Galactic Dawn: Running Story of the Starcraft&Metroid Campaign, 2005.
Chapter 3: Lost Puppy
Stolid an uneasy, Cofforth Moltar gazed through his barracks porthole. He had
requested a window room after joining a mvsf of BSL. The recruiter seemed to
approve of his natural talents with a kind of zest. Moltar had seen plenty of
other Byunei on board the orbital platform, though arguably fewer than any of
the other sentients. Being a non-prolific, long-lived, introspective people will
do that, he thought. Thought out to the stars. Far away as it was, it made
little sense to Moltar to be looking at his home planet. His planet that had
sheltered him so well. Sheltered all their race that lived today from the cold
of space, and from enemies unseen and unknown.
The unseen no longer concerned Moltar very much. That was his talent and trade.
On private missions, Moltar preferred to reveal himself to the mark before
completing the mission. The face they would see is that of vengeance for the
ghost of a people, manifested in coolly glowing eyes amidst the smoothed and
shiny gray skin the shape of a dog's head. And seeing that, Moltar knew that the
last phrase on the Mark's mind was "warp puppy," the common moniker for his
people.
The window did not seem to have the answer Moltar had sought, and with a curious
thought he left his barracks for the mvsf launching station that gave berth to
his commonly used transport. The nighttime had few technicians mucking about.
Too many more and Moltar would have to be more physically stealthy. Three
minutes was enough to get into the bay. He acknowledged his comrades at the
locker: the Pathomorph who was clicking and measuring out some fluid, and the
crew medic who seemed to be looking for somewhere to put a burdensome looking
crate. He stood a moment next to the vast portal that would open for his team's
dropship. Opening it would take a flight plan and official orders. Working
around it would take only a few minutes.
Moltar announced in a fel and loud tone.
-Do seal the deck, please.
The Pathomorph wasted no time, and seemingly little thought on doing exactly
that. The medic looked slightly concerned, but preoccupied. Moltar had done this
enough times in their presence that the initial shock was gone. It was a little
jarring to see a humanoid take a walk outside with no armor on.
Moltar mused that the circuits were starting to look more like he had designed
them than their original form, as if his multiple and nefarious soirees had
turned the station itself into his private ally. It got easier every time. Maybe
one day maintenance would come around on a sweep and notice. Maybe this time his
planet would talk back to him. Maybe.
The portal opened, and Moltar stepped casually outside. The chamber had mostly
depressurized before the door opened, and all Moltar felt was a gentle tug from
outside, and the reaction of his skin diamondizing and sealing off his
respiration. The extreme cold would not chill his heart, nor the vacuum erupt
his insides. The chill and vasty horizon of space stretched out before his eyes,
and Moltar drank in the feeling like honey water. This was ice cream. This was
peking duck. Ordinarily Moltar would subsist as other Byunei and Protoss do on
the psionic emissions of pylon crystals, but here, unshielded from the radiation
of everywhere, he could feast on the delicacy of natural space. His job would
always be just a job.
Three minutes turned into twenty; Moltar knew that he could survive like this
for another day or more if he needed. Twenty was pushing discretion, however,
and blowing a kiss toward his planet, he walked casually back inside. The door
closed behind him, and conditioned atmosphere poured in all around. Moltar's
skin felt the pressure and softened once more, losing the iridescent sheen it
had had for a more glassy look. It did feel comfortable to be in air once again,
although all together more sterile. Sleep now called. Your planet will find you
in your dreams, he thought.
On his way back to barracks, Moltar passed a huffy-feeling human who was hiding
something. A quick whisper told him that this was a human resources prefect, and
that he was hot. The feeling of warmth stopped Moltar from whispering too much.
It was no secret that all Byunei were attuned to psionic forces, but this human
was exceptional thus, and Moltar had learned before to tread more lightly on the
young race when it came to whispering in subvocal thoughts. The damage was done,
however.
-You. You work with Mericor, do you?
-He is in my squad, yes.
-Right. Private Moltar. I've been reading up on the whole squad. It displeases
me that you would use your talents against the corporation, inasmuch as probing
the minds of its prefects.
-You know as well as I that the word "probe" is inappropriate. I will not touch
the "against the corporation" comment, except to say that my orders seldom
include what I do with my free time. I haven't had a mission in a month.
-I am HRP Zetal. You will follow me back to...back to personnel, where a full
description of this incident will be brought to board. I was hoping to be done
tonight, but your meddling cannot abide.
Meddling? It didn't take a whisper to know that this prefect was overstepping
his bounds and knew it. Moltar decided to follow him anyway, as it may reveal
more of what Zetal portended for him, and apparently his comrade Mericor.