[ WP ] at a wedding , someone is not who they claim they are .

Jesit looks on in eager anticipation. This moment is the final fruition of millennia. 
 The wars, the battles, all of the unforeseen triumphs and upsets which were not 
 predicted by They. All forgotten in this moment. 
 
 The sacrament -- The Final Binding -- will guarantee that They will join the 
 Circle of Twelve. Five thousand years in the making. Five thousand years 
 to propagate allele characteristics to make this happen. They will be pleased. 
 Jesit hopes They will be pleased. His life ( if we can call it life ) depends on it. 
 
 Five thousand years. A blood drop in comparison to how long They and Jesit have 
 waited. A blood drop smaller than the Human Mole. Not the sneaky mammal, but the 
 unit. 6 x 10 to the 23 power. Damn Humans. So complicated to express large 
 numbers. 
 
 Jesit watches. He is not a guest. He is not wanted. They know he is there, 
 but they do not. He awaits the binding. Everything he has waited for will be as it should be 
 in moments. 
 
 Jesit positions himself at the end of the elegant aisle which leads up to the pulpit. 
 He is experiencing heart palpitations. He has no heart. He is actually scared. 
 
 `` And now I pronounce you Man and Wife...'' 
 
 Jesit rushes the apse. As fast as he has ever moved before. So fluid his movement is 
 that some guests can feel it. They do n't know what they feel, but they feel it. 
 
 As the Bride and Groom kiss, after they have exchanged rings, Jesit collides with 
 both, as one. The perfect trilogy, as predicted by the Hordicus. 
 
 Energy implodes inward. Guests are unaware, except the Bride and Groom have vanished. 
 
 Jesit has completed his task. They are pleased. The next era has started. The Theran 
 Armada superliminates to the heliopause of the Sol System...
