Flashpoint

by Christie Golden

  “Why was she even here, dammit?” asked Jim, pain lacing his voice. “It should have been just you and the pilot, Lily. Engineers aren’t part of the standard team. Why her?”

  “The weapons that a dropship isn’t supposed to have? Her idea. Designed and installed them herself.” With a calm that seemed callous but was only the medical professional’s protection against emotional devastation, Preston sat beside Sarah and regarded Jim evenly. “She had to come with us in order to operate them manually. There wasn’t time to properly integrate them into the system.”

  Again Jim nodded mechanically. He couldn’t take his eyes from the body. From Sarah’s latest kill, inadvertent as it was. The woman who had made it possible to attack Narud’s ship and destroy one of the hybrid had bought their lives at a terrible price.

  Beside him, Valerian said, “Travis will be devastated.”

  So was Jim.

  * * *

  “This is the Fanfare to the Hyperion; come in, Hyperion!”

  “Read you loud and clear, Fanfare. Did you get the cargo?”

  “Yes, sir, but not without a casualty. We lost Annabelle.”

  Matt closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll tell Rory myself.”

  “Yes, sir. We should rendezvous in about six minutes. Coming in hot.”

  “Sir,” said Cade, “incoming ships behind us.”

  Ships fore, ships aft—the fragment of an old poem came into Matt’s head: “Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them, volley’d and thunder’d.” Odd, what came to mind in moments of crisis. He vaguely recalled that the poem hadn’t ended well for those facing cannons from any side.

  Up ahead, the White Star was hot on the tail of the Fanfare. Behind the Hyperion, another battlecruiser and several other smaller vessels had appeared out of warp.

  “Start firing aft,” he told Marcus. “Horner to docking bay. We’ve got the Fanfare coming in in about six minutes. Prepare to receive and we’ll be getting out of here immediately afterward.”

  If we make it that long. More attacks volley’d and thunder’d. There came another flash of light.

  “What now?” asked Matt wearily. “Another Dominion battleship?”

  “No, sir, it’s—”

  And then Matt was treated to the shocking sight of fire blossoming on the White Star as a familiar voice reached his ears. “This is Captain Vaughn of the Bucephalus. Seems my navigator can’t bear to be parted from that fetching engineer of yours. He thought you might need a hand.”

  Matt felt a sharp pang. “Indeed we do, Bucephalus,” Matt said simply. “We’ve got your commander and ours on that dropship coming in at top speed. And tell Travis . . . ” Matt steadied his voice. “Tell Travis that Annabelle might just have been the one to have saved them all.”

  There was a good chance that it was true. And if it wasn’t, dammit, it should have been.

  “You worry about the dropship; we’ll handle the White Star,” said Vaughn. “Our weapons are back online and I am itching to use them to their fullest.”

  Matt needed no second urging. The Hyperion turned, maneuvering so that the docking bay was as close to the Fanfare as possible. A few tense seconds later, Horner heard the welcome words, “I’ve got them, Captain!”

  “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Er . . . exactly how were you planning on doing that, sir?” asked Marcus.

  Matt realized he had no idea.

  * * *

  The smell of blood freshly shed, its taste coppery and tangy. The terror contorting the faces and saturating the minds of those who fell. She knew them all, through her beloved zerg, they who were part of her soul and body and mind. The thrill of the new genetic material, the birth of the new thing adapted from it. The joy of unity, unity so great that humans could not conceive of it. No pain or trauma in the sharing of minds here. Only power, for one and for all, only purpose, to move forward, destroy, and conquer.

  And she herself, so beautiful, long rustling “locks,” wings to stretch and admire, or with which to attack. Energy unending.

  Purpose. Belonging.

  Belonging that she had had when freed by—

  Arcturus!

  Her eyes snapped open and her breath caught in her throat. Dimly she was aware that she was in the sick bay of the Hyperion, but she did not care.

  He’d not given her unity and peace and belonging. He’d given her hell. His talk of her as a weapon was true. Except once, she had been merely a single, solitary blade. Deadly, yes, but limited.

  Arcturus Mengsk had made her into a nuclear bomb.

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

  It was time to stop running. It was time to turn and fight. There would be a reckoning for what Arcturus Mengsk had done.

  And he would not emerge alive from the conflict.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Sir?”

  This was Matt’s ship. They were looking to him for the answers. And his mind was a blank. As if to hurry his thinking along, the ship shuddered underneath another barrage.

  “Sir, the Bucephalus is requesting instructions on how to proceed.”

  “Noted,” said Matt, simply to say something. He stared at the screen, hoping inspiration would hit. The first time they had entered, following the very careful pathway to the station, it had taken six hours. Now he wasn’t even sure there was a pathway anymore. Mengsk had pulverized so many asteroids there was just a cloud of—

  “Stardust,” he said quietly.

  * * *

  Arcturus Mengsk chuckled as he saw the two battleships dart into a cloud of dust: all that remained of one of the troublesome asteroids that, not very long ago, the White Star had blasted into dust, pebbles, and various sizes of rocks. Did they really think pulverized asteroid matter would conceal them? It was so naïve it was almost cute, like a child covering his eyes and thinking himself unseen to others. Still . . . Mengsk frowned slightly. Jim Raynor hired better people than that. Smarter. It was one reason the outlaw had been so successful in eluding capture—the man was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. Neither was Captain Vaughn, commander of the Bucephalus. What made them think—

  “Fire into that dust cloud. Now!” he barked.

  The helmsman obeyed. There was the illumination of laser fire . . . and then nothing. No glorious and expected and, damnit, logical explosion.

  The Hyperion and the Bucephalus weren’t there.

  “What’s going on?” Arcturus demanded. “Where the hell are they?”

  His helmsman looked both desperately unhappy and frantic. “Sir, I—we can’t find them.”

  “They’re two battleships hiding in dust clouds, son. What do you mean you can’t find them?”

  “We—they irradiated the dust particles as they passed through them. It’s obscuring our sensors. We can’t penetrate it. Compensating . . . ”

  “Hurry.”

  “Yes, sir, we—there it is.” He put it on-screen. They could now use their systems to “see through” the dust cloud . . . and they saw nothing.

  The battlecruisers were successfully hiding long enough to make short, erratic, and unpredictable jumps from cloud to cloud. The mighty Dominion was at least a minute behind them. And there were literally dozens of clouds. There was no way Mengsk could find them before they had enough of a head start to make a long-range jump.

  The little rebel sons of bitches were kicking stardust in his face.

  * * *

  Sarah was on the bed in Jim’s quarters. He sat beside her, facing the door. She had turned her face to the wall. The door chimed and Jim called, “Come on in.”

  Valerian, Matt, and Swann entered, looking first at Jim, then at Sarah, and back to Jim.

  “Shouldn’t she still be in sick bay?” asked Swann. “After—”

  “Take a seat, fellas,” interrupted Jim, indicating three chairs.
“Once she woke up, she wasn’t about to stay there. So I asked her to come here.” He looked at each of them sharply, making it clear that this line of questioning was going to stop. Sarah remained silent, anger radiating from her tightly curled-up form.

  Matt and Valerian exchanged glances. Swann perched uncomfortably at the edge of the elegant chair, eyes on the floor. Valerian raised a golden eyebrow. Matt shrugged, indicating the Heir Apparent could proceed.

  “Jim, I’ve no wish to belabor the obvious, but I think it imperative that we all realize that after what you, Egon, and I witnessed Sarah do, she absolutely must be tested.” He paused, doubtless awaiting a furious rebuttal from Kerrigan, but none came. He continued. “She’s still unspeakably dangerous. We watched her—”

  “I was there, Valerian; I saw it,” Jim said, an edge to his voice.

  “I agree with Valerian,” said Matt, surprising Jim slightly. “Egon told me some of what he saw. And what she did to—I mean, what happened to Annabelle—”

  “Nah, you were right the first time, kid,” Swann said, his voice raw. Everyone had known and liked Annabelle, but Rory had worked closely with her. The pain of her death—especially in such a manner, by friendly fire—had cut deeper than Jim had expected. Sarah curled up even tighter, and his chest ached at the gesture. “What she did to Annabelle.”

  “Rory, I know you know Sarah didn’t intend for that girl to come to harm.”

  “Tell that to Earl and Milo,” replied Swann. “Tell that to Travis Rawlins.”

  “I will, and I know Valerian and Matt would too, because it’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “I know, Jim,” said Matt, “but how does that make it any better to know that Sarah herself can’t even control it? We’re not out of this yet. Our ships are battered nearly to pieces and we’re still wanted criminals. The next time there is a situation like this—and you know there will be a next time—what’s going to happen then? What’s she going to do? She doesn’t even know!”

  Jim could sense her stiffening, withdrawing into herself even further. She hadn’t said anything after awakening in sick bay other than, “I’m leaving.”

  “It was an accident,” Jim repeated.

  “I know, sir. But Annabelle’s dead. I . . . I can’t lose anyone else—not like that.”

  “Jim, you are a good leader,” said Valerian quietly. “I know you care about Sarah. But you have a responsibility to those who follow you, who put their faith in you. Sarah, willingly or not, is a threat. You need to assess that threat properly in order to protect both her and your crew.”

  They were all right, and Jim knew it. He didn’t want them to be, but they were. Silence stretched, long and uncomfortable, punctuated only by Sarah’s quick, angry breathing.

  “Okay,” Jim said finally. “I’ll talk to her.”

  The other three looked unhappy with the words but nodded. It was the best they were going to get, and they seemed to know it. They rose and began to walk toward the door. Valerian simply nodded at Jim. Rory paused as he left, looking searchingly at his commander.

  “Do the right thing, cowboy,” was all he said.

  Matt, too, started to leave, but Jim rose. “Matt?”

  “Sir?”

  Jim stood beside him. “You disobeyed orders, son. You know that.”

  “Yes, sir. Permission to speak freely?”

  “Always.”

  “You’re alive to punish me for it.”

  Jim smiled slightly. “That’s true enough,” he said. “You were supposed to get the hell out of there. But . . . I’m kind of glad you didn’t.”

  Matt smiled, and for a moment, he looked just like the youthful idealist Jim had met years ago, his eyes shining, his face losing its lines as he smiled gently.

  “I couldn’t leave you behind, sir. Ever.”

  * * *

  “What course should I set?” asked Matt as he caught up with Valerian.

  “Permit me to be amused that you’re asking me,” said Valerian.

  “I figure you’ve got the funds and the connections,” said Matt, shrugging slightly. The two men fell into step.

  “I do,” said Valerian. “My recommendation to Mr. Raynor is that we head for the Umojan Protectorate. I have the coordinates for a top-secret orbital platform that will be able to effect repairs to the Bucephalus and the Hyperion efficiently, swiftly, and covertly.”

  “How covertly?”

  Valerian gave the other man a thin smile. “Not even my father’s finest spies know about it, if that’s your concern.”

  “It is, and are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  “Let’s hope your bartender doesn’t know about it either.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “I’ll explain on the way.”

  * * *

  Jim had given Sarah his quarters, sharing a room with refugees from the Herakles. For the duration of the trip Sarah had refused to speak to anyone. Finally, when they were beginning docking procedures, he went and knocked on the door.

  Sarah opened it. She had showered and dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of pants, cinching the belt tightly at the waist. She wore her own boots, though. Jim noticed that she had cleaned off the spattered blood of hybrid and human both. She stood at the door, gazing at him.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Your quarters,” she said. “Do what you want.”

  “Well, they’re your quarters right now, darlin’, and I don’t come in unless I’m invited.”

  Sarah was turning away from him, and he saw her shoulders tense slightly at the usage of his term of endearment. “Come in, then.”

  He took a seat in one of the chairs as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Sarah looked . . . worn. Not weary, for she had obviously slept, nor ragged, as she had showered and changed into clean clothes, albeit his. But just . . . worn. Both older and childlike. She had been pushed to her limits on the station, and it had taken a deep toll. He didn’t want to have this conversation.

  “I know you don’t,” she said, “but we’re going to have to have it, so let’s get it over with.”

  Blunt it was to be, then. Fine with him. “Okay. It’s got to be clear to everyone including you that you’ve still got zerg mutagen in you, and we’ve got to learn everything we can about it in order to help you. You’re a smart woman, Sarah, one of the smartest I’ve ever known. You sure as hell are smarter than this farm boy. So I know you know that I’m right.”

  He expected an angry rebuttal. Maybe some furniture tossed around a bit. Instead, her shoulders slumped slightly.

  “I . . . I’m not sure how I feel about that, honestly.”

  He rose and sat down next to her on the bed, tentatively reaching for her hand. She let him take it.

  “They’re just going to study you. Figure out how to get all that zerg shit out of you and get you all the way back to being Sarah Kerrigan. They’re going to help you.”

  “I’ve heard all this before, Jim, and you know it.”

  He winced slightly. It stung. It was true. He searched for words to convince her, realized she probably was reading everything in his mind anyway, and stayed silent.

  For a long time they sat there, hand in hand on the edge of the bed.

  Sarah took a deep, shuddering breath, then turned to him. She had made her decision. Her eyes searched his for a long moment.

  When she spoke, her voice was soft and oddly gentle. “For you, Jimmy. I’ll do this for you.”

  She squeezed his hand tightly, tightly, her strong fingers almost breaking his. The pain was glorious. But Jim Raynor knew that it wasn’t the pain that made his eyes sting and his throat tighten.

  * * *

  They sat together on the small system runner that Jim piloted toward the platform. Valerian’s assurances that the place was undiscovered seemed to be holding this time. There were no surprises, no battlecruisers appearing out of nowhere, no too-polite master scientists. Just a simple-looking station that was likely anything
but, and a quiet, sad pall of defeat that hung over everything.

  Too many had died. Mengsk was still out there, and so was Narud, and so was the devastating alien artifact. Sarah had once again become something she had hated, and a cheerful life had been snuffed out—not because of Sarah’s hated enemy, but because of her.

  Jim firmly believed that Sarah would be well taken care of—that they would find out how to permanently remove or suppress the zerg that still lingered inside her. He knew Sarah didn’t believe it, and he desperately hoped he was right.

  He hoped a lot of things.

  They reached the station, docked, and were met by a scientist who introduced herself as Maddie Wilson. No guards, no weapons. It was a good sign.

  They held hands as they followed Dr. Wilson down a corridor and into a lift. She turned to Jim and Sarah. “I know you’ve both been briefed, but just to remind you, you’re going to be completely isolated. The room is going to be extremely secure. We will be observing you through screens and can communicate with you.”

  Wilson gave what looked to be a sympathetic smile. “If you’d like to talk to someone about what you’re experiencing, all you need to do is say so. Understand that you are safe here, even though it might feel otherwise.”

  Sarah was silent. The lift came to a gentle halt. Wilson led them to a room at the end of a long hallway and keyed in a code. “Here we are,” she said.

  Raynor squeezed Sarah’s hand, leaned over, and whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

  Sarah turned to look at him, her face softening into a smile that held love, sorrow, and resignation. “I love you too,” she whispered back. Then she took a deep breath and they stepped inside.

  Jim could see that one wall appeared to be nothing but a window, opening onto what seemed like endless floors below. As they watched, silently holding on to each other, they saw a small shape. It drew closer, turning and shimmering. It looked like a bubble, the sort that children blew with soap to entertain themselves, but was nothing so innocent. It grew larger as it approached, finally floating over to press itself over the window, which dissolved.