Jake thought of the smell and taste of the sammuro fruit, and Zamara agreed.
The mental conversation took only a fraction of a second. As soon as the gate was fully active, Jake hurried through. Again darkness descended, and then again the world was bright. But this was no arctic wasteland, no sweltering rain forest. He looked around, blinking, stunned at what he beheld.
The color of the sky was pink. Not a rusty red indicative of high iron content in a dusty atmosphere, but positively pink, like a rose. The grass beneath him, for it was recognizable as such, was thick and soft and a soothing purple-blue color. The air was entirely breathable, and as Jake inhaled deeply a profusion of scents, everything from fruity to piney to a rich deep earth smell, filled his nostrils. The sun, a rose-yellow, was warm and the breeze that carried the scents, gentle. For a moment, Jake wondered how he could exist on a planet that had a clear, noontime, rose-colored sky. The little he knew about oxygen-nitrogen atmospheres and something called Rayleigh scattering told his brain that he should be having difficulty surviving here.
It is an unusual phenomenon. Shall I explain it in detail?
Jake closed his eyes, welcoming the warmth on his skin. He shrugged off his wet jacket and shirt.
No. I'll just accept it.
It was then that his eye fell upon a vessel. It resembled the small scout ships Jake had seen on Aiur, but it was slightly different. It was more—"squat" was the only word he could think of, solid, rather than elongated and graceful. Its creator had eschewed the gold that seemed to be the preferred hue of protoss vessels in favor of a black that seemed almost completely nonreflective, as if it absorbed the rosy sunlight that struck it. Here and there were dull bronze highlights.
Jake felt hope surge from Zamara, and at the same moment couldn't stifle a yelp of pain. His body stiffened and then began to tremble, and for a brief second he lost consciousness. He came to on his hands and knees, panting, and cautiously sat upright.
Zamara... what...
For a wild moment he thought—he hoped—that whatever had just happened to him had somehow been caused by the alien vessel. Or there was something in the atmosphere that was harmful after all. But he knew better.
The tumors are growing worse. You are beginning to feel the effects of the pressure they are putting on your brain, Zamara informed him, the blunt statement strangely more comforting than any misguided false sympathy would have been. Jake knew he could trust Zamara to tell him the unvarnished truth.
Well, at least I get to keel over in a beautiful place, he said. He'd always appreciated gallows humor.
I will do everything in my power—use all of my knowledge—to keep you alive and safe, Jacob.
...I know. The seizure had passed and while the headache remained, it had subsided to the point where Jake no longer had the urge to rip off his own head. Shakily he got to his feet.
The vessel is of dark templar design, Zamara said. I do not know if it belongs to Zeratul, but seeing it here is a promising sign. Let us see what we can learn.
Jake took deep, steadying gulps of the deliciously scented air and approached the vessel. He felt Zamara's excitement as he extended a hand and ran it along the ship's curving sides. It looked like it had been sitting here for a while. Pollen, dust, and leaves all dulled its surface and now coated Jake's hand.
I know more about the dark templar than most protoss—both their origins and their current status. But lam accustomed to knowing almost everything, and this—ah, this is new. Hook forward to learning.
Jake smiled, softly. There was a dreadful direness about their situation, and the fact that the brain tumors—plural, mind you, no longer just "a brain tumor"—were worsening pointed up the fact that time was running out. Running out for him, for Zamara, who also would cease to exist if his body died, running out for whatever information she held that was so damn valuable. Maybe running out for the universe, if the secret was that important.
But still, with the smooth, cool curve of the dark templar vessel beneath his fingers, a sense of leashed power emanating from it, and the almost childlike awe of a protoss who knew more than Jake could even begin to comprehend weaving in with his own wonder, Jake Ramsey felt himself a lucky man indeed.
The vessel responded to Zamara's touch—apparently dark templar and Aiur protoss were not that different when it came to an innate understanding of how their technology worked—and a ramp slowly extended. His heart racing, Jake climbed aboard. Looking around he found that everything was both somehow familiar and completely strange. He sensed that Zamara shared the feeling.
He heard a soft hum and whirled just in time to see the door sliding shut. It was dark inside, darker than it should be considering there was at least one viewscreen in the forward part of the ship, and Jake suddenly felt nervous.
Uh. ..Zamara, do you know how to operate this thing at all? Or maybe at least open the door?
I am sure I will be able to comprehend it. Zeratul shared much with Tassadar about the source of dark templar energies. I may not be able to control it as he does, but perhaps I can... intuit...
Jake relinquished control of his body and let her ease it into a chair. The controls of the ship were barely visible, buttons and indentations on an otherwise flat surface. Zamara passed Jake's hand, fingers spread, over the controls, and they hummed to glowing green life.
Ah! Excellent. Let us see how long it has been since the vessel was operated.
Symbols appeared, flashing faster than Jake could register them. But apparently Zamara had no such trouble.
It has been several months since anyone has operated the ship.
That doesn't sound promising.
It is neither promising nor dispiriting; it is simply a fact. There is no way to determine the identity of the ship's owner. Now to find coordinates.
Zamara waved Jake's hand again, in an undulating pattern, over part of the controls, and a screen lit up. Alien symbols raced over it. The dark templar have certainly suffered, and many are still resentful. However, they still revere Aiur, and have never sought to deny their protoss heritage. They did not create a new written language... which is fortunate for us. There are several flight paths entered into the knowledge banks of this vessel. Let us see where they take us.
What—you 're stealing this ship? Jake had a sudden rather comical mental image of a protoss off catching some cosmic rays and seeing his ship lift off without him.
I have programmed the vessel to scan for any protoss life-forms. There are none within several hundred kilometers, and as I told you, the vessel has not been operated for many months. I suspect that this ship, located in such close proximity to the warp gate, is waiting for its pilot to return from his or her travels beyond the gate.
Well, that makes sense, but what if he comes back and his ship's not here?
Why then, it will be necessary for him to make contact with us, and that is precisely what we wish to happen, is it not?
And before Jake quite knew what was happening, the dark templar ship had powered up, lifted off, and was moving swiftly and silently among pink clouds.