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A long time had passed. I had managed to keep the Dominion together while many tried to push it toward ruin. Now we governed five uninhabited systems and maintained fully populated colonies in three of them. In fifteen years I had done everything possible to hold our own people back: eventually we halted our expansion by force and adopted a passive stance, intent on exploiting everything we already possessed.
A large portion of Agria's population had been redistributed across the Hoplon system. There they raised new cities with the help of construction robots and autonomous machinery. Hoplon IV turned out to contain massive mineral reserves, so only a mining settlement was authorized. The planet functioned as a vast network of small communities dedicated exclusively to resource extraction, supported by arrays of automated drilling and a semi-autonomous transport fleet moving ore to the Korhal forges and the shipyard.
Hoplon II, once the unexploded ordnance was cleared and its ignition systems studied, became ready for repopulation just like the other two worlds, which were quickly converted into agricultural planets once their atmospheres stabilized. We continued to push agriculture for one simple reason: Agria still upheld its masquerade of loyalty to the Imperium, and through it, all surplus food produced by the Dominion was sold legally. That attracted a constant flow of merchant fleets. The old hive had been almost entirely demolished and turned into a gigantic warehouse and starport where dozens of ships docked every day to load their cargo holds with food.
Meanwhile, dozens of new cities were raised to scatter the population, reducing pressure on the central agricultural zone. These cities imitated the same technological level Agria had possessed before the occupation, preserving the illusion of continuity under the old government.
Even so, of the original six hundred million inhabitants, only half remained. The rest had been distributed among the three agricultural colonies of Hoplon and New Korhal to balance demographic loads. For now we were comfortable letting the Ecclesiarchy encourage reproduction among its faithful: each year, the Imperial population grew at double-digit percentages, driven by religious indoctrination. The terran population, by contrast, maintained extremely low birth rates—barely three children per couple, even amid the cultural competition for dominance over the new worlds.
Given that demographic gap, it became common for many terran families to adopt children without psionic potential from the Ghost program. And as our capabilities advanced, a stable market emerged for children produced via artificial wombs using the genetic material of the parents themselves—a far more reliable method than natural birth rates.
Terran natality remained low but consistent. Counting those born from artificial wombs, those who'd received genetic treatment, and the few who earned it by merit, our total terran population barely reached four million within the Dominion. A ridiculous number compared to the nearly one billion Imperials under our rule.
With security and supply as absolute priorities, mortality from work, hunger, or disease had fallen to nearly zero. That meant the enormous Imperial natality had no counterweight and would inevitably produce overpopulation. Decades remained before it became an acute problem, but it was obvious that a birth-permit system would be required before the population spiraled out of control.
New Korhal had changed completely. The capital, once home to roughly twenty million people, now exceeded two hundred and fifty million thanks to mass relocation from Agria. The vast farmlands that once surrounded the city had vanished under a horizon of agricultural skyscrapers—towering hydroponic complexes using every available centimeter to produce food.
With the subsidies we provided to farmers to modernize their methods, and with the Imperium's unending demand, every scrap of land was pushed to its limits. Agricultural production had grown so enormous that New Korhal alone could feed billions. The grox-breeding complexes ran at full capacity. Their waste fueled the fertilizer plants, which in turn fed the farms. A closed, efficient system designed to sustain constant export to the Imperium without raising suspicion.
For now, everything went unnoticed. Merchant traffic remained intense and stable. Through it I had infiltrated Ghost operatives into virtually every nearby planet—not only as covert agents in hostile-environment suits but embedded within Imperial administration and local PDFs, disguised as bureaucrats, officials, or simple recruits. Perfectly placed sleeper cells, able to act the moment I commanded them, invisible even to the least incompetent inquisitors.
In the end, an entire generation had been born under Dominion rule. A generation raised under the shadow of the Lord Regent—raised to obey with their lives, and one day, avenge Mengsk. Though most of the old Royal Guard had resigned, a number of veterans remained in service with unbreakable discipline.
Officers, commanders, generals; the best Sky Fury pilots—no longer fighting on the front lines—now formed the backbone of the Dominion's military training system. The academies of Korhal had become war-temples where the children of those who were once the best of the best trained to fill their place, inheriting tactics refined by decades of conflict. Each generation was required to be deadlier than the last.
For the last fifteen years I had dedicated myself to building the Dominion from its foundations, so that we would finally be able to launch multiple fronts of expansion. The fleet had been completely restructured. The asteroid belts had been stripped bare, the moons mined until they were hollow. Afterwards, using their remains, we converted them into enormous orbital factories. The six main shipyards worked without rest, producing cruisers at a rate astonishing for any other human power.
Resources remained the bottleneck, but as long as we could extract enough material to forge adamantium and ceramite, the shipyards continued modifying entire cruiser classes after each stress test and simulated engagement.
The Gorgon, for example, was an ultra-heavy cruiser with three times the adamantium plating of any prior ship. We had to quadruple its engine output to move something so monstrous, but it was worth it: seven kilometers long, bristling with batteries of macrocannons, torpedo launchers, and the armor of a siege battleship.
The Pride of Augustgrad–class, also seven kilometers long, had been designed for close-support operations. Its sensors could map an entire planet, and its ventral laser batteries performed low-orbit strafing runs capable of sweeping entire regions clean. Its design prioritized the ventral shield and a reinforced underbelly to withstand upward fire from surface defenses.
The Minotaur-class, now extended to three kilometers, served as a screening platform for carrier groups. It carried multiple macrocannons, hundreds of gauss batteries, dozens of missile arrays, and optimized point-defense systems meant to obliterate torpedoes, drone-swarms, or enemy fighters before they could threaten the main carriers.
But the true monster… was something else.
Only one existed the White Star.
It had been rebuilt from scratch. The old pride of the Dominion was a toy compared to what had come after. Using practically all the minerals extracted from a moon of Hoplon III, we forged the largest engine of war the Dominion had ever conceived:
Twelve kilometers in length.Forty cold-fusion generators dedicated solely to the Yamato Cannon.A single shot was, quite literally, the release of a miniature sun.More sensors than the entire Pride-class fleet combined.Four layers of adamantium plating.Multiple strata of ceramite armor.Entire chambers filled with engineer-nanobots ready to repair any damage.Three full years of budget eaten by this abomination of steel, power, and technology.
And then there was the merchant vessel—classified as a carrier without substantial structural modification. Only its hangars had been altered: enlarged, expanded vertically, and transformed from a single cavernous storage deck into multiple launch levels capable of storing thousands of Sky Furies, Vikings, Banshees, transport craft, and most of the Dominion's heavy equipment, from siege tank divisions to Black Hammer battalions.
Although every one of us wished to return to Dominion space as soon as possible, we now had two hundred cruisers and one full carrier ready to launch massive offensive campaigns.
With an army of twenty million troopers, a million crew, and nearly two hundred thousand members of the Royal Guard, we were one of the best-equipped forces the Dominion had ever fielded. If we managed to return to our sector, we could probably crush anything that coward Valerian had managed to assemble in our absence without breaking a sweat.
As I reviewed the reports, I couldn't help but smile. Our Ghost operative numbers had increased considerably: the second training wave had just graduated, adding two hundred new agents. That put us at more than seven hundred in total. Well trained, disciplined, molded by years of protoss instruction—several High Templars had joined us as well, and were slowly beginning to reproduce—ensuring we maintained psionic instruction for generations to come.
I was reading through those figures when a priority-channel transmission came through. That line activated only for critical situations; in the last decade it had been used a single time—when a merchant fleet of anomalous size was detected approaching Agria.
"My Lord Regent, I report that… a tithe fleet has been sighted near the Corinthe system. At least, that is what navigation rumors in the region indicate. They say it is heading south, and if it maintains course it will arrive straight at Agria," the Ghost reported.
"Abandon infiltration protocol," I answered instantly. "Get as close to the fleet as you safely can and determine how long we have before they arrive. Here we will evaluate whether to pay the tithe… or intercept them before they enter any corridor that could lead toward our system. If they vanish far from Agria, they can blame someone."
I cut the channel and spread the stellar charts across my desk—charts we had compiled after years of covert exploration.
"Corinthé… Corinthé… here." I tapped the system. "Under Mechanicum authority… several jumps in between… too many. We have time. Yes, we still have time."
I picked up my communicator and ordered: "To my office. Now."
It didn't take long for Mason, Kurt, and Kazimir to arrive. All three looked nearly the same age they had fifteen years before—only a few more faint lines on their faces. They had undergone life-extension treatments, so the wear was minimal. Harlan, however, had refused the procedures, and time had struck him mercilessly: his hair was nearly all grey, his skin lined by years of stress and loyalty.
I had not accepted treatment either, yet I remained as young as ever. The psionic stasis chain in my DNA worked better than any genetic therapy, keeping my cells regenerating eternally with no injections required.
"The Imperium is coming. They are several light-years away and appear to be collecting their overdue tithes. This is fast… far too fast. What do we do? The fleet is large, but I doubt we can't overcome them if forced to. The other option is to pay and see if they ignore our presence on Korhal. If they leave as soon as they're satisfied, we may gain a few more decades," I said, watching as the commanders fell silent.
"How much is the tithe…?" Kurt asked.
I handed him an estimate of the accumulated debt from the last decades of "silence."
"FUCK.… how are we supposed to pay this? We could build fifty cruisers with this sum… and the metric tons of food they demand are absurd," said Kurt, his disbelief evident.
"It is several decades of unpaid tithes. It's normal," I replied calmly.
Kazimir's voice rose immediately.
"Hendrik, I want to ask plainly: what are we waiting for? We must attack and expand our space. Fifteen years we've waited. New Royal Guard members are recruited every month among our terran troops. We are ready. It is time to strike the Imperium. Once the White Star was finished, we should have acted. We cannot remain trapped in three systems."
Harlan, nervous but resolute, spoke next. "I agree… sooner or later we must act. Why not now? If we strike fast—"
Kurt cut him off. "The journey would take one or two weeks with our engines. We could intercept them while they are collecting the tithe, but we would have to do it perfectly. We cannot leave anything behind. Not a data-core, not a drone, not a corpse. A single captured record could reveal where we come from… a single prisoner, and they could extract everything."
"Mason." I fixed my eyes on him.
"The tithe is too high… but yes: ten years ago I asked permission to launch strikes on the Imperium's mining worlds in this region. We must act. We cannot confront the Imperium with only three systems and five inhabited planets. We need to grow. If we destroy this fleet and plant false leads, we will force them to waste years on a fruitless investigation."
I nodded slowly.
"Then it is decided. I will coordinate with the Ghost operatives. We will select an appropriate interception point. We will take everything they have… and eliminate whoever we must."
The commanders began their preparations immediately. When I was finally alone in the chamber, I felt the weight of fifteen years settling on my shoulders.
This was the moment of truth.
If everything we had built was enough to challenge the Imperium, we would find out in the coming weeks. And if we succeeded, we could seize entire worlds, expand our fleets, produce battlecruisers in mass, and prepare for the inevitable retribution fleets the Imperium would one day send.
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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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