“Great. Diplomacy. I’m not good at it.”
“They will know that too. There are those who will be ready to take your side and those who will be ready to oppose you. We are…not quite yet the united people Adun and Tassadar had hoped we would become.” The executor’s thoughts were laced with just the barest hint of pain and regret, quickly covered. “But even the dark templar respect preservers. You have an advantage in that the truth of what you say can be verified. Engage them, do not alienate them, and I am hopeful of the outcome.”
Engage, but don’t alienate. Rosemary made a wry face. Much, much easier said—or in this case thought—than done. She settled back in the overlarge chair, still facing the window but no longer seeing the images that passed below her.
She’d been before the Heir Apparent to the Terran Dominion and stood her ground. She’d killed—or at least thought she’d killed—a man she’d loved in cold blood. She’d lobbed grenades at zerg, piloted a ship under attack, and done any number of other things that required nerves of paristeel.
Why, then, did anticipating this audience make her stomach knot?
She realized it was because before, the only thing that had been at stake was herself. Her life, her fortunes, her feelings. But this time, more—much more—than that rested on how she’d impress this High Muckety-Muck Hierarchy. This time, maybe the whole universe rested on her shoulders.
And even more than that…Jake’s life rested on that.
“Fighting zerg was easier,” she muttered.
CHAPTER 13
ROSEMARY PACED IN THE ANTECHAMBER OF what Selendis had told her was the dark templar’s citadel. It had been fascinating to watch the ship maneuver in for a landing—the entire citadel was erected atop a gigantic hovering disk. She’d been shunted off to this room, and had been told to wait. And wait.
Vartanil watched her in sympathetic silence. “Protoss protocol moves at a glacial pace,” she muttered.
“I must agree with you, Rosemary,” Vartanil said. “I have spent the last four years on Aiur, where sometimes a fraction of a second meant life or death. There was no option for hesitancy or slow deliberation. Not even among the Tal’darim, where we were somewhat safer than our brethren on the surface.” He added, “Safer, of course, being a relative term. We did not need to fear the zerg, only our own Xava’tor.”
She nodded absently, wondering if she’d made the right decision in coming in her worn, stained leather outfit rather than the graceful protoss clothing. She shook her head at herself, her silky, gleaming black hair flying with the gesture. It wasn’t like her to second-guess her decisions. This whole situation had put her off her stride. It was time to pull herself together. Too much was at stake for her to walk into that hall rattled and fretting about clothing choices.
“Rosemary Dahl, they will see you now.” The mental voice belonged to one of Selendis’s templar who had accompanied her in the ship. Rosemary turned and nodded. She took a deep breath and forced composure on herself as she had so many times in the past.
“Let’s do this thing.”
The templar turned to the Furinax. “Vartanil, you also are requested to appear.”
“I?” Vartanil’s hands fluttered in agitation. “But…I am no one important! Why do they want to see me?”
“Because you know firsthand what Ulrezaj did to those who followed him. And because you have chosen to support Rosemary. Your experience is important in their decision.”
Vartanil turned lambent eyes to Rosemary. For her mind alone, he sent, “It is my greatest hope that nothing I bring to this meeting jeopardizes your chances of recovering Professor Ramsey.”
“I know,” Rosemary said. She couldn’t hide her own worry, and unfortunately that did nothing but add to Vartanil’s agitation. “But hey, you could be a great help too. Let’s just go find out, okay?”
Vartanil nodded. The templar beckoned, and Rosemary and the former Tal’darim followed him.
They strode down a long corridor that was wide and yet somehow confining. Little décor was on the walls here; this was a purely functional route, merely an entrance to the chambers. Wide but oddly cramped feeling, the design of the corridor was a security measure, she realized. Petitioners or perhaps even honored guests would be monitored every step of the way.
When they emerged, Rosemary blinked at the sight that met her eyes.
She had seen displays of wealth and power before, and she was not one to be easily intimidated by such things. Ethan’s compound had dripped wealth on lavish display, and Valerian’s private study, while more tasteful and understated, was filled with items that were actually even more valuable than anything Ethan possessed.
But this…
The door, deceptively modest and undecorated on this side, opened onto something straight out of a dream. The dark templar obviously fostered craftsmen every bit as talented as the khalai. She couldn’t take a guess at how old this building was, nor how long it had taken to erect, but it was magnificent. Where the corridor had felt narrow, this room was cavernous. Soft black carpeting rendered her footfalls silent as she moved forward, not breaking stride despite the shock of the place’s grandeur.
The enormous room, large enough to be a building on its own, was circular. Above arched a dome made of faceted crystals. Unlike most of the crystals Rosemary had seen so far, these were not opaque and radiant but translucent, to let in as much natural light as possible. More illumination was provided by the more familiar crystals, scattered throughout the hall on intricately crafted metal stands. Alcoves ran the entirety of the circular hall, and in each one sat a protoss on a huge chair, surrounded by several attendants. Rosemary’s eyes darted around, finally coming to rest on a figure at the far end on a dais. Standing beside him was Selendis, who turned to Rosemary. Though she appeared tiny because the place was so damn big, Rosemary recognized her immediately; her armor was distinctive, and she was the only female present in any position of authority.
Selendis’s thoughts brushed hers. “They will not read your thoughts until you are formally introduced. Do not be afraid, Rosemary Dahl. All here are aware of the situation, and many are already sympathetic toward your goal.”
“And some aren’t.”
“Yes. But you knew that. The truth is your ally in this case. Present it calmly, and I have high hopes they will listen to you.”
Present it calmly. That was the trick, wasn’t it?
Selendis stepped lithely down from her position and strode to the center of the chamber. Her thoughts rang out as loudly and clearly as if she had shouted them.
“Templar, judicators, khalai, dark templar—thank you for assembling here today to acknowledge the petitioner. She has traveled far and endured much, and stands before you to respectfully ask you to pay heed to her requests. She is terran, and female, but beside her stands a protoss who has willingly chosen to stay with her, based entirely upon what he has endured. What they know, you will soon know. I believe their request to be a true and honorable one.”
Rosemary felt a tickle in her mind and turned toward the one who was sending it.
“Come forward, human. And you, Vartanil.” The mental voice was almost kind, and Rosemary obliged, striding forward and looking up at the speaker. Vartanil followed.
The protoss’s seat was at once more beautiful and more humble than the others in this vast hall. Simply crafted, it did not drip with gems or crystals, nor were there elaborate swirls in its design. And yet it was exquisite, clean, its plain lines eloquent and harmonious. On each side stood a protoss standard-bearer, and swathes of purple covered the walls of the alcove. For such a formal place, this protoss was simply, almost staidly clad in a few pieces of armor and something that looked like an apron. Like the throne, if one could use such a word to describe something so plain, it was very well crafted and well worn. The glowing eyes squinted and the protoss hunched his shoulders, using his body language to smile reassuringly at her.
“I am Tabrenus of the Furinax
lineage. I see one of my own stands with you. That speaks well of you.”
Rosemary felt Vartanil’s pride and humility at the words. Not sure what to do, she bowed respectfully. That seemed appropriate, for Tabrenus nodded and settled back.
“Cross the hall to Urun of the Auriga,” came Selendis’s thoughts in her mind. “Their ancestral tribal color is orange. Continue to alternate until you reach Artanis at the end. Remember…from this moment, all your thoughts are clear to us.”
The advice was welcome, and Rosemary shot back a quick thanks. She backed away a bit from Tabrenus, then turned and approached the leader of the Auriga.
His armor reminded her of Selendis’s, but it was more elaborate. Rosemary wondered at that—she’d thought Selendis the highest ranking military officer. Perhaps it was simple personal choice. An elaborate headpiece and large shoulders should have looked oversized and ridiculous, but this protoss had the physical frame and the presence to support it.
“You came from Aiur,” Urun stated bluntly. Rosemary nodded, unsure if she should speak.
“Only if asked a direct question,” Selendis whispered in her mind. Again, Rosemary was grateful.
“Our people fought well.” He nodded, satisfied. “I am not surprised. But you do not come here proposing to return and take back our world from the zerg…or Ulrezaj.”
The amount of loathing with which Urun infused the dark archon’s name was almost painful. Slowly, Rosemary shook her head. “No. That’s not my idea to suggest. I’m here to ask you to help Jake and Zamara.”
Urun’s discontent washed over her. This was an impatient one, eager to fight back and reclaim the honor of the protoss people. Only if she could persuade him that that cause would eventually be served by recovering Zamara would she sway him.
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and the gesture annoyed Rosemary. Urun’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Watch your thoughts,” Selendis reminded her.
“It’s damn hard to do when you’re not a telepath,” Rosemary shot back, but instead focused on what she’d come here to do. Following Selendis’s instructions, she crossed the hall again, to stand in front of Nahaan of the Ara. If Urun was ceremonial, almost ostentatious, this protoss tribal leader—it was the best word she could think of; she knew that the protoss had long ago adopted caste intead of tribal distinctions, but clearly the bloodlines and heritages were remembered and valued—was almost monkish. Although the color that adorned his alcove was red, his clothing was dark, almost somber, and a hood hid his eyes until he moved it back with a deliberate gesture to regard Rosemary thoughtfully.
“You and the problem you present have brought me back to Shakuras,” Nahaan informed her. She got a distinct impression of a dislike of Shakuras and all that it represented. “Rest assured, I will pay close attention to your plight.”
The words were not comforting. She’d known she was going to be under tight scrutiny, but Nahaan seemed particularly interested in how things would turn out. Rosemary bowed. Sweat was starting to gather at her hairline and armpits. She wished she could just get this over with.
Three down, three to go.
Zekrath certainly seemed like the kindest of the leaders, a slender protoss whose blue-gray skin seemed paler than most. His garb, bright yellow and orange, seemed even brighter against the white backdrop of his alcove and draped his body simply. He looked tranquil, calm, and Rosemary found her gaze drawn and held by several small crystals that whirled about Zekrath’s head, creating the illusion of a crown. Or a halo.
Even more than the others, Zekrath of the Shelak spoke less in words than in sensations. There was a feeling of pity for all Rosemary had undergone, and sympathy for her cause. Rosemary found herself smiling at Zekrath, thinking that maybe she’d found an ally. She bowed, just a little more deeply than she had to the others, and turned to face the next to last tribal leader.
His name and allegiance came into her head as she regarded him. He was Mohandar of the—no, she had been thinking “dark templar” but now was corrected; not the dark templar, they had taken a new name, Nerazim, for a new tribe that had arisen from the original group that had been exiled from Aiur.
If Zekrath had been bright colors and gleaming white, this being was shadows and darkness. His eyes glowed green in this light, visible even through a veil that obscured much of his face, and his features were more irregular and sharp. There were jutting protrusions on his brow and cheekbones that made him look almost lizardlike compared to the protoss she was familiar with. While both Zekrath and Mohandar were clearly old, they showed it quite differently. Zekrath had that timeless look that Rosemary had sometimes seen in elderly humans—an inner energy, a radiance, that belied any external signs of aging. She had no idea how old Mohandar was, but he bore every year in his face and his bearing. Even his clothing struck her as old; it was strangely tattered and ragged, and twined about his wizened form in a way that reminded her of mummies from ancient Earth.
Yet Mohandar was most definitely not enfeebled with age. The tribal color the Nerazim had adopted was a verdant green, which at first struck her as strange, but then as completely right. She felt her mind being probed and assessed, and then Mohandar withdrew without a single comment.
It rattled her.
“Rosemary Dahl.” The mental voice was young and perhaps had once been enthusiastic, but now seemed tempered. She turned toward Artanis, leader of the Akilae and now hierarch of all the protoss. He was clad in armor almost virtually identical to that which Selendis wore, and struck her as the quintessential protoss. Gold and blue draped his alcove, and his dais was slightly higher than the others. His eyes were a calm sky-blue in the light. “It has been some time since the protoss encountered your people. You are only the third terran to visit Shakuras.”
Thrown into a comfy prison and forced to wait—some welcome. Rosemary winced; she couldn’t stop the thought, and she felt their displeasure rumbling around her. Artanis held up a hand.
“I understand Executor Selendis has informed you of the last time we encountered a terran female,” he said mildly.
“Yeah,” Rosemary said. Her voice echoed with startling clarity in the hall; for a people who didn’t speak, they constructed their buildings with fantastic acoustics. “I know about Kerrigan. May I respectfully remind the hierarch, however, that the first time humans encountered the protoss, you guys incinerated one of our worlds without so much as a by-your-leave, and yet my friend may die trying to help you.”
More rumblings, but some admiration was laced in with it. To her surprise, Rosemary felt humor coming from Mohandar. “The female has a point.”
“Selendis has informed us all of what she has obtained with speaking to you and those who accompanied you.” Artanis was striving to keep the meeting on track. “Yet we would know this directly from you.”
Rosemary swallowed hard. So many thoughts crowded her mind at once. Where to begin? Images came—the cave where she and Jake had found Zamara, her betrayal of the archaeologist, his horror at having been used to turn a madman loose on his friends, the stories of Temlaa and Vetraas and Khas and Adun, the Sundrop—oh, God, the Sundrop—the whirling radiant darkness—what an oxymoron that was—that was Ulrezaj, the sudden and unexpected pain in her chest when Jake said he was dying, the living carpet of zerg that just came on and on and on, Ethan’s betrayal and resurrection as a tool of this Kerrigan who—
She opened her mouth to speak, to try to begin the linear, calm telling of the tale, when Selendis touched her mind: “Well done, Rosemary.”
Well done? She hadn’t even started—
“Thoughts are richer and swifter than words. And your thoughts are vibrant,” Selendis replied. “You were more eloquent than I—or many others—expected.”
“Well, I guess that’s good,” Rosemary replied.
Artanis leaned forward a little, his bright eyes on Rosemary. “A preserver is precious to us,” he said. “All of us. Even the dark templar can appreciate th
e knowledge she houses. We are a people still reeling from what transpired four years past. A preserver in our midst now could only be a boon.”
“Wait—don’t you have preservers here?” Rosemary blurted.
“They were ever rare,” said Urun. Rosemary turned to look at the martial leader of the Auriga. “When the zerg overran our world, much was lost. Millions of protoss died. Doubtless, among them were preservers. Some may have been killed when the Conclave was destroyed. Others are likely scattered. Do you think that every protoss in the universe is gathered here on Shakuras now, Rosemary Dahl?”
She realized she had been thinking precisely that. “So you don’t know where the other preservers are?”
Artanis shook his head sadly. “Always, there was at least one with the Conclave. To have one by my side now would be invaluable.”
“Zamara died fleeing Ulrezaj’s assassins,” Rosemary said heatedly. “That her essence is even around at all is sheer good luck and entirely due to Jake. She said she was one of the last. What if Ulrezaj got to all the others?”
She paused, and looked around the vast chamber.
“Good God, people—What if she’s the last one?”
CHAPTER 14
THE HORROR THAT RIPPLED THROUGH THE crowd was most satisfactory to Rosemary. Maybe at last she’d gotten their attention.
“Do not grow insolent, human,” Selendis warned.
“Listen,” Rosemary said, forging forward, “I know you all don’t want zerg here, or Ulrezaj, or anyone else who might cause harm to the protoss. I fought the zerg myself. I know what they are. I saw what they did to your world. But you have to find Zamara. She knows too much that can help you right now for you not to. And—I would ask you—to help Jake. It’s because of him that Zamara’s survived this long. He’s earned your help.”
Some of them were leaning toward her side, though for their own reasons. Urun—he was burning to take the fight to Aiur, just as Rosemary knew Selendis was. Artanis struck her as someone who could appreciate the power of ancient knowledge, as well as such an important link with the past. Too, he had met this Jim Raynor, and she sensed from him a liking toward her people. Tabrenus seemed almost disinterested; he represented a group of artisans and craftsmen, not politicians. Zekrath of the Shelak was utterly inscrutable to her, and there was something about the Ara and their leader that chilled her on some level she couldn’t quite articulate.
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