He walked calmly and with great confidence. Although in reality the battle had not yet begun, his walk betrayed him as believing he had truly already achieved victory.

Beside him, the detestable Geonosian politician fluttered along on one side as the reptilian Nate Gunray slithered on the other. Behind walked Jango Fett. He was an interesting one, but in the grand scheme of things, unimportant.

No. All of them were merely bit players. Only one of them was important. Only one of them would make a difference in the tapestry that was the balance of the Force. And that one was not around him. It was him.

He smiled as he reached the overlook of the large Geonosian arena. In the midst were three prisoners of his Separatists Union… Padme Amidala, Senator of Naboo was chained to the leftmost poll, and besides her to the right were two Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan, Anakin Skywalker. Both were clad in typical Jedi robes, and both much like the Senator were restrained to polls and unable to move anything extensively.

Beside him, one of the unimportant politicians stepped forward to read of their crimes.

“The felons before you,” he began, “have been convicted of espionage against the Sovereign System of Geonosis. Their sentence of death is to be carried out in this public arena henceforth.”

The assembled crowd began to roar its approval. The politician stepped back, and another one stepped forward, silencing the crowd. Seeing his opportunity, Skywalker shouted up at the onlookers in the rotunda.

“You’ll never get away with this! The Jedi will stop you!”

This caused the man to smile. The politician looked back at him, and he nodded and stepped forward.

“As you have?” was all he said, but the crowd erupted in hooting and hollering again. He stepped backwards again, and the politician once again took the handrail at the front of the group.

“Let the executions begin!”

***

“How many?”

The dark-robed man asked him, his pale skin underneath wrinkled with worry.

“The Geonosians are proficient at making weapons of war,” he admitted. “They should have at least 15 thousand battledroids prepared within the month.”

The cloaked man nodded his head, impressed. “We will need at least double that, but in such a short period of time…”

The other man nodded. “Indeed. They do good work. Your idea to contact them was genius, as are most of your ideas.”

“You flatter me, Darth Tyranus.”

He smiled. “No more than you deserve, Darth Sideous.”

***

If Count Dooku had not sought to execute Obi-Wan Kenobi, the world of Geonosis would likely now sit, empty, with no importance to the galaxy whatsoever. As it was, however, the Geonosians had forever been revealed to be efficient creators of all manner of wars weapons, and even to the relatively uninformed in such matters, it was apparent that the world of Geonosis was one from which you could create the galaxies grandest armies.

As it was, he had sought to execute the Jedi, as others sought to execute them now…

Thylor.

Thylor was once a lush, green world, with flowing lakes and rivers crossing fields of endless of grass. Amongst it, children ran, chasing bugs, giggling in the noonday sun.

And then a decision was made. A decision that forever altered the Thylor system and all it’s neighboring worlds.

A company known as Opiette Technologies had slowly infested itself amongst the government of Thylor. It began to push more and more technology on them… new shields, new weapons, new starships… a new interplanetary communication system. Most of these technologies were not invasive, however, eventually every government that is run by a corporation will sell the dignity of its citizens. It is only a matter of time.

They called it The Opiette Pylon.

A combination of a transceiver and a decoder, it worked in conjunction with implants in a persons skull. Attached to the base of the cerebrum animalia, small nanotechnical fibers connected the implant to the nerve stem of the user. With it, he was offered a range of communication previously unavailable. He merely thought, and he called up information, or started conversation or telecommunication. It was a huge breakthrough in communicative engineering.

But such a gift could never be free.

The price in this instance was privacy and individuality. Each user was now linked to a network, and was constantly signaling it. Thus, at any time, any individual in Thylor society could be found. His movements now were recorded and logged for informative purposes. Even worse, nothing could be done to stop Opiette Technologies from opening a line from the pylon network into a users brain, and pick out the thoughts he believed he was merely amusing himself with. Of course, the government promised to keep a close eye on things… and they did, in a fashion, as it was more and more obvious that Opiette was the true government on Thylor.

And so it began. With one implant to help people communicate, another was soon added to help them concentrate, and then another to help them regulate their cardiovascular system. Slowly, Opiette Technologies began to improve the Thylor… one implant at a time.

Thylor was once a lush, green world, and then a decision was made. A decision that forever altered the Thylor system and all it’s neighboring worlds.

A decision that brought about the wraith of the Cree’Ar.

***

They came at night.

Like all conquerors, they hid in the shadows, using weapons to light their way. They shattered the silence of Ador’s night with explosions.

Announcing themselves as the Thylor Opiette, the massive warships in orbit claimed victory and announced that they were beginning, posthaste, aggressive terraforming operations and that all Skey’g’aar were advised to evacuate the system.

They came at night.

And salvation came with the dawning of the red sun.

***

The Cree’Ar had allowed them sovereignty. They had respected their will to be free and unmolested by the Judicaste, but now the Cree’Ar regretted that decision. The Skey’g’aar had wanted to live free, but they would not live would the Cree’Ar not come to aide them. Surely, their intent for freedom was not to die free?

As politicians often do, they put the issue to debate. In the end, however, the answer was obvious. The Skey’g’aar, as disrespectful as their will to abandon the Red Sun may be, deserved to live. The gods ordained it and now they ordained the reunification of the two peoples.

The gods, sometimes, act in mysterious ways.

With battlements prepared, the Cree’Ar warfleet proceeded to Ador, above which hung a fleet of Thylor Opiette warcruisers, who were systematically laying waste to the world below. Summoning Borleas Quayver himself, the Cree’Ar sent the Thylor Opiette back to the planet from which they came. In short order, the Cree’Ar followed.

Thylor was a much different world then it once was. Orbited by innumerous satellites either capturing or rerouting information, and hundreds of orbital weapons and defense platforms, the world of Thylor was also defended by a huge fleet. Nevertheless, the Cree’Ar knew that victory would come on the ground. The battle in the air was only a terribly costly distraction.

As the warfleets of the two massive empires collided, and Cree’Ar battleships fell one by one, members of the shadowcaste infiltrated the very heart of Thylor. They knew of a complex somewhere, which according to intercepted transmissions, was the starting point for millions of transmissions. They knew this was a command center of a sort.

Or so they thought.

As the shadowcaste returned to their vessels in the sky, a massive explosion ripped through the center of the Thylor world. The explosive charges had succeeded in leveling the complex amongst which they were laid. As the shadowcaste members spoke to Judicators of the strange sights on the planets service, all the Cree’Ar suddenly noticed that no attack was forthcoming from the Thylor Opiette vessels.

No movement whatsoever amongst their fleet.

The Cree’Ar considered. They began firing again, with no effect. They stopped firing, they moved forward, turned as if to retreat, and none of which was enough to provoke a reaction from the opposing vessels. Finally, the shadowcaste stepped forward. They would go to the Thylor vessels directly, and see why they no longer moved.

The stories they had told of the previous strangeness aboard the world of Thylor were incomparable to the stories they now told. The Thylor had stopped.

Aboard the Thylor vessels, the crews stood frozen in mid-motion. Crews’ fingertips hovered over weapons controls. Wounded officers stopped, mid walk, on the way to medical facilities. It was as if the entire Thylor society was suddenly suspended in time, and the Cree’Ar walked among it like Borleas Quayver, unfearing and afraid, calm and very nervous.

The Judicaste, again, debated about the cause of the Thylor Opiette’s demise and what they would do. Of course, as is often the case amongst the Cree’Ar Judicaste, the answer was never really in doubt.

The Thylor Opiette were no longer a people.

Years ago, they had begun a progression towards a state of collective cybernetics. Where every being was not so much a person as he was merely another robotic hand for a robotic brain. The command center the Cree’Ar destroyed was not so much a command center as it was the command. A single source for all the movements, actions, and indeed, the very thoughts of the Thylor Opiette for the last hundred years. Without their collective brain, the Thylor Opiette, long ago weaned off of independent thought and the concept of reaction, simply shut down, waiting for some day, when a new communication would send them to life again, to continue to forward the goals of the Thylor Opiette.

That communication would never arrive, although, one did arrive in its place.

To the Cree’Ar, the body is perfect. Crafted by the gods to carry out his will. Thus, they would never defile it in such a manner. However, a godless people who have defiled themselves obviously no longer support or respect a god, and likewise, a god would no longer support or respect them. The Cree’Ar then had little hesitation in turning the Thylor Opiette’s technology against them. They used the Thylor Opiette pylons, in conjunction with the implants in the Thylor’s heads, to form the cybernetic nexus network. Small at first, it rapidly grew to encompass the entire Thylor Opiette Empire, and continued beyond that, even growing this day. But one thing was for certain.

Thylor was once a lush, green world, and then a decision was made. A decision that brought about the wraith of the Cree’Ar. Now, Thylor stands like many worlds.

A cold, desolate rock, upon which is mounted technology that maintains the backbone of the Cree’Ar Dominion. Even now, its population continues to live on long past their empires demise, as servants of Borleas Quayver inside the Cybernetic Nexus.

And had they left the Skey’g’aar alone, even now, there may not be a Dominion, and the Thylor may well have lived on, perhaps, one day even conquering the Cree’Ar. But that did not happen, because the gods did not wish it to happen.

The gods, sometimes, act in mysterious ways.

Then again… they sometimes act exactly as one would want them to act…

Issk is Chief Of Staff at the Coalition Relief effort on Kiyar. Four-hundred-thousand beings served under him on this disaster-planet, and millions of people live and work here, under their careful protection.

The Azguards had been ensuring peace and safety for the people here since the Kiyar/Sereas incident, and since then they haven’t heard a peep out of their local opposition. Issk though, was not one to bask in safety and relax. The planet of Kiyar consisted of fifteen huge cities, each one sitting on one of the patches of living land left on the planet. Issk had set up deep trenches, pill-boxes, bunkers, towers, and gun-emplacements along the entire perimeter. There were also safe-houses littered throughout the cities, where the people can flee to in an emergency, and a well-developed communications system from city to city and back to Azguard.

But somehow, this did not seem enough. On this present day, Issk walks back and forth in his office, scanning the papers laid out on his desk. A Seras ship had been spotted, at last, but that was a week ago and nothing had happened. Issk was tired of waiting, what was going on out there?

He hit a red button on his desk. “Tell eyes one and two to take a look at the Seras Zone again.”

“Ok sir” replied a crackly voice from somewhere in his office. It was futile, of course, they wouldn’t see a thing, just the Serisians sitting quietly, as if waiting for something. It would be a waste of time, Issk decided, and reached beneath his desk, pressing another, less obvious button.

“Patch me through to TARGET.”

There was a moment of interference before a voice spoke “Hello?”

“This is Issk, I want you to send out some operatives right now to Kiyar. I have a feeling in my gut it’s about time to find out first hand what’s going on in there.”

“Right away, General.”

Issk turned to his window. What were the bastards planning out there?

___________________________________________________________________________

Two agents, intelligence operatives from TARGET, were deployed to Kiyar. Their mission was simple: Act as long-range scouts and gather troop-movment data on what's going on.

The pair flew out in simple, unnoticible one-man ships, slipping around the Kiyar's system, clinging to asteroid-infested areas and ducking behind ionic disturbances. It took some time, but one clean sweep revealed nothing. Issk read their report, and sighed heavily. Now this made no sense. There were usually one or two ships hanging around, plus some scouts, a few Sereasian patrol craft, some merchants, but it was clear of any such vessels.

They know something. Issk thought But what? And what are we supposed to do about it?

Issk turned to his control panel, where he had a channel open to the two.

"Pull out a long-range scan, I want the whole area under surveillance."

_____________________________________________________________________

The two agents moved further away from the system, throwing their eyes and their scanning attempts further and further away. Soon, one of them spotted something.

It was faint, almost undetectable. He at first believed he'd seen nothing. But there had to be something there, so he scanned again. It was a bit brighter this time.

"Issk? This is scout two, I think we may have something here..."

He watched as the humanoids ran. The ball of fire behind them that was once the Geonosian arena was now a crumbling implosion. The act of terrorism, an attack on innocent workers of the Tholatin Republic, had convinced them that it was time to leave.

Of course, the Geonosians were left behind.

“What caused that explosion?”

Zeratul pressed a button. The world of Sathora was shown, and in the midst of one of it’s building complexes another explosion burst forth.

“It was part of a terrorist campaign. We’re not sure of who is responsible, or their motives, but the ‘holonet’ has been ‘buzzing with rumors’.”

Kal Shora nodded, disinterested with rumors.

“Any likely suspects? Proclamations of the actions success?”

“A group of separatists has claimed responsibility for the attacks on Ison.”

He pushed another button, bringing up the aftermath of the attack on Ison.

“Ison… is in the Sovereignty. Could the Empire be responsible?”

Zeratul shook his head. He pushed the button again and on the screen, the scene on Ison was split into a splitscreen showing the aftermath of the attacks on Eriadu, N’Zoth, and Carida.

“No group was hit harder than the Empire.”

Kal Shora squinted his glowing eyes at the pictures on the screen.

“Feints? Deception?”

Zeratul pushed the button again, revealing Geonosis again.

“Possible, but extremely perplexing if so. Two of the groups attacked, the Vinda Corporation, and the Anthos Republic, have no history of aggression with the Empire, to our knowledge. As well, following the terrorist actions on Bespin and Taloraan, it is unlikely the Empire would risk the sympathy those attacks have gained them by staging attacks on themselves and calling into legitimacy the previous attacks.”

Kal Shora shook his head.

“We have wandered from our topic. Is it likely the attacks on Geonosis could be repeated?”

Zeratul took his turn to shake his head.

“No. The attacks were focused on aggressive governments, not insignificant alien races. I believe as long as the world stays, off the map, so to speak, it will attract very little attention and will remain unmolested in galactic politics.”

Kal Shora made a gesture of spreading his hands, which Zeratul recognized as him wishing to continue.

Zeratul pushed the button again.

“Without the Tholatin Republic, the Geonosians will go back to doing what they do best. Which is the creation and distribution of weapons. Fortunately, we have an opportunity.”

Zeratul changed the image again to a current camera, showing movement amongst the Geonosian arena.

“The Geonosian economy was shattered when they were abandoned by the Tholatin Republic. In addition, the terrorist attack itself brought down the arena, around which the Geonosians had numerous residential districts and marketplaces, and there are still dead Geonosians trapped under the rubble. Their focus is on rebuilding their homes, and not their weapons programs.”

Kal Shora motioned a hand for him to pause.

“Their weapons programs need rebuilding?”

Zeratul nodded. He pressed the button again, and it showed one of the Geonosian AAT factories.

“The Tholatin Republic shut down the Geonosian Droid and Weapon production facilities. In doing so they ensured the Genosians were completely unable to interact galactically without the Tholatin Republic, and isolated them completely.”

“How…” Kal Shora struggled for a word before settling on “pathetic. To starve a people as a means of control. Deplorable.”

“It gets worse. When the Tholatins left, so did any incoming food to keep the Geonosian people alive. If they are unable to reform their civilian infrastructure, and continue to neglect their industrial facilities, they will be unable to afford to feed their population, and in under a year, they will all be dead.”

“Despicable. Remind me that we must allow the Tholatin people to starve to death.”

“In any case, this offers us an opportunity, if I could present it.”

Kal Shora gestured again to continue.

“You see, if we step in now, we can offer the Geonosians access to the Nexus. Show them how quickly we can rebuild the Genosian Arena, and their homes around it.”

He pushed the button again. The camera pulled back, showing not one factory, but several. Hundreds.

“The Geonosians are in no position to deny our request and without ties in the intergalactic community, they will not be missed whence upon we neutralize them. We will then have access to their droid construction facilities and with this, we will begin to assemble our armies.”

Kal Shora nodded silently. He remembered the last time he had been in combat… melee combat, of course. He was a tactician by design, but earlier in his years at the age of 246, he had begun his campaign as a Lesser Templar, serving Borleas Quayver in the destruction of the Red Sun’s greatest enemy. When he began to show command abilities, he was asked to consider a position in the Bringers of Fire… which is where he served now, High Judicator of the entire Cree’Ar Dominion. Sometimes, however, if only for a moment… he wished he was younger again.

“I will go and ba…”

“No,” Kal Shora cut him off. “No, Zeratul, I will go. I have a more important task for you…”

Zeratul turned to Kal Shora.

“I will handle Geonosis… myself.”

Issk examined the anomaly. It was so faint you could barely tell it was there, but no one knew what it was. He forwarded his report, his concerns and his findings to the Azguard Affairs Office, and sat at his desk to think.

"What should I do?" He murmured to no one in particular. His most important job was protecting the people of this world and ensuring the survival of the men below him. And now, the biggest threat to both had stopped everything. Good, right? No. Something was up, but what? He looked at the anomaly picture again. It was just a swirly piece of nebulae-like emission, that should by all logic shouldn't be there.

He brought up the entire combined data-base of combined knowledge available to the Coalition and the Soverinty. The ancient, weary AI caretaker, Promethius, awoke.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes" said Issk, still deep in thought. "I want you to run a check on these anomalies." He fed the sheet into a scanning device, and Promethius seemed to be mulling it over.

"All right then, give me a minute."

As the screen went blank, Issk looked out the blinds of his window again. He had decided, this must be a build up, or a sign. They knew something he didn't, and whatever it was they didn't want to be anywhere near it when it happened.

He brough the pannel up again. "Put the entire expeditionary force on alert. Prepare to lock down every city. I want everyone prepared for a possible attack, ecological disaster, or nuclear attack. I want our ships prepared to scramble for an intercept instantly. I want the Azguard Affairs office to prepare to recieve a message from me at any time. I want them to treat any loss of communications as a full-out assault, probably involving nuclear weapons."

"Yes sir!" Said his secretary, more then a little shocked. His orders were carried out speedily, and while he waited he reexamined the defence schematics of each city, looking for weaknesses. He had the sewers covered, all the entrences to the city, there was no safe way to approach them from the air, and the entire cities were designed like laberynths, filled with traps he could turn on in a second and brilliant crossfires and bottlenecks. It was all he could do to relax.

Finally, his screen lit up. The search was over.

Prometheus had returned, and with him was a paltry collection of data-files from Coalition sources. They analysed warp activity, and were pretty much useless to Issk. He looked at each one in turn, and learnt no more then before. Warp anomalies have been seen before, but that wasn’t helping.

After a while, though, he began to see a small pattern emerge. Sometimes, warp anomalies seemed random, but they seemed to follow patterns of movement. They were vague and inconsistent at best, but as Prometheus brought in more and more reports, there were definite signs that some anomalies were connected.

The question was, was this anomaly connected? And if so, what did it mean?

He decided to call his scouts back, they weren’t going to find anything out there today.

______________________________________________________________________________

The two agents, Troy and Jaffer, turned to Kiyar. They sailed through space in silence. Suddenly, Troy noticed a light beeping coming from his ship’s radar.

Troy tilted his craft’s nose a little, and homed in on the blip. As he got closer, he could now see with his own eyes a dark shape moving through space.

“Jaffer, this is Troy, there’s something over here.”

Jaffer turned to follow his colleague, and he too spied the unusual object. “General Issk, how should we proceed?”

Over the comm-unit, Issk spoke “We haven’t got anything out there, bring it in.”

Troy and Jaffer brought their ships along either side of the object, which was still obscured by a thick black paint-job. Troy tried hailing it, but to no avail.

Suddenly, it sped up, shooting past the pair. Jaffer and Troy engaged full engines in pursuit.

“He’s heading for the Seriesians!” Rasped Jaffer, trying to bring his ships’ guns to bear.

“We have to disable him before he gets there!”

Jaffer and Troy squeezed off ion blasts at their target, but he was a good pilot, and weaved skilfully around each shot. A cloud of nebula gas was visible up ahead, and the mystery ship ducked into it.

Bursting through cloud-banks of gas, Troy and Jaffer tried to relocate the ship, but it was gone from sight. The two were going at maximum speed, and shot out of the other side of the nebula. On the other side, the ship was nowhere to be seen. They turned, and waited.


It came in a rush of speed, making a valiant effort to ‘leap’ over the pair, but Troy and Jaffer had been ready for him, and ion-shots rained on the underbelly of their target, and it ground to a halt.

“We’ve got him” said Jaffer, relieved “And we’re bringing him in”

Geonosis was a rock. A rock, hard at the core but covered with flimsy sand. On it stood no defenses, and above it, no warfleets. Only the Geonosians and their silent weapons factories remained on the soft soil. And above it, the sky was empty.

The Cree’Ar Command Vessel, the Sep'Ta'd'Aark, led the Cree’Ar in exiting the C-velocity conduits as it usually did. Behind it arrived the Sep'Ta'd'Porl'a'Mor and the Sep'Ta'd'Dina'a'Dar, the two vessels assigned to travel with the High Judicator as his own personal command flotilla. With these three vessels leading, it would not be unusual for the Loh'a'Mar'a'Dor Mec'Ta'Darin'd'Ol to emerge from the conduit, as it did, but it was unusual for the flow of vessels to continue until the Nir'a'Sen'a'Dor Mec'Ta'Darin'd'Ol was entirely present and accounted for. Such a large number of vessels, well over 200, were unusual for the Cree’Ar to bring to one location. However, this was an unusual situation, and the High Elder felt it better to be prepared, if force was indeed required.

He stood on the bridge of his Ja'Mha Rerodon Cruiser, command vessel of not only the Loh’a’Mar’a’Dor Mec'Ta'Darin'd'Ol, but the entire Cree’Ar Darin'd'Ol in the Coruscan galaxy. He felt powerful. He felt prepared.

It was once said that preparedness made one powerful. It was a sentiment the High Elder not only agreed with, but felt was applicable to him at present.

The Priest caste had been asking him to secure sanctified land upon which they could dedicate their lives to Borleas Quayver, a world that they could cultivate to grow food and raise children. But Kal Shora was indifferent. If they were attacked… if the Jedi or the Sith made a preemptive strike, what good would food do? Would they throw it at them? Maybe, wow them with its masterful farming?

No, the Cree’Ar needed weapons. They could eat when they could defend their farms, and until then, they would go hungry.

The Elder felt a rumbling in his stomach. But it was not one of hunger. It was one of anticipation. He wanted to begin immediately.

And the High Judicator of the Dominion always gets what he wants.

***

Aboard the Grey Defense, everything was quiet. It was a perfectly normal, quiet day.

The Grey Defense had been formerly known as TSD-0127a, The 127th Tholatin-Class Star Destroyer on Assault duty. It had been assigned to combat when combat broke out above and around Geonosis, and had stayed here up until the terrorist attacks that caused the Tholatins to abandon the system. They did not want to leave it undefended however.

And so TSD-0127a was renamed the Grey Defense, and became the Tholatin Protectorates official liaison to the planet Geonosis. It remained in orbit, ensuring that pirates and other undesirables were kept away from establishing a criminal presence on the former weapon production world. It also remained to safeguard Adelah Kinumaro, the Tholatin Protectorates diplomatic envoy on the ground. He lived in the remnants of the Tholatin Protectorates abandoned military compound; with stockpiles of food and supplies he occasionally bartered with the Geonosians when he required maintenance or other raw labor. All in all, it was a fairly boring assignment for all involved.

Until today.

The Grey Defense was on the opposite side of the planet when their sensor upload began to stream in across the Geonosian satellite network. Captain Ralek Jelico was the first one to answer the beeping on the com station as most of his crew were predisposed with rest and leisure activities. At first, it was only an anomalous spacial disturbance, but when the first vessel appeared, he alerted his crew.

By the time his bridge had a full compliment, there were approximately 260 vessels, over 80 of which being capital class. He sat with his head resting on his fist, waiting for an opinion from his crew. He only received questions until finally his commander, Dennik Katarn, offered his opinion.

“We should contact Tholatin immediately. There is no evidence they are blocking communications. We need to get the word out.”

The crew began to fervently argue this until the Captain stood. He shook his head.

“No… that might be premature. There are a lot of ships, granted, but we do not yet know their intent. We should contact Adelah Kinumaro. Inform him of the situation. If things worsen he can use the bunkers com systems and the satellites in orbit to relay a message to Tholatin, alerting them to the situation.”

The crew murmured their approval. He was a level head, was Captain Jelico. He was a quite competent commander.

He was also up creek.

***

The Cree’Ar Vessels slowed. Assessing the situation, Kal Shora looked at a map of positively identified objects in orbit. So far, nothing. A small refueling station and various communication satellites hung just outside the atmosphere of the desert world, but no defense fleet. No opposition.

No fun.

Of course, Kal Shora did not take pleasure from the deaths of other beings. He knew that it was an unfortunate part of his service to Borleas Quayver. He understood the necessity but he did not think that he could, now, kill a man in melee combat. He had before but now… much of the fire and zeal of his youth had been replaced by wisdom and experience. When his family had died, he had felt a rage inside him that gradually, over time, had began to cool.

Although he did not take pleasure from the deaths involved, Kal Shora did very much find battle enjoyable. The anxiety before hand… the intensity and uncertainty during… the pride afterwards… the entire experience could be a very positive experience if done correctly, and in his many centuries in battle, Kal Shora could count his losses on his three-toed foot.

Kal Shora was good at combat, and combat was good at finding a way to him.

Today would be no exception.

“High Judicator, we are receiving a communication from… a vessel!”

The crewer stood, turning to face the High Judicator.

“There is a vessel on the opposite side of the planet. Our original echolocative sensor sweep was unable to locate it around the planets gravity shadow. However, it is there, and it is moving… moving towards us.”

Kal Shora nodded. He listened as the message began to play across the ship’s communicative translation matrix; in it’s early stage, very foreign to his ears. He turned to the Skey’g’aar manning the sensors as their information was routed from the nexus aboard the Assault Ships now circling around the mass shadow of the world on a roughly polar orbit.

Kal Shora looked towards one of his Judicators and nodded. The Assault Ships suddenly disappeared from his eyes, moving around the planet still, but shimmered out of view as the gravity field it emitted bent the light successfully around it. The Judicator went back to his station, handling the inter-ship communicative duties he had been attending to.

Kal Shora meanwhile turned to a member of the Pe't'ara D'oo'l, and gestured with his hands, a very marked gesture that the D’oo’l’’o’lar recognized immediately. He went to his command input center and pushed a button. For a moment there was only static, and then, words began to flow, words that Kal Shora could, this time, understand. He nodded his head when he heard the message, and turned to the Judicator to whom he had commanded earlier.

“Make our intentions clear.”

***

“Alien vessel, this is the Grey Defense of the Tholatin Protectorate. Geonosis is a protected world. Please leave your weapons unpowered and state your intentions.”

That was the third time the message had been sent, and still, there was no reply. Captain Ralek Jelico looked over at commander Dennik Katarn, and both shared the same apprehension about the situation. Something felt… wrong. Something…

“Captain!”

Jelico looked over at Lieutenant Samuel Adams, who was pointing out the transparasteel viewport with one finger. The Captain came closer, straining his eyes to see what Adams had spotted. He felt Katarn slide in beside him as he watched, nothing visible to his eyes.

“I saw something… there was… look! There it is again!”

His finger slid across the starfield, eventually settling on one up and to the right from where he originally pointed. Jelico watched, and as he did, the star began to bend, turning right, spinning, and inverting before it began to stand still again. Beside him, Katarn sighed, and Jelico knew they had both reached the exact same conclusion.

“Cloaked ships.”

“They didn’t answer because they were busy slipping a cloaked fleet around to us. Well, what should we do now?”

This time, Jelico didn’t hesitate at all.

“Contact Tholatin. Let them know what’s going on…”

Jelico trailed off as he saw a bolt of energy form before his eyes. He ducked immediately.

“Incoming!”

The rest of the crew hit the deck. Their shields had been up, but they had no idea how many cloaked ships they had out there, or how many shots were incoming and where. As it was, the ship rocked slightly from the impact, and Jelico looked up for a moment and saw a bolt of lightning running across the roof. He lowered his head again, and behind him, he heard an explosion and a man screaming. And then everything went black.

Captain Ralek Jelico was dead.

Or at least, so he thought.

“Captain! Are you all right? Captain!?”

Jelico nodded, not sure exactly who was speaking or from where. He looked up again. The lightning was gone. The ceiling was gone. He could see the stars outside, but beyond that, everything was black.

“Who turned out the lights?”

There was a nervous chuckle amongst the crew. Commander Dennik Katarn came up and gave the Captain a tap on the shoulder.

“They did, sir. Some kind of ion weapon. It must have gotten the mains. Backup power is isolated in deep… if we have engineers left, they’ll switch it on in a few seconds.”

Jelico looked around, but he couldn’t really see much. He could make out the form of Katarn and he knew at least one more crewmember was alive, as he had broken the silence, but beyond that he really had no idea. So he decided to ask.

“Everyone alright?”

A few seconds of whispering ensued. He could hear at least 20 people, which was about normal for the bridge under battle conditions.

“Adams is dead sir.”

Jelico turned towards the voice, a futile gesture in the current state of illumination.

“Are you sure?”

“He was right beside me, and now there’s a body on the ground. I think it must be his. And it’s dead, sir.”

Jelico sighed. He mentally cursed his attackers, and this infernal darkness.

And as if answering his silent command, the backup power generators came online. And for the first time, the Captain was able to survey the damage.

The lightning bolt he had spied earlier had left a trail, a pattern of warped metal, liquefied and blackened by the heat. It had friends, too… he spied several lines spreading across the ceiling, the floors, the walls… he looked to find the source, and figured he had spied it… a few computers had overloaded from the shock. He supposed…

He stopped, mid-supposition, when he saw the body of Lieutenant Samuel Adams.

When one of the consoles had exploded, the young crewman had been manning it, trying to get the shields to recalibrate against the weapons. He had been caught full bore across the chest, and had fallen, in the dark and with no one to help him, and died of shock.

Jelico looked at him, and then he looked at his crew.

“Communications.”

Katarn shook his head.

“No use. We could dial out, but we don’t have enough power to get a long-range signal out. We could call the planet? Have them relay a message…”

“…relay a message off the satellites.”

Katarn smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Of course. The satellites should still be at full power.”

Jelico charged to one of his engineers.

“Can we get the computers online?”

The engineer smiled. Behind Jelico, he heard the system begin to dial up the main computer core. He clapped his hands together.

“That’s what I wanted to hear! Patch us in to those satellites… aim them at Tholatin immediately.”

Commander Dennik Katarn charged to one of the communications consoles, and began to open a line of communication with the satellite. He began to punch in commands…

And then the computers went off again.

“The hell?”

Katarn hit the computer, hoping to coax it back to life.

“Another power failure?”

The engineer Jelico posed the question to shook his head. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t the generators, as the lights were working perfectly.

Jelico was about to hit the computer himself when it blinked back on. Only the pattern it displayed he had never seen before. It was black with scrolling lines of vertical symbols in a language he had never seen before. And then he heard it.

Whispers.

Millions of them.

He heard them from all around, and realized that every computer on the bridge was displaying the same pattern, and must have served to echo the sound.

“What is that?”

Katarn was furious at the keyboard, trying to get a dialogue, or something in this odd program. Finally, frustrated, he slammed his hand down on the console’s edge.

“I have no idea. It was uploaded when we interfaced with the satellites and now I can’t get anything on this stupid machine. It must be a computer virus… some way to lock us out of our own instruments…”

Jelico shook his head.

”No, they already took out our systems. They must be trying to stop us from something specific…”

Katarn lowered his head and popped it up almost immediately.

”Communicate.”

Jelico nodded.

”Yes, I think you’ve got it. It’s possible that’s been on the satellite since they arrived in system, and we just realized it now. It must be… some kind of invasive communicative program, sent out when we interfaced with our satellites. They couldn’t sneak it past our firewalls…”

“…we had to let it in. Damnit. Well, what are our options?”

Jelico turned to the window to begin to think, and when he did, he instantly knew what he had to do.

“Katarn, is the ships internal com still working?”

Katarn shrugged.

“Yes, it doesn’t interface with the main computer at all. Why?”

“Just turn it on.”

Katarn hit the switch to activate the internal communications device, and when he was done he turned to face the captain…

And saw behind him why the captain wanted the com online.

“All hands, this is the Captain. Abandon Ship. Repeat: Abandon Ship.”

***

Ambassador Adelah Kinumaro of the Tholatin Protectorate had been afraid many times in his life. However, he could not remember a time when he had been afraid for his very life.

He had been attempting to call Tholatin when it happened. All of his computers shut off before rebooting with a foreign, alien program running. He didn’t know why. But he suspected it had something to do with the alien vessels that Captain Jelico had mentioned. So his next logical step was to communicate with the Grey Defense.

So grabbing his backup computer systems, and making sure to keep them away from any systems that had been infected with this strange alien virus, he connected to the Grey Defense and sent them a message informing them of his situation.

And Grey Defense had replied… with the alien computer virus, infecting his backup computers as well, and rendering him unable to contact anyone. Completely isolated in his office and without a way to contact his homeworld, Kinumaro took the streets to find absolute anarchy.

The Geonosians, only hours before a somber people, were rallying in the streets. He didn’t know why, but they were chanting, and dancing. And then he saw a group of Geonosians fluttering around a human, smacking him about the face with rocks. Kinumaro, not normally a violent person, did still keep in his compound a blaster pistol, and he quickly retrieved it. He fired into the swarm of Genosians about the battered human, and the scuttled away quickly.

He quickly rushed to the man’s side, pouring water on his bloodied face. He raised his chin, making sure he was conscious, and saw the man’s eyes open when he realized whom it was who had saved him.

“Thank you, Ambassador. I’m Dennik Katarn.”

“Commander Katarn, of the Grey Defense? What are you doing down here?”

Katarn shook his head.

“I was from the Grey Defense. It’s been destroyed.”

“Destroyed? How? Where’s Captain Jelico?”

Again, Katarn shook his head, clearly still in shock.

”Jelico is dead. He refused to leave the ship. The Grey… the Grey Defense… they shot some kind, some kind of acid… it ate right through our hull, and completely bypassed our shields. We were already on the way to the planet when their fleet opened up with the big guns.”

Kinumaro nodded. Behind Katarn, he could see the escape pods dropping out of the sky. He could see, as well, a large shadow dropping through the clouds.

“Is that…”

Katarn nodded.

”I ordered all of our soldiers to form a collapsing box around this position. When that ship lands, and those alien bastards start charging on the cities, we will defend you. Do you have a ship?”

Kinumaro gulped.

“No.”

“That might be a problem.”

Katarn reached into the flap of his jumpsuit, and pulled a small communicator from it.

“Engineering… yeah, this is Katarn, we may have a problem… yes, that’s it… how long would it take? I’ll give him my com… no, I’m sure… get started as soon as possible… yes.”

Katarn gestured for Kinumaro to take the comlink.

“Take it. There are several abandoned vessels on this world from the Clone Wars that are about 100 years past their prime. I’ve sent our vessels engineering department to go and get at least one of them to work. They’re going to send you a message when they’ve got one in working order, and let you know where you need to get. Until then, stay in your office and stay out of the firefight. This isn’t going to be very pretty.”

With that, Katarn dropped the communicator into his hand. He gestured towards the blaster, which Kinumaro turned over with little hesitation. Katarn winked, his way of saying good luck, and turned to run into battle.

Kinumaro turned and ran into his office, which coincidentally, was his way of saying good luck.

***

Kal Shora savored the feeling.

The familiar feeling of sand beneath his naked feet.

The last time he had felt sand beneath his feet was on Ador. He had taken his children to the beach, and lay beside his wife, the breaking waves of the ocean soothing them both to sleep.

When Kal Shora stepped through this sand, he didn’t smell the familiar scent of sea salt water, or hear the familiar cries of gleeful children.

No. Kal Shora could only smell sweat. And the cries he heard were not those of children, but of grown men being torn in half by rigid metal. This didn’t seem like home.

But if he closed his eyes… and focused on the sand…

He could almost hear his wife sigh contentedly beside him.

He was home.

If only for a fleeting second, he was home…

***

The fighting outside was fierce. He could hear men screaming, crying, gargling through blood a final affirmation. He waited for the comlink to buzz, for the sign to begin running to come.

He waited.

And then they began pounding on the door.

The Serisian spy was tied securely to a chair in the little stone room. On the other side of the one-way mirror, Issk and a group of agents looked at him.

One man, a Kiyaran, frowned at the sight "He won't tell us anything. Seresians are notorious at being able to withstand any interrogation. And if he's a spy, they've probably spent an extra long time conditioning him."

"I'm not so sure" said Issk, with a long frown "This is important, we need to know what it is they're not saying. I think we can convince him to talk, but we're going to need a lot more then raw fear or psychological mind-games to get a clear and true answer."

One of his men nodded, and left the room. A few moments later, he entered into the small room with the spy. The Seresian contemptuosly spat at him, but the Azguard merely wiped it off. He stepped over to the Seresians, and transfixed him with a harsh glare.

Confused, the spy looked back. It was just a big alien, glaring at him. Inside the room with Issk, the Kiyaran spoke up again "What is this, anyways? What's he going to do?"

Issk waved for him to be patient, as the Azguard continued to glare at the spy. The spy felt awkward, and tried to edge away from the Azguard, but his chair was firmly bolted in place.

The Kiyaran, and the spy, both finally noticed that the Azguard was edging almost imperceptibly closer to the spy. So slow, it was almost impossible to notice. The spy felt most uncomfortable with this, and leaned as far aways as he could.

Then, the Azguard finally spoke, very slowly. "What is going on?"

The confused and worried spy simply murmured "Nothing."

But the Azguard was getting closer. His fangs and claws were more and more visible, more and more looming.

The Azguard repeated his question, and the spy once again refused. Now he was very close, seemingly breathing down the Seresians' neck. He asked once more.

"I don't know-"

Finally, the Azguard swung his massive, clawed hand barely an inch from the spy's face. He pulled back in fear, and the Azguard continued to glare harshly.

The spy began to sweat. Why the hell wasn't this guy blinking? Or even moving? What was going on here?

"What do you know?"
This time, the spy seriously considered his position. The alien seemed ready to kill him, and it seemed as if it was going to be a painful slow death. He had been trained against such things, but this was different. This time, some psycho alien seemed ready to slowly kill him with his bare hands as if it was nothing. It wasn't as if he knew much as it was.

"Well" He said, nervously. "I don't really know what's-"

The Azguard grabbed him, hurled him to the floor, and leapt over him, claws raised, and never breaking eye-contact.

"Something's coming!" The spy screamed "Something, all right?! Put the claws down, I don't know anything else!"

The Azguard, at last, broke eye contact and left the room. The spy panted, terrified, and tried to lift himself back upright.

"Something's coming" murmured Issk, mulling this new information over. "I knew it. And it might have something to do with those warp anomalies. Whatever it is, it's not good. I want us to be ready for it."

"Straighten that line!" barked the sargent, as the Azguard troops filed into the trench at the edge of the city. It was a drill repeated every day, and the same complaints were voiced every day about the heat, the dryness, the uncomfortable suits, and the difficulties of training, but the sargent didn't care. He got them to their positions, had them go through the motions of moving around the trench, all the usual stuff, and once he was satisfied, he marched them all out again.

Issk envied their simple routine, and turned back to the work at hand. It was beginning to annoy him, it really was. He knew something, some external threat was approaching, unfortunately he couldn't tell what it was, or what to do about it.

"Prometheus." He said. His loyal AI book-keeper appeared. "Run another check on galactic powers, look for any alien races or governments that we could link to the Seresians."

Prometheus sighed, in a wave of static "Oh all right" he said "But you know I won't find anything."

Once Prometheus was gone, Issk looked out over the planet again. What the hell was he waiting for? What was out there already?

He looked at him with contempt. He was weak… unable to avoid even a stupid people such as the Geonosians. He was an embarrassment to the Jedi. He made him sick.

Obi Wan Kenobi.

Reckless, arrogant, careless.

How typical of the Jedi, when he gave it a moment’s thought.

“You traitor!”

The Jedi spat at him, hateful. How pathetic, to abandon your principles, your righteous stance, when trapped in a corner. It was quite sad.

“Hello, my friend. This is a mistake, a terrible mistake! They’ve gone too far, this time! This is madness!”

Dooku looked at him, struggling to hold back a laugh. Obi Wan looked at him with great derision.

“I thought you were the leader here, Dooku.”

How perceptive, young Jedi. Qui Gon would be proud. Dooku held back his smile, raising his hands in protest.

“I assure you, this has nothing to do with me! I promise you that I will petition immediately to secure your release.”

Obi Wan got a smug look on his face, and Dooku knew that he was aware of his lies.

“Well, I hope it doesn’t take too long. I have work to do.”

Obi Wan’s voice practically dripped sarcasm as he spoke. Dooku laughed internally at how easily malleable Obi Wan’s emotions were.

“If I may ask… why is a Jedi Knight all the way out here, on Geonosis?”

Obi Wan answered almost immediately.

“I’ve been tracking a bounty hunter, known as Jango Fett. Have you seen him?”

Dooku cursed himself. He knew that the Bounty Hunter was more trouble then he was worth. He was quick to regain his composure, however, and shook his head adamantly.

“There are no bounty hunters here, at least, not any that I am aware of. The Geonosisans… they don’t trust them. You understand.”

Obi Wan nodded, as best he could.

“Who can blame them. But Fett is here... I can assure you of that.”

Dooku nodded. He wanted to change the subject… play with Obi Wan’s emotions a bit more, before he dropped his bombshell upon him. He considered briefly how best to upset Obi Wan, but it was an easy decision.

“It is a pity… no, a great pity, that our paths have never crossed before, Obi Wan Kenobi. Qui Gon always spoke highly of you…. very highly, indeed.”

He let out of a loud sigh.

“I wish he were still alive… I could certainly use his help right now.”

“Qui Gon would never join you!”

Ah, anger, as expected. Dooku was embarrassed at how ineffective his old friend had been at teaching this one emotional control.

“Don’t be so sure, my young Jedi friend. You forget that Qui Gon was once my apprentice, just as you were once his. He knew… he knew all about the corruption in the senate. How it was a perversion of democracy. But he never would have went along with it, if he had known the truth.”

He felt curiosity radiate off Obi Wan then. But he knew his suspicious nature would be unable to accept what he said, even when he would speak the complete truth.

“The truth…”

He paused, allowing his statement to become more and more ominous before he continued speaking.

“What if I told you that the Republic was being manipulated and controlled by a Sith Lord?”

Obi Wan did his best to vehemently shake his head.

“No… no, that is not possible! The Jedi Council would be aware!”

Dooku, struggling to withhold his laughter, managed to look down and shake his head. He composed himself before he looked Obi Wan in the eye.

“The Dark Side of the Force is clouding their vision. Hundreds of Senators, even now, are doing the bidding of a Sith Lord known as Darth Sideous.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“No… at first, I didn’t believe it myself. But the Viceroy of the Trade Federation, and his men, worked for this Sith Lord, but he betrayed them almost ten years ago. He came to me for help, and explained everything. I went to the Jedi Council but they did not believe me, and they refused to begin an investigation. That is why I left… that is why I am here now…”

Dooku gave him a few seconds to take it all. He considered, that Obi Wan could be easily swayed to the darkside… if his argument had convinced him. He had to ask.

“Obi Wan… this is critical to the survival of the Republic. You must join me! Only together can we expose and destroy the Sith!”

Obi Wan lowered his head in consideration, before raising it and looking him directly in the eye.

“I will never join you, Dooku.”

The Count sighed, shaking his head as he walked away. He stopped at the door.

“It may be difficult to secure your release.”

Obi Wan shook his head as Dooku turned his back to him. As he strode from the room and the door closed behind him, he was smiling. The Geonosian politician fluttered just outside the room, looking up at Dooku. His grin grew wider.

“Kill him.”

Kal Shora walked into the cheering crowd, chanting an alien language at those who had come to kill the evil Tholatin people. Kal Shora continued to bow, as the people just continued to chant. Finally, he raised his hands, and they all took it to mean he was preparing to speak.

Kal Shora, though, remained silent as the Tek’a’tara carried a cybernetic nexus to him. It loomed over him, at least twice his size. It was an impressive sight to behold, blocking out the sun and casting a shadow on the crowd.

Kal Shora leveled his hand at one of the Geonosian children, urging him to come forward. He did, hesitantly. Kal Shora took one of his hands and gently ran it cross the forehead of the child, before he made the gesture he recognized as a point, aimed at a loaf of bread in his hand. The child shook his head, retreating to the arms of one of his parents. They both nodded, but the child continued to shake his head. Finally, one of the older Geonosians took the loaf of bread, and gave the child another. Knowing he would not give away his family’s only source of food for the next cycle, he was less apprehensive, and he gave Kal Shora the extra loaf of bread. Kal Shora patted the child on the forehead again, before he turned and retreated back into the crowd.

With the bread in one hand, Kal Shora used his other to press a switch on the nexus. One of its compartments slid open vertically, doing so with a sharp hiss. The assembled Geonosians gasped and shuffled backwards, but Kal Shora didn’t move, and slowly, curious, they moved forward again. Kal Shora laid the bread into the compartment, and ran his hand over a panel on the nexus. With a click and a whirr, a mechanical arm, of a sort, very thin and with a clawed end, jammed itself into the loaf of bread. A few of the onlookers gasped again, but many leaned forward, curious. The metal arm extracted itself, and Kal Shora took the piece of bread from the compartment and handed it to the child. He then held up his hands like one of those preachers on the holonet, trying to get attention. But everyone, he noted, was staring at him already. Still, the gesture indicated that he wanted them to see him… and they then leaned forward, anxious as to what he would do next. He didn’t make them wait long, as he swiveled on his three legs, leveling his torso with the ground and reaching, with two hands, for a handful of the sand they were all standing on. He promptly deposited it in the open compartment, and then reached back down and deposited another. He then pushed a button on the device, and the compartment slid closed.

Kal Shora then repeated the gesture with his hands, stepping back. All eyes were on him, until the compartment slid open with another hiss. This time, it spewed a large amount of vapor. This vapor, steam, continued to billow out of the compartment for several minutes until it dissipated to reveal, in the compartment, a loaf of bread. The child from earlier fluttered forth and retreated as Kal Shora stepped forward again. Reaching out, he grabbed the bread in his three fingers, and turned it to point at the child. He apprehensively approached and Kal Shora held it out to his head. He leaned in, cautious, as the bread was still warm. And then all fear left him as he took a small bite of it. He chewed it, considering, and then turned to the elders. He spoke in his language, quickly, excitedly, and all those around began to smile and exchange dialogue with their colleagues. And then, Kal Shora silenced them all with the sound of metal scraping gently against metal. In the Cree’Ar’s hand was a Vy'reia'la; weapon of the priesthood. It’s long, black blade pointed directly to the setting sun. He turned to the crowd, and his sword turned with him. They moved as he walked forward, his three legs turning and pressing into the sand. Finally, he reached his destination. He locked his eyes on his target and brought his sword up, and then brought it arcing down, slicing the loaf of bread in half.

“Tar'r'ara'dool! Ga'jak'ta'Gee'd'ja!”

And although no Geonosian understood what he meant, they all cheered. Each and every one of them raised their hands in celebration. Geonosians rushed to help, as nexus after nexus was unloaded from the Cree’Ar vessels. The Cree’Ar Dominion had broken bread on Geonosis.

***

He sat in the dark room. Considering it was just metal and dust, one wall was surprisingly moist. At first, he had avoided it. He could be in the factory district, in which case that water was poisonous. Even if it was ground water, he wasn’t sure he could trust it. But when he saw it pooling on the floor and not stripping the metal, he realized he would be all right. And so he sipped deep from the elixir of life. And then he realized he had been starving.

He usually didn’t skip meals, but he had been so damned busy he had skipped lunch. With odd communiqués coming from orbit he has been too busy to sit down and relax with a hot meal. And so he sat, now, in the dusty room somewhere under Geonosis, waiting.

And waiting.

Finally, the roof above him spiraled open. The sun shone down on him for the first time in however many hours he had been down there. And then there was nothing. He shuffled closer to the hole, and saw two large shadows obscuring the sun.

He waited.

He waited for them to throw food.

He waited for them to ask questions.

He waited for the inevitable. He waited for them to execute him.

But none of that happened. Instead, unexplainably, it began to rain.

It was gentle at first, and then it began to pour. Slowly, it began to seep into his clothes and a collation formed at his feet. And before he knew it, he was knee deep in sand. Finally, squinting to protect his eyes, he vehemently raised a finger to the sky and spoke.

“I demand to be released! Under Tholatin law…”

“T’jach’a.”

“What did he say? I demand that I have a translator and ambassador present if I a…”

“I will serve as both.”

The voice that came forth was metallic, robotic. Discompasionate.

“I demand a neutral party!”

One of the figures nodded, and then his vision was obscured as more and more sand washed over his body. It came heavier and faster then ever. Finally, he had had enough.

“Stop! Stop pouring the sand!”

It stopped almost immediately. He was now chest deep, but he pushed some of it away, and it began to spill from its neat pile to spread about the room.

“What do you want with me?’

There was a discussion from the metallic voice in the alien language. Then, the more natural alien voice spoke. The two conferred for several minutes.

“Nothing.”

He didn’t understand, and he stated so.

“Adelah Kinumaro, your position as ambassador to Geonosis is no longer required. Your diplomatic immunity is therefore terminated. And so the Cree’Ar Dominion have taken you into custody for crimes including genocide, terrorism, and fraud.”

The diplomat was incredulous.

“These are preposterous charges! I demand to be released!”

The voice was calm and swift in its answer.

“Denied.”

”I want a lawyer…”

”Denied.”

”…and I demand contact with Tholatin!”

”Denied.”

He shook the sand off his shoulder angrily, wanting to pull his blaster and fire. He grabbed for it and found it removed.

“Listen, you damn machine, I am a human being. I can’t be kept here without food and water!”

The voice once again turned to his companion and began speaking in the alien language. The two took a long time discussing their answer. Finally, the diplomat turned to them with a defiant and angry face.

“I demand an answer sir!”

The figure nodded, and the poor former ambassador was doused once again in sand.

“The answer, sir, is that you have been fed. Through your careless economic policy, ruthless demand for productivity, and careless lack of regard for Geonosian safety, you left them defenseless, isolated, and with no sources of food, ecology, or agriculture to speak of. They were left with nothing but sand and polluted water. It is thus our determination that in lieu of the death penalty for genocide, you will be left, isolated, with sand and poisoned water. You may live as your Tholatin Republic would wish the Geonosians to live.”

With that, the ceiling of the room began to spiral closed again. The shouts of the ambassador went unheeded, and he was left with one last statement in the monotonous voice he would remember for the rest of his presumably short life.

“You asked, sir, to let you eat. Now we let you eat sand.”

***

It was some hours into the night. Most of the nexuses had been installed. But that didn’t concern him.

He was hungry.

While the adults had welcomed the aliens with food and drink, accepting their technology and splitting a feast with them, the children had been largely left on their own. Without food. And thus it was not surprising that he now was hungry. And so he went to the table, and he found the piece of bread. He lifted it into the air, admiring it, and finding his previous bite impression. He wasted little time then after before bringing it to his mouth, and taking another, larger bite.

And immediately, he spat the bite from his mouth, and threw the bread to the ground. The bread tasted awful, and dirty. His people had been deceived. He had to let them know.

As he came running into the village, he saw the Cree’Ar elder, nodding, deceiving. Lying to his people in a language they didn’t understand. He began shouting, lifting up the bread, trying to get their attention.

Kal Shora, despite his large size, was incredibly quick, twisting his hips as the brought his Vy'reia'la to bear. The child looked down to see if he was cut, and saw that the loaf of bread was coated in what he recognized to be blood. He felt his chest getting wet, and then his knees hitting the ground, the air rushing past his face as he fell, and finally felt nothing, dead before his body hit the ground.

Following it was the loaf of bread that had been in the child’s hands. It fell with good velocity, and when it hit the ground the crust of the bread shattered to reveal its contents. The bread had been hallow of a fashion; bread crust surrounding what was now blood-stained sand.
The Geonosians, not used to having their children brutally murdered steps from their homes by alien invaders, reacted as one would expect; with a mixture of anger and confusion. They did not react fast enough, as Kal Shora merely nodded before appendages shot forth from the nexuses. They need merely touch the Geonosians, who fell almost instantly in spastic pain. The first step of the conversion for Geonosian to Geo’terra. Before the conversion process began, the nanotechnological circuitry searched for and paralyzed the nerves of the host organism, both those receiving commands, and those sending pain and other stimuli. It was the humane thing to do, as the physical conversion process was very delicate and apparently very painful.

As he watched the Geonosians writhe and grunt on the sandy floor, loved ones crawling to comfort them before being injected as well, he was forced once again to ponder his great mission. There was no doubt in his mind that the Yuuzhan Vong needed to be completely and utterly eliminated with all due force. And it was also doubtless in his mind that the weapons created by the Geonosians could allow him greater force with which to hunt down the Yat'a'leg'a'lora. And there was no doubt that before his arrival, the sovereign system of Geonosis had been abandoned by the Tholatin Republic and was left for dead.

Only one doubt stood in his mind. Whether any of this was necessary.

When the Yuuzhan Vong had first made war with the Cree’Ar, he realized that he hadn’t cared. He was young and eager to fight, yes, but he had fought. The Parrow Lin, the Mar’z Aan. Both campaigns had asked him to fight, and to kill. He saw those around him fall and die, and none of it mattered. It could have ended, or it could have continued. He realized now in, reflection, that until the catastrophe at Ador, the Cree’Ar had been a stoic and disenfranchised people, so used to wars that were so impersonal. Discompassionate about the very survival of their race.

No, when the Yuuzhan Vong destroyed Ador, they miscalculated horrendously. Besides the point of them starting an unwinnable war, they had actually served to galvanize the Cree’Ar. It had thrust them into an almost fanatical willingness to find and destroy the perpetrators of such a heinous attack on the innocent. It thrust the Skey’g’aar, longtime tenuous companions yet never truly accepted friends of the Cree’Ar, into the limelight as millions of them volunteered to serve under a completely unified cause where before was only a hollow, uneasily erected banner symbolism a united nation that just wasn’t there.

The destruction of Ador was a catalyst to Kal Shora. When he learned that his home of several decades was destroyed and his entire family was dead, he felt a fire inside him that scriptures alone had never ignited, though it had always been there. He was a driven, passionate man, as evidenced by the future swift strokes of his blade, and unwavering loyalty as he drove the Yat'a'leg'a'lora closer and closer to their eventual fate as a distant, disheartening memory in the mind of the Cree’Ar. He felt he could fight forever. He was wrong.

Over the years, as his body aged, his mind remained faster. It continued to expand and grow, always considering, always pondering, philosophizing, relating. And eventually he began to realize what he was, in the galactic scheme of things. Kal Shora had always been used. His fire, legitimate and burning, had been tested, and then it had been exploited. Eventually, drained, it faded, and Kal Shora forced himself to rekindle it, time and time again, until he could no longer find it within himself. And for the first time in his life, standing over the bloody body of an innocent child, he questioned his mission; it’s overall aim and whether it was justification for this. Centuries after his service began, he found it could not continue anymore in this fashion. To kill for the sake of killing would not serve him any longer. Although inside a fire still remained, it was buried on the burnt bodies of his compatriots, and though he tried to light it again, all he served to accomplish was to bring fresh to his mind, the screams of his comrades in arms, giving their lives for fallacy of prophecy.

And so he resigned himself to the task, the task which had brought about these revelations. With Vy'reia'la entrenched firmly in his hand, he strode throughout the village, and as he came upon them, he killed the Geonosian children. Although with each slash of his ceremonial blade he felt a small piece of his heart revile him in contempt, it was honestly the only way to save them. The Tholatin Republic had defaulted on their option to, in the slightest, attempt to save the Geonosian children. They had left them, without food or protection, to die. Although the Cree’Ar conversion to cybernetic servitude would keep them alive, they would never truly live. They would know war, yet not know the reason for war, nor the rewards, of life beyond it. They would know nothing but the binary processes of life in the Dominion. And Kal Shora knew that was no life at all.

And thought it hurt him to do so, and more then once they had doubtless begged him not to, he had killed the Geonosian children. They would be deprived of a life without purpose or reason, devoted to gods that may or may not have existed.

They would not share his disgrace.

Prometheus had returned, empty-handed of course. There just didn't seem to be anything to find. Issk would go mad before figuring out what was going on.

Outside though, things were buisness as usual. People bustled about, guards made their rounds. It was, as far as Kiyar went, as picturesque as it ever got.



And somewhere, in a distant warehouse, one extra crate of fruit was delivered from a supply ship, although no one noticed in the hustle and bustle.



***



"Man, I'm starving" said Murdock, local Distribution Manager for the Food Dropoff point. He'd complained the stretches between supply shipments were too long, but it wasn't like there was anything anyone could do. Murdock was also an Azguard, which meant he towered over the Kiyarans which assited him in his duties. He couldn't speak their language, either, but that hadn't been a problem yet because all they had to do was open the box and hand out food to people.



He went back to a shipment roster, checking off each crate as he came to it. It looked like everything was in order, until he got to the end of the list, and saw there was still one more crate. He frowned.



"'S funny" he said "I don't think we were schedualed for any bonus." Maybe then, he wondered, they had accepted his complaint that they weren't getting enough food? If so, he wondered what they had sent. Two friendly Kiyarans whos names he could not pronounce but he remembered as Bill and Ted stepped forwards to open the box. Murdock waved them away, deciding to tackle this one himself.


With a huge effort, the top of the box came off, and he peered inside. There was something, something -

A twisting metal arm with a syringe at the end lashed out, injecting something into his neck. Murdock roared and staggered back, fell, and contorted horribly. The two Kiyarans screamed and ran, but a half-dozen more arms tore the box apart, revealing a gleaming metal construct, like a ball with arms. The door was locked, one Kiyaran fiddled with the key as the other was dragged screaming by an arm. The first Kiyaran turned in time to see another arm with a syringe heading straight for him.