The worksite was quiet. Too quiet. Normally a bustling hive of activity, it was as if a blanket of silence had been cast over the area.
But then again, it wasn't everyday that the heir apparent to the Dominion personally visited your facility. Director Stirling was edgy, to say the least. At only 5'9'' at 61 years of age and with an ever-balding head, Director Mark Garret Stirling was not an impressive man by any measure. Instead, he liked to think of himself as an intellectual man, one who relied on his brains and logic to take care of things, not brute force and brawn.
The small, private reception they were in was dark, with crimson red shades covering most of the windows, which were few and far in between. Bookshelves filled what little wall-space there was, each packed from top to bottom with books. Red carpeting only added to the dark atmosphere. At the far end, a table and comfortable chairs had been hastily set up for the visit.
"Is the tea ready?" he asked an aide. Crown Prince Valerian was well known throughout the Dominion for his love of Chatime tea.
"Yes, sir," replied the aide in a soft voice. "The crumpets are ready as well."
Stirling clasped his hands. "Excellent. How much time is left?"
"The Crown Prince's official transport has just entered our airspace, sir. Shouldn't be more than a couple of minutes."
Seconds turned to minutes as the prince's arrival loomed. Sweat dripped down the director's neck, collecting near the back of his nape before it slipped down his back. Jackets were straightened and pants were drawn up as the anticipation mounted.
The prince had announced his intention to visit a week prior, a few days after the discovery of a rather interesting Xel'Naga artifact. Shaped like a large book, it had seemed inert to the research team until just a few days ago, when it had lit up like one of those ancient Christmas trees. Attempts to contact the Emperor through the Imperial Palace had failed, although he found it far more likely that the Emperor was simply ignoring his message. Instead, Crown Prince Valerian had announced his intention to visit the site hours within the message to Augustgrad. Coincidence? Stirling believed in no such thing.
After what seemed like an eternity, Stirling heard a soft knock. Hastily wiping the sweat off his brow, Director Stirling opened the door. Prince Valerian stepped inside, flanked by two red marines hefting massive C-14 gauss rifles. His usual scarlet cape was nowhere to be seen – instead, he donned a black but elegant regal coat and a simple shirt bearing the Mengsk family crest underneath. The two grunts stepped out as the prince dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
Bowing as he stepped back, Stirling stammered out, "Welcome, Prince Valerian. Here, let me grab that coat for you. No? Oh, no, it's no issue. Of course you can keep it on. Here, would you like to join us for some tea and crumpets?"
Valerian nodded with a smile as they made their way over to the table. "Of course, director. Chatime, I presume?"
"You presume correctly, sir. Your love of Chatime is well-known throughout the land, even out here in the Outer Colonies."
The two sat down as an aide set down a kettle of tea, two cups, and a plate of crumpets.
"Anything else, Your Excellency?"
The heir apparent waved his hand. "No need for fancy titles or formalities here, Director. Please, just call me Valerian, or if you must, Prince Valerian. I have no use for elaborate labels or superfluous ceremoniousness."
Stirling's face grew pale as he blanched at the thought of having offended or otherwise bothered the Crown Prince. "Of course, You- I mean, Prince Valerian. Yes, sir. I will remember that for later. I mean now. Yes-"
Valerian laughed at the man's growing discomfort, mirth veritably shining out of his eyes. "You don't have anything to fear from me, director. I won't be cutting your budget – or your salary, for that matter. You will find very little of my father in me, Director Stirling."
"Of course, Prince Valerian."
The Crown Prince swept up his arms as he stood up, putting his half-eaten crumpet back on the plate. "Come, walk with me, director."
The two made their way to the shelves, Valerian thumbing the books as they walked through.
"I find that you and I are not as different as you may thing; in fact, I believe we are very much alike," said Valerian. "Both of us come from privileged backgrounds – I am the Emperor's son, and you were the firstborn of the richest man in the Korprulu Sector. And yet, here we are, meeting on a deserted rock dozens of lightyears away from the closest populated settlement. I think we are very alike indeed."
Stirling's mind reeled as the prince's words hit him like an assault helicopter. Him? Alike? What the hell was Prince Valerian talking about?
Valerian stopped, forcing the director to awkwardly halt as well, almost falling over from the miniscule inertia of the walk. He dug out a dusty book from the shelf and flipped it open.
"Antiquities of the Jews, Vol 13. Authored by Flavius Josephus in the late 1st century of Old Earth. It's rather strange, really. The most influential man in human history, and we know almost nothing about him aside from what is written about him in these books. It is remarkable, is it not? That one man, or even an entire civilization can have so much impact on our lives, only to be lost in the interstellar sands of time."
Valerian closed the book and reshelved it before turning around. "But that is our jobs. It is our responsibility to dig through the sand, to piece together puzzles far too complex to be solved. For without our past, what do we have?"
Realization dawned on the director's face as he nodded. "You speak of the Xel'Naga. The artifact, the tablet we found a few days ago on Septimus Mons."
"Indeed, director. Now, let us go unlock the secrets of the universe."
A short command from the director dismissed the aides as the two walked into a side door. A short jaunt through a small hallway later, the duo found themselves inside the secure storage of the facility.
Stirling rubbed his hands nervously. "Well, this is it, sir. We haven't touched it since your announcement of your intention to visit."
Valerian waved his hand. "Continue on, director."
The director punched in a random 8-digit code into the keypad. Valerian took note of it – it might be useful for later.
The storage room itself was small, and its emptiness reached out like a maw of a demon to Valerian. Ignoring any subconscious inhibitions, the heir apparent walked into the room.
"Here it is, sir," pointed the director.
The tablet itself was bland, lacking the usual brilliance of Xel'Naga artifacts. Valerian was secretly disappointed – he had traveled 92 light years for this?
Then, the tablet talked.
Or, more accurately, the tablet grew a face, and then talked.
If it was a hologram, it was a ridiculously detailed and flawless hologram. If it was real – well, nothing could be said at that point.
The head was encased in armor, piercing green light shining from what Valerian presumed were eyeholes. No mouth was visible, like the protoss. In fact, it bore a remarkable similarity to the protoss, but it wasn't quite a protoss."Welcome, Crown Prince Valerian. We have much to speak about." The voice was deep and heavy, yet was not threatening. In fact, years of political education at the hands of his tutors allowed Valerian to detect a hint of… sadness? in the voice.
"Who are you? How can you speak Terran? How do you know my name?" inquired Valerian, curious but on guard.
"I simply performed a mind-scan and pulled all relevant data from the most helpful researchers who pulled me out from the ground. For that, you have my gratitude."
Stirling could only stare, awestruck.
"Again, who are you? Are you a protoss?"
The being's eyes flashed. "The protoss? Protoss… Ah, yes. I remember them as clear as if it were yesterday. For who can forget a failure of such magnitude?"
"A failure?"
"Sit, and listen. These events have happened in times long past – we cannot change them now. But perhaps we may be able to change our future." The hologram enlarged, until it was no longer a disembodied head that was speaking to them. Instead, an entire armored Xel'Naga – for what else could it be? – emerged from the tablet. It began to pace, for lack of a better term, around the room.
"Come, and let me tell you of the fall of a great civilization. Let me speak to you about a young and ambitious Xel'Naga who brought about the end of all things and still now seeks to remake the universe in his name. Allow me to speak to you about..."
The entire room held its breath.
"Amon."