Carrion Eaters - A Starcraft Short Story
Posted: 2010-02-24 09:57pm
A little something I wrote in my spare time awhile ago, though recently altered to clean things up. Enjoy.
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The silence was disconcerting.
Thorondin had to correct himself. It was not silence in the trust sense of the word. Submerged as he was within the Khala, that psionic communal link shared by all Protoss, he could sense the emotions of every Templar warrior on the planet. He became in many ways a part of them, sharing their fears, joys and sorrows, as much as they became a part of him. But there were so few now, the relative silence was more deafening than a fierce storm.
The high templar sighed and descended back down from his hovering position, resigned to cut short his meditation.
He opened his eyes to a vista of wind-swept dunes framed by jagged rust-red mountains in the distance. Warm air blew across his face as his naked body soaked up the nourishing light of a fierce ruby sun that hovered above the horizon. Sitting on the edge of a wide rocky mesa, which rose half a kilometer into the air, Thorondin could survey the beauty of planet Ruindor as far as the eye could see.
Such a serene view once helped him reach a state of inner peace, but that was before the Zerg. Before the fall of Aiur. He gathered up his simple maroon cloak and draped it across his shoulder, the coarse fabric blending easily with his skin color. As he turned around and began trekking northward across the mesa, he recalled the day when he first discovered this place and began coming regularly to meditate. He had made no official pronouncement, but of of deference to his rank and respect for him the other Protoss came to regard this spot as Thorondin's personal sanctum and forbade anyone from disturbing it.
That had been hundreds of years ago, when Thorondin first came to Ruindor to take command of the Templar training grounds. He recalled how active the base had been when he arrived, the vibrant energy of thousands of proud warriors clashing in mock combat, both physical and philosophical, in order to strengthen their minds and bodies. Nearing the northern edge of the mesa the high templar could see in the distance the faint shapes of Protoss buildings, aided by the glint of sunlight reflected off their polished golden exteriors. Once upon a time it was possible to hear the sound of morning practice even from this far away. Now all that could be heard was the wailing of the wind.
He remembered that fateful day, when the call first came...
<Thorondin,> a mental voice interrupted him. <We have a problem.>
<What concerns you, Seregtil?> Another High Templar, Thorondin could feel the apprehension behind his fellow teacher's words.
<It is a matter that should be discussed in person,> Seregtil replied. Thorondin's brow furrowed. Such a message had an added connotation among the teachers of the training ground. A delicate issue needed to be addressed behind closed doors.
<I will be with you shortly.>
Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hamilton smirked as he stood in front of the holoprojector and examined his latest target. Suspended in mid-air, currently experience a meteor shower of dust motes, was a small reddish world. Twin polar ice caps and small swaths of dark vegetation gave it the appearance of a face, pockmarked and weathered with age. Occasional rain storms kept the few clusters of vegetation alive, but by all accounts Planet X1137 was an arid wasteland.
Accounts which also included the existence of a Protoss settlement, possibly abandoned and home to untold amounts of advanced knowledge. The Terran Dominion was rebuilding after the war, and the process could be multiplied tenfold with just a cursory examination of the near-magical technology possessed by this ancient and now-dying race. If Hamilton could bring back even a tenth of the rumored wisdom located on this planet, his next promotion would be his within days.
Not that his promotion was in doubt - steady upward progress being one of the benefits of noble birth - but every little advantage helped. The new commander of 1st Battalion, 23rd Ground Assault Division, of the Dominion Marine Corps could not be more confident. Nearly five hundred of the best soldiers in all of Terran space were his to lead in what soon would be the first of many victories, culminating in what surely would be a glorious career...
The sound of a throat clearing shook Hamilton out of his daydream, and reality again imposed itself upon him. He stood on the bridge of the Behemoth-class battlecruiser Resolute, surrounded by various crewmen sitting at their stations doing menial work, and turned around to face whoever had interrupted his musing. His smirk quickly disappeared.
"Captain Bennet, do you have something to report?"
It was all Hamilton could do to compose himself an air of authority. For a Navy captain like Richard Bennet, such authority simply came naturally. Twenty years senior to Hamilton, his face was aged with wisdom but of darker complexion and more vigor than the facade created by X1137. He stood ramrod straight in his black dress uniform, burnished gold epaulets giving his shoulders extra width and peaked captain's hat added another dozen centimeters to his already considerable height. Hamilton looked positively boyish in comparison and knew that in normal circumstances he would be the one taking orders, not giving.
"Sir, we are on final approach to the target system. We should arrive in the next four hours."
"Very good, Captain. Have our telescopes detected any activity?"
"No sir, but that's to be expected, considering we are beyond the range of detecting anything non-stellar in nature."
The hairs on the back of Hamilton's neck bristled. "Of course, obviously. Inform me once we have arrived, and keep me appraised of any new developments."
"Yes sir." Bennett gave a smart salute, which Hamilton halfheartedly returned, and left.
Instinctively Hamilton's hand shot out to stroke his badge of office, a bright red sash that rang across his grey uniform. He was in charge of this operation; the orders had been specific about that point. This mission was to be his moment to shine, and he would not let what surely must be Bennett's jealousy get in the way of that.
The room was the only one on the planet completely shielded against telepathic thoughts, providing an alcove of secrecy in an otherwise open society. This was the formal discussion chamber located in the heart of the teachers' domicile, used for discussing sensitive matters of discipline and training. Appropriately, there was only a solitary window located in the ceiling of the circular room, letting in a weak shaft of light splaying against the far wall. Evening was descending upon the few remaining teachers of the training ground, and they were gathered for what might be their last meeting.
Thorondin had changed into his formal robes, azure with gold trimmings, and wore his pointed golden headpiece with its Khyadarin crystal prominently displayed on its face. Most noticeable was his armor, which he had not worn in a long time: a golden chest plate with swooping shoulder and think forearm guards. Across from him stood Seregtil, and to his left and right Mirlos and Khelatar. They too were dressed in similar garments. They too were High Templars. The last ones left on Ruindor.
<When did they arrive?>
<Shortly before I contacted you,> Seregtil replied. <We detected their subwarp signature as they approached the system, and tracked them as they exited into high orbit. The message was transmitted during your return journey.>
<Play it.>
The center of the floor opened slightly, and a small orb floated up to hover in front of the assembled High Templar. Light began to emanate from its smooth opaque surface, light which coalesced and formed into an all-too-familiar shape.
<Terrans,> was all Mirlos said, but his contempt was instantly transmitted before the thought had even finished.
<Yes, and apparently they were expecting us,> Seregtil said. <It took little effort to translate the message.>
<Greetings,> the Terran said, his words telepathically transmitted in sync with his mouth. <I am Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hamilton of the Terran Dominion. By order of Emperor Arcturus Mengsk the First, this planet has been claimed in the name of the Dominion. You are hereby in violation of occupying Dominion territory illegally and are ordered to vacate at once.> The Terran's face contorted into what could only be a predatory grin. <The Emperor however is not without mercy. You have one planetary rotation to remove yourselves and only yourselves. All items, vehicles, structures, et cetera are to remain on the planet, and any attempt to remove them will be seen as an act of theft and responded to with upmost severity. If you refuse this most generous request, your continued occupation of the planet will constitute an act of aggression against the Terran Dominion and similarly responded to in kind. I shall await your response within the hour.>
The image dissolved until only the orb remained. Slowly it descended back into the hole and the floor closed over it. For a moment there was nothing as the four Templar guarded their thoughts and emotions.
<How shall we respond?> Khelatar was the first to break the silence.
<How else?> replied Mirlos. <We must destroy the Terrans for this insufferable affront.>
<Such hasty action is fit more for a Zealot, Mirlos. We must carefully weigh our options in this matter.>
<It would be a pitiful fight indeed,> Seregtil said. <Crude and primitive the Terrans may be, but they have a warship in orbit and we do not. They could destroy us with barely any effort.>
<I do not believe they will resort to that measure, old friend,> Thorondin began. He ran his fingers along the edge of his chin as he spoke, <If that were the case they would probably have done so already. Their true objective was revealed in their ultimatum: they wish to plunder us of our treasure and technology, and for that this place must remain intact.>
<Then we shall resist them. Even the least accomplished of my students is easily worth six of their warriors.>
<Yes, and in all probability they have twelves warriors for every one of ours, Mirlos. We must call for aid. Have we contacted Monlyth yet?> Khelatar directed his question to Seregtil.
Monlyth was the closest Protoss colony to Ruindor, a shrine world of jungles and ancient temples where Protoss once journeyed to on pilgrimages. Seregtil's thoughts were surprisingly guarded when its name came up.
<I attempted to make contact before the meeting to ascertain any aid they could give. They...regretted to inform me that their position had become too exposed, and were in the midst of evacuating the planet for a more secure destination. They will arrive in several days with enough ships to evacuate us as well.>
A mental gasp went up among the other three. To abandon a Protoss world without even a fight was unthinkable, sacrilegious. Despair quickly spread like an infection among the High Templar. Thorondin could feel his own despondency add to the emotions of the others, just as theirs reinforced his own. The idea that millennia of work would be abandoned, the sacrifice of millions rendered for naught, was nearly too much. With effort he tried to suppress his anguish and exude a sense of calm and determination.
<Much has changed since the Zerg fell upon Aiur, and the light of our race was almost extinguished from the galaxy. But we are still Protoss, and we shall not allow our heritage to be picked clean by the universe's carrion eaters. There is only one response, and one course of action, left to use.>
Hamilton stood and stared at the real X1137 though the main bridge viewscreen. He couldn't help himself, there was always something, that sense of solidness, which holograms failed to capture. It made seeing the real thing somewhat unsettling, as if it were too real.
At the same time, he was aware that his ultimatum period was almost over without an answer. That some Protoss had remained behind was somewhat surprising but not unanticipated. It did however add a complication to what otherwise should have been an easy mission.
"Communications, have we received a -"
<Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hamilton of the Terran Dominion!>
Hamiltion literally jumped back as a Protoss suddenly materialized right in front of him. It was huge, its three meter tall frame barely contained between the floor and ceiling of the bridge. It wore beautifully strange robes and armor, but Hamilton could not bring his stare away from its face. Red and scaly, its glowing blue eyes stood out against an otherwise featureless face, lacking a mouth, nose or ears. From the back of its bald head grew a tangle of nerve appendages, long hair-like growths said to play a role in their fearsome psionic abilities. He realized belatedly that the voice he heard was coming from inside his head.
Everyone else on the bridge had similarly been shocked into a stupor. A Marine on guard duty drew his pistol and aimed it at the creature before Captain Bennett stopped him.
<I am Thorondin, High Templar and Master of the Templar training grounds of Ruindor. Your presence here is unwelcome and your claims to this world, while noted, have been found wanting. This world remains a protected planet of the Protoss Empire, and it shall remain so long after you and your Emperor are but dust in the wind. You will leave this system at once.>
Hamilton, too shocked to speak at first, quickly regained some composure. "I'm afraid you're still living in the past, Thordin. We know of what happened to your homeworld, what you and the Zerg did to each other. Your vaunted power is no more, your people are scattered among the stars. You are merely an obstacle now, and your time here is over."
The Protoss' head bobbed slightly, his nerve appendages swaying in motion, and it focuses its eyes down at Hamilton. <Time? What do you know of time, little Terran? My people sailed on the solar winds of the infinity when your ancestors busied themselves rutting in the mud. We have mastered the working of time and space in ways your small mind still cannot understand. And in the time I have been given, I have slain countless beings and fought on a hundred worlds before your father's father's father was even conceived. So come, if you dare, and test the claims of your Dominion against the might of the Firstborn, and we shall see how much time is left for you.>
As quickly as it had appeared the Protoss was gone, dissolving before Hamilton's eyes. It had been a fake, some sort of holographic projection, and yet at the same time so real, as if it had been on the bridge with him the whole time.
"I believe," Captain Bennett said, breaking the silence, "that you have your response now, sir."
Hamilton recovered quickly after the surprise exchange, and spent most of the next nine hours planning his attack. Resolute maintained orbit above the Protoss settlement, making recordings of the area as they passed through the night phase of the planet. Those findings were compared with previous intelligence reports, and events were set in motion. Marines, woken from their slumber, scrambled to suit up in combat armor suits. Goliath walkers and Siege Tanks powered up while their crews went through inspection checks. Command staffs prepared their briefings and performed last-minute changes to schedules, until finally, as the star's first light reached the Protoss base, Hamilton had his company commanders assemble.
1st Battalion had six combat companies in all, three armored and three mechanized. Their commanders stood around the holoprojector in the battlecruiser's command center, where Hamilton would direct the entire battle. He stood before them, hands behind his back, his executive officer Major Earl and Sergeant Major Curran standing smartly behind him. Captain Bennett stood off to the side with his own aide.
"Gentlemen, as you well know the Protoss have refused to evacuate from the planet, and are instead planning on defending their position. As much as I would like nothing more than to nuke the site from orbit, our orders are explicit and come not from High Command but the Emperor himself: we must capture the base intact, along with whatever technology it contains.
As he spoke, the holoprojector activated to display the planet below, zooming down to view the base and surrounding area. Visible and clearly labeled were two large floating crystals, a half dozen defensive cannons, several large dormitory buildings, a surveillance building, a gateway structure and an archive building. The last one was marked apart from the others with a flashing blue icon.
"This structure especially must remain intact, as we believe it contains most of the Protoss' records and other valuables. It is not to be damaged in the slightest, and firing upon any of the other buildings will require my personal clearance. Is that understood?"
Six heads nodded, and in response the view of the base began to zoom out. Mid-way however the image froze and became static-filled. Without orders Curran quietly walked over and gave the projector a swift kick, unfreezing the image. Major Earl gave him a nod as he returned to his place.
"Now as you can see," Hamilton continued, "the terrain is relatively flat and rocky for dozens of kilometers in every direction, broken up by a line of hills thirty klicks east running southward to join with an east-west running mountain range fifty klicks south of the base. The Resolute will position itself at this location at 0600 hours, and launch transports from there." A blue battlecruiser icon flashed into being above one of the mountain range's peaks.
"Approximately nine klicks south-southwest of the base is a large mesa, half a klick high and half as wide. The transports will deploy the battalion to this location, designated Hill 496, by 0620. Delta Company will provide artillery support from atop the mesa and knock out the enemy's defensive emplacements. Gamma will provide security." Two more icons popped up on the map, each representing their respective companies, atop the holographic mesa.
"Alpha and Beta, with Zeta and Epsilon in support will deploy at the base of Hill 496 and proceed to engage enemy forces and secure the base. Artillery bombardment will begin at 0640, the main attack will begin at 0645." Four more blue icons popped into existence, each one following a dotted line right to the Protoss settlement.
"Visibility is expected to be clear throughout the operation. Enemy resistance will be stiff, but our intelligence indicates they are lightly armed and we maintain a five-to-one advantage. Any questions?"
Captain Rutledge, Alpha Company commander, was the only one to raise a hand. "Sire, what about that gate? Can we expect any enemy reinforcements during the battle?"
Hamilton cleared his throat. "By all reports the Protoss are a fragmented, leaderless people. We believe that this gate is now nonfunctional since the loss of its corresponding structure on the Protoss homeworld, but in any case the planet is isolated. We do not expect any enemy reinforcements.
There was some indistinct grumbling in response to his answer, but no one else dared to raise any other concerns. The meeting was adjourned and the commanders dismissed. Bennett and his aide were the only people left in the room, the captain observing the map with crossed arms.
"Captain Bennett, I take it you don't approve of my operational planning?"
"It is not my place to comment, sir. This is your operation."
Hamilton couldn't help but clench his fists. "Yes, this is my operation, and its success will be the result of my skills and talents. I graduated top of my class, have successfully served my Emperor in numerous engagements, and I will not have anyone, especially a former Commodore of the dishonored Confederate Navy, second-gussing my judgements. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly, sir. However, if I might make a suggestion."
"Go...ahead...Captain."
"The Protoss are, as you said, fragmented, and much of their former strength spent battling the Zerg. We have them isolated on this world, outnumbered and with the advantage of the high ground, and even before their fall their fighting methods were downright archaic. But for all of that, they are still a dangerous and clever opponent. I have fought them on similar terms before, and of those victories against them most were pyrrhic. So I suggest that you practice caution in implementing this plan, and not needlessly waste your Marines in pursuit of your objective. After all, combat suits are expensive and hard to replace."
"Thank you, Captain. You are dismissed." Hamilton did not wait to return the captain's salute as he left.
Thorondin was once again meditating.
He was not atop his mesa, but deep within the bowls of the Templar Archive, where the annals of past Templar were kept and their teachings studies. It was also the training center for those Zealots who showed the potential to become High Templar and wield their minds in battle rather than their psi blades.
The Archive had a third purpose for which Thorondin was more interested in at this moment. In this chamber, surrounded by specially carved and powerful Khyadarin crystals to focus his mind, he could reach into the Khala on a deeper level. As each Protoss died their memories, their complete life stories, were stored within the Khala, parts of which could be accessed by a sufficiently powerful Protoss from places such as this. The most powerful of Protoss minds could access these memories at will in their completeness, but such an honor was not Thorondin's.
Seregtil had been busy throughout the night as Thorondin meditated, gathering those warriors who still remained. There were less than a hundred all told; most were young Zealots eager for battle, though a few crippled veterans, entombed within Dragoon walkers, stood ready to fight as well. He knew that all were willing to defend the training grounds with their lives.
The thought again reminded Thorondin of the day they received the first distress call to save Aiur from the Zerg. How glorious they all looked as they made oaths to defend the homeworld and marched through the Gateway, those few forced to reluctantly stay behind looking on with pride. Not a single warrior who went through the Gateway that day was ever seen again.
The High Templar turned aside from that thought, its wounds still too fresh to allow him peace of mind.
Khelatar had been in the Observatory, directing the training ground's two Observers in spying on the Terrans. After extensive scans the small invisible robots had confirmed there was just one Terran warship in orbit, and that it contained within its hull a force many times in size their own garrison. Mirlos had inspected the ground's automated defenses and taken stock of whatever ordinance was left.
They had done their jobs competently, professionally, a testament to their calling to defend their brethren and bring death to all who threaten the Empire. If it was their time to die, then so be it. They would die together, brothers-in-arms, against impossible odds in defense of their heritage and right to exist.
Thorondin could see now, the perceptible realm slowly fading away and the Khala made visible. He saw the lines that connected him to Seregtil, Khelatar, Mirlos and every other Protoss on Ruindo, their emotions given form and color. Fainter were those lines connecting him to Protoss elsewhere, on other worlds or in the deep void, normally not perceptible over great distances but there all the same. And faintest of all, Thorondin could see those lines connecting him to Protoss long dead, their lives preserved forever within the Khala.
He reached for those strands, watched as some moved away from his psionic self or slipped out between his fingers. Those he could reach seemed incomplete, as if parts of themselves were somehow misplaced, but he knew it was his own lack of ability that made them unreadable. Those parts that could be read were of mixed value: a father celebrating his daughter's accomplishment in creating a work of art, a Judicator bestowing praise upon one of his aides, a lovingly planned funeral for the honored dead.
He focused his mind upon finding memory strands from Templar warriors. Suddenly he was living out the graduation ceremony of an initiate being inducted to the rank of Zealot. He turned to another strand and became an aging Executor giving the final order of the Kalathi Intercession. Another turn, and Thorondin gasped. Aiur hung above him in space as he blazed through a swarm of Zerg organisms in the cockpit of a Scout fighter. He had run out of antimatter missiles and switched to photon blasters, but shields were failing and there were too many, too many...
The High Templar pulled out with such force he nearly left his meditative state. In the back of his mind he knew he was running out of time, and he sensed Seregtil descending down into the Archive to inform him of such. He looked around at the strands left, and felt a sudden pull from one in particular. He reached for it, and as he lived out the events contained within it he began to feel triumphant. The High Templar had found a memory that showed him what he needed to see and what he needed to be done. By the time Seregtil had reached the chamber's entrance and opened the door Thorondin was back in his own body, his feet lightly touching the cool stone floor.
<I know, old friend. They are here. We must prepare ourselves for what is to come.>
"Just my goddamn luck, out of the entire frickin' Corps they had to send us to this goddamn shithole. Why couldn't it have been some nice paradise world, with beaches and liquor and naked-"
"Micky, you better quit your bitchin' or I'll take you outside and give you a smacking."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you Koite?"
"Cut the chatter, all of you!" Sergeant Adams had to yell over the sound of the armored personnel carrier's engine to be heard. "Lieutenant, Squad Three is ready to go."
"Roger, Sergeant," Lieutenant Kimble's reply was scratchy as it came over the radio. "Artillery has already started. We move out in two."
"Yes, sir," Adams responded. He looked back over his men: Micky and Koite still bickering, Jones fiddling with his helmet, Ling taking a nap and Herman absent-mindedly stroking his Impaler gauss rifle. Good soldiers, all of them, and not a single one neurally resocialized. Getting brain-panned might make them more loyal, but Adams preferred to fight besides soldiers who could think. "Alright you grunts, we move out in two. Check your gear, make sure you got your cat-three configuration set because we sure as shit ain't turning around when this thing starts.
Adams got five affirmatives in return. It was cramped inside the APC, an older Kodiak model but still reliable. It could comfortably seat ten in light gear, but with their armor suits six was a tight fit. The driver sat forward in a separate compartment, connected by a hatch to the main troop bay, which Adams knocked on. "How we doing, Smokes?"
"Good to go Sarge, just a little hiccup back there. She's all charged and ready for you to suckle her teats."
Adams grabbed on of the hanging power cables and plugged it into his armor. The suit was now running off the APC's power supply and recharging its own battery at the same time. Adams could also access the vehicle's sensor suite, a set of small cameras and microphones located along its body. He flipped his visor down, and the cramped compartment was replaced with a barren red landscape obscured by giant metal monsters. Thirty-one Siege Tanks, big rolling slabs of death and destruction armed with twin 80mm cannons, spread out along a kilometer-wide line. Idling behind them were just as many APCs, each stuffed with Marines going through the same pre-battle preparations. And interspersed among them were half as many Goliath walkers, armored walkers that seemed to stoop over like predatory birds with their reverse-joint legs and upraised gun arms. High above and to the rear he could hear the roar of cannons and see tongues of fire lash out from the top of the mesa, where Delta was busy raining brimstone on the enemy base.
It was a sobering sight, the kind of firepower the Marine Corps could bring to bear against their enemies. Adams looked back down around him, the APCs and walkers of Zeta Company marked out with electronic icons floating above them and insignia painted over their red armor. Adams laughed, thinking that they were finally lucky enough to fight a battle wearing camouflage for once. He spotted Lieutenant Kimble's command carrier just behind his, physically marked out with extra antenna stick out its roof.
"Sergeant Adams, prepare to move out."
"Yes sir." He flipped open his visor and looked at his squad. "Alright Marines, listen up. We're about to mess it up with some Protoss in a few minutes. Now I don't know about you, but I'm not going to let some mouthless freak have his way with me like some wide-eyed Umojan virgin. We're going to go over there and kick their asses so bad their mothers will feel it. Do you get me Marines?!"
<Such noise makes it hard to concentrate.>
<I could ask the Terrans if they would be willing to cease their bombardment for your benefit,> Morlis replied, a hint of teasing behind his message.
Khelatar could not help but chuckle. <I doubt they would heed your request. And even under ideal circumstances, this method is still quite difficult to perform successfully.>
<Would that I could help, but alas my talents lie elsewhere. For all our sakes I hope you succeed.>
Morlis had a point. The Terrans had begun their attack at dawn's first light, and as Thorondin suspected their intent was to take the training ground intact. Their shells fell mostly around the perimeter, attempting to destroy the photon cannons while their advancing forces were still beyond range. Even then some of their shots were landing, probably by accident, within the training grounds. A wayward shell caused extensive damage to one of the empty dormitories while another impacted harmlessly upon the Templar Archive's shields. However, two of the six cannons had been neutralized by their shelling, while the other two could not fire because of the intervening Protoss structures. The artillery had to be stopped now.
Khelatar stood in the main surveillance room of the Observatory. Before him was projected an image of Thorondin's mesa, and the sight saddened him. It was being defiled by the dirty footprints of the Terrans, their war machines deployed along the edge and lobbing deadly shots into the distance. The Observer drone had gone unnoticed as it took up position above the Terrans and gave the High Templar a clear picture of the target.
Hamilton felt confident. Standing in the Resolute's command center, he watched on the holographic map as his men advanced towards the Protoss base. His armored advance was making good time, just four more kilometers to the target. On six viewscreens hanging from the walls around him were video feeds from his company commander's vehicles, each one showing good progress. His staff hustled around him, relying messages and compiling raw data for analysis, although he didn't need an analyst to tell him something he already knew: he was winning.
His artillery barrage had taken out most of the Protoss defenses, and so far they had yet to show their faces. Hamilton imagined the Protoss leader - Thorndin or something - hiding in a hole, wishing he had not been so proud in dealing with a 'little Terran.' Hamilton just wished he could be there to see its face when his Marines put a round through his head.
"Colonel, we've got something."
"What is it, Major?"
"Well sir," Major Earl said, looking down at one of the center's myriad of computer monitors. "It looks like there is a local meteorological disturbance forming."
"And that should matter...why?"
"Well, sir, it's highly localized right above Hill 496, and we're picking up an increasing electrical disturbance in the atmosphere.
Hamilton moved over to one of the viewscreens labeled DELTA and pressed a button below it. "Captain Jowett, respond. What is going on at your position?"
"Colonel...I...weat...unable to..."
"Captain, respond!"
There was no response. Hamilton watched as the viewscreen became increasingly static-filled. Before it finally went dead, he swore he saw something that looked like lightning.
"Hey Sarge, what the hell is that?"
Adams, still looking through the APC's cameras, turned to look back where Jenkins had indicated. The weather around Hill 496 had changed dramatically: a dark column of cloud gathered around it, and fierce winds blew dust storms up and around the mesa. His eyes suddenly widened.
"Oh hell, those poor bastards."
The first strike left a bright after-image, a flash of blue-white lightning followed by a bright yellow explosion. A dozen more quickly followed, and soon the top of the mesa was ablaze as the blue-white flash of psionic energy mixed with the burning yellow of ammunition and fuel tanks rupturing. Debris was sent flying through the air as the storm scoured the top of Hill 496. The onslaught seemed endless, but as quickly as it had formed the storm ended, the black clouds dispersing outwards.
Adams knew better. "Hang on boys and girls, we got incoming!"
Even dissipated, the storm still had enough energy to kick up a massive dust storm that soon engulfed the entire attack force. Visibility was cut down to practically nothing. The attack ground to a halt.
Hamilton could not take his gaze off the viewscreens. Two now showed nothing but a static field, the other four a raging wall of sand and debris. He couldn't raise any of his commanders on the radio, and his staff was scrambling to find a solution.
"What...what was that?"
"A psionic storm." Hamilton turned around. He didn't remember when Bennett had come in or how long he'd been standing there behind him. "A mental attack directed by the mind of a powerful Protoss commander, perhaps even the one you talked to yesterday.
"You knew they would attack with this, this psionic storm?"
"No, but I've seen it in action before, when Tarsonis fell. This one was more focused than before though. They were targeting your artillery on purpose." He stood now beside Hamilton, his eyes looking at the viewscreens as he spoke. "I've taken the liberty of dispatching transports and fighter escorts to search for survivors, but I doubt there will be many. You should expect a counter-attack soon."
It took a good fifteen minutes before the storm finally settled and radio contact was established.
"Sergeant, any casualties?"
"No, Lieutenant," Adams replied, noting with concern a hectic tone behind Kimble's voice. "Third Squad is ready to kick ass."
"Good, good. We're confirming things with command, and we should be on our way in a minute."
"Yes, sir." Adams flipped his visor up and looked around the compartment. His Marines were unharmed, but obviously shaken by the event. Experienced soldiers they might be, but this was their first time fighting the Protoss. "Alright you ladies, remember we got a job to do. They threw their first punch, and we're still standing. Now you got a reason to hit back. You get me Marines?"
Five affirmatives were heard, less confident than before, but Adams was sure they would recover.
Suddenly the carrier lurched forward and the lighting within the troop compartment turned red. Adams had to grab a handhold to steady himself and banged on the driver's hatch. "Smokes, what's up?"
"We spotted them Sarge, whole mess of-"
Lieutenant Kimble's tense voice cut in. "Platoon, enemy contact forward. Prepare to deploy in defensive formation."
"Third squad, prepare to deploy! Action forward, exit left!"
As one the Marines unplugged themselves from the APC and checked their weapons. Adams did the same, and loaded a fresh clip into his Impaler rifle. A beast of a weapon, firing steel spikes at hypersonic speeds, it could punch through even the armor of a Marine combat suit. Unfortunately, the Protoss were a lot tougher than that. The rifle's ammo counter appeared on his visor's heads-up display, flashing a reassuring five hundred rounds.
The APC came to a halt, the lighting inside turned green and the rear ramp popped open. Koite was the first out the hatch, followed by the rest as Adams brought up the rear. The sound of dozens of large-caliber cannons firing was noticeable despite his suit's sound dampeners. Their APC had stopped behind a pair of siege tanks, in between which Third Squad went prone. Adams sighted along his rifle and was surprised to see the mass of golden warriors in the distance.
"Shit, there must be a thousand of them!"
"Cut the chatter!" Adams had to fight down his own fear. Clearly there were far more Protoss here than they'd been lead to believe, as what looked like an entire army of them were closing fast on his position. Someone upstairs must've screwed up real bad this time.
The boom of two pairs of cannons was almost deafening as the Siege Tanks to either side of him let go bolts of fiery death towards the charging warriors, an act repeated up and down the line. A Goliath walker from Zeta moved up behind them and started lobbing high-explosive rounds down range from its twin arm-mounted autocannons.
Out of the charging mass of warriors came a blue bolt of energy which struck somewhere down the line to Adams' left. It was hard to tell if the shot had come from the base itself or from among the mass of advancing Protoss. The tank to his left transformed, stabilizer arms extending outwards into the ground while its turret folded inside the hull and the 120mm siege cannon emerged. Its first shot drowned out every other noise and left a ringing sound in Adams' ears.
The charging warriors were now less than a kilometer away, entering his rifle's firing range as the reticle on his HUD turned from red to yellow. A long distance away and yet still all too near. "Weapons free, fire at will!"
Third Squad unleashed everything they had with their Impalers, followed by a couple hundred more rifles. Between all the weapons being fired, a veritable wall of steel was thrown at the Protoss, and they were dying by the droves. At least, that's what Adams thought.
Closing in on four hundred meters, he could make out individual Protoss now through his visor's zoom function, could see them fall down, cut in down or blown into pieces, but something seemed off. At this distance it was hard to tell what the problem was, but it seemed like they were all blurry. A lesser mind might've rationalized it to be distortion from heat rising off the ground, but his mind seemed to balk at that suggestion. At two hundred meters, he knew something was wrong. The Protoss warriors had no clear lines, as if someone had taken a picture of them and slightly pixilated the image.
"Lieutenant, this is Adams, something seems off sir."
"...say again Sergeant?"
"Sir, I think this might be a trick. I don't think we're actually killing real Protoss, sir."
There was no reply, and Adams didn't know what to make of it. His second clip dropped to the red earth empty. Instinctively he slammed home a fresh one, and looked back up to see...nothing. The Protoss warriors that should have right in front of him had vanished. All that was left was a cloud of dust.
"Holy crap, they just disappeared!"
"Stay frosty, Marines!"
Adams didn't have time to say more. A dozen blue energy bolts suddenly shot out from the cover of the dust cloud, two of which impacted against the deployed tank on his left. There was a brilliant white light, and then darkness.
"It was a trick!" The colonel's mouth hung open. "An illusion, a...a hallucination!"
"Sir, better look at this," Major Earl said. "I don't think these are illusions."
Hamilton looked over at the major's display. There was a small group of Protoss, no more than a hundred, concentrated towards the center of his formation. They had traveled behind the mass deception, hidden by the cloud of dust created by rounds impacting harmlessly in front of them, and now were rapidly closing on his men. His formation, spread out along a kilometer-wide line as they were, could not concentrate their fire in time before impact.
"Clever," Bennett said.
Hamilton turned on him. "I'm glad you're so appreciative of our enemy, Captain, because we're going in. Right now."
Bennett raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I do not think it wise endangering your command so-"
"I will not leave my men out there to die, Captain! Now you either bring the Resolute into the fight, or I will have you relieved of command. Sergeant Major!"
Curran moved up behind the captain, towering over the elderly figure. Bennett's eyes however focused squarely on Hamilton.
"Colonel Hamilton, I will not be party to a command that will recklessly endanger my men, my ship or myself. I respectfully refuse to obey your order."
"You damn coward! Damn traitorous Confederate! Disobeying your commander in a time of war is punishable by death, and I will see you hanged when we return."
"For all our sakes, I hope we live long enough to see a court martial."
Hamilton pointed at Curran. "Take him to the brig, now!"
Curran moved to grab the captain by the shoulder, but Bennett spun around to face him. "I know the way to my own brig." He walked out, followed closely behind by Curran with his hand on his sidearm.
Hamilton took a deep breath. Finally he was in complete control, no one looking over his shoulder with those judgmental eyes, the clear stink of jealousy on his breath. Now he would get some valuable experience commanding a warship personally, experience for when he would finally be assigned his own battlecruiser from which to command. Perhaps it would be the Resolute herself. He walked over to the intercom and pushed the a button. "Bridge, this is Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton. I have assumed command of this ship and am issuing a direct order to bring her into the battle. You will execute this order or you will find yourself under arrest for treason. Understood?!"
Khelatar found Mirlos resting in the shadow of the Templar Archive, his back against the vast main doors of the sacred structure. The High Templar's eyes were dim when he looked up at Khelatar.
<Most impressive, Mirlos. Few could have done better. I do not believe even I could have accomplished such a feat.>
<Neither do I - you were always lacking when it came to creating hallucinations in your enemy's minds.> Khelatar could feel the goodhearted nature of the jab. <I only hope it is enough.>
<It is,> Khelatar replied, looking behind his resting friend at the Archive doors. <Our efforts and the sacrifices of our brethren has bought us the time we need.>
"Then all we have left to do is wait."
Adams' head was still spinning when he finally came to, lying on his side with his back against a Siege Tank. He faintly recalled being thrown into the air by an explosion, and his back screamed with pain as he sat up. Thankfully it hadn't been broken, according to his suit's monitors, though it felt otherwise. He initiated a self-diagnostic scan and found his suit still operating within acceptable parameters. He did the same with his rifle and let out a sigh of relief as it said the same thing.
He looked around and saw devastation. Jones and Ling were lying dead on the ground, both cut in half, and the rest of Third Squad nowhere in sight. There were the bodies of other Marines, and a few dead Protoss, scattered about as well. The Siege Tank which had blown up and sent him flying was now just a pile of scrap metal. The one he was currently leaning on seemed in little better shape, fire blazing from within its hull through gash marks cut into it.
"Third Squad, report! Smokes, where are you? Lieutenant Kimble?"
A sound caught his attention, and he looked to his left to see a Protoss warrior grappling with a Goliath walker. The alien's golden armor gleamed in the sunlight as it maintained a firm grip on the walker's main body with one arm. The other was raised above its head, a blue energy blade emanating from the forearm guard. It didn't look like its shields were working, but that didn't matter anymore. The Goliath pilot was desperately trying to shake it off, his weapons firing uselessly into the air, but to no avail. The warrior plunged the blade deep into the walker's cockpit, and the machine went still before finally slumping in death.
Adams knew he was next. He swung his rifle around, selected the attached grenade launcher, and fired off a round. The shot went wide however, and the warrior looked back at him with surprise and anger.
"Ah crap."
Adams desperately tried to fire another grenade, but it was too late. The Protoss pulled itself up over the walker and somersaulted out of sight behind it. Adams stood up as fast as he could, knowing the Protoss would come back around to finish him off, and froze. There was a crushing sound right behind him, and slowly he turned to look.
It was one of their walkers, larger than a Goliath with a low flat body on four clawed legs. Its golden form was crawling atop the ruined tank as black sensor orbs regarded him cooly. He took a step back as an aperture on top of the machine opened to reveal a glowing sphere, apparently charging up for attack.
Adams ran. If he could just get behind the other Siege Tank, he might live another nine seconds.
Too late, he remembered the Protoss warrior.
All he saw was the blue flash of its energy blade slicing through his rifle, and then a backhanded strike that sent him sprawling on his side. His vision went hazy for a moment and a new shot of pain ran down his spinal cord. When he looked back up the warrior towered over him, energy blades extended from both forearm devices, reading to deliver the killing blow.
Instead it exploded, struck on its back by a high explosive round. When he brought his hands down from covering his face Adams saw the two Goliath walkers marching towards him, their guns now turned on the Protoss walker as their shells passed a meter above his fallen form. Rolling out of their line of fire, he looked up to watch their shots impact against the machine's shields. It finally charged its main weapon to full power and unleashed a blue bolt that struck the nearest Goliath dead center, blowing it apart and leaving behind a pair of mechanical legs. The second walker continued marching forward, autocannons blazing, and finally brought down the enemy's shields. Rounds now blew off chunks of armor, until one finally punch through into the center and went off in a wet, squishy explosion. The Protoss machine, its pilot dead, slid off its perch and landed on the ground like a dead spider.
Adams finally sat up and saw more Terran vehicles approaching, including a number of APCs. One of them was Kimble's command carrier.
"Sergeant, are you injured?"
"Just a little banged up, sir," he replied, grabbing a discarding Impaler from off the ground. "But I've lost contact on my squad. Are they with you?"
Even over the radio the lieutenant's anxiousness was palpable, along with a sense of exhaustion. "Everything's gone to hell, sergeant. Command staff got wiped out, Captain Anderson included, along with half the company, and most of the rest are unaccounted for. Word's come down from battalion, the uninjured continue on to the Protoss base now or the colonel has us all shot. Seems serious about it this time. Hop on."
Mirlos stood now, somewhat replenished from his earlier efforts, alongside Khelatar before the Archive gates. The Terran forced advanced on them, though it was greatly reduced from what it had been. He counted less than twenty of their war machines, some showing the scars of battle, kicking up a plum of dust as they rolled or walked their way through the base. He felt pride at the damage his outnumbered warriors had caused before finding a noble end in battle.
Yet a shadow covered them in darkness, a shadow caused by something that gave Mirlos pause. The Terran warship had entered the fight and even now hovered over its warriors like a protective mother. Cautiously the Terrans maneuvered around the Protoss structures, expecting ambush around every corner. There was none to greet them.
Finally they came to a stop, a dozen or so meters before the Archive gate. Terran warriors poured out from their transports and formed a semicircle around him and Khelatar along with their machines. They were haggard, some even injured, but many remained determined. Mirlos could respect that in an opponent.
The warship came to a rest right above its brood. Dozens of weapons, from the ground and the air, trained their aim on the two High Templar. Mirlos could see great power assembled in front of him.
Behind him, he sensed an even greater power taking form.
<You have been a good friend, Khelatar.>
<The honor is mine, brother.>
<Warriors of the Terran Dominion!> Khelatar announced to the assembled foe, taking a step forward. <Bravely have you fought today, but to continue further will spell certain doom for you. You have but one chance to save yourselves. Leave this place, and swear oaths to never return, or perish! The choice is yours.>
"What's going on? Is it saying something?"
Hamilton had moved his command post to the Resolute's bridge. He needed to keep an eye on Bennett's officers, in case they were as traitorous as him. He'd also brought some Marines to enforce the point. Now he stood, leaning on a nearby console as he stared at the main viewscreen which showed a video feed from the ground below.
"It's...it's demanding that we leave, sir, and never come back," came back Captain Littlefield's shaky voice.
He couldn't help it. Hamilton began to laugh, slowly at first but then faster and louder. Everyone on the bridge began to look at him with concern, but he couldn't see.
The sheer audacity of these things! His main attack force decimated, two-thirds dead, wounded or unaccounted for, along with dozens of vehicles destroyed or damaged. He witnessed firsthand the devastation caused to Hill 496 as they passed by it, and the report from the rescue flyers was still in his hand: just twelve survivors. Twelve out of more than a hundred! His battalion had nearly been wiped out, and they just wanted him to up and leave like nothing had happened? Surely their fall from power was completely the fault of their own arrogance.
"Captain, I order you to kill those things. Kill them now!"
Adams didn't feel any hate, any anger, any fear or satisfaction when the order came down to open fire. He was too tired, too much in pain, and too worried about the fate of his men to care. It was with a detached feeling that he pulled the trigger, pumped dozens of rounds into the two Protoss' bodies, watch their ragged corpses collapse onto the ground.
Perhaps now they could finish-
He screamed out in pain, the sudden pressure in his head threatening to burst it open like an overripe melon. Between his cries of anguish he was dimly aware of all those around him in similar pain, everyone dropping to the ground in agony. He knew, on some deep level, that something terrible had just been born in that archive building, something ancient and powerful beyond his comprehension. Slowly the pain subsided, but not the sense of danger coming from within.
Suddenly the building's doors blew out with enough force to send them flying dozens of meters into the air. In the doorway stood a luminous being, vaguely humanoid but surrounded by a corona of brilliant light, and its mental voice was deep and radiant as it spoke.
<Power overwhelming!>
The being that was once Thorondin and Seregtil knew its time was limited. The melding of two High Templar into one being, an Archon, was an ancient and powerful ritual. The sum total of their mental energies was combined and multiplied a thousand fold to create a being of stellar powers. But in the process their mortal bodies had perished, and once their brilliant energy was spent so where they.
It was an act of sacrifice, Thorondin/Seregtil knew. Archons were used in times of great need, against impossible odds, where the few sacrificed themselves for the many. So it had been in the memory strand they had access that morning, reminded of a time where a few Templar had sacrificed themselves to win an unwinnable battle and save their people. So it would be now, except this time they would save their legacy.
With a wave of their hand raw psionic energy pulsed outwards to destructive effects. Marines, Siege Tanks, Goliaths, all were equally erased from existence, their final resting places recorded by scorch marks on the ground. Seeing the universe through new eyes, where the entire electromagnetic spectrum was perceptible, even these brutal violent acts created beautiful works of art, masterpieces that disappeared as quickly as they were formed. If only they had been a poet.
But their work was not complete. Hovering above, casting shadows in dimensions beyond mortal understanding, was the Terran battlecruiser Resolute. It was time to deal with the problem.
Hamilton did not know what to believe anymore.
This...thing had appeared. It was Protoss yet so much more. Terribly beautiful, or beautifully terrible, he couldn't say. Then it started killing - no, slaughtering his men. Fire from their weapons impacted as harmlessly as spitballs against the thing, while with a wave of its hands dozens were blasted to fiery bits instantly. There seemed almost no way to stop it.
He clenched his fist. "Stop dying you cowards!"
"Sir?" Major Earl was, like everyone else watching on the bridge, awestruck by the being below, and had not fully heard him.
"Prepare to fire the Yamato cannon! Do it or we all die!"
The Yamato cannon, the most powerful weapon on a Terran battlecruiser, concentrated the explosion of a nuclear device through magnetic fields into a devastating beam. Hamilton knew it would surely kill this abomination. There couldn't exist any other outcome.
Thorondin/Seregtil knew what was happening as the Resolute angled downward to point its bow at them. Bordering on madness he may be, but its new captain was correct. They would not survive a full blast from the Yamato cannon. But then they had never meant to survive anyways.
Their final shot would use up all of their life energy, and as the tremendous power was concentrated between their hands they observed as energy coalesced around the Resolute's bow, forming the crude containment field to channel the nuclear device's explosion. They peered past that, through layers of metal and electrical circuits, saw it clearly. The cannon itself, its control system, its capacitors, coolant system and focusing array. And right there, like a stain on a fresh dress, was the weak point.
The Resolute had nearly finished charging the cannon, but Thorondin/Seregtil were faster. With a brightness to rival a super they released their attack. A beam of energy so intense as to be colorless punched straight through meters of Neosteel armor, several decks, and one engineer who was certain he had bad luck and wondered if he should have taken the opportunity to transfer last year.
They hit the target dead-on.
With enough life left to watch the events of their final seconds unfold, the Archon saw as the magnetic fields began collapsing, the sounding of warning systems and officers rushing to figure out what had happened and what went wrong. They watched as men attempted to stop the process, realized belatedly that they could not, and the horrible realization of their imminent death. They prayed to religious deities, wished they had lived better lives, felt relief they would not have to worry about gambling debts anymore, wondered if they would feel pain. Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hamilton, scion of Dominion nobility, remained convinced he would one day rise to command the Marine Corps. Captain Richard Bennet sat in a lonely cell and thought about Elizabeth.
Finally, the nuclear device detonated.
The Resolute and surrounding Protoss base were utterly destroyed, as was the surrounding terrain for kilometers around. Thorondin/Seregtil, holding onto that last strand of consciousness before vaporization, were both saddened and pleased. Too many had died needlessly, on both sides, because of greed and fear and shortsightedness. But now the knowledge of the Protoss was safe, beyond the reach of those who would abuse that which they could not fully comprehend. Its physical presence had been obliterated, but it had not been truly destroyed. In death, they and all the others who died today would live on through the Khala, beyond the reach of foreign schemes, and so long as one Protoss lived that repository of knowledge and experience would continue.
As the nuclear fireball that was the bodies of Terrans and Protoss broiled upwards high into the atmosphere, a silence descended upon the planet of Ruindor.
This silence was reassuring.
------------------------------
The silence was disconcerting.
Thorondin had to correct himself. It was not silence in the trust sense of the word. Submerged as he was within the Khala, that psionic communal link shared by all Protoss, he could sense the emotions of every Templar warrior on the planet. He became in many ways a part of them, sharing their fears, joys and sorrows, as much as they became a part of him. But there were so few now, the relative silence was more deafening than a fierce storm.
The high templar sighed and descended back down from his hovering position, resigned to cut short his meditation.
He opened his eyes to a vista of wind-swept dunes framed by jagged rust-red mountains in the distance. Warm air blew across his face as his naked body soaked up the nourishing light of a fierce ruby sun that hovered above the horizon. Sitting on the edge of a wide rocky mesa, which rose half a kilometer into the air, Thorondin could survey the beauty of planet Ruindor as far as the eye could see.
Such a serene view once helped him reach a state of inner peace, but that was before the Zerg. Before the fall of Aiur. He gathered up his simple maroon cloak and draped it across his shoulder, the coarse fabric blending easily with his skin color. As he turned around and began trekking northward across the mesa, he recalled the day when he first discovered this place and began coming regularly to meditate. He had made no official pronouncement, but of of deference to his rank and respect for him the other Protoss came to regard this spot as Thorondin's personal sanctum and forbade anyone from disturbing it.
That had been hundreds of years ago, when Thorondin first came to Ruindor to take command of the Templar training grounds. He recalled how active the base had been when he arrived, the vibrant energy of thousands of proud warriors clashing in mock combat, both physical and philosophical, in order to strengthen their minds and bodies. Nearing the northern edge of the mesa the high templar could see in the distance the faint shapes of Protoss buildings, aided by the glint of sunlight reflected off their polished golden exteriors. Once upon a time it was possible to hear the sound of morning practice even from this far away. Now all that could be heard was the wailing of the wind.
He remembered that fateful day, when the call first came...
<Thorondin,> a mental voice interrupted him. <We have a problem.>
<What concerns you, Seregtil?> Another High Templar, Thorondin could feel the apprehension behind his fellow teacher's words.
<It is a matter that should be discussed in person,> Seregtil replied. Thorondin's brow furrowed. Such a message had an added connotation among the teachers of the training ground. A delicate issue needed to be addressed behind closed doors.
<I will be with you shortly.>
Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hamilton smirked as he stood in front of the holoprojector and examined his latest target. Suspended in mid-air, currently experience a meteor shower of dust motes, was a small reddish world. Twin polar ice caps and small swaths of dark vegetation gave it the appearance of a face, pockmarked and weathered with age. Occasional rain storms kept the few clusters of vegetation alive, but by all accounts Planet X1137 was an arid wasteland.
Accounts which also included the existence of a Protoss settlement, possibly abandoned and home to untold amounts of advanced knowledge. The Terran Dominion was rebuilding after the war, and the process could be multiplied tenfold with just a cursory examination of the near-magical technology possessed by this ancient and now-dying race. If Hamilton could bring back even a tenth of the rumored wisdom located on this planet, his next promotion would be his within days.
Not that his promotion was in doubt - steady upward progress being one of the benefits of noble birth - but every little advantage helped. The new commander of 1st Battalion, 23rd Ground Assault Division, of the Dominion Marine Corps could not be more confident. Nearly five hundred of the best soldiers in all of Terran space were his to lead in what soon would be the first of many victories, culminating in what surely would be a glorious career...
The sound of a throat clearing shook Hamilton out of his daydream, and reality again imposed itself upon him. He stood on the bridge of the Behemoth-class battlecruiser Resolute, surrounded by various crewmen sitting at their stations doing menial work, and turned around to face whoever had interrupted his musing. His smirk quickly disappeared.
"Captain Bennet, do you have something to report?"
It was all Hamilton could do to compose himself an air of authority. For a Navy captain like Richard Bennet, such authority simply came naturally. Twenty years senior to Hamilton, his face was aged with wisdom but of darker complexion and more vigor than the facade created by X1137. He stood ramrod straight in his black dress uniform, burnished gold epaulets giving his shoulders extra width and peaked captain's hat added another dozen centimeters to his already considerable height. Hamilton looked positively boyish in comparison and knew that in normal circumstances he would be the one taking orders, not giving.
"Sir, we are on final approach to the target system. We should arrive in the next four hours."
"Very good, Captain. Have our telescopes detected any activity?"
"No sir, but that's to be expected, considering we are beyond the range of detecting anything non-stellar in nature."
The hairs on the back of Hamilton's neck bristled. "Of course, obviously. Inform me once we have arrived, and keep me appraised of any new developments."
"Yes sir." Bennett gave a smart salute, which Hamilton halfheartedly returned, and left.
Instinctively Hamilton's hand shot out to stroke his badge of office, a bright red sash that rang across his grey uniform. He was in charge of this operation; the orders had been specific about that point. This mission was to be his moment to shine, and he would not let what surely must be Bennett's jealousy get in the way of that.
The room was the only one on the planet completely shielded against telepathic thoughts, providing an alcove of secrecy in an otherwise open society. This was the formal discussion chamber located in the heart of the teachers' domicile, used for discussing sensitive matters of discipline and training. Appropriately, there was only a solitary window located in the ceiling of the circular room, letting in a weak shaft of light splaying against the far wall. Evening was descending upon the few remaining teachers of the training ground, and they were gathered for what might be their last meeting.
Thorondin had changed into his formal robes, azure with gold trimmings, and wore his pointed golden headpiece with its Khyadarin crystal prominently displayed on its face. Most noticeable was his armor, which he had not worn in a long time: a golden chest plate with swooping shoulder and think forearm guards. Across from him stood Seregtil, and to his left and right Mirlos and Khelatar. They too were dressed in similar garments. They too were High Templars. The last ones left on Ruindor.
<When did they arrive?>
<Shortly before I contacted you,> Seregtil replied. <We detected their subwarp signature as they approached the system, and tracked them as they exited into high orbit. The message was transmitted during your return journey.>
<Play it.>
The center of the floor opened slightly, and a small orb floated up to hover in front of the assembled High Templar. Light began to emanate from its smooth opaque surface, light which coalesced and formed into an all-too-familiar shape.
<Terrans,> was all Mirlos said, but his contempt was instantly transmitted before the thought had even finished.
<Yes, and apparently they were expecting us,> Seregtil said. <It took little effort to translate the message.>
<Greetings,> the Terran said, his words telepathically transmitted in sync with his mouth. <I am Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hamilton of the Terran Dominion. By order of Emperor Arcturus Mengsk the First, this planet has been claimed in the name of the Dominion. You are hereby in violation of occupying Dominion territory illegally and are ordered to vacate at once.> The Terran's face contorted into what could only be a predatory grin. <The Emperor however is not without mercy. You have one planetary rotation to remove yourselves and only yourselves. All items, vehicles, structures, et cetera are to remain on the planet, and any attempt to remove them will be seen as an act of theft and responded to with upmost severity. If you refuse this most generous request, your continued occupation of the planet will constitute an act of aggression against the Terran Dominion and similarly responded to in kind. I shall await your response within the hour.>
The image dissolved until only the orb remained. Slowly it descended back into the hole and the floor closed over it. For a moment there was nothing as the four Templar guarded their thoughts and emotions.
<How shall we respond?> Khelatar was the first to break the silence.
<How else?> replied Mirlos. <We must destroy the Terrans for this insufferable affront.>
<Such hasty action is fit more for a Zealot, Mirlos. We must carefully weigh our options in this matter.>
<It would be a pitiful fight indeed,> Seregtil said. <Crude and primitive the Terrans may be, but they have a warship in orbit and we do not. They could destroy us with barely any effort.>
<I do not believe they will resort to that measure, old friend,> Thorondin began. He ran his fingers along the edge of his chin as he spoke, <If that were the case they would probably have done so already. Their true objective was revealed in their ultimatum: they wish to plunder us of our treasure and technology, and for that this place must remain intact.>
<Then we shall resist them. Even the least accomplished of my students is easily worth six of their warriors.>
<Yes, and in all probability they have twelves warriors for every one of ours, Mirlos. We must call for aid. Have we contacted Monlyth yet?> Khelatar directed his question to Seregtil.
Monlyth was the closest Protoss colony to Ruindor, a shrine world of jungles and ancient temples where Protoss once journeyed to on pilgrimages. Seregtil's thoughts were surprisingly guarded when its name came up.
<I attempted to make contact before the meeting to ascertain any aid they could give. They...regretted to inform me that their position had become too exposed, and were in the midst of evacuating the planet for a more secure destination. They will arrive in several days with enough ships to evacuate us as well.>
A mental gasp went up among the other three. To abandon a Protoss world without even a fight was unthinkable, sacrilegious. Despair quickly spread like an infection among the High Templar. Thorondin could feel his own despondency add to the emotions of the others, just as theirs reinforced his own. The idea that millennia of work would be abandoned, the sacrifice of millions rendered for naught, was nearly too much. With effort he tried to suppress his anguish and exude a sense of calm and determination.
<Much has changed since the Zerg fell upon Aiur, and the light of our race was almost extinguished from the galaxy. But we are still Protoss, and we shall not allow our heritage to be picked clean by the universe's carrion eaters. There is only one response, and one course of action, left to use.>
Hamilton stood and stared at the real X1137 though the main bridge viewscreen. He couldn't help himself, there was always something, that sense of solidness, which holograms failed to capture. It made seeing the real thing somewhat unsettling, as if it were too real.
At the same time, he was aware that his ultimatum period was almost over without an answer. That some Protoss had remained behind was somewhat surprising but not unanticipated. It did however add a complication to what otherwise should have been an easy mission.
"Communications, have we received a -"
<Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hamilton of the Terran Dominion!>
Hamiltion literally jumped back as a Protoss suddenly materialized right in front of him. It was huge, its three meter tall frame barely contained between the floor and ceiling of the bridge. It wore beautifully strange robes and armor, but Hamilton could not bring his stare away from its face. Red and scaly, its glowing blue eyes stood out against an otherwise featureless face, lacking a mouth, nose or ears. From the back of its bald head grew a tangle of nerve appendages, long hair-like growths said to play a role in their fearsome psionic abilities. He realized belatedly that the voice he heard was coming from inside his head.
Everyone else on the bridge had similarly been shocked into a stupor. A Marine on guard duty drew his pistol and aimed it at the creature before Captain Bennett stopped him.
<I am Thorondin, High Templar and Master of the Templar training grounds of Ruindor. Your presence here is unwelcome and your claims to this world, while noted, have been found wanting. This world remains a protected planet of the Protoss Empire, and it shall remain so long after you and your Emperor are but dust in the wind. You will leave this system at once.>
Hamilton, too shocked to speak at first, quickly regained some composure. "I'm afraid you're still living in the past, Thordin. We know of what happened to your homeworld, what you and the Zerg did to each other. Your vaunted power is no more, your people are scattered among the stars. You are merely an obstacle now, and your time here is over."
The Protoss' head bobbed slightly, his nerve appendages swaying in motion, and it focuses its eyes down at Hamilton. <Time? What do you know of time, little Terran? My people sailed on the solar winds of the infinity when your ancestors busied themselves rutting in the mud. We have mastered the working of time and space in ways your small mind still cannot understand. And in the time I have been given, I have slain countless beings and fought on a hundred worlds before your father's father's father was even conceived. So come, if you dare, and test the claims of your Dominion against the might of the Firstborn, and we shall see how much time is left for you.>
As quickly as it had appeared the Protoss was gone, dissolving before Hamilton's eyes. It had been a fake, some sort of holographic projection, and yet at the same time so real, as if it had been on the bridge with him the whole time.
"I believe," Captain Bennett said, breaking the silence, "that you have your response now, sir."
Hamilton recovered quickly after the surprise exchange, and spent most of the next nine hours planning his attack. Resolute maintained orbit above the Protoss settlement, making recordings of the area as they passed through the night phase of the planet. Those findings were compared with previous intelligence reports, and events were set in motion. Marines, woken from their slumber, scrambled to suit up in combat armor suits. Goliath walkers and Siege Tanks powered up while their crews went through inspection checks. Command staffs prepared their briefings and performed last-minute changes to schedules, until finally, as the star's first light reached the Protoss base, Hamilton had his company commanders assemble.
1st Battalion had six combat companies in all, three armored and three mechanized. Their commanders stood around the holoprojector in the battlecruiser's command center, where Hamilton would direct the entire battle. He stood before them, hands behind his back, his executive officer Major Earl and Sergeant Major Curran standing smartly behind him. Captain Bennett stood off to the side with his own aide.
"Gentlemen, as you well know the Protoss have refused to evacuate from the planet, and are instead planning on defending their position. As much as I would like nothing more than to nuke the site from orbit, our orders are explicit and come not from High Command but the Emperor himself: we must capture the base intact, along with whatever technology it contains.
As he spoke, the holoprojector activated to display the planet below, zooming down to view the base and surrounding area. Visible and clearly labeled were two large floating crystals, a half dozen defensive cannons, several large dormitory buildings, a surveillance building, a gateway structure and an archive building. The last one was marked apart from the others with a flashing blue icon.
"This structure especially must remain intact, as we believe it contains most of the Protoss' records and other valuables. It is not to be damaged in the slightest, and firing upon any of the other buildings will require my personal clearance. Is that understood?"
Six heads nodded, and in response the view of the base began to zoom out. Mid-way however the image froze and became static-filled. Without orders Curran quietly walked over and gave the projector a swift kick, unfreezing the image. Major Earl gave him a nod as he returned to his place.
"Now as you can see," Hamilton continued, "the terrain is relatively flat and rocky for dozens of kilometers in every direction, broken up by a line of hills thirty klicks east running southward to join with an east-west running mountain range fifty klicks south of the base. The Resolute will position itself at this location at 0600 hours, and launch transports from there." A blue battlecruiser icon flashed into being above one of the mountain range's peaks.
"Approximately nine klicks south-southwest of the base is a large mesa, half a klick high and half as wide. The transports will deploy the battalion to this location, designated Hill 496, by 0620. Delta Company will provide artillery support from atop the mesa and knock out the enemy's defensive emplacements. Gamma will provide security." Two more icons popped up on the map, each representing their respective companies, atop the holographic mesa.
"Alpha and Beta, with Zeta and Epsilon in support will deploy at the base of Hill 496 and proceed to engage enemy forces and secure the base. Artillery bombardment will begin at 0640, the main attack will begin at 0645." Four more blue icons popped into existence, each one following a dotted line right to the Protoss settlement.
"Visibility is expected to be clear throughout the operation. Enemy resistance will be stiff, but our intelligence indicates they are lightly armed and we maintain a five-to-one advantage. Any questions?"
Captain Rutledge, Alpha Company commander, was the only one to raise a hand. "Sire, what about that gate? Can we expect any enemy reinforcements during the battle?"
Hamilton cleared his throat. "By all reports the Protoss are a fragmented, leaderless people. We believe that this gate is now nonfunctional since the loss of its corresponding structure on the Protoss homeworld, but in any case the planet is isolated. We do not expect any enemy reinforcements.
There was some indistinct grumbling in response to his answer, but no one else dared to raise any other concerns. The meeting was adjourned and the commanders dismissed. Bennett and his aide were the only people left in the room, the captain observing the map with crossed arms.
"Captain Bennett, I take it you don't approve of my operational planning?"
"It is not my place to comment, sir. This is your operation."
Hamilton couldn't help but clench his fists. "Yes, this is my operation, and its success will be the result of my skills and talents. I graduated top of my class, have successfully served my Emperor in numerous engagements, and I will not have anyone, especially a former Commodore of the dishonored Confederate Navy, second-gussing my judgements. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly, sir. However, if I might make a suggestion."
"Go...ahead...Captain."
"The Protoss are, as you said, fragmented, and much of their former strength spent battling the Zerg. We have them isolated on this world, outnumbered and with the advantage of the high ground, and even before their fall their fighting methods were downright archaic. But for all of that, they are still a dangerous and clever opponent. I have fought them on similar terms before, and of those victories against them most were pyrrhic. So I suggest that you practice caution in implementing this plan, and not needlessly waste your Marines in pursuit of your objective. After all, combat suits are expensive and hard to replace."
"Thank you, Captain. You are dismissed." Hamilton did not wait to return the captain's salute as he left.
Thorondin was once again meditating.
He was not atop his mesa, but deep within the bowls of the Templar Archive, where the annals of past Templar were kept and their teachings studies. It was also the training center for those Zealots who showed the potential to become High Templar and wield their minds in battle rather than their psi blades.
The Archive had a third purpose for which Thorondin was more interested in at this moment. In this chamber, surrounded by specially carved and powerful Khyadarin crystals to focus his mind, he could reach into the Khala on a deeper level. As each Protoss died their memories, their complete life stories, were stored within the Khala, parts of which could be accessed by a sufficiently powerful Protoss from places such as this. The most powerful of Protoss minds could access these memories at will in their completeness, but such an honor was not Thorondin's.
Seregtil had been busy throughout the night as Thorondin meditated, gathering those warriors who still remained. There were less than a hundred all told; most were young Zealots eager for battle, though a few crippled veterans, entombed within Dragoon walkers, stood ready to fight as well. He knew that all were willing to defend the training grounds with their lives.
The thought again reminded Thorondin of the day they received the first distress call to save Aiur from the Zerg. How glorious they all looked as they made oaths to defend the homeworld and marched through the Gateway, those few forced to reluctantly stay behind looking on with pride. Not a single warrior who went through the Gateway that day was ever seen again.
The High Templar turned aside from that thought, its wounds still too fresh to allow him peace of mind.
Khelatar had been in the Observatory, directing the training ground's two Observers in spying on the Terrans. After extensive scans the small invisible robots had confirmed there was just one Terran warship in orbit, and that it contained within its hull a force many times in size their own garrison. Mirlos had inspected the ground's automated defenses and taken stock of whatever ordinance was left.
They had done their jobs competently, professionally, a testament to their calling to defend their brethren and bring death to all who threaten the Empire. If it was their time to die, then so be it. They would die together, brothers-in-arms, against impossible odds in defense of their heritage and right to exist.
Thorondin could see now, the perceptible realm slowly fading away and the Khala made visible. He saw the lines that connected him to Seregtil, Khelatar, Mirlos and every other Protoss on Ruindo, their emotions given form and color. Fainter were those lines connecting him to Protoss elsewhere, on other worlds or in the deep void, normally not perceptible over great distances but there all the same. And faintest of all, Thorondin could see those lines connecting him to Protoss long dead, their lives preserved forever within the Khala.
He reached for those strands, watched as some moved away from his psionic self or slipped out between his fingers. Those he could reach seemed incomplete, as if parts of themselves were somehow misplaced, but he knew it was his own lack of ability that made them unreadable. Those parts that could be read were of mixed value: a father celebrating his daughter's accomplishment in creating a work of art, a Judicator bestowing praise upon one of his aides, a lovingly planned funeral for the honored dead.
He focused his mind upon finding memory strands from Templar warriors. Suddenly he was living out the graduation ceremony of an initiate being inducted to the rank of Zealot. He turned to another strand and became an aging Executor giving the final order of the Kalathi Intercession. Another turn, and Thorondin gasped. Aiur hung above him in space as he blazed through a swarm of Zerg organisms in the cockpit of a Scout fighter. He had run out of antimatter missiles and switched to photon blasters, but shields were failing and there were too many, too many...
The High Templar pulled out with such force he nearly left his meditative state. In the back of his mind he knew he was running out of time, and he sensed Seregtil descending down into the Archive to inform him of such. He looked around at the strands left, and felt a sudden pull from one in particular. He reached for it, and as he lived out the events contained within it he began to feel triumphant. The High Templar had found a memory that showed him what he needed to see and what he needed to be done. By the time Seregtil had reached the chamber's entrance and opened the door Thorondin was back in his own body, his feet lightly touching the cool stone floor.
<I know, old friend. They are here. We must prepare ourselves for what is to come.>
"Just my goddamn luck, out of the entire frickin' Corps they had to send us to this goddamn shithole. Why couldn't it have been some nice paradise world, with beaches and liquor and naked-"
"Micky, you better quit your bitchin' or I'll take you outside and give you a smacking."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you Koite?"
"Cut the chatter, all of you!" Sergeant Adams had to yell over the sound of the armored personnel carrier's engine to be heard. "Lieutenant, Squad Three is ready to go."
"Roger, Sergeant," Lieutenant Kimble's reply was scratchy as it came over the radio. "Artillery has already started. We move out in two."
"Yes, sir," Adams responded. He looked back over his men: Micky and Koite still bickering, Jones fiddling with his helmet, Ling taking a nap and Herman absent-mindedly stroking his Impaler gauss rifle. Good soldiers, all of them, and not a single one neurally resocialized. Getting brain-panned might make them more loyal, but Adams preferred to fight besides soldiers who could think. "Alright you grunts, we move out in two. Check your gear, make sure you got your cat-three configuration set because we sure as shit ain't turning around when this thing starts.
Adams got five affirmatives in return. It was cramped inside the APC, an older Kodiak model but still reliable. It could comfortably seat ten in light gear, but with their armor suits six was a tight fit. The driver sat forward in a separate compartment, connected by a hatch to the main troop bay, which Adams knocked on. "How we doing, Smokes?"
"Good to go Sarge, just a little hiccup back there. She's all charged and ready for you to suckle her teats."
Adams grabbed on of the hanging power cables and plugged it into his armor. The suit was now running off the APC's power supply and recharging its own battery at the same time. Adams could also access the vehicle's sensor suite, a set of small cameras and microphones located along its body. He flipped his visor down, and the cramped compartment was replaced with a barren red landscape obscured by giant metal monsters. Thirty-one Siege Tanks, big rolling slabs of death and destruction armed with twin 80mm cannons, spread out along a kilometer-wide line. Idling behind them were just as many APCs, each stuffed with Marines going through the same pre-battle preparations. And interspersed among them were half as many Goliath walkers, armored walkers that seemed to stoop over like predatory birds with their reverse-joint legs and upraised gun arms. High above and to the rear he could hear the roar of cannons and see tongues of fire lash out from the top of the mesa, where Delta was busy raining brimstone on the enemy base.
It was a sobering sight, the kind of firepower the Marine Corps could bring to bear against their enemies. Adams looked back down around him, the APCs and walkers of Zeta Company marked out with electronic icons floating above them and insignia painted over their red armor. Adams laughed, thinking that they were finally lucky enough to fight a battle wearing camouflage for once. He spotted Lieutenant Kimble's command carrier just behind his, physically marked out with extra antenna stick out its roof.
"Sergeant Adams, prepare to move out."
"Yes sir." He flipped open his visor and looked at his squad. "Alright Marines, listen up. We're about to mess it up with some Protoss in a few minutes. Now I don't know about you, but I'm not going to let some mouthless freak have his way with me like some wide-eyed Umojan virgin. We're going to go over there and kick their asses so bad their mothers will feel it. Do you get me Marines?!"
<Such noise makes it hard to concentrate.>
<I could ask the Terrans if they would be willing to cease their bombardment for your benefit,> Morlis replied, a hint of teasing behind his message.
Khelatar could not help but chuckle. <I doubt they would heed your request. And even under ideal circumstances, this method is still quite difficult to perform successfully.>
<Would that I could help, but alas my talents lie elsewhere. For all our sakes I hope you succeed.>
Morlis had a point. The Terrans had begun their attack at dawn's first light, and as Thorondin suspected their intent was to take the training ground intact. Their shells fell mostly around the perimeter, attempting to destroy the photon cannons while their advancing forces were still beyond range. Even then some of their shots were landing, probably by accident, within the training grounds. A wayward shell caused extensive damage to one of the empty dormitories while another impacted harmlessly upon the Templar Archive's shields. However, two of the six cannons had been neutralized by their shelling, while the other two could not fire because of the intervening Protoss structures. The artillery had to be stopped now.
Khelatar stood in the main surveillance room of the Observatory. Before him was projected an image of Thorondin's mesa, and the sight saddened him. It was being defiled by the dirty footprints of the Terrans, their war machines deployed along the edge and lobbing deadly shots into the distance. The Observer drone had gone unnoticed as it took up position above the Terrans and gave the High Templar a clear picture of the target.
Hamilton felt confident. Standing in the Resolute's command center, he watched on the holographic map as his men advanced towards the Protoss base. His armored advance was making good time, just four more kilometers to the target. On six viewscreens hanging from the walls around him were video feeds from his company commander's vehicles, each one showing good progress. His staff hustled around him, relying messages and compiling raw data for analysis, although he didn't need an analyst to tell him something he already knew: he was winning.
His artillery barrage had taken out most of the Protoss defenses, and so far they had yet to show their faces. Hamilton imagined the Protoss leader - Thorndin or something - hiding in a hole, wishing he had not been so proud in dealing with a 'little Terran.' Hamilton just wished he could be there to see its face when his Marines put a round through his head.
"Colonel, we've got something."
"What is it, Major?"
"Well sir," Major Earl said, looking down at one of the center's myriad of computer monitors. "It looks like there is a local meteorological disturbance forming."
"And that should matter...why?"
"Well, sir, it's highly localized right above Hill 496, and we're picking up an increasing electrical disturbance in the atmosphere.
Hamilton moved over to one of the viewscreens labeled DELTA and pressed a button below it. "Captain Jowett, respond. What is going on at your position?"
"Colonel...I...weat...unable to..."
"Captain, respond!"
There was no response. Hamilton watched as the viewscreen became increasingly static-filled. Before it finally went dead, he swore he saw something that looked like lightning.
"Hey Sarge, what the hell is that?"
Adams, still looking through the APC's cameras, turned to look back where Jenkins had indicated. The weather around Hill 496 had changed dramatically: a dark column of cloud gathered around it, and fierce winds blew dust storms up and around the mesa. His eyes suddenly widened.
"Oh hell, those poor bastards."
The first strike left a bright after-image, a flash of blue-white lightning followed by a bright yellow explosion. A dozen more quickly followed, and soon the top of the mesa was ablaze as the blue-white flash of psionic energy mixed with the burning yellow of ammunition and fuel tanks rupturing. Debris was sent flying through the air as the storm scoured the top of Hill 496. The onslaught seemed endless, but as quickly as it had formed the storm ended, the black clouds dispersing outwards.
Adams knew better. "Hang on boys and girls, we got incoming!"
Even dissipated, the storm still had enough energy to kick up a massive dust storm that soon engulfed the entire attack force. Visibility was cut down to practically nothing. The attack ground to a halt.
Hamilton could not take his gaze off the viewscreens. Two now showed nothing but a static field, the other four a raging wall of sand and debris. He couldn't raise any of his commanders on the radio, and his staff was scrambling to find a solution.
"What...what was that?"
"A psionic storm." Hamilton turned around. He didn't remember when Bennett had come in or how long he'd been standing there behind him. "A mental attack directed by the mind of a powerful Protoss commander, perhaps even the one you talked to yesterday.
"You knew they would attack with this, this psionic storm?"
"No, but I've seen it in action before, when Tarsonis fell. This one was more focused than before though. They were targeting your artillery on purpose." He stood now beside Hamilton, his eyes looking at the viewscreens as he spoke. "I've taken the liberty of dispatching transports and fighter escorts to search for survivors, but I doubt there will be many. You should expect a counter-attack soon."
It took a good fifteen minutes before the storm finally settled and radio contact was established.
"Sergeant, any casualties?"
"No, Lieutenant," Adams replied, noting with concern a hectic tone behind Kimble's voice. "Third Squad is ready to kick ass."
"Good, good. We're confirming things with command, and we should be on our way in a minute."
"Yes, sir." Adams flipped his visor up and looked around the compartment. His Marines were unharmed, but obviously shaken by the event. Experienced soldiers they might be, but this was their first time fighting the Protoss. "Alright you ladies, remember we got a job to do. They threw their first punch, and we're still standing. Now you got a reason to hit back. You get me Marines?"
Five affirmatives were heard, less confident than before, but Adams was sure they would recover.
Suddenly the carrier lurched forward and the lighting within the troop compartment turned red. Adams had to grab a handhold to steady himself and banged on the driver's hatch. "Smokes, what's up?"
"We spotted them Sarge, whole mess of-"
Lieutenant Kimble's tense voice cut in. "Platoon, enemy contact forward. Prepare to deploy in defensive formation."
"Third squad, prepare to deploy! Action forward, exit left!"
As one the Marines unplugged themselves from the APC and checked their weapons. Adams did the same, and loaded a fresh clip into his Impaler rifle. A beast of a weapon, firing steel spikes at hypersonic speeds, it could punch through even the armor of a Marine combat suit. Unfortunately, the Protoss were a lot tougher than that. The rifle's ammo counter appeared on his visor's heads-up display, flashing a reassuring five hundred rounds.
The APC came to a halt, the lighting inside turned green and the rear ramp popped open. Koite was the first out the hatch, followed by the rest as Adams brought up the rear. The sound of dozens of large-caliber cannons firing was noticeable despite his suit's sound dampeners. Their APC had stopped behind a pair of siege tanks, in between which Third Squad went prone. Adams sighted along his rifle and was surprised to see the mass of golden warriors in the distance.
"Shit, there must be a thousand of them!"
"Cut the chatter!" Adams had to fight down his own fear. Clearly there were far more Protoss here than they'd been lead to believe, as what looked like an entire army of them were closing fast on his position. Someone upstairs must've screwed up real bad this time.
The boom of two pairs of cannons was almost deafening as the Siege Tanks to either side of him let go bolts of fiery death towards the charging warriors, an act repeated up and down the line. A Goliath walker from Zeta moved up behind them and started lobbing high-explosive rounds down range from its twin arm-mounted autocannons.
Out of the charging mass of warriors came a blue bolt of energy which struck somewhere down the line to Adams' left. It was hard to tell if the shot had come from the base itself or from among the mass of advancing Protoss. The tank to his left transformed, stabilizer arms extending outwards into the ground while its turret folded inside the hull and the 120mm siege cannon emerged. Its first shot drowned out every other noise and left a ringing sound in Adams' ears.
The charging warriors were now less than a kilometer away, entering his rifle's firing range as the reticle on his HUD turned from red to yellow. A long distance away and yet still all too near. "Weapons free, fire at will!"
Third Squad unleashed everything they had with their Impalers, followed by a couple hundred more rifles. Between all the weapons being fired, a veritable wall of steel was thrown at the Protoss, and they were dying by the droves. At least, that's what Adams thought.
Closing in on four hundred meters, he could make out individual Protoss now through his visor's zoom function, could see them fall down, cut in down or blown into pieces, but something seemed off. At this distance it was hard to tell what the problem was, but it seemed like they were all blurry. A lesser mind might've rationalized it to be distortion from heat rising off the ground, but his mind seemed to balk at that suggestion. At two hundred meters, he knew something was wrong. The Protoss warriors had no clear lines, as if someone had taken a picture of them and slightly pixilated the image.
"Lieutenant, this is Adams, something seems off sir."
"...say again Sergeant?"
"Sir, I think this might be a trick. I don't think we're actually killing real Protoss, sir."
There was no reply, and Adams didn't know what to make of it. His second clip dropped to the red earth empty. Instinctively he slammed home a fresh one, and looked back up to see...nothing. The Protoss warriors that should have right in front of him had vanished. All that was left was a cloud of dust.
"Holy crap, they just disappeared!"
"Stay frosty, Marines!"
Adams didn't have time to say more. A dozen blue energy bolts suddenly shot out from the cover of the dust cloud, two of which impacted against the deployed tank on his left. There was a brilliant white light, and then darkness.
"It was a trick!" The colonel's mouth hung open. "An illusion, a...a hallucination!"
"Sir, better look at this," Major Earl said. "I don't think these are illusions."
Hamilton looked over at the major's display. There was a small group of Protoss, no more than a hundred, concentrated towards the center of his formation. They had traveled behind the mass deception, hidden by the cloud of dust created by rounds impacting harmlessly in front of them, and now were rapidly closing on his men. His formation, spread out along a kilometer-wide line as they were, could not concentrate their fire in time before impact.
"Clever," Bennett said.
Hamilton turned on him. "I'm glad you're so appreciative of our enemy, Captain, because we're going in. Right now."
Bennett raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I do not think it wise endangering your command so-"
"I will not leave my men out there to die, Captain! Now you either bring the Resolute into the fight, or I will have you relieved of command. Sergeant Major!"
Curran moved up behind the captain, towering over the elderly figure. Bennett's eyes however focused squarely on Hamilton.
"Colonel Hamilton, I will not be party to a command that will recklessly endanger my men, my ship or myself. I respectfully refuse to obey your order."
"You damn coward! Damn traitorous Confederate! Disobeying your commander in a time of war is punishable by death, and I will see you hanged when we return."
"For all our sakes, I hope we live long enough to see a court martial."
Hamilton pointed at Curran. "Take him to the brig, now!"
Curran moved to grab the captain by the shoulder, but Bennett spun around to face him. "I know the way to my own brig." He walked out, followed closely behind by Curran with his hand on his sidearm.
Hamilton took a deep breath. Finally he was in complete control, no one looking over his shoulder with those judgmental eyes, the clear stink of jealousy on his breath. Now he would get some valuable experience commanding a warship personally, experience for when he would finally be assigned his own battlecruiser from which to command. Perhaps it would be the Resolute herself. He walked over to the intercom and pushed the a button. "Bridge, this is Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton. I have assumed command of this ship and am issuing a direct order to bring her into the battle. You will execute this order or you will find yourself under arrest for treason. Understood?!"
Khelatar found Mirlos resting in the shadow of the Templar Archive, his back against the vast main doors of the sacred structure. The High Templar's eyes were dim when he looked up at Khelatar.
<Most impressive, Mirlos. Few could have done better. I do not believe even I could have accomplished such a feat.>
<Neither do I - you were always lacking when it came to creating hallucinations in your enemy's minds.> Khelatar could feel the goodhearted nature of the jab. <I only hope it is enough.>
<It is,> Khelatar replied, looking behind his resting friend at the Archive doors. <Our efforts and the sacrifices of our brethren has bought us the time we need.>
"Then all we have left to do is wait."
Adams' head was still spinning when he finally came to, lying on his side with his back against a Siege Tank. He faintly recalled being thrown into the air by an explosion, and his back screamed with pain as he sat up. Thankfully it hadn't been broken, according to his suit's monitors, though it felt otherwise. He initiated a self-diagnostic scan and found his suit still operating within acceptable parameters. He did the same with his rifle and let out a sigh of relief as it said the same thing.
He looked around and saw devastation. Jones and Ling were lying dead on the ground, both cut in half, and the rest of Third Squad nowhere in sight. There were the bodies of other Marines, and a few dead Protoss, scattered about as well. The Siege Tank which had blown up and sent him flying was now just a pile of scrap metal. The one he was currently leaning on seemed in little better shape, fire blazing from within its hull through gash marks cut into it.
"Third Squad, report! Smokes, where are you? Lieutenant Kimble?"
A sound caught his attention, and he looked to his left to see a Protoss warrior grappling with a Goliath walker. The alien's golden armor gleamed in the sunlight as it maintained a firm grip on the walker's main body with one arm. The other was raised above its head, a blue energy blade emanating from the forearm guard. It didn't look like its shields were working, but that didn't matter anymore. The Goliath pilot was desperately trying to shake it off, his weapons firing uselessly into the air, but to no avail. The warrior plunged the blade deep into the walker's cockpit, and the machine went still before finally slumping in death.
Adams knew he was next. He swung his rifle around, selected the attached grenade launcher, and fired off a round. The shot went wide however, and the warrior looked back at him with surprise and anger.
"Ah crap."
Adams desperately tried to fire another grenade, but it was too late. The Protoss pulled itself up over the walker and somersaulted out of sight behind it. Adams stood up as fast as he could, knowing the Protoss would come back around to finish him off, and froze. There was a crushing sound right behind him, and slowly he turned to look.
It was one of their walkers, larger than a Goliath with a low flat body on four clawed legs. Its golden form was crawling atop the ruined tank as black sensor orbs regarded him cooly. He took a step back as an aperture on top of the machine opened to reveal a glowing sphere, apparently charging up for attack.
Adams ran. If he could just get behind the other Siege Tank, he might live another nine seconds.
Too late, he remembered the Protoss warrior.
All he saw was the blue flash of its energy blade slicing through his rifle, and then a backhanded strike that sent him sprawling on his side. His vision went hazy for a moment and a new shot of pain ran down his spinal cord. When he looked back up the warrior towered over him, energy blades extended from both forearm devices, reading to deliver the killing blow.
Instead it exploded, struck on its back by a high explosive round. When he brought his hands down from covering his face Adams saw the two Goliath walkers marching towards him, their guns now turned on the Protoss walker as their shells passed a meter above his fallen form. Rolling out of their line of fire, he looked up to watch their shots impact against the machine's shields. It finally charged its main weapon to full power and unleashed a blue bolt that struck the nearest Goliath dead center, blowing it apart and leaving behind a pair of mechanical legs. The second walker continued marching forward, autocannons blazing, and finally brought down the enemy's shields. Rounds now blew off chunks of armor, until one finally punch through into the center and went off in a wet, squishy explosion. The Protoss machine, its pilot dead, slid off its perch and landed on the ground like a dead spider.
Adams finally sat up and saw more Terran vehicles approaching, including a number of APCs. One of them was Kimble's command carrier.
"Sergeant, are you injured?"
"Just a little banged up, sir," he replied, grabbing a discarding Impaler from off the ground. "But I've lost contact on my squad. Are they with you?"
Even over the radio the lieutenant's anxiousness was palpable, along with a sense of exhaustion. "Everything's gone to hell, sergeant. Command staff got wiped out, Captain Anderson included, along with half the company, and most of the rest are unaccounted for. Word's come down from battalion, the uninjured continue on to the Protoss base now or the colonel has us all shot. Seems serious about it this time. Hop on."
Mirlos stood now, somewhat replenished from his earlier efforts, alongside Khelatar before the Archive gates. The Terran forced advanced on them, though it was greatly reduced from what it had been. He counted less than twenty of their war machines, some showing the scars of battle, kicking up a plum of dust as they rolled or walked their way through the base. He felt pride at the damage his outnumbered warriors had caused before finding a noble end in battle.
Yet a shadow covered them in darkness, a shadow caused by something that gave Mirlos pause. The Terran warship had entered the fight and even now hovered over its warriors like a protective mother. Cautiously the Terrans maneuvered around the Protoss structures, expecting ambush around every corner. There was none to greet them.
Finally they came to a stop, a dozen or so meters before the Archive gate. Terran warriors poured out from their transports and formed a semicircle around him and Khelatar along with their machines. They were haggard, some even injured, but many remained determined. Mirlos could respect that in an opponent.
The warship came to a rest right above its brood. Dozens of weapons, from the ground and the air, trained their aim on the two High Templar. Mirlos could see great power assembled in front of him.
Behind him, he sensed an even greater power taking form.
<You have been a good friend, Khelatar.>
<The honor is mine, brother.>
<Warriors of the Terran Dominion!> Khelatar announced to the assembled foe, taking a step forward. <Bravely have you fought today, but to continue further will spell certain doom for you. You have but one chance to save yourselves. Leave this place, and swear oaths to never return, or perish! The choice is yours.>
"What's going on? Is it saying something?"
Hamilton had moved his command post to the Resolute's bridge. He needed to keep an eye on Bennett's officers, in case they were as traitorous as him. He'd also brought some Marines to enforce the point. Now he stood, leaning on a nearby console as he stared at the main viewscreen which showed a video feed from the ground below.
"It's...it's demanding that we leave, sir, and never come back," came back Captain Littlefield's shaky voice.
He couldn't help it. Hamilton began to laugh, slowly at first but then faster and louder. Everyone on the bridge began to look at him with concern, but he couldn't see.
The sheer audacity of these things! His main attack force decimated, two-thirds dead, wounded or unaccounted for, along with dozens of vehicles destroyed or damaged. He witnessed firsthand the devastation caused to Hill 496 as they passed by it, and the report from the rescue flyers was still in his hand: just twelve survivors. Twelve out of more than a hundred! His battalion had nearly been wiped out, and they just wanted him to up and leave like nothing had happened? Surely their fall from power was completely the fault of their own arrogance.
"Captain, I order you to kill those things. Kill them now!"
Adams didn't feel any hate, any anger, any fear or satisfaction when the order came down to open fire. He was too tired, too much in pain, and too worried about the fate of his men to care. It was with a detached feeling that he pulled the trigger, pumped dozens of rounds into the two Protoss' bodies, watch their ragged corpses collapse onto the ground.
Perhaps now they could finish-
He screamed out in pain, the sudden pressure in his head threatening to burst it open like an overripe melon. Between his cries of anguish he was dimly aware of all those around him in similar pain, everyone dropping to the ground in agony. He knew, on some deep level, that something terrible had just been born in that archive building, something ancient and powerful beyond his comprehension. Slowly the pain subsided, but not the sense of danger coming from within.
Suddenly the building's doors blew out with enough force to send them flying dozens of meters into the air. In the doorway stood a luminous being, vaguely humanoid but surrounded by a corona of brilliant light, and its mental voice was deep and radiant as it spoke.
<Power overwhelming!>
The being that was once Thorondin and Seregtil knew its time was limited. The melding of two High Templar into one being, an Archon, was an ancient and powerful ritual. The sum total of their mental energies was combined and multiplied a thousand fold to create a being of stellar powers. But in the process their mortal bodies had perished, and once their brilliant energy was spent so where they.
It was an act of sacrifice, Thorondin/Seregtil knew. Archons were used in times of great need, against impossible odds, where the few sacrificed themselves for the many. So it had been in the memory strand they had access that morning, reminded of a time where a few Templar had sacrificed themselves to win an unwinnable battle and save their people. So it would be now, except this time they would save their legacy.
With a wave of their hand raw psionic energy pulsed outwards to destructive effects. Marines, Siege Tanks, Goliaths, all were equally erased from existence, their final resting places recorded by scorch marks on the ground. Seeing the universe through new eyes, where the entire electromagnetic spectrum was perceptible, even these brutal violent acts created beautiful works of art, masterpieces that disappeared as quickly as they were formed. If only they had been a poet.
But their work was not complete. Hovering above, casting shadows in dimensions beyond mortal understanding, was the Terran battlecruiser Resolute. It was time to deal with the problem.
Hamilton did not know what to believe anymore.
This...thing had appeared. It was Protoss yet so much more. Terribly beautiful, or beautifully terrible, he couldn't say. Then it started killing - no, slaughtering his men. Fire from their weapons impacted as harmlessly as spitballs against the thing, while with a wave of its hands dozens were blasted to fiery bits instantly. There seemed almost no way to stop it.
He clenched his fist. "Stop dying you cowards!"
"Sir?" Major Earl was, like everyone else watching on the bridge, awestruck by the being below, and had not fully heard him.
"Prepare to fire the Yamato cannon! Do it or we all die!"
The Yamato cannon, the most powerful weapon on a Terran battlecruiser, concentrated the explosion of a nuclear device through magnetic fields into a devastating beam. Hamilton knew it would surely kill this abomination. There couldn't exist any other outcome.
Thorondin/Seregtil knew what was happening as the Resolute angled downward to point its bow at them. Bordering on madness he may be, but its new captain was correct. They would not survive a full blast from the Yamato cannon. But then they had never meant to survive anyways.
Their final shot would use up all of their life energy, and as the tremendous power was concentrated between their hands they observed as energy coalesced around the Resolute's bow, forming the crude containment field to channel the nuclear device's explosion. They peered past that, through layers of metal and electrical circuits, saw it clearly. The cannon itself, its control system, its capacitors, coolant system and focusing array. And right there, like a stain on a fresh dress, was the weak point.
The Resolute had nearly finished charging the cannon, but Thorondin/Seregtil were faster. With a brightness to rival a super they released their attack. A beam of energy so intense as to be colorless punched straight through meters of Neosteel armor, several decks, and one engineer who was certain he had bad luck and wondered if he should have taken the opportunity to transfer last year.
They hit the target dead-on.
With enough life left to watch the events of their final seconds unfold, the Archon saw as the magnetic fields began collapsing, the sounding of warning systems and officers rushing to figure out what had happened and what went wrong. They watched as men attempted to stop the process, realized belatedly that they could not, and the horrible realization of their imminent death. They prayed to religious deities, wished they had lived better lives, felt relief they would not have to worry about gambling debts anymore, wondered if they would feel pain. Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Hamilton, scion of Dominion nobility, remained convinced he would one day rise to command the Marine Corps. Captain Richard Bennet sat in a lonely cell and thought about Elizabeth.
Finally, the nuclear device detonated.
The Resolute and surrounding Protoss base were utterly destroyed, as was the surrounding terrain for kilometers around. Thorondin/Seregtil, holding onto that last strand of consciousness before vaporization, were both saddened and pleased. Too many had died needlessly, on both sides, because of greed and fear and shortsightedness. But now the knowledge of the Protoss was safe, beyond the reach of those who would abuse that which they could not fully comprehend. Its physical presence had been obliterated, but it had not been truly destroyed. In death, they and all the others who died today would live on through the Khala, beyond the reach of foreign schemes, and so long as one Protoss lived that repository of knowledge and experience would continue.
As the nuclear fireball that was the bodies of Terrans and Protoss broiled upwards high into the atmosphere, a silence descended upon the planet of Ruindor.
This silence was reassuring.