"We have half an hour!" cried Lockwell. "If I don't have that story by then, I swear someone's cleaning out their office! What do you have!"
A young blonde journalist quickly piped up, out of self-preservation and fear. "Our contact with the Nephor II explosion has gone silent. We haven't been able to reach him."
"Jesus," muttered Kate Lockwell. "We were making some real progress with that story. Well, scrap that. What else we got?"
"The Editor-in-chief wants you to rethink about pushing the Raynor story to the top story," called another man.
"Well screw Anderson," replied Lockwell, angrily. "Tell our Executive Producer to piss of as well. That'll be the third slander in a week! Our broadcast can't survive on just that! What about the report of Tyrador IX Superintendant Regina resigning in protest? Any leads on that?"
"At this point it's just another rumour," replied another subordinate, frustratingly. "And we all know how many of those are floating around."
"Miss Lockwell, you have a contact wishing to speak with you. He says it'll be the story of the year."
"I've heard that before," she grumbled. "When?"
"Right now, mam. He wants to meet at the Augustgrad Correctional Facility."
"Why am I surprised?" Lockwell asked herself. "Leave it to a nut to be scrapping for a story. Damn it. I might as well check it out. I'm going to have to send one of the interns to cover the Norad IV unveiling in my absence. Well...oh I know! Get a Delegate for the Koprulu Trust – I don't care if he's Umojan – and run some story about the financial state of the Dominion – spin it however the producer wants to, I just want a story!"
Lockwell took the elevator down as the sickening feeling in her stomach began and would ensue for the next half minute. She took deep breaths and engaged in slight introspection. Being the lead anchor was...different. She couldn't deny that the job was just as hard as her planet hopping reporter days. Yet she missed those days. Those days, she said whatever she wanted, of course often cut off by Vermillion, yet at the end of the day, she knew she had made an effort to tell the unmitigated truth and it left her with a clear conscience. She wasn't so sure these days. She agreed that Raynor had to be brought to justice. She lost count of the times she cursed herself for buying his bullshit story back on Haven. The stories coming in about the Hybrid were...monstrous. The fact that she had been smoothly manipulated by the man responsible was an infuriating thought indeed.
But she knew the Dominion wasn't a saint either. They were being increasingly difficult in landing Fringe World reports ever since the zerg retreat. Kate Lockwell suspected that they would be trying to cover and minimize the devastation of the war from the general public rather than before where they showcased it to further the militarism ideology that Mengsk had been determined to institute. A Dominion official was at her office once a week trying to hinder and impede the ongoing Nephor II investigation by one of Lockwell's reporters until her Producer finally got the balls to tell him off. And now their lead had suddenly gone dark, just as they were getting close to the truth. The Kel-Morian embassy had been closed down without warning leading to much protest from the ambassadors. Any reporting of it had been prohibited with the Dominion giving some crap excuse that foreign dignitaries (or former in this case) were entitled to a degree of privacy. But people knew the truth. The rumour was quickly solidified as fact and it helped that the Kel-Morian ambassadors were very vocal about the matter. That was until they systematically vanished. Official records stated that they boarded transports back to Moria while independent reports suggested otherwise. A little birdie told Kate that the Umojan embassy might well follow, although so far, they had been playing their cards right.
Lockwell was also keeping a close eye on the remaining political hierarchy that remained after Emperor Mengsk took power. Even after the fall of the capital world Tarsonis, there were still large and influential terran forces that remained independent and could cause trouble to the newly forming government. Kate didn't miss the fact that nearly every influential and adamantly opposed individual to the Dominion with enough sway to catch attention, had somehow risen to the ranks of Planetary Superintendants and even Systemic Chancellors. They were bought off, Lockwell was sure of that. And coupled with the fact that many of these powerful people were members of the Old Families with histories of power abuse, life in the Dominion was no doubt bleak. Though then again, Kate should have probably thanked those rich pompous asses who had traded one wealth for another similar to their political allegiances. It was because of them that the Dominion wasn't under absolute dictatorial control. They were the last forms of defence against the totalitarianism that seemed more prominent every day. Kate Lockwell counted her graces. Thank god that – excluding alien affairs – the Emperor's decisions were forced to be reviewed and approved by at least 6 of the 12 Systemic Chancellors. But with so many of them likely in Mengsk's pocket, the limit of power was largely inconsequential. No Imperial order had ever been overruled by the Chancellors and if the powerful 12 wished to keep their positions, it was likely to stay that way.
At least Lockwell could count on the fact that at least most of the Planetary Superintendants appeared to be sincere. Although subordinate to the Systemic Chancellors, the Superintendants carried a great deal of weight. Unlike the Chancellors - who were chosen by the Dominion to govern their respective systems - the position of Superintendant – voted leader of the planet – was one of public office. Many tyrants Mengsk had elevated to quiet them, had been forced out of office by angry citizens leaving the position for genuine rulers. Tyrador IX Superintendant Catherine Regina had been one of these people, benevolent to the core and as cunning as one could be. It disturbed Kate greatly that the woman had resigned, abandoning her people simply to make a point. This was one story she would definitely be following up with.
The elevator ceased and Lockwell tiredly exited, only to be shuffled into the nearest transport ship. Noisily yet undeniably quick, Kate soon found herself at the doors of the Augustgrad Correctional Facility and in the Psych ward no less. She mentioned she was meeting a contact here to the staff, who were taken aback, yet quickly ushered her in with grace. The presence of such a known individual seemed strange for this dark facility. She was lead into a private room with nothing but a metal desk and uncomfortable chairs. She sat down as the lights brightened, only to reveal another individual across the table from her. He sported a fine auburn moustache and gripped a jar of peanut butter protectively. Her eyes widened with shock.
"Donny?" she asked, tentatively.
OOO
Kerrigan fidgeted in agony. She paced around her room, clutching her insides. The terrible throb in her neck continued to ensue and she had already relieved her stomach twice that morning. Her eyes, bloodshot and showing sleep deprivation were dimly lit, the bright green liveliness fading away. Her skin quivered and she felt as if she needed to let loose. She wanted to scream and smash anything she could with as much force as she could muster. Alas, she knew she couldn't. Any sign of aggression would only lead to further containment and in her current state, Sarah would tire herself out before she made a dent. Her red hair was dripping with water, which rhythmically provided metonymy in the form of the constant drips of water droplets. Every once in a while, she could hear soft murmuring just beyond the doorway. They were hushed and spoke in cautious tones, fearing that the extent of Kerrigan's supernatural powers enhanced her hearing. She knew they were all talking about her, first in distrust for her past as the Queen of Blades and now with disdain for becoming a helpless addict. Her face contorted with rage at the thought. The whole lot of them, SCV corps and communications officers, they didn't know the first thing about what she had gone through. If any other person had seen what she had seen, had experienced what she had experienced...it would be justified. And so was she. What did the SCV workers know? They sat back, draining resources from rich worlds with no danger. They rarely ever went out to do field repair. No they insisted that the damaged machinery be brought back to HQ to be fixed under the veil of safety. And the communications officers? They were a joke! Sitting back while true soldiers did the fighting and they relayed messages of despair and misery with calm demeanour while better men and women died. And given how damn unreliable communications were, Kerrigan wondered how apt the officers really were. They were unappreciative vermin, all of them. They sat back and judged her while Sarah knew she had done ten times what they had and sacrificed even more.
Sarah weakly climbed back into her tub. The water, now lukewarm at best, still provided the ghost with a degree of comfort, even as the heat was dying. It enveloped every bit of her, much like the creep, though without its malevolent qualities. She closed her eyes and submerged herself within the water. It was cold, uncomfortable and yet soothing all the same. Kerrigan felt at ease here, or at least less sickened. And as the days passed by and Kerrigan sat alone in isolation as the effects of the drugs continued to take their toll on her, all she thought of was her dream. Where had the water gone?
From a vantage point above the room, the perceptive Ariel Hanson watched intently. Her mind, forever scarred with the horrifying injuries she had attempted to correct after the devastating battle, felt an ounce of sympathy and a little remorse at her previous cold demeanour. No one truly knew what she had gone through. No one but Raynor. The risk was large. There was no guarantee that two destructive forces would resolve into beneficial ones. Putting the two of them together could provide the proximity for them both to be delivered a peace of mind or be fully engulfed in their unknown origin of despondency. But Horner was insisting. Ariel hardly believed that the commander had awoken from the poison induced dream. He was downright delirious when he came out of comatose. She had suspected that there were lingering after-effects from the venom, but a full body scan had proven otherwise. Whatever he had been exposed to while under the poison, had damaged him beyond anything she had ever seen. She decided to rethink Horner's proposal.
Horner sighed, grabbing another used bottle that had rolled up noisily to his foot. The sound of glass grating insufferably against the jagged ground was enough for any man to cringe, at least the sober ones. He took a whiff of the empty bottle, its contents still leaving a lingering odour of definite alcohol, and a strong one at that. Looks like his commander had busted out his reserves. He wanted to forget as quickly as he could.
"I thought we decided that I wouldn't be cleaning up after you anymore," called Horner.
A pause was experienced before Raynor, who did nothing to face his speaker, responded. "This ain't your problem, Matt. It ain't your responsibility. I ain't asking nothing of you and if you know what's good for you, I'll say this one more time: Leave it alone."
It ended in a growl, more slurred than angered as the alcohol was taking effect.
"You're our commander," continued Horner, heatedly. "You have a responsibility to your men! They rely on you to make sure they get out all right or at least that their lives would be worth something. Instead you're a drunk, falling into old patterns. It's damn well my business and my responsibility. I can't let you jeopardize your men's lives. I won't."
"Well then, maybe I'm just not up to the task anymore," said Raynor with a hint of sarcasm. "Maybe my time's over and you should take over."
"You don't mean that," sighed Horner, shaking his head. "I'm just talking to a wall, as usual. When are you going to learn to put down the bottle?"
"About the same time when you learn that life isn't all sunshine and daisies!" bellowed Raynor, leaping from his chair, the toppled object falling to the floor with a resonating clang. There was dead silence in the air, tension as thick as mud and eyes from both parties glaring daggers at once another.
"Don't you tell me what I can and cannot do!" continued Raynor, stepping closer to his second-in-command. "I ain't gonna be patronized by someone who doesn't know a thing about true loss, true suffering. You think everyone can act like you? You expect everyone to act according to your set of rules? Guess what? You're a lucky man amongst unfortunate people, alright! We don't got the comfort you do! We don't go through our lives without any real loss. Tell me, Matt, what did you lose, huh? What have you lost?"
Horner didn't respond.
"That's what I thought," said the inebriated man, flatly. "Until you know what it's like to lose a wife...a son...then Leave. It. Alone."
Resigned, Horner backed away, making his way to the door. Before leaving, he stopped as the doors hissed open.
"I have lost something," he declared, looking away. "I lost a commander. I lost a friend."
The steady beat of his boots gave Raynor notice to his absence. He sat alone, moving only to bring more liquor to his throat and corrupting his mind. He lost track of time. Soon, he didn't know how long he had been drinking. Attempts to stand up suggested that it was on the extreme side. However, with nothing but empty bottles around his table, Jim begrudgingly lifted himself up, cursing loudly as he tripped over the toppled chair. He made his way out of the room, barely acknowledging the guards' salutes and greetings. With a supporting arm on the corridor's wall, he groped his way forward, aimlessly. He had neither goal nor sobriety and his feet moved for no reason at all. He wandered about for what seemed like hours, each passing guard eyeing him worriedly yet not brave enough to object to their intoxicated leader.
Somehow, Raynor had found some more liquid courage, snagged from a lowly NCO who had surrendered it quickly and without protest. Any motor improvements he was making were obsolete the second he replenished his bodily supply of alcohol. He had to stay drunk. He had to stay oblivious. The memories were dull and faint with every passing gulp. And Raynor was doing all he could to maintain that state.
He found himself looking at a window, dumb and ignorant. He must have been standing there for minutes without looking. He shook his head and peered inside. He saw a woman bathing in a tub of water, strangely clothed still, perhaps to assure modesty against any onlookers like himself. The woman sat idly in the body of water, her face devoid of emotion. Every once in a while she'd grip her stomach and massage her neck, but to no avail. Despite her stubborn demeanour, every so often, she let out cries of anguish and pain. She thrashed her neck uncontrollably, trying to rid herself of what she was going through. Her bright hair flew around her like the bright red flames encircling a precious star. Her eyes opened and Jim thought he saw a gateway to all things wonderful and terrible in those green eyes, painfully dull and precisely glaring.
The standstill continued. Out of sheer anger, Kerrigan held her gaze while Jim held his out of a drunken stupor. It ended only when Sarah ducked her head down, once again, relieving her stomach. Another meal gone to waste.
"What'd you do, Sarah? Hanson apparently didn't take out all the crazy bitch out of you," slurred the commander.
"I did what I had to," spoke Kerrigan through clenched teeth.
"You broke an officer's jaw and fractured the ribs of a medic. You nearly cost 2 marines their lives when they pried your drowning body from the water. You're definitely making an impression, girl, just not in the way you'd hoped."
"Screw you," she whispered, words laced with venom. "I know what I did. I know it was wrong and I'm paying the consequences under Horner's orders no less. You sit there behind this thick reinforced door, judging me. Go ahead. Pass judgement on me since you're too much of a coward to turn your critical view back on yourself. Keep drinking your booze, you coward! Keep drinking and have the temerity to judge me. Imagine that? A drunk passing judgement on a drug addict. You think you're better than me? You think this wall separates us in any more ways than physically? We're in the same boat, two sides of the same coin."
"You're out of control," growled Raynor. "You almost got your allies killed."
"You did get your allies killed!" yelled Kerrigan, who would have stood up would she have the strength. If she had the strength, she would have done a number of things, such as tear the metal door off its hinges and shake the man before her until a sense of reality returned to him. "Don't think I don't know about that! Horner told me all about it. He told me how you were just having one of those days."
The sarcasm did not elude Jim, even in his inebriated haze. He gripped the bottle tightly.
"You don't know what happened down there," he said menacingly.
"Oh yes I do," jeered Kerrigan, furious and livid. "You just had to crack open one bottle. And then it turned into two bottles and then five and then many more after that! You ordered a platoon to their deaths on Tarsonis. You were out of control. You marched your men, who trusted you implicitly, straight into the Dominion's Marauder Kill-team. The last of the platoon who made it back, died within hours."
"19 marines dead!" she roared, finally the apex of her fury reaching upper limits of devilish qualities. "19 brothers lost, 19 fathers gone, 19 sons spent and 19 of your men killed by your doing! And supposedly, I am the one out of control. Well then I'd like to see you out of control. Because if this ain't it, I don't know what is."
Raynor's eyes looked dangerous. The empty bottle had long since been discarded softly. It rolled across the floor, almost trying to escape back to its owner. He smashed his fist against the metal frame of the door. Breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, Raynor was barely holding it together. The sound of loud clanking boots, forced his attention to be turned. Behind him, two marines stood ready with Horner behind them.
"What the hell are you playing at?" snarled Raynor.
"I'm sorry sir," said Matthew Horner. "But it's for your own good."
The heavy metal door hissed open and Raynor was forcefully pushed into the room by the soldiers who promptly sealed it quickly. He was trapped now, in this room who's sole inmate was the one he looked disdainfully upon, superiorly so. He regarded the inmate as an unfortunate soul who's mind had subtle been corrupted with the substance she had used to keep herself sane.
He didn't belong here...did he?
OOO
"Still remember me, do you?" asked the former lead anchor, with an uncharacteristic hearty laugh. "Didn't suspect you would. I'm old news, you know? Ha! Old News! Get it!"
"Donny, did you call me down here?" asked Lockwell, the initial shock wearing off into frustration.
"Sure did," he said, rather quick. "You know, I haven't had a lot to do since I got here. They don't let us do much because they think we're all crazy, you see? Now, I wouldn't say crazy, per se, but maybe just a little wild, you know? So anyway, I'm thinking about past stories. I got one that bugged me pretty bad now. It's like I can't remember it! And I think you were the lead reporter on that story! You'd be able to go check the records and remind me, see? I remember all of my stories except for that one. And you know me, a perfectionist, through and through. If I'm gonna be stuck here for a while, and I suspect I will, it can't hurt to have the good memories to keep me company, right? It's gotta be full, you see? I don't want any holes in my beautiful record."
Kate gripped her coat, furiously. Her eye twitched and to those who knew her, it was a sign of trouble.
She started slowly. "Donny, did you just call me down to refresh your memory? Do you know that I'm the new lead anchor and my job responsibilities outweigh any to my former boss? You forget something and you call me here to help you! I'm missing the unveiling for the Norad IV for this! You said you had a scoop!"
Donny Vermillion chuckled to himself. "Had to get you down here somehow, didn't I?"
The lead anchor stood up coldly, putting on her coat and prepared to leave. The former lead anchor followed similarly.
"No don't go yet!" said Donny, frantically waving his arms. "Like I said, I've been doing a bunch of looking back, you know? And I gotta apologize for the way I acted to you. I kept cutting you off, never letting you finish. It's a big regret of mine that I wasn't a better employer. So here."
The man stuck out his arm, giving his jar of peanut butter to the stunned lead anchor.
"It's my most precious possession, you know," warned Vermillion. "So don't go eating it all up at once. And maybe you could come back again, you know, with the missing story. I think it's the one right after that big story with that Umojan fellow and all. So if you'd do me one big favour and check it out, I'd be most appreciative. So check up on it, enjoy the gift, and come back soon!"
Not knowing what to do, Kate received the jar of peanut butter and also received a beaming smile from her former boss as she took his gift. Shaking her head slightly, she turned away and exited the room.
"What a nutcase," she muttered.
OOO
"Your demands are outrageous!" roared Zeratul.
"Careful," warned the Civil Council. "Your admittance to the Martial Council was approved upon the basis of your reputation, reputation which you know seem to have disregarded in favour of savage and uncivilized disruptions."
"Had I known this council was filled with the blind, I'd have long since retracted my request," retorted the old warrior.
"Are you one to question our judgement, Great one?" asked the Civil Council. "Was it not you who disrupted the leadership of the Dark Templar only to forsake it when the leadership of its people called upon you? You forget who we are, mighty Zeratul. We are not simply 5 convening Protoss. We are the people. Would you risk defying them yet again?"
"That is quite enough," snapped the Hierarch, hoping his intrusion would calm Zeratul's rising anger. "Zeratul's objections are not unshared by the rest of the Martial Council. This act could lead us from our precarious peace back into disaster."
"Peace?" questioned the council. "What peace is there when our streets are filled with warriors and our skies covered with warships? What peace is there when we are led by one who has continuously led us into further and further years of fighting and battle."
"That is the Protoss way," stated Artanis.
"Community is the Protoss way!" roared the council, who's harmonious voices quelled any objections. "Democracy is the Protoss way! Parity is the Protoss way! This is why we exist, Hierarch. The Protoss have been through many hardships, many difficulties throughout our meagre existence in the grand span of the infinite ocean of space and time. Never has the Protoss been led by a singular head. Your inauguration as Supreme Leader of the Protoss was an act of desperation, not adaptation! The Protoss will never yield to a singular head, never! And in your savage bloodlust, your...warmongering, you would see us turn from a communal race into an authoritarian one like that of the Terrans!"
Silence was bitter to both sides of the council.
"The Protoss are defined by more than battle," said the council, once more. "How can we proclaim peace while preparing for war? The martial council did its duty and now it is our turn to do our part. Our Warriors served us greatly, but now is not the time to plunge further into senseless militarization. We must rebuild. And we cannot do so with the precious resources wasted on our fleets."
"You are demanding the full demobilization of Protoss forces," stated Executor Selendis numbingly, as if she didn't believe the very words she was thinking. "You would have us abandon our defences to revive books long lost from sight and reason, leaving us vulnerable to another attack while we sift through our art in a mistaken sense of safety."
"What do we have if not our culture?" asked the council.
"We have our lives!" protested Selendis, in vain. "We have the fire bestowed upon us and we have each other. I would burn a thousand of our oldest archives than see my comrades burn in the coming firestorm brought forth by powers unknown to us."
"Then we are thankful that you are not near one at this time," replied the Civil Council. "Brothers, there is no need for quarrel here. The time of war is over. Peace must be allowed to flourish now in the wake of victory of the highest degree. Demilitarization will not have to be enforced immediately. It may be spanned over several months to assure the smoothness of our transformation."
"As Hierarch, I-"
"THIS IS A DEMOCRACY, YOUNG ARTANIS! NOT A DICTATORSIHP!"
An uncomfortable feeling, which sprung from the roots of the conversation now covered the room in a blanket of fresh tension and nerve-racking silence. Another singular sigh of the council was heard as they recollected themselves as one.
"The vote stands at 5-4 for demobilization," said the council. "We will leave it to you to plan out the schedule of this course of action."
Holding his tongue, so to speak, Artanis briskly exited the room lest his anger get the better of him and leap at the council as if they were zerglings. Silently, the other members of the Martial council followed. Fenix came up behind, slower due to his robotic shell.
"Just a moment," spoke the council.
Fenix apprehensively turned towards the council alone and silent.
"We know the truth...Archon."
Author's Note: Please tell me what you think. The following chapters will be a bit slower than previous battle ones but hopefully not boring. I'm going to have to ask you guys to be patient with me. Studying for my bar exam takes precedence over this and will probably result in another week or two void of updates, but don't panic, I'm still around and I'm in it for the long run. Thanks for reading and please review.