The deck of the mothership’s bridge hummed with power beneath the Warlord's four toed feet.  As the impossibly large silver and green saucer streaked through the void, the Warlord reflected on all that had transpired between stasis and waking.  The centuries had passed in an instant to the Warlord, but the changes were remarkable.  

Their home had been destroyed.  

Oceans of dust had swallowed the cities, buried the long dry canals, and interfered with the progress of The Plan, may it come to glorious fruition.  Thousands had died from stasis collapse.  Friends and family and neighbors perishing from the failure of systems designed to last centuries, not millenia.

The New Blood had struggled valiantly against the dust.  They had performed their duty for generations.  Stealing from New Home and returning the supplies to the Stasis Cairns of their ancestors who yet lived.  The New Blood had crafted the ships, the walkers, the pods necessary to take New Home.  They had crafted this very mothership that hummed with such power.

But the hairless apes on New Home had changed too.  Their crude metallurgy and barbaric infighting had evolved faster than any prophecy model predicted.  Their wartechs had developed steel, gunpowder, chemical warfare, supersonic flight, microprocessors, and plasma weapons centuries ahead of schedule; all to wage war upon each other.  But then, they had foolishly reached into the stars, and touched the prison of the All-Consumers.  That threat had bonded them, as the Warlord's people had been bonded by The Plan.

This bonded enemy jeopardized The Plan, may it come to glorious fruition.  The grand fleet was incomplete.  The population a pittance of the ancient times.  Resources were spread thin.  Some had even doubted. But the New Blood had done something remarkable, something genius.

They had given the hairless apes the atom splitter.  They had carved the canal to victory in less than a century.  The atomic fuel needed to power The Plan, may it come to glorious fruition, was pulled from the ground by the very armies that had become such an impediment.

So as the mothership hummed with nuclear power, the Warlord was pleased.  This mobile battle factory would lay waste to the hives of hairless apes scattered across New Home and craft an armada from the ashes.  The armada would crush the meddlesome armies of their enemies.  The mountain striders and battle dreadnoughts would destroy all that stood in their path.  New Home would be theirs, by right of conquest.

The Warlord reflected, as the blue oceans of New Home loomed larger in the main monitor, that now was the moment.  After millenia, they would be saved.  The Plan would come to glorious fruition, as was destined.  The only alternative was unthinkable.

Extinction.

"Open communication with the entire fleet.”

“Aye.”

“Warlord to all ships and walkers.  My people.  It is time.  It is time to show the ‘Humans’ that inhabit ‘Earth’ that this world is ours now.  It is time to claim New Home for the Martian people.  It is time for our glorious rebirth.  Execute The Plan.  Begin the Invasion!"