I’m sure that this tale would have won the Protectorate Star for Literature…only two years ago. God! Was it only two years ago? It seems like an lifetime to me. I’m sorry. If anyone is hearing this then I’m probably irritating them to Hell. Anyway, I’m sure that a lot of you wouldn’t have believed that such events could take place within the course of such a small amount of time.
We always had a saying here at the Protectorate: “Let the Dominion grow, until they’re the only ones worth attacking.” I never thought that this would actually come into use. I swear, that if I hadn’t said so then this would be assumed to be another escapade in the “Almighty Dominion.” No, this is the story of the Umojan Protectorate.
This is supposed to be “Comprehensive History” of the events that I have witnessed. Screw that! I can hardly string a coherent sentence together. I mean, Jesus, if I didn’t have the grammar check set to “Tertiary Education” then this report would be nigh incomprehensible. Those freaks from “Umojan 14”, you know, the guys we’re “not supposed to know about”, the guys that were ‘never there” yeah, well, they’re coming. They haven’t got much to hide anymore. Yeah, the psychics. What do the Dominion call them? Oh yeah, “Ghosts.” Probably because they come in the middle of the night and scare you kids. Don’t think I’m joking. They barge in, give you some bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo…mumbo jumbo? Hate this grammar change. Anyway, then they take your kid away because he’s “special.”
Damn! They’re here!
Just a second! Let me finish this!
Where was I? Anyway, so, I’m downloading my mind (what I like to call a mind-enema) into a computer so they can turn it into a best-seller. I mean, the greatest event in our history and I had to sell it to Progressive Umoja. Maybe I should have given it to that scientist, if it weren’t the fact that he’d get it for free.
Alright I’m coming!
Got to go, I suppose. I hear that this is going to be the introduction to the book. I should say something inspiring. Note for Editor: Place something meaningful here
* * * *
“Your Grace, another attack.”
“Hah! That’ll teach those Confederate pricks! How’s that saying go? Let the Confederacy take the kicks because they like to dance?”
“No, sir. It’s ‘Let the Confederacy get fat on power. When the lions come for the feast, we’ll be safe.’ ”
“Thank you, Air Chief Marshal. What were you saying?”
“The Confederacy has, again, been attacked by the aliens. The colony was completely wiped out. But, Your Grace, I have interesting news.”
“What is it, Air Chief Marshal?”
“We picked up a strange reading. It would appear that there was another life form on the planet. And, our mathematicians have permutated the results, and they found something quite interesting.”
“What is it Air Chief Marshal?”
“Well, you’re not just the first Governor General of the Umojan Protectorate to witness one alien, but, you’re the first to see an interstellar war between two aliens!”
“How on Earth did your mathematicians come to that conclusion, Perry?”
“The fire of the aliens, who we have named the “Protoss”…”
“Why “Protoss”?”
“It means “First Born.” We used it because they’re the first ones we’ve found. Anyway, the Protoss attack was focused around the bases of these new aliens.”
“Well then, these “Protoss” appear to be on our side…”
“Actually, Your Grace, the Protoss were just responsible for the destruction of a Confederate fleet.”
“Excellent! They’re on our side in both fronts. I want a full report on these aliens. I want a full report about the Protoss on my desk in a month. I, also want a report about these new aliens. To it, Air Chief Marshal Masterson!”
“With all expedience Governor General Paulus. I know just the man to do it.”
“Oh, give him a transcript of this conversation. It’s for the best that he knows exactly what’s going on. I want an Umojan 14 agent on this.”
* * * *
The door to the Conference room opens with a small sound of released air pressure. Brigadier Sayer steps through the doorway. He straightens his backbone, and pushes his chest out. He realizes that all the others in the room are soldiers, and he, a bureaucrat. He forces himself to swing his right arm that bit higher, and holds his briefcase that bit tighter, hoping that, at least they would respect him, and, hopefully, they may be slightly intimidated. They weren’t. He slumps over his shoulders, into the shape that four years in a desk chair, has molded.
The congregation stand, unwillingly. Everyone, that is, except the Miner General. “Why should he stand?” Sayer whispers to himself. “We’re the ones trying to cheat him out of his money.” And, unfortunately, the Combine knows that too.
Sayer clears his throat, and loosens his throat muscles, hoping to speak with a controlled, deep, demanding voice, as is expected of all Protectorate bureaucrats. “Thank you gentlemen, please do not stand on my expense.” So far so good. He critics himself. Polite, yes. Whimsical, no. Weak, no. He continues: “We all know why…” His voice suddenly rose two octaves. The Officers around the table all break out into laughter, except the Miner General.
A booming voice can be heard over the din. Very booming. “ I’m sure that we’re not here to laugh at your pubescent antics, Brigadier!” The Miner General says. He made no sign of exerting himself, but, his voice resonated around the whole room. It frightened Sayer out of his wits. He tried to form another coherent sentence, while trying to hold the gaze of the Miner General. Sayer never had tried to hold the gaze of such a frightening man. The Miner General looked like a pirate. He had a patch on his left eye, a huge scar across his temple, traveling over his cranium, leaving a path of baldness in his wake. He was a giant of a man, over 6’ 7 and well over 350 pounds of pure muscle.
“Miner General, it is the interest of the Protectorate,” Sayer starts, “and, I’m sure, the interests of the Kel-Morian, that we….”
“Don’t pretend that you have any interest in our interests.” The Miner General boomed. If any other person was talking, then, I’m sure, someone would have sniggered at the strange sentence. Instead, Sayer turned absolutely white. “Tell Governor General Paulus that I have no interest in his information. I will not give up one crystal of my ore to the Protectorate! The Governor must think me a fool that we are unaware of the Protoss!”
Sayer smiled, as he could see that the Miner General had no idea of the new aliens.
“I don’t suggest you smirk at me boy!” The Miner General yelled. “I am no politician, like the last Miner General! I am a miner! And I care about my miners, not about your niceties, or offensive looks, or your information!” His voice now sharpened to a piercing whisper. “Now, may I go back to Moria, or, do you insist on keeping me in Border Territory?”
“Actually, sir, we do have something that may be beneficial. Are you aware of the Zerg?”
‘Of course. I’m fully vaccinated…” The Miner General trails off.
Sayer grabs at the fact that the Miner General is now stumbling (Rule two of the Bureaucratic Code: Exploit any weaknesses), “The Zerg are an alien race that decimated a Confederate Colony.”
“But…that was the…the…Protoss.”
‘No, sir. The Protoss were protecting the Confederates from the Zerg.”
“Well, now that we know that, why do we need to trade?” The Miner General asks, spitefully.
“Because, sir, the Protectorate have an alliance with the Protoss. This comfort will be extended to you for the small price of 500 million ore.”
“What!” The Miner General violently stands up, throwing his chair into the window. The Morian Officers shudder at the thought of the plexi-glass breaking, and vacuum filling the room.
“Do you wish to live through this war, Miner General? Or do you wish to see your Combine burnt to ashes?!”
“I shall discuss it with the Council of Miners.” As of yet, I shall consider your proposal fair. But, 400 million ore is the maximum I will pay.”
“450 million, and this is final.”
‘Very well.” He huffs. “But, I will expect protection from the Protectorate immediately. I wish you to send a small force of Wraiths to the Morian trade roots. Two squadrons.”
“Very well.”
“You had better be straight with me, you little bastard. I may be a mere miner, but, I am not stupid!”
With that Sayer walks out of the door, as is customary of any bureaucrats who have succeeded in negotiations. He winds his way through the Battlecruiser Moria, until he sees the dock. He boards the PS Diplomacy, and, with a violent blast of burning oxygen, the Diplomacy blasts off, leaving a scar of carbon on the side of the Moria.
On the Diplomacy, Air Chief Marshal Masterson steps out of the cockpit and walks towards Sayer.
“Did they buy it?” Masterson asks.
“Yes, Air Chief Marshal.”
“I almost wish they hadn’t.”
“Why? Aren’t we any closer to contacting the Protoss?”
“We haven’t actually spoken to them. But, I heard there are some interesting discoveries on Mar Setra. Don’t worry. We’ll get that ore. And, if we do make an alliance with the Protoss, we will, most likely, extend it to envelop the Combine. It depends on the circumstances. But they will be our allies. When John Z. Masterson makes a promise to his Governor, he keeps it.
“For the Protectorate, Air Chief Marshal.”
“Ay, for the Protectorate. Brigadier. I want you to get a man to travel to Mar Sara. The Colonial Magistrate, there, ########.”
“Yes, Air Chief Marshal?”
“Get someone there to…do what they can with the Magistrate. I want someone from Umoja 14 on this.”
“Don’t worry, Air Chief Marshal, I know just the man.”
* * * *
Lieutenant Lee flopped into his alcove. He’s always hated how small the sleeping alcoves were. There was room to sit up, well, half way up, and, even then, you have your head pressing against the roof. None of the other Ghosts minded. They all got their briefings uploaded into their neural chip. Lee didn’t like that. He liked good old fashioned study. It gives him a sense of humanity. A sense of the fact that he is still human, and, that even though he hadn’t been outside of Umojan 14 supervision since he was three, he was still a member of society.
“Hey, Lee.” Stan whispered. Lee hated that tone of voice. You know, the one where people try to whisper, but they end up making more noise than when they just talked. Lee begrudgingly poked his head out of his alcove and looked up. Every time he looked out to see Stan he, hoped that he had his bags ready and that he was ready to say goodbye. Out of luck this time.
“What is it Stan?” He asked, trying to be polite as possible. Still, there was a certain bite to his words. “Thank God he’s too dumb to realize” Stan thinks.
“What?” Stan asked. “What is it?”
“How the Hell am I supposed to know?” Stan semi-shouted, “You’re the one who wanted me.”
“That doesn’t sound likely.”
“It is. Now, have you got anything relevant to say or can I go study?”
“I got nothing.”
Lee tucks his head back into his alcove, and closes the curtain. Typical Stan, Undoubtedly, he could be out-witted by a partially digested pigeon. He tries to shrug of the thought, and opens his book.
“Hey, Lee!” he hears Stan say again.
Lee slaps his book close and pokes his head out. “What!?”
“I know what I was going to say.” Stan says ecstatically.
“Well hooray. His memory chip must be active again.” Lee mumbles.
“You’re to get your things packed by 0300. If you’re late, you take only what you’re wearing.” Stan states.
Lee looks inside his bunk. The clock reads 0259. He looks back up at Stan. “That’s just great, Stan. You couldn’t have told me any earlier, could you?” He opens the small compartment next to his leg and pulls out a bag. It’s not very big, but, he doesn’t have a lot of personal stuff. He piled all of his clothes and uniforms into the bag. He hears a clunk, and chastises himself. “Christ! I could have broken it! Stupid!” He leans down and picks up his Protectorate Medal for Courageous Conduct. He feels its weight in his hands, comforted by its warmth. His mind begins to wander back to how he got that medal…
“Lee! Get your ass out of that alcove now! Move it!”
Lee snaps back into consciousness. He grabs his back and makes a hasty jump out of his bed. Unfortunately, he slams his head against the top of the bunk. His body keeps moving forward, but, his head comes to a stop. His body flies out, until it’s perfectly horizontal. Then, as quickly as the whole mess had happened, he falls to the ground, hitting his head on the cold mesh ground. He reaches around, hoping to get up quickly. He scrapes his palms on the mesh, and tears the top layers of his flesh. Although not bleeding, he can see the purple liquid rising to the surface of his skin. He remembers why he got up in the first place. He straightens his body and slaps up his salute. As he does, the skin from his hands buckles, and a few streams of blood fly out. He sees where they land. He looks up, and sees Brigadier Sayer and Air Chief Marshal Masterson standing in front of him, their white uniforms, covered in blood.
“Sir, please accept my apo…”
“Silence, Lieutenant!” Sayer shouts.
“Why are you not dressed, Lee?”
“Stan…I mean, Corporal Simons didn’t inform me that…”
“Are you sure that we want a person who places blame on his fellows, Air Chief Marshal?” Sayer asks.
“It is of no matter. Right! We’re leaving.” Masterson starts walking away, at double pace. Sayer starts to follow, and Lee walks by his side.
“Never expected to see you again.” Lee said.
“Nor, I. Needs must as the Devil drives, though.” Sayer replies. “Sorry about that back there. Putting up a pretence for the Air Chief Marshal.”
“That’s cool. It comes naturally to bureaucrats.” Lee says. “So, what’s this about?”
“I’d tell you now,” Sayer started, “but only 23 people in the Protectorate know what’s going on. If I tell you, I’d have to shoot you.”
“Not like you haven’t done that before.” Lee says spitefully.
“Are you still mad at me about that?” Sayer asks. “Damn it! It was an accident! This is the last time I’ll say this: I’m sorry.”
“That’s OK, I’m just stirring. Bureaucrat’s aren’t the only bull-shit artists in the Protectorate.”
They both chuckle, slightly. They come to the elevator.
“Sorry bud.” Sayer says. Lee goes to swing around to see what he means. Before he can see Sayer he feels a pain in the back of his head. He goes to say something, but, his site goes blurry, and, eventually, black.
* * * *
Lee certainly didn’t feel the best. There was a pain in the back of his head, and short stabbing pains, alternating, on either cheek. Lee realized what was happening. He was being slapped awake. He forced open his eyes, just so to stop the pain. When he did he saw various colours flashing in front of his eyes. He hated that sensation. It’s like when you look at a light for too long. “Ok, Ok, I’m awake.”
“Sorry about that, Lieutenant. You’re not really supposed to know where we are.”
Lee new that voice, but, he couldn’t really put a name to the face. He got flashes of being interrupted in bed, and scraping the skin off his palms. Then, it came to him: Air Chief Marshal Masterson. “Quite alright sir. Couldn’t you have just blindfolded me?”
“You’d think so.” Sayer put in.
“I’m sure it was your touch, Sayer.” Lee said.
“Of course.” Sayer laughed.
“Ok, fellas, enough of that. We are here for a very important reason.” The Air Chief Marshal puts in.
There is a strange dichotomy about Masterson. In public he’s an overbearing monster, like any Commander and Chief of the Defense Force should be, but, when he has no-one to impress, or to depress, he’s a very personable sort.
“Did you want to tell him, John, or should I?” Sayer asks.
“I suppose I should. OK, Lee, are you aware of the attacks on the Confederate colonies?” asks Masterson.
“Yes, sir! Those attacks were direct strikes performed by the Sons of Korhol with the nuclear warheads stolen from New Holland Base in…”
“No, son. Those were attacks made by an alien life form called the ‘Protoss’.” Corrects Masterson.
“Is my mission to infiltrate the ship, and detonate the core?” asks Lee
“Actually, these Protoss seem to be the good guys. We have found that they were attacking another alien race that had taken over the colonies, that we call the Zerg.”
“So…what is my mission?”
“Your mission is to contact the Colonial Magistrate on Mar Sara, and the local Marshall, Jim Raynor.”
“We have estimated that Mar Sara is already being invaded by the Zerg. The interesting thing is that the Protoss fleet has not moved to engage.” Sayer adds.
“And what should I do when I contact them?”
“Convince them to join the sons of Korhol.” Sayer states.
“I don’t understand. Why would that help us with these Protoss?”
“Well, it doesn’t. Our predictions are that the Sons of Korhol, with these two people, will destroy the Confederacy.” Sayer says.
“Your secondary mission is to try to convince the most trustworthy people in the Sons of Korhol to contact the Protoss. Under no circumstances are the top brass of the Sons of Korhol allowed to know this. Just focus on Raynor and the Magistrate for now. Those are the main two you want.” Masterson says.
“Why those two? What’s our interest in the Protoss?” Lee asks.
“Those are none of your concerns, Lieutenant. We’ll know when you’re done.” Masterson states.
“Well, then what’s some bastard bureaucrat got to do with this?”
Masterson and Sayer look at one another. Masterson nods.
“Well, we figure that the Zerg will come out one day or another. You know, to the public. We figure it’s good to, already, have a contingency plan. That’s where I come in.”
“So, when am I leaving?” Lee asks.
“You’re only 5 minutes away. In five minutes we’re landing in the Mar Sara badlands. It’s your job to find Raynor. Your alias is already created for you. It’s Lieutenant Lee. We figure you could remember that. When you were asleep we outfitted you with the new cloaking technology. You should be able to cloak for twenty minutes straight. No more.” Said Masterson.
“If you get lost in the badlands, and see a Zerg, then use this gun.” Sayer puts a gun on the table. The impact noise made the gun sound like it was made out of plastic. “It’s a plastic-metal alloy. It’s untraceable with metal detectors. It’s not a normal ghost gun, as we find those far to weak. It’s an upgraded assault rifle, with a semi-automatic mode for sniping.” Sayer said.
Before Lee could even say thanks, the sound of the stabilizers firing filled up the rooms.
“Unfortunately, we can’t land in this Wraith, so, you’re going to have to parachute. Just pull this chord when you get to 200 feet.” He points to a piece of rope on Lee’s uniform. Lee looks down, not noticing the gushing of air coming through the, now open, door.
Lee can now feel the warm air pushing him, slightly, away from the door. Lee turns towards the door in surprise. He sees the image of the door come closer and closer. He thinks “Why do I always get like this when around heights?” Unbeknownst to him, Masterson had kicked him towards the door. When Lee realizes, he’d already passed the door. He looks around to see the Wraith cloaking, and then flying away. “You bastards” He thinks. He suddenly realizes that he is falling, and decides to pull his chord. The parachute towers open and the snap-back of the change of speed feels, to Lee, like his torso would be ripped from his limbs, and head.
As the panic ceases, he looks down, and sees a small group of people; a few marines, and a few SCV’s…and a vulture. The problem is that Lee is drifting, slowly away from the group.
He lands with a slight thud onto a rather hard rock. He picks himself up, and disconnects his parachute. He stands up and dusts himself off. He looks around. In the distance, he can see some animal walking. In fact, it’s not that far in the distance, only about 50 meters. He focuses a little more on the creature. He can clearly define that it runs on two legs, and it has two arms…or claws.
His mind wanders back to his conversation with Masterson and Sayer, and realizes that no-one ever told him what a Zerg would look like. He feels slightly proud that he’s the first Protectorate citizen to see a Zerg. He snaps his attention back to the creature, realizing that it’s only ten meters away, and it’s looking him straight in the face…
* * * *
Sayer walked down the corridors of the Norad II. He looked at the walls, covered in that slightly rough brick. He runs his hand along them, and the feeling gives him a sense of comfort, considering he’s surrounded by his enemies. He can see the door up to the board room ahead of him. He thinks to himself of how lucky he should feel. He’s only been a full Brigadier for two weeks, and have only had two assignments, yet, he is in charge of the propaganda campaign about the Zerg. This is the first time that that he is hammering out a deal with an actual enemy, and not just some neutral nobodies. At least, nobodies in his opinion. To help relieve his pain he clears his throat, catching the attention of his four “escorts”, so that he can tie up his shoe. As he does he tries to focus on how much he hates the Confederacy, to center his thoughts. He feels a throbbing pain in his feet and realized that he tied up his shoes much to tight. His instant feeling is to untie it, but, he chastises himself for being such a wimp, so, he puffs out his chest and straightens his back and marches into the room.
He walks inside and sees a balding, disgusting old man. Sayer can remember the images of pedophiles the Protectorate showed him to memorize, and Sayer really couldn’t tell the difference. He swallows all paternal thoughts, and continues, “Thank you for accepting our invitation, General Duke.”
“That’s quite alright, boy.” Duke says in his heavy Confederate accent. “Now, are you here for any particular reason? Or are you just here to slow down our war with the Protoss?”
“On the contrary, sir, we wish to help you with your problems.” Sayer says, with a bit to much of a slimy attitude. He swears to himself, and continues, “We assume that you’re aware of the presence of the Zerg…”
“What!” The General screams. “How the Hell do you know about the Zerg?”
“Sir, we picked up the information for the Kel-Morian Combine,” Sayer has mastered lying to his satisfaction, “and we have offered our services in your defense against the Zerg.”
“Yes?” Duke asks.
“We will give you 150 000 units of ore, so that you may continue your offensive against the Zerg.” Sayer states.
“And what does the Protectorate want in return?” Duke asks.
“All we ask is that you continue the war. It would seem that destroying the Zerg is in all our interests.
‘Tell you what, Brigadier, we’ll only take 75 000 units…if you help out the war, actively.”
Sayer tries to not show his frustration and fears. Masterson’s only restriction on the talks was that under no circumstances were the Protectorate become an active member of the war. He swallows his pride (and, hopefully, not his career) and answers, “That seems fair. But, the Protectorate does need to protect herself, as such, we will only be able to spare 5 squadrons of marines and 2 squadrons of wraiths. The Governor General, also, is concentrating our main forces on defense, so, our government will not be able to actively take charge of the offensive. Therefore, I believe that my government would appreciate it if they were under your direct control. For 50 000 ore.”
“Seems fair. The Protectorate has a deal. Ya’ll have fun.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sayer shakes hands with the General, and his associates. He walks out of the door after a few drinks, and toasts. He just thanks God that the Protectorate, still, don’t have to get directly involved in the war. He hopes his superiors know that too.
* * *
Lee is looking straight into the eyes, at least, where the eyes should be, of this Zerg creature. Every time Lee leans to the side, the creature takes a step in that direction. Lee realizes that he cannot outrun this creature. He slowly crawls his right hand inside his jacket, while he flaps his left arm in the air, trying to get the creatures attention. He feels the gun under his coat, and takes grip of the hilt, and moves his way down to the trigger.
Suddenly, the creature lashes into action and charges his. He abandons his quest to reach his gun, and throws himself to the ground. The creature, though, is much too fast, and it rams his side, and Lee goes flying back. Luckily, he managed to get out of the way of it’s claws. He lands on the ground, and feels a sharp pain. He looks down to his leg, and expects to see a graze. Instead, he sees that he landed on a sharp rock, that has completely pierced through his leg. He looks back at the creature, that is now picking itself off the ground. He picks himself up with his arms, only to be thrown back again. Luckily, he is able to roll with the fall, and he manages to roll down a small cliff. He lands at the bottom, and a sharp pain rises up from his leg. He stands up, and walks a few meters away from the cliff. He picks up a rather sturdy branch, to lean on. He looks slightly over the cliff, hoping to see the creature running off. Instead, he sees the creature throwing itself upon him, again. His vision and reflexes slowed, and he could see everything in a frame-by-frame motion. He reaches down to pick up his gun, his hands moving agonizingly slowly. He grabbed the hilt and started to pull it out. He looked to his shoulder, where he could feel intense pain. He saw the creatures claw slowly dig into his shoulder blade. He recoiled from it, ripping off a large chunk of skin as he violently pulls his body backwards.
The creature, obviously startled, falls backwards. Lee, from the voice of his leap, had thrown his gun two arm lengths away. He tried to move his body, but it refused. He pushes his body to the limit, and his vision becomes blurred. He can feel the blood leaking from his body, and his energy running with it. He uses his last ounce of strength to leap for the gun. His arm gets stuck around his temporary crutch, and his body flies around it, for 90 degrees. The crutch then thumps down on his good arm, breaking his bones as it lands.
He gives up on all movement, and just lies still. His head is on the top of the crutch, and he can see the creature now picking itself up. He says his final prayer and waits for it to deliver the killing blow. He waits, for what seems like an eternity. He refocuses his eyes, and sees that the creature is throwing it’s head around, as if it were searching for him. He sees it, suddenly, focus its vision, and take two steps toward his. He is almost happy that it will end his pain. He closes his eyes, hoping he won’t feel it. He waits. Nothing. He opens his eyes as he feels a massive force on his leg. He opens his eyes, too curios to keep them closed, and sees the Zerg lying on top of him, its head blasted open. He looks around, and sees a man, on a bike. He lifts his broken arm, in an attempt to get his attention. Nothing. He throws his arm up one last time, and he looks at it, to see if it’s still there. The blood that covers his eyes drains off, and he sees a red light on, under his skin. He grabs at it, with his other arm, and it turns off. The cloak. The staff must have landed on his cloaking mechanism, when it broke his arm. With renewed enthusiasm he throws his arm in the air.
“Howdy. I kinda missed you there. You ok? Sweet Jesus! You’re hurt…”
With that, Lee blacks out.
* * *
“Darkness” He thinks over his new code-name for the Sons of Korhol. “I suppose that it makes me sound like the tall, dark, and handsome types.” He picks up his two tennis balls and rolls them around his right hand. He hears a creaking sound behind him, and he flips his head around. “Captain ‘Darkness. hmmmm’” He, suddenly feels a sharp pain in the back of his head. “I’ve been shot!” he yells to himself. “So, this is how the Darkness saga ends. I didn’t know I would still have time to think.” His attention, though, is distracting my a tennis ball bouncing by his foot. He looks in his hand and sees he has both there.
“Ahahahahaha! You should of seen your body tense up! It was like you thought you’d been shot!”
Darkness turns around and sees Major Lin laughing at him, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You got a damn nerve! I thought you were an assassin!”
“Oh poor, Ness. You want your mummy?” Lin teases.
Ness stands up and runs at Lin. He leaps into the air and spear tackles Lin. Lin is pushed back into the wall. Both Lin and Ness are startled from the force of the impact, and fall down to the ground.
“You really are a bastard, Lin!”
“And you really are a pussy, Ness.”
They both crack into laughter.
‘Oh yeah, I did come here for a reason.” Lin speaks.
“What, beside being a prick?” Ness asks.
“Yeah. We’re mobilizing, again. We’ve got to be there in two hours. And that was 90 minutes ago. So, we’ve got half an hour. Where are we going? Mar Sara. Evacuating some colonists. Hoping to pick up some new recruits.”
“What? Isn’t that a job for the drop-ship pilots?”
“Yeah, that’s why we’ve got the fun job.”
“What’s that?” Ness asks.
“We’re going to blow up some Confederate ass!”
“Really?” Ness’s eyes light up. “What?”
“Gotta spring some hick, called Raynor, from a prison ship. Precise work. Can’t blow up the ship, just disable it.”
“I can understand why they asked me, but why the Hell would they ask an unco like you?” Ness jokes.
“Piss off. Yeah, the ship’s gotta be gone in half an hour. So, move it soldier!”
Both men run towards the door. Thanks to the rather (what Mengsk calls) “economical” ship design, their quarters enter right into the dock, where there Wraiths are waiting. They’re the older Wraiths; they have no cloak and no ground attack. All they have are the air to air missiles. But, they are faster, and more maneuverable than the Confederate Wraiths.
They climb up their ladders into their Wraiths. Ness looks around at the top and sees half a dozen other pilots, beside Lin, jumping into their ships. Lin, as always, is the leader of the small, but experienced fleet. Luckily, Ness is the best pilot there, and Lin’s orders don’t really apply to Ness if he has a better (aka. Stupider idea). The boys always joke that if Ness didn’t have that luxury they’d walk in on Ness, garroting Lin with his crucifix after one of their victory parties.
All the boys close their pods, and the large doors of the dock open with a large creaking noise. Because Mengsk likes to be “economical” the Wraiths are sucked out of the dock (in a controlled matter) by the vacuum of space. The pilots straighten up their ships with a short burst of their thrusters, and they start to fly towards their targets.
* * * *
Lee wakes up. He tries to move, but he is tightly strapped down. Even if he wasn’t the pain from his injuries would surely have stopped him. He expected to either wake up in Heaven, or in a hospital. Unfortunately for Lee he doesn’t find himself waking up to either comfort. He re-adjusts his eyes, and stares up to see a dusk-purple sky above him, and the gusty winds blowing past his face.
“Where the Hell am I!” He yells. Well, he tries to yell. His voice isn’t really much larger than a husky talk.
“Easy son, the drop-ships will be here in a few minutes. You should just pray that we can hold of the Zerg until then.”
Lee raises his head to look at this figure that is standing over him. His face is obscured due to a lack of light. “Who are you?” Lee asks.
As Lee asks this the figure moves his face closer to Lee’s, allowing light to flow onto it. “I’m Commander $$$$, I’m the Magistrate of…well, this landing site. I use to have a planet, and now it’s just this old Confederate landing base. And, even now, I’m still loosing ground.”
“Magistrate? Yes! You. We must talk.” Lee struggles to say.
“Talk? Ha! How about we worry about surviving at the moment.” $$$$ places his hands on Lee’s chest and head, and gently, but firmly, pushes his body back onto the tourniquet. “I must leave for a minute son. I’m afraid that I’m needed at the front…that, funnily enough, is only about 100 meters from here. Sit tight, and try not to move. I may be a politician but my second finger still works, so I can still fire a gun.”
$$$$ turns his head to the side and sees the Magistrate running off toward a flaming bunker.
$$$$ gathers his strength, once again. “I’ve been doing that a lot, these days” Lee thinks. He spins his head to the left. He sees a mix of flaming bunkers and dead Zerg. He sees, out of the corner of his eyes, a group of marines and firebats running towards the small corridor into the base. They set up a formation of firebats at the front, and marines behind them. With short, synchronized bursts the firebats shoot a stream of flame covering the width of the corridor. Then the marines would start to fire into the still lingering flames. It seemed to be working fairly well. This system was decimating dozens of those creatures that attacked Lee. All seemed to be going well until green missiles starting flying out of the flames, towards the firebats. Lee, at first, thought that it was a problem with his eyes, but, as the firebats started to fall he could tell that it wasn’t. Horrible asp like creatures came into Lee’s vision. They were decimating the firebats, and holding off any marine advance.
Lee looked up, noticing a sudden obscuring of light. He sees an engineering bay slowly drifting over his head. It travels 50 meters in their usual, slow, matter. Suddenly, the building started to fall at a fast rate. It had, obviously, been programmed to crash into the corridor. It lingered for a few seconds, but eventually gave way to gravity. The building crashes into the corridor, and flames shoot out of the area, incinerating a few unfortunate marines, and all of the attacking Zerg. He didn’t think that any of that building could survive, and that this was a very temporary solution. As the smoke cleared he saw a massive chunk of mettle, that was the Engineering Bay, similar only by the fact that they were both lumps of metal (thought one was more ordered than the other). The Zerg seemed to have been held at bay.
He looked to his right as he heard a strange sound. He sees missile upon missile being fired from a dozen, or so, turrets. He looks slightly into the distance and sees two dozen flying Zerg flying over the barricade around the base. Although the beasts did not stand a chance against the turrets, they punched a hole into the barricade, and Lee could see a few Zerg peering inside. They walked inside, and then, hundreds of others were crowding outside.
Lee looked to his left, as he heard footsteps. The Magistrate was running back towards him. As he focuses on him he sees his hair starting to be blown to the left. Lee, then, feels the same sensation. He looks up to see several dozen drop ships landing around the base.
“Don’t worry, son!” the Magistrate yells above the sound of the drop-ships. “We’re safe now.” With that, the Magistrate wheeled Lee up a ramp and into the belly of the ship. He managed to see take a quick glance of the base and saw, maybe, 4 dozen survivors running into the ships. Obviously many less than were expected. As the Magistrate ceased his wheeling, the doors of the drop-ship closed, and the sweet sound of silence was all that could be heard. That, and the heavy breathing of a marine, covered in blood, that is standing next to him.
‘Sleep now, son.” The Magistrate says in a warm, paternal voice. “We’re safe now.
* * * *
