Receiving incoming transmission . . .

Magnus Scriptor: Greetings, loyal readers and guests. I wanted to welcome you to this new story of mine, and assure anyone who likes the other one more, that this one is going to get even more interesting, and that it will end fairly soon (all things considered). That said, it ain't over till it's over, right? Please review, all feedback is appreciated.

Transmission terminated

It was another late night in the Tac-Sim Room. Alpha Squadron commander Edmund Duke had set up a match between his own bodyguard squad and that of Gregory Reikson, his counterpart in charge of Omega Squadron. Alpha Squadron's strenuous training had paid off; a trio of sniper attacks drew off Omega defenders, leaving them unprepared for a full frontal assault. Duke shook hands with Reikson as the Marines finished removing their equipment, and plastic credit chips changed hands in the same motion.

"Extraordinarily unorthodox, Edmund; I must commend you," said Reikson, warmly. Though the sum he had given over would have bankrupted a Marine for a year, like most Confederate generals, he was a member of the elite rich as well as a strategist.

"Yes," replied Duke, his habits tended towards the extremely laconic when out of battle situations. Though he had hardly said a word while watching the match, his blue-gray eyes had narrowed sharply as they tracked the movement of each of his men. Reikson knew better than to expect long answers, but continued to chat amiably.

"That's just the Marines, though," continued Reikson, "I think my Ghosts might show yours a thing or two."

"Unlikely. My Ops section is unparalleled."

"Alpha always gets the money and the talent. All the recruits Omega ever ends up with are Resocs." Though Reikson spoke jokingly, his comment was true. Omega Squadron was seen as a blunt instrument to batter enemies into submission with, and so was made up of mostly Resocialized criminals. The brainwashing and mind-altering process made for good cannon fodder, but poor officers and Spec Ops units.

"True," commented Duke. As the final Alpha Squadron Marine stepped out of his PCS, Duke tossed him a piece of plastic. "See that it gets to the men who deserve it. Corporal Krandon deserves special notice."

"Yes sir!" responded the sergeant with alacrity, saluted, and strode off down the hallway.

"So that's how you do it," said Reikson with a grin.

"When they lose, they pay up," responded Duke, his face emotionless as he stated what was, to him, a simple fact.

"To you, Edmund? Surely you don't need it?" said Reikson, surprised. "Or is it to a charity?"

"Neither. Our Weapons Research and Development budget was cut recently; their money helps arm and supply their comrades."

"Ah."

"Hold," said Duke, suddenly. His hand flew to his left ear, specifically the device inserted in it. A metal comm device beeped, and a message played in his ear. Reikson's hand followed suit, listening to his own message.

"Generals Duke and Reikson, an alien threat has manifested to the Sara planets."

"A new one?" asked Duke, harshly. Reikson had not been debriefed yet on the situation, but he had heard rumors of millions of ravenous beasts attacking Chau Sara. Duke had just come from there, and had scheduled the match to keep his troops sharp, and to give them a chance to wind down more gradually.

"That is correct," said the automated voice. "Adjutant" was the name of its owner, she was rumored to be a cyborg, or even an actual robot. "This new threat has identified themselves as the 'Protoss.' Intelligence reports their weaponry is extremely powerful, well capable of incinerating our planets. Your job, generals, is to prevent them from doing so. Your fleets are fueled and ready, your men have been informed of their new duty. I advise you to leave immediately for your command ships. General Duke will be given overall command of this situation."

"Affirmative, Adjutant," said Duke, his eyes glowing in anticipation. "We're on our way."

"Your shuttles are prepped and ready."

"Very good."

"General Duke, speed is of the essence. The Protoss fleet will be in a position to incinerate Chau Sara in approximately three Tarsonis hours."

"Moving."

"Adjutant out."

Reikson smiled at Duke's intensity as the stocky man all but ran through the corridors of the Third Tarsonis Defense Station. Reikson, Duke's opposite in build with a tall, thin body, had no problem keeping up. They boarded the same shuttle going to the Norad II, Duke's flagship. As Duke's second-in-command, Reikson had to be with him as much as possible. The shuttle made good time to the Norad II, and the generals immediately made their way to the command deck. Duke eased himself into his large padded command chair, pressed a button on the armrest, and steepled his fingers.

"Captain Marklin here, general."

"Marklin, I need an Ops team."

"Space combat?"

"Boarding and demolitions."

"Unit VIII, sir. Agent Ares is in command."

"Have him prep his squad. I want them armed and on the bridge in twenty minutes."

"Roger that, general."

"General!" yelled a navigation tech suddenly, his eyes bulging.

"What is it, son!" bellowed Duke at the young man half of his age.

"Look!" replied the nav tech, hitting a series of buttons which magnified his view screen by tenfold. The alien warships, fifty of them, had moved with astonishing speed to surround Chau Sara. The planet was covered in a strange cloud, but Duke knew that was because of the nightmares upon it, not the aliens above it.

Duke had fought Xenomorph monsters on the planet's surface for days without rest, before pulling out with the remnant of his shattered force. The creatures had butchered almost an entire regiment of his men, ripping apart soldiers, Goliaths, even Arclites couldn't stop their claws and acid. Even with the strong defenses surrounding Los Andares, the last city, the Xenomorphs had entirely overrun them in a matter of hours; the endless tide was not even dented by the tactical nuclear strikes unleashed by Duke's own Spec Ops bodyguards.

Even then, the massed formations of Goliaths had held back the Xenomorphs; massed Autocannon fire cutting through even their fastest and strongest warriors. As Arclite shells drove them back still farther, Duke had breathed a sigh of relief for a moment. Then something unbelievable happened. An orange cloud began to spread over the planet's surface. Visibility was lost, but that was a minor inconvenience compared to what happened next. The next wave of the creatures was untouched by the Goliaths and Arclites; the shells and bullets seemed to slow down and disappear in the mist. Only Firebats were able to even touch the Xenomorphs after the cloud spread over the base, but that was discovered far too late, as the swarm ran roughshod over the defenders firing lines. Once they broke into the city, it was too late to do anything. Duke himself barely made it back to the Norad II; the Arclite he had commandeered took a wrong turn and ran into a large group of the creatures. Duke's Spec Ops bodyguards fought them off from the viewports; launching countless rounds from their Canister Rifles. The high explosives were able to damage the Xenomorphs at close range, even in the dense orange cloud.

It had been a close shave, but Duke's unit had been able to make it back to the Norad II in time. The skies were filling with flying Xenos, but the Norad II charged a fired a Yamato blast into them, searing a path through the organge cloud and ripping countless flyers apart. Duke ordered the remnants of the regiment to pull out, and blasted his way through the remaining Xenos to return to Tarsonis and report.

Now the new aliens were moving towards the planet, and Duke was unsure of their aims. Were they moving to protect the Xenos or to attack them? His comm beeped and he pressed a button on his armrest, patching it through to the telescreen. An image flashed into being, and Duke was caught off-guard for the second time in his life.

"Greetings, Terran commander," intoned a deep and strong voice. It was one of the new aliens. Duke squinted, trying to make out the creature's face. The connection was weak, and the image was very hard to make out. Duke barked an order to the tech officer, telling him to adjust the signal. The image cleared, and Duke stared at the alien.

He, or it, was eight feet tall, with a strangely shaped body, incredibly thin in some places and extremely muscular in others. A blue-tinted hide served as the alien's skin, and its eyes were a deep golden-yellow. The alien was clothed in long blue robes, trimmed with gold. A ceremonial helmet rested on his brow. But Duke was not surprised so much at the differences as at the similarities between this alien and the Terrans. Reassuring himself that any advanced group of people had to look like Terrans, Duke responded to the alien.
"Greetings, alien warlord." The alien made a deep, guttural sound, and Duke realized it was laughing.

"I am the Protoss Executor Tassadar al Tyrmanor, you may address me as Tassadar. This fleet is here to observe and contain the Zerg that have manifested on your planet of Chau Sara."

"Over my dead body," replied Duke, angry. "I don't care who you stand for or what you think, this is for Terrans to deal with, not for you."

"On the contrary, the Dae'thul makes it our responsibility. Moreover, you have not enjoyed any success combating the Zerg, have you?"

"We underestimated them; but even they cannot stand against an entire Confederate fleet!"

"Then you underestimate them still."

"No one tells me what to do, alien!" snarled Duke. "If you don't get the hell out of Confederate airspace, I'm going to take you down." Tassadar laughed again, then placed his hands to his temples, and his eyes narrowed. Duke noticed that his hands had only four digits apiece, but they were long and clawed.

"Terran, I underestimated them as well. You would do well not to hinder us in the fulfillment of our mission. I am sorry." The Protoss cut the transmission.

"What the hell are those bastards up to?" said Duke to himself. One of the tech officers turned from his station.

"General! Energy readings around the Protoss warships are spiking, they're charging weapons!"

"Damnit! Prepare for evasive maneuvering."

"No sir, not at us! At Chau Sara!"

"No. That's impossible." Even as the last syllable left Edmund Duke's mouth, the impossible happened. The fifty Protoss warships that encircled Chau Sara opened fire. A solid wave of blue light shot out from each of them, bathing the entire planet in a brilliant glow. Then it was covered by the orange cloud. An instant later the cloud began to shrivel from beneath and was suddenly consumed as the ground below it, suddenly visible, erupted in a burst of light. The planet was incinerated; burnt from the inside out. Nothing would ever grow or live there again. The Protoss turned their ships around, and began moving again.

"Find their course!" yelled Duke.

"Sir," responded a nav officer. "It's Mar Sara! They're heading to Mar Sara!"

"This can't be happening," said Duke, rubbing his own temples. The bridge doors opened, and Duke froze, fearing a Protoss boarding party for a moment. He relaxed immediately, as the familiar white-trimmed black uniform of a senior Ghost became visible.

"Ah, Ares," he said.

"General," hissed the Ghost. The respirators worn by the mysterious operatives made their voices impossible to distinguish.

"I have a mission for you."

"When?"

"Now."