Whenever High Graf Vindak was unhappy, there was a significant increase in the already high mortality rate among his aides-de-camp. Today, the High Graf was very unhappy indeed, and the gore of three successive killings spattered the control room's consoles. Flecks of shattered chitin crackled unpleasantly underfoot as yet another unfortunate bearer of bad news entered.

"What do you mean, there's another infestation?!"

Adjutant Yulee, the ranking survivor, was convinced he too would be dead in minutes. He was one of the Graf's own spawn, but he knew better than to hope that would grant him any immunity. If anything, the tradition of parricide in the Glorious Empire made him rather more of a target.

"Y-yes, Your Grace," he said. "They hadn't been interfering with our workers, which kept them hidden for much longer than usual. Projections thinks it could be a sign of intelligence—"

"Bah! More foolishness! Those tiny little grubs couldn't possibly have any intellect. Might as well accuse a batz-fly maggot of composing Sanguinarian Opera!"

"Only could, Your Magnificence. The scientists are still working on how it’s possible in such a tiny brain, which—"

"Another waste of time! Those parasites must be exterminated, Mr. Yulee — exterminated!" The Graf's face went scarlet with rage, and his fists closed spasmodically as he envisioned crushing an entire species. His adjutant boggled briefly at the idea of wiping out the Imperial Science Corps before he belatedly managed to grasp his master's actual meaning.

"Shall I despatch a platoon of Warriors, then, Your Lordship?"

"Warriors? Warriors?!" The High Graf had turned purple. "Warriors are expensive, Mr. Yulee! Rocks are cheap. Meteor strike - the only way to be sure with a species that moves as obscenely fast as theirs does. And we must be sure! Must be, you understand me?"

"Y-yes, I understand, Your Malevolence. It's just that..." Yulee paused, momentarily overcome by the idea of correcting his superior.

"It's just what?" hissed the Graf, eyes narrowing to slits.

"W-well, the Workers... There are more than three million units on Ithrax Nine. They're so large, they take forever to mature, and the production quotas..."

"Ah, yes — the price of success." The Graf subsided at that, steepling his fingers before his face. "You raise a good point, Mr. Yulee, which surprises me. You may have some potential after all. Initiative is sadly lacking in this younger generation..."

Because you keep killing anyone who displays any, thought Yulee, but he kept that to himself. If he were to survive any length of time, he would need to take... yes, proactive steps. Poison, perhaps? But not today.

The High Graf appeared to have forgotten about Yulee and the unanswered question, and was chewing meditatively on the barrel of his ceremonial blaster. Or might he be communing psychically with the Queen? There had been rumors about his mental lapses and her reputation for thought control... Yulee waited as long as he considered wise and then, regretfully taking the risk of instant annihilation, interrupted his feudal lord's musings. "So was that to be Warriors or meteor, Your Sovereignty?"

"What?!" The Graf was briefly startled. "Ah, yes, the infestation! Warriors would succeed, yes, but they would give the grubs time to mount a defense, and they do move so cursedly quickly. Small, yes, and weak, but they buzz about so! Then too, they breed any of those metal stingers of theirs, we might lose some of our Warrior force forever, and that will never do. No, it must be a meteor, and quickly. Quickly, Mr. Yulee!"

Yulee bowed and scuttled off to carry out the Graf's orders, swallowing his misgivings. He would definitely need to put some thought into that poison idea, though. The sooner the better...

* * *

The Commander and the xenobotanist stood watching the starship's main viewscreen. It showed the surface of what the local alien civilizations called Ithrax Nine, a gentle valley populated by massive, ponderous creatures that were grazing peacefully on the scattered treetops. Each was the size of a terrestrial office building.

"Studying their species has been my life's work, you know," the scientist said. "They're quasi-insects, believe it or not, and definitely intelligent, but they live their lives on an entirely different timescale than you or I. We have to paint messages on a cliff face and leave them a month before they even notice. After six years of work, we've only just begun to provoke a response — and now the entire planet will be destroyed by a massive meteor strike. They won't even know what hit them."

"It is a pity, sir," said the Commander. He waited a moment, then snuck a look at his watch. As if on cue, the screen flared a brilliant white, and then went dark. "Shall we go?"

The scientist sighed. "Might as well, I suppose. We've found another planet populated by them a couple of systems away. Fraxical, I think it's called. Just drop us there, will you?"

"Certainly," said the Commander. He paused, then cleared his throat. "Funny thing: This is the third planet full of these giant worm-things that's been wiped out by a meteor in the past three decades. You don't suppose it could be... somehow... deliberate, do you?"

The scientist snorted. "Surely not. There are no signs this species has any advanced technology, despite that it's multiplanetary. Besides: What sort of creature would rain wholesale destruction down on itself? It's inconceivable."