Jake felt the deep pain of sympathy wash through her as the words entered her mind. But she also knew that the executor was right. She, the individual named Zamara, was no more important than any other protoss aboard this vessel, but what she carried could not be permitted to die with her. It was ancient, it was secret, and it had to survive. It would be noble to die with her companions on this ship. It would be a good death—but she did not have that luxury. She would have to live.. .live long enough at the very least to transfer her precious burden to another. She had fled from similar encounters before; at least, she remembered doing so.
Jake sent back an affirmative, laced with subtle nuances of care, concern, and grief. Then she fully realized what he had said.
"Escape pods? Surely I would be safer in a shuttle."
"The shuttles are much more heavily armored, that is true, but they are also larger and will attract more notice."
"Yes...I understand. En taw Tassadar, Amur." The executor returned the blessing and war cry in one, then she felt his attention shift. It would soon be time.
Jake hastened down the corridor, her gossamer-fine lavender and white robes that marked her revered status as preserver billowing around her. She had no armor, no weapons; she was not expected to have to defend herself. There was now and always had been a line a hundred deep of those who would die for what she carried. And soon, those aboard the Xa'lor would die. But she would be alone.
I must stay alive! she thought fiercely as she reached the escapepod and eased herself into it. Her long fingers moved over the controls quickly and calmly, the absolute necessity of her survival overriding her instinctive urge to panic.
Soon now...be ready, Amur thought to her.
There was more, but it was not in words, but in images. Jake sensed the activity throughout the vessel. In other bays, the fighters would be soaring into space like golden, glowing insects, darting about quickly and powerfully. The Xa'lor itself, of course, was massively armored, but Jake had had no illusions that a single carrier would be the victor.
Jake knew what the executor was going to do, knew that the timing of the desperate attempt was crucial. She let her gaze go soft, the better to focus her powerful brain, to open her thoughts. Amur was going to let the attackers destroy them, and Jake was to depart mere seconds before the ship exploded. There would be scattered debris littering the area, and the enemy—fellow protoss, the enemy? The thought was agony—would have their hands full for a few precious moments attempting to locate her.
In those few seconds, with luck, Jake could make good her escape.
She waited for the instant when she would depart, and it came. Now!
Jake thought with a stab of pain that Amur's thoughts had never been so focused, so pure, in all the time she had known him.
With a clarity and calmness that would have surprised her had she not been so secure in the serene confidence that what she was doing was necessary, Jake hit the controls. The little pod was propelled into space.
The pod, small but as beautiful and graceful and golden as any other protoss vessel—the khalai were proud of their handiwork and made everything aesthetically pleasing as well as highly functional —began moving swiftly forward. It had company; to cause further distraction, all of the escape pods had been launched.
A few seconds later, Jake's mind cried out and her hands flew to cover her glowing eyes as she felt the deaths of her crewmates, her colleagues, her friends. Their pain made her dizzy and ill. So manylifetimes of memories bombarding her was almost too much to handle. She summoned her will and with an effort got her thoughts under control. She chose not to look at the devastation behind her. She did not need to see it to know.
Her mind clearing, Jake determined where the other escape pods were. Even these were beautiful, small, one-to two-protoss versions of the scouts, keeping that vessel's speed and maneuverability but lacking its weaponry. Carefully, so that the action would not look directed, Jake guided her pod in with the others and kept her mind closely shuttered. Just one of many bright golden dots in space.
Satisfied that she was not attracting undue attention, Jake called up a list of protoss vessels and the star charts of the area. She would need to either be rescued soon or find a world that had a warp gate. Her mission must not be delayed further.
Fortunately, she was on a well-traveled route. And she knew that Executor Amur had sent out a distress call. If she did not "drift" overly far, and if she eluded detection, there was a good chance she would be found in a short period of time.
If, if. Too many for her liking.
She was not as lucky with nearby planets, in case aid did not come. There was one planet two hours away, if she maintained this speed. She could reach it sooner than that, if she accelerated, but that would negate the current plan of deception. But it was far from an ideal choice, as it lacked a survivable atmosphere. No, waiting here was the best—
The little vessel suddenly rocked and Jake was almost thrown from her seat. It would seem she had not escaped detection after all. The crystal used for navigation was pulsing erratically, and a shrill, angry sound came from the console. Jake had no choice but to erect the shields full force—a sign that someone was alive in the escape pod.
Jake ascertained that only a single pursuer was after her, though doubtless he had informed his commander that he had found the prey they sought. With nothing to lose, Jake accelerated and headed for the inhospitable planet. Perhaps she could elude them yet.
Again the ship rocked, and despite the shields, Jake knew it had taken a solid hit. Escape pod has sustained damage to the hull. Structural integrity failing. Damage irreparable and escalating. Estimated time to complete systems failure: twenty-eight minutes, fifty-one seconds.
A quick check revealed that if the vessel survived the crash— unlikely at best, but a possibility—she would have enough oxygen to last for ten days. After that, she could use the protective suits; that would buy her another six hours. That was, of course, assuming that the assassin did not succeed in eliminating her and the threat she posed.
No! It must not be lost. The knowledge must not die with this protoss shell she wore. Jake refused to accept the cool mental voice coming from the crystal, telling her that she would die in less than an hour. The inhospitable planet was the only option left to her now. She sat back in the chair and reached for the khaydarin crystal she kept on a thin chain about her neck, her long fingers closing over it as she used its power to keep her mind calm and focused.
She did not know what she was searching for. Something to keep hope alive, perhaps.
And she found it. Her eyes flew open. There was a xel'naga artifact on this otherwise forsaken world. Was it a sign?
The assassin was no longer firing at her, but neither was he abandoning the chase. She realized that they wanted her alive if it could be conveniently managed, at least initially, so they could make certain of exactly what she knew, how she knew it, and whom she had told.
Unthinkable. Jake would take her own life before she would let the enemy have such knowledge.
Grimly determined, Jake headed for the planet, targeting the xel'naga temple. The world came into view, pale and unwelcoming. She flew closer, directing the glowing, graceful pod down into the atmosphere.
There. She could see the temple now. But even from this distance she could see that its exterior was dark brown, not the vibrant, living green a memory not her own told her it would have been had it still housed its treasure. The energy creature that had once dwelt inside it had departed for whatever glorious destiny awaited it—a destiny that not even she, who bore the knowledge of all protoss, could guess at. There was even a gaping, shattered hole in the top where it had emerged. It was for that aperture that Jake headed now. There was a good chance that, using the memories of others, she could navigate her way through the myriad corridors that were sure to comprise the chrysalis better than those who hunted her.