One note: I have retconned the name of the second broodmother. Her name is now Drezsera. Sorry it took so long!


It weighed on Marín that what happened on the bridge during the mutiny would have to remain between her and Stukov. She did not like keeping things from her crew, but it would be necessary to do so. The fleet would doubt him after his loss of control to the Swarm and his subsequent actions against Oyaleni. They would not understand, and Marín felt that she did. Now, anyway. With what he's been through… Oyaleni stirred as two medics dragged her up from her position on the floor and wrestled her onto a gurney. Vermaak looked on, still in his CMC, his rifle trained on her as Dr. Laurent scanned her with her ocular implants. Her eyebrows arched quizzically.

"She has taken a beating, obviously, but she seems almost completely healed…"

"I have some… regenerative abilities… in addition to my infestation," Stukov said, his voice raspier than usual.

Is that strain? No. The man can't feel tired. You have to be alive to feel tired. Oyaleni's eyes lolled over towards Stukov.

"Monster! You… parasite!" she screamed, fighting her way back up from the gurney. Marín and Stukov exchanged meaningful glances.

"Stand down, General!" Vermaak bellowed, taking a step forward and hefting his rifle at her threateningly. Marín could tell he was livid from the tone of his voice over his CMC speakers. She wondered if he would have the nerve to actually shoot her if the situation demanded it. Dr. Laurent pulled her medical bag from under the gurney and quickly loaded a hyposol with tranquilizers. As the medics pushed her back down, Dr. Laurent plunged the hyposol down on her bare wrist—and it did nothing. Oyaleni growled and continued to grow agitated. Stukov stepped forward from opposite Marín at the war table and moved to put his body in between her and Oyaleni. As he did, his back tensed, and she watched his arm expand slightly under his environmental suit. Great. That's all I need. Both of them unnecessarily worried for my welfare. She was grateful for Stukov's intervention in the mutiny, but valuing her life over others was a distraction that could compromise their main mission: to send the UED home.

"The tranquilizers… don't seem to be working…" Dr. Laurent said, her voice even despite Oyaleni struggling against her as she loaded the hyposol again.

"Probably a regrettable side effect of my mutagen…"

"HE TRIED TO INFEST ME!" Oyaleni yelled, sitting up again. Her voice was fearful and delirious.

"SHUT UP, JANE!" Vermaak, tired of her bullshit, used his heavy mechanical hand to push her back on the gurney as Dr. Laurent, on her third round of sedatives, was successful in rendering her unconscious.

"Just get her out of here!" Marín said, sidestepping Stukov. He looked back over his human shoulder at her uncertainly and their eyes met again. Even without communicating telepathically, she knew what he was thinking. Would they believe Oyaleni? They won't take her word over ours, Stukov. She's a mutineer. And I'm sure as hell not going to tell them what happened. Stukov nodded almost unperceptively. Marín was unsure if he read her eyes or her mind, but they understood each other.

With Oyaleni finally incapacitated, the medics and Dr. Laurent wheeled her away. Vermaak strode noisily across the bridge, keeping a close eye on them. The lift door opened as they neared, and Barre and Ahlberg stumbled out of it, blinking in the bright light of the bridge, breathers still hanging around their necks. Barre was uncharacteristically disheveled, his normally perfectly styled black hair plastered in wet curls on his forehead. Ahlberg, whom Marín knew to be hot-natured, was blood red, his undershirt removed and his tunic unzipped to his navel revealing his fuzzy, sweaty chest. Marín was glad to see them. Their state aside, it could have been worse. It has been worse, Marín thought, remembering the day Vermaak came back missing most of his leg.

Barre and Ahlberg moved out of the medics' way as they loaded Oyaleni into the lift. Vermaak followed them. Barre's tiredness seemed to vanish when he saw Oyaleni on the stretcher. He lived for drama and intrigue, and she could tell he was invigorated by what he saw. That curiosity might be a problem, Marín thought. As Vermaak moved into the lift, he turned to her.

"I'm putting Oyaleni under the brig and she's gonna stay there," Vermaak said, pausing in the door of the lift. "I'll have a guard on her twenty-four seven."

"See that you do," Marín said. Stukov had moved back to the war table and had begun to mull over their data on the UED fleet. Despite this, she saw him tense at the word "brig." "And while you're down there, check on our Directorate guests."

"Right," Vermaak said with professional finality. He stepped inside the lift, but as the door began to close, caught it with the side of his metal gauntlet. He paused for a second, as if reluctant to speak again. His CMC whirred as he shifted his weight slightly, and the reticule on his faceplate moved towards Stukov, signaling where his attention was focused. Stukov turned to him, either sensing his attention or noticing the pregnant pause.

"You did good, Admiral."

Stukov turned to face him, straightened to his full height, and nodded his acceptance of the begrudging compliment. The metallic fingers of Vermaak's CMC slid off the side of the door, and it closed with a soft hiss.

When the door closed, it was as if the atmospheric pressure in the room had dropped. Ahlberg, now at his station, let out a relieved sigh and fanned himself with a datapad.

"Same," Barre said. "I don't think I can trust a soldier again. How could she? I can't believe… "

"I have a hard time believing it too," Marín said. She and Oyaleni had their differences, but she did not understand the lengths Oyaleni went to overturn her command.

"Me neither," Ahlberg said, trotting back down the few steps to the war table and grasping Marín in a sweaty hug. "Thank god you're all right."

"And thank god Stukov was able to get up here," Barre said. "But how was he able to get here and get in? The monitors were off… and Vermaak wouldn't tell us." Oh, here we go, Marín thought. He's already fishing. "What I wouldn't have given to see you storm the bridge, Stukov." Stukov didn't look like he wanted to answer, but reluctantly turned to Barre, trying to formulate something to say.

"You missed very little. It was… quick."

"He walked right in," Marín said, half-sarcastically. Barre looked at her and blinked a few times before realizing that neither of them was going to elaborate. Stukov had turned back towards the war table and was regarding something there intently.

"Fine… Keep your secrets—for now. Later, after a few mai tais, I know you'll tell me all about it. How long do you think until Oasis is back in service? I needed a drink hours ago." With the mention of Oasis, Marín remembered her promise to Stukov. After some rest, some crew bonding and moral boosting might be in order. I could kill two birds with one stone—but later. There's a lot to do right now. And she felt like she was forgetting something.

"Let them at least sweep up the mess, Barre. And who knows? Marines might've made off with all the booze."

"Those wretches. They better not have."

"Speaking of which," Marín said, shifting her attention to Ahlberg and the conversation away from Stukov. "Do you have those numbers on who was part of the mutiny and who was not?"

"Not fully. The Fuerza seems to have been the main ship involved in the, uh, uprising… Unsurprising, really. That's where Oyaleni was stationed after coming from the Liberté. The liberators that scrambled to intercept ours came from there as well. All other Edge Fleet ships stood down when Oyaleni was captured.

"Were the others that fearful of her?" Stukov said. He sounds tired again… or just subdued. Sheepish maybe? Is he embarrassed? What happened may be weighing on him.

"I think they were fearful of what she was selling," she said, looking him in the eye, "That you had infested me, and that I was under your control." Stukov's face darkened. "But after Barre and Ahlberg were able to contact you, they also broadcast my most recent scan from decontam to be verified by their ships' medical officers."

"And the Fuerza was the only ship that seemed to ignore this," Barre chimed in.

"Have you heard directly from their captain?" Stukov said.

"No, not face-to-face…" Barre said.

"We should send someone over there. They may still be under marine control," Stukov said.

"Field that, Ahlberg," Marín said, turning to him. "Send whatever marines are ready and aren't with Vermaak. And expect resistance from their men… but if they haven't fired on us…"

"There may be something going on there internally. I'm on it." Ahlberg gathered up his datapad again and started walking to the lift. "And maybe it's cooler downstairs."

Marín chuckled as the lift doors closed behind him.

"What's out next course of action?" Stukov said.

"We should raise Admiral Horner. Tell him what happened and that everything is under control now. Barre?"

"Raising the Hyperion, aye."

Horner picked up immediately.

"Admiral Marín! Stukov!" Horner said, a look of relief washing over his face. "You had me worried there. What in the belt happened?"

"Oyaleni took me hostage and… tried to instigate a mutiny. Stukov had to… subdue her."

"General Oyaleni?"

"Yes, we're dealing with that internally. Lieutenant General Vermaak will take over for her as head of all marine deployments. In the meantime…" Marín looked at Stukov. "I think it best if we return to the Beynac."

What about the other broodmother? Stukov thought to her. His voice sounded worn to him even in her head. The warmth was hardly there, and she could feel what she thought was pain.

She can wait, Marín thought back. Stukov nodded. "I need to talk to the leader of the ships that were sent from Umoja's shipyards," Marín said to Horner, "and a lot of our fleet has repairs that would be better performed with the hardware that the Beynac has on hand."

"So… you took down Grellna despite the mutiny?"

"Yes, Lieutenant General Vermaak and I were successful in taking over Grellna's brood. One broodmother remains. I agree we should regroup, but we should not leave without doing some reconnaissance to assess the other broodmother as a threat," Stukov said.

"When Ahlberg comes back, I'll speak to him about a probe…"

"No need. I am communicating with Izsha. She has the coordinates—and an overseer would be less conspicuous."

"Fair enough," Marín said. Stukov got a far-off look in his eye for a moment.

"It is underway."

"We're going to need some time as well," Horner said. "We got into a little war dance of our own over here… Vice Admiral Mullenix began taking pot shots at the ships you left behind and eventually us… I had to call in a favor and enlist the protoss to get a handle on him." Marín took a step back in shock. She had not suspected that the mutiny would embroil the rest of the fleet. If anything, she thought that Mullenix would simply block communications and wait for Oyaleni's signal.

"Then on the behalf of the Umojan Protectorate, I apologize for their actions. We knew that he would most likely be in line with Oyaleni, but he should not have taken up arms against you. He was not acting on orders from our government."

"Relax. I know that had nothing to do with you," Horner said, waving his hand to stop her apology. "Just rest up and get back here so we can plan how we're going to punch the UED out of the sky." He said forcefully, punching his hand into his palm. Marín admired his enthusiasm and smiled despite her exhaustion. Horner was a bit nebbish, but a warm soul. She thought of him as a humanized dog. A golden retriever in a naval uniform. She started to chuckle and get slap happy but suppressed it. Something similar had happened when she thought of Stukov kicking back and watching the news. Snapping out of it, she realized she had forgotten something important.

"One more thing. When we get back… I want to give Admiral Augustin and the crew of the Vrede their sendoff. It'll take time to prepare, but… I'd like to do it before this war gets any more heated."

"Understood. I'll make sure everyone's on their best behavior when you get here. Horner out."

"Mullenix attacked Core Fleet? Are they insane?" Barre said.

"Valerian had something to do with this," Stukov said coldly. "This was not just about possible infestation. I—" The comm interrupted him before he could say anything further.

"It's General Vermaak," Barre said.

"Patch him through."

"Vermaak here. I got bad news. The kid is gone. So are his friends."

Marín sucked in breath, and a wave of shock washed over Stukov's face before he returned to his sullen stony demeanor.

"Is there any indication where he has gone?" Marín asked.

"Afraid not. With the power off and the fail safes deactivated, he coulda just walked outta his cell."

Marín watched Stukov ball his fist in frustration.

"Look for him—and the shuttle crew. Make that your top priority."

"Right. Babysittin' it is." Vermaak called to someone off camera before he cut the comm. Marín, Barre, and Stukov stood in the remaining silence. Barre watched both of them, trying to make it look like he wasn't. Stukov was muttering something under his breath that Marín didn't understand but was clearly profane.

"They can't have gone far, Stukov," Marín said quietly. "They're probably somewhere on the ship hiding out, unaware they can return."

"I'm sure you are correct…" Stukov said, the exhaustion she thought she was imagining creeping back into his voice. Losing his son, however briefly, on top of what happened… he's not inhuman. There's only so much he can stand, I'm sure. I need to watch him… She knew that if she didn't, something worse than the incident with Oyaleni could occur. She hoped nothing had happened to his son. Without Gregory, he may cease to be their ally. Though he seemed to care about their cause and seemed interested in establishing a rapport with her, that may change if his son was harmed—especially if it was by one of her subordinates. "…but of course I worry about…"

The comm came on again.

"It's Ahlberg," Barre said.

"Put him on," Marín said. She could tell by the look on his face that whatever he was going to say was going to something she didn't want to hear. His gaze was unsteady and so was his voice.

"Uh, Admiral Marín… Admiral Stukov… I think you might want to get down here to the starboard hanger…"

"What? Why?"

"It'll be easier to explain if you see it for yourself…"

"Okay…" Marín said uncertainly. She could feel Stukov's gaze boring into her. He was alert now, and she could see the anguish and fear on his face. "We'll be there in a few minutes." Without a word, Stukov followed Marín into the lift. "Computer, hangar level." Stukov said nothing as the lift got up to speed. His eyes never left her face. But other than the whirr of the lift, he said nothing.

"I know what you're thinking. Don't jump to conclusions."

"Renata, what other conclusion could there be? They found him… or they found his body. There is no other reason why they would want me to come down there."

"It could be for another reason…"

After his battle with Oyaleni and his fugue state, she could tell that Stukov was hanging by a thread. She wasn't sure what emotion would rush from him if it broke—rage, sorrow, pain, or all of the above. And towards whom it would be directed. She didn't know what he would do if Gregory was dead. Half of the reason why he was here would be gone. Marín again questioned if he would stay. Would he leave? Would he turn against us? We're screwed if he does with the Uhuru still needing repairs… His zerg fleet would just… devour us… But despite this, seeing the human anguish in his face, she felt compassion for him.

"I don't…" he began. She took a step towards him. He stopped talking as she put her hand lightly on his chest near the control unit for his environmental suit.

"Alexei… we don't know that. And if that is what happened…" He seemed to calm as he looked down at her, his eyes softening. "Then we'll deal with it… and those responsible." Stukov said nothing, but tentatively put his gloved hand over hers.

The door to the lift opened and they walked quickly to the starboard hangar. They passed many officers, injured, haggard, their uniforms half discarded from the discomfort of the long-inoperative environmental systems. When they finally entered the hangar, it was in a state of disarray as Marín had never seen it. It was as if everything had shifted forward slightly, and some things were just gone. Ahlberg and Jansa walked briskly towards them, their eyes wide with concern. When Marín stopped, Stukov continued past her unnoticing, walking hurriedly towards them.

"What have you found?" he said, anxiety tinging his voice. Ahlberg stopped dead in his tracks as Stukov moved towards him. With his arm and his ripped atmo suit casting tall shadows into the now only partially lit hangar, he looked brooding and threatening. Jansa also stopped, putting her hands up. In one was a twisted, white object. Marín didn't even see Stukov move when he snatched it out of Jansa's hand with his infested claw. Stukov stopped, studying it. "It's his psi dampener. What does it mean? Where is he?"

Ahlberg sighed.

"The Directorate shuttle Admiral Marín and Nova commandeered is gone. So is the flight crew—and Gregory."

"They… escaped?"

"We think so…" Jansa said, "They made a mess of my office… and the hanger. Someone stole a powercell and bypassed the door mechanism. The shield didn't activate and everything that wasn't strapped down was vented into space… and they went with all of it."

"Then… they're alive?"

"What? Well, I mean, probably," Ahlberg said.

"Alexei, I know that's not the best of news…" Marín said quietly, standing beside him.

"It's better than I thought it would be," he said, gripping what remained of the psi dampener. "Or…" he said, turning to Marín, a fearful look on his face.

"You… you don't think they would go back to the fleet?" Marín said.

"My son is under mistaken the impression that the Directorate has something to offer him."

"But you told me the two women we captured knew well enough not to go back. Do you think he has somehow changed their minds?"

"Perhaps… but they could have changed his as well."

"They could be anywhere then," Ahlberg said.

"And the Directorate may discover them first," Stukov said.

"Not if we go after them now," Marín said. She thanked both Ahlberg and Jansa and motioned for Stukov to follow her. Once in the hallway, Marín pressed her hand against the long, black terminal that ran down the side of the corridor. The computer recognized her handprint and an interface appeared. "Call Lieutenant General Vermaak, please." Vermaak's familiar, weathered face appeared on the screen.

"Admiral?"

"Hey, Wynand… We have a situation. We think Gregory Stukov escaped in a shuttle and we need to find him. Who do you have available?"

"Shadowguards. Nearly all of them. If you're gonna catch a teek…"

"Baze then?"

"Better. How about Baze and his team?"

"Great. Have them come down to the starboard hangar and talk to Jansa. There might be some clue as to where they have gone there. I'll get Barre to contact other vessels in the area. Someone had to have been scanning when they left. Maybe someone saw them leave. I'll send you the report."

"Yep. They'll be underway in five minutes."

As Marín got off the comm with Vermaak and conferred with Barre, she thought about Vermaak and Stukov. She was glad that the two of them seemed to be getting along now, and that Vermaak was warming to him. Maybe when I begin "talking" with Stukov, I can bring him along. Stukov believes we have a lot in common, but Wynand's experience is closer to his even than mine. I'm sure they'd have more to talk about. And, she thought, Wynand needs friends. There was also something she didn't like about it. She knew why they were beginning to become friendly to each other (or at least part of it)—they had something in common: they both felt protective, More like overprotective, she thought, of me. With Vermaak it was because she was his partner, but with Stukov she thought it may have been him seeing himself in her, or out of a desire to mentor her. She wondered if they talked further that would become clear.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched Stukov lean heavily against the wall. His face was drawn, and the psionic light in his eyes dimmed. There was no mistaking it now; Stukov, despite his superhuman powers, was exhausted. Marín cut her call with Barre short.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Stukov misunderstood the question.

"Gregory's not dead. The news is better than I expected."

"I'm sorry. We'll do what we can to make this right."

"It's not your fault, Renata. It's Oyaleni's, and you have her in hand." A crewman walked by and Stukov lowered his voice. "And if I am honest, it makes me feel not so bad about what I did." Stukov looked wan for a moment and rubbed his face.

"Alexei?"

"I'm fine. I feel… Tired? No, spent. Out of power. I don't… I've never felt this way since…" She filled in the blanks. Since he died. "I should feel powerful with Grellna's brood under my control."

"This has been a lot to take in. And you've been shot and stunned point blank. If you're not exhausted physically, I'm sure you are mentally. Do you want me to find you somewhere here to rest? I gave Barre shit about it, but we could go to Oasis… or I could find you a room…"

Stukov perked up a bit at this, his brow raising and a bemused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"As much as I'd like that, I should return to my ship. I need a change of clothes—my own clothes—and I must prepare my new fleet for the journey back to the Beynac."

"Then I'll let you go," Marín said. She put out her hand but thought better of it and gave him a quick hug. He had saved her life, she reasoned. They were probably beyond a handshake. He seemed dazed when she pulled away. After walking to the port hangar, Stukov seemed to stumble over his goodbye. Marín watched as he disappeared into the hangar, feeling tired herself. Maybe I should try to rest too…


The sky outside the shuttle was packed with stars. There was no atmosphere on the tiny asteroid where they were parked, and the belt it resided in was almost a lightyear from the star it encircled. Dauphin looked out across the gray basin before them, focusing on a jagged cliff several hundred meters from the ground. She couldn't see Gregory, but she knew he was crouched there, his cloaking device engaged. She and KD sat in the cockpit, their environmental suits on and their pistols strapped to their hips, waiting for the other ship to signal them and touch down.

It had been very easy for Dauphin and KD to find jobs as "couriers" in Kel-Morian space. KD was a fast talker, they had a working ship with no registry, both of them had clean records (or any records, being from Earth), and they were a skilled shuttle flight crew. They also asked very few questions. Thinking it best that Gregory be off the radar, Dauphin and KD didn't mention their silent, invisible partner, fearing that it would attract attention or the kind of job that would put Gregory in harm's way. Their first job was for a wealthy wildcatter—a man named Hagopian who owned a business called Hagopian and Sons—and seemed easy enough. In his surveys, Hagopian had come across an unauthorized cloning lab owned by a crime syndicate. The syndicate offered him hush money in return for the only copies of his survey files. Of course, they weren't supposed to know this—Gregory had read the wildcatter's mind. Looking back, Dauphin realized that though they had met the senior Hagopian, they had not met any of his sons.

Both KD and Dauphin were frightened by the prospect of working with organized crime, but Gregory had been nonplussed. "You want to see some shit? Work for the government. These people are my grandmother in comparison." And for some reason, Dauphin trusted him. She trusted he would see the ship land, and if the deal went south, he would be there.

KD, her feet up on the console, moved her foot to look at the shipboard time display on her screen.

"They're late," she said.

"They're thugs," Dauphin said, "of course they're late." But it had only been five minutes. A shadow passed over the shuttle's viewport, and a small, nondescript cruiser set down a few meters away, cockpit viewport facing theirs. KD got up.

Wait for them to get out, a voice said in Dauphin's mind. KD stopped—she had heard it too. It was Gregory. He was watching. Dauphin let out a sigh of relief. They watched as two men—one tall and heavily biohacked, needing only a breather and a gun, the other, short, fat, in an atmo suit and carrying a large briefcase. They stood between the two ships, waiting for something to happen.

Okay, get the box… slowly. No reason to hurry. You have something they want. Dauphin opened the storage locker and pulled out a small, metal chest about the size of her fist. Inside, she knew, was a hard drive, on which was the survey that the wildcatter had surreptitiously made. They opened the hatch and walked around the back of the shuttle. KD had her hand on her weapon.

I'm watching the big guy. Don't worry.

The shorter man grinned when he saw them, clearly not perceiving them as a threat.

"You got the goods, girlie?"

"Yes, I have the, er, 'goods.'"

"Let's see it."

"You first," KD said.

The man shrugged and opened his case. It had in it three canisters. In each one was what looked like a fetus. KD and Dauphin looked at each other sideways.

What? What's wrong?

Did you know what the trade was?

Cloning supplies. Why?

YOU KNEW IT WAS BABIES?

Babies? What? No? I thought it might be a cloning matrix but…

IT'S A CLONE! MORE THAN ONE CLONE! BABY CLONES!

WHAT? Why would Hagopian want…?

Taking advantage of their distraction, the fat man pulled out a gun from a pocket on the back of his spacesuit and pointed it at them.

"Listen, it's nothing personal, but since your boss asked for clones of his dead kids, we couldn't let you go back knowing what the trade was… and we can't let your boss live either since he know where our facility is. We used your comm traffic to pinpoint his location. He's probably dead now. And you're the final loose e—" a shot rang out before he could pull the trigger. Dauphin screamed as the man's arm—gun still in its hand—landed next to her. His bodyguard rounded to where he thought the shot had come from, but he was slammed bodily to the ground by a sudden bolt of psionic energy roughly in the shape of a man. KD opened fire on the thug with the briefcase; the faceplate of his helmet exploded in bloody shards of glass before he could even react to his arm being severed. In front of them, Gregory appeared out of his cloak and wrenched the bodyguard's gun out of his hand, turning it on him. He raised his hands in surrender as he still laid on the ground.

"You sure are a lousy shot," KD said.

"What?" Gregory said, scowling at KD briefly before turning back to his prisoner.

"You shot his arm off. Were you aiming for his head?"

"No! Carolyn told me not to kill anyone! So, I shot him in the shoulder. Not my fault he wasn't wearing an armored atmo suit! Amateur."

"Amateur?" The bodyguard spat. "Do you know who you're dealing with?"

"Do you know who you're dealing with?" Gregory retorted, his eyes glowing white with psionic energy.

At Dauphin's feet, a comm device on the other man's detached wrist began to beep. The three of them looked at it.

"You'd better get that," the bodyguard said.

"Don't listen to him," Gregory snapped at Dauphin. He turned back to the bodyguard, "Look, you need to get in your cruiser and…"

The dead man's comm stopped beeping. Immediately, the bodyguard's began to beep instead.

"I need to get this."

"No! Do not…" Gregory began, pointing the bodyguard's rifle at his head.

The bodyguard quickly touched his comm. A green holographic image of a woman projected from it. She was dressed in a long, loose-fitting dress and weighed down by jewelry. Dauphin couldn't tell much else from the hologram.

"Hm," The woman said, crossing her arms. "You don't look like a crew smart enough to keep ahead of me… Telling Hagopian to go to ground. You've definitely done this before."

"The galaxy's a dangerous place, what can we say?" Gregory said. He was definitely in his element here, Dauphin realized.

"Isn't it just? And you realize if you go back to Hagopian, I'll just track you and then I'll kill him. And even if he somehow eludes me, I will track you down and kill you myself."

"Yes, I realize how crime syndicates work," Gregory said sarcastically, "and I also assure you you'll have a harder time getting ahold of us than you think you will."

"But it'll be a nuisance being always on your guard. What about we strike a deal?"

"Gregory, don't…" Dauphin began. Gregory held out his hand for her to stop.

"What kind of deal?"

"You go back to Hagopian, and I won't follow—if you do a job for me. I'll reward you handsomely, of course. This can only be done by a ghost. You are a ghost, right?"

Dauphin was reeling. This was what she had feared: Gregory getting mired in organized crime and falling into more trouble than they had been in before.

"Yes," Gregory said, "I'm listening."


Stukov smelled something that he could not place. He knew it was food and he recognized it, but it had been too long. He was standing outside, the wind blowing through his hair and his clothes. The grass on the green, rolling hills shifted in the breeze. There was a dark, dense forest in the distance and grey, boiling clouds on the horizon. Stukov could smell damp on the wind. Idly he placed his hand on a railing beside him and stopped to examine it. He recognized it as he did the field beyond, the smell of food, and the smell of ozone and rain. Turning around, his boots thudded dully on the narrow cedar deck of the country house that had been in his wife's family for centuries. The door was open; he could hear someone inside.

His mind struggled to make sense of the scene. It must be early summer. Leave time. His mind relaxed. He forgot he was infested, forgot that he had ever left Earth. Stukov was home. He confidently walked inside because he knew whom he would find. The inside of the house was rustic, the walls wooden and decorated sparsely with paintings of idyllic scenes like the one outside. The carpets and furniture were his old bachelor furniture which had come from their home piece by piece as his wife had replaced them with something more to her taste. He couldn't say that he had a style, so he really didn't care. Beyond, on the back of the living room, was a sliding door and another porch. He could hear the laughter of children from outside and shadows darkening the door. He walked to the back door and tried to open it but couldn't find the handle. Distracted by the noise of rattling plates and cutlery, Stukov walked left through the living room and into the kitchen. It was cramped and outdated but charming in that way. There was barely enough room for him to squeeze behind his wife, Vera, as she stirred something on the stove. He put his arms around her thin waist, brushing her graying blonde hair away from her neck to kiss her fair skin.

"Not much of a vacation if you spend it cooking."

"Don't be silly. I never come home early enough from the hospitalto ever cook at home. This is fun for me. But it is your turn tomorrow."

She leaned back and kissed him on the cheek.

"Then tomorrow it would be best to order out." There was food already prepared on the counter—dumplings. He hastily grabbed one and popped it in his mouth.

"Hey!" She pulled a towel off the counter and smacked him in the rear with it. "Get out of that. Those are for later." He popped another one in his mouth and she hit him repeatedly, chasing him out of the kitchen, both of them laughing. "Get out of here!"

Stukov found himself back in the living room. There was a flock of taxidermized ducks on the opposite wall, flying in formation.

I should have let that go in the trash, he thought. But at the time, his uncle had just died and in the end, that was the only part of his belongings he kept. Stukov had inherited his uncle's summer house, but it was falling down and in the middle of a bog. Good for duck hunting but not much else. As a young man, duck hunting had appealed to him, but toting around a gun while off-duty was not appealing now. Neither is putting on waders and trudging through cold muck. He had sold it.

There was a knock at the door. Who is visiting us here? Dread washed over him. Is it bad news? Has something happened that they need me back at the lab? He opened the door. Standing behind it was Marín in her teal and greys. She held him in a quick embrace.

"Renata? What are you doing here?"

"You said you wanted to talk. I'm here to talk."

"Oh," he said. To his non-linear, subconscious mind, this made sense. "Yes, of course. Come in."

He motioned for her to come inside. The door to his quarters on the Aleksander—new and clean as they were when they first departed Earth—slid shut behind her.

"I'm not disturbing you?" She said as she looked around his quarters at his small living room appraisingly.

"No, not at all. Please, sit down. Can I get you… a drink?" She sat down on the couch, languishing in the corner, her arm propped up on its back.

"Hm, what do you have?"

"Almost everything," he said, peering at bottles in the small bar in his room, "Do you like red wine?"

"Sure."

"No, you like mai tais. I remember."

"I also like to be surprised. Red wine is fine."

"Okay, I've been saving this one…"

He poured them both a glass and sat down next to her on the couch. His memory of the country house was gone, and his brain briefly felt the discontinuity. But he was distracted by Marín.

"Saving it for what?"

"A special occasion," he said, sitting down beside her.

"This is a special occasion?"

"You're here with me. In my quarters. And for once we're alone… no one calling for us…" He slid closer to her, and she sat up, taking a sip of her wine and putting it on the table behind her. He reached over and did the same. As he leaned over her, she caught his face with her hands and pulled him to her, kissing him. He was surprised but put his arms around her. As they kissed, her hand moved between them. She was pulling at his jacket. Between feverish kisses, he removed his own jacket and shirt and hers. He sat back to admire her; she was naked to the waist as she reclined on the couch. She was just as he had seen her in decontam. She ran her hands slowly down his chest, not seeming to mind he was a bit of a bear with his shirt off.

"What are you doing?" She said to him.

"Enjoying the view?"

"You can do more than just look, you know."

He reached forward and touched her face, his fingers white against her olive skin. He trailed his fingers lightly down her neck and chest, cupping her breast and rubbing his thumb gently against her nipple. She shivered slightly. He leaned forward to kiss her, and she met him halfway, pushing him backwards onto the couch and straddling him. With her now laying atop him, they kissed more ardently. As her hands moved down his body, he heard distant laughter outside. Gregory? Alexandra?

"Alexei?"

It was his wife's voice. My wife?

He smelled food again and cedar. Someone was walking lightly across the wooden floor towards his bedroom door. But the bedroom door wasn't there. Instead, on the other side was the living room of his country house. Vera? Oh, no. His mind was panicking. She can't see this. But he couldn't stop the dream. Marín was naked on top of him, fumbling with his trousers; Vera was about to catch him literally with his pants down with another woman. She's going to kill me. He had done and said many things he wasn't proud of after he lost control of his drinking and their relationship soured, but he had never cheated on her, though she had accused him of it. He would often disappear for days, staying at the lab. But he couldn't stop what was happening. A part of him didn't want to stop.

His wife appeared in the doorway; her hand went to her face as she saw him with Marín.

"This isn't what it looks like," he managed to say. Except that it is. In the back of his brain something snapped, telling him the timeline was wrong. Places and people that were part of different lives were meeting when they shouldn't. He looked at his hands. They were the same—mirror images of each other. He looked up at Vera.

"You're not supposed to be here… you're… you're…"

Stukov struggled back to consciousness confused where and when he was; his jaw was clenched tightly and his body was taut with anxiety. Slowly reality came back to him. His wife—his ex-wife—was dead. He was infested. He wasn't having an affair, and if he was in a relationship with Marin (and, he realized sadly, he wasn't) it wouldn't have been something he was ashamed of. His day came back to him—storming the bridge, his encounter with Oyaleni, finding out his son had escaped, and Marín telling him he looked like he needed rest. He had admitted he did. When he had returned to his quarters after setting a course for the Beynac, Stukov had barely made it out of the shower before throwing himself on the bed—he even still only had a towel around his waist. He thought he would just rest for a moment. I was asleep again. He rolled slowly over on his back. Sadness settled into his chest when he found himself alone.

He sighed, analyzing the dream. The symbolism was obvious. A part of him wished to be human again and to go back to his wife. When he had come back to himself at Skygeirr, that was the first thing he wanted. And when he was re-infested, he still wanted to return despite the danger. But Kerrigan was right, and he also knew better. And now that he knew Vera was dead and that his children either were as well or were on their way to the Koprulu sector, he had no reason to return to Earth but nostalgia. That does not mean I won't engage in wishful thinking—which was what all of that was. The second act was the new life he saw for himself with Marín, infested or not. My subconscious is trying to reconcile the two. One will win out. He wasn't sure which. But either way, my mind is still… human? His subconscious stubbornly refused to portray him as infested. The Swarm cannot penetrate the core of my psyche. Or it knows it shouldn't. Interesting. Doing so, he thought, would irrevocably change him, and they needed him the way he was—they needed him in control. Thinking back on the dream, he chided himself for fantasizing what could possibly come from her promise of meeting with him regularly to "talk." He would have to proceed carefully and build her trust; even so, he knew, she may never see him as a man…

Only a monster. It would be harder now since he had seen him at his worst. He closed his eyes as his grief, guilt, and longing overwhelmed him. The Swarm began to whisper to him. No. He sat up. Not now. He needed to get up and find something to do to keep his mind off of it—and try not to sleep. But he admitted to himself that this was an improvement. At least she didn't turn into an infested this time.

Stukov got up and dressed. Turning on the holographic interface at his desk, he saw that Marín had sent him a message: there would be another meeting with the leaders of the fleet in the morning and a briefing. She asked him to bring whatever information he had on Drezsera, the other rogue broodmother. I need to speak to Izsha then. The overseer should have arrived and begun relaying information. I still need to speak to Abathur about defeating the Directorate's psi disruptors as well… The sound of the Swarm eroded his sense of self, but Abathur and Izsha were different; they too had their own selves outside the Swarm, as inhuman as they both were. A little inhumanity may be what I need right now.


Horner was getting undressed for the night. It had been a long day, and tomorrow promised to be longer. The hostilities had ended, and Nova and Valerian had returned, But dealing with Mira Han ages me ten years every ten minutes. Sexual harassment was something he had to deal with as a boss—it rarely happened, but when it did, he took complaints seriously—but he didn't know how to deal with it on a personal level from someone he knew. And that's exactly what it is If she had been one of my officers and she was doing this to someone else, she would be reprimanded. Everything is an innuendo. Everything. It's funny when it's not you… He was distracted momentarily by brushing his teeth. And then there was Nova—another problematic relationship, but only if it was unwanted. Is it a thing? Are we a thing? No, this is a war. There is no time for… things. What I should be thinking about is the meeting tomorrow… Horner removed his shirt and started turning down his sheets. The door chimed.

"Aw, hell," he said quietly. "Who is it?"

Silence. Muttering under his breath, Horner opened the door and peered out. No one was there. He walked out into the hall to look down it. Seeing no one, he retreated back inside, the door closing behind him. Is it malfunctioning? He thought.

"No, it isn't," Nova had appeared behind him in his room. Horner yelped in surprise.

"Sweet mother of the universe, Nova. Don't do that." Nova smirked at him, removing a portable cloaking device from her shoulder. She was dressed in a way that he had never seen her—her long, blonde hair down and wearing a tight-fitting, short, silver dress. In heels she was taller than him. He was stunned by how different—and how beautiful—she looked. Less threatening, but all the more unapproachable. She raised her hand. In it was a bottle of bourbon. In the other was a datapad.

"I have business. But I thought we'd need a drink after we discussed it."

"I… don't think that's a good idea, Nova," Horner said, self-consciously sucking in his exposed stomach. "Do you… think it's a good idea?"

"Sure. Why not?" Nova said, sitting on the bed. Horner pulled up a chair to sit near her. "But business first." She handed the datapad to Horner. On it was the UED's plans. The feint at the Dalarian Shipyards, their educated guess about their next movements, that they planned to attack Umoja—and that Valerian had betrayed them. He felt suddenly very tired. He didn't know how to play it now. The fleet needed to know what was going on, but Valerian couldn't know that they were onto him. And could we even tell Stukov? He would kill Valerian. Horner looked up at Nova.

"I'll take that drink now."


Stukov made his way through the leviathan. Traversing it was not like walking through a normal ship. There were rooms and corridors, but they barely resembled either of those descriptors. They were more like organs, each one a space separated by function and connected by narrow, intestine-like hallways. He had not remembered feeling revulsion the first time he boarded, but he had been glad to have been anywhere but Skygeirr, and he had been hardened and dehumanized by his incarceration and torture. Now, the way the corridor moved with him as he walked through it made him uneasy. As he entered the control chamber, Izsha uncoiled herself from the ceiling, dropping down to his level. She had been waiting for him. As she wound down from the ceiling, she knotted her taloned arms across her chest and smiled at him in her cat-like way, her eyes narrowing as she bowed to him slightly in deference.

"Welcome aboard, Admiral. I have been expecting you."

Stukov was aware that Izsha behaved differently towards him than she had Kerrigan. She had been respectful to the Queen of Blades but cold. He assumed that this was due to the cruelty of Kerrigan's first incarnation (or that her second incarnation had been cruel to her just not while he was around; he found this less likely since Kerrigan clearly cared very little what he thought of her), and that Izsha had never gotten over it. As a man he would have been revolted by her, but as a zerg he treated her like a well-behaved child. An Ariel to Abathur's Caliban, he thought. His politeness and encouragement were rewarded by her quickness to obey and her trust.

"The overseer has just completed its scan. Would you like me to connect to it and interpret the results?"

"If you please, Izsha, yes."

"I am connecting to it now. Just a moment."

Izsha's eyes dulled as her attention was pulled elsewhere. But abruptly her posture shifted. She pulled herself upright and straightened her talons—a gesture of unease.

"Izsha… is something wrong?"

"The overseer has found no trace of Drezsera's brood. If they were there, they are not there now."

"What? But Zagara's intel was only hours old when we received it. How could an entire brood move that quickly?"

"I do not know. Shall I have the overseer continue to scan nearby systems?"

"No, recall it. They could have jumped anywhere." Much like my son. "I will have to inform our allies of this—and Zagara. If they are on the move, they may know that Zagara surveilled them… and that she sent me to purge them. Drezsera may try to strike back."

"Attacking Zagara is illogical." The Swarm is stable under Zagara's rule."

"Yes, but as you know…" Stukov said, tracing half a strand of DNA in the air, "Sequences. Survival of the fittest. The zerg are concerned with the fitness of the next generation above all else. Drezsera most likely believes herself to be fitter than Zagara to lead. A confrontation may be inevitable. Zagara admitted to me that even she thought Drezsera may be her superior."

"Superior intellect or sequences do not always mean a zerg will rule. If they did, my Admiral would lead the Swarm."

"That is kind, but not true. I am not even fully zerg. I have no claim to lead them." Izsha seemed distraught at this, pulling back towards the ceiling.

"Not zerg? But, Admiral, you…"

"But what, Izsha?" He said teasingly. "You know I'm not…"

"You have been spending more time with the humans," Izsha said, her voice almost sounding hurt. Stukov wished he had kept his mouth shut. "I can see it is changing you. You speak more and differently, you use your hands for emphasis, your face shows your emotions, and you do not spend as much time on the Leviathan." With me, she means. I'm going to have to be more careful with Izsha. She's the most human of all of them. I don't want to lose her.

"Does this mean you are not as zerg as you lead us to believe?"

"Izsha, I have not been trying to deceive you. I have been experiencing… symptoms… of my humanity reasserting itself."

"Symptoms?"

"Like what you described… and more."

"Do you know what is causing them? Do they disturb you?"

"I'm not really sure what is causing them… but no, I'm not disturbed by them…"

"I would like to remind the Admiral that it was the humans that held him against his will and tortured him…"

"Izsha I…"

"And it was the Queen of Blades that accepted him and made him part of the Swarm—and Zagara would have let him remain!"

"I know that, Izsha. But it's more complicated than that, and for now if I wish to successfully communicate with them, I have to let it happen. And that means not lingering on the Leviathan and merging with the Swarm. There was already an… incident… because I let the Swarm get the better of me."

"An incident?" Izsha said, seemingly worried. She lowered herself back down towards him. "Perhaps you should… elaborate."

"Maybe later, Izsha. I must speak to Abathur."

"Abathur has made progress on the adjustments to Grellna's brood, but he has not given me a recent report. This is normal for him."

"Yes, yes, it is, that piece of…"

"If you're going to speak to him about Grellna's brood, you should also speak to him about your symptoms. He may know some way of alleviating them."

"He may…"

Stukov sighed. She was right, in a way, but he didn't want them alleviated. He thought of another question that needed an answer, but he didn't want to ask it. He would see where their conversation led.

Izsha nodded and silently retreated back into the leviathan, her eyes on him as she did. She seems… disappointed in me? Jealous? She accuses me of acting more human, but my absence has made her act peculiarly as well. Stukov analyzed why this would be so. Perhaps she is a reflection of me. I'm having difficulty, and so she is as well. Or she is lonely. Abathur may not be enough company. What am I saying? He's no company at all.

Even when he was deep in the Swarm, he did not like going to the spawning pools. The sounds were unpleasant, and even as a newly-freed infested, he could smell the acrid scent of the zerg here if nowhere else. Stukov scanned the immense deck looking for Abathur's skulking black form. He saw no one other than a few lounging zerglings. They crowded towards him as he entered like a pack of dogs. They looked different. Their skin was grey, and they had the bud of an extra limb. They look primal. Abathur's production may already be underway. Stukov shooed the zerglings away.

"Abathur! Show yourself."

No answer. He could sense him nearby—and his annoyance at being interrupted.

"Abathur, we need to discuss your modifications. I need to report on our plan to keep our brood from being neutralized by psi disruptors."

Slowly, Abathur emerged from one of the spawning pools, gently piercing through its skin-like meniscus, trying not to break it. Once free, he scuttled towards Stukov.

"Speak quickly. Delicate operation in progress."

"Have you resolved the replication error in the primal zerg samples?"

"Yes. Sample corrupted. Recreated DNA and RNA from primal zerg specimens with devolved zergling tissues." So that's what they were.

"How long until you can produce what we need?"

"Production unnecessary. Changes will be released as virus. Conquered brood will be infected. Complete transformation in twelve hours."

"Excellent, Abathur. Well done," he paused, "Will you… need to infect me as well?"

"No. RNA and DNA fix will not help Stukov. Healing ability a problem. Unstable zerg DNA also a problem. Infestation will not allow infection to take hold and transform Stukov."

"Then how will I be made immune to the psi disruptors?"

"I am unable to produce biological immunity. Recommend technology-based immunity. Shielding. Humans or protoss may be better able to help."

Abathur admitting defeat. Interesting. At least he is not too proud to lie and put me in danger. That is one strength of the zerg—instinctual honesty. Lies undermine the communal nature of the Swarm. But he reflected that they could still produce subterfuge by omission or misdirection.

"They have already suggested that I be fitted for a CMC. I suppose I could look into that. There may be a way to shield me with armor."

"Sufficient solution if possible. Pathogen dispersal already underway. Must observe and regulate." Abathur took a few steps back from him.

"Abathur, wait, I… have a few questions."

"Not much time. Must return to task."

"It will be just a moment. What do you think would cause me to have, eh, behavioral anomalies?"

"Please specify."

"I… have been falling asleep… dreaming. I've been experiencing… emotional outbursts…"

Abathur steepled his claws in front of him, pondering what this could mean.

"Intriguing. Context?"

"I think it is connected to increased contact with other humans."

"Subliminal psionic bleed possible. Pheremones. Slight possibility of healing abilities causing temporary incremental remission of infestation due to proximity to terrans."

"Interesting. I had not thought of the last one…"

"Will run tests. Come back later." Abathur turned to leave. Stukov scrambled to get the courage to ask his last question.

"One more thing…" Abathur turned around slowly, flattening himself slightly. It was his "annoyed" posture. "Two minutes, Abathur. Please…"

"Speak. Now."

"Fine. I need to know if there are any passive infection vectors for my infestation."

"Define passive."

"Through casual contact."

"Skin-to-skin contact is not an infection vector unless willed. Would impede minor tasks if uncontrolled. Virus in saliva would impede digestion in emergency situations. Blood is an infection vector. Treatment possible within narrow timeframe with Stukov's antigen."

"There are no other passive infection vectors?"

"No. No other passive vectors." Abathur began to back away again, clearly uninterested in continuing. But Stukov didn't get the information he wanted; Abathur was too far removed from humanity to understand what he was insinuating.

"What about intimate contact."

"Define 'intimate.'"

"Nevermind." That was not a conversation he wanted to have with Abathur. The spider-like zerg gave him his version of a shrug and began walking away once more, but then stopped suddenly, straightening back to his full height. Stukov could tell he was thinking. He scuttled back over, stopping so close to him that Stukov felt the need to step back.

"Seminal fluid not an infection vector. Would impede reproduction. Swarm thrives on mutation and random gene combination. Infested terrans sterile. Dead end. Constructs like Queen of Blades and Stukov virile. Species memory recalls Overmind hoped Stukov would mate with Queen of Blades. Personalities incompatible."

Stukov was repulsed by the thought. Surely not.

"Incompatible? Of course we were. She was a baby—and clearly very taken with Raynor. It never even occurred to me."

"Apparent age irrelevant for functionally immortal constructs. Monogamy also irrelevant for optimum hereditary vigor. If Queen of Blades not ascended, outcome perhaps different."

"No. No, it wouldn't have been," Stukov said, beginning to become annoyed. But in the back of his mind he knew that might not have been true. After Amon was defeated, if Kerrigan had stayed and not become a xel'naga, he probably would have remained with her. The loneliness might have gotten the better of them. And if the Swarm had wanted them to be together, they would have been. The thought that the Swarm once regarded them as a breeding pair and had hoped he would sire a race of zerg monstrosities revolted him. He now remembered why he rarely spoke to Abathur and why he could never fully be part of the Swarm.

"Have you mated with a human?"

"What? No. And that is none of your business," he said, shocked out of his disgust by the gall of the question. He was surprised by what he said, but then he realized he shouldn't have been. Abathur gave no thought to how anything he said would be received.

"Will you mate with him or her here? Observing human mating instructional." Stukov had finally had enough.

"Abathur, I'm about to break each and every one of your spindly…" Stukov felt Abathur stab at his mind. He had been goading him to anger on purpose so his guard would go down. I take that back. He's learning. Abathur plucked Marín's name from his thoughts.

"The Umojan Fleet Admiral. Acceptable. Above average intelligence. Intelligence offsets reduced chance in progeny of advantageous mutations and psionic powers…"

"Abathur."

"Brood optimal size at least four for greatest chance of passing on psionic genes."

"Abathur, you're getting ahead of yourself. I already have four children. I need another child like I need another hole in my face. And that's not the point of…"

"Admiral Stukov has a human brood? Was never appraised."

"Have you not been paying attention? He was serving as a ghost aboard the Kuznetsov and the UED used him to blackmail me."

"Progeny possess psionic abilities? Information critical. Should have been informed."

"Why? Would you have gone to rescue him yourself?" Stukov said, his voice dripping in sarcasm. Abathur wavered slightly, processing this information. Stukov had thought Abathur had already known, and if he had known that he didn't, he wouldn't have said anything. But he was pleased that he had rattled him in return. Of all the zerg, he's the only one that I would categorize as an "asshole."

"Your other children are telepaths?"

"Not that I know of…"

"Your healing factor and proof of hereditary mutation increases chances…"

"Hereditary mutation? I'm not a telepath."

"No. But Stukov does carry a mutation. Healing factor of great interest to the Swarm."

"But you gave it to me."

"Talent not given. Enhanced. Subject Stukov had passive, uncontrolled psionic powers with healing focus."

"…What?"

"Stukov never noticed accelerated healing? Good health of close family members?"

"Maybe? I was very good at picking up bad habits, but none of them seemed to affect me permanently… My wife had cancer and survived, but I doubt that had anything to do with me."

"Swarm able to resurrect Stukov due to healing factor. Mutation preserved brain after death. Intelligence, stratagems, and healing made Stukov attractive to the Swarm."

"Why have you never told me this before?"

"Presumed Stukov would know his biological idiosyncrasies."

"Well, this has been enlightening…"

"Very interested in outcome of Stukov's attempts to spawn."

"I'm not trying to… Don't you have something to devolve somewhere?" Abathur seemed pleased that he had found something to annoy Stukov with. A terrible scream echoed through the chamber.

"Must go. Speak later. Can increase Stukov's desirability if needed."

"What?"

"Heal your face. Minimize arm circumference. Decrease skin pallor. Come back later."

"You could do all that before and you haven't?"

Abathur skittered away without answering. That slimy son of a bitch


Morning came too quickly for Marín; she and Vermaak had a night together like they hadn't had in ages. They were both glad the other was safe and that for the moment the war was calm. Nothing like a brush with death to make you realize what's really important. But she was cautious about thinking everything was back to normal. With Oyaleni out, we're equals again. Maybe that's a good thing. But then again maybe it's not. Working together closely was a double-edged sword.

Like always, Marín was early to her office, getting paperwork out of the way—and today cleaning up. Her office was in disarray because of the mutiny. Her backup datapad had been cracked (despite having been in a drawer the whole time), her chair was missing a wheel, and somehow she was missing all three of her styluses. She put in a requisition for it all, but with the starboard hangar having been vented, she realized she may have to wait.

The door to her office opened, and Barre leaned in.

"Admiral Stukov has arrived early, Admiral Marín," Barre said quietly, burring his Rs and mimicking Stukov's accent.

"Barre… don't," Marín said, sighing and fighting a smile. It was a good impression.

Marín stood and straightened her jacket as she walked out of her office. Stukov stood by the war table in another rankless Umojan uniform, upright in his bearing, his infested arm tucked behind him and his other hand resting on the war table.

"Good morning, Renata. Am I interrupting? I'm a bit early…"

"No, no. Everyone else should be here any moment now."

"I've been through decontam so much… I have stripping down and scrubbing up down to a science. It's taking me half the time to get through." Marín chuckled.

"Maybe we should have Dr. Laurent time you. Make a game out of it?"

"I don't think that would amuse your good doctor."

"There's nothing that does!" Barre said.

Renata looked Stukov up and down. Marín felt the tingling and warmth at the base of her skull that she knew to be Stukov's telepathic presence as it gently washed around her, questioning the nature of her attention.

"You look like you feel better."

"I do. I… got some sleep." Marín was confused by his response.

"Sleep? I didn't think you slept."

"I… normally don't."

"Is that good or bad? Do you want Dr. Laurent to…"

"That will not be necessary. Abathur will be keeping an eye on me. Besides… I do feel more…"

"Human?"

"Yes… yes, I think so." Marín felt glad for him. Getting in touch with his human side—no matter how—would help him. But on the other hand, it was troubling. Did this mean he was losing power? Would he gain control of his human side only to lose control of the zerg?

Marín's train of thought was interrupted by the lift opening and Vermaak stepping onto the bridge.

"Admirals," he said, with unusual jocularity. "When does this party start?"

"Barre, have you heard from the others?"

"Horner has already landed. Valerian is en route. Haven't heard from Artanis. But, you know, they can just…" Barre snapped his fingers.

Horner emerged onto the bridge. He seemed uncharacteristically tired and down.

"Good morning, everyone. Glad to see everyone back in action…" Horner seemed to regret saying it almost immediately when he saw the look on Vermaak's face. Oyaleni had been Vermaak's superior, and they had been friends.

"Karax has signaled that Artanis and Vorazun are ready for transport."

"Tell them we're ready."

Vorazun and Artanis materialized next to the war table.

"Fleet Admiral Marín! Admiral Stukov! Lieutenant General Vermaak! It is good to see that you are well and that Admiral Marín is in command again!" Artanis said, his straightforward good nature something that Marín had come to respect.

"Thank you, Artanis."

The door to the lift whisked open again. Valerian, his cape swishing behind him, stepped out.

"Sorry, everyone. It was not my intention to be 'fashionably late…'" Barre rolled his eyes. Stukov's posture tightened. Even Horner, whom Marín thought was his friend, seemed irritated by his presence. Only the protoss, seemed inscrutable in their reaction. She understood Stukov's reaction—and Barre's—but Horner's she was confused by. Maybe he's just tired.

"Are we ready to begin?" Marín asked hopefully.

"Yes, let's," Valerian said with smug cheerfulness. Ahlberg and Barre left the bridge, leaving the highest ranking officers—Marín, Vermaak, Stukov, Horner, Valerian, Artanis, and Vorazun—alone.

"I'd like to start with a follow up to an announcement I made earlier… Repairs are ongoing, but the Uhuru and other ships affected by the mutiny should be fully operational in forty-eight terran standard hours. But before we get under way… I would like to have a ceremony for the crew of the Vrede tomorrow evening at 1900. Everyone is invited. It will be held in the port weapons array with a reception afterward in the port hangar."

"We'll all be there, of course," Horner said. "And I'm hoping we can honor their memory moving forward… by retaking Tarsonis and Tyrador."

"A second to that, Admiral Horner," Vermaak said.

"Then let's get to it… what's the status of the Umojan Fleet, Admiral Marín?"

"As I said, the fleet will be operational again in forty-eight hours… I have spoken to Admiral Calvino and everyone seems to be on the same page concerning our leadership. Vermaak has taken over for Oyaleni's duties. Vermaak?"

"The inner-ship conflict roughed up my soldiers… as did the attack on Grellna's brood. We're down some shadowguards; Admiral Stukov's son and our Directorate prisoners escaped during the mutiny, and I've got a team out tracking them." Valerian's eyebrows raised at this as if he were considering something. Horner looked sideways at him. Marín had no idea what either man was thinking.

"That's… unfortunate, Admiral Stukov. We worked hard to get him here, and I know that was part of our agreement…" Horner said.

"My agreement with the Umojans, yes. But that agreement has been satisfied. My son's actions are his own. I would have rather him be here in relative safety, but the fault lies in the mutineers, and my son is his own man. He's alive. That's all I can ask for. The shadowguards can hopefully keep it that way."

"We'll do our best, Admiral. We have had no recent losses, but there was a small skirmish on the Fuerza, and some of the marines there had to be taken into custody. I've spoken to the higher-ups on in Nova Lisboa. They want the perps off our ships. I'm inclined to agree. A transport has already taken the lower-ranked soldiers from the ship. But we'll be ready when we leave the Beynac," Vermaak said.

"Is… Oyaleni still aboard?" Marín asked.

"Yeah, I thought you might wanna talk to her before we packed her up."

"Damn right I do," Marín said.

"The Terran Republic fleet stands ready," Horner began, "We've added Mira Han to our ranks. Her fleet's a little rag-tag, but they have a lot of tricks up their sleeves… a lot of them probably, uh, illegal, but war's war, and nobody cares out here… hopefully."

"I was successful in liberating many of the Terran Republic ships stationed at the Dalarian Shipyards. And I've been able to call more Moebius ships from the outer rim," Valerian said. "We're ready at Admiral Horner's command…"

"Grellna's fleet has been integrated into what was left of my brood. Abathur has developed a pathogen that will infect her brood with primal zerg DNA, rendering them unaffected by psi disrupters. This process is already underway. But I will still be vulnerable. Abathur suggests that I seek some 'technological' work around. Vermaak has warned me I should be wearing armor on surface missions… There may be some way to modify a CMC that would shield me from… disruption."

"I'll have Jansa get on that."

"What about the other brood?" Valerian said, "There were two, am I correct?"

"Yes," Stukov said, bristling. Valerian's eyes narrowed at him.

"Then what of it?"

"Has the overseer returned, Admiral?" Marín said.

"It has. It could not find them. If Drezsera was ever at those coordinates, she is not there now."

"Then… you still do not have a fleet?" Valerian said.

"Grellna's brood will be adequate. More than adequate. She had overbred her hive to excess. The planet she inhabited was close to destruction from her attempts to mine there. Another brood would be optimal—and it would satisfy our agreement with Zagara. But it is not necessary for now to pursue the other broodmother."

"And your position has nothing to do with Gregory's escape?"

Marín was surprised that Valerian was trying to provoke Stukov. Valerian knew that he already had reason to kill him, and it annoyed Marín that he would talk to him that way. Especially after all he had done for the fleet—and her. But Stukov can damn well take care of himself. Stukov turned slowly to Valerian, his face a stony scowl.

"What are you insinuating, Valerian?"

"Why would you not want to go after Drezsera's brood? Would that not make you more powerful? Would that not help our war effort?"

"It would. But the time to strike is now," Stukov said, balling up his human fist. "Finding and attacking Drezsera would take much time—time we do not have."

"It just… seems like you're not putting you're all into this."

Marín had enough.

"Putting his all into it? Were you not there at Tyrador when he almost died switching sides to protect us? When he almost died saving the Vrede? He was also gravely injured finding and securing Grellna's brood but still made it to the Uhuru to perform a goddamn spacewalk to end the mutiny. If Stukov isn't already 'putting his all' into this war, I'm not sure what you're expecting. And what exactly have you done, Valerian? Maybe a tenth of that."

It was Stukov's turn to look smug.

"Please, my friends. Let us focus on the matter at hand. We must formulate a plan to push the Directorate out of Terran Republic territory," Vorazun said. The protoss. Always the voice of reason

Horner trotted out what information he had, and Marín and Stukov formulated a strategy. They would go back to Tarsonis and force the UED out. From there, they would force the Directorate to fight a war on two fronts and close the gap on Tyrador. It was what they had discussed, but now in more detail and with more input from Stukov. His forces would be the first salvo on Tarsonis. Marín sensed his eagerness to do so was born out of his want for revenge. This troubled her. Maybe that's something we can "talk" about later. If he doesn't let some of these things go, he's going to blow up again.

The meeting ended, and Horner retreated to his ship a little more quickly than usual. The protoss left, but she, Valerian, and Marín remained. Valerian seemed a bit chattier than usual, which Marín was annoyed by. He almost got me killed. Why does he think I want to engage in small talk with him?

"I was going to ask you, Fleet Admiral… how closely to you follow the Umojan opera scene?"

"Somewhat closely… why?"

"Do you remember an opera singer by the name of Rie Quincampoix?"

"She was the Queen of the Night a few years ago, yes."

"Really fantastic singer," He leaned on the war table, making himself comfortable. "You know, my mother funded her education at the Nova Lisboa salon… her father was a friend of the family."

"Was he now?" she said flatly. Valerian launched into a dissertation on the merits of Quincampoix as an opera star, and Marín half-listened politely. It was a subject she would normally be interested in, but she would rather not discuss it with Valerian. Stukov was lingering as if he wanted to talk to her, but he gave up and left. This annoyed Marín further. It may have been something important. I guess he'll send me a message. Goddamn it, Valerian. Valerian watched Stukov leave. As he did, his posture changed. He stood up straight and looked her in the eye suspiciously.

"You two… have become… close?"

"Close? I wouldn't say that," Marín said carefully. She wasn't sure where the conversation was going. "We've been through a lot the past few days…"

"Hm, he seems to like you."

"Well, it's good that he likes someone. Otherwise, he may not stay," she said, reminding him that he was the reason he was not on as good of terms with the Terran Republic as he was with the Umojan Protectorate.

"A fair point," he said with a tight-lipped smile. "But I'd be careful. He seems to be getting… attached?"

"Yes, maybe we're becoming friends. How awful."

Valerian shrugged and walked slowly to the lift.

"Just… a thought I guess."

Yeah, just "a thought." A thought to sow discord and disunity. Marín felt overwhelming disgust for the man. You can't trust anything he says.


On the lift from the Uhuru's bridge, Stukov heard Izsha's voice in his mind.

Admiral, Abathur has signaled me that he is ready to commence your metamorphosis.

Already? He seems overeager. Will you try to ascertain if he has something sinister in mind? And calling it a "metamorphosis" seems… an overstatement if it is a simple cosmetic augmentation.

I will try, my Admiral.

Thank you, Izsha.

But he would know soon regardless. As he took his shuttle to the leviathan, the thought of changing himself physically made him nervous. Abathur wasn't human and he wouldn't know really what Stukov had looked like before he was infested. Stukov also thought that his offer could also be some sort of ruse to get him "under the knife" as it were and change him in a way that more suited Abathur—more zerg-minded, more powerful, and maybe more docile. But, he reminded himself, he was thinking of Abathur as a human. It would be out of character for him to engage in complicated subterfuge. He had bred a type of zerg that Zagara had not asked him to develop, but he had not tried to usurp her. He had done only what he thought was good for the zerg—his own safety was not even a priority. Abathur could not be selfish in that way. He only went against Zagara's wishes when their ideas of what was good for the zerg as a race diverged. Undermining him would not benefit Abathur, Stukov reasoned. I allow Abathur do whatever he pleases. Changing our agreement drastically would not make sense.

Stukov made his way through the leviathan. He did not stop for Izsha, and she followed him as he walked. Her worry was palpable through their telepathic link.

"Admiral, you're here… quickly. You said Abathur seemed overeager, but you seem so yourself."

"I merely want it out of the way," Stukov said, trying to soothe her. She seemed very hurt by his want to be more human. "Do you sense any malice in what he's doing?"

"No, but I think you are right in believing it will be more than what you asked for."

Stukov sighed.

"But not anything harmful?"

"Not that I can ascertain, Admiral."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to see…"

"Admiral… I… advise against this course of action."

Stukov stopped.

"Why, Izsha? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No," Izsha paused for a moment, rubbing her talons together. "I am afraid the transformation will cut you off from the zerg," she said.

"Izsha, I'm not going to leave you because I look more human. You worry too much. Keep working on readying our troops. In a few hours, I will speak to you again, yes?"

"Yes, Admiral."

Stukov walked further through the leviathan, leaving Izsha hanging alone. He was now feeling some trepidation. Am I sure that harming me would not benefit Abathur? He is a wildcard. His alliegence is to the zerg and its future—not to me. If changing me doesn't benefit the future of the zerg, he wouldn't do it. It seems, for now, our goals are aligned but our purposes different. I want to be able to liase more efficiently with the Umojans and… he didn't verbalize the thought, but he wished not to inspire revulsion in the Fleet Admiral. Abathur's true intentions are unknown to me, other than wishing me to "spawn…" Which is ridiculous. I would not let that happen.

He made his way to the spawning pools. Uncharacteristically, Abathur was waiting for him.

"You are here. We will proceed. Follow me."

Stukov followed Abathur past the leagues of spawning pools that took up most of the immense deck, picking his way carefully around the lakes of thick, pungent liquid. In each he saw the embryonic starts of zerglings, hydralisks, and other zerg, small and transparent, their limbs unformed but their nervous systems causing them to twitch sporadically. Some pools were obviously experimental; the suspension was a different color and they smelled odd. Abathur lead him to a small pool that was set away from the rest. It was just wider and taller than Stukov but deep enough for him to be submerged. Unlike the other pools, it was a dark, threatening red, and a mucosal layer stretched in a web across it. The smell caused him to recoil. It was unmistakably similar to human blood, thick with an acrid iron scent.

"Abathur… Is this really necessary?"

"Human refinements require spawning pool. Only efficient way. Undress and enter."

Stukov eyed the disgusting, undulating pit and sighed, starting to slowly peel off his clothes.

"Let's get us both on the same page, Abathur. I want to look more human. That means augmenting my arm, my skin, my eyes, my face, and my back—nothing in addition to that. If I find out you have done something else to me that I did not ask for, I will kill you. Or worse, I will take you back to Zagara and let her kill you. Do you understand?"

Abathur was quiet for a moment.

"Yes. Enter and we will begin."

Stukov regarded the spawning pool disdainfully, dipping his toes in. To him, the mucosal layer felt like the skin of an uncooked sausage—the kind made of sheep's intestine. The smell wafted up to him and he gagged. He realized his sense of smell was starting to normalize as an effect of regaining his humanity incrementally. What a time for that to happen.

"This is disgusting."

"Cannot be done any other way."

"So you've told me."

He covered his nose and stepped in, breaching the skin on the pool.

"Lay down. Entire body must be submerged."

"Yes, yes. I'm working up to it."

Finally sitting down, the liquid caused him to retch. He was used to the zerg, but not this. As Stukov started to lie back, something grabbed his dorsal claws and began pulling him into the pool. Instinctually, he struggled against it. His mind began to panic. Was Abathur going to kill him now? Was all of this just a ruse to get him restrained?

"Do not fight. Restraints are necessary."

A tendril grabbed his neck and pulled him under the surface of the pool. Others grasp him around his wrist, waist, and ankles. The mucosal layer regenerated above him.

Breathe. Abathur thought to him.

How? Stukov answered. Abathur didn't reply. Stukov didn't need to breathe, and every human instinct he had told him not to open his mouth and not to breathe in the disgusting liquid.

Breathe. Sedation necessary.

Stukov willed himself to override his instinct and his disgust and finally took a deep breath. It was not as awful as he thought it would be. He couldn't taste it, and it had an analgesic quality, warming his throat and lungs. The warming sensation spread down his body as he continued to breathe it in. He began to lose consciousness. There was a dull ache in his arm, and it felt like something was scratching at his face. His whole body tingled. The entire pool pulsed quietly, as if it had a heartbeat. And though he was on the leviathan, he could not hear the Swarm. Stukov drifted into a trance-like state.

Stukov's mind surged like he had been hit with a stimpack. He became aware that time had passed. Thrashing, he pulled himself up, the tendrils that had gripped him and pulled him down were now feeble and desiccated. He grabbed them off himself as he clawed his way blindly out of the pool. Once out of it and lying prone on the deck, he vomited a black sludge. Coming to himself, he looked back at the pool. It was now a brackish black and putrid, smelling like decay. He stood shakily, covered in black, foul-smelling ichor. Despite this, he realized he felt better than he had felt in a long time. He was energized and in less pain. Raising his infested arm, he found it was lighter, shorter, and more human. While his fingers still ended in claws, Abathur had given him his pinkie back, and he had recognizably human features—knuckles, nailbeds, and an obvious thumb. His arm was no longer oozing creep, and though the skin was still rough, sinewy and chitinous, it would fit under a uniform jacket. His palm still had an orifice, but it was smaller and hidden by a flap of skin. He tried to flex the talons on his back and found they weren't there. Looking down at himself, everything else seemed as it was, but his skin was not as grey or green; it was whiter but with more human pinkish undertones. There were visible veins underneath the skin of his human wrist now. He hadn't expected Abathur to go into that much detail. Finally, he felt his left cheek. It was smooth to the touch. There was no gash running down to the bone, only new skin. He moved his jaw, and he felt the muscle flex beneath it.

"It is satisfactory?"

"I suppose. But what have I lost in utility?"

Abathur puffed up with pride.

"Arm returns to full size and utility at will. Number of pain receptors in that region decreased. Excess tissue sloughs off after use. Thirty second refractory period."

Stukov's looked at him askance for using that term. It was possible that he had done something to him in an overzealous and misguided attempt to make him more "attractive" as a mate.

"For the arm?"

"…Yes."

"You mean I can't use it again for thirty seconds?"

"Yes."

"The arm, right?"

"…Yes."

"I realize you speak English because Kerrigan did, and I'm not saying my English is perfect, but you can't take a term that's used in the vernacular for one extremity and append it on another… Even if it makes sense."

"Noted."

Satisfied, he gathered his clothes.

"Anything else I should know?"

"May experience transitory euphoria. Vascular system rerouted. Hormonal levels still stabilizing. Rest suggested."

"I see… thank you, Abathur."

"Admiral." Abathur backed away from him and skittered to a far corner of the deck to busy himself with another spawning pool. Stukov didn't bother to put back on his clothes. He was covered in ichor and smelled awful; he badly needed a shower. And it's going to take a lot of brushing to get this taste out of my mouth.

As Stukov left Abathur's evolution chamber, Izsha descended from the ceiling of the leviathan behind him.

"Admiral?" She said. He turned to her.

"Yes, Izsha?" Izsha stopped abruptly. She stared at him confusedly, her eyes wandering all over him. It appeared as though she was leering at him, though she of course wasn't; all he could feel from her was curiosity. Stukov realized she probably had never seen him naked—or, for that matter, vulnerable in any way. Most of Abathur's experiments on him had been directly to his arm or incremental—nothing that meant he would be submerged or even incapacitated. She sees me as a whole—admiral, man, and zerg—with no separation. Because that is how the zerg are. Their function is their form. There is nothing underneath. They just are.

"My eyes are up here, Izsha."

"Oh. Yes, Admiral," she said, returning her gaze to his eyes. "You look very… different."

"Not better?" he said chidingly.

"More human, certainly."

"Do you like it?"

"No."

"Heh. I thought not. What do you need of me, Izsha?"

"Nothing. I wished to inquire about your wellbeing."

"I'm fine, Izsha. Thank you. I… have some cleaning up to do, and then I must attend a funeral aboard the Uhuru…" she crossed her talons and leaned back, a gesture that seemed to belie her disapproval, "…but I will come back after that and we will review our plans. Is that satisfactory, Izsha?"

"Yes, Admiral. Of course."

Stukov left Izsha, feeling her eyes on his back as he walked away.

When he returned to the Aleksander, he spent no time getting into the shower. He stayed there for over thirty minutes, scrubbing the ichor off his skin and out of his hair. When he finally felt like he had gotten rid of the smell and the scum all over him (though he still felt as if there was a film all over his body), he immediately went to the sink to brush his teeth. Stukov stood there in the steam-filled room, scrubbing his teeth, rinsing, and then scrubbing again. As the room cooled, the mirror above the sink cleared. He happened to glance up and took two steps back, startled. It took a few moments to realize the face in the mirror was his. He touched his cheek in disbelief, hardly recognizing himself. He could see the sclera of his eyes again. Stukov's eyes looked like Kerrigan's had, still bright with psionic power, but more human in form with pupils and irises. They were brown when he was human, but now they were an unsettling gold. But that's better than… whatever you would call what I had before. Now I look less… evil… That wasn't all, however. Stukov felt he looked younger, but he couldn't decide why. He looked down at his body. Everything looked normal, though he felt that the hair on his arm, legs, chest, and torso was darker, but it could have been that his skin color had changed. Even so, the effect, he thought, was subtle. He poked at the almost non-existent love handles at his waist. I should have asked Abathur to do something about these. But that would be more noticeable—and vain.

He wondered what Marín would think. Would she notice? He thought. Of course she will notice… But not, he knew, in the way that he wanted unless she harbored feelings for him as well. And after what she saw me do… it's doubtful she would. Stukov stretched his back as he looked at himself in the mirror, rubbing his hands across his flanks. He felt different—more sensitive; More… alive? Unbidden, a fantasy arose in his mind. He thought of Marín's hands all over him, her short nails lightly tracing down his chest and his abdomen. He imagined them in bed, her on her back with her legs around him…

Stop. She's your ally. She's an officer. And so are you. You need to get a grip on yourself… He looked down at his hands. He realized he had been touching himself …which is a poor choice of words… But the act had answered some questions. It was the first time he'd felt the urge to masturbate in many years. Even when he had awoken from the sexually charged dreams, he didn't feel the need for release—just frustration at not being able to be close to Marín. Now he knew it was possible for him to be fully intimate with her. He had been scared before he would somehow infest her; he wondered if it was what Abathur had done to him or his fear about infestation that had kept him from it before. He did say my hormones were still "stabilizing" and that I would feel "euphoria." Maybe this is part of that. Stukov wished he could rest, but that was not a possibility. If he did, he might be late or miss Augustin's funeral, and he wanted to be there for Marín. He dressed quickly, for the first time without having to rip the sleeve of the black shirt he pulled over his head. He felt better—not disgusting—and more comfortable. The short sleeve was tight on his bicep (If you can call it that anymore…) of his left arm, but it wasn't sticking to him. He pulled the shirt away from his chest—no creep. After putting on some sweatpants (There's no reason to put on a uniform to go to the Uhuru; Dr. Laurent still insists I go through the decontamination chamber).

On the way to the Uhuru, he tried to clear his mind but couldn't. He ran through what he would say to Marín when she saw him. There was no way he could tell her the real reason for his transformation. He had decided to tell her that after their talk he had chosen to augment his form to look more human—Feeling human is part of being human. I'll tell her I thought talking might not be enough. And it stood to reason that people would react to him more favorably if he didn't look like his face was rotting off and that he was going to get creep on everything.

Stepping naked through decontam, the water was colder to him now. Oversensitive. I hope this passes quickly. He rinsed off the decontamination fluid and made his way into the infrared room. Basking in the light and heat, he lingered. It felt like bathing in the sun. Why would Abathur do this? Is this temporary, or is this the new normal? He didn't know, but he was beginning to think there might be some positives to it. I should try to drink something… or beg a cigar off someone. What he has done may allow me to enjoy what I used to at least in some small way. Entering the last chamber, he looked warily at the medical scanner, not wanting to get too close and accidentally trigger it. He knew that would most likely not happen, but he didn't want to be locked in there and miss the funeral. Stukov put his hand on the black computer terminal on the wall of the chamber. His name came up and he was granted limited access.

"Computer, call Dr. Laurent." After a few moments, Dr. Laurent appeared on the screen in the medbay. She was far away on the other side of the room and didn't look up when the call came through; she was busying attending to a man injured, he surmised, in the mutiny.

"Yes?"

"I'm in decontam. Let me in?"

Dr. Laurent didn't answer but picked her datapad off the patient's bedside table and keyed in a sequence. Stukov heard the door unlock with an audible click.

"Thank you, Dr.—" The line went dark before he could finish.

Stukov entered the dressing chamber and picked out a uniform. It was then he noticed his duffle bag stuffed under the bench in the room. He hadn't recognized it earlier. Ah. Marín must have left it here for me. She remembered. Then a thought occurred to him. It would be appropriate for him to wear his dress uniform now as a sign of respect for Augustin. And, he thought, it looked nice on him. He fantasized about sweeping her up off her feet and carrying her away, but he reminded himself that it was a funeral. This is not a social event. Let her see you, but for god's sake, don't hit on her. Again, he would have to watch himself. Using his sleeve, he polished the buttons and his shoes. He carefully put on the shirt and jacket, trying not to burst any of the seams on the sleeve—his arm was still larger on his left than his right. To his surprise, they both fit without a problem. He buttoned the jacket, then grabbed it by the seam at the bottom to straighten it, pushing out his chest and standing straight. For the first time in a long time, he was somewhat pleased with what he saw. I at least look like a man now. He dusted off the cap and put it on his head. What he saw now in the mirror was bittersweet. He had worn the uniform to funerals, parties—his wedding. All of that came back to him in a disjointed rush. He took a deep breath, realizing how keyed up his emotions were. Keep it together, Alexei.

He made his way quickly down the hallway, realizing he was almost late. He was one of the the last people to enter the crowded weapons array. He looked around for Marín. Head and shoulders above the crowd, he saw Artanis and Vorazun at the other end of the bay. Both were wearing different, more elaborate, and most likely ceremonial versions of their armor. Artanis's was much the same but shinier and taller; he wore what looked like a white silk robe underneath. Vorazun was wearing a long, sheer jacket, a larger pauldron that covered more of her shoulder, and a delicate, ornate, woven circlet and gold accents in her blunt nerve cords. Artanis turned and nodded to him, most likely sensing his psionic energy as he got close. He had a choice which side of the torpedo launching tube he would stand on and decided to go to them. Marín certainly would be nearby.

Horner peeked out from around Artanis and scanned the room, looking past him several times before Stukov raised his hand. Horner balked when he finally saw him but waved him over. Beside Horner, who was wearing a ceremonial version of his uniform with included a long jacket and a capelet that, to Stukov, made him look very silly, was a woman he didn't recognize with a red eye. She was dressed in a simple but very tight black dress. And on the other side of her was Valerian, in his finery as he always was, but wearing a bunch of medals—That he probably didn't earn. Backwater idiot. When he got closer, Valerian eyed him suspiciously, and the woman looked him up and down in a way he wasn't sure he liked. Stukov nodded to her and Valerian and then stood between Artanis and Horner.

"What happened?" Horner said quietly.

"Nothing. I'm fine. Abathur… wanted to try something."

"It seems your Abathur was successful," Vorazun cut in. "You look well, Admiral."

"Thank you, Vorazun."

"Nice suit," Artanis said lightly.

Stukov chuckled.

"And you, Artanis."

Of course, there was someone missing. Stukov leaned over to Horner.

"Where is Fleet Admiral Marín?"

"I think there's a procession. I don't think she'll join us until the reception," Horner said, pointing down into the chasm of the torpedo tube.

Stukov looked over the railing and down at the torpedo track below. There was space to walk on either side, and he noticed that a small podium had been setup beside the track near its exit to space. The lights dimmed slightly, and a humming that he recognized as the magnetic systems of the track started from underneath the floor. Six Umojan naval officers appeared, three on either side, from access doors somewhere below. The first on the far side—on the same side as the podium—was Marín, followed by Vermaak and Ahlberg. On the other side were three people he didn't know but vaguely recognized. They must be from the Vrede. All were in white versions of their usually grey uniform. More than that he couldn't distinguish from his vantage point. The coffin, a retrofitted torpedo draped with the Umojan flag, appeared on the track from somewhere inside the ship. Marín and the others walked with it solemnly as it slowly made its way to the end of the tube, acting symbolically as pallbearers. Stukov frowned slightly, making a grim observation: Oyaleni would have wanted to be here. It's too bad she made the decisions she did, or she would be.

Stukov had attended many funerals in his career but memorializing someone of this high a rank was a rarity. I can't think of a time I attended one for the admiralty. They usually are so far behind enemy… But his mind stopped and he felt suddenly cold and dizzy. He put his hands on the railing and gripped it, the leather of the glove on his right-hand squeaking with the strain. He realized he had attended a funeral like this—his own. The realization made everything go sideways. For the first time, he wondered what it was like. Apparently, it had been broadcast. Reeves had brought it up when they met on the Kuznetsov. As he watched Marín walk, he wondered what people had thought and said about him. It was probably rushed. If it was a state funeral, that means he didn't let on what I had done and how I had died. If they had known that I had been killed by an ally, questions would have been asked. No one but a few Gerard trusted would have seen my body and my injuries. Even fewer would have known the circumstances of my demise. I'm sure few words were said, and I was hurriedly committed to space. A heaviness pulled at his stomach. He felt vaguely nauseated—and while the leviathan disgusted him, it was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. He imagined his family watching an abbreviated version from home, his death probably seeming sudden and meaningless—as all the deaths in the UED's war for domination ultimately were.

"Are you all right, Stukov?" Horner said quietly. Stukov released the railing and slowly stepped back.

"Yes, I'm fine."

The coffin stopped just short of the launch tube's exit. Marín walked slowly up to the podium. Stukov imagined dread in her steps.

"Good evening, everyone. We come here today, a few more and many less. We are joined here today by Captain Calvino and his fleet, adding to our ranks, but the mutiny and the Battle of Tyrador took many lives—including some of those aboard the Vrede. But many more would have been lost without the heroic evacuation attempt and the sacrifice of Admiral Thierry Augustin…"

Stukov listened to Marín with rapt attention. He knew that no one spoke of him like this at his funeral. No one would speak directly about his death or about his life. Both, he realized, had been ignoble at the end. He had wanted to do something good, but distrust and deception had almost kept it from happening. But in the end it was for naught. Gerard most likely didn't have a funeral—he failed. Or the Directorate made up some lies about us all being still alive… and the Destroyer Fleet coming here to aid us. I wonder. Here in the Umojan Navy, under Marín, things seemed to have order and were as they should. A selfless, kind, intelligent, and experienced leader, leading a unified (as it was now) fleet, not shying away from the hard duties like honoring a fallen compatriot and mentor.

After her speech, the other pallbearers folded the flag atop the coffin and handed it to Marín. There was a moment of silence for him and the fallen men and women of the Vrede, and then Augustin was committed to space. Stukov sighed heavily. A part of him was glad to be there—it was good to see someone like him honored in death. But he was also glad it was over. The circumstances were very unlike his own, but it still stirred unpleasant memories.

The service adjourned, and all that were present were invited to the port hangar. He would get a chance to see Marin and she him. Not only that, but he did want to speak to her about Augustin and again personally convey his regrets.

Despite the cavernous size of the hangar bay, it was crowded with mourners—from the Uhuru and other ships that had not been involved in the mutiny. The battlecruiser's smaller ships had been moved to the back of the hangar, and tables of the staples of any hastily-prepared military celebration—small sandwiches no one liked, even worse cake, and cheap champagne—were set around atop white-linened tables for anyone to partake. He realized he was being unfair. For all he knew, it was all different than what he was used to in the UED. And I will never know the difference… It's interesting that five hundred years of separation have produced almost identical traditions. Idly, he picked up a glass of champagne and studied the bubbles in it. He tentatively drank some. It tasted like nothing. Disappointed, he put it with the empties.

Stukov looked around for Marín, but knew she'd be almost impossible to find due to her stature. Moving through the crowd, he looked for Horner, but couldn't find him either. Finally, he spotted Vorazun and Artanis crowded together next to someone. Winding towards them, he found them giving their condolences to Marín, Vorazun clasping her hand with both of hers.

Up close, Stukov realized Marín's dress uniform stuck a very different silhouette than what he was used to for her. With its straight lines that continued past her hips, it accentuated the curve of her back. When Vorazun turned to walk away, Barre pressed a champagne glass into her hand. She gave him a look that was both "thanks" and "what are you trying to do to me?" Stukov straightened his coat and put his hat under his arm as he walked towards her. She was taking a drink when she saw him, but didn't recognize him, probably mistaking him for a Moebius officer. He stepped forward and extended his hand to her.

"Renata…"

Her eyes snapped up to his when she heard his voice. She dropped her champagne glass. It hit her boot and rolled away from her. She didn't seem to notice.

"Alexei?"

He stepped closer to her, unable to keep a small smile from his face. She put her hand out to touch his cheek and stopped.

"What? What did you…" he took her hand and pressed it gently against his jaw, showing her it was real.

"I had Abathur clean me up a little."

Near him, he sensed a sudden, familiar darkness—it was Vermaak. He hadn't noticed that he was nearby. No matter. He can be alone in his grief or… whatever he is feeling. She slowly took her hand away but kept her eyes locked on his.

"Your eyes… they were…brown?"

"Yes… still a little inhuman, but better, no?"

"Yes, much…" She quickly looked him up and down. "Is that your dress uniform?"

"I thought it appropriate for the occasion…"

He saw Vermaak out of the corner of his eye walking towards them. Not wanting to deal with him, he put his arm behind Marín's back and guided her away from the crowd. "But… enough about that. That's not why we're here… how are you doing?"

Marín sighed.

"I think I'm finally dealing with it. The service… I think it was cathartic…. for me and I think for everyone…" she seemed distracted again by the way he looked.

"You look a lot different… Why did you do it?"

"I want to be more human… Looking human is part of that. But you are changing the subject."

"Yes…" They walked in silence for a moment.

"You… were a pallbearer… Was that his wish?"

"Yes. And for me to have the flag."

"You? He… didn't have a wife or…"

"Well, Umojan's don't marry… we have partners. The only formal arrangement is filing for a common homestead which is the closest thing to marriage… but he didn't have that. He had friends—a lot of them. But no partner. And a very cantankerous cat named Socrates… I'm going to end up with him as well if we all survive this…"

Marín began trembling slightly. They had found themselves away from the crowd and beside a liberator. He realized that she may have been moving them both away from the crowd even though he was the one who had originally turned her away. Stukov guided her by the elbow around the side of the liberator, taking them out of line of sight of the crowd.

"Are you okay?" He said, taking her loosely by the wrists.

"I'm fine," she said, looking away.

"No, you are not," he said. He pulled her gently to him, giving her a hug. "Hey, it's all right. We'll make it… and I'm sure there's no one he'd rather have the flag—or his cat."

She regained her composure.

"I guess we're both losing it this week."

"Hey," Vermaak said, rounding the nose of the liberator, "Hey, what are you doing?" Stukov still had his arms lightly around her. Marín stepped back from him and he pulled away. Stukov looked at him, annoyed. It was a private moment that he had interrupted. Who does he think he is treating her that way? Her father?

"This is none of your business, Vermaak."

"Like hell it isn't!"

"Wynand…" Marín said tersely, "Don't start."

"She's my partner."

"Partner?" Stukov said, surprised. He took a step back from her.

"Yeah, so maybe get your claws off of her."

"Wynand, it's a funeral. He was being nice."

"My ass he was."

"You two are involved?"

"Marín, come with me."

"No, you've had too much to drink. I'll talk to you later."

Vermaak hesitated, trying to stare her down.

"Go, Wynand."

Vermaak skulked away.

"He has the worst timing."

"Why didn't you tell me he was your… partner?"

"He usually likes to keep that under his hat… I wouldn't say it's not allowed in our military, but it's definitely not totally okay either. Vermaak believes I would… hinder his ability to rise in the ranks. You must have really seemed like a threat… I don't know why."

"He most likely is just worried about your safety."

"I'm a trained naval officer," Marín said, "I can take care of myself. I think this is more about his reputation…"

"Surely it is not."

Marín sighed and was quiet for a moment. "I wish Thierry was still here… He was a good mentor… someone I could talk to about anything…"

"I'm here. I'm not your superior, but…"

"Aren't I supposed to be here for you?"

"We can support each other." Stukov said, "Unless you think that will strain your relationship with Vermaak."

"Our relationship is already strained," she said darkly. She looked beyond him back at the crowd. Stukov followed her gaze and saw Vermaak watching them from afar.

"Then I'll let you get back to him."

"Yeah, I probably should…" Marín walked away, leaving Stukov standing alone by the liberator. He wondered how much Vermaak knew—whether he was still afraid that he would infest her or if he knew he was attracted to her.

Having accomplished what he had set out to do, but being ultimately thwarted, he decided to leave, putting his hat on and hoping to make an inconspicuous exit. He was frustrated in more ways than one and angry. Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't I see it before? It now seems obvious… I am a such an idiot… Stukov was steps from the door when the red-haired woman from before slid in front of him so quickly he almost walked into her. She was trailing Horner by the wrist. Stukov looked at both of them with annoyed curiosity. Horner rolled his eyes and mouthed what Stukov assumed was "sorry."

"Can I help you?"

"I finally found you, tall, dark, and Brood War… I was hoping to be introduced."

Horner sighed heavily.

"Mira Han, this is Admiral Alexei Stukov, formerly of the Directorate Expeditionary Fleet, now… independent. Admiral Stukov, this is Mira Han, mercenary leader. She's a personal… friend… of mine that I've called in to help us."

"I'm his ex-wife," she said, grinning. Stukov couldn't tell if she was joking. Horner didn't dispute it. "It's good to meet you, Admiral Stukov." Han relinquished her hold of Horner and waved him away, offering her hand to Stukov. Horner quickly escaped but mouthed "no" and made a "cut it short" gesture near his neck for him to not go any further with her. He looked at Horner with confusion, removing his hat again, and taking her hand.

"Likewise, Ms. Han."

"Mira is fine. May I call you Alexei? Or do you go by Alex or something?"

"Alexei is fine."

"Alexei… I like that… rhymes with sexy."

Stukov didn't know how to respond to that.

"Mm…" She looked him up and down. "Directorate uniforms do fit snugly, don't they?" He looked down at himself out of reflex. She was right, in a way. His dress uniform was more tailored than the one that he usually wore. "Especially where it counts." As he took his hand away, he subconsciously covered the front of his pants with his cap, blocking her gaze.

"Are you trying to pick me up… at a funeral?"

"We both don't know this person… we're here to be polite. What's the harm if we have a little fun afterwards?"

"I'm not interested in a relationship with you, Mira."

"I didn't say anything about a relationship… more like… a quick romp in a liberator perhaps?"

Stukov was shocked by her forwardness, but even more shocked that he was considering it. With a relationship with Marín off the table, why shouldn't he take whatever offer comes his way? In some respects he felt he should take advantage of Abathur's "euphoria."

"Ah, you're hesitating. That means yes."

"I don't think so, Mira." Stukov gazed fleetingly at Marín. Han turned to see what he was looking at.

"Ah, I see… You like them a little more… straight-laced."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mm. I don't blame you. I'd let her squeeze me with those muscular thighs."

"Excuse me? I don't think we have the relationship where we can have this kind of conversation," Stukov said, his voice slightly raising.

"I guess we could have a threesome… Well, okay… you've talked me into it."

"May I remind you again that we are attending a funeral," Stukov said loudly. Horner noticed something was amiss and began walking quickly over.

"Eh, when you don't get out much, you have to take your opportunities where you can."

Horner grabbed Han by the wrist and led her away.

"Mira, have you ever met Valerian Mengsk?"

"Yes…"

"Well, why don't you meet him again!"

Glad to be away from Mira, Stukov walked again towards the hangar bay door. But he felt Vermaak's blackness again. As the hangar door closed behind him, he found Vermaak in the corridor outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Back to my ship. Isn't that where you would rather I be?" Stukov said over his shoulder as he passed Vermaak.

"Fine. But we need to get one thing straight. I know what you're up to."

"Oh? And what is that?"

"I know why you did this to yourself. And god love her, Marín is oblivious. She can't read people—or she can but thinks the best of them. I'm not sure which it is with you, but it's pretty obvious to me what you want."

"Really?" Stukov said, feigning nonchalance, "Why don't you tell me so I will know as well?"

"Stay away from her, Stukov. What did you think? You could take her away from me?"

Stukov pushed into his mind, not caring anymore about his privacy. This is not just about Marín. But he was disjointed and had the wherewithal to not think about what he was feeling. He felt subterfuge there. He was hiding something, and it was making him paranoid—and that was why he was reacting so harshly to him. I should rattle him… like Abathur did to me… he may give something away.

"Are you sure that it's me—and not Renata?"

"What?"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging, "she seems receptive. She came to me first… in a revealing dress. She seemed grateful to me for rescuing her… very grateful. I was there for her when you weren't…"

As he had predicted, Vermaak lost control of his thoughts. Stukov saw something, but then an intense wave of emotion washed through his mind and almost overwhelmed him. He was unprepared when Vermaak launched himself at him, knocking him backwards and onto the ground. Stukov struggled to get him off but didn't want to hurt him by using his infested arm. He could easily kill him accidentally. Stukov was larger than Vermaak, but the smaller man's center of gravity was very low. He was small and over-muscled—Like a pitbull… and as tenacious. Stukov only succeeded in getting partially up again before Vermaak picked him up in a wrestling hold and threw him back on his stomach, landing back on top of him near enough to the hangar door that it opened automatically.

Stukov heard worried shouts. People could see what was going on: him on the floor wrestling with Vermaak. Stukov resorted to getting his human arm free and elbowing him in the head, allowing him to scramble away for a few seconds. But Vermaak was on him again, trapping his arm in another wrestling hold, his boot against the back of his head. Stukov thought he should have realized he was a wrestler by his stature and not let him get him on the ground. He growled in frustration at not being able to move. Security guards pushed through the crowd, but when they saw their boss restraining an ally, they were unsure how to react. Finally, Marín burst through the semicircle that had formed around them.

"Wynand!" Marín yelled, pulling at Vermaak, "Get off of him!" The security officers finally reacted and began peeling Vermaak off Stukov. When Stukov rolled over and saw Vermaak, the general was purple with rage. But even so, he had controlled himself, not hurting Stukov, just restraining him in an uncomfortable way to show dominance. "What is wrong with you? Getting in a fight at Thierry's funeral? Really?"

"It's fine, Renata. I'm leaving," Stukov said, brushing himself off. "I don't want to upset anyone." This seemed to cause something to break in Marín, and he wasn't sure what. She hardened suddenly.

"I'll walk you out."

"Renata…" Vermaak said.

"General, unless you want to spend the night in the brig, I'd advise you to shut the hell up." Marín took Stukov by the arm and led him away.

"What happened?"

"He confronted me… here in the hallway."

"As if he didn't make his point earlier…"

"I confess that I goaded him."

"Why would you do that?" He didn't want to tell her the real reason—that he had seen something in his mind that he did not understand: Vermaak at a terminal, a message, and then erasure.

"I was… angry I guess…"

"That's not a good excuse—for either of you."

They continued on in silence. Stukov wanted to ask her many questions, but most of them would seem rude. He wanted to know how they, of all people, were together, how long they had been in a relationship, and why she thought it necessary to hide her relationship from him. But she wasn't hiding it. We don't know each other that well… and she claims Vermaak is who wanted to keep it a secret. I want it to have been her secret. Then there would have to be a reason—she harbored feelings for me.

At the starboard hangar, Stukov stopped at the door with Marín.

"I'm… sorry about tonight…"

"Don't be." Marín sighed. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Stukov chuckled.

"He'd have to try harder than that to hurt me."

"So I gathered…" Stukov turned to go and Marín grabbed his sleeve. "Look, I'm sorry everything is such a mess. This is not what I wanted. You've been very kind to me and you don't deserve it…"

"Thanks…"

"Goodnight… I'll see you tomorrow?" Stukov nodded to her and walked into the hangar bay. As he ripped biohazard plastic off his shuttle once again, he felt defeat. Marín wasn't his. She wasn't even available. And though Vermaak had gotten the best of him—and he had allowed it—Stukov had gotten little in return. In his short experience with telepathic and empathic abilities, he had not experienced a human with the depth of negative emotion that Vermaak had. And what he had seen bothered him. As he made his way back to the Aleksander, he pored over it. But the text was indistinct. Why is this something that would cause him shame? What was the message? There was no way to know. and it frustrated him. As the shuttle landed, he examined his own motivations. Is there really something there, or do I want there to be? I want Vermaak to have something to hide. I want Marín's relationship to fail. No good can come of me pursuing this if it is false. But still it gnawed at him.

Back in his quarters, he allowed himself to emotionally process the day—the funeral that was so different from his own, what he should have known about Marín and Vermaak, the fight, and the changes that Abathur had made to him that were affecting him in ways that he did not anticipate. He was angry at Han for preying on his obvious vulnerability, at Vermaak for his hostility and need for dominance, and also at Marín—though he knew it was unfair—for not telling him about her relationship with Vermaak. He thought about how many times that she had touched him—his hand, his arm, his chest. She had even caressed his face. Was she purposefully leading me on? He asked himself. But he knew that wasn't true. She was kind and empathized with him—or pitied him. I was right all along… I am a fool mistaking kindness for interest.

In the darkness of his small bedroom, he began taking off his jacket. It slid off easily; he opened the closet door and hung it inside. As he did, he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door. He didn't recognize the man there—it was both not the man he was or the monster had had become. The changes Abathur had proposed he should make—and that Stukov had agreed to—had been for Marín. And he knew that Abathur had made some additional, illicit changes; Stukov could feel it. Euphoria. That was his euphemism for it. I feel like I'm rutting like some goddamn animal.

Stukov saw no way around the fact that Marín was married Or 'partnered,' or whatever the Umojans call it. It was enough for him to break off his pursuit. But the Swarm thought differently, urging him to fight Vermaak, kill him, take her for himself, and protect her. With a burst of frustrated anger, he slammed the closet door closed. The heavy mirror bounced loudly against the door inside and shattered. Stukov sat back heavily on the bed, his head in his hands. He needed to regroup. He couldn't make an enemy of Vermaak and he couldn't conveniently get him out of the way either, though he had many opportunities while chasing Grellna and would have many more. But he identified with him despite it all as a soldier and a man who was fiercely overprotective of his wife.

Protective… Something in Stukov clicked. He sat up straight, again focusing on the image he had taken from Vermaak's mind. Now that he had an idea what the text could be, he could see some of it. It wasn't letters, it was a string of numbers. Requisition codes—that's what they are. That son of a bitch! He's the one! But he knew that alone would not be enough evidence. It was circumstantial, but circumstances speak loudly here… The numbers and the context of his emotional outbursts… It all points to his guilt: he supplied Marín's requisition codes to Valerian. He wanted to protect her by taking her wraith, but instead he put her in harm's way. It was obvious to him, but he could come to no one with this evidence. It was too ephemeral; "I saw it in his mind" would easily be dismissed. He wondered how Vermaak had avoided detection, but then he realized he was probably leading the investigation into the code leak in the first place. Now that he knew what had happened, he needed hard evidence. Stukov needed someone that he could trust, who cared about Marín's welfare over Vermaak's, and someone who had access to records.

Stukov stalked into his living room and to his desk, sliding into his chair and activating his console.

"Adjutant, what time is it?"

"The time is 2301 hours."

That's not too late…

"Adjutant, call the Uhuru's switchboard."

"Uhuru main. What can I do for you, Admiral Stukov?"

"Can you connect me with Lieutenant Achille Barre?"

"Of course, Admiral." There was a moment of dead air. When the line picked up again, it was Barre pulling a t-shirt over his head. On it was a very grim-looking skull and what Stukov assumed was the name of a band.

"Admiral? Why are you calling me? Can you not get in touch with Fleet Admiral Marín?"

"I'm sure I can, but I wanted to speak to you, Lieutenant. Is this line secure?"

Barre's eyes darted away, and he made a few taps on his console. The image shimmied slightly then stabilized.

"It is now… What do you want?" he said, appraising Stukov.

"It is my understanding that you are privy to all of the Uhuru's incoming and outgoing communications… Is that correct?"

"Well, I don't monitor them actively, but they are logged and recorded automatically, and I have access… I only pull them if there's a reason to do so."

"Good. It is as I thought. I need you to find something."

"What?" Barre said loudly. He looked around as if he thought there might be someone hiding and listening. Barre leaned forward towards the console's receiver and spoke quietly into it. "I'm not going to let you listen in on a private conversation," Barre hissed.

"I don't expect you to do so. I instead want you to… investigate some records. And make your own conclusions."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a… hunch about who gave out the Fleet Admiral's requisition codes. I want you to review all communications around that time."

"I handed all those records over to General Vermaak. I'm sure he analyzed all of them in every detail… Admiral Marín is his partner, you know." Stukov grimaced slightly at the reminder.

"I want your eyes on it, Barre. You're the specialist. I'm also not sure that Vermaak would come to the records… unbiased."

Stukov knew that he would understand a subtext but probably not the subtext that was the true one. Barre would think the bond between Marín and Vermaak was impeachable. He would have to manufacture another one that was more palatable.

"Unbiased? What do you mean?"

"I think the real culprit is obvious… and is already subdued. But revealing that will give some peace of mind to the Fleet Admiral, yes?"

"You think Oyaleni…?" He considered this for a moment. "She wasn't onboard, but she could have remotely accessed the computer banks here… she certainly has the clearance. But I don't know how she would get the codes…"

"We don't need that. We just need the transmission."

"Right. Right! But what about Vermaak?"

"I'm sure he was ordered by Oyaleni to cover up her crimes. He likely had no choice in the matter."

Barre thought about this. He seemed to be convincing himself. Stukov knew he would not have believed the truth—that Valerian had approached Vermaak and preyed on his insecurities to get the codes from him. I'll let the facts lead him to the true culprit.

"I'll… take a look, I guess."

"Good. You don't have to tell me what you find… But if you need advice…"

"Believe me, if I find anything, you'll know—one way or another."

"Then you will report it?" Stukov was surprised he was so eager to run it up the flagpole, but he guessed he shouldn't have been. From what he had seen, Barre seemed to have a taste for drama—and a distaste for Vermaak.

"Of course! What's the point if not?"

"Then we understand each other. Happy Hunting, Lieutenant."

Stukov turned off the comm and leaned back in his wingback chair, pushing away from the desk. He rubbed his hands together gleefully, wondering how long it would take Barre to find what he was looking for. Will he start now? He wondered. No, tomorrow. He was getting ready for bed. But what he had told him may have been irresistible to him. Barre did seem to be interested in intrigue. He found himself impatient. He knew what uncovering the truth would mean—Vermaak would be facing a court martial. And his deception will destabilize—or maybe even end—their relationship, he thought. But Barre will have to find something first… Stukov thought about the fallout. He didn't know what Marín would do, but if their relationship ended… She could fall right into my arms, he thought, reaching out with both like he was catching her, frowning at his mutated arm. But he felt bad for thinking it. She would suffer immensely from the betrayal. It might be a long time before she was ready for a relationship again. Or not. She seemed to imply their relationship was rocky. And some people tend to take a "rebound." I'll take what I can get, he thought.

He couldn't decide what to do with himself in the meantime. He could help Abathur and Iszha prepare the brood, but he didn't feel like submerging himself in the Swarm. Not now. Not when… He wanted to see his current gambit through. He felt suddenly weary again. Maybe I can… sleep on it.