"When we were exiled from Aiur," Mohandar said, "the Conclave initially resisted giving us any vessels at all other than the single xel'naga ship. Adun insisted that we have some, that we might be able to travel and explore any worlds we happened upon. Fortunately it seems as though our ancestors left a few here with us when the majority departed for other worlds."
"Yeah, fortunately," said Rosemary hesitantly. She took a step up to one and touched it, feeling the cool metal beneath her fingers. She peered inside. Yes, there was a crystal there, but it was dark.
"What do you think, Rosemary?" asked Vartanil, slipping up beside her and looking down at her hopefully. "You can repair it, can't you?"
"I'm not sure. Is there a protoss who can assist me on this?"
Vartanil ducked his head shyly. "I am a Furinax," he said. "I have not personally constructed any vessels, but I do understand the mechanisms of how such things work."
Rosemary smiled at him. He was not a warrior, like Selendis, nor a politician, like Mohandar, nor a priest, like Krythkal. Vartanil was a humble craftsman—a worker. And that was exactly what was needed now. She was very glad he was here. She again looked at the console, remembering how she had manipulated things when she had shared thoughts with Zamara. "Then get in the driver's seat andwe'll see if this thing has anyjuice left in it at all," Rosemary said.
He nodded, touching the metal cautiously with his four-fingered hand. It had done nothing when Rosemary had done so earlier, but now, under the hand of a protoss, the door lurched slightly, then with a series of jerks slid open. Rosemary and Vartanil exchanged triumphant glances. The young Furinax slipped inside and touched the crystal.
Nothing.
Rosemary mentally swore. "Try it again," she said. Vartanil hesitated, then obeyed. And this time, suddenly, the crystal came to life for a brief second. Purple illumination chased itself around the console and she felt—there was no other way to explain it—the ancient ship come to life for just a moment.
"Well done, Rosemary," came Selendis's mental voice.
Rosemary turned to Selendis, pleased that the executor had witnessed her triumph, confused as to why she was here. "I thought you were with Ethan's little friend?"
"I escorted it to the room, but it does not need to be watched. Ethan would not be foolish enough to permit the hydralisk to kill anyone. He has too much at stake."
Rosemary was forced to agree. Ethan ever looked out for himself.
"I think the crystal might need to be replaced," she continued, "but from what I know about how your ships function, everything else I can get up and running. I'm sure of it."
She let herself enjoy the sensations of pleasure wafting off the protoss for a moment, but then Selendis was all business again.
"This is very good news. We will soon have a second operative vessel. While it is true that Ethan has many zerg here under his command, their number is not infinite. If we can reach Shakuras in time, we can bring in reinforcements, and they will certainly fall beneath a protoss assault."
That much was inarguably true. Also true was the fact that in order to get to the warp gate, whoever took that ship would have to get past zerg piled six thick all around the Alys'aril, both on the ground and in the air. Which was pretty much suicide.
"I will take the vessel we arrived in and—"
"No." Razturul's interruption was blunt, almost rude. "I will go, Executor. I am a skilled pilot, and you are needed here."
"I am a trained warrior," Selendis protested. "It is my duty—"
"Let us not pretend that this attempt to gather reinforcements is likely to succeed," said Razturul evenly. "You are more necessary to the survival of our people than I, Executor. Too... the Alys'aril is a sacred site to the dark templar. Long have we revered and striven to keep it safe and secret. I would ask for the honor of attempting to defend it at what may be its final hour."
Rosemary peered at Razturul. She hadn't been overly fond of the dark templar. He'd been brusque and treated her roughly when she and the other Aiur protoss had stumbled through the warp gate. She hadn't been pleased to learn that he was to accompany them. And yet now he was insisting on undertaking a mission that made the word "risky" seem like a walk in the park.
"Razturul is right," said Mohandar. "You are a strategist, Selendis. He is a dark templar warrior. Let him undertake this mission."
Still Selendis hesitated. "The human and Vartanil can repair this ship," Razturul continued. "Use it to take the crystals and flee once the ritual is complete. I will go and do my utmost to bring reinforcements." His eyes half closed and he tilted his head to the side, laughing a little. "Besides, who knows? I might elude them after all, and bring honor to my people by saving you, Executor."
"Who knows indeed," Selendis said, and with those words, Rosemary knew the executor had given her consent. What Razturul said was possible, sure.
But not likely.
She knelt and unpacked the small kit she'd brought with her, reaching for the tools, and looked up at Vartanil. She'd had enough of protoss farewells, and did not want to watch as Razturul made his. Vartanil nodded his understanding, and Rosemary turned her attention to the dusty relic of a vessel, preferring to focus on a centuries-old machine than a being who would be dead inside of an hour.
"We might all be dead inside of an hour," Vartanil reminded her.
"Shut up and touch the crystal again," Rosemary growled. It didn't make her feel better that everyone present saw through her facade of indifference as she started to work.
CHAPTER 20
ROSEMARY GOT THE NEWS THE MOMENT IT happened.
She had been lying beneath the ancient vessel, her hands and face and leather clothes luminescent with crystal dust instead of greasy with oil, when Razturul sent his farewell.
For a split second, she saw what he did: the sea of zerg roiling beneath him, the cloud of them descending from the air and all sides. The ground was rushing up to meet her: The ship was falling out of the sky. And then nothing.
She also knew, although she had not seen it, that Razturul had been mere minutes from making it to the portal. He had led them on a good chase, had the dark templar. And he'd almost made it.
"Rosemary?" The thought was from Vartanil, and she saw him now through blurred vision as he bent and peered underneath the ship. His concern wafted over her, comforting her, and she dragged a hand over her face quickly.
"Got some of this damn dust in my eyes," she said, although of course she knew he knew it was a lie. "Get back in the cockpit and let's keep going."
Damn the protoss anyway, and damn herself for giving a rat's ass about them. And about Jake for that matter. What the hell was she doing here when—
The light was unexpected and elicited a sudden whoop of delight from her. The ship purred, a pleasant sound, as it awakened like a cat from a nap in a sunny window. Excitement and pride emanated from Vartanil as he gleefully sent to Selendis, "Rosemary has done it! The vessel is operational!"
"That is excellent news," came the executor's response. "And I am told that the ritual is about to finish. They are cautiously optimistic, although—"
The cool words were suddenly drowned by a rush of emotion, quickly quelled. Rosemary's heart lurched as a single word came to her: "Ulrezaj."
He was here. Somehow, damn him, the thing had found them. Information inserted itself into Rosemary's mind: He was here, he had again grown strong and powerful, and he was heading directly for the Alys'aril. Rosemary didn't need to be telepathic to know what that meant. Ethan, at least, seemed to want Zamara alive—at least asalive as someone could be when their essence had been transferred to a khaydarin crystal. And he was cruel enough to leave the alysaar and all the others, including and likely especially her, alive to dwell on their failure once his hydralisk had gotten the prize.
Ulrezaj, though, had nothing to hinder him. He had come to destroy Zamara and likely everything and everyone else along with her.
Ethan couldn't believe what he was
seeing. A frantic flicker crossed his mind: The thing's unstoppable. But that was nonsense. Nothing was unstoppable. He'd seen with his own augmented eyes that Ulrezaj could be wounded. Hell, his zerg had been part of it.
Kerrigan had predicted that the dark archon would lead Ethan to Zamara, and of course his adored queen had been correct. What she had not predicted was that this place would also enable the nearly-destroyed Ulrezaj to recover so fully. And so quickly.
It was as if the battle on Aiur had never happened. Ulrezaj moved toward them, a roiling absence of light, as if the combined forces of protoss, terrans, and zerg had not come close to dispatching him. It was deja vu.. .except for one thing. This time there would be no protoss psionic storms to slow his approach. Dark lightning sizzled and crackled about him as he came on.
Quickly Ethan looked through the eyes of his hydralisk. They had not permitted the zerg to enter the room, of course; but the creature was observing through an open door. Two protoss stood on either side of the door. They were unarmed; these were scholars, not fighters, but they were guards nonetheless. Briefly, he considered sending a second zerg to find out what Rosemary was up to, but then decided against it. If they tricked him, he could find her quickly enough.
Ethan could see the prone form of Jake Ramsey, lying very still on a small raised table carved from black stone. The old protoss and two assistants stood over the terran. Their hands were extended; one hand almost touching Jake's body, the other palm out toward a crystal that hovered in the air. Glowing blue lines went from their palms to the crystal. The ritual was still going on—which meant that Ethan needed to slow Ulrezaj down long enough for them to finish.
Ethan sent his zerg of course, and they obeyed like a pack of hounds on the hunt, scurrying, slithering, and flying toward the creature. The mutalisks attacked from above, spitting out their insatiable, horrific symbiotes. Ulrezaj's form pulsed, and with seeming casualness a wave of shadow spread off of him, like a pool of oil but one that moved unnaturally fast. The mutalisks were struck dead instantly, their corpses and those of the voracious symbiotes falling heavily atop their comrades, crushing several of them. Ethan caught glimpses of zergling legs wriggling frantically from beneath
the mutalisk bodies. Others dropped on Ulrezaj and were turned to ash on contact.
The hydralisks hunched forward and fired wave after wave of spines at the creature. The spines, deadly when striking flesh, seemed somehow to be absorbed by the monstrous creature. Bolts of blue-white energy exploded from the dark archon, as if it was parodying the attack it had just received. The hydralisks were impaled with glowing energy, shrieked, and died, their scythe-arms —so like Ethan's own—clawing one final time in their dying paroxysms.
The zerglings descended en masse. They never even reached the foe. A single pulse and they swirled about futilely like leaves blown by a strong wind.
Ethan swallowed hard as the zerglings fell like so many dominos. Surely the attack had done something—weakened the bastard somewhat. But no. Nothing about Ulrezaj showed any kind of weakness—any kind of way an antagonist using physical means such as acid, spines, or pincers could bring him down.
Cold sweat broke out on Ethan's smooth, gray-green skin. He had failed his queen once before. He could not fail her a second time. He had hoped to save this final attack for later, but he realized he had to call out the guardians now. Crablike creatures that were even more powerful than the mutalisks they had once been, the guardians began bombarding Ulrezaj with globules of acid. Accompanying the huge creatures were dozens of tiny scourge. They dove suicidally toward Ulrezaj, their sole purpose to explode like small, living plasma bombs. This, finally, seemed to rattle the dark archon. He stopped and roared with pain, and his glowing dark aura seemed dimmer and more erratic. He turned his terrible attention to the guardians and the scourge. Some of them perished instantly, but others darted away from Ulrezaj, coming back in for another attack.
He was stopped, for the moment, and he would be slowed.
It was the best Ethan could hope for.
Which meant that he had to have another plan. A thought sent a pack of several dozen zerglings racing toward the protoss temple. The least useful of his army against Ulrezaj, they would have no trouble ripping apart a few protoss monks. Whether or not the ritual was completed, if Ulrezaj moved too close for Ethan's comfort, Professor Jacob Jefferson Ramsey and the crystal that hovered over him would belong to the zerg before the dark archon could bring the temple crashing down upon him.
The protoss were mobilizing, as best as a group of scholars could. Orders flew, whizzing past and through Rosemary's head at dizzying speed. She got a vague gist of the plan: Those who could stand against the onslaught would do so. A second time, they were in a peculiar alliance with Ethan and his zerg; neither zerg nor protoss wished to see Ulrezaj triumph.
"The protection of this place and its knowledge is vital," Selendis's thoughts, clear and hard and pure as a khaydarin crystal, rose above the jumble. "We must permit Krythkal to finish the ritual to preserve Zamara's knowledge. While it continues, as many crystals as possible will be placed in the vessel Rosemary Dahl has restored to us. We cannot possibly mount an assault with so few numbers and no weaponry. Ethan and the zerg are currently engaged in combat; we will let them weaken our enemy for us. They seem to be slowing his advance. Nonetheless, I do not believe they will be able to halt Ulrezaj, and therefore we must prepare for defense of the Alys'aril. But we will wait until the last possible moment; it will not serve us to reveal our plan too swiftly."
Rosemary remembered that someone had said something about erecting a psionic shield over the temple. It would buy them some time, but Selendis was right to save that defense, and even the knowledge that the protoss had such a defense, as the ace in the hole. Again, she approved of how Selendis's mind worked.
"But once we have begun to walk that path, we will protect the Alys'aril until our defenses are breached, and then, we will do our
best to provide sufficient distraction so that the single vessel can escape to safety."
More thoughts, input from the scholars, comments from Ataldis, things that Rosemary didn't understand and wouldn't, even if she lived among them for the rest of her life. How they would defend this place, make their last stand, wasn't her concern. Getting out of it with her hide, Jake's, and whatever information they could was.
She tried to hurry through the last few checks of the vessel, wishing she could skip them entirely, too professional a mechanic to do so. When a group of several very earnest-feeling alysaar approached carrying boxes of glittering, gleaming crystals, Rosemary, glittering and gleaming herself from the crystal dust on her leather outfit, rose and examined the cargo.
"This it?" She was surprised that they had selected the most important memory crystals already.
"Oh no," one of them replied. "This is just the first sorting. There will be many more."
Her blue eyes widened slightly as she asked, "Just how many?"
"A few dozen more at least. The vessel is large enough, is it not?"
"They're all in individual boxes," she said, frowning.
"Of course," one of them said, his confusion clear. "We analyze and label every single memory crystal. How else can we catalogue the data?"
"Great for librarians, not so great for smugglers," Rosemary said. "You'll be able to take more crystals if you just pile them in. Put them in every damned nook and cranny that isn't being taken up with a living, breathing—" She paused, realizing that the protoss didn't technically breathe and amended, ".. .uh.. .existing protoss. That's how you're going to get the largest number of crystals into the smallest amount of space."
The alysaar looked as though she'd suggested cutting protoss themselves into bits in order to make them fit. "But.. .centuries of sorting, of organization—you wish to discard that labor?"
"You want to take as many crystals as possible or not?"
The protoss still looked dazed. "I—"
"Look
," Rosemary said, taking pity on him, "leave them here for now, we're still running some last-minute checks. Talk to one of your superiors and tell him what I said. These are your crystals— your people's history, not mine. I don't give a damn if we take three, three thousand, or three million." Just as long as Jake and I get out of here safely. "I'll take them in boxes if that's what you guys really want. But I'd think that you'd want to save as many as possible, and sort them out later on some peaceful, out-of-the-way place once we're all off this moon and we don't have zerg and a dark archon demigod on our asses."
The alysaar exchanged glances; probably they were communicating among themselves. Then they nodded, put down the boxes, and hastened off.
"How are our friends the zerg doing on the front?" she asked Vartanil wryly, scooting back underneath the vessel.
"Not well," Vartanil admitted. "He moves through them as inexorably as shadow moves at twilight, slowly, steadily, and unable to be held at bay. He has paused, for the moment, but I do not think he will be thwarted for much longer. Ethan has sent several dozen zerglings away from the attack; they sit at the base of the stairs, silent and still."
"Damn it. He's going to storm the temple and get Jake!"
"But he knows that the ritual is still going on," Vartanil replied, puzzled.
"Yeah, but he knows as well as we do that if Ulrezaj gets here first, it won't matter if the ritual's done or not. I know how he thinks."
Rosemary felt a tremor beneath her body. More powdery crystal residue drifted, soft as snowfall, on her face. She didn't need to ask what had caused it.
Ulrezaj was approaching on the Alys'aril.
Just a little time. Time to finish this and get out of here with Jake. Jake, you had damn well better make it. That's all I've got to say.
The earth rumbled again, more strongly. This time Rosemary heard something in the ancient vessel rattle. Sweat dotted her forehead, turning the crystal powder into a paste. She couldn't take it any longer. Growling, she scooted out from under the vessel and leaped to her feet, absently dusting off the glowing crystal residue as she seized her rifle from where it was propped up against the wall and raced toward the door of this makeshift hangar.
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