84 – Nonequivalent Exchange
They called him Captain Hardass when they thought he couldn't overhear them. His real name, of course, was Clemson Steele, but he knew for a fact that he'd more than earned the name due to his dedication to discipline and proper procedure. Others in the Umojan Navy might have been more relaxed, but Clemson had fought in the Guild Wars and then again when the zerg first appeared. All anyone wanted to talk about was all the Confederate worlds that had been lost to the alien menace, they liked to ignore the fact that the zerg had been
all over the Korprulu Sector. Umoja and the worlds around it hadn't been spared that flame. Even so they faced a drop in the bucket compared to what the others went through, or at least that's what everyone said.
Considering the fact that Clemson had lost his eye and half of his face to a hydralisk, he figured that he had just gotten the worst fucking part of the goddamn drop in the fighting.
"Captain on the bridge!"
He paused, and waited for the salutes accorded to him by protocol before stepping forward towards his XO.
"Mary Anne, anything on the scanners?"
"Nothing yet, Captain," she replied as the two of them walked towards the viewport, to gaze out at the stars in front of them.
"Five hours out here, waiting in the black, for a
pirate," he muttered, "What has the universe come to."
"Don't know. But the chance for some intact and exotic protoss technology…
exotic for protoss…is worth a lot, don't you think?" she piped up as she peered at the darkness.
Clemson snorted and then began walking back towards the captain's chair.
"Frankly, I'm not even fully convinced that this is the real thing," he grunted as he sat down heavily in the leather seat.
"We've seen the tapes from Deadman's Port. If those weren't energy shields, personalized for a single human, then what were they? Not to mention the plasma blasts their ship let off when their deal went sour."
All around them, he carefully let the wash of the usual bridge activity wash over him, calming him with the knowledge that everyone was doing their duties to the best of their abilities. The marines on the bridge were not engaging in useless chatter, so near as he could at least
hear, meaning that they were maintaining a radio channel inside their suits or something likely. Either way, he didn't need needless conversation clogging up what might be an important report or message from passing through.
"Not the point. Someone trying to sell of protoss technology should have known that Deadman's Port would have swarmed over them to get at it. The only reason we know about it at
all is from one," he looked at Mary Anne and held up his finger for emphasis, "
One single shadowguard."
"One of our best," was the rejoinder, and at that he slumped slightly in the chair, acknowledging the defeat. "Whoever they have, they have a psychic," she continued, "And they
knew that the Protectorate is desperate for anything protoss-related."
Clemson snorted, his a fist clenching slightly as he leaned forward to prop his chin upon one of it as he pulled a datapad from his side to turn on and gaze at the video in question.
"Bunch of xenophiles, falling over themselves to have the protoss 'enlighten' us," he grunted. "And now we're taking what might as well be
trinkets for all we know…in exchange for
what?"
Mary Anne hummed and tapped a button on the armrest of her own chair, bringing up the fleet tracking system on the console in the center of the bridge. On it were five battlecruisers, and plenty more wraiths besides that were in stealth mode, held just out of range of the system ready to warp in at the first sign of trouble. For the moment, the
Freedom's Ring was entirely alone save for its strike craft compliment.
"We don't actually know what they want, yet. If they pull something stupid, we'll take the protoss tech and buzz off immediately. If they
don't, and it's something we can afford, then why not?" she glanced at him, "It's not like we don't need every edge we can get to keep the Dominion off our backs."
He just grunted at that. He knew she was right, but that didn't mean that it was something he was happy about. The founding principle of the Protectorate was its independence, and surrendering their ability to make their own future and see to their own defense in favor of slavering over all things protoss itched at his pride. Not enough to make him not admit that they really did need every advantage they could get against someone as terrifyingly demanding as Mengsk. Anyone who bleated that insane ideology that he somehow had the 'right' to rule over
all of humanity was someone that Umoja could use a few protoss guns or shields against at the very least.
The tranquility of a calm and orderly bridge, one of his more savored sensations in his existence, came to an abrupt end as proximity alarms began blaring.
"Four
Behemoth-class battlecruisers just jumped into the system, and they…," the officer stammered before returning with, "They've got a bunch of protoss
ships between them!"
"What?!"
"We're getting a communication from the lead vessel!"
"What is
that thing stuck in the middle!?"
Pandemonium had erupted, the tac-screen displaying the vessels in question outlined in green and red, before Clemson slammed his fest against it hard enough to make the image flicker slightly.
"EVERYONE QUIET!" he bellowed, "Get our tac fighters in a proper screen, open communications, and remain at your posts!" Only then did he quiet, and calmly folded his arms behind his back once again. "Everyone remain calm. Helm, are they adopting an aggressive posture in any way?"
"Uh," the young ensign flicked her eyes from her console and back up to him, "No sir. They're just…sitting there."
"Hmm."
He breathed deeply as his comm officer finally got the wherewithal to press the right button to reveal a dark skinned man with the most absolutely ridiculous hat he had ever seen perched atop his head. Was that…solid gold?
"AHOY!" the man boomed before granting Clemson a view of his pearly whites in a wide grin. "Be you the Umojans we were told to expect?"
Clearing his throat, Clemson nodded.
"I am Captain Steele of the
Freedom's Ring, of the Umojan Protectorate. You are…Captain Mann…of," he deeply desired to sigh in disgust be instead kept his distaste for the man out of his voice and expression, "MannCo?"
The insanity of a pirate and mercenary gang calling themselves a corporation in any manner offended him, if was honest. It reminded him of the Combine and their cruelties.
"Indeed. See, way out there, in th' void 'tween the starrrs," Mann drew out the word, "I found myself a Tal'darim fleet, and figured…I could probably find someone who wants some o' the booty!"
"Tal'darim," Clemson raised an eyebrow, "Not the protoss?"
At that, Mann rolled his eyes.
"Tal'darim
are protoss, yah poofy white suit-wearing boy. They've got sects and
tribes, don't you know anything about the protoss?"
In point of fact, Clemson did
not know that. And he was willing to bet that this conversation would be heavily dissected and checked over by analysts on Umoja.
"Besides, the protoss that yer folks want to shack up with ain't Tal'darim. Tal'darim are a crazy militant cult, and that's the best part about this. You get protoss tech, and ya don't run th' risk o' offending Artanis's bunch!"
It seemed entirely too good to be true. This entire occasion
screamed to his instincts that the universe shouldn't be offering up things like this. Of course, that was exactly what he had been sent here to investigate and verify.
"Right," he finally replied. "And yet this entire time, you've not specified a price, yet. You already offered us a 'taste' in the shuttle containing the probes and warrior armors, now you offer a small
fleet. All the while, you've not specified a price."
It was a trap. It simply
had to be a trap.
"Yep!" Mann said cheerfully before his expression grew serious. "
Now we talk about price. Now, I'm not the kind of guy who is too cutthroat in business. I don't do fucking around with people who I might be selling to, I don't do slavery or any of that shit. Nah. Nah, the reason I'm willing to dump
all of this on Umoja to pick apart with glee, is for one reason."
Clemson's fingers twitched to hit the button that would summon in the fleet.
"I'm giving you five Tal'darim modified void rays, three carriers, and an honest to goodness mothership…for my girl here," he finished before pulling a girl into frame.
She was dressed, perhaps unsurprisingly, in the same sort of equipment that a ghost might – though not that of a shadowguard. Her expression was…largely unreadable, though Clemson noted the total lack of guns on her as she gazed at them from across the way. This, surely then, had to be the surprisingly powerful psychic that had been noted by the shadowguard that had been stationed on Deadman's Port for information gathering. Initial psi-index projections were a
solid 10.
"This here is Yuriko, and she's feeling…like she wants to get some
proper psychic training," Mann jostled her slightly though the girl only rolled her eyes and let a small smile on her face display how largely unbothered she was by the man.
"The Dominion says that it accepts all psychics, regardless of their strength," Clemson said mildly, tapping his fingers in a slow beat at his side.
"The
Dominion's Ghost Program has mandatory bullshit tha' neither she," Mann pointed at the now named Yuriko, "Nor I," he pointed his thumb at himself, "Are much into. I hear th' Umoja's program is better."
It was, in Clemson's not so humble opinion, but even so.
"You want an entirely unregistered psychic, of extreme power, and complete lack of loyalty to Umoja, to just…be accepted into the Shadowguard Academy," he drawled. "Who comes from a man with
no records up until half a year ago when you showed up over New Trinidad."
Mann only grinned at that.
"Aye. Because I'm giving you
all of this," he gestured as if to somehow encapsulate the massive hunks of metal, glass, and crystal held protectively at the center of his fleet. "
And," he cocked his head, "I can get you more. I'm willing to start a relationship lad, up to and beyond dealing in protoss tech."
Clemson narrowed his eyes at the smile on Mann's face and the apparently untrained psychic at his side. She was far older than most who were brought into the academy, definitely in her mid-twenties. He was just a captain, he didn't find himself interacting with shadowguards on a daily basis, and had in fact
never met one before. But he knew of them. Had seen one on a single newscast once though they had obviously never been identified.
"I will have to…speak to my government on this, of course."
"Of course, of course," Mann nodded vigorously before winking at him, "Course we'll have to keep our hands on all this largely pristine protoss tech in our custody until a decision is made by the by."
The communication ended and Clemson was already barking out orders to speak with the Ruling Council about all of this.
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"If they accept me…you'll come back, right?" she looked over at Mann who had previously been reclining in a nearby bridge throne with his fingers laced behind his head.
At her words he flopped onto his feet and walked over to her, his smile no longer the grossly exaggerated ones he put on for anyone else watching.
"Of course," he ruffled her hair in the way she knew he knew she hated, "And I'll keep a close eye on you the whole time. You getting a small guard compliment is…non-negotiable," his eyes turned wintery as he said that before the warmth returned to them. "Besides, you
did get plenty of your own military training. You're not going in there wet behind the ears or anything. You know that right?"
"Right," she fidgeted slightly before pushing away from him to lean go sit down herself and glance at the screen displaying the single Umojan ship hanging there in the dark. "You're sure that we can overpower them if they try to force the ships out of our hands, right?"
"Oh, yeah. They have a nice little reinforcement fleet built up, sure," Mann said, already having had the wooden wheel come rising out of the floor so he could grasp it before he looked back at her with a bemused look to him. "But we've got
more. More ships in our fleets, and more fleets in general."
He shrugged, then.
"This is the third mothership we've taken. Eventually the Tal'darim are going to start getting pissy, but for now they have no idea what's going on. It'd be worse if we were trying to sell to the other governments but the Protectorate is much better at being covert a lot of the time compared to the Dominion."
"So you're saying you can handle it."
"We," he pointed out, thrusting one of his index fingers in the air in a pose, "
We can handle it. Besides, buck up!"
"If this works, you're going back to military school."
It was two hours later that they got their response. They were to escort the protoss vessels over to Umoja, and then Yuriko herself would undergo testing to see if they were even going to accept her in the first place. Mann was confident, Yuriko less so, but the fact that they were being invited at
all was promising. Either that or the greed to examine such technology was simply that valuable to the Umojans to keep an edge on things as well as satisfy what was, according to Mann, some weirdly almost fetishistic love for protoss things in general.
She would be stronger. She would be
better. It was one thing to be a companion and friend to a terrifyingly powerful and sometimes remarkably childlike and foolish intelligence such as Mann, or Guy, or whatever else he had and would someday call himself. It was another to be drawn along like a fish in a net. Besides which, she wanted to be sure that she could properly fight these zerg and protoss on her own, at some point at least, without being surrounded by thousands of robots and machines. If that was pride speaking through her, then she would let it do so. There was no excuse for her to not seek self-improvement and to add to what she could do.
All the better to kill the slaves of a false god with, of course.
