Zell stood at the back of the room watching the barely controlled chaos as monitors and technicians moved from station to station, checking status readouts and tweaking the integration of the new world. What might look like a mad scramble to an outsider was a well-practiced dance as information flowed and adjustments were made in real time. An orange-skinned Zinthian ducked under the looming form of a Mirounga on a hover disk to retrieve a data stick, then twisted to the side to avoid the reaching tentacles of a Chephalo who was entering data on three terminals at once.

  The nimble Zinthian wove through the control room, gathering reports. She plugged each one into a data tablet and collated the numbers as she went. By the time she made it to Zell’s side, the metrics from the first day of integration were tabulated and processed. She handed him the tablet, barely out of breath.

  “Thank you, Nichala. Timely as ever,” he said, nodding to her in recognition of her efforts. She bobbed and touched her forehead, but was gone before he even had a chance to glance at the tablet. He made a mental note to record a merit on her file. Her efficiency deserved recognition.

  He turned his attention to the numbers and alerts scrolling across the tablet’s screen. He could have used his personal interface for this, but he’d never been comfortable with masses of data floating in the air and cluttering up his vision. He tapped the summary first and saw that everything seemed to be on track.

  Every child under the age of 15 had been transported to the Dominion education centers that had been constructed on the fourth planet. The older children were beginning combat training, and all of them were being taught about their new reality. Thinking about the schools brought with it a rush of memories from his own time in one, an overflow of anger and grief, and he pushed the emotions down. He’d known the flood would come and was ready for it. His face never even twitched. He reminded himself that the only way to end this was from the inside, even if being a party to ripping apart the families of another sapient species felt like the worst sort of betrayal. He could live with that weight on his conscience if it meant bringing down the monsters responsible.

  As for the adult population, the numbers had already been culled by twenty percent. That was expected. This race was highly technological, and the loss of that technology would lead to many deaths over the coming days as people were cut off from medicine and the easy food sources they were accustomed to. Airplane and automobile accidents had accounted for many of the deaths, and, of course, the altered wildlife was taking its toll.

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  The average level of the new inductees at the end of the first day was 4, which was expected, but there were some notable standouts. The highest level reached so far was 16, and there were 247 inductees who had reached level 10 on the first day. He flagged each of them for closer watching. It wasn’t a surprise that some would jump up quickly through lucky turns of chance. It was what they would do with that early momentum that would set them apart—if they had the drive and talent to build on their fortuitous starts.

  The mana levels were still climbing and were on track to reach full saturation within the first year. There were some signs that this world had possessed higher mana levels at some time in its distant past. It would have to be watched carefully for unexpected awakenings. It was truly mind-boggling how long some magical creatures could survive in hibernation during mana droughts. He’d have to watch the forerunners for signs of dormant bloodlines as well. He swiped to another screen and checked a figure—yes, the initial assessments had flagged several dormant bloodlines in the population.

  None of the Sanctuaries had been claimed yet, but it was early. It would surprise him if any of them were even found within the first week, let alone cleared out. The sooner they were found and cleared, though, the more people would survive. The monsters would only keep getting stronger.

  So far, this world was developing as expected. All of the numbers were within their expected ranges. Zell had no doubt that would change in the coming weeks, however. The Patriarch’s Nytheron worms were still in the cloning tanks, but it wouldn’t be long before they were introduced to the new world. The Aldevari Patriarch was certain the genetically altered parasites would produce a generation of powerful warriors, but not certain enough to test them on his established worlds.

  Zell was sure they would be yet another gruesome failure. The Aldevari were reckless and uncaring of the suffering their experiments caused. He was going to have a very short window to pick out likely allies and steer them toward the tools they would need to prevent becoming infected. He felt responsible, even though he knew there was nothing he could have done to prevent this. He’d pointed out this world before he’d known about the worms. If they weren’t being used on this world, they’d have been used on another. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself of that, he still felt guilt over the horror these people were going to suffer when the worms were released.

  He locked those thoughts away. He had a report to write for Lord Delar, who would be impatient for an update. Then, he needed to find a few minutes for himself to look at the front runners and decide who the best candidates would be for his purpose. Uprisings don’t start themselves, after all.