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SCL Chapter 138: The Shadow Over Tarsonis
🕑 Added 2025-07-03 01:36:46 +0000 UTCAs the heavy blast door of Norad II’s captain’s quarters slid open, Corporal Faraday stood waiting in full officer’s uniform. Behind him, fo
As the heavy blast door of Norad II’s captain’s quarters slid open, Corporal Faraday stood waiting in full officer’s uniform. Behind him, four Styrling Strikers stood in formation, clad in CMC-300 power armor.
Faraday’s face was sharp and cold. He was a textbook Korhal native—broad jaw, high nose bridge, and deep-set eyes. Just a few months ago, he’d been an ordinary Federal citizen. Now, he stood as a trusted confidant of the rebellion’s leader.
In return, Faraday gave Augustus his absolute loyalty. He never believed himself talented enough to deserve his current station. And so, to repay Augustus’s faith and decisive promotion, the young Korhalite had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the revolution—and into guarding Augustus himself.
Augustus Mengsk had never misjudged a man. And to prove that his commander’s eye for people remained as sharp as ever, Corporal Faraday approached every task with utmost discipline and seriousness.
Whether it was retrieving a slice of toast or commanding an army—whether Augustus asked him to singlehandedly defend all of Korhal—Faraday was determined to do it flawlessly.
While the ship remained in hyperspace transit and unable to communicate with the other battlecruisers, Augustus made his way down the corridor toward the lower decks and hold.
His first stop was the Norad II’s armory. The post previously overseen by Alpha Squad’s engineering officers was now under the charge of one of Rory Swann’s cousins.
All the Swanns looked strikingly alike, though this cousin had one noticeable difference: he’d lost a leg in a mining accident at the New Apollo Residential Shaft, and now walked on an alloy prosthetic.
“Morning, Commander—if it still counts as morning,” Thorin Swann rumbled, his voice gravelly and low. He was a burly native of Meinhoff.
“How can I assist you today? I’ve already listed the upgrade options for ship weapons, armor, and shielding on the control panel. You can select the development direction for the Norad II, and let me know your choice.”
“You’re saying you’ll upgrade this battlecruiser exactly how I ask?” Augustus asked.
“Absolutely—provided that—” Swann didn’t get to finish. Augustus, who rarely interrupted others, couldn’t help himself.
“—provided there’s money.”
He shrugged, as if a thousand in-game announcers were shouting at him: ‘Not enough minerals!’, ‘Insufficient funds!’
“Well,” he said with a grin, “I’ve got good news for you. I have money now.”
Thanks to his brother Arcturus, Augustus now had a considerable sum of discretionary funds.
All he had to figure out was how to turn that money into real revolutionary capital. There was no need to pinch pennies: as long as Arcturus continued to control that immensely profitable mining complex, Augustus’s account would keep seeing long lines of zeros added each month—wealth stored in Umojan Civic Credits, a currency stable against inflation and directly linked to crystal reserves.
Beyond the Kel-Morian Combine and Umoja, Augustus also had to procure weapons, ammunition, and warships from the black markets scattered along the fringes of the Koprulu sector. At the same time, he needed to overcome the strategic vulnerability of relying too heavily on foreign procurement and the support of the Umojan Defense Forces.
The Korhal Revolutionary Army needed a new base of operations—and Augustus pinned that hope on the dozens of Korhal colonial motherships bound for distant star systems.
Afterward, Augustus descended to the lower decks to inspect the now-armed and battle-ready soldiers of the Korhal Revolution. He delivered a rousing speech to officers and infantry alike, issuing a full call to arms.
Only once the Norad II, along with a fleet of more than twenty Behemoth-class battlecruisers, exited hyperspace did Augustus finally arrive on the bridge.
On the star chart, Tarsonis spun slowly on its axis. The lower-than-expected Federal warp signals suggested that the garrison stationed there had not yet detected the massive fleet approaching at speed.
Since becoming the beacon of Terran Federation civilization, Tarsonis had never known the fires of war.
...
The Norad II’s thrusters spewed blazing orange plasma, its long tail of fire casting a fiery glow over the armored hulls of the fleet behind it. Trailing the Norad II’s grand and wide frame were six iron-gray Behemoth-class battlecruisers. These seven vessels, with the Norad II at the helm, formed a perfect wedge-shaped spearhead formation.
To the lower left and right, the fleets of the Hyperion and Iron Justice advanced in unison. Alongside Warfield’s seven Leviathan-class battlecruisers, a total of 26 iron giants were silently moving forward toward the core world of Tarsonis—no chatter on the comm channels, just pure electronic silence.
Medium and small escort ships, along with swarms of starfighter squadrons, accompanied the main fleet, occasionally peeling off to intercept rapidly approaching Confederate reconnaissance craft.
Every battlecruiser was a brand-new war machine: turrets slowly rotating, armor adorned with white alphanumeric markings, and hull-mounted portholes gleaming like polished glass. Each ship radiated awe and power—capable of raining death upon any rebellious colony world. With orbital nuclear strikes, they could flatten mountains, evaporate seas and rivers, and turn an Earth-like garden world into a scorched and ashen wasteland.
There were no signals exchanged between ships. Every channel remained eerily quiet, as if this wasn’t a massive armada advancing toward Tarsonis, but a procession of cold, voiceless steel coffins. The Terran Federation had done everything it could to shift the burden of economic collapse brought by war onto each of its citizens—raising heavy taxes and resorting to plunder to fund the forging of these battlecruisers.
And now, these very ships were being turned against them by the Mengsk family’s revolutionaries.
“We’re 51.5 million kilometers from the Tarsonis core world. The Tarsonis system fleet is directly ahead.”
“The Norad II’s launch bays are open. Avengers and Banshee squadrons are being deployed. The Umoja automated interceptor drones have passed final safety checks and are ready for combat.”
“Revolutionary Marine Corps 321 and the 1st Brigade of the 2nd Airborne Division are standing by on Decks 1, 4, and 5. Lower deck is requesting confirmation from the bridge—we’re ready to deploy ground troops to Tarsonis at any moment.”
“Energy systems full. Shields are ready for activation.”
Around 30 to 40 officers and technicians moved about the Norad II’s bridge, speaking loudly—but there was no chaos. Each person knew their role and exactly when and where to speak.
At the center of these soldiers and crew stood Augustus Mengsk, clad in a dark gray military overcoat. He was the anchor of the Norad II and its bridge—the very sight of him brought a sense of calm. For the Revolutionary Army fighters who revered him, just laying eyes on Augustus was enough to ignite their fighting spirit.
Tarsonis, the core world, was drawing ever closer to the Norad II. That green planet lay bathed in brilliant starlight, while clusters of magnified light on the bridge’s main screen—highlighted by sensor enhancement—indicated the arrival of the Federation fleet via warp jump.
“They have to be completely unprepared,” said Sarah Kerrigan, standing behind Augustus. “Even someone just startled should still be panicking by now.”
“Let’s wait and see,” Augustus replied to another aide at his side. “Patch in the intercepted and decrypted Federation comm channels.”
The reason Augustus Mengsk’s Revolutionary Fleet could intercept and decrypt encrypted Federation military communications was entirely thanks to Umoja’s formidable decryption capabilities—and to the secret intelligence acquired by Homeland Guard operatives who had secured access to Federation comm protocols. All of this had been channeled without exception into building the Revolution’s own intelligence network. Massive quantities of precision eavesdropping devices and technical personnel had been deployed to Korhal IV.
As early as 70 years ago—or even longer—when the Terran Federation first proposed establishing a unified human government across the three Koprulu sectors, both Umoja and Moria had seen through the ridiculous pretext of 'human unity' to the ambition lurking beneath.
Umoja had spent years carefully building a network of infiltrators embedded in the power structure of Tarsonis. Moria, on the other hand, simply believed that the soft-bellied aristocrats of Tarsonis could never win a real fight against hardened miners.
And now, history had proven the Morians’ fate: not only had they lost the war—they had been utterly crushed.
To this day, the Terran Federation remained unaware that Umoja had cracked their encrypted communication patterns. There was a good chance that even now, Federation love confessions—like those between a young major in the command center and his newlywed wife—were being casually eavesdropped upon by the Revolution’s analysts.
“—This is Heisenlan Outpost. They’ve got 19 Behemoth-class battlecruisers and 7 Leviathan-class. Over a thousand Avenger fighters!” Multiple intercepted Federation voice signals echoed through the Norad II bridge.
“This is the Primary Orbital Defense Platform command center—who the hell are they?”
“Rebels—it’s the rebel fleet! If they’re not rebels, I’ll boil my Aunt Merrie’s boots and eat them whole. That’s an entire fleet—equivalent to a squad and a half! God, either I drank too many cocktails or I’ve gone blind. Goodbye, sir—we have to retreat now!”
“I heard you. Hold your positions, or I’ll have you court-martialed.”
A burst of static screeched across the bridge, followed by a distorted shout from another channel: “Rebels—it’s the Korhalites! I recognize those emblems on their ships!”
“Shit, this has to be some kind of lame-ass April Fools’ joke. I’m going back to sleep. I spent all last night with that bitch in the zero-G cabin. You really ought to try that sometime. Daniel, I’ll send her your way—maybe then you’ll stop freaking out over nothing.”
A loud crash followed by a startled cry rang through the channel. Augustus was fairly certain that the drunken radar operator at the orbital surveillance post had just been thoroughly smacked by his superior.
