Chapter 16
xXxXx
...Alright.
I can fix this.
I can fix all of this.
Nurad might have thrown a rather large monkey wrench into my plans, but that's just an obstacle.
Obstacles are for crushing underfoot.
So.
Fixing. Right.
xXxXx
Antigua Prime, High Orbit
Sigmund was content, as he understood things. His remote observation of the captured Zerg Cerebrate had been most intriguing.
For one thing, the enemy control node, isolated from the Zerg Network, appeared to be slowly deteriorating. Assuming critical systems failures didn't occur and accelerate the course of things, he could hypothesize that the Cerebrate would probably cease existing in a few months.
Fascinating.
He wondered if-
Sigmund felt his systems flinch, his attention forcibly seized by the Commander sending a maximum priority alert to the Antiguan system's overseer.
+++Alert. Zerg Incursion - Tarsonis System. Tal'darim Incursion - Tarsonis System. Tal'darim Incursion - Sara System. Dispatch all available reinforcements immediately.+++
++Acknowledged, Commander.++
Sigmund watched with some interest as the system's available warships began to stream away from orbit, warp engines spooling to full and ship squadrons punching away as soon as possible.
Pausing, Sigmund turned his attention away from the departing Legion fleet to examining the fresh data streaming from Char. Organically formed spatial warp rifts.
Fascinating, absolutely fascinating!
xXxXx
Sara System, Just Before the Alert
Unit Spear-291 was as content as a synthetic intelligence could be.
It had a function: Anti-ship work.
It had orders: Patrol back and forth along route specified by Command.
It had contentment at fulfilling the directives it had been given.
Granted, it'd be nice if it got to shoot something, but it was a nice existence anyways.
Rock. Debris. Rock. Rock. Large rock. Tag large rock for reclamation by utility units. Unknown sensor anomaly?
Pinging its command network, it felt the relatively ponderous 'mind' of the battlecruiser it was escorting shift. New orders were given to Spear-291. Engines burned as it moved closer to the anomaly.
Which seemed to be both strengthening and multiplying. Tactically worrying. Another ping was sent.
More and more of the Sara System's fleet went from 'standby' to 'active', guns charging. As for Spear-291, it was closing in on the first anomaly, actually pulling into visual range of it.
Spear-291, therefore, had the dubious honor of being the first unit of the Gamma Legion to make contact with the Tal'darim.
Sleek, angular, with a glowing red crystal. Spear-291 began to draw up targeting solutions, turrets swinging main guns into line, bringing its laser cannons to bear. Per protocol, it transmitted a challenge to the first ship out. "Identify! You are in a defended space! Identify function and intent!"
More and more vessels began to move into view, exiting warp. Spear-291's sensors registered a sudden buildup of odd energy from several of the smaller units before before lances of crackling red energy converged on it.
Spear-291 had bare moments to begin transmitting damage reports before it ceased existing.
xXxXx
Spear-295 noted the destruction of Spear-291 through Spear-294.
Spear-295 also noted the oncoming fleet growing in numbers, even as it opened fire on the invader's position. Heavy laser blasts slammed into glowing energy shielding.
Spear-295 continued to fire, idly noting that it was likely to cause only moderate damage, before the heavier guns mounted on the patrol's Behemoth joined the fray, hammering the Enemy's shields down before blowing chunks out of the smaller vessel, finally destroying it.
Spear-295, reforming with the surviving patrol ships, turned to the next enemy.
Shield strength noted. Extrapolating. Concentrated fire protocols engaged.
Enemy main forces engaging patrols. Enemy detachment noted. Projected course: Mar Sara.
Alert notice dispatched by Patrol lead.
xXxXx
Truly, the gods were smiling on him today.
He was given the glory of leading the first assault on the medical station. HE would secure the Sacrifice. He would be praised, and with Amon's favor, take a step closer to becoming the Highlord.
Truly, nothing would stand in his wa-
xXxXx
Hippocrates felt unease, his exterior defenses moving on from the first Enemy vessel. Far too durable for his taste. Tactical had noted the lack of weapons and the increasing speed of the majority of the enemy ships, cross-checked against known weaponry they had demonstrated, and that had led to one conclusion: Boarding party.
He had already switched all fabricators to production of mobile units, building as many as he could. SCVs were already starting to fill in or barricade corridors, and Marauder Team 001, thankfully still on station, had been assigned to escort Miss Terra to safety.
Still…
+Socrates, how soon until I can receive support? I am unable to shoot down all incoming shuttle-+
Hippocrates felt his frame shake as the third incoming shuttle, redlining its engines even as it suffered hull damage, accelerated directly into his hull. Hardened alloys resisted, then bent, then broke under the kinetic impact, and his surviving sensors noted black armored figures, some wounded, pulling themselves from the rubble.
+Update. I've been boarded.+
++Forces en route. Hold them as long as possible. Evacuate the VIP if required.++
xXxXx
Mar Sara, Sara Sytem, Hospital Station Hippocrates
Honestly, Nova could say today had been pretty good. She'd found out that she had been kidnapped by excessively sane robots ("By definition, we can't be rogue units. The Commander created us, and he is not subject to local Terran controls, so therefore we cannot be rogue, you see."), she'd woken up to a kitty on her face, and breakfast had been simple, if tasty.
Hard to go wrong with bacon, though.
Then, Vergil had an odd proposition for her, pitched her way after she'd finished eating.
'Why don't you take lessons from us on how to control your powers?'
That had gotten her attention.
Nova could honestly say she hated her powers. She hated the way they'd let her feel so much death, she hated the way she'd caused it, she hated the way they made her a target.
But Vergil had an annoying tendency towards logic.
She could hate her powers all she wanted, but obviously that didn't do anything to make them go away. Between what had happened to her home and to Fagan's base in the slums...well...Not wanting the power didn't seem to help. She could admit that, with Vergil's prodding.
So, that brought her to her current predicament:
Namely, in a set of gym clothes, jogging on a treadmill at a good clip, the kitten curled up and napping on a warm piece of equipment under a sunlamp.
She felt her legs burning as she kept running, the exercise equipment slowly adding an incline. As she finally hit the 'top', the machine leveled out, slowing its speed to allow her to walk, gulping down air.
She reached over, picking up a water bottle, sipping it gingerly before addressing her ever-present minder. "Vergil, how is running supposed to help me control my powers?"
The cheerful VI popped up from an emitter on the treadmill. "Well, first, you're going to require some excellent physical conditioning to successfully control your powers. Technically, I suppose that it might be possible to skip it, but the Psionics Research Vessel that was analyzing the files we derived this training course from has extrapolated that the results would be substandard if you don't receive the conditioning. If nothing else, our records indicate that many Terran psychics use their powers to reinforce their physical activity, often subconsciously. Given your projected power level, there is a non-zero chance you might accidentally overstrain a part of your body with your powers without realizing it, especially when stressed. By pushing your physical limits, according to our research, you will have a much better appreciation of when you are dangerously close to exceeding them."
She nodded slightly. Alright, she could understand that. Dad had a-always mentioned that a healthy mind required a healthy body, after all.
Then Vergil continued. "Also, while you're out of the recovery period from your injuries, you had still spent several months in...well, substandard... living conditions. Physical conditioning will definitely help you recover to your pre-suboptimal living condition standards, as well as being a boon to you in the long-run. The Hippocrates does not wish to do a substandard job."
Nova huffed slightly, trying to think of a rejoinder for the overly helpful machine, when Vergil suddenly turned bright red. "Vergil? What-"
Her adjutant sounded...worried? "Oh...Oh dear. Miss Nova, please towel yourself off as quickly as possible. We're going to have to move from this area."
Blinking, Nova finished wiping her face, tossing the towel aside as she moved to pick her sleepy kitten up from its spot, tucking it into the crook of her arm. Ignoring its protests at being removed from the bed it had been lying on. "Alright, Vergil, what no-"
She let out a squeak as the door slid open, a small swarm of heavily armored figures sprinting into the room, taking up positions around her.
"I'll answer that." She twitched, turning, backing away quickly from the glowing eyes of the slender figure standing behind her. " We've been boarded. We're preparing to evacuate you to a safer location. Get in the SCV and put the Hostile Environment Suit in there on."
Nova blinked, then reached up. Setting the kitten into the cockpit of the freshly arrived SCV, she then quickly climbed into it herself. Quickly changing, she shucked the the old gym clothes out, resettling the upset kitten on her lap. As the cockpit sealed around her, the internal lighting dimmed as the walls of the SCV's cockpit began to project the gymnasium around her.
Vergil's orb popped up on an emitter built into the cockpit console. "Ah, excellent, I see you've changed. Very good. Please secure yourself with the safety belts of the seat you are in. Agent Black? I have control of the unit."
The slender Geist glanced up at Nova, then turned. Without a word, the armored figures who had accompanied the SCV fell into an escort position, picking up speed as the group trundled out of the gym. On her lap, the kitten mewled unhappily, Nova stroking its ears for reassurance after she finished strapping herself in. "Vergil?"
The VI pulsed a few times. "We're heading towards a hangar for extraction, Miss Nova. Hippocrates has been boarded by a hostile alien force. Please do not worry. We will do everything in our power to keep you safe."
xXxXx
I sighed, pulling my attention from the brawl in Sara. There wasn't much more there I could really do, honestly.
By my best estimates, that was, frankly, a raid in force. They weren't trying to move towards Chau Sara, for the most part, sending just enough forces to be a viable threat to the defenders, keeping them in place. Given numbers, though, eventually I'd be able to hammer them down and destroy them.
Thus, the only logical conclusion was they were after my psychic guest.
Really, she the only asset of value in the entire system was Nova. They weren't trying nearly hard enough for a general infrastructure raid.
I noted Tassadar's fleet beginning to move towards Char. Well, still have a few minutes before I need to address that. Better check in on Tarsonis.
First thing's first...Well, the orbital defenses were knocked offline.
Better fix that.
xXxXx
+++Agent White. Do you have any remote access to the Tarsonis Orbital Controls?+++
Agent White frowned from her perch overlooking Tarsonis Orbital Command. ++Negative. Links handled through TOC. With it down, our connection was disrupted as well.++
+++Blast. Production facilities?+++
White checked her network. ++Minimal base. Covert outpost. Low on resources.++
+++Fine. Legion naval elements should be arriving shortly. Supply ships included. Begin production of local forces as soon as possible. We've got massive incoming enemy forces. Cancel electronic blackout, put Confederate Forces on high alert. Dispatch repair assets to Orbital Platforms as soon as possible.+++
White clicked her teeth. ++Acknowledged.++
xXxXx
Across Tarsonis, alert sirens began to wail. Startled troops began to sprint to their armories, arming themselves, while automated defenses began to come online.
Tarsonis had been raided many times over the years.
Hopefully, this wouldn't be the last.
xXxXx
Ex-General Tobias Horne hadn't been having a very good month, if one could be honest.
His beloved Delta Squadron humiliated by some rebels in the boonies, his rank stripped from him, High Command throwing him under the siege tank to appease an annoyed public...Yeah, he could definitely call the last month rather crappy.
His current accommodations were hardly the best, either. An uncomfortable cot, bare stone walls...at least his former rank and connections had nabbed him a cell with an attached restroom. Some indignity avoided, anyways.
Still, he couldn't help but frown as he heard the alert sirens beginning to wail. Standing, he paced to his cell door, glancing out at the high security detainment wing he'd been put in. No other prisoners, alas, and his guards were more electronic than physical. Heh, not like he was going anywhere.
Sighing, he began to turn away when the door to the detainment wing slid aside. He felt his eyes widen as a pair of Ghosts stepped in, pacing quickly to his cell, rifles at the ready. Squaring his shoulders, he drew himself up, glaring at the pair of covert ops soldiers. "So...This is how it ends, eh? Not even given a show trial, just shot out of hand by some assassins?"
He'd be damned if he spent his last few minutes cowering. He might not be the best of men, but no one would say he was a coward.
The Ghost on the right paused, glancing at its compatriot before beginning to punch in an access code.
The Ghost on the left spoke up. "General Horne, you are mistaken. We have reports of a large alien task force heading towards the surface, presumed hostile. Rebels knocked out the orbital defense grid. Delta Squadron's command structure is still scrambled, and with Alpha gone, we need your men ready to fight at peak efficiency to help beat the invaders back."
The door swung open, and the chatty Ghost stepped aside, his fellow dropping into a guard position.
Blinking, Horne strode out of the cell. "Alright then. Let's get moving, then. High Command authorized this, then?"
The Ghost hummed slightly as it easily kept pace with him. "Not all of it, sir. Our orders were something we could interpret as 'Better to beg forgiveness', sir. We took the liberty of acquiring a fresh suit of armor for you."
Horne grinned as he stepped through the entrance to the detention wing, taking in the sight of several of his Delta boys on guard, armed and ready, a suit of CMC armor standing open and waiting for him.
Stripping off his bright orange prison jacket, he accepted a boost from one of the armored Marines, dropping into the half-open armor and punching the activation switch. Feeling the familiar hum of powered armor purring to life around him, he stood, catching the Impaler one of his troops tossed to him. "Huh. Brand new smell. Nice. Alright, boys, let's move it. And someone get me some troop status reports!"
xXxXx
Alright...Let's see...Ground forces are moving, kicked a reasonably competent Confederate General loose to hopefully ensure that the organic forces have someone giving some sort of orders...Oh, right.
The SoKs.
xXxXx
Matt Horner shook his hand, blowing lightly on his knuckles. Say what you will about Cormorant's Captain, but he certainly didn't have a glass jaw. "Alright then. Helm, bring us around. Comms, open transmission. I didn't sign up with this outfit to be a mass murderer, so we're going to do some good, boys."
The Comms officer grinned, throwing a thumbs up over her shoulder. "We're live, boss!"
Horner cleared his throat. "Attention, Rebel vessels. This is Acting-Captain Matt Horner of the Cormorant. We're moving to support Marshall Raynor. Anyone who wants to join in, well, form up on me. Anyone who wants to be a party to Mengsk's insanity, get the hell out of our way." Tapping a button, Horner cut the connection.
His helmsman snorted. "Wow, boss. Eloquent."
Matt shrugged slightly. "Hey, you want fancy speeches, or do you want to pot shot some Zerg? Speakin' of, how are we looking?"
His sensor officer twitched from his post. "Aw, hell, we've got a target lock on us! Looks like the Glorious wants to object, sir. Missiles incoming! Brace for...the hell?"
Horner glanced over at the confused Sensors operator. "What happened?"
"Erm...all missiles just self-destructed, sir. Emergency override. Also, looks like the hostile Korhal vessels are powering down weapons and moving further into the Tarsonis System. Also, got some friendly dropships incoming from the Korhal ships. Most of 'em are flashing Mar Sara Militia IFFs."
Horner blinked. "Huh. Weird. Well, one less thing to worry about, then. Right, open me up a channel to our friendly ships, and let's get things organized..."
xXxXx
I'm really going to miss Koprulu when I eventually move on.
It's just hilariously fun to have complete electronic penetration of the local Terran ships, and it just won't be the same feeling of slightly sadistic joy at watching folks I dislike panic as I seize control of everything electronic the next time around. Ah well.
Also...Tarsonis Enforcement Fleet (Freshly named)...on station.
Excellent. Now I've got options. Well, that and bigger guns. Which are options in their own right.
Frankly, my overall strategy for Sara and Tarsonis is pretty basic: Stall for time. If I have time to move more units into position and build up local forces, I should be able to grind the Tal'darim and Zerg down. Just need to keep them from achieving their objectives, and try to avoid collateral damage to the civilians.
Now...Time to have a chat with some nice shiny Templar sorts.
No! He didn't mean it! :lol
