Chapter 3: The Horned Queen
Saraslha had gotten bored of her makeshift signal tower and went to dig a hole in the large backyard of her habitat. It had reached a 12-meter radius and 4-meter depth when she heard a massed number of footsteps on the road.
Her head popped out of the hole. The infested population of the enclave were walking down the gravel road in a column, headed in the direction of their town center.
Saraslha's skirt raised and stiffened, then she launched into the air. The birds-eye view offered by her new altitude showed that the marching infested numbered in the thousands. She flew in a downward arc to them and landed to walk beside a young infested. "Hey there buddy. Mind telling me what's going on?"
The Infested opened his mouth to reveal it was obstructed by swelling. A muffled grunt was all he could offer for speech.
"Oh, I see. No problem. Just think about what you want to say and I'll pick it up." Saraslha said to his mind.
"What's going on? Why is there a voice in my head?"
Saraslha exhaled. "Nevermind, sorry to bug you." Her skirt flared once again and she took to the air. "If there are any telepaths in this crowd, sound off!" She broadcast this thought to every mind nearby. During her time in New Folsom she'd learned to block out the thoughts of random people, a skill for which she was thankful, but one couldn't mute the direct messaging of a telepath any more than one could switch off one's sense of hearing.
I The voice was cautious; nervous, but undeniably that of a telepath.
Saraslha flew straight to its source: A teen, barely a man walking at the far edge of the column. "Excellent." She said as she landed next to him. "You can tell me what's going on."
"Wait a minute, you're not an infested! You're…"
"I'm Saraslha! No doubt you've heard of me. Now, back to my question…"
"I can't believe I actually just met you! You're amazing…" He eyed her from feet to head. "I saw the news footage of you on Korhal. You look so much like us, but you look… good."
"Oh, er… Heh, thanks." She looked away bashfully, smiling, then back at him. "Anyway, where are all these people headed?"
The infested boy looked ahead again. "There's been a call to arms. We're going to war."
"Damn, so all the infested are fighting?"
"Pretty much. If Haven gets taken over by the Directorate we'll all be killed, so we're prepared to resist them tooth and nail."
"Understood. Thanks a lot uh… Wait, what's your name?"
"It's Uther! Uther Domz. And… Thank you, Princess."
"Mm?" Saraslha vocalized as her face tilted. "What are you thanking me for?"
"For choosing to speak to me, out of everyone here."
Her head straightened as her mouth curved to a smirk. "I am memorable, aren't I? Welp, don't get yourself killed, Uther. I'mma find you again later."
His eyes widened as she once again launched into the air.
Constance had taken her broken arm out of its sling. The hospital she'd gone to in the city made liberal use of military-grade wound-mending suites designed by Caduceus Corp, and it only took a couple of days for a broken limb to be usable again after such treatment.
She got a text that was accompanied by a loud tone despite her phone being muted. It was the call to arms being sent to all reservists.
"Finally!" This exclamation got confused looks from passers-by, some of whom had also received the alert on their phones.
Noise of clanging and rummaging erupted at her Uncle's house.
"Constance, what the hell are you looking for?" Uncle William's voice from another room. "Let me find it for you so you stop making a mess."
"The call to arms is out and I need to load up." Constance was pulling things out of a steel gun safe, searching.
"I know, I was there when Tana made the call." He came into the room. "Now what are you looking fo–"
"Found it!" Constance took out a pistol with a scope and noise-suppressant barrel. "Thing of beauty."
"Hold on, I like that gun."
"Too bad, I'm taking it."
"For fuck's sake…" William paced out of the room while throwing his hands in the air. "Why don't you take all my shit?"
Constance looked toward the open door he left through, her brow raised. "What's it chambered for again?"
"You don't know what bullets to get for it, but you want it anyway. Typical." William opened a different cupboard. "Do you have something for atmospheric autonomy?"
"Pretty sure my HEV suit still works."
"You'll want to get issued a new one ASAP. Bother someone ranked colonel or higher about it. Not an operations master; they have no say over what gets shipped."
"Got it."
"And I'd prefer it if you stick with Republic forces and not get wrapped up in Dominion ops. Whether you're answering to a competent commander could mean life or death." He got up and faced her.
"In other words you want me somewhere you can keep an eye."
"I know the Republic officers, and I know they know what they're doing, whereas I wouldn't trust the average Dominion mook to run a paper route."
"It's fine, I already have a unit in mind."
"Who?" He tossed her a metal box full of ammunition.
"The zerg girl." Constance caught the 20 kilogram box with little effort. "She's forming something and I intend to join it."
William stared for 5 incredulous seconds, then broke down into deep-throated laughter. "Constance Hai… Constance 'the zerg must be wiped from existence' Hai, is going to team up with that brat princess, and take orders from her?"
Her head crooked. "They're good orders."
"She's a zerg."
"I'm not fighting for the swarm and neither is she. What point are you trying to make?"
"None, it turns out. And there are worse places you can be in this war."
Constance's phone vibrated. It was a text from Syrenne, whose name she forgot to update. Get leave, arm up and meet me at our last rendezvous at 13:00 sharp.
"I have to go." She said aloud, heading to the bathroom with her HEV suit to change.
"Wait." William grabbed her shoulder. "That zerg girl is going to make the most of your… Abilities, if you choose to go with her."
A pause. "I can take care of myself, Uncle." Constance said with an uncharacteristically soft, reassuring tone.
"I know that, just remember what I've told you."
She smiled. "Self-control at all times. You lose control, everything else follows."
He nodded. "We kept you natural, but that means there's no implant to protect you from your own powers. You remember what happened last time you took them too far?"
"The most painful experience of my life. Trust me, I won't repeat it."
Constance found Saraslha at Brink's refueling station. She was wearing her human disguise, and the expensive suit she'd wore when they first met.
As if to magnify the implication that she was flaunting herself by wearing a compromised disguise and extravagant clothing that seemed out of place in a rural area, she sat in the driver's seat of an open-top black car with the engine idling.
"Should I even ask?" Constance said as she vaulted into the passenger's seat.
Saraslha flashed an arrogant grin, her posture slouched and jacket unbuttoned. "Nah, the easy stuff isn't that interesting." She put the car in gear and slammed on the gas pedal, peeling out of the refueling station's parking lot and zooming down the gravel road out of town.
"So what are we doing?" Constance asked. "More importantly, what do you need me to do?"
"Stand next to me, look scary and listen."
"How do I look scary?"
"You already do with that permanent murder face. Just don't change it."
She snorted as they got further away from town. A half hour's drive brought them to a deserted grass field. Constance held on to a handle strap as Saraslha sped along the rough ground. "You're going to destroy the suspension on this thing."
"If it breaks I'll just fix it. Right now I need it to go fast."
"And you think spare parts are just lying around for you to use?"
"...Yes. That's what I'm used to."
"Well that's not the case here. Maybe you should slow down."
Saraslha's head snapped to Constance, then she looked up, visibly considering the suggestion. "...No." She stated, looking ahead again. "Five minutes of my time is worth more than a car suspension." Her foot didn't relax off the gas pedal.
Constance found, to her own chagrin, that she respected this approach to things; dispassionate cost/benefit analysis that ignored convention, and which put a high, confident premium on one's own time… Constance twitched. Stop it. She told herself. You're only making use of her.
"I look forward to using you." Saraslha said plainly. "The spectres I've commanded before are probably better, but they didn't have much personality 'xcept Tosh."
Of course she worked with Spectres before. What else was there to expect? Emperor Valerian Mengsk was too soft to crack down on their activities and force them to work for the government. "You never said what exactly we're doing."
"You sure you want to know? Surprises are more fun."
"I'm not here to have fun."
"We're meeting up with some guys I hired. Then it's off to planet Juno Five to raid a UED mining outpost and see if we can spike their comms network."
Constance's excitement at the prospect of action was dampened by how easy it sounded. "Wait, how do you know there's a UED mining outpost on Juno Five?"
"I'm assuming there is."
"Assuming." Constance stated flatly. "Based on what?"
Saraslha twirled a free hand slowly in the air without looking at it. "You saw that fleet on the news, right?"
"Yeah, it was–"
"Huge! Imagine the supply consumption on it. They need to establish a local resource income to support that thing as soon as possible. The Juno System is a prime target for that. It isn't claimed by the Dominion, Daelaam nor my Mother, and Juno Five is a dust bowl but it has a lot of resources."
"So you're acting like you can read the UED's mind."
"It's not hard to predict someone's actions when you know what they need."
They came to a deserted clearing miles away from town. A dropship had landed there, with a rugged-looking mercenary standing outside of it. His arms were aloofly crossed as he leaned against the hydraulic arm of the dropship's open boarding ramp.
"You Syrenne Cromford?" He said.
"That's me." She said, hopping out of the car over the door.
The rugged man took a toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it to the ground. "This is a big job you've contracted us for, and my Boss wants a word on the terms."
Saraslha walked easily past him to the dropship ramp, hands in her pant pockets with her jacket unbuttoned and somewhat uneven. "I already hashed out the terms with your Boss over comms."
"Situation's changed, and he wants to renegotiate."
She stopped abruptly as her head turned to look at him blankly. "A down payment plus half of whatever he loots is more than fair."
"That's what I said, but the Boss is stubborn. You can talk to him aboard the Druid."
Saraslha snorted at the name of their headquarter ship. "Alright, let's go."
"Hold up, who's this?" The Merc pointed at Constance, who'd been silent up to this point.
"My bodyguard." Saraslha said easily. "She comes too."
The dropship took them to high orbit and landed inside the hangar of a mountain-sized carrier ship. Saraslha and Constance were escorted to its bridge. The ship was far from perfectly maintained; the hydraulics on some doors moved sluggishly, and several pipelines had been ruptured and sealed off.
"I'd simply like to reassess our transaction based upon new… Developments." A middle-aged man sat slouched in a prominently placed chair of the bridge. His hair was a greying crew cut, and his eyes had dark stress bags under them.
"Altering an agreement once already made is a generous consideration." Saraslha said. "What considerations can I expect from you in return?"
The mercenary Commander's brow weighted. Heavy, intelligent eyes appraised Saraslha's young, relaxed human guise. "You can expect… That my group, the Black Rams, will be fronting the blood and bullets for this endeavor, while all your contribution consists of is a bundle of cash, and some intel on the target.
With this in mind you expect to walk away with fifty percent of the take."
"I'll tell you what I'm providing other than money, money which, by the way, you receive whether the job succeeds or not, making it a safe bet for you."
"And what's that?"
Saraslha turned sideways and looked sidelong and downward at the seated Mercenary Leader, flashing a crooked smile. "I'm also providing you with a face."
"A face?"
Saraslha raised a hand, turning and addressing the mercenaries circled around them on the Bridge, likely the Merc Commander's lieutenants. "Let's say the Directorate gains a foothold in this sector, and one day they decide they want to make an example of the cheeky mercs who raided their resource colony…" Her hand curled inward to aim a finger gun at her own head. "I'm the client, I arranged the whole thing, I pointed you to the resource colony. It's me they'll make the example of. You boys were just following orders. Hell, you can tell them I lied to you, and you thought you were raiding the Viper Dragoons."
"Shit, that's that Dehaka freak's outfit." A lieutenant chimed in. "We don't fuck with those guys-" His jaw locked shut when the Commander glared at him.
Saraslha faced the Commander again. "I'm carrying all the political liability for this job, and you want to say that you believe my fifty percent cut of the plunder is unfair?"
The Commander began to laugh with his mouth shut, then inhaled. "You don't look a day over eighteen. How is it you're this shrewd?"
"Do we have a deal, my good man?"
"Sixty-forty, I get the sixty."
"Done." Saraslha said as she extended a hand.
Constance's eyes shot to her.
The Commander took her hand, and they shook. "Now, your intel?"
"Fifth planet of the Juno system."
He got to his feet, raising his voice to a command tone. "Set our warp heading to Elba, then sublight heading to forty five solar before the jump to Juno."
As the Bridge got to work, the Commander looked at Syrenne. "Do as you like 'till we get there."
Saraslha and Constance loitered in the bridge, and Constance spoke up telepathically. "That whole persuasion schpeel, and you let him raise his percentage to sixty."
"There was nothing to be done about that. He had to save face in front of his subordinates. Him starting a renegotiation of a deal and walking away with nothing would have looked bad."
"So you bent to his foolishness."
"My cut of the plunder is just a bonus. I don't need forty, or even thirty percent of it."
"Then what's the reason for all this?"
Saraslha looked at her. "What do you do when a beast enters your territory, and you want to discern its nature?"
"Study it?"
Saraslha smiled. "Poke it."
Frank Starnes, a Directorate transport pilot, had been having a peculiar day. 6 hours after being woken from cryosleep, he was ordered to make a supply run to a classified outpost in the Juno system. On the way to his ship he'd been stopped by people in white uniforms with red trim; members of the DSP. The DSP were commissars; political officers who answered to Julia DuGalle, the Directorate's Grand Moff of the Koprulu Sector.
They'd taken him to a private room where he was made to sign papers he wasn't given time to read, and they made it exhaustively clear that he was not to speak of his mission, the facility he flew to, nor anything he might see at location to anybody under the army rank of major general, or the navy rank of rear admiral.
The consequences of violating such warnings from political officers were usually life-ending.
When his ship entered the atmosphere of Juno Five and approached the outpost coordinates, he saw nothing but the rocky, jagged face of one of the young planet's colossal mountain ranges. His ship's scanner detected no human life or structures
"This is Directorate Logistics B-1878. Anyone out there please respond."
A reply: "We read you, B-1878. Your arrival is on schedule, please land at the designated coordinates, we're lowering the shield for you."
As the officer on the other end said this, The glimpse of a metal facility appeared on the mountain face, and got wider as a round barrier concealing it opened.
Frank had heard of technology like this existing; barriers which cloaked large structures and compounds beyond any means of detection. They were used by secretive branches of the government and military, but this was his first time seeing it firsthand.
As the facility got closer in view, the barrier snapped shut. He frowned with confusion. "Ground control, is something wrong?" He said to the radio.
An alarm blared in the cockpit of his ship as a side screen flashed that he'd been target locked by a ground to air missile battery. His finger slammed on the send button of his radio. "What's going on!"
"You've led Koprulus to this facility. Rot in hell, traitor." A new voice, that of a woman whose tone carried a spiteful venom.
Frank's gut sank, fear welled inside him as he checked his radar.
A wing of dropships, at least 20, had just come out of cloaking and were approaching the facility. They bore no IFF signal, meaning they couldn't be Directorate.
The target lock alarm continued to blare. A missile was approaching. His ship was an unarmored transport meant for operations in secured aerospace. A single anti-air missile would cause catastrophic damage to it, and there was no hope of evasive maneuvers with its high mass and underpowered thrusters and avionics.
With a speed borne of fear for his life, Frank threw off his seatbelt and bolted for the lifeboat. as he tumbled inside and threw the activation switch, he felt crushing Gs and a moderate brain blackout, then the crack of an explosion outside and the impact of an air wave on the lifeboat that caused it to spin wildly.
Saraslha had taken a seat on the Merc ship's bridge without asking, and nobody objected. She was watching events. "Damn, they shot down their own transport. It wasn't his fault he gave away their location."
"So there really is a UED outpost here." The Merc Commander remarked, his arms crossed. "You weren't just full of hot air and guesswork.
"No outpost had been detected on Juno Five when they first entered the system, but Saraslha had insisted they wait until a logistics ship entered or left the system. She gave him a snide, sideways glance. "And here you were, pissy about waiting a couple of hours."
"I still think this was a lucky guess." He said. "Anyway, my men'll clean the place out and make off with any Earth tech and valuables they can load. Then we jump out of here and hash out what comprises my sixty percen– Where are you going?"
Saraslha had risen to her feet, motioning Constance to follow. "I'm heading down there with your next attack wave."
"Are you looking to get yourself killed?"
"We can handle ourselves."
"Stop." There was annoyance in his tone as he grabbed her shoulder.
She looked at his hand, then at his face curiosity.
The Mercenary Commander's teeth ground together. "I can't have a client running off and dyin' on my watch. It's not a good look."
"I missed the part where that means you can stop me." Her brow raised innocently. "Who's working for who in this situation?"
He exhaled through his nose, trying to vent his irritation. "If you're concerned that I'll pull something over on you regarding the plunder, you can send your bodyguard down there. But you're staying on this ship."
Saraslha burst into laughter. "You're funny- and no. We're going. She walked away, indifferent to the hand on her shoulder.
Constance, a pace behind Saraslha, gave the Commander a sympathetic look along with a shrug, as if to convey that she'd wrestled with the same stubbornness.
"Why are we going down there if you don't much care about the plunder?" Constance asked as they walked speedily to a portside force deployment hangar.
"This whole situation is fishy. If it was a mining outpost, why would they send a grand total of one supply ship on a run to it? That thing could only haul five hundred tons of material, tops. Where are the heavy cargo freighters?"
"Maybe the operation isn't outputting yet, or the freighters are coming on a different run."
"Possible but unlikely. Terrans can get a terrestrial mining op going within a few hours, and it's safer to run transport ships in convoys."
"Alright, then. I'll go along with your investigation. What do I do once we touch down?"
"Find their command center, neutralize it, then come to me."
"You want to win the battle first?"
"I find it's easier to search an area when you're in control and bullets aren't flying."
"Got it."
Ensign Carl Zhang manned the tactical map and a secondary comms console of the command center of the Directorate outpost on Juno Five. When the wing of unmarked dropships were spotted following the scheduled supply run and their concealment field had been compromised, he'd relayed an order from Elen Maas, the outpost's DSP officer, to shoot down the supply transport first before targeting the mercenary dropships.
With each patient sweep of the spatial scanner, lighting up objects on the tactical map, Ensign Zhang declared the information out loud as he was trained. "Eighteen enemy dropships have landed in the outer compound and on starport landing pads. Garrison full deployment ETA: four minutes. Enemy ground force composition: Three hundred armored infantry, fifty medium combat walkers, fifty mobile artillery."
"When does our SOS reach the main fleet?" Another voice, Commander Gregory Hirsch.
"Message ETA is one hour." A comms officer in a remote corner said aloud.
"That's too long." Commander Hirsch said. "Resend the message without WaveNet encryption protocols–"
"Belay that order." DSP Officer Maas said. "We are not compromising the WaveNet."
Zhang tensed at this exchange. The DSP was a political entity, yet it nonetheless had its fingers in every level of Directorate military operations. Protocol was not clear over whose orders took precedent in the event of a contradiction. Directorate law was unclear about many things.
Zhang refocused on his task. "Our anti-air batteries are sustaining artillery fire. Enemy is approaching the central compound in haphazard formation."
"Order all garrison units to take positions behind the inner wall. Noncombatants are to evacuate to the Command Center." Hirsch said, then turned to Maas.
"We'll last twenty minutes at most against a force that size with artillery. Less if a second wave comes. We were relying on discretion to protect this facility. That protection is gone."
"Limiting WaveNet's encryption is against protocol. It's out of the question." Maas said. "We're to prevent these… Pirates, from accessing the mine long enough for relief to arrive. Order the mining crew to demolish the entrance."
"Are you insane?" Hirsch said, audibly reining back his anger at the woman. "There are sixty men in those mines right now. Blowing the entrance will cut off the ventilation- they'll suffocate."
"The secrecy of what's here takes priority over all else."
Hirsch turned to the comms officer. "Send the expedited SOS."
"Belay that." Maas snapped.
The comms officer froze, the contradictory orders he received having reduced him to inaction.
"Dammit, woman. Do you think the pirates will treat you with civility when they kick down the door?"
"Dealing with them is your job." Maas said. "Do something."
"I'm not a damn miracle worker." Hirsch said. "They outnumber us three to one and we have to stay put and defend; maneuver isn't an option. You need to get your head out of your ass and understand the situation we're in!"
"You will not speak to me that way." Maas said in a low, dark tone, glaring at Hirsch with a volcanic hatred. "I don't think I've made it clear to you- all of you!" She shouted to the room. "What the consequences are for failure of your mission here. You will have no careers, no future, you'll be lucky if you're not behind bars–"
Zhang felt his sight, hearing, touch- all his means of sensing the world, drown in the loudest, brightest, hottest, coldest of sensations. He distantly felt himself collapse to the floor, and vaguely heard himself, and others screaming involuntarily.
When he came back to his senses, the entire command room crew were also lain on the floor, and he saw a young woman standing at the entrance. The form-fitting environment suit and flickers of a personal cloaking device made it apparent what she was, and it filled Zhang with terror.
A ghost.
"Do I have your attention? Good." Young ghosts were commonplace, and her voice was plenty youthful. She continued. "First, you'll order your forces to lay down their arms. Then, you'll remove all your access keys from their consoles, and throw them to my feet. If I see any funny business, you die."
The terror of their situation was now accompanied by bewilderment. It would have been less complicated to simply kill them all, and ghosts were trained to kill without hesitation or feeling. Why was this one being merciful? The command room would be defunct without their access keys, but letting them live was still a risk.
Maas climbed to her feet, whimpering. When her beady eyes settled on the ghost, she moved to do something so foolish, so against all notions of sense and self-preservation, that Zhang would have been shocked if not for her behavior just prior.
Maas reached for the pistol on Commander Hirsch's belt.
The ghost's motion was imperceptibly fast, and the first action to register was the quiet discharge of a stealth pistol, followed by Maas' body hitting the floor.
The room was dead silent. Hirsch's hands were raised.
The ghost turned to him. "I'm giving you the option to avoid further bloodshed. If you don't order your men to surrender within the next ten seconds, I'll kill you and everyone in this room. After that you can guess how long your garrison will last without command and control."
"If I do that, I'll be strung up and shot for cowardice." Hirsch said.
"Yes, but your men will live. Five seconds."
Hirsch raised the communicator on his forearm and pressed a single button. "All units, this is Commander Hirsch. You are ordered to lay down your arms and surrender. Commissar Maas is dead, and I've assumed full command and responsibility for this decision. Repeat: All combatants are to lay down their arms and surrender."
Captain Barnes hunkered his armored form behind the infinitely reliable protection of sediment positioned between him and his enemy.
"Artillery Group One, concentrate fire at oh point three clicks ahead of my position." He said to the internal communicator of his power armor suit.
The assault conducted by his division had been a shock landing and attack, yet the deciding factor of the engagement with Directorate forces had, as was often the case, been their superior amount of artillery.
Barnes was the son; one of the many children of the Commander of the Black Rams. He'd been raised within the mercenary life, and military discipline had been a part of it from early childhood.
He took his situation seriously, and drew satisfaction from his competence in this realm…
Yet still, he was bewildered in his trench, by the sight of a girl in a suit drinking a bottle of Cola.
He was not ignorant. Barnes had been informed that their client would be coming down to the combat zone, and her physical description, black hair, blue eyes and light skin, matched the appearance of this girl.
Yet still, he was confused. He asked. "Ma'am, would you prefer a spot further away from the fighting?"
Her eyes shot to him, and with the same insight by which he processed a combat situation, he saw knowledge; thought, in this girl's eyes. "Thanks. But I'm fine here." She said. "Spread the word that everyone keep their heads down."
"For… What reason, Ma'am?" He couldn't help but ask. "You understand that if we don't lay suppressive fire, they'll get ideas. You're applying mission parameters that could break us."
"I do understand." She said calmly, staring at and slushing her bottle of cola.
Who was this arrogant brat? What gave her the right to weigh in on their situation while looking like a cosmopolitan blueblood? "What exactly do you want?" He said.
Her eyes flicked to his. "I already told you."
"Why, though?" For a field officer, the 'why' of something was a matter of life or death. He dealt with reality, not the whims of those with power.
"Just be patient. I understand wanting to know and have a handle on things, but there just isn't time to explain. Very soon their command center will be decapitated."
"Captain!" Someone over comms. "I don't believe it. The enemy is surrendering!"
Barnes stared, bewildered at his helmet communicator, then at the girl.
Saraslha walked briskly, yet calmly down the tunnel that had been dug by the Directorate operation.
"We need to get out of here soon, Saraslha." Constance said, following beside her. "Directorate reinforcements will arrive before long, and they'll be packing the big guns."
"You said they wanted to protect this area like it was sacred." Saraslha said. "I'm finding out why before we leave."
"It might just be a score of golden minerals." Constance said. "Who knows what Earthlings attribute value to."
"They attribute value to money, health, other Terrans, their breeding prospects; that part of them isn't hard to grasp. This…" She raised a hand, indicating the improbably wide tunnel. "...However, is, and I'm getting an answer."
The reached the end of the tunnel, coming upon a natural cavern of a shape unlike any encountered in Constance's experience.
And unlike any in Saraslha's as well, given her statement of "The hell is this?"
A light floated in the center of the cavern, casting a gentle blue glow over both their faces. It was surrounded by enigmatic research equipment. A telepathic message entered both their minds:
"Do you wish to rise?"
"What does that mean?" She heard Saraslha say.
"Why would I want it?" Constance said.
The light brightened, and the world was washed away in the overwhelming flash. Constance shut her eyes.
When they opened, she was standing on the surface of a volcanic planet. The surrounding landscape was blasted, smoking, and littered with dead zerg. Their central hive had been split to pieces and burnt into smoking chunks, and all around her… Were Protoss warriors.
Their hands had been raised into the air as they let out war cries; cries of triumph, of glory, purpose…
She was dressed just like them, with her own glimmering metal armor and psi blades.
Not only this, but she was holding the severed head of Overqueen Zagara.
Constance has slain the Overqueen!" A protoss warrior declared.
This couldn't be real, it had to be a vision.
Who was she, a mere warrior, to slay the Zerg Overqueen? What were the odds?
"It could become real."
She realized that the voice was her own mind; thoughts so very close, so very familiar, and given an unprecedented amount of weight.
"Constance is a hero of our age!" A protoss warrior; a comrade in arms, declared.
Next, Constance realized that what she witnessed was not an illusion presented by some foreign entity. It was her own thoughts; her own fantasy, entertained in vivid detail and indulgent sensation.
She wanted this.
But then Constance stiffened. Her teeth clenched.
…no.
"This isn't real." She declared. "I reject this vision. Leave!"
"But this could be yours." Her own voice.
"Not through you." She said flatly, neutrally. "Not by merely wishing it be so."
The vision dissipated, and Constance found herself once again in reality; the cavern, the mine, the UED outpost.
Saraslha was still under the trance, her eyes fixated, blankly, forward.
"Hurry up." Constance said, grabbing Saraslha's shoulder. "We don't have much time."
Saraslha didn't move.
"Are you there? Come in!" The new voice was faint. It came from Saraslha's blacktooth.
Constance snatched it out of Saraslha's ear and inserted it into her own. "Give me a sitrep."
"Raid's cut short. A Directorate ship has exited warp in the system. Our dropships lift off in five minutes, with or without you and the Client. Is that clear?"
"Copy that." Constance turned to Saraslha again. "You hear that? We have to go."
Still Saraslha didn't respond. She simply stood and stared blankly.
"Saraslha there's no time for this." Constance said, anger welling up. "It's just a stupid phantom vision. Whatever it's showing you is bullshit."
Constance calculated the time. If she ran out of the mine and to the Mercenaries' nearest landing site at a full sprint, she would reach them in 3 minutes. And that was assuming 0 interruptions; cave collapse, security systems or holed up base staff with guns getting bright ideas.
4 minutes and 30 seconds remained.
"We're out of time, Saraslha, let's go–" As she moved to grab Saraslha's shoulders and usher her toward the exit, the disguised zerg shoved her away with a surprising level of brute force; like there was no mind present to regulate the amount of energy discharged by her muscles.
Constance stumbled back, grunting. The impact of the shove created an alarming throb, and would likely leave a bruise. She growled. "Fine!" She said. "See if I care!" Her voice was shaking. "Stay down here with your stupid visions, but you'll forgive me if I'm disinclined to join you."
Constance pocketed Saraslha's Blacktooth, not willing to touch her again and risk another blow just to return it to her ear. She turned and ran.
Constance made it to a merc dropship among the last stragglers, who'd been carrying crates and electronics they'd looted from the base.
"Where the hell's the Client?" A merc officer, at the entrance to the dropship hold, said. "Ain't you her bodyguard?"
"She wanted to remain behind." Constance said dispassionately.
"And what the hell am I to say to the Boss?" The merc officer said.
"I'll talk to him."
The dropship flew them well above the planet's atmosphere, gaining speed as it came to match the orbital velocity of the mercenary flagship, then effortlessly burned into one of its hangars. As Constance walked out of the dropship hold, the intercom spoke with the voice of the ship's adjutant: "All hands prepare for warp space jump in ten… nine…
A jump already? The UED ship must be close. Constance looked out through the energy barrier retaining the hangar's atmosphere, down to the planet below.
Multiple Directorate battlecruisers were approaching the planet's atmosphere in the distance, their hulls lighting up with heat as they entered it. More were no doubt closing in on this ship.
Constance speculated that the Saraslha could come to her senses and slip out, hiding on the planet until the chance arose to leave. Being captured by the UED, however… No, Saraslha would know better than to let that happen.
The Adjutant's voice: "..three… two… one." The sight of the planet was drowned in white light as the ship entered warp space.
The first thing Saraslha did when she awoke was sniff the air. It was filthy, choked out with clouds of dust left untouched in their stillness by the seclusion of the cavern.
As she rose to her feet, Saraslha realized that the effort to do so was… easy, even easier than usual. Her body had always felt lightweight to Saraslha, but now it had somehow upgraded even further to effortlessness.
"You're awake! Good." A friendly voice in her head.
Saraslha's eyes widened. "I've never heard your voice before. Who are you?"
"I'm you."
Saraslha realized that there were no other telepaths nearby. She tapped her own forehead in the spirit of kicking a malfunctioning machine. "If you're me, then how am I introducing myself to my self?"
"Perhaps I'm oversimplifying. Nonetheless I assure you that I wish to be your friend."
"Wish to be my friend?"
"How often are people their own friend? More often than not they treat themselves terribly."
"That's true." Saraslha conceded with a light smile. "So what's the deal with me feeling stronger?"
"You've absorbed something… Wonderful. Something which has enabled me to awaken in your mind. I've used that something to change you."
"And what is that 'something'?"
"I'm as ignorant as you. But it came, and I found I could use it."
"I suppose I can figure this out as I go..." Saraslha looked down and saw that she was taller, and her musculature more filled without compromising her lean figure. "Let's see what I can do with this."
A boulder protruded from the sediment at the edge of the cavern. Saraslha's claws dug into it without effort. It felt light as a feather as she tossed it into the center of the cavern.
Was this what it's like to be truly strong by zerg standards? As strong as her mother, or the Queen of Blades? What exactly was the 'thing' she'd absorbed..? The Directorate knew about it. Their base had probably existed here to study or excavate it.
An unclear amount of time had passed since she passed out. Reinforcements had likely arrived outside, and waiting would do her no good.
"We can wipe them out." The voice. "This form makes you more powerful than you've ever experienced."
"Wiping them out would take too long. Escaping will suffice." Saraslha darted through the tunnel leading back to the entrance. "I need to find FTL transport."
"Find where their dropships are landed. One of them is likely to be an FTL-capable variant."
"Too slow in sublight. First place I'll check is their mobile starport if they have one. I want an interceptor craft, and hopefully the controls aren't too difficult."
"Do you think physicality is your only upgrade? Find a pilot and tear the information you need from his mind."
Having all of these new powers felt surreal. "Is this transformation permanent?"
"...Do you wish it to be?"
"No."
"Why?"
"It feels too easy, too… Automatic. I didn't earn this."
"The world is an unforgiving place, Princess. You should take proper advantage of the gifts that come your way."
"Where is Commissar Maas?" Hendricks, a UED General, said to Commander Hirsch of the Juno Five excavation base, who'd been brought to him in custody.
An entire division had landed in the vicinity of the facility after word of its compromise reached the fleet. One UED standard division consisted of 5,000 armored infantry, 200 transport, logistics and support aircraft, 500 mobile artillery and 1,000 combat walkers, reconnaissance and utility vehicles. This came with a full wing of 200 air superiority and close air support aerospace craft, all supported by three clusters of mobile structures, with each cluster comprising a fully operational landing site once established.
Commander Hirsch spoke over the din of marching soldiers and patrolling aircraft. "Commissar Maas is dead. She was shot by an enemy ghost."
"And you didn't meet a similar fate. Why, exactly?"
"Because…"
General Hendricks stared, expecting him to continue.
Hirsch's head lowered. "The ghost made the demand that I surrender. In response, I ordered the garrison to lay down their arms."
Hendricks' eyes lit up. "You defied your standing orders and surrendered the facility to foreign encroachment. You defied the implicit wishes of your unit's political officer, and opted not to fight when confronted."
Hirsch started forward, restrained by the soldiers holding him in arrest. "Sir, we were already faced with–"
General Hendricks' mouth spread with gratification at this sight. "Be advised, Commander; you should save your excuses for the court-martial."
An explosion rang in the distance.
"Report!" Hendricks ordered.
A nearby radio: "We're under attack. Artillery regiment eight has lost all mechanized assets."
"Report on the enemy." Hendricks said. "Who the hell is attacking us?"
"There's just one. I've never seen it before–" Static.
Hendricks pointed to the aide. "Connect me to the command ship. Tell them I want ID on the attacker." As he shouted his order, he couldn't stop hints of fear from welling in his tone.
Saraslha barely noticed the swept remnants of blood, fabric and and metal on her carapace after she drove like a bullet through the main hull of a Directorate siege tank. She felt so very free.
Free to think, to strategize. Her mind flew even more free than her body.
Siege tanks were a liability. It would take a small amount of time to commandeer a ship, and the UED commander could order a shelling of said landed ship in the meantime. That meant such artillery had to be neutralized.
"Isn't it glorious?" The voice in her head. "You have power. They fear you!"
Saraslha winced. These statements felt like distractions to her process of thought; of strategizing; something she was well-conditioned to do. Intellect had always been her greatest asset, her key to survival.
"Be quiet for the rest of this operation. I need to concentrate."
"As you wish..." The voice said passively.
Noise; the billowing of wind and dust. The high-velocity shells of combat walkers' autocannons darted over the sandy ground toward her.
She'd ascended using her flight skirt with a greater agility than she'd ever been capable before. The autocannons had a limited vertical traverse; they were meant to engage grounded targets, and this showed as the bullets passed harmlessly, entire yards beneath her feet.
As she rotated naturally in the air, her now black, green-tinged flight skirt glimmering in the sun, Saraslha spotted the dissipating dust clouds created by a mobile starport that had just landed. The hulking structure was hard to misidentify…
And it meant that close air support would soon be sent against her; high-speed aircraft that could rain destruction upon a target area. She had no desire to test the limits of her new form's ability to absorb Terran shrapnel.
Saraslha darted toward the starport, her open-front skirt forming a kite to sustain altitude as she was rocketed forward by her own, newfound telekinesis.
Slight adjustments to her skirt caused her to maneuver in a corkscrew trajectory.
Multiple missiles zipped past her and impacted to the ground. Saraslha inhaled at his, breathing in this new life, new awareness, new mastery of reflexes and timing.
"...The Terrans will shell their own starport to prevent your escape. You know this." The voice chimed.
Saraslha's high dissipated. "I've destroyed every tank within range. The rest will need to relocate. That's time I've bought."
"Well, I hope you know what you're doing…"
Saraslha cracked a light smile. "Have a little faith, inner voice."
"I see no reason to keep my word to a dead client." The Black Rams Commander said to Constance aboard the Druid.
Constance was holding a railing as she leaned back against it. She was catching on to the game he was playing, and now had to bite back verbal venom. "You're saying… you have the nerve to keep the lot after what happened?"
"The contract says that a portion of the plunder would be turned over to the client. If there's no client, then there's no turnover."
"What am I hearing?" Constance said. "What is this snake language? You agreed to concede forty percent, and now you're backing away on that deal?"
The Mercenary Commander's mouth shifted. "A deal… Requires two parties."
"I'm here, aren't I?" Constance said flatly. "You're talking to me, aren't you?"
"I'm talking to a bodyguard who has evidently abandoned her client, leading to her capture or death at the hands of a hostile party. I'm talking to the one whom shall be blamed for the incident, leaving the Black Rams' name untarnished. Now, I didn't ask for this situation, but I'd be a fool not to make the most of it…" He leaned forward. "I'd advise you not to make a fuss about this. You're gonna be dropped off at Haven's commercial station, then our business will be concluded."
"You needn't worry about me making a fuss." Constance said in a near-whisper, leaning forward as well and meeting his gaze. "The meager effort required to lop your head off isn't worth expending."
"That a threat, kid?"
"It's an assurance." Constance stood straight. "You're too pathetic to kill."
The Merc Commander relaxed his posture. "I remain curious on where that client found a nasty-ass thing like you. Balls like yours are in short supply in this outfit. And," he extended a hand, "I am aware that you were able to dee-capitate the enemy command without trouble, and seeing as your client is no longer with us, I'd be willin' to pay top-dollar for the services of a psionic like yourself."
Constance waved him off dismissively as she walked away. "I don't fight for money."
The life of Ron Heckel had been a plain one up to this point. The small colonial town where he'd been raised had naught but an exhausted copper mine to its name and no real job prospects. He'd enlisted to the Directorate Marine Corps to send a meager but steady paycheck to his single mother and younger siblings. He'd been a shade brighter than the usual chaff the recruiting office got, so they stuck him into Aerospace Engineering and he'd been thrown into a crash course on repairing and maintaining light and medium vespene-powered ships.
It was in his workspace, in the hangar of a mobile starport, that his routine of grinding away at maintenance tickets was interrupted. He'd risen from the underside of an aerospace fighter to see her.
She walked naturally along the floor. A tall alien girl with a near-black outer carapace accented by green areas that glowed like cartoon uranium. A set of grand, demonic horns sprouted from her head.
A Horned Queen.
"'Scuse me." She said politely. He felt her voice in his head as he also heard her physically speak at the same time. "I'm in a hurry, can you point to which of these fine ships is FTL-capable?"
Ron was terrified, dumbstruck. A talking, humanoid zerg with symmetrical features that ruled out infestation- and what was she doing here? Their landing site should have been protected by their division, and no retreat order had come down.
He raised a finger with frightful slowness. It indicated a nearby craft. It was a goshawk, a multirole aerospace fighter with its own micro-FTL drive, and whose power distributor he'd just finished replacing.
"Thanks a lot." The alien girl said as her footsteps flowed to the vessel.
"Wh…" There was a very clear sense that his life was in danger; that this alien girl could easily end it, and beyond that, his consorting with the alien would reflect poorly on his record. But nonetheless, in this bewildering situation, he had to speak. "Wh… What are you?"
Her alien, yet also human face lit up with a smile to the backdrop of her lifting the sizable goshawk effortlessly off the hangar floor with a single arm. "My name is Saraslha."
Constance had been dropped at an orbital commercial station above Haven, and then she'd proceeded to ride its regular shuttle to Fjellhavn, the planet's capital city, then walk unhesitantly into its Hall of Governance.
"Constance!" An armed guard of the Hall said to her, jogging to catch up. "The Chief Councilwoman wants to talk to you ASAP."
"I guessed as much." Constance said easily.
"She even put a damn warrant out. What did you do?"
"It's classified," Constance said.
She walked into Tana Strommen's office, past the waiting room and secretary, and promptly into the presence of the white-uniformed Nordic woman who paced behind her desk. William, Constance's uncle, stood watch in a rear corner.
"We'll start with the main question." Tana said as she brought her pacing to a stop and laid her scathing gaze on Constance. "Where have you been?"
"Off world-"
"Which world?" Tana cut her off.
"Juno Five."
Tana's eyes snapped to William, who spoke plainly. "Hick desert planet in an unclaimed system. It exists, but it leaves the question open."
Tana nodded as she looked Constance in the eyes again. "You need to understand that you're an adult now, Constance. Where I send psionic operatives who are Haven citizens can have diplomatic ramifications."
"You didn't send me–"
"I may as well have." Tana said firmly. "I'm responsible for what my citizens do outside our borders, Constance, that's how sovereignty works."
"So you need to tell us…" William said patiently. "What you did on Juno Five.
This was actually routine to Constance. These two people had taken her in during the wars, and interrogations on her various whereabouts and activities were a regular event. "As Uncle William is aware, I've enlisted to the military unit being formed by the Dominion's Asset Fifteen, also known as Saraslha."
Tana's eyes shot to William again, a natural motion of hers. His brow lifted. "She told me about that, and I let it be."
Tana exhaled. "Continue."
Constance obliged: "She'd arranged a special military operation that involved scouting Juno Five for an Earthling mining outpost, and looting it if it were present. We did indeed find such an outpost, and took it over for a short period of time. I assisted in this endeavor by shooting one of their commanding officers, and coercing their surrender."
"Wait a minute- With what army?" William said aloud.
"Mercenaries she'd hired."
"With what credits?"
"She mentioned mining operations." Constance said frankly. "I was just along for the ride."
"Alright, let's say this… insanity, is all true." Tana said, gazing all the more intensely at Constance. "Where is Saraslha now? Why isn't she with you?"
"That will require a whole new layer to the story…"
Saraslha carried a goshawk, a multirole UED fighter, gripping it by the front landing gear as she flew above the starport she stole it from. Its sizable airframe shaded her body and flaring flight skirt from Juno Five's sun as she gained altitude. In her original form, she would have struggled to simply lift one side of the goshawk, much less fly with it.
"Being powerful at last, it's quite an experience, is it not?" The voice in her mind.
"It's certainly saving me a lot of time."
"It can offer you far more than that."
Saraslha twitched with annoyance. "We'll discuss that later."
Two anti-air missiles found their way to her. She tried to outmaneuver them, but they only needed to explode near their target.
The goshawk she carried was riddled with shrapnel– Her own body was fine. Green mist erupted from the goshawk's airframe from its vespene tanks being compromised.
This was of no consequence. Saraslha didn't need the goshawk to accelerate in normal space. As long as its slipspace drive and navigational computer remained intact, it would serve its purpose.
Saraslha found herself in the vacuum of space with a velocity that kept her above the atmosphere. She proceeded to board the goshawk, shutting its cockpit canopy over her head. She booted the ship's OS, found the controls for its slipspace drive, and input the coordinates to the Haven system.
Once she returned to Haven's star system, exiting warp space in a stolen UED figher, Saraslha had reverted to her original form.
A hailing frequency appeared on the ship's comm box. Saraslha answered.
"Unknown craft, you have entered Republic space. Identify yourself."
Saraslha, leaning exhausted in the pilot's seat of the ship with no vespene left to fire its rocket, floated a hand to press the transmit button. "Let me talk to the Chief Councillor."
"She's busy at the moment. You can talk to me."
"Alright then, how about Constance Hai?"
"Listen, if you don't identify yourself, your ship is going to be towed to our starport and impounded."
"Okay, yeah, that works…" Saraslha said with an exhausted detachment. "Go ahead and do that."
She pulled out her blacktooth as a Republic ship came to a relative stop near her wrecked goshawk and attached a towing grapple. "Marcus." She said. "Status."
"Shit, Syrenne? You're back?"
"Yeah, I'm in orbit, now update me."
"Casa's headed to Green Peaks, you've got twenty minutes."
"I see. Slow her down."
"How?"
Saraslha pinched her own brow, thinking through the fog of exhaustion. "One of your guys shot her spy drone earlier today, didn't they? Turn its transponder back on and leave it in the woods."
Thanks for reading!
Fangtom: Well thanks for the sentiment! A dilemma I suffer with writing is the more I procrastinate, the more thought out the product ends up being since I'm regularly thinking about the story even when I'm slacking off on it.
Manipulation is an interesting word to use for Saraslha's actions toward the inmates and Marcus. There's certainly an element of predicting their mental and using it against them, but there's also little to no concealed intentions; she wanted what she told them she wanted.
Ah yes, the hybrid crisis. Saraslha was like Icarus in the ending of PotS. (pointing that out in case the name of the prison ship wasn't on the nose enough, lol.) For this story... I have the broad strokes planned out, but can't really think of an apt comparison. Not sure if that's a good or bad thing.
Lol, don't get me started on Constance from the original EotS. She was nonstop nasty and "you're a zerg, and I hate zerg so I hate you." I realized that this approach was extremely limited in what I could do and where I could go with it. Viewing someone as a racial monolith can only go so many places. Viewing them as an individual can go so many places.
Anyhow, thanks for reading!