There was the memory, first Temlaa’s, then Zamara’s, and now his: as pure and perfect as if it were actually unfolding before him rather than being recollected.
In the center, hovering and slowly moving up and down as it had no doubt done for millennia, was the largest, most perfect crystal Jake had ever seen. It pulsated as it moved languidly, and Jake realized that this was the source of the heartbeat sound he and Savassan had been hearing for some time now. For a long moment he forgot his fear and simply gazed raptly at the object, seduced by its radiant beauty and perfection of form.
In all the memories I hold, Zamara said, all the things I have beheld and touched and known—there is nothing like this crystal, Jacob. Nothing.
He sensed her awe and shared it. He thought he caught a fleeting tinge of hope so intense that he might even have called it “desperate.” Jake began to query Zamara, but at that moment the door irised opened and Hurricane Rosemary stormed in. He blinked, suddenly realizing that about twenty minutes had passed without his even being aware of it.
“This is why you never jump without proper preparation,” she said as she removed her helmet. “We’d have had to replace quite a bit even without Ethan’s little tracking device.”
“All right,” Jake said. “If we have to, we have to. But we need to do it quickly. I’ve been talking with Zamara, and she thinks we need to get to Aiur.”
Shedding the rest of her suit and hanging it back up in the locker, Rosemary turned to him. “Aiur? Why?”
“Remember those caverns beneath the surface I told you about?”
“Yeah … some kind of underground city.” Rosemary’s anger was now directed at the damage the ship had taken rather than at Jake. She actually looked interested in his comments. “We’re going to get to see that place then?”
“Looks like. Zamara thinks there’s some technology there that can help her. Help us.”
Rosemary was regarding him thoughtfully. “You know, Professor, if there actually is ancient, advanced technology sitting quietly forgotten beneath the surface of Aiur … that really could help us.”
“Rosemary—”
“Jake, listen. We’re being hunted by the son of the emperor, for God’s sake. We had to fight our way to get where we are right this minute and we’ll have to keep fighting unless we do something about that. Look—I’ve cast my lot in with you. We’ve got to trust each other. I’m not going to rat you out, but this is a big net that’s been cast for us. We might be able to make a trade with Valerian: our lives for whatever technology we can give him.”
Out of the question.
I’m not telling her that, Zamara. She makes a good point.
This is my people’s heritage we are discussing, Jacob. Our legacy. Protoss knowledge belongs to the protoss, not a terran emperor who will exploit it and use it for harm.
You killed 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