@Arcanestomper
The drones' senses sharpen. Pollution is identified as a non-Vespene fossil fuel, the grass is some sort of Terran import judging from chemical flavour. Streams of energetic pulses in the shape of Terran communication waves tickle antennae whilst the tremor of wildlife hours away shakes the earth at the bare edges of note, of perception.
A thousand minds argue a thousand things in the depths of it, but over minutes and hours and days a decision is made. In the perceptual halls changing from collegiate auditoriums to fleshy leviathans to grand papal halls depending on the speaker. Arguments of flesh and growth, of war and peace, of invention and evolution all cascade into one another.
Debate quiets, a psychic will rises and a mind is selected. First Mind Zhakarov, you have been chosen, your unique will, your perspective and your promises have convinced the morass of peers. You are First Mind, First Among Equals.
Even now the power holding you here is fading at a random, uncertain rate, you must act, your Term is counting down.
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The drone explores, its senses expanding over the local area. Grass turns to forest to the north, a dense old growth, trees thick as Ultralisks and as tall as hatcheries, the east and west extend for a day in both directions as plains, broken up by hills. To the south, a cloud of black smoke can be seen.
In the Swarms immediate area lies a vast valley, with soft, loamy soil and rock further below it, rich in the minerals needed for life, but not the Minerals we desire.
Minerals, Vespene, neither is found and our Essence is in tatters, mutated and ruined sequences left behind on the traversal. All save for the most basic of hatcheries and drones will need to be developed, or redeveloped.
The wildlife is present, but flora is the greater source of macro-biomass. What is your will, First Mind Zhakarov?
