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blizzweirdo · 6 years

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No Omen, No Country’s Cause Ch. 6

All right! So now we’re back from our flashback just in time to see the Umojan Navy rally to help the new Terran Republic and Tarsonis against the UED and Stukov’s forces. However, something’s not quite right, and the Umojan Navy must learn the truth behind Stukov’s actions.

As always, this chapter is also available on FanFiction.net, Archive of Our Own, and Wattpad.

If you submitted a name, look for it in this chapter! I think I added four or five from both public and private submissions. Thanks for your help!

Also, I lied... It’s not that late. Welcome to the longest chapter thus far.

NOVA LISBOA, UMOJA 16:42 UCST (10:42 DCST)

On stage, Figaro had just learned the court's plan for his wife Susanna and was beginning the first lines of "Se Voul Ballare." It was the first act of Il Nozze de Figaro and the first production of it at the Pasteur Opera House since the End War. Admiral Renata Marín was pleased to be there, having begged box-seat tickets off her commanding officer, Fleet Admiral Thierry Augustin, a donor. Her partner, Lieutenant General Wynand Vermaak, was less than enthusiastic and already nodding off to sleep. She should have known better than to bring him here; Marín knew he wouldn't enjoy it. It had been enough of a battle to get him into a suit, and he still chose to wear his motorcycle boots with it. She had to admit that she was more comfortable in the grey and teal of the Umojan Protectorate Navy's uniforms than in a black formal dress and heels, but she prided herself on her ability to adapt—and she had fell in love with opera in the academy. She and Vermaak had known each other since then, and she had changed a lot over the years. But he had not. He was still the same steady, dependable if slightly incorrigible, self. His cleanly-shaven head bobbed again, and then he was asleep, snoring quietly. Thank god this is a private box, she thought.

An usher appeared at the door, asked her for her name, and then handed her a datapad. She looked at him quizzically, but he just shrugged. Taking it in her hand, she stood and moved to the corner of the box so that the other opera patrons would not be bothered by the bright screen. On it was a message to her: "LARGE SCALE ATTACK ON TARSONIS IMMINENT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ADM. MARÍN AND LT. GEN. VERMAAK OF CORE FLEET RENDEZVOUS IMMEDIATELY WITH FLEET ADM. AUGUSTIN OF EDGE FLEET AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS." For a few seconds, Marín stood there, stunned. She refreshed the datapad, making sure she hadn't misread it or that it was a mistake. She walked to Vermaak and shook him awake. Vermaak turned to her sleepily.

"Oh, was I sleeping?"

"Get up."

"Don't be angry... You know I don't like this. I'm not bothering anyone. We don't have to..."

"No, Wynand. We have to go." She pressed the datapad into his ruddy, calloused hands. He read it dazedly, his grey eyes hardening as he comprehended what it said. Without a word, both of them exited into the atrium of the opera house. Through the atrium's three-story tall windows, Marín watched as a shuttle landed in the abstract sculpture garden outside. The scream of its engines reverberated through the atrium and into the concert hall. Men and women in formal wear began trickling out of the hall, concern registering on their faces as they checked their own electronic devices. Marín picked up her skirt and sprinted down the stairs as the shuttle touched down, her heels loudly clicking on the marble floor. Vermaak was close behind her. It was one of the UPN Uhuru's shuttles. That's our ride.

The glass doors moved aside for them as they exited the garden. They both stood next to the shuttle as it hovered close to the ground, blasting air at both of them. Marín was glad she already had a hold on her skirt, but couldn't control her long, black hair. Vermaak looked nonplussed. Now there's an advantage of being bald. The shuttle door opened, and the navigator yelled at her over the din.

"This shuttle is just for you, Admiral. There's another shuttle from the Liberté circling to pick up Vermaak. Gen. Oyaleni wants to speak with him before the rendezvous."

Marín turned to Vermaak and lightly touched his arm, mouthing a kiss to him. He smiled faintly and nodded to her. She boarded the shuttle and strapped herself in as the hatch closed. It would a dangerous mission—possibly the start of a war. But she felt herself strangely relieved to be alone and away from Vermaak. Maybe they had been spending too much time together.

"We're ten minutes out, ma'am," the pilot said as she settled into a seat in the back.

"Good, because if what my orders said are true, we need to be at the rendezvous now." Wasting no time, the pilot took off; in minutes they were already climbing high above the city.

"Do you know who is attacking?" Marín yelled over the sound of the shuttle's takeoff thrusters.

"No, Admiral. I can turn on the news if you like," the navigator said.

"Whatever they say is probably wrong at this point... I'll wait."

"Yes, ma'am."

Marín watched as Umoja's horizon curved then disappeared through the forward viewport, replaced by the blackness of space. The shuttle turned sharply upwards and to its starboard. The Uhuru gleamed in the distance, parked above Umoja's planetary defense platform. The shuttle's main engines spun up, and it lurched towards the Uhuru. As the Uhuru grew larger, her thoughts turned to who could be attacking Tarsonis. The zerg were the most likely culprit, but Zagara had professed peace so an attack would be out of character. Is it the Kel-Morians making a play for the Terran Republic's territory while it's vulnerable? Nothing quite made sense.

The Uhuru's port hangar yawned before the shuttle as it glided inside and set down. Her XO, Commander Anders Ahlberg, was waiting for her as she stepped off the shuttle. Marín removed her heels as she walked across the flight deck. They were just going to slow her down. Ahlberg matched her stride and handed her a datapad.

"Is this the briefing, Ahlberg?"

"Yes, Admiral,"

"Can you give me the highlights?" Marín said, impatiently thumbing through it.

"Oh, you're not going to believe this. Earth is back."

"What? Earth?"

"A UED fleet dropped out of FTL above Tarsonis... They ordered their surrender, and of course they didn't take that well..."

"I'd imagine not..."

"And so they've started an invasion. They've sicced the zerg on them—and the infested."

"Infested? How?"

"Vice Admiral Stukov? Ring any bells? UED guy... He's been hiding out here since their first invasion. Never heard of him, but they've got a dossier on him in there. Hadn't had a chance to look at it."

"All right. Thanks... I'm going to the bridge, but I need you here. I want all of our banshees, liberators, dropships—everything—ready by the rendezvous. Tell the bridge I'm on the way up."

"Yes, ma'am!" Ahlberg turned on his heel and jogged back inside the hangar. It would be quite a job for him and take time. Marín commanded fifty ships in the core side fleet which protected the Umojan Protectorate's territory towards the galactic core. There were twice as many marine detachments. She hoped that Vermaak had radioed ahead to them. Marín continued towards the door. As it door opened, her chief engineer, Dani Jansa, stepped through. As usual, her coveralls and elaborate blonde braids were coated in grime.

"Lookin' good, Admiral," she said playfully.

"And you look like you got dragged behind a dropship."

"That's pretty much what happened!" Both of them continued on, their jobs elsewhere. Hopefully they could sit down to a drink at some point, as they both kept swearing they were going to do. Camaraderie among her crew was important, but she had been setting a bad example as of late. It was something she needed to amend. But that's not happening soon. As the lift rose towards the bridge, Marín read through the reports. Most of it seemed like standard UED tactics if on an immense scale. But the infested attack was worrisome. She thumbed through to the dossier on Stukov as the door opened onto the bridge.

"Admiral on the bridge," Lieutenant Commander Achille Barre said as she exited the lift. She waved her hand at him, dismissing his formality.

"No time for that, Barre. We're en route?"

"Engaging FTL now."

"Good. Barre, put me on speaker—don't do the visual feed though... I'd rather the whole ship not see me in this dress..."

"Feed is live."

"Everyone. As you've heard from news reports, Tarsonis is under attack and this is not a drill. What you haven't heard is that an old threat has returned to the Koprulu sector—the United Earth Directorate. In accordance with our recent treaty with the new Terran Republic, we are obliged to render whatever aid and defense we can. The core fleet will be joining the edge side fleet at the Tyrador system. From there, we will coordinate with Terran Republic forces and receive our orders. I'll keep everyone posted. We've trained for this, people. Let's go keep our sector safe."

Marín motioned Barre to cut the comm. He gave Marín a "so-so" hand gesture. "I'd give that about a five on the pep talk scale. Needs more bullshit."

"If the only criticism is 'needs more bullshit,' I'll take it," Marín said, walking towards her office just off the bridge. "I'm going to finish this briefing. If anyone calls, I'll take it in my office." Barre gave her a thumbs up.

Inside her office, Marín put her shoes under her desk and sat down to finish reading. Terran Republic ghosts on the ground had sent back troubling images and reports. Massive Earth-built carriers supporting space-to-ground aircraft and battlecruisers had overwhelmed the system and locked down Tarsonis. Several command centers had been constructed, cementing their foothold on the planet and cutting Tarsonis City off from aid. And the zerg are attacking—and the infested. What a nightmare. She began reading the dossier attached to the briefing. As someone who had fought in the End War and had defended Umojan territory against the UED when they first arrived, she knew his name and remembered watching his funeral when the UED broadcast it via comm buoy. The dossier cited his participation in the End War and listed him as "infested," but that moniker didn't make sense to her. The infested are mindless zombies. How could any of them be in "control" of the others? And if he participated in the End War with the Dominion, why is he not on our side now? Is he even sentient or rational? The damage and casualty reports were horrific. Infestations were destroying buildings. Soldiers were falling only to rise again as the infested to fight for the UED. Most distressingly, the Umojan fleet was only a fraction of the size of the incoming UED armada and the Terran Republic had been caught with its pants down. They had suffered heavy losses in the End War and against the Queen of Blades; their forces had never been fully rebuilt. Also, Raynor was MIA and Horner was busy trying to hold the new Terran Republic together while also commanding the Republic's military. The new Republic was not in any state to repel an invasion.

Barre stuck his head into Marín's office. "We're at the rendezvous." Marín gathered her dress and returned to the bridge.

"Hail the Vrede." The Vrede responded immediately, the chrubic face of Fleet Admiral Augustin appearing on the screen.

"Renata! Good. Get over here. We have a lot to discuss. Where is the Liberté? I need to speak to Oyaleni and Vermaak as well."

"He left just after I did. I'm sure they'll be here soon."

"Okay," he said dubiously, "but this is a horrible time to keep us waiting. We need to proceed with the utmost care and alacrity. See you momentarily. Oh, and... Nice dress. Shame about the opera... Ta ta! Augustin out."

"Message the flight deck, Barre. Get me a shuttle ready."

"Don't you want to change?" Marín was already in the elevator.

"No time!"

Marín boarded the shuttle and made her way to the Vrede. When she arrived on the bridge, Augustin and Valerian Mengsk were already discussing their plans for repelling the invaders. Marín was somewhat taken aback that Valerian was there—and in all his princely finery. She, like most Umojans, had a distrust of the entire Mengsk clan despite their government's original backing of them. They had been burned by it, and despite Valerian being originally an Umojan citizen, they did not hesitate to effectively end Valerian's reign by releasing further documents about Moebius's experiments. They were relieved that the Mengsk dynasty would not continue. But now he was here. Marín could not help but think that this would end up being a renewed bid for control.

"...And the Republic and Moebius fleets will remain under my command until—or if—Horner rejoins the fleet."

"Where's Admiral Horner?" Marín said, eyeing Valerian. Augustin rounded on her.

"Ah, yes. Adm. Marín, I'm sure you know Valerian Mengsk?"

"Yes... Of course," she said. Valerian extended his hand to her. She took it cautiously.

"Pleasure to meet you, Admiral. I hope you don't mind if I reviewed your personnel file on the way here... Your record is quite impressive."

"Thanks, I don't mind... After all, your 'record' is pretty public,'" Augustin coughed to stifle a laugh and Valerian frowned slightly at the comment but regained his composure.

"You look... as if you were interrupted?" Valerian said, eyeing her dress.

"I was at the opera..."

"Ah yes, Il Nozze de Figaro was playing, wasn't it?"

"Yes, yes it was."

"Shame. They perform it so seldom... The Pasteur Opera House has one of the best companies I've had the pleasure to listen to... Though I might be partial to it... My family donated a great deal to the building's construction... There is a focus on culture there that is not present on Korhal or Tarsonis... We'll have to chat about opera later, if you're a fan."

"Sure... Once all this is over, perhaps..." Marín said, unconvincingly. Valerian, to her, had always been a man of contradictions, but that he enjoyed opera puzzled her. Opera normally dealt with epic themes and abstract concepts like freedom and loyalty and what happens when power is abused. It seemed strange to her that he would enjoy it without seemingly internalizing any of its messages.

"Valerian is here because Horner is trapped in Tarsonis City," Augustin said, quickly changing the subject, "For now, he's currently in charge of the Moebius and Republic fleets, but we're working on a plan for Horner's extraction—along with as many civilians as we can evacuate."

"What is our plan of attack?"

"There isn't one," Valerian said softly, "We're greatly outmatched. Our position will be defensive. We want to get as many people out and hold the UED off until they escape."

"We're just going to let Tarsonis fall?" Marín said incredulously.

"There's no other choice, Adm. Marín," Valerian said, "But we do have a defensive plan."

"Which we'll discuss when Gen. Oyaleni and Lt. Gen Vermaak finally arrive..." Marín nodded, her eyes drifting towards the holographic table in the middle of the bridge which depicted the UED's troop movements in real-time three dimensionally above it. She walked to it, and then used her hands to manipulate the display and zoom in on the planet's surface. There, she watched a flurry of red dots—the infested—flooding the streets. But there was something odd about it—something that bothered her.

"His involvement surprises me," Valerian said, walking quietly towards her, his cape flowing behind him. Who wears a cape? Marín thought.

"Whose?"

"Vice Adm. Stukov. Raynor thought highly of him... Or at least had a begrudging respect."

"But he's zerg... And UED. Doesn't sound that surprising to me."

"No, I suppose not... His alliance may have only been to Kerrigan. Without her in play, his loyalty may have defaulted to the UED. This is unfortunate... He is resourceful and... hard to predict. His assistance of the UED is already evident... The UED knows more than they should about the landscape of the city—and its weaknesses."

"So wait, I thought he was infested? Aren't the infested mindless zombies? You're talking about him like he's still a man."

"Stukov... Is a special case. He's... not going to be easy to push back..."

"Yes," Augustin broke in, "and we've been discussing who would be best suited to do that. Renata, I think that person is you."

"Wherever you think I would best serve," she said absently, still looking at the holographic map.

"That's my girl," Augustin said jovially. "Stukov is attacking the heart of the city, limiting our access to a building where Horner is pinned down. There is an underground bunker and an access tunnel that leads to a nearby police headquarters—with a helipad. If you and Vermaak can push Stukov back and deal with the infestation, we should be able to get everyone in there out. The core fleet will be our shield, deflecting attacks from the evac and blocking ships from entering Tarsonis's atmosphere over Tarsonis City."

"My fleets and the edge fleet will try to take out as much of the UED fleet as we can before we have to retreat," Valerian said. Marín nodded. It was what she expected, she supposed, but the doomed defense of Tarsonis agitated her. She did not like going into a fight she knew she could not win. All they could do was mitigate the damage. Still, maybe there was something she could do without obeying orders. She studied the map again. Maybe... If I could neutralize this "Stukov" and take him out as a random element... It wasn't what she had been directed to do, but she decided if she had the opportunity to kill or capture him, she would take it.

Vermaak and Oyaleni finally arrived. "So good of you to join us," Augustin said sarcastically. Marín looked at him. He had changed, maybe even showered. Oyaleni looked somewhat pissed off like she had been kept waiting. So that's what took so long, Marín thought. "Gen. Jane Oyaleni, Lt. Gen. Vermaak, this is Valerian Mengsk..."

"Mengsk," Oyaleni said, barely acknowledging him.

"I know who he is," Vermaak said curtly.

"Vermaak and Oyaleni will be assisting us in deflecting attention away from the evacuation and defending us on the ground."

"Just tell us who to shoot," Vermaak said.

"Charming," Valerian said with a tight-lipped smile.

"Like I was telling Marín just now, Moebius, the Republic, and the edge side fleet will engage the UED. The core fleet will protect the evac and Tarsonis City while pushing Stukov's forces back away from Horner's position with Vermaak's marines. Oyaleni will deal with the larger threat of UED forces on the ground... Is that clear?"

"Simple enough," Oyaleni said.

"Good. We've wasted enough time. Vermaak, Marín, you're Dismissed. General Oyaleni, may I speak with you further?" Oyaleni, a woman of few words, crossed her broad arms and stood near Augustin, tapping her dark fingers on her sleeves as she eyed Valerian. No Umojan trusts Valerian, Marín thought.

Marín and Vermaak boarded the lift from the bridge to make their way back to the hangar. As soon as the doors closed, Vermaak looked Marín up and down.

"What are you still doing in that dress?" Vermaak said. Marín turned to him, annoyed.

"What are you doing showing up thirty minutes after everyone else?"

"Didn't want to look like a twit in a suit."

"One, Valerian always wears a cape. You wouldn't have been the only 'twit' in the room. Two, are you calling me a twit?"

"You look a bit crazy, yeah."

"I look like I care, Wynand."

"Fine," Vermaak said, sighing. "I knew if I showed up dressed like I was, Augustin would put two and two together about us."

"You don't think that he has? It's been three years and we've known each since the academy. And the they didn't bother giving us separate orders because they knew we'd be together."

"It looks unprofessional."

"I know you want succeed Oyaleni..."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't care if you do, Wynand, but I don't know what about our relationship would keep you from it." Except that she did. She had a reputation, and it was not necessarily a good one. Of the two of them, despite his vulture-riding swagger, she was the more controversial. Marín was considered by some to be too eager and maybe a bit too clever for her own good. People talked about her. Some respected her, others didn't; their feelings were either hot or cold. It was not that way for Vermaak. Most people had no opinion or not much of one. He was good at gliding just under the radar and not upsetting anyone. If it was widely known that they were partners, his reputation might be slightly sullied. But it wouldn't matter that much.

As the two of them boarded the shuttle back to Uhuru, their conversation turned to more pressing matters: the coordination of Horner's evac and how to deal with the infested horde.

"The infested... Don't have much experience with them," Vermaak said gruffly. He rubbed his hands together slowly, lost in thought.

"No, we don't... Occasionally we'd see them, but we'd stay the hell away. Nuke 'n go if we could."

"Can't do that here."

"We can keep them at arm's length though... Siege tanks?" Vermaak considered this with his usual careful slowness.

"Yep. Keep the line from getting too close."

"Banshees too. From what I saw, Stukov has sacrificed air for ground speed."

"May not be a choice. Are there any starports nearby?"

"That's a thought. No one to infest. He could build spires, but the city may be too densely packed to raise them.

"Right."

"You know, your usual cautiousness is going to come in very handy right now." Marín knew she had said something wrong when Vermaak's eyes narrowed at her and his brow knitted together.

"My what?" He absently put his hand on his thigh, on the edge of where she knew his bionic prosthesis began under his fatigues.

"I mean in comparison to me... You know how I am. Pushing back slowly—that's the only way. Losing troops to the infested will just feed Stukov's war machine." Vermaak nodded in agreement, his anger diffused momentarily, but then he turned to her again, suspicious.

"You're planning something, aren't you?"

"What? No."

"I can tell... You're going to do something stupid. What is it?"

"It's not stupid..."

"Renata..."

Marín sighed. "Stukov needs to be taken out. If I see a chance, I'm going to take it."

"How do you think you're going to find him? How do you think you're going to kill him?"

"I'll... Figure that out later. Like I said, if I get the chance."

"Don't get yourself hurt... or killed..."

"I haven't yet..."

"Not all of us have been so lucky..." He rapped on his leg, making a hollow, metallic sound. "This could have been much worse."

"I know, I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? It's not your fault. Just... be careful. Don't do something brash."

"I... I won't."

The shuttle landed softly in the Uhuru's hangar and the shuttle's door opened. Vermaak stood, taking her by both hands.

"I hope you mean that."

He leaned down and kissed her.

"See you later, eh?"

"Yeah, I'll send Oyaleni my notes. Be careful."

"I always am. That's double for you."

Vermaak disappeared out of the shuttle and into the hangar bay. She could already hear the doppler effect of his booming voice as he barked orders to his marines while he marched deeper into the hangar. Marín got up and made her way to the bridge and into her office. At her desk, she drafted her orders but stopped, looking again at Stukov's troop movements one more time. There was something odd about them, something she couldn't put her finger on. She keyed up Republic archive battle footage of Stukov from during the UED invasion. It was the first time she'd had the occasion to use it since the treaty. What she saw there did not match what was happening now in the city of Tarsonis. If anything, Stukov had always been very aggressive, arrogant even, and had intricate strategies meant to confuse his enemies. Here, he kept the line and advanced incrementally, attacking only in defense. She had no idea what that meant.

In any case, she had a plan. She would recommend what she and Vermaak discussed to Oyaleni: no ground troops except siege tanks and, she added, firebats. The siege tanks to push back the infested, and the firebats to clear the infestation. They would have to keep from losing their own troops and rely heavily on her for air support. She would assign as many liberators and banshees as she could spare. But, the sheer number of troops Stukov had been able to raise would be hard to churn through. Secretly though, she thought they could rout him—if she could figure out where his command center was. Over eager... Sticking my neck out again, she thought. But we'd all be safer if he was gone.

She drafted the battle plan on a map and sent it with annotations to her captains and Oyaleni. And now all she had left to do was address the fleet again. She stepped back onto the bridge. "Open a channel, Barre."

"Aye, ma'am." A chime let Marín know she was on air.

"Good evening... Or morning depending on where you've come from in the sector... I wish I had better news to tell everyone, but with the zerg and UED fleet attacking Tarsonis now, when it is most vulnerable after years of war, there is no hope that we will 'win' this battle. What we must focus on is protecting the citizens of the Terran Republic in their evacuation from Tarsonis. Aside from that mission is another important one—to help the Terran Republic in its rescue of its current leader, Adm. Matthew Horner. In doing so, we will go up against the zerg and the infested under the command of Vice Adm. Alexei Stukov, an infested human and UED military leader. This will necessarily be a mission that we will have to undertake very carefully. Your orders are being sent now. Keep abreast of them and keep your eyes open. We need to do as much damage as we can to the UED fleet while we are here, but stay focused and don't take any unnecessary risks. See you all on the flip side. Good luck."

This was the part that always filled Marín with guilt: giving orders that meant someone was not coming back. Protocol stated that she should not leave the Uhuru and lead from afar, but she found that unconscionable.

"Put me through to Dani, Barre." Barre patched her though.

"Hey Dani, is my wraith ready?

"Ready and waiting, boss lady."

"Be there in five."

When Mitchell reached the hangar, the deck shook beneath her feet. Banshees, liberators, and medivac shuttles were all waiting to launch, their engines on, roaring with noise and shimmering with heat. A warning klaxon sounded as the hangar launch port shield snapped on and the hangar's immense door began to open. Her wraith was waiting for her on the only wraith launch rack still in use on the Uhuru. Unlike the other vessels, the wraith, unable to stand on its own, had to be catapulted out of the hangar on a jet-powered rack. Marín pulled herself into the cockpit, lowered the cockpit canopy and put on her helmet and breathing apparatus. The canopy sealed shut, dampening the noise of the hangar, but she could still feel the vibrations of the ships on deck through the seat. The hangar bay door was fully open now, and aircraft were launching in groups out into the void of space. She engaged the rack; it lurched the craft forward, putting her in line with everyone else. A few minutes later, it was finally her turn.

"Hit me, chief."

"Aw, yeah."

She felt the jet on the back of the launch rack ignite. The rack sped forward, throwing her wraith out of the hangar. Suddenly, all was quiet as the vacuum enveloped her. Below, she could see the bluish glow of Tarsonis and in the distance the UED fleet. She engaged her cloak, and above her a squadron of banshees did the same. Behind them, the Uhuru, four squadrons of banshees, a squadron of liberators, and what battlecruisers could be spared to attack Stukov, began turning planetside.

"Squadron leader Gavran, this is Marín. I'm here as an extra pair of eyes. Support our firebats and siege tanks. Keep the infested at bay and push them back so our battlecruisers and medivac units can assist with evac."

"Roger, Admiral. Good to know we've got you over our shoulder."

The squadron moved past her and down. She went in the same direction but skimmed the upper atmosphere, keeping the battlefield below her. She wanted to get a peek behind enemy lines. The ground moved swiftly by as the city thinned to suburbs and then to an industrial area.

She called Vermaak to assess his progress.

"Wynand, how's it look?"

"We're pushing back. Progress is slow but looks like we can get a bird in for Horner in about thirty minutes."

"You hear that, Gavran?"

"Yep, we'll be waiting to escort."

She flew quickly over a large train depot and trainyard full of empty train cars. Something caught her eye. She turned around quickly—and immediately she wished she hadn't. A massive horde of infested sat waiting, stuffed in train cars and obscured by a train depot. They were just kilometers from the city. What is he waiting for?

Marín hailed Valerian.

"Valerian, this is Marín. We have a window in thirty minutes to get Horner out, but I've got eyes on a phalanx of infested hiding in a train depot outside the city. Radio Vermaak." She didn't want Vermaak to know she was out in her wraith, "I think a massive push is imminent."

"Can we stop it?"

"No, but I don't know why he hasn't attacked yet... He's just... waiting. Does he know Horner's there?"

"I don't know. Possibly."

"Even so, I think he would have flattened the place by now. I'm going fly in and investigate."

"Wait, you're in play?"

"Nice chat, Valerian. I'll see you at the debrief later." She cut the comm, not wanting what would inevitably have been a lecture.

In the distance, Marín spotted a spire. Mutalisks stood by it, obviously on stand-by. An overlord lumbered into view; she gave it a wide berth. Everything was ready, but everything was waiting. What is he doing? It was then she saw it: a battlecruiser—or what was left of one—lurking in low orbit, flying just low enough to confuse the fleet's scanners. The charge on her wraith's cloaking device was low, but she thought she could make it in for a closer look. She burned towards the battlecruiser. Studying it, she could plainly see it was one of the old model UED battlecruisers, dark and brutal in its design. He's in there, she thought, watching.

Marín's cloak began to break up. She flew higher into space and away from the infested battlecruiser and the UED fleet to seek shelter behind the Umojan line. Around her, a battle between the UED fleet and Augustin's forces raged. Marín was in no position to join in the fray. She cut her engines and drifted, taking cover in the debris of the fight and letting her cloak recharge. As she observed the skirmish, the UED fleet appeared so large that it almost blotted out the light of the Tarsonis system's star. Her ship turned, listing in space. Below her, she saw Stukov's battlecruiser begin to move away from the city and behind his line. As her cloak finished recharging, she fired up her engines and reengaged it, steering her ship back down and towards him. She opened her comm and turned the band to a universal frequency.

"To anyone on this frequency, this is Adm. Marín of the Umojan fleet. I've found Stukov. I'm radioing rendezvous coordinates now. Anyone with air-to-air that can break off from the main battle—Republic, Moebius, or Umojan—please converge on those coordinates. We're going to end at least part of this conflict." There was a clamber of replies on the open channel. From what she could tell, around eight liberators—five Umojan, three from the Republic—that would be joining her. The Moebius fleet remained slient. Figures. They must only kowtow to Valerian. She changed her comm frequency to that of the Republic fleet.

"Is Horner out?"

"Transport just lifted off. He should be back on the Hyperion in five," the Bucephalus's comm officer said.

"Good to hear."

Below her as she passed the edge of the city, she saw the earth heave beneath her. To her horror, two massive utralisks—larger than any she had seen before and armored—burst from the ground.

"What the fuck?" she inadvertently yelled into the comm.

"Ma'am?" The comm officer replied, shaken.

"Ultralisks inbound on the city. Our line..." she cut the comm and whipped her wraith around and flew towards the train depot. The infested were streaming out of it. A flock of mutalisks screamed by her, almost ramming her. She changed back to the universal comm frequency.

"Infested, ultralisks, and air units are mobilizing. All ground troops be on alert! This is the real attack, everyone. Vermaak?"

"We're moving out," Vermaak said hurriedly, forgetting to turn off his comm. In the background, she could hear him screaming orders to his marines in his husky voice.

"Evac isn't finished. What should we do?" Capt. Gavran cut in.

"You've done what you can! Get the hell out of there!"

Marín sped up, gunning towards the rendezvous. Now that she had seen how powerful Stukov could potentially be, it was even more imperative that they put him down. Something still nagged at her. It seemed to her that he had waited until Horner was out and until the bulk of the civilians had been evacuated. His movements made no sense, she reasoned, unless he was consciously trying to avoid civilian casualties and was allowing Horner to escape. There may have still been some underlying loyalty left, or there may have been unforeseen variables in play. Despite that, taking him out was still a benefit. To Marín, letting him live was not an option.

The squad of liberators joined her.

"Aw yeah, let's kick that zerg motherfucker right in the cu-." a Republic captain began.

"Uhhh, you realize that Admiral Marín is on this frequency..." one of the Umojan captains said, speaking over him.

"Uh, nope. No, I did not. Sorry ma'am."

"I've heard worse. Let's get to it." The liberators surged forward, swooping in to follow the infested battlecruiser, but Stukov saw them, and the battlecruiser began rising in the atmosphere to leave orbit. Running back to the fleet, Marín thought. One of the liberators came within firing range, but before it could get a bead on him, a tendril snaked out of the battlecruiser and lanced through both of the liberator's engines. The tendril flicked the liberator into space where it cartwheeled away from Tarsonis's gravity well. "Sit tight, Captain. I'm ordering you a medivac. Use your thrusters to stabilize your pitch..." Marín called in a medivac, and the remaining liberators, led by Marín, continued their pursuit of Stukov. "Get in close around him but stay out of range of those... tentacles. Head him off. We can't let him jump to FTL." Suddenly, the battlecruiser fell several thousand feet and flew right under them, burning some of the infestation off of its hull in the process. He rose again and veered away from the UED fleet. "Follow him!" Marín and the liberators gave chase. The liberators, quicker in atmospheric conditions, easily outpaced Stukov, who had still managed put the planet between him and the UED fleet. They stopped in front of him, turning to face him. Marín followed behind the battlecruiser, still cloaked but cutting off his escape.

The battlecruiser came to a stop. For a breathless moment, the liberators stared him down. Slowly, the battlecruiser came about to face Marín's cloaked ship. She thought for a moment Stukov would make another run into the atmosphere, but his battlecruiser stayed stationery save the long zerg tentacles waving beneath it. What is he doing? Does he...

"Time to give him what's coming to him... Permission to fire, Admiral?"

"Negative, Capt. Baker."

"What?" one of the Republic liberator captains broke in again, "The dude just pulled his pants down and showed us his ass. Let's lube him up and fuck 'em then put him to bed."

"Vasiliy, goddamn it," one of the other Republic liberator pilots said quietly into the comm. Ignoring them, Marín dropped her cloak and nudged her thruster forward towards Stukov's battlecruiser. A din of shocked exclamations erupted over the comm, telling her not to get any closer.

"He's been able to see me the whole time. Calm down." She changed her comm's band and broadcast a ship-to-ship automated call, introducing herself, her rank, and her command. Moments went by, and she received a message on the same frequency—but text only. The message read, "Urgent meeting requested. Meet in 3 hrs at the coordinates encrypted in this message. Come alone and unarmed." Stukov's ship began moving again, turning towards the liberators. Distortion, caused by the battlecruiser's FTL drive, made the space around it seem to bulge and bend.

"He's firing up his FTL..." Capt. Baker said over the comm.

"Get out of the way. Let him go."

"What?" Vasiliy said incredulously.

"You heard me." The liberators reluctantly moved away from the battlecruiser, and it jumped away to FTL.

Augustin called Marín. "Adm. Marín. I was given word that you had cornered Stukov. Have you been able to neutralize him?"

"No, sir... But I've made contact."

"Contact?"

"I'll explain later. We're done here."

"Then for heaven's sake, get back to the Uhuru. We're overwhelmed as it is and we need to fall back."

"Yes, sir."

Just what have I gotten myself into...

#alexei stukov #stukov #starcraft #starcraft 2 #starcraft ii #brood war #matt horner #valerian mengsk #valerian #fanfiction #fanfic #no omen no country's cause

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blizzweirdo · 6 years

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No Omen, No Country’s Cause Ch. 9

You’ll LOVE this POV, guys. LOL.

AH HA HA HAH HA HA HA!

And you’ll have to wait for... stuff (no spoilers).

DON’T PUNCH ME.

Also, sorry this is late.

Troy Reeves walked purposefully across the deck of the hangar bay, carefully composing himself. The crew must not see any shred of weakness or a lack of decorum. He straightened his jacket and set his cap. Talking with Stukov disturbed him. He was the last person he had expected to see here, or again, and one of the people he would want to least want to see ever. It had made him perversely happy to see his old rival disfigured and tainted by the race he had closely studied, but disturbing to learn that he now wielded their power. Stopping in the hallway, he pressed the button to call for a lift. Groups of soldiers, captains, and crew walked past him, their loud talking amplified by alcohol. Reeves tipped his hat to them and gave them a grit-teethed smiled. As he got in, a young ensign followed blithely behind him. Once he realized who he had boarded the elevator with, he clearly had tried to turn heel to walk out, but stopped, realizing it was too late. Reeves smiled at him. At least he registers my authority.

“I won’t bite, ensign. What floor do you need?”

“S-seven, sir.”

“Seven? Crew quarters?”

“Yes, sir. Not one for parties, sir.”

“Good boy. Neither am I.”

The ensign stepped off the elevator and Reeves continued to the bridge. When he got there, it was empty; they had celebrated briefly earlier, and he had given them the night off. He walked into his office. All was silent.

Silence. He enjoyed it. Too much of his job was either loud with the sounds of war or with the sounds of mass humanity. Reeves took his meals in his office or in his quarters. With the end of their first battle and after dealing with Stukov, he needed the solitude—and he also needed to compose a message to Henri, his husband. He didn’t want to seem upset, especially when he had good news. He was alive, one, and they had taken Tarsonis. Of course, if Henri registered he was upset, he couldn’t tell him about Stukov—he couldn’t tell anyone. If Stukov’s true fate was widely known, he couldn’t imagine the fear that it would engender that someone as distinguished (it wasn’t the word he wanted to use, but he couldn’t think of another) as Stukov had been overtaken by the zerg. It would demonstrate just how dangerous the zerg were.

He had to stop thinking about it. Reeves sat at his desk and turned on his console, positioning himself in front of the screen so that he was in range of the video feed. But then he saw he already had a message from Henri. There was no way for them to speak in real time. They would be passing each other endlessly for the entirety of the conflict. It would be an ongoing call and response conversation. Henri had gotten the first word in. Reeves opened the message. In the study of their home in Charleston, Henri sat, his arms draped over his cello on a leather chaise lounge. He was wearing the silk shirt Reeves had gifted him for his birthday last year.

“Troy, honey, hello! I hope this gets to you before you get into Tarsonis. If not, well, you know me… Always fashionably late. Sometimes even missing the party!”

Reeves snorted with laughter. He had missed the “party.”

“I don’t know what to say. I miss you? I’m definitely afraid for you, and I pray for you, even though I know it won’t do any good. Since I’m at a loss for words and I’m pretty sure we’re being monitored by whatever censors are on this channel, I thought I’d play you something… Here goes…”

Henri began to play, his long arms languidly crossing his cello. Reeves had always been captivated by the sensuous way he moved. As the tune began, he recognized it. It was one that he had played before but not often. It was faster than much of the music that he played and darker. He searched for the name of it, but only came up with the composter—Stravinsky. A Russian. Reeves anger suddenly returned.

Reeves’s XO, Commander Gorman, appeared at his door. Reeves turned off the recording. Gorman took a step back, reading the anger on his commander’s face. Reeves demurred.

“Come in, what is it?”

“There’s been an… incident… in the brig. We’ve had to restrain one of the prisoners.”

“Which one?”

“A ghost? Did you know about this?”

Reeves stood up so quickly his chair fell over backwards. Gorman jumped at the sound.

“Was he harmed?”

“No, but he took out all the electronic equipment on the cell block and even some above and below. Some sort of telekinesis.”

“Was it an escape attempt?”

“If it was, it wasn’t a good one. He could’ve walked out, but he’s still down there. We put an external psi dampener on him but…” Gorman handed Reeves a datapad. “There are some irregularities in his file… I thought you might want to take a look. Why was he being held? I didn’t see…” Reeves interrupted him.

“Gorman, don’t stick your nose into this. From this point forward, I alone deal with this ghost. Any inquiries go straight to me. I want no one to speak of him. There’s no ghost in our brig, and there never was. Is that clear?”

Gorman went white. Reeves knew he understood. He generally allowed him more freedom than others of his staff—he had known him the longest of any of the crew—but because of this Gorman also knew how quickly Reeves could turn on someone. And when he turned, the relationship was soured forever.

“O-of course, Admiral.”

“Dismissed.”

Gorman left quickly. Reeves read through Gregory Stukov’s file at his desk. He was young—22 biologically but 27 chronologically—and had entered the UED’s ghost program late either because he had been shielded by someone or because he was a late bloomer. His psi index was midrange and he had no reason to have been brain panned—no covert missions or erratic behavior. This appeared to be his first major mission.

On brain-panning, Reeves aligned more with the Terran Dominion’s view of the practice than with his own government. Degenerates with psionic powers, he felt, needed to be tightly controlled. Brain-panning, he believed, made them docile. They knew no better than to follow orders and could do nothing for themselves if the practice was used judiciously. It had been standard operating procedure until around the time when Reeves had just begun maturing into his military career. Reeves’s first choice of posting had been a ghost “academy” in Montreal. He had already begun living there, and it was where he had met Henri. But the door to that opportunity had suddenly slammed shut. The same year a paper had been put before the UPL Council written by a group of anonymous military officers. It was titled “The Treatment of ‘Degenerate’ Psionic Assets in Training and Combat: An Analysis of Statistics and Subsequent Recommendations.” In it was a scathing deconstruction of many of the academy’s training methods and processes, the most notable of which their usage of “brain-panning” or memory erasure. Common wisdom was that eliminating an agent’s past made them more loyal. This paper, with statistics, case studies, and even some experiments, seemed to prove that it didn’t. One rhetorical question always stuck out to him, and it was the one that was his career’s undoing: “How can soldiers be loyal to a country they don’t remember?” Of all the arguments—that soldiers who were brain-panned could not relate to their commanders, that not being able to remember their families made them unable to form familial bonds among their comrades, and that making them unable to care for themselves in any practical sense put them at a disadvantage in survival situations—the question was the one that shut down the academies temporarily until they could be reformed. Reeves had sided against the paper and the revisions it would make. But the paper’s ideas had just enough patriotic spin on them. The regime changed and was out. And he was out with it.

Years later, a few months before the Expeditionary Fleet was about to leave, a memo was forwarded to him by a friend who had survived the change in leadership. It was from Vice Admiral Stukov. His friend had written a note with it saying, “Notice anything?” In his memo, Stukov had sent along Admiral DuGalle’s call for the number of ghosts that they needed to accompany them to the Koprulu sector. With it, he had sent his own qualifiers since they would be directly under his command. He “under no circumstances” wanted any ghost that had been brain-panned for any reason—and he explained why. In his explanation, there were several sentences that were worded in almost exactly the same way as the paper that had made its way to the UPL Council years ago. Either Stukov kept a copy around or he had written at least part of it. Reeves looked up the paper and read it again. Sure enough, in the passages where the language was the most heated and blunt, there he recognized Stukov’s voice. He had sidetracked Reeves’s career from afar—and it hadn’t been the first time.

But now, as he read Gregory’s file, he wondered how Stukov had been so prescient. How had he known his son—who wouldn’t have shown signs before Stukov left—would be a degenerate? Unless his father was. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake, Reeves thought. The bad egg. The spoiled apple. DuGalle’s pet a psionic. Gorman had been right about there being something fishy about the file. His psi index was rated at 5.5—too low for telekinesis and for the damage done to the brig. There were ghosts that were exceptions, but not many. His other scores were above average but not exceptional—as if he had been purposefully lowballing his tests or someone had changed his scores keep attention away from him. He would make some discrete inquiries to see who might be the culprit, but some of the information he was hoping the boy himself would divulge. A high psi index, holding back his powers, being too connected, or behaving erratically—all of these circumstances could potentially warrant brain-panning if presented the right way.

A brain-panned son would be just what Stukov deserved. Gregory needed it, he thought, all ghosts needed it. But if Gregory had any loyalty to his father—and if he had been trying to escape—it would be necessary regardless of how he felt about Stukov. He couldn’t lose him, and the look on Stukov’s face when he realized his son no longer knew who he was would balance the ledger that Reeves had been tallying of his misdeeds.

Reeves looked up the name of the chief ghost wrangler and trainer on board. He had seen several messages about a “missing ghost” from him but he had been ignoring them. He found his name—Special Ops Chief Shin. Shin picked up immediately when Reeves called. A weathered man appeared on the screen with close-cropped silver hair and one eye that was all white. In another place, he would have a prosthetic, but in the UED, such things weren’t allowed.

“Shin!” He said curtly as a greeting. Reeves didn’t like that.

“Chief Shin, this is Admiral Reeves…” He said, waiting for his authority over him to sink in. It never did.

“Yes? What do you need?”

“I have a recalcitrant ghost that needs to be re-educated.”

“You mean brain-panned? A drastic measure. I would need to evaluate them.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Yes, it will. Is this about my missing ghost?”

“That is not your concern.”

“Like hell it isn’t. Where is he?”

“If you don’t have that machine ready in an hour, you’ll be in the same hole I put him in.”

“What? This is out—”

Reeves cut him off. He knew what he had to do, but he wanted to speak with the boy first.

The lights had been restored in the brig by the time Reeves entered. A tech was still working on the guard’s surveillance terminal, her head in an access port under the desk. The guard looked on, standing nearby, bored and helpless. An ensign was still sweeping up the glass in the hallway of the cell block. The guard quickly stood at attention when Reeves entered. The tech hit her head on the desk, but also stood at attention. Reeves barely acknowledged them.

“I want both of you to still be here when I come back out. Talk to no one, let no one leave, and send anyone who comes in away. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

Reeves skulked into the cell block, gripping the datapad Gorman had given him in his hand. He stopped at Gregory’s cell and looked in at him. When Gregory saw him, he quickly stood, his large green eyes meeting his fleetingly and then darting away. There was a thick, white metal collar around his neck—the external dampener they had fitted him with. Most ghosts had a failsafe surgically implanted in their brains, but they were calibrated to the psi index in their files. If he had one, it would be incorrectly fitted if his file was wrong. As he looked at him, Reeves saw little of his father in him. Maybe the eye shape and the body type, but the rest was his mother, whom Reeves had met infrequently but vividly remembered. That made it easier to talk to him. If he’d looked like Stukov, he thought, it would have been a lot harder not to kill him there in the hangar. But it would be harder to brain-pan him, and, if it came to it, kill him later, When his father inevitably pisses me off.

He briefly thought about how hilarious it would be if it turned out Gregory wasn’t actually his son, and his wife had already been halfway out the door that long before their divorce. But he knew that wasn’t possible. The mandatory DNA screening most children went through to predict psionic ability would also have established paternity. Gregory had avoided testing—officer’s family privilege—until he most likely began to show signs of what the UED saw as an affliction. That was the first of many oddities of his file, which he would discuss with him.

Reeves held up the datapad for Gregory to see. “I have your dossier right here, Gregory…” Gregory’s eyes followed it nervously. “There are a few items I think you’d better explain.”

“Okay…” Gregory murmured.

“First, your file says not a thing about you being a teek. That’s a little odd, don’t you think?” He said, his voice raising with the question.”

“I… guess?”

“You guess? Any idea why that pertinent information was kept out of your file?”

Gregory was silent for a moment.

“Clerical error?” He finally said. Reeves’s eyes narrowed. He saw more of his father in him now. That was exactly the kind of flippant remark his father would make.

“Are you trying to be funny, son?”

“No, sir,” he said quickly. Reeves watched his face. He was obviously afraid of him. The remark had been guileless if a bit stupid.

“It also says your psi index is five and a half—and we both know that can’t possibly be right.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t play coy with me. We both know a human must have at least a PI of at least eight to be telekinetic. Tell me what your real number is.”

Gregory was silent again, looking away.

“Boy, if you don’t tell me, I’ll have it beaten out of you.”

“Eight point two,” he said wearily, “What does it matter?”

“Because one of my most powerful ghosts is exhibiting ‘erratic behavior,’ and may need some more permanent restraint than that psi dampener.” Gregory took a step back, the back of his leg hitting the bench behind him, causing him to lose his footing and fall against the wall.

“No, that’s not necessary…”

“You tried to escape.”

“I didn’t!”

“That’s enough!” A voice said from down the hallway. Dressed in a greying, threadbare ghost’s uniform covered by a long, black duster, Shin marched towards Reeves. Gregory stood up when he saw him. Shin ignored Reeves.

“Finally, I found you. I thought you’d gone AWOL. But that wasn’t right.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been in here since we got here…”

“Don’t apologize. What have I told you about that?”

“I’m sor… I mean…”

“How did you get in here?” Reeves said, blustering.

“I’m a ghost? How else? You’re not hard to find. All I did was ask the computer where you were. You really should have your whereabouts clearance-locked.” Reeves fumed. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” he said, turning back to Gregory.

“No, but he put a gun to my head.”

Shin turned quickly to Reeves, “You what?”

From down the hallway, another prisoner had woken, hearing the three of them talking. He began banging on the wall.

“Hello? Who’s there? I am a Terran Republic citizen, damn it. I demand due process and a lawyer.” It was Marcos Marinakis. Reeves had almost forgotten about him, but he needed him later.

“Shut up!” he yelled at him. Reeves’s rage was about to get the best of him. He turned back to Gregory.

“I sense your anger, Reeves,” Shin said calmly, “But this boy is not his father.” Reeves became irater at the imposition of Shin on his thoughts. He had accessed what amounted to classified data. Shin had not been privy to any briefings on Stukov and his appearance in the Koprulu sector.

“That thing is not my father!”

“What?” Reeves said, taken aback.

“It is a zerg-infested zombie and an abomination.” Reeves never considered that Gregory would not see Stukov as his father anymore. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Stukov may not be Stukov but instead a reanimated version of him. But the way Stukov had spoken to him, the stunt he had pulled—he had been more vicious than usual, but it wasn’t out of character. He had been his same, sardonic self. It had to have been the real Stukov; he felt it. His body may have been tainted by the zerg, but his mind was still there. Gregory had not been able to speak to him. He had only seen what he had done and had to believe that he had not betrayed and abandoned them all those years ago. Reeves realized that brain-panning would be a kindness to Gregory and to his father. He would not use it on him—not yet anyway. Down the hallway, Marinakis began making noise again.

“You can’t do this! I am a presidential candidate!

“You’re right, Shin. He’s not his father. His father is dead. We should be more respectful of that. Of course that thing we’re allied with is an abomination… But we must play along, right?”

Gregory nodded slowly, suspicious.

“There’s no reason to punish him, Reeves,” Shin said quietly.

“No, there isn’t. But he’ll have to stay here for his own safety…”

“Fine. As long as we don’t have need for the operation room…” Shin began. Marinakis bellowed in the background.

“Hold that thought, Shin. I think I still have use for your machine…”

#alexei stukov #stukov #starcraft #starcraft2 #starcraft 2 #fanfiction #fanfic #no omen no country's cause

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blizzweirdo · 6 years

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StarCraft Fanfiction: “No Omen, No Country’s Cause”

A few months ago, during the StarCraft 20th anniversary celebration, I created a blog for the sole purpose of remedying a great injustice: according to an infographic I saw here on Tumblr, fanfiction involving my favorite character, Vice Adm. Alexei Stukov, comprised only 1% of StarCraft fanfiction (in English, I’m assuming).

And so I embarked on a months-long odyssey, putting together what I thought would be a short story about how Stukov would react to the UED returning to the Koprulu sector. What it turned into is a multi-perspective, most likely novella- length text that I think would work well as a serial.

In “No Omen, No Country’s Cause,” I seek to reconcile discordant parts of Stukov’s personality, give him something to live for, flesh out his backstory, make him to engage in some badassery, and get him back to where he was in SC: Brood War (personality wise). Along the way, expect a lot of battles, new characters, and interactions with other canon characters like Adm. Matt Horner, Valerian Mengsk, Alarak, Zagara, and others.

This teaser is rated T, but expect some chapters to be M for language, violence, sexual content, and zergy squish-squish. I’ll probably post small bits once or twice a week, releasing what I’ve written so far and giving me a chance to write more. I do see myself finishing it (I’ve already written the ending but not the middle) unless there’s just zero interest.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. If you’d like to view this in a different format, it is also available on FanFiction.net, Archive of Our Own, and Wattpad under the same username.

Note: someone pointed out this sounds like it’s going to get political. I promise it is not.

“No Omen, No Country’s Cause”

TARSONIS CITY, TARSONIS: 09:55

"Five minutes to air time, people. Let's get moving!" Kate Lockwell paced behind Adm. Matthew Horner as he stood at his podium. From the side of the makeshift stage, she shouted at a few people in the wings. "Tim! Where's Kallie with the other camera?"

"The replacement lens didn't come in. Wasn't a 'priority' shipment and didn't make it through customs. She knows a guy uptown and she's going to borrow one. She'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen?!"

"We'll start without her! It'll be fine. No one will notice we're down a camera."

"They'll notice if we're down two presidential debaters... Where're my challenger candidates?" Kim Lockwell stopped on her heel and put her hand on the shoulder of Horner's blue suit.

"Well, if there's one thing that I can say for you military types, at least you're punctual, Mr. President." She winked at him, and before he could respond, she was gone.

Horner leaned over the podium and looked into the "audience." In the makeshift broadcast room, there were about two-dozen seats, all of which were full of journalists from around the sector-Umoja, Moria, and even some of the outlying colonies. All were there to see the beginning of Tarsonis's new government as it shifted from the Terran Dominion to the Terran Republic. After defeating Amon and negotiating peace with the zerg under Zagara, Valerian Mengsk had begun focusing on rebuilding Tarsonis and Korhal, and that's when the political shitstorm started. The Dominion needed the Umojan Protectorate's help, but they refused to acknowledge a "medieval monarchy spawned by a dictator" as a valid government even though it was constitutional. The Umojans also released more information about Valerian that was potentially damaging-that the labs run by Mobius Corp. had been more closely supervised by him than he had originally said. Skygeirr Station was the most egregious. Horner had asked him, man-to-man, what he actually knew. He had told him that he was only aware they were performing experiments on zerg and xel'naga tissues-he didn't know about the hybrid breeding program. But he did know about what they were doing to UED POW Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov. Valerian said that he willingly turned a blind eye to what they did to him because he thought it vital, at the time, to finding a way to neutralize Sara Kerrigan. Whether it was because he was UED or because he was infested and technically zerg, news reports focused on the hybrids and glossed over the torture of someone he knew to be a decent man. If it bothered Valerian, it was hard to see, which made Horner watchful of him now, waiting for more of his father to emerge. The Umojan Protectorate has a point, Horner thought.

Valerian was forced to step down, and his cabinet named Horner as his interim successor until the Terran Republic could build its infrastructure enough to hold an election. The Umojan Protectorate began helping Tarsonis pick up the pieces of the coup against Arcturus Mengsk and the invasion by the Queen of Blades. It had been five years, and Horner was just now thinking that he had the hang of governing-and now he would have to publicly debate other candidates and run for the position to keep it for another five years. Even so, Horner had doubts about his leadership capabilities. Raynor should be up here-not me, he thought. But he knew that would never have worked. Jim Raynor had not wanted to lead even when he was with the Raiders. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them, he thought, Valerian was the first, Raynor the second... But Valerian was disgraced and Raynor had vanished. Hopefully I'm the third... After Valerian stepped down and the smoke cleared, there weren't many other options.

Horner took a deep breath and thumbed again through his notes on the datapad in front of him. His main talking points were those of national security. They had been burned before by outside threats. Other than a few outlying factions, the protoss were their allies, but on the other hand, the zerg, even with Zagara leading them, could be fractured by a new leader-just as Abathur almost had done. Worse, if Horner had learned anything, it was the threat that could not be predicted that always ...bites you in the ass. Restructuring was also critical. The military needed its academies back online, and the education system-especially on Tarsonis-needed new buildings, updated materials, and staff that were not praising the "glory of the Dominion." Trade deals with the Kel-Morians and the Umojan Protectorate to bring food and other resources to people who needed it were his other sticking points. Things we can all agree on, not too detailed, and enough to talk about but not enough to make me look like a boring, stuffed uniform-I hope.

Finally, one of the other candidates entered the studio. The journalists all stood at once, their cameras flashing as she strode in. He recognized her; It was Dr. Joan Slavens, a philosophy professor at Tarsonis City Colonial University, the largest and most prestigious public universities on Tarsonis-before it was shut down by the Dominion. She had settled into being a nuisance via private broadcasts during the war. Horner had watched a few of them. Dr. Slavens was a good speaker, and she had the air of a rumpled intellectual with her barely-tamed blonde curls and wrinkled tweed jacket. She waved warmly to the journalists. This made him even more nervous. Dr. Slavens was a well-known personality and respected. She already had a following, and it would be easy for her to build a bloc of voters. He, on the other hand, had name recognition, and was known as a war hero on one hand but a compatriot of the now-controversial Valerian Mengsk on the other-his alliances could make someone's decision either way.

Dr. Slavens took her place at the podium next to his and adjusted her microphone, tapping on it to test it. She put her hand over it and turned to Horner, giving him a rueful smile.

"Of course, Mr. Marinakis isn't here yet. I hope his freighters are timelier than he is."

"You have some experience with Marcos Marinakis?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He told me he would let me interview him for my vids a half a dozen times... He was a no-show on half of them and more than an hour late on the rest. We could be here a while. I mean, this only a presidential debate, after all. I'm sure his business brunch was much more pressing."

"Well, if he's much later, we'll have to start without him."

Marcos Marinakis was a shipping magnate-one of the few that wasn't Kel-Morian. He had a reputation of being loud, obnoxious, but shrewd in business. Some people would believe that would make him good at guiding the Republic, but Horner didn't really see him as a threat. Because of his manner and what inevitably comes out about anyone who runs a large company, he was by far a long shot.

Horner's thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble far in the distance. It shook the building, and a little bit of plaster rained from the ceiling.

"What the hell was that?" Lockwell said. Horner's security detail, two marines in street combat gear, came in from outside the room.

"Mr. President, we have reports of an attack on the outskirts of town heading inward to our position. We need to get you all to a secure location."

"Where?" Horner said quickly.

"The basement of this building is a nuclear bunker. We should be able to hide out there."

Horner sprung into action.

"All right everyone, listen," Horner said into the microphone. "We're all going to do this quietly and without panicking. Please follow these gentlemen downstairs. Keep aware of your surroundings..."

There was another rumble and the power went out. Horner shouted over the din of fighting and the journalists talking nervously among themselves.

"And don't panic."

The journalists filed out of the room with Horner taking up the rear. He paused to look out the window. Republic troops had began flooding into the streets, and before them, a nydus canal had opened. The infested crawled from its maw, waves of them flooding over abandoned hovercars and the makeshift barriers troops had constructed along the way. In the distance, a siege tank and a platoon of Terran Republic troops began firing at them, but were overwhelmed by the sea of flesh and claws almost instantly. With dread, Horner realized there could be only one person responsible: Stukov.

And there's the threat we didn't anticipate.

#starcraft #fanfic #fanfiction #alexei stukov #stukov #matt horner #no omen no country's cause

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blizzweirdo · 6 years

Text

StarCraft Fanfiction: “No Omen, No Country’s Cause” Ch. 5

This chapter switches back to Stukov’s POV as he encounters the UED salvage crew. What he learns from them does not make him happy...

As always, this is also available on Fanfiction.net, Archive of Our Own, and Wattpad.

Finally, Stukov heard the elevator to the bridge come to life. He had been aware of them the moment they were in range of his limited telepathic abilities. He had opened and shut the hangar door for them and made sure the elevators were working. They had taken their time, and he didn't know why—he could sense them at a distance but not hear their thoughts. He thought that perhaps it was fear.

Good. Let them be afraid.

Stukov reached out to the infestation around him. Black tendrils snaked down from the ceiling and wrapped around his torso and arms then hoisted him up and out of sight. He mimicked the posture Izsha took on Kerrigan's leviathan. He would wait for them, let them talk and learn what they knew of the mission, and then decide whether to reveal himself to them—or not. The infestation closed around him as the door to the elevator opened. A group of four, two men—marines—and two women, probably, he reasoned, the shuttle flight crew. Their voices were muffled by their helmets, but he could still hear and read them because of his enhanced hearing and weak telepathy.

"Why Admiral Stukov though? Why not DuGalle or something?" One of the marines said.

"He didn't tell us."

"I don't know anything about the guy, but that dude definitely had a drinking problem. No one keeps that much alcohol around that isn't an alcoholic."

"He was apparently a high-functioning one."

"He had five kinds of vodka. No one can function drinking that much vodka."

"Well, he ain't functioning at all anymore, so he ain't gonna miss 'em"

Crass, Stukov thought. He wondered why were they talking about him and why they had they been in his quarters. One of them had a bag he recognized from his closet. The call of the zerg surged in his mind. Kerrigan's leviathan was close. He stopped listening and started reading them as one of the marines began extracting data from a computer terminal with a data tap device. One was still thinking about what he had stolen from his quarters. The other knew much more. There would be an attack on Tarsonis. They hoped to take over the Dominion—or the Republic as they called it now, but of course they wouldn't know that—and then eradicate the zerg. But they were wading into a situation that they did not understand. There was a relatively stable peace between the human factions in the sector, the zerg, and the protoss. If Tarsonis was attacked, the human factions would rally, and Artanis would no doubt come to the aid of his terran allies. The zerg, under Zagara, would remain neutral unless provoked, but might also be persuaded to fight against them. It would be a war on three fronts and bloody. They had a much larger force than then he and DuGalle had with the Expeditionary Fleet, but that would not matter. All three races were licking their wounds from the war-torn last decade, but if they banded together—and they would band together—they would most likely repel them. And if they didn't, all sides would sustain heavy losses. He would not speak to them. I'll leave them to their folly. This time would be different. The zerg were not led by a vengeful Kerrigan, and while Zagara was ruthless, she only cared about her Swarm. She would have reason to defeat the fleet but not destroy it utterly as Kerrigan had. If they did not win, they would have the opportunity to surrender; he hoped they would take it.

He scanned one of the women and found nothing interesting. But the other one... He saw images mostly. An old ID card with his picture. That's how they got in my quarters. His dress uniform with his name on it. Strange. He didn't care about any of the items they took. The alcohol was useless to him and so was the dress uniform. But then, a young man he recognized. A dread settled into his stomach—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. But he wasn’t sure—his mind was not the same. Still, if it was who he thought it was, he had to do something.

Silently he drove the infestation away and lowered himself from the ceiling behind the girl whose mind he had just read. She must have seen him in her peripheral vision, because she turned towards him slowly and then screamed in terror, dropping to her knees. Both the marines turned to face him, raising their weapons. He raised his hands in response.

"Come now, gentlemen, there's no need for violence."

They opened fire. Stukov's arm swiped out at one, knocking him over. He disappeared into the infestation on the deck. The other he pinned to the wall and let the infestation creep over him. He turned his attention back to the two women. One of the women shot him in the back with her handgun, but it glanced off his infested shoulder blade. It hurt but healed almost immediately. He pinned her to the wall as well. The other girl was still on the floor screaming.

"I am Vice Admiral Alexei..." He began, but the girl would not stop yelling. "Stop that. I'm not going to hurt you," he said gruffly. He stared at her for a moment, and slowly some of the fear in her face left. "Are you done now?" He said sarcastically. But then he felt a twinge of sympathy. She was a kid who had never encountered the zerg before and had just come in contact with what appeared to be the twisted, bloated, reanimated corpse of a UED officer—and she probably thought she was next. He would have to treat them with more humanity than he had needed to muster in a long time.

"It's okay. Really. Let me start over. I'm Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov," he said, gentler this time, and squatting down to her level.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” Dauphin said fearfully.

“That information is, sadly, outdated.”

"You've been living here all this time?"

"No, it's more complicated than that. But it doesn't matter. Who are you?" He stood again and offered a hand to help her up. It took a moment for her to take it and to answer.

“I’m Capt. Carolyn Dauphin... The girl that shot you was my navigator, Lt. Katie Dean... Those two men are Sgt. Joseph Chang and Cpl. Joaquin Hernandez...”

“And who is the commander of the fleet?”

"Adm. Troy Reeves."

Stukov swore quietly. He knew him. Stukov didn't outright dislike many people, but he'd never had time for Reeves's mixture of pomposity, genteel bullshit, and incompetence. This would make what he needed to do even harder.

"I must go to him. Give me your fleet’s coordinates."

“I’m not doing tha—” He read her mind.

“Thank you.”

He willed the Aleksander to move. Dauphin’s face went white as the engines began to spin up; she was clearly frightened by his psionic ability. She would be even more frightened by the leviathan I’m sending to meet us there. His ability to read them faded as they reached FTL speeds.

“They’ll shoot you down,” Dauphin said, her voice quivering.

“Do they value your lives so little?”

The Aleksander dropped out of FTL. Stukov opened a comm line and sent his credentials. There was no answer. Stukov turned back to Dauphin. “Which carrier is Reeves on? Do they have a special frequency?”

She hesitated.

“If they don’t hear from us, they’ll shoot us down.”

“He’s on the Kuznetsov. That’s where we were all stationed.” She showed him the frequency.

“UED carrier Kuznetsov, this is Vice Adm. Alexei Stukov. I will rebroadcast my credentials. I request to speak with Adm. Troy Reeves.”

“Adm. Stukov, this is Kuznetsov tower. We’re patching you through.” There was a moment of dead air. Then, the Aleksander’s bridge viewscreen came on. On it was the sanguine face of Adm. Troy Reeves. To Stukov, his mutton chops and elaborate grey beard made him look like something out of an American Civil War film. And like an idiot. He spoke to him without looking away from his control panel.

“Stukov? You had better have a good damn reason to be still alive.” Reeves finally looked at him and the color drained from his face. “Lord have mercy, what have you done? You’re...”

“Infested. That is the word you are looking for.”

A queer smile played at Reeves’s lips. He seemed to be enjoying Stukov’s suffering. What a smug asshole.

“Even so, Admiral,” Reeves said, letting his antebellum drawl lengthen his words, “you’ve got a lot of nerve coming crawling back to the fleet.”

“And you have some nerve coming back to this sector after what happened to our expedition.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Not yet I’m not, Troy.”

Reeves bristled. He was one of those people who wanted to be called by their title no matter the situation.

“If you’re zerg now, you’re a traitor. I’ll shoot you down myself. Tactical!”

“Capt. Dauphin... Will you come here for a moment and tell your superior a little about yourself?”

He heard Dauphin swallow hard as she stepped into view of his comm’s pickup.

“Hello, Admiral. I’m Capt. Carolyn Dauphin. I’m a shuttle pilot based on the Kuznetsov, and I was assigned to Aleksander salvage mission.”

“You’ve taken hostages.”

“I prefer to think of them as my guests.”

Reeves’s face flushed with anger. “How are you being treated? Where is your navigator and your marine detachment?”

“I’m fine... But everyone else...”

“They’re being restrained, and they are unharmed... for now.”

“What do you want, Stukov?”

“To talk.”

“About what?”

“About the mistakes you are about to make. I will not help you, but I can steer you towards allies and tell you how to minimize casualties, though I hope after speaking with me you may change your mind and return to Earth.”

“Do you think me a coward?”

“No, but I hope you’re not the fool I always thought you were. I will board the carrier Kuznetsov in one hour and will return your people to you. We will talk then. Be ready.”

Stukov cut the comm line. He turned to Dauphin. “Thank you for being cooperative.”

“What else could I have done?”

“You could have screamed. You could have goaded him to fire.”

“I could have... But I don’t have a death wish. I just work here.”

“Hah! With that attitude, you may just survive...” He looked away for a moment, trying to figure out what he should do next. It would be unwise to tell them who he thought their “collector” was—it could be used against him. But he needed to get a message to him to tell him he was alive, or at least not dead, instruct him to leave the fleet whenever there was an opportunity, and, of course, that he would help him. It was a possibility that this person was not who he thought he was, but there were too many coincidences. The image he saw in Dauphin’s mind, the ID card that only could have been retrieved from his home on Earth, and wanting to find some token of him from the Aleksander. If it was him, it was wise to have not told them his name. The less obvious ties he had to him would keep him out of harm’s way—for now. “My ID card... May I see it?”

“What?”

“My ID card. You have it.”

“Oh! How did you?”

He made a motion with his hand for her to give it up. Dauphin rummaged around in the bag and gave him the card. He examined it. Inside, there was a wireless chip. He placed it on the console. It was old, but so was the ship. He was able to access the card through the ship’s computer. The storage was full, but if he deleted his thumbprint and his credentials, he could type several novels worth of text to him; Stukov only needed a short message. Finished, he gave the card back to Dauphin. “When you see him, give him this.” She turned it over in her hand and put it in her pocket.

“What’s in it for me?”

“I won’t kill you? And you can keep all that...” he said, gesturing to the bag, “I don’t care about any of it.”

“Who is he?”

“I’m... not sure.”

“You just don’t want to tell me.” He ignored her.

“I think it’s about time we got ready to leave, yes?” Stukov let KD out of the infestation in the corner. She fell from the wall, coughing. KD ran to her.

“God... I had my mouth open...”

“Are you okay?”

“I think that’s the most disgusting thing that’s ever happened to me.” Stukov watched them interact. How old are they? he thought, Twenty-five maybe? Children—all of them. Younger than my own would be now... Sent out here for what reason? Conquest? To protect Earth? When he left Earth, his children were young. Would I even recognize them now? Would they recognize me?

KD noticed Stukov watching them.

“Hey, what are you staring at?” she snapped. Dauphin shushed her.

“Do you want to provoke him? Really?”

“I’m sorry about restraining you. But you shot at me and didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

He was angry at none of them—not even the marines. They reminded him of the men and women under him on the Aleksander. His mind was different now, but he remembered their names if not their faces. He always had an unwise sentimentality towards his young recruits, tending to act paternally towards them. Many responded to it, some didn’t. Either way, he tried to be a warm, fatherly figure—if not a crazy, Slavic uncle.

Gerard on the other hand... Stukov had men and women that were loyal to him over DuGalle. He was neither a taskmaster nor a micromanager, of which DuGalle had a tendency to be both—even with him. He could only imagine what Reeves was like. It infuriated him to know his death—and DuGalle’s--had most likely precipitated Reeves’s promotion.

Stukov looked at the time on the console. They needed to start moving towards the hangar bay. With a thought, the infestation pulled the two marines further into the wall.

“What are you doing?” KD exclaimed, “He’s killing them!”

“No, I’m not. They’re uncooperative. I can’t trust them to walk to the hangar bay on their own power. They’re going there my way. Now, unless you’d like to join them...” Stukov gestured to the lift as the door chimed and opened. Both women were quiet as he ushered them in and escorted them down to the hangar bay. When they got there, the two men were in chrysalises in the hangar. Stukov and Dauphin loaded them onto the shuttle, and Stukov commanded KD to stay in the back with them. He took the pilot’s seat without protest from Dauphin. When he looked back, KD had gotten into the duffel bag and had fished out a bottle of schnapps. He had no idea where it had come from. It must have been Gerard’s. At least it will keep her quiet.

Once at the controls, he found little had changed in their design since he had been gone. He opened the hangar bay door and maneuvered the shuttle out. The UED fleet spread out before him, shining ships stretching as far as he could see. He counted at least four carriers—floating bases really, larger than protoss capital ships but smaller than a city—and hundreds of battlecruisers flanked by smaller vessels, some of makes Stukov didn’t recognize. With the fleet in front of him, Stukov couldn’t help feeling pride and nostalgia.

“That’s... Quite impressive,” Stukov said quietly.

“Do you still think we can’t win?”

“Yes.”

Stukov radioed the Kuznetsov’s tower, warning them of his approach and that he had his “hostages” on board in case they got the idea to shoot him down. The tower directed him to a hangar. As he touched down, a group of six marines and a med team filed in to meet the shuttle. Good. They’ve underestimated me. I might make it out of here alive. He stood, reaching into one of the chrysalises with his infested arm, withdrawing Chang’s rifle. KD staggered away from him, at once both tipsy and afraid. Stukov didn’t need the gun, but he wanted to look like he did.

“Carolyn,” he said as calmly, “I’m going to do something that you’re not going to like.” Dauphin’s head snapped towards him, her eyes wide. “I’m going to lead you out at gunpoint. Know that I have no intention of shooting you. It’s just for show.”

“O-okay.”

Stukov opened the shuttle hatch. “Come. You first.” He let Dauphin walk in front of him. “Stay back!” he yelled at the marines in the hangar. “I have a hostage. If you try anything, I will kill her. The rest of your people are onboard the shuttle. Take me to Reeves. The sooner I see him, the sooner I will leave you.” As soon as he had cleared the shuttle, the med team swooped through the hatch to help Chang, KD, and Hernandez. The marines formed a pack around Stukov and escorted him down the hallway. After walking for a few minutes, they came to a conference room. Inside, Reeves stood from his chair at the conference table, red-faced and already apoplectic. Behind him was a ceiling-to- floor window onto the fleet, perhaps chosen, Stukov thought, to intimidate him.

“I don’t know what is going on in that diseased brain of yours, but you've got five minutes to submit to my command or I will...”

“Hello, Troy. Good to see you as well.” He pulled out a chair for Dauphin, his gun still trained on her. He then pulled one out for himself and sat down, making a show of getting himself comfortable, even flipping his hat off onto the table.

“Whatever it is you want, Stukov, you’re not getting it.”

“You should hope that I do, Admiral. I want you and your people to live; I want you to turn around and go home.”

“Do you doubt the strength of the UED Destroyer Fleet?”

“I doubt it as much as I should have doubted the Expeditionary Fleet. You’re not here with a clear picture of the dangers of this sector. You need to come to this with,” he stopped, realizing he was echoing the past, “... your eyes open. Otherwise...” he gestured with his free hand at himself, “This is your future. All that is here is death.”

“Ridiculous. We have almost the entire Earth sector military at our disposal. We will conquer the colonies and subdue the protoss—and the zerg.”

“Is that so? Perhaps you need a little dose of reality.” Stukov reached out with his mind to his leviathan. A specially bred brood queen departed from it to the fleet. He selected a battlecruiser far from the Kuznetsov but close enough to view from the conference room’s window. In seconds, the Kusnetsov’s alarm klaxons began ringing. Reeves stood and went to a control panel on the wall.

“Bridge, status report.”

“We’re under attack—from the zerg. And it’s... spreading?”

“What?”

There was a bright flash outside the window. Reeves turned, watching in horror as the infested ship’s main engine blew. A neighboring battlecruiser had fired upon it to immobilize it, but it was too late. Tendrils of infestation had latched onto the second battlecruiser. It tried to pull away but could not and began to break up. This was not what Stukov wanted. He willed the infestation to keep it together. Another tendril snaked out and penetrated a supply freighter nearby. Drones swarmed on its hull as the contagion spread and took hold. Reeves looked on, horrified, as more ships were caught up in Stukov’s virulent pestilence.

“This is the reality of the zerg. There is very little to be done in defense. They are a single-minded enemy, wanting only to survive and conquer. I have immense power, but even I’m not powerful enough to rule them.”

“You... You did this? Stop it, Stukov! Stop it right now!”

It didn’t bother him that Reeves was scared. He should have been. It was only when Dauphin looked at him, frightened and betrayed, that the coldness of the Swarm in him abated. Stukov felt conflicted. He should not have put that many lives at risk to make a point. The infestation withdrew at his command but he kept the most damaged ship from breaking up.

“The effects are temporary. If you have any firebats, send them in. They should be able to remove any lingering infestation.”

The alarms stopped abruptly. “Status!” Reeves barked into the communication console.

“The zerg have retreated. Casualty reports coming in... Injuries reported but no deaths. Medical is putting the exposed into quarantine.”

“Five ships in thirty seconds... I could have decimated your fleet today, and there are billions more zerg that those I control. Do you like those odds?”

“Then fight with us.”

“No. But I will help you under these conditions: you keep the Kuznetsov off the front lines and you don’t use your ghosts.”

“Why these conditions?”

“Ghosts are useless against the zerg,” he lied, “and you will need some way to rebuild your fleet if your ‘war’ goes as badly as I know it will. If you keep to these conditions, I will introduce you to the factions in this sector which may help you—the Tal’Darim, for instance—and speak to the leaders of the zerg on your behalf.”

“That’s all? We attack Tarsonis in six hours. You can’t be more help than that?”

Stukov shrugged. “If you want me to look over your battle plans, I’d be more than happy to send you my recommendations. But that’s all I will do.”

“Stukov,” Reeves said, his voice lowering as he leaned in conspiratorially, “we’re not doing this just because we can. You know what the situation was when you left—now it’s only worse. Our colonies are failing because of our wars with them. The population of Earth is too large for its resources... Inhabitable planets are a dime a dozen here... We need the Koprulu sector and its worlds to survive.”

“Then send colony ships and settle! No one will stop you. There’s no need to resort to conquest.”

Anger seethed in Reeves’s face as he realized that Stukov was steadfast in his conviction not help him.

“I always thought you were lazy... uncouth... Hiding in your lab swilling vodka with your dick in your hand after your wife left you... And that’s all you’re doing now.” Stukov laughed, surprised at how easily his mask of gentility slipped. He didn’t know he had gotten so far under his skin so many years ago—and without even trying. He rarely had even thought about Reeves, and yet Reeves remembered his post, that he’d been having problems with alcohol, and somehow knew his wife had left him. Stukov vaguely remembered that Reeves was married and that his husband was a musician of some sort. They had few friends in common, and there was no reason for him to know that much about him. Stukov thought that he definitely had some sort of complex.

“I’m touched you remember so much about me, Troy. Do you know my children’s names as well? The brand of cologne I wear? Or is that too esoteric? If we’re done, I’m leaving. The Captain here will take me back to my ship, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Are you all right with that, Capt. Dauphin?”

“I’m... I’m fine,” Dauphin mumbled. Putting on his cap, Stukov got up from his chair and escorted Dauphin to the door. As he left, Reeves gave him an odd look. Instead of following them out, he walked to the comm station and began speaking quietly into it. Stukov and Dauphin stepped out into the hallway. The same marines followed them through the ship, but, curiously, took them a different way.

“Where are they taking us, Carolyn?”

“The hangar bay. This just takes us to the other end.”

“They’re wasting time.” Stukov knew something was up.

Stukov and Dauphin entered the hangar bay from the other side. As they made their way to Dauphin’s shuttle, Reeves entered from the other side, leading a tall, thin man in handcuffs. When they got closer, he threw him to his knees and pointed a handgun to his head. The man looked up at them, wide eyed.

“Greg?” Dauphin exclaimed.

“Gregory...” Stukov said, anguished. Gregory turned to him, recognizing his voice. He squinted at him, confused.

“Papa?”

“This reunion is touching, but it will be fleeting...” Reeves said, his face beaming with satisfaction. “Don’t use any ghosts, you said. Of course I looked at the roster, and, for the record, yes, I do remember your children’s names.” A white-hot anger burned in Stukov. His hand tightened on his rifle as he wondered if he could get a shot off without Reeves killing his son. Or if he could lash out and strike him. “You have four children, correct? This is your youngest? If you don’t submit to my authority and commit to joining the attack on Tarsonis right now, I’m blowing your son’s brains out right here. Then, I’m sending a message home declaring you a traitor, and suggesting they round up the rest of your children and kill them as well. It’s a pity your ex-wife isn’t around anymore; I’d have her killed too.”

“She’s... dead?”

“Hah! You didn’t know? Well, that makes this all the more fun, doesn’t it?” He cocked the pistol and Greg flinched.

“You can’t threaten him! He’s one of your own troops!” Dauphin blurted out.

“Keep quiet, girl. I’ll do as I wish,” Reeves said, his anger rising. He pushed the gun against Greg’s temple.

Stukov was stunned. He had no idea that his ex-wife had died. When did it happen? How? And now he’d put his entire family in danger. He should never have come here. But it was too late, and now he had no choice.

“Stop,” he said, putting the gun on the ground, “I submit. Just... don’t shoot him.” Reeves motioned to one of the marines.

“Take him to the brig,” he said, indicating Greg, “He’ll be safe there... For now. As for you, Admiral.”

“Vice admiral. I guess you don’t remember everything.”

“Oh, but I do. I watched the vids of your funeral—with pleasure, I might add. Afterwards, they made a big show of awarding you a tombstone promotion. Better late than never, I suppose. So, Admiral Stukov, you will gather your forces and meet us at Tarsonis in five hours. You will continue from there with the fleet and assist us in subjugating the Koprulu sector. If you are insubordinate, late, cowardly, or just fucking annoy me, your son will die. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes... sir.”

“Then get out of my sight.”

Note: I also know that’s not how tombstone promotions work, but, hey, it’s the future and a fascist regime.

#alexei stukov #stukov #fanfiction #fanfic #starcraft #starcraft2 #no omen no country's cause

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