by Timothy Zahn
Behind him came the sound of a jump pack, and his rear display showed Dizz doing a quick fifty-meter vertical.
Or maybe there was something simpler behind Dizz’s decision to give up his command.
Whist looked over his shoulder, ostensibly checking on Dizz’s maneuver, but actually taking a good look at Tanya. She’d returned her C-10 to shoulder-slung position: accessible enough, but not as quick on the draw as it would be if she were holding it. Was she carrying it that way because she knew she wouldn’t need it?
Tanya was a ghost. At the very least that meant she was a teep. That was obvious just from the way she and Ulavu held their private conversations.
What if she was more than just a teep? What if she was also packing something stronger? Telekinesis, maybe. If she’d been slowing down the zerg or even speeding up the already hypersonic gauss rifle bolts, that might explain the easy victory.
Power like that would make her very useful. It might also make her a hell of a loose cannon.
Because ghosts had even more of a reputation for craziness than reapers. They were rumored to require cybernetic implants to keep them mentally stable, and probably needed a drugstore of enhancement chemicals to keep them functioning. Whist hadn’t heard any specific stories of ghosts turning on their officers, but he had no doubt that things like that sometimes happened.
Had Dizz passed over command in the hope of keeping himself out of the line of fire if Tanya went psycho?
Whist turned back to face forward, freshly aware that Tanya was now behind him. It’s fine, he told himself firmly. Just do your job, and trust her to do hers.
“Looks clear ahead,” Dizz reported.
“Thanks,” Whist said. Trust them all to do their jobs, and hope there weren’t any other nasty surprises waiting for them.
Yeah. Right.
—
There was no intent to deceive you, Zagara insisted, her gravelly psionic voice dark, the Overqueen hovering on the edge of being offended.
An attitude that wasn’t lost on Artanis. How could there not be? the protoss countered. The xel’naga were sentient beings, creatures who spoke and shaped their environment and everyone around them. They were not plants. How then can their essence be fashioned into plant life without deliberate manipulation?
Zagara cocked her head to the side…
And to Valerian’s mild surprise, Abathur, still standing silently beside her, drew himself up. Of course deliberate manipulation, he said in a deep, resonant tone. Manipulation what zerg do. What zerg are.
“Welcome to the conversation,” Valerian said, inclining his head. So the evolution master could communicate, after all. “Did you handle the job personally? Or were you only the supervisor?”
Abathur alone made creation, Abathur said, a note of pride evident in his voice.
Of course, Artanis said, his skin mottling. There has ever been only one evolution master. Abathur is that one.
“I see,” Valerian said, feeling his eyes narrow. “So he was the one behind all the zerg mutations during the war? All the variants that gave us—and you—so much grief?”
Abathur serves at my command, Zagara said. He has always served the Swarm, whether under the Overmind or the Queen of Blades. If you seek to assign blame, place it upon them, or upon me. Not upon him.
“I wasn’t assigning blame, Overqueen,” Valerian said. “Merely establishing cause, method, and effect. And he created the zerg–xel’naga plants we see around us?”
Have said already, Abathur said. Does terran organism claim a lie? Too primitive to understand?
Zagara half turned, and Valerian had the sense of a private psionic conversation taking place. Abathur ducked his head a few centimeters. Informed being rude, he said. Pardon is asked.
Yet your question carries unpleasant weight, Zagara added darkly. You disapprove of his activities? You disapprove of the Swarm?
“We’ve seen what comes of his creations,” Valerian said, struggling to remain calm and civil. They’d seen, all right. It had been the pattern throughout the war: Dominion soldiers would fight and die and finally find a weakness in some zerg strain. They would begin to exploit it, and then, within weeks or days—sometimes within hours—a new strain would appear with that loophole filled in. “We’ve faced them in the battlefield and watched them kill our people.”
Do you fear these plants as well? Zagara scoffed. Abathur’s purpose is to mold life. Is it not better for me to turn his purpose from the creation of weapons of infestation to the creation of life that is harmless and beneficial?
Who is to say that these are harmless? Artanis put in, nodding back toward the display cases. Perhaps they are a new infestation vector for the further devastation of our planets.
If you believe that, why are you here? Zagara demanded. If you believe I plan betrayal, why have you come to meet?
In the small hope that the Swarm has indeed changed, Artanis said. That has not yet been proven.
Zagara drew herself up, and Valerian could see the muscles beneath her thick skin working. “A specific example, Overqueen,” he said quickly. “You told us that the broodmothers are under your control.”
I have already said that.
“And the broodmothers control the zerg in their territories?”
They do.
“Including the group of zerg that attacked our survey team?”
Zagara seemed taken aback. Your survey team was attacked?
“Yes, a short time ago,” Valerian said. “I received the report as Hierarch Artanis and I were examining the plants.”
Were they harmed? Zagara said, her claws twitching a little. Were there further attacks?
“No, to both questions,” Valerian said.
For a few seconds Zagara was silent. Slowly, her twitching claws came to a rest. It was not a deliberate assault, she said. I have now communicated with the broodmothers. Your survey team was passing through a balance crossing between territories, where members of the Swarm are left to their own instincts and means.
“Sounds rather sloppy on the broodmothers’ part,” Valerian said.
It is more than merely sloppy, Zagara said, her tone ominous. The broodmothers have been disciplined. Neither they nor any of the others will allow such failure again.
That does not fully address the attack, Artanis said. If the Swarm has truly changed, why attack the survey team at all?
Do not all groups change from the leader downward? Zagara pointed out. Protoss and terrans behave that way. So does the Swarm. She waved a claw at each of them. And protoss and terrans also have base instincts to defend themselves against threats. Should the members of the Swarm be otherwise?
“No, I suppose that’s not unreasonable,” Valerian conceded.
When the survey team moves on, the other broodmothers have been instructed to allow them safe passage, Zagara continued. We were discussing the plants.
“Actually, I believe we were discussing Abathur,” Valerian corrected, frowning. When the team moved on, she’d said. Not if they moved on. Was she expecting them to leave that area?
Was she hoping they’d leave?
Briefly, he wondered if he should call her on it. If it was just a slip, a small mistake in terran grammar…but if it wasn’t, maybe there was something in the Focal Point One area she really didn’t want them to see.
And tipping her off that they already knew it was an area of interest would be the absolute worst thing to do.
Very well, Zagara said. To Valerian, it didn’t sound as if Abathur was a topic she really wanted to talk about. Abathur is an ancient being, created long before my existence by the Overmind to facilitate the absorption and reconfiguration of alien essences into the Swarm. Do you know the origin of the Overmind?
“No,” Valerian said. “Mostly we have speculation.”
It was an entity created in ancient times by the xel’naga Amon, Zagara said. It embodied zerg consciousness and brought unity and command to the feral groupings. Later,
it developed other agents to solidify its control.
“And the Overmind in turn created Abathur?” Valerian asked, eyeing Abathur with a freshly awakened sense of foreboding. The Swarm was alien enough; now here was a creature who not only predated everything the Dominion knew about the zerg, but had been created by an even more alien mind.
How did Abathur think? How did he feel? Could Valerian ever begin to comprehend either?
It did, Zagara said.
You must trust him, Artanis said. Did you not permit him to perform the modifications that altered you to become a broodmother?
I did, Zagara said. But the changes were not of his own volition or design. They came from the will of the Queen of Blades, under which Abathur and I were both submitted. She wished me able to understand her thoughts and ways better than I did. Better than any queen or broodmother before me ever could.
“Because she was grooming you to take over for her?”
I do not know her thoughts beyond her stated desire for me to think more as she did.
Valerian felt his lip twitch. To think more as Kerrigan had. That could be very good, or it could be very, very bad.
The procedure was bitterness and pain, Zagara continued, her claws opening and closing restlessly. But I underwent it willingly. It is what has allowed me to look past the endless cycle of zerg existence and see a new and better path.
“That, plus the xel’naga essence Kerrigan left you,” Valerian said, frowning as another thought struck him. “Do you have any xel’naga in you?”
No, Zagara said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. It was not yet in the hands of the Queen of Blades when I was modified.
“Because that would certainly make it easier for someone to ascend to xel’naga,” Valerian pressed. “Tell me: once the xel’naga essence was in your hands, did you perhaps ask Abathur for a few new modifications?”
No, Zagara said firmly. I was left behind to command the Swarm. For that, I need no additional modification.
Valerian looked at Artanis. But the protoss remained silent. Maybe he was satisfied.
Or maybe he just thought there was no point in asking more questions.
“All right,” Valerian said, turning back to Zagara. “Earlier you said that you might be able to assist the Dominion and the protoss in rebuilding our devastated planets. Let’s hear how exactly you would go about doing that.”
Tanya was expecting to be attacked at least once more before the team reached Erin’s theoretical focal point.
But the attack didn’t happen. They came within sight of several more zerg, but none of them—not even the bigger, nastier ones—made any move against the intruders. Most of them, at least those more than a hundred meters away, didn’t even seem to notice the survey team.
Finally, they reached the mesa Erin had marked from orbit.
“So it’s not an overhang?” Erin asked.
“Nope, the sides are straight up and down,” Dizz said, peering down from his high-flying vantage point. “And that tree line on the south face is actually three separate rows, close-packed and more or less parallel with one another. Nothing on top but grass and a few low bushes. The whole thing stretches back about half a klick, with a lot of erosion along the back side. Looks like basalt under the dirt, so maybe it started life as a lava bubble.”
“You said the tree line was three close-packed rows,” Whist said. “How close is close?”
“The lines are about two meters apart, though the branches themselves fill in a lot of that,” Dizz said. “The individual trees in each of the two inner lines are packed about as close together as the ones you can see in the outer line. About a meter apart, with their branches really squashed.”
“That can’t be good for them,” Tanya commented, eyeing the line of trees. With their trunks that close, and with their branches intertwined like wooden mesh, they formed an impenetrable tangle.
“Erin?” Whist prompted.
Tanya turned to see Erin flat on her back, her helmet off, once again pressing her head against the ground. “I can still hear the sound,” she reported.
“Is it louder than it was before?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe a little clearer, but no louder.” She rolled over and pushed herself back to her feet. “But this doesn’t make any sense,” she continued, waving a gauntleted hand at the rows of trees. “These trees are way too close together. Even if they’re running taproots, there’s just not enough room for their secondaries and root hairs. And that doesn’t even address the branch problem—those lower ones are useless. They should have withered or at least lost their leaves.”
“Yeah, but these are magic zerg trees,” Dizz pointed out, still floating over them. “Remember?”
“And they’ve only been here a few years,” Tanya added.
“Doesn’t matter,” Erin insisted. “Even magic trees need nutrients, and they have to get them from somewhere.”
Unless they do not have any roots, Ulavu suggested.
“And what, they get everything through their leaves and bark?” Tanya asked.
Protoss physiology and biochemistry have similarities, Ulavu pointed out. True, our energy absorption is over a wider range of the electromagnetic spectrum than most plants can access. But the principle remains.
“Okay, but if they don’t have roots, what’s holding them up?” Whist asked.
“Maybe not much,” Dizz said. “Let me try something.”
He maneuvered over the trees. Then, abruptly, he dropped out of the sky and disappeared among the branches.
“Dizz?” Tanya called tentatively, frowning.
“I’m okay,” Dizz assured her. “I just wanted a closer look at the lower trunks.”
“You could have done that from here,” Whist said.
“I already looked at that side. Well, well.”
“Well, well, what?” Whist asked.
“Do me a favor,” Dizz said. “Go to the…sixth tree from the west and give it a shove, will you?”
“Give it a shove?” Whist echoed. “A shove where?”
“Toward the hill,” Dizz said. “The rest of you, keep an eye on the top while he pushes.”
Whist muttered something under his breath but obediently strode to the indicated tree. Planting his feet, he set his gauntlets against the trunk and pushed. “And?”
“Did the top move?” Dizz asked.
“Not that I could see,” Tanya reported.
“Me neither,” Erin seconded.
“Okay,” Dizz said. “Take a step back, Whist, and everyone watch the top again.”
And to Tanya’s amazement, the top of the tree swayed. Not much, but very noticeably. “Did it move?” Dizz asked.
“Like a big bad wolf just blew at it,” Whist said. “What the hell did you do?”
“Same thing you did, but without all your fancy servos,” Dizz said. “These things aren’t just trees. They’re some kind of living palisade. You can see the lower edge under the trunks on this side where some of the dirt has eroded away. They’re basically just rooted on that side, with this side swinging free.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Whist growled. “Who designs a palisade you can just push over?”
“I think the point is that you can only push it over from the inside,” Dizz said. “That tells me it was designed to keep things out but not in.”
“Out of what?” Tanya asked, frowning.
“Out of whatever’s behind the inner line,” Dizz said. “It’s hard to tell through all the branches, but I think there’s an opening into this side of the mesa.”
“How big an opening?”
“I’m guessing a hydralisk could get through without bumping its head,” Dizz said. “Shall we break out the grenades and see if we can clear ourselves a path?”
That would not be good right now, Ulavu warned, his eyes on something past Tanya’s shoulder.
“Why not?” Dizz asked.
“Because speaking of hydralisks, there’s
a pack of them about two hundred meters to the west,” Tanya said tightly as she followed Ulavu’s line of sight. “Four, maybe five of them.”
“Everyone just hold still and be cool,” Whist said. “They’re heading north. Let’s see if they’ll keep doing it.”
To Tanya’s relief, the hydralisks did indeed keep going, apparently oblivious to the intruders. The team watched in silence until they disappeared behind another line of low hills.
“Okay, they’re gone,” Whist said. “Yeah, let’s pass on grenades for the moment. Last thing we want is to wake up the neighborhood.”
“A good matched set of psi blades would really be handy about now,” Dizz commented. “Ulavu, you wouldn’t happen to have a focuser or two tucked away under those gardening gloves, would you?”
Of course not, Ulavu protested. I am a researcher, not a Templar. I have no psi blades, nor could I even use one.
“I thought all protoss had that Khala thing,” Whist said.
“Dark templar don’t,” Erin told him. “Anyway, the Khala was…well, something happened to it in the war; I’m not sure what. Nobody knows much about it,” she added, raising her eyebrows toward Ulavu in silent invitation.
Tanya felt her lip twist. If Erin was hoping for enlightenment on that point, she was wasting her breath. From the whispers she’d heard around the ghost program, it sounded like the Khala had been commandeered by the rogue xel’naga Amon, who had then used it to control the protoss who were linked together through that psionic connection. The only way to defeat him had been for all the protoss to sever their nerve cords at the critical moment, thus robbing Amon of his link and power and sending him back to the Void. Unfortunately, cutting their nerve cords had also permanently severed the protoss’ own connection to one another through the Khala.
Over the years she’d occasionally asked Ulavu for more details. But he refused to talk about it. And if he wouldn’t talk to Tanya, he certainly wouldn’t open up on such a painful topic to a group of terran strangers.
Sure enough, Ulavu remained silent. Erin waited hopefully another moment, then turned away.
“Okay, so we can’t use grenades, and we’re all out of Templar,” Whist concluded. “I don’t suppose, Tanya, that your ghost power happens to be telekinesis?”