"He was redirected. We have confirmed that much. I suppose the best place to start is to determine where they went, and from there... make our best guess."
Selendis didn't like guessing. Selendis liked facts, things that were concrete, things that one could move on immediately. Despitetheir clash, Rosemary found herself realizing she and the executor had a lot in common.
"And what might that be?" asked Nahaan. "I think I need not explain to you, Executor, that every gate opens onto every other gate, unless it is blocked."
That was for my benefit. Got it, bud.
"There are thousands of worlds this Jacob might have fled to, and each place is vast. It could take us months—years—to find him, and waste valuable resources doing so. Hierarch, you need a better plan than this!"
This guy really seemed to enjoy pushing Artanis's buttons. If Urun had his own agenda, then clearly all the others did too. Urun simply seemed less inclined to hide his—and why should he? It was a noble one. Rosemary wasn't so sure about Nahaan's. Come to think of it, she wasn't sure about anyone's except for her own. And maybe Selendis's. Maybe.
As if on cue, Selendis spoke. "It is indeed a daunting task, but when have the protoss ever shirked such?" She turned to Artanis and to Rosemary's surprise, knelt. "With the hierarch's permission, and that of the Hierarchy, I will lead the search for Jacob Jefferson Ramsey and Zamara."
Artanis blinked. "I—yes. I trust you as I trust myself, Executor, and you have earned the respect of all here."
Rosemary realized that was true. Even those who were clearly opposing Artanis and the plan did not raise objections.
Selendis rose and nodded. "I will begin by determining where the human and the preserver went first. After that, I will begin winnowing down our options. I will try to think like a preserver—a daunting task, no doubt, but I will do my best. Rosemary will doubtless be able to assist me in this, as she knows both Jacob and Zamara."
"I believe," came the raspy mental voice of the ancient Mohandar, "I can save you a little time, Executor."
Startled, Rosemary turned to the dark templar. His eyes crinkled slightly, and she realized he was amused.
"I think I know exactly where Zamara wishes to go. And I can tell you how to get there."
CHAPTER 15
ULREZAJ WAS MORE THAN FLESH NOW. HE WAS energy, powerful and strong, unable to be wounded by such simple things as bullets or spears. But other creations of energy, mental or physical, could and had wounded him. And had done so more severely than he had anticipated.
He had come close to victory over Shakuras, over the despised Aiur protoss and the inexplicably passive dark templar he had once called his "people." He could not fathom why they had embraced the very beings who would have slain them, who drove them to exile. Zeratul—once a brother, now a more despised foe than even the weakling hierarch they had put in charge. He expected the Aiur protoss to be dishonorable and vile; he had not expected so respected a dark templar as Prelate Zeratul to be a traitor.
They had come to embattled Aiur, to rescue so-called "heroes." Ulrezaj and his allies had slain two of the three, but had been captured. But Ulrezaj had had allies; and Ulrezaj had had plans upon plans. He had escaped, taking with him a precious khaydarin crystal, creating five twisted copies of it. He had used ancient knowledge to become not just a dark archon, but the mightiest dark archon the universe had seen by combining his essence with those of his three comrades. He had taken the fight and the five warped crystals to Shakuras, where he planned to use an extraordinarily powerful electromagnetic pulse generator to create chaos and drive out the despised refugees. Let them know the terror of being hunted; let them perish as they should have on Aiur, ripped to pieces by zerg.
But he had been defeated...temporarily. He had withdrawn to the hidden place where he replenished his unheard-of power, and where he thought how best he could retaliate. He had drawn to him others willing to subsume themselves into the glory that was Ulrezaj, in order to be on the side that would eventually triumph.
And so his path had led him back to Aiur. It became clear that the protoss were too cowardly to save their embattled brethren, even though they now did not have the excuse of ignorance. Heartless, pathetic fools. They would turn their back on their homeworld, the world that the dark templar had mourned with their very souls whenforced to leave it. Those that were forsaken deserved no kindness.
It had seemed to him so very easy to gather to himself the worried, frightened refugees who had been abandoned on their devastated homeworld. To convince them to follow him, to soothe and control them with the fabricated drug that penetrated their skins and bloodstreams and freed them from the invasiveness of the Khala.
He had not expected them to turn against him, even when confronted with the truth—or at least part of it—of what their benefactor truly was. Curse the terrans. The male, strong enough to bear for at least a while the vastness of what it meant to be a preserver. The female, strong enough to resist the drug and by doing so, demonstrate that it could be done. The ingratitude and betrayal stunned him. He had rescued them, and they had repaid him with hatred, loathing, and rebellion.
Ulrezaj was slightly mollified as he recollected how vastly he had been outnumbered. The onslaught of the Dominion vessels and the zerg, combined with the psionic storms the protoss had somehow pulled themselves together sufficiently to create—there was no shame in retreating from that. Wisdom often necessitated retreat, regrouping, and planning.
But regardless of how he justified it, he had been wounded. Much of his energy had been drained. He might have been able to recover had he been able to rest, even for a few days, in the chambers of the xel'naga. But they had dogged him even there, the zerg; the humans had given up and the protoss had either fled or died where they stood. Like a beast gone to ground unwillingly flushed, Ulrezaj had been forced to run.
The thought galled him.
Even as he maneuvered himself into one of the xel'naga vessels he simmered with resentment. At full strength, he could teleport the distance. But he was weak.
Ulrezaj despised weakness, even in himself.
They were following, and he knew it. Yet they did not attack.
We all wish the preserver, one part of him put forth. They wish to capture her, to determine what she knows. I wish to destroy her and render her silent.
They think I know where to find her, and therefore, they follow me, another part concluded.
It was undoubtedly so. And Ulrezaj did know where the preserver would flee. Perhaps not immediately, no, perhaps it would take a while for her and the human she was using to discover their destination.
But Ulrezaj knew. He knew and he would be there when Zamara and Jacob Jefferson Ramsey arrived. He would be the spider, sitting quietly, his web subtle and sensitive and lethal.
Would the zerg that followed him try to kill him upon his arrival? Perhaps. Although he thought their queen wiser than that; for they did not know this was the destination. What if their quarry had come to this place merely to heal? Ah, what then if they slew him before they knew for certain the preserver would come? That would be a fool's choice, and Sarah Kerrigan was no fool.
His followers had pursued Zamara once before. Had blasted apart a carrier in search of her, had driven her small vessel to crash in a dead xel'naga temple. Their reports had been accurate, so far as they went. They had told him that she was either dead on impact or soon would be; she could not live long on so inhospitable a planet. And they were correct. Zamara, the protoss preserver, had not lived long.
Not in that body at least.