Starcraft II: Flashpoint Read online

  Jim and the others opened their visors. Recirculated air had never smelled so sweet. As he inhaled gratefully, Jim was surprised to find himself thinking not of their escape—which was still in question—nor even of Sarah, but of Tychus.

  I get to stay locked up in this suit ’til I pay off all my debts.

  Tychus Findlay had carried his jail with him, had lived and died in it. If only there had been some other way.

  Jim shook the thought away and turned his attention toward Kerrigan. Her body was secured by one of the harnesses that locked them all safely into place, her eyes closed. Her head lolled, the strange-looking hair, if it could even be called that, shifting not of its own accord but with the movement of the vessel. Preston had made sure the blanket was well tucked around Kerrigan, preserving her modesty. Not that Sarah ever had been a shrinking, delicate flower when it came to such things.

  “How is she?” Jim asked.

  Preston, seated on Kerrigan’s other side, looked up from a data log. “It’s hard to say right now. I’ve got her stable, and she seems human enough from what I can determine. But she needs more care than anything we can provide here.”

  “What else?”

  Lily hesitated. “I think she needs more care than anything we can provide on the Hyperion, either.”

  “The Hyperion was Mengsk’s flagship,” Jim said. “The facilities are excellent. What exactly are you saying?”

  She gave him a level look. “I’m saying I’m not sure what we’re dealing with here, Jim. We have top-notch supplies, but, hell—I’m not a top-notch doctor, and I’m certainly not an expert on the zerg.”

  “She’s not zerg!”

  Lily’s answer was a shrug. “I can’t look you in the eye and say that,” she said quietly. “Not yet.” She bent her dark head back over the data log.

  Jim sat for a moment, thinking hard, then triggered the release on one of his gauntlets and removed it. He reached out and took Kerrigan’s hand in his, careful not to disturb any of the myriad tubes attached to various parts of her body.

  Warm human flesh to warm human flesh. His eyes burned suddenly, and he blinked hard. He had not expected the sensation to move him quite so much. He gazed at her hand as if he had never seen it before, noting anew the strength of it, the oddly long fingernails that had once been talons, and remembered the first time those capable fingers had curled around his.

  She had told him once that she kept her nails short because it was practical. Just like why she kept her hair out of the way, always pulled back in a ponytail. Just like why she kept herself incredibly fit and had constructed around herself a wall a kilometer thick.

  Practical. These were the sorts of things a warrior and an assassin would do.

  Jim wanted to press the limp hand to his heart or to his lips, but did neither. He simply remembered.

  There was an abrupt thunk and the ship bucked. If Kerrigan had not been securely strapped in, she would have gone flying. Jim knew, of course, what had happened. Quickly, he lowered his visor and jacked into the dropship’s power bus. The vessel’s surroundings began downloading to his heads-up display.

  Mutalisks.

  They had always been subject to bloodlust when attacking, and now, without their queen to direct them at all, Jim suspected they were more mindless than zerglings. Two of them had focused on the dropship to the exclusion of all else, including their own lives. The hideous things flapped their delicate-looking wings (useless in space, so Jim figured it was some kind of animal reflex) and spat their parasitic glave wurms, which could eat, slice, or dice through just about anything Jim could think of, in the direction of the dropship. One of the wurms had clearly struck the hull.

  The ship dove so quickly that Jim’s stomach flip-flopped in surprise. Kerrigan’s head snapped forward; the rest of them had armor to protect against such whiplash, but nothing could be done for her right now. Jim knew they were in a fight for their lives, and the only things that could save them were piloting skill and a speedy rescue before the glave wurm ate its way through.

  The ship swooped upward as abruptly as it had dived, then rolled and dove again. Through the display on his HUD, Jim saw the brilliance of the tactic. The mutalisks ended up facing—and inadvertently attacking—each other. They threw back their many-eyed heads, no doubt screaming in agony as their own acidic blood began to eat away at their carapaces. Jim almost wished he could hear it in the silence of space.

  Two down, but who knew how many more were out there? Jim thought again of the chunks of battlecruiser that had rained down on Char like meteors.

  “Mayday, mayday, this is the Hyperion dropship Fanfare seeking shelter immediately. We are under heavy mutalisk attack and are carrying both the commander and Kerrigan. Repeat, we need assistance immediately!”

  “Bucephalus here. What is your bearing, Fanfare?”

  “No,” Jim said flatly, patching in for the pilot’s ears only. “Not there. I’m not letting him have her.”

  The ship rocked again. “Sir,” shouted Merrick, “I don’t think we have a choice! That one muta got in a solid strike. We’ve got about seven more minutes before the wurm eats through the hull!”

  Jim was torn. Valerian would not see Sarah as a person. He saw her as means to an end—a way to overshadow his daddy, to prove himself. She was a tool, nothing more, and Raynor was damned if he’d let that pretty boy get his hands on Kerrigan.

  The words of the medic returned to him. What if the Hyperion wasn’t equipped to give Sarah the help she truly needed? What if he was denying her the chance to recover completely?

  “Sir, we’re not going to survive another strike, and we’re tracking four more of the sons of bitches on our sensors,” the pilot warned.

  “Shit,” Jim swore. “This is Raynor to Bucephalus. Send your boys out to get these zerg off our tail. We’re coming in.”

  “Acknowledged, Mr. Raynor. We will intercept as soon as possible.”

  Choices. Jim hoped he wouldn’t regret this one.

  He clicked off the comm and leaned back, thinking, to simply sit and be with Sarah until they reached the docking bay of the Bucephalus. And then, maybe take his rifle and make sure the welcoming committee was indeed such a creature. To his surprise, she was awake . . . at least somewhat.

  “Sarah,” he said gently, taking her hand again.

  Preston said quietly, “She’s fading in and out of consciousness. I’m not sure what she knows right now.”

  Jim nodded his understanding and returned his attention to the woman he loved.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he said, keeping his voice as soft as he could and unable to hide a tremor of emotion.

  Her green eyes widened, but he couldn’t tell whether she was seeing him or something that existed only in her mind. She moved as if swimming through mud, then she suddenly shrank back, uttering a feral cry.

  Jim’s heart felt as if a giant hand were squeezing it. Of course she was afraid. She was more vulnerable than she had ever been before in her entire adult life—naked and weak and helpless before a man who had once loved her but who had once also vowed to kill her. He wondered if she remembered that promise, and if she was glad or fearful that he had been the one to find her.

  “Calm her down, Jim,” Preston was saying. The other Raiders were watching intently. Jim could only guess what was going through their minds. “Her vitals are all over the place!”

  “Sarah, honey,” Jim said, still keeping his voice soft and calm, “I promise, no one’s going to hurt you. Not me, not anyone, do you understand? I give you my word. I promise. I promise!”

  Her struggles were feeble at best, but she quieted, gazing up at him, her face and eyes so familiar, so her, beneath that mass of strange quill-tentacles that formed her hair.

  Sarah.

  She nodded and closed her eyes, almost with the trust of a child, accepting that his word was good.

  Sarah. Sarah. Dammit . . . you’re going to be all right. I’m going to make you be all right.
Make you Sarah again. If it takes the last drop of blood in my veins, I’m going to keep you safe.

  “She’s unconscious,” the medic said.

  “If you can do so without harming her, then keep her that way,” Jim said. “Better if she doesn’t see what might be about to happen.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Valerian had instructed that all conversation from the various vessels entangled in battle—including that from those battlecruisers and Wraiths not his own—be monitored if at all possible. He was finishing a small, perfect piece of dark chocolate, his eyes on the battling ships visible through the clear wall of his private suite, when a message from the bridge was patched through.

  “Sir,” said the Bucephalus’s captain, Everett Vaughn, “I think you should hear this . . . . ”

  Valerian turned and nodded, letting the confection dissolve in exquisite sweetness on his tongue. But even the chocolate was not as sweet as the sense of triumph that washed through him at the following words.

  “Mayday, mayday, this is the Hyperion dropship Fanfare seeking shelter immediately. We are under heavy mutalisk attack and are carrying both the commander and Kerrigan. Repeat, we need assistance immediately!”

  “Bring them in!” Valerian cried. He found he couldn’t stop grinning. Just as Jake Ramsey had predicted, the xel’naga artifact had, in the archaeologist’s words, “worked as intended.” Or, at least, as Valerian had intended it to. And here were both Raynor and Kerrigan sailing right into his hands.

  “Bucephalus here. What is your bearing, Fanfare?” Vaughn queried.

  There was a long pause, and Valerian’s smile faltered ever so slightly. He didn’t wish to take Raynor’s vessel by force, but . . .

  “This is Raynor to Bucephalus. Send your boys out to get these zerg off our tail. We’re coming in.”

  “Acknowledged, Mr. Raynor.” Vaughn’s voice was calm and cool. “We will intercept as soon as possible.”

  Valerian’s smile returned, even broader. Today was a historic day for the Mengsk empire. For today was when history would record that the power began to shift from father to son.

  “Captain Vaughn, I will meet them in the docking bay,” he said, and moved so quickly that the red cape he wore fluttered energetically behind him.

  * * *

  Jim stood in his hardskin, gauss rifle in hand, side by side with four other men as the dropship moved slowly into the docking bay. He thought about the last time he had boarded the Bucephalus. How different things had been. Then, he’d had Tychus with him, and he had come aboard Mengsk’s flagship with the intent of seeing justice done. They’d entered through the docking tubes, fighting their way through the ship until they encountered not Arcturus Mengsk, as they had expected, but that man’s son, Valerian. Come to think of it, it wasn’t so different this time.

  He didn’t care what would happen to him; he was planning on putting a metal slug through Valerian’s patrician forehead if the man said or did one single thing Jim Raynor didn’t like.

  “He’s here, sir,” the pilot said. Jim glanced at the feed coming through his HUD and narrowed his eyes.

  On-screen, Valerian appeared arrogant, aristocratic, certain of himself. But he didn’t look as if he planned anything untoward. There were a few guards, but no more than were to be expected, and none of them appeared to be spoiling for a fight.

  The seconds ticked past. Valerian looked at the dropship, seemingly directly at Jim, folded his arms, and lifted a golden brow.

  “Mr. Raynor,” he said, “I have given you absolutely no cause to mistrust me. I’ve been honest with you about my motives, and you may believe me now when I assure you that the care of Sarah Kerrigan is of utmost importance to me.”

  Oh, Jim believed that, certainly. But he also believed that Valerian was quite capable of killing him on sight and absconding with Kerrigan for his own purposes.

  It was Sarah herself who settled the matter. He heard a soft whimper and winced. It was an old cliché—where there was life, there was hope, and Sarah was alive. But she might not be if Jim stood here much longer.

  “Open the doors,” he said, and lifted his visor.

  The ramp lowered, and Valerian’s gray eyes did widen slightly as he saw Jim and four other Raiders in full combat armor with their weapons pointed at him. Valerian’s own men snapped to full attention. He lifted a graceful hand to defuse the situation.

  “Lower your weapons, gentlemen,” he said. “Mr. Raynor is not to be greeted in such a manner.”

  As Valerian’s marines obeyed, Jim nodded to his own men and stepped forward. In his suit, he towered over Valerian, but to the younger man’s credit, the Heir Apparent didn’t seem in the least intimidated.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Raynor. Where is the lady of the hour?”

  She was coming down the ramp of the dropship on a stretcher at that moment. Rolfsen guided it while Preston lifted the IV drip clear. Sarah lay unconscious, her head lolling in a way that made Jim’s gut clench hard.

  “And there she is,” breathed Valerian. He strode toward Kerrigan, his eyes fastened on the limp, shallowly breathing form. “Amazing, simply amazing,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “She does look human . . . except for her hair—” Valerian reached to touch one of the strange extensions.

  Jim’s armor-clad hand shot out and clamped down hard—but not enough to cause pain—on the Heir Apparent’s arm. There was a clattering sound as rifles were raised instantly on both sides.

  “She ain’t a trophy,” Jim said bluntly.

  “I didn’t say she was.” Valerian was admirably calm, but as his gray gaze flickered meaningfully to his trapped arm and then back to Jim, there was a storm gathering in its cool depths. “Let go, Mr. Raynor.”

  Jim did as he was told. “She’s sick,” he said. “My medic says she needs attention. Now.”

  “And she shall get it,” Valerian said. There was a sharp tone in his voice. He nodded and several men in white lab coats stepped forward, taking the stretcher with a convincing display of gentleness. “We’ll attend to her here as best we can, and then we shall take her to one of the Moebius Foundation’s locations. We have an extensive laboratory there. As you know, our Dr. Emil Narud is an expert, perhaps the expert, in zerg physiology. We’ll be able to do every kind of test—”

  “She’s not a goddamn lab specimen either!” shouted Jim.

  “We don’t know what she is, don’t you understand that?” snapped Valerian, his patience clearly evaporating. “And until we do, we don’t know how to help her! You’ve risked so much getting her back, and now you won’t do what’s best for her simply because you don’t want to admit that perhaps she’s not as human as you want her to be.”

  Fury out of all proportion to the comment surged hotly through Jim. “Listen, you arrogant little—”

  Jim’s sentence was abruptly cut off by the harsh blaring sound of a red alert. “Bridge to Prince Valerian!”

  “Valerian here.” Valerian, too, had instantly abandoned the argument. “What’s . . . ”

  His question trailed off as he turned and peered out the massive viewports.

  Dozens of vessels had warped in with no warning. Raynor found himself gaping at the other half of the Dominion fleet. Valerian also stared, his mouth slightly open.

  Jim recovered first, whirling on Valerian. “You treacherous son of a bitch!” He pulled back his fist, ready to land the Heir Apparent to the Terran Dominion a good solid one on the jaw and damn the consequences.

  To Jim’s shock, Valerian darted back and behind him and cried, “Hold your fire!” Raynor turned around to see the prince standing with a small pistol he’d pulled from who knew where. It was pointed straight at Jim, but Valerian didn’t shoot.

  “Do you think I did this?” Valerian hissed. His finesse was gone, and Jim realized that, different as he was from his father, Valerian could be just as dangerous and deadly. All his grace was feral now—the grace of the jungle, not the drawing room. “Do you think I wa
nt to give you and Kerrigan to him?”

  No. Of course he wouldn’t. Valerian was going to make his name by using them, not turning them over to his father.

  “Hello, Son, Jim,” came a far-too-familiar voice. Jim didn’t need to turn to the screen on the wall of the docking bay to know that Arcturus Mengsk was smirking in anticipation of triumph. Jim recalled that awful moment when, right before Tychus had taken aim at Sarah, they had all heard Mengsk’s voice coming from the inside of Tychus’s helmet: “You have your orders, Mr. Findlay. Carry them out.”

  “Tychus . . . what have you done?”

  “I made a deal with the Devil, Jimmy. She dies . . . I go free.”

  Now Jim abruptly realized how it had been that Mengsk had been able to talk to Tychus via comm.

  The bastard had been waiting here the whole time.

  Lurking just outside of orbit, calculatedly evading detection. Mengsk had let his son do all the work and take all the risks, using Tychus to dispose of Kerrigan, and was now swooping in to claim the credit and the prize.

  Like hell, Jim thought, and to his surprise, he saw his thoughts reflected on Valerian Mengsk’s face.

  “You’ve got something I want, Son,” drawled Arcturus.

  Valerian composed himself, lowered the weapon, and turned toward the viewscreen. “To the victor go the spoils, Father,” he said with a calm that astonished Raynor. “You taught me that.”

  “You’re not the victor yet,” said Arcturus. “I’d rather not fire on you. Give me whatever’s left of Kerrigan, or kill the bitch yourself. Turn over the criminal, and we’ll stand together to deliver the good news that the zerg threat is no more and the Dominion is safe, thanks to us. Everyone’s happy.”

  Valerian shook his blond head. “I can’t do that, Father.”

  The smirk turned into a sneer. “You’re too soft, Valerian.”

  “It’s not softness, Father; it’s wisdom. We have a unique chance to study her. We may learn things about the zerg that would enable us to defeat them once and for all. Surely you don’t think they’ll remain undirected forever? When the Overmind was destroyed, they eventually replaced it with Kerrigan. And they’ll replace her with someone else.”