered choosing differently.
Then she made her move.
The carved marker clicked softly against the board.
Her piece had barely settled before Claude reached forward, took up his next marker, and placed it with quiet inevitability.
Antoinette froze.
For several seconds, she simply stared at the board.
Across from her, Claude stood, stepping away from the table as he adjusted the fit of his brightly colored jacket.
“As I said, Your Majesty,” he said, turning toward the exit, “you are too smart for your own good.”
Antoinette’s attention remained fixed on the board as she tried to puzzle out exactly what she was seeing.
“You’re absolutely certain of yourself, your people, and your goals,” Claude continued as he walked. “All fine traits in a ruler. Necessary ones, even.”
He paused near the doorway, then glanced back over his shoulder.
“But you’re not just a ruler, are you?”
Antoinette slowly raised her gaze.
Claude’s mouth curved into a grin.
“Don’t limit yourself to only the experiences you think you should have.”
With that, he turned and resumed walking.
He had made it only a few steps before Antoinette called after him.
“Wait.”
Claude paused and turned back around, one hand resting lightly against his chest as he gave a small bow.
“Was there something else I could do for you, Your Majesty?”
Antoinette stared at him in silence.
There were a dozen questions she could have asked the odd man, yet one matter had gone unaddressed for far too long.
“Before you go,” she said at last, “I must know.”
Claude’s brows lifted.
Antoinette gestured toward him with one limb.
“What is with that… gaudy outfit?”
Claude blinked.
Then his grin spread from ear to ear, as if she had asked the one question he had been waiting all day to answer.
The outfit in question was difficult to ignore. His coat had been cut in the fashion of an old noble, though not like the nobles of Halirosa, with their flowing robes and elaborate embroidery.
Instead, a dark, well-fitted coat sat over a high vest, while polished buttons caught the light in neat rows. A dramatic falling collar framed his throat, spilling over the front of the coat with unnecessary excess. His trousers were tucked into polished boots, his sleeves flared just enough to flutter when he gestured, and his neatly trimmed goatee completed the effect.
It was dignified and ridiculous in equal measure, and the young queen doubted anyone other than the man in front of her would dare wear anything like it in public.
Claude placed one hand across his chest and flared his coat behind him with a dramatic flourish.
“I’m glad you asked!” he declared. “I figured that if I wish to surpass the Federation’s greatest playwright, I should at least dress the part!”
He straightened and struck a pose, one arm lifted, chin angled toward some invisible audience, his eyes fixed on a distant horizon only he could see.
Silence followed.
Antoinette stared.
The nearby worker ants stared.
Even the board seemed to offer its silent judgment.
Only a passing drone paused long enough to clap enthusiastically, until its fellows turned to stare at it.
Claude held the pose for one heartbeat longer than dignity allowed.
Then he coughed into his hand and turned back toward the exit.
“Anyway!” he said brightly. “I should be on my way. Until next time!”
This time, Antoinette didn’t stop him.
She watched as the odd human vanished through the doorway, his polished boots clicking faintly until the sound faded into the corridor beyond.
Only then did she turn her attention back to the board.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
Claude hadn’t won the match.
That much remained true. Just as she’d predicted, her trap had thoroughly cut off any path to victory. His forces were divided, his center compromised, his outer pieces forced into positions from which they couldn’t recover.
By any conventional measure, he’d lost.
And yet…
She leaned closer.
Even in defeat, he’d led her into a trap of his own.
One far subtler and far more irritating.
It was a pattern that would force her pieces to chase victory without ever quite reaching it. One where her forces would move in circles, always advancing, always correcting, always one turn behind the clean end she had already calculated.
Her outstretched claw tapped restlessly against the edge of the table.
Could she have found a way out of such a trap?
Perhaps.
Given enough time, certainly.
But the answer mattered less than the fact that she had entered it at all.
Antoinette remained still for a long moment, studying the arrangement of pieces and the path she had been so certain would lead her exactly where she wished to go.