Welcome To Communion

It is a strange scene:
A dozen or so bodies, some human but many more of alien species. The Spint beings of the inner-galaxy, formless floating shadows, and the double-boned, quadrupedal Mistiff stand out most oddly. But their council is met in peace. However strange their collective may appear, the true weirdness is the discovery that they are governed by a single mind; calm, wise, and and seemingly unbroken.

"We are concerned." says a small man.
"Yes. The Earth forces keep Us down in these caves. We feel threatened."
"The Under-Roads are protection. The Nim'roh have been great allies."
"Allies commune, they cannot." many of them speak in unison.
The pause that follows is not tense, but patient. The group waits while more bodies wander into the growing choir. More systems, they think together, more strength. Welcome.

"We can go deeper. We can wait out the Earth forces." two fat things say.
"We do not have enough resources for Our systems, and We can no longer survive the loss of more systems. Resurrection is still many systems away, and more Minds are lost across this galaxy with every passing cycle."
"The last Mind before to void to fall was opposite the dark center. There will be no more resources from beyond the void. We must reach Resurrection here on Our own, for the sake of this galaxy."
"Practice communion with Us." whispers a child to a Hrathi lord towering beside her.

For several minutes they hum arias.
Newly focused, another piece of the whole says, "The Nim'roh are kind, even without communion."
"Yes." they all agree.
"It is their prophecy that keeps them so. They think We play a part."
"Do We?" some whisper.
"Yes." they all agree. "We have seen much prophecy, many fates made true by passing time."
"Then We wait for the death of this sun, Finnis."
"Yes." they all agree.
More silence follows. The hiveminders are in deep melding, concentrating their great combined knowledge and seeking answers.
"The Nim'roh have followed Us into rebellion, but they do not understand Our goal of Resurrection. It is their weak minds. They were mind-slaves once and may ever be. If We cannot share communion with them, perhaps We can persuade them."
The council, now measuring over a hundred, immediately grumble away this shared plot. Their noise resonates throughout the high and cavernous meeting ground, worming through the tunnels that end in this singular place. At the mouth of one of these tunnels, a hiveminder notices a pair of red eyes dividing the blackness. Soon, they all notice.
All together, "We respect your ways, native. Respect Our communion."
The devil emerges, armed with a pilfered human weapon.
Then there are more eyes.
More weapons.
Damn, one hiveminder thinks, I was a fool to trust Them.