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StarCraft: Stewardship

Chapter 6: Retribution

Executor. We have found the eleesh. They were inside the Scythes.

How do they fare?

Scarred in minds and bodies, but alive. The drakul were ready to transport them off-world.

Break their chains, then break their captors.

It shall be done, Executor.

Selendis terminated the connection with Adept Kalaris and returned her gaze to the drakul in front of her. Through the Khala, she would always be connected with her warriors, but in the heat of battle, much of her attention had to be on what was right in front of her. Namely the remaining drakul. Drakul that were falling by the minute to the blades of her warriors, including her own. The drakul had fallen back to their landing sites, the Scythes having touched down in the eleesh village, even on top of some of the buildings, crushing their wood into the snow. But with nowhere left to run, they were steadily falling to the protoss. Their speed and reflexes were greater than that of the Firstborn, and as they were nocturnal, they could see much better in the gloom. But their strength failed them, their attacks glancing off the shields of the zealots, if they even made contact at all. From range, their weapons could have harmed the protoss, but in closer quarters, they were only buying time. Already her adepts and Stalkers had went round to the drakul's flanks, firing in controlled bursts to thin out the aliens' numbers, ensuring that none of the zealots were harmed. The Sentries too stood ready to assist. Already Selendis had had them send hallucinations into the fray. The drakul fought against the protoss, but a number of their foes were little more than ghosts. And in the air, her Scouts had secured almost total air supremacy. Only a handful of Pillagers were left, and they, for whatever reason, were fighting rather than flying. Perhaps in the knowledge that as battle raged in space and on land, there was nowhere to flee to.

And she was in the thick of it. One after another, the drakul fell to her. As it had been with Machech 306 cycles ago, an executor led the Templar into battle against pirates and slavers. As it had not been at Haven one cycle ago. There, she had sent her warriors to deal death against those who wished them no harm. This time though, death would come from her hand directly, and justice would be the name of her blade. She would fight to protect the innocent, not slaughter them. This time, she would uphold the Dae'Uhl as it was meant to be. She dodged a drakul's swing, and struck out with her psi-blade. It dodged it, and the trio of blows that followed. But on the fourth, her blade found its neck, and its body fell, its soul being sent to whatever netherworld awaited it. Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at its body – dealing death to the drakul was not as swift as it might have been against the zerg, where one could swing their blades with abandon and grant death with every strike. But in the end, oblivion was still inevitable for these creatures.

The battle continued. A drakul thrust a blade towards her stomach – she sidestepped it, and decapitated it. Another opened fire from close range – shards impacted against her shields, until she darted forward, plunging her blades into its chest and tearing it apart. One swung its rifle like a club – she ducked, before flipping backwards, letting her legs knock it down into the snow. A moment later, the snow was stained with red blood. Psi-blades cauterized wounds to some extent, but nonetheless…

You would enjoy this Azimar, she thought to herself. They do indeed bleed well.

Azimar. For a moment, she cast her gaze up to the night sky, where flashes of light could be seen in the heavens. Azimar had told her about the situation in orbit. That he was buying time with the Tsokavis long enough for his fighters to return to the carrier to finish off the last Harvester. She had given him her blessings –Azimar was in command, and she would trust in his judgement. He was Nerazim, but he was still a prelate, and she owed him the benefit of doubt. And, she supposed, her thanks. He had gone along with this assault, even though he disagreed with it. If he could place his trust in her, she could place her trust in him. She-

"Executor!"

The words were spoken, not sent via the Khala. In less than a second, she saw a drakul lunging at her, two blades within its hands. The next, it was impaled on two psi-blades, held by Zealot Salerash. He kicked the drakul's body down into the snow and glanced at her.

"Thank you," she said.

Salerash nodded, and returned to the fray. Selendis ran a hand through her nerve appendages. Too much thinking. Not enough action. She looked back at the fray, and-

No.

Salerash was fighting another drakul, but that wasn't what caught her gaze. Rather, it was a drakul near one of the Scythes – the last Scythe that hadn't been cleared out by her warriors, given that drakul were still firing from its ramp. One of them being taller than the others, clad in all manner of ornaments – skulls, symbols, bones. A scion – a drakul of high standing within a clan, subordinate only to their clan leader. Holding a plasma cannon. Charging it. Firing it at her fellow zealot.

Salerash!

He glanced at her as she darted forward. His golden eyes shone through the darkness.

Move!

He turned to see the plasma bolt coming towards him. A green sun, bringing death rather than life. He tried to move, but-

It hit him. And so close was she that Selendis was cast back into the snow, landing hard. Her shields flared and gave out, as did her psi-blades momentarily. Steam rose from her armour, such was the heat of the plasma's impact. Within her mind, she screamed. Not just from her own pain, but from Salarash's. Looking at the spot, he was gone. Not in body, which was lying in a blackened crater, alongside a pair of drakul that had been in close proximity but his mind…it was gone. His spirit had one with the Khala. For a moment, Selendis gained access to his last thoughts. Confidence. Confusion. And at the end of all things…fear. The Templar were not meant to fear death, yet fear of death, in all sapient species…Selendis had found that to be a universal constant. She could not fault him for feeling fear in the end.

By the grace of Adun, may your spirit soar, she thought.

The fighting seemed to slow, as the protoss realized that one of their own had fallen, the drakul perhaps wondering why their scion had been willing to kill fellow drakul in order to slay but a single protoss. He'd taken at least two drakul for the zealot, and that, Selendis knew, in a war, would have been an exchange in the drakul's favour.

Murderer.

She rose to her feet. One death. One too many.

Monster.

They were here for the eleesh. She had sent her warriors to fight, and had now sent them to die as well.

Drakul.

Her eyes locked with the scion's, her shining blue meeting his pitch black, as if sky had met space. Did he know that she was the leader of the Daelaam here?

You will taste my blades, and my face will be the last thing your eyes see.

She rekindled her blades. She could see that he was charging the plasma cannon for another shot.

Aru nal'adan!

She charged. The fighting resumed. She could see the scion charging up another shot. The drakul beside it fired at her, but while she could no longer rely on her shields, she could rely on her speed. To move fast enough to evade their shots, and the plasma cannon…getting ready to fire…

She jumped into him, legs first. He fired, but the bolt of plasma went up into the air. He'd missed. He'd be dead, and-

It drew out a pair of serrated blades and slashed Selendis's right leg. Her eyes narrowed, as she put one psi-blade through the chest of one of its two flanking drakul, and used her remaining good leg to kick the other aside. The scion got to its feet with the speed of a bengalaas, and looked at her with the intent of an omhara. She heard it say something to its subordinate – a chittering sound, like an insect. The drakul spoke a language, but it was beyond her ability to translate with her telepathy. From what she knew of the aliens, their chitters and hisses conveyed their language more through delivery (such as speed and tone) rather than relying on set linguistics like Khalani, or even the language called English spoken by terrans. But it mattered not. She understood that this scion was a leader, and wished to best her in combat. As its end neared, it sought her end as well. One last stand, before darkness took it.

Which suited her just fine.

"Harvester Two is destroyed."

Azimar didn't need Malekis to tell him that, but he appreciated it nonetheless. His words filled the void that the vacuum of space left in him, as he saw Steadfast Squadron take out the second Harvester. The ship had managed to down a number of interceptors, but to his relief, none of the Scouts had been destroyed. They'd be low on fuel and munitions, but with luck, they could be used to take out Harvester Two.

"Malekis, order Steadfast Squadron to return to the Tsokavis. Ensure the pilots report on their fuel and ammunition reserves. Thelim, how fares Adun's Shield?"

"Holding, but barely, Prelate. Reports from the hanger crew tell me that they can no longer meet the demands for this tactic."

"And our shields?"

"Holding firm," said Zakerana. "The drakul's plasma has hit us, but our interceptors have taken many of the shots. So far, the Tsokavis itself is at no risk of damage."

But for how long? "Bring up tactical."

A hologram appeared in the centre of the bridge, showing Barkul, its moon, Harvester Three, the Tsokavis, and Steadfast Squadron. The Tsokavis itself was surrounded by a swarm of interceptors, rotating around it. Blips representing Harvester Three's plasma fire were represented. Many of them were met by an interceptor. Some reached the carrier's shields, but so far, they were holding. The drakul were chipping away at the boulder, and doing so as quickly as one might expect. And yet, Azimar noticed that Harvester Three had come closer and closer to the carrier over the last few minutes. The drakul were superior to the protoss in speed, and with increased speed came shorter distance. With shorter distance, came a greater rate of fire, and more accurate fire at that. Very soon, the Tsokavis would have no shield bar its own, and at such close range, it would fare poorly.

"ETA for Steadfast Squadron?"

"Six, seven minutes," replied Malekis.

"Fuel and ordnance?"

"Low," the Templar said. "They've taken out two drakul ships, but to take on a third…"

He didn't say any more, but Azimar understood. He could count on Steadfast Squadron to reach the Tsokavis in due time, but to have them engage a third drakul capital ship? That was a risk. He could have the Scouts land and re-arm, but that would take time, and if the drakul were wise, they would direct their firepower to the hanger bays. He could ask Stalwart Squadron to come to their aid, but they were needed on the ground, and it would still take time to get back into space.

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

Azimar closed his eyes, if only for a moment. A Templar asking for his orders – how times had changed. He detected no ill will in Malekis's voice, but the mind of a Khalai was their own, at least in regards to the Nerazim. But-

But nothing, he told himself. They were Daelaam. They were his crew. They had obeyed every order he'd given them so far. They had been true Templar, following the examples of Adun and Tassadar. Adun's Shield had protected them thus far, but now, Azimar decided, they needed to draw out the sword.

"Turn the Tsokavis around," he said. "And begin charging its purification beam."

None of the Templar answered. Not Malekis, not Thelim, not Zakerana, not even Amaran, who manned the carrier's fire control station.

"Did you not hear me?" Azimar answered.

"We hear," Amaran said. He got to his feet – he was by far the tallest of the protoss present, and his eyes were a deep orange. "And we ask whether you understand that the purification beam is designed for planetary bombardment, not ship-to-ship combat?"

"It is still possible to use it as such, no?"

"It is," Amaran said. "But you would have us be still while the drakul bombard us. Charging it will put further drain on our shields. It-"

"I know this," Azimar said. "But do the drakul?" None of the Templar said anything, so he continued. "The drakul have lost two ships, and they are losing the battle on the ground. If they see us turning, if they see us getting ready to fire…will they still stand and fight? Or will they flee?"

"A bluff," Malekis murmured.

"A bluff," Azimar said. "Perhaps you do not understand, but when one fights in the shadows, a bluff can be as deadly as any warp blade."

Malekis's eyes twinkled. "Very well," he said. "We shall play your bluff. And pray that it works."

Azimar nodded. Prayer. He did not think it necessary. The gods were the gods, but they let their children be. The Voice in the Darkness had claimed it was the one true god, but while its voice weighed heavily on his heart, it had so far remained in the darkness, its voice silence. A silence as deafening as the xel'naga, consumed as they had been by the zerg millennia ago.

Still, he reflected, as preparations were made to turn the Tsokavis around and prepare for the arrival of the Scouts, if prayer did help them win this battle, he would gladly take its aid.

The gods were slaughtering the creatures of the Emptiness and setting his people free.

He did not know what kind of vessels the creatures of the Emptiness sailed through the hovering ocean. Their flying daggers had been removed from the air. His people poured out of the larger objects that had landed in his village. Squinting through the darkness, he could see the gods shepherding them away, their blue blades providing light for them. He could see blue and green lights mingling in the darkness, though there were far more of the former than the latter. For a moment, he just stood in place. He had charged into the village to fight, but there seemed so little left for him to do. But looking at the battle line drawn between the gods and their enemies, he could see that one battle in particular raged harder than any other. Whether by accident or design, a circle had formed in the line's centre, as two combatants wove in and out, faster than any of the people could move. Faster than he had seen anything move. One of them was a creature of the Emptiness. Taller than the others, and not clad in armour. Its hairless head was clear to Runs's eyes. A demon. A monster.

Facing it was one of the gods. Clad in armour slightly more resplendent than his fellows. His two blades shone in the dark, never making contact with the creature's he battled. It was a dance, Runs realized. Touch the foe, and win. He had already seen the gods plunge their blades into the creatures of the Emptiness, how they killed with but a touch. But the demon's blades appeared little better than those of the people. They were without wood, but still physical. Yet, Runs realized, they could still be deadly, as one of the blades was plunged into the god's stomach, only to be quickly pulled out again.

His fur stood on end – could the gods be killed? Given how the god stumbled, they could at least feel pain. Given how the creature kicked the god into the solid cloud, perhaps the gods were not all mighty. Gripping his spear, Runs ran over towards the god. The creature he was battling would die soon enough. But if this god could fall…he wouldn't allow that. Not like the body of the god which was already in the solid cloud. The gods could indeed fall, Runs realized. Perhaps a second god would enter the solid cloud. Where did the gods go when they died, he wondered? Did their bodies enter the embrace of Giver of Life? Where would she go when she died? He ran, and paused.

The god in the solid cloud before him was not male.

It was her.

Selendis rolled to one side as the scion tried to stab her. She brought her good leg around, but it jumped back into the snow. Psionic energy crackling in the air, she got to her feet. Her psi-blades were much deadlier than the drakul's iron ones, but that meant nothing if she couldn't hit him. She got to her feet and locked her eyes in with his again. The sky and the darkness. He would be dead before sunrise. Yet would she perish before him? She rose her blades in a cross-guard pose, before lashing out. He dodged, and the dance began again.

Yet Selendis flailed. Her strikes slower, her evasions more clumsy. She had one good leg, and the wound to her stomach was taking its toll, blue blood staining the snow. The stomach wound by itself wouldn't kill her, but she understood the concept of death by a thousand cuts. The drakul before her however, would only need a few more cuts before being guaranteed victory. Perhaps even only one, if it got lucky. How would that play out, she wondered? She, Executor Selendis, struck down on the snows of Barkul when she should have stayed on her ship? Following in the footsteps of Executor Nevosian, but falling where the former executor had stood proud? So eager to plunge into the fire, she could not feel herself burning until it was too late. She-

…dodged another blow of the drakul's blades. Her mind was drifting. Shaking her head, she unleashed a flurry of blows against the scion. It evaded every one, until it brought both of its blades down into her right psi-blade gauntlet. Selendis cursed as the device shorted out, removing her of one of her psi-blades. The drakul lunged, but she kicked it with her good leg – hard, but not hard enough.

Craven, she thought to herself, ripping off the now useless gauntlet. Pirate.

A pirate who knew his blades well, Selendis reflected. The scion was not an honourable foe – no honourable foe would have attacked the eleesh – but he was still capable. Still a match for her. Perhaps even more than a match, as she was now reduced to attacking with only her left arm. Again and again, the drakul tried to attack Selendis from her right. It might cause death by a thousand cuts, but Selendis knew that at this stage, it would only require one thrust into her flesh to finish her. Perhaps not instantly, but enough to win the battle. The scion was as good as dead, but fought in the knowledge that it had nothing to lose.

She, however, had much to lose. Enough to keep evading its blows, and strike back whenever possible. She could lose her life, in the service of a lesser species. She could lose what remained of her honour and standing, falling to the drakul on this gods-forsaken rock. She could cost the Daelaam their chance to reclaim Aiur. She had thought of such things before now, but here, as her blood fed the snow, and the face of a demon leered before her…it all came rushing to the forefront. Just as her blade rushed upwards to the drakul. Just as he grabbed her arm, holding it in place. Just as he leered down at her, hissing from behind its forked teeth. Just as it brought its blade towards her chest, ready to impale her. She closed her eyes…it was over. She had lost. She-

…was still alive.

She opened her eyes wide, and stared at the drakul before her. It wasn't staring at her. Rather, it was staring at the spear that had forced its way through its chest. It reached for it, putting its hands on its bloody tip. It looked like he was trying to pull it out, but it didn't get that far. It stumbled over towards her, then let out a final hiss, then fell into the snow, dead. Blood fed the ground, but not Selendis's.

"Executor!"

She was helped to her feet by Adept Farastran. One arm looked around hers, while he kept his glaive cannon pointed outwards. There was no need though, Selendis realized. The drakul were dead. Their ships were aflame. The eleesh were being herded to safety. All but one. The one that stood before her. He had attacked the scion from behind, throwing his spear into its back. She knew that the eleesh possessed long, flexible arms, but it appeared that there was great strength behind them as well. Enough to pierce a drakul's armour. Enough to save her life.

"Executor?" the adept asked. "What are your orders?"

She didn't answer. She just stared at the creature as it walked across the snow towards her. It reminded her of a child, such was their disparity in height. She, a creature of over two metres, this alien a ball of fur not even half her height. Three eyes that ran up the centre of its body, with two slits above them as a nose. Alien, Selendis reflected. Not completely alien, for there were far stranger things that existed in the universe, but alien all the same. And she supposed that she looked just as strange to him.

It came to a stop in front of her. She tried to read its mind, but found nothing. There was thought, certainly, but not the kind she could comprehend. The eleesh did not have a language in the same vein as the protoss did. They were like the drakul, only while the drakul communicated verbally, the eleesh did so with subtle fur and arm movements. Even with all her telepathy, she could not fathom what the creature was thinking. But as it knelt before her, she could guess.

Raise the Glow.

She stared. She'd heard its thoughts.

Raise the Glow.

Or rather, a thought. One pure, single thought. A single concept, transcending species and language. A thought that shone like a sun, brighter even than that of the moon above.

Raise the Glow, the creature thought. Raise the Glow.

Harvester Three was turning around.

It had done this after the Tsokavis had turned around as well. Before the Scouts were even close to entering weapons range. Right now, the Tsokavis was effectively motionless. While it could adjust its facing, moving would only hinder its accuracy. Azimar knew he had one chance. One shot. He could fire the purification beam, and hope it hit the Harvester. There was a precedent for carriers to use the weapon in combat, but usually against capital ships of similar tonnage, and usually against ships that didn't as move as fast as drakul spacecraft. If the ship missed, by the time it charged up its beam again, the ship would be out of weapons range, warp space or otherwise.

"Prelate?"

He didn't look at Malekis, or any of the bridge crew. His eyes were focused entirely on the viewscreen. What transpired over the next few seconds could determine the fate of the eleesh below. Worse, it could dictate the fortunes of the Daelaam. Would destroying the drakul discourage them from returning to this world, or was it better to let them live, to carry word of the protoss's continued might?

"Shall we unleash the purification beam?"

This time he did look at Malekis. The Templar's eyes gave no hint as to what he thought of the situation. If their roles were reversed, would he fire? Uphold the Dae'Uhl through fire? Or show mercy? Let fire be replaced by light, to kindle a beacon that would keep away the dark? He couldn't say, for he was Nerazim. The darkness was his ally. Against an alien race, he was more at home in the shadows. Delivering death from them rather than from the helm of a capital ship.

I can destroy them, he reflected. The Voice in the Darkness may dwell amongst the stars, but by Raszagal, I could end these wretches' lives here and now.

"Prelate?"

He closed his eyes. Selendis was on the ground, while space was his domain – the burden of command was his. Opening them, he prepared to give his orders.

"Azimar."

But didn't, as an image of Selendis appeared on part of the viewscreen.

"Executor."

It was Malekis's voice – he and the other Templar all turned their eyes to look at her.

You sound relieved to have your executor back.

Well, what of it? He cared nothing about their approval.

"Indeed," Selendis said, but Azimar could tell it was he that she was addressing. "The battle on the ground is won, though not without cost. How fares the carrier?"

"We are intact," Azimar said. "One drakul ship remains, but retreats. If you wish it destroyed, we must fire now."

"With the purification beam?"

"None of our fighters can reach it in time. We must fire now, or not at all."

Selendis didn't say anything. She just stood there, deep in thought. Azimar could not fault her consideration, but could fault her hesitation. The longer they waited, the lower their chance of hitting the Harvester. Because that was the only course of action. He and Selendis would never be blood kin, but here, at least, they would see-

"Let it go."

What? Azimar stared at Selendis, but quickly composed himself. "Executor, I-"

"If we destroy it, the drakul may return to this world to investigate, and we cannot count on the Tsokavis or any other force remaining here while we prepare to reclaim Aiur. If we let it bring word of our power however, giving the impression that we are still capable of safeguarding lesser races, the drakul may think twice about tempting our hand."

"Or they could bring their full might to the field and start another war."

"They may," said Selendis. "But on another world, I did not show mercy as early as I should have. Once, I reflected that mercy was the indulgence of fools. Now, perhaps, mercy should be given.

"The drakul are not the terrans. They are invaders, not colonizers."

"Indeed. But as foul as they are, they are still living, thinking beings. We are upholding the Dae'Uhl, Azimar. All species are under our protection. Are we to raise our blades against the drakul when they no longer offer theirs?"

Yes, Azimar thought to himself. You may squirm at the prospect of the blade entering the back, but that is the fastest way to send a monster into the ground, to be consumed by worms and their spirit released to the Void.

But he didn't say that. Instead, after some hesitation, he looked at Malekis. "Hold fire," he said. "Shut down the beam."

Malekis nodded. Azimar couldn't tell whether the Templar agreed with Selendis or not. No doubt the Templar on the bridge were conversing through their telepathic link, leaving him alone. Before the next moonrise, Selendis would be back in command of the Tsokavis. He would be back to being a prelate. A token Nerazim.

He could live with that. And likewise take comfort in the knowledge that regardless of what fate had in store for the protoss beyond this day, they had, at least, won this battle. The eleesh, at least, would live another day.

After centuries of life and death, Azimar had long come to appreciate victories where they could be taken.