StarCraft
A/N: This is a little something I started some time ago... but at several suggestions, I am expanding upon it, and changing it around a bit. I hope you like the new version. It will still tell the story of the game, but it will add new viewpoints, and new twists.
-Saiyajintemplar
Legend:
"..." – denotes speaking
'...' – denotes thinking
'...' (in italics) – denotes computer speech
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--Book I: Rebel Yell--
In the decade that had passed since the end of the Guild Wars, the oppressive Terran Confederacy has stood unchallenged in its supremacy over Colonial space.
However, all of that changed four days before when a large alien fleet emerged without warning from warp-space and laid waste to the unsuspecting Confederate colony, Chau Sara.
The Confederacy, fearing that the alien fleet's next target will be the colony of Mar Sara, has called upon the Magistrate of that colony to intervene. His orders are to safeguard the colonists and prevent the state of panic from escalating any further.
-Chapter One: Wasteland-
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Command Center of the Colonial Magistrate
Mar Sara Colony 19:53 SCT, 12 Dec 2499
Walking through the labyrithine corridors of the Command Center at this small mining complex, the Magistrate - henceforth known as Commander Randolph Yates - patted his full belly. He was heading for the main control room, and off to his left and behind him was the mess hall he had just left. They had served Italian, tonight. which was a welcome break from all the accursed rations that they'd been having to make do with. Colony life was usually better than this, but not when you're out in the middle of nowhere, in a tiny little mining town. 'I'm transferring back to the main city next chance I get,' he thought sourly. 'This is no place for a leader of a thriving colony world to be stuck.'
The contol room lay at the center of the massive building, and he was currently near the outer walls. A long walk, and several stairs to go down to get to his destination. But that didn't matter. He was in the military, and walking - no, marching - long distances was second nature to him. He reached the entranceway to the main stairwell that ran down into the depths, feeling a slight wave of vertigo as he looked down on the full stomach he had. It passed quickly, and he started down, at a slow, leisurely pace. He had no reason to hurry, or so he thought. He had no idea that his peaceful, boring little colony's life was about to be plunged into a nightmare from hell... nor that his live was about to be changed, forever.
After going down nearly twelve flights of stairs, he finally reached the floor holding the control room. Inputting his clearance code into the button panel beside the double doors, he stepped into the room as the doors slid noisily aside to permit his entry. His calm blue eyes swept around the chamber, noting that there was only one other person here. Not surprising, as it was evening. Most of the others in the building would be in the mess hall still, taking advantage of the ample chow, or in the rec lounge. Marines they all might be, but boring was still boring, and the men needed things to occupy their minds. The one other person in the control room, a young technician by the name of PFC Brian Miller, sat at one of the consoles, playing a losing game of chess against the main computer.
As the door slid open, the youth looked up... and at the sight of him, Miller came to his feet abruptly, leaving the chess game paused, and snapped to attention. As Yates stepped fully into the room, Miller gave off a crisp, flawless military salute, which was quickly returned. "At ease, Private," Yates said, his voice full of commanding authority. A relieved sigh came over Miller, and he let his arm drop, sitting back in the chair again. Looking about at the various consoles, Yates now stood behind Miller's chair, watching over his shoulder at the chess game. It was a pitiful sight, really. The computer had most of its major pieces remaining, with the exception of a Rook, both Knights, and a Bishop. Miller, however, had only two Pawns, a Bishop, and the King. After watching a moment more, Yates asked a question. "Anything happen while I was eating?"
Miller looked up at him a moment, a moment of disorientation on his face. Then he nodded, pointing one finger over toward the communications console. "Comp wants to talk to you, sir," he said, his accent faintly Southern United States-ish. "Said somethin' about the Confederates. I dunno." At Yates' nod, he turned back to the computer console... and less than five minutes later, he had lost the game. "Aw, dammit," he muttered, then started a new one. Yates, for his part, had lost interest, crossing over to the Comm station, wondering just what the computer had for him. Tapping a few keys, the computer came to life.
It requested his authorization code, which he quickly entered, now beginning to feel a bit nervous. 'Oh, what do they want now?' he thought, truly wondering. It had been months since the last Confederate contact, the one appointing him to the position of Magistrate after the last one had an unfortunate accident with food poisoning. He felt bad for the guy, but had stepped up with good military form and taken the position given him. The computer came to life now, an android-looking digital representation - or avatar - now facing him. 'Adjutant online,' it spoke, its voice clearly mechanical, yet with a hint of something else he couldn't tell.
'Access codes accepted,' the computer continued. 'Good evening, Magistrate Yates. I'll fill you in on what's been happening: Confederate traffic has increased substantially within the system due to the recent Protoss destruction of the Chau Sara colony.' At this, Yates' stomach went cold. He had a very bad feeling about what was coming next. Sure enough, he was right. 'The Confederates have tightened security on all outlying systems, and it's likely that this colony will be locked-down as well. An encrypted Confederate transmission came for you while you were at dinner. Replaying transmission.' For a moment, the digital avatar's face vanished from the screen, and all was silent. Then, the face of an aged Confederate, a General by the look of him, came on.
"Greetings, Magistrate. I'm General Edmund Duke of the Confederate Security Forces, Alpha Squadron." 'Just as I thought,' Yates mused. 'A general. And an arrogant one, at that.' "The Confederacy has quarantined this entire planet, and we'll proceed with the lock-down within 48 hours," Duke continued. The timestamp on this transmission indicated it was about an hour old. Which meant that there was about 47 hours left before the entire area was locked down tighter than a drum. "You are to relocate your core colonists to the outlying wastelands, and form a new outpost there. Now I know there won't be any problems with these new arrangements." And with that, the screen went dark a moment. Thinking in a daze, Yates was flabbergasted. He'd known it was bad, but not this bad. 'No problems, huh?' he thought angrily. 'Yeah, right. I have plenty of problems with this.'
The computer's avatar reappeared on the screen a few minutes later, interrupting Yates' train of thought. 'Transmission ended,' the voice said. It was decidedly female, unlike systems of old back on Earth hundreds of years ago. 'I have contacted the local Marshal, James Raynor. Raynor has agreed to meet your personnel en route and escort them to the new wasteland site.' 'That can't have been easy.' he thought sourly. He knew Raynor - by reputation only, though - and he didn't seem the person to easily tolerate Confederates giving him orders. The man hated being bossed around, especially by Generals who looked older than God. 'Oh well. Better get moving, or else we're gonna get hell for it.'
As the computer watched impassively, he tapped out a series of commands into the console, activating the base-wide loudspeakers. When he was sure they were on, he began. "Attention all personnel." His voice reverberated around the facility, and throughout the small basecamp as well. "This is Magistrate Yates." He paused a moment, as if unsure as what to say... but then he continued, not noticing Miller's worried look. "As of now, 20:00 hours, we are moving to a new site." He could imagine the expressions on the people all throughout the tiny base. He winced. "The Confederacy has ordered a lockdown of the entire planet. All buildings are to commence liftoff procedures, and all units and buildings are to proceed with all haste to the coordinates the computer will provide. That is all."
Signing off from the loudspeaker system, he let a heavy sigh escape him. It was time to get moving. Within minutes, the control room was once again fully staffed. and they initiated the liftoff procedure. The massive building slowly rose into the sky, trembling a bit as it did so. Soon, the computer had provided coordinates to the now-airborne base, and the buildings began their slow crawl to the Wasteland site. A squadron of Marines, and the SCV's that were mining the area began to form up, moving along as an escort, eyes peeled, always ready for trouble. They weren't expecting any, but one thing the Academy always taught was to expect the unexpected. Gauss rifles on their shoulders, the Marines began their march. As they moved along, one of the SCV pilots, a wise-crackin' civilian named Jon Marx, began to complain. "Man, I can't believe we're being sent to the Wasteland. These Confederates think they can push anyone around."
Across the system, on the other side of Mar Sara's massive orange sun which ordinarily nursed and sustained two habitable worlds - being Mar Sara and Chau Sara - in the black depths of space, a glistening fleet of golden and turquoise metal hovered. A monstrous armada of alien starships of all shapes and sizes floated placidly near the blackened ruin that was once Chau Sara. Indetectable sensor sweeps stabbed outward from the lead starship in the flotilla, probing the planet for any signs of life. After but a brief moment, the sensor's 3-d holographic screen displayed the results: No life-forms detected. Chau Sara was now naught but an empty, airless rock in space, sterilized of anything and everything living.
Aboard this lead starship, a lone being stood at the command rail of the vessel's bridge, gazing out a crystalline viewport at the rocky waste below. "This planet has been sterilized, Judicator," he said. Though yet, he also didn't say it... as he had no mouth. Nor, for that matter, did any of the Protoss have mouths. They all communicated via telepathy, both amongst themselves, and with lesser races. "There is no further trace of the Zerg here." The proud commander's shoulders sagged ever so slightly, and the motion was picked up on by the Protoss standing in the shadows.
"Well done, Executor," the Judicator said, stepping out of the shade and into the bluish glow that emitted from a number of nearby Khaydarin Crystals. "Remember, Tassadar..." Aldaris said, interpreting the younger warrior's body language as dissent, and rightly so. "The Zerg are a severe danger to us, and the Conclave has dictated that you cleanse all the worlds in this sector, so as to prevent their spread. If they are allowed to find Aiur, then we will have a war of unimaginable proportions on our hands."
Tassadar turned to face his nemesis, the Judicator advisor that the Conclave had assigned to watch over him and report back on him. Aldaris was not too well liked by any Protoss, least of all anyone that belonged to the Templar caste... as Tassadar did. He had a tendency of taking his views out of context to a dangerous degree, and several times had executed fellow warriors for suspected treason, even if nothing could be proven. One could say that he was zealous to the Khala, their guiding principle and dogma... albeit a little too zealous. Zealous to the point of blind ignorance and heresy. "I know full well the orders of the Conclave, Aldaris," the young Templar finally replied. "But it seems wrong to me. It goes against all our principles, the most important of which is that of Dae'Uhl!" The Dae'Uhl, or Great Stewardship, as it is translated, was the practice of the Protoss to watch over and protect all those races that fell under the shadow of their empire, as a parent would protect a child from harm.
Originally, the Terrans in this area of space fell under the Protoss' protection, even though the Terrans were too hostile, and too edgy and confrontational to contact directly with a peace mission. In addition, they knew nothing of their unknown protectors. So, the Protoss would simply watch and wait, and protect the fledgling humans from any dangers that came their way.
Until, that was, a passing Protoss Observer that was running a routine scouting mission through this system had detected the presence of something animalistic and alien... but that like them, utilized the sacred Khaydarin Crystals, which had devastating ramifications. This was the coming of the Zerg to the Terran sector, having infested the world of Chau Sara with hundreds of thousands of Creep Spores. When the Observer probe brought back a sample of the Creep Spores back to Aiur and they were tested, they were found to be also created by the Xel'Naga – the ancient, now-extinct race that had created the Protoss themselves - and were thus deemed extremely dangerous. An emergency session of the Protoss Conclave was convened, and the decision was made to destroy the Terrans and their worlds in order to destroy the threat that this alien race – called the Zerg - posed. This would prove unsuccessful, though they did not know it yet.
And so a great expeditionary force - nearly one-third of the entire Protoss starfleet - was assembled, and Tassadar, as Executor, was placed in overall command of the mission. His orders: to completely destroy the Terran worlds where the presence of Creep Spores were detected... and to leave no one alive. Aldaris was assigned to his ship, the Carrier Gantrithor, to keep an eye on the young Templar, and ensure that the Conclave's will was carried out. So far, the elder Judicator was satisfied. But he could tell that Tassadar was wavering in his duty... that he thought this mission was wrong to begin with.
"Executor!" came a shout from the front of the command-section, drawing both Tassadar's and Aldaris' attentions. As they turned around, a medium aged Prelate that was in command of the sensor section approached them, and saluted. The Protoss salute was a palm flat against the chest, and then extended straight out at a 90-degree angle. Tassadar returned it, while the red-scaled Judicator beside him merely stood there in his arrogance. "Our sensor scans have picked up another signature of the Zerg Spores, sir!"
Aldaris' eyes flashed immediately, lit from within by some unknown radiance. Tassadar's eyes flashed once as well, only his eyes were a deep cobalt blue in color, compared to the Judicator's fiery-red ones. "What is the location of the signatures, Prelate?" the Executor asked, having a bad feeling that he knew what the answer was going to be. When he had given the order to destroy Chau Sara, he had taken some comfort in the knowledge that at least some Terrans had gotten safely off-world. Next time, they might not be so fortunate.
"Sir, the signatures are coming from the other major planet in the system," the Science officer replied. "The world that the Terrans call Mar Sara." Tassadar's heart sank as he heard these words, as he could almost predict verbatim what Aldaris' words were going to be after this. But the Prelate wasn't even done with his report. "Our sensors also detect a sizeable Terran population, that seems to be migrating across the face of the planet. The puzzling thing is, sir, that they are moving right next to one of the Creep Spores!"
Tassadar felt wracked with turmoil, and uncertainty. It was a given fact that the Terrans now knew that he and his people were in their space. Long-range sensors had spotted a rag-tag fleet of Terran starships heading this way under full sublight speed from their HQ on Tarsonis. Nowhere near a danger to his glistening fleet, but Tassadar wanted nothing more to do with interfering with this culture... and he also wanted to spare them the destruction that the Zerg would wreak upon them. 'I will just have to find a way to... bend the rules,' he thought to himself, 'to aid the Terrans and yet destroy the Zerg. I refuse to destroy them for no good reason, no matter what the Conclave dictates.'
But for the present, there was nothing much he could do. Mar Sara was his next destination... and though Aldaris had not spoken, he knew what the order was. Destroy the planet, and all its inhabitants. "Helm officer," he said, letting his shoulders sag a bit more. "Set course for the world known as Mar Sara. Speed: one-quarter sublight. We must cool our warp engines from the long journey here, lest they overload and cause a dimensional wormhole." He deliberately arranged this delay in arrival time, so as to give the Terrans that lived on Mar Sara the time they might need to evacuate the world. He could sense Aldaris' burning stare in the back of his skin... but he didn't acknowledge it. To do so would be to let the Judicator get under his skin.
And that was one thing that Tassadar did not want.
"Engage," the Templar said. The fleet moved out.
Having gotten a message from the Magistrate's command post, Marshal James Raynor had gone on ahead to a point rougly half-way from their current position and the new Wasteland site. He was angry about this, infuriated at the nerve of the Confederates. 'Just who do those bastards think they were kidding?' he fumed, thinking it over in the time he had before Yates arrived. 'If the Protoss want to destroy Mar Sara, moving us around like scurrying bugs wouldn't do a thing to stop it! They'll just blow the planet to dust, just as they did to Chau Sara!' But orders were orders, and he didn't want to risk the Confederate's fury... which was nearly legendary when someone dared cross them. So he agreed to meet the moving base half way, and escort them to their new destination. He sat atop his dented, patched Vulture speeder bike, a man of 29 years... somewhat resembling a wrestler from Earth in the 1990's. A pencil-thin mustache and goatee adorned his face, and his bright blue CMC-400 Marine's armor was blackened in places. In addition, across one shoulderpad of the combat suit was scrawled the letters B I G, giving him that rough, frontiersman look. Not that he minded.
About two hours later, he awoke from a light doze and looked off to the north. There, a small group of buildings were floating slowly toward him. The mobile base, right on time. Coming fully awake and alert, he kick-started his Vulture, speeding off to intercept the convoy. Within minutes, he reached it, and pulled up in front of the leader of the Marine squadron, Sergeant Robert Keller. Raynor saluted, and Keller's group came to a halt, saluting him in return. "Howdy, boys," Raynor said, in a Southern drawl not unlike PFC Miller's. "I'm Jim Raynor, Marshal of these parts. I'll be your escort to the Wastelands."
Keller stepped forward, offering his hand to Raynor, who shook it firmly. "Glad to have you with us, sir," he said, in awe of the man before him. "Sergeant Robert Keller, Mar Sara Defense Militia, Third Squadron." As Raynor swung his bike around beside them, they set off again, at a slow and steady pace so as not to outrun the buildings hovering over their heads. The trip for the most part was quiet, but as they came over the hill just outside their new area, a faint animal-sounding squeal echoed off the cliffs around them. "What the hell was that?!" Keller shouted, snapping up his rifle in reflex. He scanned the area, but could see nothing. "Hmm, that's strange. Stay frosty, men. I don't think we're alone here."
They continued moving again. They had barely gone twenty steps before two orange creatures, looking about the size of German shepherds, came leaping out at them. The marines and Raynor responded instantly, mowing the two creatures down with a hail of machine-gun fire. When they fell, it took their cries a moment to dissipate, still echoing. Keller walked over to one, kneeling down and looking at it with disgust. "What is this thing?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He stood up again, and gave the dead monster a hideous kick... but no one had an answer for him, as they were all as mystified as he.
They had no further encounters with the bizarre dog-like things, and all the buildings set down in the Wasteland safely. Raynor, though, was still thinking about the attack. The creatures were purely alien, looking only faintly like dogs. They were truly a fearsome sight, almost entirely made up of fangs and razor-sharp claws. They would have to be on guard, in case more of them were lurking in the area. In the meantime, though, the buildings continued to settle down, kicking up small clouds of dust as their landing pads touched the ground, and the SCVs scurried over to the small mineral patch there. The Wasteland base had just become another mining town.
SCV's buzzed back and forth. One minute they were at a patch of mineral crystals, laying into them with their fusion cutters... and then, they would move back to the Command Center with a hunk of crystal in their hands, and dump them into a large chute located on the side of the building. This helped serve as power for the colony, and also raw materials to build things with.
Keller and his squad established a patrol, in the unlikely event that more creatures decided to rear their ugly muzzles. Sure enough, not too far had they gone to the east of the encampment, when the familiar roar echoed out. Three more of the dog-like monsters popped up, from the ground itself. Caught half by surprise, the marines hesitated, then opened fire. One of the monsters went down immediately, but the other two took down four of the squad before they were killed. After that, no other threats showed themselves, andthe Marines patrolled on.
Afterward, when they were certain and satisfied that the area was clear, the squad retired inside the Barracks, marching up the steps in perfect synchronicity. Wasteland Station was firmly established... and for the time being, safe.
Now all that remained was to see just what the Confederates had in mind, totry to figure out just what in hell those monsters were... and hope that the alien Protoss didn't decide to blow their planet right out from under them.
-End Chapter One-
A/N: Like? Hate? Reviews and constructive criticism/ideas are much appreciated. I will be redoing all the chapters I have posted, and will be posting new chapters soon. Enjoy!