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StarCraft: Stewardship

Chapter 5: Redemption

Executor?

It was Malekis who addressed her as she walked onto the bridge, Azimar trailing behind her. Yet she could feel the eyes of all the Templar upon her as well. Looking out into the darkness of space, Barkul's sun a tepid glow on the horizon, she felt as if the universe was eyeing her as well. Judging her. Waiting to see what would unfold. For all their might, the universe did not revolve around the Firstborn, and yet…

Executor? Your orders?

And yet once, they had stood as stewards over the galaxy. Once, they had followed the Dae'Uhl, the Great Stewardship, the burden that they, children of the gods, had undertaken. She turned around to look at the Templar before her. Fellow warriors that she could lead into battle, risking their lives for another species, or lead them to safety…and possibly shame.

I will address the crew, Selendis said, her telepathy reaching all of the Templar of the bridge bar Azimar. She glanced at him. He remained standing there, his eyes a darker shade of green. He knew what was about to happen.

Selendis activated the bridge's psychic booster. Through it, and by extension the Khala, she could feel the mind of every Templar onboard the Tsokavis. She could feel their unease, their confusion. In turn, they might sense her own unease. Yet she hoped her resolve as well.

"This is Executor Selendis," she said – they would hear her thoughts, but she thought it best that Azimar hear her words as well. "Some of you already know this, but I shall impart this news regardless – Hierarch Artanis has ordered us to return to Shakuras."

She could feel the confusion of her warriors dimming. In turn, welled up a variety of emotions. Mostly a mix of relief, yet also shame.

"He would have us abandon the eleesh," she continued. "The drakul have taken Barkul as their feeding ground. They have taken one village, and they will not stop there. They will take all of the eleesh as their slaves before the planet's cycle is done."

Not a lie. An assumption, though one she believed. She knew how the drakul operated. They all did.

"It would not have always been like this," she continued. "Once, the drakul would have fled at the mere sight of the Templar. Once, we were the Great Stewards, the guardians of the stars. Entire races lived and died under our gaze. We were as gods, and would be their shield if they were threatened with the sword. But then came the zerg. The Great War. The end of our empire. I do not lie, brothers and sisters – these are dark times. The hierarch says that every ship, every warrior, will be needed to retake Aiur. He asks, and not without due cause, why we should risk our lives for a lesser species. One that will not thank us, or know us. Even if we save the eleesh today, the universe may claim them itself. War, disease, disaster – even we, the Firstborn, know how frail life can be."

She closed her eyes, her memory taking her to the battlefields of Aiur. Shakuras. Braxis. Haven. She saw what all the Templar did. Life. Death. Victory. Defeat.

"But I must ask you, is this all we are? Are we not Templar, the swords of truth? Have we not all marched over a hundred worlds, sailed over a dozen systems? Are we so utterly broken that we must forget the tenants that have served us for millennia? I would say, no, my warriors. I would say that our sun has not set. But our sun cannot fully rise if we are unwilling to step back into its light. I would say that honour and duty compels us to aid the eleesh. But above all, I say we must aid them because…because it is right. They suffer through no fault of their own. They have not harmed us. Once, long ago, an executor like myself led her Templar into battle on this world. Will we flee, where our forefathers stood?"

She paused. She stretched her mind through the psychic link. The emotions of the Templar…they were mixed. Very mixed. She could sense that some of them felt similarly as her. But even they knew that her speech was intended to make them agree. Her words were eloquent, but not so eloquent that they were not seen as eloquent.

"We failed the Dae'Uhl before," Selendis continued. "The kalathi, the terrans, they may ever hate us for our failings. I too have failed, as many of you know. On the world of Haven, I met the terran Raynor with the axe rather than the shield. Fellow warriors died by my error. Their deaths shall haunt me for as long as I live. But failure, my warriors…failure can be learnt from. Failure can be moved on from. Are we to live in the shadow of failure? Or shall we rise? Stand as one? Let our blades sing, and our cannons be the crescendo that leads to our enemies' coda?"

Another pause. Another mix of thought. There would be no more delay. She would ask what had to be asked. And then…she would abide by it.

"The hierarch has given me his orders," she said. "But I ask you…who will stand with me? Who will protect those that cannot protect themselves? Who will stand with me, and remind the galaxy that our light has not yet faded? Who will again teach the drakul fear? For I say to you now, my blades stand ready, and I shall either come back to Shakuras with my shield, or be carried on it. Yet I will not order you to follow me, my Templar. I shall not order you into the omhara's den. I can only ask you that you stand with me. To remember that we are all Templar, sworn to protect our kind, and our honour, till the end."

She said no more. It would not be a pause this time, she would say nothing until she had her response. The Khala…if it were all the seas of Aiur, this was but one ocean. Smaller, but no less turbulent. She did not expect otherwise. The Firstborn were mighty, but even they could feel fear. Every Templar would give their life for the Daelaam without a moment's hesitation, but for another species? She could not say. As she waited, she looked at the faces of the Templar onboard. Malekis, who had torn through the zerg on Genovos, his psionic storm being akin to a hurricane. Judos, a zealot who had fought his way through an entire squad of terrans, in order to protect a group of Khalai Caste workers. Goethe, an elder, who had been there on Kalath, and been branded a criminal by the empire. Serassan, who had been there on Aiur when the Overmind was slain, flying high in his Scout when his entire squadron was consumed. They, and every other Templar aboard this ship had seen decades, if not centuries worth of death and destruction. And now, once again, she was asking them to do battle.

We shall fight.

The Templar. They spoke as one. The Khala bound them, and through its storm, she heard the elray's song.

We shall follow. We shall fight.

Heard it, in all its beauty, even as it weighed upon her hearts.

Na adan atum.

The war cry of the Templar. They would follow her. There was no going back.

Na adan atum.

You honour me, Selendis said, touching the mind of every warrior on her ship. You honour yourselves.

Na adan atum!

Khassar de templari! She said. En taro Tassadar!

En taro Tassadar!

The words were said. Tassadar, Saviour of the Templar, was honoured.

And for the first time in a cycle, she felt at ease uttering His name.

Night had come.

Rise the Light had carried his silver orb into the hovering ocean. Raise the Glow had taken her golden orb beyond the world, and Runs would have been happy to never see it again. Whether it be by the hands of the gods or the creatures of the Emptiness, the people had been abandoned. His stomach no longer pained him, but his heart…it was not in pain. He would have to have something of his sha left to feel pain of that kind. He just sat there in the solid cloud, in the shadow of a goddess that did not know or care about the plight of the people.

The flying daggers were no longer in the sky. He could see the shining islands of the hovering ocean with perfect clarity. Hundreds of them. Some of the people said that the islands were pointers to the worlds of the gods, that if one followed the pattern of the islands, they would find paradise. Others said that the islands had no connection to their world, but were arranged simply as a work of art, as one might make a tapestry from sanger fur. He had paid those discussions little heed – the gods were the gods, but the world was the world. The world provided for them in the direct sense, the gods in the indirect sense. But now…now he might be the last of the people on this world, and never give the gods another thought. He-

He blinked. He could have sworn…Runs got to his feet and peered into the hovering ocean, all three eyes locked on the new lights that had appeared. They appeared to be moving. There were tales of times in the past where the islands had fallen to the land, like water being poured onto a fire, but these islands…they were not islands at all. What they were he couldn't say, but they were far too small to be landforms. They were…daggers, he wondered? Had the creatures of the Emptiness sent more of their ilk to ravage the people?

No. He didn't think so. He could see that their shapes were different. If the flying ships of the Emptiness were like daggers, these were like shields. Curved and round. Graceful, elegant. And even through the night sky, he could see that their colours were predominantly gold. The colour of the golden orb. The colour of Raise the Glow. Colours, however few, that flew over him, buffeting the trees around him in a rush of air. Colours that were heading for the village. His fur shifted, as did his arms. None would see him, perhaps not even the gods themselves, but it mattered not.

The gods had come.

His prayers had been answered.

The shuttle was outclassed by the Warp Prism in many regards, but there was at least one advantage – its occupants retained their cognition while they were travelling inside it. After all, one could not be expected to be conscious when stored as energy.

In Selendis's case, she was looking at a holographic feed of her Scouts' gun cameras, providing a perfect image despite it being night in this part of Barkul. Stelwart Squadron was flying on point, giving her shuttles a shield by which they would reach the eleesh village. Stelwart Squadron would engage the drakul's fliers, allowing her Templar to touch down and dispatch any drakul that got in their way. Fifty warriors, against at least three times their number. Easy odds, she told herself.

Time to drop zone? She sent out a thought to the artificial intelligence that controlled the shuttle. A microsecond later, a figure appeared on her display – two minutes. The drakul would know they were coming, both here and in orbit. So far, their Pillagers hadn't engaged them. But it would only be a matter of time.

Selendis.

She heard Azimar's words through the shuttle's communication loop. She had good idea as to what the Nerazim, but nonetheless…

Yes, Prelate?

She would listen.

I would like to once again advise that this is an ill-considered course of action.

I have committed to engaging the drakul.

Indeed, but you do so from the frontline. You should be on the Tsokavis.

Did he resent her, Selendis wondered? Being able to engage the drakul in battle directly, while he did so from a distance?

You have command of the Tsokavis, she said. One carrier against two Harvesters – a fair fight.

A fight that you should be commanding.

For a moment, Selendis said nothing. Azimar was correct, technically. She was an executor, and captain of a carrier. Even with its diminished crew, she was still responsible for over a hundred protoss lives. But-

Korshala Adun, Azimar.

But she terminated the feed, and reflected on what she'd known from the moment she'd committed to this fight. This act would sully her standing with the Daelaam. She was commiting protoss lives to a species that would not know nor thank them. She was at risk of provoking a war with the drakul. In all of that knowledge, how could she stay on the Tsokavis, asking her warriors to die in her stead? Had not Tassadar himself led from the front, giving his own life against the Overmind? Her name would never be an honorific, but she could still look to His example.

ONE MINUTE TO TOUCHDOWN.

She turned away from the shuttle's panel and looked to her warriors. Ten in number – six zealots, two adepts, one Stalker, and one Sentry. A configuration roughly matched by all five of her shuttles.

Executor, we have engaged the enemy.

Strike swiftly, Sadeghar. Let your cannons sing.

In her mind's eye, she could see the Scouts engaging the Pillagers. The feed within the shuttle could show her the carnage, but she cared not to gaze upon it. In less than sixty seconds, she would be able to see it firsthand. They all would. Some might come from this battle without the ability to ever see again.

"Templar," she said. "We are at the enemy's gates, and while they man the walls, their ramparts are ours to climb. Their bodies ours to destroy. Their honour ours to take."

Did the drakul have honour? She couldn't say.

"Strike swiftly, and as one," she said. She ignited her right psi-blade. "And know that I shall be at the tip of the spear." Her left psi-blade ignited. "Na adan atum."

"Na adan atum," came their voices. All but the Sentry – she could still hear the Stalker's pilot through her suit's psi-link. Their voices were muted, but filled with resolve. She was at the spear's tip, but she could fight in the knowledge that they were her staff. She walked down to the front of the ship.

TOUCHING DOWN.

The saw the shuttle's panel display, and clenched her fist. Once it touched down on the snows of Barkul, it would stay there until she ordered otherwise – the Pillagers were more of a threat to them than the drakul on the ground now.

The ramp descended. Before her, she could see the eleesh village, many of its structures on fire or smouldering. Before her she could see the eleesh – tiny creatures, running to and fro in panic. Before her, she could see her enemy. Drakul, dozens of feet away. Clad in black armour. Looking at her from behind their helmets, or in some cases, looking at her without helmets at all. Their dark, featureless eyes staring at her with all the warmth of the Void. She could see them getting ready to fire.

Shields!

The Sentry obliged. The drakul fired, but the shards sent their way were greatly slowed once they passed through the guardian shield. She felt the shards impact on her power suit's own plasma shields, and her eyes flashed in amusement – no effect. The combination of two levels of shielding was too much for the drakul to crack.

Fire!

The adepts fired, sending discs of psionic energy. The Stalker fired, sending blasts of Void energy. Even the Sentry fired its disruption beam. The drakul staggered, diving for cover. One of them began firing its plasma cannon, balls of green energy vapourizing the snow around them.

Forward!

She charged forward with her zealots. Her supporting forces would keep up their fire for as long as possible, but they were the Firstborn – in the crucible of close combat were they forged, and in close combat they would emerge victorious. The warriors of Aiur darted across the snow, the shards of the drakul impacting on their shields or missing. Firepower greatly reduced, thanks to how hard the Templar's opening salvo had hit them. And yet-

Executor!

She saw the bolt of plasma coming their way. If it hit, it would eradicate her shields, and possibly herself as well. But she kept running. Right into the green ball of fire. She ran, and for a microsecond, channelled her psionic energy into her own body. Enough to change her form into pure energy – a psionic charge, as the protoss called it, a means of quickly closing the gap between themselves and their enemies. An outsider would have seen Selendis and the zealots as an army of ghosts. But they were not ghosts, for they become solid a microsecond later. Solid, mere feet away from the drakul. Those without helmets, she could see the fear in their eyes. Those with helmets, she could sense the fear in their minds.

"Now!" As one! En taro Adun!"

Her blades cut into their flesh. She at the spear's tip, while the spear thrust forward with her. The drakul hissed, the Templar roared, and the cannons of the Firstborn wove a symphony of death. All around her, on both ground and in sky, battle was joined.

And it was glorious.

You have command of the Tsokavis. One carrier against two Harvesters – a fair fight.

A fight that you should be commanding.

Selendis didn't answer him. Azimar, stationed on the bridge of the Tsokavis, communicating via its psychic booster, didn't expect her to. Selendis had committed to this action. A course that at best, would save the eleesh, wipe out the drakul, and uphold the dictates of the Dae'Uhl (not a concept that he cared for himself, but the Khalai might). At worst, every protoss here would die, the eleesh would be taken into slavery, and the drakul would bond together to attack the Firstborn, starting a war while the Daelaam was preparing for a war on Aiur. All considerations that he knew…hoped…that Selendis had reflected upon.

Korshala Adun, Azimar.

The psionic link was terminated, and Azimar was left there, standing in the light, while the darkness of space looked back at him, beholding the darkness that swirled in his spirit. Korshala Adun – a Nerazim honorific, one that literally meant "until we both meet Adun." Did Selendis know that the honorific was given by warriors who did not expect to return from battle? Did she expect to perish on the surface of Barkul? Or was she in her own clumsy way giving him thanks?

And thus the mysteries of the universe take yet another step into infinity.

He glanced around the bridge, at the Templar at their stations. As a prelate, he outranked them. As a ship commander…he turned his gaze towards the pair of Harvesters that hung over Barkul – like the two moons of Shakuras in their crescent phase, only absorbing light rather than reflecting it. If not for the carrier's sensor systems, they might have been lost in the darkness of space. Not actual cloaking technology, but rather a type of alloy that made them harder to track. At least by lesser species. The Tsokavis was a shining beacon in the dark, and its light had found them.

"Your orders, Prelate?"

He looked at Malekis, who was looking at him from his station. Did they think they should be in command? Perhaps. And perhaps that was justified. He'd never commanded anything larger than a Star Relic.

"Launch the interceptors," he said. "Have Steadfast Squadron follow them ten seconds after launch."

The Templar relayed his orders. In the hanger decks, dozens of interceptors would be dispatched towards the two Harvesters. Before them would be ten Scouts. If they were going to take out the drakul, he wanted to waste not a single Templar life. The interceptors, even if they were hit on their attack run, could easily be replaced, and would serve as a good shield for the Scouts. Once they were there, their ships to ship weaponry should hopefully make short work of the Harvesters.

"Enemy movement," said Templar Zakerana. "The two Harvester ships are moving apart."

"Any fighter launch?"

"None detected."

Azimar brought up a three dimensional image of the space battle unfolding, the Tsokavis on one side of Barkul, and the two Harvesters tens of thousands of kilometres away. They could flee, he supposed, but they outnumbered the carrier 2:1, and 3:1 on the ground, and-

"Enemy firing."

Blips appeared on the screen, as both Harvesters fired plasma bolts into the swarm that was approaching them. They were going to stand and fight, unwilling to give up their prize.

"Interceptors taking hits," said Templar Thelim. "Carrier bays manufacturing replacements."

Azimar nodded. Even with two of the Scythes firing, they couldn't possibly hope to stop the protoss fighters from entering weapons range. Maybe they already knew that, as the two Scythes drifted apart – maximize distance for one, in order to increase the travel time for the fighters to reach the second target. Or it was simply retreating, but Azimar doubted it – Harvester 2 was, if anything, getting closer to Barkul.

"Executor Selendis reports that she has engaged the drakul on the surface," said Malekis.

Azimar briefly closed his eyes – I hope it was worth it, executor.

"Interceptors in weapons range. Steadfast Squadron entering weapons range in five seconds."

Azimar kept his eyes fixed on the topographic display – the interceptors were tearing into the drakul ship, their plasma cannons generating blue bursts of fire across its hull. They could have potentially taken it out by themselves, but in this case, they weren't the heavy hitters.

"Steadfast Squadron firing."

The Scouts were. Anti-matter missiles were unleashed on Harvester 1. Azimar turned away from the tactical display and returned to the viewscreen of the carrier. Through the darkness, he could see Harvester 1 be embraced by the Void. Its fire would burn until it was suffocated by the vacuum of space, and then its crew would enter the oblivion they deserved.

"Harvester One crippled. Second interceptor squadron ready to deploy in ten seconds."

"How long until they engage Harvester Two?"

"Up to five minutes. More if it increases its speed."

Azimar returned to the tactical display. Harvester 1 was gone, leaving his fighters out in the dark. Harvester 2 was firing at them, and drifting away. He knew that if it came down to it, it would outpace them – in the vacuum of space, the ship with the largest engine went the fastest. It might be prudent to take the Tsokavis in closer and-

"Prelate! A third Harvester!"

By the gods…what?

The thought was his own. Not bound by the Khala, the Templar of the Tsokavis would not hear his surprise, or thankfully, fear. His eyes fixed on those of Templar Zakerana. Her golden eyes looked back at him, in…yes, what was indeed fear.

"Updating the tactical display." There was a 'blip,' and a third Harvester appeared. Closing in on the Tsokavis.

"Craven," Malekis said. "It was on the other side of the planet."

"And coming to engage us," Azimar mused. He looked at Thelim. "What is your assessment of the threat it represents to the carrier?"

Thelim's eyes narrowed. "Moderate."

"Moderate?"

"Their plasma cannons are designed for anti-fighter warfare, but with enough focused firepower, they could, potentially, bring down our shields. And without our fighters…"

"We have a second interceptor squadron ready," said Zakerana. "We could, in theory, deploy them to engage Harvester Three."

"And leave our fighter squadrons alone to take out Harvester Two? They've already taken losses."

Interceptor losses, Azimar reminded himself. A cost to the Daelaam that was negligible. But he could see the dilemma. They could try recalling their fighter squadrons, but what would Harvester 2 do? Go to the surface to engage Selendis, or engage the protoss at range? But without fighter support, if the Tsokavis faced Harvester 3 by itself…the carrier was equipped with a purification beam, but that was meant for planetary bombardment, not ship to ship combat. The Harvester were frail, but they were fast, and they could still fire."

"Prelate?" Malekis asked. "Your orders?"

He looked at Malekis. He could tell that the Templar resented him. Resented his kind, resented his presence, resented his command. Did he resent Selendis too, Azimar wondered? He couldn't say. The Khalai still had their secrets. All protoss did. He'd kept a secret for two cycles, about what had happened at Koloss. About his failure, his guilt. In that, he supposed, he and Selendis had something in common. Guilt drove them as much as any other emotion.

"Prelate?"

"Have the fighter squadrons engage Harvester Two. Move the Tsokavis to rendezvous with them."

"And our interceptors?"

Azimar paused. They could possibly deploy the interceptors to engage the third Harvester, but could they take the ship by themselves? And how much did the drakul know of protoss ships? Take out the carrier, and the interceptors would become useless. He could not afford a 1:1 trade against the drakul. Even a 3:1 trade would be one carrier too many. But maybe…"

"Have the interceptors adopt Adun's Shield," he said.

The Templar stared at him.

"Adun's Shield," he repeated. "The interceptors will be on point guard for the Tsokavis. They will intercept whatever fire comes our way with their hulls until our fighter squadrons can rejoin us." He looked at Zakerana. "We have enough material to construct more interceptors, no?"

"We do…perhaps," she said. "But Adun's Shield is meant only for the most desperate of times."

"Times have long been desparate, and I would rather use interceptors as a shield rather than ourselves," Azimar said. "Now dispatch my orders. The drakul can fire at us, but if they are to be the viper, we must be the stone." He put a hand to his chest. "Na adan atum."

"Adan atum," the Templar said. Some, softly, Some, grudgingly. But still…they said it. They would carry out his orders.

For now, that was all he asked.

The wound in Runs's stomach had healed, as in his heart. And he had run back to his village across the solid cloud faster than he had ever done before.

Not that he had ever had to run back to his village much. Once, after a skirmish with non-people, he had had to flee from their spears after his hunting party had been wiped out. But as fast as he could run, having run as early as he could walk, often, he had walked back to the village. A kill draped across his back, held in place by his arms. Now, he ran with not a kill in hand, but to draw blood. Because while night had settled on the world, Rise the Light's silver orb was full. So through the gloom, he could see that the gods had come, battling the creatures of the Emptiness. Because of his prayers or in spite of them, they had arrived. In the sky, their flying daggers danced like kerogawi, in green and blue flashes. One set of daggers, the golden-coloured ones, seemed to be winning. Every so often the darker daggers would hit them, but a flash of blue light would occur, protecting them. Whenever the dark daggers were hit though, they would explode in fire.

Fire…it was everywhere. Not just in the sky, but on the ground. He passed through the north gate, or rather what was left of it. Through the gloom, he could see the warriors of the gods, their blades shining through the darkness. Just as the stories said. His eyes widened, as he looked on. The creatures of the Emptiness could match their speed, but their staffs were shooting arrows of some kind, and doing nothing. Whenever the blades of the gods made contact with the creatures, they would either kill them outright, or cause them to double over before finally returning to the darkness that spawned them. He had run here in the hopes of joining the battle, but it appeared that they didn't need his help. They-

He moved just in time as one of the creatures leapt towards him. It dived into the solid cloud, but spun its head around, hissing at him. Runs staggered backwards as it drew itself up to full height – the creature was twice as tall as he was. Thinner. Clad in black armour that looked like polished stone, and adorned with all manner of carvings and trinkets – bones, of animals he didn't recognize. But above all was its face. No hair. Slits for nostrils above a pair of eyes and a mouth with spear-like teeth extending sideways. It might have some similarities with the gods, but Runs had seen the statue of Raise the Glow, and for all her differences, he had still managed to feel a sense of kindship though. This creature though…it was a monster. Even its eyes were different – larger, dark, and empty. The creature hissed again and stuck its mouth out, dislocating it from its jaw, like the striking jayaraj that hid in the solid cloud, bringing death to any that strayed too close to it with its fangs. He saw it reach for something at its side – a small, curved instrument that it raised to point at Runs, and-

He struck first. Extending his arms around the creature's neck, Runs catapulted himself forward, slamming into the monster. Both stumbled into the solid cloud, and through his eyes, he could see it drop its tool. It must have been a weapon of some kind, and he did not dare use it. But Runs moved too quickly. Extending an arm, he grabbed his spear, and plunged it into the creature's neck. Dark red blood poured out, and the creature squirmed. Hissing. Choking. Looking up at him with the darkness of the hovering ocean, but without any of its islands of light. Runs plunged his spear down even further – blood fell upon his arms, his fur, and the solid cloud. And it continued to flow, even after he deduced that the creature was dead.

Runs got to his feet – his body was moving faster than the speed of his thought. It was guidance he welcomed, as he had so often done in the hunt or the battle. He returned his gaze to the village, as the gods continued to do battle with the monsters. They appeared to have that under control. But where were his people? Had they already entered the Emptiness? He clasped his spear even tighter. The gods were slaying their foes, but did their role extend to saving his people? Or avenging them?

He ran forward. True to his name, true to his people. It was all he could be now. Whether he achieve vengeance for his people or salvation…he would fight.

A/N

In the original outline for this story, I didn't have a space battle be involved, as it would be focused entirely on Selendis on the ground (well, her and Runs that is). Still, I figured that since I'd given Azimar a POV section already, it didn't make sense structurally to just abandon his POV for later chapters (similarly, I originally had a POV section for Artanis, but cut that out as it felt like too much of a tangent structurally). Course this meant I actually had to write the space battle scenes, hence why this story got extended in the later chapters.