StarCraft: Lord of the Empire

May 17, 14:56 shipboard time.

In the spacious captain's quarters of the Hyperion, one wall was adorned with sheathed alloy steel blades and other melee weapons. Next to the bookshelf piled high with books sat a chair facing the observation window.

"You saw it, didn't you?" came Angus's voice.

"That was what our friends on Tarsonis told us."

"One thousand Apocalypse-class nuclear warheads—enough to level Styrling and the surrounding mountains, to boil away an entire stretch of ocean.

At ground zero, both people and buildings will vanish in an instant—reduced to nothing but ash in the truest sense."

"Evacuate," Augustus said, spitting out the word. Then he continued, "To Umoja. Or to lands far beyond the Terran Confederacy, even outside the Koprulu Sector—to paradises not yet discovered by humankind."

Augustus had once hoped to stop the Parliament's decision.

But the proposal had surfaced and passed far too quickly. There had been no time to prepare, to act, or to maneuver.

He had indeed made some friends on Tarsonis—but not enough.

"The Umojan Parliament acted swiftly. On the 17th, after holding a brief emergency session, they decided to allocate every available vessel from the Umojan National Defense Fleet to support Korhal IV. All civilian ports and ships were ordered into service, and all interstellar routes were suspended. Umoja has committed to receiving between 20 and 30 million Korhalites," Angus said. "Even for such an efficient government, arranging housing and food for so many people is no easy feat."

"The Terra family has provided twelve Leviathan-class transport ships, with a combined capacity of 200,000 people. The Holt family's shipping company has dispatched five Mammoth-class freighters—ships even larger than Behemoth-class battlecruisers. Each one can carry 250,000."

"Mercenaries," Augustus said. "If that's still not enough, I know a group. They have ships—as long as they're paid."

"Cram in as many people as possible. Survival is what matters most," he added.

"But the most important thing is time. Plans can't keep up with change, and the pace of this crisis has outstripped my expectations. The Phoenix Project must be revised immediately. The assault on the Dylarian Shipyards needs to be moved up."

"We're not ready yet," Angus said, visibly concerned. "There's a full-time garrison at Dylarian Shipyards. At least four Behemoth-class battlecruisers and over three hundred starfighter escorts."

"With the Kel-Morian Combine completely defeated, they won't believe any fleet would dare attack the Federation's largest shipyard," Augustus said.

"No. Not yet. Not until I've handed over more warships to you… We need to wait," Angus insisted. "Someone must remain on Korhal. We still have satellite bases in orbit and partially completed orbital defense platforms. We'll fight the Federation fleet in space, to the bitter end."

"Before I lead a fleet to seize the Federation's shipyards," Augustus said, gazing at his gray-haired father, "someone has to stay behind on Korhal."

"I've already assigned Colonel Feld—"

"No. I will stay on Korhal," Angus interrupted.

"I don't agree," Augustus said firmly.

"But the decision is mine to make," Angus smiled. "I'm still your father."

"We still have methods to stall them—to create chaos."

Augustus stood and began pacing, clearly uneasy.

"The footage provided by the Collin family and the recording from the Terra family give us an opening. We have to broadcast this. It could help us evacuate civilians and win support in the court of public opinion."

Truth be told, the full meeting footage from the Collin family was even more outrageous than Constantino's audio recording. Unless they had prior knowledge of the agenda, it meant they had been recording every session.

"Even if public protests and outrage reach a fever pitch, the chance of forcing the Federal Parliament to abandon the nuclear strike on Korhal is slim. But it might sway those in the military who still have a shred of conscience."

"I agree. But relying solely on the Truth Daily, our new publication, and the Korhal Global News Network won't be nearly enough," Angus said.

"Then take over UNN headquarters," Augustus replied. "Leave that to my people."

Angus nodded silently. Without another word, the signal cut out.

In the quiet that followed, Augustus picked up a cup of unsweetened black coffee. Staring into the hollow darkness of deep space beyond the observation window, he issued his command: "Ghost 24718, along with all Security Council operatives—you're en route to Tarsonis. According to the flight logs, you'll arrive in two standard Earth solar days."

"When you awaken from cryostasis, you'll be informed that your mission orders have been changed."

"New orders: At 01:00 on May 21, 2489 in standard Earth calendar time, you are to act in coordination with the Umojan Shadow Guard and agents of the Umojan National Intelligence Bureau. Seize control of the UNN Interstellar News Network headquarters in Tarsonis City and hold the building for a minimum of fifteen minutes. In the UNN broadcast studio, upload the following audio-visual materials:

— Federation Parliamentary Recording SVA-89-13-44

— Federation Parliamentary Audio Track SVA-89-14-22."

"The new mission briefing will be sent to your personal terminals. Please read it carefully after waking from cryostasis—because this concerns the fate of Korhal IV."

"I must explain to you the true significance of this operation:

We must use UNN to expose to the entire galaxy the atrocity committed by the Federation Parliament—its resolution to launch one thousand Apocalypse-class nuclear warheads at Korhal IV this June. Whether they admit it or not, this will inevitably trigger further resistance, because the people will come to realize what kind of monstrous acts the Federation is willing to inflict upon its own citizens."

"It pains me deeply to say this, but your parents, your families, and even those fellow Korhalites you've never met but are bound to by your shared homeworld—all of them live under the shadow of nuclear annihilation.

The great planet that raised generations of Korhal's children is on the brink of becoming a land of death. Those we love will suffer endlessly from radiation poisoning."

"And finally, I must remind you of just how urgent this is."

"We are racing against time, and the fate of all of Korhal IV—and of every Korhalite—rests on whether you succeed."

After saying this, Augustus slowly drained the last of his black coffee.

"We must buy time for our fellow Korhalites to evacuate."

"And for that… someone will have to make sacrifices—including me."

...

Inside a single-person cubicle on the second floor of the UNN Headquarters building, 22-year-old assistant news editor Mike Liberty was hard at work. His outstanding academic performance at the School of Journalism at Tarsonis University had earned him a place at UNN—the Universal News Network.

Mike was a young man with golden hair and bright blue eyes. He was slightly below average in height, and among the generally tall Tarsonians, he often couldn't even be seen in a crowd.

At 00:30 on the morning of May 21, Mike had already been on his night shift for over four hours. A holographic projection on the glass wall of his cubicle clearly displayed a simulated clock, telling him unambiguously that he still had to wait until 04:00 before he could go home and sleep.

As the largest and most influential news organization in the Terran Federation, UNN owned countless subsidiaries spread across all major core worlds and numerous colonies. Its assets rivaled those of any monopoly controlled by the Old Families, and its influence was powerful enough to sway public opinion at will. In truth, UNN had already monopolized the Federation's news industry.

Naturally, the studios and editorial departments inside the UNN headquarters never stopped running. News from all sectors and star systems was transmitted to Tarsonis around the clock, without pause.

This meant that the UNN building had to be staffed even at night, and the work never ceased. Of course, the compensation for these late hours was quite generous—which was why Mike was willing to endure it.

After his last report on Korhal IV, Mike had been reassigned to the Tarsonis headquarters as an editorial assistant, due to statements he made that were deemed politically ambiguous. Reportedly, the incident had even drawn the attention of some 'heavyweights' at the shareholders' meeting. Someone had told Mike that he'd come dangerously close to being fired.

For the young Mike Liberty, the thrilling and nerve-wracking career of a field reporter on Korhal IV had come to an end. Even so, the curiosity gnawing at him—his unquenchable thirst for truth buried beneath layers of lies, corruption, and deceit—still clawed at his heart like a cat's paw.

Unlike the other reporters at headquarters, who spent their days obsessing over celebrity gossip or the movements of Tarsonis nobility, Mike was the type of journalist who dared to investigate the corruption at the heart of the Federation government and expose it to the world.

He had his own sense of right and wrong, and his reports always hewed as close to the truth as possible, with no subjective embellishment or manipulation.

In today's UNN, journalists like that were a rare breed. And the fates of his predecessors—those who had spoken boldly and told the truth—served as a warning: if he insisted on digging into the rotten core of the Federation and the vile practices of the Old Families' corporate empires, he needed to know when to stop.

But that warning never seemed to work—at least not when Mike was just about to uncover the truth.

This rotten government had so much dirt buried beneath it that it made Mike salivate. Scandals and truths capable of outraging the public would undoubtedly boost ratings—but the moment such stories aired, they'd inevitably be pulled due to the wrath of certain powerful figures.

To ensure news could actually be aired, the editors often had to rewrite Mike's reports. After layers of revisions, his carefully prepared articles would end up barely recognizable.

Even so, Mike kept at his work with tireless dedication, hoping that one day his talent would earn him his own column—or even a chief editor's desk—and he'd finally be able to show the entire Terran Federation the kind of breaking news he was capable of delivering.

But dreams, for those in Tarsonis City who hadn't yet drowned themselves in hedonism, were distant and unreachable. For now, Mike the assistant news editor was still stuck in a monotonous, clock-in-clock-out job.

His daily task was to sift through the flood of chaotic and trivial reports coming in from across the Federation's territories, searching for that one explosive story that might satisfy Chief Editor Anderson—and, ideally, shut the executive board up for a while.

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