StarCraft

by Timothy Zahn

  He was out of the throne room before she could come up with a reply.

  —

  When Arcturus Mengsk named himself emperor of the newly declared Terran Dominion, he began work on a war room that he hoped would be impervious to any conceivable attack. Valerian wasn’t sure he’d completely achieved that goal, but he had to admit his father had taken a highly impressive run at it.

  The Bunker, as it was universally called inside the palace, was a hundred meters underground, surrounded by multiple layers of reinforced plascrete and lead supplemented by mu-metal and superconducting meshes. Its air and water were filtered down to the molecular level. Its exterior was grounded against electromagnetic pulses and charged particle radiation, and it was a good fifty meters deeper than any protoss planetary incineration anyone had ever seen. It had instant communications with the entire planet and every ship and orbiting station in the system, it was stocked with small-arms weapons and loyal men and women who knew how to use them, and it had living quarters, food, and water for a hundred people to wait out a ten-year siege.

  So why, Valerian thought as he passed through the final door, did he still feel as exposed as if he were strolling through the palace’s rooftop garden?

  There were half a dozen men and women waiting in the Combat Information Center when Valerian arrived: the top people in Korhal’s planetary defense system and the Dominion’s war-making machine. Six of the nine comm displays that wrapped around the emperor’s chair connected him with other senior officers elsewhere in the system.

  The remaining three displays showed images of the incoming leviathan.

  Valerian frowned as he seated himself. Common wisdom and experience said that leviathans never traveled alone. But if this one had friends, they were certainly taking their time about making an appearance. “Admiral Horner,” he called with proper respect and protocol toward Screen One. “What’s our situation?”

  Admiral Matt Horner, who’d been half turned to talk to someone else on the Hyperion’s bridge, pivoted back to the comm camera. “Emperor Valerian,” he said, greeting the emperor with equal formality. “Situation is…puzzling. The leviathan’s been transmitting a message on three separate frequencies—the signal’s a bit faint, but we’ve got a good scrub. Here it is.”

  He reached somewhere offscreen, and his face was replaced with that of a zerg queen.

  All zerg had a definite nightmare quality about them, with bodies that seemed composed mainly of bony plates, spikes, and flesh-ripping claws. But terran brains were adept at seeing patterns that perhaps weren’t really there, and most people tended to look at zerg in terms of familiar creatures: giant spiders, armored slugs, or huge, bat-winged wasps.

  Queens were a special case, though. There, the almost universal reaction was that someone had taken a centaur out of Old Earth legend, replaced the human torso with a section of centipede, and replaced the lower, equine part with a giant, nightmarishly armored crab.

  And with that image came the memories. All of them. The horrors of the war. The animalistic excesses of the zerg, the sometimes arrogant excesses of the protoss, and the brutal, uncaring excesses of the terrans themselves. All the death and destruction, all the pain and suffering, flowing through Valerian’s mind like a river of acid.

  The history books too often made it seem as if the suffering ended when the fighting stopped. Valerian knew better now. Between the slow, costly reconstruction of devastated planets and the lingering pain of lost friends and loved ones, the bitter aftermath went on for years after the guns and mechs fell silent.

  The Terran Dominion was still a long way from digging itself out of the last war. If the zerg now proposed to start a new one…

  “I am Mukav,” a deep voice rasped.

  Someone in the room gave a startled mutter, and even Valerian felt his eyes narrow. Zerg queens typically couldn’t communicate verbally. Had someone been playing with queen genetics again?

  “I bring a greeting. I bring a message. I bring an urgent request. I am Mukav. I bring a greeting. I bring a message. I bring an urgent request.”

  The display cleared, and Matt was back. “And that’s it,” he said. “It just keeps repeating.”

  “Transmit loop?”

  “I don’t think so,” Matt said. “I’ve watched a few rounds, and there are slight changes in her face and stance. I think she’s just sitting there, repeating the message and waiting for us to answer.”

  “Any idea how she’s communicating with us?” Valerian asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Matt said. “The transmitter she’s using is running the same protocols as the comm system from an old Valkyrie.”

  “Really,” Valerian said. The United Earth Directorate’s foray into the Koprulu sector years ago had not exactly gone according to their expectations. Between Kerrigan’s zerg Swarm, the protoss, and the Dominion itself, none of the UED’s forces had survived to report back to the motherland. Most of their prized Valkyrie space frigates had been destroyed, but a fair number had fallen into Dominion hands. “The zerg have never used tech before.”

  “They may not be doing it now, either,” Matt said. “It’s the same protocols, but it’s not a Valkyrie system. Best guess is that they scavenged one, studied it, and then put together their own version. Along with a zerg psi-to-transmitter interface.”

  “Impressive,” Valerian murmured. Still, the protoss had to be doing something similar with their own psionics in order to communicate with terrans over terran comm systems.

  No one had yet figured out how that worked. Odds were, they wouldn’t crack this new zerg system very quickly, either.

  “But it gets better,” Matt continued. “I had a couple of Wraiths do a flyby, and nearly all of the leviathan’s surface chambers and passages are open to space.”

  Valerian frowned. “They’re open? As in, there’s nothing in those chambers?”

  “That’s how it looks,” Matt said. “Though that doesn’t take into account the interior spaces—there could be other zerg lurking in there. Mukav has to be in one of those, too, of course.”

  “Yes,” Valerian said, eyeing the displays. Leviathans were huge things, bigger even than protoss motherships.

  But the outer chambers were the key to quick troop deployment. If they were all open to space, that would seem to indicate Mukav wasn’t part of an attack. Or at least not part of a quick attack.

  “There could also be mutalisks in the open chambers,” Valerian pointed out. “They should be able to take hard vacuum this long.”

  “Absolutely,” Matt agreed. “Wraith sensors can’t penetrate deep enough to see all the way inside.”

  Valerian pursed his lips. This whole thing could be a trick. But subtlety wasn’t usually the zerg’s strong suit. Their preferred approach was to throw in huge numbers and survive or perish as the fates of battle decided. “I suppose we ought to see what she wants,” he said.

  “We’re ready to go,” Matt said.

  “Good.” Valerian squared his shoulders. “Open transmission.”

  “Transmission open.”

  “This is Emperor Valerian Mengsk of the Terran Dominion,” Valerian said, pitching his voice as regally as possible. He had no idea whether Mukav would even notice his tone, but it couldn’t hurt. “Tell me your urgent request.”

  The zerg’s verbal loop continued for a couple of words, then broke off. “The request is not mine,” she said. “The request is from Zagara, Overqueen of the Swarm.”

  Valerian frowned. Overqueen? That was a new one.

  “The Overqueen asks the aid of the Terran Dominion in protecting the planet Gystt from the protoss,” Mukav continued. “The Overqueen offers peace to both protoss and terrans. The Swarm desires only to be left alone. Will you help us? What is your answer?”

  “One moment,” Valerian said, trying hard to maintain his regal tone. The surprises were coming way too fast today. “Mute, please, Admiral.”

  There was a quiet tone from the board. “Mut
ed,” Matt confirmed.

  “Your thoughts?”

  “I wish I had some,” Matt admitted, looking more bemused than Valerian had ever seen him. “A zerg, asking us for help? And against the protoss? Not exactly your everyday occurrence.”

  “Agreed,” Valerian said. The war had ended with a three-way cease-fire. And after Zagara forcibly laid claim to the systems around Char, leaving everyone else wondering as to her future intentions, Valerian had assumed she would try to keep as low a profile as possible. Something very serious must be going on for her to come to the Dominion for help.

  “Let’s see if we can sift a little sense out of it,” he suggested. “Starting with this planet Gystt. Has anyone ever heard of it?”

  There was a short pause. Some of the men and women on the displays shook their heads; others lowered their eyes as they focused on their respective computers or datapads.

  “Emperor Valerian?” the woman on Screen Five finally said. Valerian didn’t recognize her, but she was wearing the collar flashes of a major in the ghost program. “Our protoss expert tells me that Gystt was a planet they incinerated just after the cleansing of Chau Sara.”

  “That’s one word for it.” The barely audible voice came from somewhere in the group of officers in the Bunker.

  “Comment?” Valerian asked, swiveling toward the officers. His eyes came to rest on Colonel Abram Cruikshank. “Colonel Cruikshank?”

  Cruikshank’s lip twitched. “My apologies, Emperor Valerian,” he said. “I was merely wondering how reliable this data was.”

  “I think a protoss ought to know his own history,” Valerian reminded him mildly.

  “Wait a minute,” Matt put in, frowning. “A protoss? You mean Ulavu? I thought he’d gone.”

  “No, he’s still here,” Valerian said firmly, putting an edge of warning in his voice.

  Matt, at least, got the message. “I see,” he said. “Okay, so Gystt’s a burnt-off planet. We know anything else?”

  “One major continent constitutes about half the total landmass,” the major said. “Two smaller continents and islands make up the rest. Thirty-hour day. The main continent is equatorial, with two mountain ranges—”

  “Yes, fine,” Matt said, cutting her off. “Do we have anything that would suggest why Zagara might set up shop there?”

  “Nothing Ulavu knows about,” the major said. “Maybe she hoped everyone would assume the place was harmless and ignore it.”

  “Possibly,” Valerian said. “The more immediate question is why she needs or wants protection.” He gestured. “Put me back on.”

  “Go ahead, sir.”

  “Tell me about your problem with the protoss,” Valerian said to Mukav. “What are you doing on Gystt that has them upset?”

  “The Overqueen asks the aid of the Terran Dominion in protecting the planet Gystt from the protoss,” Mukav said. “The Overqueen offers peace to both protoss and terrans. The Swarm desires only to be left alone. Will you help us? What is your answer?”

  Valerian frowned. That was the same thing she’d just said. “Admiral?”

  “Not reading any transmission problems at this end,” Matt said, his forehead wrinkled, his eyes flicking back and forth across his displays. “Try it again—we’ll try adjusting the slip-pattern a bit.”

  Valerian nodded. “What is Zagara doing on Gystt that has the protoss upset?”

  “The Overqueen asks the aid of the Terran Dominion in protecting the planet Gystt from the protoss. The Overqueen offers peace to both protoss and terrans. The Swarm desires only to be left alone. Will you help us? What is your answer?”

  “Terrific,” Cruikshank muttered. “Zagara sent us a panbrain.”

  Valerian gestured, and the transmission went to mute. “Or deliberately sent someone with a limited response set so that we wouldn’t waste time sitting around here discussing it,” he said. “Rather heightens the urgency of the message.”

  “Or is designed to get us to jump without knowing how deep the water is,” Matt warned. “This could be a trick to drag us out into the middle of nowhere.”

  “To what end?” Valerian countered. “We’re certainly not going to leave the Dominion defenseless.”

  “Or be defenseless ourselves,” Cruikshank put in. “I assume you’ll be sending a full battle force, Emperor Valerian.”

  Valerian studied Mukav’s image. Sitting motionless, alone, and supposedly helpless aboard an otherwise deserted leviathan, waiting for the Dominion’s answer to Zagara’s plea. If this was a trick, it was well outside the zerg norm.

  But Zagara had been an apprentice of the Queen of Blades, once known as Sarah Kerrigan, who’d been a powerful and highly skilled terran ghost before she was infested by the zerg. Could Kerrigan have taught her this kind of advanced subtlety?

  Or at least taught her the right words to get what she wanted?

  He signaled for transmission. “Mukav, this is Emperor Mengsk,” he said. “Who leads the protoss force that threatens you?”

  “The Overqueen asks the aid of the Terran Dominion in protecting the planet Gystt from the protoss. The Overqueen offers peace to both protoss and terrans. The Swarm desires only to be left alone. Will you help us? What is your answer?” Mukav tilted her head, as if thinking. “The protoss force is led by Hierarch Artanis.”

  Matt whistled softly. “Artanis himself is leading the charge? Interesting.”

  “It is indeed,” Valerian agreed. And with that, he realized there really was no decision to make.

  He didn’t trust the zerg Swarm. That went double for Zagara, who’d been Kerrigan’s closest disciple and ally among the zerg. Even at her best, Kerrigan had been something of a maverick. At her worst, she’d been a traitor. If Zagara was running a game here, it was likely to be a nasty one.

  But if following up on Mukav’s invitation meant some quality time with Artanis, it would definitely be worth the risk.

  The Dominion was hurting. There were food and housing shortages and untold numbers of permanently maimed and psychologically fractured veterans, and reconstructing the more seriously damaged worlds was putting heavy pressure on the rest.

  But in their own way, the protoss were hurting just as badly. Their numbers had been devastated by the war. The Khala that had once psionically bound them together as a race had been shattered and lost, and at least one fringe protoss faction had rejected Artanis’s attempts to reunify their species and had headed off on its own.

  The protoss had a long and honorable history, plus technology that was in many ways far superior to the terran versions. On the other hand, the Dominion was no slouch in the tech department, either, and terrans furthermore had a long history of tenacious and creative problem-solving. Together, Valerian had no doubt, the Dominion and the protoss could come up with solutions to their respective problems.

  But to do that—to even broach the subject—Valerian needed to at least make the offer to Artanis. And so far, Artanis had been too preoccupied to sit down for that sort of conversation.

  Maybe the space above Gystt was where they would finally have the necessary time.

  And if Artanis wasn’t there, it would prove that Kerrigan had taught Zagara how to manipulate terrans in general and Valerian in particular.

  He signaled again for mute. “Admiral, how fast can the Hyperion be ready to travel?”

  “Two hours,” Matt said promptly. He’d been a friend and ally of Valerian’s far too long to have missed the signs that his emperor had come to a decision. “Maybe three, depending on what size ground force you want.”

  “We shouldn’t need much of anything,” Valerian said. “Whatever we end up doing, we’ll be doing it from orbit.”

  “Forgive me, Emperor, but that’s not a good idea,” Cruikshank said. He had his datapad out and was typing rapidly on it. “Unknown situations are notorious for not playing out the way everyone expects.”

  “He’s right,” Matt seconded. “Even if we don’t get planetside, we’ll want some mar
ines and a few heavier units that can be deployed at onboard choke points in the event of an orbital attack and breach. Colonel, what can you pull together in three hours?”

  “A couple of platoons of the 934th Marines are available on short notice,” Cruikshank said. “I can add in one of my goliath squads and maybe a few Warhounds. Reapers…nothing but a couple of raw training groups in the area. But I’ve got a double handful of reserves I can call up. That’s the minimum force size I’d recommend.”

  “Very well,” Valerian said. Preparing to defend against a breach seemed slightly paranoid. Still, Cruikshank had a point about unknown situations. “What kind of orbital force are we looking at?”

  “The Hyperion is nearly ready,” Matt reported. “Phobos and Titan are an hour behind us; Fury, Circe, and Cerberus are four.”

  “Good,” Valerian said. “We’ll head out in three hours; Fury and the others can catch up. You’ll need to ask Mukav for Gystt’s coordinates.”

  “She already sent them,” Matt said. “Major Vitkauskas also sent me Ulavu’s numbers, and they match.”

  “Good,” Valerian said again. “Speaking of Ulavu, tell Major Vitkauskas I want him prepped to join us. We might need someone on our side with a protoss perspective on the Swarm.”

  Matt’s eyes widened, just noticeably. “Ah…I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” he said, lowering his voice as if there weren’t already fifty other people listening in on the conversation. “If Hierarch Artanis is going to be there, it could be…awkward.”

  “It’ll be all right,” Valerian said firmly. Whatever Ulavu’s problems with the rest of the protoss were, there was a mystery to unravel. Valerian had been a researcher himself long enough to know that vital information and insight could come from the most unexpected sources. “Three hours, ladies and gentlemen. Make them count.”

  —

  Three hours later, with Mukav in her leviathan leading the way, the Hyperion and its escort ships made the jump to the Gystt system.