Do you want me to start using the imperial calendar so you have a sense of time?
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Several days passed after we returned to Dominion space, time we devoted to relocating all the spoils we had obtained in the battle. We brought back tons of adamantium in the form of debris—an amount so absurd that it was equivalent to nearly three years of maximum-capacity mining output across the entire Dominion.
The victory, exceptionally clean, had granted us enormous economic benefits and freed up a colossal amount of labor.
All adamantium and neosteel produced in the forges was almost exclusively allocated to military use. Civilian industry received only a minimal fraction. But now, with such an excess, the possibility opened to genuinely expand civilian use of these materials. The limitation was obvious: our extraction capacity, not our forging capability. The facilities were larger than what we could feed with raw materials.
Because of this, I immediately authorized the construction of several facilities that had been postponed for years due to the simple lack of strategic resources.
While more Minotaur-class cruisers were being built to secure our systems, I ordered the first steps toward a true early-warning and defense system. Until now, we had relied mainly on cruiser sensors and all the information Ghost operatives could gather, which was insufficient if the Imperium sent a fleet without warning.
I was not going to allow us to remain blind.
I ordered the construction in New Korhal of the structural foundations for a Celestial Shield, and the assembly of a space station equipped with an extensive sensor network: long-range and short-range sensors, particle-motion detectors, infrared light sensors, and every type of sensor one could think of—capable of monitoring any movement across several nearby systems, ensuring that if a single ship moved, we would know with absolute certainty.
Both projects would still take a long time to complete; something like this could not be built in weeks. But we already had the necessary materials. And best of all, the sensor station did not require valuable adamantium, since it was not designed to withstand a siege—unlike the Celestial Shield.
With the extraordinary income allocated, one final issue remained: corpse starch.
It didn't take long to discover what it was made of. Processed human bodies. The Imperium's primary "food." The reaction was immediate. Unworthy even for feeding animals.
The order was unanimous: incinerate everything. We wanted no association whatsoever with that repugnant practice. For the moment, we had been fortunate not to control any planet where corpse starch was consumed as a staple, but sooner or later we would face that reality as the tentacles of our psi-ops began extending into nearby systems—especially toward the mining worlds north and west of New Korhal.
The Ghosts had been infiltrating for a long time. They were usually the most talented members of our academies or veterans of the Emperor's Shadows, capable of operating without leaving a trace.
The processes were slow, and completely undetectable to local psykers. But in the long term, they offered colossal advantages: we didn't need to conquer a planet through direct military action. It was enough to dominate it mentally, if the assigned Ghost possessed mind-control capabilities, or to manipulate local politics through telepathy—securing allies, threatening rivals using Dominion funds, establishing themselves as nobles, merchants, or influential advisors, or simply removing an inconvenient individual with a swift assassination.
With telepathy, resources, and patience, they could shape entire governments without anyone noticing. Years later, annexation would be peaceful and "voluntary," without bloodshed.
For now, we had already secured trade contracts on several of these worlds—agreements absurdly favorable to us thanks to the subtle—and not so subtle—influence of psi-ops within each planet's political structure.
We even managed to buy tons of valuable minerals in exchange for a single ton of corn or similarly unequal trades. Nothing demonstrated more clearly the silent power we had acquired.
This expansionist policy worked far better than deploying our full strength in an attack, leveling planetary defenses, controlling orbit, and then bearing the burden of a military occupation that would cost lives and resources.
With nothing else to do in New Korhal, I personally led much of the effort to survey the eastern and southern regions of the sector, since in theory the old Koprulu Sector should be located here. During multiple voyages aboard the White Star, we discovered numerous completely desolate star systems. Many of the planets we encountered were nothing more than inert rocks, lacking electromagnetic fields capable of protecting them from stellar radiation, rendering them useless for settlement—though potentially viable as mining worlds if significant mineral outcroppings were found.
Our primary objective was terrazine. Without that substance, the psionic growth of our Ghosts was almost entirely limited to genetic manipulation, strict selection of ova and sperm within our vast Ghost genome banks, seeking to create the ideal subject. It was an effective method to a point, but it had clear limits we could not surpass without the gas.
So, quite literally, we had entire fleets venturing into uninhabited territory, scanning any system that appeared even minimally promising. After a full month of exploration, all we found were rock and lava giants, worlds completely covered in water with marine megafauna the size of starships, desert planets with no apparent life, and jungles so dense they seemed impossible to traverse. I even noticed some of my senior officers sigh at the thought of acquiring wood—something that had become a luxury. There was a time when forests were abundant, but they had been replaced by vast hydroponic farms rising into the clouds; there was no longer space for trees when massive algae tanks were far more efficient at oxygen purification.
Still, we found nothing. We had thoroughly scanned multiple systems. The White Star's sensors were capable of analyzing down to a planet's core, yet not a single trace of the valuable gas appeared.
Then something different appeared on the screen.
"How strange… I've never seen this type of mineral before. It must be a new discovery," I murmured as I watched the White Star's console begin displaying all the data collected by the sensors.
I stared at the screen in silence as the scans penetrated deeper and deeper into the crust.
"Oh, shit… a Necron world. Adjutant, terminate the scan and erase all files related to this discovery." I crossed my fingers, hoping we hadn't awakened anything.
Because we didn't even remotely possess the capability to face the Necrons. As tempting as the idea of reverse-engineering their technology might be, the odds were far higher that we'd be completely exterminated than that we'd achieve any kind of victory.
We began scanning the system's moons, but only found low-value minerals. In most cases, moving the necessary extraction equipment would cost more than the actual benefit they could provide.
Then the message arrived.
"My Lord Regent, we've found it… we have a planet with terrazine. Abundant reserves," reported one of the cruiser captains accompanying me on the mission.
"Transmit the coordinates immediately and mark a safe jump point," I replied without hesitation over the comms.
"At once, Lord Regent," the captain answered.
I didn't waste a second before ordering the jump. Ten minutes later, we emerged into a system that felt disturbingly familiar.
"This planet is Slayn?… the old capital of the Tal'darim?," I said while reviewing the data the sensors were beginning to extract. The atmosphere was saturated with terrazine, and the detected reserves were colossal.
"No signs of life, Lord Regent," reported one of the officers in charge of biological detection.
"That's normal. The atmosphere is loaded with terrazine. At those concentrations, it's lethal to any known form of life," I replied as I reviewed the estimates. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Imperium classified it as a dead world. Anyone attempting to descend without protection would have died from overdose or gone insane from exposure alone."
The figures appearing on the screen confirmed exactly what we needed.
"I am requesting Korhal to immediately prepare teams to process, dose, and store terrazine. We will begin extraction operations as soon as possible, Lord Regent," one of our officers reported as he transmitted the data to the logistical core.
I activated the star map of the Koprulu sector and began overlaying our position. We were at Slayn, northwest of the sector. That meant the anomaly had displaced us far more than I had initially calculated. If Slayn was now our reference point, then the former space of the Dominion should lie to the southeast.
Still, I couldn't rule out that this was an enormous coincidence—and that this wasn't the future at all. Without anything to conclusively confirm our discoveries, it was only a possibility.
We had already mapped part of that region, and according to the collected data, most systems were dead worlds. Nothing promising. If I used Slayn as an anchor, it meant some of the systems we once knew had already been explored… and there was nothing left.
What appeared to have once been a Dominion world, for example, was now nothing more than an absolute desert—lifeless, without structures. There was still plenty of deep space left to chart, but everything suggested that no trace of human civilization remained in that region.
A shame.
It would have been invaluable to find remnants of Dominion databases—something showing what humanity had discovered over more than thirty millennia of scientific research. Assuming, of course, that anyone could survive thirty thousand years without being exterminated first by the Zerg… or the Protoss.
A couple of days passed, and several groups had already arrived on the planet. Work began immediately. Terrazine extraction proceeded nonstop, and as soon as safe doses were prepared, they were sent directly to the Ghost academies to restart the psionic enhancement programs for my operatives. I didn't wait either—I injected myself again.
"Liquid Jorium injected," announced one of the scientists while monitoring the displays. The compound was used to mitigate a large portion of the side effects of terrazine in liquid form.
"Give me a double dose," I ordered, extending my injector pistol.
The scientist hesitated.
"My lord… we are already operating at the maximum safe dosage. A double dose could be not only incredibly dangerous to your body, but each increase exponentially raises the risk of insanity. Jorium cannot fully neutralize terrazine's effects."
"I know," I replied without looking away. "Double dose."
After a second of silence, he handed me two vials. I loaded them into the injector, brought it to my neck, and activated the mechanism.
"Shit…" I clenched my teeth. It felt as if my head were about to split open, as if every fiber of my body were being torn apart only to be rebuilt from scratch. The Protoss training and Tal'darim knowledge—a culture that literally lived under a terrazine-saturated atmosphere—made the difference. What would once have been a near-death experience was now… tolerable.
The pain faded quickly. Only the primary effect of the terrazine remained. I could feel it clearly: my powers were growing stronger.
The medical team rushed in almost immediately, ready to stabilize someone who had just brushed against the limit.
"I'm fine," I said, standing up from the chair. "Make sure the others are stable."I looked at the scientist. "Schedule the next dose for next month. And triple the original dose."He nodded without arguing.
I returned to work without delay. During subsequent explorations, we identified several systems with potential to support life, and we initiated colonization processes almost immediately. Millions of inhabitants were relocated from Agria and New Korhal to establish new settlements, while construction began on a space station dedicated exclusively to the storage and processing of terrazine.
Although I managed to calm the most aggressive among my people and avoid an open conflict with the Imperium, another proposal emerged: a space piracy program. Infiltrated Ghosts, constant monitoring of Imperial routes, selective ambushes, and resource capture. The primary targets would not be military fleets, but merchant convoys. Constant income. Progressive attrition of the Imperium.
But I made one thing clear from the start. In the event of losing a battle, no ship was to surrender. Any damaged vessel was to overload its reactors, initiate internal implosion, and destroy the reactors powering its engines. Our technology could not fall into Imperial hands. Under no circumstances.
For five years, as the network expanded in silence, everything necessary was prepared. We established multiple intelligence networks hundreds of light-years apart, and our power in the sector continued to grow steadily. More and more worlds became friendly—first through extremely favorable trade contracts, and later, in some cases, through complete annexation.
In one of those systems, one of our Ghosts infiltrated so deeply that he ended up marrying the daughter of a local governor. Not long afterward, the governor and his family died in "accidental" circumstances, and the Ghost assumed effective control of the planet. Annexation became only a matter of time and paperwork.
At the same time, new colonies began to activate, and several mining sectors were established, further reinforcing our industrial base. Everything was proceeding as planned. The Dominion was growing without firing a single shot.
But just as we were about to launch the space piracy program, unexpected information arrived. One of our frontier governors from a newly established colony had been contacted by an alien species requesting cooperation—for the greater good.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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