He peered at her, then nodded, smiling a little. “And that’s why you’re one of mine. If work’s what you need, then get back to it. You don’t get paid to loaf around.”
She hesitated, recalling the last—no, don’t put it that way, Annabelle—the most recent conversation with Travis. She felt a sudden clarity. Travis would do it. He wouldn’t be navigator of the Dominion flagship if he weren’t the best. With newfound confidence she said to Rory, “Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about. If things are quiet enough so that you’re shooing me off to go get a drink, maybe you’d let me try this instead.”
“Go on, kid. I’m all ears.”
* * *
Valerian displayed none of the concern he felt about the journey. The crew was worried enough; they needed to see him behave as his usual calm, almost blasé, self.
“Your man is going very slowly,” Narud said.
Valerian looked at him. “This ship has been damaged enough as it is. I don’t want to have another hole in it.”
“Every minute that we delay is a minute that I am not treating Sarah Kerrigan,” Narud said. He sighed in annoyance. “I wish you would let me see her.”
“With all due respect, Dr. Narud, you won’t be able to make a thorough diagnosis with the equipment on board. You can do amazing things, but every artist needs a palette. Let Jim talk to her.”
“You seem to be romanticizing that outlaw.”
“On the contrary,” Valerian said. “Any false ideas I might have had about Raynor or his people have quite fallen away.” He didn’t add that they had been replaced with something more important—an accurate, informed opinion of the man. And the more that Valerian learned about Raynor and his Raiders, the more he knew his decision to challenge his father had been the right one.
Slowly Rawlins steered the great ship through the looming threats. Now and then there was a faint shudder and sometimes a scraping sound as he went a bit too close to a chunk of rock, but Valerian could hardly blame him for that.
“Coming up on the coordinates for the station, sir,” Rawlins said after what felt like an eternity.
“About time,” said Narud.
“Well done, Mr. Rawlins,” said Valerian. “That was masterful.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Valerian and the Moebius Foundation he ran had agreed that the work they performed, and the main station at which they performed it, needed to remain the galaxy’s best-kept secret. It was to that end that Valerian had placed the station inside the so-called “impenetrable” Kirkegaard Belt. It was unlikely anyone would dare enter, and if they did, unless they knew the route, they wouldn’t get far.
And it was also to that end that Valerian had come up with the idea of not just building a station, but secreting it inside an asteroid. The site was thus doubly secret. Generally, once someone knew about it, they were taken there and didn’t leave. Only Narud and a few of his most trusted people ventured forth.
“Sir?” said Rawlins in a slightly puzzled voice. “According to the coordinates Dr. Narud gave us, it should be this asteroid, Number 3958. But I’m detecting no signs of any space station.”
Valerian and Narud exchanged a slightly amused glance. “Please ring the doorbell, Doctor,” Valerian invited.
Narud inclined his head and stepped up to the console. He opened up a channel. “This is Doctor Emil Narud. I am here with the Bucephalus and the Hyperion. Please prepare for docking and employ protocol response 221-C.”
And suddenly, like a hologram materializing, it was there. A schematic appeared on the screen beside Rawlins, and information began to run in a column to the side.
“That never stops being entertaining,” said Valerian. It was the third level of secrecy—cloaking, both to the senses and to technology. He punched a button. “Attention, crew of the Bucephalus and the Hyperion. Your faith in me and my navigator has been rewarded. I invite all of you to behold . . . Space Station Prometheus.”
* * *
“Do you want to see it?” Jim asked.
“No,” said Sarah, “but I bet you want me to.”
“Well, you gotta see it at some point.” Jim reached over for a small viewscreen and played around with it for a moment. “I gotta admit, I’m kinda curious as to what Valerian’s been sinking all his creds into that’s got him so—whoa.”
The last word was a soft breath, and Jim’s eyes widened. He was not much of a connoisseur of beauty, nor did he particularly indulge in luxuries. But as he turned the screen so that Sarah could see, even she had her breath taken away—in a good way.
Space Station Prometheus was, as had to be expected of Valerian, aesthetically exquisite. If ever a space station could be dubbed a “work of art,” it would have to be this. The materials that comprised it had to be the normal plascrete and neosteel that other, lesser constructs were made of, but somehow, the thing looked otherworldly.
“Xel’ Naga,” Sarah said, and Jim nodded. It was made by terrans, but the swirls, curves, hues, and lighting reminded him of the beautiful and mysterious artifacts that had brought Kerrigan back to him.
There were three main rings, two small and one larger at the center, protectively encircling an elongated sphere that looked like a silver-blue tear poised eternally waiting to fall. There was nothing hard-seeming or spiky—all was harmony and grace.
As they watched, a ramp began to extend from the main drop-shaped sphere. A translucent screen formed about it, creating a clear tunnel as atmosphere generators did their jobs.
A voice crackled from the monitor.
“Mr. Raynor? Miss Kerrigan? It’s time to depart. Space Station Prometheus has officially put out the welcome mat.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The transport bearing Raynor, Sarah, Valerian, Narud, Dr. Egon Stetmann, and a few other Raiders docked at the extended ramp. Jim had ordered them along for two reasons—one, he thought it prudent to have a couple of friends around, and two, the place looked amazing, and he thought some of the crew might enjoy seeing it. The pilot confirmed what Jim already had concluded—that there was an adequate, albeit temporary, artificial environment. They would be able to walk down the platform and directly into the space station as if they were strolling on a sidewalk back on Mar Sara.
Jim had wanted Sarah to be carried in on a stretcher, or at the very least a convalchair, but she had refused. “I go into this of my own will, or I don’t go—on my own two feet, or I don’t go,” she had said. Jim knew her well enough to recognize the I’m done negotiating with you tone in her voice. He was, to be honest, simply relieved she was willing to even set foot on the station at all.
Dr. Narud had approached her with a kindly mien, extending his hand. “Miss Kerrigan,” he said, “I am so pleased to see you.”
She hadn’t taken the hand, and Jim, supporting her with an arm under her elbow, felt her go rigid. “I wish I could say the same.”
“Dr. Narud is anxious to begin helping you, Sarah,” Valerian, the diplomat, had said smoothly. “I’m relieved you are finally at a facility where you can receive proper treatment.”
She had eyed him too, then taken a seat on the vessel and had said nothing more to Narud or Valerian. At one point, though, she leaned over and whispered in Jim’s ear.
“There’s something wrong with Narud. I’ve met him before.”
“Well, you weren’t exactly who you are now, darlin’, but you did meet him. I’m not surprised he feels familiar.”
She shook her head impatiently, groping for the words. “No, not that way. I don’t remember him specifically. Not ‘met’ as in . . . it’s hard to explain . . . . He feels familiar, but not as himself. Psionically.”
Jim nodded, but he was a bit worried. Sarah’s abilities were only recently starting to come back to her, and they were clearly not under complete control. She’d been through a terrible ordeal, her memory was spotty at best, and she was, rightly, suspicious.
Problem was, given her current state, Jim wasn
’t sure if she was being suspicious with reason or paranoid without. Nonetheless, he didn’t like Narud either, and needed no extra urging from Sarah to watch the man like a hawk.
It had been an awkward, but fortunately brief, flight. Now they stepped out onto the gleaming white platform. A soft sigh escaped Egon’s lips, the sort of sigh a man breathes when he’s fallen in love. “It’s . . . so beautiful already,” he said. A few meters away, the smooth surface of the teardrop station began to slowly iris open.
“There are, of course, some tests I’d like to run before we can even properly begin treatment,” said Narud.
Jim started to reply when the door opened completely, revealing the Prometheus Station welcoming party. Jim had expected to see a gurney and doctors.
He saw armed guards.
He thought two things simultaneously.
One: Sarah was right. And two: Why hadn’t he brought a weapon?
“What the fekk is this?” he snapped, whirling to protectively move Sarah behind him.
“If the lady would come quietly, we can begin the tests that—” Narud began.
“Like hell!” snapped Sarah, stepping out from behind Jim. She sure didn’t look weak or frail. Her color was up from her anger, and her body was temporarily fueled by it. “I will not submit to becoming a test subject for your lab!” She pointed over the edge of the platform. “I’ll dive right off this if your men try to lay a single hand on me. I swear it!”
“She’ll do it too,” Jim said.
“Jim,” began Valerian. “Please. You don’t treat patients without first determining exactly what is amiss with them.”
“Prince Valerian is quite right,” said Narud. “I think it would be best if—”
“Platform,” said Sarah. “Gravity.”
“I don’t give a damn what you think, Doc,” snapped Jim. “You heard the lady. What she needs right now is basic, decent human care and plain and simple medical aid. Not a damned thing more. We clear?”
There was a clattering sound as the guards, in perfect unison, raised their clean and shiny weapons and took aim at Raynor. There was an answering clatter as the Raiders did the same thing.
Jim couldn’t suppress a grin. He found himself oddly at peace with whatever was about to go down. The tension stretched out for a long moment.
“I,” said Narud, “am a poor host, I’m afraid. I instructed the guards to utilize protocol 221-C. This is standard procedure when admitting newcomers.”
“Damn stupid way to say hello,” said Raynor.
“Most of our visitors are not outlaws and understand the necessity for precaution. Nonetheless,” he said, and waved to the captain of the guards to lower the weapons, “I do apologize. I am sure you will appreciate the . . . uncertainty of the situation in which we find ourselves and the fact that I care greatly about the safety of people entrusted to my care. A sentiment I am certain you understand, Mr. Raynor.”
“Yeah,” said Jim. “You gonna stand there jawing all day or are you going to take her to sick bay?”
Narud gestured. A second group emerged, a man and a woman clad in white pushing a gurney. “That’s better,” Jim said. He turned to Valerian and looked at him for a moment, then at his Raiders.
“I’m going to sick bay with Sarah. What’s going to happen to them?”
“They will have supervised access to the station,” Narud said.
“Supervised?”
“Jim, it’s a top-secret research facility. Dr. Stetmann,” he said, turning to a now-pale Egon, “would you like strangers tromping around in your lab without your presence?”
“Well—er—no,” stammered Stetmann, “but I confess”—and he laughed a little—“I’m champing at the bit to have a look at your lab, Dr. Narud.”
“I think that can be arranged,” said Narud, smiling. “Again, I do apologize. As I said—it’s standard operating procedure that was inappropriate in this case. I do hope you’ll forgive me. I’ve been so defensive against the outside for so long, it’s become a habit. There’s a dining area, a recreational area, a library—your people are free to explore those areas and more. With or without an escort—their choice. But for certain areas, I’d like one of my people to accompany them. Is this acceptable?”
Still holding Sarah’s elbow, Raynor felt her start to slump slightly. The adrenaline and outrage that had fueled her were ebbing, and he had no more desire than she did for her to look weak in front of these people.
“Okay. You know where to find us.” He turned to Cam Fraser. “You get treated in a way I wouldn’t like, I want to know about it.”
“You got it.”
The doctors reached out for Sarah, presumably to help her onto the gurney. Raynor placed himself between them, shook his head, and lifted her himself. Holding her hand, Raynor walked beside her down the long hallways to the sick bay. There was art on the walls, not quite as lavish as that which Valerian displayed, but lovely and tasteful nonetheless. The lighting was on the dim side but efficient, the carpeting thick and plush. There was soft music piped in from somewhere.
“So tell me, Dr. Narud,” Egon was saying animatedly, “I of course know that you’re an expert on the zerg. I am but a newcomer to that exciting field and I was wondering, what is your opinion on the prevailing theory that—”
Jim tuned out the science talk. His mind went back to another type of conversation altogether, in another corridor, years ago.
2500
Sarah was walking so fast that Raynor found he had difficulty keeping up with her as they strode down a corridor in the Hyperion. “Slow down there, hoss,” he said. “My legs are older than yours. And you can’t outrun something just because you don’t want to hear it.”
“I don’t want to hear it because it’s bullshit,” Kerrigan snapped.
“It ain’t,” Jim insisted. “Sarah, I’m telling you, we’re jumping from the frying pan into the fire here. I ain’t saying he’s going to do it, but you have to open your eyes. Arcturus Mengsk has the potential to be every bit as terrible as the Confederacy. The man is out for himself. He’s trying to overthrow the government not because he feels it’s the morally right thing to do, but so that he can step into power when everything starts falling apart. Don’t you see?”
She stopped and, biting her lower lip, turned to him. “I see that he’s not what I once thought he was. But I also believe he’s the best chance we—that anyone—has of overthrowing the Confederacy. He’s done some ruthless things. I know that. But I can’t believe you think that he’s as evil as the Confederacy, after all the things they’ve done. Think about the Ghost Academy, Jim. The place that murdered your son. Think about the cans made of toxic material that slowly killed your mother. The Confederacy did that, not Mengsk!”
He put a hand on her shoulder to halt her. She jerked away, green eyes blazing, but didn’t keep moving forward.
“Darlin’, listen to me. You know that Mengsk will do whatever it takes to achieve his goal. You know that.”
She nodded. “I know. His goal is to overthrow the Confederacy and its corruption.”
“His goal is to create a power vacuum. Then he’ll step up as the savior.”
“Lesser of two evils, Jim. Much lesser.”
Jim ran his hand through his hair, exasperated. “Okay. I will agree that he liberated you from a horrible life. I agree that he busted me out of prison. Why do you think he did those things, Sarah? He did it because we would be useful to him. He counted on us being so grateful that we would turn a blind eye to everything else he was doing. He’s used you, honey. And me. Sons of Korhal, the Confederacy of Man—two sides of the same ugly coin. I’ve watched him, Sarah. I’ve watched his reaction to gaining power, and it ain’t pretty.”
She softened, letting the anger go. “If Mengsk is driven, it’s because he has a vision of a better universe for everyone. And yes, ‘everyone’ includes Arcturus Mengsk. And unlike other people, he actually has the ability to make it happen.” She lifted a hand to s
troke his face. Swiftly he covered her hand with his own.
“It’s just . . . you mean a lot to me, Sarah. I know things have happened fast, but it’s true. And I couldn’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to you.”
Slowly, she removed her hand. “I know,” she said quietly. “But I can’t just sit on the sidelines. I have to put myself at risk, just as you do.” Sarah looked down, a stray lock of red hair falling over her eyes. “I can’t help but think that maybe we shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
“Don’t say that,” he said. “Don’t ever say that.”
2504
But the words had been spoken and could never be unsaid. And there had been many times over the last few years that Jim had wondered the same thing. He wasn’t wondering it now. He hadn’t been able to stop Arcturus from the despicable act of betrayal that bastard had performed on a woman who had chosen to stand by him, even when her faith was shaken. But he sure as hell had been able to do something about it. That Kerrigan was alive and seemingly human and holding his hand as he walked beside her was due to him. And he was humbly grateful that Fate—and, yes, Valerian Mengsk—had put him in a position to help her.
They turned a corner and stopped in front of a large door with an elaborate pad. The doctors all stepped in front of it and had their fingerprints and retinas scanned, spoke proper codes, and the door, like the entrance to the station, irised open.
Jim whistled, soft and low. The area was a paean to technology all on its own. It all looked so new and glittery, and he couldn’t even guess at the applications for half of the tools. Even so, it lacked the forbidding coldness of much technology. If it was not the worn, well-known handles, buttons, and knobs of the Hyperion, it was at least approachable.
The bed on which he gently placed Sarah had a blinking console on one side and a chair on the other. Above the bed was a monitor that was currently dark. Two nurses manifested seemingly from nowhere, moving quickly and quietly to enter data on the console and begin hooking Sarah up to the monitor overhead.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” he said, and one nurse gave him such a genuinely pleasant smile that he mitigated the harshness of his voice partway through the sentence.
Flashpoint Page 18