Conrad stood there for several moments, staring into oblivion. “Another fleet, from Earth?” raced through her mind. Maybe, just maybe, it was from her earth, though that was shot down in a fiery blaze when the Wraith pilot stated that they appeared of ‘Terran Kat Origin’. Conrad looked over at Raynor, who was handsome in his own respect, though stifling a string of words that would deafen the ears of a sailor. Standing tall in what could only be a dress uniform, he tugged and pulled at the ties and stitching, as though the very fabric itself was like a prison to him, though anyone could see it in his eyes. 

 He hated wearing it. He hated being here. He wanted to take charge, he wanted more then a desk job pushing buttons and leading the sheep. He wanted action. 

 The hand of Tassadar broke my reverie, and as always the words flowed from him like a stream, “Friend Conrad, due to the condition of the General at current, I believe it would be folly to bring up further concerns for yourself. We shall arrange for your stay upon the Gantrithor.” Though this also caught the attention of Raynor. “Tassadar, if the lady needs a place, I could give ‘er a place for ya’.” He stepped forward, and offered his hand, “Name’s Raynor, Jim Raynor.” Though when Conrad started for a salute, Raynor shook his head, “I’m not anywhere as
uptight as the General. No ‘Sir’ or salutes in this Fleet… Just respect.” 

 Conrad smiled, and took his hand. For an officer, he had a funny way of running a ship, but he had a grip like a vice. Tassadar chuckled, “Old friend, I thank you graciously. We shall serve as an escort until the remainder of our fleet arrives. Though this new contingent is a mystery. Your pilot refers to it as a faction from your homeworld, though why would they come here to attack their own people?”

 Fenix nodded, “Indeed. It sounds odd that they would go through such lengths to war with themselves…” Conrad snickered. When the time came, they were escorted to their respective vessels, Tassadar and Fenix taking their shuttle, while Conrad was led by Raynor to a more familiar looking, though still considerably alien, personnel carrier. The pilot was female, which Conrad smiled at. A cute little minx of a kat who, if she couldn’t fly a paper bag, could still be picked by looks. Though that didn’t matter, women naturally made better pilots then men,
though that was still theory. The personnel carrier was loaded, and took off in a more familiar manner, trading in antigravitons and sentient autopilots for a gout of flame, the roar of an engine, and ‘..a pilot as topheavy as this carrier..’ Conrad thought to herself, allowing herself to be mean, after all, no one here could read her mind, right?

 The Hyperion was in shambles. Areas were sealed off due to Vacuum Exposure, while clean-up crews frantically tried to scrape off the remains of the creatures that attacked them. Through the winding, chaotic hallways of the Hyperion, Conrad felt a sense of home. After no more then three minutes ‘back home’, though, Raynor was handed a clipboard with the damage assessment. Raynor went down the list, “Lateral controls, shot. Magnetic dampener, gone. Long range sensors, fifteen percent. Pitch controls, locked. Hull integrity, seventy two percent. Laser
batteries, half charge. Sections seventeen through twenty-eight report vacuum exposure, and clean-up crews are half-staffed. Is their any good news, lieutenant?” Raynor turned toward the lieutenant, who visibly recoiled from the angered gaze, “Umm.. we’ve contained the plague to section four, and we’re receiving ‘I Love Lucile” episodes from radio transmissions from Earth?” Raynor looked so red, he almost could pop right there. Conrad could almost hear him, just thinking, “It’s going to be a long haul.”

 And indeed it was. Easily four weeks passed by, Conrad doing what she could to help out with the repairs, and learning in her off-hours about the two alien races. Apparently, the Kats and the Protoss hadn’t always been so buddy-buddy. Their first contact was over a Kat colony, though the records never told just what they were doing out there to begin with. The Protoss made no warning, nor attempted to warn the Kats below, but instead began to scour the entire surface of the planet, burning the surface to a cinder. A few others followed this grisly fate, each
without warning or provocation. The Kats and the Protoss were at the brink of war, when another Kat colony disappeared off of the face of existence. Unlike the previous destructions, which destroyed the entire surface, this was more tactical… precise, like a surgeon’s scalpel. There were no bodies, though the very blood of the dead was thick enough to resist soaking into the dried ground. The Protoss then told of another race, the Zerg.

 Conrad couldn’t read about the Zerg too much at night, since the descriptions of the creatures and their atrocities were often enough to keep her from sleeping well. With every species the Zerg encounters, they assimilate it into their own, tampering with evolution and playing God with their DNA until the original creature is gone, replaced by some chitin-wearing, spike shooting blade wielding swarm serving monstrosity with a vicious streak a mile wide and a reproductive tract like a horny rabbit. Though one thing remained the same: Their tactics. They were obviously less then marginally intelligent, though something was obviously guiding them, some unseen hand pointing the way. The security files from colonies destroyed by the Zerg show this well enough, how the entire swarm simply scurries in, kills everything, then the camera dies. Every time, like clockwork, though sometimes the swarm is destroyed. They show a complete disregard for their own, shown well by those Zerg called the Scourge. From the files, a Scourge is nothing more then a living bomb, roughly the size of a Wraith, which Conrad learned were those invisible jets. Each Scourge is born flying, and each holds explosive chemicals in specialized organs. These organs are lined with nerve endings, and any forceful contact triggers an electric impulse from these endings. The result is an explosion rivaling the more powerful Air to Air missiles employed by the fleet. Within each creature, they were born specialists in their own field, though even within specialists, there are specialists. These masters of the trade are the Herostrains. Each species within the Zerg has a herostrain, named to distinguish them from their brethren, and each herostrain is easily twice their brethren in ability and power. 

 Troubled by thoughts of death, worry, and fear, Conrad forced herself to sleep. A fitful sleep, at best, since her nightmares were now armed with the knowledge of the Zerg. Each morning lacked a sun to greet her, only the tones of the general wake-up call greeted her each morning. Life in the military was nothing new, though without a sun, it hardly felt like morning. Within a few weeks, the repairs were complete, though there were several fatalities from the
Plague. Apparently, the Zerg called Defilers were able to infect living things with some form of, how did the report put it, a multi-parasitic infestation. The looks of them, and their ilk, scared Conrad enough to keep her awake for the first few…weeks.

 The Hyperion’s hull was the top priority, and was complete within the time of six weeks. The bodies of those infected with the Plague were spaced, to prevent its possible spread. Though the Protoss knew nothing of Terran repair, their psionic prowess helped in several occasions, none the least of which was their use of telekinetics to hold hull patches into place. 

 “Raynor?” The Protoss were eons beyond the Terrans, radio transmissions were beneath them, but to accommodate the systems of their allies, they adapted. “We are receiving transmissions from a failing Observer by the Calico Nebula.” Raynor grabbed the comm. “Really, send it over.” Conrad was servicing the weapons control, and was offered a glimpse of what was sent over. The image was of the Earth Directorate Fleet, building some form of space rig. Terrans building stellar craft had to build them in space, something about tensile strengths being
affected by gravity. The rig was actually a large series of rings, while the actual craft would be built inside those rings, though the picture was hardly clear enough to tell whether construction had begun or not. “The Observer was struck by an asteroid, and these were its final transmissions.” Raynor looked at the screen, then he looked over at Conrad, “So, what do you think it is?” Conrad thought, then answered, “A spacestation?” Raynor cupped his chin, and thought.. pacing back and forth.. “Perhaps, though I don’t think it is. Executor? Could you send another Observer out that way?”  Though unseen, Conrad could imagine Tassadar shaking his head, “All spare Observers we have at our disposal are being upgraded with our new sensor packages.” 

 “Thanks anyway, Executor. Hyperion out.” And Raynor put the comm. down. “What else could go wrong?” Then, as if on cue, the comm. rang out with an emergency distress call. 

 “This is Kalis Six to anyone who can hear me!! We’re being overrun by the Zerg, and they’ve brought Torrasque!!” 

 Conrad’s heart stopped. She read about Torrasque, though not much. She never could finish reading about that monster. It scared her to pieces.

 “Helm…” Raynor called, “Set course for Kalis Six.”

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