by Timothy Zahn
“I said it doesn’t matter,” Whist said tartly. “We’re not killing the psyolisks—yet—and that’s that. The rest of you, get in here. Help us figure out what the hell they want.”
“You think they want something?” Dizz asked as he and the other two eased into the chamber.
“Well, they’re not posing for pictures,” Whist growled. “Tanya? Any ideas?”
“No,” she said. “Well…maybe. So far, what they’ve mostly wanted was for us to kill the adostra and then die. If this is really the last group of adostra…?”
“Then maybe if we kill them, we get to live?” Whist suggested.
“That’s all I can think of,” Tanya said.
“Yes, but why do we have to be the ones?” Erin asked. “Why can’t Abathur kill them himself?”
Perhaps if he took direct action, Zagara would know, Ulavu said. Even an evolution master is still a zerg. He is thus linked to all other zerg and under the command of the Swarm leader.
“I don’t know,” Dizz muttered. “Seems like splitting hairs to claim you’re not doing something while at the same time pushing someone else to do it.”
“That’s where lawyers come from,” Whist said sourly. “So what do we do?”
Tanya cleared her throat. “I think we ought to at least go over to the pods,” she said, her voice just a shade too casual. “Just to take a look.” She paused a fraction of a second. “All of us.”
Whist felt a tight smile twitch the corners of his mouth, his private conversation with Tanya in the woods belatedly coming back. Right—all of them. Specifically, Ulavu. If they could get him close enough to the adostra to touch minds with them…“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he agreed.
“You want anyone to guard the entry?” Dizz asked. He seemed a little puzzled by the decision, but he was willing to go along.
“No point,” Whist said. “If they want us, they’ve got us.”
“I suppose,” Dizz said. “You’re right; taking on sixty zerglings would be a tall order. I suppose we could handle thirty, though. Right?”
“Probably,” Whist said, frowning. Now it was Dizz who was sounding a little too casual.
But he couldn’t worry about that now. Everything hinged on getting Ulavu to the adostra, and hoping they could understand him. Preferably before the psyolisks launched their attack.
It was a crazy idea. But he was fresh out of better ones. “Okay,” he said. “Weapons ready. Let’s go take a look.”
—
The advantage of the protoss’ force fields was that they could block anything but the biggest zerg. The disadvantage was that they were short-lived and required undamaged sentries to replace them.
Which meant this was a temporary solution at best. Still, whatever time they could buy would help both the survey team and Cruikshank’s own force.
He was mulling over the possibilities when, across the field, the force-field barriers began to wink out.
Cruikshank swore under his breath as the line of banelings surged forward again. Still, they were starting from a standstill instead of coming at them full-bore. That was worth something.
In fact, with good, solid Dominion troops like his, it was worth a hell of a lot.
The first barrage was devastating. Most of the marines managed at least two bursts from their gauss rifles before the first line of banelings made it back up to speed. Some of the more experienced fighters got off three or even four bursts.
“Keep firing,” Cruikshank called, peering at his displays as the second line of banelings surged forward. Back near the tree line, two of the ravagers were scuttling forward, clearly trying to get into range to launch their acidic bile. He targeted both and fired his rail guns. Both ravagers staggered as the plasma slugs blasted massive holes in their carapaces and sent them thudding to the ground.
Behind them, yet another line of banelings and ravagers appeared through the trees and started across the field. “Alikka, we’ve got another wave coming,” he warned. “Another line of force-field barriers might be handy.”
Agreed, Alikka said. I will so order. Be wary of launched acidic spheres.
Cruikshank rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t already been doing that. “I’m on it,” he growled, looking back at the tree line. The sentries were heading away from the battle line, moving closer to the ravagers. That would put the next line of force-field barriers out farther, giving the Dominion fighters more time to fire once the barriers dissipated and the zerg resumed their charge.
But it also meant that, as the sentries laid down the barriers, they were closer to the lurking ravagers. Even as Cruikshank looked along the line, two more of the bile-spitters moved out of the trees toward the sentries. He targeted both and sent another pair of slugs blasting through their carapaces.
He was making sure they were down for good when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two sentries suddenly begin to twitch and wobble violently. He jerked his eyes back to them just as they both gave final shudders and disintegrated.
“What the hell?” he breathed as the shards scattered to the ground. “Alikka—what the hell just happened?”
But even before the protoss could reply, the reality belatedly hit him. There were hydralisks in the woods—he’d seen them earlier as they awaited their turn to attack. They’d stayed within the tree line, and he hadn’t paid them much thought since then. Their poisoned needle spines, after all, only started becoming effective against Dominion armor and mechs at much closer ranges.
The sentries, laying out their new line, were unfortunately within that critical distance.
The robots didn’t give a damn about the poison, of course. But the sheer mass of material moving at near-hypersonic speeds, digging into and through their outer shells, had been enough to take them down.
It was the hydralisks, Alikka said, his voice dark, his words confirming Cruikshank’s deduction.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Cruikshank said.
And the worst part was that it was his fault. He’d told Alikka to send the sentries farther down the field, smugly secure in the knowledge that the ravagers couldn’t get into range to launch their acidic bile blobs before he could take them down. He and the other Dominion forces were the only ones on the line with heavy ranged weapons, the only ones who could deal with that kind of threat. He should have remembered the hydralisks, located them, and dealt with them.
He’d failed. And that failure might have doomed them all.
In the distance, the line of force-field barriers the sentries had laid began winking out. “Get ready,” Cruikshank said. “Here they come again.”
“Colonel?” Goliath One called. “Sir, check your six. A couple of the banelings got through.”
Cruikshank looked at his rear display, adding another seething curse to his mental collection. Of course some of the banelings had gotten through. There were too few soldiers trying to hold too much ground.
At least the zerg hadn’t turned and attacked the troops from the rear. That was something, anyway.
But then, the psyolisks’ ultimate goal wasn’t to destroy Cruikshank’s force. Their goal was to get to Point Three and take down Halkman’s team. “What do you want me to do, blow them up?” he growled.
“No, sir, I want you to look at them,” Goliath One said. “Do they seem confused to you?”
Cruikshank frowned. Goliath One was right. Instead of continuing their single-minded charge toward the woods and Point Three fifteen klicks away, the banelings had made it about fifty meters past the grounded protoss ships and then slowed to a halt. Now they were just looking around, rather like marines on leave wondering where the hell they were and what the hell they’d been drinking.
He blinked. Not like marines on leave. Exactly marines on leave. Somewhere along their mad rush, they’d reached the limit of the psyolisks’ leash, and the broodmother of this section of the continent was trying to reestablish her control.
And with that, the solution to this whole mes
s was obvious. All he and Alikka had to do was pull the battle line back beyond that point, and every subsequent wave of zerg would break on the invisible boundary and become harmless. The only counter the psyolisks would have would be to also move forward, and if the terrans and the protoss pulled back far enough, the psyolisks would have to leave the cover of the woods. Once they did that, the goliaths and the Warhound would make quick work of them.
So really, the battle was won. And all it would cost was one more life.
Because the wrecked shuttle was still within the psyolisks’ current range. Once the Dominion and protoss forces pulled back, there would be nothing to stop the zerg from tearing up the ship and the injured Rahas in his medical pod.
One protoss life, in trade for the lives of everyone else.
For a long moment Cruikshank stared at the shuttle and phoenixes, lying there with dead devourers draped across them, his conversation with Admiral Horner flicking across his memory. Cruikshank had talked a good talk about not leaving a member of his team behind, and at the time he’d meant every word of it.
But now, with his troops under pressure by an enemy that would never run out of zerg to throw at him, things weren’t nearly so clear. If he could carry out his mission without losing any more of his people, at the cost of just one life—and a protoss life, at that—shouldn’t he at least consider it?
Behind the ships, the banelings had ceased their confused wandering and were heading toward the river and marshland on the battlefield’s south flank. They passed the phoenix on that side and disappeared.
Cruikshank focused on the phoenix. It would have been nice, he thought darkly, to have retained at least one functioning fighter craft to use against the enemy.
A functioning fighter…
He turned back to the battle. While he’d been preoccupied, the second line of banelings had mostly dissipated, because either they’d been killed or slipped successfully through the line and were on their way to breaking free of the psyolisks’ grip. One more marine was down, he noted grimly, and two more protoss.
In the distance, more ravagers were moving forward. “Alikka?” Cruikshank called, sending a few more plasma slugs sizzling across the battlefield at the ravagers. “I’ve got a suggestion. A way to remake the line that should save us a lot of lives.” He hesitated. “But you may not like my conditions.”
Speak your idea and your conditions, Alikka said.
“Right.” Cruikshank braced himself. “Here it is…”
“There’s another wave gathering in the woods,” the tactical officer reported. “This one seems to be mostly hydralisks, with more banelings as mortar backup.”
“There may be some zerglings, too,” Matt said, pointing to the infrared overlay. “Probably to lead the way and make Cruikshank’s force spend more ammunition.”
Valerian nodded heavily. “I’m starting to wish we’d nuked it,” he muttered. “The whole forest.”
“That end can still be achieved if you so desire it,” Artanis’s emotionless voice came over the speaker. “The Nerazim Alikka possesses a disruptor he can deploy. Its effects would be cleaner than a Dominion tactical nuclear weapon, but no less devastating.”
“Too risky, Hierarch. We’ve pushed Zagara hard enough already, with the psi emitter, the nuke, and all the adostra we’ve killed. It’s still in her best interest to come to terms with us, but at some point she might very well say to hell with it. We can’t afford to let her reach that point.”
“Unless she is in fact orchestrating these events,” Artanis countered.
“I don’t think so,” Valerian said. “Did you see the survey team’s report?”
“I saw it. I do not entirely follow your logic.”
With an effort, Valerian disconnected his focus from the urgency of the battle below him. “We were sent a pair of psyolisk corpses,” he said. “I don’t believe anyone but Zagara could have controlled the devourer that far from the surface. If the corpses had been booby-trapped or part of a diversion, then I would agree that she was playing us, or at least buying time for some scheme. But the corpses were neither. I conclude, therefore, that Zagara is still acting in good faith.”
“And your similar indictment of Abathur?”
“It seems reasonable that once Zagara came up with the plan to find and deliver the psyolisks, she would let us know her intentions,” Valerian said. “She didn’t take her transmitter with her, but presumably left orders for someone to send us a message. Abathur would be the logical candidate—he can communicate with us, and he was already on the scene.”
“But if he was the manipulator,” Artanis said slowly, “it would be in his best interests to disobey that order.”
“Right,” Valerian said. “To make us believe instead that Zagara had run out on us without explanation.”
“And his purpose?”
“I’m hoping that once we settle things with Zagara we’ll be able to ask him.”
“Your argument is logical, Emperor Valerian,” Artanis said. “But logic is not always reality. I will withhold final judgment, but I will not yet accept Zagara as innocent.”
“Withholding judgment is all I ask,” Valerian assured him. “Thank you.”
“But be advised that we are watching the leviathans closely,” Artanis added. “Any attempt by them to leave Gystt will be met with force.”
Valerian grimaced. But he had a point. If Zagara or another broodmother decided to make a run for it, they could pack enough zerg inside just one of the massive creatures to keep a new war going for years. “Understood,” he said.
“New battle line drawing up,” Matt murmured from beside him.
Valerian shifted his attention back to that display. “Can they handle another assault?”
“I don’t know,” Matt said heavily. “I hope so. Looks like this one is taking longer to set up than the last couple. Maybe hydralisks are harder for the psyolisks to corral than zerglings or roaches.”
“Larger brains and higher intelligence?”
“Or just bigger and nastier,” Matt said. “Which reminds me.” He pulled out his comm and punched in a connection. “Biolab, this is Admiral Horner,” he said. “How’s the autopsy going?”
“We’ve barely started, Admiral.” Dr. Cogan’s voice came from the comm’s speaker. “This thing is exceptional. We’re running data feeds back and forth with the protoss, but even working together, we’ll be months digging out all the details.”
“We haven’t got months, Doctor,” Valerian said shortly. “Give us something we can use.”
“Yes, Emperor,” Cogan said. “The bad news: we haven’t been able to pinpoint the part of the brain that controls the psionic power. That means we have no idea how to destroy or jam or confuse it.”
“Keep looking,” Valerian said.
“We are, Emperor,” Cogan said. “But here’s something interesting. We know zerg can hear—we see that on the battlefield all the time—but we’ve always assumed most of them rely on the psionic network for orders and communication in general. We also know that higher-level zerg like queens and overseers can understand terran speech.”
“And?” Valerian prompted.
“According to the protoss’ data, there’s a direct correlation between speech-center development and zerg hierarchy level,” Cogan said. “And as near as we can tell, this psyolisk has a very well-developed speech center.”
“Interesting,” Artanis said. “Yet they have psionic power. Why would they need to understand speech?”
“Because without it Abathur can’t talk to them,” Valerian said as it suddenly clicked. “With their psionic power coming from xel’naga essence, the psyolisks probably work on a different level from the zerg. Perhaps Abathur guessed that he wouldn’t be able to get through to them the traditional way, so he built in speech centers that would let him just talk to them.”
“Can he do actual speech?” Matt asked. “I didn’t think even queens could do that.”
“In a
sense,” Cogan said. “He just needs a psi-to-speech translator like the ones the zerg have on their long-range transmitters.”
“He probably didn’t even have to guess about the psionics,” Matt offered. “If he’d already worked on the adostra, he’d have known that zerg and xel’naga psionics run on different levels.”
“Higher-level zerg like Zagara and Mukav also seem to have become more comfortable with verbal communication since the end of the war,” Valerian said.
“Then the situation is one of great urgency,” Artanis said. “Since the onset of the attack against Alikka’s force, I have pondered the strategy being used by the enemy. It is inconceivable to me that psyolisks alone could be directing the battle. It follows that some other zerg must be there with them.”
“You mean Abathur is there?” Valerian asked, looking at the display with sudden fresh interest.
“I do not know,” Artanis said. “For that question raises yet another. We know little about Abathur, but what knowledge we possess suggests that he was not created for warfare. There is no reason for him to have the skill of tactics.”
“That’s disturbing,” Valerian said, frowning at the display. “Because someone down there seems to have that skill.”
“Overqueen Zagara would have such abilities,” Artanis reminded him.
“Yes, she would,” Valerian conceded. Artanis’s earlier comment about logic and reality flicked through his mind. “Again, all we can do is see it through. It looks like the survey team’s made it into Point Three. Let’s see what they find.”
“And let’s hope they don’t say anything they don’t want the psyolisks to hear,” Matt added.
—
According to the rangefinder in Tanya’s visor, the main chamber in Point Three was exactly the same size as the one in Point One.
So why, she wondered distantly, did it feel like it was taking so much longer to walk across it to the adostra pods?
I do not believe there is any possibility that this can work, Ulavu warned. To place all our hopes on this plan threatens to bring destruction upon us all.
