Rock, Paper, Scissors

"I thought I was going to see my grandfather."

"If you thought that, you're a fool. Ailin's a dedicated servant of the Umojan Protectorate, but family ties can keep us on the ground when we should be soaring. Wouldn't you agree?"

Valerian Mengsk, First of his Name, Second Emperor of the Dominion of Man, and arguably the most powerful human in this part of the galaxy, decided he couldn't contest that assertion. A decade since his father's death, and the ghost of Arcturus Mengsk still hung over him as surely as the ghosts of Korhal had hung over Angus Mengsk's only son. Ten years of progress, ten years of forging a brighter tomorrow, ten years of being attacked from both sides of the political aisle. He was too weak, too harsh, he was straying from his father's legacy, or he was ruining it completely. He'd ruled the Dominion for twice as long as his father had, but it seemed that so many of the people were interested in how he was different (or too similar) from his father than how he actually ruled on his own terms.

He'd tried to give the people freedom. Instead, they were as divided as ever. In light of that fact, Valerian supposed it wasn't that unexpected that he'd be here, on a miserable little space station called the Cutler, named after the woman who'd discovered the planet it was in orbit of. Still standing in the conference room, a plasteel window separating him from the vacuum of space, he could see Renlence II below. From here, unremarkable. In practice, the crux between Dominion-Protectorate relations. He knew it, and Minister Jorgensen knew it as well. Perhaps that was why, as he sipped from his glass of water, he could see the signs of a suppressed smile.

"Would you like anything stronger?" Jorgensen asked. He gestured to a wooden cabinet in the corner – the only thing here made of wood at all. "Wine, whisky, gin, rum…"

"I'm fine, thank you," Valerian said.

"You sure?"

"I'd prefer to keep my mind sharp for when the battle begins." Jorgensen went to say something, but he cut him to it. "Spare me the counter-argument. Politics is war. The failure of politics can lead to war, but the political battle is still conflict."

"Is it? What if one finds compromise?"

"You and I both know that this isn't what we're here for. You're here to represent Umoja's interests. I'm here to represent the Dominion's. We both know that by the end of these negotiations, Umoja will have added a number of planets to its sphere of influence. My job is to keep as many within my sphere as possible."

Jorgensen gave him a funny look. Respect, bemusement, it was hard to tell. Jorgensen had been the minister of the Umojan Protectorate for nearly two decades, which was a significant portion of how long Valerian had been alive. Certainly he was older than his father when he'd met his end at Kerrigan's blades, and even if he lacked the beard of Mengsk Senior, he still had the same grey hair. The same grey eyes. Ones that couldn't hide the intelligence behind them.

"Interesting," Jorgensen said eventually. "You come here early as he wait for our aides to join us, and you already admit you're on unequal footing."

"We both know the truth of the universe, Minister." Valerian went to get some water himself. "You know and I know that the peace is crumbling. Sooner or later the zerg are going to fall into a second brood war because two of their queens have competing visions for the Swarm. And that wouldn't bother me too much if history hasn't shown that when alien races fight in this part of the galaxy, humanity gets caught in the middle." He began pouring the water. "Plus, after Adena, the Daelaam have cut off all diplomatic communications with the Dominion, and that's in addition to one Tal'darim raid after another." He finished pouring and took a sip, before looking at Jorgensen. "Plus, I have to deal with the Combine and Protectorate nibbling away at the borders. Along with everything else…"

Not to Valerian's surprise, Jorgensen remained silent. He might have admitted that the Protectorate was building up its forces with the implicit intention of wresting power from the Dominion. Certainly Valerian had been informed as such. But apparently admitting the truth of things wasn't in the minister's style.

"Must be hard," Jorgensen murmured. "Realizing that you're no longer the big fish."

Apparently the minister's style was obfuscation and punches thrown in a velvet glove, Valerian reflected.

"It's funny, really," Jorgensen continued. "When your father came to the throne, he was the first and only man to unite humanity under a single banner. He managed to lose all that in a manner of months."

"Thanks in part to the UED," Valerian pointed out.

"In part," Jorgensen conceded. "Also in part to us realizing that he was no better than the Confederacy he toppled." He snorted. "We gave your father billions of credits over the years, and it turns out we only helped with a change in management."

"Well luckily for us both, my father isn't here," Valerian said. "But we're here. Your forces are on numerous planets. And from what I've heard, you caught the attention of the Tal'darim recently." He took another sip of water. "How many people escaped from Aeneas anyway?"

Jorgensen's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do. In fact, since the Tal'darim is an enemy of both of us, I might even venture that it's better to fight them rather than each other. Because if we won't look out for each other…who will?"

Valerian put his glass down on the table and extended a hand. Jorgensen looked at it like he'd just been offered a rotten apple. And, Valerian supposed, maybe that was what it was. He had no qualms in revealing that he knew about the destruction of Spearpoint Base, wiped off the surface of Aeneas in a matter of minutes by the Death Fleet. But…

"Perhaps we should return our attention to Renlence," Jorgensen said. He walked over to the window.

…but again, the heart of the matter remained, Valerian reflected. Humanity was divided. It had been divided on Earth, it had been divided after the discovery of alien species, it had even stayed divided after the arrival of the UED, as part of their attempt to unite all of humanity under a single banner. Umoja would do its thing, it would portray itself as a bastion of liberty and enlightenment within the sector, but it would always put its own interests first.

And the thing was, Valerian couldn't even blame them for it. He couldn't even lie that his hope in seeing Ailin Pasteur was more down to hoping he could use familial bonds to his advantage rather than seeing his grandfather. Valerian, approaching the window by Jorgensen, reflected that Ailin had once said that he could see so much of his daughter inside Valerian. Now, it seemed he saw more of his son-in-law. Not that Arcturus Mengsk and Juliana Pasteur had ever been married per se, but…

"Not much to look at, is she?" Jorgensen said.

"Who? Juliana?"

"What?" Jorgensen stared at him. "No. The planet."

"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course." Valerian silently kicked himself. "Yes. Very barren. Very brown."

"But important. Renlence is laced with palladium. Whoever controls Renlence has the ability to command authority over its star system and half a dozen surrounding ones."

Valerian said nothing, not sure where this was going. Umoja would get Renlence. The only way they wouldn't would be if Jorgensen suddenly lost all competency over the next few days. He could only hope to keep some of the scraps for the Dominion.

"I must admit, I appreciate your candour," Jorgensen said. "But there's a little anecdote I'd like to share with you." He looked at the young emperor. "Rock, paper, scissors. You've heard of it?"

"Of course. It's a game of chance meant for children that has its origins on Old Earth."

"I'd say there's a bit more to it than that – the gifted can read their opponent, guess which hand they're going to play," Jorgensen said. "Or maybe my grandchildren are just that open."

Valerian wasn't sure what to say. Luckily, Jorgensen continued the conversation regardless.

"Point is, diplomacy is like the game," he said. He gestured to the planet. "There's rocks in the universe. Asteroids, moons, planets. Most of these rocks have something of value to us. And since there's only so many rocks in the universe, we terrans tend to fight over them."

Valerian knew that to be true. What he didn't know was where this was going.

"So," Jorgensen said. "We draft paper (he formed his hand as an open palm) and make agreements about the rocks. But that only lasts so long. Sooner or later, scissors come and cut the paper." He made motions with his hands to demonstrate. And then the rock is fought over."

"And, what? Rock smashes the scissors again, and we draft more paper to end the conflict?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Jorgensen sighed. "Point is, we know where this starts. Question is, where does it end?"

Valerian raised an eyebrow. And slowly, and softly, murmured, "what's your game, Jorgensen?"

"My game? Nothing. My demand? Don't waste my time."

"I don't follow."

"Renlence is ours. And I'm not leaving here without bringing the surrounding star systems into the Protectorate. You and I know that's the only way these negotiations are going to end. So…" He extended a hand. "We play the game. We know the outcome. We end the game, I get to go back to Umoja, you get to go back to that irradiated wasteland that you call home."

Valerian stared. He didn't bother pointing out that Korhal's background radiation was now the same as any terrestrial planet orbiting a main sequence star, as he was too caught up in what had just occurred.

"Come on, Valerian," Jorgensen said. "We both know what's going to happen."

"What if I don't know?"

Jorgensen frowned. "Excuse me?"

"What if I don't know?" Valerian repeated. "What if I think that you're bluffing? What if I think that maybe the Protectorate isn't as strong as it claims to be?"

Jorgensen frowned. "Then you-"

"What if I think," Valerian said, taking a step towards the minister, "that Umoja's abandoned the principles it was founded on, but hasn't quite got the military strength to fully commit to the direction it wants to take?"

The frown deepened. "Don't talk to me about principles," Jorgensen murmured. "The Dominion was founded on genocide. The Confederacy operated through tyranny. And the Kel-Morians? Their 'government' is a bad joke. We're the only bastion of freedom in the Koprulu sector, and you know it. Or you should know it. Didn't your mother teach you history?"

Valerian's eyes narrowed. "Don't bring Juliana into this."

"Then don't waste my time."

"No."

Jorgensen blinked. "Excuse me?"

"No. I will waste your time. In fact, I'm going to waste so much of your time that by the time this is done, Renlence won't be a sole possession of the Protectorate. In fact, I might just claim it as my own personal fiefdom." Valerian smirked. "Emperors have privileges, Minister. Ones that you don't."

Jorgensen didn't say anything. Given that the door hissed open and aides began walking in, Valerian wasn't surprised.

The rules of the game had been agreed upon.

Now they had to play it.