Flashpoint

by Christie Golden

  “You can’t hold out for much longer.” It was a statement, not a question. “Valerian’s talking to the Bucephalus. You guys aren’t going to make it if you hang around for a few stragglers.”

  “Sir, you, Valerian, Egon, and Kerrigan are hardly ordinary stragglers. You get off that station and we’ll—”

  The console exploded in a series of sparks. Cade ducked back, lifting his hand to shield his face for a moment. There was a hum as the backup systems came to life.

  “Matt, I’m giving you an order. If we make it off the station, we’ll find some way to get to you on our own. But you and the Bucephalus are taking a pounding.”

  There was a new sound Matt could hear over the clanging. Gunfire. And some sort of strange, high-pitched keening sound that Matt instantly remembered with loathing and fear. For a long, tense moment, there was no further word from Jim.

  “Commander?”

  “We’re okay,” said Jim, panting, his voice giving the lie to the words. He was alive, but he was definitely not okay. “You need to get out of there with my Raiders, Matt. Those thousands of lives are more important than any other single life. You’re the Raiders now. You gotta stay alive so that they can continue.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Don’t make me die for nothing, Matt. I’ll haunt your ass, I swear I will.”

  Matt couldn’t manage a smile at the humor. Jim was right. If they lingered too much longer, Mengsk and his fleet would destroy both battlecruisers and then the station. He would have eliminated his chief enemy and everything Jim had done to stand against him. There would be surviving pockets here and there, but Matt knew that the rebellion would die here, if he continued to fight.

  There seemed to be no other option but to retreat—and leave Jim, Valerian, Sarah, and Egon to their fates.

  “Jim?”

  “Go, Matt, now!”

  Matt closed his eyes briefly. “Contact the Bucephalus,” he said, his voice bitter. “Tell them we’re getting out of h—”

  Before he could finish the word, the Hyperion took a hit. The ship rocked violently, and everything went black.

  * * *

  The things were closer now. Of course they were. They were protoss-zerg crossbred monstrosities, things that never should have existed outside of nightmares. Jim was certain the creatures were toying with him and Valerian, and that made him hate them even more.

  Movement up ahead drew his eye. “Shit,” he said. “Guards. Start firing!”

  “With the hybrid—”

  “Do it!”

  The guards were trained professionals, and Jim and Valerian were their targets. But they were also human, and Jim knew what he would do if given a choice between two humans running at him and—however many of those things.

  That would give him and Valerian a chance.

  Sure enough, the guards weren’t looking at them. They were staring, jaws agape and eyes wide, at the hybrid barreling down behind the two men. Their weapons were up and they were emptying them about a meter over Jim’s head. Jim and Valerian fired and the guards fell. Not breaking stride, Jim leaped over the still-twitching bodies and kept running. He heard the hybrid pause, heard the unspeakable sounds of armor crunching and flesh tearing. The guards had bought them time.

  Jim knew he shouldn’t look back. But he had to.

  It was a mistake.

  There were two of them. They were huge, filling the corridor, and were as different as they were horrifying. One looked like a giant insect, with six slender, protoss-like legs supporting a long, angular body. Two appendages, a cross between a mutalisk’s scythe-arms and a protoss’s fine limbs, worked busily at one of the guards, who hadn’t had the good luck to die quite yet. The hybrid lifted him, opened its mouth horizontally, and took a huge bite.

  The other was squat, with the long skull of a protoss and the jaws of a zergling. It had a bony protrusion like a fan behind its head. Parts of its body and its companion’s were limned in glowing blue radiance.

  They were nothing like the hybrid he had encountered before, nor even like each other. Jim supposed that was because these were Narud’s pets. “Great,” he muttered. “Each one’s its own special snowflake.”

  And then Jim heard something even more hated than the sight of the hybrid.

  “Mr. Raynor. My estranged son. My colleague Dr. Narud assures me that there is a frequency that will calm the hybrid and render them docile. And, of course, I can call off the guards. All you need to do is surrender to the justice of the Dominion for your crimes. And,” Arcturus Mengsk continued, “give me that bitch Sarah Kerrigan.”

  Valerian’s hand on his arm, yanking him around roughly, broke Jim out of his horrified daze. “Come on!” Valerian shouted, shaking him. “We’re not going to let him win!”

  Hybrid loose, Narud escaped, Sarah trapped, the Hyperion damaged and coming under devastating attack—

  Jim Raynor thought that Arcturus Mengsk might already have won.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “All you need to do is surrender to the justice of the Dominion for your crimes. And give me that bitch Sarah Kerrigan.”

  Sarah stopped so quickly at the sound of the despised voice that Egon almost ran into her. She stood, every muscle rigid with hatred, her breathing quick and shallow. She had known the moment the station had come under attack who was behind it, but to hear his voice again after what felt to her like years, so long, after everything that had happened—

  “Boys . . . ? How about that evac?”

  The descent of the zerg upon her as she turned to face them.

  Her body being twisted and reshaped inside the chrysalis.

  And worst of all, the joy she had taken at killing while she had been the Queen of Blades.

  The joy of murdering a mother in front of her child’s eyes—and then killing the girl seconds later, along with those who would’ve helped her.

  All of this could be laid at his booted feet. All of it.

  And now he was coming for her.

  She threw back her head, mouth open in a wordless banshee scream, her body contorted in rage and agony, her fists clenched and digging little red crescents into her palm.

  No, no. Mengsk was not coming for her. She was coming for him.

  “Uh, Sarah?” Egon’s voice behind her was laced with concern and more than a little fear. She ignored him.

  “Mengsk!” she screamed, the shout tearing at her throat. She could almost imagine it raw and bleeding. Sarah knew he was simply broadcasting throughout the station, not caring about any response he might be eliciting. Arrogant bastard. Talking just to hear his own voice. “You left the job undone! You left me alive!”

  She could feel it bubbling up inside her, like lava pushing against the surface, eager to break free. It was hot and violent and sweet, and she closed her eyes and invited it in. Let it come. Let it fuel her. Let it serve her as she destroyed her foe.

  Suddenly everything took on a new clarity. She opened her eyes and felt like a blind woman who was truly seeing for the first time. She could sense the faintest ripples of air, hear Egon’s heartbeat, wild and frightened as a rabbit’s, as if she had pressed her head to his chest. Licking her lips, she could even taste the station.

  And she was suddenly giddily aware of her enemy’s minions up ahead.

  From standing stock-still, Sarah broke into a run. She could sense her lungs as they took in air, oxygenating her blood, feel that renewed blood moving through her body. She was a perfect machine, functioning as never before.

  There were eight marines as she rounded the corner. They were in full combat suits, moving quickly, their metallic arms easily bearing weapons nearly as large as the men they would be attacking.

  “Mengsk!” Sarah shouted. “Mengsk! Watch this!”

  At the first sound, they turned and lifted their weapons.

  They never fired a single shot. The visors of their helmets were suddenly spattered with red, and they dropped where they stood.

&nb
sp; Sarah tuned out Egon’s shocked cries and pressed on.

  * * *

  “Sir?” Marcus Cade was peering at Matt. “Should I get a medic? How do you feel?”

  “How long have I been out?” asked Matt. He lifted a hand to his throbbing head and it came away wet and red. He’d struck his injured arm, too, and it hurt like hell.

  “Only a few seconds.”

  “Then I’m fine,” said Matt. “We’ve got more important things to worry about. How badly was the ship damaged?”

  Cade winced a little. “It was pretty bad. Rory’s not happy. We’re not in good shape, sir.”

  Matt nodded and thumbed his comm. “Swann, were you able to transfer the power back to the engines?”

  “Yeah. Hell of a lot easier than doing it the other way.”

  “How mobile are we?”

  “We ain’t gonna be zipping around the galaxy footloose and fancy-free anytime soon, but she could move.”

  At the very least, Matt thought, the Hyperion and the Bucephalus could distract Mengsk and lure him away from the station. Maybe Jim could find his way to a ship and escape.

  Sometimes one needed to tell oneself little lies.

  “Cade, fire one more volley on the White Star directly, then let’s head out the way we came. Vaughn, you hear me? Your navigator ready?”

  “Rawlins has the course laid in, and our engineer has just informed me the engines are back online, if somewhat damaged,” came Vaughn’s voice. “We can run with you, Hyperion; we’re just not sure how far.”

  “Understood. Stand by. Marcus, fire on my command.” He punched a button. “This is Captain Horner. All vessels, return to the Hyperion and Bucephalus. We’re getting out of here pronto.”

  He watched as the ships kept firing a few moments longer, then turned and began heading back as they had the chance.

  “What the—Sir, one of the Wraiths has broken formation and is heading right for the White Star!”

  Matt leaned forward. “Who’s in that ship?”

  Cade checked quickly. “Um . . . huh. Sir, that’s Cooper.”

  “Bartender Cooper?”

  “Yeah. Apparently he showed up and said he couldn’t sit by when he had the ability to fly and fight.”

  “That’s . . . pretty noble of him, but he needs to come back,” said Matt. On the surface, it did seem noble, and far be it from Matt Horner to deny anyone a moment to show courage. “Patch me through.” At Cade’s nod, he continued. “Coop, this is Matt. You can’t do much against that ship. Come on home. We’re getting out of here.”

  Silence.

  Matt frowned slightly. Something wasn’t right about this. Why wasn’t Cooper responding? “Can he hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Something was gnawing at the back of his mind. He moved and his wounded arm twinged slightly, and then it all fell into place. He, Jim, and Valerian had all assumed that it had been someone on Mira’s team who had betrayed them. And, of course, it had been. But Crane and the other malcontents hadn’t been alone. They’d known too much—more than what could have simply been picked up by listening to Mira.

  “I’ll miss the mai tais,” he murmured. But not the treachery.

  “Sir?”

  “Let him go,” Matt said. “It’s a better death than he deserves.”

  Marcus looked at him, completely at a loss.

  “I’ll explain later,” Matt told him.

  “Sir, he’s a Raider; we can’t just—”

  “Those are my orders, Marcus. And no. He’s not a Raider. Not anymore. For now, has everyone else reported in?”

  “Yes, sir.” Marcus still looked unhappy, but he knew and trusted Matt. He would not protest anymore.

  “Then let’s give the White Star one final parting shot.”

  The Yamato cannon’s final attack left its mark. Matt regarded the blaze for a second before issuing the order.

  “Let’s go.” Matt wasn’t ashamed that his voice broke, just a little, on the last word.

  The Hyperion’s front thrusters fired, and the great battleship suddenly went into reverse. For a moment the White Star and the other Dominion vessels kept firing where they were.

  “Come on,” Matt whispered, “you don’t want us to get away . . . . ”

  And then the White Star started moving. The other ships, two left now, followed. “They’re giving chase and moving away from the station,” said Marcus, trying and failing not to smile.

  “Good,” said Matt. “Now all we have to do is navigate one of the most treacherous asteroid fields with about twenty-five percent shields, half our engines, and Arcturus Mengsk on our tail.”

  * * *

  Sarah slammed to a halt a second time, this time reeling from what her mind was sensing.

  Zerg!

  Something that was both protective and horrified surged up in her. The next instant, she was confused.

  Protoss?

  They sensed her, too, and there was no recognition or affection from them. Only hunger and hatred and joy in killing. And then two other presences brushed her mind. Jim! She had found him! He was alive, but emotions were racing through him intently and swiftly—fear, concern, determination, hatred—

  I’m not leaving her to those . . . things.

  “Jim,” she breathed.

  “The commander’s here still? He’s alive?” Egon’s voice was welcome. The onslaught of the red-hate thoughts of the hybrid aliens and Jim’s careening emotions had threatened to combine into a tidal wave that nearly pulled her under. She was instead thrust back into the present, a present where her own red-hate was the only thing that was stable and strong enough to bear her.

  * * *

  There was a doorway up ahead, a grim square that had nothing of the elegant irising of most of the doors Valerian and Jim had seen on Space Station Prometheus. Jim, out of breath from running at top speed for too long, merely pointed. If they could get enough distance, they could get through the door and slam the controls down on the other side.

  If they could get enough distance.

  Hope, sharp and keen as a knife, spurred both men on. Jim didn’t look back this time to see how close they were. Either they would make it or they wouldn’t. His lungs and legs were burning as he forced them to work harder, harder, get me through there, just give me this break, we can double back to find Sarah—

  They raced through and halted so abruptly they almost fell. Jim turned, sweat pouring from him, and realized that yes, yes, there was enough distance. He hurled himself toward the panel and struck it hard with his palm.

  Nothing happened. The control panel had been deactivated. Narud and Mengsk had taken every precaution to ensure that their prizes would not escape alive.

  Jim threw back his head and roared. Not with fear, not with grief, but with rage at his helplessness. Moving jerkily, his limbs quivering with the demand he’d placed on them, he swung up his rifle and began firing. Beside him, wordless, Valerian did the same.

  It was futile. But he had to do it. The hybrid barely seemed to blink as they surged forward, slaver dripping from jaws and mandibles, scenting the prey within reach, eager for the kill.

  The bony protrusion seated behind the skull of the squat hybrid suddenly cracked right down the middle. So did the skull below it. The monster spasmed as it fell, and before Jim’s shocked gaze the thing’s brain . . . exploded. As if a switch had been thrown—and perhaps it had in some respect—the blue illumination that had limned parts of its body was instantly extinguished.

  The second hybrid, however, was still alive, and furious at the death of its companion. Faster than so huge a creature should be able to move, it whirled on its six too-slender legs to face its opponent. Its sideways jaws opened as it issued a cry of challenge. Jim’s gun clattered to the floor as his face contorted in agony. He clapped his hands over his ears, but the gesture didn’t do anything to shut out the sound inside his head. His eyes squeezed shut, seemingly of their own volition.

  A hand
on his shoulder shook him. “Jim! Look!”

  Jim opened his eyes and equal parts joy and horror shot through him.

  Sarah!

  Clad only in a simple jumpsuit, she was almost more frightening to behold than the hybrid with which she battled. He had seen her face wearing all kinds of expressions: wry humor, irritation, anger, love. But he had never seen this expression before—not even on the face of the Queen of Blades.

  In this moment, Sarah Kerrigan was no longer lover, friend, ghost, or even a part-zerg mutation.

  She was what Arcturus Mengsk had once called her: an avenging angel.

  She had no weapons; she did not need them. As Jim watched, she was a blur of motion. The hybrid lunged at her, screaming that terrible psionic cry, its scythe-like arms, glowing blue, whirling as it descended upon her. She would be sliced to ribbons. But Sarah was not there. She leaped upward, somersaulting to land on the thing’s back. She stayed there less than a heartbeat, but it was enough. Grasping one of its legs with each hand, she threw back her head and uttered a cry of rage. The limbs tore easily from the body, spewing ichor. Sarah threw them up in the air as she vaulted from the hybrid’s back. Like thrown javelins, both legs, bearing a single razor-sharp claw on the end were impaled in the thing’s neck. It squealed, its remaining limbs scrabbling against the floor. Blood seeped around the wounds, glowing pale blue.

  Sarah leaped again, landing in front of the thing. Gleefully, thinking its chance had come, it extended its head. The horizontal jaws opened wide enough to engulf Sarah’s head. Instead of darting away, Sarah lunged forward, grasped each jaw in her hand, and pulled, uttering a visceral cry of hate.

  There was a horrible crack. And then Sarah finished the job.

  Like an insect blasted with a lethal spray, the thing writhed and squirmed, legs flailing, emitting that awful squeal the entire time. Then it lay still.

  Silence.

  Sarah still stood, holding a piece of jaw in each hand. She stared at the thing, her breasts heaving as she panted, gasping for air. Her eyes didn’t blink.

  “ . . . Sarah?”

  No response.

  “Darlin’ . . . it’s okay. You got ’em. They’re dead.”