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Writers note: Helpful hint for future reading. Every time you see an empty line, a small short location and another empty line, take a small 2 second break and tell yourself that it's a new location and a new person doing something completely separate and unique from the last person. Or almost separate and unique. Also, if you don't get something, go back and read it again, maybe even go back to another part if need be. Thank you.
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UED HQ, Jupiter Orbit, Triton Base Aleph
Admiral Arkham and his XO Vice Admiral Sue'Wen Mary, both newly promoted from their recent escape from certain destruction, walked briskly down the hall from the UED's 2nd Expeditionary Force's new flag ship, the UEDSS Antony.
"Mary, that call sounded more than just slightly important. Are you sure you couldn't get any more out of the messenger?"
She shook her head. "He couldn't say anything. But I agree it is important, sir. Something they couldn't even trust to the inter-base communication. But what?"
It was Arkham's turn to shake his head. He knew a lot of top secret information, but any of it could be hinted at over the intercom system. Maybe it was something new, something . . .
They slowed and then stopped in front of a set of steel doors, much like the few they had passed on the way. Subtle differences, however, told of its importance. It seemed thicker, more massive. A strange console stood to it's right, and a pair of heavily armed and armored guards, immensely different from the conscript Marines, stood watch. Phoenixes, the new UED Heavy Assault and Occupation trooper.
Arkham went up to the console and typed in his 22 digit clearance code, followed by fingerprinting, DNA sequencing, retina scan, and a voice match, all under the watchful eyes of the two Phoenix guards. These were normal procedures for high security areas, but tended to take up time. After they both were cleared for entry, at least twenty minutes had gone by.
"Please enter the holding area." The strange metallic voice of the computer system rang out of a small speaker hidden behind one of the guards.
"Holding area, I thought this was a boardroom." Arkham eyed one of the Phoenixes suspiciously.
"The high level of sensitivity of this area warrants additional precautions." The voice of the guard sounded out of place spouting the more complex words. Arkham suspected he had been trained to reply in such a manner and only such a manner.
The small room beyond the double set of doors resembled an elevator almost exactly. As soon as they entered, however, a dim light started to work slowly down the wall. Arkham put a hand on Sue'Wen's shoulder, pointing to the slowly descending light.
"This is a scanning room. They are doing deep skin and penetrating radiation scans. I've only seen this level of security around the General Assembly of the Directorate."
She looked straight into his face. "This is serious, Admiral. What in the world is this important?"
"I don't know."
The dim light vanished and a door opened in front of them. A group of five men and women stood waiting, one dressed in antiquated camouflage. This one smiled and waved his hand for them to approach.
"Admiral Arkham, Vice Admiral Mary, I am General George McListerne of the UED Army, Commander of the 5th Battle Group."
He motioned to a burly, white haired man and a slim, athletic woman. "These are General Gregory Erbal, Commander of the 8th Battle Group, and Commander Sally Acornia, Commander of this base, both of the UED Army."
Pointing to an ancient looking man in the battle uniform of an admiral and the only one of them all in a suit. "Admiral Tola Leroy of the UED Navy, and Senator Robert Elie." Admiral Arkham and Vice Admiral Mary shook the hands of each of the assembled in turn.
"Vice Admiral Mary and I are honored to meet you, sirs and madam, but I must be blunt. We were overseeing the construction of our new command when we were called down. And that’s pretty important since our entire fleet was either destroyed or damaged beyond repair. And all this security, whatever could be this important?"
General McListerne winked at Arkham, digging a huge cigar out of one of his jacket's pockets, placing it in his mouth and lighting it in one smooth motion. "Well, now, that's a secret I'm willing to share with you."
***
Umoja, Headquarters of the Umojan Protectorate
"Mind you, all of this is secret. The entire Protectorate has been working on this for nearly two years." Minister Jorgensen turned from the holoview to face Raynor and Suzee Q. He smiled and clasped his hands together. "But since you've worked with the Protoss before, you can help us contact them and put to end some of these burning questions we've been trying to answer."
Raynor glanced out the window, taking another look at this 'enlightened world'. The once lush land was stricken with some type of blight, but that was understandable since the entire sky was filled with the noxious fumes of thousands of factories and strange laboratories. Spirals of strange smoke and other substances came from the billions of buildings that completely covered almost the entire surface of the planet. The antithesis of everything the Protoss stood for was there, filling the window screen.
"All I can promise you is contact. It may not even be peaceful contact, I have no way of knowing what the situation they are facing is."
Minister Jorgensen smiled again, rubbing his hands together in glee. "Oh, I'm sure the Protoss will be excited to contact enlightened ones such as we. We are much better than the majority of humans they've dealt with. You excluded, of course, Commander Raynor." Raynor could see that he didn't mean it.
"Well, whatever. The deal stands. You provide safe haven for any and all of my troops and I'm give you the co-ords where you can meet one of them."
"Of course, Commander Raynor. That is, after all, what we want."
A few handshakes later and they were escorted out of Minister Jorgensen's office. The two guards that attended them left them at an elevator, one different from the one they had just come up.
"I don't like this, Jimmy. This seemed almost too easy." Suzee Q looked around apprehensively.
"I don't either. But I don't plan to hang around much longer, anyway." He stabbed at the down button, the weird architecture of the Umojans making him more jumpy than usual. "Let's get out of here."
The elevator came quickly, empty. An external elevator, it had one side completely glass, allowing the occupants a look at the sweeping panorama that was the Ujmojan civilization. Raynor pushed the lowest subbasement button and started the descent.
Among the many problems that Umoja faced was rampant overpopulation. However, looking out the window, you couldn't have known, as the atmosphere was far too poisonous for humans to breathe unaided. Though many of the Terran worlds main transportation was some type of air car, here the air was too filled with pollutants for air travel except by specially designed transports. Engines clogged too quickly.
As they approached the ground, Raynor noticed a few people in heavy environmental suits, not unlike stripped down Marine battle uniforms, doing some type of repair work on one of the buildings. Though it was nearly useless now, a fringe environmental group known as the Green Hands had been working for almost a hundred years to try to stop the Umojan Rape, as they called it. Now, though it was a lost cause, they had again resorted to terrorist attacks and kidnappings to make their demands met.
Soon, they slipped into the deep subterranean layers of the planet, the Underearth. This was the true Umoja, the crawling, slippery mass of humanity that stretched on before them, entering and exiting the thousands of tunnels that connected this small hub with the millions of others that connected this planet together. A huge throng of people, humanitie’s lifeblood.
Raynor stared at the space, one of the few large spaces in the Underearth. Every time he saw a scene like this, he remembered why he fought on. Why he fought the corrupt Dominion, the elitist Umojans, the greedy Kel-Morians. Why he fought the Zerg, even, the few times he actually had. These people deserved better, merchant and worker, scientist and aristocrat. Each and every one of them.
They exited the elevator, going through the lobby, past the five security checkpoints, and straight into Liberty Square, as the Umojan government liked to call this place. A few of Raynor's most trusted agents stood by a ground car, holding the large crowd at bay.
"Jimmy, over here!" Michael Koss, his third in command, waved needlessly, motioning them over to the car.
"We see you, Mike, stop waving. Fool." Suzee smiled, pushing through the crowd and hugging Mike. "We did it."
"Really? It's done?" Raynor nodded, pulling door to the car open and slipping inside. "We can finally rest."
"Not quite, Mike. There's something I should tell you. But not here. Come on, let's get to HQ."
***
Interior of Zerg Space, Char Orbital Defense Hives
Jamison paced up and down the corridor of the Primary Defense Hive Cluster, his fear making the Hunter-Killers assigned to him edgy. A few fights had already broken out between the four elite killing machines, and his control was slipping by the minute. He hoped the Queen of Blades would hurry herself, he wanted to get this inspection over with and get back to the Main Cluster on Char. Suddenly, he felt her, sensed her presence immediately behind him. He spun around and fell to his knees, not even glancing to make sure it was her.
"Jamison, I see you've grown accustomed to your new powers. Good, I like to see my hard work enjoyed." The Hunter-Killers sensed her soothing presence also and they eased down on their snake like bodies. Jamison turned control of the beasts over to his Queen immediately, the serpentine Hunter-Killers joining the ranks of those already assembled around her.
"All is in readiness, my Queen." He remained kneeling, though she walked around him, looking at the glistening walls of the Hive. Her Hive.
"The outer Spore and Sunken colonies?" She motioned for him to follow as she turned down one of the branching halls, one that would eventually lead outside the Zerg colony organ-building.
"The final organs are being placed as we speak. The Drones had some trouble climbing some of the more damaged human platforms." He took his place directly behind her, her Hunter-Killers taking up the front and rear.
"Excellent. Anything else, Jamison?" She stepped outside of one of the valve like doors of the organ-building, the lack of heat nothing to her armored hide. They both switched to telepathy, the absence of atmosphere making speech impossible.
*Yes, my Queen. It seems that during the most recent battle, the Protoss managed to attach some type of device to a few of your more advanced Overlords. The device was so minute, that we had trouble locating it and was so deeply implanted that the Overlords in question had to be exterminated. However, this brings to mind some question as to the effectiveness of our security.*
*Hmmm . . . thank you, Jamison. I will order more Devourer and Mutalisk patrols and screenings of all of our troops.* She walked over the crumpled remains of a Protoss Dragoon, almost completely covered in the purplish Creep of the Zerg. With a wave of her hand, Kerrigan motioned toward the nearly hidden construct. A few Drones detached themselves from the few remaining crystalline Mineral deposits left and rushed to carry it away. *I thought the remains of the battle had been cleared away.*
*Why, no my Queen. We still have much to do before this place is as it was.* They had arrived at the main Hive, a huge twisted construction, no, growth that seemed to defy gravity. Drones were shooting in and out of its many arching portals while larva wiggled around the base of it. Even as a Zerg, Jamison felt uneasy about the place. *The battle almost was not ours.*
*I know, Jamison. And I want to make sure nothing ever comes that close to me again.* One of the many valve doors opened before them and they entered, the guards remaining outside. She returned to speaking her words, the internal atmosphere of the organ-building suitable for that.
"At least we won that day and remain to fight on. How is our resource situation?"
"As to be expected, my Queen. The few resource nodes we had on this platform are about used up and those the enemy . . . commandeered are of such pitiful quality, I thought it best we not resort to mining them until all other avenues are fully exploited." They had finally arrived at her nest, her main Throne Room for her stay on the space platform. While Zerg did not need reminders of their ruler's power, such as the Throne, Kerrigan retained enough of her humanity to require it herself. Her own reminder.
"Very good, Jamison. Longer-term thought versus short-term gain. I knew you had the ability. Now, be gone. I wish to rest before we journey to the defense ring." She spread her prehensile wing-claws and seated herself on the living chair. Jamison bowed and departed.
***
Outskirts of the Terran Dominion, Mar Sara
Squad Leader Williamson rubbed his eyes. He was so tired.
His contact was right, the bug was destroyed. At least it was the self-destruct mechanism, and not something external. The Raiders had some, if not all, of the information they required.
As he hung the now dead line up, the main bay door to the barracks opened. A string of ragged, exhausted looking men and women slowly marched inside, the tatters of their Marine and Firebat armor hanging limply on their frames.
"What's going on, Private?"
Private Mitchell looked up absently. "New battalion is being called in. We're going on standby."
Williamson shook his head. "Damn it, about time! We're almost dead. Even the Stim Jockeys are getting worn out." He nodded toward a livelier group of soldiers, their visors back. The veins stood out on their heads and they paced constantly. Stim Jockeys, those who abused the StimPacks the new Dominion so gratefully provided them with. The same StimPack the Emperor promised would be outlawed, to 'protect the lives of the men that were once wasted by the Confederacy.'
"Yeah, well, to die for the Empire is all I ask for. I just hope I do my duty before my time is come." Williamson hid an internal wince. He had forgotten Mitchell was a conscript, some one who had once fought against the Empire, now turned into the perfect soldier.
"Yeah, whatever." He turned quickly away and marched to the equipment locker room. He began to stow his battle suit and gear in his assigned place, the others doing the same around him.
As he opened his locker, his eye caught sight of a half buried 2D photograph, an old picture from his past, nearly hidden inside his luggage sack. He gripped it by its corner and slowly worked it free. A tree, an old house and a woman, wrapping her arms around a young man. Him. For a moment, his face, hardened by years and years of conflict, softened. A step behind him brought him back to reality.
"Hey boss. What're looking at?"
"Robinson, you are way to nosey for your own good. Do me a favor."
"What's that, boss?"
"Next time we're attacked, go out as bait for a Spider Mine." Putting the picture roughly back in his luggage tote, he slammed the locker shut and shoved his way out of the room.
***
Outskirts of the Terran Dominion, Bravo Squadron flagship Thunderhead
"Out of my way, out of my way!" A technician elbowed his way into the main command center, disturbing a few people carrying papers.
Commander Patten's head shot up from his console, the bodyguards assigned to him leaping to their feet.
"No, let him through." He patted the guards on their shoulders, reassured of both their loyalty and their reaction time.
The technician ran over to him and leaned in close. "The device had some recoverable data, but only a portion of the transmission," he whispered. "It seems we weren't inadvertently sending out battle plans or anything, but codes, dates, and some type of schematic."
"Could you get a fix on the receiving point?"
"No, we couldn't even get most of the plans we were sending out. Sir, were we doing any type of top secret research on this base? I mean, this close to a moving battle field?"
"No, not that I know of. Why?"
"Those schematics were of some type I've never seen before. And I used to be an SCV operator." The technician looked around nervously. "Also, it seems that the bug, though sending a Raider's code, wasn't of Raider make." He leaned in closer. "Sir, it was one of ours."
Patten nodded. "Yeah, well keep me informed. Remember, if anyone gives you a hard time, just call me. Got it?" The technician nodded and ran back toward the door, more careful of others around him.
Patten sighed. At least he knew some of what was leaked. The battle with the Cerebrate was proceeding well enough. The Bravo Tango ruse worked so well that the Cerebrate was beginning to behave as though it was the main thrust of an attack. Or so that's what it appeared to be doing. The Ghost was still in position, undetected by the enemy, and the Silos still had their complement of Nukes. He was steadily moving toward his main objective and Emperor Mengsk hadn't called again.
Since things were moving so well, he decided to rest a bit before ordering another large-scale attack. He motioned to his guards and called over his second, a thin lanky man. Lieutenant Commander Slavinsky, or something. He explained the situation, ordered himself to be awakened at the least sign of trouble, and took leave of his subordinates.
***
Shakuras surface, Chamber of the Tribal Council, Emergency Meeting
Thanking the two Templar that escorted him, Executor-Praetor Artanis excused himself from their presence.
"You are polite and respectful, young Executor-Praetor. Things most of your people and age have forgotten." The Corsair pilot smile-blinked in the way of her people, a long unused Protoss expression of amusement.
"Is that a cause for laughter, pilot?"
"No. The condition of our . . . your council is, however." With that, she flung open the door to the chamber, exposing such a mental noise that Artanis clutched his nerve endings reactively.
The two sides of the chamber, Light and Dark Templar, were in the midst of a shouting contest, or so it seemed. Both sides were angry at something, but the shear power of the voices were overwhelming him. The door-guard, surprised at the doors opening, recovered and pounded the floor with his ceremonial staff for silence.
"Executor-Praetor Artanis and Matriarch Kiralma entering the chamber." Artanis, in mid stride, tripped over his feet at her name.
"Matriarch!?"
"Come, Executor-Praetor, we must be seated at our rightful places for the Council to commence." The Corsair pilot swept by him in a flurry of robes that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Still recovering from the shock, he could only stare as she seated herself on the Throne of the Matriarch, unused since Zeratul's report on the old Matriarch's demise. Jogging the length of the hall, he sat down quickly.
"Matriarch!?"
"My, my, aren't we articulate?" The opening ceremonies began, but would take awhile to finish.
"And you called me young one, I think you have a greater river to swim than I. Or rather, an ocean."
"Do not let my age make you stumble, Praetor. I have, so far, kept my people together as one mind. I cannot say the same for your side." She motioned in the direction of the Light Templar gallery, the two factions clearly visible from their seating positions. Those who wished to integrate the Dark Templar into Protoss society were to the fore, while those who only participated in this 'bizarre mockery of the Conclave' to make their side heard were as far from the front as possible.
Artanis shook his head, an odd Terran motion he picked up from his friend Raynor. Yes, he had had some difficulty in the integration of those two sides. True, they at least talked to each other now. Also true that most of those words were not to be uttered in polite conversation.
"I agree we have . . . differences. I see a slight rift in your side, though, young Matriarch." He, in turn, motioned to her gallery. The rift was subtle, though still noticeable. Those who wished to integrate the Light Templar into dark Templar society to the left, those who wished to abandon Shakuras and become nomads once more to the right. "One mind indeed, Matriarch."
"I lead, they will follow. Do not mistake that, Praetor."
"Is that a threat, Matriarch?"
"Take it as you will." He mental patterns betrayed not a threat, but determination. An iron will he had only seen once before, when he was young. Merely a suckling.
"Let the council begin!" The ceremony guard struck the ground twice with his staff and, with that, the uproar began once again.
"Council Members, Council Members! Be quiet! Let us retain and, hopefully, regain some semblance of dignity." Artanis had to use a mental amplifier to make himself heard, and even then it wasn't quite effective enough. One of the Templar Council Members stood, an upper bound one, and stamped his feet a few times to gain attention.
"I will not allow myself to be subject to this travesty any longer! I refuse to participate in another one of these meetings so long as these Dark Templar heretics are allowed in this same building!" He pointed to the Dark Templar gallery, causing a few stirs among both seating areas.
"Matriarch, I respectfully concur with the Light Templar r'gganarsh. I wish to leave this meeting and this now forsaken planet." The Dark Templar of the right side mumbled in approval, the murmur of regret among the left-hand side in the same subdued tone.
"Motion denied, Council Member. We cannot be forced from our homes because of the old Conclave's hard-liners. We will stay."
"Excuse me, but I'm sure that the Matriarch's time is more valuable than this old argument." Artanis sat erect in his seat. "Please, can we get to the reason why this meeting was called?"
"Yes, we wouldn't want to cut into your brooding time, would we. Praetor." The same upper bound one. Artanis made a mental note to find out a few of these names. However, right now he needed to recover control of his gallery.
"What I do is my own business. I'm sure 'tis better than mulling over thousand year old lost battles that, may I remind you, were fought long before your or my birth, Council Member." The collected galleries mumbled in thought. "Right now, I would like to get this meeting back on schedule. Why was it called?"
"It seems, Praetor, that a large percentage of both Templar castes wish to, well, retake Aiur." The ceremonial guard shifted uneasily at the attention.
"What?! Preposterous! Who suggested this foolish idea?"
"I did, Praetor." The Matriarch looked at him. "Why is it so foolish, young one?"
"It's not the right time, oh most ancient, wise and noble of us all."
"And when will it be the right time?!" She leapt out of her seat, her robes swirling around her as she walked to the center of the hall. "Tomorrow? The next day? Or when the Zerg finally have found this place and our pouring out of the sky by the thousands? I say we strike now, while Kerrigan is still fortifying her position."
"While we are still reeling from our defeat from her before?" Artanis slid quietly from his seat, walking down and standing next to her. "While we have only half the population of before? While children cry for their lost mothers and fathers? After losing Fenix and Zeratul and the Matriarch, to death or sorrow? I say we wait for the right time, when either the Terran Emperor Mengsk or the Terran UED troubles her. Now is not that time. Soon, she will grow weary of looking for us, and arrogant in her position. Then, we strike. With the full fury that is the Protoss race!"
"And if she doesn't grow weary of looking for us?" Kiralma turned and looked him straight in the eyes. "What then, Praetor?"
"Then we had better be prepared for her when she does come."
