Artanis stared into the swirling images filling the center space of the Nexus core. “We’ve handed over the ship, why aren’t they leaving?” he asked idly.
The image that held his attention currently was that of a massive, but dormant white ship. It had spent decades in the Shakuras Shipyards, being studied. Until eight hours ago, when an identical ship barreled in out of nowhere, demanding that it be released to its rightful owners.
“Praetor, the energy transfers between the alien vessels have ceased,” said Jazin from one corner of the room. “The ship we released appears to be regaining power.”
“Prepare all planetary defenses. Rally the fleet,” Artanis ordered.
“Artanis,” said Jazin, “I think your course of action unwise. The aliens have made no show of aggression.”
“Jazin, one does not enter a system with a ship the size of a small moon and begin to make demands of a species you have never encountered before unless you intend to back those demands up.”
Jazin bowed his head and backed away slightly.
“Praetor, another message from the aliens,” said a young Protoss from behind the mass of holographic projections.
Artanis silently signaled to put it on.
The voice that greeted him was such that it struck fear into the very being of all those present. It sounded like a herd of terrible beasts growling in unison. It said, “You are Xel’Naga.”
Artanis raised himself to a slightly greater height, and replied savagely, “I told you before. We are Protoss.”
The alien voice persisted, “You are Xel’Naga!”
Artanis beat down the surge of anger, and resisted giving the order to destroy the aliens. “We were created by the Xel’Naga. Our race has had no contact with theirs in eons.”
The voice very stubbornly insisted, “You are Xel’Naga,” and this time added, “You will be removed.”
The ridge along Artanis’s brow raised sharply. “Open fire!” he said.
The holographic representation of the Protoss fleet erupted with weapons fire. The alien ships, themselves as large as the bulk of the fleet, absorbed the barrage without noticeable damage.
Jazin glanced over the rapid scroll of data coming from the fleet. “Antimatter weapons are having limited effect. All directed energy weapons are being reflected somehow. The only things that seem to be causing any damage are the Corsairs,” he said.
They watched helplessly as the aliens began to methodically destroy the Protoss fleet, one ship at a time.
***
This was Hell. He had died, and gone to Hell. Maybe he shouldn’t have brushed Kane off when he tried to convert him… Conrad had awakened on the bridge of the Macbeth. He was still trying to decide whether or not he was dead or not.
The main screen, the half that functioned anyway, displayed a rapidly flipping series of images from the security cameras. Conrad was increasingly unhappy that the repair foreman had died with the shipyards. The Macbeth’s interior was completely unlike what it had been weeks before. There were new lounges, holds, cabins, and other facilities that hadn’t been developed when the ship was built. This was to be expected, but none of it matched the blueprints he had been given.
At any rate, something was odd. The forward lounge was a mess, but the camera was jammed against the wall, and wouldn’t pan. Happy for the exercise, Conrad started to walk down there to find out first hand what was up.
What he found proved to him that he was alive. Whether that was a good thing was still in question. A massive cylinder had pierced the huge windows of the lounge. It extended out into space, and down through the deck to the room below. A series of five letters was visible, and Conrad extended the rest of the phrase: “Confederate Suppression Arsenal.” The missile had failed to detonate.
Quickly, he scanned his occular implants across the spectrum. The entire lounge, and a small section of the corridor where he stood, glowed in all the worst wavelengths. Conrad swore, punched the bulkhead, and hurried back to the bridge.
***
The remnants of the Confederate fleet had been towed away to Moria. Admiral Calhoon had slipped into a mild coma several hours after the Macbeth was lost.
“She, quite literally, blew an aggression inhibitor,” Hal said.
King snorted, grabbed Hal by a metal protrusion on his head, and twisted his mechanical eye back to Calhoon’s motionless form. “Take another look!” He jerked the Hal’s head, producing a small burst of sparks.
“No, Captain, you don’t understand,” Hal protested with a slight buzzing sound. With King still wrenching at his remote interface, he tried to explain exactly what “blowing an aggression inhibitor” entailed.
In Confederate records, very few soldiers succeeded in actually blowing an aggression inhibitor. Those that did were mostly stimpack addicts, or schizophrenics. When the implant actually “blows,” it locks at full power. The host’s adrenal glands are completely disabled. Respiration and pulse slow. Many cases, including Admiral Calhoon, display clinical depression. Eventually, functions slowly begin to fail.
“You see, Captain?” Hal concluded his lecture. King reluctantly released him.
“What can you do?” he asked.
“It’s very simple,” Hal said, “We simply have to remove the inhibitor.”
“Any side effects?”
“I have read the Admiral’s profile,” Hal said, “And you should know there will be nothing to take the edge off her temper once the implant is out.” King knew what this meant. A lot of officers, and a lot of the ship’s atmosphere, ejected from airlock eighteen.
King nodded, “It has to be done.” He laughed at Hal, “I think I’m going to have the airlocks welded shut.”
***
Conrad muttered to himself, “If this is this, then what the hell is this?”
He had the repair report displayed on the main engineering screen, and was standing knee deep in engine number four. The engine in the ship didn’t match the one in the blueprints. Conrad scratched his head. If he was reading the blueprints right, the engine shouldn’t even be where it was. He was starting to wonder if he even knew how to read blueprints correctly. It all seemed self-explanatory.
He looked over his head, at engine one, ten meters over his head. He could swear that that one was different than the one he was standing on now. “What the hell?” he said.
He jumped down to the main deck. “Computer,” he said, “Remind me to kill the man who fixed the ship.”
The computer replied in monotone, “Please input target date of reminder.”
“Never mind,” Conrad said, stepping away from the engine. Examining his handywork, he was forced to admit that he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.
He walked away from the engine, and began to play around with the pile of junk he had decided were the spare parts in the engine. He selected a heavy steel bar, and swung it gently a few times. Getting a good running start, he swung the bar and slammed it into the side of the engine he had been working on.
The deck heaved, and the lights dimmed briefly. A massive roar filled his head until his auditory implant cut out for his own protection. A flashing green light on a console told him, to his amazement, that the engine had engaged.
“If it works, it works,” he said, shrugging. “Now that was one for the textbooks!”
***
“The enemy is retreating!” Jazin shouted.
“Report,” Artanis said, softly.
Jazin’s eyes shifted colors as he reviewed the casualties. “Forty-five percent casualties in the main fleet. All we did was collapse the lead ship’s hull on one side.”
Artanis shook his head, “Elari, take over, Jazin, come with me for a moment.” Once in the corridor, Artanis spun to Jazin, “Never contradict me again. I don’t care if you have been appointed Executor, I am still in command of the Templar!”
“Preator, rethink yourself,” Jazin rebutted, “The aliens made no overt sign of aggression. You did fire the first shot.”
“You heard the transmission as well as I did. The aliens made a clear statement of intent. You know as well as I do that that justifies armed retaliation.” Artanis began to walk away.
Jazin began to speak again, but Artanis stopped him, “And don’t start about the Dae’Uhl. The Stewardship ended with the fall of Aiur. And you know as well as I do that the Dae’Uhl only applied to lesser races. Those… things are by no means inferior!”
Jazin raised his hand to Artanis, “Your actions will doom us all. The Protoss can ill afford another war. And your actions today will bring an enemy far greater than the Zerg upon us.”
Artanis slowly moved closer to Jazin. His eyes flashed a deep crimson. “Perhaps you are not as well suited a warrior as I once believed.”
“A warrior cannot fight a war without an army.” Jazin said, walking away. “Tell me, Preator, where is your army?”
***
Once again, the fleet had been reunited. Conrad’s unannounced arrival at Moria had caused a quite a stir.
“You didn’t have to shoot at me, you know?” he said to King.
“I told you before, we thought you were another Dominion ship!” King shouted defensively. Conrad laughed at him.
King glared at him, but decided to deal with Kane instead. “Are you sure you know nothing about large scale cloaking devices?”
Kane paced the room, pulling at the end of his moustache. “I seem to remember some studies. At the Dylarian yards, the UED had a captured Arbiter. There were some rumors that the Dominion had recovered it and were doing some kind of study on the technology. I never read the reports, because nothing had ever come of research into Protoss technology.”
Conrad grinned. “I think we all read the story about the poor sap they strapped into a Dragoon?” he said, jokingly. “Did they ever find his left leg?” The others stared at him, bewildered. “Lighten up, guys. It’s a joke.”
The meeting, such as it was, broke up quickly. Nobody had much to say, and there was no impending action to discuss. Without the Admiral, there was nothing to argue about. On the way out, King dragged Conrad back into the room. He shoved him roughly against the table and shoved his finger in his face. “Just what did you think you were up to with the Admiral in here?” he said.
Conrad was taken aback, “What do you mean?” he asked.
“You just keep away, if you catch my drift,” King said.
Conrad started to protest, but stopped in mid word. “Ah… I see how this all is. Alia blows an inhibitor, and you get all worked up.” He cocked an eyebrow at King. “I assure you, I have no interest in Admiral Calhoon. The reason she blew her implant is that I told her a particularly juicy bit of gossip about her former commander.”
“Duran?” King asked. “What about him?”
Conrad hesitated. “He was a Zerg.”
***
Conrad stormed onto his own bridge, almost falling into the engineering pit. A wave of dizziness hit him. Must still be a little hung over, he thought. Most of the crew had survived, and had been rounded up to re-staff the Macbeth.
“Ok, boys and girls, here’s the deal. You all have one Morian day to get this piece of shit spaceworthy,” he shouted. Making a great show of checking his watch, he added, “That’s twenty seven hours and I don’t know how many minutes. Starting…” he paused, as if waiting for the second hand to come around. It never would, the watch had been broken for days, “Now! If anybody needs me, I’ll be in my cabin, asleep, so don’t bother me.”
In his cabin, he tried to sleep. He had learned other ways of recharging while he was in the Citadel, but sometimes, sleep still had the advantage that people would just leave him alone. But he couldn’t sleep now. He played around with the broken computer console for a while, exploring the various error messages it gave him. Finally he stood and was about to leave, when a hollow, beeping sound caught him.
He thought it was the computer at first, but as it continued, he realized he wasn’t really hearing the sound, rather than perceiving it like a fleeting memory. He frantically dug through the pile of junk he had accumulated, and dug out a long forgotten device.
It was small, the size of a standard datapad. It had a mottled yellow exterior, with an almost metallic luster. The screen contained three words in the Protoss language. He recognized two of them. One was Jazin’s name. The other was a verb. He wasn’t quite sure how to translate it, but it was second person, directed at him. He sat down, and played with the characters on a sheet of paper. He couldn’t come up with any combination that made sense, and left for the bridge again.
***
He entered the bridge, violently dodging the drop into the engineering pit, and started giving orders to no one in particular. “Scan for any sort of Protoss signal in the system, and get me a channel to the Darkhammer.” He waited for the transmission to go through.
King’s face flashed onto the screen. “Can I help you?” he said.
“I need you to send the science vessel out for a quick sweep. I have reason to believe we might have some Protoss visitors dropping in on us, and I don’t want the Kel-Morian fleet to get trigger happy again,” he said.
King scowled, and cut the transmission. Conrad turned to an officer jumping around trying to man three consoles at once. “Did he send the ship out for me?” he asked.
The officer hurried to a console he wasn’t already covering, and reported, “Yes… I think so, anyway. I don’t normally work the sensors.”
Conrad leaned his head back, No wonder the Protectorate canned these guys. “Where is the rest of the bridge crew?” he demanded as he stood and left the bridge, not bothering to wait for an answer.
***
King paged Conrad before he got back to his quarters. He looked around for a working com panel, and entered his access code. When that didn’t work, he pounded the keypad with his fist, and was granted access to the transmission.
“I have the report you wanted. There are five ships entering the system,” King said.
“Protoss?” Conrad asked, hopefully.
“Four Protoss, one Dominion. We were just about to go out and see if there was a fight, it looks like the Protoss is trying to evade the Dominion ship.”
Conrad shook his head. “Hold your position, I’ll go take care of it.” He never would get that nap in…
***
Conrad entered the bridge, yet again, giving orders. “There are five ships out there. Only four of them are our friends,” he said, “Battle stations. Sound red alert, general quarters. You know the drill.” Seeing the sluggish response of the crew, he rephrased his last words: “This isn’t actually a drill.” The crew sped up considerably.
His first officer hurried over to him, “Sir, General, sir! There are four Protoss ships approaching, and a Dominion ship pursuing them.”
“No shit? Didn’t I say that?” Conrad said. “Like I said, battle stations.”
He took the center chair, rubbing his temples. “Charge weapons,” he said, absently, “Target the Dominion ship only.”
Conrad closed his eyes, and waited for the battle to start. He kept his eyes closed until his first officer shook his shoulder and told him, “General, the Dominion ship is running away. Should we pursue?”
Conrad shook his head. “No. We aren’t up for a fight. Rendezvous with the Protoss fleet.”
***
The sleek Protoss Consulate ship slid into the Macbeth’s empty hangar. Even before the massive doors behind the ship closed, its passengers stepped out. Several of the Terrans present behind a glass barrier looked startled, but Conrad raised his hand to them. “It’s ok, they can survive in vacuum. Pressurize the hangar.”
As soon as the green light flashed, Conrad keyed open the internal hangar doors, and hurried in to meet the gaunt figure leading the Protoss group. “En Taro Adun, Jazin.” Jazin brushed past him. Conrad turned, raised his eyebrows, and said, “Problems on Shakuras?”
“I need your assistance,” Jazin said curtly. “Artanis is provoking a war with a superior alien race.”
Conrad waved to the officer in charge of the hangars, “Call Captain King,” he said. Turning back to Jazin, he continued, “What aliens?”
Jazin briefly described the ships. “All we know is what their ships look like,” he continued, “Artanis has half the Caste studying the logs from the battle, looking for weaknesses.” Jazin strode toward Conrad, who backpedaled several steps before the Protoss gripped his sleeve. “We lost half our fleet, with nothing to show for it.”
Conrad sighed, and looked at the officer he’d addressed earlier, who was holding up five fingers. “The same race attacked here. It destroyed at least one unarmed ship unprovoked. Before we destroyed it, it had destroyed four ships and crippled one.”
“How did you destory it?” Jazin demanded.
Conrad smiled as he waved his fingers in the air, evoking a slight psionic ripple. “It wasn’t that big.” He pointed to Jazin’s small craft, “Maybe that size. It could reflect lasers and Yamato fire somehow. We could hit it with missiles, but we barely damaged it.”
Jazin bowed his head. Conrad wiped his brow. “Is there anything else you know about the aliens?”
“Yes,” Jazin said, “They think we’re Xel’Naga, and they refuse to listen to any other viewpoint on the subject. I believe the phrase you used to use was, ‘Not the sharpest bulb on the tree,’?”
“Something like that…” Conrad could hear King’s voice coming from the corner console. The officer manning the terminal was waving at Conrad. As he and Jazin approached the console, King was talking hurriedly about a Dominion fleet.
“Ah, shit!” Conrad cried as he ran down the corridor.
***
Conrad expected an attack any second. So did everyone else. While he met with Jazin, Mengsk had brought in his newest fleet. His thin, drawn face was on the screen now. “I know we’ve all had a bit of a rough relationship in the past, but you see these?” he said, waving a packet of papers in the air, “These are Imperial orders of Pardon, for Alia Calhoon, Joseph King, and John Conrad. And I’ll sign them for ya’ll, too. All you have to do is turn over the D.S. Gentry and the traitor Thomas Kane to me now, and these are yours.”
“Give me the other end of the transmission.” Conrad ordered. Jazin was hurriedly babbling in Protoss to his escorts.
Conrad held up two fingers in a “Y” shape to his first officer, making a mental note to find out his name. The commander nodded. “Com, cut out the Admiral’s end of the transmission, and put me on,” he said. The com officer waved to him.
“Hello, Arcturus. We have a lot to catch up on. I’m glad you could stop in,” he said sarcastically.
Mengsk’s pale face drained of what little color it had.
The com officer said, “Dominar Kane’s trying to cut in.”
“Jam him,” Conrad said softly.
Mengsk’s face twitched and formed into an animal snarl. Finally, he regained his composure, and said, with mock cordiality, “Well, well. Johnny! We sure do have a lot to catch up on. The last time I saw you, you were dead.”
Jazin stepped up behind Conrad, “Have you heard from your informant on Shakuras lately, Emperor? Joseph Langly, I think his name was.”
“You killed Joe?” Mengsk said, gaping.
“I killed him,” Conrad said.
Mengsk’s face disappeared.
“We’re going to recall your fleet.” Jazin said.
“General, the Dominion fleet has opened fire,” said the first officer.
“Brace!” Conrad yelled. He set his feet into the floor grate, but nothing happened. “Where are they shooting?” Before he stopped talking, the computer redirected the cameras to the Gentry. Kane’s ship was taking the full brunt of the assault.
Conrad flipped several switches on his panel, “Dominar Kane?” he said into the arm of his chair, watching the Gentry break apart. Finally, the ship’s reactor failed, and blew itself apart. “Tom!” He stood and stomped the deck. “Bastard!” he yelled at the scree, “Target Mengsk’s ship! Fire the Yamato!” Red glare began to fill the screen.
“Belay that!” Jazin said. “Brace for warp.” The Conrad turned, and saw him saying this last into the command channel on the command chair.
The screen turned red as the entire Dominion force opened up on the remainder of the Confederate fleet, and then went completely dark. Conrad felt the sickening spinning effect of the ship rapidly shifting reality around him, finally emerging over the dusty cratered surface of Shakuras. Several shots that had passed through the rift, jarring the Macbeth sharply.
Conrad heaved a massive sigh of relief.
Jazin touched his shoulder. “Welcome home, Templar.”
