"Yeah, I knew a marine who became familiar with his commanding officer. And I use the past tense because that marine ended up with a bullet between his eyes two days later."

PFC Ardo Melnikov, Confederate Marine Corps

StarCraft: Loomings

Chapter 10: Chain of Command

0849 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Explorer-class science vessel Charon

They'd done it. They'd won.

Well, at least he supposed Alpha Squadron had succeeded. Duke seemed to slot the words "boy" and/or "yokel" into every other sentence that he uttered, but the facts were still crystal clear. Alpha Squadron had ventured into Los Andares and had reclaimed it from the xenomorphs.

"And therefore, our casualties will not hinder further progress," concluded the colonel. "You got that down, boy?"

In different circumstances, Kurze might have seen fit to give Duke some of the "good ol' fashioned discipline" that he went on about so often, but in light of the man's achievements, the Cerberus commander decided it wasn't worth it. Coordinating forces from a siege tank wouldn't have been easy, but with the fighting scattered and chaotic, perhaps being in the thick of the action worked out for the best. Still, regardless of his style of command, Duke had done his job and Kurze supposed he should give him credit for that.

"Yes, I got that," said the lieutenant colonel, trying to hear both himself and Duke as the Charon's bridge staff cheered. "I'll want a full report soon and from your co-commanders, but for now just sit tight."

"Sit tight!?" Duke asked incredulously. "We have those critters on the run and you want me to-..."

"Colonel, we don't know where or even if the xenomorphs have a base of operations," interrupted Kurze, exasperated that even after fighting tooth and nail against an alien species, the man could remain extraordinarily short sighted. "For now, I want you to hold your position inside the city and deal with the situation."

The Duke Family scion muttered something that...well, something that was unfit for any civilized company. Still, as volatile as he was, Kurze knew Duke would obey orders. He might not like the idea of staying put at the city, but without any distinct enemy to fight, his desire for action would be easy to keep in check. Besides, he had to find a replacement for Captain Fisher and deal with the civilians and colonial militia still inside the city, initial projections of their survival rate grossly under exaggerated.

That makes a change.

Duke wouldn't like it of course but that was his problem and unless the xenomorphs came knocking, it was a problem Kurze was entirely willing to let him handle. And making it clear to his subordinates that he was retiring to his quarters and was not to be disturbed, the Cerberus commander had only one problem in mind that he intended dealing with at this point in time. Or at least, after he collapsed in his desk chair and closed eyes both organic and cybernetic and had a ten minute doze. A doze that ended with two words coursing through his mind...

Public relations.

Two simple words. Two words that Xavier Kurze despised. As per Cerberus' nature, the public spotlight was something to be avoided, but he was in command of all Confederate forces and regardless of Collins' presence, of the planet itself in a sense. And with the xenomorphs having attacked a major population centre, any attempt to deny their existence at this point would be futile. It was unlikely that such information had spread off-world yet, but the facade that the Confederacy was still dealing with the Sons of Korhal wouldn't last long if it did.

Kurze groaned, rubbing his forehead and suppressing the desire to take a shower, a desire that eventually won out.

Being at the top of the chain of command is overrated.

The water helped (real water, not one of those cheap sonic cleansers thank you very much) his mood, but not his mind. The xenomorphs could be defeated, he knew that-unlike the Arathi Basin and Flannum Installation, Los Andares had been a victory, pure and simple. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if it would have been better if Alpha Squadron had failed or simply took too long to arrive. Confederate High Command was still refusing to authorize the use of nuclear weaponry, but if Los Andares had been well and truly lost, they might have been inclined to change their minds. Seeing Chau Sara's capital going up in a radioactive cloud would be reminiscent of Korhal, not to mention in defiance of the Confederacy's ban of full scale nukes on habitable worlds, but could still be easily related to Mengsk's rebel group who, as propaganda held, was intending to do to Tarsonis what the Confederacy had done to Korhal. On the other hand, it would also set a precedent that would allow Kurze to use such weapons against any more concentrations of xenomorphs encountered

Oh yeah, and it would have remove any alien bodies too.

Sighing, Kurze stepped out of the shower, drying himself as he swallowed some analgesic pills to deal with the onset of a headache. The Charon had been monitoring communications to and from Chau Sara ever since arriving in the system and theoretically, it would be a simple matter to increase the security levels to cover the inevitable media coverage of Los Andares, UNN almost certainly having at least one reporter who would be willing to report on aliens that were practically movie material. But even with a communications lockdown, these things had a way of leaking out. The Confederacy would have to do something drastic.

Or I will, thought Kurze bitterly as he cleared his facial hair with a sonic razor. Bad enough that I still have to remove the remaining xenomorphs but...

Kurze stopped. Stopped thinking, stopped worrying, even stopped shaving and dropped the razor on his toe as a result. And ignoring the throbbing pain, Kurze realized he'd been getting ahead of himself.

Public relations aren't my problem. The Charon can play its part, but even if they were my problem, I don't have the means for anything drastic. The xenomorphs on the other hand...

Quickly getting dressed, Kurze knew his job wasn't done. The xenomorphs may have been defeated at Los Andares, but to assume that their force here as a whole was too would be wishful thinking. They had to have a focal point somewhere and Kurze knew that the Charon was the best bet at finding it. And sending a report off to high command, Kurze prepared to do so, along with preparing Alpha Squadron for the coming conflict.

Like finding a replacement for Captain Fisher...

1852 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Los Andares

There was an old saying that "too much of a good thing is bad for you."

Robert Perry was familiar with such a saying in much the same way that every terran was. Eating candy will make you sick. Spending time at the VRcade will give you square eyes. Social activity must be balanced with time spent on homework. Yet having reached adulthood and a position in Alpha Squadron, the phrase had a far more specific meaning-the CMC Powered Combat Suit. A piece of equipment that for all its advantages, made soldiers soft, as some argued, CQC and natural resilience being made redundant and thus liabilities when those who used them were bereft of their power armor.

Right now, walking through the streets of what was left of Los Andares, Perry had to agree with such sentiments. Because forced to wear regulation khaki to cut down on power usage (or something equally ridiculous), the staff sergeant was aware of how cold Chau Sara could be.

Even now I've got childlike assumptions, thought Perry bitterly, recalling how it was natural to assume that desert worlds were warm and remained warm. However, while Chau Sara was far from being a desert world in the same vein as Dylar IV or Sonyan, it was still fairly arid outside its equatorial regions, resulting in a lack of cloud cover. As such, it could become quite warm during the day and as Perry had discovered, quite cold at night. Not even the heat island effect of Chau Sara's capital could offset this.

Then again, there wasn't much of a capital left.

Sighing, Perry walked down Starkey Crescent, passing some Alphas engaged in a game of what looked like poker with some of Los Andares' local population that weren't conforming to the norm that he'd become used to over the day, specifically yelling abuse at their saviors or being too shell shocked to do so. The xenomorphs had inflicted a horrific death toll, but had left the city itself mainly untouched. In contrast, the heavy weaponry of the Blood Hawks had done a significant amount of collateral damage. Not as bad as what the NCO had seen back in the Guild Wars and was indeed only a fraction of what the Confederacy had available in the system, but the combination of two different forms of damage had sent what was left of Los Andares' population over the brink.

And who can blame them? We moved into this city under the assumption that no-one was left alive and ended up destroying half the city as a result. And thanks to that assumption, we barely have enough supplies or staff to treat them.

Gritting his teeth, Perry knew that there was more to it than that. The assumption that the city's population hadn't managed to hide away was reasonable in light of what the Blood Hawks had seen and heard on the M1, but the trickle of aid into the zone wasn't. Duke had shown himself to be a brilliant commander in the field of combat but dealing with its aftermath was a different story. New supply lines had to be set up, field medics had to be briefed and considerations had to be made for Alpha Squadron itself. Even now, with the sun setting, little had been done to help the city. And while Perry could spot a group of marines handing out rations to some children and another group in conversation with some of the "ineffective" militiamen, he'd seen and heard enough over the past few hours to know that these were exceptions to the rule. A rule that had been set up by oversight and some unannounced agenda that spoke of someone trying to keep the situation under wraps.

The staff sergeant sat on a bench, fiddling with his slugthrower as part of an attempt to resist using it. It was strange really, that while he'd seen much worse than this before, it was only at Los Andares that he was being affected. He knew that the last few days had changed him, though whether this was for the better or not was subjective. He could rationalize the situation all he wanted, but fighting hostile aliens was a far cry from other human beings. Strange, how conflict with the xenomorphs was seemingly inevitable yet weakened his faith in its effectiveness more than inter-species war, a testament to mankind's ability to act as a monster rather than a rational species.

And maybe that's it. The xenomorphs don't seem to have a choice, while we do. And it's only when we find ourselves without a choice that we realize how much we've taken our past choices for granted.

Perry grimaced. "We" included himself and he wasn't going to deny it.

It was perhaps not the best time to develop individuality and a moral center, but at least fighting the xenomorphs didn't require the latter. Not fighting them did however, because outside combat, the situation wasn't so clear. And having spent his career aiding the decisions made by individuals rather than taking the initiative himself, Los Andares didn't provide ideal circumstances. And while still willing to take such challenges head on, the staff sergeant found himself wishing for a brief respite.

With Lieutenant Wilkes requesting his position at company HQ a few minutes later, his wish was granted.

1903 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Fort Keldathu (current Office of the Colonial Magistrate)

Magistrate Collins liked watching the news.

At least, that's what he'd say if he was asked, that he was interested in what was occurring in the Koprulu Sector. In all truth however, this was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration. Yes, nothing would ever happen on Chau Sara, but you could only believe so much on UNN these days, even if Confederate media laws were being relaxed. But specifically, as per UNN's branch on his world, he was rather interested in those who delivered the news rather than the content of what they reported. Watching, not listening, as the case was.

Not that I have to listen anyway, thought the magistrate, munching on some mealbars as he gazed at the recently installed flatscreen. I know what happened.

So did the rest of Chau Sara's citizens for that matter, or at least they would after reporter Brenda Frost finished her piece on Los Andares and the recent events that had transpired there. And as little to no recordings were taken to be played, the entire piece was simply her talking, taking up more screen time than three reporters put together under normal circumstances. Which, much to Collins' subtle delight, would ensure that her practice of keeping the three top buttons of her shirt undone instead of what appeared to be the normal two for most reporters.

And so it comes to pass, thought the magistrate bitterly as Miss Frost (he'd always kept tabs on the former term). The story's out and I still haven't got that woman to agree to a personal interview.

Part of Collins mind, most likely the part that harkened back to his days in the Colonial Fleet, was asking what the hell he was doing, sitting down as word about alien invaders was released across Chau Sara and within a few hours, would be aired on Tarsonis itself. Still, the majority of Collins' mind, the part that had declined along with his physical state, pointed out that there was no reason to worry. The xenomorphs had gone public, but there was nothing to link it to him. Sure, people would find reasons to blame their magistrate-that's what people did. But with the presence of Alpha Squadron and what Collins suspected would soon be a heavier presence on Cerberus' part as well, the public eye would be on the Confederacy as a whole rather than a single individual.

And I thought that being magistrate of a backwater world had no advantages. And hey, that asshole Kurze will get what's coming to him.

Smiling, Collins balanced his remote with one hand while holding a mealbar in the other, toying with changing the channel. Frost might not be on until tomorrow night, but it was likely that UNN would continue reporting on Los Andares for at least another ten minutes. Kurze had seen fit to at least inform him that the operation was a success, but as far as he could tell, his request for a lack of collateral damage had been flatly ignored. Some official figures, or at least estimated ones from the media in regards to the damage would be useful to cite when he gave the cybernetic freak a piece of his mind.

It can probably wait, thought Collins, seeing that Frost had now engaged in a liaison with anchorman Ted Rowling, the imagery just as distinct on half a screen as it was on a full one. I can still take the time to enjoy the sights of…static?

Collins blinked. Partly because of the gray-white static he was seeing, partly because he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The flatscreen had only been installed this morning and already he was having problems with reception?

"Oh for flick's sake!" Collins exclaimed, dropping both his remote and mealbar and making his way over to the screen. "Can't this flicking piece of flicking junk work for more than one flicking second!?"

The continuing static seemed to suggest that the answer was in the negative and that whatever the problem was, it would take more than Collins' limited knowledge of electronics to fix. The screen and wires were built into the wall so there was nothing to fool around with and a trio of servo servants had installed the set. Slow and monotonous perhaps, but those robots were still efficient and methodical. The chances of them making a mistake during installation were rather remote.

Machines are overrated, thought Collins to himself, picking up a data chip from his desk. Artificial intelligence on the other hand…

Although leaving the Adjutant of his old office had been one of the few boons of leaving his old office in Los Andares (the xenomorph attack notwithstanding), Collins had decided that in his current situation, such an AI would probably be a necessary evil. Kurze informed him because of his position as magistrate and nothing more and would probably choose to ignore it completely if it suited him. As such, he'd requisitioned an Adjutant after the attack on Los Andares-that he'd been contacted at all was something of a fluke and with an Adjutant monitoring Chau Sara's communications, his string of luck would be set to extend.

And be a handy tool to see what's wrong with my flatscreen, thought the magistrate with satisfaction, slotting in the Adjutant's data chip into the system's slot usually used for digital uploads. Maybe she can find out what's wrong with the system.

In one sense, Collins' hopes were founded, given that the Adjutant did find out what was wrong. In a sense they weren't, because, the flatscreen wasn't the problem…

…the global communications lockdown being enforced by the Charon was.

1912 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Explorer-class science vessel Charon

"There's a what down there?"

Kurze sighed. He didn't know why people insisted on questioning what they heard as a way of expressing disbelief in a manner similar to if they didn't hear it at all. Granted, as per his time in Cerberus and having made his way from one side of the Koprulu Sector to the other, he was perhaps exempted from it as very little surprised him anymore. But he'd hoped that Duke's response to the recent information would be akin to "alright, bring it on!" rather than "what the hell?"

Maybe he's not always as direct as he makes himself out to be, thought the Cerberus commander, sitting on his bridge chair as he conversed with the colonel via a vidsys. Or maybe his accommodation isn't to his liking.

Being a member of the Duke Family and commander of Alpha Squadron, Kurze supposed that the colonel expected his quarters to either be Spartan or luxurious. However, the drab apartment he'd commandeered as his personal quarters in Los Andares as part of the field HQ he'd set up was somewhere in between. And as Duke's outburst had shown, he liked things to be crystal clear.

"As I said, Edmund, there's some kind of hive cluster about fifty kilometers southwest of the city," said Kurze. "And as High Command has yet to get back to me, we can assume that we are still unauthorized to use WMDs. Therefore, the only option we've got is to send Alpha Squadron in to-…"

"Oh great plan boy, send us in without any planning whatsoever," snarled Duke, the use of his forename having not gone unnoticed. "And how the hell did you miss something so close to Los Andares? We had no inclination as to the xenomorphs' base of operations before they attacked and now suddenly we do!?"

Kurze had kept the volume of the vidsys low in anticipation of such an outburst. No reason to distract the bridge crew or let them get ideas about who was truly in command of Confederate forces on Chau Sara. Still, the irony of Duke's comments on planning aside, the colonel had a point. One that he intended to address.

"You have a point colonel," said the Cerberus commander. "That this hive cluster went unnoticed seems incredible. However, as these images show, it's to be expected."

Pressing a button, Kurze transferred a set of images to Duke, the look on his face informing Kurze that he'd received them in the same manner as his query of "what the flick?" did.

Kurze was looking at the images as well, still having trouble to believe what he was seeing. A dropship flyby at 0800 hours had revealed nothing, yet another at 0900 hours had spotted a single structure. Using the Charon, Cerberus had watched the emergence of some kind of xenomorph colony. As the hourly images showed, not only did the central structure undergo two transformations over time, but the spread of the substance known as creep stemmed from it, supporting a variety of other organic structures.

"A base of operation," Duke murmured. "And they did all this in a manner of hours…"

Kurze nodded, going on to explain how the central structure had been designated as a hatchery, its two subsequent metamorphoses as a lair and hive respectively. The functions of the other structures were unknown, though the anti-air ones that took down Second Squad by the Flannum Installation were present, but overall, they mattered little. The hatchery, or hive as it had become, was the focal point of the colony, spreading creep and as far as the lieutenant colonel could tell, spawning larvae…

…which could morph into more warrior strains.

"Time's of the essence then," said Duke, beginning to warm up to the challenge. "We have to nip these critters in the bud, so to speak."

"Exactly," said Kurze, having begun to relax despite the situation. It was so nice to talk to someone who didn't second guess his every decision. Duke had his flaws, but unlike Collins, these flaws weren't nearly as counterproductive.

"I'll get my forces ready," continued the colonel. "We should be ready to assault the cluster at twenty-hundred hours."

"And will have completed planning too," put in Kurze, just for the hell of it.

Duke grimaced. "Yeah…alright boy. You can count on me."

"Glad to hear it."

Kurze knew that Duke was still fuming over Kurze's choice of replacement for Captain Fisher. The Blood Hawks were his men, he claimed, and he'd promote them as he saw fit. However, while Kurze understood the man's attachment to his squadron, Duke didn't realize the importance of experience when it came to the xenomorphs. Numerous reports of 'freezing up' had come from the earlier battle and Kurze needed COs who could lead those under command without any risk of lapsing in judgment. And while Captain Isembi was a competent commander on the field, she was just as competent in directing aerial forces from the Dauntless. Overall, Kurze had felt that the Echo Company lieutenant would make a suitable choice.

Things are looking up I guess, thought the Cerberus commander. Hive cluster aside of course. Still, Duke's on the job and Collins hasn't pestered me yet-…

"Kurze! What the hell is going on!?"

Or not.

1919 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Fort Keldathu (current office of the Colonial Magistrate)

Collins was glad that he hadn't removed the holo-system from his room upon installation of the flatscreen. Although he felt that the former outranked the latter in visual quality, it was currently involved in the lockdown Cerberus Squadron had imposed and thus useless. The holographic system was primarily designed for priority communications as per Keldathu's role as a fort and as such, had escaped Kurze's censoring. At least for now. As such, Collins wanted to give Kurze a piece of his mind if such a thing occurred.

More like when. Hell, it would give the bastard an excuse to cut me out of the loop entirely.

"Magistrate Collins," said the Cerberus commander wearily. "I was wondering when I would hear from you."

"I'm not surprised, all things considered," snarled Collins. "Especially since-…"

"Magistrate, what do you want?" snapped Kurze. "The xenomorphs are under control, Los Andares is saved, you're still magistrate, blah blah blah…Unless you have something constructive to say then let me-…"

"Constructive!? You impose a global communications lockdown on Chau Sara and you lecture me on what's constructive!?"

Although the hologram was a bare bones system and therefore not capable of showing the finer details, Collins could sense a change in Kurze's demeanor. Previously he'd been bored, tired and irritated. Now, he seemed genuinely puzzled, albiet with a hint of humor, as if he could see something the magistrate couldn't.

"Yes Collins, I would call the lockdown constructive," said the lieutenant colonel. "Being magistrate on a world being attacked by aliens, I would have thought you, of all people, would understand the need for secrecy."

"I guess,' said the magistrate, willing to concede the point. "But Los Andares was attacked! And damage to infrastructure aside, how the hell is confidentiality an issue now!? All of Chau Sara will know about-…"

"No, they won't!" Kurze yelled. "Half of Chau Sara's population is composed of ignorant fringe squibs who don't even know how to work a hologram. And if you could see beyond your petty little bubble of existance, you'd remember that there's the rest of the Confederacy to think about not to mention dozens of other factions who'd love to see it cast down! Bad enough that the psi emitters were-…"

"Psi emitter!?" exclaimed Collins. "What the hell is a psi emitter!?"

Kurze seemed to go pale, though it could have simply been a holographic fault. Regardless, Collins knew that he'd touched a sensitive subject and by all that was holy, he was going to press it.

"Well, commander? Something you care to inform me about?"

"No, there isn't," said Kurze brusquely. "Forget about-…"

"Forget about what? Something I've never heard of? Hell, you're cutting me out of the loop again."

"Oh right," sneered the lieutenant colonel. "It's not as if you never went behind my back, what with trying to get Duke to overrule my position. Oh no, you've toed the line from day one."

It was amazing how someone who commanded a science vessel could be so patronizing. Times might have changed, but back when he was commanding a battlecruiser, Collins knew the importance of being direct. Let the crew know what you wanted them to do and how to do it and you had an efficient ship. And while you were called upon to exert your authority, you didn't go overboard like Kurze had done.

Maybe he has a right to, thought Collins bitterly. But it hardly matters anymore. Los Andares was attacked and the Confederacy couldn't afford to totally isolate one of its Core Worlds would it, even if it is inhabited by fringe squibs. Could it?

Collins didn't know. What he did know however, was that if such a thing occurred, both Chau Sara and himself would drop off the radar, isolated and forgotten. So while the xenomorphs had to be defeated and their link with the Confederacy as per the Flannum Installation, (and the psi emitters, whatever they were) downplayed, surely the time for secrecy had passed.

"Perhaps I've been difficult," said Collins eventually, deciding to go for diplomacy. "But you're hardly innocent either. So while we may disagree on certain issues, I think we can at least find common ground with Los Andares. If we can establish a defensive perimeter we can-…"

"There's no time for that," interrupted Kurze. "Our intelligence confirms that the time to strike at the xenomorphs' hive cluster is now. And if Duke lives up to his word, that strike will be occurring in about half an hour."

"By whose authority!?" Collins thundered, not knowing nor caring what a hive cluster was in light of yet another decision being made behind his back, more concerned about the implications than the practicalities. "I am still magistrate of this colony and-…"

"By order of the Colonial Crisis Act under sub-section 1602, I hereby supersede your authority in this matter," said Kurze. "And considering that you've just been removed from office, you now have no authority to speak of."

One could have heard a pin drop.

"What?" Collins whispered. "Now wait just a minute here. I-…"

"Collins, I have waited," sighed Kurze, lying back in his seat, seemingly genuinely disappointed. "I've waited for you to see the bigger picture. I've waited for you to stop second guessing my actions. I've waited for you to actually start acting like a magistrate in a time of war. But as you've done none of these things and given the current situation, I feel that I have no choice but to strip you of your authority and place Chau Sara under martial law."

"You…you can't do this."

"I can and I have. Times have changed Edwin and you haven't changed with them. And if we survive this, maybe you'll be able to realize that one day."

1931 hours, November 12, 2499 (SCT)

Sara System, Chau Sara

Los Andares, Alpha Squadron Field HQ

Robert Perry didn't know that Chau Sara was under martial law or that its magistrate was currently drowning himself in misery and alcohol as a result of such a declaration. He wasn't psychic or some omnipotent being that knew all and saw all. But that wasn't to say he lacked all perception whatsoever and entering the apartment that Wilkes had been granted as per her status, he could tell that his…friend was uneasy.

"Perry," said the lieutenant, opening the door a few seconds after he'd first knocked. "Come in."

Silently, Perry obliged, not sure what surprised him more. That Wilkes was simply wearing a gray thermal shirt and trousers, the type one could wear under CMC armor or the room's decoration. Holo-posters, depicting the three strains of xenomorph encountered so far. Strains that not only had been studied in terms of anatomy and ability, but had also been named-…

"Zerglings, hydralisks and ultralisks," said the lieutenant, as if reading Perry's mind. "Kurze came up with official designations and circulated them. Wants us all on the same page or something."

The NCO remained silent, noticing how the terms corresponding to the dog things, the hydra things and the mammoth thing respectively. The last two made sense, considering their reminiscence to the mythological hydra and the ultralisk's 'uberness,' and seemed to conform to an 'isk suffix.

But zerglings? What kind of name is that? Where'd that come from? And come to think of it, where did this apartment come from either?

Perry didn't know the name of the apartment block that Duke had commandeered, courtesy of the sign being destroyed by siege tank fire. But still being the head of 5th platoon, Wilkes shouldn't have been entitled to it, rather being allocated to a designated outpost. And where did the bottle of port come from? The bottle that had currently filled one glass and was moving on to a second, both situated on a desk that Wilkes was now seated at.

"What could be our last sample of the devil's poison," said Wilkes, as if that explained everything.

Perry said nothing as he emptied his glass while taking a seat, Wilkes doing the same. Something was out of place here, and he knew it. What was out of place was another matter entirely. He'd been called here for a reason, so was he meant to do something? Compliment Wilkes on her pilfering of the force field? Provide feedback on the xenomorph names? Wonder why the xenomorphs weren't named themselves, as if giving them a name would make them a legitimate threat? Or was it due to-…

"I'm now a captain," said the ex-lieutenant, cutting to the chase. "A replacement for Fisher."

The statement broke the ice. And as per the staff sergeant's response, the ice melted also, coming out in a torrent.

"What? How?" he asked. "How'd you get promoted so quickly? What about Captain Isembi? Surely Duke didn't-…"

"The colonel didn't do anything apart from trying to block such a promotion," interrupted Wilkes. "Kurze recognized the value of experience and with our company engaged from the start, wanted its last lieutenant to ascend to replace its captain. And besides, Isembi has shown herself to be adept at co-coordinating supply runs. And believe me, in less than half an hour, we'll need as much coordination as we can get." She smiled faintly. "Oh, and my maneuver with the ultralisk also played a role. Go figure."

Perry did try to "go figure" as the lieutenant, no, captain put it. Try as he might, he couldn't. The two of them had been paired together for so long and now, in a few sentences, they'd been regulated to different points in the chain of command. And what was this about coordination? Los Andares had been saved. The xenomorphs were almost certainly still out there but no-one could have had time to pinpoint their location yet.

An image taken from the Charon that the captain put on the desk showed otherwise.

"A hive cluster," said Wilkes, pointing at the organic structures the image depicted. "Fifty kilometers southwest of the city, sprung up over the course of the day. Duke's planning an attack and we're to move out in less than half an hour."

Perry nodded slowly, trying to get his head around the concept of the xenomorphs setting up shop so quickly, not to mention the ominous implication that they were only setting up shop now rather than the ambush and surge tactics used in the Arathi Basin and Lazaran Gullies respectively. And there was also another concept to get his head around. One that in addition to giving him a headache, was causing pain in another part of his body…

"I take it that when you said "we", you meant we in the sense as Alpha Squadron as a whole rather than yourself," he said slowly.

Wilkes raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Well you're a captain," said the staff sergeant. "You'll be staying here and-…"

"No, I won't," interrupted Wilkes. "I'll be flying in a dropship coordinating E Company over the battle while Duke stays behind. It's a different battlefield Perry and the colonel's realized that. And in the knowledge that I'll be facing the xenomorphs without you, I've realized that too."

It was now Perry's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Ma'am, I know this is sudden and all but-…"

"Oh don't give me that bullshit," interrupted Wilkes. "Of course it's sudden. Of course it's unexpected. And in the knowledge that hundreds of lives are in my hands against an alien foe, a foe that I know has changed me into something I wasn't before, I'm frankly terrified."

"You seem to be doing a good job of hiding it," Perry murmured.

Wilkes smiled. "That's another thing I wanted to talk about."

The NCO remained silent. His superior had been building up to something. And taking his hand, he suspected what.

"Robert, I have no idea what's going to happen over the next few hours, so I want to say this now. Thank you for everything. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for helping me. And above all, thank you for being a person I can call a friend, especially since-…"

"Miranda, stop!" Perry (or Robert, as per an apparent forename basis). shouted, a bit louder than he intended, the hurt look in his friend's eyes conveying this. Still, it quickly evaporated upon hearing his words. Words that stemmed from everything they'd faced together. Words that came from a changed persona. Words that came from the heart rather than the head…

"I'm the one who should say thank you."

The being was surprised.

Pride was something it had a right to. It was perhaps the most powerful organism in the whole of creation, brought into being by a race who could direct the evolutionary path of an entire species. They were mighty, they were wise, they were like gods...and had fallen. Over Zerus. They had been consumed.

Its species had taken the role of the progenitors. It had the right to create or destroy as it saw fit. It had earned that right when it looked to the stars aeons ago, seeking to expand the Swarm, to achieve perfection by its own standards rather than its creators. And after thousands of years of travelling through the unforgiving gulf between stars, the key to perfection, the Firstborn, was within grasp.

Or at least would have been, if not for the dogged resistance of this frail species that insisted on defying the course of evolution.

The being was prideful and had a right to be, it knew that. But unlike some of its agents, the cerebrates, it would not be blinded by it. And whatever had come before on this putrid little world, it could admit that the terrans' victory in their planet's capital was entirely unprecedented and unlike their previous 'victories' over the last few days (or what they called days, as so short a period of time had little meaning to it), was a battle that it would have difficulty recovering from. True, it could bring the entire swarm to this world, but that would defeat the purpose of not only collecting information on its latest foe, but considering that its Broods were secretly setting up shop on other worlds, it would be counterproductive to withdraw. Its arm was long, having spread to the worlds the humans called Mar Sara, Brontes and Dylar IV. But only on Chau Sara had it begun to close the fist.

Yet its grip had been pried. Despite the Swarm's numbers, they'd been...

Maybe that was it.

In its journey across the stars, the Swarm had rarely had to rely on numbers to defeat its enemies, even the few that could mount an effective resistance. Billions of strains were at its command, but were usually spread out between star systems, able to invade any world bearing life worthy of assimilation or failing that, eradication. But not only was this new species able to mount a continuous resistance, but had the raw power to do so.

Power was not the answer here. Numbers were. Numbers that while limited in the filthy conglomeration called a city, would be far more effective in an open area, specifically where the primary Hive Cluster was located. Yes, as Daggoth and his Brood could demonstrate, numbers would do quite well.

Let them come, the being hissed. Let them all come.

A/N

Well, this chapter took awhile...

I can't say there's much trivia for this chapter, so to speak, apart from that I actually wrote the end section last before going back to the beginning. I knew this chapter would be difficult to write and I wanted to get the easy stuff out of the way. The Overmind is single-minded, while the human protagonists...not so much.

One thing I would like to mention however, something that gave me perhaps the most ammount of trouble, was the interaction between Wilkes and Perry, a section that right up to the point of writing, had different ideas for it. Yes, I had the initial draft written down, a draft that included...physical contact, so to speak (use your imagination, or not), but even before I restarted this fic, I'd decided that actions that stemmed from more than a plutionic relationship wouldn't be included. Why?

Because there's no need for it.

Having the two protagonists become more reciprocal towards each other by this chapter was one thing. Having a romance bloom was another. And at this point in time, any such romance and physical interaction would feel like it was thrown in for the sake of it, something I feel has become common in various forms of fiction, both original and fanon. StarCraft has handled some pairings well (eg. Raynor and Kerrigan) while others not so well (eg. Ramsey and Dahl), but there wasn't enough of a precedent in the story for anything beyond friendship, nor enough time to properly deal with the implications had it gone beyond friendship.

Anyway, that's just me. Rant over.