StarCraft 1. Chapter 1

The Sleeping Giant

A constant piece of wisdom uttered by disgruntled generals and trigger-happy politicians against liberal critics, was that war brought out the best in any nations. To a degree, it wasn't entirely false. Countless super-computers and technological devices facilitating life for people of the Koprulu Sector had originally been conceived as tools to kill people as efficiently as possible. AIs, for example, was first developed on homeland Earth to help target missiles with the greatest possible efficiency. And even today, primitive AIs were still utilized for such purposes. Some things never changed. But all the same, whatever benefit came from war was something most citizens of the Koprulu Sector could not enjoy, not when they lived in a hotbed of murderous violence where even the most boring civilians could be killed at any moment, and even the tiniest pirate militias were armed with everything from nuclear silos to Marine Corps numbering in the thousands.

Toby Dobson sat in his hotel room and toyed around with his gun, smiling bitterly to himself. He mused with the idea for some time, the concept of all weapons eventually becoming obsolete and turning into household products, like AIs. He couldn't help but wonder, then, what the Dominion's latest design would turn into eventually. If it even came to fruition, and it no doubt would. The Umojan Protectorate had rallied alongside Arcturus Mengsk against the brutal Confederacy in his early days. Before Mengsk became a blind, bloodthirsty dictator in his own right. Back in the days when he was still a young, courageous leader promising the people of Koprulu Sector peace, prosperity, and liberty. Those days were long gone, and have been gone at least since the Brood War. The Umojans watched as Mengsk grew deranged and out of control, becoming just as war-loving and bloodthirsty as the Confederacy he so hated. Eventually, they broke off all ties from him and his Dominion, leaving only pity to citizens who had to suffer the mad emperor's wrath. Mengsk had never forgiven them for it. And as they say, a man on fire never just burns: He explodes. For the last year or so, the Protectorate had been holding its breath for the inevitable explosion. Perhaps Mengsk would send a fleet to take down one of their mines, or launch a nuclear assault on one of their moons. Then, it would be war. Yes, the Umojans loved peace, but if Mengsk wanted a fight, a fight he would have. They hadn't been lazy in building up their troops either. As of that day, they could boast a fleet of over 200 Hercules-class Battle Cruiser, 70 Behemoth-class cruiser, and an entire military to go with each cruiser. They could hold their own against whatever Mengsk would throw at them.

But the explosion never came. Instead, Mengsk simply sat back and watched the Protectorate. He'd lash out against all other Terran factions he loathed, the Koprulu Liberation Front, the Kel-Morian Combine, the Raynor's Raiders, the Alliance, and sometimes, even the Trading Union. But the Protectorate, nothing. Some Umojans celebrated this as evidence that Mengsk was clearly intimidated by the size of their military. So intimidated, in fact, not even his infamous bravado could move him to raise a finger against their mighty Cruiser fleet.

Other Umojans however, were not so naïve.

"This is the calm before the storm, ladies and gentlemen. Arcturus Mengsk has yet to show us an example where someone bit him, and he simply sat back and took it. Every major Terran faction that has attempted to resist that man has suffered in some way. Why should we be the exception?" asked Councilman Rasjkub of the Ruling Council.

A murmur shook the whole council. Councilwoman Lucia rose from her seat.

"I agree with your views on this matter, councilman. But our intelligence has yet to pick up anything suspicious, or signs that the Dominion is planning to move against us. And I think it is agreed unanimously and without bias that the Umojan intelligence is the most advanced in all of the Koprulu Sector. Yes, Mengsk has proven himself to be vengeful in the past, but is it perhaps not possible that he is simply too distracted at the moment to bother with us?"

Many members of the council nodded in agreement. Rasjkub rose again, smiling mirthlessly, with a folder of papers in hand.

"Thank you for your valuable input and wisdom, Lady Lucia. But if I do criticize, your information is a bit flawed and limited. Not a fault of yours, of course, since your duties are peaceful. Most of our duties are peaceful. Not all of us keep in touch with our intelligence on a daily basis."

Rasjkub was more than just a member of the Ruling Council. Seven years ago, he was appointed the Chief Director of the Directory, the ever feared intelligence sector of the Umojan Military, and home of some of the most mind-blowingly talented espionage agents in the world. Before that, he was a commander in the Confederate Military, and helped fight in the Guild Wars, against the Kel-Morian Combine. Some Umojans still distrusted him for this, but as the years passed, it became clear that Rasjkub had abandoned his confederate ways and was converted to the Umojan way of peace and progress. Besides, they needed a man like him. A fierce, battle-axe military man who could provide them the backbone they needed. As such, he was elected to the council.

"According to the Directory's latest intelligence update, there has been an increasing in-and-out traffic surrounding the Simonson munitions factory on Korhal, the heart of the Dominion. I am sure you are all familiar with Simonson munitions factory?"

"That's not possible. That factory was locked down and closed a long time ago," voiced a councilman.

"Indeed. But that isn't where the oddities stop. Our agents' hackings of the cargos going through the factory shows deliveries of over 70,000 multunes of Battlecruiser-class steel. That is enough to create, oh, roughly a 150 Hercules-class Cruisers. Yet the Dominion's Cruiser fleet shows absolutely no signs of changing in size, while our censors show constant flows of seismic shocks from the Simonson munitions factory. Now, I would say this is something that calls for an investigation. And if I am granted permissions by the grace of the Ruling Council and our good Minister Jorgensen, an investigation is what the Directory will launch."

The permission was granted, which is why Dobson was sitting in the hotel room. Toby Dobson was not his real name, and the face he saw when he looked in the mirror was not his real face.

"Many of the effects of this surgery are permanent," he was told by the surgeon.

"Will I ever look like my old self again?"

He didn't get a reply. But after everything that happened, his face was one of the more miniscule things he'd lose from this venture. Not that it mattered. Dobson loved Umoja, and everything it represented. Peace, knowledge, freedom, and progress. And he would sooner die before he let that deranged psychopath Mengsk crush the last hope of the Koprulu Sector.

The Directory was the last line of defense against the Dominion's ruthless fist of power. Dobson was proud to be on that line.

_This is just the first part of a mini-series I'm doing. As you may have guessed, yes, this is a story of Ulli Trey, the brave Umojan spy who uncovered the secret of the Thor project. Yes, I am aware that Trey was nowhere to be seen in this particular bit, but she will appear soon, I promise you. Since there is very little actually known about either Trey, or the Umojan Protectorate for that matter, I'm taking some liberties with their portrayals. I've always imagined the Umojans would be much more liberal and knowledge-loving than the Dominion or the Confederacy, from how they want peace with the Protoss, and their support for Korhal against the Confederates. And that's what showed up I guess. _


	2. Chapter 2

Professor Trey sat in her office, to take care of some usual paperwork. Her mind wondered just a bit, and she accidentally blotted a paper little with red ink. No matter, it wasn't a massive mark or anything anyway. She simply ignored it, and moved on to the next sheet. The pile seemed nearly endless. In her short, young life, Ulli Trey had fought, defeated, and survived many dangerous enemies, but the pile of paper stacked before here was quite possibly the greatest of any foes she'd ever faced. She'd defeat it again and again, day by day, only to witness it coming back to life right before her eyes the next morning. A Hydralisk died after you shot it a few times. This pile was effectively immortal.

What made this already-tedious task even more tedious was the fact that Trey was fully aware how badly she was wasting her time. Everyday, she watched the news, both on TV, and on less-than-official sources privy to women of her sort. It was something she did ever since she was a girl. And nearly every source of information she could get her hands on, and she could get quite a few, pointed to one direction: Full-scale warfare with the Terran Dominion. The Protoss would stand on a side of their own, if they could get their various civil trouble issues settled out. The Dominion would attempt to crush all other Terran civilizations, while the Zerg would move in and take advantage of the chaos by destroying everybody else. And unless the situation changed dramatically in the next three years or so, there was only one fate left for the citizens of the Koprulu Sector: Total extinction.

Sometimes, it made her wants to shoot a squirrel or something, just to vent her rage. That damned Arcturus Mengsk. Why couldn't he see reality and reason as Umojans could? Why could he not understand that uniting as one race of Mankind and combining forces with the elder race Protoss was the only way the Zerg menace could be repelled? Ulli knew something had to be done. The Protectorate could no longer maintain this isolationist position. The time was ripe for them to build up resources and spread their message to the rest of the sector, by force if necessary. As much as she respected the Ruling Council, she could not understand why more action was not being taken.

Trey took the paper pile and set it aside. It was 7:00. She needed to get home and have some dinner. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and her breakfast was a small, fired potato pancake. Trey had never been a particularly tall woman, standing only about 5'7, and she was always quite slender all her life. But even such small people still needed more sustenance than Ulli Trey was getting these days.

"Are you ill? Is there something you'd like to talk to me about?" asked Bill, a co-worker she found particularly annoying.

"I'm fine Bill. Honestly."

"You look pretty malnourished these days. And you never seem to go home either. When's the last time you've slept?"

She found his constant monitoring of her behavior annoying, and somewhat unsettling, given her profession, but she simply brushed it off, not wanting to appear paranoid.

"I really am fine Bill. I'm really grateful you care about me. But I can take care of myself."

She couldn't eat. Food tasted like ash to her. Day and night, all she could think about was serving the Protectorate again. Until she knew that she was doing something to serve her nation, she could never feel truly alive. Some of her colleagues called this Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. What they didn't understand, was that she'd always felt this way. Even before the war.

Ulli Trey had always been a genius of the English language, but hardly good enough to serve under such a prestigious university. She was far too young, for one. And second, the university did not find a psychological evaluation of her entirely satisfactory. An outer force moved her into the profession. It was the perfect cover, they said. A scholar is about as far as you can get from being a battle-ready thug. No one would suspect her. Absolutely no one would see the English language professor Ulli Trey as an agent of the feared Directory.

"You are to maintain absolutely no contact with any Directory officials, and you are to completely ignore anyone you suspect to be a fellow agent, except under the gravest circumstances," said Bill Higgins, her direct superior who'd taken her into the Directory.

"I understand, sir."

"You will know when you are activated by a simple code we've arranged. You are now a subscriber to the Lifetouch magazine, a magazine catering to amateur photographers. The delivery man, whom your work schedule will guarantee you will never encounter, is an agent. A new issue will be delivered bi-monthly, and a newsletter, everyday. The day a newsletter or a magazine does not arrive, you will know that you have been called upon, and you will report to this location the following morning."

And so far, almost seven months after entering the Directory, Trey had nothing but wasted magazines and newsletters to keep her company. She'd grown to hate the logo of that stupid waste of paper. What kind of name was Lifetouch anyway? Everyday, she'd come home to see the vaunted magazine, and she would curse at the nearest object.

"You need some rest, Ulli. Go home, I'll take care of the paperwork."

With the paperwork behind her, to be done by Bill, Trey trotted up the stairs of her apartment. But where she expected to see a copy of Lifetouch, she saw only linoleum floor. And that night, she knew she would eat and sleep perfectly.


End file.

StarCraft, Sci-Fi, Suspense