Starcraft

Fifteen years have passed since the war between the Terran Emperor, James Raynor, and the beleaguered Confederates, led by the noble General Edmund Duke. Despite his best efforts, Duke could not contain the uprising, comprised of Raynor's Raiders and their subjugated Protoss allies. After a conflict that lasted two years, Raynor took control of the former Confederacy, executing Duke and all his other generals.

However, resources are running low in all of Raynor's systems, and the Terran race is undergoing a massive population explosion. Raynor claims he needs to conquer more planets, for his people to live and work on. However, the real reason behind the expansion is only know by the Emperor himself.

Now Raynor seeks to expand his empire, looking to the benevolent Zerg Kingdoms to the galactic east...


Raynor strode down the dingy corridors of the Hyperion, his deep red ceremonial cloak billowing behind. Moving at speed, he reached the interrogation rooms, stopping still and turning on the spot. The dimly lit corridors made vision difficult; it was hard to see anything save for the dull reflections from the Emperor's battle gear. Pressing a rigidly armoured hand against the wall, Jim Raynor stepped across the threshold.
"How is the subject reacting to our...coercion?" Raynor smiled wryly, his twisted and cracked lips partially hidden behind the rim of his armour. An old scientist turned around, his voice laden with a heavy southern accent.
"It seems he don't like it too much," Dr. Arcturus Mengsk coolly responded, refilling a syringe. As he looked across the glass cylinder, he could see his reflection, a man with unkempt grey hair and a rough, square chin, covered stubble. Compressing the syringe, a little liquid spurted out of the top, falling through the grated floor and evaporating from the baking hot surface beneath. Then, with little notice, he rammed the needle into the flesh of a screaming Hydralisk.
"What do we know so far?" Raynor inquired, playing with a few of the medical tools scattered clumsily on the white desk.
"Says he's from the Zerg Kingdoms. That's about it. All I've been able to get out of him..."
"That's hardly good enough, Arcturus," Raynor turned to look at the man. Mengsk cowered a little. The Hydralisk observed the situation chuckled.
"Seems you...Terrans. Terrans, isn't it? You don't know what you're doing, do you?" the Hydralisk stared at Raynor, speaking in wise old tones before hanging his sore head again.
"So it's true. They can talk. I suggest you up the dosage, Doctor."
The Hydralisk raised his head again, a forlorn look in his aged eyes. He saw the towering roof above, stars visible through the domed skylight like distant beacons, heralding him away from this hateful place. Turning back to the humans, he spoke slowly, like a tribal prophet.
"We are peaceful beasts, Emperor. For many years, we have co-existed with others, incorporating others into our fold. We now treat them like brothers. Why must you seek to torment us? We would gladly share out bounty!" the Hydralisk desperately tried to bargain with Raynor, stood unmoved in his green trimmed armour.
"Indeed. Unfortunately, for you, you cowardly bastard, I don't do 'sharing,'" Raynor snarled, taking out a Flak pistol and shooting the Hydralisk in the torso.
"Emperor! How else are we going to get intelligence now!" Mengsk cried, looking up to the bloody crater in the Hydralisk's stomach.
"I suggest you be silent, unless you want to be strung up next to that old crackpot. It'll live, but it won't be giving us anything useful for a while. Maybe that punishment will convince it that I mean business. Meanwhile, we'll do the scouting the old fashioned way. Always the best way to deal with alien scum, indiscriminate firepower." Raynor grabbed a radio link.
"Helmsman, set course for Mar Sara. We'll make our first strike there..."

A Protoss Templar shuffled along the lunch queue. Passing the counter, he was passed a syringe by a hand, lazily stretched across the burnished metal table. He was all too accustomed with the liquid inside: a neural dampener. All the propaganda stated that it was to protect the Protoss, to stop their psionic powers controlling them. However, most Protoss knew the real truth. The Terrans feared those with psychic powers above all others. Even their own psychics were given dirty looks wherever they roamed. Such Terrans were almost invisible to the others humans. The Templar found it highly ironic that these operatives were called Ghosts. Moving along slowly, he saw a much older Templar sat down at one of the tables.
"Tassadar!" Aldaris turned his wrinkled face to his friend. "Please. Do sit down."
"Thank you, old friend," Tassadar solemnly replied, taking a seat on the dirty white plastic chair and placing the syringe on the similarly coloured table.
"What troubles you, young one?" Aldaris' voice still had an air of authority about it, but it was otherwise the voice of a broken man.
"I detest this serum. However, I fear the consequences of my actions should I refuse to take it..."
"You do realise, it is untrue. You will not 'lose control'"
"Yes, I am aware of that" Tassadar responded, revealing a stash of unused syringes under his robes.
"This is a dangerous game, Templar. Should they find out you can still access you abilities..."
"I know, Judicator." Tassadar shook his head, picking the syringe on the table back up and placing beneath his robes. "I know"
A young female Terran strode along the mess hall, carrying a simple metal tray, piles of poor quality food lumped into it. Seeing the two Protoss, she sat down near them, ignoring the dirty glares of the other Terrans.
"Young Kerrigan, how does your life fare?" Aldaris calmly asked. Kerrigan shifted a little bit, her green eyes betraying a her discomfort.
"What is the matter, Sarah?" Tassadar interjected.
"Templar, please observe the codes of conduct!" Aldaris hastily spoke in hushed tones. "We may not address the humans by their first names..."
"I am aware, Aldaris, but she is a friend. She will take no offence." Tassadar nodded at Kerrigan, who smiled a little in response. Suddenly, from behind, a Terran Marine placed a hand on Kerrigan's red hair, stroking it.
"Hey babe. You've got no need to be hanging around with these slope-heads," the Marine grinned, eying Tassadar. His eyebrow arched, the muscles on his bald head tensing to form a look of cocky disdain.
"She has her own free will, Private. It is something you Terrans seem to take for granted..." Tassadar responded defiantly. Suddenly, the Marine shoved Kerrigan aside, stooping over the table and pushing his square set face into the Templar's.
"You got a big mouth for a Protoss, you know..." the Marine growled.
"Actually," Tassadar coolly responded, "I should think you know that the Protoss communicate through psionic waves, not using mouths..."
Suddenly, the Marine head butted the Protoss, a vicious cracking noise throwing him off his seat. After the clatter of chairs, Tassadar simply arose and dusted himself off. Standing upright, he looked the Terran in the eyes.
"Young warrior. I would not be so quick to provoke me," Tassadar's voice took on an edge of malice.
"What you going to do? Use your 'psychic powers?'" the Marine goaded Tassadar.
Aldaris placed a hand on Tassadar's wrist, simply shaking his head.
"You're threats mean little. My life is worthless anyway, you'd have nothing to gain from my death..." Tassadar looked down. The Marine paced a little, eying up his enemy. His eyes restlessly scanned his adversary, taking in every detail, the cold blue-grey eyes and pale grey skin. Then, once again, Kerrigan caught his eye. He pulled her up by her slender arms, forcing his face into hers.
"C'mon, why don't you pucker up with those pretty little lips of yours?" the Marine sneered, foul breath seeping out through his dirty teeth. Kerrigan gagged.
"Not in a million years, even if you were to learn how brush your teeth," she shuddered. Suddenly, the man took out a combat knife, spinning her around and pressing it into her neck.
"I'll have to slice you good then...real good!" he cackled. Tassadar's eyes darted upwards.
"Put her down," a cold voice, full of conviction echoed in every person's head.
"Or what?" the Marine smiled, glad to see his gambit was finally provoking the Protoss to desired effect.
"Or you will suffer a wrath not felt by your race ever before."
"Try me..." the Marine spoke softly, drawing back the knife. Pulling his arm back, he tensed his grip on the weapon, ready to drive it into the woman he was holding. As the knife closed in on Kerrigan, an arc of lightning burst from underneath the table. The Marine was helpless; thrown across the room and forced, spread-eagle, against the wall. The men he crashed into slowly stood up and watched the man, seeing psionic lightning coruscate across his body. Almost ten seconds later, the Marine's corpse fell, lifeless. Suddenly, the Terrans turned and began to encroach upon the Protoss. Mumbled threats and insults could be heard amongst the throngs of people. As the crowd finally reached the aliens, a shotgun was fired into the air.
"Alright! Sit down," the cyborg chief of security bellowed. "Cerberus wing will deal with these two," he calmly finished, pacing towards Tassadar. Swinging his gun, he caught the warrior around the face, knocking him down.
"No!" Aldaris cried. Shaking his head, he looked up to the guard. "It was I. I am the one who has not been taking my serum..." Aldaris' brow lowered in resignation as he took out five full syringes.
"Ok then. Looks like this old man isn't as anaemic as he looks. Take him away, boys."
Tassadar looked on, time seeming to slow down as he saw Aldaris struggle against the guards. However, he was too old, and they were too many. Looking to his young friend, he simply nodded as he was dragged out of the room. A single whispered thought passed into Tassadar's mind.
"You were not alone."


Kerrigan was thrown into an office, adorned in battle trophies from years of fighting. Raynor turned on the spot, eying up his old flame.
"See, I never figured you as a Protoss-shagger..." Raynor sighed. "What chat up line did he use? Or is it some kind of fetish?"
"We're over Jim. We were over a long time ago!" she cried, shaking her head and looking at the floor. "Why do you hate all psychics?"
"Because you lie! Every single one of you is a liar!" Raynor roared, slamming his fist into the desk. "There, in every nook and cranny of my brain! Invading my own space. You twisted little bitch!"
"I can't help how I was born, Jim!"
"Well you sure as hell should pay for it," Raynor's voice lowered as he, tried to keep his simmering rage under taps. Opening his drawer, he took out a hypodermic treatment and placed it against his neck. A simple hiss followed as he pressed the button.
"Still suffering?" Kerrigan calmly asked.
"It's none of your concern," Raynor quietly cut her off, placing the device back into the drawer. He was ill, tired from year of conflict. It was only the steroids that were keeping him going sometimes.
"It's ok to have a weakness, we all do..." Kerrigan looked up to Raynor, tears welling in her eyes.
"I am not weak!" Raynor burst out, frustrated. Composing himself, he took down a ceremonial sword, drew it, and swung the weapon around a little before placing it back into its scabbard. He placed the sword back up on the wall and stopped for a few seconds, faint breathing being the only noise filling the room. Walking up to Kerrigan, he offered her a hand. Taking it, her fair, thin hand was dwarfed by the armoured gauntlet it rested in as she stood up.
"Cold as ever, Jim..." Kerrigan sighed, placing her other hand on his cheek.
"You wouldn't know the half of it. I had to do all these things, you know."
"Why?" Kerrigan softly murmured, a single tear rolling down her face.
"It was a vision. Years ago. It said that those who gave birth to many races would one day return. My only hope is to unite every soldier I can. If that means enslaving the Protoss and the Zerg, then so it must be done."
"There is always another way Jim..." Kerrigan sighed.
"Well, I'm sure there is. However, for now, I must do my duty. You and the Templar, Tassadar, you will go down to Mar Sara and scout out the primary Zerg hive," Raynor spoke, turning his back and reasserting his authority.
"Just us two?" Kerrigan nervously asked.
"Yes. I want you to be our ambassadors. Offer them a simple treaty. It will be simple; we will rule them," Raynor turned back to Kerrigan, placing a ceremonial knife in her hand and closing he fingers around it. "Or they will die."

Meanwhile, in the darkened interrogation room Aldaris looked up, seeing the Zerg creature next to him.
"So. You are one of the beasts that we are to slay?" Aldaris laughed a little until the pain of his cracked rib cut into him. His back arched in pain.
"It seems so. You are these human's slaves?" the Hydralisk turned to the Judicator, their tired old faces meeting each other eye to eye.
"Yes. They plan to do to you exactly what they did to us. They despoiled Aiur. Made us their cannon fodder. We were unprepared. We knew little of war, simply living out a peaceful life. Most of out weaponry was merely for parade and defence against minor threats. Not an invasion..." Aldaris, sighed, throwing his head back to recall a better time.
"It seems the same will happen to us. We are greater in number, I shall assume, but history often repeats itself," the Hydralisk looked down, seeing its serpentine tail swing mournfully below him. Stretching up, he saw the shackles binding his arms, the scythe blades weighing them down.
"The great prophet. The Overmind. He said that one-day, the creatures we co-exist with would be attacked. Therefore, it set about, forming us so we would be ready for battle. Nevertheless, we retained our benevolence. Curious, isn't it. How a race that has prepared for war need not seek it. It is a shame these humans have no comprehension of that fact..."
Aldaris looked back to the alien, seeing a dull orange glow in its sunken eye sockets.
"Indeed. It is a shame we should also die in such an ignominious way. We may not have been soldiers, but we were warriors. The few times we trained for war, we trained to seek honour, not to learn how to murder. It just seems the galaxy is no longer a safe place..."
"No. It seems not."

A single Dropship passed through the Mar Saran atmosphere, approaching a green and fertile land. In the distance could be seen an expanding mass of purple ichor, fuelling the Zerg buildings in the valley. Kerrigan and Tassadar would be landing just short of the opening. The sun beamed across the lands, illuminating the surface of the dirty ship as its retro thrusters flared. Slowly, the ship dropped, landing gears extended. Barely a minute later, it lifted off again. The inconsistent forms of Tassadar and Kerrigan stood out as dark shadows amongst the maelstrom of dust that heralded the Dropship's departure. Kerrigan cocked her gun, looking across to Tassadar.
"C'mon. We've got a job to do down here," Kerrigan spoke, surveying the surroundings.
"Do you not find it suspicious he would send those who he trusts least on a mission of such import?" Tassadar looked to Kerrigan, a look of pain clear in her eyes.
"Maybe he just wants to test us," she spoke, mumbling excuses. "Anyway, we'd best get the job done, if we don't want to end up like Aldaris..." Kerrigan sighed. Tassadar nodded. Reluctantly, he turned, heading towards the Zerg base. However, once he began his journey there was determination in his every stride, in every footprint he left in the dusty valley. He knew that it would cost him his life, but he would not let the Zerg meet the same fate as his own race, to see them doomed to an eternity of servitude.

From above, Raynor observed the Mar Saran colonies from his view screen, watching the Zerg creatures dart about as ants would, minding their own business.
"Sir, I believe Kerrigan and Tassadar will be meeting the Zerg soon. When should I commence firing?"
"Give them some time. I want to make sure Kerrigan and Tassadar are caught right in the thick of it. I don't want them to escape."
Slumping into his command chair, he looked around the dingy bridge. A few green and red lights flickered hopelessly, dancing patterns forming on the faces of the obedient crew. Most sat in a zombie like state, looking forward to naught but their next order. The view screen was the only source of viable light in the bridge. In the shadows all that could be seen was Raynor's head, bowed. A single murmur echoed through the room as Kerrigan could be seen stepping onto the purple creep.


"I'm sorry it will have to end like this, Sarah. You're the only one I can't kill face to face."


---

This is a series I'd like to carry on, if people like it. It's called 'In a Mirror, Darkly,' as a homage to the Star Trek episodes that encouraged me to look into writing alternative histories / parallel universes. Also, it's fun to try and make the Zerg good guys and Tassadar pissed off. However, now I know that the Zerglings will all sound like the ones out of the StarCraft Reporter in my head. Oh well, supposed to be cute, aren't they :)