"...and just as the step is taken, Heartcutter swings a full force elbow into the bridge of Mark4's nose."
-YourRoleModel
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| All Eyes on the Box: Prologue | | | Author: | | | IP: | c209662-XXXX | | Date: | 02/14/01 09:02 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 6, Min: 6
Lifetime Rating for -CitizenKane-: 6.5000 |  | The story takes place after the Korhal Rebellion and just before the warships of the Protoss descend upon Chau Sara. You will see very little bugs or advanced aliens in this first installment. Sorry. :p
This is unorthodox. In an early drafting of this, I stated that I wouldn’t be suprised if it starts blowing unorthodoxness out of its ass. It has, in fact, done so, but that comes later in the story.
It is not fan fiction in the truest sense of the word. does not detail strategical Starcraft battle royale, though I plan many scenes that take place during battles (duel to the death atop the Garinthor anyone?) Dont think of it as fan fiction. Think of it as fiction set in the Starcraft universe.
I actually had the idea for this story before I discovered Starcraft. One day, I thought, “Hey, why not take the story and stick it in the Starcraft universe?” And so I did.
Read the first installment. If you dont like it, I wili have Admiral Jameson morph into Tassadar and accidentally kill everyone with a poorly placed Psionic Storm.
If, however, you do like it, more installments wil come.
Note that the names ‘Mark Ryan’ and ‘John Bradley ‘have nothing to do with Mark4 and Johny_Vegas, but if it will get me a higher raiting, feel free to think that way.
“Once started, there’s no going back.” -Admiral DuGalle
And our story begins...
"I've a bad feeling about this," said Lieutenant Gerard Dugalle.
He was young back then, but still one of the most brilliant minds in the Navy. He stood on the bridge on a large control tower, staring out the wide, full windows.. He was invited there by his mentor, Admiral Gern Nimitz.
Dugalle watched, staring into the blackness of space. Four sets of tiny dots shone steadily from the distance. The dots were the emissions from the engines of four starships— motherships for a new race of humans— the Terrans.
Dugalle had been watching them for a long time. He thought that those dots would come back to haunt him.
"Young Dugalle,” said Gern Nimitz, “don't be so worried! With this foray into the final frontier, we are crafting the stars for the permanance of history. The humans will become the greatest nation ever to venture into space."
Dugalle stood firm. He had never liked his mentor.
Gern Nimitz insisted he was “doing him a favor” by “taking him under his wing.” Young DuGalle considered it a big flaming waste of his time.
What he wanted to say was, “You’re a dumbfuck.”
But instead he said: "I don't like it."
"Gerard!” he said in suprise. “We have mastered the craft of land. We have mastered warcraft. We have mastered seacraft. Now let us master... starcraft." He extended his arms in poetic graces.
Dugalle sighed. A long, quiet silence hung in the air.
Moving through the soft peace, Dugalle stepped forward, and stared into the starry void.
"Starcraft," he said softly. The word was an omen, but a poetic one.
When he said it, he seemed to dissappear into the darkness of space.
"Starcraft."
48 years later
Place: The Dyldarian Shipyard on Tarsonis
Time: Three days before the Protoss burn Chau Sara
ORDERS GIVEN TO COMMANDER MARK T. RYAN, ASSIGNED TO SECURITY COMMAND POST ON THE C.S.S. TROY
OPERATION IRON PAWN
HIGH CLEARENCE LEVEL (6.6)
MASTER-EXECUTIVE CONTAINMENT LEVEL (12.0)
BREIFING SUMMARY:
FIVE SHIPS, CARRIERS CSS TROY AND HELEN, WILL LEAVE ON 1000 HOURS FROM WEST DYDLARIAN SHIPYARD, LIGHT PLATFORMS 8 AND 9. THEY WILL BE ESCORTED BY PROTECTIVE BEHOMOTH-CLASS BATTLECRUISERS CSS GEIST AND GREEN, LAUNCHING FROP RUNWAY PLATFORMS 31-41 AND 51-61, AND WARP ESCORT CSS ODYSEEUS LAUNCHING FROM LIGHT PLATFORM 14.
THE WARP ESCORT WILL CARRY ALL FIVE SHIPS THROUGH WARP, TO CONSERVE FUEL.
THE USS TROY AND HELEN CARRY THE FOLLOWING CARGO:
• 5 MILLION TONS OF DILITHUM-TRYPHISPOXATE (MINERALS) (ABOARD TROY)
• 3 MILLION TONS OF COMPRESSED CONTAINED VESPENE GAS (ABOARD HELEN)
• ONE BOX (CONTENTS CLASSIFIED, CLEARENCE LEVEL 11.6) (ABOARD TROY)
THIS IS A HIGHLY CLASSIFIED MISSION, CLEARENCE LEVEL 6.6, CONTAINMENT LEVEL 11.0 REVEALING ANY INFORMATION WHATSOEVER TO FRIENDS, FAMILY MEMBERS OR UNAUTHORIZED PERSONELL WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE COURT-MARTIAL AND POSSIBLE DISCHARGE, AND A JAIL TERM OVER TWENTY YEARS. DO NOT GIVE AWAY ANY INFORMATION CONCERNING THIS MISSION.
FURTHER AND POSITIION-SPECIFIC BREIFING WILL BE GIVEN TO YOU UPON CHECKING IN TO YOUR POST. ONCE YOU CHECK IN, YOU MAY NOT LEAVE THE SHIPYARD UPON ENTRY. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
THAT IS ALL.
--------END OF BREIFING---------
Place: The Outer Perimeter at the Dydlarian shipyards, on Tarsonis
Time: T-6 hours before “Project Armegeddon”
The night was dark, and stormy indeed.
The security lieutenant peered forward, tried hard to visually penetrate the dark sheet of rain. With his flashlight, he could barely make it out, but somebody was walking toward the shipyard.
Unsure what to do, he called quaveringly, “Halt! Identify yourself.” He reached instincitively toward the pistol in his holster.
The man continued walking.
“Identify yourself! Who are you?”
A bolt of lightning flashed, and the man was shown for but a breif moment. His eye... it was silver, and for a moment, it caught a glint of of the lightning flash..
“Nobody,” he said loudly, so that the lieutenant could hear it through the pounding of hard rain. “You will remember nothing.”
He extended his hand, and the lieutenant dropped to the ground, unconscious.
* * *
Place: The C.S.S. Troy
Time: T-1 before Project Armegeddon
"I dont like the look of this."
That was the first thing the Security Commander Mark Ryan said in a long time.
He was on the bridge of the C.S.S. Troy. Picture for a moment: a long room, filled with computer consoles. In the consoles at the front, below the viewscreen, sat four officers. Two more were posted at either side of the bridge near the doors, with their own massive consoles close by. In the back were three more commanders. In the middle were three more, sitting facing the viewscreen, the front of the bridge. The center one was the figure of authority: Fleet Admiral Jameson. This is the bridge of the C.S.S. Troy.
All the crew was selected directly by the Council of the Confedarate Navy, which was higly unusual due to the time and expence required.
Commander Ryan was young, thin and muscular, with a thin, clean-shaven face topped with a flat-topped head of black hair. And, like the rest of the crew, he wore a blue-and-black uniform, which was very tight, espicaally in the forbidden zone. And much to his dismay, the rest of the crew wore tight suits too.
Commander Pierce retorted, "That's your problem." He was also thin, and in a tight and voraciously unsexy uniform. He had a full, round face, and blonde hair shaped into an incredibly ugly buzz cut.
How did an asshole like this become my second in command? wondered Fleet Admiral Jameson, the ship's commander and the only female officer on the ship (unfortunately for the rest of the crew). Female officers were a rarity, because the Navy officers came directly out of the Army, and women under the current governement were banned from Army service. To get ahead, you needed to perform extremely well on the tests, or grant sexual favors. Rumor had it that Jameson did both.
Jameson had a old, worn but stern face, and flowing, blonde hair. She also was thin, and wore a tight suit, which was delightfully more sexy than the rest of the crews’.
"Shush!" she snapped at Pierce. "Commander Ryan, there's that emergency officer the Council issued at the last minute. He's the navigations guy. Show him the ropes. He’s waiting in the foyer."
"What happened to the last one?"
"They don't know. He vanished." Her tone indicated that the subject was closed.
Ryan was almost out the door, when the fleet admiral called: “Get it done quickly. We take off in an hour.”
As he walked down the corridor, Mark’s mind wandered around, and finally settled on his past. Ever since college, Mark Ryan had never had any friends. He worked as a security guard for three years before he was drafted directly into the Navy. And then— wait, he was at the foyer.
In one of the plush, padded seats, sat a man. He had a round, full face, and neatly combed blonde hair. He had his coat wrapped around himself, but otherwise appered quite okay. The door to outside was still open, and heavy rain was coming in, soaking the carpet. Ryan promptly walked over and closed the door.
"Hello," said the man softly. "You must be Mark." He stood up, readjusted his coat, and extended his hand.
Ryan was reluctant to shake it. This man did not act like most officers. Still, he took the hand.
John realized that he had committed a breach in ettiquite. “I’m sorry. Sir,” he added quickly
“None of that here. You are the new navigations officer?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“Then there is no need to call me sir. Call me Mark. Or Ryan. I am the security commander here. You are?”
“John. John Bradley.”
“Pleased to welcome you aboard the Troy, Commander Bradley,” Mark said, as protocol demands. “Let me show you the ropes.”
“This is the engeneering bay.”
On their left was the sheilds core, which was emitting a soft hum. On their right was the warp core, making a low, pulsating sound. The engeneering bay was a small, wide room that doubled as a bridge between the two cores. A loud hissing could be heard at perodic intervals.
“That” he pointed to the left “is the sheilds core. That to the right is the warp core. Below us is the engines array, which is making that hissing sound.”
“I see,” he said. “Are we going on a dangerous mission?”
Mark scowled. “Yes. Why?”
“Well, the sheilds core is so large, for a ship this size. And I’ll bet the engines are large too. Normal-sized engines make much less noise,” he finished softly.
There was a long and uncomfortable silence.
“Well, let us proceed,” said Mark.
(The sheilds were not true plasma sheilds. They reinforced the ship’s armor. and prevented it from breaking during battle.)
* * *
“This is your quarters,” said Mark.
John poked his head in and looked around. He appered dissatisfied with it’s size, but said nothing.
* * *
“This is the cargo bay.”
They were standing at the enterance from a railed ledge at the top. Rows upon rows of white containers sat stacked on the ledges in the bay, as well as a black box right in the middle in the center platform.
John looked around. The cargo bay was very small.
As if he was reading John’s mind, he said, “Well, much of it was converted. To sheild and fuel storage.” John started walking toward the edge of the railing. Mark followed.
“Those boxes”, continued Mark, “hold pre-processed minerals. 5 million tons.”
John stopped.
“Where are they going?”he asked. They began walking again.
“Chau Sara.”
John stopped immediatly in his tracks.
“Chau Sara!”
Mark scowled. “What?”
John regained his composre and said, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Oh-kay... There’s another freighter, carrying another 3 million tons of vespene.”
There was a silence.
“What’s in that black box?”
“That’s classified,” Mark said shortly.
“You don’t know, do you?”
Mark was shocked at how perceptive this man was.
“No,” he finally said.
There was a long and unpleasent silence.
“Well, let us go.”
They entered the bridge. The crew pretended to take no notice, except for Pierce and third-in-command Raimus, who were watching them intently.
“Meet the crew.”, said Mark. “That post on your left—” he guestered to a large computer covered with monitors that showed different on the ship “—that’s my post. In the front sit Chin Jonti, the weapons engineer—”
Why would a barge have a weapons engineer? thought John.
“ —and that over there... that’s your post, right over there. On that side is the cheif engineer, Biron O’Bison. In the back are three security lieutenants, mine, their names are Chiral Mon, Gharadelli Don, and Monathan Pylon; and there in the middle is our captian and admiral, Ferren Jameson. That’s Pierce Sharp in that chair next to her. I don’t know what he is. He’s the official anathema.”
Pierce scowled at Mark.
“Really, he’s the second-in-command. And that guy right there is Peter Duke, third-in-command and supervisor. All captians.”
Third in command! thought John.
“Hello, Commanders Ryan and Bradley,” said Duke to the two. “I’m Peter Duke—”
I know that, thought John—
“and I am Edmund Duke’s brother.”
John did not think that being Duke’s brother was something to be proud of.
There was a silence, broken only by the constant typing of the cheif engineer. John could sense the unmistakable air of tension between Pierce and Jameson.
Jameson spoke up. “Ryan, look on the outside right central security monitor and tell me what you see.”
Mark’s post was right near where he was standing. He took a few steps over.
“It’s a man, heading toward the ship’s enterance, ma’am.”
“Right. Stop him please.”
“Yes ma’am.” He ran out the door and down the corridor.
“Why you? Can’t you send—” protested John.
“Because I’m bored!” he called.
John stood there in wonder for a while. He was broke out of the spell by Jameson.
“Commander Bradley.”
“That’s you, John,” whispered Jonti.
“Huh?” He turned to his left and looked around, but the fleet admiral was not there.
Then he realized that she was to his right. He made a 180° turn and faced the admiral.
“Mission orders,” Jameson said. “Review them quickly, because we take off in five minutes. And don’t forget to put on your uniform. Catch.” She tossed a small holotablet to John.
“Yes, ma’— Five minutes!”
The mission orders bounced off his chest.
Mark Ryan walked through the brightly light foyer, and opened the door at the end. The door was shockingly dark. It was raining with tremendous volume.
In the dim light, he could just make out a dim, blurry, dark shape.
“Halt!” he shouted. “Who’s that— who goes there?”
He could now tell that the dark blurry shape was close and coming closer.
Something hit Mark on the head. It was hailing.
“I repeat! Who’s there!”
He pulled out his pistol and turned on the light at the end.
Commander Ryan almost let out a gasp.
The man qoew a completely black, thin cybernetic suit, complete with cape. But what was most shocking was his face... On his eye on the left, he had a cybernetic eye implant that shone a steely gray and black. Protuding from that was a silver-bordered, long, thin and deep red screen that covered his right eye. Wires crawled all over his face like cobweb, and his entire left cheeck was composed completely of a shiny, silver metallic metal.
“I’m— I am giving you five seconds to stop,” shouted Mark.
The man kept on walking. He was about fifty feet away.
“Five!”
The man did not stop.
“Four!”
Still walking, coming ever closer.
“Three!”
Still walking through the hail.
“Two!”
The man kept up his pace, not missing a beat.
“One!”
The man walked.
Ryan set his pistol to stun and fired.
The man blocked the fire with his hand and kept walking.
With his hand?
That’s impossible, Mark thought. He must have a sheild.
Then he thought, I want to solve this without using a single round of guass bullet.
Let’s see if the sheild can take this, he thought. He pulled out a deep discharge cartridge and plugged it in. The man was about fifteen feet away.
Ryan got on one knee, held the pistol out and with both hands, grit his teeth, braced himself and fired.
The shot blew him back with tremendous force, knocking Mark over backwards into the ship. The pitter-patter of hail was clearly audible now. Mark got up and looked outside.
The man was gone.
He scanned the area with his flashlight, expecting to see a body srpawled out upon the wet pavement. There was no body.
“Commander Ryan, report to your post. We are taking off.”
Ryan left. The door closed behind him. He could not stop thinking about it.
The man with the metal eye was gone.
* * *
On the planet Earth, the UED had recieved news of contact with a new breed of aliens, dubbed the “Xenomorphs” or “Surg”. Knowing that this was a situation of grave importance, they contacted the world’s finest— Admiral Gerard DuGalle.
For several years, DuGalle had known about the disapperance about his discovery, which he kept in a large, black box, the same box used to transport minerals. It had disappered when he was just a lieutenant. He had learned several years ago that it was with the Terran Dominion.
He had not told his superiors about the Box when he had first discovered it, because he was afriad that such a power may fall into the wrong hands. But he knew that the Terran Dominion was far too weak to withstand the UED, even with the power of the Box. But if a UED admiral had gained its contents... DuGalle shudderd to think.
When it went missing, he told nobody about the Box. Who would believe him?
At first, DuGalle was pissed. He had already recieved a dishonorable discharge for... he didn’t want to think about. How dare they rebuke him, then repent only when they needed his help?
But these “Xenomorphs” alarmed him. What if they had gained the Box?
So when they contacted DuGalle, he jumped upon the oppurtunity to go to the Dominion. He may be able to retrieve the Box, and put it somewhere safe forever.
He called his secretary and requested an encrypted, private call.
He dialed the number via keypad, then waited.
“Yeah?” said a surly, Russian voice. “Whaddya want—”
“Alexi. It’s me.”
“...Gerard!”
* * *
Mark had a bad feeling about this again.
He wasn’t the only one. John had it too.
Why, John wondered, was the crew of this barge, the CSS Troy, hand-picked? For the battlecruiser escorts, it was (relatively) understandable.
But why the barge?
Mark didn’t mention his adventure with the vanishing man. Jameson would not believe him...
Peter Duke spoke. “As you know, the sucess of this mission and the sucessful deliverly of the minerals to Chau Sara will spell victory for the Confedaracy and bring an end to the Korhal rebellion—”
“Spare the speech, Captian,” put in Jameson.
Duke looked highly put off. “Ahem. Well, the battlecruisers will take off first, followed by us. We must not, however, rely on the battlecruisers for protection. We are highly vulnerable, but our fine crew—”
“Quiet, Captian.”
Said Duke, “Well admiral, I consider these ‘speeches’—”
He looked around in indignance when he realied nobody was listening. They were looking out the main window.
They were watching the battlecruises take off.
They were indeed majestic, and of incredible size. They slowly drifted past either side of the Troy. As their four engines of each ship came into view of the window, they cast an intense light over the bridge of the ship.
“The Geist and the Green. Our escorts,” said Raimus.
Suddenly the behemoths stopped. Everyone held their breath.
Then the engines shone. Everyone lifted their hands to their eyes to block the blinding light. The engines pushed the battlecruisers to an incredible speed, as they nosed up into the sky like an airjet. The engines were reduced to four bright lights into the sky. And then they vanished and the battlecruisers were gone into space.
A silence fell over the bridge.
“Very well,” said the admiral. She took out her comdeck and spoke into it. Her old and powerful voice resounded over the intercom.“All hands report for duty. A’Riely?”
On the other side of the ship, Jim A’Riely responded into his comdeck, “Here.”
“Braunsmith?”
In the engine room, Luke Braunsmith responded, “Here.”
And she continued this way.
When she was done, she said, “All hands brace for liftoff.” And she lowered her comdeck.
“Now, Commander John Bradley.” John turned.
“I’m assuming you know how to navigate a galaxoid-class barge for liftoff. Don’t tell me that you don’t.”
Pierce rolled his eyes in a phenomally conspicous manner.
“I do,” said John in a soft, low voice, as if it was obvious.
“Very well,” she said shortly. “Commander Biron O’Bison, power the engines.”
Biron turned to his controls and worked with the keypad, making soft typing noises that seemed to put the cue at rest. A low hum gradually filled the ship. Mark glanced at the floor.
“Commander Bradley. Take us out.”
“Aye ma’am.” He turned and slid his fingers slowly across a strip on the keypad. A dull roar, like that of an airjet, filled the ship. Mark looked out the window. The ship was still for a while, but then the ground slowly seemed to fall from beneath them.
Mark sat rapt in his seat and gripped his armrests tightly. He had an unsure look on his face and stared out the window.
They tilted. As they turned, the scene before them slid right across the window. Then they nosed up, staring into the starry sky.
Then they moved. Everyone was pushed back into their seat as they took off into space.
NEXT: PRELUDE TO FIRE AND ICE |
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