Alexei

All our strength … coming to nothing.

Half of Alexei burned, a singed half that groaned with grief and rage, urged him to lash out or seek a quiet corner. His mind buzzed with plans and contingencies both old and new … all of which centered around one unchangeable and unforeseen fact. Gerard…

What had slain him? He had eyewitness accounts from over fifteen different people, some of whom said it was zerg, others said it was rachni. It made little difference to Alexei. It would make no difference to Helena and Gerard's children, who waited safe and ignorant back on Earth, their last memory of their father being a proud man in uniform, marching towards the future while rose petals fell from the sky…

The other half of Alexei, of course, felt cold and unyielding, thick ice standing firm against the opposition. The other half, the part of him so carefully nurtured through all of his years of UPL education and hardship, looked to his surroundings and made judgments, kept him closed off to the cowards, fools, and opportunists that milled about him, as confused and listless like a herd of sheep. Even now … always separate.

The arrival of the protoss at Korhal brought first relief, then fear, then resignation. The various insect races that had decided to spontaneously plague them were already beginning to scatter; the zerg and rachni had fled almost immediately, while the … others … left a while later, leaving a horrifying slew of MIA reports in the sections of Augustgrad they had hit hardest. Here to harvest. Or rather, to reap. It does not take a genius to realize who is behind this attack, even if the motive is unclear. We have lagged too long. And now … and now the protoss drag everyone to Aiur.

Half of Alexei did not care. Gerard had died. They could not locate the body of Valerian Mengsk. A large portion of the Dominion Navy remained intact and independent under General Warfield. And they ordered us home. Alexei's gloved hands trembled. That may no longer be possible. And … and I certainly have no desire to return. To Helena. To the waiting arms of SAC sympathizers.

Alexei took a deep breath, and let the other half take over. He stood in a protoss nexus, this much he understood, surrounded by a dizzying mix of other races, all of whom gathered in their little allied cliques while armored protoss watched them mill about from each corner. Light streamed in from the concave roof above, casting illumination on the bright green trees and other assorted foliage that dotted the interior of the structure in little rows. Alexei could see no exit or entrance. Thick walls occasionally protruded from the otherwise square foundations, from which the faint sounds of footsteps could be heard, but no doors broke their smooth surface. When more people arrived, be they protoss or otherwise, it was in a flash of light from within the nexus. No one is leaving without the protoss say so.

"We stand on Aiur," said a quarian loudly to Alexei's right, speaking to Donnel Udina, who leaned against a cane with one hand and wiped his brow with the other. "Do not fear. It is not the Umojans who frustrate the protoss."

The turians all stood off to one side, sullen, a few volus scattered through their number. The salarians occupied the other side opposite, leaning against a wall and speaking furiously, their gestures animated and quick. As Alexei watched, one of them actually struck another across the face, leading to a quick series of blows that ended with one salarian on the floor with blood on his lip, the other offering a quickly accepted hand. Strange creatures.

Batarians and quarians alone seemed content to wander from place to place, speaking to representatives of other races and offering updates and occasional consolation. The batarians seemed more at home amongst the colonials, with several hanging about Warfield and the small Morian congregation, while the quarians spoke mainly to asari or even to the protoss guards, who offered no audible response.

Alexei, of course, stood alone. The other human representatives saw his uniform and his hat, and kept well clear. The aliens saw no need to speak to him. He simply watched from his corner, the cold and the heat battling for dominance within his head and chest, watching as everyone else got about their business as they always had. Unimportant. Lost. Alone. Gerard was dead. He was, to some degree, a prisoner of aliens. As far as he was concerned, as far as the Directors back home would be concerned, he had failed. So … this is failure. Something … something may yet be salvaged.

But not Gerard. And one of the main points of this exercise was making sure he got home. So … what is left to fight for?

A commotion erupted from the center of the nexus, the ITSA and elcor delegates scattering as tall figures erupted out of nothing, blazing light leaping from their silhouettes. Alexei watched, gloved hands limp at his sides, as the lights faded. A towering golden figure now stood at the center of the nexus, his armor gleaming resplendently in the sunlight, his overwhelming radiance a key indicator of who he was.

And the red skin … the protoss do enjoy broadcasting their emotions, don't they?

The figure, whom Alexei suspected was the protoss Hierarch, Artanis, turned slowly throughout the room, his blazing eyes making some step back, others actively shake. A Dark Templar stood at either side of him, one male and imposing, the other female and older, hunched where the other stood straight.

While Artanis took in his surroundings and slowly turned ever more crimson, more figures appeared out of thin air, all of them protoss. One almost seemed to land with an audible thud, his figure and bearing far larger than any others in the room, undisguised by the robes he wore. One bore Templar armor yet lacked nerve cords; her intricate gold and silver armor nevertheless marked her as someone of import. And of course, the protoss councilor appeared, the one known as Aldaris, clad in simple robes and bearing a small circlet atop his head, as if this were some kind of alien medieval court. Well … get on with it.

"I am Artanis, Hierarch of the Daelaam Protectorate," boomed the protoss, silencing all remaining sound in the room. He surveyed his surroundings once more, gaze temporarily linking with Alexei's. To his surprise, he felt a small prod of acknowledgement, with little anger to be felt in it. Only … wariness. Perhaps … perhaps there is still some chance here.

"This is a grim hour," called out Artanis, his voice rattling through the minds of the galaxy's foremost politicians and military commanders who could be abducted in a hurry. "An hour of war, in which those to whom the galaxy has entrusted their lives and their faith have been robbed of both. An hour in which the true enemy has finally revealed itself to us in full … only to leave, chuckling, as no one could answer the call to repel them. Salarians clash against turians, batarians against terrans, and of course the terrans war against themselves as always. Zerg, rachni, and Reapers alike descend upon worlds torn by battle and feast without any resistance to be seen." Artanis paused, his gaze fastening first upon the turians, and then the salarians. "And when we step in to clean up your messes, to fulfil the tenets of the Dae'uhl that urge us not to exterminate you out of hand 'ere you become a nuisance, you strike against us. A bold move, for insects."

No one moved. Some of the turians turned to one another and one said something, but Alexei was too far away, and he could not read alien facial expressions. This left only Artanis, whose lack of mouth and full body armor did little to dim the impression of boiling rage.

"We have tried for a light hand," he continued, walking forward now amongst the lesser races, who parted before him as if impelled by some hidden force. "You were granted your freedoms, warned to ready yourselves and cease your conflicts. Our religion and our nature forbid anything more; we are not your shepherds or your guardians, only your friends and sometimes your stewards. We did not require your love or your thanks, only some degree of obedience and respect. Clearly, we expected too much of you."

Artanis stopped before the turians, who did not back down in his face, staring back at him with their backs straight.

"Who are you, who would disturb galactic peace like this?" asked Artanis, each syllable reverberating through Alexei's skull and sending a primal shiver down his spine. The turian species hangs in the balance…

"Guardians," said Sparatus, stepping forward. "We did not strike the first blow. Only the last. Korhal spelled out to us just what we were up against. Outer colonies now reach for the Hierarchy's protection. The turians stand ready against the zerg and Reaper onslaught." He shot a glance at the salarians. "We would be happy to be done with this."

Artanis stared at Sparatus for several long, desperately uncomfortable moments. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

"Your people struck down many of our vessels today," he said, anger still snaking through his tone. "It is fortunate I detect no falsehood in your tone. Know that the next time your people stand against us will be the last, regardless of circumstance. Let this be our final warning."

"We will bear it in mind." Sparatus watched Artanis depart without blinking, arms folded behind his back. Artanis now strode to the salarians, who scrambled to present a straight line before him, a small male salarian standing at the front.

"Valern," said Artanis, inclining his head. "I am told that you are now retired."

"We refused to part with any of our dalatrasses, and Councilor Linron is dead." Valern stared meaningfully for a few moments behind Artanis, at the turians on the other side of the room. "Slain by the turians. I volunteered, on the basis of having met you once before."

"It is fortunate that I remember the salarians fondly for their fleet actions over Thessia," replied Artanis, tone nevertheless still dangerously low. "Speak – did you strike first?"

"Of course, always," said Valern, causing murmurs and a few harsh barks of laughter to ripple through the room. "We determined it to be the optimum time for the turians to strike – so we pre-empted them. Insufficient damage to stop them, as you might have noticed, but not for lack of trying. Everything indicated an imminent turian strike. I apologize if we were wrong." Valern shrugged. "So – warp in, kill us all, and leave?"

"What good would that do?" snapped Artanis, taking a large step in Valern's direction, causing him to backpedal. "Each ship is needed. Each leader is needed. Punishment will only be levied on the stupid and the unrepentant. You will receive the same warning as Sparatus, salarian. Know that no number of tricks or first strikes will spare you from the fury of the Firstborn. You will channel your talents in a manner I find productive, or you will be removed from the equation entire."

Valern nodded, backing away with his hands raised. "Of course. Of course."

"My due thanks to the asari, quarian, and Umojan peoples," boomed Artanis, turning on Udina and the aliens surrounding him. Race traitor. "Their actions spared the life of my Executor. For this reason, as well as retaining the same level of logic and reason that I would expect of any sapient, you will be spared the coming penalties."

Wonderful. This created quite a stir, and one colonial from the ITSA assembly even gave a choked shout. Udina only sputtered and nodded, leaning hard on his cane, while Alexei watched Artanis descend on the batarians.

"Hierarch." The lead batarian, clad in robes of mixed black, green, and gold, spoke without fear. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Anto – I have heard much about your people that fills me with displeasure," replied Artanis, the rage turning cold. "Piracy and slavery will have no place in this new order. Your people will have to adapt quickly, or be set upon by the Daelaam. I acknowledge that, at the very least, your recent military actions were in defense of others, and are to be lauded, but I cannot condone the Hegemony as it stands."

Anto paused, looked back to the assortment of robed batarians behind him, and laughed openly.

"You can break our economy and caste system, so long as you promise to fix it again."

The batarians behind Anto advanced, snarling, only to stop with choked gasps as an unseen force froze them in place. Anto produced a blade from within his own robes, turning on his compatriots with another chuckle.

"These are the ones that will not comply to the new order," he said, casting a glance back at Artanis. "The penalty is traditionally death."

"You will spill no blood in this nexus," commanded Artanis, causing Anto to shrug and hide the dagger again within his robes. "Kaldalis! Remove these scum." A protoss warrior strode towards the assorted frozen batarians before vanishing in a flash of light, leaving no trace of them behind. Remove can mean a few different things. I am wondering which it was in this case. Artanis stared at Anto, eyes burning.

"There will be others," warned the batarian. "I would suggest a garrison. KMs can't drag us into the light anymore, so I'll leave it to you." He inclined his head. "It is a pleasure to meet you again, Artanis."

Artanis lingered there for a moment longer before turning, this time upon the ITSA colonials and their bastard elcor allies. He stood taller even than the quadruped freaks, and his armor likely even meant he out-massed them.

"You strike against the batarians even when there is no evidence that they are your tormenters." A blunt statement, hanging heavy in the air. "In all of our years of observing the nascent ITSA government, we have never seen you as anything save agitators. Your acceptance of asari and elcor is commendable, as is your affiliation with Jim Raynor, but you are a volatile element in a volatile galaxy."

"Says the child snatcher." The room seemed to darken. All went still. A colonial stood alone, a steadily widening circle around him. Artanis's skin darkened, just a hair of a shade. The colonial only raised his hands and gave a harsh bark of laughter. "What? We've seen these protoss at it? They showed us!" The ITSA idiot pointed a thick finger at Alexei. "Those ones! The Earth bastards! We've seen you at it. Protoss everywhere, killing each other, killing innocents, abducting us … for what? Can't you see what this is the beginning of? We fight, and they're afraid of losing cont-"

A dull crack echoed through the nexus as the colonial's head turned all of the way around. A muffled gasp issued from his lips as he fell, twitching, his body trying to make sense of the broken neck before slowly realizing it was time to shut down. Say good night. No one dared move.

"Let me make this clear:" said Artanis, each word seared into the forefront of Alexei's mind, a blazing brand against his brain. "Regardless of our intentions, which we have assured you all from the beginning are benevolent, we are out of patience. Resistance will be met with annihilation. Suspicion will be met with annihilation. Noncompliance will be met with annihilation." The colonial twitched and finally fell still, a mangled death rattle forcing its way from his wayward jaw. "There is no longer any room for restraint on our part. Until the Reapers are gone, anything goes. For their impertinence and warlike behavior, the ITSA is now a client species under the Daelaam Protectorate. Your worlds will be garrisoned. Remember what our policy on resistance is."

And not a sound from the so-called champions of terran freedom. Alexei licked his dried lips, waiting for the moment Artanis would turn to him, what verdict he would render. I care not for the result. I should be outraged that an alien species has placed humans under their explicit control, but frankly I am only amused. Gerard is dead. The rest is … details.

Artanis met Alexei's gaze again and marched towards him, filling Alexei's vision with gold. He stared up at the burning alien eyes of the protoss.

"Your name." Artanis's voice rang out. All eyes were on the two of them. "Now."

"I am Vice-" Alexei paused, realizing that he was no longer the Vice Admiral. A choked gasp escaped his throat, unexpected and unwanted. He held up a finger and internally begged the protoss's forgiveness, his vision swimming slightly. "Pardon. I am Admiral Alexei Stukov of the United Earth Directorate." He looked past Artanis, at the wide eyes of colonials and aliens alike. "A pleasure to meet you all."

"We have watched your progress with interest, human." Alexei had to crane his neck up slightly to match Artanis's merciless gaze. "We would hold more hostility for your nation had you not arrived during an already present terran war. We hoped you would establish swift order and unity among the terran peoples. We are losing patience. We see only chaos and destruction."

"Mengsk is dead," replied Alexei, voice hoarse, gloved hand tapping against his thigh. "We encountered unexpected difficulties as the Waygates exploded and various alien threats attacked Korhal. I have no quarrel with you. Permit me to consolidate control from what is left … and you will have the bulk of our people backing you against the Reapers."

Is this a promise? Alexei almost panicked at Artanis's probe, but he felt no wayward presence within his mind, it was only a simple message. Well, protoss, you would be surprised, but I am quite willing to put aside any number of personal ambitions until the Reapers are dealt with. I am not a fool.

Artanis watched him carefully, and Alexei squinted in slight pain as he felt a heated bore press against his forehead, a proper test of his mental constitution. It faded quickly, however.

"We need proper representatives from your people." Artanis took a step forward. "We need the coordinates for Earth."

"You cannot have it." Alexei spread his arms out in an almighty shrug. "Kill me if you must, or render me brain damaged, but the knowledge of Earth's location is one of our few defenses against the likes of the zerg or Reapers. The bulk of her fleets are already at your disposal, in any case."

Artanis reached down and grabbed Alexei by the chin, his golden gauntlet feeling cold against his skin. He tilted Alexei's head up, bringing their faces close together. The probe came again, but this time Alexei met it with the half of him made of ice, presenting only unyielding cold. Unwavering resolve. There is little left for me to care about, protoss, but I have always known my duty. You can force Earth's location from me, but it will buy you only grief.

Artanis released Alexei's head and straightened immediately, reassuming his imperious position above Alexei.

"You promise us your full aid against the Reapers?"

"For as long as you will need it." Alexei coughed and also straightened, jolting his hat back into place and positioning his arms behind his back. "Give us time to consolidate control over Dominion and KMC space. We will leave all other space alone." He extended that thought to Artanis, letting him know of his honest intentions. Of course … the minute the Reapers are dealt with…

"Then it seems the entirety of the Koprulu Sector is to be free of penalization," declared Artanis. "Would that all sapients could rally themselves to such a degree as the proud terrans, geth, batarians, asari, and quarians." Artanis surveyed the room, slowly turning his head. "As of this moment, the galaxy is under effective martial law. All military movements within salarian, turian, volus, and ITSA space must be cleared with the Daelaam Protectorate. The Citadel and all capital worlds of offending planets will be garrisoned. Combined geth and protoss fleets will now patrol all of known penalized space for zerg and Reaper incursions. Our patience is depleted. So begins our vigil against the darkness."

Alexei expected shouts, screams, some form of outrage. But nothing happened. Everyone just seemed to accept the new status quo. Oh, the protoss control everything now. Okay. Perhaps resentment simmered from the turians or salarians, but Alexei could not detect it. Not until I familiarize myself with the movements of their faces, of the motion of their bodies.

"There will be no further second chances." Artanis stepped into the center of the nexus again, the sunlight casting a brilliant nimbus from his armor. "Aldaris! You are now high councilor of the Citadel. The lesser races answer to you." Aldaris inclined his head. "You will all be returned to your seats of power. Anto, we will take measure to secure you against exterior threats and begin purging the aspects of your culture we find distasteful." Now, when I say things like that, they call me a crazed perpetrator of genocide … Alexei chuckled at this, but could not help but notice the way Anto's eyes lit up, the total lack of fear or hate. He led one revolution in his favor. Why not another?

Alexei turned his head as the crowd slowly crawled back into motion, sluggish and furtive as it was. Someone, a man in a white suit, approached him.

"Donovan Hock," he said, extending his hand, which Alexei took without hesitation. "What's left of the Kel-Morian Combine. Still in control of most of the security forces. I do believe we can do business together."

Do you now? As I recall, it was your "business" that resulted in the destruction of the Waygates. And I've had to deploy Anderson against you once already … He scanned Hock's face, noting the smoothness, the total lack of hairs, the cocksure sleazy grin. He believes himself a clever man. He presents this belief openly. This will not be difficult.

"Indeed," replied Alexei, shaking the hand once before releasing it. "Perhaps we should return to the Sector together? I can break out some wine from Earth … and we can discuss the way of things."

Hock nodded happily, before waving over another colonial, darker skinned, a trimmed black beard upon his face. He approached Alexei far more cautiously.

"Elias Kelham," said Hock, waving him over vigorously before stepping backwards, arm outstretched, as if presenting a prized student or pet. "The other half of the Morian security forces … well, not quite true, but the two of us together represent a majority. Here he was worried he would be stuck on Omega, but now you have a free trip home!" Hock chuckled. "Alexei believes we can do business … the KMC might survive under the UED after all!"

Alexei and Elias stared at each other, unsmiling. Kelham also wore a white suit, but it was far less conspicuous than Hock's; Kelham's suit possessed a more tan tone and was a simple two piece compared to Hock's … how many pieces is that? Hock wore a tie and a smug grin, Kelham did not. Neither extended a hand. Hock's eyes flitted between them, trying to figure out what went wrong.

"I would advise you come back to Omega with me, Donovan," said Kelham, not turning away. "I don't think you will find UED business to your taste … at all."

"Nonsense – we're all friends here, united under the protoss!" Hock reached out for each of their shoulders, only to be shrugged off. "Er … right?"

"This man is friends with no one," replied Kelham, taking a step back, eyes on Alexei's own. Alexei offered him a small smile. "Donovan – I recommend leaving the Koprulu Sector behind. We will be far better cared for … away from the UED." Yes … he believes the protoss have erred. They do not gaze too deeply into alien affairs, it seems. They are concerned only when we kill each other with sticks and fire … they do not see the slower, smaller deaths. They do not understand them.

"And I respectfully disagree – I will not forfeit my position on your suspicions alone!" Hock smiled brightly at Alexei. "The UED have proven themselves leal friends and stout allies to the KMC and her allies. And they are pledged under the protoss…"

"It's your funeral." Kelham retreated with a contemptuous backward wave, disappearing into the crowd of politicians huddled around the center of the nexus. Light leapt from it, and the crowd fell inward again. Onward. To a new order. Heh.

"Shall we?" Alexei gestured forward, before remembering. "Just a moment."

He caught the broad-shouldered general at the edges of the crowd, staring at his hands and muttering. Warfield glowered at Alexei as he turned, his heavily lined face catching fire upon sighting Alexei's face.

"I don't know how you fooled the protoss, but you are not fooling me," spat the general, folding his heavily muscled arms. "Consolidate … we both know what that means."

"I need you," said Alexei. Warfield cocked an eyebrow. "What's left of the Dominion, it needs a hero. In the wake of Korhal, of the uncovering of Tarsonis, it needs a man whose hands are clean of such affairs. For the sake of the Dominion's people, if not the Dominion itself, I need your support, and I will go to whatever lengths possible to get it. When we return … after I have spoken to Hock … I would like to come up with something acceptable to both parties."

Warfield opened his mouth and closed it again. He turned in confusion to the crowd behind him, as if checking if there was someone to turn to for support, but there was nothing. He threw up his hands in anger and frustration.

"Alright!" Warfield coughed, and then controlled himself, lowering his voice and his arms. "Alright. But!" He held up a finger. "I seen them casualty reports. You haven't found Valerian. The minute he gets turned up alive, he's the one I listen to. That ain't gonna change. Got it? If he lives, the Dominion lives. But until then…" Well. I suppose that will be another thing to add to the list.

"I will contact you when I am ready." Alexei tipped his hat. One of the few colonials I cannot afford to kill. Warfield shrugged irritably and disappeared into the crowd. Alexei took a deep breath.

Let duty take over. Do not think … do not think about how your duty will soon to involve arranging a funeral. A few more problems to take care of, and then you will have time … time to…

"Guess we're a united front now," said a salarian to a turian, the two of them brushing shoulders against one another as they waited for the people in front of them to hurtle through the cosmos back home. "For what it's worth … I'll do everything I can to make sure our people will know there can be no vengeance. We're in this together now. Otherwise the protoss…"

"Will warp in, kill us all, and leave," finished the turian with a bitter chuckle. He cocked his head at the salarian. "Is this all it took? Just a little communication?"

"No, a little communication and a threat of certain death." The salarian shrugged. "The Reapers, zerg, and protoss are all quite tangible. When you're working with absolutes, it becomes much easier to cooperate." Yes … isn't this exciting? How acceptable will this seem when the galaxy has been locked down for years on end, your freedoms and independence completely stifled? We'll see. You may even eventually turn to the Directorate for help … The salarian and turian stepped into the light together.

Hock stepped to Alexei's side. The protoss at the center of the nexus stared at their coming, eyes burning, robes flowing.

"Korhal, DSS Aleksander." Alexei flashed a smile at the protoss while the storm in his mind raged on, the contingencies and counter attacks shifting, mutating to accommodate the new realities…

But first, a funeral. And Earth must be notified … there is no coming home for this Armada. Not yet.

They stepped into the light together, emerging at the bridge of the Aleksander, the events of the last few hours seeming a bizarre dream … were it not for the KM grinning at his side, no doubt wondering how much he could get away with now that he was a friend of Earth.

Crewman scattered at their wake, a heave and cry going up, but Alexei dispelled it with a bark.

"Notify Vice Admiral Ahern of my return!" he said, inwardly wincing at the inadvertent rhyme. "I will be establishing new fleet orders shortly. Continue the cleanup efforts at Augustgrad in the meantime. EDI – send Captain Leng to my quarters. I do not wish to be disturbed while I meet with Hock." He jerked his head back. "Hock. With me."

Alexei's head roared at the tangled mess of stress, exhaustion, and the single image of Gerard lying peacefully on his back within a stretcher, a gaping hole in his chest. Was it quick, old friend? Can I tell that to your wife, at least? Alexei shook his head violently, making crewmen stare as he passed them, but he did not care. The KM followed in his wake, looking like he wanted to speak but knew better. Even in the turbolift he remained silent, despite the fact they remained totally alone. Alexei checked his watch briefly on the ride up. There is time. There is time.

"Fine quarters," declared Hock as soon as he stepped through the threshold, likely before he had even really taken in his surroundings. Alexei murmured a thanks before gesturing to his dining table, retreating to his footlocker and pulling free a single decanter of clear liquid.

"Did I say wine earlier?" Alexei asked, remembering quite clearly that he had, in fact, said wine. "I meant vodka." He slammed the bottle against the wooden table with a muffled thud, placing a pair of glasses next to it. He poured a pair of glasses before finally sitting, raising a glass to Hock.

"To Admiral Gerard DuGalle," Alexei said, voice thick. "Father, husband, officer, gentleman, and friend. Loved by his countrymen, feared by his foes, known to all. Cheers." Their glasses clinked together, and Alexei down the fire, let it permeate his being as it numbed his throat. Hock choked on the seat opposite, gingerly placing the glass down.

"Have you ever tried ryncol?" he asked, wiping his eyes. "Krogan drink. If this is what you favor, I expect you will handle it far better than I did."

Alexei did not reply, simply pouring himself another glass and downing it as well, eyes stinging, tears forming even as he internally scoffed at the vodka. Been drinking these since I was twelve.

"So," said Hock, placing his palms upward and extending his arms, "Alexei … to business?"

"There is much to do," said Alexei. He planted the glass firmly against the coaster. "Warfield will help me pacify the Dominion, although the absence of Valerian Mengsk's body continues to vex me. But … that is for the future. At present there is this, and I must arrange a funeral."

"For Gerard, I take it?" Hock clucked his tongue in sympathy. "All the galaxy will know his face at least, likely in perpetuity. His broadcast … I had never seen anything like it. I wish I could have met him."

"He would have hated you." Alexei did not bother to watch Hock's reaction, instead pulling his fingers free, one at a time, from his left glove, then placing it carefully on the table. "It was in his breeding, you see. UPL aristocracy, although they would never call themselves that. He hated all of the colonials, although I think he struggled against that, in the end. I never saw much point in such hatred, myself."

"I am … pleased to hear that!" Alexei could hear Hock's trembling smile as he pulled free the fingers on his right hand, tugging the leather away. One. Two. Three…

"No doubt you have much you wish to say to me," said Alexei, carefully placing the right glove atop the left one. "How we are both cut of the same cloth, men of reason, power, and action. Doubtless you know how to play chess, and play it well. You are used to giving orders and possessing wealth. Nothing less for a son of one of the Four Families, correct?"

"I … yes." Hock looked to either side of him, checking the exits. "I was hoping … as men of reason, power, and action … that we could help secure the remnants of the KMC. Forge it into something greater. I would do whatever you asked. I have proven myself a seasoned battle commander…"

"So I recall." Alexei checked his watch again. Still time. "I still noted a disproportionate number of KM defeats while holding against the Dominion, however."

"We were heavily outnumbered and fielding mercenaries with poor morale." Hock shrugged, smile becoming increasingly nervous. "You should be glad to have both Warfield and myself on your side, sir. We will make an able team for keeping this sector pacified." Sir? How quickly he realizes the position he is in.

Alexei poured himself another glass, thinking.

"The other families," he said. "How will they react? Kelham is out of the equation, obviously, but Archer and Santiago were nowhere to be seen on Aiur."

"Archer likes playing with his syringes." Hock waved him off. "He is an asset, provided you do not impinge on his research and mining assets. I am told his Mobius Core also fields a sizable number of security forces, but they only ever fielded them when Harper gave the say so. No trouble from them. As for Santiago…" He shrugged. "No idea."

"Go back to Harper. And Cerberus." Alexei steepled his fingers and stared over them. "I would dearly love to know how they fit into all of this, what they will do … and where they are."

"No clue, no clue, and no clue." Hock laughed, his voice climbing to the pitch of a hyena. "Harper used to be based on Moria, but he made a bunch of money selling faulty yamato schematics … then he ordered some kind of space installation built. Then I never saw him physically again, not for about four years now. As for what they'll do … I thought Harper was going to retire once Mengsk was dead." He grinned at Alexei, desperate for some warmth from the admiral. "You're … you're not going to give him a reason to change his mind, are you?"

"My presence alone will make him change his mind." Alexei downed the glass. "Are you certain there is nothing you can tell me?"

"Of all the families, we had the least contact with the bastard." Hock wiped his forehead, a visible sheen now shining from it. "Cerberus … they lent a helping hand, but they fought against us in the Guild Wars, you know? They just hated Mengsk. They wanted him dead. That was it. No long term goals beyond that. What they'll do now, with the protoss on the move, these "Reapers" fucking everything up, with … you … anything could happen."

"Yes." Alexei poured himself a final glass. He raised it to Hock, but did not drink, instead simply holding it. "How well do you know your Earth history, Mr. Hock?"

"Well enough." Confusion flitted across his face. "Look … Admiral … I have powerful friends. I can provide troops, funding…"

"At post-peak resources, at a time when humans numbered twenty billion on Earth and her colonies, nations clung to capitalism when it became clear there was little left to sell." Alexei smiled at Hock. "They refused to place sanctions on those that had made them so much money, who continued to … hock … their cybernetic implants, their diesel engines, their bottled water. Everything died around them. Mutations ran rampant through the populace, and everything hung in the balance."

"So the people looked up to their nations, to their leaders, to men like me. And they shouted: "Save us!" So … we did." Alexei's smile widened. "Men like you, at that time … men like you died, trampled as the UPL began its crusade. No more war. No more dissent. No more carelessness born of greed. Much like the protoss, resistance was met with annihilation. A purge, not to be celebrated, but always to be remembered. You were born of that purge." Alexei tilted his glass in Hock's direction.

"The CEOs and their ilk, they all thought themselves so untouchable…" Alexei stood, glass still in hand. "To them, money had always bought everything. Silence, lives, food … take that all away, render all of that meaningless through the sheer weight of a panicking public, and they all realized in the end that, in the end, you cannot eat money. Nor could you buy off a mob. They ruined society, and in a ruined society, money is meaningless … much like your money right now, Mr. Hock."

Hock opened his mouth to say something, but came up with nothing, only a sound reminiscent of the chickens whose necks Alexei's mother would break in her youth. Ah. A nostalgic image.

"The KMC represented outdated and terrible ideals. I am glad it is dead. I plan to cremate the remains." Alexei checked the time. "Ah. If you will excuse me, I have a funeral to plan." He walked to the door, glass still in hand, turning one more time, feeling nothing at the terrified expression on Hock's face. You really should not have come here, my friend. The Dominion will likely live on, in a fashion, its culture preserved through the memory of its emperor. You and yours on the other hand…

"It's not your funeral, there is no need to look so worried." Alexei smiled at Hock and turned on his heel, walking out the door. He heard Hock get up from his chair, prepare to walk towards the door. To Alexei's left, Leng nodded and grinned.

"After all, you don't need a funeral. You simply vanished one day, never to be seen again."

Alexei walked away as the door shut behind him. Two muffled thuds and a moan made it through the threshold. Alexei nodded and smiled, face finally cracking, the tears streaming down it. He raised his glass.

To my oldest friend, Gerard.

His dreams of supremacy shall live on, through the men he left behind.

There was nothing else left to really care about anymore. Arrange a funeral, destroy the Reapers, conquer the galaxy … and then die, a man fulfilled. Alexei checked his watch one last time, wiping his eyes with his other hand.

I'll have to keep a schedule.

Next Chapter: James