Twilight tdts-3

by Кристи Голдэн

  "I have asked for an audience," Selendis continued. "I have hopes they will grant it." "Can I get out of here?"

  "They would prefer that you remain here, as our guest, until such time as you are given an audience." "I'm a prisoner, not a guest."

  "If you choose to view it as such, that is your prerogative."

  And Rosemary had thought that Zamara was maddening. This implacable protoss, with her proud bearing, unblinking gaze, and graceful armor, seemed to her even more frustrating.

  "Do you not get what is going on here? While you observe the protocols, Jake could be dying—could be dead! And Zamara and her precious secret right along with him. I don't get this. Do you simply not care? Is this what has happened to the protoss? Have you all devolved into a bunch of damned bureaucrats?"

  "Rosemary!" Vartanil said, for her mind only. "She is the executor! You should not show such disrespect!"

  "She and the others shouldn't show such disrespect to Zamara and Jake," Rosemary thought back.

  For a long, tense moment, Selendis did not answer. She stayed silent, unmoving, her thoughts shielded from Rosemary. After a few moments, Rosemary shifted her weight. Was the executor ever going to say something?

  "Four years ago, my world was beautiful, verdant, and safe. Tassadar was the executor of the templar, and I was his liaison with Artanis. We had order, harmony, a system that supported everyone and placed each where his or her talents, skills, and temperament best served the whole. The dark templar were little more to us than a part of our past, a cancer that we had vigorously cut out in order to protect everything it meant to be protoss. Our culture thrived. We were happy, and we were ignorant.

  "Now my world is broken. What Aiur once was, what it stood for, is no more. Zerg wander its wounded surface. A darkness almost unimaginable has taken root in the sacred caverns that were created by the xel'naga. It has harmed my people, subjected them to the chains of addiction, and warped and twisted their minds. Where it failed to do so, it has slain them.

  "I stand no longer in a verdant jungle world, with sun and moonlight on my skin, content in my naivete. I stand now with all I know in turmoil and in question, on a world of blue sand and eternal twilight, united with the dark templar I once believed with every fiber of my being to be evil and corrupt. It is because of their mercy that I and my fellow protoss are even alive. And yet they threaten a heritage that I once vowed to preserve. You have heard our battle cry, Rosemary Dahl: My life for Aiur. I was not permitted to give my life for Aiur. I came with Artanis, and I stand by him still, and I protect what it means to be protoss. But I am not sure what that looks like anymore. Too much rested on my decision for me to decide lightly. I have chosen to champion you, a terran female, to those who are now the leaders of my people. The choice of what to do next rests in their hands. I cannot do more for you at this juncture."

  Rosemary blinked. Anger flickered and died—a reaction born of a thousand moments before this, when she had been thwarted in one way or another from getting what she wanted. Selendis's words... shamed her. She had no right to be angry at the executor. Selendis was on her side. It was foolish—hell, it was wrong, Jake would be the first to say that—to lash out at someone who was trying to help.

  "I'm sorry," Rosemary said. "I'm worried for my friend."

  Selendis inclined her head. "I will continue to push for an audience soon. I am Artanis's protegee; I believe he will listen to me. Do not lose heart, Rosemary."

  Selendis nodded to Vartanil, who bowed deeply, then turned and left. Rosemary gazed after her.

  Do not lose heart.

  An odd thing to say to someone who had frequently been accused of not having one.

  Hang on, Jake. We 're doing the best we can here.

  Jake was still reeling the following morning. They'd made camp in a meadow next to a copse of trees by a small stream. Zamara was uncharacteristically silent when he asked her what they should do next, so he'd headed off on his own to forage. He'd found a tree that yielded a strange fruit that was at once utterly peculiar and quite satisfying. White, breadlike flesh was covered with small green scales that one could peel off. Jake sat in the pink-hued sunshine, scales the size of his thumbnail falling into his lap as he "shelled" the fruit, then took a bite of the creamy flesh.

  We will return to Zeratul once you have eaten and cleansed yourself.

  Jake almost choked. What? He made it quite clear that he didn't want the company of either of us.

  Indeed. But nevertheless, we shall return until he orders us away again. And then return the next day, and the day after that, until such time as he will listen to what I say.

  Jake took another bite of the creamy-bready-strange fruit. What if he snaps? He didn't strike me as someone who really had his act together.

  He will not "snap," as you phrase it. He is quite sane, Jacob. He is Just lost in the maze of his own despair and guilt. Over what exactly, he would not permit me to see. But I glimpsed enough. Zeratul would never harm a preserver. We simply must continue to approach him. We have come this far. I have endured so very much to get here—and you, perhaps even more, for this was not your battle.

  If this secret is as dire as you keep making it sound, then it is my battle. And—Jake hesitated. And even if it wasn't...I've come to respect and like your people. I'll do what I can to help.

  Jake knew protoss could weep, after a fashion, anyway. He just...never thought Zamara did. But at the rush of commingled emotions that swept over him—gratitude, surprise, regret, guilt, apprehension—he realized that if Zamara had still been in her living body, she would be hunching over, her skin mottling with grief. If he could have hugged her, he would.

  It is not self-pity, Jacob.

  I know that.

  But this information must be passed on. It must be preserved. And you must survive.

  In that order, he thought wryly, but he agreed with it. He trusted Zamara, even though that information had yet to be shared with him.

  It would have been so much easier had I not been killed. Well, yeah, I'd think so too.

  Jake finished the fruit, his hunger sated, and turned his face up to the rosy sun. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the quiet moment of warmth on his face, then sighed and said, "All right. Let's go try and talk to that dark templar."

  CHAPTER 10

  THEY FOUND HIM SITTING ON A HUGE BOULDER so close to the waterfall that spray had dampened his skin. Zeratul had shed the heavy, dark robes and pieces of armor Jake had seen him in earlier and now wore merely a simple dark cloth wrapped around his groin. He was still, as still as the Aiur protoss Jake had gotten to know so well and missed so very much. Sitting in the familiar crouching position, his hands resting on his long, bony legs, Zeratul seemed made of stone. And Jake thought he must be, to resist Zamara's words.

  Jake sat down beside the meditating protoss. Zeratul moved not a millimeter, though Jake knew that if he so desired, the dark templar prelate could spring into action and attack—and kill—the terran before Jake could blink. He let the preserver do the talking; she was the one who had known the guy, after all.

  "Zeratul. My old friend. Together we survived the destruction of Aiur. We both loved the noble Tassadar, who gave his life to defeat the zerg and keep his people alive. You offered the sanctuary of your world when all seemed lost for—"

  "I bid you silence, preserver."

  Jake actually flinched at the iciness with which the mental words were spoken.

  Wow, this guy is one coldhearted fish, isn't he?

  Less so than he appears. Armor is not worn solely on the body.

  Zamara returned her attention to Zeratul. He felt the longing to connect, the desperation in her thoughts as she continued talking.

  "I will not, I cannot, be silent. I have the memories of so much horror. And yet so much courage—that of Tassadar and Adun chief among them. I know that you are great of spirit. You have made errors. All living beings do, Zeratul. It is arrogance of the highest degree for you to think
that—"

  "Again you reprimand me with charges of arrogance when you know nothing of what I have done!" With a speed that startled Jake, although he knew he should have known better, Zeratul was on his feet. He was ready to attack if Zamara pushed him too far.

  "You will leave this place immediately! Leave me to my meditation and my pain. It is mine; it does not belong to you."

  "No. We shall not leave."

  Jake braced himself for the burst of outrage, the attack. Zeratul surprised him again by merely giving the protoss equivalent of a shrug.

  "Be that as you wish, then. I shall go," he said. He rose from the crouching position, taller than most protoss and more imposing than any Jake had ever seen in the flesh or through Zamara's memories, and strode purposefully toward his vessel. A moment later, he was gone.

  Well, that could have gone better. Indeed. We will try again tomorrow.

  And they did. And the day after that. Both times, Zeratul was implacable in his icy resistance to engaging in any sort of conversation. Finally, on the third day, Zamara said bluntly, "Are you not at all even curious as to how my essence ended up inside a terran body?"

  Zeratul's head turned toward them at that, his eyes glowing. Jake tensed. He knew, of course, the basics—that Zamara had been evading Ulrezaj's assassins, that she had left a note in her own blood and clues as to how someone might find her. But the details she had not shared with him. He was not sure he wanted them.

  "I...am curious," Zeratul admitted. The protoss had always struck Jake as catlike—not in how they looked in any way, but their grace, their power, and their overwhelming curiosity about first the world and then the universe around them. "I did not know that humans were capable of containing the essence of a preserver."

  "He is not," Zamara said bluntly. "The duty is killing him."

  Zeratul's eyes narrowed slightly, and as he regarded Jake, the archaeologist knew that this time, Zeratul was not seeing Zamara. He was looking at Jake.

  "Did you undertake this duty freely, human?"

  Jake shook his head uncomfortably. "No. But...I've learned to carry it freely."

  Zeratul nodded, reading all of Jake's thoughts, catching all the subtle nuances and emotions, some of them conflicting, that surrounded his carrying a preserver. "I understand. I confess, your species is full of surprises. I have met one much like you. James Raynor."

  Jake brightened. "Yeah! You said something about him before. You knew him?"

  "Yes. I did." Zeratul volunteered nothing more.

  "I know about him," Jake said. "He stood with the protoss on Aiur, helped Fenix to disable the warp gate. Zamara and Rosemary managed to get it working again. That's how we were able to come here."

  This was the way to break through Zeratul's stony shell— curiosity. The tidbits Jake and Zamara were tossing out were simply too intriguing for Zeratul not to want to learn more.

  "Shall I tell you, then, how it is that Jake and I share one body, but two spirits?"

  Zeratul turned back to the waterfall. For a moment, Jake thought he was going to dismiss them again. But the prelate said nothing for a moment.

  At last, he nodded. "Much I have learned in the Void. Much I have learned in the last four years. But this would be something I have not heard in all my long, long years. Tell me then, preserver, what skill you used to continue to preserve yourself and the memories you carry."

  Jake closed her glowing eyes and hung on desperately with her four-fingered hands. It was something she had never expected—an attack by her own people.. .or by beings from another race who had commandeered protoss vessels. She didn't know which; none of the ships had responded to hails. They had only come out of nowhere, encircled the carrier, and with no explanation, opened fire.

  The Xa’lor lurched and shuddered, evidence of the severity of the attack it was trying to withstand. Despite everything the skilled pilots could do, the valuable passenger was thrown to the metal plating of the ship. Before she could reach up to grasp the railing and pull herself to her feet, hands were there to assist her. She accepted the help with no arrogance, merely as something that was her due. She was a preserver, and she, more than anyone or anything else on this ship, had to be protected at all costs. Jake felt blood trickling from a cut on her head, right below the jeweled band that held back her nerve cords. She felt the concern of the crew wash over her in a warm wave, tinged with their own fears and the cold set of their determination.

  Executor Amur's mind brushed Jake's. "Zamara, I can only think that this inexplicable attack has something to do with the knowledge you harbor."

  Jake nodded, grieved but stoic; she agreed. It was the only possible explanation.

  "We are outnumbered by our own ships," he continued. "I doubt there will be an escape for us. But you must survive. What you carry must endure. You know where the escape pods are; go there."

  Jake felt the deep pain of sympathy wash through her as the words entered her mind. But she also knew that the executor was right. She, the individual named Zamara, was no more important than any other protoss aboard this vessel, but what she carried could not be permitted to die with her. It was ancient, it was secret, and it had to survive. It would be noble to die with her companions on this ship. It would be a good death—but she did not have that luxury. She would have to live.. .live long enough at the very least to transfer her precious burden to another. She had fled from similar encounters before; at least, she remembered doing so.

  Jake sent back an affirmative, laced with subtle nuances of care, concern, and grief. Then she fully realized what he had said.

  "Escape pods? Surely I would be safer in a shuttle."

  "The shuttles are much more heavily armored, that is true, but they are also larger and will attract more notice."

  "Yes...I understand. En taw Tassadar, Amur." The executor returned the blessing and war cry in one, then she felt his attention shift. It would soon be time.

  Jake hastened down the corridor, her gossamer-fine lavender and white robes that marked her revered status as preserver billowing around her. She had no armor, no weapons; she was not expected to have to defend herself. There was now and always had been a line a hundred deep of those who would die for what she carried. And soon, those aboard the Xa'lor would die. But she would be alone.

  I must stay alive! she thought fiercely as she reached the escapepod and eased herself into it. Her long fingers moved over the controls quickly and calmly, the absolute necessity of her survival overriding her instinctive urge to panic.

  Soon now...be ready, Amur thought to her.

  There was more, but it was not in words, but in images. Jake sensed the activity throughout the vessel. In other bays, the fighters would be soaring into space like golden, glowing insects, darting about quickly and powerfully. The Xa'lor itself, of course, was massively armored, but Jake had had no illusions that a single carrier would be the victor.

  Jake knew what the executor was going to do, knew that the timing of the desperate attempt was crucial. She let her gaze go soft, the better to focus her powerful brain, to open her thoughts. Amur was going to let the attackers destroy them, and Jake was to depart mere seconds before the ship exploded. There would be scattered debris littering the area, and the enemy—fellow protoss, the enemy? The thought was agony—would have their hands full for a few precious moments attempting to locate her.

  In those few seconds, with luck, Jake could make good her escape.

  She waited for the instant when she would depart, and it came. Now!

  Jake thought with a stab of pain that Amur's thoughts had never been so focused, so pure, in all the time she had known him.

  With a clarity and calmness that would have surprised her had she not been so secure in the serene confidence that what she was doing was necessary, Jake hit the controls. The little pod was propelled into space.

  The pod, small but as beautiful and graceful and golden as any other protoss vessel—the khalai were proud of their handiwork and ma
de everything aesthetically pleasing as well as highly functional —began moving swiftly forward. It had company; to cause further distraction, all of the escape pods had been launched.

  A few seconds later, Jake's mind cried out and her hands flew to cover her glowing eyes as she felt the deaths of her crewmates, her colleagues, her friends. Their pain made her dizzy and ill. So manylifetimes of memories bombarding her was almost too much to handle. She summoned her will and with an effort got her thoughts under control. She chose not to look at the devastation behind her. She did not need to see it to know.

  Her mind clearing, Jake determined where the other escape pods were. Even these were beautiful, small, one-to two-protoss versions of the scouts, keeping that vessel's speed and maneuverability but lacking its weaponry. Carefully, so that the action would not look directed, Jake guided her pod in with the others and kept her mind closely shuttered. Just one of many bright golden dots in space.

  Satisfied that she was not attracting undue attention, Jake called up a list of protoss vessels and the star charts of the area. She would need to either be rescued soon or find a world that had a warp gate. Her mission must not be delayed further.

  Fortunately, she was on a well-traveled route. And she knew that Executor Amur had sent out a distress call. If she did not "drift" overly far, and if she eluded detection, there was a good chance she would be found in a short period of time.

  If, if. Too many for her liking.

  She was not as lucky with nearby planets, in case aid did not come. There was one planet two hours away, if she maintained this speed. She could reach it sooner than that, if she accelerated, but that would negate the current plan of deception. But it was far from an ideal choice, as it lacked a survivable atmosphere. No, waiting here was the best—

  The little vessel suddenly rocked and Jake was almost thrown from her seat. It would seem she had not escaped detection after all. The crystal used for navigation was pulsing erratically, and a shrill, angry sound came from the console. Jake had no choice but to erect the shields full force—a sign that someone was alive in the escape pod.