—images of battle, of death, of Ulrezaj, of dead protoss lying in the chambers beneath the protoss homeland—
“—zerg and a dark archon—”
“—Sundrop, a despicable drug—”
“Zerg?”
Rosemary winced at the horror emanating from the protoss who surrounded the little band of refugees; she knew now that they were surrounded here, wherever “here” on Shakuras was.
“What were you thinking? Zerg? You’ll lead them here! Redirect, redirect and then shut it down!”
Rosemary shoved her way through the press of protoss surrounding her; they were too tall and she couldn’t see these new protoss who were—
Clarity struck her like an armored fist as she suddenly made sense of the jumble of words and images with which her poor human, non-psionic brain was being bombarded. They were going to close the gate.
Which would leave Jake stranded on Aiur.
“No!” she shrieked. Rosemary lunged for the nearest protoss, seizing his arm. His head whipped around and he stared at her, and she got a hint of just how alien she must appear to these beings. Unlike the refugees who had just raced through the warp gate, these protoss were fit, healthy, and armed to the teeth—well, they would have been if they’d had any teeth. The templar she’d dared lay hands on freed himself easily and backhanded her, training his weapon on her as she fell hard on soft sand. The wind knocked out of her, she gasped inelegantly like a fish, staring up at a purple sky that was not quite day and not quite night, still instinctively and foolishly trying to form words when intellectually she knew that thoughts would do as well or better.
Bless them, the other protoss rallied. The one who’d caught her before—Vartanil, she thought his name was—now gently helped her to her feet, while the others shot streams of information to the guards of the warp gate.
“You must open the gates, if only briefly!” Vartanil was saying. “There is a terran male named Jacob Jefferson Ramsey still on Aiur. He houses within him one of the last preservers.”
The guard who’d struck Rosemary gazed coldly at Vartanil. “The hardships you have endured over the last four years must have damaged your mind, Vartanil.”
Rosemary wondered as breath finally came back to her how the guard had known Vartanil’s name. Oh yeah—that instant thought stuff. And even as that realization hit, she found that she knew the guards’ names as well. This bully, his skin dark gray and his face angular and dotted here and there with sharp, small hornlike protrusions, was Razturul. The other was Turavis.
“He’s right,” Rosemary said, “and it’s a hell of a long story. Zamara will tell you, but first you need to open this damned gate!”
She was astonished at how upset she was at the thought of Jake being stranded in Aiur. Or being taken by Valerian or Ethan or reduced to a little cloud of atoms by Ulrezaj. He didn’t deserve to wind up that way, not after all he’d been through. And whatever little mysteries Zamara had locked in her dead-but-yet-still-living consciousness were obviously very important to the protoss.
Razturul’s eyes, glowing in the dim light of a twilight evening, narrowed as he regarded her. “It is true that you all tell the same story,” he acknowledged, obviously reluctantly.
“Yes, Razturul, but none of them can enter the Khala, so we cannot verify their claims in a place where there can be no deception,” said Turavis. His face was smoother than the bully’s, and his nerve cords, neatly pulled back and tied, hung down to his waist.
Razturul pointed at Vartanil. “This one claims that the protoss you have brought with you, terran, have been subjected to a drug called Sundrop.” His eyes widened slightly as, unbidden, Rosemary recollected the abject shame and self-loathing she’d endured while in the throes of that wretched drug. “Ah, you, too, claim to have been addicted.”
“No claim about it,” Rosemary muttered. She fought back her anger and fear. “Please,” she said, a word she did not often use. “My friend and the preserver he houses are in terrible danger. Just open the gate for a second.”
“It is too late,” Turavis said, compassion lacing his words. “But if it is any consolation, your friend has been redirected to another gate.”
Rosemary looked at him, uncomprehending.
“The warp gates are xel’naga technology, and they can be found on many worlds,” Turavis continued. “Any warp gate can open onto any other active gate. When we saw that there was a risk of invasion—by zerg, or the Dominion, or this dark archon—we redirected anyone who was already within the boundaries of the gate to another one. Jacob will have walked through the gate thinking to arrive on Shakuras, as you have, but instead will find himself in another place entirely.”
Rosemary gaped at him. “Oh, great. Can you tell which one?”
Razturul shook his head. “No. While it is not entirely random, there are still many possibilities. The redirection is designed so that if it is an enemy, they will not be sent anywhere that they could do harm to our people, but if it is one of our own, they will be able to survive.”
“Well, yeah, but in case you haven’t noticed, bud, I’m not a protoss. What about toxic atmospheres? What about predators? What about food? We humans can’t live on sunlight like you guys can.”
“You said he is with a preserver,” Razturul said, casting a slightly disapproving glance at Vartanil. “If this is true, then she will be able to program the gate to take them somewhere else, if where they are is inhospitable. Do not worry about him, Rosemary Dahl. I would think you should be more worried about yourself.”
“What—hey look, Pointy-face,” Rosemary snarled, drawing herself up to her full diminutive height. “Right about now my buddy is figuring out that he’s somewhere that’s not Shakuras, where he needs to be to get the preserver out of his head and save his damn life, and that he is someplace else all by himself with no clue about how to reach anybody who can help him. I think it highly appropriate that I worry about him, and oh, by the way, are you threatening me?”
Rosemary found herself surrounded by templar, both kinds, all with those weird energy blades pointed at her.
“It was not a threat; it was a warning,” Razturul said smoothly. “Come with us, Rosemary Dahl. We have no wish to hurt you, but you must be confined and interrogated.”
Her eyes widened slightly at the last word. She knew what that was code for where the Dominion was concerned, and she’d rather die right now, speared on a glowing blade of mental energy made physical, than be subjected to the impersonal and deliberate brain dismemberment that—
—images of a room, spartan but not devoid of comforts, and answering questions filled her mind.
“Oh,” she said, relaxing slightly. “That’s a bit better.”
She got a hint of something that might have been “barbaric.”
“My friends,” she said, gesturing to the protoss who had accompanied her. “What will happen to them?”
Turavis turned to regard the protoss who had escaped the carnage that was now the surface of Aiur. “They are brothers, to be welcomed home,” he said. “We will help them recover from the grip of this…Sundrop…and question them as well. Once they have shared their information, we would joyfully have them rejoin protoss society.”
She couldn’t help it. The thought, and what’s going to happen to me? was formed and was read.
“That remains to be seen,” said Turavis. “It will depend on what the executor decides.”
As Rosemary and the little group of refugees trudged through soft blue sand to a gleaming vessel that awaited them, Rosemary thought darkly that “executor” sounded a bit too much like “executioner” for her liking.
CHAPTER 2
JAKE RAN TOWARD THE MISTY SWIRL THAT was the center of the warp gate and, overriding his instincts, didn’t slow as he raced through. It was suddenly very dark, and then suddenly very bright, and very cold, and the ground beneath him was very slick, and his feet shot out from under him.
He tried to roll and would
have succeeded, had the surface upon which he attempted said roll not been ice. As it was he hit the ice hard, slid wildly along its length, and found himself in a pile of snow.
I thought Shakuras was a sort of desert, he thought irritatedly to Zamara as he stumbled to his feet, floundering in the snow that reached his thighs rather than attempting to rise on the ice.
It is, came the maddeningly unruffled reply. We are not on Shakuras.
Jake shivered as the wind knifed him. When he ran through the gate, he’d been sweating heavily from the clammy heat of the Aiur climate, exertion and, yes, nerves, and now he was feeling his soaked clothing actually begin to freeze to his skin. He folded his arms tightly around himself. Where the hell are we then, what went wrong, and what do we do now?
Jake squinted against the brightness of sunlight reflecting off of snow, turning to look in every direction. The only thing he could see in the arctic landscape was snow, more snow, and for a little variety what looked like icebergs over there. The gate was the only evidence that an advanced intelligence had ever been to this place.
I do not know where we are, and it does not matter. As for what happened, I have, as you humans would call it, a “hunch.”
She asked him to surrender his body to her will for a moment, and he obliged, marveling quietly as she moved his legs securely across the slippery surface and lifted his arms to touch the softly glowing surface of the gate. The cold receded, just a bit, as Jake again marveled at the technology of the xel’naga. The combination of nature and science, of mental power and things he, a simple human, could not understand…it was wondrous.
He felt her disappointment and worry seized him. What is it? What’s wrong?
It is as I suspected, Zamara replied. The way to Shakuras is blocked. We have been—I think the term you would understand is “locked out.”
Locked out? Why the hell would they lock us out?
It is a wise precaution, though inconvenient for us. The last time protoss fled to Shakuras from Aiur, zerg followed them. Shakuras suffered terribly. It was only through a great deal of effort that it and the protoss as a race survived at all, and the planet bears the scars of that battle to this day. I believe that once the protoss guarding the gate realized that Rosemary and her companions had come from Aiur, they ordered the Shakuras gate closed and redirected us here. A hint of humor. Wherever “here” may be. The warp gates are xel’naga technology, not protoss. I have no memory of this place at all. I believe I am the first protoss to have seen it.
Jake was a scholar, and fascinated by mysteries and discoveries. At any other time, he’d have been as intrigued as Zamara was to explore a new place. But he was freezing, he was scared, and a sudden shooting of pain in his temple reminded him that he was dying.
But…you just said you think Rosemary and the other protoss got through. Do you think they will convince the guards to open the gate?
She, too, was concerned, he knew, but at his words mirth flowed through him, warm and light.
If you were a protoss, how would you react to Rosemary?
Oh my God, he thought. You’re right. She’ll probably punch the first one who gets in her way.
I do not think so. She may wish to, but she has learned much. She has been tempered.
Unbidden, the term the misled and misused followers of Ulrezaj had chosen to describe themselves came to Jake’s mind: Forged.
In a way, yes. That is apt. However, I believe the protoss will eventually agree to admit us to Shakuras.
Eventually? I can’t stay here for that long. Not even for another few minutes, not without shelter or food.
I know. Let me think.
He did, taking his body back from her and moving as quickly as he dared on the slippery surface to stay warm. Cut-off pants, a sleeveless vest, and a light shirt, perfectly appropriate garments in Aiur’s stifling humidity and unforgiving sun, served him not at all here.
I have reached a decision. Your hands again, please.
He watched as again she lifted his hands to the gate and began to do—whatever it was that programming the gate entailed.
So what are we going to do?
We go back through the gate.
He laughed, a short harsh bark of a sound. He was starting to lose feeling in his limbs and face. We can’t reach Shakuras; where do we go? How do we find these dark templar you need to reach?
If we are prevented from reaching Shakuras, the home of the dark templar, for the moment, then we will seek aid from a certain dark templar who is probably not on Shakuras.
Who is that?
Prelate Zeratul.
Jake’s mind was suddenly awash in images and memories, none of which he could grasp in their entire complexity at this point but all of which served to give him a good idea of the nature of this dark templar. Age and wisdom were the predominant characteristics that graced this being. Although Jake knew that the Aiur protoss and the dark templar were the same species, there were subtle physical differences. The protoss he had befriended had skin that came in a variety of blue and gray. Zeratul’s skin seemed almost purple, very dark where it encircled deep-set eyes, but lightening to pale lavender along the various ridges that also made him stand out from other protoss. Alzadar and Ladranix had almost smooth skin, with no bumps or ridges to mar the curves of their features. Zeratul’s chin was long, thin, and ivory-colored.
There were other differences, too, differences of perception and sensation that Zamara imparted to him. The Aiur protoss had been fond of gold hues, as of the sun, but the dark templar in his mind’s eye seemed almost swathed in shadow. One of Zeratul’s arms was encased in a bracer that looked familiar to Jake; he’d seen similar bracers in action when Ladranix had sliced off the crystal Jake now carried in one of the many pockets of his vest. This piece of armor channeled psionic power and enabled the templar to wield the beautiful, graceful, and deadly psi blades. Zeratul’s bracer was darker, and Jake wasn’t sure if it was his imagination that made him see shadows swirling around the armor. The rest of his garb was also dark—soft, heavy robes of a rust color trimmed with brown fur. Jake knew that in keeping with dark templar tradition, his nerve cords had been ritually severed. All that was left of them was a short cluster, tied back in a ponytail. Dark templar could never enter the Khala because of this self-mutilation, even if they wished to. It was a defiant and permanent action.
Jake thought back to young Raszagal, of her pride and astonishing intellect. He thought of the other dark templar, herded like animals onto a ship of alien construction, a vessel no one was certain would even work properly. Exiled because the Conclave was afraid of them.
I didn’t realize you had the memories of someone who had known a dark templar! I mean, known one after they were banished. I’m looking forward to learning about them firsthand—well, as firsthand as preserver memories can be. They seem very wronged.
They were. The true tragedy is that the Conclave honestly believed that killing them—a stance Adun forced them to later mitigate to banishing—was the best thing to do for the protoss as a race. But the dark templar were not idle. They learned many, many things as they explored the Void in their centuries of exile. If we are fortunate, you will get to meet Zeratul as well.
You know where to find him? Exciting as the idea of meeting this powerful dark templar was, Jake was more immediately interested in getting out of the frigid environment. As if in answer to his thought, the gate began to glow and hum, active once again. Within its boundaries, a mist formed, and began to whirl in a clockwise direction.
Zamara hesitated. …Not exactly.
Great. They were going to start warp gate–hopping around the galaxy in search of a dark templar who might or might not be able to help save Jake’s life, while over on Shakuras, Rosemary Dahl was an accidental terran ambassador to the protoss.
Zeratul spoke once about how he found the peace to locate the center from which all true strength comes. All protoss meditate. We also utilize the khaydarin crystals t
o focus our thoughts. But there are times when we need not just the calm of the mental senses, but those of the physical ones. Sensory pleasures, too, have a place in soothing the spirit.
Jake thought of the smell and taste of the sammuro fruit, and Zamara agreed.
The mental conversation took only a fraction of a second. As soon as the gate was fully active, Jake hurried through. Again darkness descended, and then again the world was bright. But this was no arctic wasteland, no sweltering rain forest. He looked around, blinking, stunned at what he beheld.
The color of the sky was pink. Not a rusty red indicative of high iron content in a dusty atmosphere, but positively pink, like a rose. The grass beneath him, for it was recognizable as such, was thick and soft and a soothing purple-blue color. The air was entirely breathable, and as Jake inhaled deeply a profusion of scents, everything from fruity to piney to a rich deep earth smell, filled his nostrils. The sun, a rose-yellow, was warm and the breeze that carried the scents, gentle. For a moment, Jake wondered how he could exist on a planet that had a clear, noontime, rose-colored sky. The little he knew about oxygen-nitrogen atmospheres and something called Rayleigh scattering told his brain that he should be having difficulty surviving here.
It is an unusual phenomenon. Shall I explain it in detail?
Jake closed his eyes, welcoming the warmth on his skin. He shrugged off his wet jacket and shirt.
No. I’ll just accept it.
It was then that his eye fell upon a vessel. It resembled the small scout ships Jake had seen on Aiur, but it was slightly different. It was more—“squat” was the only word he could think of, solid, rather than elongated and graceful. Its creator had eschewed the gold that seemed to be the preferred hue of protoss vessels in favor of a black that seemed almost completely nonreflective, as if it absorbed the rosy sunlight that struck it. Here and there were dull bronze highlights.
Jake felt hope surge from Zamara, and at the same moment couldn’t stifle a yelp of pain. His body stiffened and then began to tremble, and for a brief second he lost consciousness. He came to on his hands and knees, panting, and cautiously sat upright.
StarCraft: Dark Templar: Twilight Page 2
