The Rebel Faction

Kal Shora watched intently as a shuttlecraft left the vessel of the Caprician envoy and began to make its way to the surface of Ithor.

He rose from his seat. “Where is that shuttle going?”

One of his officers rose and bowed. “It seems that… our translation matrix may have made… a small error.”

Kal Shora growled. “Explain.”

“The coordinates we sent to their envoy seem to have been… misinterpreted. We had calculated a special path to our docking bay, but sent them… a path to the surface.”

Kal Shora’s eyes flashed with rage. “You have sent them a welcome, not to the safety of our vessel, but to the molten surface of the world below? Who was the one who made such an error?”

Another of the officers stepped forward. “Elder, I am the Adjutant of this vessel. I take responsibility for the men under my command.”

Kal Shora gestured an acknowledgement. “Do you take responsibility out of honor, or out of the order of the Red Sun?”

The man did not hesitate. “I am as the Red Sun has made me; in this, there is no separation.”

Kal Shora accepted that. “Then it is you who shall bear the burden of this mistake.” Kal Shora turned back to the original officer. “Get me Zeratul on the visage.”

The surface of the visage shimmered until it displayed the blue face of the Shadowcaste warrior. “Yes?” Zeratul asked, bluntly as he always spoke.

“Zeratul, you are needed,” Kal Shora told him. “There has been an accident with the envoy of the Caprician Regency. They are currently making their way to the surface of Se'T'ap'a'r'odar.”

Zeratul’s eyes flashed with amusement. “They’ve been directed to the surface? An interesting way to greet an ally; with molten fire and death in a magma inferno.”

“We will redirect the incoming bodies away from their landing, and shield their approach from the orbit with our shieldships, but there is a greater concern,” Kal Shora spoke. “I do not wish them to become familiarized with us through the tek’a’tara. I would go to the surface myself…”

“…but you do not speak their language, and convincing them to remove suits designed to handle the poisonous atmosphere below will be impossible,” Zeratul concluded. “I will do as you ask. I will bring them to the ship. While in my company…”

“There are no questions they can not have answered,” Kal Shora replied. “There are none in this galaxy which I trust more than those who stand alone against the onslaught of the Yat'a'leg'a'lora. You may answer any of their inquiries into our society or hierarchy. Take Vejuun. He can answer any of their technical inquiries.”

“Very well,” Zeratul said, nodding his head. “I shall transport myself to the surface when conditions allow.”

“Before you do,” Kal Shora interjected, “there is one small additional matter. This vessel requires a new Adjutant.”

Zeratul’s eyes lit up in understanding. “Very well.”

Almost as soon as the visage returned to the natural bending of the waves, a thick, blue fog began to swirl about the vessel. All the men stood still as the cloud thickened at the center of the bridge. A small choking noise was heard, along with a heavy thud. Soonafter, the fog faded; gone with it the Adjutant, a large pool of blood where he had been standing the only evidence he had once been there.

“You,” Kal Shora said, gesturing to an officer. The officer in question stood and bowed. “You are now the Adjutant of this vessel.” He turned to the officer who made the original mistake. “You will clean up this blood. Consider yourself fortunate it is not yours.”

“High Judicator,” the officer said, throwing himself down to begin to clean the blood.





When Zeratul formed on the surface of Ithor, he did so with a dead Cree’Ar on his shoulders.

The tek’a’tara recognized this to be unusual and one of them approached him. “Shall we dispose of the body?”

“In the molten,” Zeratul said. He did not want evidence of a dead body to be just hanging around while foreign dignitaries arrived to negotiate terms. “Boost the oxygen in this field, as well. The air tastes stale and metallic.”

“By your command, so shall it be done,” the cyborg said. It seized the body and began to move towards the fire, and stopped to adjust the Nexus, changing the conversion ratio of the particulates in the air.

Zeratul made a final check that his skin and armor was free of blood. His bone blades, slid back inside his skin, would remain hidden unless one of their diplomats decided he wanted a swift death as opposed to civil discussions. His armor gleaned a golden shear; important, he was told, for it to shine so in this galaxy, for their importance placed on gold. It was, of course, not gold, but rather simply a pigment added by the Nexus in the final stages of the pouring of the alloy used. Baropoly woven trinium tricarbonate, he had heard, though his mind tended to discard technical details. It shone. That was what was important.

It wouldn’t serve them if his armor did not shine.

He felt no threat from the Capricians; Zeratul did not fear death, and felt no need to begin as a friendly greeting had been sent to a people that Kal Shora felt would be allies. Nevertheless, these people had won a war against the Yuuzhan Vong… that made them warriors worthy of respect. One did not meet fellow warriors except but on those terms. So Zeratul wore his armor. Today he would be a warrior diplomat. It was not his favourite assignment, but Kal Shora had delegated a matter of judiciary to his control. That measure of appeasement would serve to keep the Skey’g’aar amused for the day. He would then suffer the Capricians, and perhaps more annoyingly, Vejuun.

“Ah! Zeratul! A pleasure to see you again,” the annoying creature said.

Zeratul did not acknowledge him. The shuttle had passed through the shield; created above by sending waves of heavy gravity to the Nexus towers installed on the surface, which then bent that energy into something roughly equivalent to a dome. Inside that bubble, the Nexus could change the conditions of the air; in this case, filtering out the particulate created in the air as a result of the smelting of the metal. The resultant conditions were breathable; the Cree’Ar had long ago learned to breath oxygen from standard habitable worlds amongst other carbon based life, and the Capricians would have originated on a world with similar, though not exact, conditions.

More refinement was capable aboard ship; here, the timeframe was more limited and the space more… flexible.

“So interesting, these first contact scenarios,” Vejuun said… perhaps not the first thing he had said, as Zeratul had become adept at filtering him out… in response to the shuttle setting down.

Zeratul, for his part, simply folded his hands behind his back and stood tall, cape billowing from his shoulder behind. When the first person emerged from the vessel, he offered a nod, and one to each successive person in the envoy.

“Welcome,” he said, in Basic. “I am Zeratul Daz’Da’Mar. I bid you welcome, to Se'T'ap'a'r'odar, on behalf of The Cree’Ar Dominion. I am at your service, as is my associate, Vejuun. We will answer any questions you may have while we arrange a transport to our vessel in orbit.”

Zeratul would have smiled if he had a mouth. “You have many questions. I will need to have them answered, one at a time.”

He turned to Arien. “You speak for the others,” he noted, pointing out that she had spoken first and introduced the others. “I will allow you to choose in which order we answer the questions. I feel it, however, important that I answer your question first.”

He turned, striding slightly forward, his open palm sweeping the horizon. “Long ago, in our home galaxy, there was a world of tranquil beauty like no other. It was known as Ador; it was the world on which I was born. I am not a Cree’Ar; I am a Skey’g’aar. Genetically, we are very similar to the Cree’Ar. The most notable difference is in the color of our skin, and the hue of our eyes.” Zeratul then blinked, the orange glow of his eyes fading as the blue skin slid over his them. “The world of Ador, though, no longer exists. It was destroyed. Not destroyed, such as this world may appear to you, but obliterated, by a people we know as the Yat'a'leg'a'lora.

It was those people who led us to this galaxy. We found, upon our arrival, that the Yat'a'leg'a'lora had arrived many years prior to us. We have been, since Ador’s destruction, locked in a war with the Yat'a'leg'a'lora. Their arrival in this galaxy was likely a result of their defeat, at our hands, in another galaxy. As such, we felt compelled to make our first actions in this galaxy defensive actions; we engaged the Yat'a'leg'a'lora, as we have in many galaxies before, and we put an end to their dark designs.

Sernpidal. Belkadan. Helska. Ithor. Worlds beyond the reach of the Galactic Empire were ripe for the conquest of the Yat'a'leg'a'lora. We met them on these fronts. Our efforts, however, were not enough to save this world.” Zeratul closed his eyes for a moment. “The Yat'a'leg'a'lora have no respect for life that is not their own. This world… once lush with forests teeming with life, was poisoned by agents of the enemy. The trees wilted and died; the lifeforms choked and collapsed. Everything became a dark slurry of dead flesh. The Ithorians… they have been decimated. Refugees left this world… built large vessels long before the ‘lora arrived. Many have resettled across the galaxy. But this world was ruined… the atmosphere, the soil, and everything poisoned to the Ithorians.

Our people ran the Yat'a'leg'a'lora from this world. But the damage had been done. This world was not what it once was.” Zeratul turned back to them. “What you see now is… a reclamation project. This world has been soiled by the ‘lora. We are making attempts to make use of this world in the defense of our people, and the others that Yat'a'leg'a'lora have threatened, in this galaxy and beyond.”

He then nodded at Arien. “I trust that answers your question.”

She nodded, slowly, digesting what he had said. “Zander,” she said, and Zander stepped forward.

“This shuttle… shall we leave it here? Or do you want it somewhere else?”

Zeratul’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Actually, it was our intention to have you meet us aboard one of our vessels in orbit. Vejuun.”

Vejuun stepped forward. “It was… something of an oversight. Some years ago, our people acquired some Mon Calamari vessels from The Galactic Coalition. However, we did not hold them for long. During our efforts to leave the system, several of the vessels were destroyed when we accidentally plotted a course to jump into a nearby sun. In order to plot a course through space, one needs seven directional notations. Two along an x axis, two along a y axis, two along a z axis, and one to mark the origin of the vessel. In many cultures, six points serve the same purpose. However, our method of plotting space requires an additional calculation. There is something known as temporal dilation involved with travel in, and between, various gravitational fields. Your method of travel is not effected; a significant body of gravity will stop your vessels. Our method of travel however is capable of transporting our ships despite these gravity wells. Depending on where the vessels emerge, however, they can experience… the best way to describe it is as a quantum decompression. It is a potentially fatal occurrence, and as such, before our vessels make any movement in, or out, of our C-Velocity conduits, our computers verify that the gravity well we are entering is compatible with the one from which we exited. If it is not, we must begin again. As a result of this, an additional sequence of numbers was added to the coordinates we sent you… your people likely discard the extra coordinates at the end, when it was in fact the first two set of numbers at the beginning of the sequence that should have been discarded. We are fortunate that this error only occurred on this occasion; had it effected your earlier trip through hyperspace…”

“Suffice it to say,” Zeratul interjected, “despite the miscommunication, we are glad that you have come to talk with us.”

Arien nodded in Jerra’s direction. “I’m a medical scientist, so I have to question… are you… the same species? You seem very different. If you’re not a Cree’Ar, what do they look like?”

Zeratul nodded. “We are not the same species. The Cree’Ar Dominion is comprised of many species; the Cree’Ar and the Skey’g’aar were the original members, but it has expanded to encompass many who are threatened by the Yat'a'leg'a'lora. Many from galaxies beyond this… and some from this galaxy here… have joined with us under the Red Sun. I, myself, am a Skey’g’aar. I look like a Cree’Ar. Cree’Ar look like me.”

“I… wish I could be eloquent as my blue skinned friend,” Vejuun admitted, the ash grey, humanoid features he wore taking on a look of solemnity. “My world… was a swamp, of dull, wet mud. We worked in fields harvesting shining white coral… as the pale enemy in their shining red armor beat us with whips that came alive in their hands. The Cree’Ar came to my world long ago… by which point, the name of our planet, our species, our history… it had all ceased to matter, and been forgotten in the blood of our ancestors. The Cree’Ar offered us the safety of their Dominion… allowed us to find that which interested us, and which we would occupy our time.” He smiled, revealing white teeth behind his lips. “My name I chose for myself. Ve’a’juuan is the Cree’Ar words for ‘one who searches of old’. I thought that it was fitting, given my interest in piecing together the past… and the future… in my research.”

Arien turned to Bint Serro. “Might as well get the reason for his name too.”

“Your name… forgive me if I mispronounce it… Zeratool Daz Dammer. Is there some sort of significance to it?”

“Cree’Ar and Skey’g’aar do not often choose names that mean anything, such as it were,” the Skey’g’aar offered. “My last name is a combination of the origin of the houses to which I am sworn to; the Dazfrans, the Damshuire, and the Mervendrias. Generally, a Cree’Ar with one name is born of the common lands; one with many, conjoined names is of noble blood. I was not born with this name; my name was once Zeratul Anfreil. I was welcomed into a new house as a result of a… private matter. I would not wish to taint such a polite discussion with tales of war.” He seemed to trail off. “Be careful with this knowledge, however; a man, such as Kal Shora, our leader, has passed over many times the chance to abandon his name. He may have origins among the simplest of men, but amongst his soldiers, he is a hero, and a legend. There are none who wield more respect without an apostrophe in their name.”

“Interesting,” Serro said back, nodding his appreciation.

Terra Nova stepped up before Scipio could pick the next person to answer a question. “What are those?”

Zeratul turned his eyes to Arien, who nodded her consent. Zeratul then turned to Vejuun.

“What you see is something known as the Cybernetic Nexus. These, specifically, are Pylons. Pylons are control and command hubs for the Nexus,” he said. His hand moved, to beyond the edge of the force field. “You may see, here or there, bustling busy cyborgs moving this way or that. They, too, are part of the Nexus; it is, in essence, an integrated cybernetic processing network consisting of relays, processors, and units such as them, to coordinate, communicate, and construct the backbone of The Cree’Ar Dominion. The Pylons are both computer and factory; it determines what is needed and it uses the means it has to construct it. It is not a simple process… but, what you would like to know of it, we can share with you.”

There was only one question left. “How… exactly, are you doing all of this?”

Vejuun looked over at Neville Gant, the geologist. “I’m sorry, are you referring to the shield, or that which lays beyond?”

“Both, I suppose,” Gant followed up.

“The shield is a matter of gravity,” Vejuun commented. “As you are likely aware, volatile energy and matter alike can both be contained behind powerful fields of gravity… this makes advanced power generation possible, as an example. This gravity is created from above… we have ships that control and project gravity fields. The field is sent down in waves; the Nexus Pylons you see which mark the edge of the field manipulate the field further and bend it to suit the size of our meeting. Inside the field, the Nexus itself removes the toxicity from the air that exists on the planet in general; we have attempted to emulate Coruscant, the world with the most readily available information in regards to its geology, atmosphere, biosphere, and the like. Zeratul said he still found the air to be stale, so he had the system add additional oxygen; personally, I find oxygen slightly intoxicating. The way that it seems to…”

“Another time, Vejuun,” Zeratul said, not wanting to indulge Vejuun in one of his tangents.

“Ah, of course,” he said, bowing in respect. “As for what you see beyond… the surface of Ithor was rendered incapable of sustaining life. As such, we found it… ideal, for its present purpose. What you see here as magma is from beyond this world… we have found, moons, asteroids, stellar bodies with no life and no gravitic consequence, to deposit here. Through impact and, when necessary, additional energy provided by our plasma, the metal is melted down to its most basic components. When superheated, as you know, the atomic state of any element becomes much more malleable; orbits become less stable, more erratic, and faster. They are more easily broken, created, modified… we change the material at the subatomic level, turning useless iron ore to dichromilide, or tetrasilicatarapreen, or any of a hundred combinations of elements, alloys, gasses, materials of all kinds that we need.” Vejuun nodded in admiration of it himself. “The moons, and rocks, previously unused, now become… whatever is needed.”

“This is our version of a factory,” Zeratul said. “This is how we make that which we need.”

He then turned, nodding in the direction of Scipio Arien. “I believe that answers your original round of questions.”

Zeratul turned to Arien first. “If you do not mind, we would like to take your shuttle back to our vessel… our… method of travel does not involve shuttles, and I am not sure if a human could survive it. Your shuttle is our best way to remain in a group as we travel back to orbit.”

He watched as Terra Nova basically ambushed Vejuun with technical questions. “She is… exuberant. I am glad she is under your command.”

Vejuun, for his part, seemed happy to share. “The best way to answer your questions is to show you,” he said, gesturing with his hand. He walked forward to the Nexus Pylon, and put his hand to it. “Each Pylon is capable of interfacing with anyone in the Dominion. It scans our DNA through touch to verify we have authority to use it, and then it gives us whatever we need.” He turned to the Pylon. “Prepare me one liter of water, suitable for drinking.” The Nexus then churned mechanically, before a slot opened, inside of which was a chilled semi-transparent bottle filled with water. “Making something like water is simple. The complex atomic adjustments needed to make the metallic alloys is much more consuming.”

He handed her the bottle. “What you see beyond is done automatically… we gave The Nexus a blueprint of our vessels. It then creates the materials and, elsewhere, assembles them.”

Jerra was next. “We detected lifesigns on this world. Those… things, tending to the piles of metal. Are they sentient? Are they part of your Nexus as well? Part of your society?”

Vejuun stepped forward, but Zeratul raised a hand to stop him. “That question is difficult to answer. It depends largely on your definition of life, and sentience. It is perhaps better suited for a different environment then this.”

Jerra did not seem satisfied with the answer, but Opi Herrento stepped forward to ask his question regardless. “I understand that the apostrophe additions is a good indicator of nobility though not in all cases. My question is regarding your naming of this world: Se'T'ap'a'r'odar. With so many apostrophes in the name, I have to ask if this world holds some significance to the Cree'Ar?"

Zeratul nodded. “The way we name our people, and the way we name our worlds, is not the same. Each planet under the Red Sun is named for the reason for which we stand upon its soil. When we came to Ithor, the way the Yat'a'leg'a'lora had ruined this world so spoke to us. Thus, when we took the world as our own, we named it in memory of the world that burned before by their hands. Se'T'ap'a'r'odar, loosely translated, means ‘We are here, and what we do, we do for Ador’. It is our reminder that what begins here ends in the war to end all wars.”

Vejuun and Zeratul sort of just watched as Neville Gant rambled in excitement.

“I wonder,” Qin Lin said, drawing Zeratul’s eye. He then turned to him. “It seems that the Yat'a'leg'a'lora have, in a large part, shaped your civilization's activities for quite a long time. Now that you have defeated them, even all the way in our galaxy, is all this, to help resupply your fleet on its return home?”

Zeratul shook his head softly. “We are not leaving here,” he said. “The Yat'a'leg'a'lora are our enemy, and in this galaxy, they have largely been defeated. But that does not mean that our work here is complete. Look out across the vast expanse of stars, and what do you see in this galaxy? Slaves. Slaves sent from their homes by oppressive dictators to fight wars against other slaves, so that other, even more oppressive dictators can be vanquished. But the war never ends. The war continues, for decades, for centuries, because neither side in this war can ever win. Each side can only press so far until it is spread too thin, and then the other side begins to gain momentum again.

I have watched this war play out. I have seen the cost of this war. One of our advanced scouts in this galaxy was killed by a Jedi; another, killed by a Sith. They are not the first, and not the last, lives lost in this war, but they are examples of the cost of becoming involved in such a thing.

Our people live under the protection of the Red Sun, so that we may aspire to have more than one can have in life. As such, I fear not death, and walk amongst the enemy without hesitation or trepidation. But not all are so fortunate to live under Borleas Quayver, nor can they expect his protection.”

Zeratul gestured back to the molten pits. “What begins here ends in the war to end all wars. This is a war between those voices who want to be free, and those who want to enslave others to serve their will. Those who want to be free will be heard, and their freedom will be earned in blood.”

He then swept a taloned claw across the stars. “Those who wish to keep their slaves shall live only long enough to see them freed, then they will bleed, and then they will die.”

“What about you, Zeratul? You seem to carry yourself like a soldier but is that something you enjoy?”

A cutting question; she was good. “It is not a matter of enjoyment to be a soldier; any who has been in war can speak eloquently of its horrors. Being a soldier is a matter of necessity, and while it is not always particularly pleasant, it is always necessary that there are people willing to defend their way of life.”

He turned more directly to her. “As a people, of this you are aware.”

“Your people have travelled the galaxies so I am sure that you have seen many wonderous sights,” she continued. “If there was no war, would any of these worlds have enough of a hold on you to become a second home?”

He waved his hand, dismissively. “Home is an abstract concept. Anyone can make a home on any world; what matters is what is important to the person. To those with a nomadic inclination, they can make a home anywhere, or nowhere.”

“If you have succumbed to the nomadic lifestyle of your fleet,” she asked in response, “is there something more you would like to discover? Something new you would like to see?”

Zeratul considered that. “I live to see that which I could not see in the seas of my home,” he said. “Recently, we made contact with a species in your galaxy known as The Azguard.

They are a people with a history of conflict; resisting wars from without, struggling for power within. They have honor, and ethics, and determination to build themselves beyond what they are now.

A people looking to explore the worlds beyond inspires me. Were I to have remained home, I would not know such a tale. Such a people. I would never have met them.”

His eyes closed, the mist pouring from them ceding for a second, before they flashed open again. “The acquisition of knowledge beyond that which we know is a driving force behind our quest.”

She nodded, and turned her eyes back to Nova.






”Can I… keep the bottle?”

“Of course,” Vejuun said. “I am curious as to whether you trust me enough to drink it…”

She grinned. “I want to analyze it… compare it to the water stores we have, compare differences.”

“Well, as you are likely aware, synthesized water is pure; it will not have any minerals or contaminants that you would likely find in a standard store of fresh water,” Vejuun denoted. “It’s two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen in a liquid form, with molecules of free oxygen dispersed throughout.” He tapped the bottle. “The bottle you will find to be more interesting; it’s a biodegradable polycarbonate. If buried, it will dissolve into base carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen in about a month’s time.”

She nodded. Her attention turned to the pylon. “Can I touch it and ask for something?”

"Do not ask for a portable pylon to take with you back home..." Scipio added.

"...that answers commands only from you," Qin threw in as well, drawing a series of laughs.

Vejuun took it in stride. “Well, as I said, the Pylons respond to the genetic code of members of The Dominion. As the Capricians have not joined The Dominion, we do not have any of your genetic material through which we could give you access. Thus, if you touch it, it will not respond.”

“How do you give it blueprints?” Nova asked.

“We can either give the Nexus a plan we design, or access to a vessel in order to create its own blueprints,” Vejuun stated.

“Is your entire interface simple touch?”

Vejuun smiled again. “I am amused by the insinuation that there is anything ‘simple’ about the technology within The Nexus.”

Nova was still going, though. “That would be a bit inefficient if you had to touch a pylon to convey the needs of your fleet unless!...” she broke her conversation to snap her fingers, which caused Vejuun to pull back in surprise, "..these Nexus panels/pylons are built into your ships too!"

Vejuun nodded. “We have several aboard most of our vessels. Besides creating materials, they are also our primary communication relays.”

"So it senses what you need through your touch," Qin cut in. "So it only knows what you think you need or what need you convey, I presume telepathically? To it through your touching it. But how does it handle the needs of multiple requests? What if those needs conflict?"

Vejuun smiled. “There is no telepathy involved… this is not magic, or mysticism, simply technology. We tell it what we need. There are situations where it is able to anticipate those needs without a direct request being offered. Explaining its exact functions would be an arduous task. In time, we can show you all that you need to know I am sure.”

Zeratul stepped in at that point. “You must understand that this technology has great potential to cause massive disruption to the natural function of a society. Do not yearn for it in earnest without considering the potential drawbacks,” he offered as advice, before turning away from the scientists again.

Vejuun’s smile grew wider. “Don’t mind him,” he said, “he’s just a pessimist.”





Zeratul stepped first inside the shuttle, and Zander turned to him and nodded. "We are unable to manipulate our environment quite as well as you do and so we are not sure if anything from ourselves or our ship will do you harm,” he said. “Temperatures and environmental controls are set typically to our standards but what is good for us may not necessarily be good for you. The scans are to obtain a baseline as you enter so if there is a change in your body temperature or any other variance, our system will pick it up and alert us."

Zeratul nodded. “I have spent many years amongst humans and their like,” Zeratul told him. “While every culture and species is different, if you can keep a human alive in this vessel, then I will be fine.”

Zander added, “We would not want to get to your ships in orbit only to have them discover two dead Cree'Ar ambassadors who caught a slight chill. Given your affinity for technology, we presume that this would be of no issue with you but we felt you should know nonetheless.”

“The sentiment is appreciated,” Zeratul replied.

She gestured further into the shuttle. “May we proceed? Or, is there some adjustment we would be wise to make prior to our departure?”

Zeratul shrugged slightly. “Can you… make it taller?”

She laughed slightly, noticing that he was hunched a little to keep his tall frame contained inside a shuttle not quite designed for someone of his height.

“Is there some sort of refreshments or food we may provide for you during the trip?” Zander asked.

Zeratul turned to Vejuun. “Would you care to try some of their food? Do you trust them enough to eat it?”

Vejuun nodded. “I am quite hungry… since you have offered, I would be curious to see what your food tastes like…” he said, and then made sure Zeratul wasn’t watching him too carefully before adding, “it can’t be any worse than the rations aboard their ships.”





”Zeratul,” Scipio asked, drawing the Skey’g’aar’s attention, "I do not wish to offend and if my question does, then I do apologize for causing this. I do empathize with you with regards to the death of your scouts. It is not easy losing comrades in dangerous situations. I must ask, 'Why did the Jedi kill your scout?' Is this something you know or is it just known that a scout has died at the hand of a Jedi?”

Zeratul turned back to her. “There is much we do not know. We sent four scouts to this galaxy when we detected the presence of the Yat'a'leg'a'lora here. We know that one died at their hands. Another was working to integrate himself within the rising Bastion Conclave. It was he who the Jedi killed. Another was working to observe and interact within the constructs of The New Republic. He was executed in that capacity, and our best intelligence suggests the Sith hold responsibility for that. The fourth scout survived to tell of what he learned, and he was rewarded for his service.”

Qin asked the next question. “How long ago was Ardor destroyed?”

Zeratul turned to him. “Ador,” he corrected, firstly. “Also, questions such as when are difficult to answer. Time is relative; here, there, time is not always in consistent, even motion. The curve and bend of galaxies around each other creates such a disparity. It has been some centuries; I was not alive when it happened. Kal Shora was. Tread carefully when speaking of the world on which he was born.”

Qin nodded. “Also… what is this Red Sun?”

Zeratul turned to the Caprician shuttles fore. “Out beyond the boundaries of where you have been is where we originate. Everything there lies unified now under the rise of a single sun. It sets our path and guides us in all that we do. It is where we come from and where we are going. But one cannot simply be told the path… they must see it for themselves.”

Zeratul turned back to him. “Perhaps, in time, you can see it as well.”

Bint Serro stepped forward then. “I must ask,” he said, and Zeratul nodded, “how are you speaking to us, I see no mouth, and how have you come to know our language?”

“Galactic Basic is the most commonly used language across all holonet transmissions. Many of which I watched, in early attempts to learn of your culture. I taught myself the words by associating pictures with the word which was spoken; then, conversations,” he said. “When I am… not so cramped for space, ask your first question again,” he said, unable to stretch at all beyond the metal of the vessel’s plating.

“And what is your definition of 'slave'?” Opi Herrento asked.

He turned to the lexographer. “I walk free because I see. I see the truth beyond that which I can touch with my own hands. I walk free because I follow a voice greater than my own. A slave is made to do, and made to touch, made to feel, and made to see that which they are meant to see. A hand of dark design constricts that which they can know, and prevents them from embracing the truth. Evil has kept a firm hand on the peoples of this galaxy as it has many others. Those who service evil will be made to see the light. Once the truth is known, choices will be made. Those choices will determine the future of the people who make them.”

“I know your Dominion must be rather large if it encompasses several galaxies,” Qin began, continuing to ask, “but if you have the ability to travel between galaxies, despite the time curvature, surely the tales of your exploits in this galaxy are being communicated back to every Dominion world?”

Zeratul nodded to Vejuun. “It is… complicated. To explain more would require passing through the barrier between galaxies itself… perhaps, in so doing, I could more easily explain the difficulty in such a thing. It is true, however, that such a thing is done; we communicate with the homeland on fairly regular intervals.”

Terra stepped forward to Vejuun. “We do not synthesize water. We purify it, distill it, evaporate it, freeze it, ionize it but we do not create it from nothing…”

“But in purifying and distilling it, you remove much of the artifice that fresh water contains,” Vejuun denoted. “It is much the same.”

“You say there is no difference because water is two parts hydrogen one part oxygen. But your hydrogen and oxygen were once helium and nickel or iron and radium.”

“As was yours,” Vejuun stepped in. “All matter in the universe becomes other matter given enough time. The ebbs and flows of subatomic particles ensure that over time, no thing stays the same. We merely accelerated the process…”

He stopped when he noticed she was arguing with another one of her kind. “I would think you of all people would back me up on this. The same word said in Basic by different people may mean different things. Inflection, emotion and whatnot give the word different meanings! You may think water is water, but as Mr. Vejuun was reminding me, you do not get something from nothing. I want to know if this act of creation changes (even in minutely) what has been, until now, a natural process.” The one she was arguing with abandoned his side of the discussion, and she turned back to Vejuun. “What if the bottle is not buried? Will it still dissolve? If not, is dirt the trigger if it is buried? What if I apply heat to the bottle to heat the water, will that trigger and accelerate the bottle's biodegradability? What if I freeze it?"

“So many questions,” Vejuun said, smiling in delight. “I am tempted to say nothing and watch you experiment… but alas, I would not be here to see. The bottle will react to heat and pressure; burying it will hasten it’s dissolving, but not burying it will not prevent it entirely. Nor will freezing it. Time is elastic in the equation, but the end result is written into the material of the bottle itself at the subatomic level; it is not atomically stable.”

“Mr. Vejuun said that no unauthorized people could use their pylon,” one of the others asked of Terra Nova. “Why'd you ask?”

Vejuun smiled a little wider. “There is no harm in asking the impossible… if one does not, it will always remain so.”

They continued to discuss things amongst themselves… as Vejuun thought to answer something, they stepped in and cut off anything he might have said. It was a curious approach; bringing a group of people together to cut each other off and argue with one another rather than work in unison to learn and communicate. Vejuun was not sure he would do the same, but then, he was fairly sure the skey’g’aar did not like him.

Finally, one of them offered him a direct question that no one else could answer. “Does every world within the Dominion have these pylons or this Nexus implanted? Do all worlds, uh.. benefit from this technology?”

“Most,” Vejuun answered. “Cree’Ar Priests do not trust the technology, nor do they need it. On worlds they wise to keep as Holy Domain, great Astriaporta are made instead. Then the worlds are left to them, and their devices.”

Zeratul interjected with the warning, “One does not interfere with the work of God.”





Some time passed as the shuttle took off. Once it was in the air, Zander asked if he could do anything, or offer anything, to make the two Dominion citizens more comfortable. Vejuun had accepted the food.

“First, before I start giving you food, is there any cultural taboos I should know about? Like not being able to eat meat or you eat only meat at a specific hour or something like that? I would hate to give you something that would be hard to digest...”

Vejuun nodded. “Thoughtful questions,” he offered, “but, without any prior experience eating your food, I cannot tell you with any certainty which elements of it I might find difficult to digest. I will… try anything you prepare for me. In small quantities, I imagine I will do fine.”

Then the Xenobiologist turned to Zeratul, thinking to himself, ‘How does that guy eat?’

Zeratul couldn’t help but hear him. He turned his hand outward. “My skin is capable of secreting digestive acids through the palm of my hand,” he said. “The food then… sinks, into my body, where it is further digested and turned into the materials that I require to live.”

The Xenobiologist shook his head and Zeratul bowed softly.

“I apologize,” he said, legitimately, “I sometimes hear thoughts as if they were words. I will try and avoid answering any unspoken questions going forward.”

A silence followed…





"But you said you were born on Ador,” one of them said of Zeratul.

“Did I?” he said, thinking back. “Ah, yes. Perhaps I was. You must understand, our youth is… hard. There are many challenges to integrating oneself into the Dominion. Much of the early century of my life has been long ago lost in time… years afterwards, featuring only war, also burn in sections with vivid detail, and then sections of only darkness.”

“But if Kal Shora was born on it and was there when it was destroyed centuries ago, then you must be a very long lived species. What is the natural lifespan of a Cree'Ar?”

“Ah, yes,” Zeratul said. “Instead of answering that, I shall ask this instead: how old do you think I am?”

The scientist turned to another, and the two began pondering the question…





Qin nodded as if to himself before he asked Zeratul, "Whose voice is greater than your own?"

Zeratul snarled; that was a difficult question to answer honestly. He remembered that Kal Shora had said… ‘There are no questions they can not have answered. There are none in this galaxy which I trust more than those who stand alone against the onslaught of the Yat'a'leg'a'lora.’ Those were his words. Then Zeratul would tell them the truth. “The answer to your question is difficult to explain without an understanding of our societies makeup, which is more properly explained by someone who is more politically inclined then I am.”

He turned to the ships outside, which the shuttle were approaching. “Officially, any amongst the Dominion Bringers Of Fire may command my services; Adjutants, Templators, Judicators, and the High Judicator. Any of The Writers Of Scripture And Law may command me; Elders, and High Elders. Any of The Sanctum Of Light And Sky may command me; Priest Lords and High Priests. And, of course, The Matriarch of The Dominion.”

He turned back to Scipio. “However, as I told you earlier, four advance scouts were sent to this galaxy. Those scouts had a specific mission and were chosen because of their extensive list of skills and achievements in the field of combat. Each of those scouts became… unofficially… something of a special envoy of the Matriarch. As such, we answer only to him.”

Scipio nodded softly. “So… you were the scout who survived and was rewarded.”

Zeratul bowed slightly. “Now, I am allowed my leave to pursue my own interests. Only the High Judicator, and the Matriarch, command me now. To others, I… sometimes volunteer. But largely, I have earned the status that I may live beyond that of a soldier… now, I am my own man.”

He turned back. “Though, there was a cost to such a promotion…”






The pilot turned to Vejuun. “Which vessel are we to approach?”

Vejuun turned his palm to him, showing him a piece of technology. “May I?”

Zander turned to Scipio. “It depends on what that is,” he said, not willing to just plug alien technology into their shuttle’s systems.

Vejuun seemed somewhat taken aback. “Given what you know of our technological efficiency, were I to want to install something that would damage this vessel, do you not think I could have done as much without actually asking?”

Scipio nodded. “He has a point,” she said, causing Zander to shrug.

“It is a small piece of one of the Nexus pylons; specifically, it is a beacon,” Vejuun explained. “If I connect this to your communications system, it will filter through the deluge of signals from the various pylons across our fleet and recognize the ping from the pylon from which it was taken; that being, the one aboard Kal Shora’s command ship.”

Zander was still apprehensive.

“They all look the same to me from out here,” Vejuun said. “We could simply try landing in each, and hoping for the best.”

Zander shrugged. “Alright, what do I need to do to get it working?”

“Nothing,” Vejuun said. “Do you have a button that you press to open a communication channel?” Zander pointed to it on his panel, and Vejuun pressed the pylon against the button. There was a small suction noise, as if the pylon were sucking the button into itself, and then the top of the pylon flashed red. “Ah, it’s working,” he said. “The system works by echolocation. If you get closer, the flash will be faster. If you move in the wrong direction, it will become slower.”

Zeratul stepped forward, as difficult as such was when he was as confined as he was. “We mostly allow our vessels to pilot themselves, avoiding such issues,” he stated, in regards to the imprecise nature of the locator.