a lot of terrans for protoss knowledge. And now Rosemary and I are on the line for it too. If this gets Rosemary and me out of danger, I’m all for it.
There was silence from the alien inside his head, and Jake realized that Rosemary was looking at him expectantly.
“Well?”
“Uh—well, Zamara’s not too keen on the idea,” Jake said truthfully. “But we can talk about it when we get there.”
R. M. nodded. “We’re not going to get there at all unless we haul ass and effect repairs pronto.” She moved past him and slid into the seat. He took the chair beside her, although he knew nothing about the dozens of lights, buttons, and switches in front of him.
“Now let me see … Good! I was right in my hunch about where we are. So that means that …” She punched a few more buttons and a star chart came up. Rosemary nodded, pleased. “Excellent.” She laid in a course.
“So where are we going?”
She gave him a grin. “Back in time, Jake. Back in time.”
CHAPTER THREE
IN THE DARKNESS, THERE WAS HARMONY.
Unified, single-minded of purpose, seven beings were one. Each contributed to the whole, was present and yet subsumed, the magnificent, powerful, deadly one greater than the individuals who comprised it.
It … he … moved languidly now, but could move almost at the speed of thought when roused to action. Radiant at his center, his glow was shadow.
He stirred as the ripples of something brushed his mind. Something familiar. Something he wanted destroyed. Something that threatened him and his task.
Preserver, a part of him named the loathed quarry.
How can this be? A preserver, in such a place? wondered another part.
And there is something else. It is not pure protoss mental energy. It has been tainted—or augmented. It is difficult to know which.
How and why, tainted or pure, it does not matter. It must be found and stopped. Like all preservers. Other parts, once individuals, now fractions of the whole, murmured their discontent.
Preservers were a dire threat, perhaps the only true one this being, naming itself in his multiple consciousness Ulrezaj after the most powerful individual that comprised him, had ever discovered. Preservers knew too much. And so Ulrezaj had been attentive to any signs of them, tracking them down one by one and snuffing out their fragile little lives until soon there would be none left. There were only a handful as it were, and they had never been many. It was a foolish way to carry information, inside a mortal shell that was so easily crushed.
The seven-who-were-one turned their formidable mental powers toward this strange sensation, this ripple in a dark, still pond.
Ulrezaj would find the renegade preserver. He would find it, he would destroy it, and the threat the protoss posed would be no more.
And then Ulrezaj would continue in his glorious work.
Valerian wielded his sword like all the demons of hell were attacking him.
Parry, stroke, whirl, slice, impale—the imaginary foes attacking him from all sides at once fell before him. He leaped up as a nonexistent sword sliced at his knees, lunged forward, turned, and blocked a fictitious attack. Tucking his sword, he ducked, rolled forward, and came up fighting. Sweat plastered his fair hair to his forehead, dappled his upper lip, slicked his chest. His heart thundered in his ears and despite all his training his breath was coming in little gasps. He had never practiced with such focused intensity before in his life, and he craved the peace he knew would come after such exertion.
He finished the routine, twirled the sword expertly over his head, sheathed it, and bowed. Valerian never forgot to bow, no matter what. To bow was to remember one’s opponent. And Valerian always, always remembered who he was fighting.
There came a tentative knock on the door. “Come in, Charles,” Valerian called, pouring himself a glass of water and drinking thirstily.
While Whittier always looked as if something was wrong, this time the distress on his face was more pronounced than usual. “Sir,” Whittier said, “it’s His Excellency. He wishes to speak with you at once.”
Valerian’s stomach tensed, but years of practice at hiding his emotions enabled him to respond calmly. “Thank you, Charles. Tell him I will be there in a moment.”
Whittier gulped. “Sir, he’s pretty impatient.”
Valerian turned cool gray eyes upon his assistant. “I will be there in a moment, Charles,” he repeated in a soft voice.
“Of course, sir.” Whittier closed the door.
Valerian wiped his face with a cloth, composing himself. After the debacle at Stewart’s compound, he’d known he’d be hearing from his father soon. Off the beaten track the planet might have been, but word of zerg in terran space would have gotten to Arcturus at light speed. He finished his glass of water, changed his shirt, and went into Whittier’s office.
Whittier jumped at the sound of the opening door. Valerian sighed. Whittier was an extremely capable assistant and Valerian relied upon him a great deal, but the man had the constitution of a rabbit.
“Thank you, Charles, put him through,” Valerian said. He returned to his training room and went to the small vidsys that was set up in a curtained-off area. Steeling himself for the confrontation—for he knew such the conversation would be—he touched a button.
The visage of Arcturus Mengsk appeared. Mengsk was a big man, and managed to convey that even on a small screen. His hair was thick, if more salt than pepper these days, as was his mustache. Piercing gray eyes met those of his son.
“Four years with no sign of the zerg, and then all of a sudden they show up on a remote planet which happens to be where you’ve set up a former black marketer. I didn’t get where I am today by believing in coincidence. Anything you care to tell me?”
Valerian smiled. “And good afternoon to you too, Father.”
Arcturus waved a hand. “Rule number one for running an empire, son: when the zerg are a topic of conversation, the niceties go out the airlock.”
“I’ll remember that. The situation is under control, Father.”
“Define ‘under control,’ and tell me why the zerg are there in the first place.”
Valerian debated. He could remain silent, or lie, or tell the truth. It was too late to sweep everything completely under the rug. But the most important thing to Valerian was that Mengsk not know about Jake’s … unique situation. Valerian still held out hope that he and Jake could sit down as fellow lovers of archeology and discuss the wonders he had discovered. If Mengsk learned about it, Jake would be snatched from Valerian’s hands and his mind poked, prodded, scanned, and eventually rendered inert. What Arcturus wanted was an edge, some new technology, some new and better way to smear his enemies into paste. He cared nothing for the glories of a vanished civilization or unequaled cultural insights.
Quickly,
