Chapter 3: Mercenaries
I stared into the inky blackness of space, pulled along through the void in a small shuttle. I vaguely heard the air hiss as we docked with the awaiting Carrier in orbit, the Aiur's Fury. The last vestiges of human innocence that I'd managed to hang onto evaporated that day, pooling away from me like my tearstained face. And I hated the Zerg. Hated them so much that obliterating their entire species and stomping on the pieces until they I couldn't stomp any longer wouldn't be enough. Not nearly enough…
Come my friend, we have much to talk about. Follow me to my quarters, and I shall answer any questions you may have. I have to guess he saw that I wasn't moving because in mid-step he hesitated and added, I am sorry for the loss of your comrades. "Yeah," I whispered, "So am I."
I received a pleasant shock when I stepped onto that wonderful ship. I had been expecting the usual bombardments of stray thoughts and unspoken threats that abound on a military ship, but there was none. Every thought on the ship was carefully controlled, the silence only broken by casual bits of conversation from the psychic crew. The silence, for someone like me accustomed to unending noise was bliss. Sheer bliss.
Aiur's Wrath was a beautiful ship gleaming from end to end, incredibly well armored and more spacious than the Norad 2 could ever hope to be. But, as I followed my mysterious friend, I realized with a start what they were. They were Protoss, the destroyers of two Terran worlds.
I visibly relaxed as we came to his quarters, my wearied body seeking anything to sit on, even the floor. I graciously sank into the chair he offered me, and watched as my friend sat across from me, and began his sorrowful tale.
My name is Tal'Kor of the Dark Templar. I am commander of the ship you are standing on and the small fleet accompanying it. The Dark Templar themselves, my people, were outcast from Aiur, the Protoss homeworld many centuries ago. We were outcast, scratching an existence in the dark void of space and I, in turn, was outcast from my own people. "Why? If your people were outcasts themselves, and hated it, why would they sentence one of their own to the same cruel fate?"
Blasphemy. When the Dark Templar were exiled for our individuality, none of us ever forgot our homeworld, and the sacred duty that bound us to it. And so strong was my desire to see that wonderful world again that I damned myself to the life I now lead by my reckless outburst. "What did you do? I suggested that we take Aiur back from our brethren, by force if necessary. And I was rebuked and myself and my followers exiled, for none of us could fathom making war upon on our own brethren, never mind battling them on our own homeworld. And so we are what you see before you, Mercenaries. We fight for pay, and we strike at the monstrous Zerg whenever possible. And since you have saved my life, I offer you a place in our little army, as my second in command. Hopefully we will find others like you so that a Terran fleet of your own may be built, and then we may stand a chance in the greater conflict that you know is coming. And we will need all the help we can get.
And I joined, what other choice did I have? Besides, Tal'Kor was growing on me, and he gave me a chance to spill that which I wanted the most. He gave me the chance to spill the fresh blood of the Zerg, and to see that it would never stop pouring.
I should probably include an account, although rudimentary, of the training I undertook during the many lonely days when we were not employed, simply drifting from one location to the next. My psionic abilities grew by leaps and bounds until I became the equal of any Protoss warrior I could think of. I could cast Psionic Storms of my own, the waves of raw energy tearing my enemies to pieces under its harsh agenda. I learned from the Dark Templar aboard how to bend light around myself, as they do, forming a permanent-cloaking field to be used at my beck and call. But I never did get rid of my Ghost armor and weapons, but rather made innumerous augmentations, it was mine now, and it was damn fine armor.
Over the next two years with Tal'Kor and his mercenaries, I bore witness to millions of battles, and after each my desire for vengeance on the nightmarish Zerg grew and grew. My hands grew more and more soiled with blood, not of the Zerg, but of the innocents caught in the crossfire. And it was them who often haunted my dreams and my nightmares. But then came the battle that would haunt my every waking moment…forever.
I stood on the bridge of my battlecruiser, the Iron Fist, and stared at the viewscreens with a mix of terror and excitement. Zerg filled the sky, as if a living cloud of the demons had suddenly decided that this area of space was a good spot to take up residence. It looked to be a complete brood, fully armed and quite superior in numbers than we could ever hope to have. Scourge filled the sky, weaving in and out of the pockets between the groups of various Mutalisk strains that filled the sky, patrolling the perimeter with deadly efficiency. We couldn't hope to beat them, we didn't have a chance in hell. But they weren't gonna give us the chance of running away. They were already attacking.
I reacted instantly, shouting orders to my battle-hardened men and keeping an eye on the battle from the bridge. "Get our Wraiths out there and cloak em! I don't want any of those Scourge to get through! Charge our Yamato and fire on tightly packed groups of targets, we'll do more damage that way! Get all of our Valkyries out there, if enough of those Mutalisks get through we're dead! I want everything within range of your weapons destroyed, GOGOGO!"
Wraiths swooped through the battlefield in groups, clearing out clusters of Scourge in blasts of missile fire and crimson. Mutalisks fired at anything they could, and many fell to the Wraiths missiles, but many more were left to take their place. In a blast of speed a group of 24 managed to get past the Wraiths and made directly for my Battlecruiser as if the dog's of hell were on their very heels.
I braced myself for impact from the Mutalisks' Glave Wurm, expecting to feel the little parasites attempt to sheer through the Iron Fist's armor. But Tal'Kor saved my ass again. Out of nowhere 12 of his scouts shot at the attacking Mutalisks, tearing them to shreds with their Anti-Matter missiles in seconds.
Looking over to my friend's ship, my cry of thanks caught in my throat as I watched the scene play through. When his Scouts had come to our rescue, they had left a large chunk open in their defensive pattern and the Scourge trying to get in took instant advantage of it. 15 of the little monsters shot forward and rammed themselves into the Aiur's Wrath. Flame spilled from the flagship's engines and its hull buckled under the intense damage. A last Scourge rammed itself into its hull and the once proud flagship buckled a last time and exploded, the space around it filling with blue fire as the once proud ship left the battle spectacularly, taking the only friend I'd ever had in this world with it.
Tears flowed down my cheeks but I didn't notice them, my mind so attuned to crisis that I didn't even register that my friend was dead. I rallied my dead friend's ships to mine, the Scouts and Corsairs joining my Wraiths, Valkyries and Science Vessels in a defensive perimeter around my ship and the Norad 3, the last battlecruiser in my fleet. I sat down heavily in my command chair and stared forward, there was no way we could win, or retreat. They had us surrounded, steadily advancing on our position and brining with them the beginning of the end. For despite our considerable forces, they had more than double what we did, and they were eagerly exploiting their advantage. Opening up my mind as I always did when talking with Tal'Kor, I murmured my goodbye to my fallen friend, missing him already. Well Tal'Kor, it looks like I'll be joining you much sooner than nature intended. It was a privilege and an honour knowing and fighting alongside you. I'll see you soon old friend, so very soon…