Conner sped across a field of yellow grass, the vulture beneath him, humming with it’s own power, massaging his entire body. The wind caressed his dark brown hair. Never had he felt so alive! His body was rejuvenated with the speed of his mid-night black vulture, that had a respectable Kel-Morian Combine decal on the front plate, the usual
‘K’ over ‘M’.
As he drove, Conner fiddled with an his ear piece, trying to find a good music channel. The tuner was so small that he had to use his fingernail to turn it. He turned it, but all he could hear was static. He tuned until he found a satisfactory channel that played a slow paced song, with the base booming, pulsating, drawing Conner into his own thoughts. His eyes glazed over as he mindlessly piloted the Vulture through the field.
He thought mainly of a strange dream he’d had, only it wasn’t a dream, it was the recollections of a young boys mind. Back to a time when he didn’t understand the world, or what it was. He wasn’t exactly sure what in the dream was true, but he knew from stories that most of it was.
***
His minds eye displayed the image of a small boy standing alone on a black street, paved with asphalt. Chaos was about him, fires burned, the sky was the color of yellow and orange mixed with smoke. At the time, Conner’s world consisted of toy models of space planes tanks, and army men. He used to play with these toys. But the things he saw were not his toys. They were bigger, spaceships of every sort flew overhead, while on the ground tanks and ‘army men’ were scattered about. In the middle of it all, was the little boy—Conner. He was shuddering with fear, arms clutching his tiny chest.
Eventually, the boys’ curiosity overwhelmed his fear, and the boy began to wander the streets, exploring what lay beyond the next bend.
He turned a corner only to see army men crossing the street a few yards in front of him. They surrounded a tank, that pivoted its great turret in his direction. A loud sound emanated from the turret, making the boys ears ring. He jumped and put his hands to his ears in an attempt to muffle out the noise. He slowly pumped his tiny little legs in a backward walk, keeping his eyes on the tank.
Suddenly, the army men surrounding the tank opened fire, seemingly at the boy. Then, he heard gunshots behind him. He turned around just in time to see an army man sweep him off and carry him into a small, roofless building. Others followed close behind. The army man frightened Conner, but he did not cry, nor shy away but instead looked up at the man with his big brown eyes.
The man knelt on one knee in front of him and pushed a button followed by a swoosh as his tinted black visor disappeared, he removed his glove on his right hand and proceeded to examine the boy, pushing his eyelids back, turning his head and looking in his ears, and finally, he forced Conner’s tiny mouth open with his thumb. Conner bit down as hard as his little jaws would let him. The army man yelped in surprise, followed by laughter from the other men surrounding them. He pulled his finger out of Conner’s mouth, drawing his hand back to slap the boy, but he refrained as a look of compassion overcame his face.
Conner heard the men talking, but what about he couldn’t tell, until he heard one word that stuck in his mind, a word he’d heard his mother use, ‘research’ it became clear then, they were talking about him.
***
A change of song in his receiver pulled Conner out of his thoughts, the beat was faster, the guitars strummed louder. Instantly Conner recognized the song, and goose bumps formed all over his arms as a chill ran down his spine. He pushed the throttle down harder, letting his adrenaline take over in his love for speed.
Ahead, was the mouth of the canyon, the opening to the Narrows. It was wide at the mouth, but Conner knew it got smaller just a little ways in.
Conner entered the canyon, joyful that he’d be able to set up camp in a few hours. He took advantage of the challenging terrain to test his piloting skills, swerving in between and around large boulders that had been swept down the canyon during the seasonal flash floods. He followed a small animal path that led to a wash filled with gravel, and boulders of every size, while lizards playfully ran across cracked dirt, curled up with the lack of water. All around cliffs of every hue of color between yellow and red soared over thousands of feet into the air while just above them vulture-like birds rode the thermals rising from the canyon floor.
He rode his bike into the looming shadow of a cliff, interrupting his receiver signal, trying to change the wave frequency and driving proved to be a disastrous mistake. He finally turned it off and looked up only to see that a large tank sized boulder was directly in his path.
Conner reacted quickly and banked hard to the left, forcing him into the stiff brush. Twigs and branches tore at his legs while below him, the brush scraped the underside, and scratched the sides of his bike. Jamming the controls to the right this time, he came out of the brush and back down into the wash. He grinned to himself, and risked a glance back at what he’d come through. When he turned back, he barely had time to recognize another boulder, his grin slid away and was replaced by a surprised look.
The Vultures front plate smashed inward as he crashed, Conner flew over the handlebars careening through the air like an axe towards its target. When he hit the ground, Conner instinctively began to roll. Rocks poked with their sharp edges all around his body.
When is this going to stop? He thought, unaware of where he was rolling to, his head hit a large rock. The only thing he remembered as the world faded into darkness, was his body slowing to a halt, before he was rendered unconscious.
***
To: Colonel Jackson Hauler, Commander of Nova Squadron
Orders: Terminate colonial resistance at Nerus.
Time Allotment: Twenty-four hours.
Colonel Jackson Hauler seethed as he read his time allotment over again. He tossed his pad onto his desk.
Ignorant fools! The job cannot be done with a small window of time!
He walked around to the back of his desk and sat down in his black leather chair. Swiveling around, he looked out the large observation windows at the men preparing for mobilization upon his command. Two tanks sat behind a small regiment of marines. While six vultures headed out to scout and place their mines in crucial areas. He couldn’t see them, but Jackson knew that three wraiths hovered on each side of his cruiser, the Routhe.
I sure as hell hope the Kelanis Guild doesn’t reinforce them in time, we’ll have to mobilize within the hour.
Abruptly, he swiveled back around to his desk, and pushed a button on his console. The comm broke the silence in the room,
“Yes Sir?” said a curious voice.
“Lieutenant Bradley, what is the situation there?”
The Lieutenant paused for a moment, as if thinking what to say carefully.
“Well Sir, we are missing a dropship, but other than that, the troops are ready for deployment.”
Jackson was a little surprised, “What happened to it? Where the hell is it?”
“I’m not sure sir, their last transmission to us reported that they’d been rammed or hit by ‘something’, was all they said.”
Confusion replaced surprise on Jackson’s face. “What do you suppose it was?”
“Uh—I’d say it was probably some damned piece of space junk.”
Jackson thought it was enough, “Very well Lieutenant, I want you to send a transmission to the vultures and give them new orders, tell them to search for the crash site. Let me know of their progress within the hour.”
“Yes Sir, Bradley out.” Jackson released the button he was pushing, and slumped down into his chair, brooding over the current situation.
An hour later, a soft call sign sounded in the room, Jackson ceased his thoughts.
“Lieutenant?”
“Sir, the Vultures report they’ve found the crash site, the dropship took some heavy damage, four were found dead, the rest appeared to have left the crash site.”
“Any indication as to where they were headed?” said Jackson.
“No specific direction Sir, I suspect they’ll try to rendezvous with us at the valley.”
“Damnit!” screamed Jackson, “We haven’t the time for this! Tell the troops to begin marching in formation towards the valley.”
“But Sir, with all due respect,”
Jackson cut him off screaming, “Do it!”
The poor Lieutenant licked his lips nervously before he stammered, “Ye—Yes Sir.”
***
Conner awoke with a sharp rock stabbing at his back, while a large lizard lay on his chest, basking in the morning sun. Conner didn’t move, but instead looked the lizard in its eyes for a moment. Slowly, the previous days events began to recur. He lifted his head still staring at the lizard as he painfully began to slowly roll over to his side.
The lizard became startled by his movements and leapt onto his face, scratching and hissing. Conner’s eyes widened in surprise as the lizard clawed at him. He reached for the lizard, trying to grab it’s mid-section, but to no avail. Alas he managed to grab the lizard and rip it off of him, throwing it on the ground.
Conner stood up, looking down at the attacker that lay lifeless, stunned from his fall. He kicked it a few feet away.
“Stupid little bastard! That’ll teach you to mess with me!” He sagged his shoulders, and leaned against a nearby rock. His head ached, his arms and legs were sore and bruised, and he was exhausted. He waited for the dizziness to subside before he looked in the direction of the Vulture. It was farther than he had thought, he had sailed a good fifteen feet before he hit the ground and rolled another ten more. Conner stared in amazement at the distance he had somehow managed to survive. He put his hand to his head at the sudden stab of pain that appeared. Pulling it back, he noticed blood stained his fingers.
I’ll have to worry about that later, he thought.
He stepped up beside what was left of the Vulture, the whole front plate was smashed into the seat. The handlebars had been completely ripped off, and a few yards away, lay the jet engines, with the storage compartments still fastened onto them.
Pulling the storage lids off, Conner pulled out the box of spikes and laid it beside him, grabbing the rifle, he stood to examine it for any damage. Satisfied with only a few scratches on the exterior, he pulled open the bolt to examine the barrel. He lifted up the gun to the morning light, and looked through the barrel, he could see sand stuck to the sides of the barrel. It needed cleaning before use, in this condition, its more likely that he’ll blow himself apart when firing it than anything else.
Behind his head a gun calked, ready to fire. Conner froze, still looking through the barrel. A female voice spoke icily through gritted teeth,
“Move, and I’ll blow your head to pieces.” Conner didn’t dare do anything but obey, he hated having guns pointed at him.
“Turn around… slowly.” He did as he was told, slowly turning around holding his rifle in the air with one hand, before him stood a tall slender woman pointing a rifle in his face. Conner immediately recognized the weapon as a 25mm C-10 Canister, the type issued to Confederate ghosts.
His eyes widened in surprise, They sent a ghost to help take out a small outpost? They must have made a mistake!
The sound of footfalls on gravel brought him out of the thought. He stared at the woman, who glared at him with intense eyes, looking down the barrel of her Canister Rifle. She was beautiful, in a black body suit with curly lo of auburn hair falling about her shoulders.
A marine grabbed the Gauss out of Conner’s hand and stepped back. Conner hardly gave a notice. He was staring into the woman’s eyes. She seemed to notice, and with a snarl, put the barrel to his neck, like a dueler would his sword, and forced his head back.
“What the hell are you staring at pig!” she said with a snarl.
Conner stared down his nose at her, before he swallowed and replied, “Your—eyes” he paused, “they’re beautiful.”
She clenched her teeth and hit him in the chest with the butt of her gun. Conner fell to his back holding his ribs. His previous crash had broken a few ribs, but Conner did his best to try and not let her know they were broken, cursing to himself at his own stupidity.
His attacker, the woman, stepped beside his head, and kicked him in the face. Again, Conner felt as if his head would burst, and he fought to keep conscious. She knelt on one knee and removed his knife from its sheath, and used it to gesture to his crotch.
“Say something like that again, and I’ll have to fix that for you.” She smiled ruefully. Conner could feel blood run down from his nose as he stared up at her defiantly, “The pleasure would be mine” he said in a snide tone. She glared at him as he stood, and took another kick, this time in his crotch. “Owff!” cried Conner, as pain seared its way up to his brain.
Bitch! He thought, What the hell is wrong with me? What a stupid thing to say!. All the while, the ruthless woman stared down at him with a satisfied smile on her lips.
“Do not challenge me again, and you will keep your precious little balls” she chided.
Conner was about to speak when he noticed she was poised to take another kick. He decided against it, and instead relaxed his head on the ground.
“Good, you are learning quickly, but you would be wise to speak only when spoken to.” She stepped over him and took the small handgun out of its holster examined it, and threw it to a marine who put it in his empty holster.
“Now that you have learned a little bit of respect towards those superior to you, I have some questions for you.” She strode over to the broken Vulture and continued. “What are you doing out here?”
Conner looked at her menacingly, “Maybe I should ask you the same question.”
“You are in no position to question me!” she said taking some quick steps forward.
Conner put on a smug look, “Oh yeah. But you forget, I’m not the one who is lost.”
Conner grinned as she pointed her rifle at him. “I could kill you as I please.”
“So” he said casually, “but what would that prove? Your lost, remember?” She lowered the Canister rifle glaring at him as she gestured to her marines. Two stepped over to him, and lifted him onto his feet.
“Get the box of ammunition, we could use it. Make him carry the it in a pack.” A marine did as he was told, and gathered up the box off the ground, loading it into a pack.
Conner put it on, the weight of the imbalanced box made him stagger and sway from his pain.
“Move!” she shouted, as she and moved in the direction Conner had pointed out. Conner followed at the pull of his leash about his neck, trailing behind one of the marines, off into the horizon of misery and pain that was surely to come.
***
Chau Sara,
The Confederate Squadron “Alpha”
Base of Operations
“Now you listen here, I ain’t gonna be ordered around by no Lt. Commander! I am not goin to attack the Sons a’ Korhal without the”—
A red light flashed and the sound of a soft buzzer interrupted the General’s sentence. Looking back at the console displaying the image of Lt. Commander Gregory Reikson, he continued. “Look uh, I’ll call ya back.”
The commander started to protest, “But Edmund, we need you to”—
“That’s General Duke to you Commander!” roared the General. “Now, I said I’d call ya back! That means I will call you! Don’t call me!” with that said, General Edmund Duke switched off the comm scowling at the commander.
Once off, the General became visibly relieved, “Stupid sniveling little bastard.” He muttered as he pushed the button with the flashing light.
“Yes?”
“Sir, I think you’d better take a look out your window.”
“What the hell for?” he said, walking towards his curtained window,
“Is it rainin’ cats an dawgs?” He pushed back his curtains.
“No Sir, something much worse I’m afraid.”
But the General wasn’t listening now, a good fifty kilometers or so off, were dozens of seemingly yellow colored ships headed to his position. Edmund stared in awe at the huge size of them, smooth and rounded, closing the distance between them.
“Sweet mother of—“
“Sir?—Sir, are you there?” said the concerned voice over the comm, snapping Edmund out of his fixation.
“What in the Sam Hell are they?” Edmund briskly strode towards the door.
“I’m not sure sir, but—“
Edmund was to the door now, heading out. “I’m on my way.”
Tactical was full of people, all staring at the large two-dimensional screen displaying the strange ships. Edmund walked in fast-paced and with a determined, yet confused look on his face.
“General Duke!”
Edmund simply kept on walking towards the rectangular table. “Sergeant, get these people outta here!”
“Yes Sir.” Replied the Sergeant, and began hollering and pushing people towards the door. People shouted back, confused and frightened demanding answers.
Edmund stepped to the head of the polished black table, and looked at the man to his right. “Colonel, status.” The man whipped his head away from the screen.
“Uh, yes Sir, we’re uh… they’re approximately forty kilometers and closing. Scans show some sort of shielding device is creating and energy fiel”--
Edmund slammed his fist on his table, making the man jump. “I don’t care about that! What I want to know is who the hell are they? The Umojan Protectorate? The Combine? Who the hell is it!”
“Sir, we don’t know, we’ve tried contacting them, but they haven’t answered.”
A young Lieutenant sitting at a console ripped off his headphones and stood, “General!” Edmund turned his head to stare at the young man. The Lieutenant continued, “Sir, we’re getting a message!”
Edmund looked back at the Colonel with a glare, “Well! Don’t just stand there boy! Put it on the comm system!” The young man nodded, and Edmund continued, “Maybe now we’ll get some answers from these bastards!”
The room hushed as the comm system overhead came on. A high pitched shrill pulsating and throbbing sounded. Edmund and the others put their hands to their ears, it was worse than hearing fingernails scratch on a blackboard.
“Just turn the damned thing off!” screamed Edmund.
The sound was cut off immediately, and all about the room, people took their hands off their ears sighing with relief.
“What was that supposed to be Lieutenant?”
The man didn’t even stand or turn his head, but kept working at his console, “I don’t know sir, but the wavelengths are too high, it’s almost as if…” his voice trailed off as he continued what he’d been doing.
“As if what!” The man swiveled around, “Sir, that was an empathic communications attempt with us through our machines!”
Edmund stared at him blankly, “So” he said confused.
The Colonel next to him explained, “General, we don’t know of any technology within the Confederacy that allows psychics to manipulate machines or comm systems! Our spies haven’t found any evidence of such a thing within any of the pirate militias… so, that must mean”--
“It means we need new spies” interrupted the General, “why are you getting all excited? That’s nothing to be excited about unless your traitors.” He leaned closer to the Corporal, “Your not a traitor, are you Corporal?”
Before he could answer, the Lieutenant, completely unaware of what had just transpired, interrupted the two, “Sir, if I may, I believe that I can playback the transmission at a lower wavelength, allowing us to understand what they’re trying to say. It appears that there is a visual as well.”
Edmund nodded approval, and turned back to the Colonel, “Now, what were you saying Colonel?”
The Colonel lifted his head to speak, “Sir, I believe that these are not any of the wayward militias.
Edmund looked at him disgustedly, “You are a traitor!”
The Colonel lifted his hands, waving them around, “N-n-no! I’m not a traitor! What I’m trying to say is that I believe that these ships we are seeing are of alien origin!”
Edmund stared at him for a moment. Slowly, a smile curved from his lips, and he burst into a deep belly laugh. After a minute, when he’d gained control of himself, Edmund put a meaty hand on his shoulder, “Ya know! I don’t like liars!”
Edmund held his stomach pained from laughter, and immediately became serious. “Now, I don’t know as to whether they’re aliens, but send out a warning fleet of four cruisers along with a number a’ wraiths, put em in formation Beta Seven.”
The Colonel saluted, “Yes Sir!” and walked to a console by a wall.
Edmund muttered to himself, “Aliens, bah! Whoever they are I’m gonna blow them outta the livin’ sky!”
Just then, the Lieutenant who had been working on the transmission shouted to him,
“Sir! I have the transmission ready for playback upon your command!” Edmund nodded,
“Put it on the screen Lieutenant.”
The image of the ships flickered, and displayed a triangular face with blue eyes that glowed like the mineral crystals and flickered when it spoke, “Terrans, by the Khalas will, it is that we reveal ourselves unto you. We, are the Protoss, the First Born. Your world shall be purged of the evil that lies upon its surface. Defend yourselves! For now, begins a great war against evil.”
The transmission ended, the screen flickered with snow, leaving the room astonished. Edmund couldn’t believe it, the words of his Colonel went through his head, ‘I believe that these ships we are seeing are of alien origins.’ He looked around the room for his
Colonel.
“Colonel!” The man turned around and half skipped, half trotted over to Edmund.
“Sir?” He looked as shocked as Edmund.
“Change of plans Colonel, execute emergency plan omega-four! Send everything that can’t shoot at a ship into the dropships! Then, I want you to report to my flagship, Norad II, tell the marines to entrench themselves and load up in bunkers, let’s get the hell out of here Colonel! Now move!”
The Colonel didn’t even bother to salute, but ran out of the room to carry out his orders. Edmund took a look at the Colonel’s console, which displayed the rate of approach and the distance from their location. Fifteen kilometers and closing. Down in the corner, the number of ships multiplied from fifty to forty thousand. Edmunds face paled, all he did then was turn and jog out of the room.
