Starcraft II: Flashpoint

by Christie Golden

  “Don’t get all mushy yet,” Jim cautioned. “I just said I trust you more than I trust him. I’m going to check on Matt, then come back and see if I can’t get Sarah to calm down a little more. It’s going to be hard to try to calm her when I agree with her, but I’ll do my best.”

  He stopped abruptly. Valerian turned inquiringly to face him. “Listen, Valerian,” Jim said. “I want your word that Narud isn’t going to override me when it comes to Sarah’s treatment.”

  “I—he’s the professional, Jim, not I. And not you either.”

  “Don’t matter. I know Sarah, I know what she would want, and I can see just a bit more clearly than she does. You’ve been solid so far, but I need to have your word on it.”

  He held out his hand. Valerian looked at it for a moment.

  “But what if Sarah’s life or—”

  “I’ll make that call, and I’ll bear that responsibility. Your word. Or so help me, I will turn on you so fast, take Sarah, and get out of here before you know what happened.”

  Valerian’s expression turned wry. “Well, how can I possibly say no to such a sincere gesture of trust?” he replied. He extended his still-dirty but finely manicured hand and grasped Jim’s. “You have my word, James Raynor. I will not throw Sarah Kerrigan to the wolves.”

  * * *

  Jim was surprised to see Horner on the bridge already. The young captain was standing gazing at the viewport, his arm in a sling, and when Jim entered, Matt whirled on him. He looked pale and tired, but furious.

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded to know.

  Jim looked out the viewport. Both ships had taken their jump coordinates from the Bucephalus, but things had happened so fast Jim hadn’t had a chance to see where those coordinates had put him. Now he did, and he understood Matt’s ire.

  On the screen was a massive green-blue gas giant. It was surrounded by chunks of spiraling astral rocks, ranging from the size of a planet to that of a dust particle. In between were millions of asteroids that were conveniently battlecruiser-destroying size, and they were crowded together so tightly that the place was known throughout the sector not by its formal name, the Kirkegaard Belt, but as the “Kick-You-Good” Belt.

  “It’s the Kick-You-Good Belt, Matt,” Jim said laconically, his eyes narrowing as he regarded it.

  “I know that,” said Matt. “These are the coordinates Swann got from Captain Vaughn. Why are we here?”

  “Well, that is an entirely different question, and one which I aim to ask Valerian right now.” He punched a button. “Valerian. Why the hell are we here?”

  Valerian’s face appeared on the screen. “Because,” he said, “the station housing the secret Moebius lab known as Space Station Prometheus is inside that asteroid belt.”

  Matt simply stared, his mouth slightly open. “You gotta be pulling my leg,” Jim said. “There’s a reason they call this the Kick-You-Good Belt. It’s because if anyone is either insane or simply stupid enough to venture too much farther than where we’re sitting right now, they’re going to get pulverized. No one’s gone in there.”

  “Ah,” said Valerian, “and that belief, which I have gone to great lengths to propagate, is the reason the secret base remains secret. There is indeed a way to navigate the belt. It requires precise coordinates and very careful and patient navigation, but believe me, following this path will bring our two vessels to Dr. Narud’s base. It’s located in the heart of an asteroid that was hollowed out for this express purpose.” He looked a tad too smug for Jim’s taste.

  “Absolutely not,” said Horner. “That might be doable for a smaller ship, Valerian, but we’re talking battlecruisers. Two of them, which means our chances of ending up as a permanent part of the Kirkegaard Belt doubles. This place is a ship killer. If you don’t believe me, do a quick scan. You’ll find the debris of a lot of ships whose captains were foolish enough to try what you’re suggesting.”

  Valerian sobered. “Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “I know it looks impossible. But there are many who would have said that recovering Sarah Kerrigan was impossible too.”

  Jim glanced over at Matt. Matt met his gaze for a moment, then looked away, shaking his head.

  “Matt—I had hoped that after our little adventure, you had learned to have a bit more confidence in me and my ability to handle a situation. Jim—you know I think things through. Thoroughly. And just use your logic for a moment—how could a base be established there if such a thing were impossible?”

  Valerian had them there. If he wasn’t out-and-out lying to them. But Jim’s gut told him the young prince wasn’t. It was too elaborate a lie, and there seemed to be no reason for it.

  “Have you ever taken the Bucephalus in?” he countered.

  “Ah . . . no, actually. I’ve always traveled on smaller vessels.”

  Matt started to throw up his hands in a “there you go” gesture, winced in pain, and aborted the movement.

  “But the path is the path. It is large enough to accommodate a battlecruiser—provided that said battlecruiser is extremely careful. Jim—this truly is the only way to get Sarah the sort of treatment she needs. The Bucephalus will go first, if you like. To prove my good faith. It’s a bigger ship than the Hyperion. If we can do it, so can you.”

  Suddenly Jim smiled. Matt looked at him, puzzled at the expression. “Well, you know, maybe I’ve just gotten a trifle staid in my old age. Maybe this is just what we need to shake things up a bit.”

  Matt stared at him blankly for a moment, then wordlessly lifted his good hand and pointed to his wounded arm.

  “Matt, the whole reason you got that injury is to get us where we are now. To hook up with Narud and get to Prometheus Station, so that we can take care of Sarah. That’s why we asked Mira for the favor and why we ended up accidentally putting her and her whole operation at risk. You want to throw all that away because you’re a little unhappy at navigating an asteroid belt?”

  Matt sighed. “I hate it when you do that,” he said. But Jim could tell that Matt realized his commander was right. He also knew Jim well enough to know that Raynor wouldn’t have said it if it hadn’t been true. Jim was grateful for such unwavering loyalty.

  “Send us the coordinates for this . . . path, Valerian,” Matt said wearily. “The sooner we embark, the sooner we’ll get there.”

  * * *

  Valerian sent the coordinates as requested, then ended the transmission. He turned to Narud, who had been standing out of sight for the conversation.

  “You’re not a very popular man over there on the Hyperion,” Valerian said. “Or in my sick bay, I’m afraid.”

  Narud, unlike Horner, Valerian, or Raynor, had taken advantage of the time to clean himself up. He stood wearing a shirt, trousers, and boots loaned to him by Valerian. They didn’t quite fit, but they would have to do for now. At the comment, he merely sighed. “Genius is rarely appreciated in one’s lifetime,” he said. It was not a joke, and Valerian didn’t take it as one. The man was, without question, a genius.

  “You must understand their mind-set,” Valerian continued. “Think about where Kerrigan is coming from—and Raynor.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking about,” snapped Narud. “I really wish you’d permit me to see her. I can send a transmission ahead to inform my team exactly what to expect.”

  “You can do that without physically seeing her,” Valerian replied. “I’ll have Dr. Frederick give you all the data he has on her condition, and you may speak with him freely. It’s only a few hours’ delay, Emil. You can wait that long. Let Jim . . . soften her up for the whole idea. If anyone can do it, he can.”

  “Yes,” mused Narud, “if anyone can . . . it’s Raynor.”

  * * *

  Annabelle stood in the corridor outside the cantina. Her hand was entwined with that of Travis Rawlins. They’d been enjoying a drink at the cantina, deep in conversation, when he’d gotten the summons to report immediately to the Bucephalus. Annabelle had overheard Travi
s’s orders, and had paled when the words Kirkegaard Belt had been spoken.

  “I’ve got to go,” Travis said quietly. He stood close to her. She could feel his warmth, his solidity, and knew if she looked up she could see the kindness in his dark brown eyes.

  “I know,” she said.

  Neither of them moved.

  “You should talk to Chief Engineer Swann,” Travis said. “About putting weapons on the Fanfare.”

  “Nah, it’s a dumb idea.”

  “No, I think it’s a great idea. It might be too impractical to arm all of them, but even just one—who knows how many lives could be saved?”

  “What would a navigator know about dropships?” Annabelle said teasingly.

  “Not much,” Travis admitted, “but he knows a good thing when he hears about it. Or . . . sees it.”

  Annabelle stared at him for a moment, then down at her boots. “Well,” she said at last, her voice wildly unsteady. “You should be going.”

  “You’ll need to let go of my hand,” he said gently, even though he himself made no move to disentangle himself.

  “I know that too,” Annabelle replied. “But for some reason, I don’t seem able to.” She risked a look up, and her heart jumped. “Funny, huh?”

  He shook his head and stroked her cheek with his other hand. “Not really. I . . . find myself in the same position.”

  Annabelle was used to being in the company of men and generally enjoyed it. She was part of a team; she had a role. She belonged. She thought of Rory as a gruff uncle, Jim and Matt as big brothers, and the rest of the engineering staff as comrades. But now she was very much aware that she was a woman, and Travis was a man, and he smelled . . . really good.

  And he was about to navigate their way through the most notorious asteroid belt in the sector. With the biggest battlecruiser ever built.

  “I’m pretty good at what I do, Annabelle,” Travis said, a hint of a smile on his handsome face.

  “Of course you are! I didn’t mean to—It’s just that—”

  He silenced her with a kiss that was as sweet and exciting as it was completely unexpected. What was she doing? Falling in love with a man she barely knew? And yet from the moment he had taken her hand when she thought people were dying by the thousands, she’d opened up to him like a flower blooming. She felt as though she had been waiting for—

  “I’ve been waiting for you all my life, I think,” Travis said softly, pressing a kiss on her temple.

  “Oh,” said Annabelle, her voice a bare whisper. She mentally kicked herself. What a stupid thing to say: “Oh.” But somehow she couldn’t think of anything else. She clutched his hand like a lifeline.

  He laughed, his breath warm and sweet on her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us through this asteroid belt just fine. But I want something in return. Talk to Swann.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “Please . . . promise? You’ll never know till you ask, right?”

  She nodded. “That’s true.”

  “And . . . since you never know till you ask . . . will you have dinner with me when we dock?”

  She smiled, feeling her heart on her face, wide open and happy. Everything suddenly seemed possible. “You got a deal,” she said.

  Her hand felt achingly empty as he left.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jim faced a hard decision—whether to stay on the Hyperion with Matt as the vessel attempted to navigate the asteroid belt, or to return to the Bucephalus to be with Sarah for the duration of the journey.

  “You don’t need to stay here, sir,” Matt said. “The crew won’t navigate any better with your presence, and . . . I know you’d rather be there.”

  “It ain’t about what I want; it’s about what’s best. Sarah’s pretty upset at the idea of arriving at this place, and I don’t blame her. On the other hand, the crew’s pretty upset about getting there.”

  “Again, respectfully, I say that your presence will make more of a difference to Kerrigan than the crew. It’s not as if you’re copping out and leaving them.” He grinned a little. “In fact, you’d be in the lead vessel. That might tell the crew just how confident you really are.”

  “I ain’t that confident,” Jim confessed.

  “Of course you’re not. But it’ll look like you are.”

  Jim allowed as how Matt had a point, clapped the younger man on the shoulder of his uninjured arm, and went to the Bucephalus. Before he went to sick bay, however, he stopped off at the bridge. Valerian and Narud seemed surprised to see him.

  “So I’ve been thinking,” Jim said. Narud muttered what may have been a disparaging comment about how Jim’s “thinking” was a remarkable event. Raynor ignored him. “We should make a joint announcement, heard on both ships. For my part, I’ll tell them that I’m over on the Bucephalus, the lead ship, and that I have every faith in your navigator—” He raised his eyebrows inquiringly in said navigator’s direction.

  “Travis Rawlins, sir.”

  “Oh, so you’re Travis. Annabelle can’t shut up about you. No, don’t look embarrassed, son. Annabelle has a good head on her shoulders, and I trust her judgment.”

  “Er . . . thank you?” Travis still sat straight in his chair, but glanced over at Valerian for reassurance. The prince nodded and lifted a hand, indicating that there was nothing to worry about.

  “That I have every faith in Travis Rawlins to get us to this station safely. And what you should say is something about when the station was built, how many times ships have successfully traversed the path to and from the place, and download into the computer databanks any visual proof that said station actually exists.”

  “Absolutely not,” Narud said. “This station is highly classified!”

  Jim turned to Narud. “Okay, then. Perhaps you’d care to deal with a mutiny?”

  “You can’t possibly think that your crew would do such a thing,” Narud scoffed.

  Jim had scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Well, I do and I don’t. I don’t think they’d have one of them weapons-toting, equipment-smashing type of mutinies. But I sure could see them simply stopping work and quitting. Ain’t no one in my crew conscripted or forced to stay if he or she doesn’t want to.”

  This was clearly aimed at Valerian, who bridled slightly at the implication. “I will remind you, Jim, that Sarah is on our ship. If your crew chooses to ‘stop work,’ as you put it, you’ll lose them. Because my crew will obey my orders.”

  “I ain’t taking a swing at you because I know what you’re really saying,” Jim said. “But you know as well as I do that everyone on both ships is scared shitless of traveling through that.” He stabbed a finger in the direction of the viewscreen—and the countless number of asteroids it displayed. “And you know they’ll all feel better if they get some reassurance from the people who’ve done this before that they ain’t gonna wind up plastered against a space rock.”

  “I agree that an announcement would hearten the crews of both vessels,” said Valerian. “Dr. Narud, I respect your desire to keep Prometheus Station as covert as possible. I funded this base, and I will use my own best judgment as to what to release to the crews. After all, shortly they will be beholding at least some of it with their own eyes. I think Raynor is suggesting that they simply want assurance that the place exists, not how many computers we have. Isn’t that correct?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  Narud scowled, but knew when he was outmatched. He nodded reluctantly. Jim nodded once, then hurried to sick bay. Sarah was awake. There was color in her face, and he saw that she was halfway through a meal.

  He couldn’t suppress a grin. “You know what makes me happy, don’t you, darlin’?”

  She shot him a look, and her eyes were cold. “You don’t know what makes me happy.” She shoveled the food into her mouth almost mechanically. And then Jim realized what was going on. Sarah was doing everything she could to recover her strength in case she had to fight against people she perc
eived as her captors.

  “I do know,” Jim said quietly. “Sarah—do you trust me?”

  She swallowed, not replying at once. Then she softened, ever so slightly. “I do.”

  “Then trust me to know what I’m doing, and that I’m going to do right by you. They are not going to hurt you.”

  “I said I trust you, Jim. Not Valerian.”

  “Let me worry about Valerian and Narud. You keep eating.”

  “There’s a lot of fear on this ship, Jim. I might not have to worry about Valerian and Narud, if what people are thinking about the asteroid belt is true.”

  “Well, honey, you do have a point. We’re just going to see what happens. Guess all will be solved if we end up smears on a rock, huh?”

  And he was pleased to see that despite her determination to keep scowling, she ducked her head and tried to hide a smile.

  He’d promised he’d “work on her.” He knew that Valerian and Narud assumed that he would be attempting to talk her into seeing Narud before she absolutely had to.

  He would let them assume that.

  * * *

  It was six hours of nail-biting, sweat, prayers, and curses. Everyone in both ships knew about the Kick-You-Good Belt. They all knew the stories. And they could all even see the debris of other ships that had had the audacity to try what they were now attempting.

  Annabelle kept trying to distract herself, but she kept sneaking peeks at their progress. At one point Swann came up to her and said roughly, pressing some creds into her hand, “You’re relieved of duty. Get your butt to the cantina. Have a drink on me. Talk to Cooper about how worried you are about that navigator fella.”

  She blushed. “I am worried, Rory. But please don’t single me out like this. I can handle it.”

  He gave her a glare. “Of course you can. You’re one of my engineers. I’d be saying the same thing to Milo over there if it was his girl who was in charge of navigating these two monster ships through a nasty asteroid belt.”

  Annabelle regarded him skeptically, but saw in his eyes that he was telling the truth. “Thank you. But I think work’s what I need.”