Mar Sara

2489.7.24.

Joey Ray Bar.

This filthy little bar desperately needs renovation. It's built in the red wasteland of the planet Mar- Sara, using rusted cargo ship planks, recycled steel bars, integrated circuit boards, and cheap glass. A satellite TV antenna bracket, bundled with cables, sits atop a roof covered in a layer of rusty sand.

As the sandstorm that had swept across the planet's arid lands subsided, sunlight streamed through the bamboo blinds behind the bar's windows, weaving a delicate tapestry across the long table in front of Jim Raynor.

Raynor, wearing sun-protective gloves, held a bottle of No. VIII whiskey, tilting it to fill the glass in front of him. The blue bottle gleamed golden in the sunlight. The people here didn't use the temperature stabilizers produced by the Core World; they still relied on fans to find coolness.

Compared to its sister planet in the same star system, Cha Sara, which boasts lush forests and abundant resources, Ma Sara orbits closer to its star. Its atmosphere is thin with ozone, and the intense starlight relentlessly scorches the land of Ma Sara. Approximately 70% of Ma Sara's land has dried up in the span of its lifespan, leaving only a few tenacious shrubs and wild grasses scattered across the dry, hard earth.

A miniature projector was playing a news report from UNN Universe Television from a week prior. A female member of the Terran Confederacy Confederate Congress was passionately urging all Confederacy to be vigilant against the rebel threat, calling Angus Mengsk and his son the most heinous terrorist leaders in history, "A depraved terrorist, social scum, those Marines who awarded medals to Augustus Mengsk are utterly wicked!"

This little bar doesn't do much business during the day; it's only when the weather cools down in the evening that the townspeople come to drink and have fun. At this time, Joey Ray's Bar is very quiet; the only sounds inside are the fans and the news.

"We firmly believe that justice will prevail!" The Confederacy senator raised her hands, while several aides behind her waved the Confederacy's X-stripes. "Even if Augustus Mengsk and his traitors run to the ends of the galaxy, we will find them, capture them, and put them to a public trial!"

"Did you hear that? You scum, Augustus." Raynor chuckled, teasing his old friend, "They'll lock you up after they catch you and declare you've been brought to justice."

"I've seen her. A mean woman named Beamonchi, a distant relative of the Tagore Family. Her figure is as dull and uninteresting as her unpleasant personality." At that moment, a cowboy in a wide-brimmed cowboy hat walked in and placed a capacitor electromagnetic pistol on the table in front of Raynor.

"Oh—I don't really remember her. I only remember that the Tagore Family's raspberry cake and wine were absolutely amazing." Raynor didn't turn around, but continued to drink his whiskey. This kind of whiskey was cheap in the core world, but on Mar- Sara, a marginal planet that was nominally one of the first colonized main planets but whose development had stagnated, it was something that had to be bought with money.

"Same as always, No. VIII whiskey. We often drink this in the barracks, back in the Turaxis recruit training camp." The cowboy walked in, his physique athletic and well-proportioned, wearing a black vest with a beautiful pattern, the buttons adorned with eagle and wolf designs, and four revolvers tucked into its large, wide pockets. His thick wool trousers effectively protected him from sunburn and scratches from the sharp thorns of the Mar- Sara branches.

His reindeer-skin boots were beautiful, their high tops creaking as he stepped on the wooden floor.

Such attire is very common on the hot and dry planet Mara Sara. Their cowboy hats are always wide and tall, shielding them from wind, sand, and sun, and can also be used as water containers when necessary. The cowboys' clothes, trousers, and boots are mostly adorned with various glittering metal buttons, which, in a sense, are a symbol of status.

This is a world that glorifies a tough-guy style, where law enforcement Magistrate and sergeants, always ride their modified Vulture through deserts and wastelands chasing after criminals who commit crimes.

"Joey, five plates of fried chicken and a serving of tough-guy fries," he said, "Two bottles of Porter Port."

The cowboy had a trimmed grey mustache and a thick beard, and his rugged face was weathered and rough. A three-inch-long scar near his right eye almost ruined his handsome appearance. He looked no longer young, but rather like a tough guy who grew up in Mar-a- Sara.

"Augustus, the usual." Raynor handed the bottle to Augustus, watching him chug down the entire whiskey without any hesitation before handing the bottle back to Raynor.

"It's starting to look like a cowboy—but Mara Sara doesn't have cows."

As the bartender brought out the trays piled high with food, Augustus sat down next to Raynor. He pulled over a metal chair with a backrest, leaned back, and lowered his head, his face hidden behind the brim of his hat.

"How did you get yourself into this state?" Although Raynor had also made himself look disheveled and covered his eyes with his deliberately unkempt bangs, it wasn't a very clever disguise. Among experienced Confederacy Magistrate with sophisticated detection equipment, this was hardly a sophisticated disguise.

Fortunately, Raynor wasn't well-known. The Confederacy only knew him as a minor leader in the rebels. Because Augustus's performance in the Marines was so outstanding, Raynor and his men didn't stand out much. As a nobody, Raynor's name didn't even deserve to appear on the top ten most wanted list.

Even Arcturus Mengsk, who didn't participate in the Korhal independence campaign at all, made it into the top twenty, showing that the Confederacy still considered a retired colonel a huge threat, while a mere Marine corporal was nothing to worry about.

"The all-powerful Umojan agent's disguise technique. This is a malleable mask, nanotechnology, using optical imaging technology to simulate the appearance of other people, enough to fool the human eye and most holographic scanning devices." Augustus just leaned back in his chair, staring at the food on his plate, showing no appetite.

Compared to the Terran Confederacy and the Kel-Morian Combine, Umojan lacks both a vast colony and a large number of mining worlds. For a long time, Umojan's emphasis on democracy and its truly effective government have been seen as weak by the Confederacy and the Kel-Morian Combine. However, this planet has consistently maintained its independence from the Terran Confederacy's rule by relying on its profitable economic system and cutting-edge technology far ahead of other planets, making a fortune by selling high-precision mining equipment to the Kel-Morian people.

"Give me one too." Raynor took a plate of fried chicken and started munching on the meat.

"What kind of one do you want?" Augustus asked him.

"My suggestion is that dressing as a woman is the safest approach." A burly man, a head taller Augustus, walked in. He was wearing only a short-sleeved shirt, and his exposed, muscular arms, tanned red by the scorching sun of Mara Sara, were covered in light purple tattoos that made him look striking.

"In the noble circles of Tarsonis, this is art, as popular as those fat, big-eared nobles' enthusiasm for dressing up their male lovers and keeping male prostitutes."

"I think we can start with you, Tychus." Raynor remained unmoved.

"I find this hilarious." Tychus grinned wickedly, his wrinkles spreading like dragon scales. "We're wanted criminals now, so we have to be careful. From now on, the entire Fleets of the Terran Confederacy will be hunting us down through space, searching high and low for even the slightest clue."

"The Confederacy has at least ten more Fleets like Edmond Duke's Alpha Squadron. After annexing Kel-Morian's mining worlds and industrial cities, the Confederacy will build even more ships!"

"Let them come looking for us then." Raynor chuckled. "I heard that Duke's Alpha Squadron followed Jackson's Revenge all the way outside the Koprulu Sector, all the way into the Perseus Sector."

"Captain Jackson described it even more vividly," Tychus said with a chuckle. "Duke followed the signal source of that tracker closely, like a pig chasing an apple."

"Duke only realized something was wrong when he received Tarsonis's order for the entire Fleets to return, but even then, he still didn't understand that he wasn't chasing us," he said vividly.

"The pirates on Duke and Jackson's Revenge had some grudges, which is why they were working so hard for that commission. To make it more realistic, they even simulated communication between the Norad II and the Hyperion. In the end, Jackson almost led Alpha Squadron into the gravitational field of a newly formed neutron star. If Duke's men hadn't had some intelligence, they would have been burned to ashes by now."

"Hahaha--" Raynor couldn't stop laughing. He had never liked Duke's arrogant and disdainful attitude.

However, Raynor's laughter quickly faded as he realized that even Tychus wasn't smiling, and that he should have realized Augustus been sullen from the start.

"Josephine is dead." After a pause in his breath, Tychus said softly, his expression revealing little sorrow. He seemed never to have shed a tear for the death of anyone else, even though Tychus had often frequented brothels with Harnack and Josephine.

"He may not have experienced much pain; in the extreme temperatures that can melt PVC, death is only a matter of moments."

Raynor fell silent, remembering the group photo they had taken in Turaxis. Now, one person was missing from that photo.

"Was Josephine buried in her hometown?" he asked Tychus.

"No, the survivors didn't find Josephine's body. The carbon that made up her body was melted down by tens of millions of tons of fortress and metallic rock. Korhal's satellite, Canis, is her grave. Someone erected a monument for everyone who died there," Tychus said, shaking his head.

"I really want to see him again." Raynor's eyes reddened, but he managed to hold back his tears. "How is Korhal?"

"Some of us will have to leave first; everyone knows revolution isn't child's play." Tychus went straight to the liquor cabinet at Joey Ray's bar, grabbed a few bottles, and told the owner, "The bill's on Jim's."

"You mean Korhal? Actually, the situation in Korhal is better than we initially estimated; most areas haven't been affected by the nuclear bombs. It's just that one day in the future, the Korhal people aren't without a chance to rebuild Korhal," Tychus said.

"Harnack, Londerstein, and Lisa are still alive; they are currently leading the formation of the new city and government in Umojan. Kydd and his group have set off with the twenty colonial fleets heading in different directions, and no one can say for sure what those Fleets will encounter."

Augustus remained silent throughout, simply listening. He gazed out the window, watching the scorching winds of Mar- Sara whip up rust-colored sand, rising and falling. Augustus's cold gray eyes reflected the crimson world, and apart from the invisible Ghost operative sitting opposite him, no one knew what he was thinking.

In the end, Augustus seemed to have regained his composure. He picked up a perfectly fried, crispy French fry and handed it to someone. "Crunch-crunch-crunch."

And so the fry in Augustus's hand vanished at lightning speed, as if it had disappeared into thin air to onlookers. Then came the second, the third—until Augustus's plate was completely emptied.

Finally, a slight smile appeared on Augustus's face, but it quickly vanished. Augustus now carried the lives of nearly 90,000 Revolutionary Army on his shoulders, and fourteen battlecruisers were docked on the far side of a solid giant planet in the Sara System. Most of these warships desperately needed resources for repairs before they could be put back into battle, or they would sooner or later become piles of steel space junk.

Augustus withdrew his hand and took a silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the drool from his fingers.

"It's time to get going," Augustus said to Raynor and Tychus. "There's still a lot to do before we drain the crystal mines and high-energy gas from Mar- Sara."

Augustus pushed open the heavy iron gate of Joey Ray's Bar. The raging winds that swept across the planet's surface, carrying rust-colored sand, poured into his boots, and a layer of fine rust-colored sand clung to his black vest.

Before Augustus, a large crane rumbled past the main entrance of Joey Ray's Bar, Revolutionary Army soldiers disguised as gold prospectors drove off in reconnaissance vehicles and Vulture, while soldiers wearing wide-brimmed hats and red turbans saluted Augustus.

This is a remote world far from Tarsonis. Mara Sara may not be a suitable place for human habitation, but its underground is rich in precious mineral deposits.

"In the end, we followed in your brother's footsteps. Money is the only truth." Tychus walked behind Augustus. "The people here welcome us. The people of Mar- Sara are even more hopeless than those of Korhal. Every region is teeming with rebels and criminals. But this planet only has a few million inhabitants; we can't cause much of a stir."

"We're going to build a base here to train new recruits," Augustus.

"Sounds good," Raynor said, standing to Augustus's left.

"The governor of Mar- Sara's colony has just made a small fortune these days, and he needs to spend a lot of time dealing with those women's pregnancies, so he doesn't have time to worry about us for the time being. A bunch of gold prospectors swarming in from Agria are just a small wave hitting the beach." Tychus patted Raynor on the shoulder.

"How delightful these corrupt officials are!"

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