Author's note: I apologize for any spacing problems in this chapter, I've been avidly trying to find a separation from POVs. Only damn '. i .'s seem to work and their kinda cute. Any help on how to fix this problem, please email me or something. Anyway, please read and carefully review. Blizzard owns its characters, plot, and locations. I own mine :)
Starcraft: My Angel Queen
Staff Sargeant Owen Atwood knew better to go easier on the guys today. He also kept in mind to go easier on his overwrought throat- but that, in no way, hampered his decades long penchant for chain-smoking. Last night, the infantry went out of their way to be as wild as they could without rolling over dead. Even the most of the persnickety officials granted them what they deserved, some even joined them. The soldiers had caught the stygian queen the night before and came back in time for crazy partying.
Atwood's recovering brain remembered only broken fragments of last night's party: Loudspeakers set outside saturating the air with bass as people caroused around them. Men wrestling in the mud. Girls from other divisions sneaking in to dance and wrestle as well. The virile off-color jokes and stories. Randy and his clique setting off flares. The first Sargeant passing out (hence, Atwood being the surrogate Sargeant). He wasn't sure if he remembered one of the Mess Hall's couch catching on fire. And of course, the best piss-effigy-of-Kerrigan-on-concrete contest.
Owen lastly remembered situating inside a barracks to smoke, where lights shot from the ceiling, igniting the fading essence into a series of colors. Red. Blue. Yellow. Green. And then it was gone. Unfortunately, the senior commissioned officials demanded they return back to routine the next day.
Owen looked up from the scattered cans, butts, and the occasional condoms, and scanned his disheveled men aptly doing pushups in the standard military conditioning uniform; cargo pants and a muddy white tank top with the division's number on the heart, 80. "His men" he called them; thankfully the women didn't mind. He arched a brow as soon as Ricky Davis came into view, visibly unaffected from the after effects of alcohol. The Staff Sargeant then remembered that the poor kid behaved pretty low-key that past day anyway.
Needles of cold rain pelted their bodies this hazy morning from the uniform blanket of ominous gray cloud exhaustively concealing the sun. The muggy air and sweat stuck to their skin like fire-retardant gel. Atwood kept coined adages such as, "You gave your hearts to Jesus, but your ass belongs to the corp!" to himself this miserable day. Christianity being a byproduct of the UED, which, with the early civilization's historic belief and almost irrevocable tattered documents, founded the Religious Renaissance of the Koprulu Sector. It took only five years post-Brood War for all pieces to fit.
"You guys ready for the real dirty work?" He breathed a heavy wisp of buxom cloud. Everyone agreed discordantly. Not as one - but more as one and a clumsy attachment. They would not have gotten away with that kind of devotion if disclosed it in a normal day and they knew it.
Before the pragmatic Sargeant flagged the vapid regiment off to a near precipice with heavy packs, which was pretty light compared to the due psychic training and examinations, two SCVs made their way into base; struggling a bit as they roved through mud. They were audibly bickering amongst themselves on who should break the news. The men felt their shoulders already alleviating from some sort of pre-ordained burden. Owen slipped past the ranks of Ghosts, clearly enervated and curious.
Hushed voices was all Ricky could discern from the garrulous SCVs and the Sargeant. It seemed, through the corner of an eye, that Atwood himself had a rough time understanding them. He gave up eavesdropping and let his head fall back a bit, allowing the rain to cool his blood warm cheeks.
"Hey," A female voice spoke beside him through the splattering of the rain and the whirring of SCVs. Ricky immediately knew who's voice uttered it. "Ricky!"
"Yeah." He replied, not returning the enthusiasm, much less the eye contact. "What do you want, Jaclyn?"
Jaclyn had joined the Dominion's military for all the wrong reasons. Nothing more than a high school drop out, Jaclyn sought money and lust, and not necessarily in that order. After the rumors that Ricky was dating an unsightly knave became rampant, she took matters into her own hands. Two hundred dollars later, Ricky received a full framed picture of Jaclyn, clearly digitally rendered. When it was official that Ricky and Crystal, a marine, were truly together, Jaclyn would venture to say they had strictly been a pity couple, but Ricky was a good man for his charity. It had always been a common belief that Ghosts and Marines are best kept asunder, she would say. Her fiery auburn hair, now humid and dark, seemed to bode well with her hot tempered personality.
"Amor vincit omnia." Love conquers all. She said it silky as satin, smoothly as pleather. A phrase they had been taught by a UED officer in a circumstance slightly similar to this one. "Hmm?"
Jaclyn and Ricky were assigned to take part in a requisite reconnaissance by a field officer a certain summer. Zerg had continuously ambushed them with their burrowing techniques during the pending war, and while scanning devices were precocious enough, they also deemed useless over a long stretch of forest canopy. The first day they had met and trepidations had begun to substantiate. Ricky repeatedly disapproved Jaclyn's decision of activating her cloaking device before time and the officer allowed. She went on about how rule books don't apply to her.
Days later, low clouds spawned the same pinpricking rain, causing the GPS receivers to become staticy and Ricky to curse under his breath. Eventually they were led to a distant camp amid their expedition area, a listless foreign flag stood sited in the middle of the encampment. UED, Ricky thought aloud. There, at the feet of the Earthlings, he radioed base for an approval in staying with the Dominion's de facto allies for the night. No intelligent answer. Ricky and Jaclyn had been gladly whisked in by a few sentinels in watch towers, and they mutually agreed to discontinue and get some rest and food.
The stereotype that UED soldiers were all arrogant humans speaking in uncouth accents had quickly flushed away after spending little more than two minutes with them. The two Ghosts finger picked the food as the marines told the story of what brought them to the heart of the wild. Ricky paid more attention on making sure the potatos didn't come in contact with bread. As soon as they had become accustomed to their culture and demeanor, base radioed back ordering them return to their incumbency the second dawn struck the next day.
Ricky and Jaclyn remained together throughout their indisposition for each other, like two contending children lost at an airport terminal. Hugh Langford, the commanding officer for the camp, urbanely asked them to join his tent for the night. There, he began telling one story that later became tenfold. He gave a hearty laugh everytime they unsuccessfully pronounced a word he taught them. Langford stumped them with Latin, the primordial Romantic language and the hardest one he's mastered.
An SCV outside, the only available repairsman in camp, stopped Langford mid-sentence as he was finishing the story about the daring rescue his team had just completed. Langford zipped up the kevlar insullated tent, leaving Ricky and Jaclyn behind. Before Ricky was able to read her eyes, she had jumped on him- and he succumbed.
"You wouldn't know what love meant if it bit you in the ass."
The Sargeant seemed to have had it with the SCVs. He even managed to flick a half smouldered cigarette at the ground. With a swift torque, his head veered to his men and behested them turn. They all did simultaneously. Very military-like.
"It's a long story, so I'll give you the abridged version; sans senseless twaddle." He eyed the two SCVs as he said this; shifting his whole body and lighting another. "The Emperor's home has recently been invaded. Many were killed, but the Emperor was not harmed."
The Ghost covey waited as if more was to be made manifest. Not that that hadn't been enough.
"Why not com-link instead?" Asked a soldier in front, disrupting the gravity of the situation. His eyes sunk to the back of his head, most likely out of sleep depravation. "What's with the SCVs?"
"Security issues." He took a long drag on his newly lit cigarette.
"It's happened before. What's the big deal?"
"Because, smart ass... " Staff Sargeant Atwood noted huskily, "you guys are suspected perpetrators." He exhaled more smoke than carbon dioxide through a ridge of marred teeth. "Congratulations."
. i .
Arcturus couldn't help the unwonted nervousness coursing through his body. Focusing properly turned out to be a difficult task since learning his home had been defiled. How many were dead? Dozens, they said. That was probably a pulled-out-of-the-ass statistic or just an appeasing number to the press. He'd arrived from a convention hours ago (two planet's away from home) to receive the news. He hoped to God it hadn't been those rebels seeking some kind of retribution for Confederacy's sake. Arcturus would do anything to find out the reason for this. A Council would be held soon enough, he thought, they'll have answers. After being drowned out by questions, he decided to take refuge into his room. Enhanced security had obstructed him from getting to it any faster.
He stared out of the drapey curtains, down into the warped world below, past the densely bullet proofed windows. He had ultimately bust through that fortress inside of him, that innate ability to remain as patient as he deemed under most dire conditions. He was determined to get to the bottom of this.
His semi-chiaroscuro reflection stared back at him, demanding answers out of Arcturus, whose eyes had been guiltily stamped with a sense of loss. He looked past the window, stories below. A gulch slumped down juxtaposed to the right of his home, partially deluged, where many crime units rallied and got to work. He didn't believe his Ghosts had done it, despite what specialists had said.
Forty two minutes of unedited macabre killing was presented to the Emperor. Using infrared and light refractive cameras, Arcturus saw men in black clothes, wielding snipers. A bold '80' logotype seamed on each of their left sleeves.
A rap on the door.
"They're ready for you, sir." His secretary peeked in as she coasted the door a sliver. "Are you busy? I can tell them you'll be in shortly."
"I'm coming, Ms. Beaty." His reflection said.
The door shut gently. Arcturus walked towards Step Two with a sigh.
. i .
Metallic orbs rose from the ground, suspended in the air for a bit, then flitted towards the Emperor as soon as he made his way to that distinctive pulpit. These orbs allowed in-depth coverage without the annoyance of clamorous reporters and journalists. Each one representing a news corporation.
Congressmen, prominent executive agencies, and other members of government affiliated associations had stood naturally as the Emperor's presence had been detected, expressing their support. Most of it was an homage to fellow workers who died in the Emperor's residence. A nice display projected behind Arcturus, a pictorial collage of the victims. Meticulous mahoganies with the Dominion's emblem ingrained on their facade stood behind Arcturus, where magistrates and higher judges took seats, feigning their tolerance to the badgering orbs.
Arcturus's figure stood majestically behind the stand, positioned on a pool of light. The dispersed orbs creating an underwater paced illusion as they hovered mid-air. The distilled applause was enough to make the Emperor's knuckles white from gripping the podium. It took a few more minutes before the clapping completely ceased, and after the audience variably took their seats, that Arcturus inhaled his first breath before addressing the nation in light of new events.
"Good citizens of the Dominion," He read his salutation and paused a moment before going for the jugular. "First and foremost, I am here to officially declare Sarah Kerrigan's former regime entirely obsolete." Without delay, seats became vacant as people stood and rose the colossal building's decibels near the hundred mark. That proved to be a monumental sentence; was bound to become headlines the next day. "The-" The applause progressed, but Arcturus continued. "The Dominion is proud of our unparalleled military and its generals. Without them, the operation would never had been possible. I would want nothing more than to express our gratitude to a certain division. Gentlemen and gentlewomen of the eightieth division, please stand."
Their section in the center mazzenine had all gotten to their feet, garbed in their respected uniforms; eyes fixed on them. Owen Atwood had a hard jawed look to him. He wondered if the Emperor had found ample information refuting the supposed incriminations of his unit, if not, he hoped that they would at least be granted amnesty, and later, something new would blow this whole ordeal off.
"The Council states that information on the attacks one subsequent day of the capture has repelled us to believe you have all done these acts of treason. You have taken a supreme enterprise against Kerrigan and will be rewarded unlimitedly for it. It is today that I apologize for our assumptions." Owen smiled. Arcturus kept a clean poker face. The Council had, in fact, unanimously accredited the information to be under close scruitnity. Arcturs had his share of mail and personal calls stating exactly what and where the rather small division had alternately been undertaking the time that crime was orchestrated. The Emperor had never heard so many euphemisms for 'party' in one day before. In the end, he really believed they had no part in it. "At ease." He added with a chuckle.
"On a lighter note, General Terrance has been a prodigious benefactor dedicated to a new military program which, quote, 'will separate men from the boys.' We hope you take advantage of the Combat Scenario Program and its benefits. Further details will be delivered to each individual district." Arcturus paused to think of what, no, how, to bring up that leitmotiv without losing its originality. "Before I get sidetracked, I'd like to announce the fundamental motive of this address; to enlighten the public on Kerrigan's development and what we intend to do with those who have, for so long, disrupted our insouciant lives. It is time to explore our limits for the consummation of our own order. For this, the Council and myself would like to apprise all of you-"
The orbs had seemed to come alive. They strove to get as close they were decreed to be.
"-that the late Queen's broods are to, collectively, evacuate out of their homeworld and plummet into the nearest star, Centurion."
. i .
Those words reiterated inside Zeratul's mind for the next couple of minutes. For once in the life of this well versed Protoss, he'd been left without words. Had this been only some kind of vindictive form of action, or a thought-out strategem for the betterment to both their races? Zeratul knew, as much as Arcturus, how the Zerg had become ravenous and vicious beasts; how Kerrigan's headlong mind devices had threatened their very existence. But how does one deserve to even dare assume that kind of power? The power to eradicate an entire ilk. He never realized how much he sympathized for the Zerg until now. Their brothers.
A meteor lacerated the starry twilight; his glowing blue eyes following it. A balmy breeze caressed the uneven cavities of his face. He lolled his eyes to rest and meditated out in the luxuriousness of his gilded veranda. He rested his arms on the support, they seemed like appendages of some sort of pachyderm that suffered mass atrophy. Maybe the ghoulish ones did merit this. Maybe this was the necessary comeuppance of a grand empire. The greatest ones had all been previously extinguished during their prime, hadn't they?
He thought of the Dark Archon and what was to become of him. A dark templar he remained long ago, like himself. Khari was his name. That was until he met an equally skilled counterpart, Odemius- whom Zeratul lost all respect for her dishonorably lack of pride. They later melded conjointly to become the androgynous Elzahen.
Almost abruptly, some malicious energy assaulted his thoughts. They came in so violently and loudly. He saw and heard many images, some fast as a psionic blade, others cryptic and suggestive. A baby floating in a viscous substance; impaled by organic spikes. Venomous eyes unfolding. A Zerg scourge slamming into a battlecruiser's rightmost nacelle. A snake wrapped around an eagle. A silhouette of a female akimbo stanced, behind her, flames and billowing smoke established the background.
His eyes jerked wide open, motes of blue energy escaping them.
He had known what many of those pictures had been. The baby, the female. All sympathies long forgotten. He bowed his head and placed his right palm to his chest in reverence. He craned his head back up to look down at the beautiful city. The aurora eminating from the endless land made it seem so magical. Golden pinnacles rugged up from the ground; gothic and domed structures that had been angelically illuminated by the full moon. A riverbed shimmered distantly below, demarcating two major towns. Zeratul knew that Shakuras had been a sanctified world.
The Protoss headed inside; his travel-stained cloak, encrypted with ancient characters, slithered up the stairs. Passing libraries of hagiographies, statues of postmortem ecclesiasts, and ornate alcoves for armoury, he made his way into the control room where he would keep up with the Zerg's demise.