The air was moisture-laden, steamy. A booming and roaring echoed over the rain forest, and the sky darkened as clouds of frightened birds took to the air. Animals fled in panic from the toppling trees, those who failed to move quickly perishing along with their homes. A space in the canopy appeared, spreading like a cancer along the huge watercourse that ran through the jungle. Heavy machinery cleared the land, with useful vegetation being processed and the remainder incinerated. Elsewhere ships flew over the planet, scanning, identifying, counting the indigenous dominant life form, bipedal hunter gathers living in small clan groups scattered evenly over the planet's single land mass, cataloguing the new property of the planet's new masters, preparing for their new enclave.
In orbit a fleet of ships clustered around one larger than the rest, the Priests' ship of the Jantuc Siphi chapter, led by the Lord of the Spaces to Shoma, a new home provided by their god.
Aboard the priests' vessel two guards stood at attention, their white uniforms a stark contrast against their darker fur, outside ornately carved arched doors, the entrance to the Convocation Chamber, where their newly consecrated High Priest and his council communed with God, and passed on His instructions to the people. A light over the door signified the Council were hearing a petition. Each guard wore an earpiece which alerted him to the end of the audience, whereupon their instructions were to open the doors, and, if required, to remove the petitioner. Their duties could occasionally include arresting the petitioner, but this was rare.
On the signal, the guards turned as one to the doors, opening them together in a swift and smoothly rehearsed motion, just in time to avoid the petitioner striding in barely concealed anger from the chamber, his ursine face baring teeth in fury.
First Researcher Mojnot was livid. The destruction of the enclave on Tehan had destroyed all his research on the wormhole generator and the other artefacts from the alien repository, and even though he could have sworn the generator was indestructible (he had tried to dismantle it in order to study it more closely without success) he could not find it when he searched among the ruins. He had been consoling himself with the knowledge that there were plenty of artefacts in the repository on Varangi, and he could begin again.
This was all contingent on the permission of the priests, however, and that permission had just been denied. Apparently, despite the fact that the priests insisted the Lord of the Spaces had led them to this new space, this home, rigorously quashing rumours a chattel had sabotaged their systems and blown their old home up (ridiculous, Mojnot agreed), they had also decided the unknown and powerful artefacts Mojnor had brought into the enclave were cursed, and for the spiritual welfare of the Siphi chapter no further research was to be done. Mojnot's research team were already reassigned, he was informed, as he was handed his own new assignment.
He boarded his shuttle in fuming silence, ensuring he was away from the monitored priests' ship before he completely vented his feelings. "Short sighted, stupid …!" he shouted. The two chattel on board did their best to look invisible, as Mojnot steered the shuttle towards his orbiting family ship, deep in thought.
The Siphi chapter had been seriously weakened in prestige and finance by the destruction of their enclave, while he sat on a goldmine that could potentially recoup all their losses. It would also increase the power of Mojnot himself, as only he held the key to this particular goldmine. He fingered a blue-green disc that hung from a chain around his neck, and snapped his fingers, and a chattel placed a glass of wine into his russet-furred hand. He sipped the wine and considered options.
The priests had the last word in all aspects of Jantuc life, and to defy them invited a charge of heresy, with a mandatory death sentence. He felt a little thrill of fear, even as his thoughts turned to the illegal alternatives. The Jantuc were no more immune from the criminal element than any other community, much as the priests would deny such a notion. Mojnot knew there were those who might agree to participate in an illicit venture for the sake of the rewards he was sure were waiting. He believed he had a contact or two who might point him in the right direction.
The rewards were worth the risks, and for the first time since departing the Convocation Chamber Mojnot smiled. He drained the wine glass, and smoothed back his whiskers, eyeing his chattel attendants avidly. He single-handedly would recoup the Siphi Chapter's fortune. He would gain knowledge, prestige and power for himself into the bargain. He reached for one of the chattel. After all, didn't he already court death by his private activities? he thought. And wasn't the danger part of the thrill?