It has been nearly two centuries since Emperor Valerian came to power. Within his sudden death, his grand-daughter, Artanissa Mengsk, took the throne, leading the United Terran Dominion into a continued era of peace. Colonist envoys like mine were deported from major hubs of activity, in hopes of expanding our grip on the galaxies.
A heavy sigh.
"New message."
The trip has been long, Mom. Writing out this diction every week is killing me. Whatever to keep my sanity, I guess. How are things back at New Haven? Have you finally cleared out that cave of creep? Has Dad had any success with his Tomberries? Tell him I still think it's a stupid idea to mix a saucy vegetable with an actually edible fruit.
The click of plastic against glass. Tap, tap, tap. Pondering, considering.
Pencil against glass.
Tap. Tap.
"Delete. Return to the first note."
This letter is to inform those who find it that we are now merely a week away from our new settlement on the verdant planet of Kerralim, occupied for only 30 years by the Dominion. If found, it means that we did not make it. We were brave citizens-
"New message."
Mom, I can't write this weekly warning any more. There's no chance we're going to be attacked now that we're so close. We're almost there. We're almost to my new home! I'll send you pictures. I can't wait for you two to save enough credits to come and live with me. I take back what I wrote about tomberries. They're brilliant. Tomato strawberries! Who would have guessed?!
The rub of synthetic eraser over glass.
"Delete. New message."
Mom, I miss you. Write back soon. I know you're still mad that I left without saying goodbye. I say it now. Goodbye, and I can't wait to see you again. Love, Synth.
"S...sen..." A hesitant pause. "Return to the first note."
We were brave citizens who were out to find a new world. We praise Artanissa for her choice in homes for her people, and we laid down our lives for the Dominion. Please, find those who destroyed our carrier, and make sure we didn't die in vain.
It's hard to write this. Every week, since the day we'd left my home planet. We write this to make sure the vigilante who finds our corpses in space has something to fuel his non-existent anger.
I personally think it's a waste of time.
No one has attacked a colonist convoy since the Great War. No Zerg. No Protoss.
I sigh, blowing a strand of hair from my eye.
Two months of traveling is awful for one's self esteem. And skin. And psyche.
"Have you finished yet? I heard you restart a few times."
A pair of soft brown eyes glances up over the railing of my top bunk bed. I smile, tiredly holding up my communication tablet and waving it.
"I have declared myself a proud citizen of the Dominion. May whoever finds this admire my handwriting and find themselves lucky to have found a single comtab in the vast reaches of space."
"Amen to that, kid." Reacher smiles, pulling himself up onto the bed, the starched, crinkling blankets crackling beneath his massive, musclebound weight. "I'm sure they'd have problems deciphering the code on mine. I hate writing. Why couldn't we type? It's much easier."
"Handwriting is more personal." I kick his side, trying to nudge him off of my mattress so I can get off. He grins down at me, folding his arms, stoic and unmoving. I kick his shoulder, dropping my comtab and bracing my hands against the wall. I shove, push, prod at him with my feet, trying to get him to move.
"Is that it-"
I kick his jaw, wrenching his neck back with the solid, satisfying snap of my boot in his cheek. Normally, a man would have lost a few teeth, maybe dislocated his jaw with the force of my jab. Any normal person, emphasis. Of course, Reacher's no normal colonist.
He groans momentarily, reworking his jaw back into place with a 'crunch' of bone on bone. He spits out a single glob of bright blood. And smiles down at me, completely fine.
I forgot, again. His father's an ex-Marauder.
"Ka-boom, baby." He snarks, grabbing my toes in a single, massive paw. "Come on, hit me with something convincing." I grunt, swiping at his hand and glaring up at him.
"How 'bout I cut off your nose in the middle of the night?"
"You know if you pull a knife, they'll boot you. Imagine traveling two months in a single roomed ReconPod. Ouch." He chuckles again, his fingers slowly closing around the arch of my foot and causing the frail bones to whine and screech in pain.
"REACHER! KNOCK IT OFF!"
A third shadow glances into the room, already reprimanding.
"Come on, you guys, keep the rough housing to a minimum!"
I yell, curling up and wrapping my arm around Reacher's neck, attempting to choke him. The chords in his throat tense, and he huffs, laughing at my futile grabs at his lifeline. Utilizing the hold on my foot, he drags my body backwards and away. And pushes me off and over the safety railing.
I squeal, tumbling from the top. My spine jerks and strains as Reacher's hold on my ankle keeps my head from slamming into the metal panelling of the floor. I dangle uselessly, upside-down, kicking my other foot into the bed, trying to find something to grab on to.
A blue eyed face leans down, her chin twisting to partially match mine.
"Hey, Terra!" Reacher calls, lifting me up single handedly and bringing my face level with the woman's. Terra's button nose is wrinkled, her mouth twisted disapprovingly. She takes her gaze from mine and looks up at the monkey clutching my foot. Reacher grins, swinging me like an asymmetrical pendulum. "Check it out! I caught a zergling!"
"Reacher. Put her down." Terra whispers, rubbing her cheeks.
"Why? I beat her, fair and square."
"She's half your size."
"So? She started it."
"Did not!" I holler, curling up, my abdomen muscles straining. "You...should have moved!"
"I didn't hear you ask me to." Reacher replies nonchalantly, putting his chin in the palm of his free hand. Still gripping my boot with a single fist.
I sputter, my already red face flushing. I grab the railing of the bed, supporting myself right side up.
"Lemme go!"
"Say you're sorry." Reacher lifts my foot, placing it against the ceiling. The railing isn't high enough to support me any more, and I yell again, my body drooping. My eye starts to tick, my forehead pounding against my cranium, begging me to right myself.
"Forget it! I'm not-"
"Cynthia, apologize."
I stutter to a stop, grimacing. Terra did it again. Born a natural leader, she'd already mastered that tone. Everyone knows it. The tone of a mother to her child. A commander to his soldier. An impromptu quartermaster to two of her charges.
"G-geez..." I pant, folding my arms. My dog tags tinkle against my ear as I close my eyes, my lips straining to keep closed. "S-sorry for chipping your teeth, you bear."
"Apology accepted."
At least he had the decency to let me grip the railing before letting me go.
I wince as my wrist twists, attempting to keep hold of the metal bar, just slipping as I touch down on the metal paneling. Stumbling, I run into the other bed, settling against its supports, puffing my bangs out of my face dishearteningly.
"Do you need another haircut, Cynthia?"
"I don't have enough credits. You've run me dry, miser." I glare over my shoulder at Terra, standing casually in her dark orange work smock. Her pants are stained with grease and grime, fresh from a day in the engine room. She tips her hat at me, smiling vaguely. Her own bangs, dyed a deep purple, hang over her eye in her own, infuriatingly casual style.
"And you've trimmed my pockets nicely, you dog. Your hair keeps my business running alone."
"'Snot my fault it grows so fast."
"Your loss. My gain."
"W-well..." I stammer, scrambling to my feet as I did for a good comeback. "We're only a week away. I can survive having too much hair for that long."
"Are you sure?" Reacher teases, vaulting from my bed to the floor. The metal flooring clatters loudly as his weight rocks furniture. Both me and Terra grab each other to keep steady as the solidly built man straightens, flexing his bulging biceps.
"Yeah, I'm sure, you troll." I hiss, releasing my grip on Terra's forearms and heading towards the door. "I'm leaving. I can't stand you guys."
"Aw, Synth!" Terra mocks, standing next to Reacher, dwarfed by his overwhelming shoulders and broad chest. "Come on! Wait-"
Opening the door, I sigh.
"What?"
I look over my shoulder. And regret it instantly.
Terra has her arms around Reacher's neck, her fingers in his thick, dark hair. Snogging him with an overzealous passion. He, of course, is responding enthusiastically, picking her up off of the ground, holding her close. Both of their eyes are peeked open, looking at me, gauging my reaction.
"You guys are sick!" I scream, slamming the door closed. Ignoring their booming laughter, I stalk down the hallway, adjusting my clothing. Tucking my tank top back into my pants. Kicking my boots against the wall and sliding my toes back into place. Pulling my work gloves onto my hands. All routine. I've done this for six weeks. Handled those two for six weeks.
One week left. One week left.
A creak of rusty wheels. An anticipated request.
"Hello, Cynthia! Could you-"
"Got it." I grunt, picking up the box of laundry from Carter's cart, my pace unhindered by the otherwise sudden burden. The gentle old man chuckles, continuing to push his cart down the hall, used to my gruff demeanor and willing service.
No one knows his real name. He moves clothing from one room to another, always accompanied by his old, rugged cart. So we just call him Carter. He's told everyone a million times that he's manned this specific carrier for nearly twenty years. Unable to leave it after his wife died.
I have a habit of running into him often. Whether on purpose or on accident, I'm still not sure. It doesn't matter, I need something to do at this moment.
The metal grates clang under my feet, and I glance out the windows, my messy ponytail flipping into my face. I blow my bangs out of my hair, again. Look out the windows fully.
The stars are so cold out there, in the distant night. They twinkle so close together, nearly touching in some places, though I know in actuality, they are leagues apart. I pause in walking, staring up at the specks of red and white and deep, burning orange.
I can't even imagine the billions of worlds that could be existing out there, just out of reach. I've heard of too many to count on my fingers and toes, but any sort of interplanetary travel takes months, even years, so I know I can never visit them. I only have images and others recounted memories to keep alive the idea of volcanic spheres and jungle wastelands.
But standing there, holding a basket full of other people's clothing, my body and face grimy from months of travel and close accommodations with a rough crowd...I can't help but dream of everything out there.
I'd initially wanted to join the military. Become a Banshee pilot, or a Medic on the front lines. I'd even been willing to pilot an SCV suit, as long as I got deployed and saw as many planets as I could before getting blown up.
My parents weren't very enthusiastic about my interests. They'd tried to tether me to their work as botanists and kindle my passion for plant breeding. When that didn't work, they orchestrated a million dates with other young men my age. On my planet. With plans on staying.
None of that caught my eye. No plants. No men. Not my house. Not the fields. The whole planet was a bore. It was interesting to run into remnants of the time where the first colonists had been infested. Traces of living, crawling creep on stone walls, plants shriveled and ready to attack anyone who tread near.
But even that got dull after the fiftieth time.
I sighed, pushing off the wall I had subconsciously leaned against while I delved into my thoughts. The stars wink out of sight as I walk deeper into the ship's interior. I check the box in my arms. Room 307. Turning down several hallways, past a few doors, I drop the box in front of the door with the matching number, knocking, 'you're welcome' ing.
How did I get here? Why am I doing this?
Oh, right.
It had started with a poster. On the wall of the tavern.
It was the first time I'd snuck out. At the age of twenty, I was ashamed to admit that I'd never gone drinking. The air had been smokey. Full of men and women laughing and screaming and throwing multicolored pins at Protoss dummies. I'd tried to walk to the bar, but the bartender didn't accept my credits.
Said I was too young. I countered that I only looked young.
He thought I was lying. So he directed me out.
I'm still so bored.
I walked farther into the ship. Past the cafeteria. The pilot's cockpit. Down a pair of stairwells. Leaning over a railing, I watched the hustle and bustle of the engineers. Of my fellow coworkers.
SEEKING COLONISTS AND ENGINEERS!
That's what the poster had said. It was a call to change. For those twenty and older. Ready to get out there. To find a place to settle. The stipulations were simple: Must be willing to work aboard the ship and on the planet's surface. I was the daughter of a local farmer. I'd plowed the ground since I was four.
I was ready to leave. Learning the workings of the engine were simple enough, and in no time, I was aboard and off. Among a motley crowd of ex-militants and older women who were tired of the local pub owner's fees.
The night I left was the second night I'd ever snuck out.
Something happened.
Not then, now.
I was pulled from my nostalgic wanderings, my brain alerting me to the renewed bustle of energy below me. The engineers began to scramble, suddenly frantic, adjusting and hammering at pieces of equipment.
They were moving the ship. Out of the scheduled time frame.
"H-hey!" I call to a woman, Bessy. She's hefting a box of wrenches on a pulley below me, getting it out of the way. She looks up at me, dark skin wet with sweat as she huffs. "What's going on?!"
"P-Protoss ship! Jumping to our coordinates from the starboard side! We-" She pants, wiping her wrinkled brow. "-we've gotta move or we'll get hit!" Once finished, she ran back into the crowd of engineers, listening to the foreman's call and following his directions. I leap over the rail onto the steps a foot down, merging into the mass of sweating, heaving bodies.
My hands are directed to a lever, and I'm instructed not to pull it until told. I nod. Hold steady. NOW.
My arms quiver as I pull back. The hiss and clicking, whirring mass of gears turning surrounds me. The engine engaging, firing up. The temperature increases dramatically, and I pant, my body already soaked in congealed sweat.
Those around me pant in cadence. We all work together. We all pull together.
"Disengage! Bessy, Fredrick, Cynthia, Collin! Disengage!"
I let the lever go, and it snaps back into place, letting the engine die with a growl. Three others do the same.
Collin, a tall, lean man in his forties, leans forward, panting. His wife runs forward, mopping his head with a chilled towel. She turns to me next, wiping my cheeks.
"Thanks, Rita."
She nods, now mopping at Fredrick's...Freddie's face. I scowl, attempting to push through the crowd, away from him. The young man, twenty-three, as he's told me too many times to count, smiles his dimpled smile appreciatively at Rita, whirling to face me. The crowd can't get out of the way fast enough, and I'm thrown back into his arms.
"Hey, Synthy-kins!" he calls sweetly, draping a sweaty arm over my back and hugging my chest to his. "So glad you could join us."
"I wish I hadn't." I growl, trying to shake him off. "If I'd known you'd be around."
"Oh, come on! We're going to be together forever, so why not start getting to know each other here and now?"
"We're not together at all." I hiss, pulling him off of me. His green eyes, etched with gold, glow down at me, still alight with heavy labor. And barely contained joy. I am still, at this moment, unable to tell if it's real or just an elaborate act.
There was a third stipulation to coming on this colonist cruise. Scrawled on the bottom corner of the poster.
You had to have a partner. One willing to help you populate the planet.
I'd been unfortunate enough not to know that fact. So was he. We'd boarded together, pretending to be a married couple. Ended up in the same room together, with Reacher and Terra. We were just...stuck together.
Being around the two adults was bad enough, but then I had this puppy to deal with. The man doggedly followed me around, spending the first week thanking me for taking him along, the next seven trying to get on my good side. My really good side.
It wasn't working. I wouldn't let it.
Freddie took his arm off me, instead grabbing at my hand.
"Wanna go get some lunch together, Synthy-kins?" he asks. "And then we can watch the Protoss ship-"
"I've already eaten. So, no. No nope no. I'm going to go take a nap."
"Oh..." he looks so downhearted. I don't care. "I'll come with you?"
"No. I sleep alone." I hiss, wrenching my wrist from his and walking away, my chin in the air. I may be the youngest one on this deranged ship, but I'm no pushover.
Stepping up the stairways, sparing no glance for the crowd below me, I exit the sweat pit, wiping my forehead. My real shift isn't for another three hours, but foreman Duke isn't going to take my selfless service into account. I'd be back down there before I knew it.
I pause in the main hallway. Carter's whistling can be heard ahead of me, along with the rattling of his small, metal cart. The dim lighting flickers, and I lean up against the wall.
I can't go and take a nap. Terra and Reacher are probably still occupying the fort.
I can't go and eat. Fredrick would be there any minute now.
What else is there to do?
I sigh, rubbing my face, smearing charcoal grease on my cheeks.
One more week. One more week. One more-
The Protoss ship.
I push off the wall, running for the starboard side. The others begin to have the same idea. A stream of people is beginning to trickle from the engine room, heading in the same general direction. Others are opening their doors, peeking their grimy, gritty faces out into the light.
Protoss. Protoss. Protoss.
New. Not boring. Exciting.
I shove my way towards a starboard window, pressing my hands to the glass pane. A wave of bodies tries to push me away, but I stand firm.
I'd only heard of the golden guardians. The seclusive, incredible rare alien race. Hierarch Artanis had led them in the rebuilding of their home world, their colonies, their race. He'd worked with Emperor Valerian. Together, our two races had become close allies.
Until Valerian died. And Artanis passed his figurative crown to his successor.
Things became frigid almost instantly. We weren't enemies, but we didn't quite connect in the way we used to. Artanissa, named after the incredible Protoss leader, saw to that. She wanted us to make our way in the world alone, without having to depend on a foreign arm.
I snap at a man who is pulling at my own arm, trying to pull me away from my window.
I turn back, staring at the stars. Waiting. Watching in breathless apprehension.
There it is.
A faint wisp distorting the star's immaculate formations.
A rift in time, ready to open and expel forth a ship.
"Everyone, calm down!" I hear captain LaCross shout. "They aren't here to attack us!"
I glance back, confused.
Attack?
"Are you sure?!" Someone screams.
"There's no need to panic." The captain repeats.
The Protoss don't attack. We'll be fine. I reassure in my mind. The wrinkle widens, the stars spinning out of control. Several people begin to back away, frightened. It was all moving so fast, my heart began to beat wildly.
The black rip snuffs out the stars all together.
"They're traveling with us for the last week!" LaCross elaborates, and I feel my head spin in time with my heart. "I just got the message from New Haven! They're scoping out Kerralim for a co-colony planet!"
The crowd explodes.
"No! I wanted to get away from the aliens! Now we're going to be occupying the same planet?!"
"I wanted to raise my children free from those creatures!"
"You liar! Your posters lied!"
I gasp.
Something's happening.
Not here. Out there.
A thick, bulky nose is peeking out of the rift. Blue sparks begin to fly, streamlined and incredibly beautiful. The nose pushes forward, gathering a white gold sheen that flashes brilliantly in the light of the stars.
The crowd grows silent.
The Protoss ship silently and magnificently inches out of the rip in time and space, it's golden sides decorating the otherwise bleak sky. Blue banners etch it's sleek form, decorative and unifying the rest of the blue streaks within its structure. Several people gasp as a few sparking and morphing blue birds burst forth beside the larger ship. It takes a moment for the name to click in my mind. Phoenixes.
They are beautiful. The larger one...is magnificent.
As its end finishes exiting the rift, the stars shuffle back into place, following the wrinkles and folds of the rip being sewn back together. The slim, golden ships dance, leaving banners and connecting the stars, drawing shapes around it's companion.
It is incredible.
So many people mutter, fearful and accusatory.
The Protoss vessels swim through space as gracefully as birds over the ocean, shaming the bulky, Terran vehicle that putters across leagues on patched wings and broken engines.
I felt vaguely jealous.
Why can't I be on something like that?!
"Okay, everyone, go back to work. We need to keep on schedule, or we'll be left behind. Come on, move it!"
The mass of colonists leak back to their rooms, the engine room, the cafeteria, the cockpit. It is a wonder the ship kept working when nearly all of the crew abandoned their posts.
With nothing better to do, I stand and watch as the incredible, beautiful, fantastic ship comes and floats next to ours, flaunting it's streamlined curves and orbiting pieces, fine tuned for the fastest, sleekest space travel. No doubt embarrassed to be seen next to Terran trash.
But staying nearby nonetheless.
I see movement.
As the ship hovers ever closer, I see bodies.
I'm surprised to see that most of the ship's exterior is glass. Or something similar to glass. It shimmers like no glass I've seen before, but that hardly matters now. There are actual, real live Protoss walking about the walkways encased in glass.
I see them. In all my life of bedtime stories and running with golden shadows, I never thought I'd see them.
Their deep, dusky skins. Their frames, tall as life. Their animalistic back limbs, large, padded, thick-toed feet. Their clawed hands, built for sophistication and technology beyond our reach. Traces of gold and cloth draped about their forms, their blazing blue and green eyes pinpricks of light in their deep set eye sockets. Much like the stars that twinkle.
Something else catches my attention.
Whispering.
Light, high pitched, child-like.
I glance around, trying to find the source of speech.
Look! A Terran vessel! Look at that! Wait, Zaxchia, look! Three windows from the right!
I whirl, looking for the child who spoke.
There are no children on this ship, unless someone had snuck them on board. I wouldn't put it past some of the women-
Hey! No, don't leave! Over here!
Ha, you know they can't hear us.
Maybe. Hey! Hey Terran!
I look back at the ship.
I see a flurry of movement.
There. Near the bottom of the ship.
A smaller, darker Protoss is waving wildly. Another one stands nearby, arms folded.
Stop that. It can't hear us.
The one waving stops, turning towards it's counterpart.
Then why are you projecting your voice too?
The second one reels back, waves of embarrassment flowing off of—her.
Eh—because...
Ha! You want to try too!
Be quiet!
The first one turns back to me. The beautiful ship has drifted slightly above ours, and our windows draw level, just far enough apart that I can see the two easily, but far enough away that I can't spot any defining features.
He waves again.
I wave back.
HEY! Zaxchia! ZAXCHIA IT WAVED!
Of course it did. That's what Terran's do. See?
The second one waves nonchalantly.
I glare at her.
She turns to face me, waving violently.
I fold my arms, shaking my head.
You made it mad.
Be quiet! It's just too dumb to understand what I'm doing.
Hey, can you hear us?! The first one asks. Now that they are closer, I could see his brow crunched in concentration as he speaks. An echo lingers after his words, and I relish the difference.
I nod, pointing to my ear and giving a thumbs up.
The two small Protoss lean against their glass.
Unbelievable! It's lying!
No it's not! Quick, turn around quickly!
I comply, turning in a quick circle and smiling broadly.
The first Protoss is dancing around, pumping his arms. I watch his large feet thud against the golden walkway, his slimmer counterpart staring in bewilderment, a piece of the ship drift lazily in our way.
Wow! A Terran who can hear us-
Kaldarax, behave yourself!
Why? This is incredible! This is a breakthrough! This is inc-
He stops abruptly.
I press my palms against the glass, curious at the sudden silence. They turn. As do I.
A third Protoss is approaching, his musclebound shoulders towering over them, diminishing them. He stops serenely, folding his arms over his broad white and gold chest plate.
I frown.
They stand together, looking from one another, nodding and gesturing. And they aren't including me. I've heard of their mind speech, and it's selectivity. This infuriates me. I want to hear more of the new voices. I want to know what they're talking about.
The girl points at the boy, stomping her wide, padded foot. The boy reacts defensively, pointing out the window towards me. I step back as the larger Protoss looks down at me. His blue eyes, as turquoise as the sky I left behind, scrutinize me. I quell as a deep, mellow, smooth voice invades my mind.
You can hear us?