She frowned a little. Make that four complaints—no one had told her very much since they'd brought her here and put her in this very nice, comfortable, spacious room that was, in the end, still just a prison cell.
Her stomach rumbled. They'd brought the chamber pot, but still hadn't brought her anything to eat. She had no way of telling time, but knew she had been here several hours already. They had gotten her water; she reached for a bowl containing the precious liquid and took a sip.
She heard the sound of the door opening and turned, expecting to see her protoss guard. Instead a stranger entered, a female who was clearly of high rank and well aware of it. She stood proudly, a commanding presence. The newcomer wore armor that Rosemary recognized marked her as a templar. Rosemary thought it was largely symbolic at first, as her gaze swept over this imposing figure. Good protection at the vulnerable backward bend of the knee and upper arms, and the sweep of gleaming metal that lifted like slender wings at the shoulder should effectively block blows to the throat. But the waist andthigh showed smooth gray flesh. Then again, if this was the head of the templar, which Rosemary suspected an "executor" was, this female probably would halt any attacker dead in his tracks before he got close enough to get in a blow.
Rosemary had seen bits and pieces of armor on the Aiur protoss, but she now realized how dreadfully battle-worn that armor had been. What the protoss before her now wore was gleaming and bright, catching even the dim blue-purple light that came in from the window and the light from the glowing, gemlike spheres set into the armor itself. The dangling appendages that Rosemary knew were nerve cords and that definitively marked her as a traditional protoss and not one of the dark templar fell almost like long ropes of hair, with golden metal pieces adorning their ends. Beneath the armor, she wore a slender drape of fabric that looked very luxurious and soft, a night-black, velvety swath that protected her gray skin from the gleaming, gold metal.
In her four-fingered hands, which still looked so very weird to Rosemary, she carried a shallow golden bowl that had some vaguely spherical things and a couple of long, grassy things in it.
Rosemary did not attempt to hide her scrutiny, and she realized that the newcomer was in all likelihood sizing her up as well. At the moment, exhausted, hungry, and physically filthy as she was, Rosemary knew who'd win that competition. She decided she'd add the lack of a bath to her list of complaints.
"Who are you?" Rosemary asked.
The protoss placed the bowl down with almost ceremonial precision on the table, turned, and inclined her head. It wasn't quite a bow, but it was a gesture of respect.
"I am Executor Selendis," she said. "I have come to query you as to the nature of your purpose on our world." She indicated the bowl. "It has taken us no little effort, but we have located fruits and tubers that I believe you will be able to consume."
Rosemary eyed the contents of the bowl and hoped Selendis was right. She was starving. But even more than food, she hungered for information.
"I'm Rosemary Dahl, and you know exactly why I am here. I get that you all live much longer than we do, and that protocol and ceremony and stuff mean a lot to you, but there's not a lot of time for things like that right now."
Executor Selendis regarded the terran with luminous, unblinking eyes. "There is always time to do something the right way, Rosemary Dahl."
"It depends on whose definition of 'right way' you use."
Selendis half closed her eyes, tilted her head, and hunched her armored shoulders slightly in the gesture that indicated humor. "I suppose that it does. Do you wish to feed before we speak?"
Feed. Like she was a pet, or an animal to be fattened for slaughter or something. Selendis narrowed her eyes; she'd read Rosemary's thoughts, of course. Man, this was getting old.
"I'll skip the chow for now. Like I said, we don't have a lot of time. What do you know so far?"
"What the protoss who accompanied you have told me. I cannot verify their statements in the Khala as of yet. They are still ridding themselves of the influence of the drug with which the dark archon polluted them." A great deal of distaste was in the words. Rosemary wasn't sure if the detestation was directed at the drug or at the thought of the dark archon. Or maybe even at her.
Rosemary glanced away. "The Sundrop, it's...bad stuff, yeah."
Selendis nodded, slowly. Rosemary sensed the executor was still making up her mind about everything.
"Let me get right to the point. I understand why your guards redirected my friend Jake. It was a smart thing to do. But unfortunately Jake has a preserver in his head with some really important information—information she was willing to kill a whole lot of people to protect. And because she's inside my friend's brain, he's dying. She wants to put what she knows into a dark templar crystal, so the information isn't lost. Jake wants her out of his head, so he can survive. And I want—"
The rush of words was suddenly dammed as Rosemary slammed hard against the fact that she actually didn't know what she wanted. A few years or months ago, she'd have named it in terms of creature comforts, personal challenges, and a whole lot of credits. Even recently, she was planning on using the archaeologist as her pass to safety and fortune. But now—
The protoss before her waited patiently, with that freaky stillness that was so unsettling. Time to them was utterly different than it was to terrans. Their lifetimes lasted centuries; humans, generally less than one. They could afford to be patient.
Rosemary opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "I...I guess I want Jake to be okay."
"That is all?"
"Well, I want to be okay too. I just—" Rosemary grinned self-deprecatingly. "I guess I just don't know what that looks like anymore." "I see."
Rosemary wasn't at all sure that this gray-skinned, imposing female did. "Look—find Jake and bring him back so Zamara can get out of his head. How hard can it be?"
"What you do not understand, terran, is that what you ask is a serious matter indeed. I must be certain that it is not just the right thing for your colleague, but the right thing for my people."
"It's a damned preserver!" Rosemary cried in utter exasperation. "Isn't helping her survive the right thing for your people?"
"You yourself have confessed that you were subjected to a mind-altering drug," Selendis continued, completely unperturbed by Rosemary's outburst. "So were the others. Until the drug has cleared their systems and we can meet their minds and hearts in the Khala, I must wait and listen and learn."
Suddenly the import of the words struck Rosemary. "You mean—wait a minute. Are you saying that all the protoss who came through with me were the Tal'darim—the Forged? That there are none of Those Who Endure among them?"
"No. There are not. Only those whose minds were affected by the Sundrop."
Rosemary sank down in one of the oversized chairs, stunned by the news. She thought of the moment when she was certain she was going to die at the hands—well, pincers, claws, whatever they had—of the zerg and the wave of protoss had descended to save them. She thought of their ready forgiveness of her almost-betrayal. She passed a shaking hand through her hair, telling herself it was exhaustion and lack of food that made this news so upsetting.
"Your concern does you credit. Do not belittle it so."
Rosemary shot Selendis an angry glare. "Don't read my mind. Wait for me to talk, damn it."
"I have not yet determined if you are truly friend or foe, Rosemary Dahl. I will do as I see fit to ascertain the truth. The others may have granted your request to not read your mind, but I have made no such promise."
Rosemary found her hands clenching into fists and forced herself to relax. "Listen to me, Selendis. You are wasting precious time. Jake and Zamara are in danger, and they're out there alone. They could die while you wait for the others to detox to verify the same damn story we 're all telling!"
The glowing eyes flashed, and Rosemary realized she'd finally gotten to Selendis. "There is no reason I should trust you, and every rea
son I should doubt you. We protoss have encountered only a few humans. And the single human female we have dealt with does not make us at all inclined to be welcoming."
There was nothing Rosemary could do, and she sagged slightly, still in the chair. "Fine. But I'll tell you this. If Jake dies because you are all sitting around on your hands waiting for verification in the Khala, I personally will make sure you regret it."
Selendis had recovered herself and seemed as immovable as ever. "If it turns out you are telling the truth, and if Jacob Ramsey and the preserver he bears die because of my choice to delay, then I will regret it more than your human brain can possibly grasp. But I am the executor of the templar, and such decisions are mine to make and their outcomes my responsibility to bear. Is there anything else you require?"
Jake...aw, damn it.
"Nothing you'd be willing or able to give me," Rosemary said, momentarily defeated.
Selendis hesitated. "If the nourishment we have provided is inadequate, please inform your guard and we will make another attempt at providing you sustenance. In the meantime, I will send for hot water and fresh clothing for you. I hope to have your account of events verified shortly."
Rosemary supposed she should say thank you, but she was too angry and frustrated and heartsick. Instead she stayed put in the chair, arms folded, while Selendis left. Then, sighing, she grabbed a piece of what she thought was fruit and bit into it. It was mushy and bland, and she thought with regret of the sammuro fruit she and Jake had eaten on Aiur. Of the protoss who had risked their lives to gather it for them, and to hunt the prey whose flesh had provided necessary protein for the two terrans.
According to Selendis, none of the Shel'na Kryhas had made it. They were all lying dead on Aiur.
Didn't look like they were Those Who Endure after all.
CHAPTER 5
VARTANIL HAD BEEN VERY YOUNG WHEN HIS LIFE had been so violently disrupted. Less than a century old, he had lived the peaceful, orderly life that all protoss on Aiur knew. His family was of the Furinax bloodline, and their specialty had been crafting objects of beauty. Others built the physical infrastructure of the cities and vessels and weapons; others crafted the armor as well as the bracers that channeled the templar's psionic energy, manifesting it in powerful psi blades. But Vartanil had been a carver of the light-and-dark wood of the spotted shuwark tree, shaping the soft wood beneath clever hands, bringing forth the images of beasts both native and alien for the delight of the senses. Even as it dried, the wood smelled good—clean and healing. Vartanil polished it until it was smooth as a river stone to the touch, and he knew that the images he created delighted the eye. That had all been destroyed when the zerg came to Aiur.
His family had gotten separated and had scattered, as many familial units had done in those horrifying days. Vartanil never knew what became of them, and could only hope that they were among the lucky ones who had made it off planet. With what he had come to regard as blind luck, Vartanil managed to elude the zerg, only to nearly be slain by a ravenous omhara. He had been saved by a small group of protoss, mostly khalai like himself, although there were a few templar, led by Alzadar, and a judicator, Felanis. His skin becoming mottled with his overwhelming emotions, Vartanil had sworn himself to the service of this group. As time passed, Felanis and Alzadar found other protoss, and their numbers swelled.
Vartanil still helped with his carving talent, but this time, he carved arrows, bows, spears, throwing sticks. Weapons to stave off the wandering zerg and more natural, but no less dangerous, native animals. Alzadar taught him how to use the weapons he created. Vartanil knew he would never be a true warrior, not like Alzadar was, but he took pride in being able to help protect his new family.
When conflict arose between the two factions, Vartanil left with Felanis's group—"the Forged," as they eventually called themselves. He had no animosity toward Ladranix or the other protoss, but he had vowed to follow Alzadar, who had been so kind to him.
And when later Alzadar revealed the true horror of the "Benefactor" the gulled Forged had been following—a dark archon, perhaps the most powerful and dangerous the protoss had ever known, and who, far from protecting them, had been preying upon them—he had passionately rallied behind Alzadar to forsake the false benefactor and cleave again to his fellows.
When it became clear that Alzadar was choosing to stay behind and die defending the terrans, buying the precious time they and the preserver Jacob carried needed, Vartanil almost panicked. Who would lead them? Who—how—
"There is no protoss wiser than a preserver," Alzadar had said. "Follow Jacob. Protect him and the precious being he bears." Vartanil promised to do so.
Vartanil had been stunned beyond measure when he stumbled through the warp gate to arrive in Shakuras, only to discover that his new leader, the one he had promised the likely-now-dead Alzadar he would protect and aid, had been diverted to somewhere else entirely. And when Rosemary had come under verbal attack—Rosemary, a mere terran, non-telepathic, who had still managed to turn her back on the exquisite pleasure offered by the Sundrop—he had rallied to her defense immediately. She was the one closest to Jacob Jefferson Ramsey; he would help her.
Vartanil and the others were separated from Rosemary shortly after their arrival. A small vessel had been summoned, to bear them to who knew where. He watched two templar, each over half a meter taller than the petite human female, flank her on either side as they marched her away. And then the first pangs of withdrawal hit, and Vartanil quite forgot about Rosemary, about Jacob, about Alzadar, or Aiur or Shakuras, indeed anything that was not the intense, all-consuming craving that racked his body.
How long it took for the vile drug to clear his system, he did not know. Later, he would be told it took three full days. He was unconscious for most of it, waking now and then to find himself surrounded by other protoss sending him caring, concerned thoughts, bearing him to a place where starlight could fall upon him, giving him a lifeline while his body shuddered and hunched and his limbs flailed, sending him back into blessed unconsciousness for another brief respite.
He blinked awake, clear-headed and feeling wrung out. He was in a room with several others of the Forged. Some slept on, others moved about quietly. Many stood at the large window, their faces turned up toward the life-giving rays of the cosmos, regaining their strength after the ordeal.
On the sleeping pallet next to him, a figure stirred. Vartanil recognized him as Korlendir, and extended tentative thoughts to his friend.
"Korlendir, are you well?" He could have probed to find out for himself, but refrained, knowing that Korlendir, too, must have suffered greatly in breaking free of the Sundrop.
"Drained. Exhausted. Empty."
Vartanil nodded. He felt the same way. "But that will pass, and we will be free of Ulrezaj's deception. The Sundrop has left our bodies, and now we can again meet in the Khala."
"...yes. This is true."
Vartanil looked about. "I see only former Tal'darim here. Where are those who aided us?"
"Gone, no doubt, to sit in the Khala and purge themselves of the taint of having touched our minds."
The thought was laced with so much bitterness that Vartanil recoiled. "I am certain that is not the case."
Korlendir turned to look at him. "Truly? I am not. What I said to those whose minds touched mine was harsh and angry and terrified. I would have felt sullied were it my mind that had been exposed to such filthy thoughts."
"Perhaps. But the Khala teaches us compassion above all else. Those who sat with us gave us a link to what it is to be protoss.... They did so out of caring."
Korlendir had no answer to that. At that moment, the door opened. Several protoss entered, bearing clean robes. One of them Vartanil recognized as Rishagar, who had sat with him a long time. The protoss, smaller than most and almost painfully slender, drifted toward him, warm affection rolling off her.
"You wake, friend Vartanil. And your mind is as clear as the waters of the Shusha
ri pools. I am so very pleased."
She placed the clothing on the bed, and he rose and bowed to her. Rishagar extended her hands, palms up, and Vartanil imitated her. Energy formed and glowed softly in the space between their nearly-touching hands.
He met her in the Khala, and the beauty and wonder of the union caught him by surprise. It had been so long, and he had grown used to his isolation, though he had never learned to not miss the connection, the ache for it.
Sore trials you have had, my brother, and it was more than words, more than thoughts, he felt this mental communication. But you have survived. You have come home.
Vartanil could not hide the slight reluctance he felt at the words, and Rishagar's puzzlement floated around him. Scorning words, he held in his mind's eye and his heart encountering Jacob Jefferson Ramsey, and Zamara, and Rosemary Dahl. He showed her the desiccated corpses of what had once been worshipful Xava'kai, the whirling dark raging monster that had descended upon the fleeing preserver and her host. She had sat with him and comforted him mentally as his body rid itself of Sundrop, but now she felt the craving, the terror of the inexplicable separation from the Khala, the joy at the reunion at this deep level.
Gently they drew apart, warmth filling both of them. "So it is true, what the terran female has said."
"It is true. Zamara must be found and saved—as must Jacob Ramsey. He is a friend to the protoss. We have had so many casualties; it would grieve me if he were to be another one."
Rishagar nodded. "Executor Selendis will want to speak with you. And with you, Korlendir," she added, drawing the other protoss into the conversation. "Once she has met with you all, you are free to leave."
"And go where?" Korlendir was angry. "This is not our home. Our home lies in smoking ruins, crawling with zerg. And we sit here doing nothing about it."
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