Note that this fan fiction is set upon to separate but closely linked alternative realities. The first ‘Now’ is set in the supposed future, while ‘Then’ is set just after the events of Starcraft, and prior to those of Brood War. Neither reality is designed to closely match Brood War story line. The dependency of one reality to the other will grow more apparent with each chapter.
***
THEN. 2. THE ASHES OF TROY
James Raynor, lacking a chair, sat upon the warm engine housing of his Vulture as he waited for the Protoss conclave to admit him. He was smoking a cigarette.
Please extinguish flammable carcinogenic material, came the telepathic command of one of the two Zealots who stood, psi-blades glowing light blue, guarding the door to the Conclave.
Raynor muttered something and glared at the Zealots, unable to tell which had issued the command. They all looked the same to him, he thought, except Tassadar, whose skin had been a deep black. He wondered if he'd had to face racism from his fellow aliens, or whether the Protoss were too advanced to show such unenvolved prejudice. He ground the cigarette under his heel. Another wasted, he thought. To him and his fellow Militia on Aiur they were like gold dust.
The Zealots did not move or speak, but he heard a telepathic command in different tones.
The Conclave will see you now.
Gritting his teeth, Raynor strode between the two Zealots and into the chamber.
He found himself in a huge, round room fabricated of the unidentifiable yellow metal the Protoss used so much. In the centre was a round table made of transparent, medium blue crystal, and around it, were chairs. While there were more than twenty of them, only three, at the far end, were occupied.
In the center sat the Protoss Judicator, Aldaris, who Raynor despised to the core of his being. It had been Aldaris who had imprisoned his friend Tassadar, losing precious hours as the Zerg over-ran their precious Homeworld -- a love lost on Jim, who had never even seen a picture of Earth. It had taken Raynor to rescue Tassadar, but the lost time had probably cost the lives of countless Protoss.
On Aldaris's right was Fenix, the Praetor of the Templar, the entire warrior caste of the Protoss. It was not a Protoss, which sat there though, but a Dragoon, a cybernetic shell encasing the ruined mind tissue and psionic stimulus of the warrior, who had fallen in battle with the Zerg. Fenix was a great warrior who had stood besides Raynor -- and Tassadar -- right up to the end.
Finally, on the Judicator's left was a man who, Raynor knew, was the real power and leadership in the room. Dark Templar Zeratul could only be seen because he willed it, and a cloth and a turban covered most of his head and face. Coldly glowing dark blue eyes were all that could be seen. Raynor knew that Zeratul had been the trusted comrade and teacher of Tassadar, but he could not prevent himself feeling fear of the black-robed assassin, who had command over energies he doubted any human could ever wield. Which brought him to one of his own ideas...
Captain Raynor, please be seated, came the telepathic tones of Aldaris, sounding like the pompous, officious bureaucrat he was.
'I'll stand, thanks,' said Raynor. The seats, designed for Protoss anatomies and bent at an acute angle, were thoroughly uncomfortable for a human.
Very well. We thank you for coming before the Conclave at this late hour. Raynor wished he'd get on with it.
As you wish, Aldaris replied in irritation. Raynor felt embarrassed. He'd forgotten they weren't really listening to him, just reading his mind for the concepts.
There is much we must discuss. We value the help of you and your men in the crisis here on Aiur.
'We were all glad to get back at the Zerg,' said Raynor carefully. This was leading up to something bad, and Aldaris kept stalling. Perhaps it was time to introduce his own inquiry. 'While I'm here, I'd like to ask some high ranking Protoss such as yourselves a question.'
You may speak.
'Thank you,' said Raynor semi-sarcastically, irritated at the idea that he was only talking because he was being permitted. 'You know that I was once a friend of Kerrigan -- who is now Queen of the Zerg.'
Aldaris frowned. Zeratul appeared to look more interested.
Jim let his breath rasp out bleakly. Kerrigan.
There was never a day that passed that he didn't think about her. Didn't blame himself for what had become of her. He told himself, time and time again, that when Arcturus had sent her down to Tarsonis alone he should have gone with her. Though logic and his friends had told him over and over again that the Zerg had no use for psi-blind individuals like himself, would simply have killed him, it was of little use. He felt that while Arcturus had betrayed her -- for which he would never forgive him -- he had failed her. For which he would never forgive himself.
He had been Kerrigan -- Sarah's -- friend, and, he thought with sorrow, probably her only friend. Though she was emotionally scarred and needed constant reassurance to boost her low self-esteem, still he had valued her friendship and presence beyond price. And, while both of them knew very well how much he wanted to be more than friends, it had never really happened. He knew that Sarah, withdrawn and introverted, found it difficult to open up, but felt confident that one day she would heal enough to love and be loved.
However, due to Arcturus's betrayal, that day had never come about. Raynor's next contact with Kerrigan had come much later on the volcanic planet Char when, mutated almost beyond recognition into the nightmarish Queen of Blades, she had coldly and dispassionately told him that while it was well within her power to kill him, she would settle for him leaving Char and never going up against the Zerg again. Something within Raynor had broken open and died that day.
But, after the defeat of the Overmind, the dreams had started.
'I keep having... dreams,' he said carefully. 'About her. About Sar-Kerrigan.'
The Protoss facing him frowned. What content do these dreams have?
Raynor opened his mouth, then shut it again, embarrassed. Despite the fact that Kerrigan's mutated form was now hideous to look upon, the dreams were... erotic. And arousing. He pushed the thoughts away, fearful the Protoss would detect them, and instead concentrated on their clear meaning.
'I believe she wants me to come to Char,'
The Protoss looked at him as though he had gone mad, their massive eyebrow ridges practically touching where their noses might have been.
Senseless folly! came the metallic thoughts of Fenix. Do not pay any attention to her, human. It is sure to be a trap. The Zerg are the fathers of lies!
I agree with Fenix, came Aldaris's words. Char is a breeding ground for the Zerg. You cannot succeed in anything but dying. Why would the Queen of the Zerg want you on Char for any other reason than your destruction?
Because she loves me, thought Raynor in a shielded area of his brain, and said something else instead. 'I believe there is an opportunity, though,' he said, irritated at being made to feel like the inferior species. 'If Kerrigan wants me on Char then she will give me safe passage to it. And I'm the only one who has any chance of getting anywhere near her.'
To do what, human? thought Fenix. Kerrigan is many times more powerful even than a Protoss. You do not imagine you can kill her?
'Not as I am, no,' said Raynor. 'But I do believe, that the only individuals who can do any permanent harm to the Zerg are the Templar?'
Not quite true, human... Raynor looked up, amazed. The thoughts had had the aged, dry, weary tones of Zeratul, the Dark Templar. But no-one else seemed to have registered his speech. Had the thoughts been for him alone? Zeratul was staring at him with those dark blue eyes. He could not meet them.
'So my plan is, that because I am the only person who can possibly get near Kerrigan,' continued Raynor, hurrying on, 'that you train me ... as a Templar. And when I get to Kerrigan, I will kill her,' After I've satisfied myself that the Zerg can't be flushed out of her, he added privately.
Aldaris looked at him with amazement, and then started to laugh. Jim stared at him in anger. It was vicious, cruel, mocking laughter. The laughter of a superior race.
Foolish human! laughed Aldaris. You have no chance of ever becoming a Templar! Only those Zealots who have fought long in combat -- for many centuries -- and have learned to control and understand the psionic energy which flows through them could ever learn the spells wielded by the Templar. You have no psionic stimulus, and even if you did, you could never live long enough to learn to wield it. Abandon this foolish notion, and abandon thoughts of your concubine. Whatever she might have been, she is lost to you now.
'Fine,' snapped Raynor, angered by the mockery and the insulting reference to Kerrigan. 'Be like that. At least don't mock me. It was only an idea.'
Very well, human, thought Aldaris, clearly still much amused. We shall move on to less hilarious matters. We have a problem. There is something we want you and your men to do...
They all fell silent. Raynor could swear they were unwilling to continue.
You must leave Aiur, said Aldaris finally.
'What?' yelled Raynor. 'You cannot be serious! We've got nowhere else to go!'
That is none of our concern, human, thought Aldaris coldly. What is our concern is that the Protoss object to sharing Aiur with those they believe to be of inferior race.
'Inferior or not,' said Raynor, quivering with cold anger, 'we helped save your bony asses from the Zerg.'
We know that, noble human, thought Fenix, but most of the ordinary warriors would prefer to attribute the victory to Tassadar and ourselves. They do not believe that they could need the help of humans. 'But how can you be so ungrateful?' yelled Raynor. 'We were comrades against the Zerg! Doesn't that mean anything to you?'
Only in a time of war, human, thought Fenix sadly. History is written by the winners.
'Zeratul? You can't let him do this!' appealed Raynor to the real power behind the throne.
We are all in agreement, human, came the reply. You must leave Aiur. The Homeworld is sacrosanct, and its location must remain forever secret. Our Arbiters will teleport you to a place of your choice when you are ready.
'Fine. Screw the lot of you!' Raynor stormed out.
Out in the hallway, shaking with anger, he lit up a cigarette. Again, the Zealot told him not to, but this time he replied with an obscenity and the Zealot fell silent. He collapsed into the cockpit of his Vulture and sank his head into his hands.
How could they do this to him? Saying he had no place to go was no mere hyperbole. There was no place for him and his men in Arcturus's Terran Dominion -- they were all branded traitors, and in any case Raynor wanted nothing to do with the one who'd betrayed him and Kerrigan. His home Mar Sara had been over-run by the Zerg and burned clean of all life by the Protoss, along with nine out of thirteen of the other Terran worlds. They had no-one. And no where.
Raynor was interrupted in his self-pitying reverie by a tap on the glass.
There was no-one outside. But the tap came again.
Curious, Raynor got out of the Vulture and looked around him. There was still no-one around. Even the Zealots had gone.
Human, came a thought.
Raynor nearly jumped from his skin and banged his leg hard against his bike. Standing beside him, clad in a long green robe, was Zeratul, apparently materialized out of thin air. 'Jesus! You scared me,' Raynor muttered. 'Do you always have to sneak up on people like that?'
The Dark Templar regarded him silently.
Raynor began to feel uneasy. 'Listen, Templar, do you mind?' he said in irritation. 'I have to get back to my men. I have some bad news for them.'
What you had to say... interests me. thought the Protoss abruptly.
'What? How?' said Raynor in confusion.
About the Templar, replied the member of their number. You made a statement, but it was not entirely true.
'Being what?'
That only the power of the Templar is truly effective against the Zerg. This is not true. The energies wielded by the ordinary Templar are as useless as brute force. Only that wielded by my own brethren -- the Dark Templar -- is the same as that wielded by the Zerg.
'Oh, right,' muttered Raynor. 'Yeah, but this is all academic, isn't it? None of those energies can be wielded by me -- and I'm the only one who can get near Kerrigan.'
That may not be the case, human, came Zeratul's surprising answer. Do you know why the Zerg were originally drawn to your world?
'Because they were sensitive to the psionic emanations of the Ghosts...' said Raynor, and trailed off, staring into space.
Correct, human, replied Zeratul. Thus, it is possible that the Ghosts were using the same energies as the Zerg and ourselves. And, therefore, possible that a Ghost could learn to be a Dark Templar.
'Right,' breathed Raynor, but then his face fell. 'But that's still no use. All the Ghosts seem to have disappeared. And I don't have any with me.'
Then, human, you must become one.
'Become one?' gasped Raynor. 'That's impossible! All Terran infants are given a psi test at nine months of age, and those who fail can never become Ghosts.'
That may not be true, human. We of the Protoss believe that if a race has evolved enough to have a psionic stimulus, then all of that race must be able to wield psionics. It may be that your Government would only train those who were powerful, or those whose talents were overt.
'But-'
But nothing, human. This I say to you. Learn to become a Ghost, if you can, and then return to me. And I will inpart to you the precious knowledge of the Dark Templar.
Throwing up his cloaking field once more, Zeratul vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Raynor with dark thoughts.
NOW. 2. THE GREEK SURVIVOR By the time Raynor had finally got out of his house, he had become convinced that Sarah's feet would have clotted and stopped bleeding on their own.
After her feet had been festooned with bandages, Sarah had steadfastly refused to take the day off and had instead got dressed, shoving the injured appendages into thigh-high boots that bore a closer resemblance to bondage accessories, cursing Raynor's stupidity bitterly all the while. He had borne it with equanimity, though later having to swallow his growing irritation. It had been a relief to get out of the door.
While their marriage was close, loving and secure, it was, shall he say, volatile. Raynor's life had been stressful beyond the imagination of any executive, and Kerrigan's had been more stressful than any human had any right to survive. She'd been brainwashed, subjected to unspeakable experiments, rescued, subsequently betrayed, abandoned, brainwashed again, and her body had been violated on the most basic genetic level. The subsequent cleansing of her infestation had been worse if anything -- Raynor had doubted that she would survive. However, the knowledge of her troubles were enough to make him forgive her occasional nightmare, tantrum or crying jag. He was only glad that they had each other, and that he could be there for her.
Raynor's usual day consisted of riding around on his Vulture maintaining a semblance of law and order, though usually the most serious law enforcement problem he had to deal with was stolen domestic stock. However soon after leaving his house, he'd received a priority rendezvous call from his Deputy Tom Kazansky calling him to the edge of town. He headed for the signal through the buildings of the settlement post haste.
The town, since the vast majority of its male population were war veterans of Raynor's former colonial militia, had most of its dwellings made up of abandoned military equipment -- Bunkers, Academies, and the like. Raynor himself lived in what had been a Command Center, and one couple planning to have a lot of children (as yet though, in common with the rest of the settlement, there weren't any) lived in a grounded Battlecruiser. While Raynor tried to make sure all the equipment remained in combat fighting order, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. Young men and women living peacefully after a war of that magnitude didn't want to be reminded of the past; and thus for them, finally and irrevocably, the war was over.
Raynor wondered, not for the first time, about the lack of children in the settlement. In a town of four hundred young adults, the vast majority of whom were partnered off, a pregnancy would have been expected in the several months they'd lived there. Then again, all of them had had extremely stressful histories which weren't conducive to conception, Raynor imagined. He hoped the large quantities of nukes the Confederate Ghosts had been fond of throwing around hadn't rendered everyone sterile. He himself and his wife had never brought up the idea, though they didn't use contraception. While he knew that her DNA was now 100% human, he wondered if she herself wasn't afraid what her child might look like. He resolved to bring up the matter when he had the chance.
He reached the outskirts of the settlement, and he saw his deputy's bike – identifiable by the star that had been used by Marshals and deputies throughout the ages -- parked upon the dirt. Tom Kazansky had once been the finest Wraith pilot in the Terran Dominion, before effectively defecting to Raynor following their ignominious expulsion from Aiur. His piloting skills were now limited to the occasional crop spraying, though he still sent his plane screaming over the settlement every chance he got, until people complained. Raynor wondered, not for the first time, why his piloting skills didn't transfer to the hover bike. He was much less competent with a Vulture.
He parked up next to it and got out, looking around for his deputy. He found Kazansky with his leg up on a rock, staring intensely at the floor. There wasn't anything Kazansky didn't do intensely. He was a dark, moody, serious young man, with a dry, dull, monotonous voice that always sounded like he was coming over a Wraith intercom even when face to face. He was tall and thin, with short dark hair and dark eyes, and an intense, brooding look. He was one of the few young men of the colony who didn't have a girlfriend. Given how little fun he was to be around, Raynor supposed he wasn't surprised. However, he was a superb leader and officer.
'Howdy,' grated Kazansky with characteristic enthusiasm.
'Hi there, Tom,' said Raynor ironically, 'and how are you this fine morning? I've just had a really rough time with my girlfriend.'
'Sorry,' said Tom in tones that said he wasn't interested in the least. 'I thought you might want to take a look at this.'
'What?'
'Look down.'
Raynor looked down.
'My God!'
The area was thick with dead Zerg. There must have been at least a hundred combatants. Amongst the remains of at least fifty Zerglings (who had been literally ripped apart) were the dismembered bodies of larger, tougher species. Fragments of Ultralisk blades jostled for position with shattered Scourge and the pierced bodies of Mutalisks and Queens.
'What did this?' breathed Raynor. Oddly, there was no smell. The Zerg remains had merely dried out and mummified.
'Well, I've had a quick look round,' muttered Kazansky, 'and I guess... they did it to each other.'
'Each other? Why? Don't they all serve the same Cerebrate?'
'Should do. I don't notice any differences.'
Neither did Raynor. 'There shouldn't be this many Zerg around,' he said, starting to pace the floor, having to avoid sharp skulls and needle spines. 'We scoured this entire planet and we've got patrols throughout the surrounding space. How did they get here?'
'I haven't the slightest clue,' muttered Kazansky.
'If the Zerg are here...' murmured Raynor.
They both fell silent. It didn't bear thinking about.
'I'm going to have to come down harder about keeping equipment in combat readiness.' muttered Raynor, staring into the middle distance. 'And start organizing training weekends and night-exes again. If there's going to be a fight, we can't afford to get sloppy...'
'Is that even necessary?' queried Tom. 'Remember, these Zerg killed each other. They must have gone berserk. Which is logical. There aren't any leaders left, with the Overmind dead and the Que-'
'Yeah,' muttered Raynor, cutting him off. He didn't like Kerrigan's past referred back to. 'Another thing Tom. I don't want anyone to hear about this. Not anyone.'
'Might I possibly ask why?'
'I don't want to spread panic,' muttered Raynor, though he knew this to be a lie. In truth, he didn't know why he didn't want anyone else to know. The incident frightened him far more than it really should. He especially dreaded to know how his wife might react to Zerg under their very noses. He strongly suspected she'd freak. 'I want you to get some Firebats -- men we can trust, to keep their mouths shut -- and burn this entire area. And bury anything that won't.'
'Yes sir,' muttered Kazansky. Though he could think for himself, he was not one to argue with his superior officer. At least, not one that he respected – he had a poor rep with authority otherwise.
'See to it,' said Raynor abruptly and strode away, suddenly afraid of what his deputy might read in his face.
'Sir?'
'Yes?'
'Should the Queen of Blades hear about this?'
Raynor turned round sharply, wondering with some anger why Tom should refer to Kerrigan by her former, never-spoken title. There was nothing in his face to indicate guile.
'No,' grated Raynor, staring deep into his subordinate's eyes. 'I most especially do not want my wife to hear anything about this, do you understand?'
'I understand,' said Kazansky in his usual monotone.
'This information may cause my wife some considerable... distress...' said Raynor, 'and if it does I will hold you personally responsible!'
'It's already forgotten, sir,' said Kazansky, frowning -- an uncharacteristic show of expression.
Raynor felt suddenly embarrassed and ashamed. 'Listen, Tom, no hard feelings, it's just that this has shaken me up.'
'Accepted, sir.'
'I guess you know what this means for the colony, Tom?'
'I hear that,' rasped Tom with his characteristic pessimism. 'It means nothing's gonna be the same again.'
