The end of the United Earth Directory has come and gone, the time of the
Terrans has ticked by, and a new generation has emerged...
Location: Protoss Hospital Camp: Surgical Ward
Planet: Dionide
Time: 12 May 2067, 1320 hrs.
As Malliard awakened from his forced submission, his nostrils were filled with the acrid, astringent odor of harsh acid compounds and disinfectant. Looking around quickly he could see the white plaster, reinforced walls of the hospital wing of the prison facility. Protoss were scurrying about in the cliched white laboratory coats. Looking at the table beside him, he saw several vials filled and capped in a contraption similar to a paint mixer. A digital readout spoke to him in giant letters "Blood Contents Count" and a sting of digits and words flowed out from underneath it. Looking at the test tube vials he could make out the packed white blood cells which had settled in the bottom of the tube. Another translucent fluid was being prepared in the centrifuge by a lone technician. The technician began to turn toward him, and Malliard feign unconsciousness as he was approached. The technician kneeled down under Malliard's field of view, and he felt a sharp pinprick at the base of his spine as the technician inserted some sample from underneath his operating table. He felt coldness run through his blood as the syringe spilled its contents into his blood stream. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the technician walk away from him and out a side door, locking it behind him, leaving him alone in the room.
Looking quickly from wall to wall, he spotted a small ventilation shaft on the far right corner. Looking down to his bindings, he make quick work of the simple Velcro-like restraints, looking cautiously at the main entrance as he jimmied the lock to the vent, replacing the cover quietly, and crawling stealthily through the shaft.
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Location: Battlecruiser Pandora, low orbit over Dionide
Planet: Dionide Airspace
Time: 12 May 2067, 1520 hrs.
General DeMayas stood on the observation deck of his Battlecruiser, gazing across the star-scape as numerous reconnaissance photos were beamed to him on the window monitor, translucent images barring his view of the icy depths below him. He sighed and shook his head in disappointment as Ghost scouts took images of the burning wreckage of the Protoss complex assault team. Sitting down in his seat, he placed his head in his hands, fingers pressing against his temples in thought.
A full frontal assault was no good against the facility. Maybe an infiltration mission would be more appropriate. These operations would move a hell of a lot more smoothly if more data had been given on the subject of these military assaults, he thought to himself.
So far all he knew was that the prisoner was of important political and scientific importance. A few of his connections had told him he was a captive who had been used in a now abandoned Terran medical trial. He shrugged and called for his window monitor to activate as he read the morning news:
"A local from the nearby system of Zulu was found dead today in his home. 56 year old Dr. Eduard Malliard was found brutally murdered in his vehicle in rural Zulu III. Evidence points to armed burglars using stolen weapons from a nearby Protectorate armory. The Protectorate spokesperson, Major General William Franks, declined commentary, stating that commenting on an open government investigation was obstruction of justice, and declined our phone calls. Dr. Malliard's only son, Staff Sergeant Kyle Malliard, a Protectorate Marine POW on the planet of Dionide, survives Dr. Malliard. It is believed that Sergeant Malliard has yet to be informed of his father's untimely death."
General DeMayas stared wide-eyed at the console, his mind slowly taking in the commentary/obituary. He flashed back to the briefing the Military Oversight Committee formed when first constructing this rescue mission. He had been told of no other prisoner on the surface of Dionide, and wasn't sure if this was the man they sought. He had been given no background information on the reasoning behind the rescue, and very little data on the prisoner himself, not even his name. All he knew was that he was a foot soldier in the Marines and that he served as some political and scientific purpose that warranted a special retrieval mission. He turned in his seat, moving quickly on the hoverchair to a nearby computer terminal. DeMayas, with relatively high security clearance, was hoping to access the Soldier's Roster, a list of all active and reserve MIA's, POW's, and KIA's. His fingers diving over the keyboard in front of him, he pulled up a listing of all the recent POW's in his quadrant, and browsed around the search results for one Staff Sergeant Malliard. The computer sounded off with a quick "ping" as it flashed its results:
One Match to Search Query: Malliard, Kyle (SSgt)(EOD).
He clicked on the "display results" tab, and a visual printout of background statistics, age, height, and the like. One line in particular caught his attention: "Next of Kin: None." Looking back to the window monitor, he saw the murder report quickly scrolling across the bottom of the screen while they continued with the rest of the program. Apparently his body had been discovered and identified, barely, only four hours ago.
"Damn ... those guys are fast." He thought to himself, and he continued looking through the soldier background file before him, thinking nothing else of the odd coincidence. Browsing quickly through criminal records, which were nothing but minor traffic violations, campaign service, which included his sortie's in his Ghost-Sniper division, as well as mentioning his recent capture by the Protoss forces on Dionide. Hovering over the text labeling him as a POW, he clicked, and he was forwarded to a military server, labeled "Military POW Reports -- Classified." A popup asked him for his clearance password and he cautiously entered the text string that gave him access to almost the entire military network. In the few seconds it took for the query to be sent, processed by the server, and a response returned, DeMayas thought time had slowed down to almost unmoving speeds. He told himself he must know more about this. In order to fulfill his mission he had to know more about what he was doing. The server returned a message saying that he had received clearance, and was forwarded to the server that detailed Malliard's POW case:
Case Number: 32412598,
Subject Name: Malliard, Kyle,
Rank and Rate: Staff Sergeant (SSgt), Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD),
Currently Deployed: Zulu System, Planet Dionide,
Regimental Command: Third Army, VII Corps, 4th Division, A Battalion, S Company
Wartime Specialty: Sniper -- Demolitions
DeMayas was getting bored with the background data, although more in-depth than the standard bio, he had more important things to attend to, and scrolled down to the paragraph labeled: "Case History and Background"
Case History and Background
SSgt Malliard was deployed with 4th Division of the VII Corps as a reconnaissance mission to put down local Protoss aggression, which was threatening a Terran farming colony. Malliard was deployed onto the battlefield with his colleagues from S Company, to cover the assault on a nearby Protoss complex thought to be executing and researching military-related medical technologies. Malliard's squad leader pulled him from his post, acting upon command from the Corps Commander, to escort a troupe of military vehicles to acquire supplies from an abandoned warehouse. Stationed outside the facility in a Ghost-class powered suit, he waited patiently, watching in the brush for any signs of hostility. Witnesses report a single, non-silenced shot ring out, and the vehicles quickly and hastily exited the warehouse, with a group of Protoss tailing them quickly. Malliard and the rest of his squad opened fire on the pursuing Protoss vehicle, disabling it. They opened fire on the second pursuing vehicle, and it was destroyed. Many of his fellow soldiers had already begun the trek home, quickly bounding after the speeding Protectorate hovercar. Malliard was left behind and, according to witnesses, was met by three Protectorate, Hellion-class hellicopters, one of which was shot down, the remaining two barely escaping. He was seen escorting the sole survivor of the first chopper's crew. The unsuited airman was gunned down by Protoss fire, and Malliard as left to his own devices when a platoon of Dragoon's and Zealots surrounded and restrained him. Witnesses cannot speculate on where he was taken, or why.
Military Inquest's Theory
A military inquest was formed to determine why he was taken captive, and seveal researchers discovered his involvement in a now-abandoned medical project...
DeMayas red that first line and hovered over the emboldened link of "medical project" hoping he would learn more about what he was involved in. He was forwarded to yet another server, who prompted him for his clearance password, and he was given access to the Protectorate Medical Corps database server. He was then forwarded to a document labeled "Genetic Research and Development Lab," and a list of all the soldiers involved in genetic sciences from cancer research projects to the "Super Soldier" research. Apparently, after shifting through the secured server some more, he found a document entitled "Hybridizational Genetics," and a list of all patients involved ina the procedure ... there were only three, the first one being Malliard. He tried to click the link to the file on "Hybridizational Genetics," but was refused access by the security daemon of the server. DeMayas swore, and slammed his fist down on the desk, the computer console shaking and his coffee cup lying upset on the desktop, spilling the hot fluid onto the floor. After fixing the mess he created, he layed back, locked his door, and considered all the information today, trying to piece together the logic behind this rescue, which he had not yet deduced.
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Location: Protoss Hospital Camp: Ventilation System
Planet: Dionide
Time: 12 May 2067, 1332 hrs.
Crawling quietly through the vent systems of the Protoss base camp, he would occasionally stop and eavestrop on some of the conversations of the Protoss force here. Most talk was casual and personal, which he typically overlooked and continued on. But as he passed through the overhead duct of the restraint room he was in, he had arrived just in time to see the medical staff enter the cell, stopping dead in their tracks, one witty technicial signalling the alarmum, several soldiers quickly stepping onto the scene. Malliard swore silently as he saw two zealots enter the duct shafts via a screw he left unreplaced, and he quickly heard one soldier's efforts moving closer and closer steadily. He climbed into an overheard duct, instantly overtaken by the forceful gusts of a nearby fan ventilator. Fortunately, the din from the fan hid Malliard's attempts at stopping, and once he saw the lone trooper pass by him, he stealthily creeped down the shaft, and followed quietly after the soldier. Malliard knew that even if he was detected, the only way they could capture him was if another soldier came in. The lone zealot was too large to turn around. Malliard took the opportunity to plan an assault as the soldier stopped momentarily to catch his breath.
Quickly dashing forward toward the soldier, not caring about the noise me made to his hunters down below, he put the surprised zealot in a choke hold, and with a controlled flick of his shoulder, cracked the spine of the zealot. The psi blades deactivated, and he reached over to inspect the instruments. No Terran had ever seen working battle psis before, only malfunctioning scraps. Reaching down the insepct it, his hand and forearm slid into the support, and the device locked into his arm. His forearm was covered by the armored weapon, and his fingers remaning free to grasp another weapon. He looked around desperately for a release button, but found only smooth, bore, yellow metal, with a small slit that he decided was probably not safe to touch. Seeing the weapon flooded him with images with the earlier skirmish in the cornfields of Dionide, seeing the onslaught of zealots with the plasma weapons and psionic weapons cut down the defenseless radioman. Images of the white hot plasma of the psi blades filled his mind, and without warning, the weapon emitted bright flash of blue energy, and the pair of psi blades extended from the slit, humming softly. He gazed in awe at the energy blades, and swung his arm in an arc, cutting ventilation shaft in a spectacular display of sparks. He heard startled voices from nearby searchers, and quickly retrieved the second psi blade, lockign it onto his arm. He had deduced that thought processes had activated the weapon, so he assumed that if he "thought" the blades were off, they would deactivate. Smiling smugly, he watching in eager wonder as the blades shut off just by his thought of deactivating them. Crawling quickly through the broken vent shaft, he heard a terrifying groan of metal agaisnt metal as the vent slowly began to bend under his weight, his experimental slash curring at one of the vital supports. He cursed loudly as the vent swung downward, tossing him to the restrain room he had just escaped from. Turning his gaze to the door, he saw the astonished looks of four zealots standing in the doorway. Their blades all activated in sequence, and they charged. Malliard narrowed his eyes, and called forth his own blades, ready to fight to the death...
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Bracing himself agaisnt the wall, he raised the blades defensively, and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt his body relax and a cold aura flowed out through his body, coursing through his veins. Then, his arms tensed, and, even thought it only took a fraction of a second, he felt his mind was at ease, centered totally on victory, even if it ended with his death. The team of zealots charged, the lead zealot calling out for battle with his left arm extended. Malliard had second-guessed the lead fighter, and dived forward with a low, right jab, and the blade punched through the armored hull of the zealot. Malliard barely had time to acknowledge the strength of this weapon when a second blade crashed down above his head, cutting through the falled rafters and duct pieces. Malliard lashed out once again, parrying the assaulting zealot easily, his other hand breaking the downward swipes of one of the other zealots. The last zealot knelt down to the first fallen zealot, and began to lug him out of the room, the zealots back proudly displaying a familar symbol, the four pointed cross, a medic's insignia. With the paramedical zealot now abandoning the fight with his breatheren, Malliard was left to content with the two other zealots, a feat even the most skilled of Marines would most likely fail. The two zealots circled around Malliard, lashing out feints and pulled punches. The zealot behind him charged, and Malliard ducked quickly, twirling on his hell as he cut the zealot's legs out form under him. The now-legless zealong tumbled to the ground, cursing and shouting in agony as he plunged the blade into the zealot's chest. He was brought back to the reality by a flash of light in his mind, and he dived instinctually out of the way. Instantaneously, a flash of sparks and burning metal erupted from a nearby duct as the last zealot had lashed out at him from behind. The zealot has gotten his arm embedded in the metal, and was lashing out fervently with his other arm. With a quick parry and a slash, he removed the weapon hand from the zeaots body, and with a spurt of blood and a flash of light, severed the zealot's head from the body, the arm and neck bleeding freely as he turned to the exit.
As he stepped out of the door, his medical scrubs doused with spurts of blood, terrified physicians, techinicians, and civilians ran in the opposite direction. In the other silence of the now-empty room, he heard the rhymic sound of pounding feet coming at him from the direction of the fleeing scientists, and dashed in the opposite direction. Soon, an ear numbifying klaxon sounded, and firedoors crashed the ground in an instant. Running on instinct, he activated the blade, and plunged it against the door. The door was easily broken against the white-hot heat of the psi blade. As he cut a man-sized incision in the door, and it fell to the ground with a reverberating crash. Standing on the opposite side of him was, actually, nothing. He wiped his eyes for a second as he saw the air fluctuate in front of his eyes, and a faded image of three ghosts appeared in front of him. One soldier handed him a C-10 Rifle and a few magazines, with a resonant guffaw. He recognized the voice as Lieutenant John Majors, also known as 'the Lieutenant,' (since he was the only one of this rank in their company) his friend and breatheren who accompanied him on that faithful escort mission earlier on.
"Hope you can use one of these without a suit. It's hell even with the suit. Maybe you should only use it as a last resort, son." Majors chuckled in that booming voice of his, and looked at the two other ghost troopers.
"Who authorized this mission? I saw a troop of soldiers assault the base, and were annihilated by the base security force. It ... it was a horrible slaughter..." Malliard's voice slowly trailed off as the Lieutenant patted him on the back.
"General DeMayas sent a task force of brute force down here to try to break the base defenses so we could rescue you."
"So DeMayas sent you?"
The Lieutenant shifted in his seat. "This was kind of a solo mission. Higher brass doesn't even know about it, let alone DeMayas."
"So you entered this base knowing full well you could have failed to retrieve me and died without any hope of reinforcement?"
Majors nodded in the affirmative and smiled. "Well we are alive aren't we?" That trademark guffaw was the last sound Malliard ever heard from the beloved Lieutenant, before one of the other ghosts stepped forward and broke his neck with his bare hands.
Malliard gaped in horror, and the Lieutenant's body, frozen in mid- chuckle, slumped to the floor, dead before he hit the ground. Malliard raised his now-activated psi blades, but with a wave of his hand and the blink of an eye, the ghost in the front somehow deactivated his psi blades.
The raspy, almost synthetic voice finally spoke. "Lieutenant Majors was on a mission to retrieve you, and execute you. We just saved your life." The soldier looked totally serious, and the second soldier began to dishonorably stow the deceased Majors in a nearby compartment.
"At the cost of Majors?" Malliards voice held a great deal more then a shread of contempt for this 'murderer' that stood before him.
"Sergeant -- you have no idea of the kind of shitstorm you are embedded in. Do you have 'any' clue as to how I was able to deactivate that psi blade?"
Malliard shook his head, and was about to ask him how he, indeed, had managed to deactivate it. "And how--"
Malliard was cut of in mid-sentence by the second soldier, "--did you exactly do that?" The first soldier chuckled and nudged him in the side. "Its called psionic resistance. As you have noticed obviously, the psi blade recognizes 'your' brain emissions of 'your' central nervous system to determine whether or not it is activated or deactivated. We use psionic resistance to place a similar 'brain wave pattern' on your own psi blade to make it think you had told it to cutoff, but in fact we had."
"Isn't that a form of telekenesis?"
The first soldier interjected quickly. "Not quite. Telekenesis involves using psychic abilities to move 'objects.' We use PR, psionic resistance, to impersonate someone elses mental signature. And you still have no idea how we did this do you?"
Malliard shook his head slowly.
"There's not much I can tell you now, but the basic gyst of it is, you are a hybrid. You were conceived with either a Terran sperm, or a Protoss egg, or visa versa. Seeing as how slow your skills have developed, I would guess it was probably a Terran sperm.
"But anyway, Corporal Davis and myself, Sergeant Falker, were both subjects of what the government liked to call 'Hybridizational Genetics.' I'll debrief you all about the topic when we return to the base.
"And for reference, please tell the upper brass that Majors was killed. We weren't supposed to know about the mission's background, but since he's dead, we can bring you back alive and claim we did not know that such orders existed. Please bear with us."
Corporal Davis presented Malliard with the suit that Majors had donned, and Malliard shook his head in disgust.
"Do you really want to get shot just walking out of the base, or hope that we can escape by using the stealth module on the suit?"
Malliard shifted his weight uncomfortably and decided to donn the suit. As they soldiers made their way to the exit, he could hear the two other soldiers conversing to themselves, without the microphones, but he was too out of it to even comprehend the words. He followed behind the two men on autopilot, and they left the base uneventfully through a rear emergency exit, quickly bounding off toward the base 50 kilometers distant.
Location: Protoss Hospital Camp: Surgical Ward
Planet: Dionide
Time: 12 May 2067, 1320 hrs.
As Malliard awakened from his forced submission, his nostrils were filled with the acrid, astringent odor of harsh acid compounds and disinfectant. Looking around quickly he could see the white plaster, reinforced walls of the hospital wing of the prison facility. Protoss were scurrying about in the cliched white laboratory coats. Looking at the table beside him, he saw several vials filled and capped in a contraption similar to a paint mixer. A digital readout spoke to him in giant letters "Blood Contents Count" and a sting of digits and words flowed out from underneath it. Looking at the test tube vials he could make out the packed white blood cells which had settled in the bottom of the tube. Another translucent fluid was being prepared in the centrifuge by a lone technician. The technician began to turn toward him, and Malliard feign unconsciousness as he was approached. The technician kneeled down under Malliard's field of view, and he felt a sharp pinprick at the base of his spine as the technician inserted some sample from underneath his operating table. He felt coldness run through his blood as the syringe spilled its contents into his blood stream. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the technician walk away from him and out a side door, locking it behind him, leaving him alone in the room.
Looking quickly from wall to wall, he spotted a small ventilation shaft on the far right corner. Looking down to his bindings, he make quick work of the simple Velcro-like restraints, looking cautiously at the main entrance as he jimmied the lock to the vent, replacing the cover quietly, and crawling stealthily through the shaft.
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Location: Battlecruiser Pandora, low orbit over Dionide
Planet: Dionide Airspace
Time: 12 May 2067, 1520 hrs.
General DeMayas stood on the observation deck of his Battlecruiser, gazing across the star-scape as numerous reconnaissance photos were beamed to him on the window monitor, translucent images barring his view of the icy depths below him. He sighed and shook his head in disappointment as Ghost scouts took images of the burning wreckage of the Protoss complex assault team. Sitting down in his seat, he placed his head in his hands, fingers pressing against his temples in thought.
A full frontal assault was no good against the facility. Maybe an infiltration mission would be more appropriate. These operations would move a hell of a lot more smoothly if more data had been given on the subject of these military assaults, he thought to himself.
So far all he knew was that the prisoner was of important political and scientific importance. A few of his connections had told him he was a captive who had been used in a now abandoned Terran medical trial. He shrugged and called for his window monitor to activate as he read the morning news:
"A local from the nearby system of Zulu was found dead today in his home. 56 year old Dr. Eduard Malliard was found brutally murdered in his vehicle in rural Zulu III. Evidence points to armed burglars using stolen weapons from a nearby Protectorate armory. The Protectorate spokesperson, Major General William Franks, declined commentary, stating that commenting on an open government investigation was obstruction of justice, and declined our phone calls. Dr. Malliard's only son, Staff Sergeant Kyle Malliard, a Protectorate Marine POW on the planet of Dionide, survives Dr. Malliard. It is believed that Sergeant Malliard has yet to be informed of his father's untimely death."
General DeMayas stared wide-eyed at the console, his mind slowly taking in the commentary/obituary. He flashed back to the briefing the Military Oversight Committee formed when first constructing this rescue mission. He had been told of no other prisoner on the surface of Dionide, and wasn't sure if this was the man they sought. He had been given no background information on the reasoning behind the rescue, and very little data on the prisoner himself, not even his name. All he knew was that he was a foot soldier in the Marines and that he served as some political and scientific purpose that warranted a special retrieval mission. He turned in his seat, moving quickly on the hoverchair to a nearby computer terminal. DeMayas, with relatively high security clearance, was hoping to access the Soldier's Roster, a list of all active and reserve MIA's, POW's, and KIA's. His fingers diving over the keyboard in front of him, he pulled up a listing of all the recent POW's in his quadrant, and browsed around the search results for one Staff Sergeant Malliard. The computer sounded off with a quick "ping" as it flashed its results:
One Match to Search Query: Malliard, Kyle (SSgt)(EOD).
He clicked on the "display results" tab, and a visual printout of background statistics, age, height, and the like. One line in particular caught his attention: "Next of Kin: None." Looking back to the window monitor, he saw the murder report quickly scrolling across the bottom of the screen while they continued with the rest of the program. Apparently his body had been discovered and identified, barely, only four hours ago.
"Damn ... those guys are fast." He thought to himself, and he continued looking through the soldier background file before him, thinking nothing else of the odd coincidence. Browsing quickly through criminal records, which were nothing but minor traffic violations, campaign service, which included his sortie's in his Ghost-Sniper division, as well as mentioning his recent capture by the Protoss forces on Dionide. Hovering over the text labeling him as a POW, he clicked, and he was forwarded to a military server, labeled "Military POW Reports -- Classified." A popup asked him for his clearance password and he cautiously entered the text string that gave him access to almost the entire military network. In the few seconds it took for the query to be sent, processed by the server, and a response returned, DeMayas thought time had slowed down to almost unmoving speeds. He told himself he must know more about this. In order to fulfill his mission he had to know more about what he was doing. The server returned a message saying that he had received clearance, and was forwarded to the server that detailed Malliard's POW case:
Case Number: 32412598,
Subject Name: Malliard, Kyle,
Rank and Rate: Staff Sergeant (SSgt), Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD),
Currently Deployed: Zulu System, Planet Dionide,
Regimental Command: Third Army, VII Corps, 4th Division, A Battalion, S Company
Wartime Specialty: Sniper -- Demolitions
DeMayas was getting bored with the background data, although more in-depth than the standard bio, he had more important things to attend to, and scrolled down to the paragraph labeled: "Case History and Background"
Case History and Background
SSgt Malliard was deployed with 4th Division of the VII Corps as a reconnaissance mission to put down local Protoss aggression, which was threatening a Terran farming colony. Malliard was deployed onto the battlefield with his colleagues from S Company, to cover the assault on a nearby Protoss complex thought to be executing and researching military-related medical technologies. Malliard's squad leader pulled him from his post, acting upon command from the Corps Commander, to escort a troupe of military vehicles to acquire supplies from an abandoned warehouse. Stationed outside the facility in a Ghost-class powered suit, he waited patiently, watching in the brush for any signs of hostility. Witnesses report a single, non-silenced shot ring out, and the vehicles quickly and hastily exited the warehouse, with a group of Protoss tailing them quickly. Malliard and the rest of his squad opened fire on the pursuing Protoss vehicle, disabling it. They opened fire on the second pursuing vehicle, and it was destroyed. Many of his fellow soldiers had already begun the trek home, quickly bounding after the speeding Protectorate hovercar. Malliard was left behind and, according to witnesses, was met by three Protectorate, Hellion-class hellicopters, one of which was shot down, the remaining two barely escaping. He was seen escorting the sole survivor of the first chopper's crew. The unsuited airman was gunned down by Protoss fire, and Malliard as left to his own devices when a platoon of Dragoon's and Zealots surrounded and restrained him. Witnesses cannot speculate on where he was taken, or why.
Military Inquest's Theory
A military inquest was formed to determine why he was taken captive, and seveal researchers discovered his involvement in a now-abandoned medical project...
DeMayas red that first line and hovered over the emboldened link of "medical project" hoping he would learn more about what he was involved in. He was forwarded to yet another server, who prompted him for his clearance password, and he was given access to the Protectorate Medical Corps database server. He was then forwarded to a document labeled "Genetic Research and Development Lab," and a list of all the soldiers involved in genetic sciences from cancer research projects to the "Super Soldier" research. Apparently, after shifting through the secured server some more, he found a document entitled "Hybridizational Genetics," and a list of all patients involved ina the procedure ... there were only three, the first one being Malliard. He tried to click the link to the file on "Hybridizational Genetics," but was refused access by the security daemon of the server. DeMayas swore, and slammed his fist down on the desk, the computer console shaking and his coffee cup lying upset on the desktop, spilling the hot fluid onto the floor. After fixing the mess he created, he layed back, locked his door, and considered all the information today, trying to piece together the logic behind this rescue, which he had not yet deduced.
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Location: Protoss Hospital Camp: Ventilation System
Planet: Dionide
Time: 12 May 2067, 1332 hrs.
Crawling quietly through the vent systems of the Protoss base camp, he would occasionally stop and eavestrop on some of the conversations of the Protoss force here. Most talk was casual and personal, which he typically overlooked and continued on. But as he passed through the overhead duct of the restraint room he was in, he had arrived just in time to see the medical staff enter the cell, stopping dead in their tracks, one witty technicial signalling the alarmum, several soldiers quickly stepping onto the scene. Malliard swore silently as he saw two zealots enter the duct shafts via a screw he left unreplaced, and he quickly heard one soldier's efforts moving closer and closer steadily. He climbed into an overheard duct, instantly overtaken by the forceful gusts of a nearby fan ventilator. Fortunately, the din from the fan hid Malliard's attempts at stopping, and once he saw the lone trooper pass by him, he stealthily creeped down the shaft, and followed quietly after the soldier. Malliard knew that even if he was detected, the only way they could capture him was if another soldier came in. The lone zealot was too large to turn around. Malliard took the opportunity to plan an assault as the soldier stopped momentarily to catch his breath.
Quickly dashing forward toward the soldier, not caring about the noise me made to his hunters down below, he put the surprised zealot in a choke hold, and with a controlled flick of his shoulder, cracked the spine of the zealot. The psi blades deactivated, and he reached over to inspect the instruments. No Terran had ever seen working battle psis before, only malfunctioning scraps. Reaching down the insepct it, his hand and forearm slid into the support, and the device locked into his arm. His forearm was covered by the armored weapon, and his fingers remaning free to grasp another weapon. He looked around desperately for a release button, but found only smooth, bore, yellow metal, with a small slit that he decided was probably not safe to touch. Seeing the weapon flooded him with images with the earlier skirmish in the cornfields of Dionide, seeing the onslaught of zealots with the plasma weapons and psionic weapons cut down the defenseless radioman. Images of the white hot plasma of the psi blades filled his mind, and without warning, the weapon emitted bright flash of blue energy, and the pair of psi blades extended from the slit, humming softly. He gazed in awe at the energy blades, and swung his arm in an arc, cutting ventilation shaft in a spectacular display of sparks. He heard startled voices from nearby searchers, and quickly retrieved the second psi blade, lockign it onto his arm. He had deduced that thought processes had activated the weapon, so he assumed that if he "thought" the blades were off, they would deactivate. Smiling smugly, he watching in eager wonder as the blades shut off just by his thought of deactivating them. Crawling quickly through the broken vent shaft, he heard a terrifying groan of metal agaisnt metal as the vent slowly began to bend under his weight, his experimental slash curring at one of the vital supports. He cursed loudly as the vent swung downward, tossing him to the restrain room he had just escaped from. Turning his gaze to the door, he saw the astonished looks of four zealots standing in the doorway. Their blades all activated in sequence, and they charged. Malliard narrowed his eyes, and called forth his own blades, ready to fight to the death...
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Bracing himself agaisnt the wall, he raised the blades defensively, and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt his body relax and a cold aura flowed out through his body, coursing through his veins. Then, his arms tensed, and, even thought it only took a fraction of a second, he felt his mind was at ease, centered totally on victory, even if it ended with his death. The team of zealots charged, the lead zealot calling out for battle with his left arm extended. Malliard had second-guessed the lead fighter, and dived forward with a low, right jab, and the blade punched through the armored hull of the zealot. Malliard barely had time to acknowledge the strength of this weapon when a second blade crashed down above his head, cutting through the falled rafters and duct pieces. Malliard lashed out once again, parrying the assaulting zealot easily, his other hand breaking the downward swipes of one of the other zealots. The last zealot knelt down to the first fallen zealot, and began to lug him out of the room, the zealots back proudly displaying a familar symbol, the four pointed cross, a medic's insignia. With the paramedical zealot now abandoning the fight with his breatheren, Malliard was left to content with the two other zealots, a feat even the most skilled of Marines would most likely fail. The two zealots circled around Malliard, lashing out feints and pulled punches. The zealot behind him charged, and Malliard ducked quickly, twirling on his hell as he cut the zealot's legs out form under him. The now-legless zealong tumbled to the ground, cursing and shouting in agony as he plunged the blade into the zealot's chest. He was brought back to the reality by a flash of light in his mind, and he dived instinctually out of the way. Instantaneously, a flash of sparks and burning metal erupted from a nearby duct as the last zealot had lashed out at him from behind. The zealot has gotten his arm embedded in the metal, and was lashing out fervently with his other arm. With a quick parry and a slash, he removed the weapon hand from the zeaots body, and with a spurt of blood and a flash of light, severed the zealot's head from the body, the arm and neck bleeding freely as he turned to the exit.
As he stepped out of the door, his medical scrubs doused with spurts of blood, terrified physicians, techinicians, and civilians ran in the opposite direction. In the other silence of the now-empty room, he heard the rhymic sound of pounding feet coming at him from the direction of the fleeing scientists, and dashed in the opposite direction. Soon, an ear numbifying klaxon sounded, and firedoors crashed the ground in an instant. Running on instinct, he activated the blade, and plunged it against the door. The door was easily broken against the white-hot heat of the psi blade. As he cut a man-sized incision in the door, and it fell to the ground with a reverberating crash. Standing on the opposite side of him was, actually, nothing. He wiped his eyes for a second as he saw the air fluctuate in front of his eyes, and a faded image of three ghosts appeared in front of him. One soldier handed him a C-10 Rifle and a few magazines, with a resonant guffaw. He recognized the voice as Lieutenant John Majors, also known as 'the Lieutenant,' (since he was the only one of this rank in their company) his friend and breatheren who accompanied him on that faithful escort mission earlier on.
"Hope you can use one of these without a suit. It's hell even with the suit. Maybe you should only use it as a last resort, son." Majors chuckled in that booming voice of his, and looked at the two other ghost troopers.
"Who authorized this mission? I saw a troop of soldiers assault the base, and were annihilated by the base security force. It ... it was a horrible slaughter..." Malliard's voice slowly trailed off as the Lieutenant patted him on the back.
"General DeMayas sent a task force of brute force down here to try to break the base defenses so we could rescue you."
"So DeMayas sent you?"
The Lieutenant shifted in his seat. "This was kind of a solo mission. Higher brass doesn't even know about it, let alone DeMayas."
"So you entered this base knowing full well you could have failed to retrieve me and died without any hope of reinforcement?"
Majors nodded in the affirmative and smiled. "Well we are alive aren't we?" That trademark guffaw was the last sound Malliard ever heard from the beloved Lieutenant, before one of the other ghosts stepped forward and broke his neck with his bare hands.
Malliard gaped in horror, and the Lieutenant's body, frozen in mid- chuckle, slumped to the floor, dead before he hit the ground. Malliard raised his now-activated psi blades, but with a wave of his hand and the blink of an eye, the ghost in the front somehow deactivated his psi blades.
The raspy, almost synthetic voice finally spoke. "Lieutenant Majors was on a mission to retrieve you, and execute you. We just saved your life." The soldier looked totally serious, and the second soldier began to dishonorably stow the deceased Majors in a nearby compartment.
"At the cost of Majors?" Malliards voice held a great deal more then a shread of contempt for this 'murderer' that stood before him.
"Sergeant -- you have no idea of the kind of shitstorm you are embedded in. Do you have 'any' clue as to how I was able to deactivate that psi blade?"
Malliard shook his head, and was about to ask him how he, indeed, had managed to deactivate it. "And how--"
Malliard was cut of in mid-sentence by the second soldier, "--did you exactly do that?" The first soldier chuckled and nudged him in the side. "Its called psionic resistance. As you have noticed obviously, the psi blade recognizes 'your' brain emissions of 'your' central nervous system to determine whether or not it is activated or deactivated. We use psionic resistance to place a similar 'brain wave pattern' on your own psi blade to make it think you had told it to cutoff, but in fact we had."
"Isn't that a form of telekenesis?"
The first soldier interjected quickly. "Not quite. Telekenesis involves using psychic abilities to move 'objects.' We use PR, psionic resistance, to impersonate someone elses mental signature. And you still have no idea how we did this do you?"
Malliard shook his head slowly.
"There's not much I can tell you now, but the basic gyst of it is, you are a hybrid. You were conceived with either a Terran sperm, or a Protoss egg, or visa versa. Seeing as how slow your skills have developed, I would guess it was probably a Terran sperm.
"But anyway, Corporal Davis and myself, Sergeant Falker, were both subjects of what the government liked to call 'Hybridizational Genetics.' I'll debrief you all about the topic when we return to the base.
"And for reference, please tell the upper brass that Majors was killed. We weren't supposed to know about the mission's background, but since he's dead, we can bring you back alive and claim we did not know that such orders existed. Please bear with us."
Corporal Davis presented Malliard with the suit that Majors had donned, and Malliard shook his head in disgust.
"Do you really want to get shot just walking out of the base, or hope that we can escape by using the stealth module on the suit?"
Malliard shifted his weight uncomfortably and decided to donn the suit. As they soldiers made their way to the exit, he could hear the two other soldiers conversing to themselves, without the microphones, but he was too out of it to even comprehend the words. He followed behind the two men on autopilot, and they left the base uneventfully through a rear emergency exit, quickly bounding off toward the base 50 kilometers distant.