The gentle crash of the waves breaking on the sand soothed everything. Anger. Fear. Aggression. It all slipped away with the gentle lapping of the water on the beach.

The sound was intriguing. A small crash and a unique sound, as if the liquid of the sea were being sucked into a straw. The pattern also provided intrigue. It was regular… but at the same time, unpredictable. It came often enough that one might think it a conformity… but then when one sat to time the next one, it came too soon, or lingered too long.

It was a pleasing distraction.

On this world, the water running over the red sand was one of many distractions. High above came the cries of animals, rudimentary communication of undecipherable meaning, but to the untrained ear, it almost resembled a chorus of song. Below, there was a different sort of chorus; the beautiful sound of society… the buzz and hum of a mechanized world, the transportation and information, communication…

It existed as background. Foreground was the waves… the glorious, calming waves.

It wasn’t often that Cree’Ar Judicators were able to retreat to Arigaun… often, even when they did, they merely did so for consultation with the Eldercaste and had little time, if any, for their homes and families.

Now was not such a time.

For Kal Shora, time was infinite.

Or so he thought.

***

The world of Aradon was not what one would consider beautiful. On it crashed no waves. Above it sung no birds. But if one looked upon it long enough, a respect began to form, and if you continued to look, it began to take a strange, perverted sort of beauty.

If looked at for too long, despise began to set in.

Aradon was a beautiful world that one began to hate the more one viewed it.

“Eptar'a'kar'a, Judicator.”

“Paz’f’aar’a’shan, Tassadar.”

The two warriors clenched fists, drawing each other close and briefly touching head to shoulder and shoulder to head. When they drew apart again, Tassadar kept a hand on the other’s shoulder, as the two began to walk.

“You are back in Arigaun, my friend?”

“Yes. They require me to return to Borleaquay for the official announcement of my promotion.”

“So that is why you have graced us with your presence! I knew that if you had a reason to extricate yourself from knee deep in the dead, it would be for such a self-serving sentiment as making a speech and wooing a crowd.”

“You know me too well. I do despise these formalities… were it to my discretion I would have accepted my promotion over the visage.”

Kal Shora stopped walking then, uttering a deep sigh. Tassadar stopped as well, hand still lodged on his friends shoulder, as he stepped in beside.

“I do enjoy being home, however.”

“Don’t we all. On the subject of your impending promotion; I offer my congratulations.”

“And I accept them. I only wish that I do not disgrace myself by being so inept in the position as was my predecessor.”

“Did not your parents ever teach you that words hurt, Kal Shora?”

“Of course, Tassadar. How do you believe it is that I rose the ranks so quickly?”

“I thought it was your taut body.”

“Oh my. I do suppose that explains your lingering touch.”

And instantly, Tassadar removed his hand, clasping as Kal Shora did the metal rail immediately in front.

“Back to the subject of rank, though… why is it that you have chosen now to retire?”

“Oh, young Judicator… one never retires from defending the Cree’Ar Dominion. I have merely retired my sword in favor of my words.”

“Ah! After all your talk of speeches and your derision for grandstanding, you have accepted the title of High Elder!”

“Indeed. They have retired me from the field so that I may perfect the ultimate cure for Cree’Ar insomnia.”

“I offer you my congratulations, and may I say, it is about time.”

“Well, to be honest, the process has been finalized for quite some time. It was placed on hold, pending your return from the Occupied Territories.”

“Ah. In that case, allow me to also offer my apologies.”

“Such is life.”

“Such is life.”

For a few moments, nothing was said. Before their eyes the world of Aradon continued its existence. Tek’a’tara were hard at work crafting what now appeared to be some sort of gigantic hexagonal weave of metal. Both men knew what it was to be.

“It will be a glorious vessel.”

“Indeed. They are calling it… the Kal Shora.”

“Horrible name.”

“I agree completely. I only hope that the Yat'a'leg'a'lora are overcome with humor upon reading our registry.”

“Where next shall you be found, Judicator?”

“Ador. I will retreat directly from Aradon to my home, and spend as much time as possible before I must make my speech and return to duty.”

“Respectable. I am going to Lin; we owe our allies in the Dominion for their redundant focusing technology. As well, we are to coordinate the replacing of the Parrow Lin lasers with our plasma disruption cannons.”

”Finally. I cannot believe that any species still utilize lasers. So archaic.”

“Indeed. I will meet you on Ador at my earliest convenience.”

“Until then, High Elder.”

“Until then, High Judicator.”

With no further words, Tassadar left. Kal Shora stayed for several moments, looking upon the ship that was to be his namesake.

Kal Shora’s brow furrowed. He promised that after he took his vessel, he would never visit Aradon again.

***

“Thank you all for sharing this moment with me.

I will attempt to be brief. I am a man of many words… something of a philosopher amongst military minds, but I do despise talking about myself. I will therefore instead talk about our glorious Dominion and the future of our people. I will also try not to bore you.

The Dominion is forever. We know this. From what is told the Dominion existed beyond today, many milenia beyond in fact. We know that it came to an end because we were a peaceful people, always happy to welcome and appease. And for this reason, Borleas has asked us to not be a peaceful people. He has asked us to be an aggressive people.

We do this. For we owe Borleas Quayver a great debt. When he came to our world, arbiter in hand, he gave us a purpose, a mission. He gave us the knowledge that we are not alone! And when we reached out from the sky many wonders awaited us. We have explored the galaxy and met new races… and new races have met us with hostility. While we regret each time our society has been tested in the course of war, we have survived, and in surviving have become stronger as a people.

Let us take a moment to remember those who have served before me. All did it for the same reason. Those that serve after I am dead. They will do it for the same reason.

Everyone in the Dominion have dedicated their lives, not to themselves, or to their family, their parents or their children… we dedicate our lives to Borleas Quayver. It is because of Borleas Quayver that even now, while I speak, the Dominion is eradicating the Yat'a'leg'a'lora who threaten to destroy everything we have built. It was his knowledge and his vision that allow us to persevere with both eyes open… and it is to him that we go forth from our world, with both fists ready.

I… I must apologize if this sounds like propaganda. The truth is I am proud of what we have made here. I am more proud of the Dominion, then I am of myself. I know that I am a small part in the glorious civilization we have created. And in a hundred years I will be an afterthought, a mere footnote when mentioning the accomplishments that I have helped bring along. I used to think defeating the Yat'a'leg'a'lora would take brilliant strategy, expert tactical maneuvers, and superior numbers. I realize now that we cannot outthink our enemy; they have shown a level of intelligence comparable to our own. We cannot outmaneuver our enemy; they have shown a great level at adeptness in the art of war. And we cannot outnumber our enemy; they have shown that their inferior religion is a popular mechanic for recruiting from backwater worlds in their territory. At times, I have considered that we cannot defeat our enemy. But we can. Victory is within our grasp, and we have the two most dangerous weapons of all; time, and faith.

Right now, the Yat'a'leg'a'lora are defeated. Now, our warships have entered their space. Their worldships and the planets they have conquered fall to the nexus network faster every day. Although their forces are considerable and of equal match, they cannot continue to spend time on the defensive. We are in a superior position and if we continue to press, time will make us the victor.

But only if we have faith. We, as a people, cannot give up. We must remain committed… no matter the cost. We will send soldiers to their territory and they will die. We will replace them. We will send warfleets to their territories and they will be destroyed. We will rebuild them. They will launch weapons that can damage our cities and homes. We will repair them. They will try and demoralize our people and break our spirit. We will resist them. While the Yat'a'leg'a'lora have a perverted code of ethos with which they peddle to unintelligible and hopeless beings to fight their wars. What the Cree’Ar Dominion have is faith. Not a series of manuals on how to fight and die for us but a hope, a dream, a common vision of a better future. Together, with strength, and with faith, we can make these hopes reality, and wake from our dreams and reach for our visions… with both hands open.

This is not my aim. It is not my goal. It is not my job. This is my life. This is your life. And when I die… and I will die… I hope you follow behind me with all due vigilance. We must never lose faith.

Before I adjourn this overblown and doubtless overdrawn ceremony, I would like to quote a man before me. He said

I have never come across a problem, no matter how difficult it seemed, that after careful considerations was not actually much more difficult.

This is my gift. This is my burden. I bear it for my Dominion. I bear it for Borleas Quayver. I bear it for the future.

May we meet again.

High Judicator Kal Shora.”

Across the world of Borleaquay broke out a simultaneous roar of approval. No one did not signal their extreme pleasure with their new military commander; with only Cree’Ar, Skey’g’aar, and very few Parrow Lin on the world, there were so silent hums of activity from a cybernetic network; only adulation. The people loved Kal Shora.

And from then on, Kal Shora would hate himself.

“Ah, Zeratul Daz’da’mar. How is my favorite Skey’g’aar today?”

The returning gaze indicated that he was not in very good spirits at all.

The Mect'A'Rana'a'terro'a'Nok was one of the Borleas Cruisers assigned to the Judicator Shran Badaar. Until they had a permanent planet upon which the Priests had approved Dominion settlement, facilities such as the one he was in now were located aboard ships. Generally, the heavy cruisers were chosen on account of their thick hull and spacious interior. This particular facility was likely no different.

Zeratul did not like science. By extension, he did not like scientists. However, this one in particular seemed incredibly irritating. His name was Vejuun. His slightly pudgy, pale face reminded him of the Yat'a'leg'a'lora far more then it did of the Cree’Ar. He even boasted a full head of hair, almost unheard of in the Dominion. It occurred to him that the man irritated him so that he was not even sure if he head ever asked or heard his species. For all Zeratul knew, he could be a Mer’a’Kora.

Though Zeratul did not like Vejuun, he saw him every month. Vejuun was one of the Cree’Ar Dominions leading weaponry experts. He was in charge of the plasma weapons division, a defunct division of Cree’Ar research that had pursued the conversion of the Mer’a’Kora acid weaponry into the more effective, and less expensive, Cree’Ar Plasma Disruptors. Now, Vejuun was working on converting the nano’tera, the critical component in the creation and maintainence of the tek’a’tara, into something likewise more efficient and inexpensive.

None of that was of particular interest to Zeratul. He did not see how a Shadowcaste warrior could help with cybernetic research, nor did he particularly care. Nevertheless, when someone as connected as Vejuun came calling, the Skey’g’aar came running.

“I have an idea Zeratul, an idea that will render the Shadowcaste obsolete.”

Zeratul waved his hands in amusement. His true emotions were closer to homicidal apathy then amusement, but he could take appreciation in the arrogance of the doctor’s comments. He had heard them before. Many felt that when the tek’a’tara had been perfected, the Skey’g’aar serving in the Shadowcaste would be outmoded and sent to do the menial labor of their greater overlords. In truth, this line of reasoning had lead to miserable failure before, and it would do so again.

If the Dominion were forever, Zeratul would ride it forevermore.

“Look at this.”

Zeratul took a few steps forward. In one of the scientist’s rooms’, a landscape had been created. On it were rocks, dirt, and a few scrap pieces of metal Zeratul recognized as Armorlin carapaces. Zeratul did not even bother to feign interest.

“What is this? Of what importance is it to your research?”

“You are aware of the general goal of my project?”

“The creation of a new type of tek’a’tara, which can be deployed and secure planets without the need for heavy cruiser support.”

“Right. Are you aware of some of the limitations of the tek’a’tara at present?”

“They are slow, stupid, susceptible to…”

“No, I was referring to the creation and deployment issues.”

“I am a warrior, not a scien…”

“Very well, allow me.”

Vejuun stepped past Zeratul, to the great aggravation of the warrior. For a few seconds, he felt his boneblade threatening to deploy, but kept his emotions in check as the scientist dipped his hand into a container of some kind. When finished, he put his palm to the sand. Unimpressed, Zeratul stood as such, and did not marvel when the scientist pushed a button on one of his myriad control panels. Slowly, the sand began to contort and bend into shape. It formed first a dome, which faded away into the beginnings of a pale, dead face. Metal began to extract from the cold skin and then… nothing. The skin began to pour away, returning to useless sand.

“I tell you Vejunn, if you continue to waste my time…”

Vejuun raised his hands in a gesture of his innocence.

“You know Zeratul, that line about rendering the Shadowcaste obsolete was just a line.”

“Continue with your presentation!”

“Very well. As you know, the Nexus is able to create 5 tek’a’tara from any source of active genetic material to serve as the organic components and metal from its tertiary systems to forge the mechanical elements.”

“Yes, I know this.”

“The problem, to this point, has been making the process work on inert genetic material. Almost 80% of the planets in this universe were once capable or possibly close to capable to allow some form of life to develop, and that left behind trace elements of material… strands, maybe even single prions containing the genetic building blocks of a long dead and trivial species. My research has focused on how to get the nano’tera to, somehow, activate those cells.”

“I do not understand. Can nano’tera not bring beings back from death?”

“Well, yes and no. The problem is that a corpse is not dead for some time. Even when a body dies, bacteria inside it lives, often for a long time, still performing it’s function to a point, when it runs out of source material and begins to consume the body. When the microscopic bacteria fade into stillness arrive the macro parasites, the insects and the carrion eaters. They often leave spawn in the body, or bacteria of their own. Even after they move on the body remains the domain of the micron for some years. Sometimes 2 or 3, sometimes as many as 30; depending on conditions. Generally, the Dominion prefers live subjects but in extreme circumstances, can take old corpses.”

”And this relates to me… how?”

Vejuun smiled.

“I need your brain.”

Zeratul furrowed his brow in displeasure.

“I am using it at present.”

“Not enough, I fear. Please, sit down.”

Although he did not want to, Zeratul did sit down. Vejuun attempted to place some kind of instrument on his head, which Zeratul resisted.

“Doctor…”

“Relax. These are collectors. They will sit outside of your body and will be unnoticed, I guarantee.”

Zeratul moved his arms and the doctor placed the instruments on his head. He sat down opposite the Skey’g’aar. Between them, he placed a scale model of a Cree’Ar vessel. Zeratul recognized it as a Borleas Cruiser, similar to the one he was standing on at present. Vejuun smiled at him.

“Pick up the ship.”

Zeratul stretched his arms over the desk, when he saw the doctor shaking his head.

“Pick up the ship without using your hands.”

“Doctor, I do think you have been misinformed…”

“Zeratul Daz’Da’Mar, you were not allowed a position in the Shadowcaste for your sunny disposition. I believe you can lift it. If you can, do. If you cannot, then there are other experiments we can conduct.”

Zeratul sneered. He didn’t like the sound of that at all. Half tempted to call the doctor’s bluff though he was, Zeratul closed his eyes, and the ship rose off the table.

“Good. How is your history, Zeratul?”

“Excellent.”

“Very good. I would like to ask you a series of questions. Answer them how you wish… as vague or as thorough as you would. Lie if you feel you must. Your answers will be recorded, however, so do not say anything implicative. We are on the record.”

“Vejunn…”

“Please, Zeratul!”

The ship had begun to sink towards the table. Zeratul focused, and it rose again.

“Thank you. Now, we will begin.

What was the catalyst for our mission to this galaxy?”

“The Yat'a'leg'a'lora sent a scout to the Coruscan World known to them as Endor. That was the first suggestion that we should send scouts of our own.”

“Name the scouts.”

”Vejuun…”

“Please, focus Zeratul.”

“Myself… Zeratul, Xylon Hex’Rya, Tassadar Daz’Da’Mar, and Rerlara Fren’Shat’Aar.”

“And you were the only one alive when the Cree’Ar fleet arrived?”

“Is this an interrogation?”

“No, merely questions. Remember you are under no obligation to answer any way… answer as you like.”

“I was the only one alive when the Cree’Ar fleet arrived, yes.”

“How did Rerlara die?”

“The details I am not sure of. He was killed by a Yat'a'leg'a'lora; Tassadar pursued his assassin and extracted vengeance.”

“How is it that Xylon was killed?”

“Xylon is a matter of Coruscan History. In his guise as a Jedi, he was in command of a sizable battle fleet. It was ambushed and destroyed by a rogue Imperial warlord.”

“How is it that Tassadar died?”

Here, Zeratul lingered.

“Tassadar, while scouting the Coruscan capital, was killed by the Rogue force user Ahnk.”

That was only half-true. Ahnk had been coming for Zeratul… finding Tassadar has been a carefully negotiated accident on behalf of the Shadowcaste warrior.

“And why do you believe you survived where they failed?”

“Luck?”

“Not Borleas?”

Zeratul hesitated only a moment. He knew the answer he would give would be dangerous, but he felt that if Vejuun was monitoring his senses he would know if he lied.

“Borleas served us all. I was the one endowed with luck as well.”

“Very well. Do you share Kal Shora’s concern for the Azguard?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why is this relevant?”

“It is not. I am just asking questions.”

Zeratul sighed. The ship wavered, but did not drop.

“I have fought an Azguard. And I survived. I could fight one again and survive. If one Skey’g’aar can do it, then a million tek’a’tara will have no difficulty.”

“Very well. Do you fear the Damuens?”

“No.”

“Why?”

”Why should I? They accept us as allies; soon, they will accept us as conquerors. I doubt they will resist… and I doubt that if they did, they would have the capacity to do so.”

“Do you fear the Empire?”

“Even less then I fear the others.”

“And the Coalition?”

“Less still.”

“Do you fear anything, Zeratul?”

He considered for a few minutes. He knew the correct answer was the Yat'a'leg'a'lora, but he did not fear them. He knew he was better.

He knew what he did fear.

“I fear the Mer’a’Kora.”

Vejuun cocked his head to the side.

“Our allies? Why so?”

“Do you not?”

“That is not the question… though for the record, no, I do not fear the Mer’a’Kora.”

“There is something…”

“…yes?”

“Since I was born, I have seen many Cree’Ar, Skey’g’aar, M'a'rara'b'a, tek’a’tara, Parrow Lin… and yet, I have NEVER seen a Mer’a’Kora. Moreover, I know no one who has.

And yet, the Mer’a’Kora are the most revered of the Dominion beyond its’ founding member. Is that not odd?

Their ships appear in our battles, fight the Yat'a'leg'a'lora, and defeat them handedly. And yet, when offered thanks, they remain silent. In fact, to my knowledge they have never opened a communication with the Dominion, or responded to one.

And yet, somehow, they know when we are in battle and, for some reason, continue to come to our aid. Is that not odd?

They say that you should not fear the unknown. But when all that I know does not frighten me, it would seem insane not to hold a fear of that which I do not know.

Is that odd?”

Vejuun said nothing. He smiled. With a calm, soft hand, he removed the instrument on Zeratul’s head.

“Thank you for your help, Zeratul. You may lower the ship now.”

He did so. Puzzlement crossed his face as Vejuun stood, leaving the table.

“What was all that about? All those questions…?”

“Irrelevant. I didn’t even write them down.”

“Then…”

“To get you to focus, Zeratul. To get your brain working. Exerting. Exercising and firing.”

“But why?”

Vejuun stopped. They were at the edge of the sand. He took the instrument… he had called it, a collector… from his hand and placed it in the container he had taken from earlier.

“Doctor…”

“Shhh. Don’t speak. Just watch.”

He dipped his hand back in. He touched it to the sand, the same as before. Zeratul stood, still unimpressed, as the sand began to reshape itself, as it had before. This time, though, it didn’t stop. It continued, forming a head, and the beginning of shoulders. Zeratul leaped back when the skin rippled.

It had adopted his scales.

“What the…”

“You are what we needed, Zeratul. The thing preventing us from making a tek’a’tara from raw material was energy. Neural energy. There is something about cells… they need to constantly communicate and they do so by sending out a very specific type of energy that is created by the brain. This energy passes from cell to cell, modified for its purpose, and critical to life itself. That is what we needed. Your thoughts.”

“My…”

“Your force your spirit your essence… your brain created an energy and exerted it upon the ship. My instrument capped some of that energy, and stored it. The nano’tera were infused with it and when they remade the cells, they too were infused with it. If I wished I could now make a full tek’a’tara with this. But for experiments sake, I am now finished.”

”No… it has…”

“Your face? Yes… disturbing isn’t it? Something about the modulation of the energy… it had been said that cells have memory, which seemed stupid to me as they didn’t have the capacity. It’s possible that energy contains millions… billions of commands, some of which tell the cells how to form and what to do. That would cause them to take your face.”

“Can you…”

“In time. For now, I have to relay my findings to your command. How did you come here?”

“Mer’a’brak tab.”

“Ah. Would you mind a more low-tech approach? I have a shuttle nearby… we can use to take to Ithor.”

Zeratul’s eyes flashed.

“You mean… Se'T'ap'a'r'odar?”

“Of course… slip of the tongue. Shall we go… unless you do not wish to?”

“No… I need to go back one way or the other.”

“Very well then. To the future of the Tek’a’tara.”

“To the…”

Zeratul was not able to finish before he was swallowed in a blue light.

For a long time, neither moved.

The two Cree’Ar warriors stood, side by side. Their eyes remained fixed on the visage, never blinking, never wavering. Occasionally, one squinted, and the glow of his eyes fluctuated into something of a dissipating cloud of light. Neither spoke. Neither turned head to the other.

Neither moved.

Finally, Badaar broke the silence.

“What is it?”

The elder inclined his head slightly, as if pointing to a particular spot on the visage with his forehead. Badaar mimicked the gesture, but its effect was lost on the Judicator.

“Do not you recognize the pattern of the stars?”

Badaar did in fact not.

With a wave of his taloned hand, Kal Shora brought overlays across the stars. Now, some were alit with colors… some, adjoined with numbers. Badaar pointed to one.

“Imp'a'Bor'd'daak?”

Kal Shora nodded. Badaar’s talon slid to another.

“Rel'a'ralik'a'aar?”

Kal Shora nodded again. When Badaar’s finger slid to a third, he nodded, confirming the answer before the question was posed.

“Very well. A map, of our influence and worlds around our influence.”

“Not just.”

With another wave of his hand, a new set of overlays took place. The glow in Shran Badaar’s eyes became two shades more intense.

“A plan of action! Finally! I will mobilize my…”

“No.”

Badaar stopped. Kal Shora’s voice was firm and resolute. It froze him in his place, holding him fast in half step. He could do nothing but stand, eyes fixated on the elder, until he spoke again.

“Shran Badaar, I want you to sit down.”

Badaar did so. He found the nearest seat, which was Kal Shora’s, and, after a nod from his superior, laid himself upon it

“Are we not done our preliminary scouting?”

”We are, Shran. But the emphasis should be placed on preliminary. The time for infiltration and observation is over. Now, we correlate. We practicalize and assess. Rationalize and organize.”

Shran sat silent, considering. Slowly, he nodded.

“What do you want me to do?”

“We need to assess tactical readiness. We need legitimate field data… moreover… we need to begin selective engagement.”

“I am to begin our testing?”

“No… we already began at Kiyar. An accident; both fortunate and unfortunate alike.”

“Conclusions?”

“The Azguard, a physically intimidating and capable species, on equal par with our warriors and possessing no extraordinary tactical advantages. Threat level moderate.”

“And the others?”

“Insignificant.”

“How goes the progress towards finding the Azguard homeworld?”

“Uncertain. Efforts continue even now.”

“Very well. So we have considered another target for examination. Who… and where?”

Kal Shora slid his taloned hand across the visage to a world amidst the map. Shran nodded. Kal Shora’s digit continued to slide.

“Here. Here. Here. Here. Then, we will have the world surrounded.”

”Expected resistance?”

“Minimal. Junction is along the Hydian Way, and as such is mostly a commercial world used as a stopgap for ships along the trade route. Nam Chorios is largely uninhabited… it was formerly a prison colony, but beyond that, is fairly primitive. Sereena is the only cause for concern… it’s proximity to Imperial Space is troubling. That will likely be the world which will present the most jeopardy…”

“Very well. I will begin at Junction, and…”

“No.”

“No? Elder, have I not served you well?”

“You have.”

“And have I not honored our people in combat?”

“Always.”

“Then why do you ask me not to do what I was born to do? I was raised from infantia to fight, why must you ask me to hold fast?”

Kal Shora allowed a soft sigh to escape him, gesturing with an open hand his understanding of Badaar’s frustration.

“You are my greatest of commanders, Judicator Badaar. And that is why I need you to remain behind.”

”But why? Why must I stay behind?”

“That is not the question you should pose to yourself, Shran Badaar. You should ask yourself why I have chosen not to send my most valued officer into a potential combat situation. Ask yourself of the task I have prepared for you in combat’s stead. Focus your mind on what must be done, not what could and will be done by an insignificant junior officer well versed in menial tasks.”

A tension began to ease its way off the shoulders of the Cree’Ar and he turned his head up the elder for the first time in several minutes. Kal Shora decided to elevate him above the ensuing combat even further.

”In fact, the battles are to be simplistic enough… I shall send a M'a'rara'b'a.”

That didn’t seem to register; it appeared that Shran’s mind had moved to another topic. Kal Shora arched his head as Shran stepped past him to the map.

“Where do you ask me to go, Elder?”

“I need you to go to Imp'a'Bor'd'daak. There is a weakness in our warfleets and I have reason to believe the solution is in the Chiss database.”

The frustration returned to the face of Shran Badaar. He was being sent on a research mission. Kal Shora could feel an objection coming, but before one arrived, the visage shot him a tone that required his attention. He waved his hand, activating the device and watched as a masked face shimmered across it.

“Report.”

“Elder, Vejuun has arrived with the Skey’g’aar Zeratul and wishes to transport aboard.”

“Very well. Tell him I will meet him in a few moments.”

As the visage rippled to reveal Vejuun’s vessel, Kal Shora stepped to Shran Badaar and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Do not fret for uninteresting research, its importance to our war effort cannot be understated. You have done well in all your tasks, and if you do well in this mission, you will have your day in combat.”

Shran lifted his head, eyes meeting the elders.

“Combat with the Empire is coming. I will need you to be ready and focused.”

Shran stopped walking.

“Se'T'ap'a'r'odar.”

“Leave me now, Judicator.”

Badaar nodded his head, slipping from the room with vigorous footfalls. Shaking a head with concern for his pupil and friend, the High Elder of the Dominion set himself into his chair, uncertainty clouding his mind…

Judicator Badaar, how best to sate you…

Stupid board

“Your progress, Vejuun.”

He bowed his head.

“I believe, your Excellency, that I have solved the earlier problems.”

“I have heard that before, and do not refer to me as Excellency.”

“My apologies Elder, I meant no offense.”

“Of course not. Had you, you would be dead by now. Your report.”

“Er, well, as you know, the Dominion had tasked me with improving upon the nano’tera. They were limited in that living genetic material was required in order to create the tek’a’tara, and I was asked…”

“I know what you were asked to do. Were you successful?”

“Well, yes and no. I found the missing element with some help from your friend Zeratul. As you may know, all living things possess a neuralelectric energy… even those without brains possess the energy to transfer between…”

“You may spare me the scientific technobabble, Vejuun. Were you successful?”

“Well, I created a probe that will facilitate what the Dominion had tasked of me. However, coming up with the amount of neuralelectric energy will be a problem, as…”

“Vejuun, I grow tired of asking this, so this will be the last time. Were you successful?”

“No. I just don’t realistically see a way to collect the amount of energy we need to employ the weapon on a galactic scale.”

Kal Shora nodded.

“I see. How is the energy created?”

“As I tried to say earlier…”

“…out of place and irrelevant at the time. Say it now.”

“…of course, Elder. My mistake. The energy required is in all living things, but in minute amounts. Those who utilize the Cor'ai'var generally possess more of it in their bodies and can exert it onto other things. But put simply…”

“Would it be possible to take this energy from Shadowcaste warriors in the homeland?”

Vejuun put a finger on his chin, considering it. He slowly nodded.

“Yes, it would. But, it won’t solve the problem. Shadowcaste warriors, such as Zeratul, do not have an abundance of it to spare. While we can extract what we can, without killing them all, we will never have enough.”

“But you will be able to make a few?”

“A dozen, perhaps.”

“The Jedi.”

Both men turned from each other to the Skey’g’aar behind. Zeratul had been silent until now, disinterested, but had been reminded of his conversation with the future envoy. He noticed both beings staring at him intently and so he began to formulate it in his head…

“One of things that you… well, the future you, in any case… told me was… make the Jedi a weapon… I wasn’t sure what he meant at the time, but it makes sense now.”

Vejuun’s eyes had lit up as his brain began to churn at a mile a minute. Guardedly, Kal Shora looked from Vejuun to Zeratul and then back again, considering himself. Ultimately, he deferred.

“Vejuun… would it be possible to convert the energy of a Jedi into the energy you require?”

Vejuun hesitated for but a second.

“I believe so. Generally, the more experienced Jedi command a much larger amount of the Cor'ai'var. If I were to have but a few Jedi… five, maybe ten… I could make more torpedoes then we could ever need.”

Kal Shora nodded.

“Could it be done without them dying?”

Vejuun’s face contorted. He looked to Zeratul, who for his part merely nodded his head.

“Theoretically. However, the more alive they were left the less energy could be extracted from them. We would have to extract the energy in short sessions and over a long period of time in order to extract a comparable amount.”

Kal Shora stood reflective. To enslave a person whom had done him no ill and bleed them for an energy that by chance only they possessed. He considered himself a better man, and had he been asked a month ago, the answer would have been different.

But he had been asked today. And at the very end of it he was forced to admit that it was actually his suggestion.

”Then that is what we shall do. We will order governments to surrender to us their Jedi, and if they do not, we will take them by force. It is Borleas’ Will.”

Vejuun nodded. Zeratul merely milled around, apprehensively. Kal Shora sank into his chair, the defeat having wracked him. In all his years and all his military defeats, all the men he had seen die in his name, nothing had felt as such as the defeat he felt now.

A moral defeat… conceded to himself.

He watched him for quite some time. He uttered no words and made no motion. It was as if he was dead.

But then, he was.

And yet… he wasn’t…

The myriad emotions through which Kal Shora was tumbling was indescribable. He was standing, weak slightly but very much alive, over a corpse. A corpse that appeared to be him.

It had to be a mistake… an illusion. An Azguard ploy, something…

“Your thoughts?”

Kal Shora did not turn. It had been some time since he had discerned he was not alone in this room, though he did admit that in his introspection he had almost forgotten it.

“How long have you been standing in silence, Zeratul?”

Zeratul took a few steps forward, falling in behind.

“I could ask you the same question, Elder.”

The Elder said nothing, so Zeratul stepped in beside.

“Report.”

“Vejuun has confirmed the identity of the vessel via its genetic profile. It is a near perfect match for your own, with a few discernable differences. Are you infected with Pr’o’t’pan?”

Kal Shora, despite himself, blinked.

“I had not told anyone.”

“The corpse on the table is suffering from the rudimentary stages of the infection. He… you… he, would have been experiencing difficulty breathing, and perhaps swallowing.”

“What else?”

“Cellular decay and aging are consistent though they may be tainted. As you know, the attributed cause of death was radiation poisoning. Radiation does in and of itself cause cells to mutate, so determining their natural age becomes impossible. With the dosage received…”

“The best scientific estimate.”

“As well as could be extrapolated, the body was anywhere between 779 and 783 at the time of death.”

A decade. A decade had passed since the body on the table had been his own. What was it within that time that had necessitated his arrival… and his demise…

To see…

“We need to know more.”

“Vejuun is running a myr…”

“Not about the corpse. The bottle should seldom be your focus…”

“…for it is but to hold the message. To what are you referring?”

Kal Shora sighed.

“We are about to go to war, Zeratul, a war against an enemy we have faced fleetingly and a war against an enemy with which we know almost nothing about. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“The situation is equally reciprocal. They know nothing about us.”

“Quite true. And so, we stand equal. But everything we can discern will give us one more palpable advantage over our enemy. Everything that we can ascertain about their methods and their motives and their mythos will give us one more step towards our goals. Only in the pursuit of knowledge can we hope to begin the pursuit of victory. And only in victory can we safeguard our society against a very real and ever impending apocalypse.”

Zeratul said nothing, instead stepping forward and past Kal Shora.

“But…” he hissed, drawing his face to Kal Shora’s, mist of his eyes rolling off the elder’s skin, “but, we know what it is that we must do! To deny… even to delay! It brings us a step closer to a perilous jeopardy we cannot even begin to comprehend. There is only one path that we can walk! Our destiny now revealed, the time for hesitation is over!”

Kal Shora said nothing. He stood, silently, and the two looked down at the corpse as Kal Shora lowered taloned fingers to its face, drawing closed its eyes.

“I want this body burned.”

Zeratul stepped back.

“Surely, a state funeral…”

“This is not my corpse, Skey’g’aar. We shall not treat it as if it were.”

Zeratul nodded. Kal Shora slowly turned to him.

“I will make the call to war.”

“You’re going to want to see this.”

The young man, Jonathan, said to his parents. All three were members of the Agamar government… Jonathan as a clerk, and his parents as elected officials. His mother served as a city councilor for Calna Muun, and his father sat as a senator. Both had been watching the local news reports of the massive battle in the sky between unknown vessels, and the Agamar defense fleet.

“What is it, Jonathan? There is some kind of fighting in orbit, and it’s all over the news.”

Jonathan frowned.

“No shit? I can do one better; it’s all over the night sky.”

The two adults looked to each other with solemn glare. If the invaders knew of their world, and knew of the capital city, it made sense they would send forces here.

All three left the door at approximately the same time. They heard the roar of X-Wings, lifting off from nearby Muun Millitary Center, the nearby starforce base. They were no doubt leading…

…the Impregnable, the last vestige of the Republic on Agamar. It was an old VSD, though over the years the rich of Agamar had sunk some cash into upgrading her shields and weapons. It was on the ground for an engine upgrade when the vessels came, but had been crewed in a record time and was now lifting off to join the fight.

“They say,” Jonathan’s father, Johnson, said, “that they are attacking with some kind of plasma based weaponry that can cut through our corvettes shields.”

“But what,” Johnson’s wife, Jenna, inquired, “would the Vong be doing here? It’s been a decade, and they were routed from this galaxy swiftly. Why would they be attacking now?”

“They don’t seem to be following Vong attack patterns. They show a limited reliance on starfighters whereas the Vong…”

“Look!” Jonathan broke in, raising a finger to the sky.

Coming in from over the horizon, in orbit of the planet, was a massive warship. It didn’t resemble a Yuuzhan Vong vessel whatsoever, but was rather a sleek and sturdy appearing colossus of metal, formed roughly into the shape of a Hammerhead. They watched the aft guns of the Impregnable turn on it and open fire, shots bouncing harmlessly off the metal hull of the massive ship…

…and then the ship responded with a massive sphere of energy. It struck the Impregnable and the vessel’s aft exploded in a brilliant fireball, its fore stuttering and beginning its fall back to the planets surface. All of them stood in silent awe, and terrible fear.

“That is not a Yuuzhan Vong vessel.”

“One shot,” Jonathan said, voice quaking with fear. “They destroyed the ship in one shot.”

“Well, not really,” Johnson corrected his son. “They hit the engines and powerplant, which caused the Impregnable to explode and break in half. But still, to overwhelm the shields like that… it must be packing a superlaser, or something.”

“Look, they’re dropping something!”

They all regarded the vessel beyond the flaming remains of their vessel. It had an open hold, and was dropping something they couldn’t see. Bombs, perhaps. They saw one angling towards them, and watched it drop about fifty feet from where they were, landing on a truck and crushing it completely.

When it began to walk towards them, they knew it wasn’t a bomb. It was massive, almost as tall as an Imperial scout walker, and reflected the explosions in the sky across the metallic armor. Beyond, they could make out a creature of some kind by its green rippling skin, colossal and muscular. It’s breathing echoed through its metallic mask, a pair of hoses extending to a tank behind. On one arm was a massive cannon of some kind, focusing on them alike a pair of red, glowing eyes.

“I am Senator Johnson N. Johnson of Agamar! I demand to know what you are!”

It issued a metallic laugh. With free hand, it pulled away the mask, revealing its green face and bright yellow eyes, brown beard and hair, and revolting grin.

“I am an Armorlin!” it answered proudly. “I am a servant of the Cree’Ar Dominion, and you are in no position to demand anything of me! I am here to take your world, and you will either accept us as your conquerors, or accept your death.”

Johnson stood, defiant. “I do not recognize your government! Your actions here today are illegal! I intend to file an offical protest with both the New Galactic Coalition and the New Order if you do not cease and…”

The creature grimaced and turned the barrel of its weapon on him. “Very well, then. Accept your death.” And from his weapon burst a massive plume of fire. It was close enough to singe the hairs of Jonathan but not do any other damage. His parents were not so lucky. Johnson’s instinct was to push his wife to safety, but the flame was faster. The two fell together and Jonathan was forced to turn away… but he endured for several seconds the agonizing screams as his parents burned to death.

Jonathan raised his head. With metallic footfalls the creature, the Armorlin, came ever closer. Jonathan, serving as a clerk in the Agamar government, often found himself trusted with important documents that he had to protect. Remembering that, he pulled out his protection. “Don’t come any closer!” he yelled, and pointed a small, handheld blaster at the creature’s head.

Defiantly, the creature took two large steps forward. Jonathan leveled up the weapon, and fired.

The blast struck the creature in the head. A smoldering hole was created in his face, burnt away into the depths of his head. Rather then falling dead, the creature merely regarded the wound and began to laugh.

“I like you!” he said, as if that was to be some consolation for the death of his parents. “You possess a courage beyond your years. You will make an excellent servant for your new God.”

The barrel of the weapon attached to the Armorlin’s arm swung up, around, and then back down into the skull of Jonathan Johnson. He fell to the ground instantly, and the world beyond him began to blur.

“Hear me, citizens of the world beforenow now as Agamar! Your tenure of your own keeping is at an end, and you are now ordained to serve the Cree’Ar Dominion! Those who accept your service willingly will come to me now! Those who do not may do as they will, but stand warned, that I, will be coming, to you.”

As Jonathan felt his hair go damp with blood and the world became an ugly white haze, he closed his eyes and lost consciousness for the final time in his life.

It was to be their salvation.

The priest caste spoke of the world of Je’wa’fo’terra as if it was some ancient mythical artifact. But it was, ultimately, only a planet. A glorious green rock against the cold black night of a galaxy indifferent to its very existence.

The priests wanted it more then anything. Already they had begun to infest it with their chants and hymns. While the military hold over the planet was tenuous at best, already forces above the world staged. Looking out the visage could make out two entire Cree’Ar attack fleets, and numerous lingering vessels intended to pinch down the impending retreat.

The Met’ra’Pan’a’Cara was her ship; one of the new Ador-Class Shadow Cruisers, given to her largely as a gesture of peace. Many had opposed her command, and with the ship Kal Shora had officially stated that her command was legitimate and that those opposed opposed his will.

That was fine with her… support from the highest of highs was never a bad thing. While she would of course prefer for her position to be unanimously supported by way of her record, being untouchable because of who she knew was acceptable as well.

The visage hummed to life, shivering and rippling before the image of Je’wa’fo’terra and turning into the face Nipeten Chan'zih'mar. The Cree’Ar looked none too happy to see her, and she waved a gesture of fake politeness in greeting to the commander.

“Eptar'a'kar'a, Chan’zih’mar. How does the Red Sun treat you today?”

Expectedly, the greeting was not reciprocated. “You have orders from the Elder?”

“Then to business. You are to proceed to the world of Junction. There, you will engage a fleet of infidel vessels who arrived some days ago. Your intent is to draw their retreat. My fleet, behind, will snare them and finish them while you take up positions above the planet and wait for Judicator Badaar.”

Chan’zih’mar nodded. As he went to turn off his visage, she hissed at him.

“You disrespect me, Chan’zih’mar.”

“I do…”

“Do not disrespect me the lie, as well. Why do you treat me so?”

Chan’zih’mar was hesitant to answer. “As a M'a'rara'b'a, your ability to command…”

“Is not an issue. These orders come for Elder Kal Shora; I merely relay them.”

“Then so it goes.”

“Be warned, that my position as a Judicator is supported by the Elder. Those who oppose me oppose his will.”

Chan’zih’mar said nothing, biting back his disgust and closing the visage link between them. She took her seat, and if she had a mouth, would have grinned at his defiance. It would fade.

“Adjutant Chan’zih’mar is signaling for conduit departure.”

She nodded. “Raise the gravitic manipulation fields, and charge our weapons.”

"President" Donald Sampson of the Corporate Sector Authority government in exile was not a happy man.

"You're telling me you want give me the material that the Grand Fleet of CSA needs?" said Sampson.

"The Corporate Sector Authority is no longer recognized as an official government. Junction Enterprises only deals with official organizations."

The image of the trade official went blank.

"That son of bitch! The Corporate Sector Authority in exile is an official galactic government! Captain move the ship into high orbit. If Junction doesn't want to give our Grand Fleet what it needs. We will take what we need."

"Yes Govern-" The officer coughed. "I mean President Sampson."

"Boy, if the Corporate Sector Authority wasn't at war, I'd bust you down gunner's mate so fast it take months for the paper work to catch up with your sorry ass. But... I ain't got no one better than you so your ass is mine until I find someone better. You understand me captain?"

"Yes sir, Mr. President."

Sampson sat back into his command chair.

Fuck you Vinda Corp. You really screwed me and the rest of the corporate big boys.

"President Sampson! A large fleet has just vectored out of a wormhole!"

"Who the hell is it? Those bastards called the New Order governor that fast to scare us off?"

"No sir, these ships are different. They don't register like Imperial ships. They're very strange.


* * *
The agonizing communication with ended briefly. Not briefly enough for Nipeten Chan'zih'mar.

Se'p'ta?

Nipeten left his ready room and returned to the bridge of his Jha'Ma Cruiser. He was just in time to see the planet of Junction materialize before him.

"Adjutant Chan’zih’mar, the large fleet is arrayed haphazardly around the infidel's planet."

Finally, he would have true test of his command abilities. He had a huge fleet at his command. Along with his Jha'Mar command cruiser, he commanded two Mak'Bek cruisers, four Borleas cruisers, many attack and stealth ships and a huge Parrow Lin cruiser for heavy support.

"We must destroy the infidel fleet before we begin Bar’z’ran process. Order the stealth ships to cloak and to then flank the small dagger-shaped marauder ships. Send the Mak'Bek cruisers and three of the Borleas cruisers after the Victory triangle ships. All other ships will assault the main Imperial triangle ship with us. Dan’zant! "

The ships of Nipeten's fleet moved into position. The infidel fleet seemed paralyzed in fear.

"Ready Ferrin Dar’! D’a’dool!"

Adjutant Chan’zih’mar watched his plan go into action. He watched the vermin infidel's ships falling to his weapons.

* * *

"Captain! Fire all batteries on these aggressors!" yelled President Sampson.

"It's no use sir. Our weapons are doing little to none damage to the enemy ships."

Another Marauder class corvette exploded, blanketing the star destroyer's barely holding shields with debris.

"Then get us the fuck here out of here captain."

"I'll send out the order but we are deep inside of Junction's gravity well. We will have to fight our way out to get to a hyperspace vector."

President Sampson covered his face.

Where are we going to go? Back to the Corporate Sector? Nah. That Vinda son of a bitch would drum up some kind war crimes and lock me forever. I guess we could head to the core. It be a risk with all those Imperials but better than being locked up a Vinda fucking
Corporation cell.

They broke across the visage with angry speed shut down by the persistence of Cree’Ar gravitic manipulation arrays. The Judicator eyed them carefully, deciding by size which vessel must be the command ship.

“That one,” she said, pointing. Her officer nodded.

About five of the vessels fifteen energy field disruption cannons broke open and fired upon the vessel. Her shields were awash with the biting sting of the Cree’Ar’s ionized attack, and for a moment small shivers of energy arched across the vessel’s shields. She turned her head to the firing officer and waited for his report.

“Minimal damage to infidel vessel’s forward shielding; Nexus reports probable negligible loss of secondary command functions and power redistribution,” the officer reported, before a klaxon from his terminal drew his attention from his commander and down to his controls. “They are charging weapons… and firing.”

She tensed her fingers on the control chair, watching lances of green infidel laser cannons bear down on her vessel. They drew nearer, fast, deadly…

…inaccurate.

“Shots missed our fore. Nexus calculates high probability shots were blind effort to hit us…”

“They cannot see us.”

“Nexus calculates that a high probability.”

So, the gravitic cloak works. She had been reasonably sure that it should, but when dealing with alien technology one could never be sure. She removed her hands from the chair, placing one on each knee, and closing her eyes.

“Open main batteries.”

The Ador-Class Shadow Cruiser had forty five plasma disruption cannons, almost all of which could fire at the enemy vessel. And they did indeed fire, sending hurtling balls of superheated plasma at the enemy destroyer, balls which progressed slowly to them but with increasing speed from the bridge of the enemy vessel. The heavy cruiser was unable to move in time, and the plasma flattened against the hull, splashing back into space with molten remains of the enemy vessel’s hull.

“Our scans indicate that enemy shields have minimal effect on disruptor weaponry. Hull damage to eighty percent of the enemy vessel confirmed; multiple breaches.”

Interesting. The Cree’Ar had been used to Yuuzhan Vong vessels, which possessed dovin basels which worked to swallow some or all of each plasma ball. To have no such technology employed in this galaxy made their weaponry all the more lethal. After only one volley she could already make out burnt black holes through to the interior of the vessel… some of which through leaked white ozone, the decompression of the deck’s air before emergency bulkheads were closed on each breached section, sealing it off from the rest of the ship and choking the white mist down from a jet to but a small puff into space.

“They are returning fire.”

The vessel rocked as it took a shot from the ships turbolasers. Unshielded, the Cree’Ar vessel was hit full on as the beam of energy passed the gravitic cloak and slammed into the fore of the Ador cruisers hull.

“Report.”

“Minimal damage. One shot of the volley struck the vessel in the fore quarter; the blast was contained by the hull. No breach.”

“But now… they know where we are. Disable them, and then move us away.”

Arching out with the rest of the vessels energy field disruption cannons, the Ador-Class Shadow Cruiser disabled the electronic systems of the Imperator destroyer and then formed up behind their own line.

“Enemy vessels taking up defensive positions. They are releasing fighters, charging weapons, and taking up formations for a counter attack.”

She tapped taloned hands against her command chair, nodding. “And so it begins.”

TIE Interceptors are known throughout the galaxy as the fast attack preference of most warlords and remnant commanders. While major governments had outmoded their usefulness as a first strike assault fighter, they were by no means antiquated technology.

That made them the perfect testbed to run the Cree’Ar Incisor fighter against. The Nexus sent the fighters swarming from the planet’s outer orbit to meet the Interceptors half way, the speed of each vessel ensuring that both met the other in little or no time at all.

As they drew into range both sides unleashed a torrent of energy, weapons fire openly exchanged among the ranks of fighters as they drew in on each other. The Interceptors took the brunt of the first exchange, as the Nexus calculated high probability that Interceptors would fire before closing to optimum firing distance and redistributed energy to the dispersion field. The majority of the fire exchanged was the Interceptors lasers hitting the shields of the Incisor and the Incisor answering with a ball of superheated plasma, splashing off the cockpits of the Interceptors and opening them to space.

The Interceptors numbers tore down significantly they soon found themselves being chased by the Incisor before they could turn to counter-engage. The ships moved cohesively and almost like animals… ships would take a pack mentality, working together to eliminate one target and then splitting apart, reforming with other fighters to destroy another Interceptor. The Nexus worked efficiently as always and in so doing cut the Corporate Sector Authorities fighter numbers significantly in a short period of time.

Without many fighters some Incisors turned to target the smaller capital vessels of the infidel fleet. The Incisors cut in at a pace the Corporate Authority had never seen, and the ships proved too fast even for the primary fighter defense of the Lancer frigate. Unable to target the Incisors effectively with their guns the Authority tried to ignore them and advance past the fighter ranks.

That was a tactical error, as the Nexus began to calculate the best area for hull breaches based on exterior profile and tactical assessment of ability. They then used their primary weaponry, the plasma disruption cannon, to create said breaches.

The Cree’Ar had originally designed their ships to deliver acid based weaponry. That acid was based on the hull of the opposing vessels, which primarily were made of yorrick corral. To defeat the Yuuzhan Vong’s dovin basels, the Cree’Ar would charge the acid with radiation that had found to be disruptive to the effective life span of the dovin basel that, when in range, caused them injury and prevented them from engaging their defensive measures.

With the advent of conflict with the Parrow Lin, the plasma disruptor was created, reformulated into a more potent weapon designed to eat not through rock, but through metal. No matter the metal all are based on common form neutron chains… pure metals corrode too easily, so formulaic neutron chains are used to join metallic elements into complex alloy chains. The Cree’Ar plasma breaks down the neutron with radioactive charge, as the corrosive liquid and the heat of the plasma break down the base metallic elements, creating from a solid alloy only melted, liquid sludge.

“Enemy ships are turning to retreat.”

Her fingers tensed, clattering claws against the chair. “Target their engines.”

Parrow Lin Cruisers broke form from the Cree’Ar warships, accelerating to their attack speed… which, all things considered, was really quite paltry. The cruisers rocked as the enemy ships hit their unshielded hull with missiles and all manner of laser based weaponry, none making more then a black pock mark on the standard Parrow Lin designed thick hulled vessels. The Cruisers cut in on the enemy ships, slowed by their damaged hulls limiting escape speed, shunting power from engines to reinforce shields. Even as slow as they were, the enemy was slower… crippled, limping away…

The Dominion offered no mercy. No surrender; no quarter. They opened on the afts of the ships with their plasma disruption cannons, slipping effortlessly past the enemy shields and hitting against their engines, liquid breaking and beading, spreading across the ship in smaller puddles, each eating through circuitry and metal with ease. The ships began to slow… engine blocks and nozzles folding in as they were eaten and ion stream unable to cut through the fused ports. The circuitry controlling the streams was dissolved and the crews found themselves unable to redistribute power… some ships began to fissure and explode in the aft section, continuing to funnel maximum power to fused closed ports, backwash overloading generators and destroying emergency bulkheads. Some smaller cruisers became nothing but explosions; a momentary flash of energy and then small pieces of debris to burn up in the upper atmosphere.

Still the Parrow Lin fired, passing by disabled cruisers now and meeting their midships. The enemy tried to combat them but the Parrow Lin hulls proved to be insurmountable to their simple and uninspiring, outdated weaponry, with only one cruiser of the Parrow Lin slowing under the fire. One of the assembled twenty five…

And with twenty plasma disruptor nozzles a piece, fifteen of which would be locked on to one section at any one time, as the Parrow Lin moved up on their opponents they had already lose. The plasma struck home once again, sizzling the hulls of the enemy vessels and allowing hot bursts of oxygen to angrily lash out of the vessels, creating electrical discharge as it struck against still mostly operational shields. Once the Parrow Lin vessels began to strike critical midship systems, such as power generation and distribution generators and relays, shield generators, weapon control systems, they began to inflict fatal damage to the ships, as shields dropped and power began to wane, many of the ships stopped moving, stopped firing… stopped everything.

Still, the Cree’Ar offered no mercy. No surrender; no quarter.

Enemy frigates were the first to fall. They were thinner, all told, and their middle sections of hull thinned down to streamline the vessel for travel, assuming attack from the front of the rear; utterly unprepared for an assault from above. As the plasma burned and ate away their hulls the integrity of said hulls collapsed… support beams, partially corroded away began to snap, and the ships broke apart, joined momentarily sections by cable, and then by arcs of energy from broken cables, and then finally by nothing at all. Bodies of crew members killed by the lack of oxygen floated from their stations; some, strapped to chairs, stared blankly at unpowered monitors as dead as they were.

“Orders, Judicator?”

She mused for a second. So many possibilities. “Break the Parrow Lin away. Have the defense pods deploy from the lower orbit.”

As the Parrow Lin ships began to cut away the Nexus began to stream commands. Defense pods, earlier in the day having been deployed to the atmosphere and orbit of the planet in the thousands, began to accept command lines and target profiles of the vessels attempting to retreat from the Cree’Ar and turn back to Junction.

“Calculating probable exit vectors based on current heading and current speed.”

“Vessels speed effected by destruction of engines; estimate vessels lack propulsion to escape system.”

“Vessels shields active on minimal amount of craft; tactical assessment suggests three groups of five pods distributed to currently shielded ships and the remainder distribute against unshielded vessels.”

“Calculating optimal strike trajectory.”

“Activating pulse drives.”

“Activating energy modulation generator.”

And the relief the enemy vessels may have felt as the Parrow Lin ships broke off was replaced with a small amount of dread as a million red indicator lights activated in orbit and the Nexus defense pods broke free of the planet on an intercept course.

The Defense Pods were not as fast, on scale, as most Cree’Ar technology, built on the principal of speed. But they faster then the Parrow Lin cruisers, and moved at about standard starfighter speed. As they moved into range of the enemy vessels they began to form up… some into packs of five, some into groups of three. They moved with a cohesive unison almost frightening to observe.

One mind. One voice. One purpose.

“Optimum distance for scorpion detachment reached.”

“Time to intercept vessels calculated at fourteen seconds.”

“Detach scorpions. Deploy in formation.”

“Begin shield draining procedure.”

“Accelerate to ramming speed.”

On command, the defense pods flying in the formation of fives seemed to crack as tiny black pieces of debris shot free from their hull. When that debris began to move and fly independently, falling behind the pods, it became obvious they, even at impossibly small size, were self-propelled technology of some kind. Suddenly the shields of the still shield Authority ships began to pulse and crackle on the surface as gravitic force began to hit it in increasingly powerful waves. Some of the shields began to buckle in effected areas. Some had backups. Some had nothing left but hope.

In those with no backups or whose shields had already failed, the effect was far more dramatic. The pods seemed to explode in some kind of afterburn despite the clear lack of any propellant behind. They reached a critical speed and it became obvious that they would not have time to turn around mere seconds before slamming into the hulls of the ships. The tail of the pod hooked into what little hull was left of the vessels, slamming in with force, sharp, hooking curve slicing into the weak and misshapen metal easily, as the bulk of the pods weight cracked the fissured hull and slammed through, bending the metal around the ball of the ship and allowing oxygen to slip free from vessels not already decompressed.

The pods, from the exteriors of the ship, then dimmed. Indicator lights faded in the tail and the ball as the pod shut down, purpose served. Those on the interior of the vessels were treated to a sight somewhat different and far more sinister.

“Judicator,” a lesser officer bowed before her, and she opened her palms as he raised his head. “Enemy vessels are being converted by the defense pods. Victory is ours.”

She tapped talloned fingers on the controls as she stoof, amused. “You say that as if you had doubts.”

He bowed deeply, assuring his subservience while he spread his arms in a gesture of apology for his mistaken inflection. “Se'T'ap'a'r'odar, Judicator.”

She nodded, absently. “Inform me when Judicator Badaar arrives. Until then, I wish to remain undisturbed.”

Mission accomplished, Judicator Resfidal left the bridge of the vessel, silently disappearing into the vessels shadows.