The Colonial Magistrate tilting his head in something that could have resembled amusement. "Arturus Mengsk." He began, the barest hint of a confederate accent evident in his voice. "UNN said you were a bit…shorter.
Mengsk simply chuckled. "There are a lot of things that UNN says about me. My favorite is the one where I keep a pet zerg to torture whoever I don't like. But where are my manners?" He approached the magistrate, holding out his hand. "Arcturus Mengsk, General and de facto leader of the Sons of Korhal."
The Magistrate nodded curtly, meeting Mengsk's hand with one of his own. Up close, Mengsk commanded an imposing presence. Nearly a head taller than the Magistrate, his neatly-groomed beard matched his cold, gray eyes. His stature and prose begot someone of education and culture, not at all the bloody, unwashed terrorist that the Confederacy painted him to be. His expression was hardened, and his grip firm. Certainly, the Magistrate thought, this was a man destined to be a leader. Retracting his hand, Mengsk cast his gaze toward the door.
"Lieutenant, would you please allow me a moment in private with our guest?"
The Magistrate looked back. The woman from before looked up from the floor, before nodding once.
"Of course, sir." Picking herself up from the wall, she cast the Magistrate a quick glance, before proceeding to exit the room.
"You'll have to forgive Lieutenant Kerrigan." Mengsk explained, noticing the look in the Magistrate's eye. "Her telepathic abilities make her an invaluable second-in-command."
"I'm sure…" The Magistrate responded, watching the closed doors with new-found interest. It didn't take someone of his intelligence to figure to keep on eye on that one, and not just for her looks.
Noticing his attention was elsewhere, Mengsk took the initiative, crossing over to the side of the room. "Would you care for a drink, Magistrate?" He pressed a button on a wall-panel, watching it slide away, revealing a polished hard-wood drinks cabinet. Reaching over, he pulled two glasses from a small shelf, filling them both with ice
The Magistrate looked over. Even though proper etiquette demanded he refuse, after all that he had just been through, a drink was something he could do with at that moment.
"Whiskey, if you got it."
Letting off a small chuckle, Mengsk obliged, pouring two glasses of the hard liquor, handing one to his guest.
"I can't thank you and your people enough for what they did." The Magistrate let out, taking a sip of his drink, his body warming as he felt the cool liquid slide down his esophagus. This wasn't any fifth-rate brand, either. This was the good stuff. His respect for Mengsk increased slightly. A man could be read by the kind of liquor he kept in his drinks cabinet.
"We couldn't just leave the colony to be massacred by those…zerg." He said, pronouncing the last word with a hint of disgust. "Not after the Confederates were so quick to abandon them."
"Speaking of the Confederates…" The Magistrate cut in. "What's our next move?" This was a question the Magistrate had been meaning to ask since the moment he had met this man. Openly accepting aid from a rebel group had effectively, at the very least, put the final nail in the coffin of his political career. Not that being the Magistrate of a dusty, backwater colony world was a very prestigious posting to begin with.
Mengsk raised an eyebrow. "That very much is your decision, Magistrate." He took a sip of his own brew. "Now that you've accepted our help, you should know that going back to your previous life in the Confederacy is nigh impossible. To be blunt, you're a criminal now, just like me."
The Magistrate considered that for a moment. A criminal. He knew, somewhere in his mind, that he had become one, but the way he had put it had really hit him. He was a criminal. An outlaw. Thinking about it made his stomach churn. Or maybe that was the whiskey. He wasn't entirely sure.
Mengsk continued "However, that doesn't mean you're automatically a rebel. I don't want to make you feel as if you're being forced into a position you don't want to be in. So, I'm going to make you another offer." He paused for a moment, setting his drink down on his desk. "I'm going to offer you a position on my senior staff. The offer is yours to take, or refuse, if you wish." He continued, knowing what the Magistrate was about to ask. "If you refuse, we will allow you to leave at your earliest convince. There is a ship in our fleet leaving for Umoja tomorrow morning, and you're welcome to start a new life there." He nodded. "The choice is yours, Magistrate."
The two were silent for a good while, as the Magistrate considered this. While the offer to leave for Umoja was certainly tempting, he felt that running away with his tail between his legs was the coward's way out. The Sons of Korhal represented something greater than any individual human. The fight for freedom. Liberation against the oppression of the Confederacy. Was this man, this Arturus Mengsk, the one that was going to do it? Staring into his face, the Magistrate saw the grim determination that echoed across Mengsk's bearded features. This man was going to put the long-awaited silver bullet into the heart of the Terran Confederacy.
And nobody was going to get in his way.
"Alright…general." The Magistrate said, downing the remains of his drink in a single gulp. "You've got yourself another deal."
Mengsk's features formed a smile. "I'm happy to hear it, Commander." He replied, his voice becoming commanding and authoritative. He turned, picking up and subsequently finishing his own drink. "In that case, you are to return to your office on the planet's surface, and await further orders. There, you will be joined by Captain Raynor, and the remnants of your colonial militia."
The Magistrate replied with a sharp, crisp salute. "Yes, sir."
With that, he turned on his heel, and marched from the room.
Arcturus Mengsk watched the Magistrate, now Commander, as he left, seeing the doors close behind him. He stood in silence for a moment, listening for the sound of the lift descending from the command deck.
"Well?" He asked aloud, seemingly to nobody in particular.
The sound of shimmering energy echoed throughout the room as what was before a simple ripple in the air began to take form. What seemed like waves of distorted light took shape, than color. Sarah Kerrigan let her balance slip from the beam attached on the ceiling, her feet dropping to the metal floor with a thud. Pushing her goggles to just above her forehead, she regarded her boss.
"I wouldn't worry about him right now." She said, putting a hand on her hip. Reading him was like an open book. "He respects you, and will follow orders. But he's worried just how far you're willing to go to achieve your goal."
"I see…" Mengsk said, absorbing this new information. "What about you? What do you think of him?"
"He's a good person." She remarked, fixing her eyes on the door.
"And a man of his word."