The glowing eyes half closed and Zeratul tilted his head in amusement. "Although for us, the story of the Anakh Su'n, the Twilight Deliverer, is a bit more mystical than something so prosaic. We saw him ascend before our very eyes—sacrificing this existence to achieve another, higher spiritual plane. A prophecy slowly began to take shape around this remarkable incident. We believed Adun was waiting until a similarly great need arose to return to us—to all of us, Aiur protoss and dark templar alike. Did he not use both powers? Did he not die protecting us—not because we were different, but because we were the same as those who would have seen us dead or cast out?"
Zeratul's eyes flashed as he spoke, and Jake saw he was sitting up straighter. He remembered the image Zamara had given him of the prelate, before the disappointment of actually meeting him. Zeratul had seemed to him powerful, controlled and yet passionate, an inspiring presence. For the first time since Jake had met him, Zeratul seemed like that protoss.
"I firmly believe that while Adun wanted to keep us safe, he also wanted to keep the Aiur protoss from committing an atrocity from which they could never recover. To have slaughtered all of us—the stain of such a thing could not have been removed. We could never be a united people, with so vast a river of blood flowing between us. It was to help them as much as us that he summoned the powers he did and made his sacrifice."
Jake boggled at the depth of compassion it took for Zeratul—and by implication, all the dark templar—to see the incident in such a light.
"Those who had such talents meditated on the prophecy. They were given visions, signs to look for, for the return of Adun. How he would return we did not know. But return he would, once these signs had come to pass."
"And.. .you think he has?" Jake asked. At the same time as his lips formed the words—old habits died hard, and he found himself still speaking to the protoss rather than just thinking at them— Zamara asked, "What are the signs?"
Zeratul chuckled. "Ah. So many questions. I think I have said enough. Zamara has told a story—a poignant and powerful one." Heinclined his head respectfully. "I have told a story, a myth of my people that is not quite so fictional as it might seem to be at first. I think it is time that you, Jacob Jefferson Ramsey, told a story."
"Uh..." He was no raconteur. These two beings had lived much, much longer than he had, and had seen far more. They knew far more. What could he possibly say to interest them? Zamara already knew him practically down to the cells of the marrow of his bones. "I...really don't have a story. I'm just a digger in the dirt, honestly." Jake shrugged, slightly embarrassed.
"How did you come to find our friend Zamara, Jacob?" Zeratul asked. He had turned his full attention on Jake, and that intense regard was unsettling. "You are far away from the worlds of your people for one who is a mere digger in the dirt. Zamara crafted a puzzle that most protoss might not have been able to decipher, let alone terrans. How is it you were there to solve that puzzle? I am intrigued."
Jake knew that this was a key moment. He knew he was being analyzed by one of the shrewdest minds he had ever stumbled across. The members of the nominating committee for the Flinders Petrie Award for Archaeological Distinction had nothing on this guy. He suspected Valerian might—the young Heir Apparent was extremely intelligent and very canny—but even then, Jake would put his money on the dark templar prelate. Zamara's respect for him rivaled that which she had felt toward Adun and Tassadar.
He and Zamara had to get this guy on their side. Had to convince him to lend his aid, to get back in the game, to stop sitting here on this out-of-the-way planet nursing his pain. Zamara had hooked him, by playing to that most protoss of traits, a deep curiosity and a desire to know. It was up to Jake to reel him in, as it were, though it was nothing so manipulative as that. Zeratul might be persuaded to help Zamara. But Jake realized the dark templar also needed to be persuaded to help Jake. And therefore, Jake needed to be worthy inthose glowing eyes that had seen so much.
"Okay, then. I'll tell you about how I got to Nemaka and found Zamara. It's pretty boring," he warned.
"That is for me to determine," Zeratul replied, reinforcing Jake's supposition that this was about a thousand times more important than any interview he'd ever had. Even the one with Valerian.
Jake sighed. Here goes nothing, he thought to Zamara, and began.
He spoke briefly about his career as an archaeologist under first the Confederacy and then the Dominion, letting a little pride creep into his thoughts and voice as he mentioned his work on Pegasus. "Unfortunately funding ran out before I could find anything to prove my theories that there was something more to the place besides what was immediately apparent, but it was those theories that started attracting attention—both good and bad. Lots of people started calling me a crackpot, but it was my work there and my publication of those theories that attracted the attention of Valerian Mengsk."
"Mengsk?" He had Zeratul's attention now, for sure.
"Yes. Emperor Arcturus's son. He sent me an invitation to work for him while I was on Gelgaris. Full funding, state-of-the-art equipment, and a promise of a great intellectual challenge—a very nice offer."
"I see," said Zeratul. "So the heir to the Terran Dominion plucks you out of obscurity with no warning. How very boring this story is." Sarcasm, it seemed, was something terrans and protoss both understood.
Jake continued, warming to the tale. He described his encounter with Valerian, the youth's passion and curiosity about ancient civilizations, the promise of a glorious and comfortable excavation. "It was only later that I found out that I wasn't Valerian's first choice. There had been other teams there already. Seems there was a hollow area in the temple, a chamber, that Valerian desperately wanted to get into. None of the other teams had figured it out. I did.. .but I started down that path by sheer luck, by quite literally falling on my ass.
Zeratul blinked.. .and then laughed with more warmth than Jake had yet seen from him. Jake grinned crookedly and chuckled slightly himself.
"Happy accidents have been responsible for more glorious discoveries than you can imagine, Jacob," Zamara told him. "And you achieved more than.. .falling on your ass."
Jake nodded. "That's how I found the doorway. Completely by accident. Fell through two tunnels and landed right at the door." Jake sobered slightly, remembering. "I saw the writing in blood. That's when I knew I was on to something. I realized that while I might not be the first to know about the chamber and try to break into it, I was the first to get a real crack at solving this puzzle."
"Zamara did not make it easy," Zeratul said.
"Indeed I did not. I assumed that only a protoss who was profoundly knowledgeable and spiritual would comprehend the message I had left. And yet, even though he could not read it, Jacob was able to open the door."
"I figured out that in the end, it wasn't about thinking like a human, or even like a protoss, that would get me anywhere. It was about thinking on a grander, more universal scale. And when I saw the spiral in the fossil, it came to me. Rosemary and I went through, found the wrecked ship and...Zamara."
He fell silent. "So...I guess that's it."
"What of the female?"
"Rosemary? She went through the gate before we did. She went with the other protoss to Shakuras. When we tried to get through, we found that we were redirected. Zamara guessed you might be here, and so here we are."
Zeratul's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps the female is responsible for your being unable to reach Shakuras."
"No," said Zamara. Jake was grateful, and surprised, at the rapidity with which Zamara came to Rosemary's defense. Then again, she had always maintained that the assassin would be useful to them, and she had been right. Still, he appreciated it. "Rosemary Dahl is not a traitor. Not all terran females are like Sarah Kerrigan, Zeratul. I would think you would know that. The dark templar have ever deemed females the equal to males. Was not your own leader a female? Matriarch Raszagal?"
"Raszagal!" Jake stared at Zeratul. "I know her!
I mean...I saw her. In the memories. She was a rather lively girl. She's your leader? That's—"
The words died in his throat at Zeratul's reaction to Zamara's words. He had gone very, very still, and then suddenly leaped to his feet.
"Do not mention her name to me!" he cried. Jake gasped with pain at the power of the mental voice. At that instant, perhaps triggered by Zeratul's inexplicable outburst, perhaps just a horrible coincidence, Jake's world went white with agony and went away for a moment. Every muscle in his body tensed and when at last the torment began to fade, he gulped in air and found he was damp not with spray from the waterfall, but with cold sweat. He also found himself being supported by a pair of strong, sinewy arms that ended in hands with two fingers and two thumbs.
"This, then, is what you suffer from your joining with Zamara," Zeratul said. There was no pity in his mental voice, just an assessment of the facts. Jake started to nod, but that seemed to invite the pain to return, so he spoke instead.
"Yeah. Sometimes it's like this; most of the time it's just a dull ache." Jake was proud his voice didn't shake.
Zeratul released him. Jake could tell he was still angry for whatever reason, but Jake's episode had distracted him somewhat. Still not thinking clearly in the aftermath of the pain, Jake said, "Like I said, I know Raszagal. I'm sure she's an excellent leader."
Zeratul turned away, and this time, Jake saw him wince. "What is it?"
Zamara knew, but she remained oddly silent.
"Raszagal... was an excellent leader," Zeratul replied. The heaviness and pain that laced the mental words was almost physical.
"Was?" Jake said, picking up on the past tense. "I'm sorry.... What happened to her?"
Zeratul did not answer. At last, he turned to face Jake and straightened, slowly.
"I killed her."
CHAPTER 12
VARTANIL WAS SURPRISINGLY GOOD COMPANY. Rosemary hadn't been at all sure about him when he chose to stay with her. He was young and very eager, and usually that particular combination annoyed the hell out of her. She suspected she disliked it so intensely because it was usually the young and eager who were the first to die in any combat situation, and that kind of waste pissed her off. But Vartanil had the fact that he was a protoss going for him, and that mitigated his zeal somewhat.
Besides, stuck in her "quarters," there was really nothing else for her to do. So they talked.
Vartanil was scrupulous about reading her thoughts only when invited to do so. She'd felt him catch himself frequently at first, and she supposed that was to be expected. After all, it would be like her trying to have a conversation by writing when the tendency would be to speak. But he quickly got the hang of it, and recently hadn't mentally trespassed at all.
His life, as he'd indicated earlier, had been an uneventful and rather happy one until the coming of the zerg. Rosemary found herself smiling wistfully at his description of a family unit and a craftsman's trade. It had been a long, long time since she'd glimpsed that kind of peace. She supposed that was why she'd been so susceptible to the drugs—they gave her tranquility of a sort, even if it was a dearly-bought, short-lived lie.
When the conversation turned to her, she demurred. "Let's put it this way. Things were rough on me when I was younger, so as soon as I could, I made them rough on others."
He cocked his head, confused. Damn, she was starting to read their body language.
"You did not harm innocents though." He stated this so firmly she felt a twinge of guilt—another thing she hadn't felt in a long time.
"Sometimes I did. It was just—I did what I needed to to do the job." She shrugged her slender shoulders. It had always sounded logical. But now it sounded... well... wrong.
"I see." He didn't of course. And yet, he chose to stay with her. He chose to focus on the strength of will it had taken for her to kickthe Sundrop. He chose to focus on how she had helped Jake, rather than how she had been happily willing to turn him over for a handful of credits. Okay, more than a handful, never let it be said that Rosemary Dahl could be bought cheaply. But she sure as hell could be bought.
Jake was a lot like these guys. More than he realized. Rosemary didn't think she and Zamara would have gotten three steps if Zamara had entered her brain. The clash of natures would have made her head explode. That line of thinking, of course, made her remember that Jake was in reality going through something similar and not at all wryly humorous, and that soured her temper even more.
So it was that when Selendis entered, Rosemary snapped at her, "What the hell do you want? Come back to interrogate me some more?"
Selendis didn't bat an eye. "No," she said. "I have come to inform you that Hierarch Artanis is willing to grant you an audience."
Crap. Rosemary wondered how many times she'd stick her boot in her mouth with these people, and if she'd ever get used to the metaphoric taste.
"Oh. That's great. Uh, thank you for your efforts on my behalf." The words felt unnatural, but the feeling behind them was heartfelt. She was grateful.
Selendis inclined her head. It was then that Rosemary realized that the executor was clad more elaborately than the terran had ever seen her. Her armor, always meticulous, now seemed to gleam even brighter. Beneath the armor, she wore a flowing robe of dark blue inlaid with tiny gems, probably khaydarin crystal fragments if Rosemary had to guess. The fabric was thick and almost cried out to be touched, so heavy and lush was it. The overall effect was that Selendis appeared to be draped in the night sky, with her almost-radiant golden armor a bright sun. Atop her head she wore a jeweled band to hold back her nerve cords.
"You look great," Rosemary said. She glanced down at her own body. They'd given her robes of a sort to wear as well, and had cleaned and mended the familiar leather outfit Rosemary had spentwhat felt like half her life in.
"If you so desire, I can arrange for more formal robes to be brought to you," Selendis said, watching Rosemary's eyes as they examined first the protoss and then the folded clothing on the bed. "You will no doubt wish to present yourself properly to the Hierarchy."
"Wait—I thought I was going to see Artanis."
Selendis made a quick movement—a slight twist of the head and a shrug of the shoulders, and Rosemary recognized it as a sign of slight irritation. "I had assumed that the audience would be private as well. But I was mistaken. With so much potentially at stake, all the representatives from the various tribal bloodlines wished to evaluate the situation and decide on the solution."
"Oh that's just great. Now I get to deal with a committee of protoss." Selendis regarded her steadily and Rosemary sighed. "Well, let's get this party started."
"Do you wish more formal robes to be brought to you?"
Again Rosemary looked at the leather outfit. Sure, Selendis looked great in the night-sky robe with her perfectly polished armor. Rosemary had no doubt that she, too, would look stunning in such a dress. There had been times when she would have dressed well for a meeting. Rosemary was a mercenary, and she used all tools in her arsenal, including her body if she had to. But she knew that a female human body, attractive though it might be by her standards, wouldn't matter at all to a bunch of protoss. And in the end, that leather outfit represented the essence of who she was far better than any borrowed and tailored robe. She wasn't a protoss. She was a human female with a very dubious past. They knew that already. They knew everything already.
She thought about that time, seemingly ages ago, when she'd walked into her room at Ethan's compound wearing nothing but a robe to find Jake waiting for her. Jake was convinced Ethan was planning to betray them. And of course, he'd been right. She'd chosen the comfortable, somewhat battered leather uniform over asundress then. She would choose it over an exquisite protoss robe now. Much had happened between that decision and this one, but some things hadn't changed. Would never change.
She turned to face Selendis. "No thanks. I've got my familiar clothes here. That's who I am."
Rosemary felt a brush of admiration
—reluctant, but real—touch her mind. She'd just risen a notch in the executor's esteem. An infinitesimal one, but a notch all the same.
As the two protoss left so she could dress in privacy, Rosemary thought she'd need every notch she could get.
A few moments later, Rosemary, clad in the supple leather that fit like a second skin, strode between two tall templar guards. They towered over her by more than half a meter, and they were dressed in no-non-sense armor.
"All this for little old me," she murmured to Vartanil.
"Do not flatter yourself, Rosemary," Selendis said, not even bothering to turn her head. She strode a few paces in front of Rosemary. "It is standard etiquette for a meeting of the Hierarchy."
"Whatever." They strode down a corridor, Rosemary hastening to keep up with the long-legged strides of her templar guards— whoops, it's etiquette, "escorts "—and up a ramp that led to a large oval door. It irised open to reveal a flight pad of sorts atop the building where Rosemary had been kept prisoner—whoops again, "guest." A small ship awaited them. Rosemary raised an eyebrow. Dark templar technology, it had to be. Protoss technology for sure— nothing humans made was so pretty, and while she didn't know much about what the zerg did, she was willing to bet it wasn't aesthetically pleasing—but there were no blues or golds here, just dark hues and a soft green glow. Perhaps the constant twilight hue of the planet made it seem darker than it was, but it was definitely a craft that had been made by a people who spent time in the shadows.
Rosemary had spent a lot of time in the shadows herself. She respected that.
She climbed in and sat down, watching the pilots as best she could, wishing that this was her vessel and that she and Jake were about to head somewhere and—
She blinked. Since when had her fantasies about open space and a ship to fly it in included Professor Jacob Jefferson Ramsey? It was an alarming thought.
Rosemary distracted herself by peering out the window. She could make out dim shapes in the purple-blue below her, spires and towers and smaller, shorter buildings in a variety of shapes and sizes. They were darker blue, with tiny dots of illumination flickering to show that living beings dwelt there. At one point, she passed over something looming and huge that did not resemble any of the architecture she'd seen before. Even she, who was seldom moved by art or architecture, found herself barely breathing, pressing her face to the window to gaze at the thing. It looked like an ancient pyramid, or ziggurat, made of several levels that climbed skyward. Each level was limned with glowing, pale blue and purple light. Khaydarin crystals. At the top, visible even from this distance, an enormous crystal hovered. It was very similar to the one she'd seen in the chambers beneath the surface of Aiur.
Twilight tdts-3 Page 11
