StarCraft The Shadow Hunter

A/N - Before I begin, let me mention that this piece contains a fair amount of artistic license, though undoubtedly not as much as you will think there is. So to clarify: 1) Niether the UED (the government on Earth) nor their fleet spontaneously exploded after DuGalle's death. 2) The BroodWar epilogue does not say the UED fleet was destroyed, at least not immediately. It says they never made it back to Earth. 3) While Kerrigan did not pursue any of her adversaries, but "allowed them their reprieve" and whatever, that doesn't mean those who stayed and fought rather than flee were simply ignored. 4) This is a work of fiction. I don't work for Blizzard. So this doesn't have to match up 100%, anyway. So think about that before you flame.  
  
STARCRAFT: THE SHADOW HUNTER -------------  
  
Many a dark and terrifying tale would be spawned of the bloody Terran Guild Wars, and one of these was the legend of Orto Trask. A career of assassinations and hired kidnappings made Trask the archetypical bounty hunter of the times, for such activities were often used in tandem with conventional warfare by various sides in the conflict. Bounty hunting became a deadly but highly lucrative sport, and Trask was the best there was.  
  
The sudden fall of Trask has become nearly as legendary as his rise. With the end of the Wars, the steady stream of clientele Trask and others like him had come to expect dwindled rapidly. Even worse (for him), people began to blame bounty hunters for much of the bloodshed in the past years, and before long Trask found a price on his own head.  
  
For a long time, Trask eluded his former brothers sent after him, but at long last a trio of hunters and a small Confederate strike force cornered him on the icy world of Braxis. Refusing to give himself up, Trask threw himself into a vast pit. Legends say he fell straight through to Braxis' superfrozen core, and will remain there forever, encased in ice. The veracity of such stories, however, is of course suspicious at best.  
  
-Encyclopedia Terra, Volume III, Entry T-1087  
  
------  
  
A man who has decided to end his own life faces a uniquely infinite array of options. He can choose to kill himself with some man-made instrument, or without. He can drown himself in a river or hurl himself off of a cliffside. He can crush himself beneath boulders. He can deliver himself unto ferocious beasts. He can suffocate in the void of space.  
  
Admiral Gerard DuGalle was dead. He had become that way of his own volition. He had possessed a galaxy of exotic and creative methods with which to reach that condition, and yet he had chosen a simple pistol.  
  
To a man named Daniel S. Jacobs, it only proved the Admiral's remarkably poor taste.  
  
Jacobs was, or had been, anyway, DuGalle's Captain and third-in-command. He had patiently served the aging Admiral, and his Vice-Admiral, Alexei Stukov, before each of their deaths. Now there was only Jacobs.  
  
To a point, Jacobs was pleased with the Admiral's long-warranted passing. He, like his Vice-Admiral, were of a dying breed - no pun intended. They had been among the last of a generation that had flourished on Earth. DuGalle and Stukov had almost exclusively spearheaded the Revolution decades before that had given birth to the infant United Earth Directorate out of the ashes of the blue world's previous stagnating administration. In that war, in those days, on that distant homeworld of Humanity, the Admiral and Vice-Admiral had been powerful leaders and war heroes.  
  
Here, however, out among the myriad alien stars, they had been decidedly in over their heads. Old tactics and strategems that had been devastating against inferior, human enemies had proven singularly useless in these extra-terrestrial campaigns. DuGalle, Stukov, and their fleet had done all they could, played every hand as well as they were able. And they had failed.  
  
Stokuv had been the first to go. The Vice-Admiral had, so far as Jacobs was aware, unwisely agitated a personal conflict with his lifelong friend, DuGalle, taking command of a legion of troops and splitting with the main fleet. DuGalle's sense of honor and commitment to his mission had then superceded whatever loyalties he felt towards his estranged lieutenant, and he had ordered Stukov's death. Only in the Vice-Admiral's final moments had the senior officer realized his folly, but by then it was too late.  
  
Even then, DuGalle did not reach the inevitable conclusion that his mission was too much for him. Jacobs watched as his elder and superior stubbornly pushed the fleet and its agenda onward, striking the alien Zerg and Protoss as recklessly and potently as he dared. Briefly, Jacobs even wonderd if the old man would succeed, fueled as he was by grief and bitterness. But even such powerful emotions cannot turn defeat into victory. Gerard DuGalle, like his tragic Vice-Admiral, was doomed to fail.  
  
Jacobs had protested many of the Admiral's decisions early in the campaign, ceasing to do so when it became apparent that such behavior was viewed by DuGalle as cowardly, not to mention disrespectful. The engagement of this last battle, however, he had urged against as vehemently as any in the course of the expedition. Along with two of the Directorate's strongest enemies, the Protoss Praetor, Artanis, and the self-styled Emperor, Arcturus Mengsk, DuGalle had hastily put together a bold, three-pronged attack against the very stronghold of the Zerg.  
  
As Jacobs had predicted, the attack had failed. He hated it when he was right.  
  
Jacobs had been seated before his console, as he was now, on the bridge of his command ship, the Hannibal, minutes before, when the news of DuGalle's suicide had appeared on the main console screen aside the rapidly rising numbers of the dead. Had he been in charge, under DuGalle, of the remaining Directorate forces, he would have ordered such information kept secret for the duration of the battle to protect morale. He was not in charge, however; the new Vice-Admiral, a man named Ivaldi van Groat, had become the senior officer in the fleet with DuGalle's passing, and he had foolishly passed on the dire news as soon as he had received it.  
  
It seemed Jacobs was cursed to spend his days ranked just below the biggest idiots in the fleet - just high enough to witness their every mistake, but not high enough to salvage anything.  
  
Jacobs looked around at the other men on the bridge. As would be expected, the news of their fearless leader's death had infected them with considerably less than elation. Some stood, mouths agape, at the text still scrolling across the main screen. Some were seated at their desks, heads bent forward in prayer. A few were actually crying, while others simply stared off into space. Like Jacobs, these were men of a younger generation than DuGalle and Stukov and their glory days. These were the future of the Directorate armed forces - if they survived to return to the Earth.  
  
The chaos of the room was strangely quiet; for all its emotionel effects, the news had at least silenced the constant idle banter and conversation that usually reigned over the bridge.  
  
Jacobs stood. The few sounds that had been audible quieted instantly.  
  
"Adjutant," he said, addressing the ship's on-board computer. "Connect me with the Aleksander, please."  
  
The Adjutant chirped in response, and the main screen faded to black for a few seconds. Then the image of the asian-faced van Groat appeared. The perpetual sneer that always formed the older man's countenance was in its usual place.  
  
"Captain Jacobs," he said, his hand raised to his forehead in the traditional salute.  
  
"Vice-Admiral," Jacobs said, returning the gesture.  
  
"Admiral," van Groat corrected, lowering his hand. Jacobs did the same. "Tragic as DuGalle's death is, circumstance nonetheless leaves me as the highest ranking officer in this fleet, and your new Admiral."  
  
All the more tragic."Of course, sir."  
  
"You will proceed with your orders as DuGalle gave them to you. We have no reason to alter our strategy simply because of one unfortunate death."  
  
"With all respect, Admiral, I must suggest that we disengage."  
  
"Nonsense! I will not give in to such... cowardice."  
  
"A tactical retreat is not cowardice, Admiral! If we remain -"  
  
"Be silent, Captain!"  
  
"- we only subject ourselves to further losses! We've got to disengage -"  
  
"Be silent!"  
  
"- while we can! We'll be overwhelmed if we -"  
  
"I order you to be silent!" Jacobs bit his tongue. Damn it. "You overstep yourself, Captain Jacobs." Van Groat paused, his familiar sneer returning. He looked like a sadistic tutor upon deciding on a fitting punishment for a problem student. "Prepare your squadron for a bombing run. Be ready to execute on my mark."  
  
The Admiral's image vanished, and Jacobs slammed his fists down on his console.  
  
"Damn it!"  
  
"Captain?" Jacobs looked to his left. A young aide stood at attention, hands folded.  
  
"Yes, soldier?"  
  
"What are your orders, sir?" Jacobs sighed. Here we go again.  
  
"Contact the remaining command ships and fighters. Have all battlecruisers draw up, and order the smaller ships to flank them. We're going in."  
  
The aide turned and moved to his console to carry out his orders. The buzz of activity and nervous babble had returned to the bridge, as though the new Admiral's behavior had matched DuGalle's closely enough to warrant the men swallowing their emotion and getting back to work.  
  
Perhaps it took a jackass and an idiot to make soldiers to their duties. Jacobs wondered how long the fleet would last with him in command rather than van Groat. Not long, he reasoned. He could swing the senior officer's attitude, but he was simply too intelligent for that kind of position.  
  
-------  
  
"We've made contact with the Machiavelli and the Augustus. They're moving into position now, sir." The aide had returned and was standing over Jacobs' console. The officer lowered the shot glass he had poured and looked up expectantly.  
  
"Well? What about the others?"  
  
"These are all that remain, sir."  
  
Jesus. We're gone already. Jacobs swallowed. "And the fighters?"  
  
"Roughly three dozen, sir. They're coming around to meet us as well."  
  
"Captain!" Van Groat's voice called from the main screen. Jacobs rose to attention. From the screen, the Admiral eyed the bottle and glass Jacobs had discarded. "Drinking to our victory already?" He sneered. "Are your ships in position?"  
  
"Nearly, Admiral -"  
  
"Well hurry up! Commence the bombing run as soon as you are ready."  
  
"Yes, Admiral."  
  
The screen once more went blank. One of the side consoles beeped, and the aide moved to look at it.  
  
"The Machiavelli and the Augustus are in position, sir. Shall we wait for the fighters, or go ahead?"  
  
"Let's go. The wraiths and valkyries will catch up shortly."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
The Hannibal lurched to one side as it moved into its intended course, the shapes of the other two battlecruisers visible through the blast windows in similar motion. The triad began to lumber towards the platform below.  
  
The computer beeped again.  
  
"Fighters closing," the aid announced.  
  
"Wait," Jacobs said, his eyes narrowing. Something wasn't quite right.  
  
"Is there a problem, Captain?" The aide cast him a nervous look.  
  
"Just a bad feeling, that's all." Jacobs paused. The platform loomed closer in the window. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. "Order the Machiavelli to double back and protect the Aleksander."  
  
"Yes, sir." The aid pressed a few buttons and repeated the order into the console. The computer beeped in recognition.  
  
The platform drew closer. Jacobs could see the oozing purple creep below them, the telltale mucus that signalled a Zerg colony.  
  
"Central hive cluster, 1000 meters and closing," said the aide.  
  
There was a screech as several shapes shot past the cruiser. The computer beeped.  
  
"The first of our fighters have reached us. 600 meters."  
  
Wraiths and valkyries continued to surge past the slow-moving battlecruisers as the computer counter down the distance. The fighters were meant simply to draw fire and intercept any unfriendly objects in the cruisers' path. The cruisers, meanwhile, would drop high-energy proton bombs on the hive clusters below before pulling away from the platform and back out into nearby space. The computer beeped again.  
  
"200 meters and closing."  
  
"Drop the first charge," Jacobs ordered. To his right, a gunner punched a number on his own console. The ship shuddered as the weight of the first proton bomb was released, plummetting towards the platform.  
  
"Hive cluster reached. 800 meters to next hive and closing."  
  
The chatter on the bridge had once more ceased. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath as the run proceeded.  
  
"400 meters and closing." The computer beeped, indicating that the Augustus had dropped its first charge. "Second hive cluster reached. 1800 meters to primary hive cluster."  
  
"Advise the Augustus[i] that we'll each drop on this one."  
  
"Yes, Captain." The aide repeated the order into his console. A Zerg unit Jacobs recognized as a Scourge smashed into the [i]Hannibal, just below the window.  
  
"Tighten up those fighters," he ordered.  
  
"Yes, sir. Orders confirmed. 1400 meters and -"  
  
A series of alarms sounded from the aide's console.  
  
"Sir! A wing of Zerg units are closing on the Aleksander and the Machiavelli!"  
  
"I really hate it when I'm right." Jacobs swore colorfully. "Tell our fighters to double back. How far?"  
  
"Still 1000 meters, sir."  
  
"Damn. Tell the Augustus to pull out, too. We're going back."  
  
The aide complied, speaking quickly into his console. The ship lurched again as the helmsman reversed its course, steering it back towards the darkness of space, where the other two cruisers sat. A series of low beeps and alarms emenated from the aide's computer.  
  
"Sir! The Augustus has been hit! We've lost all communication with them!"  
  
Jacobs looked out the blast window. The Augustus, flanked by a full wing of mutalisks, was continuing along its former course. A light flared beneath it as it dropped its charge, and it began to pull up, away from the platform.  
  
"It's not going to make it," the aide said.  
  
"My God," murmured Jacobs.  
  
The mutalisks pelted the Augustus with globs of acid, starting fires along the exterior of the ship. The battlecruiser reeled, falling back from its intended reversal, towards the surface of the platform. Plumes of blue flame erupted from it as it imploded.  
  
Its attackers did not outlive it for long. The bomb reached the surface and detonated. The hive cluster, and the mutalisks above it, were consumed in a massive ball of flame.  
  
The computer chirped.  
  
"2000 meters to the Aleksander," the aide said.  
  
"And the Zerg?"  
  
"1500 meters."  
  
Jacobs swore again. He could make out in the distance the shapes of more mutalisks and larger, more fearsome beasts called Devourers, screaming along the edge of the platform toward the two ships.  
  
"Have the fighters hold a perimeter around the command ships, and order the Machiavelli[i] to charge its Yamato cannon and wait for a clear shot. Charge our cannon, as well."  
  
"Yes sir. 1600 meters and closing."  
  
The sides of the [i]Hannibal began to hum as energy was rerouted from the engines to the weaponry. Jacobs wondered if we wasn't actually feeling the ship slowing.  
  
"1200 meters. The Zerg have reached the Aleksander."  
  
Through the blast windows, Jacobs could see clearly the Zerg units engage the Terran ships. There were about three dozen mutalisks and half as many Devourers, as well as a ring of Scourge. These last quickly vanished in a number of small, gaseous explosions, claiming at least as many ships.  
  
"800 meters. Yamato cannon charged."  
  
"Fire!"  
  
There was an enormous flash of light as the Hannibal let loose a copious blast of energy towards the skirmish. A Devourer evaporated immediately as the blast struck him, travelling on to likewise disentigrate a lone mutalisk. Several other Zerg were visibly singed, though most managed to dodge the blast.  
  
The fighters had managed to reduce the Zerg numbers to merely two dozen or so, but they had suffered significant losses themselves. Less than a dozen starfighters remained, and the Machiavelli was taking serious fire.  
  
"300 meters."  
  
"Order the Machiavelli to fire it's Yamato cannon as soon as it gets an open shot. And order... advise the Aleksander to fire as well."  
  
"Yes, sir." A pair of bursts ignited amid the battle. The first incinerated a trio of mutalisks, while the second seared the edge of the Machiavelli before reducing a Devourer to ash.  
  
There was a cracking sound and a series of screeches. The Zerg scattered momentarily as the Machiavelli exploded in a ball of fire and twisted metal.  
  
"100 meters."  
  
"All non-emergency power to forward ATA batteries!" The walls of the Hannibal shuddered as the battlecruiser's engines kicked off. The ATA laser batteries at the ship's head roared to life, as the cruiser's momentum carried it closer and closer to the embattled Aleksander. "Fire!"  
  
A volley of red lasers issued forth from the Hannibal, raking across the hides of the remaining Zerg. A pillar of flame erupted from one of the Aleksander's wings, but the ship remained intact.  
  
"Again!"  
  
Another salvo of lasers shot from the Hannibal. All but three of the remaining Zerg vanished into oblivion.  
  
"Again!"  
  
"Sir, we don't have enough juice!"  
  
"DAMN IT ALL!" Jacobs shouted, jumping to his feet. "All remaining power to forward thrusters. Drop the last charge!"  
  
"The... proton bomb, sir?"  
  
"DO IT!"  
  
The aide rushed to comply. The ship shuddered as the bomb fell away. It moved slowly, so far away was the platform and the only source of gravity. The engines roared to life, and the ship surged forward once more, careening past the last three mutalisks and into the prone Aleksander. Confused, the creatures halted their attack, looking around for some reason as to why these Terrans had chosen to ram their own sister ship.  
  
"0 meters -"  
  
The bomb ignited. The mutalisks were instantly vaporized.  
  
The Hannibal and the Aleksander, meanwhile, tumbled out of control through the empty space, still firmly attached to one another. The aide's console buzzed briefly with van Groat's voice, then fizzled into silence.  
  
Outside, Jacobs could see that the battle raged on atop the platform below. The Zerg forces had given up on the Directorate for a time, it seemed, and were content to hunt the Protoss and other Terrans for a change.  
  
Jacobs sat down in his seat, slowly leaning to recline the chair. His eyes closed, and he sighed in releif. They were safe. Moreover, for the first time since the battled had begun, there was true silence aboard the ship. No humming of parts, no chatter of men, to beeping computer.  
  
Silence.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED... 


End file.

StarCraft