Horner awoke to the sound of the adjutant paging him. It repeated its message three times before he finally heard it through the fog and the throbbing pain in his head. He was dimly aware he was in his quarters and uncomfortable. His entire body ached, and he was cold but sweaty, and his eyes hurt when he opened him. He was dizzy from dehydration. He remembered he had been drinking. Never again, he thought.

"Call from Mira Han."

Mira, he realized dully, she's calling me back. She wouldn't care if he was still in bed. Or hung over, he thought. Might as well answer.

"Patch it through," he said groggily.

Horner tried to raise his arm to rub his forehead and realized he couldn't. "What the hell?"

Dazed, he looked around. His clothes were on the floor—and Nova's. He looked down at himself and it dawned on him that he was completely naked and tied to his desk chair in the middle of his room. His belt was cinched around his neck and his arms tied very tightly around the back of the chair. The holo-emitter on his desk blinked to life—the video feed was coming on. He scooted himself around, hopping on his feet (which, he found, were tied to the front legs of the chair) to turn the back of the chair towards the camera. As he turned around, he saw Nova sprawled out naked on the bed, her long legs and muscular buttocks in range of the video feed. Panicked, he scooted the chair so that he was blocking Mira's view of Nova on the bed. Behind him, he heard Mira cackling.

"Matthew, baby. Are you having fun without me?"

"I'll call you back!" Horner shouted. "Adjutant, end call!" His holo-emitter flashed off. Horner sighed and his mind raced. He didn't remember anything about the night before except having a few drinks with Nova. He didn't remember coming back to his quarters or even leaving the cantina—much less about how he could have ended up tied to a chair. Of course, he thought, I can take a wild guess.

Horner looked at Nova. Her legs were askew, and she was face down on the bed, one arm over her head and the other tucked beneath her stomach. Her hair was all around her. Horner had never thought of her as tan, but she had very visible bikini lines. She was dead asleep. Or… I guess she could be dead? He couldn't tell from his position. Horner hoped it was the former, because he'd rather not have to call someone to get him out of the chair. He chastised himself for the thought. If she were dead, he knew, that would be the least of his problems.

"Nova," he said gently, "wake up."

No response.

"Nova," he said more sternly.

Again no response. He began to panic.

"Nova!"

"Huh? What?" Nova raised her head slightly, looking back at Horner. She put her head down again and moaned. Horner could barely make out her saying, "Fuck, Matt. You don't have to yell. Jesus fucking Christ," into the grey comforter on his bed. Nova turned over and way from him, rolling herself up in it.

"Damn it, Nova. Don't go back to sleep,"

"I'm tired."

"Help me! Get me out of this!"

"What?"

Nova sat up slowly, blinking. She gathered her hair out of her face and turned to him, blinking again hard. Seeing his predicament, she covered her mouth but couldn't keep from doubling over laughing. Regaining her composure, she slid out of the comforter and off the bed.

"Oh my god, Matt, I'm so sorry." She walked behind him and untied him, then pulled the belt off his neck. Relieved, Horner rubbed his wrists, neck, and shoulder, all sore from being restricted. He looked at her slim, naked body. She was totally nonplussed by his gaze, not registering any regret or modesty.

"So, we uh…"

"No, you passed out before anything could happen."

"Oh," Horner said, his disappointment surprising himself. On a normal day, Nova scared the shit out of him—so did Mira. Neither of them did he think was his "type," but now that he was older and more aware of himself, he came to understand that subconsciously he was attracted to women that scared him. Or people… and careers. He thought about how that attraction to danger and dangerous people had ruled most of his life.

He thought he could change them. He thought he could change the universe. In a way, changing the universe had been easier. Thinking made his head hurt more.

"It's for the best, I guess," Nova said, putting her hands on her hips and bending back at the waist, stretching. "God, my back," she murmured quietly.

"What?"

"I mean you technically being my boss and all," she said, straightening again.

"Oh… right." For a moment, their eyes met. Horner stood. Nova looped her hands around his lower back, and after looking him up and down, kissed him. But as he kissed her back and pulled her to him, the throbbing in his head worsened as his blood pressure rose. Horner grimaced in pain.

"You're not going to pass out on me again, are you?" Nova said.

"No, I just…" Horner rubbed his forehead.

"You have a headache? I have to say that's the first time that excuse has been used on me." Nova smirked and pulled away, looking around for her clothes. "You really can't hold your liquor, can you?" She said, picking up her socks and underwear. Horner sighed.

"Nope. Always been a lightweight."

"Something we can work on then. Next time." Nova pulled on her undergarments, clasping her bra in the back.

"Next time? What about me being your boss?"

"I'm not exactly on the payroll, am I?" she said, corralling her long blonde hair and tying it into a ponytail. Matt was amazed that she looked no worse for wear. She must be made of neosteel.

"You should call Mira back," Nova said, smirking again.

"Yeah… Right," Horner said sheepishly.

Nova left. Cursing himself for being so nebbish, he struggled into a pair of pants and a shirt. Horner had never had any luck with women. His relationship with Mira had been weird to say the least. Nova seemed to not have too much luck either. He remembered her talking about Tosh once, and he thought something may have gone on between her and Valerian. That would explain why she feels so betrayed.

Pulling on a uniform jacket and clearing off his desk, he finally sat down.

"Adjutant," he began, but was interrupted.

"Call from the Steadfast, Umojan Protectorate Navy."

"Who? What? Patch it through."

"Admiral Horner, this is Capt. Calvino of the Steadfast. We've just arrived from Umojan space, and we've been notified of a change in leadership. An Adm. Mullenix has claimed to be the officer in charge here, but we were told…" Horner massaged his temples as a sharp pain sliced through his head and his headache returned with renewed vigor. He knew what this meant all to well: with Marín absent, the dissenting factions in her fleet had made a move. Marín couldn't very well take the Liberté, the only other ship with senior personnel, out for her mission, and she trusted her fleet. There's a lot of broken trust to go around. He wondered if Valerian had anything to do with this mutiny.

"No, absolutely not. Adm. Marín is in charge of the fleet. That is mutiny, plain and simple. Do not take orders from Mullenix."

"I thought so. What are your recommendations? I… don't know who to trust here…"

"I don't know either..." Horner said, thinking for a moment. "Stay away from any Moebius ships for now… Form up away from the rest of the Umojan Fleet—with us or the protoss if you have to. Let us deal with the Liberté and draw the rest of the mutineers out. And talk to Marín."

Capt. Calvino seemed angered or embarrassed by the situation.

"Right. I apologize on behalf of the Umojan Navy for this… unprofessional…"

"Don't worry. There's a lot of that going on right now. We'll get through this. Horner out."

The adjutant cut the call. Forgetting his hangover and the night before, Horner hit the door at a dead run. Horner lamented that the next few days were supposed to be a time to recoup for the Terran Republic and the Umojans. The Umojan Fleet needed that more than anyone. The Terran Republic needed to quell the mutiny before it got out of hand.

So much for a little rest…


There was a bright flash and thunder reverberated through the transport shuttle's cabin. The shuttle dropped a few feet suddenly.

"Bad storm out there," the pilot said over the sound of rain pelting the metal skin of the ship. "Going to be in for some chop." She needn't have said anything, Stukov thought. It is very obvious there's a storm outside. It seemed like bad luck, but in reality the storm was cover. Less visibility for us means less for them as well. The zerg rely on their senses; we rely on technology. Technology can break down, but the senses are more easily fooled. It was especially a boon for him. He would have an easier time deploying his psi emitter. From his seat where he was strapped into the hold of the shuttle, he looked back at the psi emitter, tied down in the back by large, polyfiber belts. Behind it was Vermaak's heavily modified CMC and vulture, the latter creaking with metal-on-metal scraping as its bulk shifted with the shuttle's movements, its wheels also secured by belts. Traveling somewhere behind them, he knew, were several transports full of marines. But only he and Vermaak and the supplies were traveling ahead, himself to place the psi emitter, and Vermaak to survey the terrain and double back to his marines (Stukov assumed—he did not know his specific orders). Vermaak was a man of few words, and Stukov could appreciate that. He was of a type that he saw frequently in marines—stern, efficient, and laconic. They had spoken little; Stukov assumed that was the way he liked it.

As they neared Grellna's brood, he could feel the zerg scratching against his psyche. There were millions of them. Zagara had not been exaggerating when she said her brood was too large. That was… an understatement. Her brood recognized him as one of their own but were confused why they could not get through to him. He let them in briefly to establish a telepathic connection, mimicking the sedate, repetitive thoughts of an infested terran. They became bored with him quickly. Furtively, he pushed his mind into the interconnected comb of their hive mind, using it to enhance his psionic power and telepathy. He could hear the pilot's thoughts as she focused on her duties—nothing abnormal there. But Vermaak's mind startled him. Negative emotions poured out of him, so much so that Stukov turned to Vermaak with surprise, barely able to keep his expression neutral. Vermaak's eyes snapped towards him.

"You gotta problem?" Vermaak said, leaning forward and staring at him intently, not with anger but seemingly agitated.

"Just… thinking," Stukov said. He leaned back onto the hull, trying to look nonchalant. The metal was cold on his exposed shoulder and it startled him.

"Second guessing?"

"No, our plan is sound. Rushed, but sound. I draw away the zerg and subdue as many as I can. Your force moves on Grellna's central hive… and we take her brood from under her. It will take time, but once we turn her own brood against her, she will fall."

"Huh. I'm glad you're confident."

"You're not?"

"In myself I am."

Stukov's eyes narrowed. He knew that it would be a long time before the Umojans would completely trust him, but this was a man whose life he had saved. Stukov thought that he would have been less reluctant to accept him as an ally. The negativity streamed off him still. He was tempted to peer into his mind. His resolve waivered. With Marín he kept a respectful distance; he had been in her mind before they were allies, and he had seen nothing there to alarm him. But Vermaak… He had assumed he was "reserved" before, but now it seemed like he had just been silently stewing about something. And he was out of practice. Vermaak would be a good test of his abilities. His consciousness, like an invisible tendril of infestation, probed into his mind. I've got to keep him talking to get him thinking.

"If there's something you would like to say to me, now is the time."

"You left us in the dark about this. You saved a lot of people's lives—and mine—but you can't run us around."

"That's all? That I wasn't as up front as you wanted?"

The scenes that flashed in Vermaak's mind changed from images of the front on which they were about to fight to images of Marín—and Stukov. They were memories—of when he was introduced to Vermaak onboard the Aleksander, his defense of her against Valerian, and OA6. And then there was more. Of Stukov with his hand around her neck. Marín, her naked skin pale as if in death and veins of infestation crawling under her skin. He couldn't discern the emotion behind it—whether it was fear, anger, or something else—but his worry was clear.

He still believes I will infest her.

Vermaak never answered. What Stukov had revealed would have angered him before, but if anything, it now just made him feel like he had more in common with Vermaak. They both wanted the same thing: the "reckless" Umojan Fleet Admiral out of harm's way.

"We're nearing the drop. You boys ready?"

"Yup. Take us in," Vermaak said.

The storm had lessened in intensity when they set down, but Stukov could see that they had just outran it, and in a few hours, it would be upon them again. Vermaak got into his CMC and mounted his vulture, walking it slowly down the ramp and into the muddy soil. His wheels slipped in it, but he was able to guide it out of the way.

"Not going to be a good day for a ride."

"Not a good day for anything," Stukov said, picking his boots up out of the mud. He used his monstrous hand to level a place in the soil just behind the shuttle, and then carefully maneuvered—with Vermaak's help—the psi emitter down the ramp. Lightning struck a barren crag not far from where they were standing. The thunder was almost deafening.

"That going to be a problem?"

"Lightning strikes? Hm, I don't think so. Should be grounded."

Vermaak stood watching him as he tinkered with the psi emitter, turning it on and programming it for use. The frequency and trajectory were important based on where the enemy zerg were. Stukov, of course, knew. He was connected to them and could feel the ones that were closest by. Rain poured off his cap as he bent over it, shielding its holo-emitter from the storm. He still saw Vermaak out of the corner of his eye watching him, the giant arms of his CMC crossed in front of him.

"Should you not head to your troops now?"

"That's not my orders."

"No? What are they?"

"To keep an eye on you."

Stukov stood slowly, eyeing him. "For what purpose?"

"You're out here alone, with no armor, in a thunderstorm, about to do some animal-whisperer shit with the fucking zerg. Marín wanted to make sure you didn't die before the battle even started."

"So, once I get this up and running and don't get killed by the first wave of zerg, you will leave?"

"No, Marín has this annoying idea you're important. She'd like you back alive."

Stukov coughed into his sleeve to hide his laughter and obvious smirk. He felt a certain amount of glee at being shown favor by Marín; she cared about what happened to him, even if it was for selfish reasons. I can live with her appreciating just my abilities—for now. Her ordering Vermaak, a man who suspected him of being a danger to her to protect him made it just that much more hilarious to him. He seems to know I want something from her. I don't think he would guess that it wasn't to infest her.

"Tell the shuttle captain to leave. I am ready."

Vermaak trudged into the shuttle and barked at the captain. He walked back down the ramp, his boots clanging against it. The last step he slid from the water and mud. The ramp tilted back up into the shuttle and the back closed. As the light from the hold slowly vanished, Stukov suddenly realized how dark it was. The terminus must be close—and the storm. Stukov saw well in low light; he watched as Vermaak turned on the spotlights on his suit and his instrumentation panel which outlined the rocks and vegetation around them, illuminating the inside of his helmet. The shuttle vanished into the grey clouds above.

"How long do we wait?" Vermaak said.

"Not long," he said. "Hopefully only a few come here—enough that I can control them all. If not, I may have to turn them on the others, or we will finish them ourselves. If an overlord appears, do not fire on it. I need them to increase my ability to bend the zerg to my will."

Vermaak grunted his agreement.

"Once you get the bugs under control, I'll get my men here, radio Marín, and we'll advance."

"Of course."

Stukov turned swiftly away from Vermaak in a way that startled him. He flinched and raised his gun. Standing perfectly still, his eyes glowering towards the middle distance, he heard something that Vermaak could not.

"What do you…"

Stukov motioned for Vermaak to stay silent. Ahead, hidden in a lava tube, a clutch of zerglings was clawing their way to the surface. He would have liked some bigger zerg first, but they would have to do. They staggered towards the psi emitter, its signal confusing them. With is mind he reached out, coaxing them towards him. The zerglings followed, because they couldn't hear their master, and being separated from the swarm panicked them. They were bred to want direction and would heed whatever psionic call was directed at them in absence of others.

"The first are coming."

The zerglings entered the clearing; Vermaak trained his gun on them as they loped towards Stukov. They ran around him, smelling him in their way and sensing him, checking him out. Stukov held out his infested hand and one of the zerglings licked it. They burrowed into the ground near him. More came—and quickly: hydralisks, roaches, a few mutalisks. Soon he was at capacity.

"I have to stop… I cannot connect to more zerg. Will you turn off the psi emitter?" He was afraid even to move or to think about something else. Doing so might let one slip away.

"Can you walk me though it?"

"Walk you… Just press the 'off' button."

"Where?"

Stukov started swearing under his breath but suddenly stopped. The ground shook almost imperceptively. Vermaak sighed.

"Just tell me where it is. Quit acting like I'm a dumbass. I've never seen one of these before. And you Earthers put your interfaces in the weirdest of places."

Stukov waved at him to shut up. Vermaak stopped and listened. There was a rhythmic thumping in the distance.

"Is that…"

"An ultralisk."

"Fuck. We need that."

"I cannot handle it. Not with this many already. Get out of here. Find me an overlord."

"How?"

"I don't know! Figure it out, man!"

Vermaak got on his bike and rode quickly away. The ultralisk was moving slowly, but the earth was trembling with its steps as it got closer.

It must be very large—a mature one. If it gets here before Vermaak gets back, I will have to kill it. I hope what I have here is enough to do that. He waited. The sounds of its footsteps were closer and closer. Finally, it entered the clearing. It shook its head as it emerged from the brush, vines and leaves tangled in its huge scythe-like mandibles. It looked at him. Maybe it won't attack. It may see me as an infested… The ultralisk lowered its head. It raised one of its front feet and pawed the ground. Stukov sighed inwardly. So, this is going to be my luck today? Fine. Come to papa.

With a roar, the ultralisk charged him, his head near the ground. Yes, that's the spirit, charge me, he thought darkly. The zerglings he gained control over first obediently ruptured from the ground and scrambled towards the ultralisk. With them, he targeted the beast's back leg. Other zerglings followed. They pounced on it like a pack of hyenas, knocking it off balance. It dragged its haunches across the ground, roaring more, and turning in a circle. It flipped one of the zerglings away with its mandible cutting into its neck. The zergling slid in the dirt without resisting, leaving a trail of zerg blood. It was obviously dead. He ordered the rest of the zerglings up on its back where it couldn't reach them. Patiently, he waited for the ultralisk to kill them. Then I will throw something a little larger at it.

Stukov counted his zerg, feeling around for hydralisks. In his moment of inattention, one of the zerglings, lacerated by the ultralisk, was flung right at him head first. As it hit him, its tusks bored into his chest. Reflexively, he grabbed it and ripped it off him—taking a large chunk of his flesh with it. He looked down at himself. He was slick with blood and two gaping wounds on his torso steamed in the cold, rainy air. Cursing himself, he filled his arm with his healing antigen and applied it to himself. The pain dulled his mind. Unbidden, hydralisks began popping up all around him.

No. No… Think… Concentrate!

There was a comm unit on the psi emitter. He needed to get to it. Turning too quickly, he slipped in the mixture of dirt, water, and his blood at his feet. Now, there was dirt in his wounds though he knew that mattered very little. He reached for the comm but felt himself being dragged away. One of the zerglings had him by the pant leg and was dragging him into a circle of other zerglings. Hydralisks began slithering their way towards him. He lost his cap as he kept being dragged, unable to get his footing or grab the ground due to the thick mud. The sky over him darkened—or so he thought. Lightning flashed overhead, and he realized the ultralisk was above him. It brayed loudly. The zerg stepped back, allowing the ultralisk to bring its head and one of its sharp mandibles down on him. He reached up with his infested arm and grabbed the mandible. It sliced into his hand, but there was enough strength in his arm to catch it and keep it from slicing him from shoulder to hip. The force of the blow pushed him into the mud. Stukov could feel it filling the tears in his face and flowing over his legs and uniform. But the other zerg were advancing, and in his panicked state, he couldn't subdue him.

Stukov heard gunshots in the distance.

"Vermaak!" He yelled desperately. The gunshots came nearer. Some of the zerg lost interest in him and turned off to investigate. The ultralisk pulled its head back up, taking Stukov into the air with it. He let go quickly a few feet off the ground and fell down in the mud on his back. Finally able to get his feet under him, he scrambled away just in time for the ultralisk's mandibles to snap at him where his head had been seconds ago. Vermaak entered the clearing.

"What the fuck, Stukov. This is handling it?" He said angrily over the speaker on his comm.

But Vermaak went quiet when he saw the state Stukov was in. Their eyes met briefly. Vermaak pointed sharply upwards. Stukov followed his gaze.

An overlord.

The shots he heard was Vermaak getting its attention and luring it in range of the psi emitter. The ultralisk chased him around the psi emitter, bowling over the zerg in its way. Vermaak shot at it to get the ultralisk's attention. He was unsuccessful. The larger zerg were smarter than the smaller ones. They needed more complicated nervous systems to control their bodies, and because of this counted as more than one zerg to the swarm. Large zerg often weren't just one entity but colonies of them—and the smartest of the large zerg brutes were the overlords. Stukov cleared his mind—as much as he could with an ultralisk chasing him. He connected with the overlord, and it fought him. But finally, gathering his senses and power, he conquered its will. Through it, he reached the other zerg called by the psi emitter. The ultralisk obediently stopped. He told them all to burrow and await his orders.

Stukov walked around for a moment, dazed. He saw his hat on the ground and picked it up. It was covered in mud Futilely, he tried to dust it off, but he just got more mud on it from his sleeve—and blood. He threw it back on the ground and kicked at it, swearing. Suddenly, feeling spent, he collapsed in a heap in the mud. Vermaak stepped carefully over to him.

"You gonna be all right?"

"Yes, he said weakly. Give me some time to recover. That… did not go as I had planned."

"Huh, you think?"

"Now that we have the overlord, we should summon your men. We can move the emitter to the next point now. The overlord will allow me to gather the zerg we need to overwhelm Grellna."

"I'll contact Marín. We shouldn't move without air support."

"Of course."

Stukov allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes. Soon, there would be banshees and liberators overhead. He wondered if Marín would use her wraith to keep an eye on him. He smiled slightly at the thought.

"They're not answering."

Stukov's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"I… don't know. I can't get the Uhuru."

Stukov sat up. "Can you hail another ship?"

"Hang on, I'll try." While Vermaak tried each ship in turn, Stukov watched, a sense of dread building. "Nobody is answering."

"I… I'll contact Izsha." Stukov stood slowly and walked to the psi emitter, keying in the frequency for his leviathan's antiquated comm system.

"Yes, Admiral. How can I assist you?"

"Izsha, what's going on up there?" Izsha blinked her large black eyes at him and cocked her head.

"Our status is normal. Abathur is…"

"No, Izsha, what are the humans doing?"

"Oh. One moment." Izsha disappeared into the ship for a few minutes, then returned. "There appears to be some sort of standoff occurring. Frequency jamming has been enabled, but not for Directorate frequencies."

"Well, no, of course not. What do you mean by 'standoff?'"

"The Uhuru has been attacked and surrounded. Other vessels seem to be trying to break their blockade."

"What?" Vermaak yelled, tromping over to the psi emitter.

"Is it a mutiny?" He said to Vermaak.

Vermaak threw his hands up in the air and stomped away.

"Goddamn it, Jana! Shit!"

Stukov stood at the comm, overwhelmed with shock. Soon, rage crept in.

"Now what are we going to do? We only have the troops we came down with…"

"We're going to modify the psi emitter target plan. We will take our time and build a larger force. Then, we'll crush Grellna on our own."

"Then what? How do we stop the mutiny? How do we even get off this damn planet?"

Stukov looked up at the overlord and back at Vermaak.

"That you can leave to me."


As far as the evacuation of Tarsonis City went, Dr. Joan Slavens felt that she was very lucky. She had made it off the planet before the main invasion rolled through, and she had been diverted from Tyrador to Korhal before it had fell. Now, she felt like she was where she was the most useful: behind the front lines, broadcasting hope and rationality to all that would listen. Slavens felt slightly nostalgic; this was the first time she had made a "war" broadcast since the Dominion was still in power. And she loved the feel of the studio. It was basically a dimly lit closet, herself on one side of a glass wall crowded in by soundproofing foam. She was perched on a stool with a mic in front of her. A holo-emitter projected on the other side onto the glass so that she could see who she was talking to. The sound was piped to her headphones. For such a small operation, it was very professional—and worth what little money she had to pay. But they were betting on her. She had a following, and once Korhal got wind of her new broadcast, they would start to generate more ad revenue and maybe even get donations.

Many—especially those who lived on the outskirts of the city or away from metropolitan centers—had been left behind by the Terran Republic. Normally, she would cast blame on the Republic, but there had been no way to predict that Earth would return and try to take over. After she had landed on Korhal, she had made a count of the people she knew—and found that most of them had survived and made their way to safe zones. But a few hadn't and were forced to bunker down on either Tarsonis or Tyrador. She had made contact with someone in Tarsonis City. It wasn't a "friend" really—more of a friend of a friend. They had consented to be interviewed for the program and to tell them what life was like under the Directorate and Marcos Marinakis. She couldn't remember his name, so she shuffled through her notes.

Here it is—Tyler Hogan. Former marine, now a Tarsonis City firefighter. He's someone a lot of people can relate to. This is going to be great. She tapped on the glass and mouthed to the sound tech "How long?" He pressed a button on his console and the sound in her headphones came on.

"Five minutes."

"Thanks," she said, her mic now on. The two of them chatted about the war and about the sound tech's family. But then the show had to go on.

"Hello everyone, I'm Dr. Joan Slavens—welcome to my new show. I hope you're all safe, or finding safety this evening…" Since this was her first broadcast, Slavens detailed her experience escaping the Directorate, filling time until they could speak to their guest. Right on time, the sound tech told her over her headset that Tyler Hogan was on the line.

"Good evening, Mr. Hogan. Thank you for coming on my new show."

"Thanks for the invite, Doc. Call me Ty."

"Okay, Ty. Tell us… What's the situation there in Tarsonis City? What can you tell our listeners tonight?"

"Well, if I can be perfectly honest with you…"

"Of course!"

"Things are a lot better now than they have been in a long time."

"I'm sorry, wha-what?"

"The Terran Republic was such a sham… And the Dominion had the right idea, but they didn't follow through with all they said they would. Arcturus was a bully, and his kid was spineless."

"Um."

"The Directorate has rolled in, and it's kind of surprising. I feel like there's real leadership here. Marcos Marinakis has promised us food, shelter, and that we'll all be back on our feet, and so far that's been true. I've seen nobody react that fast to a disaster."

Slavens was suspicious that he may have been reading from a card. He was also probably getting paid. When Slavens saw Marinakis the last time, he had been grinning like an idiot, almost slobbering on himself. He couldn't find his ass with a roadmap and two flashlights before, much less now after what the UED has done to him. But she let him talk. If that was what whoever had gotten to him wanted him to say, it was safest to let him say it.

"… and when the Directorate holds an election for us and the people of Tyrador, I know who has my vote."

"So, you're okay with the fascist UED regime coming in and overthrowing the Terran Republic?"

"Honey, this is the fourth government Tarsonis has had in the last, what thirty years? As long as they're not burning everything down, I could give a shit less. Marinakis seems fine. At least he didn't leave us like Horner did… Or you did." That was a low blow. Slavens decided she would just let him have it.

"Okay, look buddy. I know they offered you some money to come on my show, and you probably really don't care about who is in power on Tarsonis, but if you'd have bothered to crack a history book, I don't know, ever you would know what kind of people the Directorate are. They've killed millions of people just because they didn't agree with them and shipped thousands more out here as basically an experiment to see if we would survive. They show up on our doorstop and immediately start attacking us and you think they're going to be a nice change from the Terran Republic, which was just about to start implementing free elections? I'm sorry, but did you hit your head during the invasion?"

Clearly, Hogan was not prepared for push back. She could hear him shuffling on the other end.

"Uhh, well, I mean, if you just talked to the guy…"

"What guy?"

"Marinakis."

"I have spoken to him before—at length. He's a buffoon."

"I mean now."

It suddenly clicked with Slavens. Do they want to talk to me? She thought.

"As in… right now?"

"No, later."

"I… guess?" Slavens thought about how lucky she was about to get. Talking to Marinakis would be the scoop of the war. The ad revenue would make them all very rich. She would win journalistic awards. "Get his people to talk to my people."

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "Are we done?"

"If you want to be."

The line went dead. Slavens looked at her tech. He threw his hands in the air and was as confused as she was. Slavens made a save, discussing how odd the interview had been. Turning it around, she talked about how confused some people were bound to be, and that once they worked through the shock of the invasion, they would realize that they were under a pitiless, totalitarian regime.

At the end of the show, she put her headphones on the back of her chair and fluffed out her curly hair. Then she sat for several minutes, working through what was about to happen. She was going to speak to the new face of the Directorate in the Koprulu sector. From him, she would maybe learn their reason for being here, and what actually had happened to him. The prospect both excited and frightened her, because it would make her more famous but also potentially make her a target.

I guess we'll see what he has to say.