Shadow Hunters

by Christie Golden

  That’s not quite right, Jacob. Valerian wishes you alive, which means that the Dominion will inadvertently aid our escape.

  Even as she spoke the words in his mind, Jake knew that they were true. Valerian wasn’t about to let him become zerg chow. The ship landed hard. Jake braced himself for the hell that awaited them outside.

  “Damn!” Valerian pounded his fist on the desk, and Whittier jumped. “Starke, can’t you bring them down?”

  “Negative, sir, not without significant risk to Ramsey. Dropships are built precisely to withstand attack. Dahl knows this and is ramming the Wraiths quite severely. We’re not sure where she thinks she can run.” Valerian ran a hand through his golden hair, thinking furiously. Was Dahl running away from capture or toward something else? She had sent Ramsey’s medical information to him early on, and Valerian had spent many an hour analyzing it. He’d seen the initial spate of abnormal and seemingly uncontrolled cell division in Ramsey’s brain—bad news no matter how one looked at it—and suspected that the protoss in Jake’s head had taken the professor to Aiur to aid him. Were they heading there now? Or just trying to flee from Valerian’s pursuit?

  It didn’t matter. Healthy or not, Jake had to be captured as soon as possible.

  “Ramsey must not be harmed; that’s the top priority here. Direct all forces toward eliminating the zerg, and stay in touch with Ramsey. You have to convince him that we’re not going to harm him. Because—damn it, it’s the truth.”

  Starke nodded. “Yes, sir. I know it. But one can lie in a telepathic link, and Ramsey knows it. The evidence is against you.”

  Valerian sighed. “Do what you can, Starke. Neutralize the protoss and capture Ramsey alive. Do whatever you have to do to achieve those goals.”

  Rosemary leaped out first, firing with seeming abandon but with absolute precision. The others closed in around Jake, shielding him and Zamara with their bodies and their weapons as they fought. Jake felt close to losing it. All around him he heard the screams of dying zerg, smelled the stench of burning bodies and blood. He was pressed tight against the protoss. Two of them even linked arms with him and when he stumbled, dragged him forward until he could get his feet underneath himself again.

  He couldn’t even see where they were heading, as the protoss all towered above him. But he trusted them, and he trusted Zamara, and he let them propel him forward. He craned his neck, and through the haze of smoke he saw the outline of the warp gate high above him. Twin tides of hope surged through him—his own, and that of Zamara.

  How do these things function? he asked Zamara.

  The gates are xel’naga technology. Each gate is able to connect to any other active gate, unless it has been programmed not to do so. When the protoss fled four years ago, Fenix and the others who chose to stay behind disabled the gate, so that it could not open on Shakuras. Some zerg had already gotten through; more, and they would have destroyed Shakuras as surely as they did Aiur, and that could not be permitted to happen.

  The cocoon of enclosing protoss bodies parted and Jake stared, horrified, at the controls. Or rather, what was left of them.

  Looks like they did more than disable it.

  Zamara’s despair flooded him for just a second, before she exerted her usual rigid control. He didn’t need to be a protoss to know it looked bad. It looked as if someone had wanted to make sure that the gate would never be reactivated, for the controls had been physically damaged.

  I stood here on that day, Ladranix said, with my old friend Fenix, and our new friend James Raynor.

  Jake opened to the memory Ladranix was sharing with him.

  “We must disable the gate,” Fenix said. “We cannot permit more zerg to go through.”

  Raynor threw him a glance. “Buddy, that’s the only way off this place for us.”

  Fenix nodded. “Yes, it is.” Nothing more needed to be said or even thought. Neither of them would put his own life before those of the innocent protoss fighting for survival even now, both on Auir and on Shakuras, both traditional pro-toss and so-called “dark” protoss. Ladranix watched them both, and understood why Fenix thought of Raynor as a pro-toss in spirit, if not in flesh.

  He did not see what Fenix did. He turned to fight against the fresh wave of snapping, chittering creatures who crawled as thoughtlessly over the bodies of their own fallen as they did over the blasted soil of a once-fertile world. But he did turn to see what happened when Raynor said, “My turn to contribute,” and lifted his rifle.

  Jake saw in his mind’s eye, as clearly as if he had witnessed it himself, what part of the console exactly Raynor melted to bits, what kind of weapon he used, and for how long he fired.

  I came here planning on and capable of reopening the gate—of reprogramming it to open onto Shakuras. But I cannot accomplish both that and repair the physical damage to this in time, Zamara admitted bitterly. As it stands now, the zerg will be upon us by then.

  Jake couldn’t believe it. Had they come so far, endured so much, to be stopped by one human’s well-meaning and indeed necessary blast to the controls? Zamara’s knowledge rippled through the protoss. They simply nodded, then turned to the seemingly ceaseless wave of zerg that, despite the onslaught from Valerian’s troops, were now beginning to gain ground.

  If protoss knew nothing else, Jake thought with mingled grief, helplessness, and respect, they knew how to look death in the face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IT WAS HARD TO SEE. THE CRUSHING DESPAIR was wrenching his gut and causing his eyes to fill. Jake blinked quickly, his fists balling, good old human stubbornness surging to the fore amidst the stoic pro-toss acceptance all around him. No. There had to be another way, there had to be a—

  His gaze fell on a tiny figure, dwarfed by the towering protoss, firing and reloading with a grim determination.

  “Rosemary,” he breathed. Maybe—could she … He turned without thinking and charged toward where she stood, feet braced on the body of a slain zergling, firing with deadly effect into the surging tide. He sent the thought quickly, naturally, and showed her what had been done four years ago.

  If you got any parts, I bet Zamara and I could fix it, she shot back in his mind.

  Just as she lowered her rifle, Ladranix sent them all a chilling message. “More are coming.”

  Sure enough, Jake could just make out in the distance a rolling dust ball that seemed to reach up to the sky. Of course. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out the only place Jake would have gone, and Ethan was far from a fool. He had of course immediately redirected his zerg, and now here they were closing in, and a figure, tiny in the distance now, was perched atop one of them.

  “I swear, next time I’m putting the muzzle right against his temple,” Rosemary said. Nonetheless, despite her deeply personal grudge, she tossed her rifle to one of the unarmed protoss, jumped down from the embankment of zerg bodies, and hurried over to Jake. Another protoss came with her, and Jake realized that they were communicating quickly and privately. Rosemary, it seemed, had lost most of her reluctance to have her mind read. Perhaps it was only the direness of the situation, but Jake was glad of it.

  “Okay,” the young woman said. “What do you need me to do, Zamara?”

  Zamara moved into the forefront, linking swiftly with Rosemary. Jake was not technically inclined at the best of times, and now he paid scant attention to them, more worried about the fighting raging about him.

  Any warp gate can open onto any other, Zamara was telling Rosemary, explaining it to her as she had to Jake. What Fenix did was program it so that it would not be able to open onto Shakuras, so the zerg could not follow and devastate that world as they had Aiur. What James Raynor did …

  … was physically damage the controls so that they’d be extra-hard for anyone else to tinker with. Rosemary’s thoughts as she examined the panel, sharp and pure and bright, stood in contrast with Zamara’s almost muted, rich mental voice. Not a traditional panel, is it? I wonder if I can do something to jump-s
tart it … maybe bypass or reroute the pathways to make a direct connection. It seems almost to be growing in there. Wait … I think I understand now….

  Jake’s body was standing beside Rosemary as she and Zamara worked together. He watched as he placed his hands on the surface of the portal. It was dark now, and it reminded him somewhat of the xel’naga temple whose mystery had set his feet on the path that had led him here. He was not a religious man, but he felt a deep prayer welling up within him that soon this surface would thrum to new life, that his friends would make it through, that this mission would succeed—that he would live.

  Rosemary needed no more handholding. She was using tools fashioned from crystals as if she had been born with them in her small hands, and her face was knotted in concentration. It was a delicate task, and while Rosemary could be a blunt instrument, she could also be surprisingly deft. Now that Zamara had given her an understanding of the physical aspect of the xel’naga and protoss technology, that knowledge, together with an intuitive grasp of how a human would choose to target something he didn’t quite understand, made her an effective partner. Zamara’s powerful intelligence was now freed up to the more esoteric task of … awakening the gate.

  Jake watched as Zamara directed her psionic energies into the crystals that seemed to lie at the very heart of xel’naga technology, almost calling to them softly. Again he was reminded of how alive the walls of the temple had felt beneath his fingers the closer to the green center he went. He did not think he would ever understand xel’naga technology.

  Jake turned his consciousness away from the project and toward the immediate situation. He knew that neither Zamara nor Rosemary could rush, but at the same time, he was painfully aware that time would soon be running out.

  It ran out faster than he expected.

  It was the sudden stillness that first alerted him that something was wrong. His physical eyes were on the task before him—Zamara’s task—but even she paused and lifted Jake’s head for a long, searching moment. The zerg, who hitherto had seemed as ceaseless and undefeatable as the incoming tide, suddenly stilled as one. Jake÷Zamara sensed that the pro-toss were puzzled, but seized the opportunity to make fresh new inroads, and the Dominion ceased its battling not one whit. The zerg simply stood there, frozen in place, letting themselves be shot to pieces or vaporized.

  What the … ?

  And then the first scout saw it. The image sped throughout the protoss via the Khala at the speed of a single thought. Jake’s mind all but seized up at it, and even Zamara reeled.

  It was enormous. It was darkness visible, like Satan’s hell from Milton’s Paradise Lost, a swirling blackness that yet was somehow radiant. It glowed and crackled, and even in a simple mental picture Jake instinctively knew that the power the thing exuded and controlled would obliterate every living being gathered at the warp gate.

  Ulrezaj. Here.

  Somehow Jake had thought the abomination safely far away, mentally controlling and enslaving the Forged—he understood that term now—and having them be his Xava’kai, making them do his dirty, obscene work for him. Ulrezaj had been a threat, yes, if he had sent assassins to kill Zamara for what she knew. But for some reason Jake had never thought the monster within striking range, had never thought of him as a real and present danger like Valerian or Ethan or the zerg.

  Now Rosemary, too, had stopped. Her blue eyes were wide, and for the first time since Jake had known her she looked scared. He didn’t blame her. He was terrified.

  He could see the monster with his own eyes now, a huge swirl of glowing darkness on the horizon like a cancer.

  Something brushed Jake’s thoughts, a tiny, almost pathetic breeze of hope amidst this flood of despair and inevitability.

  “We are coming, Jacob. Not all of us are his Hands.”

  “Alzadar!” he cried. The news rippled throughout the protoss and indeed, a few seconds later, six small protoss ships appeared in the skies. Their appearance seemed to rouse the zerg from their paralysis. Perhaps Ethan sensed that this new threat was the greatest, or perhaps he knew that Ulrezaj, unlike himself or Valerian, had come to kill rather than capture. Regardless, the zerg turned as one and began to move to attack Ulrezaj. So did the Dominion vessels.

  The giant dark archon, comprised of not merely two powerful dark templar but seven, rebuffed their efforts as if the attacking zerg and Dominion ships were mere flies. The air shivered as if a heat wave pulsed through it and fully a dozen mutalisks went down, surrounded by the dark energy consuming them. Another blast of dark psionic energy rippled forth on the earth, and zerg fell over like dominos tipped by a careless hand. The Forged themselves were not engaging their former master in battle; they were simply trying to make it to the warp gate. Ulrezaj, however, was not inclined to let them escape so easily. Jake was rocked by pain as he helplessly watched two of Alzadar’s tiny ships be destroyed before they could safely land behind the front line of the battle—two ships filled to capacity and beyond with the Forged, who had resisted the power of a dreadful drug and their own deep-seated pain and fears to follow Alzadar and come to help save what remained of their people.

  Inside him, he felt Zamara stir unhappily. Every time a protoss dies, his or her memories become my own. Each thread is a glorious part of a complex tapestry. It is sometimes difficult to manage … so many at one time from one place.

  Jake was humbled—by the preserver, by the protoss, by everything around him. Damn it, they weren’t going to die here! He felt Zamara return to her task at hand, although he knew that she and indeed all of them now thought it a futile gesture. As futile a gesture as what Adun had attempted, trying to shelter the dark templar, to teach them skills they could never possibly—

  Adun.

  Jake felt a shiver run down his spine. Zamara … you said you showed me these things for a reason. Adun’s story—it was to show that the protoss are really one people, and that their split was due to fear and ignorance.

  Yes. I am taking you to Shakuras, the world that the dark templar settled after they were expelled from Aiur so callously. You needed to understand the division, and the attempt to heal it.

  No, more than that. Don’t you see? We can fight this dark archon after all! We can do what the dark templar did!

  He thought of the psionic storms unleashed by the dark templar, the raging, out-of-control energies that had whirled across Aiur’s surface so long ago, attracted by mental energy and destroying everything in their wake.

  Jacob—the powers the dark templar wielded are not known to traditional protoss. Those Who Endure are not dark templar.

  What about the Forged? The Sundrop—sure it was used to keep the Tal’darim docile, but it also cut them off from the Khala, remember? It changed their personalities. Altered them. What if—what if that was what Ulrezaj was going for? What if he was actively manipulating them to make them of better use to him in those experiments? Preparing them somehow?

  … Such a thing had not occurred to me. I will converse with Alzadar. If he will let me probe his mind…

  Jake waited, fidgeting. A few seconds later Zamara was again in his thoughts.

  Your theory is correct. Alzadar’s brain chemistry has been altered—permanently or not, we do not know. I also spoke with some of the others who are still actively addicted to the Sundrop. Their chemistry is even more greatly altered.

  He fanned their hatred and fear of the dark templar … and all the time he was trying to turn the Forged into them, Jake said.

  So it would seem. But they are untrained and undisciplined, and the psionic storms that so devastated Aiur in Adun’s time were uncontrolled.

  Maybe—the storms would go right to that thing out there? Jake asked. Directed or not?

  Yes. Yes, it could work—but there is one more thing you need to know if you are to teach the Forged and Those Who Endure to do such a thing.

  We don’t have time!

  We do. We must.

  And before he fully understood what wa
s happening, Zamara was unfolding yet another memory in his mind while she and Rosemary worked desperately to repair the warp gate.

  It was wrong. Jake knew it, Adun knew it, the templar knew it. And yet wrong as it was, it was still better than watching dark templar corpses stiffening in the green light filtered through the canopy. At least the dark templar were still alive to be exiled.

  Anger and a great sense of hurt rolled off the assembled Conclave in waves. Mixed with it was a partial sense of satisfaction and relief—at least the heretics would no longer endanger the protoss people with their refusal to link with the Khala. Jake watched grimly as dozens—hundreds—of the banished protoss moved slowly up the ramp of the curving, luminous vessel that was the last ship left behind when the Wanderers from Afar departed this world. It had taken the protoss centuries to even get inside the xel’naga ship, and it still held mysteries. The ship had been the template for much protoss technology, and it was a testament to how strongly the Conclave believed they were right that they would surrender such a prize in order to be rid of the dark templar.

  Raszagal was boarding now. She lifted her robes so as not to stumble, her head held high, as always. He saw her pride, even now, although as she was not and would never be in the Khala, he could not feel it.

  Raszagal, I am so sorry, Jake sent, for her and her alone.

  She turned to regard him. Do not be. You did what you could. This, we know.

  And then—

  “Adun! We expressly forbade you to attend!”

  Jake felt his friend’s thoughts, as calm as those of Kortanul were agitated. Adun mounted the platform on which the Conclave members stood and sketched a brief bow. “I know, Judicator. And yet again, I respectfully disobey. These people trusted me. It is my duty to see them off safely.”

  “Duty! What does a templar who deliberately deceives the Conclave know of duty? You pollute the word!”