The throne room of Emperor Arcturus I of the Terran Dominion, Ruler and Tyrant of all humanity bar Raynor’s crew, would not have looked out of place in the desert empire of any Arab prince of the late twentieth century.
Dryness permeated the very atmosphere of Korhal, and the room mirrored that, with few colors other than yellow, carved itself out of living sandstone and hung with tinder-dry tapestries that the numerous Firebats standing guard stared at with continual suspicion. These tapestries had been hurriedly commissioned not long ago and depicted mainly fanciful episodes in the sons of Korhal’s rise to power. Raynor and Kerrigan were conspicuously absent; even an attempt by one of the designers to represent them as evil antagonists and traitors had resulted in summary execution.
Present, too, was ample evidence that this was the throne room of a dictator or at least the head of a personality cult. The room was thick with portraits of Arcturus, the red Korhal raised-fist symbol, or both. His presence permeated the room even when he wasn’t around, arousing the mainly dumb Marine and Firebat guards to unparalleled loyalty (at least, that was the theory).
Finally the throne itself was made of relatively plain black metal. But into it were built numerous communication devices, which Arcturus used to direct his forces, along with a plethora of traps and concealed weaponry. Arcturus could wipe out individuals or entire systems without rising from his seat…
The room was flanked with whole sections of Marines and Firebats, who never let Arcturus out of their sight (except in his bedroom and bathroom where he’d made it clear he could defend himself) and whose purpose it was to destroy any assassins. This had already happened several times.
Today, they were on an even more stringent guard than usual… for today, Arcturus was expecting a very unusual visitor.
However, they were still expecting Arcturus.
‘Emperor Arcturus I!’ yelled a crier, and four trumpeters by the sides of the door launched into their strident theme. The Marines and Firebats snapped to attention, knowing that any sloppiness would be rewarded by a kick in the teeth by their emperor, himself a formidable warrior. The door opened and Arcturus, flanked by his elite bodyguard, strode in. As usual, he did not stand on ceremony, but strode straight to his throne and sat down, fiddling with the buttons and readouts. ‘At ease,’ he ordered. The grunts complied with relief.
Arcturus, a white-bearded, hawk-faced, mad-eyed man, was dressed in a black military uniform festooned with medals mainly of his own devising and bestowed mainly upon himself alone – one of his few weaknesses.
‘The bounty hunter Nemesis is here to see you, sir,’ whispered his lackey in a raspy voice.
‘Send him in,’ said Arcturus with characteristic abruptness, and lounged back in his chair, though yet watching the door with interest. It slammed open and through it walked a formidable figure.
Nemesis was a strange character, and his precise origin was a matter for much debate. He was dressed in a bizarre mixture of Marine, Firebat and Ghost armor, with stranger still, Protoss additions. He himself was over seven feet tall, and his face was always concealed by the view plate of his helmet. Judging by the rest of his body, it must be pretty deformed. His limbs were oddly disproportionate, his legs seemed awkward in the thick Marine boots, and the little finger on his metal gloves didn’t appear to move at all. His spacraft was equally bizarre, and many could have sworn such are weird design could not be designed, much less built by a Terran.
Nobody had ever heard him speak, for he communicated by telepathy, which gave weight to the theory that he was a renegade Ghost with very severe deformities or cyborg body parts. Finally, though he carried no weapons, and nobody had ever seen him fight, he had never failed in his marks.
‘Bounty hunter Nemesis,’ said Arcturus cordially. ‘I hope that your overnight accommodation was to your liking?’
I have no desire for the women of your seraglio, thought the bounty hunter disdainfully. Nor boys either, before you suggest it.
‘All apologies,’ said Arcturus genially.
I hear your thoughts, gave the bounty hunter. Ask of me what you wish.
‘I wish you to terminate – with extreme prejudice – two people who are thorns in the side of my reign,’ said Arcturus carefully.
Oh? thought the bounty hunter. And why not use your armies to defeat them in battle?
‘One of them is too well defended to be defeated by force of arms,’ said Arcturus, irritated at being made to look the fool. ‘The other’s location is unknown,’
All things are known to me, I have seen more of this universe than you can ever dream.
Arcturus had been warned that the bounty hunter was prone to such bizarre pronouncements, and took no notice. ‘Very well.’ he said. ‘Would you care to know the names of the people you must kill?’
I know you better, already, than you know yourself, came the reply. Their names are James Raynor and Sarah Kerrigan, the Queen of Blades.
‘Well done,’ Acturus shifted his weight, a little disturbed. ‘Shall we discuss terms?’
There is something I wish to discuss, thought the bounty hunter with an air of casual superiority. It is easy to imagine why Kerrigan should be your enemy. Without her leadership, the Zerg will be scattered and broken, and the Terran dominion will be the dominant force in their sector. The bounty hunter gave the ghostly equivalent of a laugh. And I shan’t let on why else you want her dead, lest these idiots you have serving you turn against your reign.
Arcturus looked up sharply, wondering if the Marines had ‘heard’ that, but apparently not; the thoughts had been for his mind alone.
But what of Raynor? His little army can be of no threat to you, and neither, it seems, has he any wish to come anywhere near the Dominion.
‘Why Raynor?’ ruminated Mengsk. ‘Why?’
He got off the throne and strolled over to the window, staring out across the ruin of sand and nuclear devastation that was Korhal. ‘Because… he is an example. An example of rebellion. Without him, many of the dissident factions that now oppose me could never dare to question my rule. But taking his lead, they do so, and I have had to double my internal police force three times this month alone. His example is an example that I cannot tolerate! He must be destroyed.’
The bounty hunter stood still and silent. Very well, he thought. Though the fact that your rule is vulnerable to one man leads me to believe that soon the Protoss shall be the supreme empire in the galaxy once again… 500 million credits each, he said before the insult had time to register.
Arcturus’s eyes went up. ‘That much? You cannot be serious. I need wealth in order to build ships to defend my empire.’
With Raynor and Kerrigan gone, your empire wouldn’t need defending, would it? The bounty hunter implacably implied. My offer is non-negotiable. Take it or leave it. We both know you could never find anyone else capable of accomplishing this task…
Arcturus let out a ragged breath. ‘Done,’ he gritted. ‘You drive a hard bargain, bounty hunter. You shall have your billion credits… but only when their broken bodies lie before me in my throne room.’
It’s already done, thought the bounty hunter, and strode out as abruptly as he’d come.
Arcturus let out another ragged breath, and wondered just how much he could raise taxes. Again.
The bounty hunter Nemesis strode rapidly through the corridors of the palace towards the starport, where he desired nothing more than to get out of this ridiculous armor, and get off this psi-dead planet to where he could once more feed on the lenergies which sustained him.
Those who spread the rumors about his origins always made the same grievous error. His armor was not Terran with Protoss add-ons, but the armor of a Zealot with enough bits ripped off the bodies of mindstormed humans to enable its wearer to pass for human. And his ship was not a Wraith with added Protoss weaponry, but a Scout with enough Wraith added to enable it to cloak.
Nemesis reached the airlock of his ship, opened it, and bolted it against all intrusion. He shed the painfully uncomfortable armor as rapidly as he could manage, till he was dressed in only a loincloth and shoulder guard. Then, double-jointed hooved legs bending the wrong way for a human, he strode to the pilot’s chair, activated the cloaking device, and launched himself off this Adun-forsaken planet.
Nemesis, once High Templar Furinax and Vice-Judicator of the Protoss, had no doubts that he would succeed in his mark, no doubts at all.
