StarCraft 1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Blood and Snow**

The snow crunched beneath armored feet as the patrol of marines made their way steadily toward the base of the mountains. Servos whined softly as the armored men trudged slowly through the frozen wasteland, lifting the large legs of their hardskins high as they struggled through snow that came up to their suit's knees. Snow that would have reached above the waistline of an unarmored man. The thirteen Dominion marines kept their visors sealed to keep the warmth created by each suit's life support system in. Every now and then a stream of cursing would come over the comm as one of them had the misfortune of stepping in a particularly deep drift of snow.

"Can the chatter girls," snapped Sergeant Travis over the squad frequency, then switched off his transmitter and continued cursing himself. Like the rest of his squad he struggled through the deep snow and ice in his hardskin, the large armored suit used by most Terran infantry. He held his C-14 Gauss Rifle at chin level so it wouldn't get covered in snow should his foot find a deep patch of the miserable white menace. The suit's broad shoulders showed no strain as they held the blocky but deadly weapon aloft, the strength added by the combat suit being more than enough to hold the rifle with ease. The suit itself was painted in a dark gray except for the shoulder guards, which were a dark red. On his right shoulder was the arm, whip, and star sigil of the Terran Dominion. The armor was otherwise free of adornment or design, a bit of a rarity even amongst Dominion marines.

The wastelands of Braxis were an icy hell, though the running joke amongst the Dominion troops stationed there was that whoever garrisoned hell had it easy since it wasn't as damned cold. At the very least it was quiet, Travis reflected, as he quietly lamented in the isolation of his suit the broken path his life had taken that had led him to be stationed in this backwater shithole. The planet hadn't seen combat at all in the two years since the end of the Brood Wars. The lone Dominion research station had been sacked twice. First by the UED and then by the Zerg and anti-UED Terran rebels, working together if the rumors were to be believed. Back then the station had housed a state of the art Psi-Disruptor. The angry Zerg had long since reduced it to ragged pieces however. Now the station housed a weapons research facility and a small Dominion garrison.

"Moving into the canyon Sergeant," called the patrol's point man over the squad channel.

"Copy," growled Travis, "Let's move it ladies. Unless you want to be out in the icebox all day." A chorus of mumbled acknowledgements came back over the come and the patrols pace quickened. Travis grinned despite himself before switching to the research stations command channel.

"Braxis Main this is Rover One."

After a moment a bored sounding voice responded.

"Send it Rover One."

"Passing checkpoint six."

"Roger, continue to advise."

"Roger Braxis Main. Rover One out."

With that Travis turned and moved into the narrow canyon that would take his squad through the mountain range and into the foothills east of the research station. The mountains themselves rose up hundreds of feet above the armored marines. Like the wastelands below them they were colorfully decorated with ice, ice, and a delicate sprinkling of ice. The packed snow banks on the mountainsides looked ominous and threatening as they loomed over the patrol. It was deep winter on Braxis, however, and the risk of an avalanche was minimal. Or so said the bored looking company intel officer who had briefed the squad before they left the research station for the patrol hours earlier, reflected Travis.

_The bastard might actually give a damn if he was the one running around under these fekking time bombs!_

The canyon was an impressive structure in of itself. It was more than a hundred meters wide in some places, enough room for a squad of armored marines to walk shoulder to shoulder. Hundreds of feet deep the canyon walls were scattered with terraces and ledges created by the yearly flooding caused by spring and summer melts. The canyon floor was littered with broken rocks and outcroppings left behind as sediment by those same flash floods. The high canyon walls did manage to keep the snow at the canyon floor from getting too deep though, which was a blessing at least.

The metallic thumps of the hardskin's boots coming down on the rock floor echoed through the narrow canyon as the marines made their way steadily onward. Veterans of a hundred boring patrols the men halfheartedly eyed the path ahead of them and the rock formations along the canyon wall. More than one pair of eyes however, simply stared dully at the rock floor in front of them as they trudged wearily on and thought of the warm barracks back at the station.

"Sergeant Travis, you should see this."

Signaling a halt the weary sergeant trudged over to the marine that had spoken while the rest of the patrol held their positions, most glancing back with a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

"What is it Jones?" grunted the older Sergeant, less than happy about another delay between him and the poker game he had planned later that night with some of the researchers back at the station.

The man gestured with his gauss rifle to the canyon floor in front of him. Travis looked and saw what had caught the marine's eye. In the thin layer of ice that had settled on a large rock was a boot print. Three times the size of a normal man's foot however the print was unmistakably from a Terran combat suit.

"I didn't think we'd had a patrol through here since the last snowfall Sergeant," the man said half questioningly.

"We haven't," replied the more experienced man, a cold chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the winter cold. Eyes darting around the canyon he switched to the base frequency again.

"Braxis Main this is Rover One."

Silence answered him.

Cursing he tried again.

"Braxis Main this is Rover One. Come in over."

Still nothing.

Looking back to Jones he shook his head. Rather pointless since the man couldn't see the gesture through Travis' closed visor.

"I can't raise the station."

Jones shrugged, the gesture accentuated by the large shoulders of his combat suit. "Maybe the canyon's blocking the signal."

Travis wasn't convinced. "Maybe," was all he said as his eyes once again moved to the surrounding rock formations. He'd never liked this part of the patrol route. He'd always thought it would be the perfect place for a…

A series of metallic clanks rang out in the canyon as several heavy objects landed amidst the Dominion marines. One of them rolled between Jones and the startled Travis and the veteran's eyes widened as he recognized the high explosive grenade.

"Ambush!"

Travis threw himself away from the grenade, putting a nearby rock outcropping between him and the explosive. A half second later the trio of grenades exploded taking down several of the Dominion marines, including the unlucky and fatally slow Jones. Armor fragments and gore flew in all directions. Jones' severed hand landed a foot away from where Travis crouched, wincing from the loud explosions.

The thunder of gauss rifle fire tore through the canyon and the air was filled with high-powered rounds. Some of the deadly "spikes" found their targets. One Dominion marine took a burst right in his visor. Though the visor was ballistic it couldn't take the concentrated punishment of the burst and the man was thrown against the canyon wall, the interior of his shattered visor revealing a bloody mess. Rounds impacted all around the besieged patrol throwing up chunks of ice and rock.

Panicked shouts filled the squad comm frequency. Between the grenades and enemy fire six men went down in the first few seconds. Desperately the surviving marines returned fire, though their attackers seemed to be everywhere. Another of their number jerked as he was caught by a burst in the chest, the rounds burst out his back taking most of his abdomen with them and splattering it against the canyon wall.

Rounds impacted against the rock where Travis took cover, showering him with dirt and ice. When the impacts stopped he risked a glance down the canyon. Ahead of the patrol and behind their own rock outcroppings he spotted two armored marines firing on his squad from cover. He also spotted at least another two on more elevated positions along the sides of the canyon. Ducking back down just as more spikes began chewing up his cover he tried to reestablish order to his beleaguered squad.

"Contact front! Enemy infantry on the canyon floor and along the ledge! Take cover and light them up!"

Following his own advice Travis rose from his crouch with a yell, aimed in on one of the enemy marines, and fired two bursts from his rifle. The first burst was too low and impacted against the rock the attacker was taking cover behind. As soon as the first rounds hit the rock the armored man ducked down and the second burst tore through the air where he'd been only a second ago.

Cursing the inconsiderate bastard Travis ducked back down behind his own rock. But a quick glance around showed him that his men were at least getting their bearings. All around him his surviving marines took cover and began behind whatever they could and started trading fire with their attackers. Things were starting to look up until a marine on the other side of the canyon pitched forward as a flurry of spikes penetrated his back throwing the man over the low rock he'd been taking cover behind. Travis' felt a cold trickle of fear as more attackers began firing on them from a ledge behind his squad's position. They were caught in a crossfire.

One of the attackers was close enough for Travis to make out a unit marker painted on his dark blue armor, an inverted sword with two R's back to back against it.

"Raynor's Raiders," the veteran marine whispered in disbelief as his rising panic gave way to a cold fury.

Two things happened then in quick succession. A blast of static over the comm followed by a shout from further up the canyon for the surviving Dominion marines to throw down their weapons. At the same time Travis looked up to see that one of the Raiders was on a ledge directly above him.

Yelling incoherently the Dominion sergeant raised his gauss rifle and fired a volley of impaler spikes up at the man. The angle was all wrong though and the spikes tore into the rocks supporting the ledge the man was standing on. Travis' cursing gave way to a roar of triumph as the rock formation gave way and came tumbling down to the canyon floor taking the enemy marine with it.

The armored Raider crashed onto the canyon floor amidst a shower of rocks, but recovered quickly rolling to his feet, and giving Travis his first good look at the man. His armor was painted pitch black, though it carried plenty of dings and scratches that indicated a long and rough history. All along the black armor was painted the likeness of a human skeleton and the man's orange tinted visor bore a grim white skull giving the hardskin an eerie appearance. The final touch was the white image of the skeleton of a coiled snake on the armor's right shoulder. Travis' eyes narrowed as the man came back to his feet, he'd heard of that armor…

With a wordless roar Travis charged at the man, extending his weapon's bayonet as he came. The black armored Raider cast a quick glance at his own gauss rifle, which he'd lost in the fall and now lay a good ten feet away. When the skulled visage turned back to the charging Dominion sergeant the man dropped into a fighting crouch.

A second later when Travis closed within a few feet of his target he thrust forward at the lighter armor just below the Raiders chest plate, putting all of the considerable power of himself and his combat armor behind the attack. The man was waiting for the blow however and as the bayonet dived in at him he stepped forward and to Travis' left, grabbing the extended gauss rifle as he moved with his left arm. Yanking down and out with the considerable strength of his own hardskin the man simultaneously swept his leg forward behind Travis' right leg. Caught by surprise Travis was yanked forward and off balance. So when the man's black armored elbow connected with a bone jarring crash into his visor he was thrown backward, feeling his legs come out from under him as the black clad raider swept his own leg back toward himself.

Landing with a thud and a grunt Travis noticed that there was a large crack in his visor through which the warm air of his suit was leaking with an audible hiss. He also noticed that he had lost control of his gauss rifle in the fall and it now lay just out of reach. His attention was called back to his opponent by the sound of metal scraping leather as the black armored man drew his sidearm and aimed it straight at Travis' cracked visor. The pistol was an older style revolver with intricate engravings along the barrel, the cylinder, and running down to the polished wood grip.

Taking his eyes off the gun barrel in his face Travis snarled in irritation at the steam hissing from his cracked visor. With a click and a hiss he released the catch on the spherical faceplate and as it rose the remaining warm air in the helmet rushed out revealing the battered Travis. The cold air hitting his face felt like a hundred needles burrowing into his skin but he kept his discomfort from showing. He was a man in his early thirties. White with close cropped blonde hair and brown eyes. A scar ran from his left ear to his nose where he'd had a close call with a zergling on his first tour.

Looking down at him the Raider raised his own visor. As the skull rose up and a blast of steam erupted from the man's helmet the Dominion sergeant's eyes narrowed in recognition. The man was of similar age to Travis himself though in place of short blonde hair he had longer black hair and a thin beard. Grey hairs had begun to mix with the black, somewhat premature for a man still in his prime, but his brown eyes remained sharp and focused. It was a face that was plastered on hundreds of wanted posters across Dominion controlled space.

"Raynor," Travis spat out the name as though it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"If you believe the posters." A wry grin flashed across Jim Raynor's worn features before vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. He glanced down at the rank insignia on the chest plate of Travis' hardskin and then raised his eyes back to meet the Dominion marine's gaze. "Get up slowly with your hands behind your head Sergeant," he said with a hint of a drawl in his voice. "Ain't no need for more of you and yours to die today." As he spoke the heat from his breath turned instantly to steam.

Travis' glanced around him. His surviving men had thrown down their weapons and were being rounded up by the blue armored Raiders. Raynor's men all had dark blue armor in place of the Dominion red and the Raider's sigil painted on their left shoulder. There the resemblance ended. Their armor was decorated with a riot of designs and personal inscriptions. Here a man had a dragon curled around his hardskin's left arm. There another had a mostly naked woman painted on one shoulder guard and a collection of tic marks, some kind of kill count most likely, on his other. One man had painted a cheerful looking smiley face on his visor. Ironically it was him that was shouting commands at the dominion prisoners.

"Cowards," Travis snarled and his hand began to move toward the pistol holstered at his side. He paused, however, as the tell tale sound of a revolver's hammer being pulled back cut through the other noise in the canyon. Travis turned his glare back to Raynor's face. The black armored rebel was looking down at him, the revolver held steady, with a grim look in his brown eyes.

"Don't do it friend."

As Raynor looked down at the Dominion sergeant he saw the look enter his eyes. A look that was half resolve and half madness. Travis glared back up at him before replying.

"Terrorist bastard! My sister was in New Raleigh you son of a bitch," and with that Sergeant Travis' hand shot down toward his holstered pistol. His gaze never left Raynor's and as his hand shot down he saw a look of anger mixed with regret enter the ex-confederate marshal's eyes.

The crack of the revolver shot echoed around the mountain range and when it faded there was only a grim silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**It occurred to me as I was writing the second chapter that I didn't do any kind of intro before I posted the first. I do not own Starcraft. This is a fictional work based off the Starcraft universe. I've been a fan of starcraft (and most blizzard products in general) for some time now. I've always enjoyed the game storyline (Jim Raynor's character in particular) but I've always found most of the Starcraft novels that have been published wanting for varying reasons. So I figured hell, why don't I write one. So here's chapter two. I've got the plotline planned out so I'll by trying to crank this out pretty steadily over the next couple months in my free time. This is the story of how Rory Swann got involved with Raynor's Raiders though I'll be throwing some other characters and sub plots in too along the way. Please let me know what you think, even if it's bad.**

**- James **

**Chapter 2: Backup**

Lieutenant Stefanowski took a sip of his sixth cup of coffee with an exhausted sigh. This was his sixth cup in the fourth hour of his shift. He had another eight hours to go. By the end he'd be going on a good thirty-eight hours without sleep. He'd only arrived at the Braxis Research Station that morning. When he'd reported to Captain Mauser, the garrison commanding officer, the man had looked at his service record then gave him a look that spoke volumes on his enthusiasm about being landed with a completely green platoon commander fresh out of Officer Candidate School.

"This is your very first duty station isn't it Stefowitz."

"Yes sir. It's Stefanowski sir."

"That's what I said. Did you request it?"

"No sir… the Operations Officer back on Korhal said this would be a good station to get used to commanding a platoon though sir."

"Did he."

Mauser didn't like this kid. He looked like a twelve year old. They all looked like twelve year olds these days. Damn stupid kids with their stupid full heads of stupid hair and their whole stupid lives ahead of them. Mauser was getting old, or at least that's what he'd decided. His hair was now more grey than brown, and there was now more scalp on his head than hair. He could feel every one of his eighteen years in the marines. After the Confederacy had fallen he'd switched to the Dominion Marines, taking a demotion from Major to Captain in the process. Seeing as how the new Emperor was hunting down any surviving Confed troops under the banner of "promoting unity" it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now here he was on this shithole planet Braxis with no prospects, according to his last conversation with the battalion commander who was cozy at his headquarters in the Sara system the bastard, for promotion. The way Mauser saw it though he had two more years till retirement and he'd be damned if he was going to get out of this job without a nice pension to show for it. So here he was. Freezing his ass off on this backwater training every near washout lieutenant that Dominion Command decided needed time to "get used to command". He rubbed his tired eyes and looked back at the pasty white lieutenant standing in front of him at the position of attention.

"So why'd you join the Corps Stefowitz?"

The twelve year old frowned slightly. Mauser decided he'd probably gotten his ridiculously long name wrong again. Stefowitz sounded better anyway. Instead of throwing a fit though the green lieutenant straightened, a look of almost comical pride crossing his young face.

"To serve the Dominion and protect humanity sir."

Idiot.

_Well at least nothing ever happens on this damn planet_, the aging marine decided. Mauser glanced at the clock on the wall before slamming the record shut, shoving it in a drawer and standing. He halfheartedly shook the young bastard's hand.

"Welcome to Braxis son. We'll see about getting you assigned to a platoon tomorrow. In the meantime I'm putting you on the next command center watch so grab a shower, get some chow and report to the observation deck by 1000 hours."

A crestfallen look crossed the young lieutenant's face.

"Well sir I uh… didn't really get a lot of sleep en route from the Capital…"

Mauser laughed inwardly. _Like I give a shit._

Instead he said, "Welcome to the Marine Corps son. You need to get used to the sleep schedule here anyway. Now if you'll excuse me my shift ended four hours ago and I'm going to get some shuteye…"

Lieutenant Stefanowski remembered all this as he drained his seventh cup of coffee. At this much time without sleep though he felt half brain dead even with the caffeine, and judging by the way his hand was starting to twitch they made the coffee a little stronger here than back on Korhal. He turned to the tech operating the command center's comm station and sighed.

"Is it always this boring in here?"

The man gave him a "no shit" look before turning back to his monitor. Stefanowski took a glance out the window of the command center's observation deck, then sighed and turned to grab another cup of coffee. As he poured the thick black sludge into his thermos he grunted in disgust.

"Does the coffee always suck this much?"

The comm tech spared another glance at him.

"Pretty much. You get used to it though. Hell the Captain used to give some to his dog."

"And the dog liked it?"

"I dunno. It died."

Stefanowski poured the sludge back into the pot.

Both men's heads whipped around as faint gunfire sounded east of the station. Stefanowski looked back at the tech, who looked genuinely alarmed. He hadn't heard gunfire once since he'd been transferred here.

"Isn't they're a patrol off in that direction?" the newbie lieutenant asked, an edge of worried uncertainty in his voice.

"Yeah. They're the ones that reported in ten minutes ago," the experienced but equally worried tech answered before keying his comm headset.

"Rover One this is Braxis Main. Situation report over."

The only response was continuing gunfire from the east.

"Rover One this is Braxis Main. Respond with your SitRep over."

The gunfire died out leaving only an ominous silence on the observation deck. The tech glanced at the lieutenant uncertainly.

"Should we inform the Captain?"

Lieutenant Stefanowski thought back to Captain Mauser's parting words before he'd headed off toward the barracks…

"_If you wake me up for anything less than a zerg invasion I'll have you on twenty-four hour watch for a week and stick my pistol so far up your ass you'll be spitting lead for a week."_

_ "_I don't think that's best," Stefanowski decided aloud. "I was trained for these kind of situations back on Korhal."

The tech gave him a look that was decidedly unconvinced but just then a voice came over the comm unit.

"Braxis Main this is Rover One! We're under heavy assault by enemy infantry! Need immediate reinforcements over!"

Alarmed, the tech keyed his transmitter. That wasn't Sergeant Travis.

"Rover One identify yourself."

A smattering of gunfire erupted again from the east. Then an angry voice game back over the comm.

"This is echo four Mason! Echo five Travis is KIA! We were ambushed in the canyon! We're falling back to the west end. Under heavy fire…" a burst of gauss rifle fire was heard over the comm unit and then silence.

Stefanowski put a hand to his forehead in frustration. Why? Why on his first damned watch. The tech watched him worriedly.

"Should we wake the Captain sir?"

The lieutenant shook his head.

"Negative. It's probably just some locals pissed off about taxes or something. What's the quick reaction force on station?"

"There's a dropship with four goliath's standing by in the hanger."

Stefanowski nodded in satisfaction.

"Perfect. Deploy them to the position of the patrols last transmission. Their orders are two reinforce and terminate all attacking forces."

"And we're not gonnna call the Captain?"

"You have a problem with my orders?" snapped Stefanowski angrily.

The tech shrugged and turned back to his monitor. This guy was an idiot but he was probably right. There hadn't been serious action on Braxis in years. In any case he wasn't paid enough to end up in the station brig for getting belligerent with a buck lieutenant. He switched to the QRF's frequency and keyed his transmitter.

0000

"You missed your true calling son. Could've done a hell of a lot more good in showbiz," Jim Raynor commented almost cheerily.

Corporal Mason took his eyes off of the big gauss rifle muzzle that was being held in his face to glance at the rebel commander. Raynor looked at ease standing in his black hardskin in the deep snow at the west end of the canyon. He held his gauss rifle in one armored hand and with the other leaned against the hull of a sleek black dropship. Along both sides of the ships hull were painted large white skulls that matched the skull on Raynor's visor.

After the ambush he and his squad of Raider's had jogged, along with the surviving Dominion marines, under heavy guard, to the mouth of the canyon where none too gently they'd advised the survivors of the patrol to exit their hardskins and load up into the dropship where they now sat shivering under the gaze of one of the blue armored Raiders.

All except Mason. Who'd been told to remain in his armor and place the distress call back to the Research Station. The man now stood, unarmed but in his hardskin under the gun of another of Raynor's marines. His brown eyes took in the black clad Raider with a mix of anger and uncertainty.

"You said if I cooperated you'd spare my men."

"I will at that Corporal. Course I wasn't planning on actually killing any of you anyway but I figure an actual member of the patrol placing the call to you base stood less chance of catching suspicion than one of my boys. I thank you kindly." The last he said with a wink for the glaring Corporal's benefit before turning to the Raider that had his gun on the man.

"Connel, get him into the ship and out of that hardskin. Tell the pilot to take off and head back to the staging area. We'll send for you when the fireworks are over."

"Roger sir," Connel replied without taking his gaze or muzzle off the armored Dominion marine. Indicating the dropship with his rifle and a curt, "let's go," he and the prisoner started up the ships ramp. A moment later the ships thrusters engaged and it rose into the air, the roar of the powerful engines mixing with the mechanical whine of the ramp closing. As the ramp clamped shut the two main engines rotated until they were horizontal, then a the ships forward thrusters cut out and the pilot accelerated away, heading toward the other side of the mountain range but keeping low to the peaks so as to avoid detection by the Dominion outpost to the west.

Raynor made his way through the snow to a white clad figure and a group of blue armored marines at the canyon entrance. His black combat suit made quite a contrast amidst the white snow and ice of the Braxis wastelands. Glancing up at the thick grey clouds Raynor breathed a sigh of relief. The cloud cover would come in handy before the day's end.

As he approached the canyon entrance he paused in front of a thin man with pasty white skin, an unruly shock of black hair, and thick orange glasses who was bundled up in a large white jacket and working at the control panel to a device that was resting in the snow. Glancing worriedly in the direction of the Dominion research station he turned back to the unarmored man, whose fingers were flying across a keypad on the side of the device.

"Can we pick it up some Stetmann? That Dominion response team is gonna be on us in a few minutes."

Dr. Egon Stetmann glanced up at the commander through his orange glasses. Before turning back to his work.

"Of course sir. The EMP will be ready momentarily. I really do think you'll be satisfied with its performance."

"And you're sure it won't fry our hardskins behind that cover."

Stetmann paused and looked back at Raynor, though he had to raise his head high to take in the commander in his combat suit. He ran a hand through his small soulpatch thoughtfully.

"Well sir, seeing as how we rigged the device from an electromagnetic pulse missile hijacked from a Dominion science vessel, and that we've never field tested anything like this before I'd say the odds are still certainly stacked in the favor of it not affecting you and the men's suits and leaving us completely…"

"I get it Stetmann… you're a endless supply of reassurance," Raynor interrupted. He glanced at the dozen marines waiting behind his science officer. They shifted and glanced at each other nervously but otherwise said nothing. Some double and triple checked their weapons. These were men that had been fighting with Raynor for years. They were used to working "outside the box" and had a great deal of faith in the commander. Nevertheless Jim put an edge of confidence into his voice that he didn't necessarily feel and looked back down at Stetmann.

"Just try and speed it up."

Stetmann was already back to typing on the keypad.

"Well of course sir. I was almost finished anyway and… there!"

The makeshift panel on the side of the EMP bomb flashed "Armed" in bright red letters and Raynor turned back to the marines, gesturing toward the canyon with his free hand.

"Everybody back into the canyon! Move!"

Without hesitation the armored marines turned and began sprinting back toward the canyon mouth and the protective rock formations. As Jim followed suit he scooped up Stetmann by the waistband and threw him over his armored shoulder. The skinny scientist yelped in protest.

"Hey!"

"No time for lollygagging Stetmann," Raynor grinned, knowing the man couldn't see the expression. The scientist's cries subsided into resentful mumbling, but he stopped struggling and he and Raynor joined the other Raiders behind a thick outcropping of rock just inside the canyon. Raynor deposited Stetmann next to him, who looked around and nodded in satisfaction.

"Yes… yes this should work just fine. The EMP bubble won't be able to penetrate the foliated rocks in this formation."

"I'm glad to hear it Doc," Raynor replied distractedly. He glanced behind him at the waiting marines who gazed back at him in disciplined silence, a few nodded confidently back at him. He then risked a glance around the rock, making sure to keep back so he wouldn't expose the black armored shoulders of his hardskin to the incoming Dominion reinforcements.

They hadn't taken cover a moment too soon. In the sky no more than a mile out from the canyon mouth Raynor could make out the slipstream of an incoming dropship. He ducked back behind the rock and held up four fingers so his marines could see them. Forty seconds.

Stetmann whispered up to him, "You should have a good minute to minute and a half before the pulse wears off and they can bring their Goliath's secondary systems online."

"I got it Doc."

The nervous scientist continued, "Of course if their systems software has been changed it could take less time, in which case we'll be shredded by autocannons. Or if your intel was wrong and they have other unit's that we haven't accounted for…"

"Stetmann."

"Yes commander?"

"Shut up."

0000

The Dominion dropship's twin engines roared as it moved through the grey clouds above the Braxis wastelands. The Arm and Whip sigil was painted proudly on both sides of the hull and the cockpit, engines, and the edges of the down sweeping wings were painted Dominion red. Attached to the bottom of the troop compartment via magnetic clamps were four Goliaths. The small walkers had their mechanical legs folded and locked against their cockpits to make them easier to transport. Inside the walkers the pilots were listening to their last minute brief from the command center.

"… reinforce and terminate all attacking forces."

In the lead Goliath's cockpit Staff Sergeant Bricks keyed his own transmitter.

"Solid copy on all Braxis Main."

"Good luck. Braxis Main out."

The dropship pilot's voice came over the Goliath team's frequency. Calm but with a hint of excitement. Braxis didn't see much action and it was looking to be an interesting day.

"Twenty seconds to drop."

"Roger that. Hammer team prepare for drop."

Three voices sounded off over the comm, confirming the rest of the team's readiness for deployment. The dropship pilot brought his ship in low, firing his breaking thrusters, sending the main engines into their vertical position, and sending the craft into a hover thirty meters from the snowy landscape. As the ship settled into position a light above Staff Sergeant Bricks' control set went from red to green.

"Hammer team releasing clamps in three… two… one… drop."

With a series of loud clunks the clamps holding the Goliaths to the bottom of the dropship released and all four plummeted toward the ground. As they dropped the pilots released the locks holding the walker's legs up, extending them to absorb the impact of the fall. With four loud thuds the big attack walkers hit the ground, throwing dirt and snow into the air. Not missing a beat the pilot's edged their throttles forward and the four Goliaths moved swiftly toward the canyon mouth, arming their autocannons and hellfire missiles as they went. Each walker stood nearly eighteen feet high, with a bulbous main compartment resting on two thick mechanical legs. Out to the side of the cockpit were the blocky missile launchers and underneath those rested the six foot long autocannons that, all told, made the Goliath a force to be reckoned with on any battlefield.

"Hammer Team skirmish line facing the canyon."

The rest of the team acknowledged and the other three walkers moved to Bricks' right and left till they were advancing abreast of each other. Together the intimidating machines moved toward the foot of the mountain range their legs punching through the deep wasteland snow leaving great prints in their wake. Bricks switched to the marine patrols frequency.

"Rover One this is Hammer One come in over."

Silence answered him.

"Rover One this is Hammer One…damnit does anybody see anything?"

"Negative boss"

"No joy."

"I've got something! Direct front! About twenty meters in front of Two."

"All stop!"

All four goliath's came to an immediate halt and Bricks strained his eyes, searching the ground in front of the walker next to him till he spotted what the other pilot was talking about. Twenty meters in front of that walker and a good fifty meters from the mouth of the canyon was a dark metallic grey object lying in the snow. Even from his position in his goliath he couldn't make out the details of the object with it half buried in a drift. A body maybe? Bricks gazed at it for a moment, willing it to be closer, before sighing and hitting the transmitter.

"Three and Four, flank out a hundred meters north and south of the object and cover the canyon entrance. Two, your with me. Let's see what this thing is."

The rest of the team sent their acknowledgements and while the two walkers on the end of the line flanked out, Bricks and the remaining pilot advanced toward the object. As they got closer he was able to make it out in more detail. It was cylindrical and came to a point at one end. On one side of the cylinder a keypad was wired into the device with something flashing in glowing red letters…

Staff Sergeant Bricks' eyes widened.

The EMP detonated with a blinding flash that forced all the Goliath pilots to curse and turn away from the light pouring in through their canopies. Sparks flew inside their cockpits as their goliath's systems shorted out. The EMP round was designed to be launched from a science vessel and had an effective radius of over three hundred meters. Even the two goliaths on the flanks didn't stand a chance.

Bricks cursed as a spark found it's way in the collar of his camouflage jumpsuit. Swatting at the offending ember he opened his eyes and punched desperately at the goliath's cold start button with no response. He keyed his comm unit's transmitter and then realized that it too had shorted out. He was dead in the water. Looking around at the other goliaths he realized they were all in the same position. The big walkers stood motionless in the snow, all their armor and ordnance for nothing. Then Bricks caught movement out of the corner of his eye and his cursing started up again with a vengeance.

From the mouth of the canyon came over a dozen marines in combat suits. They came sprinting through the snow in a rush with their gauss rifles at the ready. A few of them carried what looked like demolition charges. Bricks slapped his reset button frantically praying to whoever was listening that today was his day.

It wasn't.

Bricks immediately noticed that the marine's combat suits were painted in a dark blue and when he noticed the sigil on their left shoulders he uttered a word his mother certainly would not have appreciated. The marines split up, some taking up a position about ten meters away from the immobilized goliaths, gauss rifles ready in case the walkers came back to life early. One marine sprinted to each individual walker however, and Bricks watched as one of the blue bastards affixed a demo charge to one of the other goliath's leg. Using the metal bar on the walker's knee that the pilot used to get into the cockpit the armored figure lifted himself up to where the pilot could see him and banged on the canopy with a big armored hand.

A scuffling noise from below told Bricks that one of the enemy marines was doing the very same thing to his own walker and, unsurprisingly, a moment later a man jumped up and waved to him. This wasn't just any Raider though. The man's armor was black with a white skeleton painted over the front and his visor open. Bricks immediately recognized the face looking in at him, his mind flashing back to a hundred briefings.

James Raynor.

Raynor gave him a wry grin then held something up right in front of Bricks' face. A detonator. If that wasn't a clear enough message Raynor dropped back to the ground and moved out in front of the Dominion staff sergeant's walker so that he could see him. He then pointed at the ground in front of him before pointing to the detonator with a severe look. The message was crystal clear. _Get out or I'm gonna blow you into little bitty bits._

With a frustrated yell Bricks looked to his left and right. The other goliath pilots were exiting their walkers under the watchful gaze of Raynor's men. With one final curse for good measure Bricks hit the button to open his goliath's canopy. Moments later he dropped to the snow, wincing at the cold, and turned to face the infamous revolutionary with his hands raised. Raynor stood there with a serious look on his face and his gauss rifle raised.

"Good choice friend."

He flicked his muzzle meaningfully toward where the other pilots were being lead and the two started off in that direction. Bricks stared straight ahead as he trudged through the snow. His jaw clenched except for uttering one question.

"What are ya gonna do with us?"

Raynor answered with a note of dry humor in his voice.

"Tie you up with your friends so you can spend time getting to know one of my boys who's gonna make sure you don't cause a ruckus. Then we're gonna pay a visit to that research station of yours. Appreciate you handing over those goliath's by the way. I think they'd look a mite better in blue though."

Bricks' jaw clenched tighter.

The whine of large engines echoed around the snowfield and Bricks looked up to see a black dropship descending not far from where he and his men were being gathered, another close behind it. Bricks joined his men and in short order they were moved onto the second ship. An armed marine sat down across from them to discourage any roughhousing.

Raynor turned to Stetmann, who was waiting with a pair of techs who had exited the second dropship.

"Stetmann."

"Yes commander?"

"Get these goliath's bundled up. We'll signal you when the business at the station is over."

"Right… uh yes right away sir!"

Raynor nodded, satisfied, then turned to the waiting marines and made a circular motion with one armored hand before pointing to the first dropship. Without missing a beat the Raiders began jogging toward the waiting ship, Raynor following. As the last of them jogged up the ramp he made his way up to the cockpit and tapped the pilot on the shoulder.

"We're good. Wheels up."

The pilot rubbed his shoulder (one armored man's poke is another man's jab) then gave a, "yes sir", before hitting the switch to raise the ramp and setting about the business of getting the ship into the air. Raynor stayed at his position between the troop compartment and the cockpit using his free hand to brace himself as the ship lifted into the air, turned, and accelerated toward the Dominion base. He adjusted his suits comm frequency and activated the transmitter.

"Alright gents. We are greenlight for the assault. Fall in."

Voices acknowledged over the comm units in his suit and the dropship's cockpit.

"Band Wagon flight copies."

"Reaper flight copies."

Raynor watched with satisfaction as three other dropships descended from the clouds above his own, settling into formation to the right and left. Above them four wraith fighters accelerated, shooting out of the cloud cover and past the dropships heading toward the Dominion outpost to the east.

"Let's go say hello."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everybody,**

**Sorry this update took so long. It's been busy lately and I haven't had as much time to write as I hoped. Hopefully the size of this update and the fact that it's two chapters makes up for it. Originally I'd meant this to be one chapter but it ended up longer than I'd originally thought which is fine but I decided to slit it up. Hope you all enjoy and by all means review!**

**-James**

**Chapter 3: One Thing After Another**

Alarms echoed across the Dominion outpost. All over the base civilian personnel and armored marines ran to and fro in a state of organized chaos. More marines began emerging from the mobile Barracks, clad in full combat armor, and moving to pre-established positions throughout the base. Many of these groups moved slowly with a hint of uncertainty in their movements. It had been a long time since the Braxis Station's warning system had gone off in earnest. There had been drills but they were infrequent and few ever thought they would be put into action anytime soon.

They'd been wrong.

The base was small, the more _top secret_ weapons development was done at more secure locations. The actual research facility and flight hanger was built into a steep hillside that was the only landmark for miles in the generally flat Braxis wasteland. Nestled against the hill were the support buildings. A mobile command center, barracks, and armory were arrayed in close proximity. On three sides of the buildings was a steep berm of frozen dirt and stone with a bunker at each corner and a gatehouse at the eastern berm. Within the protection of the berm, near the gatehouse, were two older model siege tanks that were deployed into their artillery setup, commonly known as siege mode, so as to provide supporting fire against any attackers directed by spotters in the bunkers. Near the entrance to the hillside hanger were two anti-air missile turrets that protected the base from airborne attack. All in all the facility was thought to be relatively secure. It was by no means the best protected outpost in the Dominion but it wasn't the least either.

On this day lights flashed all over the research station as the long quiet alarms shrieked their warning of an impending attack. The siege tank's great hundred and twenty millimeter shock cannons rotated slightly as the operators went though last minute checks on the big guns. In the hanger eight wraiths went through their pre-flight checks as the pilots rushed to ready the attack craft.

Up in the command center's observation deck Lieutenant Stefanowski watched the rush of activity below him, the panic rising in him abating slightly as he watched the base ready itself for attack. Fingering his empty coffee mug nervously he shot a glance at the comm tech.

"Is everything good?"

The tech didn't take his eyes from his screen as he monitored the reports coming in from around the base.

"All the bunkers report they're set. Both siege tanks are reporting their systems operational and the wraiths should be ready for launch in a few minutes." He finally spared a glance at the nervous lieutenant. "You know the Captain will be on his way up now right?"

Stefanowski's eyes darted toward the metal door to the observation deck before moving back to the tech.

"He can't be that pissed right? We didn't have any reason to suspect we'd lose contact with the QRF… They could just be having comm issues…"

The tech just looked at him, pity in his eyes, before he turned back to his screen.

"WHAT IN THE SPHINCTER OF HELL ARE YOU DOING TO MY BASE!"

The doors to the observation deck slid aside and Captain Mauser stormed into the room with death in his eyes. The captain was fully armored in a red tinted Dominion combat suit with two bright silver bars emblazoned on the chest denoting his rank. At his side was holstered a large caliber pistol and the man shook with fury, even through the armored suit. The large boots rang menacingly as they advanced across the observation room's metal floor. Stefanowski found himself unconsciously backing up before the intimidating site.

"S-sir one of the patrols came under fire to the east. I d-dispatched the quick reaction force to help them but we… lost contact with them a few minutes ago. I put the base on high-"

The enraged Mauser, who had finally reached the panicking lieutenant, cut him off. Grabbing him by his camouflaged collar, the Captain easily lifted him up in his red power armored hands and slammed him none-too-gently against the wall. Stefanowski gasped as all the air rushed out of his lungs and pain exploded from his shoulders. Mauser brought the spluttering man up to his eye level, almost a foot and a half off the ground in his hardskin, and practically spat his next words into the young lieutenants face.

"And you didn't think to have someone wake me up and tell me that MY TROOPS WERE UNDER ATTACK! And now we've probably lost an entire squad of marines and four good goliath's! You stupid little shit do you realize what you've done!" He glared at Stefanowski, who was struggling to refill his lungs and clawing at Mauser's armored hands. Growling in disgust Mauser let go of the wide-eyed man, letting him crash to the floor in a coughing, gasping heap. Ignoring the little bastard Mauser turned to the tech who had watched the whole thing with a pitying but surprisingly Unsurprised look on his face.

"What's our status!" Mauser snapped as he stomped over to look out the observation window.

"All bunkers and the tanks are set in a defensive posture sir. The wraiths should be warmed up and ready to launch any second and all reserve marines are geared up and standing by at their rally points," the tech glanced up at the Captain. Mauser was still fuming, but he was also looking down and appraising the base defenses.

"Get all troops up on that berm. I want every idiot who knows how to pull a trigger ready to hold that line. We may not know what's out there but if they can take down an entire squad and a team of goliaths we're not taking any chances."

The tech relayed the orders to the defenders below. Then the terminal next to him beeped and he spared it a glance. When he saw the screen his eyes widened.

"Sir! Sensors show incoming aircraft! Looks like… four dropships and four wraiths. They're not ours."

Mauser moved over and examined the screen before cursing and turning back to Stefanowski, who had finally managed to regain his breath and climb to his feet.

"Is that sidearm loaded _lieutenant?" _he spat the last word like it tasted vile.

"Y-yes sir…"

"Then get down on that berm and _hold that line._ If you survive maybe your not completely useless. If not…" he let the last statement hang threateningly.

Without giving the red faced young officer a chance to respond Mauser turned and hit the tech's transmitter.

"All units be advised…"

0000

"… we have incoming hostiles. Make ready for enemy ground and air action. Terminate all incoming targets with extreme prejudice."

"Whoooeee! Been a while since we done had any action in this shithole eh sarge?" Corporal Black shouted down to Sergeant White from the siege tank's gunner seat. White looked up at Black in contempt. What the hell had he done to be teamed with this illiterate redneck hillbilly?

Cpl. Black was short, with a pasty white complexion, buck teeth, lean, and had a voice that made anybody who heard it want to stab him repeatedly with any remotely sharp objects that were nearby. In contrast, Sgt. White was tall, dark skinned, muscular, with a deep bass voice, and he'd graduated at the top of his class from the siege tank operator's course.

Ironic?

The assholes at battalion had thought so. With one look at their two records some godless paper-pushing miscreant had decided that they absolutely MUST be put into the same tank team. This had led to the past year, the longest in White's five years in the Marines, in which he'd struggled every agonizing day not to sew the lanky little bastards mouth shut.

"Shut the hell up Black! This shit's serious! Now lock the cannon into place and stand by for targeting data from the grunts."

Black had the good sense to look abashed.

"Roger that Sarge."

"It's _Sergeant _damnit!"

"Copy that Sarge."

White growled in frustration but turned back to examine the tank's short-range sensors, waiting to see the telltale red dots indicating enemy contacts. Not for the first time he let his thoughts roam toward fantasies of finding the smug little pen jockey that had saddled him with this gap toothed moron as a gunner. His thoughts were dark, bloody, and he doubted his grandmother would have approved. Irritably he pulled himself out of his pleasant little fantasy and addressed his gunner without looking back.

"Black, make sure that your targeting system's linked with Juarez in the other tank. I don't want any confusion once the shooting starts."

Black gave no response except the sound of metal scraping leather.

Recognizing the sound Sergeant White felt a cold chill run down his spine and turned slowly toward his gunner. He found a pistol barrel in his face.

"C-Corporal what the hell are you doing?"

He looked up into Black's face. The pasty little man wasn't even looking at him, though the pistol was pointed straight at White's face. Black was staring off into nothing, a strange glazed look in his eyes. White saw his end in those eyes. He briefly wondered if there'd be anything after death. Or would it just be… black?

The irony hit him at the same time as the bullet.

0000

Lieutenant Stefanowski stumbled to a stop before the thick metal doors that lead out of the command center. Leaning against the wall he stared at the exit nervously and checked his pistol for what seemed like the hundredth time. He had run all the way from the observation deck, cursing himself all the way down. Why? On his first _damned _day! He'd been an officer for less than a week and already everything was going to hell in a hand basket. He'd just arrived at his first post and already he was going into combat.

His eyes widened at that realization and his hand tightened on the pistol's grip. Combat? Already? The simulators on Korhal were one thing but this was the _real_ thing. The bullets were real. The blood was real. And if he went down out there he wasn't getting back up. Sure he'd trained for this…

_That_ though sent a jolt of nervous determination through him.

_I trained for this!_

He slammed the exit button on the wall before his nerves got the better of him and the large doors slid to either side with a scrape and a thump. He winced as a gust of cold air rushed into the metal corridor, hitting him like a wall of ice and ruffling his grey regulation fatigues. With a growl meant to encourage himself more than anything he pulled his pistol from the holster and charged down the ramp to the concrete below where he pulled up short, the sight before him seeming wrong even to his inexperienced mind.

Several hundred meters away towards the gate one of the siege tanks hadn't positioned it's cannon. In fact the cannon was actually rotating away from the berm and towards…

The other siege tank.

Just as the thought came into Stefanowski's mind that he should warn someone the cannon fired with a deafening boom that echoed all around the base and caused more than one of the greener marines to jump at the titanic sound. What turned almost every head, including the more experienced men and women, was the sound of the other siege tank exploding. The hundred and twenty millimeter shell ripped through it's companion tank's armor and detonated turning the Dominion tank into a fireball that blasted twisted metal in all directions, including the warped remains of that tanks own cannon.

Immediately voices erupted over the comm earpiece that he'd thrown in as he sprinted through the command center. Everyone was shouting. No one knew what was going on. And all the while the rogue tank's turret kept turning.

"What the hell was that!"

"Command Ironside Two's lost their minds!"

"It's aiming in on the missile turret!"

With another thunderous boom the tank's cannon fired again. This time one of the outpost's two missile turret's exploded in a violent flash of flames and shredded metal. And still the cannon kept on turning. Stefanowski watched in complete shock, barely registering Captain Mauser on the comm.

"I don't care who but somebody kill that tank RIGHT GODAMNED NOW!" his voice shook with a mix of shock and fury.

"This is Venom Three, gemini missiles armed. I've got it."

The defenders eyes turned skyward as eight wraiths came screaming out of the base hangar. One pilot brought his starfighter into a hover and began orienting his craft down toward the tank and it's still rotating cannon. Both the fighter and the cannon reached their firing positions at the exact same time. The hiss of the wraith's missile being launched sounded right as the siege tank's cannon thundered for its final time. The gemeni missile crossed the distance to its target in an eyeblink and the rebellious tank detonated violently.

So did the base's second missile turret.

"Command that was our last missile turret!"

"Both our siege tanks are down!"

Captain Mauser's voice cut over the command frequency. The fury had largely faded from his tone leaving shock and what was sounding more and more like a grim resignation.

"All unit's this is the commanding officer. You are warriors of the Terran Dominion. Whatever comes over that horizon you WILL fight and you WILL hold the line. For the Emperor and the Dominion!"

A few men cheered. A few acknowledged. A few looked at their comrades and made snarky remarks. Who the fekk is the Emperor? I don't see Arcturus fekking Mengsk freezing his ass off on this shithole planet with an unknown and apparently very clever enemy closing in on him. Most of them however, simply shouldered their weapons and settled into a more comfortable firing position to wait.

Lieutenant Stefanowski looked on the burning tanks and missile turrets in horror from his position outside the command center. He watched as Venom Three turned his Wraith starfighter back to the east, cut in his afterburners, and rocketed off to join the other outgoing Dominion fighters. It was only out of the corner of his eye that he noticed the distortion. Numbed by the disaster his day was turning into but still curious he turned and looked at a rapidly approaching anomaly. The air seemed to bend in ways that weren't natural but that he wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't looking right at it.

All of the other Dominion personnel were at battle stations. No one saw the fatigue clad lieutenant's head jerk back as though struck, or watched as the young man crumpled to the ground. No one noticed as a patch of distorted air moved up the ramp and into the outpost's command center.

0000

Venom Three cut his afterburners as he settled into formation with the other Dominion wraiths accelerating away from the Braxis Station. Matching speed with the other fighters he adjusted his breather mask then flashed a thumbs up toward the squadron commanders craft, which was about fifty meters to the his left outside his canopy.

"Venom Leader this is Three, I'm in position."

"Copy Three. Alright Venoms I'm reading four enemy wraiths moving to intercept us before we can get to their dropships. Spread out and take 'em down as soon as we get into range."

Three acknowledged and listened as the other pilots did the same. He could see the incoming wraiths rapidly closing the distance with Venom Squadron. A few seconds later he heard a beeping noise and watched as the incoming fighters were outlined in green on his heads up display as his targeting computer sought a missile lock. From another part of his cockpit a more grim alarm started to sound and a red light flashed as the incoming fighters sought to do the same thing to him.

Four against eight? These guys didn't stand a chance. A wicked smile spread across Three's face, though it was hidden by his mask, and his thumb hovered over the missile launch button on his stick. Just another few seconds…

"Bogies! Bogies! They're right on top of us! All Venoms break off and ta..."

Three was just registering the warning when he was suddenly surrounded by incoming laser fire. One burst hit home and Venom Leader's transmission was cut off when the beams ruptured a fuel cell and his wraith blasted apart in a sudden explosion. Fighting back shock Three yanked his stick to the right, turning his fighter and breaking right and down, narrowly avoiding a burst of laser fire that had been meant for him.

Many of his squadron mates weren't so lucky. As he pulled his fighter back around he watched no fewer than four of the green dots representing the other Venoms wink out on his scanner. Half the squadron down in a matter of seconds! He leveled out and watched as eight more enemy wraiths dove down on his luckless squadron. The bastards had been hiding in the cloud cover! Peeling off into pairs the enemy fighters moved to hunt down the surviving Venoms.

"Mayday! Mayday! My left engines out! I'm going down!"

"Their everywhere!"

"Shit I've got a whole mess of the bastards on my tail! Going evasive!"

A cold realization settled in Three's stomach. They were done. His certainty only increased a moment later when a pair of wraiths in blue trim settled in behind him and his alarm started screaming at him as they sought a missile lock. Swearing, Three sent his fighter into a roll in an attempt to shake his pursuit. He winced slightly as the G-forces of the violent maneuver started to overwhelm his compensators, pushing him back into his seat.

As he came out of the spin, cursing to see the enemy wraiths still in stubborn pursuit, he spotted another pair of the blue painted attackers passing below him and he banked to follow. As he settled in, following as the enemy fighters bobbed back and forth trying to evade him, one of the two broke off and decelerated rapidly. Venom Three blasted past, still doggedly pursuing the remaining bogie. Behind him the other fighter settled in behind him and opened up with his burst lasers, along with the other two pursuers. Three jinked his stick back and forth, momentarily evading the beams, and prayed for a missile lock.

It seemed to take hours though in reality it only took a few seconds. The steady beeping became a solid tone and the enemy fighter turned red in his HUD. The desperate pilot punched the red button on his stick and with a triumphant yell sent a missile streaking into the other wraiths engines, turning the craft into a raging fireball.

Venom Three's yell continued as he blew through the center of that fireball. Pieces of shattered wraith pinged off his own fighter's hull but it didn't spoil his good humor. He sobered instantly, however, when he came out the other side and saw the missile streaking straight at him from the direction of the other enemy wraiths. The ones that had been escorting their dropships. Three only had time to grunt in surprise before the warhead impacted and his world became one of fire and pain.

0000

"We're losing them sir!"

A note of panic was starting to creep into the normally calm techs voice. It had been just one thing after another today and the man had a front row seat to each of the day's disasters. Across from him at the viewport stood the red armored Captain Mauser who watched the distant explosions grimly as the outpost's fighter squadron was systematically wiped out. The tech took another glance at the sensors.

"That was the last of them sir."

Mauser glanced at him, a look of resignation in the old veteran's eyes.

"Did you get that distress call out to command?"

"Yes sir. Will they… do you think they'll get here in time."

Mauser turned to face the tech, the heavy metal boots of his hardskin thudding against the metal floor. The Captain's armored hands were clasped behind his back and a dangerous gleam had entered his eye.

"Be real man. You know as well as I do the closest reinforcements are at least three days away. There's a reason they call it a fringeworld."

"Y-yes sir. What are your orders?"

"Are all the research staff secured in the lab?"

The tech nodded, a cold feeling gripping him as he realized where this was going.

"Sir… are we-"

Mauser nodded as he moved over to a small control panel to the right of the tech.

"We're going to do what we have to son. We've got to make sure that research and tech doesn't fall into the wrong hands." He looked at the tech sharply. "Run a diagnostic on those demo charges. I don't want any more surprises today."

"Y-Yes Captain."

Hands shaking slightly the tech punched in the necessary commands to his control panel. Another beep from the sensor monitor drew his attention.

"Sir we've got enemy ground forces landing about a klick from the berm. It looks like siege tanks and infantry"

Mauser nodded, unsurprised, but didn't respond. Instead he leaned over, bending low in his combat suit to bring his eye level with an ocular scanner. The voice of the command center adjutant, the artificial intelligence that ran the more basic base operations, came over a speaker.

"State name and access code."

"Captain Victor Mauser. Three, six, eight, niner, bravo, x-ray."

"Identity confirmed Captain. The lab will be ready to self-destruct in eight seconds."

Mauser spared a glance at the tech, who nodded nervously.

"The charges are showing all green sir."

The Captain nodded and turned back to the panel. His armored hand hovered over a glass-covered button. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe an apologetic farewell for the unsuspecting scientists and researchers that were about to be buried under tons of metal and rock. Instead he grunted as a knife stabbed deep into his forehead, killing him almost instantly.

The tech watched, completely shocked, as a line of faint blue light revealed a human hand holding the knife that was embedded in the Captain's head. As the light expanded it revealed an arm, then a chest, and legs, and then a pair of hard grey eyes framed by a grizzled face. In the space of a few seconds a man stood where before there had been nothing. He wore a body suit that clung tightly to his strong frame and periodically a line of blue light would run up each side of the suit, outlining the curves of his musculature even further. The suit came all the way up to the man's neck and he wore a set of Thermal/Night Vision goggles that were resting on his forehead. He had a head of close-cropped grey hair, a matching beard, and a face that seemed too old and worn to be attached to a body that would have looked good on a man of twenty years.

The tech finally overcame his shock and rose from his seat, pulling his pistol as he did so.

Not fast enough.

As he rose the assassin, one of the infamous ghosts, yanked his knife out of Mauser's corpse in a gush of blood then almost casually flung the knife at the tech. The man was most of the way out of his seat, his pistol just clearing his holster, when the knife embedded itself in his left eye. He was dead instantly, and toppled to the floor in a heap.

The ghost wasted no time stepping over the twitching tech's body, leaving his knife where it was for the moment. He moved quickly to the thick ballistic viewport that looked down on the outpost's defenses. Reaching into a pouch at his waist he removed a small breaching charge and stood gazing out the viewport, waiting.

He didn't have to wait very long. Within a few seconds a storm of blue painted wraiths came screaming over the Dominion research station, unleashing a second storm of missiles and laser fire as they went. Explosions sounded all across the base and men and women screamed as they died under the intense barrage. A few groups of marines tried to focus their fire on the airborne attackers but against so many fast moving targets they weren't particularly effective.

It had been a tricky matter to dominate the siege tank crewmember but it had been worth it. The base's siege tanks had been ruthlessly put out of action and the destruction of the missile turrets had cleared the way for the wraith attack and the ghost's advance through the station.

Amidst this chaos the grey haired assassin stepped up to the viewport and slapped the charge against the ballistic glass. Punching a few numbers into the charge's timer he hit the execute button before moving swiftly back behind the protection of one of the observation deck's consoles. As he crouched down he pulled a large sniper rifle from his back and checked the chamber to make sure it was loaded and ready to fire. A half second later the charge detonated blowing the glass outward from the command center and then the man was once again in motion.

Moving up to the former window, ignoring the blast of cold air that hit him as he came, he settled down on the floor a few feet back from the opening. As he dropped he hit a button on the side of his canister rifle and two stands popped out of the forward portion of the gun. Crawling cautiously forward he settled the weapon down, supported by the tripod and against his shoulder, and looked through the scope.

The base was in chaos. Broken bodies and armor lay amidst the surviving Dominion marines. Fires had broken out in a few places from the wraith attacks though they seemed to be focusing most of their attention on the bunkers. One of which had collapsed with it's surviving occupants crawling painfully from the ruins. The Dominion line stubbornly held on though. As the ghost watched, combined rifle fire punctured one of the wraith's fuel lines. Not enough to bring it down but enough to seriously damage the craft. The pilot broke off his attack run, turning the smoking fighter to the east and limping away from the fighting. The other wraiths were not deterred however, and continued strafing the Dominion ground forces from all directions.

No one seemed to have noticed the explosion on the command centers observation deck though, or if they did they likely assumed it was the work of the attacking starfighters. Without taking his eye from the scope the ghost adjusted himself so that his body was lined up behind the rifle. Reaching up to the comm fitted into his ear he keyed the transmitter three times, saying nothing. That finished he took a firm hold of his rifle. A Dominion marine was lining up a large shoulder fired rocket launcher at the attacking wraiths. The grey haired ghost sighted in, exhaled slowly, and then squeezed the trigger.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Hammer Falls**

The distant thunder of missile explosions was drowned out by the whine of the dropship's engines as they settled to the ground almost a click east of the base. Three of the heavily laden craft lowered just enough that the treads of the siege tanks rested on the icy tundra before releasing their magnetic clamps and letting the three massive war machines settle to the ground. Not wasting time the craft then lifted slightly, floating backwards, to touch down just behind the tanks. The ramps lowered and four squads of armored marines jogged down onto the flat wasteland, spreading out to find what little cover they could to protect the landing zone.

A black armored marine walked off the fourth shuttle at a steady pace, lowering his skull-covered visor as he went and hefting his gauss rifle. Jim Raynor switched to the command channel as he glanced around checking that his forces were in place. Over his comm he heard three short beeps as someone repeatedly keyed their comm unit without speaking. Nodding to himself he addressed the troops.

"Alright boys, advance to eight hundred fifty meters. Siege tanks, cannons out and standbye for targeting info."

Suiting actions to words Raynor moved into a jog toward the distant Dominion outpost, flanked by two squads of blue armored marines. Ahead and to his left and right the three siege tanks rumbled forward quickly, pulling to a stop just outside what would be the effective range of the enemy infantry defending the base.

With a chorus of loud mechanical whining the three tank's turrets twisted around, the twin ninety millimeter cannons collapsing into the main body of the turrets as the more powerful hundred and twenty millimeter shock cannons extended from the other sides. Two thick mechanical arms extended out from each tank, one on each side, lowering a large clamp into the frozen turf. Metallic claws shot out of the clamps hooking down into the soil to hold the tanks in place and with a loud clunk each tank's tracks locked into place. Not missing a beat Raynor hailed the distant wraiths.

"Reaper One this is Raider Actual. We're set."

Another voice responded, sounding strained as the fighter pilot was no doubt maneuvering his craft in for another attack run on the Dominion troops.

"Copy Commander. One bunker's down and I'm transmitting targeting data for the other two."

"Copy Reaper. Give 'em hell. Raider out."

Moment's later three massive booms sounded out in quick succession as the tanks fired. Three large fireballs appeared in the distance as the huge rounds impacted. Even from his distance Raynor could make out bits of debris flying in all directions.

"This is Reaper Four, good hits! Second bunker's down!"

The great cannons were already lining up with the last bunker, however, and within moments they'd annihilated the last target in similar fashion. Without missing a beat the tank commanders began raising their clamps and getting their vehicles ready to move. As soon as the last tank was ready to go, revving it's engines loudly to announce the driver's eagerness, Raynor's voice rang out on the command frequency again.

"All unit's bumping advance! Move!"

Two of the tanks shot forward, followed by two of the marine squads, the armored men being careful two stay behind the heavier armored hides of the tanks. As the tanks moved they opened up with their twin ninety millimeters. The shells impacted against the distant berm sending the lucky Dominion marines scrambling for cover and the unlucky ones flying away in pieces. One tank and Raynor's two squads hung back, spreading out and firing out potshots at the distant berm, hoping to keep the defending Dominion fighters behind cover as their comrades advanced.

Once the advancing Raiders were roughly a hundred and fifty meters ahead they pulled to a stop, the siege tanks still firing and several of the marines from behind each tank peaking around the armored beasts firing short bursts from their gauss rifles.

"This is Raider Two-One. Set!"

"Roger. Moving," Raynor acknowledged briefly before waving his own tank and infantry forward. The tank sped off, heading towards its comrades, Raynor following along with the remaining two squads behind the tank. Once they had reached the other two groups they halted with a shouted "Bump!" from the black armored commander as he went to a knee, firing a short burst from his gauss rifle towards the berm. The other two groups moved forward again, relying on Raynor's group to cover their advance. In this fashion they continued forward until they had closed within a few hundred meters of the Dominion line.

A hail of gauss rifle fire streaked back and forth between the two groups. Most of the Dominion's fire pinged harmlessly off the heavy armor of the Raider's tanks. A few bursts of spikes found their targets however. One of Raynor's men flew backward with a yell as a burst caught him in the arm. A flurry of shattered armor and blood erupted from the limb and he was thrown back cursing in agony. Raynor hurriedly passed his rifle to one of his men, grabbed the man's blue armored leg in both hands, and dragged him back behind the cover of the tank. A white armored medic appeared at his elbow, rolling the injured marine onto his back and examining the wound.

Snatching his rifle back Raynor quickly jerked out on one knee, moving his rifle out from behind the tank and unleashing a steady stream of spikes at the stubborn defenders. His tanks thundered their own reply at the Dominion troops and at this range their accurate fire was devastating, blowing great chunks of dirt and men into the air. The red armored troops continued to hold though.

"Break you bastards… Break damnit," Jim Raynor growled as he fired another burst at a red armored figure peaking over the berm. The spikes clipped the man's armored shoulder but didn't quite penetrate and he ducked back behind the berm. For a moment the firing died down as most of the Dominion troops disappeared behind the remains of the berm. Raynor glanced around his tank, hoping they'd finally retreated.

"Watch out! Watch out! They've got launchers!"

As one, the surviving Dominion fighters rose and sent a storm of spikes at Raynor's men. Two of the red armored marines raised large anti-armor missile launchers toward the tanks.

"Shit! Take those launchers down now!"

Fighting back his fear Raynor raised himself up, bringing his gauss rifle to bear over the back of the tank. Spikes impacted around him, pinging off the tanks armored hull. Spotting one of the launcher wielding marines he started to bring his rifle in line for a shot. Before he could do so, however, a chunk of the man's visor erupted outward with a spray of blood and he toppled forward, sliding a ways down the berm with the launcher still clutched in his dead fingers.

Sending up a silent cheer Raynor moved to bring his weapon in line with the other missile launcher, only to see a flurry of spikes take the man in his armored chest and face, shattering armor and flesh. As the man died he pulled the trigger on the launcher. But in his death throes the missile went wide, impacting harmlessly a good forty meters behind Raynor's tanks. A few Dominion marines let loose some final bursts before disappearing behind the berm.

"This is Reaper One! Their breaking! They're making for their buildings!"

Raynor motioned violently toward the top of the berm.

"GoGoGo! Get to the top of the berm but hold your fire."

All around him blue armored marines charged up the steep berm, using the massive craters dug out by the siege tank's attacks to move up. Reaching the top of the berm they raised their rifles but held their fire as ordered. Raynor crested the rise himself to see the surviving Dominion troops, only a few dozen now, sprinting toward the mobile barracks and armory. Not bothering to raise his own rifle he switched to an open frequency so the Dominion troops would hear him.

"Hold where you are! Throw down your weapons and turn around slowly or I promise ain't a one of you gonna get to those buildings without holes in you!"

The Dominion marines stumbled to a halt, still a good fifty meters from the closest cover. One of them whipped around, Raynor could barely make out the Staff Sergeant insignia painted on his hardskin's chestplate. Growling the man raised his rifle, shouting as he did so.

"Go to hell Raynor!"

With a sharp whistling sound a bullet punched through the back of the man's armored helmet, blowing bit's of the his brains out the front, and the rest of the dominion troops froze. Men glanced uncertainly at the dead staff sergeant, who slowly fell forward with a thud, his gauss rifle slipping from his fingers as he hit the ground. All around Raynor his own marines held their rifles steady on the Dominion troops with fingers resting nervously against triggers. One Dominion fighter turned his visor toward Raynor and the black armored former marshal held his gaze. The skull visage on his visor gazed back at the man ominously.

"How do we know you won't just kill us all anyway? We all heard about that shit you pulled in New Raleigh…" the man's voice was laced with bitterness as it came over Raynor's comm. Jim felt a stab of anger, tempered with dull throb of sadness. These bastards didn't know a damned thing.

A dull roar, rising slowly but with a deep and threatening volume, began to sound from the sky behind Raynor and he raised his head. Putting all thoughts of New Raleigh to the back of his mind he raised his visor with a hiss and let a wry grin emerge on his bearded face. Seeing this many of the Dominion marines shifted nervously and glanced at the sky as the roaring grew louder. Raynor raised his voice, so as to be heard over the growing sound.

"Don't believe me if you like friend. But my rides here, and the chauffer takes a particularly dim view to folks in red pointing guns at me."

The thundering noise above reached a crescendo and every Dominion marine's eyes rose to the sky beyond the black armored Raider as a great metal warship emerged from the thick clouds. A broad hammer-like forward section appeared ominously from the clouds like the head of some great beast emerging from the depths of a dark ocean. Only this ocean was a grey, cloud-covered sky and the beast was an enormous battlecruiser.

A thinner section followed after the hammer. After this came a thick central section that swept out into two great wings tipped by huge three sided stabilizers. Last to emerge from the clouds was the engine compartment. The glow of four massive engines framed the rear of the ship in a bright blue glow and lights shown from viewports all along the length of the great behemoth.

As the enormous ship came into a hover, the sheer size of it seeming surreal as it hung in the sky and cast a shadow on the Dominion outpost beneath it, laser batteries and gun turrets along the bottom of the massive ship's hull rotated and aimed down on the small troop of Dominion marines. Those marines stared up in wide-eyed awe at the huge battlecruiser.

A voice came over the open frequency. It was soft, clear, and threatening. Jim smiled again as he recognized the sound of his second-in-command, Mat Horner.

"All Dominion troops, this is Captain Horner of the Hyperion. Throw down your weapons and surrender immediately or every single one of you will die today."

Without a word spoken, and almost simultaneously, dozens of weapons clattered to the ground.

0000

Raynor watched as a large group of his SCV's, techs, and mechanics disembarked from the Hyperion's dropships. The flood of personnel spread out, heading to pre-established areas of the former Dominion base. Their orders were simple. Grab everything that wasn't nailed down. Weapons, equipment, supplies, intel, and anything else that they could either sell or use themselves. Even the fallen Dominion marines were being scavenged for their hardskins, or at least what could be salvaged. The bodies had been laid out in rows against the berm and covered with tarps.

Over by the armory the surviving Dominion marines and military personnel were being held under guard by his own marines. He'd told them to keep them out of sight of their fallen. Sitting there looking at their dead friends would only incite them into doing something stupid. To his left a group of weapons researchers were herded onto one of the Raider's black dropships by a group of blue armored marines. They were going to be interrogated, gently, and once the Raider's had gotten as much intel and technology out of them as they could for Stetmann they'd drop them at some fringeworld where they could make a living or contact the Dominion as they saw fit. Raynor doubted many of them would choose the second option. Explaining to Emperor Mengsk how they'd given all of their valuable knowledge to one of the most wanted men in the sector wouldn't be a particularly pleasant experience.

Raynor closed his eyes and inhaled. Enjoying the bite of the cold wind across his face. While some bundled up against the chill he reveled in it. It let him know he was alive. Something he took for granted less and less as the years passed. He stood in his black hardskin at the bottom of a dropship's ramp with his great armored arms crossed. He'd stowed his gauss rifle inside with the fighting over, though he kept his revolver holstered at his thigh. Passing marines and non-combat personnel saluted as they moved past on one errand or another and he nodded or sometimes saluted in reply. One approaching figure caught his full attention.

Moving calmly and confidently across the tarmac was the lean, grey-haired ghost. The man held his canister rifle casually across his chest as his hard grey eyes took in the activity around him. The other Raiders gave the man a respectful, if not wary, berth and he quickly crossed to the waiting commander.

Raynor nodded.

"Blitz."

The aging ghost everyone knew only as Blitz nodded back.

"Jim," one could hear years of hard living in the soft growl of the man's voice.

Raynor hesitated before his next question.

"Was it…"

"Looks like it," the grey haired man answered before Raynor finished his question. "There was some kind of detonation system set up on the observation deck. I checked the labs when the boys went in to get the scientists. The whole place was rigged to blow." He glanced back toward the underground research center. "It was sneaky though. Well hidden. I'm guessing none of the staff knew about it."

Raynor nodded.

"More 'n likely. Doubt most folks would care to work in a place that could come toppling down on them whenever their _emperor_ fancied it." The black haired commander's jaw clenched and a look of anger passed through his brown eyes. "Mengsk likes his assets that way… expendable."

Blitz nodded, looking at him speculatively before replying.

"How long till we lift off this rock?"

Raynor sighed and glanced around.

"Shouldn't be more'n another few minutes. Just waiting on a few things then we'll head back up to the ship and let these folks do their jobs."

Blitz nodded and started up the ramp. Raynor watched him go and before he disappeared into the ship he called up after him.

"That was some fine shooting today."

"Of course it damn was," Blitz called back down without breaking stride.

Jim Raynor chuckled softly. Cocky bastard.

"Ummm… sir?"

Raynor turned to see one of his marines standing in front him, looking nervous, and his mood immediately soured.

"Relax son. You brought 'em?"

"Yes sir," the marine replied as he held out a handful of dog tags. Six sets total. Raynor took them solemnly before replying.

"Thanks Brooks. Carry on."

"Roger sir," Brooks replied. The young marine saluted before turning and heading off to join a group of men spray painting a huge Raider's emblem on the base's concrete. A memento for whatever Dominion response force showed up in the next few days. Raynor returned his salute half-heartedly but found his gaze drawn to the dog tags in his hand. Six sets of tags. Six dead marines. Six more lives extinguished trying to bring down that bastard Mengsk. The wearied ex-marshal almost didn't hear his comm unit beep at him. It was almost unconsciously that he spoke into his combat suits transmitter.

"Go ahead."

"Sir? It's Horner."

"What's the word Mat?"

"Final count is in sir..."

"What's the bill?"

Horner hesitated before replying. "We've got six marines KIA and another four wounded, though the medics say they'll live. We've got one wraith and pilot KIA and another two wraiths damaged."

Raynor sighed. Another death. And a wraith gone too. Those things weren't easy to throw together. Horner came back, a note of consolation in his voice.

"We dealt the Dominion a serious blow today sir. The gear and the tech from this mission should keep us going for a good while." He hesitated again before continuing. "They were good people sir, but all in all this isn't bad for a days work."

Raynor nodded grimly as he replied.

"Your right Mat. Anything else?"

"No sir. I'll see you when you get up here. Horner out."

Raynor trudged slowly up the ramp. His armored boots beat a melancholy rhythm as they thudded against the metal of the dropship. At the top he paused and took one more look at his people. They moved with an energy and enthusiasm he hadn't seen in them for months. Some of their friends had died. But at the same time they'd struck a good blow against Mengsk, and that was what they worked for.

Raynor hit the button to raise the ramp. The pilot, taking the cue, started the engines to prepare for takeoff. The black armored commander sat wearily across from Blitz, who's eyes were closed. He looked at the ghost for a moment wondering if he was actually asleep. The old coot always had his guard up. Jim Raynor snorted ruefully before taking one last look out the back of the dropship as the ramp shut with a series of clicks.

Not bad for a day's work.

* * *

><p><strong>That wraps up chapter 4. Hope everyone's enjoyed things so far. Like I've said I intend to expand this into a full length story about the meeting of Jim Raynor and Rory Swann and how they ended up working together. I'm planning on bringing in a couple new characters, such as Blitz, and a few old ones. I figure it's a fanfic so I'll do whatever the hell I want :P. I'll try and keep as much to the StarCraft storyline as I can and to the best of my knowledge. Like I said I do NOT own Starcraft. I just enjoy the game and figured I'd write a fanfic on it. It's been a lot of action up to this point but the next few chapters are going to take us to other members of the story and they'll be focused on advancing the plot and setting the stage for the rest of the story. Hope your all looking forward to it as much as I am. Enjoy and by all means review.<strong>

**-James**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everybody,**

**I know it's been awhile since my last chapter but this one ran a bit long. That and I'm a bit of a perfectionist and I was having a little trouble cranking it out. I'm pretty happy with the end result though so by all means read, review, and enjoy.**

**-James**

**Chapter 5: A Fine Offer**

Richard Carde had a sweating problem.

His friends all said the same thing, and to be fair he agreed with them. He sweated. A lot. It was always easy to tell when he was nervous because the fat little man would begin gushing rivers of sweat down the length of his pudgy body (though his wife would say he didn't have much length to gush down… bitch). It was a wonder he'd come to manage one of the largest shipping lines in the sector. He'd long since given up playing poker. He couldn't bluff to save his life. Everything made him sweat.

When his wife would yell at him, he'd sweat. When he bet on the vulture bike races, he'd sweat. When he was in the middle of a major business deal, he'd sweat. When he'd had that special talk with his oldest son a few months ago, he had sweat. When he used the elaborate gymnasium he had built into his large estate on Valhalla, he'd sweat. Well, in all honesty he didn't use it that often. But when he thought about using it, he'd sweat.

Richard was not an imposing man. Barely reaching five foot six and a solid two hundred and thirty pounds, not an ounce of which was muscle, he was definitely the result of a life of luxury. Richard was not, however, a fool. Nor was he a coward. Nervous yes but not a coward.

When several of his pilot's had come to him two months ago with reports of huge street toughs approaching them at various ports throughout the core systems demanding "landing tariffs" he'd immediately spearheaded a private investigation. In short order, he'd discovered that these brutes worked for a large and complex crime syndicate based somewhere in the core. More disturbing however, he'd found evidence that this group had paid large sums of money to high-level dominion officials to overlook their clandestine activities. The irony that Richard had used bribery to discover this information himself was not lost on him.

Being the patriotic man he was Carde had been outraged. At the same time however he was never quite able to determine how high up the corruption went and he was a cautious man. Realizing he needed help, and some government protection wouldn't hurt, he'd approached the well-respected Valhallan magistrate Lars Morgandson for help. Similarly outraged by the merchant's discoveries Morgandson had convinced Carde that it was their civic responsibility to bring his evidence "straight to the top." Which is where they were now.

The magistrate and merchant stood in a huge room in the imperial palace on Korhal IV. The throne room no less. From the huge reinforced double doors, actual wood Carde had noted as they'd entered, ran a brilliant red carpet with golden embroidery running along the edges. The carpet ran all the way through the large gallery, which was designed to be filled by dignitaries or journalists from all around the Dominion, to a large dais at the far end. Huge columns ran along both sides of the rectangular room. Here and there along the walls was elaborate stonework depicting great wolves, the symbol of the Mengsk Dynasty.

Close to the throne room's entrance stood two large statues depicting two tall, bearded men, dressed in elaborate finery. One of them was taller, though not as muscular, but he had the same regal bearing and piercing look as the other. At the bottom of this statue was a plaque bearing the man's name, Angus Mengsk. Below the name was a dedication honoring the man for his visionary role in beginning the revolution on Korhal IV that would eventually send his son to topple the Confederacy of Man and found the Terran Dominion, the most powerful Terran faction Koprulu had ever seen. All of this had been at the cost of Angus', along with his wife and daughter's, lives at the hands of a Confederate death squad.

The other statue held the likeness of Angus' son, and the reigning Dominion Emperor, Arcturus Mengsk. The statue showed Arcturus gazing sternly but lovingly toward that of his father, a gaze that Arcturus had never directed at his father in life. But appearances had to be maintained and few knew the Emperor well enough to have any knowledge of his relationship with his deceased sire anyway.

The two men stood on the red carpet about ten feet from the dais. Morgandson looked tall and proud in his magistrate's robes and Carde was in his best business suit. All around them was an honor guard of Dominion marines that stood at rest between each column and all along the wall behind the dais. Each marine was fully armored in a spotless red and grey combat suit with the arm and whip dominion crest on one shoulder and the likeness of a fierce wolf on the other. Each of their gauss rifles was engraved with elaborate designs along their stocks and a snarling wolf's head around the muzzle. Their visors were all down and they stood, silent and motionless, casting eerie shadows across the red carpet as the morning sun came in through the chambers huge stained-glass windows. Carde glanced at them nervously every so often, though for the most part his attention was held by the figure sitting in the great throne atop the dais.

Arcturus Mengsk was not a small man. His shoulders were broad and muscular even in his forties. He wore a dark brown and gold greatcoat with dark epaulettes across the shoulders and secured across his chest with an elaborate golden wolf's head clasp. Beneath the coat he wore a dark brown Dominion military dress uniform with gold buttons along the chest and an elaborate gold buckle around his waist. His dark brown pants came down to just below his knees where they were stuffed into a pair of sleek black boots. His face was stern and the lines of age showed at his forehead and corners of his eyes. He wore his greying black hair down to his ears with a thick greying beard. All in all, the Emperor cut an imposing figure as he stared down, intensely taking in the merchant and the talking magistrate.

Richard Carde was sweating.

_When the man says the top he means the top!_

"… the evidence is irrefutable Emperor," Magistrate Morgandson was presenting their discoveries to the Dominion's leader. "This corruption goes high. Perhaps even to some of your officials here in the capital! When Mr. Carde came to me with this information I knew that few could be trusted. The only way to be sure that this treachery wasn't swept under the rug was to bring it directly to you."

Mengsk nodded earnestly.

"Indeed Magistrate. These revelations are both shocking and infuriating. Rest assured I will _personally_ see that these traitors are brought to light and punished to the full extent of Dominion law."

Arcturus' voice was deep with a hint of a drawl. He spoke the words slowly, seemingly imparting a sense of righteous wrath with each syllable. He rose from the throne, his honor guard snapping to attention as he did so, and stepped down in front of the two men. The throne itself was a giant chair that's back rose five feet above the Emperor's head when he was seated. The Dominion's crest was engraved in gold on the high back and two golden wolf heads made the armrests. Moving to stand in front of Morgandson and Carde he shook their hands firmly, giving each man a look that spoke of respect and camaraderie.

"Gentlemen the Dominion owes you both a debt of gratitude that cannot be repaid. Were it not for your bravery and diligence these vultures might have continued to prey on the weak and helpless and I would have never known." As he finished shaking Carde's hand he stepped back and gave them both a grateful nod before continuing.

"Thanks to your efforts justice will be done and the people of the Dominion will be safer for it."

Recognizing his tone for a dismissal Magistrate Morgandson gave a short bow with a murmured, "Thank you Emperor," and Carde quickly followed suit. Both men turned and walked from the throne room, the great doors held open for them by two of the armored marines. Arcturus watched them go, the friendly glint in his eyes replaced by a calculating one as the wooden doors shut behind them.

"Mr. Bertrand," he said. His eyes never leaving the door.

A man stepped out from the shadows between two of the marine honor guard. He was of average height and thin. He was dressed in a simple, though well made, suit and was altogether unremarkable save for a great hook nose. Holding his hands clasped behind his back he returned the Emperor's gaze with a face that was kept carefully clear of emotion. When he spoke his voice was a thin deadpan though his accent marked him as a man of high society.

"Yes Emperor."

Mengsk turned slowly to face him, moving his hands to clasp behind his back in similar fashion.

"I'll be retiring to my private study. Join me."

Bertrand nodded. "Of course Emperor."

Mengsk stepped back onto the dais and moved toward the back wall where one of the red armored marines had already reached behind a Dominion flag, pressing a button that was hidden there. A section of the wall slid aside revealing a doorway that lead out into one of the palace's many corridors. Bertrand followed, a few measured steps behind Mengsk, along with two of the honor guard who took up positions behind and to either side of the Emperor as he moved confidently down the hallway.

They passed palace staff as they busied about the place on one errand or another. Here and there was a cleaning-bot busily working at keeping the imperial palace as spotless as possible. The hallways, like the throne room, were richly decorated with fine paintings, stonework, and carpeting. Every fifty feet or so stood a pair of the red and grey armored marines of Mengsk's honor guard that snapped to attention as he passed. To a man they'd been resocialized, their minds wiped of all personal drive save for two prerogatives.

Obey and protect the Emperor.

After a moment they arrived at an elaborate wooden door guarded by a man and a woman in tight body suits. The suits were covered by smaller armor pieces and an assortment of harnesses holding various weapons of mayhem and destructions. Their faces were covered by grim looking masks who's eyes glowed the same bright blue as the lights that ran up the sides of the bodysuits every few seconds. The ghosts held their rifles at the ready across their chests and their heads constantly swiveled as they kept watch on the hallway outside the Emperor's study.

Seeing the Emperor coming the two ghosts snapped to attention and one opened the study door. Without pausing Mengsk moved through the door into his study with Bertrand close behind. Their two marine escorts took up positions in the corridor opposite the ghosts.

The study itself was large but not enormous and built with six sides. The walls were stained wood and the floor was covered in a dark red carpet with simple golden embroidery. Up and down the walls leading away from the door were an array of bookshelves and display cases, the latter holding antique weapons from across the sector. Against one wall was a crackling fireplace and on the mantle overhead rested an elegant looking longsword. The sharp looking blade ran into an elaborate golden crossguard in the shape of two outward looking wolves. Atop the pommel was a golden sphere with a large "M" engraved into its surface.

Across the room from the fireplace was a large wooden cabinet stocked with exotic wines and liquors from all over the sector. On entering the study Mengsk immediately made his way to this cabinet, running his gloved hand fondly over the elaborate woodwork. Pulling a fine crystal goblet from one side of the cabinet he pulled a bottle of fine port from the other. Pouring himself a glass he returned the items to the cabinet before moving to a large leather chair behind a large wooden desk in front of a large glass window that looked out over the large urban landscape of downtown Augustrad. Collapsing into the chair he swirled the wine around beneath his nose before taking a small sip and turning to gaze out the window at the cityscape. All the while Bertrand stood in front of his desk, silently waiting. Finally the Emperor turned and gave his aide a hard stare.

"Will you please explain to me why that idiot magistrate didn't squelch that business the second the sweaty little insect walked in his door?"

Bertrand replied in his usual deadpan.

"Sir I believe that Magistrate Morgandson was actually elected into office without your… intervention. As I recall the Valhallans were so adamant about his appointment that there was no way for us to realistically rig the election without it being obvious to the local…"

Mengsk nodded and waved the rest of his aide's words aside. "Yes yes now I remember." He chuckled ruefully but when he looked back at Bertrand his eyes were steel. "This is what happens when I give them a little independence. Some damn naïve idealist gets into a position of power and the next thing you know he thinks he can actually change something." Taking another sip of his drink Arcturus made a decision as he stared into the depths of the dark red liquid.

"See that the fool falls victim to… unfortunate events. Find some criminal he's put away and pin it on him. Make sure the press hears about it too. They can do a good sob piece about it. Something that emphasizes the man's loyalty and service to the Throne."

Bertrand nodded.

"Of course sir. Shall I arrange a similar series of events for the shipping line owner?"

Mengsk laughed ruefully but shook his head.

"How that greasy little wretch had the brains to put all that together I'll never know… No don't kill him. But I want him discredited. Frame him for something. Something ugly. When it's over I want his own mother to think he's a compulsive liar and a cretin before he gets thrown into New Folsom for the rest of his life."

Bertrand nodded again. Then he allowed a small expression of concern to cross his features before he spoke again.

"And what of the officials responsible for collecting our… tariffs from the syndicate? It would seem that some of them have been… less than diligent in regards to keeping our ties with the crime groups a secret."

This time Mengsk nodded before replying. "True enough Bertrand. Find out which idiot is responsible for the leak and replace him, messily. If word of this had been made public it could have been a disaster."

"I wonder if it would be wise sir…" the aide interjected, " … if we severed ties with the criminal elements for a time. To ensure that no connection is found."

Mengsk considered for a moment before shaking his head, his gaze not leaving the ruby depths of his drink.

"No Bertrand. I'll not sacrifice our relations with the criminal underground. Without those ties we'd have no idea what they were up too." He spared a glance for the hook nosed man standing in front of his desk. "There will always be crime Bertrand. Better to keep the criminals close where we can keep an eye on them. Surprises can be dangerous."

Bertrand nodded, his face once again expressionless.

"Of course…"

A soft knock at the door of the study drew both of their attention. The guards had strict orders not to let anyone interrupt the Emperor and his aide except for a very select list of issues.

Bertrand moved swiftly to the door. Cracking it open and exchanging whispered words with someone in the hall. After a moment he shut the door and moved back in front of the desk, unable to hide the hint of nervousness in his expression. Arcturus spotted it immediately and as Bertrand approached he set his glass down on the desk and watched his aide warily.

"What is it?"

The thin man cleared his throat before replying.

"Sir the weapons research station on Braxis has been raided."

Mengsks eyes narrowed and his fists clenched, but when he replied his tone was measured and carried only a hint of his anger.

"By whome…"

"Raynor's Raiders sir."

With a roar Arcturus Mengsk rose from his desk and hurled his glass of wine into the fireplace. The glass shattered as it hit the stone foundation and the alcohol made the flames flare up briefly. Bernard winced as the expensive crystal shattered into a hundred pieces but otherwise watched the Emperor's rant calmly.

"That ungrateful, treacherous bastard! For over two damn years that backwater ingrate has been a thorn in my side! He stole MY ship! And now he's using it-"

This went on for a while and was accompanied by no small amount of objects sent smashing into walls. The guards outside had heard this before, and left the door securely closed and themselves safely on the other side. For his part, Bernard took it well. Standing there calmly amidst the storm and waiting for the enraged Emperor to wear himself out. After a few minutes he did. Dropping into an infuriated silence he stalked to the liquor cabinet, retrieved a fresh goblet, and filled it. Moving back to his desk he collapsed into his chair and took a long pull from the glass. Eyes closed he let out a ragged breath and when he looked back at his aide his face was stone.

"What did we lose?"

Bernard pulled a datascreen from an inner pocket and calmly read off a list.

"Final tally comes to eight wraiths, two siege tanks, four goliaths, and eighty-six marines." The thin man looked up from his list, returning the datascreen to his pocket. "It looks like they followed the usual pattern. They stripped almost all the gear, supplies, and parts that they could from the station and it looks like they broke into the command center's database as well."

Bernard jumped as Mengsk's fist slammed down on the desk, though thankfully no crystal was broken this time. The Emperor visibly took hold of himself however before he spoke.

"Survivors?"

"Twenty-eight military personnel and the majority of the civilian staff, though it looks like they took the researchers with them for interrogation when they left. The survivors are saying Raynor left them there to bury their dead with enough supplies for two weeks. That is, once he'd taken everything else he wanted and disabled their communications equipment."

Mengsk nodded, thinking.

"Who responded to their distress call?"

"The 5th Response Fleet out of Dylar sir. Aside from the officers the entire force has been resocialized."

"Good. Ensure the responders receive orders to never speak of what they found on Braxis. We won't have any loose tongue's with resocs. And have the station's dead rearranged. I want it to look like Raynor went down a line executing most of them and then left them to rot. Have the survivors shipped to the closest resocialization center. I want them to swear on their mother's lives that they were killed almost to a man, without mercy, then sealed into the labs with no supplies and left to starve."

Mengsk looked up from his plotting to give Bernard a wry grin.

"Send in the press when it's done. I want the public so outraged by _Raynor's _terrorist tactics that he can't find shelter from here to Earth!"

Bernard gave a shallow bow.

"An excellent plan sir. I'll see to it at once."

Arcturus nodded, satisfied.

"Is there anything else?"

Bernard nodded back.

"The galloglasses you sent for have arrived sir. Three of their officers are waiting in the foyer."

Mengsk smiled. The expression lighting up his face and dispelling the last of the gloom left behind by the news of Raynor's raid.

"How long have they been waiting?"

"About a half hour sir."

Mengsks smile broadened and he took another sip of his port.

"Good. Perhaps the wait's made them aware of their position in the overall scheme of things. Those mercenary scum can get cocky, especially the galloglasses."

A look of uncertainty passed across Bertrand's features and was gone just as quickly.

"The staff informs me sir that they've made themselves comfortable. It appears they've gone through three bottles of our good scotch while they've been waiting."

The Emperor's eyes widened with a mix of shock and annoyance, but then he chuckled ruefully and shook his head.

The fringe world Galloway was an independent colony and had been so since the first transports had arrived in Koprulu sector from Earth. This independence was a result of the planet's main export, mercenaries. The Galloway mercenaries, who referred to themselves as Galloglasses, took their way of life from old traditions. Traditions that went as far back as Old Earth. The Terrans of Galloway, a clan based society, trained from childhood in the ways of war and conflict until they reached adulthood. Once they came of age the vast majority took service in one of the planet's famous mercenary companies. These companies were generally run by a particular clan, though it's members were drawn from all the clans of Galloway and were taught that the honor and reputation of the Company came before any other obligation save to Galloway itself.

The Galloglasses Companies were famous throughout the sector. Their fanatical devotion to warfare made them an extremely formidable foe on any battlefield. Though sometimes picky about their contracts the mercenaries were known to be thoroughly reliable once they did take a job. They did operate under a few basic codes however.

Galloglass companies did not fight each other. Contracts were carefully looked at to make sure there would be no conflict between the Companies. The reason for this unity was no secret, protection. Any threat to Galloway itself was put down violently by the Galloglasses. At a threat to the home planet all contracts were put aside and all of the planet's mercenaries would return home to deal with the situation at any cost. This coupled with the fact that every man, woman, and child on Galloway was trained in the use of weapons had kept most of the Terran factions throughout the sector's history from attempting any military action against the planet itself.

All of this was known to Arcturus Mengsk. The galloglasses were proud, uncouth, and had no particular loyalty to the Dominion. They were, however, highly effective fighters and carried out their contracts to the letter. They were also known for their appetites, and so he wasn't particularly surprised to hear that they had taken full advantage of the palace's hospitality. The Emperor's laughter died away but a wry grin remained on his bearded face.

"Bring them in Bertrand. If their wits have been dulled enough to make the bargaining easier then three good bottles of scotch will not have died in vain."

The joke didn't seem to register with the hook nosed man. Or if it did, none of the amusement reached his face. With a murmured "Yes Emperor" he moved to the door and stepped into the hall outside the study. Arcturus waited at his desk, sipping his drink, and gazing fondly around his study. Finally there was a knock at the door. Putting his glass down on his desk he stood, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Enter."

The door opened and Bertrand stepped into the study, taking up a position by the door.

"Presenting Constable Murrough McCabe of McCabe's Maniacs and his brothers, Riley and William McCabe."

Three men entered the study, moving to stand before the Emperor. All of them were over six feet tall, exceedingly muscular, and had fiery red hair. Each was dressed in simple white v-necked shirts, tucked into a pair of grey and green fatigue pants, which were in turn tucked into infantry combat boots. The boots were lightly armored and extended up and over the kneecap. On each of the men's knee plates was painted a coat of arms. The head of a man armored in metal plates (Arcturus recalled Old Earth legends referred to them as knights) was shown over a three pointed shield painted green with a white line through it's center and three fish painted on the green sections. Beneath the shield was a banner with the words "Aut Vincere Aut Mori" emblazoned across it's length and over the knights head was a green winged creature that Mengsk couldn't identify. Each of the shields was also surrounded by green filigree. All this Arturus took in with a glance before raising his gaze to meet the eyes of the three Galloglasses.

"Gentlemen you stand before Arcturus Mengsk, Emperor of the Terran Dominion, Guardian of Humanity, and Scion of the Mengsk Dynasty," Bernard intoned in his customary monotone.

The foremost of the men (his two companions stood behind and to either side of him) chuckled and extended his hand across the desk. Bernard almost choked at the breach in decorum. A bow or at least a salute of some kind was the accepted greeting for people meeting the Emperor. Mengsk himself suppressed a flash of annoyance but extended his hand. The galloglass leader enveloped the Emperor's gloved hand in a large mechanical one.

"Good evenin' to ye Emperor. The names Constable Murrough McCabe. Pleased to be makin' the acquaintance of such a chap as yerself. Guardian of Humanity and all that if yer man here's ta be believed."

Murrough McCabe was the tallest of his brother's, though somewhat leaner, and certainly the oldest. His accent had the lyrical quality to it that was iconic for the Terrans of Galloway. He wore his greying red hair cropped relatively close and a small beard. He seemed no older than his late thirties or early forties, but the years had not been kind to him. In addition to his mechanical prosthetic arm his left eye had been replaced with a mechanical ocular replacement that glowed a dull green. The prosthetics were fairly high quality for independent mercenaries and Mengsk wondered where the man had come by them. Murrough's five metal fingers gripped his flesh and bone ones firmly, though Mengsk suspected if the man wanted he could've crush his hand in a heartbeat. Putting that thought to the back of his mind (the man would never be so foolish here in the palace itself) he returned the Galloglasses' grin with one of his own.

"Well met Constable McCabe. As for the titles we all must have our hobbies."

Murrough nodded, the grin fading from his face as he turned gesturing toward the two men behind him with his mechanical arm.

"Allow me ta introduce me brothers Emperor. This here is William, me head engineer, and beside him stands Riley who's my best pilot."

The other two McCabe brothers nodded, murmuring semi-respectful greetings as they did so. William and Riley were slightly shorter than Murrough, though they were both more muscular. They both also had shaved heads though William sported a thick red goatee while Riley wore a bushy red beard. All three of the McCabe brothers smelled faintly of scotch, though if the liquor had dulled any of their senses Arcturus couldn't tell.

Moving out from behind his desk Arcturus indicated that the brothers should join him at some chairs near the fireplace. The group settled in and Mengsk seated himself in a fancily upholstered chair facing Murrough.

"May I offer you gentlemen some refreshment?"

The offer was met by grins from the two younger brother's and a grateful nod from Murrough. Arcturus nodded to Bertrand who poured three drinks and passed them to the seated mercenaries. The Emperor's eyes narrowed in distaste as the two younger McCabe brothers threw back their drinks, an expensive scotch from some fringeworld called Agria, downing them in single gulps. Murrough, however, sipped his own drink more slowly and eyed the emperor speculatively.

"So what can meself and the lads do for ye Emperor? I don't imagine ye invited us here for yer whiskey and fancy conversation."

Mengsk took a sip of his own drink and nodded, eyeing Bertrand out of the corner of his eye. The aide was giving the younger brothers a dark glare, likely for their ill treatment of so fine a liquor. Nodding to the galloglass leader Arcturus leaned forward companionably before replying.

"Indeed Constable. I've asked you here to take a contract dealing with a… delicate matter of state. I understand your men are some of the fiercest fighters Galloway has to offer."

A wry grin tugged at the corner of Murrough's mouth, though the harsh green glow from his mechanical eye gave the look an ominous cast.

"We all got our hobbies Emperor."

Mengsk returned the grin.

"Indeed. The matter I refer to is this. There is a planet on the border of Dominion and Kel-Morian space, Meinhoff. Its people have been repressed under the tyrannical rule of their Kel-Morian rulers for too long and the time for their liberation is at hand."

The red bearded Galloglass grinned again.

"And I s'pose that the time for ta liberation o' Meinhoff's huge mineral deposits is at hand as well?"

Mengsk's grin remained where it was, though the mirth faded from his eyes.

"We live in dangerous times Constable. We must all pull together and share what resources we have for the common good of the sector. However… I am not interested in war with the Combine."

The mirth faded from Murrough's eyes as well and he leaned back, his look now serious and all business.

"What's yer plan then Emperor?"

Mengsk set his drink down and folded his gloved hands in front of him.

"You and your company will land and eliminate the standing Kel-Morian forces under the guise of a raid by one of the independent factions that plague the fringeworlds. Once this is done you will notify one of my battlegroups, which will be waiting outside the system, via an encoded transmission. Following this they will enter the system under the pretense of a peacekeeping operation, and you and your men will feign a retreat before my larger force."

The galloglass commander scratched his chin thoughtfully before giving a non-committal shrug.

"Aye. I s'pose we could do that. Assuming yer offer is tempting enuff."

_I have him. _Mengsk leaned back and took a sip of his drink.

"I would be willing to pay your company a sum of three million credits. Paid to you after the completion of the operation via one of my commanders."

One of the younger McCabe's, Riley, whistled at the figure. This earned a sharp look from his brother, William.

"Shut yer mouth pup. We're in front of a client."

"Fekk you Bill! I be only making comment on his offer."

"Ye damn fool! Ye'll be keeping yer comments to yerself when we be negotiatin' or I'll punch yer greenie teeth in!"

"Who're ye calling green ye piss swillin' bastard! I'll knock some respect in to ye good an' proper!"

The two big men were on their feet now, spittle flying between them as they shouted, and Arcturus' mouth hung open in surprise at the outburst. It looked like the brothers would leap on each other at any moment until Murrough turned a withering glare on his two younger brothers.

"Oye! If ye two lads don't mind I'm kind of in ta middle of an important meetin'. So if ye don't shut yer mouths ye'll be cleaning the decks with yer toungue's or me names not _Constable _Murrough McCabe."

The elder McCabe's voice was soft but every word was thick with an impending wrath that immediately caught the other men's attention. Both brother's gave Murrough an abashed look and with a mumbled, "Aye Lucky. Sorry Lucky," they sank back into their seats though they still shot each other resentful glares. Murrough turned back to Mengsk, his expression indicating a long-suffering history of these occurences. Mengsk himself only barely managed to snap his jaw shut as the Constable turned toward him, still taken by surprise by the outburst."

"Lucky?"

Murrough rubbed his forehead irritably as he answered.

"Aye. Tis a nickname the company's given me over ta years. Apparently they think meself to be possessed of an inordinate amount of good fortune."

Mengsk eyed the man's several prosthetic implants and a set of scars that ran down the Galloglass commander's chin but said nothing. Clearing his throat he continued.

"Is the offer acceptable then?"

Murrough made a show of considering before sighing regretfully.

"Tis a fine offer Emperor to be sure. But me men won't be taking well to this _retreatin' _business. Galloglasses are a very proud bunch ye see."

Arcturus' jaw clenched in anger. Impudent wretch! Three million, even for an operation this size, was an extremely generous figure. And here this fringeworld yokel was trying to squeeze more out of him. If Murrough saw the Emperor's agitation he gave no sign, however, and continued thoughtfully.

"Perhaps if ye was to sweeten the pot I could assuage their damaged feelings ye see. Like say if we was to be allowed to resupply from yer stores here on Korhal free o' charge? And some money up front wouldn't hurt either. Say half now and half from yer man when the job's done. And it will get done…" At this Murrough leaned forward and locked gazes with Mengsk, his expression deadly serious. "Once meself and the lads have taken yer job it'll be done right and quickly don't ye doubt."

Arcturus took his time considering the man's terms. Reigning in his anger he finally forced a smile onto his face and stood, extending his hand. The McCabe brother's stood as well and Murrough shook the Emperor's gloved hand with his grey mechanical one.

"I accept your terms Constable."

"Well then meself and McCabe's Maniacs be at yer service Emperor."

"Gentlemen, my aide Bertrand will see to the details of your resupply and downpayment. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other matters of state to attend to."

The McCabe brother's nodded in parting and followed Bertrand, who gave the Emperor a bow and then led the mercenaries out to see to their needs. Arcturus watched them go with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Insufferable ingrates. But they _were_ some of the finest mercenaries in the sector.

As the door closed behind the departing galloglasses Mengsk snapped his fingers without taking his eyes from the door. A flash of blue lit up the shadows around the study as a ghost decloaked immediately to his left. The man was fully armed and armored with his canister rifle held at the ready and his mask obscuring his face.

"Yes Emperor?" The speakers in the mask distorted the man's voice.

Mengsk finally glanced at the silent bodyguard.

"Bring me Commander Cromwell."

"Right away sir." With another flash of blue the ghost instantly cloaked and a moment later the door to the study opened and closed. The action didn't surprise the guards in the hall in the least.

Smiling in satisfaction Emperor Arcturus Mengsk moved to the liquor cabinet to refill his drink.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you all enjoyed it. I introduced a couple more characters in this chapter that'll play roles in the rest of the story. I took some liberties with the whole Galloglass bit, though I tried to mesh historical fact with a vision of something that could actually exist in the Starcraft universe. For those of you familiar with the game you'll remember the scottish pilot of the Hercules transport. I remember seeing that for the first time I thought (and still think) it was awesome coming from celtic ancestry myself. Anyway it got me to thinking that some scottishirish characters could be an interesting addition to a Starcraft story and I figured it's a fanfic anyway so I'll do what I want :P. **

**- James**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey everybody,**

**I'm sorry it's been so long since my last update. I spent two weeks in the woods with the Marines where I couldn't do any writing and when I got home things have been hectic with the new semester starting, looking for a new house, etc. That and this part ended up taking longer than I thought. Originally I meant to squeeze it into one chapter but eventually I saw I wouldn't be able to do it justice without making it longer so I split the next part into two chapters. They're going to deal with Rory Swann and establishing the backstory and setting for Meinhoff. As well as setting up some characters that will play big parts as the story continues. **

**Here's the first chapter. The second chapter is done so I'll post it in the next few days. Read, review, and enjoy!**

**-James**

**Chapter 6: Life Was Good**

The walls around Rory Swann vibrated slightly as the hovertrain sped through the grey wasteland that was Meinhoff. The walls of the train were a bland grey and were home to few windows. There wasn't much to see anyway. Just canyons, craigs, mountains, rocks, and endless piles of grey dust. The interior of the train's passenger compartment didn't add to the luster much. The seats were uncomfortable metal contraptions with only tight rubber straps for cushioning, and no armrests. The train was mostly used for transporting ore and crystals between the various mining settlements on Meinhoff and the few larger trade hubs that were where the materials were stockpiled and then shipped off world. In typical Kel-Morian fashion the train had been designed for efficiency not comfort. The only blessing was that it wasn't crowded. There were only six people in the compartment and none of them were seated anywhere near Swann. The air of anger and frustration he gave off discouraged even the most cheery of conversationalists.

Everyone in the compartment could tell that this man was having a bad day, and anyone who _knew_ the scruffy miner could've told you that he was having a _really_ bad day. For one he was squeezed into a dark suit with a dark grey shirt and an old tie. It didn't sit right and was too snug across his broad shoulders. Those that knew him would say that the effort it took to convince him to put on anything besides worn coveralls over a sweat stained shirt was frustrating enough that it was usually avoided for anything short of weddings and funerals. Aside from that there was the fact that he had his face buried in his right hand, obscuring all his features except for his clenched jaw. His left hand gripped the seat in front of him so hard it was a wonder he wasn't tearing through the plastic. His breathing had the ragged sound of someone on the very edge of control.

It had been a _very_ bad day.

Rory Swann's emotions were an unstable tempest of anger, regret, and sadness. It was all he could do to keep himself from letting loose a howl of anguish and tearing the damned Kel-Morian bastard's train apart. Everything was coming apart. All the money, sweat, and blood that had been spent were coming apart and he didn't know how to stop it. They were taking it all. _He _was taking it all. As the events of the last few years replayed themselves over and over in his mind one thought kept resurfacing in Swann's mind. A thought wreathed in rage long held in check.

_Damn them!_

_0000_

It had all begun two and a half years before the train. It was night on Meinhoff, which wasn't saying much since it was usually night. The planet had a short day cycle. Hot during the day and freezing at night. Any food that wasn't imported from offworld was grown in big biodomes that kept out the harsh elements and ever-present dust. Terraforming had made the atmosphere breathable but only barely so. It was a harsh planet and the Terrans who live on it were equally harsh as a result. The only real wealth on Meinhoff was buried in its endless mountain ranges and canyons. Mining towns had been springing up at a steady rate for years now and prospectors still wondered at the wealth that was being found buried in the grey rocks of what most civilized Terrans would call a barren hell hole.

On this night twin guttural roars echoed off the rock walls of a mountain range near the edge of the Terran settled territories on the Kel-Morian controlled world. Two vultures sped through the dust, weaving around the many rock formations. The two hoverbikes kicked up great plumes of grey dust in their wake that caught the blue light reflecting off the planet's two orbiting moons. The riders themselves wore jackets over dark blue coveralls and goggles covered their eyes protectively. They had large bandanna-like cloths wrapped around their necks to keep the fine dust out of their faces.

"How much farther Eddie?" Rory Swann used his hand to cup the mike of his comm headset so that his friend would hear it over the roar of the vulture's engines. He didn't waste any time getting the hand back onto the bikes controls however. He hated these damn things. But they were a fast and easy way of moving around the Meinhoff mountain ranges.

"Just a bit farther brother. Lizzie says she found the crystals just a bit farther into the mountain range!" Eddie's voice sounded excited as he shouted his reply back over the comm. Rory could see him maneuvering his bike about a hundred meters ahead of him.

"Lizzie bein' that pretty marshal lady that almost broke my arm back in Jorgenton?"

"You got drunk and slapped her ass."

"I wasn't drunk! And I was just joshin' around with her anyhow!"

"What can I tell ya brother? They call her Hard Ass for a reason."

"More n' one reason ya ask me." Rory grinned behind his protective wrap, remembering the pleasant hourglass figure of Marshal Elizabeth "Hard Ass" Pinton. "Wasn't an ounce of fat on that thing."

"Ha! You'd know brother. Didn't seem to be an ounce of fat in that left hook either."

Rory Swann grumbled something that might have been an affirmative. Up ahead he saw the entrance to another one of the many canyons littering Meinhoff's surface. Slowing the bike's speed he cautiously followed Eddie into the canyon. The walls were large, with bits of rock debris littering the surface. The two friends guided their bikes carefully around the obstructions and for a few minutes neither spoke as they focused on the path in front of them. After a little more than a mile the canyon crisscrossed with another canyon, this one even larger. Eddie brought his vulture to a stop at the intersection and Rory brought his own bike up alongside him. Both hoverbikes vibrated softly as their engines idled. Eddie looked over at his friend and grinned.

"This is the crossing. Cut 'em."

Both men shut down their bikes, the hoverbikes settling to the canyon floor, which thankfully was more rock than dust. Swinging his leg over the seat of the vulture Rory stepped to the ground, wincing at the stiffness in his lower extremities and stretching his sore muscles. Eddie stepped off his own bike and watched his shorter friend with amusement.

"Lizzie kick ya in the ass too?"

Swann shot the taller man a glare, but after a moment it broke down into a grin.

"You're a riot Burkey. Why don't you kiss it an' make it better?"

Eddie grinned back, stretching out himself as he replied.

"Aw hell Rory. Been on that bike like three hours now. I'd get a cramp in my back bending down _that_ far."

"Harharhar funny guy."

Rory Swann was not a tall man. Standing no taller than five foot four it was no secret that he was short. While many men would consider this a touchy subject Rory took it in stride. He was bulky for a man of his size, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Getting into his mid thirties he was just starting to show a little paunch at his belly but all in all he figured he cut a good figure for a man his size. He wore his brown hair in an unruly mess held back by his goggles but kept the long beard that came down his cheeks and over his lip well trimmed.

Edward "Eddie" Burkey, on the other hand, was a tall man. Standing well over six feet many of his fellow miners had joked over the years that eventually he'd hit his head on cavern ceilings enough that it would knock off a few inches. All joking aside however, he had more than pulled his weight in the mines. His body was lean and hard from a lifetime in the harsh tunnels beneath Meinhoff's surface. Clean-shaven with a head of close-cropped brown hair and dark green eyes Eddie had a lean face that became surprisingly soft when he cracked one of his many smiles.

He cracked one such smile as he looked around, taking in the crisscrossing canyons around them. The smile even held when he saw Rory eyeing the canyons as well, though the expression on his friend's face was skeptical.

"Cheer up Rory. I've got a good feelin' about this one."

Rory Swann turned his doubtful gaze on his friend.

"You've always got a good feelin' Eddie." Despite himself Rory cracked a smile of his own, unable to completely resist his friends enthusiasm. Turning, he opened his vulture's storage compartment and began rummaging around inside.

"So run by me again what makes you so sure this marshal lady's on the level Eddie," Swann called over is shoulder.

Eddie's eyes narrowed in exasperation but he sighed and responded.

"I told ya Rory. She's Molly's sister. She's good people."

Swann considered his next words carefully as he found the object he was looking for. A four-foot rod that held a sharp point at one end and an array of powercells and sensory equipment on the other, topped by a flat metal stud. He turned and gave his old friend a steady stare.

"You meet this girl what? Three weeks ago? And now we're runnin' out here to the middle of no friggin' where cause her sister says there _might _be an unclaimed strike out here? And didn't you say this Molly chick used to work for…"

"Well she don't anymore Rory!" Eddie snapped as his eyes took on a hard glint that Rory Swann wasn't accustomed to seeing from his friend. "When she figured out what a creep Kerr is she got out and she's been scrapin' by working in that bar ever since!"

"Woah hotshot! Calm Down!" Swann held out his free hand in a placating gesture. "Look Eddie all I'm saying is that we've been burned before and I don't wanna go gettin' our hopes up 'fore we even find anything. I really do hope this gal is the dream woman you think she is buddy. I do."

Eddie Burkey's expression softened as he looked at his oldest friend. He let out a breath and ran his hands through his short brown hair.

"I'm tellin' ya Rory… I've never met anyone like her. She's so damn _real _ya know? She makes me feel good. Best I have since Pop died…"

Jack and Patricia Burkey had been well respected in the mining town where Eddie and Rory grew up. When Rory's own parents had been killed in a mining accident the Burkey's had taken him as one of their own and raised him alongside their own son, Eddie. They hadn't led an easy life but they'd gotten by and given Rory more love and support than he figured anybody had a right to. Three years past Patricia Burkey had passed away from a wasting illness and not two years after Jack Burkey had followed her. Before he'd passed he'd shown Eddie and Rory what he and his wife had worked so hard to give them. An inheritance. Not enough to make them rich to be sure, but enough to strike out on their own and start their own operation.

The vast majority of the mining operations on Meinhoff were owned by the Kerr Mining Company. The company kept its workers on a tight leash. Pay was low and taxes were high. People kept food on the table, but aspirations for a better future were usually outside of a miner's price range. Jack and Patricia Burkey had scraped the bottom of the barrel for most of their lives to give Eddie and Rory the chance to break free of the Kerr Company's oppressive hold. The Burkey's deaths had hit them both hard, but despite that they'd left their jobs as miners and struck out on their own.

It had been nearly a year since Jack Burkey's death and Rory and Eddie had not had much luck. They had enough money to get a mining operation started, barely, but they hadn't been able to find a strike. Except for once. Three months ago they'd followed up on a tip that led them to a mountain range a hundred and thirty miles outside of Jorgenton. There'd been enough raw crystal to get a modest operation going. Nothing huge, but enough to at least get things rolling. When they'd sped back to Jorgenton to stake their claim they'd found out their source had sold the same information to the Kerr Company, who had flown a team out to investigate the strike, returned, and claimed it while the two friends had been speeding back across the dusty wastelands.

All this ran though Rory Swann's mind as he looked at his friend. Forcing a grin onto his rough face he stepped up and gave Eddie an encouraging slap on the shoulder.

"Hey forget I said anything Eddie. She sounds like a classy lady and I bet it's a good lead. Hell _I _might even have a good feeling about this one." With that Swann turned his attention to the device in his hand. Flipping a few switches he heard a satisfying tone as the sonic mapper charged up. The device was a common surveying tool that used pulses of subsonic waves to map out large areas.

"See bud. New girl, new lead, new toys. Things are lookin' up." Eddie cracked a grin, though Rory could still see the shadow of pain in his eyes that the memory of his parents always brought up. But his taller friend was ever the optimist. Gesturing down at the sonic mapper Eddie winked at him.

"So what's the latest update genius."

Swann grinned back at him, then rotated the mapper to show him a blocky contraption that he'd added to the device a few days ago.

"I hardwired a geo-survey unit into the mapper. Leastways the important parts of one. Won't give us a detailed read on the mapped area since it's not designed for this but it'll pick up on big concentrations of particular elements. Might clue us in on a crystal vein or somethin' like." As long as either of them could remember Rory had had a gift for technology. Mechanical things just _made sense _to him and he'd been taking things apart and rebuilding them better than new since he was a boy.

Eddie whistled.

"That's great brother! I'm tellin' ya things are lookin' up!"

Rory shook his head but couldn't repress a laugh. Walking to the middle of the canyon crossing he examined the hard packed earth of the canyon floor until he found a spot to his liking. Then he raised the sonic mapper and with a grunt slammed it back down, thrusting the pointed end deep into the ground. Stepping back he examined the mapper's placement critically. "Needs to be a little deeper."

Eddie reached into his own vulture's storage compartment and procured a hammer. He tossed it to Swann with another one of his crooked grins.

"Getting' old brother? Next time I'll be sure to pack a Can-O-Man."

Deftly, Swann snatched the hammer out of the air.

"Keep talkin' wise guy and you'll need to pack a Can-O-Bandages." Grasping the hammer firmly he delivered three strong downward blows to the metal stud at the top of the mapper. Each strike drove the spike-like apparatus several inches deeper into the ground. Finally Rory stepped back and nodded, satisfied. "That'll do. Here goes nothin'."

Pulling a datascreen from his coverall pocket Swann thumbed it to life and connected it to the mapper. Reaching down he flipped a switch just below the stud and several high pitched tones echoed through the canyon as the device sent out its subsonic waves into the ground around them. Rory felt a tingling in his skin and watched his arm hair stand on end. Moments later images started taking shape on the datascreen. Eddie moved up and examined the results over his shorter friend's shoulder.

"So what we got?"

Rory examined the screen thoughtfully.

"Looks like there's a couple cavern systems that run through the canyon walls."

"Your new doodad pickin' up any minerals?"

Swann glanced at the information coming out of the geo-survey unit.

"Might be. I'm picking up a lot o' traces of dorium and iron."

Eddie's eyes widened.

"Dorium… like in neosteel?"

Rory shrugged noncommittally.

"Might be. That's what it's saying."

Dorium was one of the chief elements used to create neosteel. An exceptionally durable metal used in the making of warships, military vehicles, and anything else that required a tough metal skin. A good enough vein of Dorium could produce enough income to start a good size mining operation.

"Rory… do you realize what this could mean…"

Rory put a hand on his friends shoulder and looked at him earnestly.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves brother. I'll celebrate when we've got a strike and claimed it. For right now let's just check it out."

Eddie nodded, though the glint of excitement remained in his dark green eyes. Quickly he retrieved his own datascreen and downloaded his own copy of the data created by the sonic mapper. Meanwhile Swann took a closer look at the digital map.

"Looks like most of the dorium concentrations are in the caverns just northeast of the crossing," he pointed to their left. "Let's split up and check 'em out."

Both men retrieved smaller geo-survey units from their bikes, as well as illumination lights that attached to their comm headsets. Together they trudged off toward the northeast branch of the canyon crossing. After a minute of searching they found several entrances to the caverns shown on their datascreens.

"See ya on the flip side brother," Eddie called as he disappeared into one of the caverns. Rory nodded absently and moved into another entrance thirty meters away from Eddie's. As he rounded a corner in the tunnel, moving slowly to avoid tripping on the loose rocks of the cavern floor, he switched on his illumination light. The bright head light illuminated the dark grey rock wherever he looked, though it seemed to cast everything else in shadow. Dark shapes stretched into the area illuminated by the light like the fingers of shadowy ghouls reaching for those foolish enough to enter the dark caves. Rory Swann had long since conquered any fear of the dark however. He'd been running around in caverns like these his whole life. He moved with a practiced ease, stepping around and over any obstructions and sliding easily though the narrower portions of the tunnel.

"Hey brother. What does Dorium look like again?" Eddie's voice crackled slightly over Swann's headset. Caverns usually interfered a bit with comm systems.

"Seriously? You've been walking around in there for five minutes and you don't even know what your lookin' for?"

"Don't hate. I was enjoyin' the scenic vistas."

Swann grinned despite himself and replied as he squeezed through a particularly narrow portion of the tunnel.

"It'll be a tight packed greenish ore. Lot's o' folds in the rock. Want me to tell you how to tie your boots too?"

"Maybe later. I…"

The rest of Eddie's reply was cut off by a mix of yelling, cursing, and what sounded like the dull thud of someone or something banging of rocks.

"Eddie? Eddie!"

Swann called out worriedly over the comm but got no answer. Realizing he could actually hear some of the thuds and the sound of sliding rocks coming out of a tunnel to his left he took of at a quick pace in that direction, cursing and calling out over the comm.

Finally he found a set of boot prints that disappeared into a sharp downward sinkhole from one of the tunnels. Kneeling down he could faintly hear muffled cursing coming from the darkness of the hole. Cupping his hands to his mouth he shouted down into the opening.

"Eddie! You clumsy bastard are ya there?"

The cursing stopped for a moment and Eddie's voice echoed back up out of the hole.

"Yeah I'm here. Part of the tunnel floor gave way and I slipped down this fekking hole. Now my damn light's fritzing out."

"Crimony Eddie! Thought you'd fekking killed yourself. I remember my first time in a cave…"

"Funny brother. Real damn funny. You wouldn't be laughing if you was… hold up I think I fixed my light." There was a moment of silence followed by a steady burst of laughter. Rory listened, puzzled. Finally puzzlement gave way to annoyance and he shouted down into the hole.

"What the hell's so funny Eddie? You hit your head on the way down?"

The laughter cut off as Eddie shouted his reply though it was broken by more laughter.

"That's besides the point brother. Hehe get down here. You gotta see this."

Letting out a few curses of his own Rory pulled out a grappling line that he had coiled around his shoulder. Taking the sharp metal spike at one end he slammed it point first into the rockwall behind him, then twisted it so that three sharp metal hooks extended from the main point and embedded it into the rock. Giving the line a few sharp tugs to make sure it was secure he started to slowly move down the steep slope of the sinkhole, using the strong cord to steady himself. After a few moments he glimpsed the flashes of light from Eddie's illumination light and a moment later he let go of the line as he stepped down into a long cavern where his friend stood grinning at him.

Rory looked around to figure out what had the clumsy idiot in such a good mood and then felt his breath catch in his throat. Slowly he gazed around, letting his light illuminate the walls and ceilings of the cavern. Stretching the entire length of the tunnel, and glittering a dark green in the light, were thick formations of Dorium. The ore was everywhere and Eddie held a big chunk in his hand as he smiled over at the dumfounded Swann.

"Rory ol' buddy… we fekking did it!"

0000

A year later Rory Swann clinked the glass in front of him awkwardly and stood, clearing his throat as he did so. All around the maintenance bay the guests quieted down and stopped eating to turn and look at him. They were all dressed in their best. For many of them this meant coveralls, jeans, or shirts that were simply clean and relatively free of dust. For Swann however, it was a dark suit with a grey shirt and tie that Eddie had bought him for the occasion. It was too snug and Rory itched to get back into his worn coveralls, but in the spirit of the evening's festivities he had finally given in to his friend's pleas to dress up.

He took in the people around him. Nearly three hundred men, women, and children. Almost the entire population of the growing mining town of Jackson. Tables were set up all around the middle of the bay. One large central table held dozens of dishes that the different families had prepared for the occasion. After a few moments all of the townsfolk turned their eyes toward Rory and he glanced down at Eddie nervously.

Eddie just smiled at him happily and Rory couldn't help but smile back. All the hard work and grief of the last two years was gone from his friend's face and Swann was glad for it. The reason for that happiness sat next to Eddie, and she was smiling at Rory encouragingly.

Molly Pinton, now Molly Burkey, was a petite woman with long blonde hair and hazel eyes. Getting into her early thirties she still looked ravishing in her simple white wedding dress. Her beauty was even more pronounced when she smiled, as she was now, and her dimples stood out on her cheeks. Beneath the beauty, however, there were wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and her lean, strong body spoke of a hard life.

Seeing his friend with his newlywed wife filled Rory with a profound sense of contentment, and just like that any nervousness was gone and he turned back to the expectant people of Jackson.

"Everybody I've got somethin' to say… If any of ya had told me a year and a half ago I'd be sitting here next to Eddie, him with a pretty wife and us with a up and comin' mining town of our own I'd have told ya to shut up cause you'd only encourage him."

Laughter echoed around the bay from the assembled townsfolk. Many of them were old friends or aquaintances of Rory and Eddie's that had come here when they put out the call for people to start a new mining operation, free of Kerr Company control. Joey Gatz, a cook by trade, ran the local diner and cantina. John and Melinda Falks who had run the ore warehouse in the town Rory and Eddie grew up in and were now running the warehouse here in Jackson. Then there were plenty of old mining comrades like Reggie Hernandez, Brent Fickly, and Victor Kachinski who had likewise come here to work for their old friends. Many of them Rory had only met in the last year but by and large he knew they were all good people and he doubted Jackson would've been half the success it had been without them.

After they'd found the Dorium strike the two had raced back to Jorgenton to make their claim. When they'd burst into the Mining Guild's claim office the clerk had listened to them wide eyed as they laid out their discovery and subsequently filed their claim, which under Kel-Morian law, was quickly approved. A Kerr company representative had subsequently found them celebrating in one of the city's many bars and asked if they'd be interested in having the strike inspected by Kerr Company with an interest to buy. They'd curtly declined.

A week later they'd put out the call for people to work a mining operation on the edge of Meinhoffs occupied territories and people had slowly but steadily answered, including many of the friend's old acquaintances. Using the inheritance that Jack and Patricia Burkey had left them they purchased equipment and immediately set to work building their operation. They hollowed out the tunnel systems at the canyon crossing and, along with their new workforce, began constructing a maintenance bay, living quarters, warehouses, and of course the actual mine. Many of the structures they constructed in the caverns themselves but over the next few months enough people came to join their outfit that they had to start setting up habitation huts in the canyon floor to support all the new personnel.

Over the next several months the operation had expanded rapidly and Swann had overseen the addition of a diner, cantina, and underground rec center to the rapidly expanding community, which he and Eddie had dubbed Jackson in honor of the late Burkey patriarch. Rory was particularly proud of the most recent addition. A biodome, built completely underground. He'd had his crew use a mining laser to hollow out a three hundred square foot cavern in the thick rock below even the canyon floor. There he'd built a self-contained chamber with all the equipment necessary to grow enough food to keep most of the town's population fed in a pinch. All protected by hundreds of feet of thick rock.

And all the while the mining went on. The ore was mined from the tunnels in the northeast part of town and then smelted in the foundry into thick neosteel plates that were weekly trucked out to the closest train stop, a good hundred miles away, to be shipped back to Jorgenton and sold. The valuable metal fetched a good price and business was booming. Not only that Rory and Eddie paid their people good wages. Nothing extravagant but a fair bit more than what most Kerr Company employees made.

All this ran through Rory Swann's mind as he considered his next words. Turning to look at his oldest friend and his new wife he fought back the surge of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him and continued to speak.

"… But we did. And ya know what? Sitting here with all you folks I guess maybe I shouldn't have been such a grumpy old cuss and just let him have all his little hopes and dreams cause now I'm surrounded by 'em and they're real."

"Here here!" Molly laughed as she raised her glass and the call echoed around the bay as many of the other townsfolk took up the toast. Swann waved them down after a moment and turned to meet Eddie and Molly's respective gazes.

"Eddie… Molly… you guys are family to me and I've never seen two people so happy. If I had a way with words I'd say something somethin' fancy right now but I don't so I guess I'll just say I love you guys and…" He cast an amused glance at Eddie. "… I've got a good feelin' about this."

Another chorus of "Here here's" went up around the room and Eddie stood up and gave his shorter friend a fierce hug. Molly stood as well and gave Swann a kiss on the cheek that turned his face a fiery red underneath his beard. Molly's smile was contagious though.

"That was great Rory. Thanks."

Swann's blush became even more pronounced.

"Aw it was nothin' Molly really."

The festivities continued for several hours and at one point Rory Swann found himself sitting at a table with Molly's older sister Lizzie, who was more commonly known as Marshal "Hard Ass" Pinton of the Blue Outlands district of terran settled Meinhoff. Getting into her late forties Lizzie could've passed for a woman half her age with her slender yet curvy form and bright hazel eyes. Her blonde hair was worn short, coming down just above her shoulders and she had worn lines on her face that betrayed her age. Tonight she wore a well-cut dress, an occurrence even more rare than Rory Swann in a suit. She wore it well though and despite her age she still cut a fine figure and more than once she'd had to remind men that there was a reason she had been so successful in her role as a district Marshall over the last twenty years, a fact that Rory Swann remembered all too well. Tonight however she had a broad smile on her face as she watched her younger sister dance with her new husband.

"Hell of a pair they make," the older Pinton sister remarked.

"They do at that Marshal," Rory agreed.

Lizzie eyed him critically.

"Come along Swann. We're practically family now. You might as well lighten up and call me Lizzie."

Rory eyed her warily for a moment, but gave a tentative smile and held out his hand.

"Will do Lizzie. And you can call me Rory."

Lizzie shook his offered hand, her grip strong. A wry grin played across her lips.

"Rory huh? Seem to recall meeting a fella named Rory about a year back. If memory serves I had to belt him across the face for getting too friendly with my backside."

Swann turned bright red and mumbled an apologetic reply. Elizabeth let loose one of her rare laughs. A pleasant sound that seemed out of place coming from the hardened marshal. Reaching over she slapped Rory on the back reassuringly.

"I'm just yanking your chain Rory. Relax." Leaning back she eyed him for a moment then turned her gaze on her sister. "Did they tell you?"

Rory followed her gaze out to the dancing and smiling Molly Burkey and felt a grin tug at his beard. "They did."

"They seem excited," Lizzie remarked. "I think parenthood will suite them."

Swann could only nod in agreement. Remembering when Eddie and Molly had found him in his office a few days ago and excitedly shared their news. Molly was pregnant, and Rory had never seen a happier pair of prospective parents. Taking his eyes of the dancing pair he looked at Lizzie thoughtfully.

"Well Lizzie since we're practically family and all what do ya say to a dance?"

Lizzie eyed him back before giving him a grin. She stood and extended her hand.

"Why the hell not? Though I'm warnin' you Swann if you slap my ass again I'll even out the other cheek."

Swan grinned back.

"Fair enough Marshal. I've been lookin' for someone to pop it back into place after the last time anyway."

With that they rose and moved out onto the makeshift dance floor. Swann awkwardly tried to avoid stepping on the tall Lizzie's toes and all the while Molly laughed cheerfully at the pair of them.

Life was good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey Everybody,**

**I'm sorry this post is coming late. Between starting school, moving into a new house, work, and military duties I've been swamped and the new house has made internet connection an issue. Anyway here's chapter 7. Here we finish giving the backstory for Rory Swann, Eddie Burkey, and their operation on Meinhoff. Hope you all enjoy.**

**- James**

**Chapter 7: As It All Fell Apart**

"If there are no more questions gentlemen, I'll be returning to Jorgenton presently." The balding Kel-Morian official stood to collect his things. Rory Swann and Eddie Burkey both shook his hand unenthusiastically and when he'd left they both sank down into two of the chairs in the small meeting room.

"More friggin' taxes… I swear Eddie ya'd think the guild wars was startin' up again the way these damn Kel-Morians are bleedin' us dry," Swann murmured disconsolately. He was wearing his customary worn coveralls over a sweaty white shirt. His goggles held dark smudges from the day's labors. The Kel-Morian representative had shown up unannounced a few hours before and Swann and Eddie had come straight from the mines to meet with him only to find out he had come to advise them of a new tax in a long string of taxes.

It had begun a few months ago with a similar visit from another Kel-Morian bigwig who had arrived to announce that the Combine might levy a new series of taxes over the next few months. And he had not exaggerated. Each tax was bigger than the last and Rory and Eddie's operation had begun to feel the financial strain. This latest one had been especially large and Rory had to wonder if they'd be able to handle the added cost.

As he spoke his gaze flicked towards Eddie. His friend's usually cheerful eyes held a dark brooding expression. His hand was raked into his thick brown hair and his jaw was clenched. He said nothing however, and Rory continued to speak.

"I don't… I don't think we can keep this off the town's back no more Eddie. We're gonna have to cut the pay…"

"Don't ya think this is weird Rory?" Eddie interrupted him suddenly.

"Weird? What do ya mean?"

Eddie turned his dark green gaze on his old friend and Rory looked back at him worriedly as the taller man continued.

"We've had three offers from Kerr to buy the operation this month. More than before… And don't it seem weird to ya that the last one was just two days before this Kel-Morian bozo shows up demandin' more money?"

"Ya mean… ya think Kerr's behind the taxes? That's a hell of a thing to say Eddie. He'd have to have half the damn Kel-Morian administration on Meinhoff in his pocket."

"Would ya put it past him? Everybody knows he's a creep and you've heard Molly talk about him…"

"Yeah but this? Eddie he'd have to have the whole planet in his pocket for that kinda thing."

A shadow of doubt entered Eddie's expression.

"Maybe your right brother… it's just… aw hell…"

Rory put one of his beefy hands on his friend's shoulder.

"It's Melanie ain't it?"

Eddie said nothing at first but after a moment he nodded.

"She ain't even a year old Rory. With things startin' to get like this… I dunno I guess I'm just scared if it keeps gettin' worse I won't be able to provide for her and Molly."

Nearly seven months ago Molly had given birth to a healthy girl. Melanie Burkey was a tiny thing, even to Rory's thinking but she was insufferably cute and the jewel of her parent's eyes. She'd gotten her fathers thick brown hair and her mother's hazel eyes. Eddie joked that she'd gotten her godfather Rory's height.

Rory turned his friend around in his chair to look at him.

"Hey brother. Don't you worry about that. Ain't nothin' gonna keep you from takin' care of your family. Hell they're my family too and I promise ya we'll get through this. Those Kel-Morians can't tax us like this forever and business is still good. So don't go talkin' like that."

Eddie gazed solemnly at his old friend. Finally he sighed and put his own hand on Rory's shoulder.

"I hope your right brother. I really do."

It was late 2501. Almost two years after they'd found the Dorium strike and almost six months since the series of Kel-Morian taxes had begun taking their toll on the town of Jackson. Things had gotten progressively worse for the mining town. The townsfolk had taken the pay cuts surprisingly well. Eddie and Rory were trusted and well liked and most people figured times were just tough all around. The whole town had pulled together and business had been good. But even good business couldn't make up for the heavy taxes.

Eventually the financial strain turned into a strain on the upkeep of the operation's equipment. Rory did his best, and his technical genius kept most of their equipment afloat and in working order. But new equipment and gear was out of the question. And to make a bad situation worse they'd realized that the Dorium vein was beginning to run out. Rory and Eddie had immediately set out to find another strike in the area but morale in the town had been low for weeks. Spirits rose again however, when Swann began to find signs of a large Dorium vein about a mile south of the town. There was only one problem. The vein was buried underneath formations of particularly thick rock and the equipment they had was having a hard time getting through it.

For weeks they tried to drill through tough layers of stone and they'd made little headway. The rock had too high a melting point for their laser drill and their heavy metal drill had broken against the tough rock several twice, taking days to fix each time. A more powerful drill would solve the problem but with the financial burden of the oppressive Kel-Morian taxes the operation couldn't afford the equipment. Stress was running high in the tunnel and none were in a fouler mood than the usually jovial Eddie Burkey.

Dust and bits of rock assaulted the goggles Rory Swann wore protectively over his eyes and the wrap around his mouth as he watched the heavy drill make another attempt on the thick rock between them and Jackson's continued livelihood. Beside him crouched Reggie Hernandez, Victor Kachinski, and four other miners in goggles and wraps of their own. Every now and then the drill would hit a snag and the shriek of metal gears fighting against heavily foliated rock caused the group to cover their ears and wince.

The drill itself was a large affair consisting of a tracked cab that held the vehicles driver and the drill itself, which extended six feet out from the cab. All in all the vehicle was a good ten feet from rear end to the sharp drill point. Currently the machine was struggling vainly to cut through the tunnel wall in front of it. Inside the cockpit Eddie Burkey was cursing furiously.

Rory cupped his hand over his comm headset to be heard over the shriek of metal and breaking rock.

"Eddie! Take it easy brother! If we bust this drill bit I don't know if we'll be able to get another one for a few weeks!"

When Eddie responded his voice was a mix of fury and desperation.

"We can't wait a few weeks Rory! You've seen the books same as me! We've gotta power through this bastard or we'll have to start sellin' equipment just to make ends meet!"

The freshly carved tunnel groaned and a shower of rocks and pebbles rained down on Rory and the other miners, who began to eye the tunnel's ceiling nervously. And all the while the shriek of the drill continued.

"Eddie back the drill out slow! I don't think this tunnel's stable!"

"Don't worry Rory! I got this! I think I'm about to bust through this stubborn fekker!"

The shower of rock and dirt became a steady pour and a large section of rock fell from the ceiling to smash heavily into the drill's cab, leaving a four-foot dent. Swann keyed his mike again in alarm.

"Damnit Eddie! Back it out! The whole damn tunnel's coming down!"

"Just a bit farther brother! I've got a good feelin' about this! You'll…" The rest of his words were drowned out by a great series of cracks and the sound of huge rocks tumbling to the cavern floor, many of which impacted heavily off the cab of the drill. Swann turned to the miner's behind him with a roar.

"ITS COMIN' DOWN! GET OUT!"

The miners took of at a run. Fleeing the collapsing cavern. Swann turned back and began beating on the metal back of the drill with his fists.

"EDDIE!"

With a roar of it's own the tunnel ceiling collapsed. Rory felt a big rock smash a glancing blow to his shoulder and he went down hard, feeling his head smack into the tunnel floor. Groggily, he distantly recognized the sounds of falling rock and dirt all around him. Whether by luck, or by some sick cosmic joke the rocks fell in a way that he was shielded from a good portion of the cave in. In moments it was over and an eerie silence came over the cavern.

"Rory! Can you hear me!" Distantly he recognized Victor Kachinski's voice and the sound of many hands lifting and digging at the freshly fallen rocks behind him. All his attention was in front of him though. Through the dust that hung in the air he saw that the drill was covered in dirt and fallen rocks so he struggled to his knees and crawled toward the big machine.

"Eddie! Eddie! Answer me brother! Hang tight I'm comin' to ya. Just gotta get these rocks off!"

Getting no response he looked around and spotted the shattered remains of his headset amongst the fallen rocks where he'd been knocked to the ground. With a strength born of desperation Rory Swann dug furiously at the debris covering the back of the drill. A moment later he stopped, and simply stared in shock.

A huge rock had impacted directly over the cockpit, collapsing even the thick plexiglass and utterly demolishing everything in it's path. Rory couldn't make out any sign of Eddie but in the back of his mind he knew with a grim certainty that his friend hadn't survived the collapse. Letting loose a cry of anguish and denial he threw himself at the rocks between himself and the cockpit.

When the other miners finally broke through they found Rory Swann scrabbling ineffectually at the rock that had collapsed the drills cockpit. The stout miner was sobbing as he clawed at the massive stone and his tears soaked his thick beard.

It was a rough three months.

Eddie's death had hit the entire town hard, though none harder than Molly Burkey. For days she had shut herself inside her and Eddie's living quarters with their baby daughter and refused to see anyone. Finally Rory had come, though consumed with his own grief, and pleaded with her till she'd let him in. When he saw Molly with her disheveled blonde hair and bright hazel eyes, red now from days of crying, he'd felt his heart break a second time and they'd collapsed into each other's arms. Weeping together as they grieved for what they'd both lost.

After that Rory fought through his grief and leapt back into work. He figured he had too many people relying on him to keep Jackson afloat to break down. He began pulling long hours in the tunnels trying to break through to the new vein, and in the maintenance bay working on the operation's equipment and vehicles. He tried to make as much time to spend with his goddaughter and Molly, who for her part, resumed her work as the operations accountant and secretary. Little Melanie, not even a year old, was too young to understand the loss of her father and both Rory and Molly considered that a blessing.

The following weeks were difficult for both of them, and for Jackson. Rory lost track of the number of times he'd found Molly with red eyes and freshly shed tears. At times like these he'd simply put his arms around her and murmur consolingly as he fought back his own tears. Molly eventually cried less and less, though anyone who saw her could see the raw grief in her eyes.

The financial stress on Jackson didn't let up either. Eventually Rory had to sell several vehicles and an assortment of gear back in Jorgenton but two months after Eddie's death he managed to scrape enough credits together to buy a drill powerful enough to break through the thick rock blocking the miners from the new vein. Following this was a period of celebration for the town because not only was the Dorium larger than even Rory had hoped for, but they found a large pocket of vespene gas trapped in thethick rock near the strike. Collecting and refining the gas would be difficult that far underground but the added income would be more than welcome to the struggling mining town. Work immediately began and Rory threw himself into the construction of a small vespene refinery atop the high canyon walls above Jackson.

The work was finished a month later and the success of the operation was immediate. Molly started to report steady profits in spite of the heavy taxes and the mood of the townspeople began to improve greatly. People began to whisper that the town's troubles were over and Rory couldn't help but be hopeful despite his still fresh grief over Eddie's death.

Then another Kerr Company representative showed up.

The man in the dark suit arrived one morning and had offered more money for ownership of the operation than any offer to that date. Rory Swann listened to the man's offer, feeling a dark anger rising deep inside of him. As the Kerr representative spoke Rory saw all the faces of the people who had worked and bled to make Jackson possible, the most fresh in his mind the man who might as well have been his brother. It was too much.

The Kerr Company man took being bodily thrown out of a meeting room surprisingly well. He stood up calmly, letting only a small flash of annoyance pass across his features, and dusted himself off. Saying nothing more to the irate Swann he turned on his heel and headed for the company truck outside the maintenance bay and drove back to the nearest train stop. Eventually Rory calmed down and went back to work. For a few days all was well and even Rory's spirits began to lift.

Then the Kel-Morian official showed up.

Rory's upper half was buried in the mechanical guts of the new drill when one of his techs came up to tell him about the man's arrival. The tech had to shout so that Rory could hear him and he sounded nervous. Swann didn't blame him. There was only one thing that Kel-Morians made the long trip out to Jackson for.

He didn't even bother cleaning himself up. His face and coveralls were stained by grease and oil, even more than normal, when he walked into the meeting room and sat down without shaking the official's proffered hand.

"Well?"

The official, a balding man in a dusty grey suit, blinked but then rolled right into the reason for his visit. Rory Swann didn't show even a hint of surprise when the man announced that vespene refineries were now subject to taxation by the Kel-Morian Combine. He didn't even look surprised when the man told him the ridiculous figure that the Combine would be taxing him. It was all finally clicking in his head.

"… _don't ya think it's weird Rory?"_

"… _the last one was just two days before this Kel-Morian bozo shows up demandin' more money."_

It was too much. Too many times for it to be coincidence. Rory had thought the idea to be outlandish before but he was all but certain now. Someone in the Kel-Morian administration was in the Kerr Company's pocket. The company was using the Kel-Morians to tax their competition into submission so that they could monopolize the mining industry on Meinhoff.

And Edward Burkey had died because of it.

The official trailed off as he saw the stone cold look come over Rory Swann's face. Finally noting his silence Swann looked up and took his hand in his. The man gasped at the iron grip the scruffy miner held him in.

"I think I get the gist of it mister. We'll be in touch."

The balding man grunted a reply through the pain and when Rory released him he murmured a farewell and made his way from the meeting room casting grudging looks back at the stone faced miner.

Rory Swann didn't move to follow. Nor did he even move to a chair. He just stood in the middle of the small meeting room. His face growing more grim by the second. When the tech came in to see what was holding him up he stopped abruptly at the site of him.

"Hey boss you wanna get both… b-boss you okay? …Was it that bad?"

Rory nodded absently. He turned to look at the tech and the man took a step back when he saw the smoldering fury in the stout miners eyes.

"Tell Kachinski he's gonna be in charge for awhile. I'm makin' a trip into Jorgenton."

The Kel-Morian Center for Combine Affairs on Meinhoff was an impressive building but relatively plain. The ten story structure was built from huge blocks of stone mingled with sporadic sections of prefabricated metal and a large but simple set of stone stairs leading up to the large but simple front doors. It was big, blocky, and built for efficiency. In other words, it was Kel-Morian.

The buildings surrounding it were a mismatched assortment of the same stone and prefabricated metal arranged in blocks with worn down north by south streets that ran perpendicular to the equally worn down east by west streets. Such was the layout for the entire city of Jorgenton. A mess of organized chaos that had sprung up in the last half century to house the growing Kel-Morian mining industry on the dusty lunar planet. The Center for Combine Affairs housed most of the Kel-Morian staff on planet save for the individual guilds, which each had their own headquarters, none larger than the mining guild of course.

Rory Swann made his way up the steps toward the large double doors. Sweating through the heat of the early morning. He showed no visible sign of his discomfort though. His brown eyes were fixed on the doors in front of him. His dark suit had been cleaned the night before and his beard had been trimmed and brushed until it was in some semblance of order. The suit had traces of grey dust on it, but then so did everything on Meinhoff.

As he moved through the entrance his eyes flicked to the four Kel-Morian Rippers, the elite of the Combine's Marines, flanking the door in black power armor. Swann noted that each Ripper carried a pistol holstered at his side. There were no gauss rifles or other heavier weapons in sight but Rory doubted they were far away. One of the ripper's spoke as he walked through the doors in a voice that plainly stated he hated his job and wished for nothing more than to be elsewhere.

"Welcome to the Center for Combine Affairs on Meinhoff. Proceed to the front desk for your needs. Maintain order."

Rory grunted an acknowledgement and moved through the lobby toward a circular front desk. As he walked he passed under a large white banner with the Kel-Morian K over M sigil. Plastered over the walls to his sides were large posters containing slogans about hard work, sacrifice, and obedience to the Combine. One poster had a picture of a curvy red-haired woman in what Rory could only assume was mining gear that had been mostly cut away, leaving little to the imagination. The woman was depicted holding a large drill with a seductive grin on her face and along the bottom of the poster were the words, "Real Men Drill Deep."

The desk itself was in the shape of a hollowed out circle surrounding another white Kel-Morian banner. Typing furiously away at terminals placed around its circumference were three receptionists in dark business suits. One, a middle aged woman with dusky brown hair and severe eyes looked up from her terminal as Rory approached. Somehow managing to look up at him from her seated position she opened her mouth and asked in a dry voice.

"Welcome to the Center for Combine Affairs. How may I direct you sir?"

Rory tried to muster a smile, though he doubted what he came up with was very convincing. His forcefully pleasant tone probably sounded equally insincere, but he doubted his performance was being graded.

"Mornin' Miss. I'm Foreman Rory Swann, outa Jackson. Here to speak with Overseer Bentley."

The receptionist raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"I see… do you have an appointment sir?"

"No… It's real important though."

She didn't look convinced.

"His offices are on the tenth floor. You'll have to check with his secretary for availability."

Swann nodded and looked around.

"You got a lift around here someplace?"

The woman gestured absently down the corridor directly behind the desk, her attention already back on her terminal. Her red-lacquered nails tapping away steadily.

As Rory moved through the corridor he felt his nervousness rise. This was his only shot. The Overseer was the senior Kel-Morian official on Meinhoff. The big cheese. The only people he answered too were off planet so if he couldn't help Jackson, nobody could. Swann only hoped the corruption he was now sure existed in the Kel-Morian administration hadn't gotten as high as the Overseer. If it had… well he didn't even want to think about that possibility.

He stepped in and punched the number for the tenth floor. The lift itself was plain with no decoration, but it was quick. In short order the doors split apart in front of him to reveal a richly decorated waiting area. A fountain bubbled against one of the white stone walls and an elaborately embroidered rug covered the floor. The chairs arrayed neatly around the room looked like they might even be comfortable and holographic pictures placed regularly along the stone walls depicted scenic vistas from other Kel-Morian worlds.

Near the large wooden door at one end of the room was a large desk where sat a curvaceous young woman in a tight, low cut dress. She didn't seem to notice Swann as he walked up. Instead her attention remained firmly rooted on the fone message she was working on. When she finally did look up Rory immediately noticed her dark red hair and pretty features. It was a cheap, man-made look though. The kind that comes more from a surgeon's knife than a gift of nature. She looked remarkably like the girl in the poster down in the lobby.

"You got an appointment?"

Rory shook his head.

"Nah miss. I'm Rory Swann, Foreman out in Jackson. The overseer will wanna see me. I've got somethin' important to talk to him about."

The secretary looked at him doubtfully, a trend that Rory was starting to notice, and gestured to one of the empty seats. As he moved back to one of the chairs he felt her eyes following him and his hackles started to rise. When he turned to sit he looked back to see the door to the office closing softly behind her. Rory Swann waited in the chair, which seemedcomfortable, with his meaty hands folded in his lap. His gaze moved idly about the room though it wasn't the bubbling fountain or the holographic pictures that he was seeing but the people he'd worked and suffered with over the last few years. He felt the righteous anger that had been his constant companion since he left Jackson boiling inside him with a rising intensity.

The secretary emerged from the office and moved back to her desk, her hips swaying seductively as she walked. Once she was seated she raised her gaze to Swann and gave him a smile that he suspected was about as real as everything else on her.

"I'm sorry Foreman Swann but the Overseer is in a meeting and won't be available for most of the mornin'. Maybe tomorrow would be better?" Her accent had the rough quality of someone born and raised on Meinhoff. Rory got the distinct feeling she hadn't reached her current position based on her vocabulary though. He gave her an equally insincere, though somewhat less attractive smile in return.

"Aw that's okay miss. I don't have nothin' else to get to anyway. I'll just wait."

The corner of the woman's smile twitched unpleasantly but to her credit she managed to recover quickly.

"Course Mister Swann. Please make yourself comfortable."

So began hours of waiting in uncomfortable silence. Rory Swann eventually decided that the chairs were in fact _not_ comfortable and his hands fidgeted restlessly. The only sound as the time crept slowly by was the gentle bubbling of the fountain against the wall and the occasional giggle from the secretary as she exchanged fone messages with someone who wasn't trapped in this god-awful room. Rory's gaze seemed to move unconsciously to the chrono set into the wall and so literally watched the hours tick slowly away. At one point he couldn't help himself and walked up to the secretary's desk.

"Hey miss, is Bentley still in that meetin'? I really do gotta talk to him."

She looked up from her fone in annoyance.

"_Overseer _Bentley is still busy. You can either leave and try again tomorrow sir, or keep waitin'."

Swann forced another smile and murmured something that might have been an apology. Feeling his anger rising again he started pacing about the room, which drew no end of annoyed glares from the red-haired secretary. This in turn only encouraged Rory and so he continued pacing. Another few hours crept by and finally he collapsed back into a chair in sullen silence.

He had just opened his mouth, intending to question the secretary somewhat less gently than before, when the doors to the lift opened with a whine and a clunk. The man that walked out made Rory's words stick in his throat and his fingers tighten around the armrests of his chair.

The man was in his early forties, in good shape, and possessed a head of thick black hair that he wore in a neat comb over. His suit was an expensive specimen all the way down to his leather shoes and the dark briefcase he carried at his side. When the man saw Rory he gave him a wink and a grin, flashing an immaculate set of teeth. Swann felt his blood run cold. It was a face that was plastered across posters all across Meinhoff.

"Mister Kerr!" The secretary's smile was surprising for no other reason than that this time it was sincere. "Go right in! The Overseer's been expecting you."

Tavish Kerr flashed his dazzling smile at the red-haired secretary, his dark eyes moving slowly down her buxom form as he did so.

"Thank you Mindy. A pleasure as always."

Without so much as stopping he opened the door to the Overseer's office and stepped through.

The thud of the wooden door closing behind him snapped Rory Swann out of his shock. Not only that, it snapped something deep inside him. Wordlessly he rose and stalked straight for the Overseer's door. The secretary moved to intercept him.

"Mister! You can't just…"

The pure wrath in Swann's eyes stopped her in midsentence and she stumbled back, wide-eyed. Without breaking stride Rory shoved his way through the office door, which flew out wide as he moved into the room beyond.

The walls on three sides of the office were plexiglass, offering anyone inside an impressive view of the Jorgenton cityscape. The office was large and richly decorated. Too richly for even a Kel-Morian Overseer's salary. Swann barely registered any of it. The cold certainty of realization festered in his gut and his eyes were fixed on the two men at the desk on the far side of the room.

Overseer Bentley was not necessarily a fat man. A solid foundation of muscle could be seen in his form, though the years had also left him with a growing layer of what certainly wasn't muscle. A former military man he had the physique of someone who had worked for a living once but had now traded hard discipline for soft luxury. His finely tailored suit was new, and like his office, too expensive even for a man of his rank.

He stood in surprise as Rory Swann burst through the door.

"I didn't tell her to… Foreman Swann what the hell do you think your doing!"

Rory moved to stand in front of Bentley's desk. His fists were clenched and his face was red beneath his beard. Rage burned in the depths of his brown eyes and he glared both at the Overseer and at Kerr, who had remained seated and watched Rory with only slightly widened eyes.

"Oh so ya know my name at least huh? You damn sellout!"

Bentley's face was turning a shade of red to match Swann's.

"Now listen here you…"

"Overseer Bentley," Tavish Kerr interrupted the irate official. "I think I might be of some assistance here." The sleek businessman stood and extended his had toward Rory with a smile that never reached his eyes. "Foreman Swann? I don't think we've been introduced. My names…"

"I know who you are Kerr!" Rory snapped, seething.

Seeing his hand was as likely to be bitten off as shook Kerr withdrew it. His smile never wavered though his eyes hardened with displeasure.

"I believe you represent the town of Jackson? If it is financial difficulties you're here to discuss with the Overseer I'd remind you that my company is willing to offer a very generous…"

Swann's right hook took Kerr square in the jaw and he grunted in surprise. Stumbling over the chair he went down in a heap on the floor. Rory stood over him, the short man seeming on the very edge of murder itself.

"Financial _fekking_ difficulties! Yeah you could say I'm here about financial difficulties! Difficulties we're havin' because you bribed the entire Kel-Morian administration to tax us into the dirt because we wouldn't sell!" Bentley looked up from where he'd been shouting into a comm unit mounted to his desk, spluttering in outrage. Swann heard none of it however. He only had eyes for Kerr now.

"You get my best fekking friend _killed_ he's so desperate! And when things are finally lookin' up you have this piece o' shit tax us again! AND NOW YOUR STANDING HERE TRYIN' THE SAME SHIT TO MY FACE!"

Rory lunged at Kerr, who scrambled back to get away, mumbling incoherently in panic. He reached out to take the man's neck in his hands when something hit him from the side. Overseer Bentley bodily shoved Swann away from the frightened businessman. Cursing, Rory turned on his attacker and swung a big fist at the older man's head. But the years had not completely dulled Bentley's instincts and he intercepted the punch with his forearm and struck out with his own. The blow took Rory in his own jaw and he stumbled back, yelling and cursing incoherently. With a roar he rushed Bentley and the two went down in a heap, yelling and flailing at each other. For a moment neither seemed to be able to get the advantage. Then the door to the office swung open and Ripper's in black power armor came rushing in.

With little effort two of them pried the still yelling and flailing Swann off of the Overseer and held him between them. After a moment Swann ceased struggling, realizing the futility of fighting against powered suits. Instead he glared at Bentley and spat, the saliva splattering across the other man's cheek. Bentley's eyes went even wider. Already breathing hard, he struggled to get his words out between the fatigue and rage.

"Take… this little shit… to a jail cell… I want him executed."

"I don't think that will be necessary."

Tavish Kerr stood slowly, rubbing his jaw, and eyeing Swann with malice. Any hint of his previous good humor gone. Slowly he moved to stand in front of the restrained miner. Taking his hand from his jaw, which was starting to swell, he gave Swann an evil grin.

"I want him released. Let him go back to his little town and watch it slowly fade into dust. I want him to watch all the people he knows and cares for lose faith in him. Leaving him one by one until he comes crawling to me _begging_ to buy him out. That or he's left alone. A sad little man in a sad little ghost town nobody gives a shit about."

Rory moved to spit at Kerr but one of the Rippers saw his intentions and squeezed painfully with a black armored gauntlet. Rory almost bit down on his tongue as he grunted in pain, his vision going red. When it cleared he saw both Bentley and Kerr standing in front of him. Both were giving him the same dark smiles.

Bentley nodded, satisfied.

"I like your style Mr. Kerr. I really do."

"It's a gift. What can I say?" Kerr leaned in till his clean-shaven face was only inches from Swann's. "Make no mistake Mr. Swann. I _own _this planet. Bought and paid for. When I want something I get it and not you, or any of your ragtag little town of misfits can stop me." Stepping forward he ruffled Rory's hair mockingly. Then, almost as an afterthought, he punched the restrained miner in the gut. All the air rushed out of his lungs in a rush. Smiling in satisfaction Kerr turned to face the rear of the office, nodding to Bentley as he did so. The overseer in turn gave a nod to the Rippers holding Swann.

The Kel-Morian marines turned, dragging Swann to the office door. Just before he was pulled out of the room Kerr's voice reached Rory's ears once more.

"And Swann? Send me a resume when your operation goes under. I think I could find you a job cleaning my bathroom."

Rory Swann's inarticulate scream of rage had echoed through the waiting room, chased from the office by Tavish Kerr's mocking laughter.

The screech of the hovertrain's whistle jogged Rory Swann out of his reveries. Looking up, his eyes a mix of exhaustion and burning anger, he looked out through one of the small windows, recognizing the town of Carver's hold. This was where his people transported their products to catch the train to Jorgenton. It was a good hundred miles from Jackson, which was too secluded to warrant building train tracks to it. He and Eddie had always preferred the isolation anyway.

The thoughts of Eddie sent a burst of renewed anger through his veins and when the mechanical voice came over the train's speakers announcing their arrival he was already up and moving with his worn suit and small bag. Stepping out of the passenger compartment, which was empty by now, he stepped from the train to the small platform that served for loading people and goods onto the train. All around him workers were rushing about unloading supplies and reloading goods onto the train to be transported back to the capital.

It took Rory only a moment to find who he was looking for. Reggie Hernandez stood at the edge of the platform with a half grin that turned to a worried look of alarm as Swann got closer to him.

"Boss… Rory you okay man? You look like your ready to kill somebody…"

Rory stopped in front of the other miner and looked at him with an expression halfway between anger and resignation. Moving toward the waiting truck he replied quietly.

"Damn them Reggie. Damn them all to hell."

**There it is. The stage is set and the story can continue. Soon our disparate characters will find their way to Meinhoff and then the real conflict will begin. War and Love. Death and Betrayal. The action's only beginning. **

**To be fair however I should warn you all that it may be a while before I can post the next Chapter. This semester has come with a lot of reading and writing and the writing in particular is going to force me to focus on other projects for awhile. But the adventure is not over and this story will continue.**

**Be back soon.**

**-James**


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