Hi guys! This chapter is a long time coming and I'm sorry for that, but this is probably the kind of pace you're going to be seeing, if my schedule is anything to go by. That in mind, I'm going to see about making them decently long as a compromise! Hope you enjoy the chapter and I will see you in the next one!
Korhal - Augustgrad
Tosh's insides were curling with the need for terrazine and he was mentally counting down the seconds when his mask, now designed to administer a proper dose of terrazine and jorium at lengthy intervals, would give him relief. Nova was across the street, he could sense her there, obscured both by her cloaking suit and an unnatural cold, thick fog. This fog was an ill omen, Tosh insisted, and they both had yet to feel any life around them as they continued their recon deeper towards the heart of Augustgrad.
It had gotten to the point where Nova disabled her psi-screen and let her mind wander. Tosh was right about the fog in that it felt unnatural, even made her skin crawl; it should have burned off under the Korhal sun long ago. It is radiating from the palace itself. Her thoughts, easily read by the spectre across the street, were agreed upon. They had traveled on foot at a hard pace, their path a lazy arc towards the palace that now loomed above all.
Now as night crept up once more, Tosh's voice grated in her head. We be stoppin' here, the night favors the hybrid more than us. Nova wanted to object, but also saw the wisdom in the choice—they had been eating their rations on the go and not stopping, it wouldn't do to be caught in a state even approaching tired. Across the street, where she had paused next to a deactivated advertisement droid, Nova heard a door swinging shut; she followed after him reluctantly.
As the jorium and terrazine hissed into his mask, Tosh breathed deeply in relief. He had stepped into a middle class apartment building, as nondescript as a building could get, and stopped cold; for the briefest moment, as the terrazine refreshed his psionic strength, he felt his mind touch against something so dark, he thought he was about to die. Nova. He whispered.
Nova burst through the door with rifle aimed and ready, Tosh's brittle whisper in her mind urging her on. For a split second she thought the icy mist had spilled in with the entrance of Tosh, before it became clear that the mist was inside the building with them—just as thick as it had been outside. Stepping beside Tosh, who hadn't even raised his weapon, she barely heard his stricken whisper through his mask. "Was Haji not enough?"
"Clear your head, Tosh!" Nova whispered fiercely, agitated by his lapse—what good would this man be if he was unnerved by some weird fog? He'd get her killed.
A tinkle of laughter drew their attention and Nova held her gun at the ready, wary. Her HUD registered one target slowly moving towards them, but the mist was so thick she couldn't see a figure—the wall of cold was shrouding heat signatures and, more disturbingly, she couldn't feel a mind. "Whoever you are," she called evenly, "don't move and tell me what the hell is going on here."
Tosh had recovered somewhat and was also holding his rifle at the ready, albeit with a tremble in his fingertips that he fought to still.
"There is only one God, Gabriel Tosh—and I am coming." That tinkling voice called, made disembodied by the mist. Fingertips quickly rested against their triggers when the silhouette of a ragged teenage-looking female shuffled into view. Her hair was cropped short, head hanging downwards as if dejected, and her plain clothing was dirt smeared and worn.
"Don't move," Nova asserted in a cool tone. "Who are you and what is going on?" The girl, lips curled into a toothy smile, chuckle softly; the sound chilled her blood, this whole situation did.
When she lifted her head and grinned, Tosh and Nova both squeezed their triggers as one; the gunfire from their rifles in the small entry room deafening. Her eyes were a solid, complete black and as her corpse fell to the ground Nova whispered. "No last thoughts, nothing." The girl's mind was a void—and that alone would have been enough to pull the trigger if she took one step further, but the eyes solidified her decision.
Tosh, shocked out of his own reverie by Nova stepping towards the corpse, shot out a hand and caught her shoulder firmly. "Don't get near that thing, girl. Whatever was human in there was long gone." Only one God, Gabriel Tosh. The words seared a path through his terrazine-altered brain, he'd never forget them.
Shrugging off his shoulder firmly, Nova slipped ahead and made to inspect the corpse regardless. "If this is what is happening to all the people of Korhal..." She paused, thinking about the kind of implications such a, what, plague? Disease of the mind? Alien attack? Could have on all terrans. "We need as much information as possible, Tosh." Swallowing a knot in her throat, Nova knelt down and made to touch the girl's face.
Every detail Nova memorized could help doctors or scientists identify this new threat, and so she made note of the sickly pale flesh, lank greasy hair, and the half-closed pure black eyes. As her gloved fingertip touched an eyelid, meant to pull it back and get a better look at the biggest anomaly, both shot open and the corpse—and surely it had to be a corpse, with four rounds to the chest—made to spring upwards with an inhuman shriek.
Startled, Nova's reaction was purely instinct—training that had been drilled into her being; leaping backwards from her crouching position, an impossibly fast hand grabbed her wrist and tugged her back down. Such an action shouldn't have been possible, not with Nova's personal strength further modified by the ghost suit fibromuscles. Knife appearing in hand, Nova made a hard slash at the offending wrist and neatly severed it just as the girl, laughing in a rasp as blood spattered out of her lips, fell backwards with a neat hole in her forehead; brain and bone splattering to the floor behind her.
Stumbling to her feet and forcefully wrenching the severed hand off her wrist, Nova took a long step back towards Tosh before her eyes widened further. The big spectre muttered something, but Nova uncharacteristically missed it—too busy watching as the motion radar of her HUD suddenly erupted with life. Little red dots, people, lit up the whole screen; it seemed as though every floor within range of her sensors had suddenly filled with life—life that was rapidly rushing downwards to herself and Tosh.
"Nova!" Tosh snapped in a brittle tone, he was already at the door and didn't plan on waiting for whatever the hell was possessing those people to get a hold of himself—he'd leave her to rot if she didn't hurry.
Milky eyes widened in surprise when the smaller woman darted out into the night ahead of him, but he didn't hesitate to give chase. Both were cloaked and running hard away from the building, but it was easy to hear the door they had run through crashing open violently, even with the thick mist. Cautiously, he spoke into her mind. I don't know what to do next, he admitted, but I'm startin' to think it be a good idea to get the hell off this planet.
What about Mengsk? Nova questioned, more worried than surprised that Tosh would consider dropping his considerable vendetta against the emperor.
I starting to think Mengsk be the smallest of our problems right now. HUD sensors were going crazy, every building around them was coming to life—and both of the assassins were dearly wishing for the deathly stillness that had bothered them not long ago.
I am not going to leave these people to whatever fate this is, Tosh! Nova asserted, frustrated. She had doubts as to whether there were any people not afflicted left at all, but the idea of failing so many because the hybrid were left unchecked was not acceptable. Pausing in a thin alleyway to catch a quick breath, she considered the options.
You don't even know what be wrong with dem! Accent thickening as he grew angry, Tosh came to a stop a few feet shy of the smaller, vaguely shimmering outline of Nova. I ain't here ta save people, dey be sealin' their own fates, supportin' Mengsk like dey do!
Making a small noise of disgust, Nova lamented the good, patriotic man Tosh used to be. Still, she needed him—and so did Korhal. Eyeing her HUD warily, cautious of anyone who might creep up on them—who knew if they could see through cloaks? Death didn't seem to bother them much. I want you to go back to the camp and make sure everyone there is safe and ready to deal with this, Tosh.
And what you be doing then? He frowned deeply behind his mask.
I'm going to continue, find the hybrid and see if I can stop whatever they are doing.
No.
Arguing with me every step of the way is completely counterproductive to what we originally set out to do, you know. Nova snipped.
Your mind is open for attack, it be a wonder that they haven't already done so. I will go and see myself, you go to the camp. He added quickly, before she could argue further. There be no way off-world with the sky belonging to the enemy right now, we be in this together—whether I like it or not. They can't see my mind, I will do it.
Nova stared at the dim aura outlining Tosh, another lingering effect of the terrazine that didn't seem to go away, frowning slightly. Awful altruistic of you.
Now who be the one arguing? Tosh smirked, eyeing his HUD just as much as she was. Your thoughts be clear—you need me, but I need you too; and the last thing I need happening is you being sucked dry by a hybrid or, He paused, uncertain. Turning into one of them empty things.
Fine, she acquiesced bluntly. Already, Nova was plotting the fastest track back to the base and how best to avoid the new ground threat, feet carrying her away from Tosh. Be safe out there, Tosh. For what it was worth, her thoughts were sincere—regardless of her low opinion of how he operated, she wouldn't wish a fate like that girl in the apartment on anyone.
I always be careful. Tosh replied lightly, but his face was grim behind the mask as he turned in the opposite direction—headed for the palace. Beside him walked a familiar figure, who whispered in his ear. Dis be the consequences of others who anger de spirits Gabriel, but we all must weather dem. Grandma Tosh would always be there.
Deep Space – Leviathan
"You seem troubled, Kerrigan." Alexei commented perceptively; his old enemy, now ally, was alternating staring into space intensely and pacing in irritation.
Stopping abruptly, violet eyes snapped to the infested man sharply. It was a strange adjustment to have anyone not of the hive-mind so close, Alexei and the primal zerg, their observations and comments tended to be a surprise. "You know, maybe better than I do, that if Amon is brought back—all life might end, Stukov. I command an entire race of billions with my mind, there is no force out there that can stop me, but I can't fathom the kind of power Amon might wield."
Kerrigan didn't need to elaborate further—she was certain to lose if Amon came back, Alexei felt similar. "But here you are, chasing after old vendettas on Korhal. What threat does this Mengsk pose, when a threat like Amon hangs over you?" Alexei wondered out loud, watching as the formidable former terran's features twisted in rage briefly at the mention of Mengsk.
"It isn't just Mengsk!" She hissed, seething; the only good that could come of this conversation was that she could avoid being inundated with humane babbling in her brain while it went on. "Narud is there, Stukov—playing Mengsk for the fool he is while he gets to make an army of hybrid for his dead master as free as he can please."
"And these planets you're putting to the torch on the way?" How Alexei knew that she sent broodmothers out to lock down core Dominion military supply worlds was curious, and Kerrigan's eyes narrowed slightly at the thought of him eavesdropping freely without her say. "It seems to me that the Dominion, and I have no love of them you know, is already broken." Innocents are there, and on Korhal too. Sarah, a far more compassionate Sarah than who she was now, muttered in her mind accusingly and in tandem with Stukov.
"Our numbers are limitless, but I am not incapable of tactics." She muttered defensively, turning to face Stukov fully and observing him keenly. "I don't win because I simply throw numbers at everything, you know." Before becoming the Primal Queen, she had many more insidious plans laid out to ensure the destruction and conversion of terrans as a whole; they had come to an immediate, grinding halt after the change.
"Oh I know, Kerrigan." Stukov chuckled, half ruined face smiling in good humor. "I remember well being on the opposing end of the swarm."
"Good." She murmured, it wouldn't do for him to forget how he'd be crushed if he turned on her. "Killing Narud, destroying the hybrid and stopping Amon from rising at all costs are the current goals of the swarm—they will remain so until we either fail or succeed. If more terrans die standing between those goals and now..." She paused, lip twitching downwards at the thought of how a certain former lawman would feel about her tactics. "Then so be it."
"As you say, Queen of Blades." Alexei shrugged slightly, although she suspected a deeper meaning in using her former title, before staring out into space himself. "I am with you until the end, as we've already discussed." His thoughts wandered, as they often did, to Earth and its green hills—and a family he'd never see again. "Quite an adventure."
Warming to conversation, especially a change in topic, Kerrigan too returned to looking through the clear membrane of the leviathan's eye. "I mentioned you to Jim."
"Oh? Did he remember me?" Stukov smiled lopsidedly, he certainly remembered Jim Raynor.
"Yes, he did." Kerrigan smirked at a stray thought; in some other life, the older Stukov and Raynor may very well have gotten along together. "He and a few of his friends are a part of the swarm now." She added without inflection.
"Well, time does bring all things together, doesn't it?" He remarked in an amused tone.
Snorting while her wings flexed and adjusted themselves of their own volition, like a second independent being attached to her back. "You could say that. I mentioned you because he and his friends are currently chasing after a cure to infestation. I am certain they would like to meet you." She ventured cautiously.
"And prod me with some more knives and needles, I am sure." His tone quickly shifted to sardonic, clearly he wouldn't trust that easily. "You converted them and then let them go? Not very like you, I must say."
"I have... Regrets on the matter." She admitted with a frown. "They won't find a cure, even the protoss can't, but they are free to do as they please. Your lack of connection to the swarm could perhaps be replicated, however."
"Perhaps," he allowed, eyeing her. "But Narud uses methods well beyond anything terrans, even earth humans, have the ability to replicate. I fear looking at what has been done to me will yield nothing for them." He shrugged then, the appendage on his shoulder, tipped with a massive claw, twitching repeatedly.
"It is up to you." Kerrigan would not command him, not for something like that; not even for Jim. "I don't trust the whelp they're putting their trust in, that's for sure." She muttered darkly. It would take some tremendous mountain moving to make her believe the Mengsk line wasn't entirely tainted.
"Much easier to trust those who do not move or think without your say, yes?"
He pointed out the obvious, but Kerrigan frowned at it all the same. Have I become afraid of independent thoughts? To be betrayed? Just another doubt that would rattle around in her mind now, this conversation wasn't as relaxing as she had hoped it would be. Enough of this, she thought decisively, already turning to leave the damp chamber. His question would not be dignified by an answer.
Abathur was in the evolution chambers, muttering to himself as he worked—the familiar sound of a failed experiment in its death throes rattling through the expansive area. "Dislike space. Too little biomass." He muttered clearly, causing Kerrigan to smirk. Truly, Abathur could be considered the definition of alien evil by terran standards. The evolution master was cold, calculated and his sole concern was for the survival and continual forward progression of the swarm—chasing perfection, he called it.
"Abathur." She called out, stopping short of the unique creature's bloated and slug-like body.
All of Abathur's needle-sharp appendages paused for a microsecond before returning to whatever they were working on. "Queen has come to review work? Can see throughout chambers. Ask if want demonstration." This was as close to being brushed off by a swarm member she could get, and she almost laughed.
"No, I want to ask you about Stukov. What do you make of him?" She tilted her head with a clatter, chitinous hair slithering against gravity of its own accord.
Immediately the gelatinous strands of gooey biomass he was working on were discarded; the experiment was time sensitive and this conversation drew too much attention from it, it was a failure. Stukov was an interesting subject, however. "Organism Stukov... Very interesting." He admitted, shifting his mass to face his Queen. "Terran and zerg strands woven together on microscale. Impressive. Beyond my capabilities."
"Do you understand how he has been severed from the swarm?" She ventured curiously.
"No. Too complex. Would have to disassemble to further analyze. Failure to gain information probable." She need only say the word and Stukov would be on another cutting table; odds were Abathur wouldn't be anywhere near as nice as Narud.
"No," she muttered in annoyance. "We wont be carving up Stukov, that is all I wanted to know."
"Will return to work." Abathur ended the conversation with surgical precision—his actions and words were always measured in that way; Kerrigan had gotten used to it, and was already on her way out as he returned to shaping and adjusting patterns in genetics.
Whatever was going to happen on Korhal, Kerrigan found her hardened shell softened on the matter. Conversing with Stukov and Abathur really shone a light on just how alien she had become, and while she did not regret her position of power, she wondered at the now strange concept of humanity. It seemed Stukov, for all the torture he received, still thought about humans and family—he wasn't the weaker for it, as far as she could tell.
Staring out into the stars, Kerrigan ran a clawed fingertip along the shifting flexible armor of her arm thoughtfully. Humanity is making choices that can get you hurt. Moments where she agreed with her new inner monologue were few and far between.
Bucephalus – Private Quarters
While the various rooms assigned to leisure and socializing just for Valerian were grand, his room could be said to be the opposite. Sparsely furnished and only twice the size of an average crew members room, the prince rarely took time in it for more than sleep, but now was a special circumstance. Sitting at an exquisitely carved wooden desk, the top of which was an all-purpose monitor, he was slowly scrolling through several requests from his Hyperion crewmen to be transferred back to the Bucephalus.
None of his men aboard the Bucephalus had fought with the infested men, and Valerian had keenly watched and listened to all channels and video footage he could to see the reactions they would garner from his well trained men and women. The results had been less than pleasing, and especially troublesome was the fact all the resocialized men needed to be redirected elsewhere when it was clear they were in distress—their programming struggling to deal with an order to not attack zerg. Raynor and his men arrived on the bridge, bloody and bloodied, with a thoroughly spooked crew behind and around them.
Their conversation was short and fierce, but Valerian came out satisfied—if what he knew about the hive-mind was true, there had to be some kind of mental struggle going on at all hours, and so he forgave the more aggressive than usual nature of Raynor.
"What the hell was this about, kid?!" Raynor blurted the second Valerian entered his sights, all but piling in the bridge with the other infested men and Lasarra.
"We were attacked by rogue mercenaries, Jim. You and your men," Valerian had nodded towards the rest. "Did a valiant job fighting them off, I suspect our casualties would have been much higher without your timely intervention—for that I thank you."
"You pulled all your men back and didn't send anyone to help us," Raynor grated, anger clear on his alien features. He had not been so angry until he saw the sheer number of people holed up on this level near the bridge, Valerian could have handled this shit himself! "A lot easier to let some dead zerg go, I reckon."
"No Jim," Valerian shook his head, frowning slightly. "You already know how important you are to helping win back Korhal from the hybrid and my mad father, why would I put you in such a situation before we even get there? I am not in charge of where my troops are stationed during an attack, that is the job of my tacticians and military personnel." He nodded towards Warfield then, knowing the old general would confirm.
"It's true, Raynor." Warfield noted, standing at attention while the others loomed or glowered in comparison. "Prince Valerian is not in control of troop movements in war time, that is not how it works."
With the situation stabilized, it was a short conversation to arrange transport back to the Hyperion for them and to confirm their next destination: Korhal as planned. But now, with further information at his fingertips, Valerian could see great difficulties ahead involving the infested men. From what he could ascertain in the writing of the men and women who wanted to be transferred, they were present on the bridge when Matt Horner fought off a group of mercs by himself—what he wouldn't give for some video footage of that, what Horner was capable of was mostly a mystery.
Whatever he did with those appendages inside his arms, it thoroughly scarred more than a few people. Thoughtfully, Valerian eyed one crew member photo. Lu Wen was an unflappable man and skilled in communication technology, but here was his request to leave too. With a quick decision, he tapped the image of Lu to start the call.
"Prince Valerian?" Lu seemed surprised, eyes widening as he fixed his relaxed posture into something more presentable. "How can I help you, sir?"
"At ease, Mr. Wen." Valerian smiled reassuringly. "I would prefer to have this conversation in person but circumstances dictate otherwise, you understand."
"Of course sir." Lu waited then, unable to hide his curious expression. Only one thing happened that could have attracted the attention of his Prince.
"You, and several others, have requested to be returned to duty on the Bucephalus; it is of interest to me why this has happened." Valerian watched Lu's expression melt from curious to cautious in a second, face pale and eyes glancing around as though afraid of being overheard in his own quarters. Before he could respond, Valerian added "you are one of the best men I have on the Hyperion and have nothing but a spotless record of service, I'd like your recount of the incident."
Lu paused, clearly gathering resolve and recalling the event, before launching into the story with a haunted tone. "The Raiders were good people sir, I came here to help what was left of them to try and get cured, but this... Well, I don't have much experience with the zerg," Lu admitted, frowning. "But when I could see again after that flash grenade went off, what I saw was a zerg ripping people apart."
As Lu described his experience with a shaking voice, the mystery of a group of well trained men and women suddenly being scared for their lives simply solved itself. None of them were used to the high intensity of close quarters combat and the zerg, while a very real and terrifying threat, were distant boogeymen—seen only on a screen and never in person.
"That's when he rounded on me and grabbed my shirt sir, and I have never been so certain that I was about to die than I was then." Lu was nearing the end of his retelling and as Valerian refocused on him from his own thoughts, he could see the man was having a hard time keeping it together. "His eyes were dead, like no one was home anymore." He hunched forwards slightly, wringing his fists off screen. "If we're going to help them, they need to be in cages in labs—they clearly are not in control sir."
Valerian held Lu Wen's scared gaze evenly, considering. What caused Matt Horner to fly off the handle? Was it purposeful and did Lu Wen's fear of the unknown affect his perception of the event? The other infested were in control of themselves on the Bucephalus, there was more than enough documentation of that. "We will be arriving at Korhal soon, Mr. Wen." Lu did well to mask his disappointment; with a statement like that, he knew what was coming.
"While your safety, and the safety of those others who volunteered to staff the Hyperion, is of utmost concern to me—I believe you have witnessed an anomaly." Folding his hands together on the edge of the fine desk, Valerian kept a calm and professional air for Lu's sake. "I will not deny your request to be transferred back to the Bucephalus," that caught Lu by surprise, the mans brows raising slightly before he schooled his features again. "I do ask that you reconsider and remain on the Hyperion until we have landed on Korhal; the success of our mission there is critical and the Hyperion needs a competent crew."
As Lu Wen's features flickered through a series of emotions, each one stunted as he continually policed himself, Valerian wondered at how easy it was to manipulate people. Lu Wen understood that while the option was there, it would certainly look bad to go ahead with the transfer back to the Bucephalus—he'd be viewed as a coward and worse yet, his Prince was the one who asked him to remain! While there would absolutely be no repercussions for the action, Valerian knew full well that these thoughts and more were rushing through the mans mind.
After a few moments pause, Lu Wen answered in an even tone. "I will remain on the Hyperion at your request, sir."
With no other words forthcoming, Valerian offered a charming smile of encouragement. "Excellent! I am very glad to hear that, Mr. Wen. While we are investing a large amount of trust in Jim Raynor and the ability of his men to retain control of themselves, and thus remaining autonomous during this process, they are also trusting us in equal measure. I firmly believe that Mr. Horner acted in the best interest of those he was protecting and that you are safe."
As their conversation drew to a close, the heir apparent thought about the mercenary situation—the Hyperion and Bucephalus were like two different control groups of an experiment. Each infested man was essentially the same, but there were other anomalies that could affect how they acted. He let out a small sigh of annoyance, knowing he'd have to contact each individual who wanted to leave the Hyperion individually in order to get them to remain on the ship; he would entrust the task to no one less than himself.
The protoss and broodmother were the two big unknown factors. While Lasarra's seemingly inadvertent blurt about her ability to help the infested retain themselves hinted strongly at her purpose, the broodmother was a complete unknown; other than what has been researched about the mysterious creatures as a whole. Jim, Tychus and Warfield had Lasarra while Matt, Stetmann and Rory remained on the Hyperion with the broodmother; that was the only glaring difference that Valerian could see.
Rubbing a temple with a well manicured fingertip, Valerian frowned a degree. If the broodmother affected them negatively, why would they keep it at all? Jim Raynor was no zerg sympathizer, that thing was doing something for them, but only the infested knew what. Without any data on the other two, Stetmann and Swann, Valerian could not in good conscience form any further suspicions or ideas on the matter—and that was annoying.
Perhaps I'll simply ask Jim. He thought, a wry smile curling on his lips. I doubt a more honest man exists. Indeed, what little of Raynor's real story Valerian knew, it seemed that some real cosmic forces were involved in leading up to him becoming the leader of a rebel army. "Well Jim, everyone has their story." He reasoned, schooling his features as he began the next call with the flick of a fingertip.
Hyperion – Deep Space
As soon as Swann and Findlay realized Jayce had not made it back to the Hyperion during their escape, a literal pall of displeasure radiated from the two. Raynor thought over how the feelings and moods of the others in their unfortunate link affected him—it was easy to feed off of Tychus' anger, Rory's sadness, even more positive emotions like Egon's excitement. They needed to be restored soon, because even Lasarra's calming presence didn't do much for their more human emotions—and they were all in their own personal turmoil.
When he realized that Swann and Findlay were both in the cantina together, Jim thought he was about to have a hell of a fight on his hands. All brooding was discarded immediately as he made for the cantina at a hasty pace—maybe talking to the two of them at once would be best anyways, with none of the zerg mind nonsense. The rest of the crew, those that remained alive after the dust settled, would be hard at work preparing for Korhal, leaving the cantina to the infested.
Tychus' eyes narrowed immediately as the cantina door hissed open to reveal Rory, looking similarly dour. The big man was hunched over a table, as he had been many times before Char, but without a drink in hand. Blowing out a breath, Swann shook his head and made for the bar quietly.
"Not helping clean up?" Findlay questioned, not quite mocking, while frowning.
Reaching over the counter and grabbing a whole bottle in his fist, Swann glared at his hand as he pinched two cups between his fingers. "No." Plunking the bottle down in the middle of Tychus' table, he slid a glass to Tychus and sat across from him heavily. Findlay caught his glass with the tip of a claw, looking down as it clinked. "They might be staffing this tub, but they aren't my crew or my people." Swann muttered gruffly, looking grim as he grabbed the bottle and began pouring.
Tychus grunted, eyeing the dark liquid filling his glass. "What's the point? Can't get drunk, don't even taste good."
"Just pretend to be normal for a minute." Swann scowled, thick facial hair twisting as he held up his drink.
Letting out a mirthless chuckle, Findlay scooped the drink up in a huge fist and gave it a swirl. "Gonna take a lot more than just this, then."
"Hmph." Swann smirked back at him slightly, their clipped conversation pausing as they both drained their glass. Pulling a disgusted face as he put his glass back down with a thunk, Swann eyed Findlay evenly. "She will be back."
Quirking a brow, Findlay sneered then; so that was what this was about, he was not surprised. "She left, what do you care?"
"She's family, and Jayce don't just run off for nothing—she never has before. That protoss isn't saying anything about it, but I know that girl and she will find a way back whenever she's done what she had to do." Swann frowned up at the sneering giant, wondering at the attitude. "You two were an item, why don't you care?"
"I ain't attached." Findlay stated bluffly. "If you want to hold out for her coming back, you do that—I ain't." Grabbing the bottle, he quickly poured himself and Swann another round. Admitting the shorter man was pretty on point about his assessment of the relationship he had with Jayce was not about to happen—hell, he was reluctant to admit it to himself.
Swann was opening his mouth to respond when a stray spark flew out of the jukebox above them, the song skipping. Slowly, his lips closed together and he exchanged a mutual glare with Findlay.
"He wouldn't even have that thing if it weren't for me." Tychus grumbled, breaking eye contact as he tossed back another drink. He was pretty sure this swill would taste terrible even if he couldn't taste it right down to the molecules; not that he'd ever been a picky drinker.
"Right. Well I got fifty credits that says she'll be back, and you'll be all too happy to have her again, won't you Tychus?" Rory was smirking up at him, challenging.
"Careful now," Findlay warned, frowning. "Time frame?" He rumbled; the sappy old man would be an easy 50 creds—Jayce wasn't coming back.
"Korhal," Swann snapped quickly, drumming his fingers against the top of the table idly while Tychus did similar with his claws against his own glass. "While we're in the thick of it, too. The woman has timing."
"Done. Easy money, old man." Findlay chuckled as Swann maintained a sly smirk.
"We'll see." When the door snapped open and Raynor came to a full stop from a brisk jog, Findlay gave him a confused look and Swann twisted on his stool, looking over his shoulder to mirror the action.
"What's the rush for, Jimmy?"
"Yeah. What's goin on, hot shot?"
"Uh." Jim muttered sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck at the scene. He expected flying chairs and tables, not the two polar opposites having a drink. Shrugging then, he smiled ruefully. "Thought you two were about to kill each other, guess not." Findlay snorted and Swann shrugged while Jim grabbed himself a glass and made to sit with them.
"Nah," Tychus rumbled, refilling all three glasses and firmly planting the nearly empty bottle in the middle of the table. "Plenty of folks need killing on Korhal, I figure." He grinned then.
"Right." Swann muttered, eyeing Jim. "You said we were going to talk about some contingency plan if things go south on Korhal; care to enlighten us, fearless leader?" Genuinely curious, Rory did not care to be under Valerian's thumb any more than the others—guise of helpfulness or not.
Wrapping a hand around his drink carefully, Jim was easily the most clawed of the men, he nodded with a renewed frown. "Yeah." Stetmann, Horner and Warfield were not present, but they could be filled in later. "I trust Warfield, but maybe it is best if he ain't in on this just yet."
"Probably off having tea and crumpets with baby Mengsk." Tychus muttered spitefully, even though they all knew he was in his room.
"He's loyal to Valerian." Swann nodded in understanding, waiting.
Nodding, Raynor took a drink and poorly masked a twist of disgust on his face. "This swill wasn't even good before being infested; tastes like viking fuel now." Let's discuss this in our heads, then. His mental voice layered over his speaking voice strangely. Too much chance of being overheard otherwise. Tychus and Swann nodded in silent agreement.
The three drank in silence as their conversation went private. Ariel managed to cure the infested before, we know for sure there is a chance that she could succeed in helping us. Don't much like the idea of putting Haven in danger, but she's about the only person who's motto isn't For The Swarm that I trust right now. Jim reasoned, watching their facial expressions and attempting to get a bead on what they thought about it. Swann was transparent—Haven owed them big time and Ariel was infinitely more trustworthy. Tychus was oddly shrouded, as unreadable in his head as he tended to be visually; that caught Jim's attention.
"Heh, Valerian sure didn't send over the good stuff." That sweet thing never did give me a physical.
Swann cringed. She'd love to give you one now... With a scalpel.
Tychus made a show of sighing sadly and Jim rolled his eyes. If things do go south, I figure Ariel is our next best shot; trouble would be getting Shlassa and Lasarra out of there with us.
I'd rather send that broodmother to the grave. Tychus scowled, running a nail down the side of his glass and seemingly watching with interest as a fine line was carved into it.
That might be the only thing I'll ever agree with him on. Swann hmphed and crossed his arms.
A cold chill settled in Jim's bones as he and present company recalled what happened to Horner. Do you really want to risk not having it there?
No. You're right, I just don't like it. Swann shrugged, taking a big swig of his drink. Depends on what we'd have to escape with; we'll make it work, Jim.
Staring into his drink, Tychus considered his words cautiously. Bug won't be a problem, we can control it; she ain't no threat to the protoss if they gotta be stuck together.
"Do you know that for sure?" Jim blurted in surprise, eyeing his old friend. How much was Findlay immersing himself in this zerg madness? The more he thought about it, and his mind was racing, the more he realized Tychus gave off a feeling of.. what? Strength? Vitality? He wasn't suffering like the rest, that was for certain.
Holding up a hand, Tychus kept his face and mind neutral. Keep your shirt on, son. Kid an' me controlled her together while that merc shit was goin' on. That was about all he was willing to say on the matter, so he shrugged.
Knowing Tychus for as long as he had, Jim didn't need to read minds to know his friend was closing himself off to the conversation. Frustrated, he pressed a hand flat on the tabletop and sighed in displeasure when he could hear smooth furrows being dug into it inadvertently. I just worry, Tychus. Haven't even kept as good an eye on the kid as I shoulda been.
Observing the two men interacting, Swann didn't think he'd ever be able to wrap his head around how they became such steadfast friends—even in a universe as crazy as theirs. Kid's doin' fine, Jim. Keeps me up to date on what he's doin'. Don't like him in that nasty lab, but still. He didn't see a need for Jim to have undue worries about Egon; awkward he might be but the kid might just be doing better than all of them, given his nature.
So all we got is one plan? Findlay frowned. We ain't never ran around with only one plan before Jimmy, not until Char. I don't need to remind you how well that turned out. Given an annoyed look and no forthcoming response, Tychus plowed on. What about them creepy protoss?
That got Jim's eyebrows up. The 'toss? Remind me why I ever listen to your ideas at all.
"Well I'm the smartest, most handsome monster on this ship." Tychus puffed his chest dramatically. Don't like the idea of them freaky protoss one bit, but you do have a history—and there is no argument, they are better equipped than terrans. He reasoned, then added in a lighter tone. 'sides Jimmy, it's just a second plan.
Lasarra helping us is some kind of cosmic blessing, Tychus. Jim sighed, taking another drink. You saw what the protoss wanted to do to Haven. You also saw the reaction most protoss will have to us: that Zealot in the caves, and the small fleet attacking the Hyperion over our heads. Watching Tychus' eyes harden to flinty chips of agitation, Jim raised a placating hand. I also know what you're sayin', partner. Lasarra doesn't even know if they will take her back, but it is an option where we don't have many.
Eh, Rory muttered, I'll let you know if I think of something smarter. You might want to at least let Egon and Matt know the plan though, cowboy. Under the impression their conversation was over, he slid to his feet and adjusted his thick jacket, ready to leave.
Jim felt a touch of guilt about leaving Warfield in the dark—the man was in the same hole as they were after all. Giving Swann a quick nod, he watched him leave, thoughtful all the while.
Tychus followed Jim's line of thought, smirking. He's the brass, Jimmy. Don't matter if he's a bug or not, man's got his loyalties. With a big paw he slid his glass to the side and grabbed up the bottle in the center of the table, giving it a test shake before swigging from it directly. When I get my body back Jimmy, I'm gonna pick up as many whores as I can carry and lock myself away with them. Chuckling, smirk morphing into a grin as Jim's mind briefly entertained the idea of something similar. Booze on tap, of course: paid for by our new benevolent emperor.
Smiling slyly, Jim raised his drink and eyed Tychus. "Not just gonna hole up with Jayce?"
"Hmph, you are funny, ain't you? That girl ain't comin' back." Jim's remorse towards Findlay's traditional bad luck with relationships was annoying, but he firmly ignored it. Jimmy was always a bit of a sap. So long as women existed, Tychus would never be left wanting; why chain yourself to one?
"She'll be back." Raynor shrugged, confident.
"Unbelievable. Care to bet on that?" At least he'd make some creds off the raw deal.
Laboratory
Stetmann grimaced at Shlassa's close proximity, even in the same room was too close as far as he was concerned; the broodmother was literally over his shoulder as they stared into the zerg specimen tank together.
"Biomass fuels the Swarm." The glass clinked as Shlassa tapped a claw against it pointedly. Stetmann was an apt pupil, for which she was thankful. Unlike the others, he was intelligent enough to use her as a resource rather than waste time wanting one of their own dead. "The biomass you have collected can be used as we see fit, it is very strong."
Enraptured, Stetmann watched with a multifaceted, rainbow-colored eye layer and his mind in tandem. Threads of essence, every potential horror the specimen could turn into, were displayed before him. To assume the zerg were below terrans, even protoss, in technology would be a serious mistake—he knew it before and it was only reaffirmed every time he learned from Shlassa and his own investigations.
"If I had any idea how potentially dangerous this specimen was... I think I really would have thrown it out the airlock." Egon muttered.
"To not use the resources at hand when we reach Korhal would be a mistake." The broodmother murmured ominously over his head. "The closer to our destination we get, the more I believe we should stop."
It gave him the willies knowing Shlassa was disquieted by the idea of Korhal. With a little luck the creatures sense of unease would be based more off of the proximity of millions of what she considered to be enemies, not the hybrid and whatever else might be there. "We can't just let the emperor hurt all those people. I know you don't care about terrans Shlassa, but we do."
Shlassa clicked her mandibles in annoyance—morality, kindness, even the capacity to care were lost on the alien. It was a wonder that she attempted to even remotely relate, and a testament to how much she wanted to survive, Stetmann thought.
"The time to choose what to create draws near. Be ready Stetmann, the other infested are foolish to not prepare themselves as you have." Egon's brows lifted in surprise and he glanced up at the creatures frightening glowing eyes. Receiving a compliment from the alien stirred pride and fear—maybe I should get out of the lab for a while, he thought to himself.
Private Quarters
Warfield stared at his latest list with a deep sense of melancholy. Some familiar names stood out to him on the short, but still far too long, list of the Hyperion's casualties. "Just a bunch of civilians. Damn merc bastards." Muttering venomously, he fired off the list to the Bucephalus for review, along with his personal recounting of the event.
His small room, long since cleared of the reminder of his transformation, had become a safe haven. Being around terrans was an exhaustive process now, even with Lasarra's ever-present assistance. Most of his necessary communication could be done from here and that suited him just fine.
A quiet warning from his datapad blinked repeatedly. Incoming transmission.
Accepting the call with a curious look on his face, Warfield was surprised to see his prince appear. "Prince Valerian, always an honor." He formalized his tone and immediately wondered at what the heir apparent might want—he had his own, ah, less altered advisers to seek council from right now, after all.
"At ease, General. There is no need for formalities right now." Valerian reassured, his own expression relaxed.
Nodding a tad, Warfield ran the pad of his thumb up and down a long black talon thoughtfully. "As you wish. What do you want to talk about?"
Valerian's smooth lip curled upwards at the corner. At best the general would talk less formally, but it would never leave his bearing. "You saw how people reacted to you and the other infested men on the Bucephalus, General. I have concerns." His features smoothed back to neutral as he watched Warfield's expression darken.
Fear, revulsion, outright hate and eyes darting everywhere but on himself or the others. Warfield would never forget it, he'd never felt so awkward in his life; it even overshadowed the drumming of their fearful hearts. "Yes. There is no reason to not be concerned, your men are well trained and well paid." Flexing a talon, well out of view of the camera, Warfield frowned tightly. "Korhal won't go well, even if we do save people."
"I have some of my best dedicated to a workaround on that, they should have it ready by the time we reach Korhal. I think you will appreciate it."
"Then why the concern?" Horus quirked a brow. If people couldn't see what they were, assuming that was what Valerian was suggesting, then what was the problem?
"After the battle, a worrying amount of my men and women on the Hyperion suddenly wanted off of the ship." Cutting to the chase, Valerian noted the tick of a jaw muscle on Warfield's face as he clenched his teeth. "It seems that something happened with Matt Horner that created a concern as to whether the infested men are really in control or not. I'd like your input, General."
An internal debate raged inside Warfield immediately. Jim Raynor's aversion to telling Valerian everything about their condition, and how they were managing it in particular, was something the general understood full well; but he also took his vows of loyalty to the prince seriously. Valerian Mengsk was a very crafty individual with a lot of power however, and with no small amount of self-hate, Warfield replied.
"Matt Horner responded to a threat that would have otherwise overwhelmed the bridge and possibly lost us the Hyperion." Horner's scream through their link rushed vividly through his mind. "He is in control of himself. I give you my word: we all are."
The generals thoughtful pause stirred a flicker of wariness in Valerian, but it could easily be attributed to recalling the event itself; Warfield was too loyal to lie. Nodding a degree, the prince agreed. "I thought as much myself. I took the liberty of speaking to each man and woman and convinced them to remain on the Hyperion, at least until Korhal, for the time being." He smiled then, charming as always.
"I will see if I can further reassure them, in the meantime." Warfield embraced the shift of conversation briskly. "Has there been any further contact or word from Korhal?"
Valerian's expression darkened. "No. We have received no further word from my contact or any broad frequencies, like the news clip; Korhal is dark." It didn't bode well for anyone, but the best they could do now was be prepared to fight—and there was no question that there would be fighting.
Shifting his gaze from Valerian to a small display unit, Warfield brought up a diagram of their assault plan, frowning thoughtfully. "I'd like to go over the landing zones and squad assignments again. Casualties on the Bucephalus may necessitate some changes in groups."
With a flick of a wrist and brush of nimble fingertips, Valerian summoned up his own battle plan in response. Yes, some of the squads did have men and women who were killed in action. "Always thinking ahead, General." Smiling genuinely, Valerian chuckled. "While my current host of advisers are excellent and well educated, I sincerely miss your strategic council more often than not."
"Thank you." An odd, uncharacteristic chord of melancholy thrummed in Warfield then. "I'll never regret serving with so many brave men and women, but I am looking forward to returning to retirement when this is all said and done." I just wanted to get some fishing done, he thought to himself.
The sadness in Warfield's eyes, even though he was staring at data off screen, was more insightful than any speech. Folding his fingers together, Valerian nodded. "When the threat is dealt with and my position as the new emperor is secured, your rewards will be rich and well-earned, General." Smiling slightly, he added. "Everyone deserves some peace."
I wish that I could believe you. Warfield thought bitterly.
Mess Hall
Matt sat quietly at a two-seated table at the far end of the mess, staring out a small port window. While people came and went, he was left alone—it had become his refuge, more open than the holes the others hid themselves in. A captain couldn't make himself completely unreachable, regardless of how he felt, it just wasn't professional.
Quiet conversation, shuffling footsteps and the scraping of utensils played out like a background noise in his brain, overshadowed by continually drumming hearts. Gloved hands clasped together firmly, he tried to bring order to his mind and emotions—failing repeatedly each attempt. Clenching his jaw, his stare shifted into a glare at the passing blur of stars and planets.
I can't handle it Jim. He thought to himself, a small part grateful that they had collectively developed enough control to not bombard one another with private thoughts. At least when Kerrigan took over his body, it was easy to create a buffer of excuses for what happened—her influence couldn't be fought, it really wasn't me, and a number of other small details that reduced the horror of it all.
There was no buffer, no reasonable explanation and no excuses for what happened on the Hyperion—that was all me. Emotions, instincts, there was no way to explain how he couldn't control himself when Lasarra withdrew her protection from his mind. He had all but tamed these things before she came along, but now he was just a live wire and all that kept him from killing, and it shamed him to admit to himself he enjoyed it, was the delicate insulation of an alien who could withdraw it at a whim.
Protoss are honorable and Lasarra has committed herself to helping us, she would not withdraw like that. Pinching a brow with his fingertips firmly, he sighed. She did withdraw, that's what this whole damn problem is about. She took away my choice and I'm pissed. Horner was slipping ever further in to his dark mindset by the second, until he was so full of pent up anger and loathing he lost focus on everything around him.
"Ehem." A polite throat clear made him jerk so violently out of his self-imposed stupor that Ashdale jumped and barely recovered fast enough to catch her meal.
"Ashdale. Sorry." He muttered in a clipped tone, ashamed but still not desiring this interaction. Still, he made himself available for a reason. "Something wrong?"
"No, nothing is wrong sir. May I?" Ashdale gestured to the free seat with a head dip.
No. "Yes." Horner gestured for her to help herself, carefully measuring his movements and redirecting his focus to the present. The first thing he noticed was her pale complexion and slower than normal heartbeat, it annoyed him to be so familiar with it.
"You don't look so good, if you don't mind my saying." Matt watched the tidy dressed woman place her tray and sit smoothly before she responded. He wondered if they were trained in dinner etiquette and other silly things, on top of their profession of choice.
"Oh it is just the warp travel," she gestured at the stars streaking by the window in a blur. "You know how it is." Fine brows furrowing a degree, she seemed to immediately think over what she said before hastily adding. "Sorry, that was rude of me."
Matt couldn't help but chuckle over the absurdity of being worried about forgetting that he was technically not even the same species anymore. "Don't worry about it." His brows came together firmly. "Forgot about how much it wears you down, myself." Looking up from his hands, he studied her face intently. Clean, well groomed and well guarded—a picture perfect Valerian crony of the female variety, really.
Picking up her fork and skewering a synthetic carrot, Valerian's people brought their own higher quality rations with them, Ashdale studied him right back. "I am sorry to intrude on you like this; I know you have been keeping separate, probably for good reasons, but you seemed so upset when I came in, I wanted offer some company."
For what it was worth, Matt couldn't detect any trace of lacking sincerity from Ashdale, and that surprised him. Still, he wasn't about to go spilling his guts to someone who operated on Valerian's schedule. Hell, he wouldn't even to Jim right now. Before the pause between conversation became awkward, he responded with a small shrug. "Got a lot on my mind, to say the least."
"I understand, well, kind of." Ashdale looked down at her food, poking at it and clearly feeling awkward at some social blunder Matt couldn't care less about. "Maybe not. But I just want you to know that of all the things you need to worry about, don't worry about what happened earlier." Looking up from her carrot, more an orange paste than anything now, she caught his eye and held it.
That is foremost of my worries, if you only knew. Was what he wanted to say, instead he blurted "No offense Ashdale, but I am a pretty private person, even before all this." He paused, watching as her fine Asian features were tempted to fall in disappointment before being schooled smoothly. Her candid talk had sparked a small epiphany, however.
Holding up a fingertip to catch her before she could give some sort of silly apologetic response, Horner smiled. Why didn't I just do this already? He chalked it up to the tumultuous emotions, not normally his forte. "Thank you though, you did remind me that I need to talk to someone. Enjoy your dinner." Standing up quickly, he heard her quiet Thanks as he left the mess at a hasty pace.
Lasarra was not unreasonable, she just didn't understand that it was not okay, that was all; he would talk to her like he should have right away. This dilemma would be cleared up soon and it gave him a bright rush of relief at the thought. I can't be worried about this, not with Korhal so close now.