CHAPTER FOUR
SCARS AND SCRAPES


THERE THEY GATHERED, hundreds upon hundreds of starving military officers, cadets, and privates, sticking bowls forward like dogs, waiting for a spoonful of whatever it was the chefs had cooked for them. Lines and lines – endless lines – of men and women that hadn't seen food all day littered the solemn camp. The constant rumbling of the stomachs began to be more of an ambient and normal sound, rather than the rare event that they would have felt back home on Earth after a hard day of refueling jet-liners and painting fences. Logs, boxes, and anything else that could be used as a seat lay scattered over the base. These would serve as the dinner tables for the masses of grunts, low-ranked officers, and other 'ruffians', as command had obviously deemed them. The sunset cast an ominous glow over the camp, the snow turning slightly red and orange as the shadows proceeded slowly, men and women receiving the evening's grub and then heading for spot to sit and eat.

Jesse stood eight spots away from receiving his food, if you could call it that. A viscous pile of grayish slop the size of a loose fist was hardly worthy of the title 'food'. Although, after what Jesse had been through today, anything was suitable to fill his stomach. Much of his squadron had been slaughtered. Some of his friends were dead, others wounded or still slowly dying. He had witnessed a great bloodbath, and it could have been avoided. The frontal assault was definitely not the wisest choice in this situation, but what control of the circumstances Jesse had was irrelevant. His job was to hear and obey. The Admiral orders the captains, the captain orders the commanders, the commanders order the officers, and the officers order him. That was how it worked, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, although inside of him he wished things could be a little different. Perhaps if he could have some say in a situation. What was the point of having the rank of Squadron Commander if it didn't give him any privileges?

Jesse was caught up in his thoughts, and had forgotten to move forward with the rest of the line. He had only just realized this when he received a shove from behind.

"Hey buddy, move it!" A tall man with a completely shaven head and an earring on each ear yelled to him. "Some people are hungry, you know!"

Jesse turned around and found himself staring at the tall man's chest plate. He looked up to see a mean looking troublemaker. His face was overrun with whiskers and his grin revealed that he was missing two teeth teeth. He had a gold chain around his neck that glimmered in the faint sunset. The guy was so large that he looked like he could pick up the corner of a house and then set it down again.

"Well? You gonna move or do I have to kick your ass?" The man said as he scrunched his right hand into a solid fist.

"Uh, yeah," Jesse stumbled. "I'll move. Sorry." Jesse slowly turned around and took several steps forward, as he noticed that there were only three more people to his front. "Jerk…" Jesse mumbled, looking downward at the stomped snow near his feet.

"You say somethin'?" The man behind him asked, leaking the words out of his mouth as if he were a snake.

"Nope." Jesse spryly replied, pretending as if he was only fairly sure that the man was talking to him. "Oh, great. You've done it again, Jesse. Nice going." He thought.

"Really?" The man almost spat in Jesse's face.

In an attempt to look tough, he turned around and slanted his head 90 degrees as he bit his bottom lip. "Really."

"That's interesting. Cause I could have sworn I heard you call me a jerk. N'if I aint mistakin', you're lying to me too. I hate lies. I don't tolerate liars. Lies are for little worms that cant sum up to what they've done, so they try to take the easy way out. Maybe you could use a lesson in my school, huh pal? Class convenes now."

Jesse was looking at his neck and trying not to tilt his head backwards in order to make the man think he was stronger than he looked. By now, several others had gathered around them anticipating a fight. "You must be mistaken. I didn't say anything, sorry."

"You apologize too much."

"Leave me alone, gigantor."

"That sounded like an order, little man."

"It was. My name is Jesse Markham, Squadron Commander of the United Earth Directorate. Back off, grunt."

"Trying to outrank me, huh? I don't buy this shit. Tell ya what, prove to me that you're a Squadron Commander and I'll drop it."

Jesse pointed to his chest plate, his finger an inch away from the sticker of a Squadron Commander, glued on long ago. He proudly had accepted the rank after being promoted at age nineteen, when his own Squadron Commander retired and elected someone to carry his promise on. Mercy, Fairness, and equality. That was what Commander Adrian Smith said to him before he died of old age five years ago. Beside the symbol were several other badges that he had earned throughout his enlistment in the Earth militant forces. One of which was a small rectangle on his right arm. Easily recognizable, the symbol of a free willed soldier was marked on his suit. That was the sign of true power on the Directorate military. According to rule 103a-57.3 in the Directorate military handbook, all soldiers un-drafted and in the army by free choice were to be treated as such, and could override the orders of any drafted or forced-into-service soldier within five rank's above one's own. Failure to obey the rule by a higher-ranking officer forced into the army would result in that officer being court marshaled and tried in a fair legal system in which one Admiral, two Lieutenants, two Captains, two Majors, and four Magistrates are present as a jury. In the even that not all positions can be filled in a reasonable amount of time, each empty position will be occupied by two others in the rank directly below that of the absent officer. In the event that a pardon is granted, the officer would be suspended from duty for 15-Days, and would be placed under careful watch for 30-Days. The rule was similar to the one disallowing someone of lower rank to disobey a valid order of an officer above his or her rank. The Directorate rules were strict, but nonetheless they ensured an efficient and productive procedure of events during times of war.

The big brute leaned over and stared at Jesse's badge. Big clear letters stated: 'United Earth Directorate Marine Corps – Squadron Commander'. Jesse, somewhat relieved that the situation would end here, took a deep breath and let it all out in a quick gust.

"I don't see anything. You're lying to me again." The man insisted as he stood back up to his full height. "Oh come on you dumbass, it's right there in bold letters. Now you're just picking on me. Shit, I wish I had my gun on me." Jesse, whose gun was back in barracks number 5b, said under his breath.. The man shoved Jesse in the shoulder, hurling him back a foot and nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Okay, liar. Now your going to answer to me." The man raised his fist into the air, and Jesse braced for impact. Just as he thought his nose was about to be shoved into his head, a voice stopped any such incident.

"Gentlemen, is there a problem?" A colonel approached the two through the mass of people surrounding them. He was a middle-aged male with a bushy mustache and awful breath.

The big man lowered his fist and put his arm around Jesse's neck. "No sir, we're pals. We were just fooling around."

"I see. Well, then I suggest you save it for later and get this line going again. These people are waiting for their food."

"Yes sir." Jesse humbly responded, as he turned toward the serving counter again, the brute copying.

"As for the rest of you," The colonel added, "get back into line. There's nothing to see here." The disappointed observers slowly broke and reformed the single-file masses. Jesse was next in line for his supper. All he had to say was that it had better be worth it. "Twenty-five minutes waiting around and doing nothing, a near bombardment by a colonel, and almost getting the crap beat out of me by a guy twice my size is deserving of a Chinese buffet, not whatever the hell HQ decided to barf up," he thought. Jesse looked over at the sun, which had nearly completely gone out of sight, save a few inches that just poked above the edge of sight. It would be just another minute or two until darkness cast itself over the camp.

"Next!" The man in front of Jesse turned to his right and headed for a seat, leaving Jesse at the front of the line staring at the chef. He was of average height, had a medium build, and looked about thirty-five years old. He was clean-shaven, regular looking, and the tall white hat he was wearing hid his hair color. However his eyebrows were light brown, suggesting that was the most likely color of his hair. The chef was wearing a white coat, similar to a butcher's, which was stained different colors several times. It made Jesse wonder what that food was really made out of.

Jesse took a step forward and offered the chef his plate by sticking it in front of him, and made split-second eye contact. The chef dug a large metal ladle into an enormous pot and scooped out some of the lumpy, grayish substance, plopping a single mound into the bowl. The stuff wiggled like Jell-O, and didn't break form. The chef stuck a spoon in the top of it and was getting ready to send him off when he saw that Jesse was seriously considering starving himself to death.

"A hardened form of protein and nutrients along with a heavy dose of calories, about 750, vegetable extracts, and some carbohydrate supplements. Basically, don't get shot and it'll keep ya alive and healthy." The chef explained.

Jesse forced a weak smile, gave a light nod, and pulled the bowl toward him as he turned to the right and walked away in disgust.

"Next!"

He walked slowly, almost not at all, to his dinner place. His feet made a squeaking sound as they crushed the snow beneath them. Some of the snow crusted to his boots and glimmered at the last specks of sunlight. After a good fifteen seconds of walking he got to a small area with some men sitting at it. There were five wooden logs on their side surrounding a fire, one of them occupied and the rest empty. One man was on his knees and just finishing igniting the flame as Jesse sat down on one of the empty logs. He looked up at the pine trees surrounding the entire right side of his current arrangement, a single missile turret built in the shelter of the miniature forest was revolving on the lookout for undesignated aircrafts. The image quickly disappeared as Jesse breathed, his breath rising upward in a thin, gray smog and distorting the view. He picked his spoon out of the dog food-like lump and played with the stuff a bit, mashing it around and stabbing his spoon into it.

"If you close your eyes it kind of tastes like oatmeal." The man next to Jesse said. Jesse recognized him as Miguel Fernandez, a good friend of his. Miguel was twenty-eight years old, and had dark olive skin. His Hispanic features took over his body, which was topped by a clean-shaven face and short black hair. He had one son back on Earth, Victor, and at age six was forced to say goodbye, perhaps having to face his father's death and the fact that he may never see him again.

"Reassuring. What do they call this stuff?" Jesse asked

"Don't know. Most people are calling it goop, but I call it shit." He had a non-existent accent, speaking perfect English, perfect Spanish, and a little Portuguese.

Jesse chuckled. "That bad huh?"

The brute approached the three and looked down at Jesse. Oh great… Jesse thought as he looked up at the massive body-builder.

"Mind if I sit?" He asked in that same, deep voice he had threatened Jesse with earlier. Jesse didn't want to sit near him, but did he really have a choice? If he told him no, would he get his lights punched out? Jesse looked to his side at Miguel, who promptly raised his eyebrows, signifying that they didn't have a choice.

"Go ahead." Miguel stated, turning his hand to the side and sticking his arm out showing the brute where to sit.

"Thanks." He said as he sat down, bowl of the same stuff that Jesse had in his hand. As soon as he got comfortable he grabbed the metal spoon out from the top of the goop, scooped up a large quantity of the stuff, and shoved it in his mouth, obviously expecting the worst. He made a few smacking sounds and then opened his eyes as he shrugged his left shoulder in approval.

"Well, gigantor?" Jesse asked him, still wondering if he should taste the food. The man put his spoon back into his bowl, wiped his mouth with the top of his hand, and looked up at Jesse, still slightly hunched over and looking angry. He finished chewing, and then opened his mouth.

"Marlon." He said in a kind tone.

Jesse wasn't sure what he meant. "Huh?"

"My name. It's Marlon. Marlon Derk."

"Oh… Marlon. I didn't know they named guys like you, being so big and all."

Marlon chuckled. "You know, you're not so bad. A few days with me, sir, and I'll teach you how to live the right way."

"Private, I order you to tell me what this food tastes like and if I should eat it!" Jesse played around with the man a little bit.

"Go ahead and try it. Kinda tastes like… soup concentrate."

"If you close your eyes, it kind of tastes like oatmeal." Miguel repeated.

The other man at the fire had his face into the food, and didn't even look up. Either he was really hungry, or the stuff wasn't so bad. Jesse formed an O shape with his lips, took a deep breath, and then lifted a bunch of the stuff with his spoon into his mouth. He closed his lips, dragged out the spoon and moved the goop around with his tongue. It was half-cold. Obviously it started hot, but with the below zero weather it quickly changed temperature. The softness of it allowed him to chew it without using his teeth (he pushed it against the top of his mouth with his tongue), and it left an odd coating in his mouth that his saliva just couldn't wash away. The lumps quickly turned runny, and the food slightly changed texture similar to the effect of cotton candy. The aftertaste was horrible, something like a rotten apple covered in worms, but it quickly went away.

"Yuck." Jesse said making a face.

"Ah, it's not great," Said the man next to Miguel, "but it does what it's supposed to do."

"It had better."

The man stuck his hand forward, which Jesse quickly grabbed. He pumped twice, and released.

"I'm Paul Blivy. Who might you be?" Paul was a fairly large guy, between Jesse and Marlon's size, who looked about 200 pounds. He had greenish eyes (almost silvery), white skin, and spiked hair about a half-inch long.

"I'm Jesse Markham, Directorate Squadron Commander. Nice to meet you, Paul."

"You know, they say friendships between Commanders and grunts never work out. In fact, they say that it's probably a bad idea, since Commanders often have to order the grunts to do something they don't want, it can cause problems."

"Yeah, well, too late for that now. You should have told me that before I knew your name." Jesse sneered out at the Paul.

He went back to eating the goop. As long as he kept shoving it in his mouth, he wouldn't get any of that awful aftertaste until he was finished the bowl. Nobody said very much, now and then Marlon told a dirty joke and everyone laughed, but for the most part everyone was silent during dinner. In fact, the majority of the camp was silent. The line-ups for goop were still and silent, and the campfire groups didn't say much. Jesse looked into the fire in the center of his group. To his right was Miguel, and then to his left was Paul. There was an empty log beside Paul, and then was Marlon. After that there was a space a few feet wide, and the circle went back to Jesse. The fire was captivating, it's orange glow reflecting off of Jesse's shiny white boots and heating the cold air around him. The sky was now full of stars with the sun's departure, and so the twinkling in the sky added that all-important sense of hope to Jesse's attitude. A mere two hours remained until he would find himself back on the battlefield, his men and himself once again trying to beat through Boralis' defenders and capture the city. He looked over his friends, two of them had only been his friends for minutes, and he saw the urgency in their eyes, and the sense of rejection in this place. Why were they here? Where they here to save these people from the Zerg? Why were they saving these people form the Zerg? There was much unknown about the workings in the universe, however Jesse just could not understand why the Zerg had come to wreak havoc on this once beautiful habitat.

"You know," Marlon started, still chewing his food. "they say that the Zerg have expanded their strains. Word of mouth says that they have new warrior breeds, even more vicious and ruthless than before."

"Really?" Miguel asked with interest.

"Yep."

Paul jumped into the conversation. "I hear that they're mutations."

"Mutations?" Jesse asked

"Yeah, they aren't hatched from an egg like all the rest of the Zerg, but the already-born things actually mutate into something stronger."

"Where'd you hear this?" Miguel requested an answer in a state of disbelief.

"I heard the captain talking about it with Admiral DuGalle. I passed his room inside the command center as I was delivering parts to one of the mechanics. Nobody has seen one of these things yet, but they are supposed to be nearly invincible. Tear down entire legions of men in seconds, and there isn't a damn thing that can be done about it."

"Incredible. Who have they attacked so far?"

"Well, the Dominion has been trying to reclaim parts of their airspace. They came across several Hives on Korhal, and halfway through one of the battles Mengsk's entire color guard fell back in disarray with casualties in excess of seventy percent."

"Holy shit. We're supposed to fight these things?"

"Dunno. The Protoss have some new stuff in their arsenal too, though."

"Ah yeah," Miguel included. "I saw something odd when we fought them in space a few days back. HQ called them corsairs, and they took our wraiths down like clockwork. Some sort of energy disruption field malfunctions the mechanics of our planes. Pilots even reported tissue damage from the things. What's worse is they are so damn small and quick-moving that they're almost impossible to hit… Probably cheap as Hell to manufacture, too. The only good thing about them is they don't seem to be able to attack ground units because of a horizontally latched generator on their front end. That might be the only way to take 'em down."

Jesse listened with intent as Marlon unraveled his knowledge, too. "Those Protoss are so powerful. It's too bad that we can't have them on our side against the Zerg. I was in a bunker with three other guys, and we unleashed a clip of bullets each at those Zealots. They just kept coming. We tried to dive out the window as they ripped the back door off, totally immune to the electrical barbwire it was covered in. I think I might have been the only one that got out alive, but I didn't stick around to find out. I got my ass on the nearest Dropship and told that pilot that if he didn't take off that I was gonna kick his ass."

"You commandeered an entire dropship? What the Hell is your problem, anyway?"

"Oh I wasn't the only one on board. The co-pilot and some crew men were fucking around inside, and some other guys got on before the door shut."

Jesse smacked his forehead with his hand and shook his head in disbelief, as he thought to himself. "If you do something like that, don't you get court marshaled? They obviously don't know about it yet. If I don't tell the authorities, they'll bust me, too. If they find out that is... Then again, if I do tell, I'll get beaten up for sure. Oh man."




About half an hour later, Rikter was nearly finished his Dinner. For dessert he had ordered a thick slice of lemon marangue pie, complete with a glass of milk. He now had a full milk mustache above his upper lip, signifying that he liked the food. With only a single bite of pie left, he pondered whether or not he should eat it. After all, he was really full, and another bite might cause him to burst. The bottom buckle on his uniform pants was undone, and his stomach was bulging from his unbuttoned shirt. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff." He thought to himself, contently. He picked up his fork one last time and slid the teeth under the crusty shell, preparing himself. He took a deep breath, and forced the pie down his throat.

Now, full as he had ever been, he wiped the mustache off of his face with the back of his hand and then wiped the crumbs off of himself with a napkin. He threw it into the middle of the plate, and gave his stomach a three hundred sixty degree rub. The waiter once again entered the dinner room, the metal door sliding upwards and revealing him. This time he had a tiny bowl in his hand, wrapped by a small cloth. He approached Rikter and smiled.

"Was the dessert satisfying, sir?"

"Very much. Delicious."

"Thank you. I shall give your complements to the chef. Anything else for you tonight?"

"Oh, no. I think if I ate another thing food would be coming up my throat."

"Very well then, sir." The waiter placed the small bowl on the table and meticulously placed the napkin beside it. "For your hands, sir." He said as he took away Rikter's utensils, glass, and plate.

"Thanks." Rikter sent the waiter away with a farewell and then put his palm over the steaming bowl, feeling the heat of it soothe his hand. There were two half-slices of lemon in the bowl, one of which Rikter picked out and squeezed into the water. The second he left in, as he dabbed his fingers in the hot water to clean off any grease that might still be residing on them. He rubbed his fingers together, and then he slid them out of the fist-sized bowl, flicking them to remove excess water and them wiping on the small cloth.

"That was a good meal, maybe now I should try to get a bit of sleep before we go back to fight." he sighed to himself. He hadn't slept in a long time, and it was something that he could obviously use. He sniffed, returning some of the snot in his nose up into his nasal passages. A quick beep filled the room as he was about to get out of his chair. One of the monitors on the wall lit up, revealing the face of his primary adjutant. She was a young girl with a shaved head and black cap, the UED emblem sewed on the front. The adjutant spoke out, slightly embarrassed but trying to hide it.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you without warning, captain. However we have recovered the results of the battle at Boralis."

"Read them to me, please."

"Very well. Directorate casualties are heavy, both on the ground and in the air. We have 1622 casualties in total. 193 deaths, and another 1429 have been wounded. Most are moderate wounds and patients are reported stable. 4% are in critical condition, and eight patients not expected to make it through the night. 14 damaged arclite siege tanks have been salvaged and appear recoverable, and another 92 have been destroyed utterly. Goliath walkers are mostly intact. 9 have been destroyed utterly, and 17 are recoverable and undergoing repairs. Your allowance of wraith fighter planes has expired, and the remaining vessels have been ordered to return to the fleet under the permission of Vice-Admiral Stukov. 180 vessels have been shot down, none salvageable. Pilot casualties are ridiculously heavy. 35% of those shot down were unable to escape before impact."

"Son of a bitch! What's the report of Dominion casualties?"

"Dominion casualties are inconclusive. Early conflicting reports convey 700 casualties, others as many as 2500. Goliath walkers and other armored ground units are estimated to be nearly fully intact. Nearly all front line bunkers, turrets and assorted defense nodes have been raised. Our agents report that due to a tactical air-to-ground strike nearly all arclite siege tanks have been destroyed. Our experts have deciphered some heavily encoded transmissions leaving Braxis, which appear to be requesting a new batch of tanks from Braxis' sister planet, Tikyl Prime. However reinforcements cannot arrive at Braxis for nine standard hours. If we are able to capture all of Braxis' major cities within this time, the fleet will be able to set up a blockade with which to intercept the convoy and commandeer all of it's belongings. As far as Boralis' physical status goes, we have been unable to gather any intelligence. We have no idea as to how many units are still defending the city, but it may be possible that they now outnumber us. We have been unable to collect anymore information on the status of the city due to its tight perimeter."

"Thank you. Is there anything else?"

"Actually Captain, there is. Seconds ago, I received a communiqué request from Dominion Sergeant Bill Therus, with basic identification requests and some questions pertaining to your assault on Boralis. Shall I patch you through?"

"No. If the Dominion wants to know who we are, they can contact the Admiral. I'm not authorized to speak with any Dominion representatives for any reason other than terms of surrender. Disconnect the call. Is there anything else?"

"No, Cap—Wait… I am receiving an incoming transmission from a non-hostile representative identifying himself as Lieutenant Samir Duran. The signal is being broadcasted, meaning that the origin is Terran, but not Directorate… or Dominion. Shall I patch you through?"

"Not Directorate or…" Rikter said the rest of the sentence to himself under his breath. "What the Hell? Don't put me on in here." Rikter stood up and struggled to redo the buttons on his jacket as he scrambled towards the door. "Tell him that I'll be a minute, and patch it through at the main console. I'll take the call there. I want you to be present, and prepare to contact the fleet in case I need to get the Admiral on the line. I'll need to talk to him anyway." Rikter stumbled out the door and into the hallway as he fidgeted with his belt-buckle, trying to get himself presentable for a conference. The screen in the dinner room went black, with small white letters displayed in the center. 'Transmission ended. 2-19-42.18:22:54'. Seconds later, the monitor turned off, with the letters disappearing. The metal door slid downward, remaining closed but unlocked.




Rikter hurried down the main hall of Fortune 3, past the marines guarding doors and directly to the main control room, in the very heart of the command center. Two marines stood tall at the door, both of them with open visors, and a gauss rifle resting on their shoulder, their right hand on the handle, and no finger on the trigger. It was standard Directorate procedure for soldiers on guard duty. Rikter stopped in front of them, turned towards the door, and they both saluted him with a swift hand motion as he greeted them.

"Evening, gentlemen." Rikter didn't wait for a reply but got one anyway.

"Gd'evnin', sir. What's yer business?" The marine on the right of the large metal door asked.

"My business? My business is ordering you to get the Hell out of my way before I have to grab you by the ass and throw you into the wall! Can't you see that I'm in a hurry?"

"I'll need identification. No exceptions."

Rikter looked at the marine that was talking to as if he was going to kill him and eat him for a snack. "Captain Ian Rikter, dammit! Open the door!"

"Capt- oh! Sorry sir. I didn't recognize you. Forgive me."

The marine to the left of the door turned hard on his heel and punched a few buttons on a small keyboard. Each keystroke was accompanied by a high-pitched beep, and then several close together beeps adjunct to a retina scan and dental recording. The small camera above the rudimentary door finished it's work, and the monolithic piece of metal slid up, making a deafening screech followed by a 'bang' as it hit the top of it's container rails.

Rikter stepped inside. Four separate flat panel monitors were clearly visible in the center of the room. Each was hanging by wire from the roof, and behind them were interconnecting messes of wires and cords. Nestled below the monitors was a great computer panel, manned by three technical workers. As Rikter walked further in, he saw four sparsely spread marines, and several other smaller computer panels each occupied by a single person. The marines saluted him, and then stood straight up trying to look sharp. Rikter nodded at them, and gave a salute of his own.

"At ease," he calmly expressed to the soldiers.

One of the men at the central computer turned slowly in his chair as he also saluted Rikter. "Greetings, Captain. What can I do for you?" He said with a real enough smile. He stood up, not due to his role but out of sheer respect and good manners.

"Establish a wave link with Noreen. Frequency 19.02-5, channel 1. Prevent outside view of the conversation. Prepare to accept incoming transmission from unknown source."

The man sat down in his chair again and hastily began pushing buttons and typing commands. "Establishing comm.-link… Now. Waiting for a reply."

Green dots appeared on the monitor furthest to the right, and proceeded across the screen in tandem. After roughly three and a half seconds, Rikter's primary adjutant appeared, replacing the dots.

"Hello, Captain. All systems are prepared, and I have the Lieutenant on the line. Shall I connect him to you?"

"Yes. Make sure that the conversation cannot be viewed by any outside sources, Noreen. I want full security on this line."

"It's already been taken care of, sir. Sending transmat to you now."

The screen showed Noreen looking down and concentrating on the buttons on her keyboard. Her brow turned into a short frown, which was quickly replaced by a sign of relief as she looked back up at her own screen.
"Captain, I'm having some major static problems, but I think I've neutralized them. The interference appears to be coming from a high-energy source in Boralis, possibly a comsat station, but I'm not positive."

"So that means that we have been scanned?"

"It appears so."

"Then they know where we are. There isn't much time left, so we have to get hurrying."

The left most monitors filled with static, the sound coming through the speakers surrounding the room. A quick breakage in the irritation revealed a face, but it disappeared as quickly as it showed up. It took another few seconds, but finnaly a clear picture came up. A medium-sized black man was looking at Rikter, his right ear pierced by an earring. He had thick, full lips and brown eyes, an average nose, and two thick brows above his eyes. On top of his head was a dark-blue cap, no insignia. The Lieutenant spoke first, as if he were the superior in the conversation.

"Ah, Captain. It is good to finnaly meet you. I am Lieutenant Samir Duran of the Confederate resistance forces." He spoke in a cool, calm manner.

Rikter thought to himself. "Confederate resistance forces? What the—? No, it can't be. The Confederate government has been dead for three years. How could he possibly be a 'Fed? Something isn't right here, better ask some questions."

"Lieutenant, as you likely know I am Captain Ian Rikter. I am a very busy person, so please save me the pleasantries and get straight to the point."

"Very well, Captain." Duran looked down at a keyboard and typed for a few seconds before looking up again.

"What are you doing?" Rikter asked in a suspicious tone.

"I am just running a scanning program through the server's filters. You don't want this conversation to be intercepted by outsiders, do you?"

"Okay, very well. I think you know standard procedure, do you not?"

"Of course. Base of operations resides at 1280, main supply line originates from moon outpost Gantra. Direct mineral and vespene gas repository located at 1284. Adequate military barracking located at 1280. Adequate Starport facilities located at 1281. Adequate armor manufacturing located at 1280."

"Noreen, begin a scan at those co-ordinates."

"Scan in progress captain, results in ten seconds minimum, twenty maximum. Twenty-five will return inconclusive." The adjutant leaned over, her face no longer visible as she worked on the keyboard in order to produce the most efficient results of the search. Rikter looked back at Duran who was patiently waiting as the scan was being processed. He then looked back at Noreen, still fidgeting on her keyboard, her strange work-related frown clearly visible. She looked up and her arm flew past visibility on the screen as she flicked a switch above her own monitor.

"Captain, the search is complete. All co-ordinates are correct."

"Good. I'm sorry for the delay Lieutenant. The following are our credentials: Base of operations at 1465. Main supply line originates from primary fleet beyond the range of your sensors. Minerals and Vespene gas repositories are located at 1464. Adequate military barracking and armor facilities all located at 1466. No star port facilities. You may scan if you see fit."

"I'll get on that right away. Captain, I don't meant to be a runt, but you failed to mention your organization to me. May I ask who you are?"

"No, Mr. Duran. You may not."

"May I ask why?"

"No, you may not. Lieutenant, I am short on time. If you would be so kind, please state your business."

"Well, Captain. I was originally hoping to know where you came from, but since you will not tell me I am somewhat hesitant to further my offer. I will play the cards, nonetheless. My party is interested in a mutual alliance, which we feel would be extremely beneficial for both of our groups."

"Really? How interesting. I'll tell you what. Let me get HQ on the line. I am sure that they would be more than happy to confer with you. Please set receivers to frequency 102a, channel 1."

"You got it." Duran leaned over again, this time typing on the keyboard for a longer period as to attempt to establish the best connection.

"Noreen, contact the fleet. Get the Admiral on the line if possible, and tell them it is of utmost importance."

"Of course, Captain." Noreen replied as she went to work on her computer. Nearly a minute passed between the initiation of the connection to when Noreen received a response from the fleet in high orbit of Braxis. Admiral DuGalle's secretary answered the call.

"Yes, can I help you?" She asked Noreen.

"I represent Captain Ian Rikter." Noreen began. "There is a matter of utmost importance and the Captain requests a communication with the Admiral."

"I'm sorry. Admiral DuGalle is occupied, and has asked not to be disturbed for any reason. If you like, I can connect you with the Vice-Admiral."

"That would be appreciated."

The secretary punched some buttons on her keyboard, and her face soon was replaced with static and then an image of Alexei Stukov, Vice-Admiral and second in command of the UED expedition.

He spoke to Rikter quickly and pleasantly. "Ah, Captain. What is it that I can do for you? If it is about the air support, I'm sorry. I felt that it would be best to withdraw for the time being."

"No, sir. It has nothing to do with the fleet. I'm actually calling about a diplomatic matter."

"Oh?" Alexei's expression turned surprised, and overly intelligent.

"If you would please set your comm. to accept a call from one Lieutenant Samir Duran, same frequency. I have him waiting on the line, and he wishes to speak with you."

"Very well, Captain." Alexei paused for a moment to type, and then looked back up. "Alright, everything is ready."

Noreen typed some more, and within a few seconds time Duran appeared on Alexei's monitor. Again, he decided it was his role to speak first.

"Admiral Stukov, I am Lieutenant Samir Duran of the Confederate resistance forces. We are a faction sworn to the defense of Confederate rule, and the end of Dominion government. I have come with an offer of allegiance for you. In return for my knowledge and skills, I ask only for amnesty."

Alexei looked at him for a second, and then laughed.

"Hahah… Lieutenant, you have absolutely no idea who we are or what we have come here to do. What in your right mind could suggest that we would side with you?"

"I have been monitoring your forces laying in to Dominion strongholds, so I figured that we were on the same side. Was I wrong to assume this?"

"No, Lieutenant, you were not. But before this goes any further, I am going to tell you that we are not a rebellious faction such as your own. Rather, we represent the combined power of the United Earth Directorate. We have come to this sector to reclaim the Dominion colonies and extinguish the alien threat in this area. We would be more than happy to ally ourselves with you, that is, if you can explain what use you will be to us."

"Earth?" Duran thought to himself. "But what could Earth possibly be doing all the way out here? It would have taken… Calculating travel at five-thousand times light-speed… It would have taken nearly... Oh no. I wonder if they know?" Duran began to speak: "Well, I possess intimate knowledge of Braxis and the surrounding area. Plus, I can show you an alternate route to Boralis which may give us an edge."

"Very well, Lieutenant. Consider yourself and your men the first colonial conscripts of the United Earth Directorate."