Author's Note: Hey, little earlier than normal on this update, but I hope you don't mind. With this batch we start to head deeper into what the rest of this story will be focusing on. I appriciate all the positive reviews that I've gotten from you guys, and I'm glad to see that I have a fanbase that likes what I'm churning out. Keep it up, it really does help! On with the story!

StarCraft: Brain Storm

Chapter 51: Cold Comfort for Change

Jim entered the Tarsonis' bridge still in his CMC armor. He'd just gotten back on the ship after six hours of orchestrating the retrieval of surviving crewmembers from the destroyed wreckage of Battlecruisers that had been downed during the battle. The rebel survivors had been loaded onto medical dropships and flown away to friendly sick bays, while the Combine crews were shot on sight.

Having spent most of his time participating in the latter operation, Jim's armor would need a fair bit of cleaning to get the guts out of its joints.

"Jim," Bill said, clunking over to him in the command suit he wore.

Shaking his hand, Jim noticed that even with the battle won, Bill hadn't lightened up. Though the better half of the Kel-Morian military had been destroyed in the nuking, there was still a large portion of troops alive in other systems that could be a problem. Bill was clearly aware of that, and as such he looked very concentrated.

"Did you need something?" the rebel leader asked, "We're about to go live here in a second, right Mister Matthews?"

Ian looked up from where he was messing with a camera, cigarette hanging from his lips. "If I ever get this piece of shit running? Yeah, we'll be live."

Jim chuckled. "It's nothing that can't wait. Make your speech, Bill," he said, turning to leave, "I'll be in my quarters."

Bill watched Jim go, thinking briefly about how easy things would be if he had fifteen more officers just like him. Shaking the thought away, he turned back to Ian, who had finally gotten the camera up and running.

"Okay, patching you through onto live LNN feed in three, two, one," Ian said, "Go."

"Hello, people of the Korpulu Sector," Bill said, looking straight into the camera, "My name is Colonel Bill Jax, leader of the Rebel Coalition Against Totalitarianism. I come before you today not with talk of a pipe dream or a shallow hope like so many other leaders of rebellions that have spoken with you in the past. I do not come to you today to tell you of plans to rebel, or to tell you of thoughts of rebellion. No, friends, today I come before you to tell you of success.

"Earlier this morning, a turning point in our collective histories was reached. In a roar of thunder and clashing bang of nuclear fire, Moria, the homeworld of our oppression, was utterly decimated. It lies now not with towering cities filled with corrupt businessmen, but in ruin, merely a blackened spot on the ever-black background of space. Its atmosphere no longer reeks of diluted ideals and brainwashed propaganda, for it too has been wiped away in the storm. Moria no longer exists, and by that token neither does the Kel-Morian Combine.

"But even with its destruction, we must not let this dark organization disappear from our memories. For as we build on its ashes, we must remember its follies, so as to avoid them and prosper of our own accord. In the coming months as the last few remains of the Combine are hunted down and destroyed, my organization will be working around the clock to establish a new government. A government that is democratic. A government where citizens will choose their leaders. A government by the people and for the people.

"So, if you see us entering your city, please don't be alarmed. Get your name put down. Register as a citizen. Be able to say to your children and their children that you were there. That you saw the end of oppression and were there when the United Korpulu Republic became a reality."

Bill smiled his best, warm politician smile. Ian flipped a switch, cutting the feed. On the monitor alongside the camera, Michael Liberty reappeared, sitting behind his desk in his suit. The hyper-experienced newsman was in shock, his mouth agape at what he'd just seen.

"Did you overlay the images?" Bill asked.

"Yup," Ian replied, striking another cigarette, "Everyone across the universe got to see real holographic proof that Moria is dead and gone. Seems like it gave Liberty a good reality check."

Bill laughed and clapped Ian on the back. "That it did, my boy. That it did."

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Jim placed Morganholt's wood-paneled Impaler butt first onto the ground beside his desk, propping it upright in the corner of his cabin. Though not precisely what he would use in combat, Jim did have to concede that it didn't look half-bad in his room. A little trophy of what had been accomplished that day, he thought.

Jim walked into the corner opposite his bed and collapsed his armor, stepping out of it with care not to trip on any of the power cables running from the suit to his psi-bayonet equipped Impaler. He had just opened up his footlocker to get out some clothes and an old toothbrush for cleaning his armor when the doorbell buzzed.

"Hang on a minute, Bill!" he shouted, putting the toothbrush back.

He pulled on some jeans and walked over to the door without a shirt. Opening the door, he expected to see the distinctive, hard-angled face of Bill Jax. Instead, he was met with the pleasant sight of Captain Misato Katsuragi standing before him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

Jim shook his head. "Nah, thought you might be Bill," he said, turning and heading back into his cabin, "Come on in."

Stepping into the room, Katsuragi's first thought was about the smell. A mixture of sweat, blood, oil and gunpowder radiated from the small enclosure. At least three of those odors could be attributed to the hulking CMC armor in one corner, while the sweat could only be placed on Jim. He had gone back to his footlocker, squatting near it while rummaging through its contents, probably looking for a shirt.

Powered armor, as its name implied, was powered and therefore took a good amount of the physical strain out of moving in combat. That said, a bit of the movement did rely on user strength. As consequence, there were no marines that could even by a huge exaggeration be classified as 'fat' and all of them were quite strong looking.

Jim was no different. As Katsuragi looked at him, she could see the individual beads of sweat slipping down over his bare back, roaming along the specific lines created by different muscles beneath the skin. Even though she had known Jim personally for a long time, she could still feel her cheeks redden from seeing him like this.

But that was dumb. It wasn't because she had any…thoughts…about Jim. It was only because she hadn't seen him in six years and he had filled out a little more since then. That was all it was.

Wasn't it?

"Did you need something?" Jim asked, not looking up at her.

Katsuragi jumped a little at his sudden-yet-totally-logical question. What the hell did she need? Why had she even come in here in the first place? Katsuragi wracked her brain for the answer, having totally forgotten. Or had it been that she hadn't had one in the first place, and had simply come over to talk with him?

At the moment she didn't really care, and she knew that if she did try and talk to him she would say something awkward and ruin their friendship. In the heat of the moment, she went with the first excuse that came to her mind.

"Toilet paper," she said with confidence.

Jim stopped rummaging and looked over his shoulder at her, a confused look on his face. "Come again?"

"Toilet paper," she repeated, "I'm out on the Shogoki, and since we're here I figured I'd ask you for some."

"You came all the way over here so you could get toilet paper from me?" Jim asked.

"Yup," Katsuragi lied.

Standing, Jim headed into his bathroom. A few seconds later, he emerged with a full roll of white paper.

"Here you are," he said, tossing the ass-wipers to the UED captain.

Catching the roll, Katsuragi thanked him and quickly left the cabin. Alone again, Jim briefly wondered what was wrong with her. He came to the conclusion that six years on Earth had screwed with her head and that it was just taking her a while to get back in the swing of things. Without another worry about it, Jim turned back to face the daunting task of cleaning his bloodied armor.