“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

He spun once around in his chair, surveying the litter along the floor and myriad instrument panels and hot-wired additions cramped in the dank cockpit. He was bored, he was tired, he was hungry, and more than anything else, he was broke. If he wasn’t thousands of credits in debt with no home and only his rusted, beaten old freighter to his name, he would get some sleep, get some grub, and get the hell out of this nebula.

But ifs and wants would get him a moment’s reprieve from reality. Nothing more.

So he reluctantly turned back to his communications panel and activated the feed again.

“Your military sensors telling you anything mine ain’t, Commander?”

The woman on the other end smiled at him. At first, she had been almost Imperial in her coldness… her experience as a smuggler had softened her up a bit, he later learned… but lately she was becoming just as sick of this particular mission as he was, and as a result was more cordial in her communications.

“Negative. There’s metal here, somewhere… but the xenon reflects our sensor energy so we really have no idea where. Or if it’s even still there… might be just trace particles of debris. But we have no way of knowing.”

He nodded. He had tuned out when she had said her first word of course… he knew the drill by now, but she liked to do things by the book when on duty and continued repeating the same spiel again and again. He was mainly just nodding to satisfy his libido. It had been a long time since he had been in port, and the commander was quite attractive. Perhaps, however unlikely she felt attracted to him in the slightest, in a different circumstance he would make an attempt to start a relationship. But in this nebula, all he could do was be polite and hope that when they left here, she was open to social contact.

He sighed, more and more frustrated at his situation every single second.

“You know Commander, this is looking more and more like a wild goose chase.”

He closed his end of the channel, and sat back in his chair.

“God damned wild goose chase.”

She didn’t immediately respond, which was unusual, but he paid it no heed. Instead, he reclined further into the chair, kicking his feet up onto the edge of the control panel and preparing for a nap. This routine was incredibly monotonous, and he wondered why he had ever agreed to come here in the first place.

“Stand by Captain.”

He shot his feet off the panel, and allowed them to hit the floor. He turned his chair so that he was facing the communications terminal.

The screen was blank.

He opened his end of the channel.

“Commander?”

He waited. Nothing.

“Commander?”

The screen shimmered to snow, and then her image resolved.

“Sorry Captain, things have gotten a bit busy over here. Our sensors have detected metal within a proximity of 3 kilometers.”

He adjusted his posture forward, examining her face for traces of a smile.

“Are you pulling my old leg?”

She smiled.

“No Captain, this one is definite. We’ll be coming up on it in under a minute.”

He turned to his own scanners. Nothing yet… and then, there, they indeed picked up a solid ping, which meant a metal object more than 1 meter in length. He almost couldn’t believe it, the only thing that forced him to look again was the remote possibility that it was true and he could finally leave this damned place. He checked again, against his better judgment, and surprisingly the readings he had imagined earlier once again filled his screen. He ran through possibilities in his head and only one made any sense at all. The metal was actually there.

He was leaving this nebula, at last.

He flipped a switch on his communications panel.

“Davies, I want you to get our grappling equipment ready. We’ve got something.”

”Yeah, right. Okay, I’ll get it ready and in five minutes call me back and tell me to unhook it all. I know the routine.”

“Davies, I swear to Luke Skywalker you give me any more lip and I’ll let you go back to your former career in garbage trawling. This one is legit, now get the equipment ready in two minutes or you’re fired.”

Davies didn’t immediately answer, but he did mutter an affirmative before he went about his duties. The captain was left with momentary silence. He guided his ship by sensors, reading the constant ping of the Lancer’s IFF and taking his ship in a relative position. The object was closer and closer, and as he watched the screen it suddenly vanished. It was quickly replaced with two objects. Then a third appeared.

“Debris,” he muttered to himself.

He flipped open the channel.

“Are we looking at a debris field, Commander?”

He didn’t immediately get an answer, so he assumed he was correct. He continued to run scans on the debris. It was around the mass he was looking for…

“Captain, stand by. Yes, that is a debris field. What are your scans telling you?”

He turned to them and made a summary in his head, before looking back at the commander.

“It’s slightly larger than the mass we are looking for, and I can’t get an accurate assessment of the hull composition. Can you give me something more conclusive?”

The commander sighed.

“I think this is what we are looking for. The hull material I was asked to scan for was a fairly common stealth-ship hull, so this is definitely military. Beyond that however I can’t pick anything up conclusive.”

The captain looked at his scanners again.

“Any idea on how it came to its present condition?”

The commander looked away for a second and was presumably reading a report of some kind. She looked up at him before she spoke again.

“Yes… it looks like the ship came under weapons fire. I am showing… this is unusual… I am showing the hull as having succumbed to plasma-based weaponry. It seems to have burnt through the hull causing it to lose structural integrity, and suffer a complete, ship-consuming explosive decompression. That would explain the added mass.”

The captain was far from a scientist, so that reasoning was way above his head. His face must have represented so because the commander continued her explanation with no further prompting.

“Plasma is a state of matter that is about to become pure energy. It is dense and extremely hot. When it came in contact with the hull it seared it and caused it in places to liquidize. This allowed oxygen to bubble out into the liquid metal. As the ship exploded and was completely exposed to space, the metal cooled again, and with the added presence of the now-cooled plasma fuel and the oxygen trapped within, the mass was increased. Normally when we look for debris we assume it to be smaller than the ship because pieces of it are completely vaporized or fall out of the group that we find. In this case it is still smaller than the whole of the ship, but it is larger than what we were looking for. I’m sorry Captain, am I boring you?”

He laughed.

“Commander, I did not understand a word you just said. But sum it up for me by answering this question… in your opinion is this the ship we were sent here to locate?”

She sighed.

“Yes Captain, although I cannot say that this is the ship with one hundred percent certainty, it is in my professional opinion the ship given the evidence for and the criteria we were specified.”

He nodded.

“Well, I guess I’ll bring it in then.”

He hit a switch, changing his com to the internal ships communicator.

“Davies, do you have that equipment ready?”

He took a few seconds to make it to the com.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I can have it un-ready in under 2 minutes.”

“Good. I want you to open the bay doors and bring in some debris.”

Davies laughed.

“Okay, I guess this time you want to me to shower and put on my spacesuit before I unhook everything. Up yours.”

“Davies, we found the ship god damn it.”

Davies didn’t answer right away. Presumably he was mulling over whether the captain was playing a cruel joke on him. Before he got to answer, the captain lost patience and spoke himself.

“Look, the ship is out there. The sooner you bring it in, the sooner…”

He was cut off, as his scanners seemed to be picking up more metal. This stuff, however, was not debris.

“Commander, are you picking this up?”

”Yes Captain. Looks like a small cube of something with… stand-by… it appears to have active circuitry.”

The captain could barely believe it.

“Active circuitry? You mean, that’s a ship?”

The commander shook her head.

“Small, even for a fighter. And there’s no life signs… it is more likely…”

Suddenly a myriad number of alarms sounded behind the commander. The captain swiveled to his sensors and couldn’t believe what he saw. The four meter cube was unfolding, and was now a 15 or sixteen meter diameter… he didn’t know what the hell it was, but it was definitely not just a piece of space junk. He looked at the sensor readings to try and determine what exactly he was looking at…

And he watched as arcs of fire began to pour from the vessel, impacting against the shields of the Lancer. He suddenly raised his shields, before he turned to his communications panel.

“Commander?”

The ship was rocked momentarily, and some of her well-kept hair was knocked loose, making her even more attractive than she was previously.

“Ion cannons. That last hit was plasma weaponry. Whatever that thing is, it took out the ship we were looking for.”

“I don’t get it… there’s no life signs…”

He watched as the Lancer finally returned fire, and after a short volley the unidentified ship was destroyed.

“I don’t understand it either, Captain. The energy readings were negative.”

The captain turned to her.

“Negative? You mean… it had no power?”

“No, it had power readings, but they were negative.”

It was at this point the captain really yearned for a full-time science officer on his ship.

“Captain, the power readings seemed to indicate that the ship contained within a negative energy generator. The ship was creating, and subsequently destroying, dark matter, and using the bled off energy as a power source. The physics of that are absolutely astounding. I’ve seen it done in ground-based generators and on command cruisers, but never in a 4 meter fighter.”

The captain was lost, but he had understood enough of the conversation to know that whatever that thing was, it was high up on the tech tree. He turned to his instrument panel, and switched his communications to ship’s intercom.

“Davies, is all the equipment ready?”

On the screen, Davies nodded, unable to speak due to a mass of cables lodged between his teeth.

“Okay, we’re on the Imp Cruiser debris. I want you to haul it in and put it in bay 2. Leave the grapplers ready, we’re going to take in another set of debris.”

He removed the cables from his mouth and looked at the panel.

“Another set? I thought we were out here to look for a ship, and only one ship.”

”We were, but we got some unexpected company and the Lancer turned it into unexpected salvage. I’m sure if our employer wants the debris of the ship we were looking for, he would want the debris of the ship that destroyed it.”

Davies grunted an affirmative and resumed whatever he was doing with the cables. The captain switched the com over to the commander of the Lancer again.

“So Commander… what happened here? Did you get any better intel than I got?”

She shook her head.

“Not likely. From what I was told, The New Order sent one of its light cruisers into this nebula to investigate some interesting gravitic disturbances. At the time, paranoia about the Vong was rampant, so they wanted to investigate whatever it was immediately. The cruiser never returned, but the man who hired me didn’t know any more than that. Since they didn’t launch another, or send a fleet it presumably isn’t the Vong, but he is curious about what it could be, and wants to know what is going on.”

That was more information than he had gotten, but not much. It made sense that someone would want to know what the phenomenon was but who had the money to hire a mercenary Lancer corvette and his ship, plus pay them the money needed to have them wave the salvage, plus offer up the bonuses he was offering for their time? They had to be military. He didn’t figure GC would bother hiring independents when they employed plenty of their own, and why would TNO not just send another cruiser? What did that leave then? Black Dragon Empire? The Hapan Consortium? Neither one threw away that kind of money, and beyond them, nobody had that kind of money. Both of them were pretty much independent too… he just couldn’t piece it together. The guy he had met was definitely a middleman, the suit, and the horrible comb-over; it was definitely nothing he could afford. It didn’t make any sense at all.

And who the hell were these guys? Negative energy… plasma weaponry… artificially intelligent ships… from what he could gather along with what the commander had told him, these were some seriously loaded dudes. That they could take out an Imperial Cruiser with a fighter, if they had, only made them even more fearsome and even more mysterious. He had a very bad feeling about this entire situation now. Whereas not long ago he was elated that he could finally leave this damn nebula, now he could not shake the feeling that he would never leave.

He turned to his com panel and switched it to the internal com again.

“Davies, how are you doing with the Imperial Cruiser debris?”

Davies turned his panel on, and the captain could see that the wreckage was strewn about the deck, and not yet organized.

“Brought it in. Gonna move it to bay 2, make some room for this new stuff you want me to bring in.”

The captain nodded.

”Good. Once you have that stuff moved over, head on up here. I think we deserve a drink. The other debris field can wait.”

He sat up, moving from his chair for what seemed like the first time in days. His joints sang a song of discontentment, a whine as his tired old bones grated against one another as he walked across the deck of his ship. Being a wreck salvager afforded him very little, but one small comfort was that no one questioned him why he kept his kitchen and ample supply of liquor so close to the bridge. The short walk over, he opened the cabinet housing his cheapest liquors. He reconsidered, closing it and opening the cabinet above holding Corellian ale. It was rare for a fringe junker, as he was affectionately referred to among the Imperials, to buy such liquor, even though it wasn’t terribly expensive. For him, however, it was two months wages a bottle, and thus treated as if it were liquid cortosis. He retrieved two slightly dirty glasses, and grabbing a dirty towel, wiped the debris from their rims and ran them under a flow of warm water. He sat them on the counter, dropped in two cubes each of ice, and filled them half full with ale. He swished the contents of his glass, moving the ice cube around the edges, enjoying the harsh clink that echoed off. He raised the brim of the glass to the base of his nose, allowing the flavor of the ale to overwhelm his olfactory senses. It was rare for him to even smell this stuff, and when he did he often poured it back into the bottle and saved the liquid itself for a more special occasion.

Reminiscing on his last sips of Corellian ale, the captain was startled when Davies threw himself down in the captain’s own chair. He let out a loud sigh, clothes stained in mechanical oil and brow coated in sweat. The man smelled of hard labor and the debris he had been handling. The captain groaned inwardly, resenting that with the pedigree of this liquor he was sharing it with someone so arrogant and unworthy.

“You’re in my chair, crewman.”

Davies groaned, and slowly extracted himself from the chair. The material shuddered as it was pulled along with him, stuck to him with perspiration, and then snapped back into place. The chair was soaked. Absolutely… disgusting.

The captain pulled a towel from his kitchen before draping it across the chair, and sat down, holding up his glass to Davies.

“To… getting paid.”

Davies nodded.

“And going home.”

The captain touched his glass.

“To a job well done.”

Davies echoed his sentiment, and took a sip of the ale. The captain held off.

“Commander… join us in a drink?”

The com panel shimmered to life as the commander reopened her end of the channel.

“I’m still on duty, Captain. But don’t let me stop you.”

The captain didn’t, taking a sip of the ale and savoring it for a short time before raising his glass, looking into it’s contents for inspiration for his next toast.

“To… your beauty, Commander.”

Davies snorted.

“To Captain Ransik, the complete kiss-ass that he is.”

He looked at the commander, cocking an eyebrow.

“To… home, and going there shortly.”

Davies laughed.

“Hell yes mam! I will drink to that!”

The captain, momentarily remembering his earlier dread, didn’t immediately respond, but when he did he did it with a long sip, finishing his glass and laying it down on his instrument panel.

“To… the next round!”

Davies laughed at his own joke, before he went and poured himself, and the captain another round.

“Commander… a toast for us?”

”To… the crew of that Cruiser; May they rest in peace.”

Davies nodded, before taking another sip. The captain began to reach for his glass…

And instead froze.

His glass was shaking.

His glass… was shaking.

It could be shaking for myriad reasons. Something inside the instrument panel causing a slight vibration. Spacial turbulence, causing the ship to rock gently as inert as it was.

But for some reason, his mind stuck on one phrase…

The New Order sent one of its light cruisers into this nebula to investigate some interesting gravitic disturbances.

Gravitic disturbances…

Gravitic…

Behind the commander, her ship exploded in alarms once again.

“Commander?”

The commander was frantically searching for a reason why the alarms had suddenly gone off. Suddenly, she found it.

“Wormhole! A wormhole is opening inside the nebula!”

The captain and Davies both looked out the veiwport on the bridge. They could see some kind of waves of distortion…

And then, like a rancor barring its teeth, the wormhole exploded open, and was visible to all.

The captain’s glass fell off the instrument panel, hitting the floor and shattering in a wet explosion at his feet.

No one spoke. They all seem transfixed on the wormhole, waiting for something to emerge.

Nothing did, at first.

And then, a ship. It was about 21 feet, and shaped… well, like nothing he had ever seen. Similar somewhat to a saber. Thin… with protruding relays of some kind. But it didn’t look like it had any weapons, and he bet the Lancer could make quick work of it.

Then, another ship appeared. Big. Like a large cruiser.

And then another one appeared.

And suddenly a small fleet had come through the wormhole, and were turning in the direction of the Lancer.

“Commander, I don’t have any weapons! Should we run?”

The commander didn’t respond. She seemed to be calculating her options.

He turned to the ships in the veiwpanel. One of the massive cruisers seemed to be building some kind of field up along its dish-shaped hull…

And then a wave of energy was sent from it, and it enveloped the Lancer. For a few seconds the hull of the Lancer shimmered with a purple haze…

And then it was gone.

The ship disappeared. It didn’t explode, implode, jump to hyperspace… it was just gone.

“Commander?”

Nothing. Dead air.

”Commander? Are you there?”

“They’re dead, damnit!”

Davies shook him. The captain didn’t immediately respond.

“We have to get out of here!”

He looked at the veiwport. One of the larger cruisers had released several of the 4 meter cubes, some of which were unfolding into their more active and more intimidating shape.

“It’s… too late for that.”

Davies nodded. He realized now that the cubes were fighters, and that they would not be able to plot a jump in time to avoid the weapons fire sure to begin spilling from them.

The captain looked Davies in the eyes, and cocked an eyebrow.

“To a job well done?”

Davies nodded.

”Aye sir. I’ve always…”

And at that moment a bolt of plasma struck the bridge, melting it and it’s occupants almost immediately.

Aboard the Sep'Ta'd'Aark, Kal Shora looked upon the Lancer Frigate, frozen in space. After it had been transhifted the vessel had moved little, and the crew undoubtedly had questions wether they were alive, or dead.

Now, their weapons remained silent. Their engines dialed down.

They hung, frozen, in space.

Waiting?

Wondering?

Uncertain of their future? Questioning and reminiscing of their past?

Regardless. Their future was certain. Their past was irrelevant.

“Lancer Frigate Quickstrike. You have valiantly stood in defiance of and in opposition to the Cree’Ar Dominion. For this you have earned the respect of the High Elder Kal Shora. I extend to you my offer, as now, to join the Dominion and service us as avatars of your mortal gods. Your alternatives are death, and dishonor.

I will give you 3 minutes to compose a response. I will await it.”

Kal Shora glided from the communications vistal, and sat down again in his command chair. He was surprised when a human woman on the Lancer appeared on his portal.

“Who are you? The Cree’Ar Dominion? I don’t recognize your government and find your attacks and detaining of this vessel unlawful.”

Kal Shora admired her gall. She could not see him, of course… she only heard his voice, translated via Zeratul into her pitiful language. She was brave, to speak to him, one who with singular command could destroy her vessel and destroy her crew, in the manner that she did. He respected her even more.

“Insolent fool! The Cree’Ar Dominion neither seeks nor requires your recognition. Recognize this, and pay it very serious heed, the Cree’Ar Dominion will blatantly defy and disregard what you call laws. We hold ourselves to the laws and decrees of a divinity that you will never know or understand, a divinity that declares us, the Cree’Ar and our brothers in divine right, the proper owners of what you call your Empire. You may threaten us with whatever legal action you may wish, however, I will challenge you here, and now, to enforce any laws upon us, such an obviously superior race.”

He would have smiled, had he the capacity. He grinned inwardly, at the least.

“And, you now have 2 minutes to consider my offer.”

He looked to Zeratul, who silently nodded his head.

“Dan’zant.”

The other Ja'Mha Rerodon Cruisers began to fan out, surrounding the Lancer Frigate. The Sep'Ta'd'Aark, however, remained still. The Borleas and Mak’Bek Cruisers behind, remained silent. The Tetrahedrons folded and unprepared for action, also stayed silent. The Lancer began, he noted, to slowly edge backwards. He nodded to Zeratul.

“Rin’t’aar, mor’a’danzo b’a’aar.”

The Borleas Cruiser, ever at the ready, matched the Lancer’s pace. She was still well within their gravitic manipulation fields.

“Madam, you are under the belief that I may not notice it if you suddenly escaped. May I assure you that I know your options far better than you do, in your deluded state of self-confidence. There is no escape.

You are left with 1 minute, and 30 of your seconds to consider my offer.”

He sat, patiently, looking at his ships moving in expert syncronicity. The Lancer, surrendering or perhaps growing bold, had stopped reverse motion.

“Shove your offer up your ass, you arrogant sod. I won’t be anyone’s @#%$, especially not someone without the set to show his face to me when he tries to talk me down.”

Gall, on this woman! Were she representative of all the inhabitants of this region he saw his post as High Elder of the Dominion to be a very worthwhile one indeed.

He looked to Zeratul, who held the command device for the vistal in his hand. He nodded, and Zeratul opened the channel to allow the Lancer crew to gaze upon his bridge and visage.

The Tek’a’tara moved about, silently, seeing to the menial tasks the ship needed. Beyond Zeratul and the cybernetic servants, only Kal Shora could be seen, now standing with cape hanging behind, otherwise naked save his bracers. Out of the picture stood General Chang, observing, and Kal Shora assumed, admiring.

“Does viewing me confirm to you your inferiority? Does it rest in you feelings of regret that your life, to this point, has been wasted? Why, do you look upon me now, as you do? I see it, beyond the defiance, the fear. Of the unknown. Of my overconfidence. Of how the Tek’a’tara came to be. Of what purpose amongst this vessel you would serve. Assured of this remain you, you will not be a concubine or a janitor. You’re purpose would be as it is now, only in the future, you will serve the side that will emerge victorious. You will serve a god who is more than a fictitious idol; you will serve a prophecy that is more than propaganda. You will serve the Dominion. More than that you need not know.

But know this. You have only a minute to consider my offer.”

Chang nodded, seemingly impressed with Kal Shora’s heavy-handed bargaining. The woman on the screen turned her back to him, and talked in hushed voices with her commanders. Kal Shora began to tap his fingers on the armrests of his throne, waiting for their answer. They were running out of time.

“You are running out of time, mam. You have 30 seconds now to come to consensus.”

She turned to him, and sighed.

“Very well, we accept your terms. We surrender.”

Kal Shora looked at Zeratul, who was shaking his head. He sighed.

“You disappoint me. I had expected so much more from you.”

He nodded, and Zeratul lifted the communications device to his mouth.

“Ferrin Dar’ D’a’dool.”

Ion fire began lancing out from the Mak’Bek Cruisers, and struck against the Lancer. Expertly fired, the Lancer found itself devoid of shields, weapons, propulsion… but remained in control of their communications.

“Kal Shora! I don’t understand! We accept your terms! There is no need to destroy our vessel!”

Kal Shora leaned forward, looking her dead in the eyes.

“No, you do not understand. I was not asking for you to surrender. I was asking that you not surrender. The Dominion does not have room for members that would lay down their arms and abandon defense of their gods. Today you have confirmed to me that which I was indoctrinated by the gods. You have demonstrated your inferiority. You have proved that I am right to remove your blight from the face of the universe.”

She prepared to make a remark, but Kal Shora had heard enough.

“D’a’dool.”

The Sep'Ta'd'Aark’s plasma cannons opened fire, and the Lancer was destroyed in a blinding flash of light.

Kal Shora reclined in his chair, and turned to Zeratul.

“Se'T'ap'a'r'odar.”

Zeratul nodded, and the Cree’Ar returned to their home.

There once was a world of unimaginable natural beauty. A world full of life, a world where trees could be seen for miles in every direction. A world which harkened visitors to it with a natural song, sung by myriad small creatures dancing through the night sky.

That world was Ithor.

An invasion by the Yuuzhan Vong had seemingly ruined it forever. All of the trees that once populated it had melted into a puddle of goo, seemingly of no value to anyone.

But the New Republic had done it. Had discovered how the Yuuzhan Vong used this particular bio-agent to terraform worlds. With genetic engineers working around the clock they had developed a method with which to turn the biological building blocks in the Yuuzhan Vong created soup into life. They were about to celebrate by announcing that Ithor was once again habitable. They were about to make public knowledge of their finding a galactic celebration.

It was a pity.

The ships leaving to broadcast their message had met a damned untimely end on their way from the system. Some unknown force had maneuvered the floating debris into the satellites over Ithor, blocking off all their communicative avenues. Following that, Cree’Ar ships had landed on the surface. The intelligence of the scientists was invaluable and had provided the Cree’Ar with an updated picture of the geographical and political status of the empires throughout the galaxy.

All of this however didn’t matter much.

What mattered was the tree.

It was a pity.

There had once been a small forest. A forest growing amongst a sea of muck. Overtime the Cree’Ar had turned that sea of muck into a large mechanical industrial base. The forest was gradually thinned, and now, a solitary tree remained amongst the world’s robotic construction facilities.

Zeratul stood atop the hill, looking at it. He looked over at Kal Shora, who also stared upon it intensely.

“I do not understand. It is only a tree.”

Kal Shora sighed.

“Zeratul, it is more than a tree. It represents the history of the entire world. It represents, in turn, it’s future. That tree is Ithor, and Ithor in turn is that tree.”

Zeratul shook his head.

“Cyclical logic, and philosophy annoy me as you well know, Elder.”

Kal Shora took his turn to shake his head.

“You need more patience. What do we know of Ithor?”

Zertaul touched his hand to his chin.

“A world largely regarded as a beautiful world. Low on strategic importance although it is geographically a perfect world to base our conquest from. Destroyed by the Vong.”

Kal Shora nodded.

“Destroyed by the Vong. And yet, the world still stands.”

Zeratul sighed.

“Elder…”

”Follow through Zeratul, as usual my rambling has a point.”

“All right. The world was not out and out destroyed; the Yuuzhan Vong poisoned the planet, it’s atmosphere, and destroyed the natural life, both plant and animal. So for all intents and purposes the world’s usefulness, and very reason for existence was destroyed.”

Kal Shora nodded again.

“And so, with the melting of the treeline the world was abandoned by the galaxy at large as destroyed. Do you see now how the tree represents the history of the planet? And how it therefore also represents the future of it?”

Zeratul looked again at the tree.

“History is irrelevant; only considered important when it is made and only by those who made it. It is largely ignored as being unchangeable and of no consequence to the present. But who controls the past controls the future, who controls the present controls the past, and who controls the past controls the future.”

Kal Shora nodded.

“The tree.”

Zeratul looked upon it a final time.

“The tree represents the planets history and future as a sideshow and natural wonder. It’s history is irrelevant and is controlled by us, who control the planets future. Ithor was never, is not, and will never be a natural wonderland with singing birds and useless trees. It is Se'T'ap'a'r'odar. Home world of the Dominion and the land from which we correct the fallacies of this demented galaxy and it inferior native forms of life.”

With that, Zeratul began to march down the hill. Kal Shora sighed as he reached the tree, and unsheathing his bone saw, cleaved it in half. The Tek’a’tara picked it up, hauling it off to be burnt and turned into raw carbon from which to form new metals. Kal Shora turned, and began the walk back to his ship.

It had been a beautiful tree.

It was a pity.

He sat at a restaurant on Roonadan, drinking a cup full of water with ice in it. He clicked his fingers on the cloth of the table, waiting. Finally, the Maitre’De arrived and looked at his tablet.

“Ah, Mr. Rashanagok. Sorry for your wait today sir. Can I interest you in a drink?”

He considered for a second.

“Do you stock Tionese wines?”

”Indeed, sir, indeed we do.”

“All right. I’d like one glass, of your finest vintage of Tionese wine. Preferably Inner Tion, but I’m not picky, as long as the vintage is good. If I enjoy the glass, I’ll have you bring the bottle.”

“Very good sir, very good indeed. Do you intend to order an appetizer at this time, sir?”

He considered.

“No, I shouldn’t. I’m here for a meeting, but check in once my company arrives and we may choose to dine together.”

‘Very well sir, shall I leave you to gather your wine sir?”

He nodded.

“Please do. Thank you.”

He sat, waiting, flipping open the newsleaf he had picked up at the door.

“Coalition losing ground in battle for Mon Calamari.”

That hardly surprised him. He had once considered taking a fleet against the New Order, and would have, were it not for the treachery of his crew. The New Republic that day however had battled the New Order to stalemate… and now the New Republic was dead, so it could be argued that the inability to claim victory that day had killed them in the long run.

He remembered that day… Xylon snapping his lightsaber with the heel of his boot…

Oh, Xylon… where was I when you died?

“Sovereignty claims victory at Abregado-rae; Imperials promise counter-attack.”

This caught his eye. The good guys claiming victory… it simply didn’t happen enough, in his opinion. He didn’t know the world, didn’t really know the players or the situation… but he did know that good guys winning was never a bad thing. The shame was that Simon Kaine would be back… the Grand Marshall… Grand Admiral? Grand Strategist in any case often reorganized and returned with vigilance to worlds that were taken on his watch. The New Order would be back… and one good guy victory was more than they normally got, two seemed highly unlikely.

“Black Dragon Empire expanding its borders; incorporates Farfalen.”

This he had heard. Apparently, Black Dragon Empire was looking to take up residence in the Allied Tion. They were considering sending ships to Jaminere. When Ahnk heard the news, he had sold his house, uncertain of what would happen, but having heard rumors of Black Dragon Empire’s policies on citizens being transformed into ghoulish aberrations he decided he would be better off in the Corporate Sector. He still had an insane amount of money embezzled from his days as a Galactic Despot, and had been spending little trying to live a low profile life of fishing and self-recollection on Jaminere. Now, he had to run, here, to Roonadon, where anyone with money could get a decent shot at finding what he or she needed in the Corporate Sector. He had considered going straight to Bonadan, but he didn’t want to show up on Seth Vinda’s door. Instead, he would sit in the lawn, and maybe be invited in.

Reminiscing was interrupted, as his guest finally joined him.

“Micheal… Ahnk… Rashanagok. We meet again.”

He dropped his paper, and he showed a look of displeasure on his face.

“Why not just plop down a neon sign that says former Sith Lord in the building?”

Smith laughed.

“I didn’t see you on Jaminere. Fish not biting this time of year?”

He smirked. Ahnk wished he would eat @#%$.

“My apologies, for leaving on short notice. But you had no trouble finding me.”

”Mr. Rashanagok that is what I do. Find people. It is why…”

“Look, cut it with the elitist bullshit, all right? I could reach across this table and snap you in half, and both of us know it. You’re connected, you know things, and I need you. These 3 things keep you alive, but that attitude some day will get you killed.”

Smith said nothing, so Ahnk continued.

“The nebula.”

He sighed.

“The Quickstrike has been destroyed.”

Ahnk was the one who sighed this time.

“The freighter too?”

Smith nodded.

“More so. No debris of the freighter exists. We found the log of the freighter. Shroud debris confirmed. Attacked by unknown organisms. Disabled alien fighter craft. Attacked by unknown alien capital ships. Placed… in some kind of a stasis field. Offered terms of surrender, and were accepting. After that, nothing, though I can confirm the ship was destroyed.”

Ahnk shook his head. Not good news.

“Of course, this loss of resources will mean an increase…”

Ahnk nodded.

“Another four million.”

“The Quickstrike was an invaluable military escort and without it…”

“Six. And that’s all.”

Smith nodded.

“Six is fair. Shall we then, consider our business concluded?”

“No.”

Ahnk said this forcedly, and had to lower his tone so as to avoid eavesdroppers listening in on him.

“There is still the issue of my son.”

Smith nodded.

“I have still found no trace of him.”

Ahnk nodded. That he knew, but that the search continued was all he wished to affirm. He reached down to his lap, retrieving from it a datapad. He placed it on the table.

Smith regarded it with an eyebrow cocked.

“What is this?”

”An extrapolation, given the mating of a half-massassi humanoid and a full humanoid, considering the pervasive and uncertain amount of Massassi genetic materials, of what said offspring would carry as genetic markers.”

Smith grinned.

“A scent, for our dogs.”

Ahnk sighed.

“Yes, essentially. Remember that the dogs are looking for a child. Not a convict or a corpse.”

Smith nodded. He stood up.

“Mr. Rashanagok, I hereby conclude this meeting, with your approval, I will continue conducting our stated business.”

Ahnk nodded, and Smith left the establishment. A few seconds later, the maitre’d arrived with Ahnk’s glass of wine.

“My apologies, sir, the restaurant has become extremely busy as you can no doubt hear.”

Ahnk took a second and did indeed notice a difference in the audibility.

“Lunch rush?”

The waiter nodded. He placed Ahnk’s wine on the table.

Ahnk looked down at it, and looked at his hand. He grabbed the goblet and held it to his mouth, before taking a small sip of it. The liquid hit his tongue, and instantly he was flooded with memories he did not wish to recall.

It was, however, in an odd way relaxing.

“Mmmmm. Bring me the bottle. And a check.”

”You will be taking your leave of our establishment, sir?”

Ahnk nodded.

“Indeed. I have business with the Bank of Bonadan that I will need to conduct in a timely fashion. However, be aware there is no personal slight. I am… simply, not hungry.”

“Very well sir, I will return in a timely fashion.”

Ahnk gave him a small smile. He took to his mouth again the goblet…

And stopped. He turned the cup upside down and poured it on the floor.

When the waiter returned, he apologized and said it had been an accident. Regardless, he took the bottle and asked him to hang on. Ahnk reached into his pants and retrieved his credit pouch. He removed the entire contents… Allied Tion credits. He counted… he had to have at least 2 million credits in there. He smirked. Credits he didn’t need and would like to get rid of as soon as possible.

“I entrust in you, sir, the task of converting this money. You may, however, keep the change.”

Ahnk stood, and offered the maitre’d his hand. The server accepted and shook it, smiling.

Ahnk brushed him off and headed out into the evening air of Roonadon. The bank of Bonadon was a short walk; it seemed there was one on every corner on Corporate Sector Worlds. As he walked, his coat billowed off behind him in the night breeze, and his lightsaber could be seen clipped to his belt.

As he passed the citizens of Roonadon it seemed they regarded him closely. Some concluded the billowing coat and lightsaber were meant to intimidate, that he was a Sith Lord prancing about the town. Others saw the lightsaber and the mirrored shades, and thought perhaps he was a pirate, ready to plunder the Corporate Sector of its thinly hidden wealth. Some saw the lightsaber and the smile and were put at ease, he was a Jedi Knight, patrolling their planet and always ready to defend truth and justice.

In reality, he was none of these things.

Today, Ahnk was a farmer. And a fisherman. More over, he was a deposed farmer and fisherman. He would neither protect truth or justice, nor pillage this world. All he wanted was a home. A place where he belonged. A place where he could rest. With his son.

For nostalgia’s sake, he reached out a hand and opened the Bank of Bonadan doors from 20 feet away. Behind him several people gasped, as they were proven correct in their eyes, while others merely nodded. Ahnk couldn’t help but smirk as he removed his arms from his coat, and, quickly dropped his lightsaber into the folded cloth. He nodded at the person ahead of him in line who looked at him, and took his place behind them and awaited service.

Finally, Ahnk was asked to step forward and speak to a teller.

“Hello madam. I’d like to speak to your manager please.”

She frowned.

“I can’t help you today?”

”No, I’m sorry. I need to speak to one of your managers.”

Her frown grew larger, and she squinted down at a piece of paper on her stand.

“Do you have an appointment?”

He shook his head.

“No; just tell him I am from Zanzabar. I believe he will want to see me.”

She picked up a communicator and began to discuss the situation.

“Mr. Melvins… yes, I know you are with someone right now… someone here wants to see a manager and you are the only one here… yes, I know… no, he doesn’t have an appointment… well, he said he is from Zanzabar… yes, Zanzabar… he said you would want to see him… I see… alright, I will tell him… yes sir… thank you sir…”

She looked up to Ahnk and smiled.

“He will see you. He’s currently with a customer but he would like you to take a seat in his waiting room. It is down the hall, room M243.”

Ahnk returned her smile, and nodded his head in understanding. He walked down the hall and, finding the room, took a seat in the comfortable chairs that were there. He waited five or maybe ten minutes and then Mr. Melvins, he believed his name was, emerged from his office with two customers, who seemed absolutely elated. Ahnk stood, and regarded one of them with a smile.

“Hi… sorry, did we keep you waiting?”

Ahnk shook his head.

“No problem at all. You seem happy.”

The man nodded.

“My wife and I… fiancée actually… just bought a house.”

Ahnk’s grin grew wider.

“Congratulations. Cherish this time; your first house is an experience that can never be duplicated.”

The man nodded.

“So, why are you here?”

Ahnk sighed.

“I am in debt. I am hoping to pay it off or, at the least, pay off the interest.”

The man nodded.

“I have been there before. I wish you luck.”

At that moment, his fiancée tugged on his arm. Ahnk smiled at her and the happy couple left.

“Sorry about the wait Mister…”

“Rashanagok, and don’t worry, I am not put off by the wait at all.”

The two headed into his office. Ahnk took a seat in front of the desk and Melvins behind it.

“So… why are you here today?”

“Well, I have come here from Zanzabar.”

The man cocked an eyebrow.

“Zanabar you say. What is the weather like on Zanzabar?”

”There is no weather on Zanzabar. It is constantly snowing and is locked in perpetual winter due to it’s unusual orbit around it’s primary.”

The man nodded.

“I see. Can you still hunt narayans on Zanzabar? I was told they were plentiful and a skillful prey.”

Ahnk shook his head.

“No. There are no narayans on Zanzabar. Nor have there been any for 23 years.”

The man behind the desk nodded in understanding, and retrieved a communicator from a desk drawer.

“Katelynn, disable all security devices in the managers wing of the bank for the next 30 minutes. As well, block all incoming communicative traffic, and jam outgoing signals of any kind except those originating from my office. Understood?”

He was satisfied with the answer, and the communicator disappeared back into its drawer.

“In 7 years of working here I have always wondered why they taught us that routine. You must be someone very important to warrant such high security.”

“The password is approved, then.”

“Yes. For double redundancy you were scanned and found not to be carrying any communicative devices or hidden weaponry. I admire however the craftsmanship on your lightsaber.”

Ahnk pulled it from his coat and placed it on the desk.

“Self-made. You know what they say though, if you want something done right…”

“…you do it yourself. Truer words have never been spoken. So, is Mr. Rashanagok your code, or real name?”

”Real. Micheal Andrew Ahnk Rashanagok, Rogue Jedi Master.”

The man nodded, clearly impressed.

“So, Mr. Rashanagok, what business do you have with the Vinda Corporation?”

He reached into his coat.

“Deposit. 32 million credits, currently in Imperial format but easily converted by such an organization as yours.”

The man nodded again.

“For what purpose?”

Ahnk sighed.

“I need a house. Somewhere in the Corporate Sector, where I can remain unmolested by those would seek to bother me. Nothing too fancy. Maybe… by a bed of water. I like to fish.”

He dropped the credits on the table. The man across the desk seemed uncertain of something.

“I have to say, this is quite a lot of credits. That would likely buy you your own world. I don’t know why you would drop it on a house.”

Ahnk sighed again.

“I told Seth Vinda I would always be there to help him, but when the time came I could not be found. I was too busy dealing with my own demons and dementia to help him in his darkest hour. I feel that I have forever severed what bond we may once have had, but I want him to know I did not do it on purpose and that I wish I had never done it.”

The man nodded. He seemed to understand.

“Look, I don’t speak to him personally but I will be sure he knows what is going on.”

Ahnk didn’t answer.

“Are you satisfied with that, Mr. Rashanagok?”

Ahnk again didn’t answer. He then turned to him, obviously distracted.

“Can… can you turn this up?”

”What?”

The man behind the desk followed his finger. He was pointing at a news bulletin on the TV screen, the TV screen he had been playing a real-estate video on for the happy couple and had accidentally left on the GNN.

He grabbed the remote control off his desk, and increased the volume.

“…a series of gravitational pulses in an area of space once referred to as the Marzullo Corridor. These pulses, centered near the planet Nirauan, are similar to strength and configuration of similar pulses in the Rendaran Nebula about 5 months ago. Imperial Scientists were sent to investigate those phenomena but never reported any findings they may have made. Given the current state of unease in the Empire and apprehension about terrorist attacks, it is unlikely these phenomena will be investigated, although our source inside the New Order indicates that they are aware of the phenomenon and will keep an eye on any developments.”

Ahnk stood, shoving his chair back in the rushed effort.

“I have to go. Please, make sure Seth gets the message.”

The man behind the desk nodded. Ahnk clipped his saber back to his belt, threw his coat over his shoulders, and headed for the spaceport as fast as he could walk.

Nirauan.

A world on the edge of the galactic space. A world in Chiss Space, in the wild area known as the Unknown Regions. Despite efforts by the Rogue Jedi Order to tame this wild land, Csillian Space and the Unknown Regions in general remained a largely unmapped and dangerous area for all who entered it.

Nirauan was once an important world in the Empire. Under the rule of Baron Soontir Fel, it was a stronghold for the Chiss who worshipped Grand Admiral Thrawn. After his death, the world was the house for the Hand of Thrawn, a temple in his honor. There gestated clones, clones which upon his death would mature and allow him to be born again. It was the site of a great battle, where Luke Skywalker and his wife sacrificed much of themselves to insure that Thrawn was not born again. The Hand of Thrawn, his massive informational archive containing full maps of Csillian space, diagrams of Csillian technology, and locations of Csillian officals, along with cloning equipment and untold military technology was destroyed and buried underneath massive piles of rubble.

Years later, the world would be invaded by a totalitarian Empire. Named, the Marzullo’s, this powerful group of force wielders landed on the world. Enslaving the Chiss there, they found mention of the Hand of Thrawn. Excavating it they found technology and information on the Chiss that had been buried and forgotten. It opened an avenue for them, a path of Conquest. The Marzullo Empire spread, like an evil plague, through Csillian space and throughout the outer rim in general. Suddenly, however, they succumb to a virus. Their entire Empire began to weaken and the galaxy began to repel and rebuild once removed from their tyrannical grip.

“Stop.”

Chang looked up, to where Zeratul stood a short distance away.

“Excuse me?”

Zeratul sighed.

“Your intelligence is as usual in depth and very informative as usual, Chang. However, I am left to ask you, again, Se'p'ta tar'r'ara'dool?”

“Very well, Zeratul. I will cut to the chase.”

The world of Nirauan is unique in that unlike other worlds in Csillian Space, it is no longer inhabited. Certain worlds are inhabited by the Rogue Jedi Order’s forces or by Chiss themselves. But Nirauan is an exception. It remains largely ruins, scars left by battles and conquest. The importance of Csillian space should be obvious to any Empire, as the Chiss, the Empire, the Rogue Empire, the Rogue Jedi Order, the New Alliance, the New Republic, and the Outer Rim Sovereignty have all made attempts to colonize parts of or the entirety of the Csillian section of space. Nirauan is again the only exception, for no good reason except that it is very rimward and thus would not serve an Empire based across the core.

“Very good. But we do not follow in the footsteps of others solely for the purpose of following in the footsteps of others.”

“The Unknown Regions of space contain several interesting phenomena that may be of tactical advantage to the Cree’Ar and in any case will be of interest. May I be allowed to finish my report?”

Zeratul nodded, and the report continued.

Throughout the Unknown Regions are a series of devices known as Gree Hypergates. Most stand in disrepair as the Gree civilization has died off, however, some have been refurbished by New Alliance and Imperial Engineers. Some exist in Chiss Space, others in what was once referred to as the Gree Enclave. It is rumored there may be one in Yvethan space, or Ssi-Ruuk space. Regardless, the Gates themselves have been moved before. Although they require much scientific knowledge and repair ability, it is my belief that they could be used to further the goals of the Cree’Ar Dominion.

From across the room the sound of clapping could be heard. Zeratul and Chang both turned to Kal Shora, who was applauding as best he could, considering the movements were foreign to him.

“Chang, once again you have proven that not all Yuuzhan Vong are useless, ungodly disgraces who should be murdered without regard. I am impressed with your resourcefulness, and I offer thanks on behalf of the Dominion.”

After waiting for Zeratul’s translation, Chang nodded his head in thanks.

“It is my honor to serve Elder.”

Kal Shora made a motion with his hand, asking Chang to leave. He bowed, and turned, leaving the room for Zeratul and Kal Shora to discuss.

“Tend’a’tek’a’tara.”

Following Kal Shora’s orders, the Tek’a’tara cleared the bridge. Only Zeratul, Kal Shora, and two other priests remained.

“Nirauan, we will add to the grip of the Dominion. However, I heard only of Nirauan. I assume a second world was suggested as well.”

Zeratul sighed. He ran his hand along the end of his boneblade, knowing this conversation would not be any easy one.

“The world suggested was Jaminere.”

Kal Shora nodded. Clearly, he did not understand, so Zeratul continued.

”Jaminere is a world that produced foodstuffs for a group known as the Allied Sith Empire. It is part of a region of space known as the Tion Cluster. Notable only for it’s proximity to the world of Yavin, it offers no particular strategic or geographical edge to the Dominion.”

“Why, then, was it suggested as a planet of interest?”

Zeratul began to rub more forcedly. His talonistic fingers wandered closer to the blades serrated edge.

“It was suggested by the Lady Hapan. She believes the Sith Master Ahnk is on the planet, and that even now he is formulating plans to counter-attack our forces somewhere. She believes it is in the Dominion’s best interest to eliminate him, here, and now.”

Kal Shora pondered this.

“Perhaps. Perhaps it is in the Dominions best interest.”

Zeratul sighed.

“Elder…”

“No, Zeratul, allow me to set your mind at ease. We know whose best interests the elimination of Ahnk is. I wonder now if the Lady Hapan ever truly served the Dominion or if she believed that the Dominion served her.”

Zeratul did not speak.

”I knew, when I met her, that she was self-interested. But she had something I wanted, so I let her live, and let her provide me with her opinions and advice. Although she has often served us well, just as often her service has been to herself. I always knew, from the first day we met, that one day she would outlive her usefulness, and that we would end her life. That day, Zeratul, is today.”

Kal Shora stood.

“Take our vessels to Nirauan. Inform me when we arrive.”

Below hung the world of Serndipel. The Yuuzhan Vong had destroyed it too, destroyed in the same sense that they had destroyed Ithor before. The world still stood and would still continue to stand hundreds of years from now, but the majority of the galaxy it had been destroyed.

But a creative mind is one that makes everything he owns from nothing of consequence to anyone.

It was a large rock.

Nothing more.

But in the wrong place this large rock had killed an entire planet and started a war. Pulled down by a hideous aberration of a divine creation, the rock impacted the surface of the world. The core cracked and forever the atmosphere of the planet changed, but atmosphere was unnecessary for a world such as this.

The rock had gone on from its job as a weapon of mass destruction to be carved into a worldship, a gigantic mobile planet from which Yuuzhan Vong would continue their invasion. Only, they could not continue their invasion. Their invasion, in fact was repelled. Oh, for arguments sake they controlled the galaxy, but only for arguments sake, as the history books now will always record the fact that they lost the galaxy. Why? Superior opponents? A technologically weak and spiritually abandoned people. Superior Tactics? Not likely, as despite the unification in part of the galaxies races, there were still prejudices and old blood keeping them from acting as one true unit. So, what then? What caused the Yuuzhan Vong to fail?

For that, one has to return, to the rock.

For the rock is more than a weapon.

More than a ship.

More than a rock.

The rock is an answer.

Though it says nothing it betrays a terrible secret.

The Yuuzhan Vong are dying.

More and more every die, they continue to fall.

In the beginning, the Yuuzhan Vong marched high, with weapons and technologies unseen. This provided them an immediate advantage and they were able to cut across the galaxy largely uncontested. And then they took Coruscant. They marched into the offices of the Republic and died when those offices exploded and yet, they won the day. They had the capital of the Galaxy wrapped in their tyrannical, alien fist.

Winning, so easily, creates problems of control, but those alone cannot be contributed to their demise.

The answer is in the rock.

When the Yuuzhan Vong began crafting worldships in this galaxy they had already lost.

They had marched in with superior numbers. Numbers, which dwindled over time. Oh, yes, there was the technology too. But a people with only one advantage will soon be a people with one disadvantage, being, the belief that they have an advantage. The Yuuzhan Vong had no contingency plan for when they began to lose ground or when they stalled outright and had to fight tooth and nail against rebellion.

They had assumed victory. Assured that their technological advantage would guarantee them victory even when numbers failed. But it didn’t. The people of the galaxy they invaded were able to defeat technology, and always will be able to defeat technology. Technology that can be created can be learned, duplicated, and ultimately defeated.

But this isn’t addressing the ultimate reason why their invasion failed.

For this we must again return to the rock.

The crafting of the worldship.

Why not bring another worldship across the void? Why not return with more ships, and more soldiers, to impose their rule on the galaxy?

The answer is simple and really not one that has not been considered.

There are no more worldships. There are no more ships; there are no more soldiers.

They’re all dead.

The Yuuzhan Vong sent out the probe, the Pratorate, the Caprician Invasion Force, the Imperium, they sent them to this galaxy for a reason. But not the reason they were leading others to believe.

They were not invaders. They were not conquerors. They were not on a divine quest.

They were running.

They came, not as conquerors, but as refugees. Not as warriors but as feeble, defeated peasants.

The ego of the Yuuzhan Vong led them to assume that in this galaxy they would win. In this they would succeed where in others they had failed. But again, they were defeated and this time, more so by their own arrogance and misdirection than by a superior force. They were defeated because they came, and failed, so they came again, each time succeeding with more desperation and less numbers. Less technology and resources, and more need. And on each of the five invasions, they were eventually defeated.

Why then did they continue to invade? Why continue to come with so few numbers, and never reinforce them?

Because the Yuuzhan Vong are not as powerful as they may have others believe.

There is a galaxy, out there, one which the Yuuzhan Vong claim as their ancestral homeland. One from which they sent ships to this galaxy, and others, in hopes of spreading their Empire. Because as it stands their Empire Proper is dead.

Across the Yuuzhan Vong galaxy spreads a monotone plague. The bright reds, oranges, cyans, the unique colors, which are a trademark of Yuuzhan Vong terraforming, are all but gone. In their place now exists a world of no unique color, drained of individuality by the spread of industrialization, mechanization, and standardization. They serve no purpose alone, and would it please the Dominion, each could be destroyed with nothing more than a command to a fleet. But together they form what is known as the Borhandle. An area in the Dominion with soiled land, which is used only to create machines, soulless creations that perform labor below even the lowest of the biological castes that labor for Borleas Quayver.

Across this area of space patrol a countless fleet of vessels. Occasionally, there is held a space battle, a pointless exhibition of Yuuzhan Vong futility where they launch vessels better used to run, seek out a new place to spread their inferior beliefs, then to attack a force that with the numerical and technological superiority they possess can never realistically be defeated.

Across the worlds work an untiring undying force of worker bees and soldiers. Oh, yes, arguments sake Yuuzhan Vong still live on this worlds. But only because they refuse to, or are unable to, move. Eventually, the Tek’a’Tara will reach them too. And at that time they will either lay down their arms and be killed, or fight and be killed. Either way it is not of galactic importance.

The Yuuzhan Vong were not always a defeated people.

Once, the Cree’Ar advanced into Yuuzhan Vong space. They came slowly at first, but their technology was unlike any the Vong had seen. Their weapons were debilitating. And their hold on planets once conquered was undefeatable. The Parrow Lin warriors, huge creatures larger than even the Cree’Ar, bristling with muscle and bound by a fierce determination hold worlds until they die, and they continue to be brought forth even though they die. The Tek’a’Tara also flow in seemingly by the millions, to be used simply to pry away at the Vong and eventually be killed before the Parrow Lin return and destroy the chance the Vong may have had with the nexus’ servants gone.

Eventually, a decision was made. The wrong decision, made by the wrong man. The Yuuzhan Vong warmaster decided that the Cree’Ar would be best dealt with by proactive defense. If the Cree’Ar were to hold their worlds, they would attack Cree’Ar worlds.

This strategy was flawed, however, as if the Cree’Ar invasion could not be countered, how then could the Dominion be destroyed? It could not. The Yuuzhan Vong were unable to take even a single world. The Warmaster grew frustrated. He began to devise a plan to end the Cree’Ar invasion even as more worlds fell to the mechanical menace. He began to make a weapon.

It was called the Garan Tinor.

A massive vessel, the Garan Tinor lumbered forward into the Cree’Ar Dominion. Unprotected it would have never made it where it did, but the Cree’Ar refused to send the majority of their fleet to intercept it, instead keeping them at Aradon. It was a terrible mistake.

The Yuuzhan Vong chose not to strike Aradon or any of the key production worlds as the Cree’Ar strategized. Instead, they came to the Arigaun Arm. The Capital Province of the Cree’Ar. The worlds where every Cree’Ar and Skey’g’aar was born and began on his holy journey in service of Borleas Quayver. They came into orbit of the world of Ador. The Garan Tinor had not fired a single shot, launched a single missle. Instead, it stopped near Ador. And suddenly the world of Ador erupted as massive earthquakes struck the world. The Cree’Ar realized too late what the vessel was; a massive dovin basel. Even bigger than the ones used to destroy Sernpidal and other worlds, this had the power to move an entire world. And it began to do just that. The Cree’Ar scrambled their fleet into action, but it was too late.

As the Kal Shora arrived in the system the crew began to weep. The world of Ador was sinking into its sun. It was the birthplace of the Skey’g’aar as a race and was one of the longest serving members of the Dominion. It was the homeworld of billions of Cree’Ar and Skey’g’aar. There were still millions of people on the surface. And the world slowly, agonizingly melted into a liquid, fueling the fires of the sun.

Kal Shora nodded his head silently. He had been born on Ador. His wife, and his four children, were on Ador. His home was on Ador. And now it was all gone. He walked forward, and, not consulting with his crew or the Cree’Ar Judicaste, he powered up the Redundent Focusing Enabled Super Low Consumption Blaster Cannons and turned the Garan Tinor into a cloud of vapor.

The Judicaste prepared to commend Kal Shora, but he refused to return to Aradon as was ordered. Instead, he took command of his ship, and headed for the heart of the Yuuzhan Vong. He was ordered to return over and over but he could no longer care. He was told that in the eyes of his people he was a traitor and was defying the will of Borleas Quayver, that when he returned he would be executed. Eventually, communications ceased as he crossed the void into the homeworlds of his most hated enemy.

The Yuuzhan Vong sent ships to fight him but Kal Shora did not care. He didn’t order them destroyed, he just allowed them to try and stop him. Futile attempts were made to force him of course, barricades were set up. He simply rammed his way through anything in his way. He did not care about himself or his vessel. He had one intention.

Eventually, it was before his eyes. Yuzhan Yetar. Homeworld of the Yuuzhan Vong race. One of their most sacred planets. It was then that Kal Shora made the proclamation that is still recited today.

“You have made a terrible mistake.

You have declared war not on the Dominion of the Cree’Ar but on all its peoples.

Chefs. Bankers. Priests. Commoners and farmers.

The question is to be begged, as to why?

Have you the intention of demoralizing our people?

Or perhaps beginning a war of attrition that will make us doubt our cause?

In this vein you have made a miserable failing.

Our people stand now about your world. We throw caution to the stars and even now take more and more of your space.

Our cause is not only just; it is divine. Today by sending billions of our people to meet out gods you reinforce this in our eyes. They now have asked Borleas to give us the strength to avenge them and I have heard his call.

You have made a horrible mistake this day. You have told the Cree’Ar that is acceptable in your eyes to kill indiscriminately your peoples, and with these permissions we will do so now until there are no Yuuzhan Vong left to kill. We will wipe your people from the face of the universe.

The Yuuzhan Vong will become what has become of the people of Ador. A memory. A sad memory of something that never should have happened.

We will kill the Yuuzhan Vong without mercy. It will not be quick. It will not be painless. And your deaths will not glorify you in the eyes of your fictional idols.

We do for the Cree’Ar people. We do this for the Skey’g’aar, and the glory of the Dominion. We do this for Borleas Quayver. More importantly we do this for Ador.

Se'T'ap'a'r'odar.

And now you will die, you vile abhorrations of nature.”

And with that the Yuuzhan Vong became a defeated people, with no home, and no purpose. The Cree’Ar continued on their devine quest, as the world’s destruction was by no means the end. When Kal Shora returned he was not executed as a traitor but venerated as a war hero. He was given the title of High Elder of the Dominion, and as such was sent to eliminate the Yuuzhan Vong and expand the glorious Cree’Ar Dominion.

And that is what brought him to Serndipel. A world useless to most was in his eyes a testament to his quest. A reminder of why he was here.

Although it was debatable whether he truly needed one.

They say a creative mind is one that makes everything he owns from nothing of consequence to anyone.

She awoke slowly, her eyes fluttering and filtering out the bright light. Those Cree’Ar eyes had an odd way of filtering out bright light. Ironically, the bridges were always kept in almost absolute darkness, but for some reason they slept with the lights as bright as they could be. Annoying, but her Massassi genetics had helped to adjust her eyes as they were both nomadic night hunters and day scavengers, depending largely on the season.

She sat up, slowly, laboring for no reason other than a long night. She had been learning all she could about the activities of her dearly beloved.

It seemed that Ahnk’s Allied Sith Empire had failed miserably. Not a surprise to her, as Ahnk always had bad aim… he had gone after a stubborn opponent, a Supreme Commander Isstal, who ran straight into the arms of the Galactic Coalition. From there, Ahnk’s allies had abandoned him and he had tried to get himself hooked up with The New Order. That didn’t work and he ended up in jail. After that Ahnk realized how miserable his run as a Sith was and became a Jedi! That one had given her a chuckle. Beyond that, he had become a Jedi fisherman, living on a backwater world have the galaxy hadn’t heard of, hoping to be left alone.

He had once ruled the galaxy, but then he wronged Montague and it fell apart. She was proud of that. Her power to create a great man was as useful as her power to destroy a great man, she hoped.

She looked at her stomach, now emptied of the child it had held before. It was hidden, of course. If Ahnk knew where his son was he would use all of his powers to find him. And she didn’t want that. It was Ahnk’s @#%$ son, and Ahnk was a @#%$ father. He would raise the child to be caring for the feelings of others and self-less in his actions. The perversions that the Jedi had taught him. The same ideals that had led to him to a canoe, looking for Salmon.

She stood now, stretching her breasts in front of her as she shrugged her shoulders into action. She looked good naked, and was proud of that, as she had engineered herself from the code up. From her face to the tips of her toes, she knew that men looked upon her, and began to think of what they could sacrifice for a few minutes of her time. It was her advantage and one she deserved, after being regarded so long as a dork and a nerd. Intelligence did not deprive her of beauty and now she was proving that fact.

It was funny; when she began to remake herself she had been a virgin and now she had sex whenever it pleased her, and often when it didn’t. She was veraciously sexually inclined, and used it as a relaxant. There was no better way to unleash aggression on a man, except perhaps destroying his world.

She walked, pulling over her her skin, bubbling out of her back and crossing her chest. As she exited the room and entered the long hall, she was dressed in a form fitting black bodysuit, and tight black gloves.

As she strode, she felt Chang slide in beside her. The bubble his presence created was mildly unnerving but she spent so much time around him it disappeared from her mind quickly. She touched her hand to his, a sign that she knew he was there, and she looked over at his face. He was frowning.

“What’s the matter, Chang?”

He shrugged.

“The Cree’Ar did not send any ships to Jaminere.”

“For what reason?”

“I do not believe that they consider Ahnk a threat.”

She sighed.

”I feared that this would happen. I need to speak to Zeratul.”

Chang nodded.

“I know. He is on the bridge, and Kal Shora is as well. They as well would like to speak to you.”

She nodded. She began to walk faster, dreading this conversation.

On the bridge, Zeratul was speaking with Kal Shora. Nexuses had been installed on Rel'a'ralik'a'aar and mining was already underway in the massive craters that had been the world’s cities and forests. Tek’a’tara were scouring the ruins of Imp'a'Bor'd'daak looking for the galacticly renowned Hand of Thrawn complex, containing technologies and information gathered and collected by the Csillian peoples. Once they had it opened they could learn much about the other side of the galaxy… as the Marzullo Empire had spread across the Ison corridor, in an area of this galaxy they were not terribly familiar with. All in all, the worlds they had secured today were already being integrated into the Dominion, and each had at least one Nexus installed. No warpgates were going to be installed, yet, as it wasn’t entirely certain how many more ships needed to be devoted to this invasion. In any case, the worlds had begun production, and were now a part of the Dominion.

As Montague walked, she looked over at Chang, and memories began to fill her mind.

The first time she had met Chang, he had been known as Gabriel Logan, The Sith Brotherhood’s chief geneticist. He was under masquer, of course, and was really just a spy to figure out whom the real chief geneticist was going to be. The Massassi project was their work, bringing the long-dead race back to the galaxy. When Montague solved the problem, using genetic material from races populating the world of Yavin currently to fill the gaps in the Massassi code, she won herself the job. She was then allowed to leave the underwater facility and travel to the surface. There, for the first time, she met Ahnk.

There was an instant connection. She found him dark and mysterious and felt an energy radiating off of him. He felt her power in the force, untapped and just waiting to be explored, and her intelligence. They began to work together… Ahnk was seeking to clone himself; worrying that one day, he would be dead, and his Empire would fall without his leadership. She went to Empires to find technology and eventually succeeded, creating 7 clones. This kind of work demanded they spend many days together, and everyday Montague grew more in longing of him.

She wanted to throw herself on him, declare her love for him, but she was too timid, too shy. And then it was too late.

When she heard the news; that Ahnk had been thrown from a cliff by Kahn during his attack on Naboo, and was dead, she was devastated. The only man who had regarded her as the intellectual she was, and had treated her with respect, was now dead, and without him to teach them, his clones would never be half the men he was. So, she resolved herself, and finding Ahnk’s genetic code, she injected one of her ovum. But, it didn’t work. She was infertile; sterile. She was born genetically defective. She broke down, unable to continue, until she had an idea.

The Massassi.

And in a roundabout way, her saving the Massassi enabled her to save herself. She injected herself with Massassi ribonucleic acids, with the intention of it correcting her infertility. It did more; it was pervasive in nature, the way she had designed it, and it began to rewrite her from the ground up. She was overcome with an incredible amount of fear, afraid of what she was becoming. But when she was finished she looked upon herself and saw a creature of strength, a creature of intelligence and finally, a creature of undeniable beauty.

She emerged from her laboratories a new woman. A beautiful, strong and validated woman. And a pregnant woman.

When Ahnk returned he did not want her; he did not want their child. He saw her as a genetic miscorrelation, and refused to take her as his wife. She vowed that day to kill him; to stand over his body and spit on him. No one would refuse her this. Not the Cree’Ar, not Chang, no one.

With this resolve she strode angrily onto the bridge.

“Elder, Zeratul. Why have your vessels not secured Jaminere?”

Kal Shora looked down at her, and behind his eyes Zeratul saw venom waiting to be unleashed. He stood.

“Tend’a’tek’a’tara. Pend. PEND!”

The Tek’a’tara and priest lords knew from Zeratul’s tone to clear the bridge ten minutes ago. And they shuffled at with as much speed as they could muster, so only Chang, Montague, Kal Shora and Zeratul himself remained.

Kal Shora reclined in his chair.

“The Black Dragon Empire sent a fleet of theirs to secure the world of Jaminere into their empire. As we speak, they are undoubtedly now landing on the surface.”

She nodded.

“And Ahnk?”

Zeratul stepped forward before Kal Shora could speak.

“He has fled to Roonadon, in the Corporate Sector.”

She nodded again.

“Excellent. Then may I suggest that once you are prepared to do so, you launch a fleet to the world of Bonadon in the Corporate Sector. The area is rich in resources and would serve you well to secure.”

She turned her back, and Kal Shora rose with hatred in his eyes. Zeratul stepped forward to stop him but Kal Shora shot him a look and dismissive gesture to indicate that the time for games was over.

“No.”

She turned to him.

“If I may ask, why not?”

”You may ask. The answer however should be obvious. By your own reports the Corporate Sector is a well-defended area of space insulated by a fleet designed to secure it against a Yuuzhan Vong attack that they feared was immanent. Why then would we expend resources we do not yet have to take such a worthless area of space?”

She looked taken aback.

“High Elder, I do not believe you understand how dangerous Ahnk is, and how critical it is that he be dealt with.”

Kal Shora reclined, amused at the comment.

“Oh, I understand perfectly. How critical it is to you.”

She looked at him, and never saw it coming.

In an instant her lightsaber was in her hand, but her other hand was already on her stomach. She dropped the lightsaber, coughing, and placed her other hand on the offensive penetration.

Chang looked upon her in shock. Behind her, Zeratul had moved and when Kal Shora had nodded, he had placed the bone that extended from his forearm through Montague’s chest. Before she suspected anything was wrong, she was already dead.

She stuttered, choking on blood. It rushed freely from her, an odd mix of the regenerative black liquid used to heal minor injury, and the red blood that indicated that her heart had been pierced and that she would be unable to recover from this injury. Zeratul withdraw the saw and she fell, and Chang stepped forward, catching her in his arms. Her head slumped against his shoulder and he felt her tears on his shoulder. He looked down into her eyes.

“Come on, come on Emily, and stay with me.”

He looked to Kal Shora.

“Why?”

Kal Shora sat back. He spoke, but Chang didn’t understand him as Montague had, and he needed to hear Zeratul’s translation to know what was said.

“She has been an invaluable asset, but she has never served the Dominion. At every step I have tried to remind her of her place but she has never offered herself as you have. She has always been self-interested and has tried to manipulate me to her will. This has cost her her life.”

She coughed, and blood spilled from her mouth onto the Vong’s shoulder. He felt a tear chase down his cheek, and looked at her.

“No, no, you’re not going to die, come on, stay with me, stay with me, I can get you help… oh god, no, don’t die…”

She looked up at him with all the strength she could muster. She parted her blood-covered lips and tried to utter a dying proclamation.

“Va… va… va…ot….”

And then her head slumped to his shoulder, and she was dead.

Chang simply held her for a few minutes. He wasn’t sure what to do, and he could not believe that she was dead. He turned, to face Kal Shora, and his voice was full of hate when he spoke.

“If it is the final thing I do, I will make sure that you come to regret her death.”

He stopped.

“I suppose you’re going to kill me too.”

Zeratul stepped forward.

“No Chang, we aren’t. Your service has been invaluable and unlike her you have served us with every fiber of your being. You may continue to do so…”

“No.”

”…or you may of course feel free to leave. The option is yours.”

Chang looked at Zeratul. He, too, was a monster and had been a monster all along. He couldn’t believe he had talked with Zeratul as he had, believing him to be a friend. He turned his back on him then, and with Montague’s corpse over his shoulder, began to walk away from it all.

“Chang, I feel it prudent to tell that if we ever meet again, we will be enemies. You don’t have to do this. We can still be allies.”

He continued walking. He stopped at the doorway when Kal Shora began to speak. He turned to Zeratul.

“He said, that freedom is slavery. And sometimes death is a gift.”

Chang nodded. He understood completely at that second.

Then he turned and walked away, hoping that the next time he saw them both, they would be corpses.