12 – Sleeping Angels

Her arguments were sound, yet he beheld her in silence, tracking the emotion vibrating out of her as he, too, attempted to make sense of what she believed. She felt fragile in his claws, a paper flower amongst the knives.

If it were true… she was one roll on the super-soldier dice, one shot in the all-powerful dark. Her own generation was cloned in the millions, and Raynor once estimated they got less than fifty psi-heavy people per bond. A heinous process, but the young species were always eager to spread and conquer.

Her one connection to a psi-heavy individual was maternal—humans believed psi was passed on X chromosomes—and perhaps she had inherited the same, albeit latent abilities of her biological sister. Certainly, her portfolio evidenced a sharp incline in ability as her career progressed that couldn't have been offset by her favoritism with her superior. No doubt her psi-index had risen, but perhaps not to the levels Duran and the late Vice-Admiral were estimating.

But she wasn't distressed over any potential new abilities. She had known her entire life she was a semi-psionic clone and grew up with her siblings like any of the others hatched on the vat floors, from nursery to barracks to battle. But she was different. All of the Starlings were created with the best DNA that science allowed, but she had been singled out, bred to be better, and yet, she was prisoner on a Protoss homeworld with her old allegiance diving head-first into its last stand, stranding her in the middle of space, an orphan despite her impressive genealogy.

And she felt… broken down somehow, as if there were a gentle crack down her self, shown by the dull brassy quality of her eyes, her ultimate betrayer when her energy was spent. They spoke of her pain as they glossed over through her slender, lashed lids. He ached to see her so, in spite of himself.

Please Demeter, I cannot bear this…

She calmed for a moment to whisper, "You wanted to know."

Her hands were curling against his scales, hesitant to touch yet loose, too tired to marshal against her emotions. He relaxed his grip to take a knee, feeling her move with him, shoulders slumping down as she settled calmly in his grip. Her skin glowed pink from the tiny edges on his claws and he soothed the pain with a wave of vibrations. He was careful to mind the sharp ones in his hands when he slid them down her arms to comfort her.

You fought true beneath a man who betrayed you and gave him the merits of your affections—I know humans take this very grievously when such things do not come to justice, after so much effort has been spent. You can let it haunt you, chase it to the far ends of the world, or you can resolve it, bring in the integrity of reality that you were once denied by conquering it with the power in your mind.

She seemed to bristle into focus at his words, eyes attentive yet still sad. He knew she had tracked home to its dead end and had been forced all the way back, but she was a warrior like him; they knew that the battlefield is its own separate circle, and it cannot leak beyond that arena. To bring the horrors home meant risking your calm.

What do you believe of this, little one? What does this sad ingratitude show you of the future?

She broke from his gaze, mind clouding, but she stayed still and composed. She shook her head, slowly at first then settling to fix on the wall. "If Duran knows and he goes to Kerrigan…"

And your previous contact with her means she will change course to reclaim you?

"She called me her sister, Zeratul," she said, voice stern. "And she's right. You know what she is capable of, what horrible, terrible things she's done, and she killed Alexei just like she killed the Judicator." Her lips were dry and she trembled under his glower. "We aren't safe, Zeratul, not until she's dead. Ask Raynor, he knows it too. He's fought against her and seen, just like I stood witness to her betraying you… she cut Aldaris down because he was suspicious of me. She knew."

Her speech exhausted her, and he saw the wrinkles in her forehead as she had to wince to fight tears, overcoming them with a deep breath. He felt her stretch her wrists through her bindings, but he stilled her hands with a heavy claw, armor aglow.

And you believe she is coming for you?

"Yes," she sighed, head dropping to her chest.

He squeezed, careful not to scrape her. She cannot reach you here. What must I do to convey my promise to protect you, Starling?

"I'll fight her, if she comes, sister or not, I don't care," she said, her voice not low and threading for the first time in a while. "If she does, you can be damn sure I'm not—"

Her throat and tongue froze as he flexed his mind to stop her before she degraded into tears. Hush. They are empty threats. Here, you will find solace again as a warrior once you recover, if what you say you will swear. Little one…

He steered her gaze back to his with his foreclaw, her eyes hot pools, helpless in his gentle grasp. I am sorry the world has taught you a lesson this way. It was a cruelty you did not deserve. Perhaps in complicity, we may find a way to make it right, somehow.

She felt safe enough to blink, not breaking contact, a soft smile coming back to her for a fleeting moment. He relaxed his mental grip on her mouth, and she stayed quiet, gold spiraling back in her eyes like soft flecks. He dropped his hand to her bindings and took a fistful of the spare ends. To begin, I shall reward you with your freedom. Thank you for your honesty in memory and mind, Demeter.

He pulled them apart expertly and they melted off her hands so she could look down at her serial tattoo, a blight to him on her smooth skin. He could see she was fighting the urge to cry again, but she won, putting her hands on her knees to hang her head. "Finally. Thank you. After all I've been through…"

You needed it. I will not hesitate to repeat it should you challenge my oath to protect you.

"Can I challenge the reasons why you would take such an oath? If not the oath itself?"

She was stubborn, nothing new, but she seemed intentionally slow to take him seriously. He had explained it to her before, and now that she saw Kerrigan as an enemy, they were allies. She would be a powerful asset if her tale proved true, but this insolence was beginning to vex him.

Demeter, do not test me.

She raised her hands in surrender, and he rose back to his full height.

You need rest to face what is to come. I suggest you retire for the day and find solace in sleep.

She was already pulling the sheets over her legs when she slurred languidly, "Here?"

Here. Now.

He cradled her mind gently into the depths of sleep, a deep, deep sleep, feeling her muscles relax with her breath, skin cooling against the fabric of her shirt in the soft glow of the chamber lighting. The Old Protoss chuckled at her tiny form curled in the sheets, hand splayed beside her with a fistful of the topsheet, asleep before she hit the pillow. She was normal-sized for her race, but she still seemed so fragile.

He would not be so forceful on her wake. He had already asked it of her once, and she deserved to obey her body again. He knew she would want to re-establish touch with a sleep cycle to steady herself so perhaps such a gift would not go unnoticed.

He slipped out of his chambers to the foyer, still aware of her pulsing heat signature on his visor. He knew not of her dreams, but he meant to investigate her nightmares, and see if Kerrigan was throwing all in for her long lost sister.


Artanis could not wrest the dreams of Tassadar from his sleep, even so long after watching his final flight, and feeling what he could only imagine was a darkness the Dark Templar had felt for a long, long time. It made his entire body ache and tire, just in reminiscing.

But he knew his sleep had been broken for a reason—he started towards his panel immediately, drawing a heavy robe around his shoulders. Sure enough, a wave from Zeratul was waiting, beaming from Talematros. He responded, and prayed for patience, but his old friend was quick. The Dark Templar's shadowy face appeared on screen, and the Praetor bowed his head.

"Prelate Zeratul, you honor me," he greeted.

Zeratul nodded in reply. "Praetor Artanis, I have secured our human informant, the medic Captain from Braxis, and she has proven to be of considerable power, given her state, and she is now cooperating with us as a special agent under my personal command. I would request you speak with her once she is given time to recover."

Interesting. "Demeter Starling, I recall. Is she sound?"

"She will be in a few days, and we can make the jump to Shakuras for a stand before the Temple."

She had healed him in the luckiest moment of madness. Aldaris had gone on about it, but Zeratul was committed to his nobility, this he knew. Something had happened to prove herself to the Prelate.

"Zeratul, this Captain…" He stopped to formalize his thoughts. "You went to great lengths to retrieve her."

"I did," the Old Protoss said with a flick of his head. "She has an extensive battle record dating back to run-ins with Zerg cerebrates as a commanding officer. Her superiors betrayed her, and there is information you should know." His green eyes flashed on screen.

"Admiral du Galle ordered the death of his Vice-Admiral and is marshalling UED forces against a fledgling Overmind cluster on Char in hopes to psionically enslave it with emission technology protected by forces in her old battalion."

"The UED is killing their top-tier officers?"

"It is worse—the officer who drew on Vice-Admiral Stukov was a Zerg informant who revealed himself to Starling before departing, surely en route to Kerrigan. Starling escaped to my protection, and we depart to report to you, Praetor. Be mindful of the UED's engagement in this sector. It may prime our time to strike, if we use her knowledge to help us hold against them."

He sat back to consider what this meant. Zeratul's rendezvous with Fenix and Raynor had only helped push them further in to space, where now their armies lay separate from his own fleet now, but the Prelate had brought in this human girl, who had retrieved the crystal as requested and apparently gone on a mission of her own in investigating the UED, all working in their favor. Zeratul had made her a compatriot. Perhaps this was wise. He moved forward to speak.

"Then yes, I would like very much to speak with her. What is your schedule? Will she be well to jump with the crystal?"

"The Khalis should have no effect on her, as soon as she has her mind together. We will make the jump with the payload in a fortnight. Marshal what forces we have in the sector and wave Selendis. She may be useful in holding ground afield."

He nodded. "We await your arrival, Prelate Zeratul. May Adun watch over you."

"May he watch over us all, young Templar."


Du Galle refused his victory whiskey when the Captain delivered the news via comsat broadcast. The infant Overmind was in control, the drugs in place, and the location had been secured in the air and ground. He still knew it couldn't be so straightforward.

Their losses had been grievous but the cerebrates were dead and now the Overmind was coming to heel, all according to plan. He had lost his best friend and probably best specialist for a mission like this in the process, but he knew there was more to the truth that he had yet to find out.

The Captain echoed again over the line, voice calm, almost ringing. "Admiral, the Overmind is ours. Orders?"

"Hold." He said, trying not to bark, but it still sounded sharp. "Hold, Captain, I will lead the fleet in flyover."

His operating captain obeyed, hailing the rest of the ships as they took the straight shot towards the Overmind in the fog beyond, the advance below dotting the plain with black and red. His grip on his chair relaxed. He had avenged his friend. At long last, justice was brought by his command.

The adjutant chirped in his ear. "Admiral, patching you now to an incoming transmission, opening channel—"

"Uhh, excuse me, Admiral—"

That voice—this channel—

It was him.

That bastard…

"—but I'd like to introduce someone to you."

His voice was thick and poisoned like the evil the Admiral was told he could be, and du Galle almost spat down the line, brow furrowing deeply. "DURAN! You son of a bitch! What is the meaning of this?"

Another voice, this one like a soft echo in laughter, just as spoiled as Duran's. "Admiral du Galle, I've heard a lot about you."

His lieutenants all turned to him with open mouths, a silent chorus of idiots that made his blood boil despite the fear. "What… what are you?"

There was a laughter through the poison. "I… am Kerrigan. The Zerg you've killed here and the Overmind, which you've come to collect... are mine. As is our mutual friend Lieutenant Duran. You see, Admiral... there are a number of groups in this sector who feel that your involvement here causes certain complications. My associates and I intend to make sure that your reign is short lived."

The fear gave way to anger. Alexei had been right, through and through. "You may find that difficult, you abonimation," he spat, "seeing as how I now possess the means to disrupt your control of the Zerg."

"Ah, you're referring to your vaunted Psi Disruptor… it won't last you forever, Admiral." Her tone hardened. "Sooner or later, I'll destroy it. Then I'll show you what the Zerg can really do."

He swallowed, the taste of whiskey in his moth not from any drink. But she wasn't done.

"Oh, and by the way, Admiral, your friend Stukov was twice the man you are," she chimed, dissolving into laughter. "I'm glad you saved me the trouble of having to kill him."

He put his fist through the commlink screen and screamed to his lieutenants. "Shoot them! I want them both DEAD!"

The adjutant interrupted him before he couls scream any more curses. "My apologies, Admiral, but we are no longer registering their signatures on the surface—"

"For God's sake, jump into the sky if you have to! Mobilize everything we have—are you all deaf? I want their heads! I want their heads now, or there will be hell to pay! I want them DEAD, BOTH OF THEM DEAD!"


Raynor never stopped dreaming of it, never stopped giving up hope that he would hold her again one day, just as he had in the barracks Commander's suite, in the showers after hours, in the slow moments after sleep when she would still be whispering the asides of her dreams—even if it meant giving up the form he had been attracted to, there was a soul beneath it that he had been separated from for so long, and it was beginning to burn.

He thought of Sarah when he had met that medic girl who Zeratul had declared for, the Captain wench who slutted over to the UED to find some lost love of her past. Zeratul didn't know it, but he seethed deep down, knowing what it had taken to earn the Dark Templar's trust, and to see it betrayed so openly…

But surely Zeratul had his justice. He could only hope for his own some time, wondering if the Prelate dragged the girl back over to his side as the UED tried to wrestle with demons it couldn't control. It would be for her own good, but they never came quietly. Why he was still protecting her…

Stukov's prized Captain in the arms of a Dark Templar…

She's a weapon. Like Sarah.

He raked his fingers through his hair.

She won't spoil on his watch. Not like Sarah did with Mengsk.

Which brought him to another thorn in his side—he was in full cooperation with the man who let that happen to her, that evil bastard with more hair than honor in his old age. Mengsk was sleeping somewhere else in the barracks, even when Raynor was not. That was the difference between men like them, after all; Mengsk slept like a log every night despite his horrors of the day and Raynor couldn't court sleep for more than a few hours.

He hoisted himself up and dumped his feet into his boots, rubbing one eye hard enough to send his contact lens swimming through his socket. He blinked a couple times to bring it back to focus, and Fenix's slim profile came into view.

His old friend stood in the doorway, head cast backwards to wave off his guard, with his sword and armor gleaming in the dim light from the hall. Raynor stood with a grunt. "You're up late."

"As are you, friend. You sleep less and less. Kerrigan steals even rest from you."

He sighed. "Not this time. It's the medic now. Wondering why she's here, why she's playing with Zeratul and why he's playing with her. Seems… odd."

Fenix let a claw slide down the doorframe. "I cannot guess at his motivations, but the Prelate has little patience for humans. Perhaps she is informing. I suspect as much after her double defection."

"He should have killed her when he captured her. Now he just risked the lives of his troops to get her back after she betrayed him." He shook his head. "He's not a human, but if he were, I'd say he wants her. Not as an officer."

Iron bells rang in Fenix's throat and the Templar slid his hands to his knees to stabilize his shaking. "Do we speak of the same Dark Templar, my friend? Zeratul, taking to a human?"

"Hold on, hold on," he said, waving off Fenix's laughter. "She was boning the UED Vice-Admiral before she was abandoned, so this is kind of her thing, getting naked with her superior officers. I hope he's not falling for it."

"Jim, are you aware of how we conduct such… affairs of the body?" Fenix posed, tone light from trying to stymie the giggles. He followed Jim out of the bed racks and into the mess hall, empty at this hour. "Protoss mate for life, and not with any humans, of this I am certain."

"In theory, we do too, but we practice on each other. Lots, sometimes."

"It is not possible for us to do such things. We are attracted to only one other, and the physical manifestation of this attraction occurs only in ritual. It is not biologically possible for us to, as you say, 'give each other a go' at leisure."

Raynor thumped onto one of the mess rows with a look of mixed disgust and intrigue. "Wait a sec. You're telling me you only get boners in the middle of your weddings?"

Iron bells again. "The ceremony itself is only part of the ritual. Intercourse can happen as many or as few times as a mated pair decides, but only after they both bind themselves in ritual."

"Not trying to sound ignorant, buddy, but that makes absolutely no sense."

Fenix couldn't fit into the mess hall tables so he settled on the edge closest to his friend, leathers fanning out against the metal. "If Zeratul intended to mate himself to this human, they would undergo the ancient ritual of sorunai rite. The ritual begins with the ceremony, where they would exchange blood and thought in symbol of what is to come and present themselves as intendeds to the populace. When the ceremony is over, they are sealed in the ritual chambers until he is brought to finish and she is full with life, and then they are declared a mated pair and may continue breeding as they see fit."

He continued despite the growing distance between Raynor's jaw and head, trying not the laugh again. "They could never be mated, as she could not hold a Protoss child. Nevermind that he would not choose her as his mate, but she cannot tempt him outside of ritual, no matter what trick she might employ."

"So every time you guys do it, someone has to get pregnant? Well, not someone, the lady?"

"Only the first time. But it is with great effort that we males are spent, and most do not waste the energy, save to conceive."

"'Great effort'? Do I even want to know?"

Fenix crossed his arms, betraying the laughter ringing in his voice. "No, you do not. But the Starling girl cannot draw him into any web she spins. In any case, Zeratul would not stand for it. He is keeping her alive because she has use to him on the battlefield, not because he desires her."

"That's what I want to know. What the hell about her is so special? She should be dead or on her back by now, and you just told me that can't happen." He put both hands through his hair several times. "I'm telling you, Fenix, she's his Kerrigan. She's a weapon and he likes her, at least. She's good at being the favourite, but she's already blown up on him once, she'll do it again."

"Do not be so certain, my friend," Fenix counseled. "She may well be a weapon, but he is pointing her away from himself. The next time she strikes, it will be at his enemy."


Her skin was alabaster against a sea of azure, his scales burning like a thousand hot knives on her cooling body, the silk robe that once was draped about her shoulders torn to shreds as his claws flashed through it, pulling her body to his with enough force to break bones had she not been ready. But she too was aching for him, the blush in her cheeks and breasts evidence enough, her strange human form oddly alluring, waking in him a desire he had never tapped, never let cross him before, the urge to take her now consuming him in the blaze of heat pulsing between them. Her eyes were molten, steaming with feeling and psi, focused on him like lasers as she moved beneath him, hands working furiously to undo the lacings and straps on his breastplate to push his armor away.

She wasn't fast enough, and he thrashed his hands beside him to shake off his gauntlets, dislodging his pauldrons and cloak with loud clangs as they slid to the floor, freeing his arms to pull her legs apart and push her further up the wall. When her fingers finally bested the knot of his underarmors and pulled his loincloth away, he couldn't wait a moment longer, the tension and fire building there springing to life when he felt the cool air on his naked body, and took her in a thrust so powerful that he felt her nails curl under the scales on his shoulders, half with pain and half with relief. Her eyes showed it too, puckered under her eyebrows as she winced from the process, yet turning white hot with pleasure as they rolled back in her head, spinning…

He couldn't think. He was free now, unburdened by logic, following only the rhythm of her heart beat he could feel throbbing down her hands, breathing in the smell of their bodies as he moved with her, feeling her slide further and further up the wall with each stroke, her legs wrapped around his hips like hot lashes of fire, now burning against him with the pressure. The sounds she made only encouraged him, stoked the furnace, and he could feel his claws sinking into the soft flesh of her back. She would be bruised tomorrow, and everyone would know she was his.

Mine… mine… you are mine, little one…

Her mouth was open in a soft 'oh' from her moans as he took her, over and over, each time harder and stronger than the last. She had gone from squeezing his shoulders so painfully that he wanted to punish her to clawing at the strands of his neural crest, trying to pull herself deeper into him, the pinking skin on her cheeks deepening as she fought the shame of her nakedness with the way he was making her feel. She was a furnace of honey and gold, the mess between them sizzling like the fire that seemed to have taken them both, the moist crackle of wet sex filling him along with her screams for more.

She pushed herself against him, fingers hooking in his neck as she pressed her naked body to his, the scales smoking from the heat. He could feel the sharp points of her breasts on his stomach as she pulled herself up to cradle his face in her hands, the expression on her human features driving him insane. He couldn't take her any harder without hurting her, yet the longer he poured himself into those eyes, those lips, this body… it wouldn't end. The pleasure wouldn't stop.

Her little 'oh's ran together as she melted in his arms, her skin silk against the steel of his scales, minds washing together like the solar tides casting lights on her muscled skin, flexing from the surrender. She put her face to his, hands burning with her forehead, to whisper a word to him through the haze of her bliss—

"Zeratul…"

He woke in the coldest sweat he'd ever felt, beads of it breaking with consciousness as he bolted upright in bed, neural crest alight from the dream. He swore to himself when he saw how his body had reacted, his legs and the member between them tight and drawn to attention, focused from the reverie. The mental adventure had tricked his body; luckily, he had not ruined his sheets like some juvenile ensign. The shame and guilt was just as strong.

A dream. No more.

A voice from the back of his mind echoed, but can we make it a reality? A dream no more? And he shook his head violently as if to dislodge the thought, knowing the harder he tried to banish the memory, the harder it would return to him. He moved to the edge of the bed to find his robe, pulling it off the hook and around his shoulders and streaming behind him when he swept out of his rooms and down the barracks hallway. The movement helped bring his muscles to heel, but he wrapped himself in darkness for an extra measure of tolerance. He would not let himself go again.

She slept in the barracks now that she had sworn her Captain's oath to him at last marshal and he noted how familiar he was with this path for his nightly walk, his feet knowing the steps better than his mind. He always seemed to be brooding when he checked on her at night, now no different. He was silent as the shadow he cast on the wall towering over her cot, her tiny body nestled in the middle, too small to take up any real space. The Protoss-sized cot exaggerated it; she was like a ship in a bottle, so small and fragile and little…

The fire he felt in the dream was beginning to spread again and he crouched at the foot of her bed, watching her chest rise and fall beneath the sheets. She always slept on her side, back towards the wall, with a hand under the pillow and the other near her mouth. The top sheet was clean and unblemished from the tossing and turning she usually suffered in sleep and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about her getting her first decent rest while he struggled with dreams of her. The irony was not lost on him.

She looked just as she had in his mind—only now the lust was replaced with exhaustion, the small 'oh' her lips were forming from a deep sleep instead of… he quashed the thought quickly and rose again, sweeping back out of the barracks with speed.

Seeing her will not make the dream abate. Coming here was a poor choice.

He ached as he left, the mental battle raging in his mind, and set off down the track to tire his legs. At least he could hope they would be too drained to repeat their previous offenses should he ever be graced with sleep again.