Tern floated along the floor in his spherical, protective shell. Where was his flesh? A tremor shook the entire building, followed by a great metallic rumble. And the grinding sounds of eating. The savoury taste of fear clung to the air, but Tern resisted the temptation and kept his trajectory. Clan war. What a dreadful thing. What a waste to eat each other’s flesh because of a disagreement. Primitive.

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  “There you are,” a familiar, raspy voice said.

  Sensors pinged the being. Few units ahead. Tern responded with a slight cascading shimmer across his shell. Relief. Large, meaty hands grabbed him. His flesh held him tight.

  “Chieftain is waiting. Craft is ready,” his flesh grunted.

  “Yes. Clans have resorted to cannibalism,” Tern said through their connection. “They have to be left to their own devices.”