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StarCraft: Stewardship

Chapter 7: Commendation

It was twilight on Shakuras.

Granted, it was always twilight on Shakuras. No variations existed between its day and night cycle – a little quirk of it being nearly tidally locked with its star. Nearly, but not quite. Yet standing in the Citadel, looking out over Talematros, Selendis reflected that any distinctions were academic. Notwithstanding her time in space and on other worlds, Shakuras had been her home for five years. Five years, and the planet looked the same. Talematros, even as it had expanded over that time to accommodate the Khalai, looked the same. A sea of lights on a world where light was in short supply. A perfect world for the Nerazim – of a people who dwelled in shadow.

She hated it.

She hated being here. She hated having to live in this wasteland while Aiur remained in the hands of the zerg. She hated the zerg for having the Firstborn from her homeworld in the first place. But, she reflected, she could not hate the Nerazim. Not right this second at least. They had at least built a civilization here. Had given her people a home after the loss of Aiur. And whatever tensions existed within the Daelaam, Azimar had stood at her side. He'd commanded the Tsokavis admirably, and had followed her orders despite his misgivings. They had barely exchanged a word on the trip to Shakuras, after leaving an observer over Barkul lest the drakul return, and spoken only a bit more once they arrived. He had a meeting with members of the Lenassa – matters that only those of his clan were privy to. She, however, was due in the Citadel. Artanis had made that perfectly clear when she'd contacted him after what she'd called the "Battle of Barkul" – she was to return to Shakuras, head for the Citadel, and if she defied him again, he would board the Shield of Aiur and fetch her himself. This time, his orders had been obeyed. For now, she was standing in its outer ring, but knew that at a moment's notice, she would be called before the Hierarchy in the Citadel's heart. She tried not to think of what might transpire when that happened – nothing good, she reflected. It wasn't fear that she felt at the prospect, but…trepidation, she supposed. A lesser form of fear, but one that gnawed away at her. She had felt fear in battle against the scion, against a being that could have ended her life. Artanis had the power to end her role as a Templar. To excommunicate her from the caste. She would have a place in the Daelaam, but not within her caste. In some regards, a fate worse than anything the drakul could have given her. Of course, Tassadar had been excommunicated, but saved his people. She however, had saved a race of aliens that had yet to master the wheel. She couldn't hope for history to judge her as favourably.

"Executor."

She turned to the source of the voice. Before her walked Artanis. Alone, she noticed. He wore his ceremonial armour, shining as if a sun drifted through the hallways of the Citadel. Yet he was without any honour guard, let alone the Hierarchy members.

"Hierarch," she said, bowing.

Artanis walked up to her, but turned his gaze out over Shakuras. What did he see, Selendis wondered? A shining beacon of a united people? Or a world that he couldn't wait to get away from? Artanis had declared that Aiur would be reclaimed in the aftermath of the Second Great War, and had given orders to expand the Golden Armada in preparation to take the protoss homeworld, but how much of that was down to personal conviction, she couldn't say.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" Artanis said.

"Pardon?"

"Talematros," he said. "The way it shines in the twilight."

"It is…pleasing," Selendis murmured.

He looked at her. "Is that your own conviction, or do you speak what you believe I want to hear?"

Selendis lowered her gaze. Quietly, she said, "I am ready to see the Hierarchy."

"You are not seeing the Hierarchy."

She looked up at him. His gaze remained unwavering, and for a moment, she felt small. They had fought together, bled together, but here, now, Artanis was her superior. In every sense of the word.

"You are puzzled?" Artanis asked.

"I would have thought that…after my…"

"That after you disobeyed my orders, and the wishes of the Hierarchy, they would want to see you held to account?" Artanis's eyes twinkled. "For some of them, that would have been ideal. But I have more pressing concerns than to satiate the demands of personal outrage."

Selendis nodded. "I am thankful, Artanis."

His eyes blazed. "Do not be, Selendis. The Hierarchy is not here. I am. You are still to be held to account for your actions."

Her eyes dimmed. "I offer no excuse."

"Indeed? Surely there would be some reason for you to have come to aid of the eleesh. To risk a war with the drakul. To potentially jeopardize our efforts to reclaim Aiur."

Selendis didn't answer. Instead, she turned her gaze back to Talematros. Millions of protoss called it home, she reflected. How many of them knew of what had transpired over the last few days? Not many, in likelihood – the protoss, or at least the Khalai, worked towards the greater good. They didn't care about secrets being kept for them, for if secrets were kept, there must have been good reason, and therefore, they were none of her business. The Nerazim though…

"Executor?"

She looked at Artanis. She wanted to tell him of the shame Haven had brought her. Of her belief that the Dae'Uhl still had to be upheld. She wanted to say that she still respected Artanis as a hierarch, as a fellow Templar, and as, she hoped, a friend. That she hadn't meant to jeopardize his position by defying his orders, but that she had to do something. But she didn't say any of this, and kept her mind closed from her fellow Templar. She suspected that Artanis knew all of this already. Yet he had asked, and thus…

"I did what I believed to be right."

Artanis's eyes flashed. "You spent protoss lives and defied my orders based on what you believed to be right?"

"Have you not done the same?" she asked. "Did you not aid Tassadar against the wishes of the Conclave because of your belief in his convictions? Did you not save our people by virtue of you acting upon that belief?"

"I disobeyed the Conclave and saved our people. You disobeyed the Hierarchy and endangered our people."

"Tassadar disobeyed the Conclave to help the terrans. He spent protoss lives to do it."

"Saving millions," Artanis said. "You, at best, have saved tens of thousands."

"An entire race though."

"For now," Artanis said. "The drakul may return. The zerg may discover them. Some new catastrophe might find the eleesh, or they might wipe themselves out. In the end, your actions served them. Not the protoss."

"But my actions served the Dae'Uhl," Selendis said. "And I will not apologize for it."

Silence lingered between the two Templar. Selendis knew that she had pushed her luck, and pushed Artanis. Guilt welled within her, like a hot spring bubbling to the surface, filling her body with fire. Artanis had to keep a dozen bickering tribes and clans in line – she had no desire to add to that burden. And yet, her actions could not be undone. She would accept the judgement of history, but for now, she could not apologize for them. She had upheld the Dae'Uhl. She had been Templar. She had done what Tassadar had done for humanity. Acted as she should have at Haven.

"So be it," Artanis said. "I see you retain your pride, and your spine. But I will not change my judgement."

"I shall accept it," Selendis responded.

"Very well." Artanis paused, and drew himself up to full height – he was a head taller than her, but in this moment, Selendis felt that the difference was magnified tenfold. She felt like a youngling again, struggling to control her emotions, let alone a psi-blade.

"Executor Selendis, you are hereby confined to Shakuras until the Golden Armada departs for Aiur, or I deem it necessary to assign you elsewhere. You will spend every waking hour dedicated to preparing our fleet, preparing the Templar, and preparing yourself for this endeavour. You will not disobey the will of the Hierarchy again, or by the grace of the gods, your rank and standing is forfeit."

Selendis blinked. "You…you are not excommunicating me?"

"Excommunication?" Artanis asked. "No, Selendis. I have talked to your fellow Templar. Your disobedience and the loss of Salerash aside, they cannot fault your strategy, nor your valour in personal combat. I would have you at my side at Aiur when the time comes. And despite your actions, I would still benefit from your presence at Shakuras." His eyes narrowed. "For now."

Selendis bowed her head. "I accept your judgement, Hierarch."

"Good," Artanis said. "That shall be all, Executor."

Selendis remained standing as Artanis walked away. Likely to one of hundreds of matters that demanded his attention. Perhaps some of them even demanded the attention of the Hierarchy itself. She couldn't say. She was a Templar. A warrior. Artanis was those things still, but he had to play the role of both diplomat and commander. Burdens that she could only imagine. Burdens that, for which, she could not fault his judgement.

"Oh, and Selendis?"

She watched as he stopped and turned his head to look at her. His voice was softer, the glow in his eyes gentler.

"For what it is worth…I do believe you did the right thing."

She froze, before asking, "but…did you not say…"

"I meant every word of what I said. But if there is a sense of order and righteousness to the universe…I believe you have served it well, Selendis. As hierarch, I must put the fortunes of my people before all others. As Templar, I must censure you as the caste dictates. As friend…I am proud. And hopeful that history will judge you favourably. Perhaps one day, if the eleesh reach space and meet us, they shall speak of your actions fondly. And through us, be it a thousand years or ten from this day, we may tell them your name. Of Nevosian. Azimar. Malekis. Salerash. And every other Firstborn who fought in the defence of their world. "

Selendis bowed, and watched as Artanis departed. A hundred years from now, she may not be alive. A thousand years from now, her body would be naught but dust. But the future, for now, mattered not. All that remained was the moment. One perfect, happy moment. For her as a warrior. A Templar. A Khalai. A Firstborn with honour restored. She turned back to look out over Talematros, the lights of the city mimicking the lights of her eyes. She placed a hand to the glass that separated her from the outside world, psionic energy crackling around her, like fireflies.

For in that moment, Shakuras, at last, felt like home.

Raise the Glow had carried the golden light up into the hovering ocean, and it was time to get up.

Runs Quite Quickly didn't hesitate – he was lucky enough that his house hadn't been destroyed by the creatures of the Emptiness, but many of the people were not as lucky. He tossed aside the sanger fur that covered his body, causing it to land on Plougher of Cloud. He arranged his fur to show his displeasure, but he, like Runs, kept getting up anyway. Some of the people were getting up quickly, others not so much. Runs saw that Tender of Children was still asleep on his bed – a bed that was rotated in use every night. The people filed out, and for a moment, he considered waking her. Still, he decided against it. Many of the people were without their parents – they needed looking after, and Tender had filled the void as best she could, all through the day, and long after Rise the Light had carried his orb into the hovering ocean. He glanced at the last embers of the fire he had lit the previous night – he would leave them for now. Tender could use the warmth. They all could. The days were growing shorter – the new brulokon had stated that as Raise the Glow herself had come to aid them, she could hold her orb in the hovering ocean for shorter periods of time. Some of the people pointed out that the time her orb hung in the ocean was shorter around this time of cycle anyway, but the brulokon had shooed them aside. Their task was to rebuild. His task was to tend to spiritual matters. Given how the gods had failed to save the last brulokon, while he survived, was that not proof that he was destined to speak in the gods' names?

Runs exited his hut, extending his arm to swipe more solid cloud off the roof. More and more of it was piling up, but he just didn't have time to do anything about it. The hut would be at risk of collapse soon, but "soon" was not "now." In the "now," the people had to build as many huts as possible, as well as rebuilding the wall surrounding the village. The creatures of the Emptiness were gone, but non-people could hear of their plight, and if so, they could return to finish what the monsters had started. As he walked with the fellow people whom he gave shelter to, he noticed that while the village was awake, it was not 'alive.' Once, the people would have been selling their wares. Now, wood was the only item of trade, and its only application was in rebuilding. He walked over to Follower of Friends, the one who led the people responsible for rebuilding this part of the village. Runs adjusted his fur to show his support – her parents had named her follower, but she was a natural leader. The world would not change, but those of the people could. Tools were handed out, and he walked over with his fellow people to the latest hut. Through the corner of his top eye, he could see Fair as Flower walking by. She had survived the creatures of the Emptiness in body, if not in spirit. Now, only her body was fair. Her mind was darkened – he could see it in the way she walked. How her arms drooped in the solid cloud, how her fur was flat. Runs could only hope that her visits to the brulokon could cure her sha, but until then, he would keep his fur to himself. Few of the people bonded at this time of cycle – none wished to bring a child into the world when the days were so short, and Raise the Glow's warmth more fleeting.

He and his fellow people began to work – Climber of Trees remained on the frame of the hut. Runs had an easy job, in that his role was to pass tools up to Climber, whose arms, while strong, were not as long as others of the people. The work was hard, but not so hard that he was immune to the chill carried in the wind. He longed to be hunting. Scrounging. Anything that would give him momentum, and therefore warmth. His name was Runs, not Stands. Needs dictated otherwise, but…

But nothing. He handed Climber a hammer, whose fur conveyed his thanks, and, Runs noticed, admiration. The people had seen what he had done to the creature of the Emptiness. How he had served Raise the Glow herself. The gods were the gods, and could not fall, and yet…Runs had sworn he had seen her bleed. Blood not of the colour of the people. He had looked her in her shining eyes. She had looked back, before nodding, and turning away, even stumbling. If gods could bleed, were they gods at all?

Of course they were, he told himself. The gods had come. The gods had defeated the creatures of the Emptiness, and disappeared beyond the hovering ocean. How could they be anything other than gods? Why would the people erect a monument to Raise the Glow if she was anything but a deity, the one who carried her golden orb into the hovering ocean? For while he waited for the hammer to be passed back, he turned his gaze to the centre of the village. To the one thing that was being built from scratch, rather than rebuilt. The new brulokon, distancing herself from her forebear (who had been taken by the Emptiness, and therefore not as holy as the people had believed), had dictated that a statue be erected to honour their patron. Carved of wood, and as tall as four of the people, it was taking shape quickly. Faster than any of the new huts. Runs could see it was an imperfect likeness, and not nearly as elaborate as the shrine outside the village, but nonetheless, he could see Raise the Glow represented before him. Once, he had seen the people's relationship with the gods as being mere practicality, but here, Raise the Glow was honoured. And as far as Runs was concerned, she deserved it. She…

He paused. Legs deep in the solid cloud, he raised his eyes upwards. Something was in the air. Something close. Something…

It was naught but a kerogawi. Carried on its six wings, its feathers as white as the solid cloud around him. Flying south. All alone in the sky, below the hovering ocean. The kerogawi would return in the next cycle. The village would be rebuilt. This place would still be their home. He would run, and hunt sangers, and fish for coldars, and sleep the sleep of the rested warrior. He would honour his people, Raise the Glow, and all the gods who had saved them. He could walk by the statue of Raise the Glow, under the gaze of her two eyes, and gaze back with pride.

And a gratitude that extended from the depths of his sha, and the sha of all the people. For once again, they remained in the world thanks to her.

They would never forget her actions. The salvation she had afforded them.

Never.

The End

A/N

And...that's that.

So, thanks to the people who reviewed (or, at this time of writing, just one review short of person). Concerning the last chapter specifically, I did consider including a scene for Azimar meeting members of his clan, but decided against it. Probably apparent by now, but the story is centered around Selendis being the protagonist, with Runs being the deuteragonist. Similar to why I cut Artanis's scene earlier in the story, it didn't really seem to work structurally for Azimar. While he's a POV character, like Runs, his role in the story is reactionary, while Selendis was proactive. Likewise, the lack of a character arc.

Anyway, as far as shameless plugging goes, the next StarCraft story on my 'to write' list is Requiem, but that's way, way down said list. For what it's worth, current writing focus is on a Firefly story titled All the World's a Stage, so, um, yeah.