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  “Ethan! He has escaped me! Find him! Find him now!”

  Find him now!

  Ethan bit back horror at the words and instructed his zerg to scatter. What the hell had Ulrezaj done? Kerrigan shared with him what she had witnessed through the eyes of the now-dead zerg. It looked as though somehow the dark archon had managed to teleport himself to safety.

  Both anger and admiration filled him. The kind of power that it took to do that—he’d never heard of anything that could. Ships, yes, even the warp gate used such technology—but a single being?

  And then he uttered a short, harsh laugh. “My queen, he may have eluded us for the moment, but such a feat takes more energy than I think even Ulrezaj possesses at this moment. I don’t think he’s left Aiur…. He may not even have left the chambers. It was a trick to unsettle and deceive us, but we will be victorious in the end.”

  Her admiration and pleasure was like wine to him. “Yes—yes, I suspect you are right. Zerg will pour through every crevice, every chamber, every nook and cranny, and cover every exit we can find. He cannot possibly escape. Still—we will not make the novice’s mistake of underestimating him again.”

  “Indeed, we will not.” Somehow, Ethan knew, he was to anticipate what could not possibly be anticipated. And somehow, he would do so.

  Flushed with relief and eagerness to hand over the prize to his queen, Ethan stared intently down as the mutalisk hovered. Many of the zerg were rushing back out as swiftly as they had rushed in just a few moments earlier, hastening to spread out and monitor all possible exits from Ulrezaj’s hiding place. Others were scurrying deeper into the bowels of this labyrinth. They would find Ulrezaj.

  It was one of the scattering zerglings whose eyes enabled Kerrigan to witness what happened not three minutes after Ulrezaj had disappeared. The very earth in front of the zergling was suddenly pierced with a precise line of white light emanating from beneath the surface. Quickly the line spread, forming a rectangle, and then the chunk of earth suddenly flew upward.

  The xel’naga vessel, for such Kerrigan instantly realized it had to be, rose from the gaping hole in the earth. Like the chambers below, this craft was a melding of the natural and the technical, all swirls and curves and grace. The zerg swarmed toward it, hurling themselves at it. Kerrigan hoped it was convincing enough—she had to make it look as though she was trying to stop the dark archon’s flight.

  A heartbeat later the thing crackled with energy. Zerg dropped like stones, both those that were scrabbling to climb atop the thing and many others who were simply circling it in the air. The xel’naga ship continued to rise, striving toward freedom.

  From what Kerrigan knew about protoss vessels, the pilots were an integral part of any technology’s operating systems. She wondered if it was the same here—if Ulrezaj was expending some of his own psionic energy to control the vessel. She hoped so; he wouldn’t be able to give them the slip quite so easily then. She’d just have to wait and find out.

  The blast of energy made the very air ripple. Ethan clung tightly to the mutalisk who bore him, directing it to flee with a brutal tenor to his mental commands, hoping that it and he were safely out of range. The mutalisk hurtled away so quickly Ethan nearly lost his grip. He held on and turned his head back to see what had happened.

  It was almost balletic. Glowing and radiant, the xel’naga ship ascended to the skies of Aiur like an angel from Hell, all pursuit caught in its deadly radius falling instantly to the earth. He’d been lucky—this time.

  Ethan barely had time to summon a behemoth and, along with the other zerg of which he was in charge, enter a hollow area deep inside the creature’s dense hide before the xel’naga vessel containing a dark archon disappeared entirely.

  “Follow,” he told the behemoth, and it obeyed.

  CHAPTER 7

  THEY WERE HEADING HOME, A SILENT AND SOMBER fleet. Everyone knew that this was what would occur when Tassadar had held back, had disobeyed orders out of what the Conclave believed to be a thoroughly misguided sense of compassion. Executor Tassadar, the best and brightest warrior the protoss had, was being summoned home. The Conclave’s order had been almost churlish and petty—Jake realized that they wanted not just to discipline Tassadar, but to humiliate him. They were offended that he had disobeyed, and, rightly, worried about the consequences that disobedience would have. After all, the zerg were not simple omhara.

  But they had not stood beside him when he made that choice, had not felt the mental anguish and worry that the internal struggle had cost Tassadar. Jake had. And she was reminded of another high templar who had disobeyed the orders of the Conclave when he felt them unnecessarily cruel and wrong. Adun was a hero to the protoss people, because history—crafted by the Conclave of that era and those who had come after them—had willed it so. They were not about to tarnish Adun’s memory with something as pesky as truth, especially not when that truth would compromise them. Adun had been too good, too pure for this world, and after banishing the evil dark templar had somehow mystically departed mortal life. That was his legacy. He had sacrificed himself in a way no one yet understood in order to weed out the dark templar taint—to keep the protoss safe.

  “But that’s not what happened. I—you—God, this is confusing. Vetraas knew the truth! Adun died, for lack of a better word, trying to help save the dark templar!”

  “Indeed. Preservers know all sides of an issue, for we have all memories. It is why preservers were utterly forbidden to become members of the Conclave.”

  Jake tried to grasp this. “You mean—you’re not allowed to tell the truth?”

  “What preservers know, the Conclave knew. Preservers are keepers of the past, Jacob. We are not crafters of policy. We have our orders, and we remain utterly neutral. It is not our place to judge, to praise, or condemn. It is not our place to act, but simply to observe. At least…it has always been so until now.”

  “You would have let Tassadar be executed then?”

  He felt her discomfort. “It is difficult to explain. But yes, then…perhaps I would have. I am glad I was not faced with that choice.”

  “Will you recant?” Jake asked Tassadar privately, her thoughts only for her friend.

  “No.” Tassadar did not even have to think twice. “I regret having to defy those I have sworn to obey. But I would make the same decision again.” He turned his lambent eyes on her. “That knowledge lets me face my fate with peace. I know that—”

  The cry hit them all with its force. The most sensitive among them winced in pain. Desperate, frightened, longing, calling out for aid, crying out a specific name…“Tassadar!”

  Images flooded Jake. A burned-out world, covered with soft gray ash, pain unimaginable—and zerg, so many of them—here, here was where the enemy was hiding—

  “Char,” Tassadar said. “I know the world. The cry for aid comes from there.”

  And just that quickly, Jake knew what they were going to do. Tassadar touched the crystal that communicated his thoughts to his fleet.

  “You all followed me without question when I chose to disobey the orders of the Conclave. You must trust my orders again now, when I tell you to continue your journey to Aiur. The Gantrithor will not be accompanying you. I have received a telepathic distress call that I know I must investigate. I also believe that there is a chance to eradicate our true enemy, the zerg, once and for all—here, on this planet. Repeat, all vessels, return to Aiur. Your loyalty…is moving beyond measure. En taro Adun.”

  Lifting his hand from the crystal, he broadcast his thoughts throughout his flagship. “Those who do not wish to follow me to investigate this distress call are also free to return home. You will receive nothing but the highest praise from me, and I will do my utmost to see that the Conclave vents its anger upon me and me alone.”

  Jake strained for the replies, and was touched, but not surprised, when not a single protoss aboard the Gantrithor chose to disembark. They were templar, all of them, and they followed their leader. Alm
ost overcome, Tassadar momentarily lowered his head into his hand, blocking his emotions.

  “No commander has ever had such a crew,” he said, the words heartfelt. He turned to Jake. “Zamara—you, however, should return.”

  Jake shook her head. “I will stay with you.”

  “I would be easier in my mind if I knew you were safe in the Sanctum.”

  Jake tilted her head and half closed her eyes in a smile. “Executor…Tassadar…for so long, I have been a holder, a keeper of memories. I wish to make some of my own, and I believe in you—what you are doing. It is my choice to go with you. I am not the only preserver, Executor. If I fall, others will continue on. We are the one constant.”

  “True. But I would not see you come to harm, and I cannot guarantee your safety. Zamara…you are one of the great treasures of our people. I have caused sufficient alienation without endangering a preserver. And I do not know what fate awaits us on Char.”

  “You know that whoever called to you was in deep pain, and is a powerful telepath. There is a puzzle here—you have sensed it, as have I. You know that this is, if not the seat of the zerg, certainly a place where many of them can be found. And there are no guarantees in this life regardless. At this juncture, nothing is stable anymore. I have made my decision.”

  He gazed deep into her soul then, his considerable mental power as strong as hers, perhaps stronger in some ways. He held out his hand, and she emulated him. Briefly, they touched in the Khala, and thus reassured of her faith in her choice, Tassadar withdrew and nodded slightly.

  “So be it.”

  Jake blinked awake, pain shooting through him. He felt Zamara trying to comfort him. Eat, she said. Some things I must show you, for you need to understand them on more than an intellectual level. Other things, I can simply tell you and not tax you any more than is absolutely necessary.

  Jake loved the sharing of memories now. But he also loved the idea that somehow he might not die from brain tumors, and so he sent his agreement. Zamara had indeed figured out how to operate some of the dark templar equipment that had been left behind, and the news was good. The water was potable, clean and clear and refreshing, the creatures that lived in it—a cross between amphibian and insect and ugly as sin—edible, and fruits and roots from various plants added a little variety. At the very least he would not starve to death here. As he used his pocketknife to cut through the thick black peel that hid startlingly sweet white pulp and tiny red seeds, Zamara continued speaking to him.

  On the planet Char, we discovered to our shock who it was who had been calling to Tassadar. She had once been a female human telepath named Sarah Kerrigan, a ghost, who was now infested by the zerg. She was crying out for aid at that moment—but soon enough became content with her lot. Later, with the death of the Overmind, she would become even greater than the being that had created her—she would become the queen of the zerg.

  Startled, Jake cut himself with the knife and sucked on the nick. Queen? Like…oh, God…Ethan talked about a queen….

  Indeed he did, and you will recall I said I knew of her.

  I do too, sort of. What hasn’t been censored and regurgitated by the government. I just didn’t put two and two together.

  Bear in mind also—while many protoss encountered James Raynor, and thus discovered that human males could be staunch allies, Sarah Kerrigan was the only human female with whom we had any contact.

  Oh great. That’s not going to help Rosemary any.

  She does have prejudice to overcome, yes. But my people are by and large rational. Rosemary will tell the truth. Do not despair yet, Jacob.

  He sighed. He was trying not to. He urged her to continue.

  But while the protoss were on Char, attempting to fight Kerrigan and the zerg, we met Prelate Zeratul and his soldiers. Tassadar sensed their presence almost immediately. He was sickened and horrified and angry. They met…. It did not go well.

  But…oh, right. You weren’t allowed to tell Tassadar about Raszagal and the others. That they weren’t evil or even really rebellious.

  Sorrow and regret washed through him along with her affirmative. He thought that it must have been very difficult for her…to know that there was no real reason for hatred between these two factions, and be forbidden to do anything to heal the rift.

  Fortunately, Tassadar did not need me to open his eyes to the truth. At first, they fought—how could they not? Tassadar had been taught that everything the dark templar represented was to be despised. Eventually, he agreed to speak with Zeratul. And along with James Raynor, Tassadar learned things about the dark templar that no one save the preservers knew. For a long time, I was not permitted to leave the Gantrithor, because of the possible danger from the dark templar. I did not see these things first hand…not at that time. Later, with Tassadar’s death and regretfully those of many others, I knew and understood all that had transpired.

  She showed him a little then, bits and pieces of images, nothing too intense that would tax him unduly. Jake marveled at what he beheld: two masters fighting with a grace almost inconceivable, the executor dealing what surely must have been a fatal blow, the prelate uncannily sidestepping the—no, no, not sidestepping, simply not being there when the glittering blue blade sliced, the clash and hiss of vaporous green warp blade contacting with the gleaming blue blade of the Aiur high templar.

  Time passed and the images changed; the two protoss leaders sat, conversed, and Zeratul began to teach Tassadar. Jake was proud to see that much of the time, Jim Raynor, terran, was included in these conversations. Perhaps what was even more curious was he found himself being proud of Tassadar, almost as if Tassadar, like Raynor, was a member of his own species.

  You are more than an ordinary terran now. You could not be closer to the protoss than if you had been raised as one. In a way, Jacob, you understand us better than we do ourselves.

  Jake blushed.

  And then it dawned on him what was happening.

  Zeratul is telling Tassadar the real story—well, as much as he knows about it. And Tassadar’s listening!

  Yes.

  Zamara…I know you are trying to spare me, but please—I want to do more than just see this.

  Reluctance, then acceptance, and then Jake again was Zamara.

  Once Tassadar realized he could fully trust the other protoss, the prelate was permitted aboard the Gantrithor. Tassadar’s warriors had learned to respect Zeratul almost as much as their leader did; there was no hostile thought turned toward the visitor as he made his way through the vessel to where Jake waited for him.

  Jake was nervous and excited. A dark templar…she had the memories of those who had known them, but meeting one herself was something she had never dreamed possible. She rose when the prelate entered, smoothing her robes and composing her thoughts.

  Zeratul bowed deeply. “A preserver,” he said. His mental voice was dry, like scudding leaves, and bespoke age and wisdom. She liked him at once. “What a privilege, to meet one. I did not think I would live so long. Then again, I did not think our people would be reunited in my lifetime.”

  She caught a name, an image: Raszagal. “Raszagal…she is your leader now?”

  “Indeed, she is our matriarch, a wise and just leader. She is old enough to remember the exile from Aiur. Few of my people still remember our brethren. Like myself, she desires that our people reunite.”

  Jake nodded slowly. Raszagal was ancient now, over a thousand years old. “I have within me the memories of your matriarch as a child. It would be interesting to meet her.”

  He looked at her, wistfully, almost hungrily. “The dark templar do not regret severing our nerve cords. We do not need the Khala as you do. But what you represent, Zamara…that I respect and wish we had.”

  “You have no way of keeping the knowledge of the past then?” Jake was appalled. To think of all that history, the journeys the dark templar had made, the things they had discovered, lost to time saddened her.

  “Nothing so ideal
as a preserver, no. But we have learned how to manipulate the khaydarin crystals to preserve memories. The solution is imperfect, and passionless, but the information is not lost to us.”

  “So that’s how you knew!” exclaimed Jake. “You heard it from the horse’s mouth.”

  “I…from the source, yes. Your human phrases are colorful indeed, Jacob.”

  Jake hesitated for a moment. “I…am pleased the two of you have learned to see past the lies. I would ask your forgiveness. I knew the truth that you, Tassadar, have only recently discovered. But I was and am forbidden to speak of it to those who do not know. Everything Zeratul has told you is true. Adun did not sacrifice himself to ensure that Aiur would be rid of some perceived evil influence. He did it to help the dark templar…in hopes that one day, they would again be accepted by us.”

  Tassadar was stunned. Zeratul seemed almost exultant. “We have a blessing among our people. ‘Adun toridas…Adun give you sanctuary.’ We knew he was our savior.” He seemed about to say something more, then his thoughts were shuttered from both Aiur protoss. “In due time, I will share more of this. For now, I will content myself with training you—I will teach as much as you care to learn, Tassadar.”

  Tassadar straightened, and his eyes gleamed. “I will learn what you will teach to save all our people…my friend.”

  Jake shook his head in silent wonderment. “Remarkable. Both of them. As much as Khas or Adun. Tassadar—he died to save Aiur, right?”

  “That is only the barest hint of his sacrifice and what it did for our people—the blow it struck against the zerg—but yes. Tassadar eventually turned against the Conclave, to the point where he engaged them in combat when they refused to listen to him. They were all slain.”