Highway Star

Wrote this piece for the first time I was determined to enter the Blizzard Writing Contest.  I like it a lot, but I've slowly grown more and more fond of Harvests because I feel more is going on there. Still, this is fun because I got to pack it with references and I really like the unsettled ending.

Highway Star

July 2495 – Duke’s Pass Bridge, Outskirts of Issac’s Hope (Population 1,243) Halcyon

The Duke’s Pass Bridge had been closed longer than the boy who sat upon it had been alive.  Over a decade past, the mining complex on the far side of the bridge from the town of Issac’s Hope had shut down after all the clusters of minerals had been tapped out.  With nothing across the pass to harvest, the planetary government had seen no point in the upkeep of a now unnecessary infrastructure.

Cass Tam had a use for it, though.  The superstructure of the bridge was sound despite patches in which the neocrete had eroded away from peristeel supports.  The boy sat astride two such peristeel beams exposed by a wide gap in the neocrete, dangling his legs into the open space of the Pass.  Above, the stars visible from the Korpulu Sector twinkled and danced.  Several kilometers down the Pass, lights began to emerge from around a bend, mimicking the interplanetary bodies above the child.

Humming tunelessly, Cass was only just audible over the echoing rumble of approaching engines.  Two dozen all-terrain vehicles surged into the narrowing choke of the pass beneath the bridge, jockeying for position.  Wriggling slightly to keep his limbs awake, Cass watched the ATV’s intently.  The moon overhead shed just enough light for him to make out the blue shell of the lead vehicle.

Suddenly, Cass whipped his head around to stare at an uneroded section of the bridge.  Cheerfully, he called, “Hey Arden!”

Arden blinked in response, causing Cass to grin broadly.  “Mom wants you home, Cass.  You missed dinner again.  She’s pissed.”

“Oops!  Okay, Arden, I’m coming!”

Nimbly, Cass clambered back up onto the bridge and rushed to his brother’s side.  As they started on the two kilometer trek back home, Cass couldn’t help but glance back at the racers, wondering if the blue ATV still led.  “Arden?”

“Yeah?”

“Someday I’m gonna be a racer.”

“Not if mother skins you first, now c’mon…”

January 2497 – Issac’s Hope, Halcyon

“PSI index rating 3.5.  Displays signs of cryptesthesia.  Not in telepathic PSI index range.  Suggestion: enroll in Wrangler training,” read Arden, voice rising toward awe as he spoke.  He was dressed in his only suit, the one he’d worn at their uncle’s wedding years before.  In two hours, a transport would be arriving to take him to the local militia’s training barracks.

Cass, not looking at his brother, growled, “Flick that.”

“Come on, Cass!  Wranglers live the kind of life you want, right?  Adventure, intensity, exploration!  Wranglers find young psychics to become new Ghost troopers, train them, help them on their missions.  They get paid well and they go wherever they want most of the time!  How can you say no to that?”

“Have you ever heard of a Wrangler racer?” asked Cass, snorting. 

“No, but…”

“Then I’m not interested.  You run off and play soldier.  I’ll go make the real money.  I’m entered in the District Amateur Rally next month.  I’m not going to blow that to be an errand boy for the Confederacy.”

“But…”

“No, Arden, that’s your dream, not mine,” Cass snarled, storming from the room.  Carefully, Arden put the notice from the Confederate PSI Screening Office on Cass’ bed.  Sighing, he told the empty room, “Maybe he’ll come around…”

December 2499 – First Days of the Great War, Issac’s Hope, Halcyon

“…and we have the strange, stray reports from Chau Sara that some sort of heretofore unknown reptile has been seen at the outskirts of some of the smaller cities on the planet.  Confederate officials assure the populace that these reptiles remain undocumented by any local or Confederate authority.  Our own Y-SPAN psychological analysts suggest that this may be a case of mass hysteria spawned by an abnormally large but mundane animal seen in passing.”

For a moment, as the omnipresent jingle chimed out it’s saccharine reminder of just what station was beaming through the spacewaves, Cass and Arden in silence, as if still digesting the news they’d just received.  Sighing deeply, Arden shut down the screen, leaving the room dimly lit, at best.  With wonder in his voice, he asked, “Doesn’t it tickle your sense of adventure, Cass?  The idea that there’s something out there we’ve never seen?”

Cass snorted.  Derisively, he retorted, “No, not really Arden.  Some freaky reptile on some other filthy backwater isn’t worth my time.  It’s probably just some new form of mangy cow again.  The newer terraforms are always full of that sorta thing,” replied Cass, rolling his eyes at his brother.

“Come on, little brother, where’s your excitement, your inquisitiveness?” asked Arden, rising to his feet and gesturing with one hand as if parting a veil.

Bluntly, Cass retorted, “In racing.  In speed, vespene, peristeel and victory.”

Arden shook his head, but his tone stayed light.  “Ma’s right, you know, that stuff is gonna get you killed one day, Cass Tam.  You almost bought it on that course over Duke’s Pass.”

“Ha, not even.  And if I go, at least it won’t be by done by some stupid imaginary reptile,” growled Cass.

February 2500 – Aboard Civilian Transport Aeolus, Kel-Morian Space, Koprulu Sector

Yes, Hercules-class transports, mused Cass, are the way to go.

He sprawled carelessly in the large lounge chair provided in his private cabin, rented out with money won on Raydin III.  Next stop Moria, two races there, then on to Helioc.  Win those, then start qualifying for the Longnight Race on Turaxis.  Then join Sector Circuit by the fall of next year…

Cass’ thoughts trailed off as an insignia flashed onto the holovid; two pulse rifles crossed over a stylized “H.”  It had been included on the addressing tags of all the messages Cass had received from Arden over the last six months.   “Marines from Halcyon Force Recon, conscripted into the Confederacy’s standing army landed earlier today on Nidhogg to face the threat of a renewed Zerg push on the surface of the planet.  As viewers may recall, the Zerg first appeared in the Koprulu Sector on the planets Chau and Mar Sara.  Shortly thereafter, the murderous Protoss followed, bombarding the valiant defense forces on both planets, killing both Zerg and Terrans.

“Described as half-reptile, half-insect by many who have seen them, the Zerg have shown a penchant for burrowing into planetary crust and then re-emerging after the threat of their invasion is considered neutralized.  Confederate scientists assure us that this is a natural fear reaction in both reptile and insect species and likely the attacks upon their surfacing is a natural burrow defending instinct. 

“In this instance, the Halcyon FORECON Marines were ambushed by the vicious beasts.  The unit was quickly surrounded, but nobly detonated a tactical nuclear warhead, wiping out the known Zerg presence and saving the civilian—“

Cass slammed his hand down on the control of the holovid, causing it to shake in its mounting.  A ripple passed through the image and a cheerful voice cried, “Welcome back to RRRN, all-racing, all the time!  Tonight we take a look in at Bethany Dalton, one of the hot new faces on the Sector Circuit, and I do mean hot!  Yow!”

Breathing deeply, Cass tried to focus on the images on the holovid, avoiding his thoughts.  His fingers dug into the plush lining of his chair.

“We cut first to Dalton’s first race in the Circuit out on Tashai, zooming through Zephyr Cove!  Dalton started out slow, but two laps in, she made her move!  She blasted past three more experienced drivers, moving into the second position!  Then, watch for it, right there!  She unloads with a pair of mounted AGR-14 gauss rifles!  The recoil pushed her Bearcat back into third, but only momentarily, because the lead car went up in smoke moments later!  WOOO!”

Cass leaned in, slowly growing increasingly interested in what was playing in front of him.  Wistfully, he thought, Every moment of scouting now means a quicker road to victory later, that’s what Arden said they always told him in training…

July 2501 – Post Brood Wars Antebellum Period , Longnight Celebration, Sandy River Floodplain, Turaxis II

The sun had set hours before, but the ground in the path of Cass’ Vulture was clearly lit by the three moons overhead.  The Longnight Races weren’t an official part of the Koprulu Circuit, but the last three Circuit Rookie of the Year winners had taken home the Longnight prize the year before hitting the big time in the Circuit. 

Which, Cass thought, is good enough for me.

His modified Vulture zipped over the sandy banks of the Sandy River, digging out deep furrows in the grainy clay of the riverbed as Cass glanced back over his shoulder at the trailing racers.  Two remained in sight, a woman on a two-wheeled speeder and a helmeted figure on a second Vulture.  Cass goosed the engine a little higher, fighting to stay out of the range of the other Vulture’s weapon systems.

Whrrrrr-THUMP!

Shit!  Cass danced his Vulture right then left as the concussion of the AGP-2 grenade washed through the hover thrust of the bike.  Out of range, but not far enough.   Casual drivers rarely realized how much havoc could be caused by shockwaves riding through vertical thrust.  Gotta ride through it, work with the disruption rather than fighting it.

The Vulture wobbled slightly and Cass had to rev the engine back slightly, but he plunged onward despite the lost speed.  Nearby, the sound of wheels on loose clay announced which of the trailing racers had decided to make her move.

Cass could almost feel her closing, like an itch drifting from between his shoulder blades to just over his right shoulder.  Sure enough, she appeared on that side, pulling, of all things, a hand pistol from a compartment beneath the handles of her bike.  Cass shook his head, disbelieving.  A handgun!

At this range, the unconventional, at least by racing standards, weapon was dangerous.  Worse, it was easy to fire on the move, even if targeting with it would be unassisted by guidance computers.  So Cass did the only thing he figured the other racer wouldn’t expect.  He swung his Vulture at her bike, getting so close he could touch her.

Sparks flew as his Vulture’s engine housing scraped against her exposed muffler.  Snarling a curse, the female racer placed her pistol up against Cass.  Smiling insolently, he dropped a hand from his handlebars and grabbed the barrel of the gun.

Still grinning, he slammed his brakes.  The sudden difference in speed hauled the gun backwards.  It went off harmlessly as its deceleration forced the gun’s trigger against the woman’s finger and the gun into the gap between Cass and his front panel, and then the gun twisted and wrenched free of her hand.  The second Vulture roared past Cass, opening up with its nose cannons on the now unarmed racer ahead.  The race crossed into a rougher patch of ground, full of pits and hollows, which formed the last leg of the course.

An itch began to press at Cass’ midsection, like a bug trapped between his racing suit and his diaphragm; he slowed, eyes searching.  Suddenly, a form, almost like a Dominion marine in full armor lurched onto the raceway.  Cass started to swerve; the pair of vehicless ahead of him were too focused on one another and barreled straight towards the apparent marine.  As they closed, the visual enhancement display on Cass’ helmet-HUD zoomed in on the form.  He could see red eyes on a deep set face, almost hidden by an immense snout which trailed down the front of the individual’s face.  Shocked, Cass realized, He’s infested!  Those idiots don’t even see!

The infested Terran, by most reports truly more Zerg than human now that he’d been infected by the parasitic Zerg swarm, reared back with a bellow, as if challenging the oncoming vehicles.  They seemed to finally see it, starting to part their bikes around its form, but it was too late.  With a sickening splattering sound, the infested man exploded with enough force to push both vehicles into tumbling rolls.  All that remained of the former Terran turned Zerg was a sickly smear on the ground.  Cass’ Vulture hummed over the smear, pressing a purple sheen into the sandy ground.  Behind, the wreckage of the two racers smoldered and burned.

December 2502 – Bidwell’s Hole, Xian (Population 3,406 [Terran]), Altara

“I think you got your mohawk wet, there, Wade,” laughed Cass, smacking the hanging tail of hair draped down the other racer’s scalp.  “Looking a little drippy.”

“Flick off, Tam,” growled the other racer, swatting Cass’ hand off.  “You might have been hot stuff in those kiddie games you played on backwaters like Turaxis, but the Circuit isn’t for preschoolers.  Why don’t you run on home.”

“Aww, don’t be such a Grumpy Uncle Rhynadon, just yanking your hair… er… chain.  By the way, when’s Dalton gonna braid it for you?”

Dalton, leaning over the antique jukebox across the bar, merely gestured rudely back at Cass.  She rarely talked, in Cass’ short run of experience with her, but she knew every insulting gesture known to Terran.  And likely Protoss and Zerg, too.  She snarled as a pair of other racers, arm-in-arm and already a dozen drinks in, sauntered toward her perch, clearly intent on choosing a song or two.  Beneath her, the jukebox started up something by Big Tuna.  Too new for Cass’ taste.

From a distant table, someone bellowed, “Play Freebird!”

The waitresses in the Hole skittered around the room, not quite ignoring the racers, but certainly less than eager to be around a bunch of hard-drinking, light-tipping souls who seemed ready to come to blows outside their vehicles even without the benefit of hard liquor.  Cass grinned as he thought, Probably the only sane ones in here.

He nursed his drink, eyeing his competition and running the course in his head.

2 hours later – Outskirts of Xian, Altara

“Dalton is about to blow!” wailed the announcer delightedly over the race-coverage comm line.  Cass grit his teeth, knowing the other racer wasn’t done quite yet.  Dalton’s bad attitude meant she loved taking other racers with her, especially on the final lap of a race; that, Cass had learned watching holovids of her earlier races on the Circuit, back when he was still in the underground leagues.  Rumor has it, she has a big red button labeled “trump card” on her dash, rigged to fire all her ordinance and to dump and ignite her fuel all at once.  Nasty.

As Cass watched Dalton, ready to move off from her impending self-destruction, his Vulture was rattled by a sudden impact.  His head whipped around, giving Cass a view of the cause.  A cherry red Zephyr, which hadn’t even scratched its paint with the impact, was swerving back toward him to try and force him back toward Dalton’s Bearcat.

“Flick!” Cass swore, torqueing the handlebars of the Vulture.  It swerved sharply right, dodging out of Dalton’s sights and in-between the enormous pipes carrying gas from the refinery to the towering storage tanks on the outskirts of the facility.  That didn’t stop the volatile racer.

Cass could picture her slamming her leather-clad fist down on the big red button centered on her dash as every weapon on the modded Bearcat blazed to life.  The guass rifles tore into the pipes on either side of Cass’ Vulture, spilling out a thick purple gas.  Beyond the pipes, the click, whirr, and boom of a spider-mine launching, settling, and then exploding warned that another racer had fallen afoul of Dalton’s assault.

Purple? thought Cass, confusion distracting him from the danger of Dalton’s continued unleashed fury.  The payload of her Bearcat shredded nearby metal, dangerously weakening the structures.  Vespene isn’t purple…

A great crash filled the air as the ground beneath Cass’ Vulture shook, undoubtedly a result of some piece of the facility crashing down.  Swallowing a deep breath and holding it, Cass tapped two buttons on his dash, activating his Vulture’s air toxicity sensor.  An artificial voice reported, “Scanning…  Uncommon gas detected…  Toxicity profile matches no recorded dangerous composition… Analyzing… Likely terraz—“

“Don’t care,” snapped Cass, inhaling sharply as he muted the toxicity report.  “Breathable is all I need to know.”

Revving his engine, he tore back out of the pipework, sliding neatly back in front of the pack of vehicles.  In his rearview, he could see the smoldering wreck of an ATX-83 Cruiser, clearly the victim of the spider mine.  Dalton’s Bearcat had its front end pinned beneath a peristeel girder, probably the source of the previous booming noise.  Behind it trailed a long stream of flaming fuel.  Score one for the rumor mongers, I guess.

As Cass moved into the final turn of the course, he lost sight of both, but the smoke from the ATX was still visible as it mixed with the rising gas from the damaged refinery.  Another Vulture, painted an eye-burning canary yellow, nosed around Cass’ tail end, looking to pass.  Smiling faintly, Cass faked left, then moved right, as if nervous about contact.  The yellow Vulture took the apparent opening, darting into the gap.  Cass swung his own Vulture left and pressed down hard on the break, the nose of the vehicle sliding to face the yellow Vulture as the hoverbike’s momentum continued to carry it through the curve.  Cass opened fire with his nose cannon, shredding the engine housing of the other racer’s hoverbike.

“Oh! Cass unleashes hot fury!” screamed the announcer, gleefully.

It smoked and wobbled, losing power rapidly as some vital piece was destroyed in the onslaught.  As Cass let his momentum carry him into the final straight away, the yellow Vulture spun lazily into the path of the trailing racers, who slammed into it at high speed, scatting in every direction.  Cass throttled his engine to full, tearing for the finish line uncontested.

March 2503 – West of Czernobóg Ridge, Sonyan

As the dimming light of the Sonyan evening played across the hood of Cass’ new ride, the first strains of a piece by the old Earth composers Blackmore, Gillian, Glover, Lord, and Paice began to churn through his speakers.  Cass’ head began, almost uncontrollably, to nod in time with the music as his hands danced over the controls and his foot thrummed the engine in time with the swell of guitar and drum.  He tapped open a comm line, allowing him to hear the voice of the RRRN race announcer.  Cass had mimed that voice a hundred times in his head; now that he was here he found he couldn’t race without it.

“The stage is set, the green flag drops!” bellowed the broadcaster a split-second after the indicator on Cass’ HUD flushed with green incandescence.  Beneath him, the engine roared and the four-wheeled ATV, one of the newly released Hellion vehicles, charged out of its starting position.  Ahead, behind, and beside the ATV other vehicles of various makes and models launched off the line, spewing dirt and debris in every direction.

The course started with a straightaway, as many on the Circuit did.  Cass didn’t gun for the front, though, content to let others pass him, eating up ground toward those who’d qualified into higher positions.  Instead, he angled for the middle of the pack, settling in behind a rusty beige Mohican.  The other ATV had dual spikers mounted along the door panels.  Usually, that meant they had limited ability to adjust aim; door panels just didn’t have the mass to support the mechanical pieces that would allow for “smart” guns.  Which meant the rusty Mohican would probably have to align its whole chassis with a target.  That’d be an easy early warning for Cass as to when the other driver was going to make his move.

Leaning into the first turn, Cass watched the Mohican closely, waiting for the other driver to make his move.  Ahead, a Vulture and Dalton’s Bearcat jostled for position.  Cass held his breath as the familiar itch began on his right side accompanied, as it had been lately, by a vague hum, almost like the static of a holovid player searching for a feed amidst a great deal of interference.  For a moment, he was confused.  The Mohican isn’t swerving to get into firing position…

A staccato burst of thwumps rocked the Hellion, throwing off Cass’ balance.  He fought the wheel as the ATV tried to squirm from beneath him, rear wheels sliding as the front pair jerked hard right and spun Cass sideways.  For a brief moment, the silhouette of another Hellion filled his view before flame swallowed Cass’ vehicle.

“Flick!” cried Cass, now recognizing the feeling of heavy grade tires bursting under the sustained heat of a thermite flamethrower discharge.  The air around Cass filled with flame retardant gel, a desperate measure by the onboard computer of the Hellion reacted to the skyrocketing temperature in the cockpit.  Flame washed over the polarized viewport, blocking Cass’ view out to the course and the locations of the other drivers.  He was vaguely aware of them passing to either side of him, but he had no way to be certain if he was right.  Over his comm feed, the announcer roared, “Oh, Boyle lights him up and Cass fades into last!”

A bellowing fwump rumbled beneath Cass and he groaned.  That’s gotta be my fuel line melting through.

With no tires and a ruptured fuel line, he was going nowhere fast. The metal of Cass’ Hellion pinged as the heat spread throughout its superstructure dissipated in the Sonyan evening.  The heat within Cass’ gut did no such thing.

July 2503 –  Aboard Koprulu Racing Circuit Charter-Transport Earnhardt, Dylar System, Koprulu Sector

Cass and the other racers gathered at the bar groaned at the entrance of RRRN correspondence team.

“Awww, come on!  This is supposed to be our downtime!” growled Wade, the bandages around his left temple and eye oddly distorting the path of the long hair stretching back from his scalp.  Dalton, who’d found her way behind the bar, bared her teeth but said nothing.

Glibly, the reporter shot back, “Never fear, Wade, sixth in the standings means sixth in airtime.  We’re here for Dalton and Tam.  Keep nursing your wounds.”

Wade flicked the man off.  Cass, on the other hand, sat a little straighter.  RRRN, the Rock and Roll Racing Network, had made him their poster boy in recent months.  For almost three years, Dalton had dominated the Circuit, despite her propensity for self-destruction.  People, RRRN had decided, were ready for a new “upstart” to supplant her the way she’d supplanted the old champion.

“Cass Tam, running a very close second to 3-time Champion Bethany Dalton, in the overall standings is our next guest on Racing Candids!  Cass, come on over here and say hello to the folks all over the sector!” implored the grinning reporter, gesturing toward the glowing holocam. 

Cass shot a glance at Dalton.  She’d shot the last person she’d heard use her first name.  With an explosive round.  Cass had no desire to be collateral.  Fortunately, she’d decided she was more interested in a large bottle of Scotty Bolger’s No. 8.

“Sure, sure.  Hey folks,” said Cass, managing to wave as if genuinely happy to see the camera.

“Cass, tell us, what’s your secret?”

“Well, you see, I’m actually a Dominion Ghost.  I race just as a cover to hide the assassinations I preform.  Though now that you know, I’ll have to kill you and destroy your holo-footage before it can transmit…” jibed Cass in monotone, face devoid of emotion.

For a moment, the reporter went a little pale.  Clearly, he’d heard the stories about Cass being psychic.  How someone got ahold of that old PSI Index report, I’ll never know…

He slapped the reporter on the back, grinning broadly.  “Just kiddin!  Ask anyone, my secret is that I watch more holovids than anyone else.  I’ve raced every course a hundred times before my tires hit dirt.  That means I can anticipate.”

The reporter, to his credit, recovered somewhat.  “Speaking of tires…  Why’d you trade your Vulture in for one of those new Hellion ATVs?”

“Well, the Vulture is a masterpiece of Terran engineering, no doubt.  But the Hellion…  The Hellion is fun.  It eats up ground at an awesome rate and the individual suspension on each wheel mount means that rough terrain is no more a problem than for a Vulture.  Those boys over at ATVX, the ones who make missile pods and such, just hooked me up with what they call a Twin Infernal Flamethrower.  I can let out two huge bursts of flame, and with the thermite additive, it burns so hot, it melts peristeel faster than most onboard computers can register the damage.  Best sponsor I ever had.”

“You heard it from the man himself, folks!  Next up, let’s talk to Champion Dalton…  Dalton, we hear the Circuit has a special surprise to start off next season, do you have any inside information about it for us?”

October 2503 – Quadrant 3, Low Activity Zone (Population ??? [Zerg]), Char

“Let the carnage begin!” roared the announcer, seeming to laugh through the words.  Cass cranked his music and tore off the line.  This race was a weird one, he could feel it.  Char, apparent homeworld of the Zerg, had been quiet for a while, especially in this quadrant, but there’d been no chance to scout for fear of attracting the Swarm’s attention.  Similarly, the race had to be shown on a delay, as the area around Char was off-limits to civilians and there had always been rumors that the Zerg could trace transmissions back to their source.  Overhead flyers were dropping route-markers just a minute or two out, building the course as it was raced.  A lot of the racers were on edge, but the payday…

The payday is epic. Enough to retire in luxury.  Enough to go back and terraform Halcyon myself, like they’re doing on Mar Sara.  No waiting around this time.  Grab a lead, see the course first, hold the lead, get the flick out of here before the Zerg show up.

Ahead, a route-marker blinked on, green LED’s flashing a left arrow.  A moment later, its twin flashed on, providing a right arrow.  Their message was simple: stay between us.  Their siblings stretched ahead, leading the course towards a ridge.  In the distance a VTOL engine on a converted medevac whined.  Cass revved his Hellion’s engine higher.

Two racers pulled alongside; Dalton in her green Bearcat and Vasquez in his blue Stinger.  Not far back followed a yellow 428 Hoverbike and a white Saber, its gauss rifle tracking the surrounding landscape rather than the lead racers.  Cass tried to put them out of his mind, focusing instead on the course markers.  As he neared the crest of the ridge, he could see that he was intended to cross over it, so he put his foot all the way down.  With obvious elation, the announcer cried, “Cass gets airborne!”

In midair, Cass had a moment to thank himself for the decision to speed up.  The ridge dropped away into a sheer cliff, with a several meters long gap to the opposite edge and flowing lava below.  On the far side, green course markers shone cheerfully.  Cass landed square between them and rode on. 

Dalton and Vasquez hadn’t revved up quite as much as Cass, but they, too, made it over the gap with no issues.  The 428 landed only a moment behind them.  The Saber wasn’t quite as lucky.  Clearly, its operator’s nerves had gotten the best of him; he’d slowed as he reached the ridge and now began an end over end tumble toward the lava below. 

Cass shook his head as the Saber disappeared from his rearview.  That’ll get plenty of play when they get the holovids back to transmitable space. Just hope they remember to point out that I played the risk the right way.

Ahead, the course-markers signaled a left-turn and Dalton took the chance to squeeze to the inside of Cass, cutting the corner neatly and gaining the lead.  Back at the ridge, a pair of Outback Hunters crashed down onto their tripod wheels and accelerated towards the leading group.

Suddenly, the cockpit of Cass’ Hellion was filled with humming static, a roar that deafened the racer as a full-body itch erupted beneath his race suit.  Nervously, he throttled back his ATV, letting the Outback Hunters to roar ahead.  The realization came too late.

From beneath the pair of jostling Hunters, the ground began to rumble.  Stones scattered in both directions as a pit formed in the volcanic rock of the course, swallowing the pulsing green course marker.  With no warning before the ground crashed away beneath them, both three-wheeled ATV’s were swallowed into the hole before they could even begin to try and escape.  And from the now-gaping pit, poured forth a chittering, scuttling sound.  Zerg!

Cold sweat beading on his forehead, Cass torqued the wheel, trying to reverse course.  The tires bit into the crust beneath him, but the rumbling had reached him.  The Hellion danced atop the wildly shifting volcanic rock; Cass stomped the gas.  An end over end tumble began, drawing the racer down past a horde of spines, scales, teeth, and eerily luminescent eyes.   The bottom of the tunnel loomed into view.

“Shit.  Shit.  SHIT!”

The ground rushed up at the Hellion’s hood and Cass closed his eyes, waiting for the crunch of impact. 

Arden, I’ll see you soon…

2504 – Somewhere on Char

Then Cass’ eyes opened, slowly, on a scene out of many a Terran’s nightmare.  It was a sweaty, viscous film of a vision, suffocating Cass, boiling his guts.  He stood, unmolested, before a tidal wave of flesh and sinew.  Zerglings, Hydralisks, and creep stretched out before him, a living tide.  He realized, fluttering terror rising in his chest, that he could feel the creep pulsing beneath him.  Other minds danced on the edge of his consciousness, foreign but shockingly familiar.  He could sense the snarling hunger in a pair of nearby zerglings, knew they’d been hatched from the same egg.  They seemed to hum in time.  He couldn’t move, frozen with the certainty that if he did, they’d notice him, realize how far he’d intruded into their home, and devour him.

What have I gotten myself into?  Where’s my Hellion?

A buzz crashed into Cass as his own thoughts registered in his mind.  It seemed to arise from everywhere at once.  Closing his eyes with the pain of it, Cass clapped his hands to the sides of his head, desperate to block out the noise that made his brain twitch within his skull.  If anything, it got louder.  Unbearable.

What is on my ears?  It’s like trying to cover them through a crash helmet!

TSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSK!

Cass’s eyes flew open, searching before him for the source of the sound.  None of the Zerg stirred.

Get out, get out!  Stop the buzzing!  Cass’s jaw ached with the effort to avoid screaming.

Calm yoursssself.  The sound stopped.

“Wh… what?” sputtered Cass, shuddering at a distinct wrongness in the sudden human speech.

Be calm.  Return to sssssleeep.

“Where…” Where are you?  Cass felt a prickling sensation as, for the first time, the idea dawned on him to turn around.  Horror and curiosity overwhelming fear of the nearby zerglings, Cass turned.

And faced the largest Zerg he’d ever seen up close.  It… She towered over him, legs like great scythes suspending her bulk with ease.  Cass could feel her probing him, examining him.  Arrayed behind her, he could see what must have once been Terrans.  A myriad of Zerg features erupted from them, spines and tendrils, wings and chitin.  For a world-warping moment, Cass saw himself through the eyes of the thing… Brood Mother… before him.

What he was now was still recognizable as once being human.  Two arms, two legs, one head, and a generally human torso remained.  But no Terran had ever been born with that brown, part-insect-part-lizard skin.  No Terran’s skull erupted into a frill that extended down, past the base of his neck guarding his shoulders and upper back.  No Terran had tendrils which trailed down their arms past clawed hands.  No.  Cass had become one of the ranks of the lost, the infested.

Sssssleep, hissed the Brood Mother, continuing to stare deeply into Cass, her thoughts worming through his brain like maggots.

NO! he roared at her in his mind, even as he felt it begin to drift, to fall into silence.  No!  Not like this! 

With his last ounce of mental strength, he cried aloud, “Let me go!”

Ssssssleep.

Against his will, Cass’ mind shut down bit by bit, succumbing to the will of the Brood Mother; the will of the Swarm.  Darkness swallowed him.