Hadran Ha'dradda flew in search of Ostsul. In his dreams, spirals of black clenched swirling blue of subspace tightly, and his naked form in the dreamlands shivered from the cold it should not even feel. It is bleeding, he thought. Why is it bleeding? He sought eternity by pressing ever inward. "Gua'dhan re'khurrkhu." he intoned. Reason to oneself. "Zan bidra." I am enough. He found Ostsul, the meditative center. In it, he set free to his mind, the way he'd been taught. The concerns of the living were brought into ludicrous perspective upon the face of  the eternal. The mind was a force, an expression of the universe' will. True sapience,  is not merely to think, but to exist on different planes of existence simultaneously. This was the long-overlooked truth that opened up the galaxy to them... and also to a black chapter in the history of Zallus. It has taken hundreds of years to recover from such repression. Now, here he was, performing heresies for which some of his ancestors had been stoned to death. "We are lost. The war is not lost, not yet, but we are." He stopped. "Does semantics matter?"  The answer was there. He could feel it. All he had to do was to swim far enough to grasp it. "Hush." his otherself replied. "Do you hear it? Slakta." Hadran tilted his head to side. He had no ears, but the bone structure of his head permitted what passed for hearing with sensitive cartilage below his horns. He could discern low tones better than high-pitched wails, though. Slakta, the Zallun woodwind, was called by a Derivian boor as the bastard stepchild of a bellowing drum. Their puny minds just couldn't understand that Zallun music was also intenal, feeling it echo within your skull and and resonate with your soul. Crafted from the rare purple bamboo growing only in two oasis on the entire planet,  each was a treasure to the entire race. Constant use decays the instrument. It was an honor beyond honor to be allowed to hear one; even the Emperor could only hear it no more than twice a year. Obviously, this far from the homeworld, there were no slakta. A recording just didn't have the same... feel.. even younglings could discern true Zallun music from recorded ones. What he heard, so perfect, was the captured essence of Empire trapped within his own memories. "Heirs of Tyrus." he noted. The Zallun anthem. Only once had he heard it performed using the traditional instruments, instead of crude metal replicas. The day he was sworn into the the Emperor's service. "Stop it. Is this supposed to mean something?" His otherself looked shocked. "Is it supposed to mean something?" It repeated the question, as if testing its taste, trying to decide if it liked it or not. "I concede that, my oath is unbroken. But this distracts me. Where is the honor, where is the victory?" He let out a strangled sigh. I must deal with the question first." "Ah, yes. What is this great question, that you would choose to briefly die, just to solve?" "How to speak the truth to the Emperor." "Interesting. Not what, but how. Then I shall do as you ask, and as was forbidden since the Ren'thalak, try to  play the strings of time and space..." There was a bright light.   Hadran Ha'drada whirled around, his face clear in its fury. The aide shrank back, making warding gestures. "Fogiveness, please, starlord! But all in in preparation. We await your orders." The young Zallun seemed more afraid of the room, and the symbols in it, than he was of the general himself. Hadran casually swept his arms aside, and the doors closed on their own. He could hear the aide outside yelp, then run for his life. He allowed himself a small smile. He was Templar, a warrior-priest of the Temple of Zallusa, and one of few in Zallun history that had attained control over his own mind... and by extension, the universe itself. The forbidden power. Psi. He wearily got to his feet. It was a tool, nothing more; not an abomination or a blasphemy; just another thing to further the Emperor's glory. "Ah." He said. "It hurts." "What, failing in your duty?" "No. My back. I am getting too old for this."   Imperial Nightmares     Strike Commander Arak Amu'dri entered the cabin, and was instantly assailed by a heady mix of rot, powder fumes, and wet rust. To save his nose from the stench, he tried breathing through his mouth, and almost gagged from the taste. He kicked aside a decomposing corpse, not giving a whit for its dignity after death. Derivian ghosts held no terror for this warrior, only the living.  "Facemasks." he commanded, sliding up the transparent lower plate of his helmet. He took a deep, relieved breath of filtered air. Strangely, small as it already was, to his perception the room shrank even more. In the dry heat of Zallus, scents can carry for miles. The wide, flat Zallun noses were sensitive to odors, and can easily discern the relative purity of water without needing to taste it. A valuable evolutionary development, in a desert where certain selfish creatures would taint a well with a poison in itself was immune to. The Strike Commander absently sipped from a small tube near his lips, on the left side. He knew he didn't need to conserve water, but old habits die hard, and felt a bit guilty of it. "Scout-infantry Ikta'relr, is this the one we want?" The Zallun to his left, carrying a hefty backpack of electronics gear, peered into a crude display mounted on his upper right arm. It showed a series of tunnels stained with moving red splotches. Those were echo readings of the battle still raging aboveground. " Yes, my leader. This underground transport tunnel -" "A subway." interrupted Arak Amu'dri. "They call it a subway." "... this subway, leads directly north into the industrial sector. The automated controls are still functioning, and I estimate this rail transport vehi - train. Yes, train... should be moving soon, and allow us to strike at the resistance's flanks. Let them beat themselves against the 303rd Assault Platoon. We will hammer these fools into submission." "Mines? Traps?" "I detect no such things on this vehicle, and while the possibility is there on the track, I doubt the Derivian rebels were able to signal their rear guard before we cut them down. This tunnel is one they use, sir. It is too valuable to just collapse, it will force them to slither through city patrols." The lights dimmed, and with a shriek, slowly, but gaining speed, the train continued in its mindless rounds. The Zallun anti-terrorism squad leader dropped his automatic rifle and rubbed his shoulder. Though sheathed in armor, he put enough pressure to dislodge it slightly from its socket, then back in. The tough ligaments of his shoulder accounted for his somewhat hunchbacked appearance, but this wasn't uncommon, and even seen as desirable. It was a mark of great physical strength, the endurance to carry heavy loads for hours on end. As they rode on, with a whip and a whoosh, on the electromagnetic monorail, he looked at his team. Young warriors, heading off to an unfair skirmish; but unafraid. They wore the tattoos of Imperial volunteers, but even this far from the homefront, he knew that the defintion 'volunteer' was slowly changing. There were myriad ways to force someone to 'volunteer freely'. He himself felt older beyond his years. Tall and broad-shouldered, his four arms thick with muscle and scars, his eyes bloodshot and dark; they cringed at his every word. He knew what the others were whispering; he was almost a danger to his own army as the enemy - just the slightest more strain... and snap! He chuckled, softly, without humor. Dishonored. That was the word.  Even death wouldn't return his honor, only release - so he sought after it; and fate conspired to deny him his escape. "Why did we not know this transport hub was still functional?" he asked aloud. As expected, they simply looked back at him blankly. He made a disgusted gesture. "My warriors! We have fought this world long enough. We have seen the Derivians at their worst, and at  their best... and unfortunately what they seem best at is causing us aggravation." He stomped his metal-plated three-toed upon on the floor, causing dents in the weak metal. He gave it a look of similar disgust, at how Derivian manufacture was intentionally flawed... honorless, greedy capitalists! "The Derivians still have not accepted that being conquered by the Empire also places them under Zallun protection. Further resistance is not only pointless, but self-destructive. Their 'resistance fighters' in trying to harass us, had committed such acts of such honorless vile that their own people now turn on them. But remember, my warriors, Derivians are accomplished liars. We did not know, because they CHOSE NOT to let us know. Their maps can be falsified, their sweet words are laced with poison, their cooperation can be of the deepest mockery even when they work. Likewise, as long as there are those in the populace who support this foolish rebellion... yes, yes, they are rebels, for our conquered are by rights citizens of the Empire... they shall be worse then ghosts; invisible, untouchable." They fidgeted. Hm. That wasn't what they wanted to hear... these Zal'i, were already blooded warriors. They were not yet consumed in hate for their enemies; he had painstakingly trained them not to view the Derivians as enemies.. but as misguided children. Objects of pity."Remember, my warriors; this is a war forced upon us. We did not fire first, no... if the Deriv are so steeped in a culture of mutual mistrust, is that our fault? It is not! Yes, we have conquered their worlds, but have we not also suffered to preserve their dignity? Ungrateful are they, and by the Emperor's will we shall enlighten them of their folly! We are noble warriors of Zallus, trifle not! Mock us not! Abuse us not! WE. HAVE HAD. ENOUGH! ONLY THIS IS SO MUCH WE CAN FORGIVE!" The cab was filled with exuberant roars, and the clatter of heavy weaponry. Commander Am'udri swept both his clawed lower limbs upwards, in a prayerful gesture. "Are you afraid? Do you fear death?" "SIR, NO SIR!" "And well you should not! Death terrifies not the fighting man... or woman"- with a nod to the long-rifle trooper to his left "for in war there is discontent and savagery that surpass the horrors of dying. Death is the coward's way out of life. Useless is a dead soldier, what can he protect? Mourn your heroes, my brethren; but respect their heroism by living!" He could already feel the train slowing down. Their destination was at hand. "You are true warriors of Zallus, heirs to the tradition of Tyrus. I expect to you conduct yourselves out there are such. You will go. You will engage the enemy. AND YOU WILL CRUSH HIM UTTERLY!" Loud noises of assent. It was hard not to be swept up in the Commander's enthusiasm. They had seen many comrades fall to ambushes, night attacks, and bombings; often accompanied to the otherlife by hapless Derivian citizens caught in the violence. "And then... and then... " his voice dropped to a dark whisper. "We will have order, and justice, and the Emperor's lasting peace."   Eleven months prior, the world of Chappel, orbiting the star Cavanaugh in the Ranfalle Cluster States, fell to the might of the Imperial Zallun Forces. The skies darkened with assault transports, and the world was stripped of nearly everything that was useful. Gold, jewelry, and other treasures didn't interest the Armada. Heavy metals, food stocks, industrial chemicals, electronic components, these they gathered up and loaded into their shuttles; to be brought up into the mobile factories to be used in replenish the faltering assault. The Armada then pushed forwards, leaving but a token garrison, to eke out whatever warmaking potential the world had left.         The light bothered him not. The stink in the air, was something he had grown used to. The humidity,  that was something else; the itching it caused would always be annoying. The weak yellow sun was obscured by low clouds, the countryside in its rolling green seemed soft and insubstantial. A far cry from the dry red sands of Zallus! This was a land of plenty, a place of restful pursuits, meant for people peaceful and meek. He held back a a laugh. Or so it seemed. The Zallun occupation force was leaving it, already conceding in advance the loss of this sector. The general clucked his tongue. Such a peaceful scene was possible only because they were on their way; in this last few moments on their planets, the inhabitants were placid... they didn't want anything to detain their former conquerors. The only part left untouched, of the a city patched with marks of battle, was the starport. He watched his people load their equipment up into their egg-like dropships, their demeanor stiff and stoic even in defeat. He turned aside, to the man standing barely chest-high; a puny creature with only two arms, nails too soft for clawing, hair insufficient for insulation, eyes and neck all too vulnerable, senses laughably weak. A Derivian. They were slowly winning the war. "I know we could never be friends, Governor Davies, but I had hoped we had some understanding of each other. Many of what had befallen your people was of their own actions. Is it so hard to understand? We palce upon you all the protection of Zallus, the honor and of our Emperor? What more could you want?" The Derivian laughed. "And you've learned nothing. We will fight you, regardless whether it is in our best interest or not. We will fight you in between the stars, we will fight you through the hills, we will fight you in our cities, until all of our worlds are free." He smiled, with some friendliness, and much cruelty. "We will not surrender." "How can you people throw away your lives so easily? Is the defiant gesture that important?." was the scoffing reply, but there was none of that in the Zallun's eye; only a strange pity that Milton Davies couldn't defend against. "Ah, but it is said the best revenge is a long and healthy life." "Stop throwing your extended lifespan in my face, you old rascal." Davies replied, with some amusement. "I'm a little sorry to see you go, but it'll be peaceful here. I can live with that." The two stared at the fruits of their labors. "Peace." the both spat, the harshest of condemnations. Peacekeeper was the worst word they knew. The things people and governments were willing to do, for the sake of peace...

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