No Omen, No Country's Cause

by BlizzWeirdo

The UED returns to the Koprulu sector, and Vice Adm. Alexei Stukov must decide where his loyalties lie-with Horner's new Terran Republic and Umoja, or his long lost home, Earth. The answer is more complicated than it may seem. This story fleshes out Stukov's backstory and has OC, but remains close to canon. Chapters are serial and change POV. May have romantic elements later.

14. Chapter 14: Defense

Hyperspace fell away and the Uhuru was abruptly at the rendezvous point, the Beynac automated fortress and shipyard, just inside Umojan space. Marín changed the vantage point of her holographic interface on the Uhuru's war table, scanning the area to assess who had made the jump in time. Most of the Moebius and Terran Republic fleets were here—what was left of them—as was what was the remainder of the Umojan fleet. In the distance, the Spear of Adun majestically dwarfed everything near it, even Stukov's remaining leviathan. But there was no Aleksander. She searched again. Seconds passed.

Come on…

"He didn't fucking make it, did he?" Barre said quietly. "All that fucking work…"

"He… could still be coming…" Ahlberg said. Marín ignored them both, her eyes still scanning the fleet.

There was a series of bright flashes and the Aleksander was catapulted out of hyperspace, its attitude perpendicular to its FTL flight. Slowly, it righted itself. Purplish ichor oozed from its side, creating a globular cloud of liquid around it. Half its tendrils were missing. As Marín asked Barre to open a channel, she realized she'd been holding her breath.

The channel opened. "Admiral Stukov, are you receiving me?"

For a moment, there was no response. When it came, there was static on the other side and the visual feed was not working.

"Yes, I hear you. I could… use some help. I many of your people are stranded here, and I'm sure they do not wish to stay for long. Some require medical assistance."

"Of course. I'll get some medivac and shuttles over there as soon as possible. May I speak to Fleet Admiral Augustin?"

"I… haven't heard from him. I spoke to him before the evacuation…"

"He's onboard, right?"

"I am… not sure. If he is, he has not made himself known to me. He could perhaps be injured or incapacitated."

A chill ran through Marín. This was a situation she had not anticipated. There was no way that Stukov could have evacuated all the remaining crew of the Vrede, but she had not thought that Augustin would not have made it to the Aleksander. Don't panic yet, she told herself, Stukov just got here. He doesn't know who's onboard—and he's right. Augustin could just be "injured or incapacitated."

Stukov seemed to realize she was upset.

"My priority will be to look for him," he said.

"Thank you. I will be over in a few minutes to help redistribute the Vrede troops to other vessels."

"Good. I will be expecting you."

Marín closed the channel. Ahlberg spoke immediately

"Do you think he's…"

"Augustin? I don't know. Let's not jump to any conclusions."

"But if he is, does that mean…" Barre said quietly, giving voice to what was on everyone's mind but was too impolite to say: was Marín the Fleet Admiral now?

"Barre… Let's get into that yet. Tell Jansa to clear the hangar and get all our shuttles pulled. She hesitated. She didn't need Vermaak, but it would be good to have him along. Marín knew he had made it back to the Liberté but did not know where he was now. "And find Vermaak—wherever he is—and tell him to meet me in the hangar or on the Aleksander if he can. Ahlberg, coordinate with the Liberte and any other battlecruisers that can squeeze a few more people onto their ships. It's going to get a little tight around here until we can get some new boats added to the fleet. You both mind the shop until I'm back from helping Stukov—and hopefully finding Augustin." Marín made her way to the lift but stopped. She sighed. "One more thing," she said, looking to Ahlberg. "Call Dr. Laurent. She's going to want to put decontamination protocols in effect."

"Oh god, for everyone coming aboard?"

"Yes, everyone… And tell her to coordinate with the rest of the fleet. Everyone coming off the Aleksander is going to have to go through the antimicrobial process and a medical scanner."

"That's… that's going to take hours," Ahlberg said.

"Yes, get some drinks and rations down there. Some personnel might end up camping in the hangar overnight."

"Oh, Jansa's going to love that," Barre said.

"I'm not exactly looking forward to it. I'll probably be the last to go through, though usually Dr. Laurent sets up a secondary area for high-ranking officers… I've already been through the protocols once this week. I still smell like that awful chemical they make you rub all over yourself… Our pilots can get away with hazmat suits… But I want to show them there's nothing to be afraid of."

"Have fun," Barre said with mock cheerfulness. Ahlberg rolled his eyes at him.

"I'll get everything set up. I hope you find Augustin. Not that I don't think you can handle it…" Ahlberg said.

"I understand. We need the old man right now more than ever. I'll let you know if I do."

With that, Marín made her way to the hangar. As she walked, she realized that even past the relationship she had with Augustin as her superior and mentor—she had served under him as an XO on the Uhuru before Augustin was given the Vrede—Marín desperately wanted him to be alive because she did not think she was ready to guide the Umojan Protectorate's combined military might in the field. Leading Core Fleet is one thing—I command all the fleet's battlecruisers and work together with Vermaak to coordinate troop movements. But as a fleet admiral, I'll suddenly be Vermaak's superior and I'll be working directly with Oyaleni, whom thankfully made it to the Liberté when Tyrador was evacuated. Having Oyaleni made her feel better. She could at least rely on her experience. She chided herself for thinking that way—My experience is comparable to Oyaleni's. I don't need anyone. It's not the job I'm worried about—it's the support. Marín thought about the people whom she would need to convince that she was qualified. After the stunts I've pulled recently, it may be hard to get some that already don't like my leadership style to get on board with confirming my promotion—if the worst has happened. The people that worked with her "got" what she was doing most of the time, she knew, but she feared others would look at her service behavior and see someone reckless and erratic.

And then there was the personal baggage that would come with becoming Fleet Admiral. There were regulations against having a relationship with a subordinate. Preexisting relationships don't count… I hope? Me becoming Wynand's boss shouldn't be a real problem… But is it going to get weird now? She reflected on how Vermaak saw fit to hide their relationship; this would make it worse. Marín hoped that they could withstand that kind of strain but realized how dumb that was. We've been through wars and maiming and tours apart. A promotion isn't going to change anything.

When Marín reached the hangar, the deck was already loud with the rumbling of idle shuttles and medivac vessels, their engines engaged, waited for the hangar bay shield to kick on and the door to open. Jansa was still pulling some army gear out of the way with a robotic forklift. On it was a vulture; its back wheel had a large gash in it. Marín realized it was Vermaak's. Vermaak was walking behind it, a toolkit under his arm. Marín was relieved that he looked uninjured. A flash of anxiety ran through her as she remembered the day he had come back in pieces. She walked up and hugged him. He squeezed her with his free arm.

"What happened?"

"Protoss. Trashed my bike. Knocked me off too."

"I thought you were going to be careful?"

"I was. But being on the front line is my job."

"You joining me, or you need to fix your bike?"

"The bike can wait. I lost a lot of men on Tyrador. I'm hoping to send some of the Vrede's troops back to us." He stowed the toolkit beside Jansa's office, trading it for a hazmat suit. "You know why Stukov's on our side now?"

Marín hesitated, struggling to find a way to discuss it without revealing her direct involvement.

"Uh, Nova rescued Stukov's son and brought him back here."

"You let her go?"

"It was part of the deal I made with her."

"Why didn't you let her kill that zerg bastard? Only good zerg is a dead one."

"Well, maybe you'll feel differently when you meet him."

Vermaak laughed derisively. "I doubt it."

Marín and Vermaak walked between the rows of shuttles.

"Where's your hazmat suit?" Vermaak asked.

"I'm not going to wear one. I've already been there and back…"

"Renata…"

"I want to show them they'll be okay. You can wear one…"

She flagged down the first shuttle. Its hatch opened.

"Well, well. Look who it is," Capt. Gavran said leaning back in his chair and looking through the hatch at Marín. He had a hazmat suit on, but hadn't put on the helmet. "You need a lift, boss?"

"Yep. One-way trip again," Marín said as she climbed inside and closed the hatch behind her.

"What? Are you serious? You going to do something crazy again?"

"Again? What?" Vermaak eyed her suspiciously.

"No, I'm going to help organize the redistribution of the Vrede's crew." Marín gave Gavran a look that was supposed to bore "shut up" through his skull, but Gavran didn't get the hint.

"That's a relief. Thought I was going to have to knock you out and drag you back to the bridge. No way I'm letting you pull what you did last time."

"What is he talking about, Renata?"

Vermaak closed the shuttle door behind him and sat across from Marín, looking her dead in the eye. His face was expressionless, but his grey eyes were cold and angry.

"She and Nova went over to the Kuznetsov, walked right on, and took Stukov's kid right out from under their noses."

"You did what?" Vermaak almost yelled. Gavran looked behind him and finally realized something was wrong. He went quiet, slumping a little in his chair. The energy barrier snapped on and the hangar door opened. The shuttle picked up and moved as Gavran maneuvered the shuttle out into space.

"Nova went. And I went with her. I wanted to insure she didn't complete her original mission."

"And so what if she had? Stukov turned out to be useless. He lost all his units, and the Directorate has found out a way to knock him out in every battle!"

"He's not 'useless.' He saved thousands of lives from the Vrede, and we'll figure out a way around the psi disrupters."

Vermaak rubbed his head and growled in frustration.

"Talking to you is like speaking to a neosteel bulkhead. You command a fleet. You have no business going off on your own. When you get the idea to do these things, send someone else."

"I'm not going to do that."

"Why?"

Gavran interrupted, speaking loudly into the comm, it seemed to Marín, purposefully.

"Aleksander, this is Captain Gavran from the Uhuru. I have Admiral Marín and Lieutenant General Vermaak on board. Request priority docking."

"Priority request a-acknowledged," the Aleksander's adjutant said, its voice barely audible. "Awaiting priority approval." After a few moments, the adjutant spoke again. "R-r-request approved. Proceed to the s-starboard hangar, berth s-214."

"Sounds like a real rust-bucket," Vermaak said.

"It… has definitely seen better days," Marín said.

It was enough to break the tension. They sat in silence until the shuttle touched down. The hangar was crammed with marines and naval officers with barely room for any of the shuttles to touch down. Marín waited as Vermaak and Gavran finished putting on their hazmat suits. As the hatch opened, Marín expected the hangar to be loud with the sounds of a boisterous crew that was happy to be alive. Instead, there were only a few faint whispers. She looked around at them; many of them were pale and afraid. A murmuring started as she stepped out with Vermaak behind her. Of course they're afraid—I was afraid when I came here. They probably think they're going to be infested. But Marín knew that would not happen. She perhaps would have been more scared, she thought, if there had been time to think about it. I should try to talk to them… assuage their fears… tell them about the decontamination protocols—for what good they really do. In case of a real infestation, the decontamination process was useless. Not many knew it, but it was mostly a placebo in the case of infestations to keep people from being hysterical—and to detect those who really were infested so they could be isolated. Part of being a commander, Marín knew, was to sometimes tell little white lies to keep the peace. Marín pulled a small footlocker out from under one of the benches in the back of the shuttle, placed it outside, and stood on it. She could see more of the crowd now. There were people standing even in the hallway.

"Okay, listen up everyone," she said, holding up a hand. The murmuring started to die down, but not fast enough. Vermaak whistled shrilly through his hazmat suits mic pickup. The noise in the hangar stopped.

"Thank you. Lieutenant General Vermaak and I are here to oversee your reassignments into the fleet. I know you're uncomfortable here, so to get everyone off as quickly as possible, we're putting you on shuttles from the four nearest ships—the Uhuru, the Liberté, the Virtu, and the Fuerza. From there, you'll be assigned a new post. But before you return to duty, all of you will have to pass through a decontamination station…" A collective groan arose from the crowd. "…for your own safety. Hey, I've already been over here and through the decontamination protocols, and I'm fine. All of you will be too. Being here is better than the alternative, right? Queue up in an orderly fashion, relax, get bored, and we'll get you out of here as soon as we can." The murmur started again. "Wait, one last thing. Where's Admiral Augustin?" The collective chatter got louder. "Anyone?" No one answered.

That's not a good sign. Surely he got off the Vrede. Surely he's here somewhere.

"I'm going to start rounding up the marines," Vermaak said, "get us out of this disgusting place." Marín nodded, letting him go. She grabbed the person nearest Gavran's shuttle and told them they were "first." She directed the people around him to find a place in "line." Gavran's shuttle filled, and he left. Another took its place. Marín moved on to another shuttle, creating another line. Vermaak was doing the same down at the far end with whatever marines he could find, directing them to two separate "lines." There were many more naval personnel than marines. Most of the marines that had left the ship for Tyrador had already been redirected after battle. She restricted one berth for just the injured to get them off the ship first.

As she worked, Marín felt slightly sick to her stomach. It smelled much worse in the hangar than it had on the bridge, it was dark, warm and damp, and the ground was a soft, soggy mess. It reminded her of the disgusting sea slugs that she would inevitably step on when swimming at the beach near her childhood home on Umoja. At least I have shoes on this time. But the infestation was also unavoidable here—like a fleshy, living carpet, she thought.

Marín noticed that the murmuring in the hangar had stopped again and a quiet and a quiet was settling over the survivors. Someone was moving through the crowd, and everyone was giving the person a wide berth. Marín saw Stukov's ominous, twitching dorsal claws moving above the heads of her crew and realized he was coming to speak to her. As the crowd parted, she looked at him, somehow forgetting since she saw him last in person how intimidating he was. To her he looked like a damned creature—a demon out of a horror film. If she hadn't spoken to him on his ship or seen him almost break down when he learned his son was safe, she would definitely have thought him a monster. But, of course, he wasn't. He had saved the lives of many of those stationed on the Vrede, and she suspected he had been pulling his punches on the ground at Tyrador. And, of course, he had kept Alarak from "glassing" the planet. She extended her hand to him and he took it. As she noticed before, his hand was feverishly warm. When she had taken his hand the first time they had met, she had thought she was just cold or scared. Now she knew it was him. I would have thought he'd be cold—like a cadaver. I guess he is "alive." Wait, are you reading my thoughts right now?

"Good to see you in person again, Admiral Marín. Though I have to say I liked your outfit better last time."

"You're… not going to let me live that down, are you?" Marín said, glad he wasn't reading her thoughts.

"I have to say the UED uniform suited you as well. Black is definitely your color."

"And you…" She began, she was about to say something back about his shirt and jacket, which were stained with something glossy and purple-black. But then she realized it was his blood. He also had a newly-healed gash on his forehead just under the brim of his hat. "What happened to you? Are you injured?"

"Hm?" He looked down at himself. "Oh. I'm fine. Don't worry. I heal quickly."

"That's… comforting?" She saw Vermaak and motioned him to come over. "Are you sure you don't need medical assistance?"

"I doubt human medics could help me."

Vermaak stood beside Marín, adopting the wide-legged stance of a marine at ease, sizing up Stukov. Unconsciously, Stukov folded his infested arm behind him and his right arm in front as he straightened to his full height.

"Admiral Alexei Stukov, this is Lieutenant General Wynand Vermaak. He's in charge of our troops in Core Fleet."

"General Vermaak," Stukov extended his hand to him, and Vermaak warily took it.

"Admiral Stukov."

Stukov eyed him for a moment.

"You were the marine with the bike, weren't you? The one that drew Alarak away?"

Marín looked at Vermaak surprised. Apparently, I'm not the only one hiding my heroics.

"Huh. Yeah, that was me. Thanks for the ultralisk. Alarak would have sliced me in two if you hadna shown up."

"He almost had me as well," Stukov said, gesturing to his shirt. Marín could see Vermaak lightening up a bit. Good. If we're going to work together, we at least need to start being civil. But she could never see herself being civil with Valerian, and she dreaded when Valerian and Stukov would finally meet face-to-face.

"I have been looking for your commander… I… haven't found him," Stukov said.

"You don't think he went down with the ship, do you?" Vermaak asked, keeping his voice low.

"If there were still people to evacuate, and someone needed his help, it's a possibility," Marín said.

"There were roughly 300 people still onboard when I had to disengage. I wanted to hold out…"

"You couldn't have held out any longer, Admiral," Marín said.

"We'll wait and see when everyone is off the Aleksander. When the last man leaves, we will know," Stukov said.

"Right," Marín said unsteadily.

Marín, Vermaak, and Stukov sorted through the people on the hangar, sending them off in ships. Marín saw Gavran countless times, making the journey back and forth. It took hours. Marín's face was glossy with sweat, and her hair and undershirt were damp by the time the last person had left. Vermaak had to leave with the last of his marines, leaving Marín and Stukov alone on the deck as the last shuttles loaded. They stood staring at each other for a moment.

"There's no one else?" she asked.

"No one."

Marín sighed.

"I'm sorry, Admiral Marín."

Marín smoothed her hair. She felt dizzy now along with feeling tired, sweaty, and slightly nauseated.

"Who is next in the chain of command? Was Augustin's subordinate here?"

"Looks like none of the bridge crew made it off either… Not that it would matter… I'm technically Augustin's subordinate."

Stukov looked surprised for a moment.

"Oh, I see. Well. Congratulations," he said darkly.

"Don't… don't say that."

"Eh? It was a joke. I try to make light of dark times. I think it's a… what do you call it? 'Defense mechanism?'"

"I could use a few of those right now."

"What are you worried about? You seem confident in your command… It's just more ships."

"Yeah, and no one to tell me 'no.'"

Stukov laughed.

"What does that mean? You think you'll go mad with power?"

"No, no that's not what I meant."

Marín didn't want to discuss how she shouldn't have followed him on Tarsonis and how she shouldn't have thwarted his assassination and how she wasn't authorized to rescue his son. It would bolster his alliance to Umoja but threaten his relationship with the Terran Republic. And he doesn't need another reason to hate Valerian.

Marín changed the subject.

"Do you want to see your son? Now would be a good time."

Stukov looked down at himself. "Yes, but… I should change?"

"Uh, well… our ship's doctor is most likely going to make you go through the decontamination protocols."

"She must know I'm beyond what some antimicrobials would fix. It won't do me any good."

"Yes, but we both know it's not really to decontaminate anything stronger than a nasty virus. With infestation, it's just to make everyone feel a bit safer."

"Of course. I worked in a lab on Earth; I know how 'effective' they are all too well. There were all sorts of precautions against 'contamination.' If I knew then what I know now…"

"I'll call another shuttle."

"No need. We can take mine."

Marín found herself continually surprised by Stukov. She wasn't excited about being on an infested shuttle again, but despite his monstrous looks and occasional odd remarks, he seemed affable enough. He was quick witted and willing to help, but his manner was odd. Marín attributed this to his lack of contact with humans since the End War. But recent actions had reaffirmed his humanity, and she could picture the man he once was.

It just may take some coaxing to bring it out. I hope our allies have the patience to wait.

---

Both relieved and disappointed, Valerian watched from his chair on the bridge of the Oppenheimer as the Aleksander arrived safely at the rendezvous point. He was glad that the Vrede had been at least partially evacuated, but he believed Stukov to be a liability at best and potentially dangerous at worst. Valerian lamented that his allies did not see what he saw, but they did not know him. They hadn't seen the recordings from Skygeirr. What they had done to him was horrific, but how he reacted, he recalled, was equally so. The inhuman screams, the threats and epitaphs howled at the staff psionically and verbally in two different languages—violent acts he promised to perpetrate and in some cases succeeded. He had managed to kill five men that were doctors and lab assistants at the facility while he was there. His main target had always been Narud, but he would kill anyone who got in his way—without question and usually with his bare hands or, worse, infestation.

And then, one day, he stopped. We finally thought we had broken him. He became civil—polite even. But… we hadn't realized we were feeding him by bringing more zerg to Skygeirr. The more zerg nearby, the more powerful he became, his psionic abilities finally reaching a point where he could read us—and easily escape. The escape itself had been almost bloodless, but then he returned with Kerrigan…

Valerian shakily poured himself a glass of wine from a decanter on a table next to him. The images from the videos of the attack were the worst. Valerian was the only one who knew how calculated Stukov could be, and that his seeming humanity could be an act. I need something else to think about… Horner will be here shortly, thankfully. I know he will be upset… I'm sure he wants to speak to me about the incident with Nova and Marín… It was… unfortunate it turned out the way it did. I never intended to hurt Marín—quite the opposite. I thought getting her command codes from Vermaak would keep her out of the fight not put her back into it. But of course Valerian couldn't tell Horner that. He would just repent and swear to not do anything like it again. Though, he thought, if he had the chance, he would have done it all over but in a more cautious manner. Valerian ordered his adjutant to play something from his opera collection. He thought of Marín again, realizing he had probably lost and friendship he could have had with her because of the recent debacle.

Pity.

The adjutant began playing a selection from Der fliegende Hollander, Senta singing the children's rhyme about the flying Dutchman, an undead sailor on a cursed ship.

"Adjutant, stop."

That's… too close to home…

Despite thinking of her as perhaps a kindred spirit, Valerian was glad that Augustin was in charge and not Marín. Marín seemed too morally centered to do what needed to be done to secure peace in the sector. She would do what was right—not perhaps what was ultimately best. Augustin, he thought, may not have been much better in that regard, but he had more respect for Valerian and for Horner, which, Valerian reasoned, made him easier to persuade. Valerian reflected on the situation. He considered himself as playing the "long game." He was not convinced that the Terran Republic—even with Stukov and the Umojan Protectorate's help—would be able to repel the United Earth Directorate. But unlike his father, he welcomed the structure the represented if not their influence. If there was one thing the Directorate was good at, it was uniting disparate factions under one banner. They are unyielding and oppressive, but effective, he thought. And something that this sector needs. If the Directorate conquered at least the human factions in the sector, Valerian would not be worried. The UED would provide infrastructure, force the Kel-Morians and the Umojan Protectorate to merge with the Terran Republic, standardize laws (Albeit unpopular ones, Valerian thought), and return Earth's long cultural history to the Koprulu sector.

But it will overextend its reach—and it will fall. Valerian thought the UED's approach to the Koprulu sector ridiculously myopic. They should have known, he thought, that any foray into the Koprulu sector with the aim of keeping it under direct rule would fail. Maybe for fifty, a hundred years it might be stable… but empires can extend only so far. Rome, for instance. The Ottoman Empire. The USSR. The United Americas… What would be left, he hoped, after the inevitable rebellion, would be a strong, unified government presiding over all the colonies for the greater prosperity of all of them. I may not live to see it, but if the UED does succeed… He knew Marinakis would not be up to the task of ruling the sector. They would need someone else…

Valerian would not be disappointed if the Terran Republic survived; he would continue to aid his friends, but hey have never understood my vision…

Valerian's adjutant notified him that Horner was aboard. He stood, draining his glass and steeling himself, ready to tell his friend what he wanted to hear and what would keep him, for now, in his good graces.

---

It had been the first time in many years that Stukov had been on an uninfested battlecruiser with a full human crew. The Uhuru was a smaller ship overall, built for speed and for exploration—not necessarily combat. It reminded him of the ships he served on as a young man. The sound of his boots on the deck as he stepped out of his shuttle gave him a strange feeling, like he had stepped backwards in time, or worse, he was somewhere he didn't belong. Oddly, on the Kuznetsov he hadn't felt it. It had been familiar and he had felt nostalgia, but now he was keenly aware that he might be regaining something that he had lost. The hangar was alive with noise. Engineers and flight deck mechanics in hazmat gear were spraying down shuttles parked in the hangar. Hazmat-wearing naval officers were guiding "contaminated" crew into temporary checkpoint structures covered in sterile sheet plastic. To Stukov, it seemed that their spirits had lifted since leaving the Aleksander. He didn't blame them. The Aleksander is a shrine to the horrors of the zerg, and I am the minor demigod that resides there. They must feel "safe" now they are with their people. Stukov looked around again. Some of the Vrede's crew was hovering around stations set around the hangar, conversing and laughing. He realized the tables held rations and beverages. Or maybe it's just because they have coffee now. But despite the demeanor of the people around him, he felt a peculiar anxiety. He wasn't human and felt out of place, but even more distressing, he realized he couldn't read them. It was a nakedness and vulnerability he was not used to. Someone could attack me right now, and I would not see it coming.

Marín exited the shuttle and stood beside him.

"Something wrong?"

"No… I haven't been on a battlecruiser in a long time. Or around this many people."

"I didn't peg you as someone who would have 'social anxiety.'"

"It's not that. I'm not exactly 'human' anymore—I don't know if you've noticed," he said sarcastically, "some people take great umbrage at that."

"You've saved most of these people's lives. I don't think you have to worry about any of them."

"What the hell is that?" A woman in a grease-covered hazmat uniform stalked towards them. Stukov tensed, his mind readying a few barbs of his own, but she walked past him, eyeing his shuttle. "Did you really bring this… infested… pulsing… wad of metal and… gross into my hangar, Admiral? How does this thing even fly?" She said, addressing Marín.

'It's… complicated," Stukov said.

"Dani, this is Admiral Alexei Stukov. Admiral, this is our chief engineer, Danica Jansa."

"Engineer Jansa."

"Dani's fine," she said, futilely wiping grease off her gloves onto her suit. She made a move to extend her hand to him but thought better of it. "Yeah, sorry."

"Not a problem."

"There's a separate lane for higher-ups down at the end of the hangar. It's good that you brought Admiral Stukov. Horner wants to meet, and Ahlberg suggested here since it was going to take you and Admiral Augustin time to get out of decontam. They're going to use the port hangar. The protoss are having transmat issues, but they'll be here later. Where is Augustin, by the way?"

Stukov and Marín looked at one another.

"Uh, we'll… talk about that later."

"All right," Jansa said, not comprehending. "If you'll excuse me, I've got an infested shuttle to isolate, thank you very much."

Jansa walked away, shouting to some other engineers and waving them over.

"We should get moving if they want to meet. You'll see your son I promise, but... we may have to go afterwards

"Fine."

Stukov followed Marin through the hangar. The crowds of men and women parted either in deference to their commander or in revulsion of him. Again, he was uncomfortable that he could not tell the difference.

As he walked, he studied the regular decontam units. The checkpoints setup for the bulk of the survivors were chaotic. He caught a glimpse of a few of them in the antechamber hastily disrobing. He could hear water running and the echoes of men and women talking to each other as they showered en masse. Stukov was glad to bypass at least the communal aspect of the protocol. As a human it wouldn't have bothered him, but now he was not comfortable with others knowing the extent of his infestation.

They arrived at the decontamination protocol checkpoint. It was smaller and only had room for one or two people. Stukov panicked slightly as he realized she may expect him to go in with her. He had no idea what Umojans' customs were regarding nudity and hadn't seen a segregated line for men and women in the regular crewman facilities. The zerg didn't really have a concept of modesty, he thought, but for some reason the idea of her seeing his infested body made him uncomfortable. I'm already repulsive enough without her seeing where the zerg flesh burrows in my own… the creep dripping down my arm… and the scars…

"So, I'm sure you've been through something like this before especially if you've work with hazardous biological specimens in a lab…" Marín said, turning to him. "There are five rooms. One to disrobe and discard your clothing, one that sprays a chemical you're supposed to scrub yourself with, a shower to rinse it off, an ultraviolet light room, and the last is a room with a biomed scanner. There will be some generic uniforms at the end. Help yourself."

"Will I get my clothes back?"

"Eventually, yes. Whenever you're ready…"

"Ladies first."

"Such chivalry," Marín said sarcastically. "I'll see you on the other side."

Stukov waited until he heard the spray from the antimicrobial room activate and entered the antechamber, glad that the Umojans had some sense of propriety—or at least that Marín was polite enough not to the press the issue. This was, for the most part, what he didn't want her to see. He slipped his right arm out of his jacket and retracted the claws on his back through the holes they had made in it. Setting his teeth and gripping his jacket by the collar above his infested arm, he ripped the jacket off with a feral growl. Creep and infestation came with it. His arm was raw and bleeding again. He could see his shirt under it, soaked in blood and ichor. The shirt came off more easily since the jacket had loosened the growth on his arm. As the tissue on the jacket and shirt died, it sloughed off and decayed quickly, leaving only a trace on the floor. His uniform looked dirty and was caked with his blood but was more recognizable now except for the holes in the back and the slit up the arm of his left sleeve. Stukov finished undressing and put all his clothing in a receptacle by the door.

As he stepped into the next section, a motion sensor triggered the antimicrobial spray. It stung the skin of his infested arm, bubbling and boiling disconcertingly where it met his blood. Ignoring it, he worked it methodically into his skin, lathering it over his chest and abdomen. He had done this almost every day for years in the research lab before going home to his family; he wore a radiation monitor as well. Of course, the antimicrobials would do nothing for him, he mused. He was contaminated beyond all help. The artifact that had cured Kerrigan had been destroyed and the Protoss cure proved to be useless (though he suspected after Narud had been outed as Duran that he had a hand in his re-infestation). Finished, he walked into the shower room, ruminating what mechanisms Narud could have used to defeat the cure. Without thinking, he didn't check to see if the shower room as still occupied and walked in while Marín was inside. Her eyes were closed and her head down, facing him. Her chest was heaving, and her hands were clasped behind her neck as water cascaded down through her hair and over her body. Is she crying? Stukov realized the weight of the day must have hit her. He turned quickly on his heel and walked back into the antimicrobial room. It was not the first misstep he had made that day, he lamented. He castigated himself inwardly for saying what he did about Augustin; he was glad that she hadn't seen him walk in, glad to avoid whatever awkwardness that would have caused. Stukov waited for the spray on the shower room to stop. When it finally did, he looked furtively inside before walking in. The shower made him jump when it came on. It was very cold, probably to entice whoever was in it to rinse quickly and leave. To him it was cold, but it didn't make him cold. Whether it was cold or hot mattered little to him in his infested state.

He waited again until he saw the ultraviolet lights in the other room switch off. After the cold of the shower room, the warmth of the ultraviolet was welcome, but again it slightly burned the skin on his back and infested arm. Finally, he walked through the last stage, the biomed scanner. It was a grey metal frame two meters wide and three-and-a-half meters tall. There was a small holographic projection that showed him moving as he put his feet on the small footprint markers on its base and spread his arms towards the palm icons that were painted on the sides. The holographic display began reading his vitals, each measurement turning red. It couldn't find his pulse (he had none), or register his breathing (because he wasn't), and his body temperature was well above normal (42C)—due to his human flesh's constant state of "fighting" his infection. He heard the scanner start and watched its progress on his holographic representation as it worked its way down his body. Multiple red dots appeared across his head and chest; he started chuckling to himself as the scanner found more and more infestation and displayed multiple dire warnings. A loud alarm began to go off, and he heard the door behind him and the to the next room, the chamber where he would re-dress, lock. Now he was standing naked in a locked room. Stukov sighed. He was caught. I should have known this would happen. In his own lab, if someone was infested (and it had never occurred, as far as he knew—they had never gotten a live subject), the protocol would have been to isolate them and then put them out of their misery one way or another. Gas, he thought, was used. Then the body would be incinerated. Hopefully that's not automated. But even that wouldn't kill me. I could get out of here if I wanted to… But he decided to wait to see what the Umojans would do.

A voice came over the intercom.

"Uh, so, you've triggered some automatic security measures. Our doctor is looking for a way to override them," Marín said. "Just sit tight, and I'm sure we'll get you out soon."

He heard arguing from outside: two women, one of them Marín and the other he didn't recognize. After a few moments, the door unlocked. A tall woman with long, stringy black hair and an impossibly white complexion stepped in. Her eyes were a ghostly blue, and, he realized, synthetic. She looked him up and down in a clinical manner, a parcel under her arm. Her neutral expression unchanging, she raised an eyebrow at him as she finished looking him over.

"I'm Dr. Amie Laurent, chief medical officer here. Admiral Marín has requested that I let you go, and against my better judgement, I am. I had to fake a medical emergency to get the door open; don't make me wish that I hadn't. Keep all of…" Dr. Laurent gestured to Stukov's infestation, "that… to yourself." She tossed the parcel to him and he caught it. "Or you'll at best get a more 'personal' examination, at worst I'll make sure you're never on this ship again. Do you understand?"

"Of course. Everyone has come back clean, yes? I'm not a threat to this ship."

"Well, let's keep it that way." She left, leaving the door ajar. Now I feel like I've met a proper Umojan, he thought to himself ruefully. Dour, humorless, acerbic—and a cyborg.

Inside the package was a pair of black boots, some undergarments, and a rank-less Umojan uniform: a grey, Nehru-necked jacket with an asymmetrical zipper and teal trim, a teal shirt, and grey pants with a matching stripe. Compared to the uniforms he was used to, he mused, They looked like pajamas. He put on the shirt and the jacket, ripping the sleeves to accommodate his arm and slicing through the back with his scythe-like dorsal claws.

He walked into the last chamber. It had a mirror in it and stacks of uniforms like the one he was wearing. She must have looked at his scan to determine what size he wore—even his shoes. Stukov looked at himself briefly in the mirror. The light grey of the uniform made him look monochromatic, and the pants were more fitted than he would have liked, but for now, his arm was not soaking the uniform jacket's arm with creep, and if he turned his head the right way and kept his mouth shut, he could almost pass as human.

Except for the eyes.

He straightened his jacket and walked out into the corridor. Marín was leaning against the wall studying a datapad and waiting for him, her hair still damp and pulled back into a low ponytail. She put the datapad down and eyed him.

"Looks good on you," she said.

"If you say so. I wonder what your comrades will say seeing me in an Umojan uniform?"

"Nothing, if they know why. Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No, but I would like my clothes back."

"You'll get them back. I'll make sure of it. Amie threatened to incinerate them, and I told her not to."

"She's… less than friendly."

"Old Umojan family. She can trace her lineage all the way back to the ark to a 'degenerate' activist of some note. Her family is the closest we get to 'blue bloods.' Some Umojans fancy themselves aristocrats and are like that to outsiders. Once she warms up to you, she's fine." Marín looked at the datapad. "We should go. They're waiting for us."

Stukov and Marín walked through the corridor towards the bridge. Because he had on an Umojan uniform, many of the people walking by, most of them studying datapads, did not realize he was "different" until they got close and maneuvered conspicuously around him. Marín pretended not to notice but gave one ensign a particularly dirty look when he overreacted. A feeling similar to what he felt in the hangar came to him again, but this time without a feeling of anxiety. The entire experience was surreal to him, walking down a battlecruiser hallway after so many years. The colors were different and the corridors were smaller, but the quiet and constant noise of the battlecruiser's engines made him feel oddly at home. Marín turned to him, seeming to notice that he was lost in thought.

"You okay?"

"Yes… Just admiring the ship."

It suddenly struck him that he should be the one asking about her wellbeing. She was the one who had just lost her commander. Marín turned a corner and stopped at an elevator.

"I'm… sorry about your commander. Were you close?"

Marín's demeanor changed. She looked suddenly tired.

"Yes… I served under him as his XO until I was promoted to the command of Core Fleet. Before that, most of my tours had been on the Vrede. I was a wraith pilot… if you couldn't tell."

"That's an… interesting career path."

"It's not something that would have happened on a Dominion battlecruiser for sure, but I switched over to helm and then command. Thierry saw something in me and basically made my career. He was my friend, but he was also my mentor. I… I don't know what to do without him. And I don't know how I'm going to break it to the fleet."

He found himself identifying with her. He could not help but relate what was happening now to his own experience in the Expeditionary Fleet. If the reverse had happened—if Gerard had somehow died instead of me—wouldn't I have felt the same? But, he realized, he would not have been questioning himself. I have a few years on her. How old is she? Thirty-five? Too young for an admiral, much less a fleet admiral. This sector has been at war for many years. When that many die, the young inevitably must command—whether they are ready or not.

The lift opened and both entered.

"I'm sorry—about what I said earlier. Up until shortly before my death, I was close with my commander as well. When I was human, I wouldn't have made light of your situation. You'll have to be patient with me. I… will not react in a way that you expect all the time."

An emotion flitted across Marín's face as she looked at him. Suddenly, she reached over and hit the emergency stop on the lift. The lift began emitting a piercing whine because the stop was engaged. It caused the zerg mind in him to panic. He had to exert some energy to calm it. Over the noise, Marín began to speak.

"Look, I haven't been totally frank with you, and if we're going to have a productive partnership, I feel like I need to… warn you about a few things."

"Warn me? About what?"

"You no doubt noticed there are Moebius ships in our fleet."

"Yes, but Moebius is gone. The Terran Republic…"

"No, they were not commandeered by the Terran Republic. And Moebius is not gone."

"What? Amon pulled them into the Void. They were destroyed…"

"The ships were. The organization was not—because Valerian Mengsk still owned it."

"Valerian? What are you saying?"

Stukov's eyes narrowed. He felt a violent, cold rage wash over him. Marín seemed to sense it and flattened herself against the wall.

"He's here, isn't he? Those ships…" He growled.

"Admiral Stukov…"

"I will make him wish…" he began, imagining the violent death he would inflict upon Valerian for the many years of pain he endured. He clenched his fists and held them in front of his chest. Unbidden, he could feel his arm fill with posion. It would be the final loose end. Marín grabbed him by both wrists, her hand not even spanning the one on his "zerg" side. Stukov was startled by the gesture, particularly the fact that she would risk touching his infestation.

"Please don't. We need him, and we need you. When this is over, I'd like nothing better than to see you, I don't know, maybe not kill him but at least give him a good scare. Hell, I'll help."

Stukov was silent for a moment. The lift was still emitting the shrill, annoying noise, making it hard for him to think. The anger left him. He unclenched his fists and sighed.

"For now, I'll put it aside… But after this is done…"

"Don't tell me; I don't want to know. There's… actually more to it, but we can talk after you've seen your son… Maybe over a drink."

"I don't drink anymore."

"I didn't say it was for you."

"Hah, now I want to know what you will say."

"I assure you that you don't."

She released the emergency stop and the lift continued to the bridge. Marín walked out first, and when Stukov exited, all activity on the bridge stopped. Horner was standing near the Uhuru's war table conversing with Vermaak and a tall, dark woman that he did not know. On the far side of the bridge was Valerian, still in his imperial finery, keeping Horner between the two of them in line of sight. Marín, undeterred, walked to the war table. Stukov followed slowly, his eyes on Valerian. Let him sweat a little. Valerian took a step back as he advanced. Yes, little prince, your past is about to catch up with you. Not now, but soon. He smiled at him.

"Valerian."

"A-admiral Stukov. You're looking… Well?"

"Hah. I'm sure I am not. Save me your platitudes. They are as insincere as they are inapt, and we have no time for them."

"I agree. But we do need to get some introductions out of the way… Admiral Stukov, you know Admiral Matt Horner," Marín said.

"Yes, Admiral Horner…" Stukov shook Horner's hand.

"I'm glad you made it. Got a little hairy back there."

"Indeed. The Directorate's additions to the battlefield and their alliance with Alarak will be hard to overcome."

"You've met Vermaak… And Valerian… This is General Jane Oyaleni…"

Stukov waited for Oyaleni to extend her hand, but when she didn't, he nodded to her.

"General…"

"Admiral Stukov," she said coldly.

"Well, it looks like we're all here… Where is Fleet Admiral Augustin?" Horner said.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Stukov looked to Marín. Her face was slightly flushed; it was obviously hard for her to finally say what she needed to say. It will be real then, he thought. Marín sighed.

"Fleet Admiral Thierry Augustin… Is missing in action, and most likely went down with the Vrede… None of his bridge crew has been found either. They must have stayed with the ship and were lost when we ran out of time."

Vermaak's expression didn't change. Stukov surmised that the reality of his death had most likely occurred to him when Marín came on the bridge without their commander. Oyaleni put her hand to her mouth slowly, registering mild surprise. Horner looked stricken, but Valerian was lost in thought. No doubt he is trying to figure out how he can use this to his advantage.

"My condolences, Admiral Marín… General Vermaak, General Oyaleni. This war is turning out to be a costly one—not just in resources but personally," Horner said. Valerian gave him a chiding look as if not thinking his words were enough. Valerian turned his blue eyes to Marín, throwing his cloak behind him, causing it to sway.

"I'm so, so sorry for your loss, Renata. I gather you were close? This must be a difficult time for you."

Stukov rolled his eyes at Valerian's obvious false sincerity. Marín's back stiffened. He wished he could see the look on her face

"Thanks. It is. But it could have been worse. By Stukov's estimate, there were around 300 people still aboard the Vrede when it finally was abandoned. If we hadn't already been evacuating and Stukov had not intervened, the number of crew lost would have been around 3,000. Augustin traded his life with one of those 3,000. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same."

"I hate to ask, but who is in line to take his place?" Horner asked uncertainly.

"I am."

Valerian shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. He doesn't like that answer. Good.

"Out of the question," Oyaleni said suddenly. "From what I've learned of what you've been up to, you should be up for a court martial, not a promotion."

Marín was clearly surprised by her reaction. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"You deserted the fleet on Tarsonis to follow Admiral Stukov and then didn't kill him, which would have saved us all a world of trouble…"

"Am I not standing right here? Why are you talking like I'm not standing in front of you?" Stukov said incredulously.

"Right. You are. And in a fucking Umojan uniform even."

"I went through decontam like the 3,000 other people who were aboard my ship. I didn't have a choice. Would you prefer me naked?" Stukov said.

"I would prefer you not be here at all! You should have remained on your ship where you can't spread your disease around."

"My disease?" Stukov said, starting to laugh, "Oh, it's much worse than a disease. If I wanted to infest this ship, it would already be infested." Stukov thought about elaborating on what that process would entail and how he hoped that if she were ever infested she would repeat that soliloquy in brain death, but he was pretty sure that was the Swarm talking and that he should keep that to himself.

"Have you infested Admiral Marín?" Oyaleni said. "That would explain some things."

Both Stukov and Marín vehemently answered "no" at once.

"I just went through a biomed scanner. You can ask Dr. Laurent if you want the results," Marín said quickly. "And that was uncalled for. If you can't be civil, you'll be the one that isn't on the bridge when we make decisions."

"I'm not done," Oyaleni said. "What about that stunt you pulled with Nova? What was that about? Again, you deserted your fleet to, what, get Stukov on our side? Fat lot that did us, yeah? Man got taken down by a science vessel and lost his fleet."

"Again, Stukov saved 3,000 people. And his interference on the ground on Tyrador saved a city from being glassed. And I might not be standing here—or you, or any of us—if Stukov's units had been wielded against us instead of being lost."

Stukov said nothing. He had been trying to not cause human casualties, but, he admitted, if the Uhuru or the Hyperion had gotten in his way, he would have destroyed them.

"Just for the sake of conversation… Is there anyone else in the fleet that has experience comparable to your own, Admiral Marín?" Valerian said calmly.

"No, that is why I lead Core Fleet. Augustin and I had roughly equal positions, but Edge Fleet was larger and he of course had more years of service… I would defer to him when a decision involved both fleets, and when the two fleets merged during combat, he became my superior."

"Who is the commander of the Liberté?

"Vice Admiral Mullenix," Vermaak said quickly.

"Yes, but he doesn't outrank me. And he may have more years but, he probably has less combat experience."

"We should talk to him," Oyaleni said, ignoring Marín and speaking to Vermaak and Valerian.

"You don't have the authority to sidestep me."

"We do if you're unfit," Oyaleni said angrily.

"Unfit? How am I unfit?"

Horner turned wide-eyed to Stukov. Stukov gave him a sideways glance. Neither of them knew what to do. To Stukov they seemed like they were bickering with Marín like unruly children. But Stukov knew better than to wade in—at least for now. He didn't want it to seem like he and Marín were closely aligned. They weren't, and if they thought they were, they may trust her less. They already thought I had infested her.

"You can't prioritize your fleet's command over your personal heroics, that's how," Oyaleni said.

"I see Oyaleni's point," Valerian interjected, "and I don't see the harm in vetting other candidates if they have more experience."

"More experience?" Marín said, finally getting angry. "Don't talk to me about experience, Valerian. I don't remember you having any military experience before your father handed you a fleet, and no one's questioning your command right now."

"Okay, okay, stop. All of you," Horner said. "If Marín is the next in line for command, that's the end of the discussion. She's the most senior officer in the fleet, and I'm not sure if you've noticed, but all those 'reckless' bets she's made have all paid off."

"But Matt, there's no harm in at least looking…" Valerian started.

Stukov finally exhausted his patience and interrupted Valerian, speaking at a volume that was just under yelling.

"Enough! If any of you think that Admiral Marín is not fit to lead this fleet, then you are a fool. You can present as many 'candidates' as you wish, but I will not negotiate with anyone other than Admiral Marín."

"Be reasonable," Valerian started, "we must…"

"Neither will I," Horner said firmly, looking away from Valerian and at Stukov.

"What?" Valerian said, stunned. Horner turned to him, looking him square in the eye.

"Neither. Will. I," Horner said again. "I agree with Stukov. Marín just did what needed to be done. There's no reason to be questioning her command."

"And none of you have the authority to do so anyway," Marín said. "After this meeting, I'm going to radio back to command and tell them the situation. At that time, they will most likely adjust my clearance, issue me new command codes, and verify my field promotion—because there's no reason not to. Until then, I'm acting Fleet Admiral. Now, we should probably get to doing what we originally set out to do in this meeting: determine our next steps."

Admiral Marín was interrupted by the chime of the ship's comm. It was the Spear of Adun.

"This is Phase-smith Karax, Admiral Marín. Our transmat system has been successfully repaired. Are you ready to receive Hierarch Artanis?"

"Yes, Karax. Send him over."

In a beam of light, Artanis appeared.

"You're just in time, Hierarch. We were just about to start discussing our battleplans."

"Excellent. Greetings, everyone… Where is Admiral Augustin?"

"Uh, well, he was lost with the Vrede. I… am acting fleet admiral," Marín said quickly.

"Oh… My condolences," he bowed to her slightly, "I look forward to working with you more closely, Admiral Marín."

For all the sarcastic things Stukov said about the protoss's penchant for self-righteousness, the Daelaam respected authority and had an unquestioning loyalty to their superiors—and their allies. He considered it refreshing after what he had just witnessed.

"Would you like to start, Admiral Horner?" Marín said.

"Right," Horner said quickly. "Our situation has gone from bad to worse. Tarsonis has fallen and so has Tyrador. Both locations give the Directorate access to several shipyards, though Admiral Stukov's interference on the ground has thankfully limited their access to civilians they could force into service. The bright side is that we've effectively stopped the UED fleet at Tyrador for now. We need to press that advantage."

"Would it be prudent then to backtrack and try to liberate Tarsonis? Perhaps then they would split their forces and be easier to defeat," Valerian said.

"Yes, that had crossed my mind. We'd have to act quickly though, before the Directorate has time to get Tyrador's shipyards up and running. What kind of numbers do we have now?"

"The Spear of Adun is operational, but we are down to only a few carriers at the moment. We are already working on ground forces and warping in more carriers. We could be ready in seventy-two of your hours."

"New ships are coming from Moebius momentarily. We'll be back to our original strength in roughly the same amount of time."

"The ships we requested before the battle of Tyrador are en route. They should be here in a few hours. We won't be back to pre-Tarsonis numbers, but we'll have more ships than when we attacked Tyrador," Marín said.

"Obviously, the Terran Republic has been hindered by the occupation of our shipyards. I'm confident that I can, uhh, cash in a few chips to bring in some 'paramilitary' forces," Horner said.

"As some of you have noted, I'm without a fleet. I have lost a leviathan, so I am less… mobile," Stukov began. "But the infested are everywhere, and I will raise whatever forces I need at Tarsonis. There was a recent battle there, and surely there will be…"

Oyaleni cut him off. "I was under the impression that our 'alliance' with you meant you would stop using infested forces."

Stukov was silent for a moment. He had forgotten. That had been a sticking point that Marín warned him about, though they had not made a formal "deal" in which he would pledge to not use infested forces.

"We don't really have time for moral equivocating if we want to retake Tarsonis now."

"Can't you just summon the zerg like you do the infested?" Oyaleni said dubiously.

"I am not Kerrigan; I cannot broadcast my thoughts across the sector and summon the zerg to me. I can call the infested because I am infested. And the zerg do not answer to the infested. The zerg have an overqueen whom you all know: Zagara. Most zerg are aligned with her. There are feral zerg that I can subdue and command, and I have my own hatcheries on Braxis that Abathur has bred to only respond to me, but that would require me returning to Braxis and starting anew."

"How long will that take?" Horner asked. Stukov hesitated, knowing they would not like his answer. He was also slightly embarrassed.

"Two weeks at best," Stukov said finally.

Horner whistled. "We don't have that much time."

"I… don't know what to tell you. If I can't use my infested…"

"What about bringing Zagara to the fight? We have given her assistance before. Perhaps now it is time for us to, as Horner says, cash in our ships?" Artanis said hopefully.

"Chips," Horner said, correcting him, "I don't know, Artanis. We haven't heard from the zerg in a while."

"I do not think that the zerg will aid us. At least not directly. Kerrigan was human and cared about our affairs whether she would admit it or not. Zagara has no reason to aid us. The human factions in this sector are interchangeable to her. So what if a new one moves in and overthrows the others?"

"Are you saying you're useless to us then?" Oyaleni said.

"No, I just need more time," Stukov said, angered.

"Well, we don't have it."

A thought occurred to Stukov. Zagara may not care about human factions, but she did care about the factions that existed within the zerg. Before Kerrigan had united them, Zagara had been a thorn in her side as had other broodqueens. The zerg worked together, but they could also be clannish if their broods became too genetically isolated. If he could use that to his advantage, he might be able to put together a pure zerg force more quickly.

"There is… another option, though I don't know if it will work… and it will still take more than seventy-two hours."

"What is it?"

"I will go to Zagara and speak with her. I believe I can talk her into committing some of her forces to our cause. But I will need assistance. Can I rely on the Umojan fleet to escort me to zerg space?"

"We are already…"

"General Oyaleni, I don't believe you are in command of the Umojan Navy. If you have a complaint, you can lodge it formally. In writing. What kind of forces do you need?"

"A few battlecruisers and their accompanying marines. There will be some zerg hunting involved."

"I thought you said we're going to speak to Zagara, not attack her," Marín said.

"We're not… Just a little… cleaning house. Trust me, I know what I'm doing. I should be back with an invasion force in… five days? In the meantime, Horner can call in his favor, and we can buy more time assaulting some of the Terran Republic shipyards that are under UED control. Maybe get them back for stealing all those battlecruisers when they were here the first time."

"They? Wasn't that 'you?'" Horner said.

"Ehh, maybe? I don't quite recall…" Stukov said, smirking. It was him. He didn't think Horner would catch that.

"Hitting the shipyards isn't a bad idea… Can Moebius field that?" Horner said, turning to Valerian.

"Yes. It's probably best if I go anyway… Both shipyards were overhauled during my reign. I know their layouts particularly well."

"Good. Sounds like a plan is coming together. Artanis, if you can keep your forces here and protect us while we wait by the Beynac, I think we'll be in good shape to move on Tarsonis in a few days. Questions?"

"I don't have a question, more of a statement. In honor of Admiral Augustin and his crew, I'm going to put together a memorial service for when we return from zerg space. All of you are welcome—Vorazun too, if she wants. I'll have more details later."

"We would be honored to attend," Artanis said quickly.

"We'll be there with bells on," Horner said.

"Thanks. I think we can adjourn, don't you?"

Horner, Artanis, Valerian, and Oyaleni left the bridge; only Stukov, Vermaak, and Marín remained. Vermaak looked as though he wanted to speak to her, but she was giving him the cold shoulder.

"I need to tell the kids they can come back up," Marín said. She spoke into the comm, recalling the bridge crew. "Meetings like that are recorded—all 'public' areas of Umojan ships are electronically monitored—but protocol dictates junior officers can't be on the bridge during them. I'm also glad they weren't. All I needed was my XO or communications officer jumping in to my defense. Thanks, by the way. It's too bad the senior members of my own fleet couldn't do the same." She looked pointedly at Vermaak. Stukov recalled him saying very little, but he figured they must have been friends for her to have taken his silence so poorly. Her passive aggressive jab also seemed out of character.

"I have a promise to keep to you, Admiral. I'll take you to your son."

They took the elevator down into the bowels of the ship and walked to the middle of the ship—away from the engines, the computer core, the armory, and anything else that an escaped prisoner might want to get into—and down an isolated corridor. When she and Stukov entered, a guard at the door hastily stood and saluted. Marín told him to relax.

"We're here to see Gregory Stukov. Is he awake?"

"Yeah, and not very happy," the guard said.

"Not surprising. Has he… done anything I should know about?"

"He's refusing to eat. Keeps trying to take his psi dampener off…"

"You've got a psi dampener on him?" Stukov said, alarmed.

"He attacked me and Nova. It's just a precaution. When he calms down, we'll take it off. Hell, when he calms down I'll let him out if you want. But he hasn't yet, has he?"

"Nope! Threw his chair at me when I went in."

Stukov frowned. "I'll… try to talk to him."

"Good luck with that," the guard said.

"I'll let you in then give you some privacy. You won't be able to get into the cell with him, but that's probably for the best. I'll be back in an hour. I need to contact command and make some arrangements. Then we'll get that drink I was talking about. I probably need at least two now."

"I don't blame you," Stukov said. Marín turned to open the brig's door with her palm print. "Wait. I never said thank you."

"For what?"

"All of this. Not attacking me at Tarsonis. Listening to me even when I abducted you. For rescuing my son. And for being honest with me."

Marín sighed. "Well, you haven't even heard all the 'honesty' yet. But you're welcome, for what it's worth. I did it for selfish reasons, most of it."

"For your people is not selfish. And I would have done the same."

I did do the same. And I was killed for it.

She looked at him for a moment, and he felt something connect. He became more aware of his grotesque shape than he usually was and in a different way. Stukov was more often than not pleased by his zerg attributes and their capabilities and appreciated the power of his infested form. But right now he was repulsed. She was looking at him, and he thought about the gashes in his cheek, the creep he felt still oozing from his arm, the claws twitching on his back, and the demonic glow of his eyes. Earlier he had thought he could pass as human. Now, he knew that was not the case. Stukov knew he was a monster—and he had come to terms with it. But now it felt like a curse again.

"Well, at least we're on the same page, I guess," Marín said.

Marín opened the door to the brig for Stukov and left. Stukov entered with some apprehension, wondering what he should say to his son. There were only a few cells in the brig, and it didn't look like the room had been used much. He heard two women talking and recognized the voices. He walked through the cell block and found Dauphin and KD in cells across from one another. He put his hands on his hips and looked at them, feigning disapproval.

"I can't decide whether you two are the luckiest or unluckiest women in the UED fleet."

"Oh, fuck you," KD said.

"KD…" Dauphin walked up to the transparent energy barrier keeping her in her cell. Both women were in white jumpsuits with attached booties. They looked like they were wearing footie pajamas. I don't understand the aesthetic of Umojan clothing.

"How are you, Carolyn?"

"Fine. Better, to be honest. I'm not on the front lines, and these people seem nice enough."

"Good."

"KD isn't doing well. She wants to go home." Stukov turned to look at KD and she was curled up on the cot in her cell. Dauphin sighed and continued, "She blames you, but she'll get over it."

"Of course she does."

"But you're here to see Gregory, right?"

"Yes…"

"Well… Maybe he'll talk to you. I can't get him to talk to me."

Marín and the guard had warned him about his son, and now so had Dauphin. He wondered what was wrong and if he could help him. He's probably homesick—like KD. He turned the corner and saw him. Gregory was laying on the cot in his cell, his eyes closed, his arms behind his head. Around his neck was the psi dampener keeping him from liberating himself from the cell.

When Stukov had seen him on Earth the last time, he had been a child. He could see the child in the man he saw before him. His peaceful face at rest reminded him of the many nights when he would quietly steal into his children's room while they were asleep, looking in on them in the dark. He didn't often see them awake; he came home late and left early because of the lab and the important research he did with the zerg there. Later, when his drinking became a problem and his relationship with his wife became tense, he would stay at the lab. And then he left for the Koprulu sector. His older children he had been more of a father to, and so he was surprised that Gregory had recognized his voice.

The ship's intercom came on, and he turned away to listen. It was Admiral Marín expressing her condolences to the fleet and discussing his funeral arrangements. While he was listening, the light above him flickered. He turned slowly back to Gregory. He was standing in his cell now, watching Stukov.

"Gregory… I…" he didn't know what to say. It had been so long, and there were so many questions, but he didn't know where to start. Stukov wanted to ask him what happened to his mother, what had happened to them after she passed, how his siblings were doing before he left, when he found out he was a "degenerate," what he wanted to do with his life, and what he wanted to do now. He decided to start cautiously. "Are they treating you… well?"

Gregory didn't answer. He stared at Stukov, unblinking. When he finally spoke, he ignored the question.

"What are you?"

"I'm… infested. I died protecting the fleet, but my body was taken by the zerg, and I was resurrected. But I'm still your father. Most infested aren't so lucky. They don't stay the person they were."

"Are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you really the person you were—my father?"

"Of course I am."

"How do you know?"

"I… don't understand. I'm standing right here. You can see who I am."

"You are a virus animating a corpse."

"Gregory, I'm your father. I love you. Please believe me."

"You want me to believe you? Then let me read your mind," Gregory said, pointing to his dampener collar. For a moment, Stukov was tempted. It would be an easy thing to defeat the cell's lock with his infestation, but that would be a violation of the promise he had made the ship's doctor and what little trust there was between him and the Umojans. He wanted to go into the cell with him and be near him, thinking that may make him change his mind. If he could read him, he may see that he was telling the truth. But he wasn't a fool.

"I'm not doing that, Gregory. What will you do? Incapacitate me? Kill me? You'd kill your own father?"

"My father died and was a hero. I didn't train for years and sign on for this mission to come out here to find a monster sullying his name."

"Gregory…"

"And making me look like a traitor too."

"Reeves would have killed you."

"I would rather have died. That's what my father would have done."

Stukov's felt intense sorrow. He wasn't wrong, but he was ignoring what was in front of him. But he understood. It was what living under the United Earth Directorate did to its citizens. It glorified self-sacrifice, especially in wartime. It narrowly defined what was properly human in regard to biology, culture, and even language and exalted it, going past humanism and into a kind of species-ist fascism even in the face of obvious examples to the contrary—Like the protoss, Stukov thought, the xel'naga… or even sometimes the zerg. This doctrine is in schools, it is in the academies, and it was in the training that Gregory received. The young base their sense of self on it. The intelligent grow out of it as they cling together for self-preservation, learning to trust few and to keep their mouths shut (or cultivating how to speak when they were open). Some are not smart enough to do that. Others aren't smart enough to know they are being manipulated and either die in war or live happily oblivious to the suffering of others. My legacy was an advantage for him, Stukov knew, and it probably kept him from death until now. As a "degenerate" he would have been used and harassed as a soldier. But apparently Sasha and this "Shin" had kept him out of trouble.

But now, Stukov realized, his name meant nothing, or worse, it was a black mark on him among many others. Stukov could understand that he would want to preserve his memories of him even if they were wrong. Without it, all that he had been all his life would have been a lie.

"What can I do to convince you?"

Gregory laughed curtly.

"Nothing. That you are here now—wearing an Umojan uniform—and would move against the UED disproves your claim. My father would have killed himself…"

"You don't think I've tried?" Stukov said, his sorrow turning to frustration and anger. "You do not understand what I've been through, and you don't understand what is going on now. Damn it, Gregory…"

The light above them flickered again. Now he could feel the psionic energy bleeding off of his son, focused towards him. The zerg in him tensed his arm and readied the claws on his back. The mutagen he used to infest his enemies coursed through his arm. Consciously, he quelled his body's reaction. Gregory could not defeat the dampener, and even if he did, Stukov would not attack him. He contemplated letting Gregory kill him.

"Get out," Gregory said.

Stukov's sorrow turned to despair. He was at a loss what to do. If he could hear the Swarm, he would have retreated to them, letting the zerg dull his humanity and his emotions. All he could do was button up what he felt and leave. He would be back once he had time to think about how to get through to him. One problem is that he may have been right. When he thought about it, he wasn't even sure if he was the real Stukov. How could I tell? I died. I came back. But what came back? Am I a soulless corpse animated by—as Gregory put it—an alien virus? It would explain why he only remembered his second infestation—not the first. He remembered being "human" again and "dying" a second time. The infested still have their human memories locked inside them. Was I given just enough psionic spark to access mine? The thought that the "real" Stukov—the human one—had found oblivion was both comforting and terrifying. And he most likely would never know one way or the other.

As he walked back out of the brig, Dauphin waved him down.

"Hey," Dauphin said, "I'll keep trying to talk to him. He's not really very happy with me right now either though."

"He's a little bitch," KD said from the other side of the hall. Both of them ignored her.

"For what good it will do."

"I don't understand. I saw what Reeves did and it scared the hell out of me. I wouldn't care if you were zerg, or my dad, or some random person; I wanted the hell off that ship. I don't know what would convince him… He never read that note you wrote him. Do you think that would help?"

"I… don't know? Do you have it?"

"No, but we stashed the duffel on our shuttle. We were going to ditch the stuff when we landed. We didn't want someone to find it. That's one of the reasons Marín caught us. We got away from our escort. The guard has it. You might get them to give it to him… when they let us use a datapad for a few hours each day…" Dauphin said, sighing.

"It sucks. I'm so bored," KD said.

"Yeah, it'd be great to get out of here too," Dauphin added.

"I'll speak to Marín on your behalf. Maybe they'll put you on house arrest instead, eh?" Stukov said.

"That'd be way better than this," Dauphin said, sighing.

Stukov left them and walked back into the guard room. He talked to the guard about his duffel, rummaging through it to find his ID. He gave it to the guard, instructing it to give it to Gregory later. Just as he was zipping the duffel back up, Marín returned.

"I see you found your bag. Feel free to take that back with you."

"I might as well leave it here. Unless I just felt like prancing around with it on my own ship, I'd have to leave it at decontam if I left in it."

"I could keep it here for you if you want. It would give you something other than an Umojan uniform to wear—if that matters to you."

"That's not a bad idea."

Marín looked uncomfortable for a moment as if weighing whether to pry. "How… how did it go?" There was so much to say and explain, but Stukov didn't want to get into it with someone he felt like he knew but also did not. The simplest answer, he decided, was best.

"Poorly." Stukov inhaled and exhaled with a deep sigh. He immediately realized how odd it was that he had done that.

"That's… unfortunate. He should be glad to see you, I would think."

"It's... more complicated than that. But you had something to tell me? Let's get out of here. Watching you drink will be a welcome distraction."

Marín took the duffel to her quarters and put it inside the door. Then she led him towards the aft of the ship. Unlike the design of the Aleksander, there was more than one observation deck and they were not restricted to officers. Marín lead him to a section of one of the aft observation decks—OA-6—observation deck, aft, level 6. A blue neon sign with palm trees around it dubbed it "Oasis." He thought it was kind of a stretch, But maybe not so much in French? That's another common language in the Umojan Protectorate.

Inside, the observation lounge been made into a tiki bar, though, he thought, not a particularly authentic one. Or at least not what one on Earth would look like. All the right parts were there—dark wood paneling, oars and tiki faces on the walls, fishing nets here and there, and an elaborate carved-wood bar. There was even an animated beach scene projected over the view of the stars from the observation deck's vast window. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong. Then he realized that the tikis were influenced by the zerg and the protoss, having some of their facial features. And the wood was the wrong color; they were made of some species that was either native to the Koprulu sector or had changed over time from the specimens the "colonists" had taken from Earth. It was like someone had seen a tiki bar scene in a film once and reproduced it only vaguely knowing that Hawai'i and French Polynesia were island chains on Earth and was unaware that a lot of the kitsch was just stuff made up by the Americans in the twentieth century. It was not the kind of place he would have been caught dead in on Earth and not something he would have thought the Umojans would have been interested in.

"This is… not what I expected."

"It's a tiki bar. Do you not have those on Earth? Is that an Umojan thing?"

"No… no we have them… I guess I thought it would be something more…"

"Formal? Stuffy?"

"Yes… something like that."

"We took a poll. This is what the results were. Can't say it's my style…" Marín said, then she started laughing. "Actually, that's a lie. It's what I voted for. I'm from a seaside town and we have two bars like this. Feels like home, really."

"I would not have guessed that about you."

Marín led him further into the bar to a large, round table in the corner. There weren't that many other people there, Stukov noticed, but it was early. She seated herself so that she could see the door. Stukov sat next to her. He would have been uncomfortable otherwise, not being able to see people behind him. It was the zerg in him, compounded by the fact that he couldn't read anyone's mind.

"Are you expecting someone else?"

"Eventually, yes."

A server came and set a drink before Marín without saying a word. It appeared to be a mai tai. He asked Stukov what he wanted and he told him he didn't drink and not to worry about him.

"I see you have a 'usual.'

"Yes and no. They kind of surprise me. You sure you don't want anything?"

"It's not that I don't want. It's that I can't taste it and it does nothing. That, and I'm not very good at keeping it down," he said, pointing to the gashes in his cheek.

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't put that together."

Marín took a drink and contemplated her glass. Whatever it was she had to tell him, Stukov thought, she was not being forthcoming. It must be bad.

"The more you stall telling me, the worse I think what you say will be."

"I know. I'm trying to figure out what to tell you first… I guess I should start from the beginning…"

Stukov sat back in his chair. This sounds like a longer story than I was anticipating.

"They may have made it sound like I was supposed to pursue you and shoot you down, but that's not the truth. I was not ordered to engage you—or even be off the Uhuru for that matter. Almost shooting you down—that was me, not them." She looked him in the eye to see how he would react. "But I saw what you were doing, and I knew there had to be a reason. I also thought it would be better for us if you were… out of the picture. I hope you don't take offense."

"No, you were working with what information you had at the time. It worked out though, yes?"

"I guess, but… well, that's where things start to get murky."

"What do you mean?"

"It… worked out but not because the Terran Republic, Umoja, or Moebius wanted it to. I didn't want to tell you this before because I didn't want to sour your relationship with either of the other parties, but it has come to a point where it seems like no one has any loyalty to anyone else and that both of our lives may be at stake so… here goes."

Stukov was confused. He leaned in close to her, listening intently.

"We rejected your proposal—that you know. And the answer was sincere: we didn't have the resources to help at that time. But what you didn't know is that Valerian hatched a plan to assassinate you when we couldn't help you."

Stukov listened as she detailed the plan that Valerian had devised with Nova, how she had inadvertently put a stop to it, and how she had almost been killed in the process. Then she told him about her unsanctioned mission. When she stopped, he was boiling with rage.

"Why did you stop me from killing him?"

"I told you why—we need him."

"And Horner agreed with his plan?" Stukov said, incredulous.

"They… seem to have a long-standing relationship. I think that Valerian is starting to abuse the trust that Horner has put in him. But if today was any indication, Horner's finally starting to break ranks."

"Even so, this alliance seems less and less appealing."

"I feel the same way. If it's any consolation, you can rely on me."

"Why? You've done much for me, but you and I are strangers."

"No Umojan trusts Valerian, one. And Valerian almost killed me to get to my ship which means I am wary of him now as well, and what you said to shut Oyaleni and Valerian up—I think we would be best served if we watched each other's backs."

"You're not afraid of what they will say?"

"What who will say about what?"

"I'm not human," he said, and finally remembered to add, "anymore. And I'm from Earth. You don't think they'll use that against you?"

Marín gave him a sidelong glance.

"Hearing what my own people will say about me, I don't think it matters. And you're human. I don't know why you keep saying otherwise."

"Huh. Does alcohol affect your eyesight?"

Marín nearly choked on her drink.

"No, but maybe my hearing. I'm one of those people who starts shouting when they're drunk. But what does what you look like have anything to do with it? You care about your son, and in the brief time we've known each other, you've saved thousands of lives. If you weren't human, would you have done any of that?"

"I have suffered—I still suffer. I don't want others to do the same, regardless of allegiance."

"That's not something a zerg would say."

"How would you know? Have you spoken to any lately—other than me?"

"I will soon if we go with your plan."

"Ah yes, Zagara. She is… interesting."

"Do you think she will help us?"

"If we help her."

"How are we going to do that?"

"It will become clear soon."

Marín didn't seem to like that answer.

"You don't trust me… You say I'm a stranger… and you want me to trust you?"

"I'm not sure you want to hear my plan."

"Try me."

Stukov didn't want to explain the mission to her, because it would require perhaps losing some resources to gain more, and their manpower was in short supply. Thankfully, Marín was distracted by someone walking in. She waved to them. It was Jansa, the woman he had met earlier in the hangar bay. She saw him and balked slightly. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Stukov realized that it looked as though he and Marín were having a private conversation. He sat back again and nodded to her in greeting. Jansa cautiously settled into a seat across from Marín.

"I heard about Augustin. How are you holding up?" Jansa asked. Before she could answer, two men came in and sat beside Marín. She introduced them as Achille Barre and Anders Ahlberg. Dr. Laurent also entered, scanning him with her strange, mechanical eyes, and finally Vermaak came and occupied the last seat, having the bad luck of sitting next to Stukov's infested arm.

Stukov looked around. The place had filled up, and the holographic seascape projection had been replaced by a football match being broadcast from somewhere in Umojan territory. It was starting to get loud. He began to feel less and less out of place as the crowd ignored him and he listened to Marín's crewmates converse freely in his presence. Barre described and acted out portions of the dressing-down that Marín had given Horner for Stukov much to his amusement and Marín's dismay. Barre offered to send him a copy, but Marín quickly told him that was a security breach. Jansa told the story of Marín and Nova's encounter and how she had "slapped that bitch down" with the launch rack. Marín had to finally tell them to stop talking about her and ordered another drink. Stukov told his own story about Alarak and how he bested him by basically shoving him out a window. The conversation devolved into the dumbest things they had done in the academy, of which Stukov's story involved him dropping a lit cigar into his own CMC and setting his trousers on fire. He finally had the presence of mind to evacuate the air out of his CMC to put it out, but not before panicking and flailing around in the suit, which he pantomimed.

"I still have a scar on my thigh from it. If it had been an inch or two to the right, it would have been more serious. Much more serious. Gravely serious," he said. None of them seemed to expect him to tell the story, much less act it out, which made it funnier. They've also been drinking—a lot. Everything is funny. Where are these drinks coming from?

As if reading his mind, Marín asked, "Hey, who is ordering these drinks?" They all looked around confused.

"I thought you were!" Barre said. Ahlberg flagged down the waiter.

"Oh, those are for Admiral Stukov compliments of the crew of the Vrede. I told them he doesn't drink, but they've been sending them anyway. I've just been passing them around."

Stukov looked up and around the room. There were a few tables of people watching him. They raised their glasses and cheered as he noticed them.

"You know what? We should have a toast," Marín said. She climbed on her chair, nearly falling she was so tipsy. Stukov grabbed her waist reflexively, steadying her. Vermaak reacted as well and shot Stukov a look that he didn't know what it meant. Marín held up her glass. "Everyone! Let's have a toast!" She held up her glass. "To our guests from the Vrede, to Admiral Stukov who brought them here, and to Admiral Augustin whose sacrifice will not be in vain!" Someone pressed a drink in his hand, and everyone was looking at him expectantly. Resignedly, he put his hand over the wound on his face and bolted some of it. It tasted like nothing. All he felt was cold. His hand was wet when he took it away.

There were a few more toasts from the crew of the Vrede. The night was devolving into a wake for Augustin. Marín became very quiet. Though she had knew Augustin well, she seemed unable to join them in talking about him. Her grief must be great, he thought. Again, he wished he could read her thoughts. Or I could not be an idiot and ask her. He leaned towards her again so that he could speak to her without shouting.

"Are you okay?" He said quietly.

"Yes, I… think so. It's hard to talk about him. And I don't want to overshadow his crew's grief with my own."

When he sat back again, Vermaak was staring at him, giving him a hard look. He realized his arm was around the back of Marín's chair. He slowly moved it away, glad that she hadn't noticed. He didn't defend her earlier but acts protective of her now? Odd.

His attention was drawn by someone yelling in the bar.

"Change the frequency. Change the frequency!"

The scene projected on the windows changed. He instantly knew what he was about to see within a few notes of the martial music that began playing. The red-and-black crest of the UED flashed upon the screen, and an overwrought voice began narrating the scene that faded in. It was Tyrador IX. A squadron of Directorate wraiths and Tal'darim phoenixes flew over its domed capital building trailing red and black smoke—fitting as they were both the colors of the Tal'darim and the UED. In front of the capital building stood Marcos Marinakis behind a podium smiling vacantly. Beside him was a very bored-looking Alarak and on the other side Reeves in a white version of a UED dress uniform. The skull symbol on his cap had been removed. Someone in the bar said, quite loudly, "That guy has the douchiest beard."

I guess that means both survived the conflict. Damn.

"Today the United Earth Directorate celebrates an uncontested victory, bringing law and order to the Terran Republic system of Tyrador."

A resounding "boo" erupted from the bar. Someone threw a beer can at the image on the screen.

"Directorate forces have liberated the colony from the Republic with the help of our powerful and faithful allies, the Tal'darim."

The video cut to Alarak's forces marching in the square in front of the capital, framed, Stukov thought, in such a way that made it seem there were many more than there were. It then cut quickly to some unrelated staged battle footage of Alarak performing some of his more acrobatic attacks. Stukov wondered how they had gotten him to agree to that. Appealing to his vanity, most likely.

The video cut back to Alarak, Marinakis, and Reeves standing in front of the capital. "Though the battle was costly, the lasting peace promised by the Directorate will benefit the citizens of Tyrador for years to come," the narrator said.

"I bet they're fucking," someone in the bar said.

"What? Marinakis and Reeves?"

"No! The protoss and the dude with the fucking weird beard."

"Is that even possible?"

"Anything's possible if you try hard enough, mate."

"I would like to point out that those men are not mine," Marín said, putting her head in her hands.

"That sounds… chafing?" Barre said quietly.

"Achille…" Marín said, sighing.

The video focused on Marinakis.

"Now that Tyrador has been liberated from President Horner's oppressive regime…"

"Do you think he really believes this shit?"

"… Tyrador and Tarsonis will now be part of a splendid alliance…"

"Who the fuck says 'splendid?'"

"…of not only the United Earth Directorate and the Terran Republic, but also the Tal'darim."

"Maybe they're all fucking?"

"Shut up! I can't hear!"

The narrator began again, the scene changing to canned footage of the zerg—and the infested. "But this alliance has already been tested by betrayal." A grainy picture of Stukov, probably from a Tarsonis news feed from when he was briefly on the ground, was centered in front of the footage. It was his face in profile, his left cheek and shoulder prominently displayed. The picture made him uneasy. His face was twisted into a snarl, and the glow from his eyes created a distortion in the picture that made him look even more hellish. That's not what I really look like, surely. They picked that picture on purpose. I'll be easier to destroy later if they cast me as inhuman now. "Admiral Alexei Stukov, infested by the zerg, has revealed himself to be a degenerate and a traitor to the cause, attacking the UED fleet."

"Who's that handsome devil?" Someone yelled. Stukov laughed and the table around him cheered.

"And that's not even my good side," Stukov said loudly, his voice carrying across the room. There was more cheering. Marín laughed and put her arm through his briefly in a gesture of camaraderie. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Vermaak tense and appraise him again.

"Our forces routed him at Tyrador, and he has retreated with his Terran Republic and Umojan Protectorate allies. His immediate family is also suspected of terrorism and traitorous acts; if seen please report any tips to your local UED constabulary for a substantial reward!"

Oasis went quiet. Displayed on the screen were the faces of Stukov's children. On one end was Alexandra, stern and as unphotogenic as her father, looking tired and business-like in what he thought was most likely her Central Intelligence ID photograph. She had cut her hair in a way that Stukov was unsure he liked: shaved closely on one side in an apparent nod to her military career and shoulder-length on the other. He wondered why she had done it; she remembered her having beautiful dark hair. She was gaunt and already had creases already under her eyes and a few strands of grey at her temples. His two other sons were in the middle, Maxim smiling in what looked like some sort of headshot. Stukov doubted he was an actor but could see him being some sort of politician—He had always been able to talk himself out of anything. Cyril's photo was unrevealing and appeared to Stukov like it had come off a passport or a commuter's license. Gregory's picture was his military ID; his skin was so pale against the background he almost blended in with it.

The narrator began speaking again, but the bartender cut him off mid-sentence by returning to the football game's frequency. Around the table, no one spoke. The spell of him as one of them had been broken. He felt out of place again. Stukov rose from his chair.

"I… think I should take my leave. We have an early morning…"

"I'll take you back," Marín said quickly, leaving her chair to follow him. They walked in silence to the elevator. Uncomfortable minutes passed as it took them down through the ship.

"Do you think they will be all right?" Marín said finally.

"I don't know. At least they haven't found them. My daughter did not respond to me, which means she is in hiding or on a ship in coldsleep."

"Let's hope it's the latter."

"Yes."

Quiet settled between them again.

"She looks just like you."

"Unfortunately for her. At least she was spared my nose."

"There's nothing wrong with your nose."

"Yes, that's the least of my problems, isn't it?"

"Are you fishing for a compliment?"

"What? No. Just… pointing out the obvious."

The elevator opened onto the hangar level. Stukov followed Marín to the door of the starboard hangar.

"This is where I'll have to leave you. If I go in, I'll have to go through decontam again. There's a period of time that we have to wait…"

"I understand."

"I'll see you in the morning," she said. Stukov turned to leave, but Marín stopped him. "Tell me if you hear from your kids, will you? I want to know… if they're safe."

Stukov walked alone into the hangar bay, his footfalls echoing in its emptiness. Despite his olfactory senses being less acute (or at least less attuned in a human way), the acrid smell of the disinfectant they used to try to "clean" the Aleksander's blood and infestation off their ships burned his nostrils. His shuttle, unable to be fully decontaminated because it was being held together by infestation, was sealed under heavy sheets of plastic marked with biohazard stickers. As he ripped the sheets off, the sound shattered the quiet. Stepping inside, he readied the shuttle, keying in an automated sequence for launch. Warning klaxons blared as the energy shield engaged and the hangar door began to open. Hesitating, he turned and walked to the edge of the hangar to the energy shield, looking out on the starfield before him.

The scene outside to him was surreal. Terran and protoss ship as well as the Aleksander and Kerrigan's leviathan all waited together in the shadow of the Umojan defense platform, the Beynac. When Kerrigan left, Stukov thought his last tie to humanity had been severed. He had no place on Earth and no close contacts in the Koprulu sector. He chose to reside with the zerg but on his own terms. Stukov questioned that choice now. He could see where he could fit in here, but he warned himself way from any connection or sentimentality he felt for these people. Though he had defended her, he was wary of Marín's kindness. But at least she was frank about me being "useful." I don't know if she really cares about my children or my wellbeing beyond my ability to fight. Once this is over, I will most likely be back to where I was—alone on the Aleksander above Braxis, never hearing from any of them again. I may never even reconcile with my children. He could read Marín, he realized, once he accomplished what he hoped to with Zagara. But he wasn't sure he even wanted the friendship that they offered. What would I get out of it? Christmas cards? The occasional subspace message? He was being reductive, he knew. If he could get Umojan citizenship and become a consultant or contractor for the Umojan Navy, he thought he may have a somewhat normal life again—something that he would need if he finally got through to Gregory and the rest of his children made it to the Koprulu sector. Five years is a long time to wait. But even with that, Stukov realized, he was getting ahead of himself. If they won this war, if he survived, and if his children had even made it on a ship, he would gladly wait the years until their arrival.

Until then, I will clear the way, assuring that when they finally arrive no one—the Directorate or otherwise—will harm them.

I'll make sure of it.