Then came the destruction of Amiga Prime.

The truth had been suppressed, of course, but Valerian had it on good authority from his grandfather that the great Arcturus Mengsk had used stolen psi-emitter technology to lure the zerg to the Confederate colony to defeat his enemies, which had in turn drawn the protoss there to scour the planet bare of all life.

The terror that had followed this catastrophe spread through what remained of the Confederate colonies like a virus through a fringe world shantytown. The stream of refugees became a raging torrent, and freighters crammed with terrified people fled in thousands from the epicenters of the fighting to the outer rim territories.

Valerian remembered his mother's reaction to the news of his father's complicity in the death of Antiga Prime, seeing her visibly sag at what the man she had once loved was becoming. Valerian had realized some time ago that his father's once noble ideals of throwing off the yoke of Confederate tyranny and ending the corruption of the Old Families had withered and been replaced with a desire for an empire of his own.

His mother despised what his father had become, but Valerian secretly admired the single-mindedness with which Arcturus pursued that one ambition, knowing that one day it was destined to be his.

The thought still struck an ambivalent chord within him.

Not long after the destruction of Antiga Prime, his father had ordered Valerian and his mother to find a new refuge, one far from the core worlds of what remained of the Confederacy. It was typical of his father to send such a blunt message, but Valerian had sensed something deeper behind it, as though some terrible event was about to be set in motion that required Valerian and Juliana to be as far from it as possible.

He hadn't known what that was until news reached them of the fall of Tarsonis, capital world of the Confederacy. Like Antiga Prime before it, Tarsonis was overrun by the zerg, drawn there by his father to destroy his enemies—the Old Families who had murdered his parents and sister and consigned millions people to death on Korhal.

As acts of vengeance went, Valerian had to admit it was a masterstroke.

Bold, without mercy, and unstoppable.

The Confederacy died with Tarsonis. It had been the linchpin of human space for so long that without it, the colony worlds folded and collapsed, leaving Arcturus Mengsk's Dominion triumphant in the ruins of his enemies' defeat.

No sooner had the Confederacy fallen than his father had made contact, telling him that the time was approaching when he would bid Valerian step into the light as his son.

Valerian couldn't deny the attraction of that idea, for he was now eighteen and ready to take his place on the galactic stage as a force in his own right. He was his own man now: intelligent, erudite, charming, and capable, able to fight with sword, rifle, or rhetoric as the occasion and honor demanded.

But whether he would be the successor his father imagined...

Well, that was another matter altogether.

Valerian finished his drink and left the deserted coffee shop.

"Time to go home," he said.

In the end, it was another six months before Valerian was to see his father again, the demands of building the Dominion from the ashes of the Confederacy' taking longer and placing more demands on the newly installed emperor than had been foreseen. Valerian hadn't minded at first, content to spend time back on Umoja at his grandfather's house with his mother now that they were free of the need to move from place to place to avoid Confederate kill teams.

But as the weeks turned to months, his impatience grew and the enforced idleness of life on Umoja began to grate on him. He was the son of an emperor, yet had nothing of importance to do.

His mother's condition had progressed, with every remission fallowed by a resurgence of the invisible sickness that was consuming her. New technologies had slowed her descent but hadn't been able to stop it, and the doctors had solemnly informed him that she could last only another six months at most. They had been saying that for years, though, and his mother had surprised them all with her dogged tenacity and courage.

Between periods of caring for his mother, Valerian's days were spent honing his already fearsome skills with a blade and gun under the stern gaze of Master Miyamoto. His old tutor had accompanied him back lo Umoja and had declared Valerian the best student he had ever taught.

He devoured every digi-tome he could get hold of, learning everything he could of the protoss and zerg. He scoured the information networks for any sign of fresh alien ruins, but in the aftermath of war, archaeology was no one's priority save his.

On this evening, Valerian walked behind his mother in the gardens of his grandfather's house, following the path toward the river, which glittered like molten copper in the sunset.

She had bid him accompany her to the riverbank and they had set off as the servants prepared the evening meal. Juliana ate little these days, but Valerian's appetite was as hearty as ever.

He wore a form-fitting suit of charcoal gray, knee-high boots of gleaming black leather, a double-breasted jacket with more than a hint of the soldier to it, and a scarlet cloak draped around his shoulders. His hair was unbound and fell about his shoulders in a cascade of gold, the image of his mother's in her prime.

Now that there was no reason to hide his ancestry, and every reason to display it, Valerian proudly wore a bronze wolf-head medal of the Mengsk family upon his breast.

His mother sat in an automated wheelchair, controlling its movements with an alpha wave reader fitted just behind her right ear. Returning to Umoja had done more to restore his mother's constitution than all the years of drugs and painful chemotherapy. Intramuscular nanostimulators had prevented her muscles from atrophying completely, and it was wonderful to see some of her vitality restored to her. Even though Valerian knew she could not last much longer, he loved that she smiled again now that she was home.

The air was clear and crisp, the umber sky warm and like honey over the distant horizon as the day drew to a close. The scent of the air was heavy, and Valerian took a deep breath, instantly transported back to his boyhood and a lime where he was innocent of the wider scope of the galaxy around him.

"It's good to be home, isn't it?" said his mother, her voice thin, but stronger than it had been in many years. "Back on Umoja, I mean."

Valerian nodded. "Yes, though I still find it hard to think of anywhere as home now."

"I know, honey," said his mother. "And I'm sorry—it was no way to grow up, being shunted from pillar to post like that."

"It was hardly your fault. After all, what choice did we have?"

"I know, but I want you to understand that I wish I could have given you a normal childhood."

" 'A normal childhood'?" said Valerian. "What is that, anyway? Does it even exist?"

"Of course it does. I had a perfectly normal childhood growing up here."

"I guess," said Valerian as they rounded a bend in the path next to a stand of poplars and the river came into view. "And I remember this place fondly—though too much has happened for me to think of it as home anymore."

"That's sad," said Juliana, pointing to an irregular chunk taken out of the otherwise smooth course of the riverbank. "You remember that little cove there?"

Water had since filled the cove, where it gamboled in miniature whirlpools, but Valerian remembered kneeling in the mud with a small shovel and a tray of unearthed treasures.

"Yes," he said with a smile. "I remember. I used to dig there for alien fossils."

"I was so proud of you," said Juliana. "I am proud of you, Valerian. You've grown up into such a wonderful, handsome boy. My heart almost breaks every time I look at you."