Issk's mind was racing. The creature that faced him was much more amiable now, but his request for the right to cure the associated medical conditions made him suspicious. Surely he did not think they had come unprepared? The Kiyarans who remained had obviously adapted existance on their world to protect them adequetly from the devastated nature of their planet. The Coalition forces, too, had brought quite a lot in the manner of cleansers, shielding, haz-suits, and more in their relief supplies.

Maybe, if he could stall the alien long enough, he would drop it as a condition. But then again, he'd been rather adamant about it. Issk needed to buy more time to find an answer.

"I would be honoured to participate in your 'Las’a’s’aor D’ao Lin'. But, as it is necessary to point out, that for practical purposes we are at what appears to be war, and such a practice might be seen as unusual by both my side and yours. Indeed, I take it it might have been difficult as it is merely for you to appear here and negotiate, which I appreciate. If you feel it would be wise to proceed, however, I am willling to do so."

________________________________________________________________

The soldiers were still jostling for space on the wall, as tensions ebbed and flowed on the lightest guestures and most fleeting of theories as to the outcome.

Although the sentries were experienced and vigilant, rooted to place by a mixture of duty and fear, not one saw that which nestled in amongst the cracked stones of a Kiyaran temple. The temple had been abandoned for years, as the Kiyarans' faith had ebbed in the face of the horrors inflicted on them, and it had fallen into disrepair. But it was adequete for this.

Finally comfortable in amongst the spires - which meant more about being invisible to sight then somewhere soft to lie down - that which rested there glacially removed the backpack it bore under its' camoflauge, and gently stationed it solidly in place. From there, it slowly lowered itself, and directed the pack's point to the sky. Finally satisfied, it directed its' own attentions to the Alien that now stood facing Issk. And it waited.

After a few moments, one of the tek’a’tara returned with two containers. They held the resemblance of cups, pinched in and then fitted with a rectangular, plastic nozzle. They were placed on the table, and Kal Shora did not immediately ask for it… rather, he began to talk about it.

“It is known as riz’o’kaan. It is a very simple, very palatable and very compatible supplement. It should not cause any ill effect with your system.”

He then reached a taloned hand forward, and the cyborg lifted the container to him. Encircling his short fingers around it, Kal Shora nodded his head when his compatriot did not do the same with his.

“I understand your apprehension; and I will not take it as a sign of disrespect, although all things indoctrinated, I should. I will instead offer a compromise; you may dine of your own delights, on the condition that you have a serving brought for me as well.”

Issk did not appear to show any sign of abject revulsion, although Kal Shora had time ago surmised that attempting to read the alien would be an exercise in the art of futility. Kal Shora again, slowly, nodded his head.

“And with your consent…”

Having earlier agreed and again, displaying not outward sign of disapproval, Issk gave Kal Shora a silent air of acceptance.

And so, with opposing hand, Kal Shora made the minutest of gestures, which seemed to open the container to the planet’s air. Inside the contents bubbled up and out, a blue mist that hung as if a cloud of dew, making the Cree’Ar’s features clouded behind a murky condensation, thinning out as it expanded and contorted along the ridges and bumps of the old warriors face and head. Slowly, the vapor began to bend, twisting and skewing as if being sucked from the air, until what was left was so thin that it became completely transparent, leaving only a dim blue hue against the starlight until that, too, faded away.

“Food… such an interesting thing. I have been told that, although we are not sure how Azgaurd physiology functions, that humanoids like you often eat their food in solid form, allowing a series of concentrated acid and base mixtures, created and stored internally, to break them down. I did not at first believe it until I saw a dissection. The pain must be tremendous… I wonder if it is connected to your inexplicable aggression… present company excluded, of course.”

If Issk was offended, he once again showed no sign.

“How much of the coalition budget… such a funny word… budget… how much of your allocated expendable resources would it require for you to feed the people of Kiyar for a year? A decade? A millennia? Have you considered the state of your core worlds in a millennia? The collapsing stars, the volatile gases…

The problems in your galaxy are numerous, and yet, with miniscule knowledge of space and time you have coined yourselves champions of a new era… a new era of what? I look at Kiyar… radiated and ill it’s people lurched, growing more debilitated as the days go by… how long has it been, preoccupied by the wars and truces, since your government last sent relief?

Kiyar has begun to fade from the limelight and with each passing day the star of this system grows dimmer. How long until you are forced to concede that you cannot afford to help this world, one listless world, interspersed amongst so many great tragedies? How long will it take until you must outright abandon the people of Kiyar, world in shambles, deprived of even the simple and basic nesscessity of food?

What if I told you that you need not face that reality?

What if I told you that I can feed the people of Kiyar…

Forever…”

Issk paused, to consider the question.

"I would say there have been false messiahs before. It is natural for someone to feel skepticism when told that the people commading a vicious plague of undeath are in fact here to take care of those people and save the planet. That hardly leaves any goodwill for you to work with.

"The Coalition is willing to shoulder responsibility for this place, and has done quite successfully until now. Considering few - if any - organizations in the galaxy are prepared for a sudden zombie-creating army to sweep into existance, we did fairly well under the circumstances. However, other circumstances you have made us aware of, such as the difficulty involved in ceasing hostilities, means we have little choice now. Wether we want to or not, it seems, you are going to take custody of this world, and by your own terms.

"Thus, I will say, that although I have obvious reasons to suspect everything from your motives to your statements about you intentions for this place, if you could take care of the planet and its' inhabitants, we would be bound to leave this place in your care, for you would be able to care for it much better then we."

Issk took a pause as the mysterious 'vapour food' matter floated towards him. He was unsure at first just how to consume it, settling in the end to breathe it in. The effect was somewhat discomforting, but not fatal, which relieved Issk greatly. He guestured to the wall, and explained something quietly to an attendant.

They waited in silence a few moments, before the attendant returned with a cracked plate with rations upon it. The rations were plain - little more then energy-bars that had all the important vitamins and minerals, and no taste. "I apologize to say that this is all we really have left. Despite our best efforts, discipline has seen a slight down-turn with regards to supplies, what with the past pattern of destruction suggesting a quick end to the conflict."

He gave the alien another look. "It appears to me that, under the circumstances, it would be very unlikely you could eat our food, especially considering you do not have a mouth."

Kal Shora would have smiled, if he had a mouth.

“I don’t imagine that I could. However, I did not have you bring it for eating.”

Kal turned to one of his tek’a’tara.

“Ra’z fo’shan.”

The cyborg nodded silently, shuffling away. Another slid in and took his place, needing no command to do so.

“You see, it is a matter of simple mathematics. Your government, while impressive when considered against the myriad corporations, territories, and Empires of this galaxy, is still isolated, and small, spanning only a fraction of the inhabitable planets of this galaxy. The Cree’Ar Dominion spans many galaxies… an Empire entrenched across millions of worlds. Our production capability is far beyond yours.

The structure of your government, as well, is somewhat non-applicable towards the end of terraforming and planetary reclamation. Put simply, and I do speak as one who is educated only so much as one can be from reading partisan history, analysis, and miscellaneous reports, your galaxies concepts of commerce and economy are highly irregular. It is a question to us as to why a people who proclaim to be interested in equality do not simply abolish concepts such as ownership, property…

Nevertheless, these are all factors as to why your government appears, at face, inferior to the Sovereign Domine of Borleas Quayver. I do admit that your government is done the disadvantage of time… and do submit that your moral convictions, though misguided, are strong. However, you and your people still have a long way to go, on the universal scale, and at the present time, it appears that your compassion and your ambition outweighs your means. It is admirable that you desire to save these people, and others, from factors beyond their control, but it would be best not to attempt to save them from factors beyond your control. You should not make promises that you cannot, all things considered, deliver.

It is a promise that we, however, can deliver.”

By now, the cyborg had returned, though he did not come empty handed. His cold fingers were wrapped around a metallic tower, standing, held as it was, many feet over the top of the tent. Many of the Coalition men recognized it… though Issk did not move, many of them either backed away or found themselves taking a defensive position. They indeed recognized it, and recognized it well.

The cybernetic nexus was, all considered, impressive. Standing over the height of even the considerably large Cree’Ar, the metallic tower would have glistened but for a black sheen. It was smooth, protruding occasionally a thin, metallic probe. It looked ominous inert, although Kal Shora did not show any fear. He rose… and opened his palms.

”You may recognize this. Some of your soldiers clearly do. This is a cybnernetic nexus… it is part of a network of like devices spread across our entire fleet. The entirety of their function is of no concern to you were I at liberty to discuss it, however, I will summarize now it’s functions that pertain to my bringing it here. The Nexus is beyond the scope of your scientific understanding, so I will merely tell you what it does and not how or why. The Nexus is capable of modifying and creating, or destroying, matter and energy. It can turn one to the other, back again, or turn both into nothingness almost instantaneously. It was the Nexus that facilitated the large armies you see before you, for they created the first soldiers who then created more.

The ability to create soldiers, however, is but a small part of what the Nexus is ultimately capable of. As mentioned, it can create matter from energy, or change the configuration of matter entirely. Observe…”

Kal Shora took the rations he had been provided, opening them and then pressing a button on the obelisk beside. A compartment on the nexus slid open, and Kal Shora placed the food inside. It was jabbed by one of the probes.

“The Nexus can sample anything… biological, technological, or chemical, energy of all wavelength… and recreate it at a later time to the exact specifications of the sampled material. The Nexus can create metal, it can create weapons, it can create clothing, medical supplies…”

The probe finished, Kal Shora removed the rations. He reached down, grabbing a handful of sand. He placed his palm inside, allowing the sand to drip into the compartment, then used his other talons to slide the compartment closed.

“The Nexus can also create food. Consider, the ability to double food reserves in a matter of hours. To create an entire new stockpile in but a matter of days. Beyond, consider…”

The compartment on the nexus slid open. Kal Shora, prepared, reached a taloned hand through the steam, pulling a complete and perfect replica of the ration pack out and placing it next to it’s counterpart on the plate provided for him. He slid them, without even looking or pausing his speech, to Issk.

”…consider creating an infrastructure here. Each Nexus has the power to turn the irradiated sand into energy, and with that energy, to create food. Each Nexus has the ability to purify the water, and once done, tek’a’tara can lay fields, and the people of this world can grow their own food. No longer will they need relief. No longer will need your services.

All I ask, Azguard, is time. Time to bring the equipment here and begin to make the people healthy enough that they can eventually take care of themselves. Until such a time…”

Kal Shora stopped. Another creature, similar in physiology to him, appeared near him. It was one of his Pe't'ara D'oo'l, though all observers could ascertain was that he was… likely… of Kal Shora’s race. Kal turned to him and began to speak to him, rather then to Issk.

“P’edr’o sh’a’n.”

“Tam pe’d’ra pe’d’ra g’a’al.”

“Fo’shwen? Pa’a’z ro’shan?”

“Ra’d ra’a’shan. Pe’z’ra’go’o’ran.”

The other creature bowed, taking his leave. Kal Shora turned back to Issk.

“I am afraid that I must take leave of you, now. Consider your options. I will return when I am able, and I hope that I will be accepting your surrender at that time.”

Issk returned to Devon with much on his mind. The instant he was back, officers and guards rushed in around him and enclosed him in a tight phalanx.

"What was that thing?"

"What do they want?"

"Are we really going to surrender?"

"Will we survive?"

Issk waved for them to quiet down. "We have been offered the opportunity to surrender by some sort of alien race from a distant galaxy. It could have been lying, but then, there is nothing for it to gain from deceiving us, as it has us at it's knife-point. Apparently this is all some sort of accident, or something like that. What it boils down to is that if we turn over custody of the planet to them, and subject ourselves to a cleaning, they will let us go."

"Well, thank the gods." said an officer "We can just surrender and be off."

"Are you mad?" said another, older officer "We've seen what these idiots have done so far, do you really want to give control of this place to THEM? Hell, would the Kiyarans want to be ruled by THEM? I'm guessing maybe half the population of the planet's just been killed - unintentionally apparently - and these same people are now just going to take kind care of the rest of them for free? That's some bullshit there, that really is."

Issk calmed him down, and took some time to consider. "I must speak with Prometheus. Maintain the watch, tell everyone that there is a temporary cease-fire in effect, but that any action on either side might break it, so be careful. Keep things going down here."

Alone now, he departed for the main command bunker, where a hologram of Prometheus awaited him.

"Ah, good to see you sir." it said. "I deployed the support, as you requested. He is holding his position."

"And the rely device? Is it in position? Can you reach the fleet?"

Prometheus sagged here, and shook his head. "Unfortunately, I cannot. But I do have some limited scanning abilities restored. It appears there are objects in orbit. It's hard to tell, but they don't seem to be Coalition vessels. So far as I can see, they are on some sort of high alert. I cannot reach much further then that, but there is something to their movements. They are expecting something."

Issk looked up. So am I.

***

(Sorry to bump, but really, this was falling to the fourth page.)

The Viscount Star Defender, offering the Coalition Registry as their flagship, Coalition, appeared from the fabric of hyperspace in a flash. Flashing behind it appeared an equally impressive amount of support ships. They began to fan out and, slowly, to move in.

Shran Badaar stood with his hand on his chin, eyes billowing mist. He was silent and stoic, in sharp contrast to the bustle of his bridge, contemplating his command with all facets of his experience and his knowledge.

And found himself at a loss.

So he turned to his lesser command.

“Options.”

One of his officers strode forward, taloned hand shifting the visage into his desired fleet formation.

“Preemptive strike. Take the Attack Cruisers forward and cut the distance, disable the vessels, and then cut them down with the warships.”

Badaar nodded slowly, as another officer moved his hand and in turn shifted the Cree’Ar fleet.

“Flank them. Spread our Cruisers forward but also out, and wait for them to come. We outnumber their vessels three to two, and are millennia superior technologically. They have no chance.”

To this, Badaar also nodded.

“The element of surprise can not be understated. Move our cruisers forward…”

“There is another way.”

“…but have them hold their fire, at least, for now.”

Badaar swiveled on his hips, stepping to match. He faced the Skey’g’aar at the door and regarded him with inquisitive eye.

“Zeratul. So nice to see you again.”

Zeratul furrowed his brow at that suggestion.

“I am sure.”

“You are well, I trust?”

“As well as one could expect. I will be walking with noticeable discomfort for several days, but it is not yet my worst injury.”

“Good. Have you come to offer advice regarding our current situation?”

“Actually, I require nutritional supplement. But advice I possess as well.”

He began to walk, slowly and with a grimace of pain across his face, to the visage. He moved his hand, drawing the Cree’Ar fleet back to its original position. With his other, he adjusted the position of the Coalition fleet. Badaar looked on, uncertain.

“An excellent idea, Zeratul, but how do you propose we move the Coalition fleet? Surely, your command of the Cor'ai'var does not extend so far?”

Zeratul furrowed brow at him, eyes burning into him with all the loathing he could express.

“I have found during my time in this galaxy that one can accomplish tasks that would seem impossible if he overstates his abilities.”

Shran nodded.

“Are you referring to offering advice where none exists?”

“No. How you ever became a Judicator, I will never know. I am referring to the art of bluster.”

“Bluster… intimidation, threatening? Vocal harassment? That is how I will move the Coalition fleet?”

“Yes, Shran Badaar. If you wish, I will do it for you.”

***

The Viscount Star Defender Coalition was the pride of the New Galactic Coalition’s fleet. When the New Republic began to build the Viscount Star Defenders, there existed a need to find a match for the Empires massive Eclipse and Executor class command ships. While the Viscount was not an exact match, it was a suitable counterpart and would stand the test of time; as a decade later, it remained one of the cornerstones of the battle against the Empire, this time, in the hands of the Outer Rim Sovereignty, and the Galactic Coalition.

Though no longer the backbone it had once been, the Viscount was still one of the most important ships within the structure of the Coalition. The Coalition itself, the only vessel of its class, was as name would indicate the flagship, and it was thus not surprising that it would appear immediately when a protected planet came under duress from a hostile and alien species.

Nor was it surprising, given the stature of the vessel within the hierarchy of its warfleet, that Regrad, the elected leader of the Azguard and one of the most senior members of the New Galactic Coalition, would be aboard it.

What was surprising was that the bridge of the warship was dark.

When the Coalition accepted the Cree’Ar transmission, at first, had come nothing. Then it offered a small hum as it made its way through the Coalition computer. It then disengaged main power aboard the vessel in order to accept the communication.

As the backup generators kicked in and added emergency lights, the Coalition computers set awash a green glow. Across them scrolled an alien communications network, and around them came the alien words and whispers of that same network. It was likely more then a little disconcerting.

“Coalition.”

Came a single, dominant voice. It was robotic and devoid of emotion. When it spoke, however, others did too, echoing over the next few seconds that one simple word. A process that would continue with the words that were to follow.

“The planet known to you as Kiyar has been ordained Sacred Land to the Cree’Ar Dominion by the Divine Decree of Borleas Quayver. Your vessels entering this system is a violation of that decree. You will cease your movement towards the planet immediately. Your failure to do so will be considered a hostile act speaking towards hostile intentions.”

The scrolling text on the Coalition computers was replaced with a representation of the two fleets and their orbits around the planet. A clear red line was drawn along one orbit, and as one of the Coalition vessels was seen to pass it, the Cree’Ar vessels opened fire and destroyed it.

“Further communication is irrelevant. Your desires are irrelevant. You will hold your position and wait for further instruction. Do otherwise, and you may wait for complete destruction.”

The screens went blank, and a few seconds later, main power came back up.

"It is one of two things." said an officer to Regrad's left "Either they intend to provoke us into a trap, or they are just mindless fanatics and actually honestly believe the entire galaxy bows to their decrees."

Regrad sighed. The fleet he had brought was but a fraction of the Coalition's entire force - a force that was spread thin over dozens of star systems. He could clearly tell it was not enough, even from his current vantage point and lack of information in regards to the alien forces.

"What can our sensors and scanning equipment tell us about the situation?" said Regrad "Anything you know, I want to know."

"I don't detect anything, sir. The cities have been ransacked - and not recently, it's clearly been a while."

Regrad sighed. "No comunications?"

"None, sir."

"All right then, I guess we're too late." Regrad fell back into his chair. Not again. Not fucking again. Not for the hundredeth fucking time. He suddenly realized just how heavy his own pistol felt on his belt. How heavy, and how very lethal. But no. There was no easy way out for him. Privately, he cursed himself at this infuriating load he was expected to bear. This damnable weight, that grew with every failure as everyone expected him to solve all their problems and save them from everything, sometimes things he hadn't even heard of or seen before.

"Turn around, we're leaving. There are clearly no survivors." The bridge crew looked shocked.

"But sir! We could still fight them - "

"No, lieutenant, we can't!" Shouted Regrad, suddenly furious. "We can't fight them! We have too few ships, not enough guns or fuel, and are obviously outclassed. It is futile, lieutenant. We are going home, now. We have just lost four hundred thousand people, along with the entire civilian populations of two planets. I fail to see how we can do anything to stop the enemy that the dead could not think of. We're too late, too few, too weak, and uninformed. We are beaten."

The Coalition forces sent a reluctant message of submission, and, ever-slowly, left the system.

Disregard.

Kal Shora had retreated inside his command ship, Sep'Ta'd'Aark, when he heard reports that the Coalition fleet had arrived in the system. Commanding the Cree’Ar Fleet above was Judicator Shran Badaar, at the helm of his personal flag, the Sep'Ta'Fw'shen. The image of Badaar rippled and broke into static across the pool that was the visage, his face frowning with concern and his eyes dancing around his consoles and monitors.

“The Galactic Coalition is… turning away. Their ships are in full retreat.”

Kal Shora moved his palm across the visage, cutting Badaar’s face away to reveal the vessels in question. They had indeed turned and begun to extract themselves from the damaged areas of the system, heading for an egress and a retreat into the folds of hyperspace.

“Pursuit course?” was the simple inquiry of Shran Badaar, but Kal Shora shook his head.

“No, Judicator Badaar. Let them go.”

Badaar nodded. In the monitor, Kal Shora saw the attack cruisers, still cloaked, begin to turn around and rejoin the ranks of the Dominion fleet.

“Such an odd play by the Coalition.”

Kal Shora nodded his head in consent.

“It is not their style to retreat. Pressing business?”

Badaar lowered his head.

“Perhaps they are not as powerful as was once believed.”

To that, Kal Shora said nothing.

“What of the forces on the surface?”

“They have taken a similar disposition as their counterparts in orbit. Soldiers have dropped their weapons and offered a white flag… according to information from seized Coalition computers at Dameo, that is an accepted signal of surrender.”

Shran Badaar turned his head, drawing the interest of Kal Shora.

“Judicator?”

“Communication from Se'T'ap'a'r'odar. The first Parrow Lin Battleships have arrived.”

“Bring one here, along with one of our Tholatin class Star Destroyers.”

“Elder?”

“Though the Coalition has left, I do intend to keep my promise of allowing refugees to leave, if they so desire. We will bring the ship for that contingency. Before I forget, Judicator, please ask Zeratul to come to the surface. I will need his help in processing the opposition soldiers.”

Shran Badaar nodded.

“Se'T'ap'a'r'odar.”

“No, Judicator, not for Ador. Our victory today was tainted by the lies that preceeded it, and our actions here will not be forgotten for some time. Today, we cry Se’T’ap’a’r’Koya.”

Badaar nodded his head.

“As you wish.”

And then he was gone, and Kal Shora was alone.

***

He walked ragged like a broken man. The blaster wound on his chest still gored at the nerves around it, making even walking down a hallway a difficult task. He had considered teleporting to the planet but the temporal stress on his body would likely damage him in his present condition, and so, he was going to take a shuttle.

The world of Kiyar had fallen to the Dominion. That was of little solace to Zeratul, as the event left him feeling a dark taint about the days events. He had long since given up on feeling anything when it came to genocide, purposeful or accidental, but rather felt a lingering task, a duty on the world… it had an aura of unfinished business, and Zeratul did not know why.

He may know soon. The Elder had summoned him to the surface, and so he was walking to the lifts between decks…

…when from one came Kal Shora himself.

“Elder?” Zeratul inquired, intrigued. It was rare for the Elder to summon someone and decide instead to come to them. He got the impression from the way the Elder was walking towards him that something was wrong, and that was only reinforced when Kal Shora fell at his feet. “Elder!” Zeratul expressed in surprise, falling to him.

“No, no… I am dead, Zeratul. I am dead.”

“No, but… but how?”

“It is of no concern. Hear me! Hear me, Zeratul Daz’da’mar! Tell the Elder he must delay no longer… muster now, and strike now… use the Jedi, Zeratul… you must use the Jedi as a weapon.”

“But… I don’t understand… why? How?”

Kal Shora let out a pained sigh.

“Oh… if but I had… the time…”

And the glow faded from his eyes, and he was dead.

Zeratul kneeled over his body in silent reverence for several minutes. Shran Badaar strode into the corridor and began to walk towards him.

“Zeratul. What is the nature of your delay? The Elder summons you to the surface. Why do you make him wait?”

“Do I?” Zeratul asked, uncertain.

“Kal Shora does not take tar…”

Shran stopped when he saw the body. His eyes grew wide in surpise.

“When last did the Elder summon?”

“But moments, Zeratul.”

“Curious. Then I believe he will need to be informed of this. To the surface.”

***

He was shoved roughly to the ground. The metal hands had held him despite his considerable strength, and thrown his weight as if he were but a child. He hit the floor roughly, and looked up at them as the door closed.

“Your name is Issk.”

Came a voice out of the darkness. He recognized the voice.

“Kal Shora? How can I…”

And from the shadows, the green glare of his eyes shone down upon the Azguard.

“We have something to discuss…”