Flashpoint

by Christie Golden

  “Of course,” she said. “We’re going to monitor all her brain and body activities and painlessly take blood and tissue samples. We’ll be giving her a topically based infusion of nutrients that will also hydrate her. And if you’re well enough, Miss Kerrigan, I’ve been told that you’ve been invited to join Dr. Narud for dinner.”

  “Let me see the chart,” he said. She handed a small device to him. He tapped the screen, looking through it, and saw nothing that contradicted anything the nurse had said.

  “Okay,” he said, and sat down beside Sarah. An awkward silence stretched as the nurse prepared Kerrigan. Then the woman leaned down and with the same genuine smile she had given Jim, said, “Miss Kerrigan, you should be fine for the next few hours. Please press this button if you need anything at all. In the meantime, I encourage you to relax.” Her smile widened. “Don’t tell Dr. Narud, but some of us have been known to crawl into these beds rather than our own to grab a little shut-eye—they’re particularly comfortable.”

  The smile faltered as Sarah didn’t smile in return, just nodded curtly. The nurse quietly stepped away.

  Jim covered Sarah’s hand with his own and cleared his voice. “Listen, Sarah. I—I . . . ”

  Her fingers on his lips stilled them. “Jim. Shhh. I know.”

  He kissed her fingers and gave her a crooked smile, changing the subject. “So . . . you said something back on the Bucephalus about Narud.” He kept his voice low.

  Sarah’s gaze unfocused for a moment, then alertness returned to her green eyes. “They’re not paying attention. We can talk, for now. And yes, I did. I’m feeling stronger, Jim. This station—it feels like the lab where they experimented on me. Back in the days of the Confederacy.”

  “Well,” Jim said cautiously, “it is a lab. You might be feeling that way no matter what lab you were in.”

  “I thought about that, believe me,” Sarah said. “But it’s not my imagination or my memory problems. There is a familiar psionic resonance coming from Narud. I don’t trust him. I simply do not.”

  “Me neither. The question is . . . what are we gonna do about it? You aren’t recovered, darlin’. You’re too smart not to know that.” He touched the tentacle strands that now served her for hair. She flinched, ever so slightly. “He’s the only chance we got to find out exactly what happened to you and how to bring you all the way back. For what it’s worth, Valerian has proven himself pretty trustworthy. Ain’t stumbled yet, and there’s been plenty of opportunity for it.”

  “You trusted his father too.”

  “At first, yeah,” Raynor said. “But so far Junior really does seem different, darlin’. How far that will go, though, and what it means, I don’t know.”

  And that was it, really. There was too much they didn’t know, too much they couldn’t be certain about. And so they stayed in silence, hands clasped, trusting in each other.

  Because they could be certain about that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When Jim and Sarah had gone, Narud turned to Valerian. “While she’s being properly attended to, I’d very much appreciate it if you could show me that lovely, lovely artifact.”

  “Oh yes!” enthused Egon. Valerian gave the young scientist an indulgent smile, ignoring the fact that it was he who had been addressed, not Egon. “We carried the collected pieces aboard the Hyperion,” Stetmann continued in his obliviousness, “but Prince Valerian has it on the Bucephalus for the moment.”

  “Actually, Dr. Stetmann,” said Narud, “Prince Valerian has arranged for you to have a private, albeit supervised, tour of one of our labs, if you’re interested.”

  Egon’s eyes looked as large as saucers. “I, uh—why, yes, of course, that would be wonderful!”

  Four more people were emerging from the station onto the platform, two men and two women. One of the women, tall, with jet-black hair, pale skin, and gray eyes, stepped up to Egon and extended a hand.

  “Dr. Stetmann? I’m Dr. Chantal de Vries. It’s my pleasure to show you around one of the laboratories.”

  Judging by Egon’s expression, thought Valerian, it was hard to tell if the young man was more pleased at the prospect of seeing the lab or accompanying the striking-looking woman. No doubt a happy combination of both.

  “Nice to meet you,” Stetmann said, managing not to stammer, though the tone of his voice climbed slightly higher as he shook her hand. “I’m very excited. About the lab. I mean, I’ve done my best to study the zerg with the facilities I have, but—”

  She smiled. “Come on. I’m going to show you things that’ll knock your socks off.”

  She didn’t quite slip her arm through his, but she didn’t have to. Egon followed her with a quick, happy pace that reminded Valerian of a puppy.

  Well, Valerian mused, at least one of Jim’s crew was going to enjoy the visit. He turned back to the others. Narud was already making introductions; the remaining three, Doctors Nancy Wyndham, Joseph Reynolds, and Adrian Scott, were shaking hands with the Raiders.

  “The doctors have instructions to take you anywhere you’d like,” said Narud, “with the exception of a few off-limits places. Please—enjoy yourselves. I . . . would like to make up for your less-than-friendly initial reception.”

  Valerian could feel the tensions abating, and was glad of it. So much mistrust—and as one who had grown up surrounded by the miasma of same, he both understood and regretted it. As they walked toward the entrance, Narud looked at Valerian and smiled. “One more thing—would you be willing to authorize some repair units aboard both your vessels?”

  It was not as strange an offer for a science station to make as it might seem. Arriving at Prometheus was a risky venture even for the most experienced pilots, and Valerian had made sure that only the best repair equipment and personnel were available if needed.

  “Of course,” he said. He clicked on his comm. “Matt, this is Valerian. I’d like to send some repair teams aboard the Hyperion. Any objections?”

  “You kidding?” came Matt’s voice. “At this point Swann is scrounging repair tape and chewing gum. Please, send as many people as you want.”

  “They’ll be returning shortly on the transport then. Valerian out.”

  He turned to Narud. “Now,” the doctor said, in a voice of barely contained excitement, “the artifact.”

  Valerian grinned. “Now the artifact,” he agreed.

  * * *

  The xel’naga artifact, the end result of years of searching and study, hovered almost complacently in the bay of the Bucephalus. The lab’s interior was of a hue that once was called “gunmetal blue,” the light soft and easy on the eyes. The artifact was a short black column, three-sided, with an almost magical azure light seeping from the edges where the pieces had been joined together. No one could look at it and be unmoved, not even the most cynical of the Raiders or the most firmly resoced of the marines. And certainly not a scientist who had devoted the last few years of his career to studying the zerg and the xel’naga.

  Below the gently moving alien construct was its sarcophagus-like transportation casing. Like the force field currently enveloping the device, the casing was made of a material that, everyone hoped, effectively contained any energies the artifact might passively emit.

  Valerian was proud of what he and the Foundation had achieved, and stood by, smiling gently, as Narud stared.

  “As I promised, it’s yours,” said Valerian. “I’m sure you’ll learn even more about it when you have the chance to study it yourself.”

  The door hummed open, and Raynor entered. He stepped inside, folding his strong arms across his broad chest, saying nothing.

  Narud ignored him. “So beautiful, for a weapon,” he said.

  “Weapon?” asked Jim. “So you know that’s what it’s for?”

  “The fact that it reversed the infestation that transformed Kerrigan into the Queen of Blades is obvious proof of that,” said Narud, condescension tingeing his voice. Four bolts emerged, whirring, from the top of the ca
sing that had borne the artifact—the weapon—to Char with such astonishing results. The casing top slid apart, then flipped open. The artifact rotated, slowly, gently, so that it was now parallel to the open box, and was just as slowly and gently lowered onto cradling metal arms inside.

  “To the xel’naga, who extensively modified both the protoss and the zerg, being able to destroy their DNA would naturally be a weapon,” continued Narud, his gaze fastened on the artifact as the casing closed over it. The gentle blue illumination vanished, and the lab suddenly looked grayer, more military. “That terrans found a way to employ it for a positive end result had nothing to do with the designer’s intent.”

  Jim grunted noncommittally. “Well, it’s all yours now,” he said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Narud smiled. “I appreciate that you have a great deal of emotion connected with this device,” he said. “Please be aware it is in the most respectful of hands. Thank you, Prince Valerian. I’m going to have this transported to the lab on Prometheus, and while I’m there, check up on your enthusiastic young scientist.”

  “Thank you again for allowing him access,” said Valerian.

  “He’s a good kid,” said Jim. “Smart and learns quick.”

  “Perhaps then there might be a position open on Prometheus for him, if you and he so desire,” said Narud. “And please—I’ll be having a dinner to welcome you on the station at 2000 hours. Prince Valerian, of course, I hope you, Mr. Raynor, and Sarah Kerrigan will attend.”

  “Nurse already invited us. I’ll see how Sarah feels at the time.”

  “Thank you. I still feel rather bad about your initial impression. That was entirely my fault, and I hope you’ll give me a chance to make a better one.”

  The door opened again, and two marines in full combat uniform entered. Before Jim could say anything, Valerian said, quickly but casually, “Thank you, gentlemen. There is the artifact. Please escort it safely.”

  Jim relaxed, subtly, and Valerian sighed inwardly. He couldn’t blame Jim for being suspicious, but the constant mistrust was growing rather tiresome. The marines approached, grasped the handles on the box, and departed, carrying the mammoth thing as if it weighed nothing at all.

  “See you at dinner, Prince Valerian. Mr. Raynor, I hope I will see you and Sarah as well.” He seemed to want to extend a hand, but, perhaps realizing it would be ignored, merely nodded to both of them and followed the marines.

  When the doors closed behind him, Jim said, “Why do I dislike the idea of that man with that artifact?”

  “Jim,” said Valerian, “the Moebius Foundation was responsible for gathering the—”

  “I was responsible,” said Jim. “My crew and I were the ones who stuck our necks out to get those things.”

  “You were paid well,” said Valerian, ignoring the heated tone in Jim’s voice. “And in the end the artifact gave you something infinitely more precious than money. Didn’t it?”

  Raynor’s brow furrowed and he said nothing.

  “The Moebius Foundation is mine. Not my father’s. And I am my own man—not my father’s. Emil Narud is a master scientist, and I believe with all my heart that he will be able to help Sarah make it all the way back to being human.”

  Jim’s gaze met his evenly. Valerian didn’t look away. After a moment, Jim nodded, and said, “Well, at least we’ll get a good meal out of this.”

  * * *

  “You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Jim asked Matt for the second time. “Swann’s more than capable of overseeing the repairs.”

  “Of course he is,” said Matt. “But I really have no interest in the station, sir. I’d much rather stay here.”

  Honestly, so would Raynor. While he was certain that Narud and Valerian would be clad in formal finery, Jim had opted for simple but clean. Even at his best in this life, he’d been either a farm boy or a marshal, and neither required a uniform that had anything fancier than a star for jewelry. He had taken the time to shower, shave, and trim his hair and beard, but that was his only real concession to what was certain to be the formality of the occasion.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll bring you back a doggie bag.”

  “You do that. Couldn’t convince Kerrigan to go?”

  Jim shook his head. “She wasn’t having any of it. I’m not sure yet if she’ll even submit to more than the basic medical care. And I’m not sure I want her to. I hope to learn more this evening that’ll make things clearer one way or the other. Heard anything back from Egon?”

  “Nope,” said Horner. “I thought maybe you had.”

  “Probably still drooling like a kid in a candy store at one of the labs,” said Jim. “Narud threatened to hire him away. I’m sure he’ll be at the dinner. Maybe I can offer him a raise to stay with us.”

  Matt smiled a little. “Twice nothing is still noth—”

  “Shut up or I’ll punch that wounded arm of yours. See you in a couple hours.”

  * * *

  Jim went first to Prometheus’s sick bay, determined to try one more time to get Sarah to attend the dinner. If nothing else, he was sure the quality of the food would be good for her. The nurse who had been tending to her looked rather put out. As Jim entered, she preempted him by saying, “I told her she and I were a similar size. I had a lovely dress she could have borrowed.”

  “I don’t wear dresses,” Kerrigan said shortly. Jim thought back to the green sundress, but said nothing. She might have worn a dress once, but that meant nothing now. She gave him a quick and challenging look. “Come to twist my arm?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Come to see if you had changed your mind.”

  “No way.”

  “I told Matt I’d bring him back a doggie bag. You want one too?”

  That actually got a smile out of her. “I’m fine, Jim,” she said. Jim hesitated, then leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. She froze at first, then returned the kiss softly. As he pulled back, he whispered, “I’ll be back as soon as I can—and I’ll tell you everything I’ve learned about Narud.”

  She was smiling when he left.

  * * *

  The door to what was modestly called the all-purpose room irised open, and Jim immediately felt even more like a fish out of water than he had on the Bucephalus.

  The light was soft but not dim, and the music was soothing. It was similar to the same inoffensive but uninspiring music he had heard throughout the station. A young woman approached him, smiling, and offered a tray of fine glassware filled with sparkling wine. Jim accepted a glass and took a sip. It was no doubt high quality and wretchedly expensive, but all it did was make him wish that he was in the cantina, drinking a beer and listening to his beloved jukebox.

  Valerian was, as Jim had anticipated, dressed to the nines. He had eschewed his military attire for something comparatively simple, a black jacket with matching trousers, polished boots, and a dark blue ruffled shirt. A gold pin in the shape of a wolf’s head adorned the black silk cravat. His hair still had the one unruly golden lock. Jim hoped he never would be able to tame it. Valerian would be too picture-perfect otherwise.

  “I am sorry Miss Kerrigan opted not to attend,” he said, “but am very glad you did, Jim.”

  “Thanks.” He wasn’t trying to be rude, really. He just felt out of place and wanted this to be over with.

  Narud approached, clad similarly to Valerian but not quite as elegantly. The only thing that stood out was a rather peculiar piece of jewelry that looked, like the station, to be of xel’naga design.

  Of course, Valerian spotted it at once. “Is that a piece of a xel’naga artifact, Doctor? It looks like one.”

  “Heavens no,” said Narud. “Just a little tribute I had designed hoping to honor Miss Kerrigan.”

  “I want one. I’m sure I can make it all the rage.”

  Narud chuckled. “I’m sure you could. It’s just a piece of costume jewelry, Your Highness, but if you wish, I’ll see if I can have an
other one made.” He turned to Jim. “Welcome, Mr. Raynor. It’s good to see you, but I’m sorry you came alone. I so wanted Miss Kerrigan to be here.”

  “Well, people in Hell want ice water,” said Jim. He knew his smile was a smirk. He didn’t care.

  Narud didn’t miss a beat. “And I don’t see your Captain Horner either,” he added, looking around.

  “I don’t see Egon,” said Jim. “Where is he?”

  “He apparently was so enraptured with his tour of the labs—and, quite possibly, with Dr. de Vries—that he has opted to spend more time observing.”

  Instead of attending an intimate dinner where he could pepper a captive Narud with questions? “I’ll see if I can’t talk him into coming,” he said, reaching into his pocket and fishing out his comm. He was watching for any sign of a negative reaction from Narud, but the man merely smiled pleasantly.

  “Go right ahead,” he said. “Perhaps you can succeed where I have failed.”

  “Egon Stetmann,” came Egon’s voice.

  “You’re missing out on free food, Egon, and a chance to bend Narud’s ear till it breaks.”

  “Oh, I know that, sir. But I’m having such a great time here! You don’t . . . I mean I don’t have to leave . . . do I?”

  The voice was plaintive. Reassured that Egon, whatever he was up to, was unharmed and obviously happy, Jim said, “Nah. Your loss though.”

  “Oh, I hardly think that, sir. Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of. I ain’t gonna lose you to these brainy boys, though, am I?”

  “Not at all. Though I’m sure I’ll have a lot to share with you when I come back!”

  Jim clicked off the comm and pocketed it. “You were right,” he told Narud. “Just so long as I get my chief scientist back at the end of the day.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Narud, attempting levity. “A bright young fellow like that? We may have to kidnap him. Until that time, though,” and he indicated a well-dressed young man approaching with a tray of something small and delicate and pastry-like that smelled savory and delicious, “please enjoy yourselves.”