I was aware of the trample of feet as drones came and collected the queen. Familiar scents invaded the space around me but the world floated above my head, too far above my pain to make sense. At one point I managed to curl up on my side and chew away bits of my exposed genitals. I didn’t get very far. I lay down again, too weak to move. My mouth pined for nectar.
I wanted to die. I deserved to die. Drones did not hurt their queens. I was a freak, no better than Drone Juan.
Eventually, Drone Marco found me. He sheathed himself in layers of thick skin and cleaned me. He tried to stuff my insides back in my armor but I bleated. “No. Chew off.” He cut them off, put on new skin cloth, and cleaned the rest of my seed from the floor.
For a long time he said nothing. Sorrow radiated from him like a cloud of pollen. At last he spoke, his voice rough and gravelly, sounding more like mine. “Rover, what happened? Ellen said you got upset about something, fell over, and exploded. Are you sick?”
Pain fogged my head, making it difficult for me to think clearly enough to speak. “I in sick pain. Rover give death to Lara. Killed baby. Rover nectar vessel now.” Although my language skills had progressed greatly, I didn’t know how to say honey-pot. I let out a long, low keening in my distress.
“Lara isn’t dead. The baby isn’t dead. They’re just. . . .” He broke down and cried.