CHAPTER THREE

CONVICTS THROUGH FIRE

"You know what's good about the Zerg? You kin kill as many of them as you like, an' no-body will lock you up for it. Sweet deal." – Marine Convict 626 "Tychus", penalised for murder and piracy. Status unknown.

Two years ago.

Jim Raynor had known a lot of different folk. Some honourable, some not so much. But these protoss were different, they really seemed to believe in the high ideals they practised. Not all of them very well, that high level Aldaris had been worse than a real pain in the backside, but even he seemed to come right for a little while, after the massive blow to the alien's pride.

It wasn't good what happened after that, but there wasn't much Jim could do about it. He was stuck on Aiur. Maybe he could have warned them about Kerrigan, taken his side – but he didn't know. He got his hopes wrapped up just like everybody else, maybe even worse.

If Tassadar had still been alive… he shook his head. He was the one who always seemed to see clearest. Still, he'd toast to the protoss' memory – he had been… a really good friend. It was strange how of all people, his friends now included the protoss. Just as well they got along so nicely.

He put away the glass. That was enough "celebrating".

Out in the cold, when you were patrolling the outskirts of Mar Sara alone on a rusty piece of over-hauled and over-powered fusion engine, a cigarette was just a good idea to keep you warm. Sure, they had ways of scraping the carbon out of your lungs, but Hell if he could afford that. But he tried not to overdo it – just something to keep him distracted, a little bit of heat to make the patrol seem less of a cold sojourn. When the engine was running hot, that usually did the trick.

He kept a carton in his sleeve, and he didn't even bother to check how many were left – it would last much longer than he'd remember. But he enjoyed the comforting small box there.

Back in the war, even the wars back on Earth, they used to just issue these by the carton. Keep you distracted, usually from the lack of food. Soldiers just inherited the habit. But these were only really the times when he felt like there was a need to light one up.

(*)

Tychus studied his old friend. Knowing what he might have to do… he ruminated from the inside of his massive collar, trying not to let his thoughts show on his face.

Raynor wasn't as big as Tychus, Hell, you'd have to go aways to find someone who was – but he had hard muscle like few others. Who knows, maybe all those years working on that damn bike of his, gave him a grip to match all that iron. But he was known as a hard but fair man, made him well liked as a Marshal – that much he had figured, after talking to folks after that little shin-dig on Mar Sara. They sat down at a table together, all of a sudden you didn't notice that Tychus was easily half a foot taller – they were both giants in their own way. Tychus recognised that the man was larger than life to his crew – Tychus approved of it – good to see the boy doing right. He didn't want to see on no toes that way, but sometimes life didn't give you a choice.

Raynor was the only fella Tychus wouldn't bet against in a fight – always respected him for that. He wouldn't bet against himself either, he figured it was what made them good friends. Someone you trusted to watch your back was a rare good thing, 'sides from all the trouble they got up to together.

Raynor had forearms that could break one of those protoss psi blades, was the way he'd always seen it (after he seen one of them damn aliens for the first time – weirdest thing). It seemed like he didn't care much, but he was always on the sharp edge of the fight. Could make a man envious if he wasn't such a badass himself.

Who knows, maybe the trenches made them both like that. He was a smart feller, too, that was his real strength. Ain't seen much pull one on ol' Raynor.

Tychus looked down at his glass. Maybe this would be one of those exceptions.

(*)

Now.

Horner inspected his marine suit, wondering if he'd have to get in it for this mission. It wasn't a good idea for him to be away from the bridge, especially when Commander Raynor himself was on the ground, but occasionally it was necessary. And he admitted, he felt like he needed to remind himself on occasion. What the men were going through outside of the neo-steel walls of the most powerful piece of equipment they had in their little rebel group. A man could get pretty comfortable, razing down the Zerg from afar, dispatching protection and justice like a floating god throwing thunderbolts among the marines holding the line with guts and glory and their own lives.

Nowhere was safe – but the marines were even less safe than anyone else, and they were the army Raynor needed for his Raiders. You couldn't field any kind of power without them, there was only so much you could do from the sky.

Horner had been through the thick and thin of it, tossed into more battles than he cared to admit – zerg scrambling around on the hull, clawing their way through the corridors of his command centres or ambushing his columns on the road. But losing perspective could be dangerous. Raynor was right – it kept you sharp – as long as you weren't stupid. Marines had their jobs for a reason, and his was to make sure they survived, not die with them. It was just a fact that Raynor was the best leader they had, on the ground or in the air – him being on the ground wasn't just useful, it was often a tactical necessity. Maybe one day he'd find people who could truly replace him, but until then, they all needed to keep learning.

As long as Horner did his job, their team hauled together and got the job done with what Horner considered satisfactory results, and he had a very hard line for what that was. Everyone had to rely on everyone else out here, there wasn't much room for romanticism.

He tapped one of the diamond-hard knuckles. Didn't want to get that close to a zerg in the first place, but the things didn't always give you a choice. They should put knives on these suits. Maybe the protoss had the right idea anyway – if the battle was going to be close quarters anyway, make sure you were equipped for it.

Maybe that made the zerg the smartest of all. There were no egos bogging them down, they evolved for one purpose, no matter what it cost them. You could kill them by the hundreds, and they'd kill you with the dozens left.

He had studied the tapes the scientists sent him. He learned everything he could. And Raynor's time with the protoss, he had seen and learned more of the Zerg than any other man alive, Horner reckoned. He had been there since the beginning of this… Zerg invasion. If there was one man most qualified to carry out a war against the Zerg, it was James Raynor. Too bad Mengsk hadn't seen that – too bad it hadn't mattered if he did.

And so they did. They carried out a war the way they did best. Hit and runs, incineration, conserving supplies and fleet, razing infestations and zerg colonies to the ground wherever they could. In a sense, they had more free agency than the Dominion, always did – but they were working with them now.

Any day, Valerian would call for a massive offensive. Kerrigan had left an odd power vacuum – strange, since the Zerg had been almost-allies for a time. But in her absence, they had reverted to their natural struggle, attacking all other life.

Jim seemed to brood on it occasionally. He seemed to think there was something else out there. Something else behind the Zerg's agitation.

"Kerrigan?" He had asked.

Jim had just shook his head. Horner pondered the unspoken possibilities as well that Raynor left in the air. The Hybrid, possibly… Their god was dead… but the hybrid themselves were an everpresent threat that wouldn't disappear with their creators. If the secret of their creation was known… then the fire of Prometheus had passed down to mortal hands now…

Horner sighed. They needed better ways of getting their troops in and out of the field.

(*)

They had crash-landed. The Hyperion sitting squat in a destroyed clearing and bed of trees, broken and snapped, the landscape outside angled oddly at the degree the massive battlecruiser was aligned. The engines were malfunctioning and Swann already had the crew on it – they had to lift this hulk up and get back into space as soon as possible. They had detected the signs of zerg even before they had entered orbit.

When the first pod hit, they knew that's when things had gotten serious.

"It doesn't matter, just get everyone out there you can with a gauss rifle-" Jim Raynor was in the middle of arguing with Swann, trying to get the Hyperion into the air, and everyone battle-ready at the worst possible moment.

"But-"

"Zerg don't have guns – go!" He shouted at the chief, pulling a rifle off the rack himself. And he did – he ran.

Unless they were ambushed by hydras, but damn it, they didn't have a choice. It'd give his boys time to get into suits – the crew had to hold off this first wave as long as possible. Damn their luck in crashing the ship down here.

He thought of his pistol-grip grenade launcher he still kept in his locker, but it was too far. It was good from a bike, but it'd be handy right now, too. He loved that little bastard – but no time. Still, he had to keep the line with his men. If things went south, at least he'd be there for it, maybe salvage something from it.

"Get the frags out of the munitions!" he shouted at Hill. He nodded, and soon a dozen gleaming ovoid eggs of destruction were laid bare. Ship plating could take it, they could line up a few shots on the edge, that'd keep them off a while. Too bad they weren't packing incendiaries – firebats had been packing fumes for the last mission or so, he had to keep them benched. Those boys would take even longer to get suited up, and inside the ship was not where he wanted those flames to be. They were really piling on the napalm these days, it'd roast the crew alive too without any protection.

"We just have to hold them for a few minutes. Then our boys in armour will be here to take position."

He knew they'd be sweating.

"Let's jam up the entrance with what we can. Loaders, what's left of those vultures, crates, you name it."

Waste of good vultures, but it had to be done. He'd ping a fuel line – and that'd have to be their first fire-wall, to use the term literally.

(*)

A few hours and it was done, they had managed to hold and get power back to the lift engines, and now they were back in space with the safety of an escort – back on course for their rendezvous with the protoss. The zerg were left below with a barrage of napalm bombs.

Artanis had contacted him to tell him he had detected some unusual signatures in terran space, and wanted his opinion. Raynor told him he'd be there, and bringing his best experts. If something was going down, he wanted to be there when it did.

He was updated less than ten minutes later that Artanis had detected a sizeable Zerg brood amassing outside of Terran space, and was moving to investigate – leaving Raynor the co-ordinates for their respective plans.