Finally, Selendis's image spoke once more.
"Jim Raynor, your words echo with a Tassadar-like... idealism," she chose the word, her tone complex. "According to the records, you have never backed down in the war against the Swarm, nor have you ever betrayed your word."
She reached out her hand, and as her psionic-infused fingertips cut through the air, a series of Protoss runes surfaced.
"I shall temporarily suspend the purification protocol. Suspend, not cancel," Selendis's voice reverted to the businesslike demeanor of an Executor. "You have three standard days for internal deliberations and investigation. During this time, my fleet will maintain the orbital blockade. Any vessel attempting to leave Haven will be destroyed."
The holographic image began to blur, but Selendis's parting words echoed clearly in everyone's mind: "In three days, I require your ultimate decision: either present solid proof that the infection has been completely eradicated, or hand over the infected zones to be purified by your own hands. If neither is delivered, then the Arbiter will fulfill its purpose. May the Khala guide your judgment—for the good of all."
The image vanished.
In the sky, that blue "sun" still hung high, but its light ceased to intensify, settling into a steady, threatening radiance.
The camp remained dead quiet. Everyone's eyes were fixed on Raynor.
He turned around to face his people. Those eyes were filled with fear, hope, doubt, and anticipation.
"Alright," Raynor's voice broke the silence, steady and firm. "We just bought ourselves three days. Dr. Hanson, I need to know the truth—whether Haven is infected or not. Tychus, pull together a scouting party, but don't poke the big guys in orbit. Valerie, keep order in the camp; I don't want any panic."
He looked up at the sky, toward that blue doomsday clock hanging over their heads.
"In three days, we've gotta make a call. And whatever we choose, we're all carrying the consequences together."
The sunlight on Haven was still bright, but that glow was now swallowed by another, far more powerful light. Under the shadow of the Protoss fleet, humanity's last refuge kicked off a race against time.
Inside the temporary command tent on Haven's surface, Raynor, Dr. Hanson, Matt Horner's hologram, Tychus, and Valerie gathered around the central tactical table. Hovering above the table was a 3D projection of Haven, with several zones marked by flashing red indicators—the abnormal psionic activity spots detected by Protoss probes, hinting at early signs of Zerg infection.
The three-day limit granted by Selendis hung over everyone's heart like a ticking time bomb.
"Seventy-two hours," Raynor broke the silence, tapping his fingers on the table as his gaze swept across the room. "That's all the time we managed to buy. Selendis isn't giving us a single extra second."
Dr. Hanson immediately stood up, her lab coat still bearing stains from the lab, her eyes bloodshot yet flashing with unyielding determination.
"Then we use these seventy-two hours to cook up a cure!" Her voice pitched up slightly out of sheer urgency. "My research on Agria already made key progress! Zerg infection isn't completely irreversible! Their genetic structure might be wildly unstable, but there's a protease inhibitor that can mess with their replication cycle! As long as we can synthesize enough doses and run clinical trials—"
"Ariel," Raynor cut her off, his voice calm but weighed down heavily. "We don't have seventy-two hours to develop, test, and manufacture a brand-new cure. We aren't even sure if that inhibitor of yours works on whatever suspected infection is sitting on Haven."
He pulled up a piece of data and projected it into the air. It was a composite image built from camp sensor feeds and shared Protoss scan results.
"Look at these," Raynor pointed at the red markers. "Abnormal bio-signatures are scattered across three main spots: the western mountains, the southern river valley, and... a patch of forest five kilometers northeast of our camp. The signal is faint, but it's real, and it's slowly spreading. Selendis's probes are way sharper than our gear. If she says there's infection, there is."
He took a deep breath, looking straight at Dr. Hanson.
"Three days isn't nearly enough time to whip up a cure that can fix a whole pool of potential hosts. These three days are meant for tracking down the infected—the folks or animals already carrying it who haven't turned yet—along with any hidden Zerg presence. Then we clear them out, lock down the quarantine zones, and save whoever's left clean. That's the only realistic call."
Dr. Hanson's face went pale in an instant.
"Clear them out?" She repeated the words, her voice trembling. "Jim, are you saying... killing the people who might be infected? Before they even get a shot at being cured?"
"If they're already infected and could act as a vector to spread the Swarm further, then yeah," Raynor's voice didn't waver, though a tiny twitch at the corner of his eye gave away his inner storm. "This is war, Doctor. Not some ideal experiment in a clean lab. We aren't dealing with a normal bug; it's the Swarm. You know what they did on Mar Sara, what they did on Agria. We can't risk letting Haven turn into the next one."
"But they're people!" Dr. Hanson raised her voice, slamming her hands onto the table. "They're the refugees who ran with us, our own people! They trusted us, looked at us like hope! And now you're telling me what we're gonna do is hunt them down and 'clear them out'? How is that any different from Mengsk abandoning civilians like we condemned him for?!"
Her chest heaved heavily, her eyes showing not just anger, but the pure agony of ideals slamming into cold hard reality.
"My research actually has a shot! Give me time, give me resources, and I can figure out a way! Throwing them straight under the bus shouldn't be what the Raiders do! Don't we fight to save lives?!"
Tychus leaned against the wall, arms crossed, letting out a grunt that didn't mean much, but he didn't butt in. Matt's hologram looked like he wanted to say something, hesitation written all over his face.
Raynor didn't dodge Dr. Hanson's gaze. His face looked just as pained, but hardened by the finality of the decision.
"Saving lives, Doctor, means sometimes you've gotta make the brutal calls so more people can actually walk away alive. If we just let the infection run loose, or gamble everything on a cure that's impossible to finish in three days, the end result is Selendis's fleet using that Mothership to bake all of Haven into glass. When that happens, nobody walks away, infected or not."
He paused, his voice dropping lower.