.

StarCraft-Operation: Claws

Chapter 1: The Plan

December 12, 2500

Polaris Beta System, Planet Christmas

Christmas Corporation Loading Docks

It was said by some, especially those amongst the Fringe Worlds, that pride was a sin. If that were true, then he would have to get back to experiencing the other six.

Of course, even if he had conformed to the edicts of some deity that he'd never seen and all things considered, probably never would, he'd be fighting a losing battle right now. For even after all had occurred recently in the Koprulu Sector, from the fall of the Confederacy to the conclusion of the Brood War, the simple pleasures that stemmed from human culture remained. Of course, the loading of a fleet of space freighters with uncountable goods wasn't exactly simple but rather the root of the sin of pride he was feeling right now, but the spirit had been preserved.

And that's my mandate, he reminded himself. And to hell to any zerg, Dominion lackeys or Earth-borne fascists that say otherwise.

He let out an inaudible sigh, not due to lack of breath, but rather due to the sound being drowned out by the ships on the ground. In reality, if any of those parties did say otherwise, there was precious little he could do. Planet Christmas' security had always relied on its isolation for protection, like the bulk of the Fringe Worlds. The now defunct Terran Confederacy had let them be and as such, didn't pull the planet down with it when the zerg cast it down into the pit reserved for regimes that denied its people its rights. It would be a full pit probably, but he somehow suspected that there would always be more room. Allowances had to be made for governmental shifts after all.

Nothing ever changed and he knew that. The Terran Dominion was the latest in a line of governments founded on 'popular will' and it was only a matter of time until it met the same fate as its predecessor. Of course, with Mengsk's regime left in tatters and the zerg having been united under one of the emperor's former officers, infested by the zerg and been given a dose of megalomania to boot, he suspected that the Dominion's fall would come sooner rather than later.

And that's no great loss, Santa Claus reminded himself. Regimes that don't even try to hide their hypocrisy never last long.

Santa Claus wasn't his real name of course. In fact, with short black hair, small gray eyes, a thin moustache and a lanky figure that was liable to fall over in a breeze, he was about as far away from Santa as one could get. True, there were differing theories as to the nature of the reindeer riding philanthropist that lived in the North Pole back on Old Earth until all the ice melted, but the image remained; a fat jolly man with white hair, a red suit and a can of some unknown soft drink in his hand.

But he didn't care. He'd founded the Christmas Corporation more than a decade ago, dedicating his life to bringing joy to those amongst the Fringe Worlds. He'd been doing this job himself for over ten years. And even if the status quo in the Koprulu Sector had changed, nothing had changed out here. And it never would.

Time to get to work, Santa thought, seeing the last of the freighters touch down as the system's yellow star rose, casting light over the ice sheets that he suspected would have been similar to the spectacle's that once existed back on Earth. Time to get to work and make this the best Christmas ever.

After all, even escaping most of the carnage of the Brood War, the Fringe Worlds deserved that much.

Deep space platform Ithaca

The Ithaca lived up to its namesake. Small, insignificant and bearing internal conflict.

There were a few problems with the analogy of course. Ithaca had been an island rather than a space platform constructed outside the Polaris Beta System for refueling and resupply of ships only capable of subwarps. Ithaca hadn't been damaged to the extent that it was criss-crossed with the signs of explosive weaponry and projectile fire. And at least Ithaca had had its king return to lead rescue his homeland and reunite with his wife and child.

The space platform possessed no such luxury. Its lands were ruined beyond restoration, its people slaughtered and even its captain could somehow pull his body parts together and return to the realm of the living, there would be nothing worth saving anyway.

Oh, and there were the zerg to deal with. A lot of them.

Contrary to general belief, the zerg were not mindless beasts. Beasts, certainly, but not mindless. After all, mindless beasts didn't take care to not ruin the gravity accelerators and atmosphere generators of a target vessel. Mindless beasts didn't set a course with captured vessels. And by definition, mindless beasts weren't sentient.

I'm brilliant, the sentient beast thought. I'm absolutely brilliant.

The Zergrinch knew that arrogance was potentially dangerous and if it possessed the mental capacity to fully understand what danger actually was, it may have sought to deal with it. Of course, that would mean dealing with everything from pride to righteousness, a task that it simply didn't have time for.

"Brothers!" it called. "Today, victory is ours!"

The assembled horde roared its approval. Well, technically it was his approval and via its telepathic link that they were compelled to roar, but that made no difference. It had an ego to fill and if filling it had to be done by self praise, so be it.

"The Overmind lacked vision!" it continued. "It lacked purpose! It lacked purity! And for that, my brothers, it was smote down by fate!"

It didn't really feel this way of course. It had served the Overmind well in its day, the singular, all powerful entity that guided the zerg race to achieve the destiny the xel'naga had ordained, to become a species of perfection. Those deemed worthy were assimilated into the Swarm, the unworthy purged by the way of tooth and claw. As one, the Swarm forged a path of destruction throughout the stars. One vision. One purpose. One destiny.

At least, that used to be the case. Now, with the Overmind lying defeated on the protoss homeworld of Aiur and its successor lying dead and trampled among the ashes of Char, the zerg's status quo had changed and not for the better. The Overmind's prodigal, the human once known as Sarah Kerrigan, had defeated her rivals and ascended to leadership of the Swarm as a whole, but she was not the only leader vying for control. Nothing could rival the psionic powers of the Overmind and as such, numerous zerg splinter groups existed, guided by those granted sentience by their father. Some following their original goals, some with new goals altogether.

Most of these groups were led by cerebrates, the agents empowered by the Overmind to lead distinctive Broods. The Zergrinch was an exception, and with the body of a Defiler and a mind shattered by the severing of its telepathic link with its creator, it showed.

"Dark times beset our race," the Zergrinch continued, clicking its claws together. "The false queen resides upon the throne of Char. Only we possess the holy light to lead our brethren to salvation. Only we know the true path."

Yet another roar of approval.

"And to this end, we return to Planet Christmas," the Defiler continued, raising itself high on the ruins of the platform's control center. "We return to purge it by the way of blood and fire. We return to put an end to the elitist ways of the humans and their blasphemous ways."

As per the Zergrinch's will, its minions leant forward. Squat doglike Zerglings, snake-like Hydralisks, the ferocious Wargs… All loyal to him, all willing to fight and die for his cause. No, that wasn't quite right. Will had nothing to do with it. Only his will existed. Only his will could guide the zerg to salvation.

"Know this," the Zergrinch said slowly. "On this day, we stand united. On this day, we begin our march to salvation. On this day, those who turned from the true path will see the light of truth…"

The Zerg leant forward…

"And death to those who would stand against us!"

Yet another roar from the Zergrinch's followers, yet one that dwarfed all those that had come before it. The zerg possessed no need for the atmosphere generators, able to survive the vacuum of space without aid. Yet the Zergrinch wanted to hear their roars, wanted to hear the reaffirmation of the

righteousness of its cause. To take Planet Christmas and put an end to the blasphemous ways of the humans and the holiday from which the planet took its name. And even if the artificial atmosphere allowed sound to be transferred throughout the platform, what did it have to lose?

If it had known about the Observation Drone hovering above, it might have thought otherwise…

Behemoth-class Battlecruiser Hyperion

It was almost appropriate really.

If Lieutenant Matthew Horner had voiced his thoughts out loud and someone had been on the bridge of the Hyperion to hear them, their possible reactions would be limited. Most likely, they would assume, or rather hope, that he was joking, that he didn't seriously believe that a mad zerg rallying its forces was a good thing in any way. Still, there was always the possibility that such a person would have taken the lieutenant seriously and proceeded to ensure within the next few seconds that said lieutenant was riddled with bullet holes. The Brood War had been devastating, but it had at least taught humanity a valuable lesson. Never trust anyone.

"But I can trust you, can't I?" Horner murmured, looking at the readout of the drone's signal. "Machines can break, but they don't lie…"

Horner lay back against his pilot's seat and rubbed his eyes, the near constant weariness he'd felt for the past month coming back in force. He doubted whether the Zergrinch understood the significance of the date, that it was on this day two years ago that the protoss had been confronted over Mar Sara. Not the start of the Great War, but for many, it had been the beginning of…well, something worse. Something that the zerg personified. And for all its apparent ideology and desire to separate itself from the Overmind, the Zergrinch was no different. It was something that existed for one reason as far as the lieutenant was concerned. Something to scream, bleed and die. Hopefully in that order.

Horner liked to think of himself as the same person he'd been last century. Ready to fight for what was right, bar the consequences. It was what had led him to join the Sons of Korhal and then abandon them when Mengsk lost the moral high ground. Even after the Brood War, he was ready to fight the good fight, regardless of the target. There was no shortage of devils in the Koprulu Sector and if he had to start with the smaller demons before moving on to the larger ones, so be it.

"Keep preaching, you mutant freak," Horner murmured, leaning towards the screen that displayed the image the drone was transmitting. "I want you to have the practice in screaming before-…"

"Who ya talking to Matt?"

Horner instinctively shot up from his seat, straightened himself up and saluted. It was an instinctive reaction and although Captain James Raynor never appreciated the gesture, Horner was determined to give the respect that the Mar Saran deserved. Raynor had done amazing things in his lifetime, things that Horner believed were worthy of recognition. So even if Raynor, dark eyes eyes bloodshot, black hair

unkempt, a distinct lack of facial shaving having occurred and clutching a can of what Horner suspected was something that most ships would never stock, Horner was determined to maintain the status quo.

"No-one sir," Horner murmured, stepping aside to let Raynor take the pilot's seat.

Raynor stood his ground. "Am I interrupting something?"

Horner smiled. "No sir. In fact, you arrived just in time."

Raynor grunted, taking a swig of the beverage that he held in his hand. "That's a first."

Horner was tempted to claim that Raynor was never late for anything, but decided against it. He knew what the man was referring to. He'd been late for many things on Korhal, the Raiders being in a position to move against the zerg rather than reacting to them. Even so, they were too late. Too late to make a difference in the slaughter that followed the reclamation of Augustgrad. Too late to save Fenix.

Too late to realize the truth about Kerrigan…

"What is this crap anyway?" Raynor asked, eyes fixed on the screen. "Zerg have become religious nut jobs or something?"

"Only the Zergrinch sir," said Horner, also leaning closer to the screen. "You know about him I take it?"

"Only that he's that an advanced strain with the mental capacity of a cerebrate, and that he went insane after the Overmind's destruction." Raynor took another sip of the can, shook it, tossed it aside and drew a second from his belt. Horner raised an eyebrow. What kind of person kept cans of beer in a belt alongside grenades?

"Developed some strange ideas and attacked Planet Christmas during the Brood War," Raynor continued, opening the second can. "Utter failure of course. Mengsk is the only one who can successfully apply insanity to reality."

"Tell me about it," Horner smiled, hoping to find an area of common ground. "Difference is though, is that while Mengsk is left licking his wounds, the Zergrinch is looking to receive new ones."

"Or inflict them," Raynor murmured, watching as the zerg let out another roar of approval. "Some things never change I guess…"

Silence descended over the bridge, and not due to lack of staff. The zerg brought death and destruction wherever they went, yet Kerrigan had pulled them back after the final battle above Char. Something had definitely changed with the Swarm since the Queen of Blades took control, and most suspected that it wasn't for the better. Horner didn't fully understand the apparent love/hate relationship between Raynor and Mengsk's former lieutenant, but was still glad to see that the latter had taken precedence in recent times. Hate was unbecoming of Raynor, but in the case of the zerg's current ruler, Horner supposed that exceptions could be made?

"So…" said Horner eventually. "Shall I set our course?"

"Pardon?"

"I asked if I should set our course," Horner repeated. "You know…to intercept the Zergrinch."

"No," said Raynor simply. "It's Christmas's problem, not mine."

"What!?" Horner exclaimed. "We're just leaving them!?"

"Leaving who? The zerg or the Christmas Corporation?"

"Both!" Horner exclaimed, striding in front of Raynor. "There's zerg en route to a human planet, sir. We need to launch a pre-emptive-…"

"Matt, space platforms are hazardous enough without hell's offspring infesting them," Raynor murmured. "Besides, we don't know exactly how many forces the Zergrinch has."

"Then we head to Planet Christmas. It's only ten days out. We can-…"

"Matt, watch something other than the star map would you?" Raynor grunted, continuing to head for the exit. "We're public enemy number one, remember?"

Horner had to admit that that was true. With the Dominion in tatters and his military might shattered, Emperor Arcturus had to not only rebuild, but find someone to pin the blame on apart from his enemies. In the end, at least judging by the state controlled media, he'd pinned it on numerous rebel groups, the claims ranging from old fashioned anarchism to collaboration. It was a change from the previous line that Mengsk had risen to power via popular acclaim, that unlike the Confederacy, rebel groups were non-existent, but it was still effective.

And Raynor's Raiders, the bloodthirsty monsters who raped women and impaled children on pikes, were always at the top of the list…

"Planet Christmas is corporate owned, but they're still in contact with the Dominion," said Raynor slowly, addressing Horner as if he were a small child. "How do you think they'd react to the murderers of-…"

"Sir, you can't expect anyone to believe the bullshit that Mengsk is spewing out."

"No, I still have some faith that people are smart enough to realize that pikes are hard to come by," Raynor smirked. "Still, I don't think naming a planet something as unoriginal as Christmas when it's covered by ice signals particularly impressive intelligence." Raynor once again strode past Horner, heading out of the bridge to what Horner suspected was the cantina.

"Then we at least send a message to warn them," the lieutenant persisted, walking after his superior. "We have to do something."

"We don't have to do anything," Raynor called back, taking another swig of whatever was making his breath smell like...well, something that the cantina was often awash in. "We're free to do what we want out here."

"But sir, we have an obligation to-…"

"Damn it Matt, I'm not obliged to do anything!" Raynor shouted, spinning around in an instant. "This is my ship, my crew, and I'll be damned if I endanger either on a bunch of corporate jackarses who are loyal to-…"

"Emperor Arcturus," said Horner calmly. "The one who's going to look the hero when he sends in the Marines to rescue the planet once the distress calls start going out." His eyes narrowed. "You know, when most, if not all of the population has gone through a reenactment of New Gettysburg."

Raynor fell silent, Horner glad to see that he'd struck a nerve. Cruel, he knew that, but necessary. He knew what had happened to Raynor. After the Brood War, he'd lost faith in anything and everything. He no longer believed in anything. He no longer did anything. The idealistic rebel crusader had become a mere drunkard who...was taking a comm.. unit from his belt

"Swan, prep the engines," said Raynor into the comm.. unit suddenly, walking past Matt back to the bridge.

"Pardon?" asked Horner and the chief engineer simultaneously.

"I said fire up the engines," Raynor repeated, entering the bridge and heading towards the communications system. "We're going on a little space ride."

Horner watched as Raynor fiddled around on the comms. Console. It was almost sad really, that it had been the prospect of Mengsk being the hero that had spurred Raynor to action. Things had changed in recent months, but the captain's loathing of the man hadn't. Still, if a little evil had to be carried out for the greater good, then so be it.

"I know what you're thinking Matt," Raynor called out suddenly, pressing the send button as he did so. "And yes, you're right. Mengsk isn't a hero and he never will be." He let out a sigh. "And the galaxy has enough hypocrisy as it is."

Horner smiled. "You been listening to Mike's reports?"

"On and off," Raynor answered, still fiddling with the console. "Still, I doubt the media is going to help us on this mission."

"Then what is?" asked the lieutenant curiously, walking over. "Who are you sending this second message to?"

Raynor fell silent as he typed in the last parts of the message, once again pressing send at the end of it. Slowly, much slower than the transmission being sent through warp space right this second, Raynor turned back to his Executive Officer.

"Someone who can help us," the rebel said. "Someone who was also screwed over a year ago…"

Update (25/10/13): Corrected 2501 to 2500.