"...And so it was that the Lord did craft Dameo to its perfection, and its people did rejoice in their splendor. It was on this day that the Lord did look to the sky..."

The man lay back against the chair, his eyes closing softly. The ceiling was plain as it was, nothing to see really. A sharp hiss forced his eyes open once more, but only for a moment. Looking at each of the four chairs around him, he watched three of the other representatives react in much a similar manner as he, before succumbing to the devices effects.

The blackness behind his eyes fell away, the chair below him seemed to drift into nothingess, it was as if the world itself were leaving him, yet he remained well aware of it. He clenched his hands, expecting to feel the comfort of the arm rests anchoring him saftley to the world, but instead all he found were his own fists. Looking down, he raised a hand, suprisingly clenching it and unclenching it before his face.

"My scars..."

As his eyes focused, he noticed the scenery around him, a beach. The waves gently laped up at the shore every few moments. Not blue as he expected, but grey, a frothy white foam being pushed up to the shore with each thrust, only to be disolved into the sand as quickly. he inhaled, excepting to smeel the sweet salt aroma, but it came to him as slightly metallic, not repulsive, but unexpected.

"They are Gone?"

The voice of the fourth man, he recognized it. The Daemun attache to this conferance. How had he known? Well, of course he would know, this is how the Daemuns suggested they communicate. He did not expect it to be in such a manner though, as he looked up to see the man strolling down the beach to him. This was quite odd to see though, he looked down at himself upon further examination, to find he looked a good thirty years younger! His abs, once well defined and muscular had given in to age and time. Here before him he could see that was not so, he was young again, fit as he ever was, and the more he looked, the more he could feel it.

"What sort of trickery is this? The force?"

The man let loose the most horrendous laugh he had ever heard in his life. It was hard to tell how he was ment to take it, if forced to guess, he could only assume it was a laugh of indignation. The man steped between the two other attendees, who studied themselves and each other in similar confusion, and took both of his hands before his face, turning them over again and again.

"These hands, your hands... they are how you wish them to be, are they not? Deep down, is this now how you have always thought of yourself, how you have always wanted yourself to be?"

He sighed inwardly. It was true, ever since he was this age, he had never stopped to consider it, but brought to this he had to admit, he had never been forced to face his true self, that self that remained in the chair, the old and decrepit body he had left behind.

"Y... Yes it is, I just... Well, I just never thought of it much before now I guess."

The Daemun smiled and nodded, turning to the others to the sides of him.

"And you as well? And you? Indeed, you see, this is how it is for all those who follow the Path of Creation, and become the children of the Taj. You experience now, a small morsel of what it is the be Daemun. Many more such wonders and experiences are to be had here, in the Web. For now, these matters can wait, as we have more pressing news to ponder this moment."

Where he had seemed happy before, a more dire appearance crossed his face. The brightness of the sun loomed over the horizon quickly, a few seconds of sunset, and was gone. Looking up, he saw the beauty of the moon, drowned in a silvery haze above them. The Daemun that led them all to this place simply raised a hand, waved it across the sky, and it was gone. Replacing it was a completely changed starry landscape, tightly packed, he somehow knew it wasn't the original view they had had before, but was somehow conjoured.

"These stars here..." he said, seeming to dot his finger as he pointed, making the stars he pointed to noticably brighter than the ones around them, "Represent the edge of Heaven, beyond it lay the evils, those that would seek to tear asunder the works of the Taj." Tracing his finger along the line of stars, a great wall appeared, hazy even to his newly attuned eyes, it was some galactic barrier ment to represent something, "This is the line to be drawn, that no infidel may pass, so that none may dispoil the great majesty of Heaven itself."

He inhaled deeply, if not for his current situation, it would normally have been an exasperated sigh. He heard much talk of religion in his days, and for none of it did he care. This was different to him though, he knew the stories of what the Deamun could do, he had bore witness to their might in the conquest of the Tion, but personally, he could feel it now. He had been in holovids before, participated in simulations, this was quite different. He felt younger! It was not some fools trick, he was what he wanted to be, and somehow he knew, if he accepted the gift, he could be this way always.

"This line represents those nests of our might, the vestiges of our strength on the edge. The scales of the most Holy Black Dragon keeps out the infestation of evil from this place. These stars represent the manipulation of our space to halt any that would seek entrance into Heaven uninvited."

Many more stars lit up at this, this man had a flair for the dramatic, but he liked it, made him feel more alive. He recognized some of the star locations in his mind, at least he thought it was, he could recall things now, things he could not remember ever knowing. Places he could never have possibly seen. This must be the Web itself, closing his eyes he imagined one of these locations and he instantly saw an entire solar system and he knew all there was to know about it. Amazed he chose another and another and each time, he knew everything he could ever think of knowing. Looking up at the sky map once more, he looked at a star far on the other side of the border and drew a blank on it, this time he did sigh.

Regardless of this small slight to his new abilities, he knew these manipulations to be what they were, and could tell from his connection to the Web that all those who thought of it could as well. Class-M gravity wells, small enough for mass production but efficent enough to interdict mass areas of space for long periods of time. They were his governments contribution to this effort and he recognized its uses well.

"Our own lines of transportation supercede such menaces to those infidels seeking entrance, but our network does employ its use to expidite all other travel in the boundries of Heaven, as so..." Dragging his finger across the sky, multiple shadowy lines formed from star to star, no two stars connected more than twice and only then from one star to another. He knew what it was even before the first line was made. As soon as he thought of it, the Arbiter network came into his head. He was begining to enjoy this.

"For this, our Great Holy Dragon has prospered under the care of the Taj, Glory be, but as we know brothers and sisters, our Most sacred of places suffers the weight of infection. The evil of the infidels, the unbelievers the spread false faith across our worlds reside here, in our very Heaven!"

He wiped his hand across the sky once again, and a great cloud rolled over head, swirling ominously as if a great twister were brewing. Lightning arched from one cloud to the next as a rolling thunder could be heard gathering on the horizon.

"A great jihad shall be gathered and trained to fight all who embrace evil. In the name of the Taj, ships shall be built to carry the holy out among the Heaven and we will spread The word of Creation to all the unbelievers. The power of the Taj will be felt far and wide and the infidels shall be vanquished."

<center>
<b>"To provide for the common Defense..."</b>


-Universal Daemun Church Decree</i>
</center>


Sitting up, she breathed in slowly, opening her eyes from the dream she had just emerged from. It was all so real, she could faintly feel the sand still etween her toes. Yet here she was, back in the chair in which they had started in. To her right, another man was just waking, in much the same way as she had, but across from them she saw the Daemun attendant and the Farfalen representative still down in the seats. She recalled some final words then, that she had overheard between them at the meetings end, something about staying there, in the Web. She shook her head slightly, long red strands of hair falling across her face as she regained her composure.

Rolling her legs off the side of the chair, she pressed up off her feet and begain to walk down the hall to the next prepared room. The others could gather at their lesuire, she knew, but she wanted all information she could report back with. Thus far it was merely a reminder of all the changes that had been undergone in the Imperium since the mass allocation of resources that had been sent to Kessel so many months ago.

This room was mounted with, quaintly, more modern Imperial technology it would seem. It was funny, she thought, these combined vessels of the Imperium. She could walk down a corridor and have it morph around her, only to walk into a room whos technology looked a hundred years behind that mere corridor. She chuckled lightly as she looked down at the large blue projector on the floor, holoprojector she thought, and waited for the room to dimm as it started. Behind her the doors opened once again, the representative of the Tion Cluster appeared followed by the Daemun attache, the man from Farfalen questionably absent.

Looking down at the device, the Daemun male frowned before it activated. Must not be used to dealing with such antiquated technology she thought. Floating between them all was a hazy glowing sphere, shapes and masses covered its surface, it was a planet as far as she recognized, but not one that she did actually recognize. Before she could bear much thought into it portions of the sphere began to glow various shades of red to yellow.

"These illustrations provide representative levels of saftey for each of our planetary populations." The Tion representative started, raising a hand to point out each colored spectrum. "These outer layers here represent the shield networks over each world, designed to extend just past the outer atmosphere of the defended world, these are our first lines of planetary defense."

Taking a moment to walk around the display, the man reached out and doted a few careful locations on the holograph, which in turn glowed a dark pink to his touch. As each location glowed, a line traced across the planets crust to interlink each of these dots together.

"These, of course, represent the PIM Den." he smiled over at her now, with a grascious nod, "And of course the workhorse of old in the Planetary Ion Cannons and Planetary Turbolasers, these are merely an update to an already bloistered defense. As we all know, each network of Planetary Interceptor Missles is designed interlinked with one another, so in the case of a launcher becoming comprimised PIM's may be transfered across the network to other launchers, as well, this interconectedness allows for rapid supply of parts power and repair work."

Waving his hands across the entire display, it cleared up entirely. With a broad grin to her, he turned back to the holo and seemed to make a karate chop action to split the world in half on the screen. As he did so, various portions of the world lit up once again, forming various lines that seemed much like mole holes, each hole ending at a vast cavern in the deep layers of the planetary body, and even these caverns seemed to be interconnected.

"You may recognize this as it was covered in your basic planetary siege training so many years ago. The Unity Defense Grid, boon of the Civilian in war time, it is the last measure by which our populations lives will be spared the horrors of war if all else fails and the worst does occur."

The sound of hissing doors made her turn her head slightly. There behind her, the Farfalen representative, as he had appeared in the Intelligence web, her jaw droped slightly. He merely raised a well muscled arm, gentle grin passing his lips, and shook his head.

"Not to worry friends, I missed nothing."

“I won’t tell you anything.”

Kal Shora nodded, mimicking a human gesture that had, since his arrival in this galaxy, become almost second nature to him. Cree’Ar body language was mostly displayed by the hands… with simplistic faces facial expressions were relatively impossible to convey, and so politicians became practiced in the art of a casual wave of a hand… something that would be lost on someone whose familiarity with body language was generally confined to that above the shoulders.

Kal Shora was adaptable. He recognized the need in situations for a firm hand and recognized also when it benefited him to change.

The Cree’Ar high elder reverted to a hand gesture, opening his palm. Issk found the restraints around his hands released. He simply stared for a moment, hands uncurling as Kal Shora’s had…

“Ah ah,” the Cree’Ar admonished, as Issk found himself unable to finish his stride. He hung, frozen in mid lunge, perilously exposed. In demonstration, Kal Shora ran talons across the exposed throat of the Azguard, gently poking into his flesh and dragging slowly against his skin. “I have claws, as well.”

Issk fell to the ground and Kal Shora stepped behind him. Issk was able to make out an orange glow in the shadows but was unable to ascertain what it was.

“Eyes front,” Kal Shora commanded, in a mocking tone, but Issk did as was requested and turned to the Cree’Ar, shuffling to his feet. “You no doubt have questions. Feel free.”

“You can speak my language,” was the first thing the Azguard could summon. It was more a statement then a question, and yet, laced with confusion. His mind was fresh with images of Kal Shora… that, same creature before him… delayed through a translator, negotiating…

What…came…

“More accurately, you find yourself now able to comprehend mine,” Kal Shora told him, bending his front leg to draw himself down to level standing with the smaller being. “You have progressed substantially, despite yourself.”

“How long have you held me here?”

“Oh, but what is time but the acclamation of memories? The experiences that we share, people and places, event and conversations. You might say I have held you for no time. You could assume I have held you for all time.”

The Azguard was not satisfied with those answers. “You speak of hyperbole and hypothetics. I want definitive answers.”

Kal Shora turned, and Issk followed his gaze to the orange glow. It faded before his eyes….

…and Issk found himself hurled against the wall, pinned back by a crushing weight. His limbs did not function under the strained. His mind willed to obey, but his body was pushed back by an invisible force…

…and the orange glow returned in the shadows, and Issk wasn’t sure he had ever seen it fade.

He was tired. This… didn’t make sense.

“I… know… you… won’t… break…” Kal Shora told him, his voice echoing in Issk’s mind. He’d been drugged! But… how? How had they found a drug that could inhibit his special operations training against torture, or overcome the unique Azguard brain?

“You won’t break me!” Issk shouted, more for his own benefit then Kal Shora’s. He found himself unable to resist whatever was being done to him; more, unable to understand it. Kal Shora moved fingers in front of his face, leaving blurry green lines where previously had been his flesh. The walls began to bend and bleed into colors, and Issk forced himself to shut his eyes.

“I know that you will not break,” Kal Shora said, and this time, there was no echo. When Issk opened his eyes he saw the world through a lens of green… but, it bled no longer. He could now make out the orange glow, and the face behind.

“What… have you done… to me?”

“It is evolution, General Issk.” Kal Shora told him, turning to the door. It opened in a spiral, metal sliding into metal and disappearing at the Cree’Ar’s command. The other, the alien with the orange eyes, turned behind. “Forced, though that evolution may be.”

“I’ll tell you nothing!” Issk spat, defiantly. He believed that. Whatever they had done to him would pass. He would regain his control.

Kal Shora confidently walked on. He did not even turn back to Issk as he told him that “in time, you will tell me everything.”





”His conversion has proved difficult,” Zertaul admitted. “Because of the structure of his brain we found ourselves unable to disable his nervous system and had to begin to reprogram his cerebrum with his motor functions intact.”

“Do you not run the risk of killing him?”

“That is always a risk,” offered the third man. He was shorter his skin a pale grey, rippled with subdermal skeletal ridges common to his species. “However I am confident that his brain will not prove impossible to convert. It will merely… take some time.”

Kal Shora stopped, raising hand to the chest of the man. “Time is something that we do not possess. We must have the knowledge that his brain contains and he will not break under standard interrogation procedures. The conversion must be completed soon.”

Vejuun nodded, meekly. “I will… return to work, then…”

Kal Shora closed his eyes and opened them again, allowing them to seer into the face of the scientist before he dismissed him with a hand and a roughly commanded “see that you do.” The scientist scurried away and Kal Shora turned and continued walking, his Shadowcaste companion falling astride.

“You seem amused, Zeratul.”

“I do not like Vejuun.”

“He speaks highly of you.”

Zeratul hesitated. “There is something…” he said, trying to find the word. “There is something about him that I find… aggravating. Something frustrating.”

“For what it is worth, I share your… distaste… for him. But as long as he continues to be a productive subordinate…”

“I will continue to dislike him.”

It was then the High Elder that was amused.

“What is the plan of action for today?”

“I have a meeting with Judicator Badaar. We are to meet with the Damuens.”

Zeratul took a moment to digest that. “Interesting timing.”

“The Damuen’s possess something that we need. I find at this juncture we are best suited the opportunity to provide something that they need. It is my hope that they will find our position… agreeable.”

“And what of the situation with Teklen Venexire?”

Kal Shora offered only a sigh. “That is a matter that will require a far more delicate hand.”





One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

“Judicator Badaar.”

Shran Badaar turned himself from the portal of the vessel, dropping to his knees in a salute of his superior. Kal Shora waved him to his feet, taking a seat in the vessel’s command chair. Badaar crossed his hands behind his back, and stood.

“I… apologize, Elder. I arrived some time ago, unaware… un… prepared… for your important operations elsewhere.”

The High Elder dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “What… were you doing?”

Badaar turned back for a moment, shaking his head. “I became… bored, Elder. I began to count the deployment of the Scorpions in this planet’s orbit.”

“I see,” Kal Shora told him. “How many?”

“Before your arrival, I had counted three thousand two hundred and twelve, High Elder.”

“I apologize for my delay. As you know a General Issk was captured at the battle of Kiyar. In these months he has proved… resistant… to attempts to provide us with information.”

Badaar had assumed as such. The Azguard seemed a proud people, unlikely to break under but the most rigorous torture. “How shall we proceed?”

“Zeratul has already begun working on obtaining what we require from alternative sources. You are aware of his dealings with the Dark Priest of Varont?”

Badaar blinked. “I am, much to his frustration. I was not aware he undertook those actions at your command.”

“He did not,” Kal Shora stated, simply. There was a trace of… uneasiness in his voice, and he allowed himself to sigh. “Judicator Badaar, there is something that I should tell you about Zeratul, but due to the limitations of the Cree’Ar military rank and file cannot. Know this; Zeratul is dangerous, and he is not to be trusted.”

Badaar was intrigued, to say the least. “He is… treasonous?”

The High Elder dismissed that suggestion with a wave of his hands. “Zeratul is well aware, as you should be, of the… alternatives… to my command.”

Shran Badaar had a feeling he knew what Kal Shora was talking about.

“I do know that you love to antagonize the skey’g’aar, but always remember that there is more to Zeratul then he would have you believe; he has an agenda all his own and will not hesitate to act on advantages provided to further his aims, regardless of the cost to others.”

“Ominous words,” Badaar concluded.

And Kal Shora indicated he agreed. “He is an ominous individual.”

Behind the High Elder, a door slid open with a small hiss. Two officers stepped out, greeting the Elder and asking his pardon for their intrusion. Kal Shora stepped away and allowed the two to pass, and between the four was uttered praise of Borleas Quayver’s dominion.

For the rest of the walk to the bridge, Badaar and the Cree’Ar High Judicator spoke only of the military readiness of the Dominion. The extension of Dominion control had begun but had stalled somewhat given a very recent turn of events. Shran Badaar confided in the Elder that he was well on his way to rectifying the situation. The newest batch of Nexus designs had been constructed and would be fielded in short order… Badaar hoped to have test results and refinements within the week.

Kal Shora nodded, distracted.

They came with hissing snakes upon their arms and throwing explosives at their homes. Kal Shora could remember distinctly the fangs of one snake snapping a foot from his head… closer, as the warrior behind offered him a prayer.

Then, all Kal Shora could remember was a wash of blood and a horrible weight upon his chest.

As the warrior fell beside the Elder, then merely a soldier defending a colony from attack, he found himself unable to focus but on the dripping of the creature’s blood. He followed it along the path of the blade, across the arm, up to the face…

Teklen Venexire nodded at him.

Kal Shora nodded back.

Oh but it were so easy! Those were a simpler time. One… knew what must be done. No decision. No hesitation. For the Dominion! Onward, upward, ever ready to sacrifice that which required sacrifice.

One knew one’s enemy.

“Eptar'a'kar'a, High Elder.”

“As you were,” he uttered, dismissively, taking his seat and allowing Shran to stand beside. “Have you done as I asked?”

“Perpetrations have been made, my lord, however given the nature of present conditions we were… unsure as to where to target the communication.”

Kal Shora tapped at the key panel on his command chair and then watched as the visage located the indicated coordinates. “Target the signal there.”

“But… my lord, that is…”

“I am very well aware of where it is, and what it is. Do you…”

“No my lord. We will open the conduit immediately.”

Shran Badaar leaned into Kal Shora and lowered his voice to but a whisper before stating “I was unaware the Damuens had an installation there.”

Kal Shora was not surprised. “It is technically a Farfalen installation, but the two groups collaborate on operations in the area. They will receive the message.”

“The conduit is open, High Elder… we are broadcasting.”

Kal Shora stood up. “Representatives of the Black Dragon Empire, it is our desire to meet to discuss the principles of our agreement. We believe that given your situation we may be able to assist with certain necessities that you have in exchange for services that we require your assistance with. We would like to… formalize our agreement, as it were. If you could proceed to Se'T'ap'a'r'odar, the world formerly known as Ithor, we would like to discuss the matter in a more private setting. As per our previous agreement we would appreciate that you bring minor accommodation devoid of warship. We will provide conduit and defense within our space. Please reply with a confirmation and a point of origin at your earliest convenience.”

Kal Shora silently turned, taking up his former seat. Ahead, the conduit the Arbiter had created for the communication folded closed and Shran Badaar turned to the operatives behind. “No confirmation of signal acceptance. No reply.”

“So far,” Kal Shora said, talons intertwining across hands and hands across wrists. Badaar turned back to him.

“Artanis would not approve.”

Kal Shora turned head up to him, eyes awash with a look the Judicator had never seen before. “Artanis would not know.”

Badaar nodded, slowly, understanding. “It is a dangerous path you walk Kal Shora.”

“Walk it with me?”

Badaar said nothing. Kal Shora already knew he would.

The High Judicator tapped absently with his fingers, each drawing down a digit selecting one more number. Chain complete, Kal Shora entered them, and transferred them to the visage, tracking a planet.

“My… lord?”

“I would have you open communications to this planet.”

“But…”

Kal Shora did not face the officer in question. He repositioned his hand on the edge of the chair beyond the controls and, one by one, allowed his talons to close, tapping against the chair, before being drawn open again.

The officer in question knew better then to delay further.

The opening of the conduit caused Badaar to step forward, curious. He looked at Kal Shora for signs of uncertainty, but found none. Instead, Kal Shora stood, confident in his course of action as he drew himself closer to the visage…

“Representatives of The Caprician Regency…”

Kessel Command Post
Orbiting Kessel Asteroid at 16km
A multitude of sensor screens illuminated the room, one of many, each screen displaying various readouts of sectors of space from Farfalen sensors. This cramped little room was dedicated soley to those readings pertaining to the area from Kessel to that of The Maw, still on high defense status since the construction of the Omega Cloud, this was the most heavily staffed room in the entire complex. Other sensor rooms surrounded it, each with various reasons for being, but none could equal this singe room in need or design.

Operator number seventeen dash eight A by designation, Jerm to his co-operators, sat in the dark room, face illuminated by the bright blue readouts of the screen in front of him as he peered in close to get a good look at the readouts. Jerm had a horrible problem with his eye sight, a problem which kept him from frontline service all his life, but made him a prime
canadite for lower echilon service such as this, and damn those Farfalen recruiters if they weren't effictive people placers.

He had always dreamed of being a frontline troop, he in fact often did when he pretended to stare at the screens. In the back of his lesai soaked brain he imagined himself on the battlefield, bigger and stronger than he really was, drenched in the blood of Coalition troops, a heavy SoroSuub TTT-54 "Thumper" cradled in his arms, blasting away at all those dirty little...

"Jerm! What the hell is that on your screen!?"

Shaking slightly, he pulled back from the screen slightly, finding his forhead pressing into the screen slightly in his stupor. Blinking momentarily, his eyes refocused on the screen, but it didn't help him any, the readings simply did not make sense. Reaching up, he rubbed one of his eyes, the lesai wasn't helping him much these days, must be that immunity he had been hearing abou...

"Seven, you dumb ass, I remember these... those damn Daemun rift things cuase this, same readings and all... keep to your own damn screens fro..."

“Representatives of the Black Dragon Empire, it is our desire to meet to discuss the principles of our agreement. We believe that given your situation we may be able to assist with certain necessities that you have in exchange for services that we require your assistance with. We would like to… formalize our agreement, as it were. If you could proceed to Se'T'ap'a'r'odar, the world formerly known as Ithor, we would like to discuss the matter in a more private setting. As per our previous agreement we would appreciate that you bring minor accommodation devoid of warship. We will provide conduit and defense within our space. Please reply with a confirmation and a point of origin at your earliest convenience.”

Rubbing his eye a bit harder now, he cursed a moment as he rubbed too hard, feeling a slight burning sensation. Definantly not Daemun, who else would use the same technology though he wondered. Flipping a switch he immediatly made a recording of the sensor scans before the rift closed again. Condensing it all down into a single compact file, he transmitted it to the Lab deck. Let them have a go of it, he thought and proped himself back into the chair and back into his daydream of a career in the real military.

Communications Room

"Where the hell do they bloody well expect me to transmit this? We arn't the envoys of the Imperium, this isn't our business..."

Rolling his eyes, the man beside him pressed a couple of buttons on the screen in front of them. Directing the message via tightbeam laser, he aimed it at the nearest DragoNest platform, not too far away, close to the border as they were. The transmitter charged up readily as the final calculations were computer controlled.

"Quit your damn whining Randy, everything is our job, thats why we make the big credits."

"Hey, fuck you, I don't even know what procedure is in this type of situation..."

"We relay the transmission to the Nearest Daemun vessel or outpost, its not a major leap of logic. Your what, the commanders brother or something..."

Reaching across, he held his hand over a button, watching the array emmiter power level as it charged for the high power transmission. He cursed the nepotism inwardly, promoting damned idiots becuase of relation, what a fools gambit. Striking the key as the meter reached green, the recording of sensor readings and message transmission was immediatly released from their banks.

"You know that has nothing to do with it..."

DragoNest Platform - Big K

Intercepted by Communications Mysteri aboard the DragoNest, the message never saw human eyes again. Uploaded into the Intelligence web, the sensor readings in the package were analyzed for fraudulent glitches or hoaxes against past readings of a similar nature. The message itself was disected, picked to pieces in a matter of seconds before being recieved for the message it actually was.

Across the Imperium, individual thoughts were linked in a common resolve of issuie analysis, bringing into formation the Overmind. Where all thoughts would be handled, linked combined and reasoned into a sole Imperium comprising entity. Awash with the thoughts of millions of copreal beings and trillions upon trillions of Mysteri, the overmind slowly coalesced a single train of thought and directed a course of action back into the Web before disipating back into the singular minds of each individual connected member of it.



<center>
<img src="http://www.west.net/~brandonm/3D_Images_Star_Trek_Home/Star_Trek__Images/Voyager-TimeShip.gif">
</center>

The Rosary
Flagship of The Universal Daemun Church

The command bridge was peaceful, the commander sat on a pedistal in the middle of the officers around him, legs crossed before him. His eyes were closed, concentrating on inward reflection more than anything else, on the nature of existance as it related to the Taj and his creationist perfection. His dark heavy robes concealed his face and body from sight, the same was true for the rest of the crew, all wearing the very same attire across the ship. Much in the same style many of them either sat or stood, arms crossed before their chests and their heads bowed as they considered their place in the grand scheme and gave inward prayer.

Alerted to a change in their course by the sensors via his MindDrive, the commander ceased his reflective train of thought to monitor the current Navigation activities of the Mysteri backup control. He could detect an active linkup between the two procedural commands, but could not infer any cuase or reason for there to be a need to redirect course, ye the Mysteri were all connected to the Web that dictated information directly from the Taj himself. A Rustling sound cought his ears and he slowly opened his eyes to see officers that had once been sitting to be standing and scattered near the hallways of the zen styled command deck.

"Commander, we are venting atmosphere into space, Enviomental controls are completely locked out."

Nodding softly, he closed his eyes once more, checking into various systems across the ship with backup Mysteri control, sensing them all to be active and alert. Without an active connection to the Intelligence web he could never know the true nature of the current situation, but he trusted in the Taj, and knew the Mysteri acted for him in his abscence. he sighed softly, knowing his fate was determined by, and always would be at the will of his Taj and all those that acted for him.

"Return to your post, all will be as it should be..."

...

The command deck was silent, the atmosphere long since drained from the room, and indeed the entire ship. Bodies littered the floor, robes covering their faces, not showing the desperate looks upon them as the once living people had struggled for their last futile breaths of air before sucombing to the cold lifeless vacuum the ship had become. With a soft hum, the ship came to life once more, a hard breeze whiping up the plants which littered the room.

///Initiating Absorbtion Protocols///
///Sealing Maelable Lattice///
///Repressurizing the Hull///

Slowly, the bodies that littered the ground began to disolve away into the very hull of the ship they had once served. Like pieces of ice melting on the sidewalk, the crew of The Rosary ceased to exist as they once were, becoming disassembled down to their primary materials and then absorbed into the very ship they had given their lives to. Thick trees resembling palms swayed lightly in a new breeze which filled the corridors of the bridge, empty of all but the gardens and viewports. The ship emerged from hyperspace on its own, its course taking it into an orbit that would lazily trail around a planet known as Dellalt. If any were around to board her, they may have regarded her as a Ghost ship. Silent. Dead. Yet acting of her own accord as if she were herself alive.

///Transmitting to Intelligence Web///
///Creating Husks #112 through #116///

The very materials absorbed from the dead crew was then turned around and being reassembled into the Husks of new Daemun priests of The Universal Daemun Church. Raising from the very decks of the ship themselves, they appeared as ghosts from beyond were anyone there to watch them. The chanting began as quickly as they were to appear, all the while the ship drifted silently around Dellat, awaiting response.

"Sanctus ... Sanctus ... Sanctus ... Dominus Deus Sabaoth ... "

Heads bowed and hands pressed together before them, the half formed Priests of the Taj uttered the chants so long since been having heard by living ears. Onboard Mysteri communicated between active protocols onboard, creating these living embodyments of Faith while simultaniously correcting for gravitational drift in the navigational array and communicating with the Web, initiating a return response to the Cree'ar message.

"Pleni sunt caeli et terra ... Gloria tua ... "

The chanting reverberating against the empty walls of the dead ship, almost shaking it with their tuned perfection and almost unwavering verbal accuracy. Hips and legs were formed, retaining the darkened robes of the former crew, and like the dead risen to life, the new life aboard The Rosary slowly made their collective way towards the bridge of the ship, even as coordinates were transmitted from Kessel once again, towards Ithor itself.

"Raktus in excelsis ... Benedictus qui venit ... in Nomine Domini ... "

Much to the chigrin of one foul-mouthed braggit of a communications officer and his unwitting compatriot. Sending the message on normal civilian frequency, they tight beamed the transmission so that it would specifically reach Ithor in a quicker period of time. Being on a civilian channel, and only holding a set of coordinates as its message, it was less likely to be picked up by hostile listening posts, and even less likely to be understood.

"Raktus in excelsis"

The Rosary drifted in Dellat space, waiting for purpose and need once more. Inhabited by the ghosts of its former crew and piloted by intelligent mechanisms of her own self, she was left alone, to await further contact from the mysterious allies of the Imperium.

Inabore Daz’da’mar was a heroic man.

The war against the Parrow Lin had been executed flawlessly. Under Inabore’s command, the Parrow Lin were to be spared and invited into the Dominion. At the time, it was a proposal that the government, still officially controlled by the church, would have surely rejected were it not for the influence of sleepers the military planted holding a silent, and stealthy, majority of the vote. The resolution passed, and the church was furious.

Of course, integration of the Parrow Lin into Cree’Ar society was not easy. The Parrow Lin were a government divided, a political elder urging the proposal go forward and a younger, considerably more respected military leader known as Vo Drun Ken. Pazra Drun’Ken, as he was regarded to formally, felt the Cree’Ar to be devious, untrustworthy, and inferior to the Parrow Lin, holding advantage only because of a sneak attack catching the Parrow Lin out manned and unprepared.

Inabore said that he respected the concerns of the Parrow Lin military and would do anything that he could to assuage their trepidation. The Parrow Lin would accept nothing short of an honor duel between the commander of the Cree’Ar, Inabore Daz’da’mar, and the commander of the Parrow Lin, Pazra Drun’Ken.

Inabore was hesitant to accept. If he defeated Drun’Ken it would prove he was a worthy opponent but the defeat had the chance to enrage the Pazra if he did not accept Inabore’s victory as legitimate. The chance to undermine the entire process was large but, even if the chance of undermining it existed, denying the challenge would certainly insult the man and his societies process of negotiation, something Inabore was not prepared to do.

So he reluctantly accepted the challenge. It was a hand to hand fight, to the death. When Inabore went to the surface his Judicaste attempted to change his mind. At two meters tall Inabore was an imposing man but he was dwarfed by Drun’Ken, a man who, even on the small end of his species physical spectrum, was at least four times his size. But Inabore was convinced that Drun’Ken could not defeat him, because Borleas protected him from death. Whatever the cost, Inabore would bear it for the victory of his society.

Before the fight began, the political elder, Jo Ran Dom, explained the stakes. If Drun’Ken emerged victorious then Inabore Daz’da’mar, Grand Judicator of the Cree’Ar Dominion, would die and the Parrow Lin would accept any further Dominion interference inside their space as an act of war, fighting them, if need be, to the death. Inabore’s victory would mean that Patracan Ran’Dom’s position of the Parrow Lin joining the Dominion would be ratified by the Parrow Lin military, and they would need to find a new Pazra.

Inabore suffered the first blow of the contest, a massive arm hurtling into his body, lifting him from the ground. He flew in the air for several moments, during which he saw his officers cringe and the Parrow Lin Patracan smile. Inabore landed heavily on his back, ripples from the impact coursing across his skin. The Parrow Lin attacking him did not stop.

The second blow was force enough to kill Inabore. If it had landed Inabore’s internal organs would have been crushed under his collapsing skeletal structure. But Inabore had known the blow would come, and had rolled on his neck, folding his body in half and momentarily placing all of his weight on the crown of his head before his feet came over and his body resumed a standing position.

The Parrow Lin’s blow did land, but not on Inabore. His massive fist hurtled into sand and stone, and it was the stone that broke it, sending reverberations of the impact up his arm and fracturing his arm over and over again. Ruined by his own power, the Pazra switched hands, and Drun’Ken went to attack Inabore again.

But Inabore was once again prepared. This time he ducked and allowed the blow to sail overhead, turning his body and wrapping legs around the Parrow Lin’s arm. Pulling with the substance of his body the powerful legs down, drawing the Parrow Lin to lose balance and fall forward, crashing into the ground.

Inabore used the strength of his arms to flip himself into the air, coming down on the upper shoulders of the Parrow Lin with three clawed feet digging into his flesh. Inabore Daz’da’mar placed his hands on his opponent’s neck, lifting it and preparing to twist, when he heard a voice in the crowd.

He turned to one of his subordinates, who provided a translation. “Do not you respect him enough to let him live?”

Inabore made a gesture with his hands, and knowing that it would be lost on the Parrow Lin, explained. “I would let him go if I did not respect him. Because I respect him as a person and respect his ways it is in the interest of demonstrating and preserving that respect that I do as he would desire.”

The Parrow Lin nodded. After a delay, he asked that Inabore “do as I desire, and allow him to live.”

Inabore stepped from the Parrow Lin and bowed to him, offering a hand to help the man up. A hand that was retracted when his proposal was rejected. Drun’Ken had words with Ran’Dom, and when finished, angrily marched away.

Inabore smiled while his judicators bandaged his ribs. When Petracan Ran’Dom approached Daz’da’mar took a sip of water to sooth his sores and sat in the sand.

“He is upset.”

“None who have challenged him yet have ever lived to speak of it. It would be easier for him had you killed him.”

“Why did you stop me? Does that undermine him and his ways?”

The Parrow Lin nodded. “He will be angry for now but will realize in time. It is better that he learn from his mistake and live, then learn nothing and die. He will be wiser now. And I would expect you would have more difficulty with him in a second bout.”

“I hope that I will never be required to fight him again,” Inabore admitted, body aching from the singular blow.

“But the fight transpired as you had desired? To the predicted outcome, projected course?”

Inabore nodded.

“And if he had hit you in the head instead of your chest?”

Inabore snorted. “Then we would not be having this conversation.”

Watching Inabore die had been difficult for him.

Probably not as difficult as for Inabore himself.

When Artanis turned thirty his father had him sent to Lin to study their culture. Artanis Daz’da’mar fought Pazra Drun’Ken three times and never repeated his father’s victory.

When Drun’Ken died, he was buried on Ariguan. Inabore never stopped respecting Drun’Ken and though they disagreed often on policy they never disagreed on their friendship.

The door ahead opened with a hiss and Artanis strode onto the bridge of his flagship. When Kal Shora saw him he immediately buried his head into his hands, and Shran Badaar bowed respectfully.

“My lord.”

“High Elder Kal Shora, you seem… disappointed… to see me.”

Kal Shora was more then disappointed. “Things are…”

“I am aware of your communications.”

Kal Shora blinked. “You… are.”

Artanis nodded. “I was made aware of them almost as soon as you had made them. Though you command this fleet this is my vessel, and there are none aboard more loyal to you then to I.”

Kal Shora turned his head, and Badaar raised his hands defensively.

“Shran Badaar,” Artanis added, “being perhaps the lone exception. His loyalty to you should be commended. Although, judging by his rank at this time, I feel it already has.”

“I admit that I am at a loss as to your appearance, my lord,” Kal Shora stated honestly. “If you were made aware of my communications…”

“…why did I not appear in time to stop your efforts?”

“Precisely.”

“Because I trust your judgment, Kal Shora. As did my father. As did my brother. Do I as well.”

“Then…”

“I am here to observe. I do not wish to undermine your position in front of our alien guests and shall allow you to continue without interference as long as your negotiations serve the advancement of the Dominion, regardless of how blasphemous the suggestion.”

Kal Shora closed his eyes. Badaar felt a cold chill in the room and began to slowly slink away.

“You may meet with the Dragons. Are we expecting their arrival?”

“They are awaiting creation of our conduit.”

Artanis strode a few steps forward, settling into the seat heretofore occupied by Kal Shora.

Kal Shora turned his back, and on Artanis’ command, opened the conduit.

A swirling vortex in space, a hole in the fabric of the universe, such an extrodinary sight to behold yet sublimated to the mudane in this sector of the universe. What had once been a dream of Daemun science, an endless study of Black Holes and their abstract uses, had become common use from civilian to military traffic. The sight of such a wonderous creation might have frightened, inspired or otherwise intrigued any other inhabitant of the galaxy... for the Daemuns, it was just another thing. The Rosary hung for a moment in the deadness of space, silently as it powered up from a time of death, ships hurtling around it as they made their way to their own escapes in the system. Still preparing for the attack on the neighboring system, the Dellat system was a buzz of activity, of which the departure of the Rosary would surely be noticed, and documented, but not the epitome of issuies which needed to be delt with.

The arrival was nearly instant, the swirling red giant before them ominous but gone in an instant only to be replaced by the blue, The physicalities of physics were truely an artists nightmare. As quickly as realspace loomed ahead, they were there, Ithor... yet it was not... Se'T'ap'a'r'odar they had called it, in the present tense, as if Ithor no longer applied. What once had been a lush and natural world now remained something strange and twisted. The GMP had yet to have mapped out this way yet, having been focused on the region of the galaxy in and around Imperium space, no readings on Ithor had been made since before the Vong attack, what remained was quite different.



Magnificat anima mea Dominum

He stood aboard the bridge, leaves hanging across the floor, dead now. It was symbolism, from the Mysteri to the web, placed here and left to remain for those that came. Sacrifice for that which must be done, sacrifice for the greater good. "to secure the blessings of our posterity," he uttered to himself whilst looking down, head bowed, "and promote the general welfare..." Around him, his feelow clergy stood motionless, huddled in a wide circle around him, bowed in a similar manner. A low hum surrounded him as the others dictated the holy rites, a dead leaf blew across the cold hull until it found its rest against the curved hull.

Et exultavit spiritus meus in Raktus salutari meo

The prayers exhonerated him, they filled him with pride, with strength and with power. His was the will of his God, his Taj the Raktus. All that was done, all that would be done was in his name and by the hands of his own. Though this be a mere mission of diplomatic implication, it was by his command that such measures be taken, such as the replacement of crew and his own prescence in this location. Unquestioning loyalty was not one of blind faith, but of pure faith and the knowledge of a greater plan, a design of that uncomprehensible to those of a lower state than that of Godhood.

Quia fecit mihi magna qui potens est, et sanctum nomen ejus

Directing his attention to the sensorary subsystems, he began to log the system activites, ship specifics and planetary features for further interpilation. Quirking a brow, he found the planet formerly known as Ithor quite stark in recognizeable forms of life, except for a singular form of botany his scanners were just barely able to detect. His virtual hand grasped at the world, holding it thusly as the ships sensors drew over it in much the same way. Drawing sensations from his virtual appendage like the synaptic pulses of a real one he felt every depression and towering height of the landmasses that fell below.

Et misericordia ejus a progenie in progenies timentibus eum

Accessing the Communications web, he began a widebeam system wide transmission centered on Ithor and ranging out from there to intercept any vessels inbetween. The murmuring grew louder around him, each of the robed priests connected to the web same as he, each knew well what was going on and about to happen. He saw his mind traverse a solar system, and with it a message. Many ranged lines of thought, bouncing off interstellar bodies and moving translucently towards a common purpose and goal. There were ships out there, ment for this holy message to be recieved, and for them they sent the better half of themselves out amongst the stars.

Fecit potentiam brachio suo, Dispersit superbos mente cordis sui

"This is The Rosary, of The Black Dragon Empire, representing his most Holy Taj. We have come in response to your message, our representative will be underway shortly for pickup," The transmission cut off there. Though he had refered to himself in the third person, he made his way down from the Bridge towards the hangar. He would launch off the ship himself, and meet with the aliens from another realm.

Deposuit potentes de sede, et exaltavit humiles, Esurientes implevit bonis, et divites dimisit inanes
Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.

Ithor.

It had once been a glorious land.

Cities sprawling through the trees, winding around branches and darting beneath bushes. The world had been a global biosphere with globally inclusive biospheres within, integrated and separated, inclusive and insular, it spun, and spun, and spun.

And then, it burned.

The tides of change sailed in accompanied by the stench of progress. It was a metallic smell, mingled with the slight stench of burnt plastic electrical cable and the omnipresent odor of dead flesh. At first, the flesh was so overwhelming one could smell nothing else. Eventually, the smell became so common place that it dissipated from olfactory sensation almost entirely, and as the other senses of the horrible mechanized machine that had infested the planet began to take root, one wished it were not easily dismissed.

Those had been people.

Friends, perhaps. Maybe family.

Now, only the Nexus. Never anything else. To be anything else. All that existed was the Nexus; for the Dominion. Nothing else had ever mattered. Would ever matter.

Only the Nexus.

For the Nexus the planet of Ithor had burned to the ground. Every tree destroyed, every molecule of carbon extraction, every single electron sucked dry. No bonds existed to join the world together. There was no separation and yet there was; the organic and intelligent growth which had shaped the planet before was now non-evident, replaced by the cold will of efficiency of purpose and duty of function. Nothing else existed. Would ever exist.

Ithor was no longer a world.

It was a factory.

Nothing more.

Forever more.

***

In such, the arrival of the Damuen vessels was not without a hint of irony.

Ithor was no different from the Black Dragon Empire.

The Cree’Ar were inured upon their technology beyond a level which most governments would ever allow themselves to become. The Nexus were their soldiers, their computers, their laborers, their factories, their very vessels looped into and coordinated by the Nexus. The destruction of that network would leave the Cree’Ar unable to exist on a transgalactic scale to which they had become accustomed.

But the Damuen technology ran deeper.

Far deeper.

Into their very blood.

If, in fact, it could even be called that anymore.

What was spilt as blood was nothing but a river of assemblers running through what were roughly sculpted to appear as veins. The assemblers carried what the entity needed, and that was energy. In so far as blood transmitted oxygen and electrical impulses to the cells of the body did so the assemblers in the form of electrons to transfer between the assemblers that carried them and those that would output them into general function, and in so far the hemoglobulous material through which red blood cells floated were saturated with both protein and nutrient chains to revitalize the cells and be consumed for further energy were the assemblers pushed through a dicadmium tetraphosilosetaline carboboronic mixture designed to break down into electrolytic base elements and then down again with minor applicative to straight electrical charge.

Prick them, do they not bleed.

But that did not make them alive.

Short of their undeniable intelligence existed no evidence that the Damuens remained alive. Their self-preservation instincts had been modified selectively to best serve the expansion of the Taj; where Raktus survived, survival was not necessary. The Damuens sacrificed themselves as if suicide were going out of style; offering their dead as if they possessed almost a wonton lust for death, seeking it above all else. But they did so in a fashion that preserved themselves and so in a way were very much acting in self-preservationist mentality, even when offering so readily themselves to death was so done in the interest of the Taj, and the survival of the whole could be all that they considered. Raktus in excelsis; nothing else mattered.

From an outside perspective it was impossible to gleam how deep the rabbit hole went.

Many people couldn’t understand.

The Cree’Ar didn’t understand. Couldn’t.

If ever they did, it would be too late.

***

The representative they had sent proved hard to read. It was not clear from first sight whether he viewed this meeting as anxious or exciting. From the way he proceeded into their vessel they exhibited no signs of hesitation. In fact, there was nothing to analyze at all.

For his part, Kal Shora played his role.

“Welcome aboard The Artanis, envoy of the Black Dragon Empire. I am High Judicator Kal Shora,” he offered, bowing and spreading his hands. Though the being stayed focused on his general direction it gave no evidence it appreciated, or even comprehended the gesture.

“This,” Kal Shora said, moving slighting and gesturing with his hands to the form behind, “is Artanis. Artanis is the son of Inabore Daz’Da’Mar, the Patriarch of our people.”

“Greetings, most holy envoy,” Artanis said, mimicking Kal Shora’s earlier bow. The ambassador turned in his general direction, but almost seemed to look beyond the Cree’Ar, leaving him… nervous. “It is my profound hope that the elements of commonality we today share will allow us to work together for the mutual benefit of both our governments.”

After an awkward moment of silence, the entity began to move. Kal Shora nodded. “We can move to our primary situation room at your leisure. I will lead the way.” That said, the Cree’Ar fell in behind… furrowing brow at Artanis as he passed.

For a moment, there was only Artanis and his thoughts.

“I do not trust them.”

The shadows behind Artanis began to walk from the walls they were projected, furrowing a dark smoke about the room as they slid to a halt behind the Cree’Ar and continued to unfurl, dissipating from the frame beneath.

“They are not to be blindly trusted; I have warned Kal Shora to limit dealings with them to extraction of useful resources but he seems to insist on a more structured relationship.”

“Did he see you?”

Zeratul considered for a moment how to phrase his answer. “He was… aware of my presence.”

“It is no importance either way. I am not concerned so much as to what the Dragons know as I am to that which I do not know.”

“You want me to spy on them?”

Artanis lowered his head. “More.”

Between the two unfurled the Cree’Ar’s hand. Zeratul’s eyes flashed with recognition.

“The holding of them in your bare hand is heresy. Your suggestion would be betrayal of an ally and may be construed as an act of war.”

“Vejuun has prepared this specific models to be inert until time release based on spacial trajectory. They will infiltrate, interface, and lie dormant, unnoticed until such a time as the ships return to their home space. At such a time they will begin to spread.”

Zeratul opened his palm. “Of course, if I am discovered, I will die.”

Artanis lowered the chips. His hand lingered. “Though not by blood, we are brothers. If but I could, know that I would. Know that you will always have my ear. And my fist.”

Zeratul would have smiled, could he. “Valuable information.” The two separated.

“Borleas protects you, Zeratul.”

“Will that he protect you, Artanis. I shall endure beyond a level many are comfortable.”

“If that is your aim in life, Zeratul, then die happy on the Damuen vessel. I shall relay the news to Shran Badaar myself.”

“If I die today, grant one wish.”

“Anything.”

“Execute Vejuun.”

One does not put on a show like this without cuase, they want something

Of course they do, they summoned us here. It is quite the show though, it must be important to have summoned us all this way

“Welcome aboard The Artanis, envoy of the Black Dragon Empire. I am High Judicator Kal Shora."

It speaks!

Of course they do, you witnessed the last transaction between our people

Yes yes, but they seem as though they are designed for other forms of communication, look at their mouth to neck area's for example

“This is Artanis. Artanis is the son of Inabore Daz’Da’Mar, the Patriarch of our people.”

Slowly the husk turned to face the newly mentioned being, assessing the surroundings and all things in it. With eyes more focused than a galactic scanner, the hall was alive with activity that lesser creatures would never pick up under normal situations. Glimmers of stellar radiation sparkled the otherwise dimly lit corridor, body heat shimmered from its inhabitants... nothing that would otherwise grab the attention of an earstwhile onlooker, but there was another here, unannounced. With unfocused eyes they looked ahead not at the thing that was talking, but at both in anticipation of it.

“Greetings, most holy envoy. It is my profound hope that the elements of commonality we today share will allow us to work together for the mutual benefit of both our governments.”

Is he not going to introduce the other?

Perhaps it is a lesser, a servant

Its appearance is that of the others, I see no reason to assume its purpose is of any lesser importance...

If they do not consider it important enough to mention then lets be done with such... inconveniences...

Turning slowly back towards the direction they were heading beforehand, they faced their host once more and with the slightest of gestures took a step further down the hall, indicating a willingness to continue. The three-legged creature swiftly moved along side, if not a few steps ahead due to his own nature, indicating to the room ahead as it spoke.

“We can move to our primary situation room at your leisure. I will lead the way.”

Following slowly behind the creatures quickened pace, they kept their head lowered, face obscured by the veil that was their cloak. There was more here than was being led on to, something intangible and not at all innocent. Not that there was much that could be considered innocent anymore. As their foot made the final step from the corridor to the room, the faintest sounds of the door closing couldn't hide the words being spoken in the hall from the enhanced Daemun ear.

“I do not trust them.”

The room was a void, a chair and something which may have constituted as a table somewhere in the universe, walking a ways about the room, the creature made a final gesture towards the chair before stopping at the side of the table. Taking a look at it it seemed built more for the being in question than for any Daemun. It resembled a wide V with a flat bottom and no back, it looked unassuming, generating no heat and no detectable sources of energy. They sat down.

I begin to like this less and less

We have business to conduct, let it be done... then we can join with the whole once again

"You have summoned us... here... this place... to formalize an agreement that has already been discussed. You have a need... we recognize this... You have something... you think will service us... speak your peace... we will consider..." The voice came out segmented, many talking at once, but not the same thoughts. One mouth and many minds, it didn't make for a good orrator, but all the matters in question got on the table.

Posted on Behalf of Kal Shora

Kal Shora and Artanis looked at the... thing... before them.

Kal Shora had no reason to believe that this was a man. He had seen their unholy representations of the Cree'Ar on their last transaction, and believed this... thing to be yet another deception, another lie, another misrespresentation brought to them by a false god and his belief in the superiority of his technology.

Artanis had no such reservations. He knew, from speaking to Kal Shora, that it was more then likely a false avatar that stood before them, but he had no reason to believe it was done out of maliciousness. How the Dragons chose to represent themselves mattered little to him; the issue of importance, in his mind, was how the Dragons could benefit the Cree'Ar Dominion.

Doubtless, none of this mattered to the Dragons. They were here of their own motivations interested in their own personal gain. That was, of course, to be expected. Artanis knew that to get the Dragons to do for him, he needed to do for them... such was the way of the galaxy here. Artanis knew that he would offer the Dragons something and they would receive his proposition. They would consider how it would benefit them and would offer a counter proposal that benefited them more. It was not an efficient process, but such was the culture and custom of this galaxy. In a galaxy with disperate, seperate entities offering claim to territory and forming structures of varying type all referred to as government, negotiation, intimidation, and manipulation were important communication skills. Fortunately, they were all skills that Artanis had mastered.

It was Artanis who stood first, rising from his crouch to begin to pace the room. He found it more natural to walk... to move, as his body had been designed to do... then to stand rigid, at attention. Kal Shora had no such problem, remaining in one place and showing no desire to do otherwise. In that simple gesture... or lack thereof, rather... one could discern how diametrically opposed the two men were. Centuries of military precision had crafted Kal Shora the ultimate embodiment of patience, able to offer a rigid form set in stone for as long as was required, to march in perfect step, to speak in measured respect... things that seemed alien to Artanis, a man such as he was.

They stood as polar opposites in equal standing. They were as diametrically opposed as two shades of the same color could be.

The Dragons, as they stood, were a shade of grey; evil to some, and unknown to others. At the same time they raised the quality of life of the people under their command did they so destroy it. Forced evolution, was it to be known as. It was a concept not wholly alien to a wholly alien race. All change was resisted; every decision, every step forward made with hesitant foot against the objections of the comfortable and powerful. In the end, change was good; through destruction was bred the seeds of creation, and through creation was bred the fundaments to destruction. There was only one transgalactic constant, and that was that there was no transgalactic constant. Evolution would continue, stop, regress, and continue again, creating eight million end products from the same singular source material.

If there was to be an evolutionary chain in which Artanis was to become a Damuen, he willed that it not occur.

It was the very thing that made the Damuens so unappealing that made them such a formidable force with which to ally. Their continuable adaptation of technology had created the gap between the Damuens and their galaxy at large. It was that adaption that Artanis saw fit to use to his advantage. The nature of Cree'Ar society was built on their perfection; the divine creation, the mandate of the gods and the makers of word and law forced the Cree'Ar to accept their advanced stagnation. For so long had they proceeded with the knowledge that they were superior to all had left many unable to evolve at all. The Damuens were a technological splash of cold water.

Of course, Kal Shora would not agree. To him, terms of peace with the Damuens was more designed to allay their potential danger as an adversary then for any tangible benefit to the Dominion. That was fine; Kal Shora was to believe whatever it was that would keep Kal Shora in service to Artanis. If there came a time when that service would be withdrawn, then Kal Shora would be replaced. He was an invaluable commander... but his command was not invincible.

With a wave of his hand, Artanis brought up the schematics for the gravitic manipulation array, a technology that the Damuens had previously secured from the Cree'Ar, and began to build his case...

***

He had been told that he looked like mist.

It was not a completely inaccurate description. His physical state shifted and wavered, drawn together by the focus of his memory... taking apart, putting back together, snatching listless pieces... all took time, and as occured, he existed... fractured and disjointed...

As mist...

Such was problematic when it came to infiltration.

He did his best to hide, but his current state made efforts of subterfuge difficult, especially given the nature of the vessel in which he was currently forming.

One would assume, from the nature of the Damuens as a mysterious, dark, and technologically based entity, that their vessels would follow similar lines. When Zeratul had scanned the ship, he had drawn pictures of dark corridors, walls of computers, and puddles of murky, unidentifiable fluid. His arrival, however, had shown his calculations to be in err. Well lit corridors formed between walls of foliage, leading to an opening in which resided a large, shimmering lake. To say that Zertaul was caught off guard by this would be something of an understatement. Misunderstanding an enemy was a fatal mistake, but misunderstanding the terrain when using the mera'brak'tab could produce more immediate fatality. Fortunately for the skey'g'aar, he was alive. Unfortunately, he was not hidden in the darkness a few feet away from a bank of computers.

The exposure was deadly for a man on a mission such as his. As soon as he had constructed enough of himself in order to move, he began to actively search for his target. Of course, he had expected for a millitary vessel, such as those that which would populate this galaxy, but this... this was unlike any vessel he had cast a glance upon. He needed access points, computer banks, something with which he could allow his devices to interface. So far, he saw nothing of the kind.

After a moment's examination, Zertaul was left frustrated. He saw no area in which he would be better hidden then by one side against a wall of foliage. Furthermore, the vessel was not dead... Damuens, or what he assumed were Damuen, crew members wandered in silent conversation with themselves. So far, Zeratul could not discern that any had noticed his prescense... but without an adequate hiding spot and without the materials he needed to complete his mission... it would only be a matter of time...

And so, without a viable method to finish his mission, and without the option to escape while his task remained unfinished, Zeratul saw only one recourse.

He said a prayer.

***

"And the technology, as you can see, when implimented on a larger scale, carries proportionately more power at a considerably enhanced range. This makes it the ideal device for the purpose of intersystem defense, as each one will increase the effectiveness of your defense measures by a factor of ten."

Artanis had completed his presentation, and the Damuens offered no support of his proposition... nor really had he made one.

Kal Shora's eyes drifted from his leader to his enemies and back again a hundred times. He gauged nothing from either. Artanis had become a much better liar since last the two had much... truly growing into his role as a political pain in the procession.

"We are not here, however, to talk about technology."

That was news to all, Kal Shora could only assume, as Artanis had been talking of nothing but technology for the sum total of an hour. Artanis waved his hand, clearing the visual representation and their technology and replacing it with a map of the galaxy they were currently in. This caused Kal Shora to change his posture, pressing himself forward on the table with a hand grip, intently observing the discussions and unsure of his leader's direction.

"It is not out of the scope of our observations to have noticed an... infestation of your territory. This situation is something that I, as a student of societies such as ours, could understand should it be beyond your ability to tolerate. This is but one of things that we could assist you with... were we to formalize our agreement."

Kal Shora felt a surge of energy across his brain. His eyes flashed in recognition of the danger of this conversation. He raised himself to a full standing position, looking at Artanis sternly.

"I do not believe it is within your power..."

Artanis turned, as quickly as such a massive body could be made to turn, to face the elder Cree'Ar. His hand shot out, showing Kal Shora his open palm in a gesture meant to command his submission.

"And I do not believe it is your position to question my will!"

Kal Shora stood, silently. Keeping his emotions in check. Artanis was correct... but it did not make him right. Regardless, Kal Shora knew that to challenge his leader's authority while in the company of outsiders was a distinctly painful form of suicide, so he reluctantly and begrudgingly withdrew.

Artanis brought his hand back across his body and swept it once again across the visage. The display of the galaxy shrank slightly, and then another galaxy appeared... and then a second, until finally there were many. Both Cree'Ar knew the map well... it was the universe, and all of their controlled sections therewithin.

"We believe that from your stated purposes the primary desire of your people is to expand... both of yourselves and of others... to bring the exalted message of Heir Raktus to those unfamiliar with the divine truth. To that end, we offer you far more then ships and soldiers ever could. We will open the doorway to worlds which until now had never even heard of the Taj, beyond their disbelief. We will free you to project his voice across the reach of all the stars and to the ears of all the men. We... together..."

Kal Shora could not keep his emotions in check. His hands shook and tapped at the table, silently as he could manage but evident to beings with so powerful a perception it would have to be. He continually curled and uncurled his fingers. His eyes never left Artanis.

Artanis, for the most part, stood calmly.

"There are but minor divisibilities between our two peoples. Our elements of commonality and mutual aims far outnumber the problems that would present should we reinforce what has been to this point a mutually beneficial agreement. The drift between us in artificially inflated by decades of mistrust of other cultures but we can bridge it... and erase it... with faith."

Artanis bowed his head. Expressing fealty. Kal Shora was nauseated.

"I am asking you to put your faith in me... and accept I put my faith in you... and that we may join together, discarding the petty separation and forming a new transgalactic dominion to see over all space, and all lands..."

Artanis had made his offer. Kal Shora stared at him in what Artanis would surely know to be open disbelief and even some clouded hostility. The elder Cree'Ar felt the prince to be insane; to be out of touch with the reality of what the Damuens represented. Artanis saw all of this... and none of it was missed or altogether unexpected. He motioned with his hand to the Cree'Ar elder, which caused Kal Shora to stand.

"I understand that you may wish to confer amongst yourselves. We will offer you time to do so now. Consider our proposal... when we return, we hope we can celebrate our new found agreement..."

With that, Artanis strode from the room. The angry footfalls of Kal Shora came immediately behind.

"And the technology, as you can see, when implemented on a larger scale, carries proportionately more power at a considerably enhanced range. This makes it the ideal device for the purpose of intersystem defense, as each one will increase the effectiveness of your defense measures by a factor of ten."

This is it then?

Pathetic.

How weak they surely must perceive us to be....

A ploy perhaps?

But to what end?

The husk showed no emotion, passively listening to the presentation as eyes stronger than any other in the galaxy poured across displayed technical data, recording and analyzing for further transmission to the other minds of the Intelligence web. It was quite foolish, foolish indeed, to be showing an extended specification of a technology to a creature so advanced that its own body could rival anything an entire civilization could build. Thoughts, discussions and an infinite cross section of debates all on the subject of each word being analyzed, examined and re-examined in the space of milliseconds as the being continued on with his proposition.

"We are not here, however, to talk about technology."

Here it comes....

An almost strange silence coming to those beings present to listen. Those apt to speak merely indicated their expectation of this moment with the proper picto's of emotion in the closed mental web of the husk. Those not merely waited in silence with the desire to hear what would come next.

"It is not out of the scope of our observations to have noticed an... infestation of your territory. This situation is something that I, as a student of societies such as ours, could understand should it be beyond your ability to tolerate. This is but one of things that we could assist you with... were we to formalize our agreement."

The imaging device appears to be connected to a core memory device of some type, according to limited knowledge of Cree'Ar technological mechanics, we could well assume it's connected to the main network of the entire vessel....

It could well be a separate memory bank, supplied with preprogrammed information and data for this specific moment.

That would be highly inefficient

The Cree'ar have yet to display the efficiency traits of the Maximization Paradigm...

-Query-

Their ships are weak, interdependent on one another to survive. They breed weakness in their specialization, and from it, inefficiency. Their technology might be formidable, but they lack the constructive planning efficiency of The Imperium.

"I do not believe it is within your power..."

One stood taller than before as the two entered a moment of somewhat heated exchange. Almost completely ignored by the husks sensory inputs as it recorded the conversation in its whole, while analyzing the imaging device they had all been concentrating on for the better portion of an hour still. It appeared as a simple holo-imaging device, a simple three dimension imaging projector connected to the simplest of laser emitters to create the desired effect.

It wasn't the technology itself that was so interesting, but what may well be sitting in front of the collected ensemble of Daemun personalities that was of key interest. Were the system more than a mere data storage device then what they had been lead to could well be the gateway to an alien computer system....

"We believe that from your stated purposes the primary desire of your people is to expand... both of yourselves and of others... to bring the exalted message of Heir Raktus to those unfamiliar with the divine truth. To that end, we offer you far more then ships and soldiers ever could. We will open the doorway to worlds which until now had never even heard of the Taj, beyond their disbelief. We will free you to project his voice across the reach of all the stars and to the ears of all the men. We... together..."

...A system that suddenly seemed vastly more important to the will of the Taj and the glory of the Imperium than any single object in the galaxy had ever before. A cross reference layout of the pictured galaxy cross section played out across the husk's eyes with astronomical data of nearby galaxies as collected with data from observations from the GMP.

Amazing, truly amazing...

Truly, this is the Will of the Taj, this could not have happened by chance or circumstance. We have been delivered a clear message this day, this hour, this minute. The glory of the Imperium rests on our actions here this day...

We are prepared to sacrifice this husk and our Mysteri for this cause, such is the will of the Taj...




It was hard to fool the scanners of a ship in any technologically advanced navy in the galaxy. It was more so difficult to fool the scanners of an even more advanced Imperium vessel. Harder still would be to fool the scanners of the flagship of the Imperium Church. Very hard to be sure, but if one knew what they were doing, not impossible.

If one knew what they were doing.

Zeratul did not.

Passing through invisible checkpoint after invisible checkpoint, he had been detected quite nearly the moment he had step foot aboard the Rosary, and yet he had been allowed to advance as far as he had unabated, but not unwatched. While he may have hid himself from nearly every form of scanning implement known to exist, he still existed, and that meant that no matter how hard he tried, he was still quantifiable in some form of data or another.

So he was allowed to move, unhindered by the movements of Daemun personnel aboard the vessel. It was not that he posed no risk, or that he couldn't pose any risk, it was that the risk he did pose was as of yet unknown. With the Cree'Ar in such proximity to the Imperium, and with such a shrouded veil placed over their involvement with Imperium activities, the presence of one of their own sneaking around the Flagship of the Church itself would prove to be a useful measure of the Cree'Ar intentions on the Imperium at large.

So he was allowed to move.

As he was watched.




///Intruder Aboard The Rosary///
///Defensive Measures Initiated///
///Internal Scanning Regulated///
///Withholding Offensive Measures

They intend to attack...

Sabotage?

///Web Connection: 100% Of Maximum///

All appears well...

Positioning of the pieces?

///Uploading Data///

A scout? An advance party?

Too many variables....

No damage yet incurred.

///Downloading Schematic: 5%///

Taking the initiative?

No choice....

///Downloading Schematic: 45%///

Word's, in the background, drowned out by the sea of discussion across the sphere of minds that linked all as one in the web. The Cree'Ar proposal, disregarded now, something else... something more than before. More important, more urgent. Necessary. Survival.

///Downloading Schematic: 85%///

"I understand that you may wish to confer amongst yourselves. We will offer you time to do so now. Consider our proposal... when we return, we hope we can celebrate our new found agreement..."

Footsteps, moving, silence.

Alone.

Alone in the room.

///Downloading Schematic: 100%///
///Downloading Schematic: Complete///

The husk moved, slowly, its eyes looking from one corner of the room to the other as it scanned for another presence, possibly unseen. Failing that, it rose to its feet, treading to the projector that had so recently displayed the great vastness that was the Cree'Ar Dominion. Standing before it, the husk seemed little more like a zombie, its motions slow and less fluid than before, almost absent of thought, where it could be said to in fact be overwhelmed with it.

Raising a single hand over the projector, the husk dug its thumb firmly into the center of its palm. Pressing a newly shapen fingernail against the synthetic skin of its flesh, it dug a large slit across the hand. Squeezing that hand into the tight ball of a fist, it forced the flow of its fluids coursing ever quickly down the arm. Just as slowly as it began, it ended just that quickly.

Opening its hand, it lowered its palm down.

Its now damp palm.

Its wet dripping palm.

Its grey wet dripping palm...

...and it touched the projector.

"Nos Sanctio, Sarcalogos vos..."