"I have no doubt that other sentient species exist within this galaxy. I have no doubt that humanity will someday make contact with them. I just hope that it's Earth or one of her colonies that has such an honor. After all, if extra-terrestrials were to make contact with us terrans of the Koprulu Sector, what would they see? Three tyrannical empires, that's what. The Terran Confederacy which enforces its rule down the barrel of a gun, the Kel-Morian Combine which strip mines every planet it comes across without giving a damn about the environmental repercussions and the Umojan Protectorate, whose treatment of those outside its territories is essentially a form of racism. So while the United Powers League of Earth was not without its faults, I can only hope that they take humanity to the galactic stage before us. Any aliens who make contact with the denizens of the Koprulu Sector would assume that the human race is composed wholly of monsters."
"A fair assumption, to be honest."
Dr. Maria Pratchett, xenobiologist
StarCraft: Loomings
Chapter 2: Cause and Effect
0946 hours, October 22, 2499 (SCT)
Sara System, Chau Sara
Office of the Colonial Magistrate
"Adjutant online. Good morning magistrate."
Walking into his office, his clothes and moustache unkempt, Collins could not help but feel that "good" was hardly the adjective he would have used to describe the morning, considering that said morning featured a hangover. With bloodshot eyes, a splitting headache and breath that stank to high heaven, it was a wonder that the artificial intelligence could not see that it might have been wise to utter something else than the greeting that she'd given him the last three months.
Of course, that would be wishful thinking, the magistrate thought bitterly, moving to his desk, stopping and then making a short, rather disgusting detour to the wastepaper bin. No comment was made however. AIs, despite what sci-fi stories often portrayed, were rather simple programs, each of them tailored to suit a specific function and nothing else. After all, the human mind was a complex, relatively unknown entity and no amount of technology could completely mimic every aspect of the human thought process or, heaven forbid, emotion.
When it came to designing an AI, certain parameters had to be implemented, the thought patterns being based off a stimulated equivalent of human brainwaves. Advertising Artificial Intelligence, or AAI, was tasked with publicizing goods and services, only breaking such patterns when one inquired to the nature of its product, or when the process was interrupted. Military and administrative AIs, known as Adjutants, were the most advanced form of artificial intelligence that the Terran Confederacy had produced, universally possessing a cool female voice with no emotion. Usually serving as advisors to Confederate COs, Adjutants, despite their lack of creativity, often proved their worth in many military campaigns, not having their judgment clouded by emotion, moral qualms or, in the case of those like Collins, alcohol.
Collins, like many colonial magistrates, had been given an Adjutant of his own. As far as he could tell, its purpose was to simply remind him of what he had to do; forms to sign, people to fire, statements to make…basically make his life hell. The fact that it always greeted him with "good morning magistrate" and said farewell with "good evening magistrate" hardly helped matters.
"Magistrate, scans of your pupils show a high dilation of the blood vessels," the AI said, its cool, almost female voice washing over Collins as he emptied the last of the cheap gin that he'd drunk last night, along with other stuff that he couldn't identify. "May I remind you that this is against Confederate regulations and as such, liable to penalty should your superiors deem it necessary. A record of…"
Oh stuff it down your circuts, thought Collins bitterly as he raised himself slowly from the bin, wiping away some vomit off his moustache. He could hear the AI coding his offence of letting reality get to him into some combination of numbers and letters, but couldn't care less. It wasn't as if those higher than him would care about what happened on Chau Sara or what he did. Even that the Sons of Korhal had seemingly established a base of operations on the world was nothing to worry about. After all, despite all the media hype that surrounded Mengsk's anarchist group, they were merely one of many rebel organizations; generally insignificant in the greater picture.
Just like Collins in a sense.
No, the magistrate thought to himself as he poured himself some water and sat down at his desk. I'm not insignificant. I'll rise back up through the ranks. I'll achieve prominence. I'll-…
"Sir, although you are entitled to take your time, there are some issues for you to deal with."
Collins grunted at the AI's manner of reminding him that, as magistrate, he was obliged to conform to the tenants of Confederate bureaucracy and at least act like he gave a damn about the people under his rule. As such, he was obliged to fulfill his role as the planetary governor; sign forms, lie to the media, make impassioned speeches that would subtlety remind the fringe-world squibs where their loyalties lay…
Usual stuff.
"Very well. Hit me," Collins grunted, taking a sip of his water.
"Affirmative," the AI stated and fell silent, processing all the 'issues' that Chau Sara's governor had to deal with. Despite his headache and dry throat that the artificial water did nothing to alleviate, Collins could not help but smile faintly. What may have been deemed as a "pressing issue" on Chau Sara would have been laughably insignificant in one of the more affluent Confederate worlds such as Tarsonis or Tyrador IX. In the first few weeks of his term as magistrate, Collins had made his shock quite apparent that, as governor of the planet, he had to deal with issues such as land disputes and irrigation rights. Still, he'd learnt to take things in context, spurred on by the hope that-…
"Sir, there is an urgent message from Satellite Five."
Collins blinked, immediately regretting it due to his bloodshot, sleep deprived eyes; "Pardon?"
"Sir, as stated, there is an urgent message from Satellite Five," the AI repeated, the monotone still present.
The magistrate rubbed his chin, taking in…well, not shock, but certainly an emotion that was above surprise. What had been classified as "urgent" on Chau Sara had been irrelevant in his mind and the former battlecruiser captain had ordered his 'co-worker' to alter her, no, its protocols, ensuring that he could deal with even the "urgent" issues at his leisure. No reason to rush matters on such a dreary planet after all. Yet Collins had left such protocols open to what really classified as urgent matters and he knew it. That the AI had listed something as urgent left only two possibilities; that it was malfunctioning, a possibility that the terran didn't find too farfetched given how backwater Chau Sara was, or that there really was an urgent matter that had to be dealt with.
"Magistrate?" the AI asked, waiting for Collins's response.
The former battlecruiser captain sighed, not only because of his hangover. Going by the holographic list, there were a number of things on his plate, most of which seemingly required nothing more than his signature. As per human nature, he would have preferred to procrastinate over the meaningful issues, seeking smaller fish to fry. On the other hand, Collins prided himself on organization and knew that if he was to live up to such a quality, dealing with the meaningful issues first was a must.
Taking another sip of water, Collins brought up the message, seeing that it was not really a message at all, but simply an alert that whoever was on the satellite wanted to speak to him personally. Guess it really is urgent then, Collins thought as he established a communications link, or rather let the equipment do it for him. Or whoever's up there just wants the honor of talking with me.
It was a distinct possibility, considering that the communications hologram depicted nothing more than a single male crewman floating in zero-g, seemingly in his late teens. Despite viewing the Fringe World yokels with the disdain that they deserved, Collins could not help feelings a degree of sympathy for the runt. Being the single crewmember of a satellite was hardly the ideal way to be spending your teenage years, a part of life that, at least in Collins's case, had involved numerous 'sampling sessions' of drugs, alcohol and avoiding pregnancies that had nothing to do with him whatsoever. Still, despite the dreary circumstances, the kid still maintained a degree of alertness, given that as soon as the communications link was established, the teenager instantly turned away from the console he'd been studying and faced the vid-link.
"Um, yes?" he asked, sounding surprisingly jumpy in a way that didn't result from a zero-g environment.
Collins raised an eyebrow; he'd accepted the fact long ago that there was little, if anything on Chau Sara that could actually surprise him, so given that something had just surprised him was a surprise in itself. The boy's face, his eyes…something had scared the living daylights out of him…
"Err, yes, this is Magistrate Collins," the partially wasted man said, trying to maintain a degree of composure, hoping that the kid wouldn't notice the signs of alcohol abuse. "I understand that-…"
"Oh thank god!" the boy exclaimed, his eyes moistening with what looked like tears of relief. "I tried to contact you last night but there was no connection on the other end, so I-…"
"Alright, alright, calm down," Collins interrupted, raising a hand. It was apparent that, in addition to panic, the kid was extremely naive, thinking that something was wrong with his office's communication system when in fact, any failure to respond to a transmission was due to Collins being stoned, the aftermath of which he was still dealing with.
The teenager managed to regain a degree of composure, but that wasn't saying much; "Sorry sir. It's just that…that...well, you better listen to this yourself."
"Huh? Listen to what?" Collins asked, his headache not just due to his hangover. The boy didn't answer though, instead typing something on the console feverishly. As he finished, a side image appeared next to the hologram, displaying a voice meter and readings of…something.
"This is a transmission from the Vigilance, an Explorer-class science vessel of Epsilon Squadron," the boy said, sounding calm but fooling no-one. "The meter next to it displays warp space readings." With that, he hit another button.
Collins didn't understand half of what the kid said, but didn't have the opportunity to delve deeper, given that whatever recording he'd sent him began playing;
"This is Captain Gulliman of the Vigilance…"
Even with a hangover, Collins managed to listen in to what was being said and the events, namely screams and explosions that surrounded such speech in the later stages of the transmission. As it ended, the magistrate sighed and helped himself to another cup of water-this was going to be hell to deal with, especially since-…
"Well sir?" Parkes asked, his voice quivering with trepidation.
Collins grunted; Especially since the kid will need coddling
Taking on an air of arrogance that came naturally to him, the magistrate sat back down at his desk. "You've done a fine job son," he drawled towards the hologram. "You just hang tight up there. I'll deal with those slikes of Korhal."
The boy blinked, such movements being noticeable even through the hologram; "Something you'd like to add, son?" Collins asked scathingly, wanting to make it clear that he considered the conversation over.
"Um…err…" the boy seemed to be a loss for words.
"Hurry up boy, I 'aint got all day!" Collins shouted, taking a swig of water, letting a significant amount dribble down his neck to his uniform. It was perhaps such a display of decadence that got the teen riled up.
"Yes, there is something that I'd like to add!" Parkes shouted. "I'd like to know how you could probably think that this is an SOK attack, especially in light of-…"
"That's not adding something," Collins murmured, looking for the button that would sever the connection. "That's asking a question."
"And a damn pressing one too!" the teenager shouted, seemingly quivering with rage that made his zero-g environment seem out of whack. "Have you even looked at the warp space readings, how low they are!? There's no way that any human ship could-…"
The hologram cut out.
"Impudent rascal," Collins chuckled, taking another sip from the cup and finding that it was out of water. "He's probably played too many videogames for his own good." Moving to the cooler for yet more H2O, then thinking better of it, Collins addressed his AI.
"Adjutant, I want the location of the nearest Confederate forces."
"Affirmative sir," said the construct impassively. "Scan is now in progress." A faint humming sound through the office, interrupted only by the magistrate taking out some gum from his desk.
"Sir, may I ask why you seem so at ease?" the AI asked.
"Hmm?" Collins asked, lying back against his chair and putting his feet on the desk.
"Magistrate, analysis of the warp space readings indicates a level of technological sophistication that no terran vessel currently possesses," the AI said, the usual monotone being laced with something…Annoyance? Frustration? Certainly a human characteristic that was rarely, if ever found in artificial intelligence.
"Your point being?" Collins drawled, putting his cap down over his eyes.
"My point is that it is unlikely that the Sons of Korhal could have access to such technology," the AI said in a tone that bordered on scathing. "In light of such-…"
"Let me ask you a question," said Collins. "The Sons of Korhal are already on this planet and would consider a science vessel a high profile target."
"Affirmative, sir," the AI stated.
"Then ask yourself this," Collins asked, pulling his cap down further and preparing to take forty winks. "If it wasn't Mengsk's merry men who took out that craft, then who was it?"
Neither man nor machine had an answer to that question.
1753 hours, October 25, 2499 (SCT)
Antiga System, Antiga Prime
Sticklerville
Sticklerville was inappropriately named.
It was this thought stream that had gone through 1st lieutenant Miranda Wilkes's mind when her platoon, specifically 5th platoon of Echo Company, Alpha Squadron 14th Division, had arrived on the outskirts of the small village, located on the edge of the mineral-rich Stickler Woods. A stickler was basically someone who was extremely fussy, usually in the conventions of grammar, and looking at the run down town, it was obviously that fussiness about anything was hard to come by. Not the most pressing fact to deal with given the current situation, but for Wilkes, it made a good distraction from reality.
Sitting on a wall with her C-14 gauss rifle propped up against it, helmet by her side, Wilkes looked out over the town, or rather what was left of it. Considering that half of the wooden buildings were on fire and half of the remainder damaged in some way or another, the 29 year old marine knew that if Sticklerville hadn't been inappropriately named before, it would definitely be so now. After all, when a communal town which mainly relied on subsistence agriculture suffered this level of damage, anyone who could be fussy about…well, anything was detached from reality.
All in the name of justice of course, the lieutenant reassured herself half-heartedly as she watched yet another building collapse due to the fire that had consumed it, Alpha Squadron marines in CMC-300 armor walking by calmly. She shook her head.
Or not.
In truth, Wilkes wasn't that surprised, having come to the realization long ago that the Terran Confederacy was accepting to bear collateral damage in both life and property. Having grown up on Halcyon and realizing that a life of growing grapes and framberries wasn't for her, Wilkes had joined an Army OTU unit at the age of 27, deciding that even if she remained on the world, a difference could be made for the good of humanity. Ever since the supercarriers had arrived in the Koprulu Sector two centuries ago, a struggle had existed between humanity and the "New World," not to mention against himself, had existed. A struggle that Wilkes wanted to take part in. Not out of patriotism, but simply for the desire to do something that mattered.
From day one, Wilkes had suspected that her enthusiasm might have been misplaced. True, the Army was hardly the most elegant force, often being the hammer of the Terran Confederacy, but even so, did that necessarily mean that the requirements for graduation were based on the ability to simply lead troops into battle, screaming like a maniac, did it? Wilkes never found out, but considered it likely; after claiming that the policy of WHAM, or Winning Hearts And Minds of the people was the best method for the suppression of a belligerent population and becoming a laughing stock for a week. And in light of the destruction of Korhal IV and the lengths the Confederacy was willing to go to achieve its goals, the future commissioned officer suspected that maybe, just maybe, that she was out of place.
No maybe about it, Wilkes mused, watching light infantry from local forces douse out a fire, some old woman wailing nearby. In truth, Wilkes couldn't blame her. Having your house burnt down by armor-clad maniacs was hardly a pleasant experience, especially when at least half of said maniacs were neurally resocialised criminals, their minds having been altered to various extents in order that they serve the Confederacy and shoot their grandmothers on sight if ordered.
There'd been little to do on Halcyon, regardless of her line of work. Growing legal agricultural products had been the focus of most of her life, and dealing with those growing illegal substances and were too stupid to hide it over the last few years. There were more pressing issues to deal in the galaxy, issues that the Confederacy would not or could not confront, at least in the way that would have truly made a difference. In the end, depressed by the experience, Wilkes had begun to seriously consider applying for a discharge until an offer arrived a few months ago. An offer for a place in Alpha Squadron…
Wilkes had no idea how she had warranted such consideration but, not wanting to waste the opportunity, she didn't ask. The Squadrons were the Confederacy's elite forces and Alpha Squadron, namely the Advanced Tactical Strike Squadron under the command of Colonel Edmund Duke, was considered the "best of the best" and Wilkes saw no reason to refuse an offer to be among them. A few forms, farewells and a promotion to 1st lieutenant later, Wilkes was among the stars, anticipating an experience that the Army could never provide. Halcyon was a stable, prosperous planet, far removed from the challenges faced by the Fringe Worlds. Perhaps now, a real difference could be made. Even at the least, she could see the stars.
Reality could be a bitch sometimes.
One week ago, the Alpha Squadron 14th had been transferred to Antiga Prime, rumors of rebellion having reached the brass. Still a far-cry from full on revolt such as the one the Confederate Marine Corps had put down in Andasea City years ago, but the possibility hadn't been ruled out. Korhal had backfired spectacularly, further encouraging rebel and terrorist activity rather than dissuading it. In the end, it seemed best to nip such problems in the bud before they escalated into another nuclear holocaust. Beyond this reasoning however, Wilkes had been confused. Alpha Squadron, or the "Blood Hawks" as its members were commonly known, was a rapid strike force, its usual operations rarely featuring garrison duty. Still, she began to understand, considering that at noon, a platoon of light infantry had come under mortar fire from rebels in the Stickler Woods. With the brass theorizing that Sticklerville may be a base for the guerrilla fighters, Echo Company had been dispatched via APC within hours to deal with them, living up to its motto of "first in, first out."
Problem was, as far as Wilkes could tell, there'd been nothing to deal with, apart from numerous children that could barely walk and old crones that had they been born on a world like Tarsonis, would be enjoying retirement, even with the Council's stingy allocation of pensions. There weren't too many from a middle generation for some reason, but Wilkes didn't take particular heed.
Probably a mistake on my part, she reflected bitterly, remembering what had occurred as the company had advanced. With marines waving guns and old folks and children shouting, the entire town had become akin to a powder keg. The fact that that the people claimed that there were no rebels or weapons didn't help matters either, nor was the prevalence of neurally resocialized soldiers. The combination of expectations of battle, the lack of battle and inability to enter civilized discussion had turned Sticklerville into a powder keg. One that had exploded spectacularly.
It was for this reason that the lieutenant was glad of the presence of the light infantry support units, Fisher having reasoned that they'd been needed in the mobile combat that would follow if the village turned out to be hostile. Less suited to combat of course, but considering that they could provide the 'human touch' to the inhabitants given that they didn't wear combat armor that made them look two feet taller than they really were, Wilkes was glad for their presence, although what difference they truly made overall was in question.
Still, seems to be calming down at least, the lieutenant thought, seeing that half of the blazes had been extinguished, the town's water faucets being harnessed by light infantry. With any luck, we'll-…
"What the hell do you think you're doing!?"
Wilkes spun to the source of the sound and soon found it. Two marines, one of them holding what looked like a hunting rifle, were facing down an old man, probably in his late 60s or early 70s Two small boys, neither of them older than five, stood next to him, staring out blankly at the town's destruction.
"What's an old geyser like you doing with a boom stick?" one of the marines leered, his counterpart holding the rifle out of the man's reach. "Bit advanced for you, don't ya think?"
"That rifle's been with my family for as long as I can remember! I-…"
"Which is what, ten years?" the other Alpha sneered, holding the rifle just out of the man's reach. "Must be hard to remember things at your age."
"I-…"
"Or maybe you're just lying. After all, given that you backwater hicks seem to be intent on playing Rambo recently, perhaps-…"
"That's enough!" Wilkes shouted, arriving at the scene, having put her helmet back on, covering her light brown hair. "What's the meaning of this!?"
"Take a hike toots."
A few seconds passed before Wilkes responded. With a single movement, she grabbed the rifle from the Marine's hand, pushing the man down in a standard CQC throw simultaneously. His companion took a step forward but found himself facing a slugthrower a second later.
"Few things you have to remember private," Wilkes snarled. "Rule number one; you will address me as ma'am or lieutenant and nothing else. Rule number two, you will remember that assaulting a commissioned officer is a punishable offence and as such, will never even consider doing so. Rule number three, you will remember that as Confederate Marines, your duty is to protect its citizenry and not abuse it!" Her grey eyes narrowed; "Do I make myself clear!?"
"Absolutely," the decked Marine murmured, rising to his feet. "We beg your pardon, ma'am." With that, he and his counterpart stormed off, talking between themselves and un-slinging their gauss rifles.
Trigger-happy arseholes, Wilkes mused, their sarcasm as to her gender not going unnoticed. I should have taken their names, ranks and serial numbers. Reassuring herself that she'd remember to do so the next time such an incident occurred, the lieutenant turned back to face the Antigan.
"Sorry about that," said Wilkes awkwardly, trying to convey a reassuring smile and failing miserably. "I hope they didn't cause you too much hassle."
To Wilkes's slight surprise, the geyser hardly looked reassured and instead glared at her. Still, she realized that it was not entirely unexpected; not only was the question perhaps insensitive but, standing two feet taller than him due to her combat armor, the lieutenant was hardly the most reassuring figure.
"Whatever," the man grunted. "Can I have my rifle back?"
"Um, yes, about that," the lieutenant said awkwardly. "Those soldiers' conduct was unbecoming of the Confederate armed forces (the man snorted at this but Wilkes continued) but they did have a point."
"Indeed?"
"Yes. This area is a site of rebel activity and as such, possession of firearms is brought under scrutiny." Wilkes once again tried to smile reassuringly, this time succeeding to an extent. "I personally don't believe that you're a rebel, but in order to avoid confiscating this weapon, I'll have to see some identification."
"Identification?" the Antigan asked, his eyes narrowing. "Sure, I'd be happy to give you some identification-…"
"Great. Then-…"
"If your people hadn't just burnt my house down!"
Wilkes followed the man's sweeping gesture, seeing that it led to the smoldering remains of a homestead, no doubt due to some trigger happy firebat. The lieutenant felt her entire body go limp, her hands dropping down by her sides. She barely noticed the hunting rifle being snatched from her hands, nor did she care by the time she realized. She simply stood there as the Antigan stormed off, the two children toddling after him. Sighing, she turned back to face the house, or what was left of it.
"A fitting epitaph to the twenty-fifth century," Wilkes thought sadly. "Or perhaps a herald to the twenty-sixth. Either's appropriate I guess. After all-…"
"Tarsonis to L.T., are you receiving me?"
Once again Wilkes was caught unawares, spinning round to find the source of the voice. Unlike the marines however, she actually found the source welcome.
"Good to see you sergeant," Wilkes said, flashing a genuine smile at staff sergeant Robert Perry as he walked over. "I wish it could be under better circumstances."
Perry grunted. "You speak as if we hadn't seen each other in years, ma'am."
Wilkes didn't respond but still maintained her smile, glad of the man's presence. Perhaps a little too glad some might have argued, but considering that the dark skinned man and the staff sergeant of Wilkes' platoon was the only one who had gave her the time of day when it came to leading a force, it was perhaps understandable. The grunts of Alpha Squadron hadn't exactly welcomed her into their ranks, courtesy of a combination of gender and the extent of her experience, or rather the lack of it. Perry had been the only exception to that rule, an exception that Wilkes had been most grateful for.
Perry gave a salute, which Wilkes promptly returned. "The situation's under control in our platoon's sector ma'am," the sergeant said curtly, the process coming naturally to him. "We had a few rowdy civvies' but we kept them in line."
"Nothing too drastic I hope?" Wilkes asked, sounding tenser than she intended.
Perry shrugged. "Depends on your definition of 'drastic.' Nothing lethal though, if that's what you mean."
The lieutenant grunted, turning back to face the smoldering ruins of the old Antigan's house. "We should be grateful for that I guess," she said softly, feeling cold despite her suit's temperature regulators. "We've done enough damage as it is."
Perry chuckled. "Don't tell me you're already reaching the melodramatic stage, Wilksy? It's a bit early in your career for that don't you think?"
Miranda remained silent, reflecting that if anyone had called her "Wilksy" apart from Perry, whether they be inside or outside the military, they wouldn't last five minutes before receiving severe bodily harm. While "Miranda" was tolerable, Wilkes preferred to be addressed by her surname in informal circumstances. Anything apart from these was taboo, Wilkes considering Perry the only exception to the rule.
Of course, even if the lieutenant had a problem with Perry's occasional use of such terms, or anything else for that matter, she doubted that there was much she could have done about it. He was the kind of person whose presence demanded respect, someone who could silence a rowdy bunch of soldiers without even speaking. True, his physical appearance contributed greatly to this ability, what with short black hair that fit regulation length perfectly, the fact that he was a whole head taller than her, numerous scars that criss-crossed his face, each of them seemingly with its own story to tell… His eyes were the most striking however, considering that the left was an icy light blue, the right being an ocular implant, its baleful red orb staring out into the world around him.
Even the most clueless person had enough sense not to ask how that happened.
Still, even without these features, Wilkes had no doubt that he'd have the same effect, that if not for Perry's presence, she'd hardly be able to organize her platoon, let alone lead it. She'd already expressed surprise that Perry hadn't tried out for the rank of a commissioned officer, the sergeant always maintaining that he wanted nothing to do with a commissioned rank whatsoever. By becoming a CO he was liable to be promoted to a place off the battlefield, calling the shots while others did his fighting for him. He was happy with his current position and while Wilkes wanted to learn more, she chose not to press the issue, appreciating the aid he gave her in leading a unit. Perry may not have exactly been a Ferdinand to her, but he was certainly a Prospero.
Shame that no-one here would understand that metaphor…
"Lieutenant?" asked Perry, having not received an answer for his earlier question.
"Hmm, pardon?" Wilkes asked, Perry snapping her out of her recollections.
The sergeant sighed. "Lieutenant, we're in the middle of a war zone here. It's bad enough that I've got to-…"
"War zone?" snorted Wilkes, her indignation overriding the caution she usually treated her staff sergeant with. "That's a bit much, isn't it?"
"Indeed?" asked Perry softly, both of his eyes narrowing. It was obvious that he didn't agree with his superior.
Wilkes nodded. Of course it is. Attacking a defenseless village that may have had rebels with full force is a bit much isn't it?"
Perry shrugged. "The civilians were a potential threat. It's our job to…What?" he asked, seeing that Wilkes was staring at him.
"Perry, listen to yourself…"
"It's not my job to listen to myself, it's my job to listen to those above me," said Perry simply. "And for better or worse Wilksy, you're one of those people."
Silence descended upon the two officers, the sounds of a collapsing building and shouts in the background washing over them. It wasn't until what felt like an eternity that the silence was interrupted, courtesy of a beeping in Wilkes' helmet. Someone was broadcasting on the comm. channels.
"Just a sec," Wilkes murmured, establishing a link. It wasn't long before the voice of Captain Fisher, Echo Company's Commanding Officer, was heard.
"Platoon commanders, this is Captain Fisher. Report to APCs immediately for immediate return to company barracks for reassignment. More info will be given at your destination, over."
With that he signed off, presumably awaiting his counterparts to do the same. Wilkes however, kept the link open, knowing that, assuming that Fisher had his visor down, his heads-up display would show that she'd kept the link open. It certainly seemed to be the case.
"Something you'd like to add to this Wilkes?"
"Err, yes sir," said the lieutenant uneasily, glad that she didn't actually have to press her query directly. "You want us to do what, exactly?"
"You didn't hear the first time lieutenant?" the captain asked coolly. "Something wrong with your comm. system?"
"No sir, it's working fine," Wilkes answered. "But seriously, how can we withdraw now? The people here need our help! We can't just-…"
"We can and we will," Fisher said firmly. "We'll leave the cleanup to the light infantry units. It's all they're good for after all."
"But sir-…"
"Listen lieutenant, this is how the Blood Hawks do things," Fisher snarled, his voice making it clear that he considered the conversation closed. "First in, first out, that's our motto. I expect you to live up to it."
With that, he signed off.
Wilkes sighed, closing the link on her end as well, ignoring the screams of some kid in the background. I didn't sign up for this, she thought sadly, looking around at the damage around her. To think I actually thought that… She trailed off, seeing that Perry was smirking at her. "What?" she asked.
"You've been in the armed forces for how long, exactly?" the staff sergeant asked.
"Roughly two years," said Wilkes simply. "Why?"
Perry raised an eyebrow. "Odd. I would have thought you would have grown out of idealism by now."
"Idealism?" "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you'd have come to accept that this kind of service is a profession that lets you see the worst that humanity has to offer, a profession that leads you commit acts you'd never consider otherwise." The sergeant's eyes bore into those of his superior.
"I refuse to believe that," said Wilkes indignantly, her grey eyes meeting Perry's. "I still have hope that-…"
"BAM!"
Both marines spun around in shock to the gunshot, raising their gauss rifles. They were unsure as to where it originated from, but considering that many of their fellow marines and light infantry were running for a single location, they guessed that was where it originated from. Wordlessly, they followed them, finding the scene that had drawn everyone's attention…
A scene that made Wilkes want to break down and cry.
She had no idea how it had happened, how a young girl of less than ten was lying on the ground with a gaping hole in her chest, her glazed eyes staring lifelessly into the sky. She had no idea why the marine standing over the child and her weeping mother was holding a Torrent SR-8 shotgun, why he had either deliberately propelled a high impact adamantine slug into the child's chest at point blank range or had done so accidentally. She had no idea what to do when the weeping mother met her eyes, the silver bar on Wilkes' right shoulder pad indicating her authority. Or rather the lack of it…
The setting sun cast flickering light on the Alphas' white armor, the Antiga System's gas giant casting a baleful red glow. The soldiers, half of them former criminals, looked to Wilkes for direction, knowing that this was too far even by their standards. To her shame, Wilkes couldn't provide it, subconsciously lowering her visor as if to shield herself from the sun's judgment, to evade the gaze of those around her, to hide the tears welling in her eyes. After all, this was her platoon. Her responsibility.
Wilkes didn't know how long she stood there, only snapping out of it when Perry laid a hand on her shoulder. She turned around slowly, Perry's cybernetic eye glowing, as if acting as a gateway to Hell, judgment having been made…
"Welcome to reality lieutenant. Get used to it."
The invasion had begun.
The creature of perfection's heralds drifted down towards the planet's surface, undetectable by the primitive instruments of those who dwelt on it. Like a tree, these seeds would grow from something insignificant to something grand…
A grand design for domination.
A grand design to achieve its rightful place in the cosmic order.
A grand design that would begin with the conquest of the world known as Chau Sara…
…and all who dwelt on it.
A/N
This chapter gave me problems from the outset, specifically the latter part of it. I managed to scale things down on the re-run, but it still came out a bit too melodramatic for my liking. Still, the events are/were necessary for how the story progresses (or progressed as it was) in the next chapter and despite my misgivings, I decided that the generalities should remain the same.
Another issue I think is worth adressing is the nature of Adjutants, how I portrayed the AI as purely software, rather than possessing the hardware displayed in its avatar frame in-game. For the most part, I've always assumed Adjutants to be software systems akin to the EVAs from Command and Conquer, and that their in-game representation was simply fulfilling the need to have a profile box filled. Arguably, this could also be their holographic representation. Displaying an emotionless cyborg 'thing' would prevent their human users from developing any emotional attatchments.
As someone pointed out recently on the wiki however, the Adjutant can be seen flipping its humanoid face in its StarCraft II profile, suggesting that it is in fact a piece of hardware rather than software. Given the wires we see attatched to the Adjutant when it contacts Raynor on Mar Sara, this is a valid theory. However, I still go with the theory that they're pure software, in that terran technology is known to be sophisticated enough to create at least semi-sentient AIs in the form of the AAIs seen on the streets of Tarsonis City, other AIs being sophisticated enough to be able to co-ordinate weapon systems. Of course, we don't know whether these AIs are purely digital and the existance of servo servants demonstrated that 25th century technology is sophisticated enough to create androids with a degree of intelligence. However, as Mengsk calls a presumed Adjutant "computer" in Uprising, I think that despite their representation, Adjutants are pure software.
Anyway, that's just me. I'm open to discussion.