of a smile.
“You bring us weapons and medicine. A few fruits from the trees and the flesh of beasts is nothing in comparison. You and Rosemary Dahl and Zamara are welcome here, Jacob Jefferson Ramsey. More than welcome.”
Jake felt, in a very strange but very real way, that, in a sense, he had come home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE WATER THEY WERE GIVEN WAS STALE AND warm, but it was wet, and Jake drank thirstily. He felt about as stale and warm and wet as the water. The heat coming off the ruins of the city as it baked underneath a sulen sun was almost unbearable. The pro-toss did not appear to be affected by it, but that was to be expected. They had evolved on this tropical world of sun and humidity. Jake’s and R.
M.’s discomfort was noticed and after a short discussion, they were led inward into a jumble of metal and some sort of concrete that provided at least a bit of relief from the heat. It looked strangely familiar to Jake. He glanced around, sipping a second gourdful of the water. Ladranix came to stand beside him.
“Do you recognize this place?” Ladranix asked quietly.
“Sort of. But it’s so damaged I can’t place it.” Jake walked up to the wreckage of a chair, ran his hand along it. Like everything else the protoss made, it had been beautiful once. So had this place been beautiful—and huge; he remembered seeing what looked like a shattered tower and the ruinations of a landscape atop a huge circular disc.
“There are places elsewhere in the city that are not habitable. We were fortunate to find this shelter as intact as it is. What you behold now is the ruin of what was once known as the Executor’s Citadel. Since before the time of Adun, the leaders of the templar dwelt here.”
Jake’s gut twisted. Superimposed on this pathetic wreckage was the image of Adun standing and looking down on Antioch. He had perhaps sat in this very chair. Jake found his hand tightening on the back of the chair, as if he could hold on to the past.
“We like to think that even now, Adun somehow is watching over us,” Ladranix said gently. He touched the broken remains of the chair with a long, four-fingered hand, seemed to recover himself from his emotions, and faced Jake.
“I have sent our best scouts to find you food,” Ladranix said. “It is not without risks, but we are more familiar with how to evade the zerg than you. Night wil fal soon.
While the heat wil not diminish greatly, the winds pick up at night. You wil find it cooler.”
“That sounds great,” Rosemary said. Perspiration sheened her face, and heat had reddened it. Jake thought back to when he had first met her, calm and in control in the shadow of the Gray Tiger. He thought of how stunning she had looked by candlelight in Ethan Stewart’s decadent enclave, her hair perfect, her dress cut down to there at the neck and up to here at the thigh. Right now she was grimy, sweaty, sunburned, and didn’t smel al that good. And she seemed more real, more …
human … than he’d ever seen her.
He felt a gentle mirth in his head and mentaly scowled. It was tiring having every thought of hunger, irritation, weakness, lust, or boredom being read. For a moment he wondered, if this “mission” of Zamara’s was successful and he indeed survived long enough to be a preserver, if al these thoughts would be available to every future preserver who cared to read them. It was an alarming concept and he quickly pushed it out of his mind.
“Please continue, Ladranix. What happened after the gate was shut down?”
The protoss leader inclined his head. “We scattered when the gate closed. Even the most rigorously trained among us knew a dreadful sense of abandonment when we realized that we had been left behind. Although we understood the reasoning—we few were the sacrifice to keep the others alive—it stil hit hard. Most of the templar fel while distracting the zerg as the others fled.”
“Wait—what’s a templar?” Rosemary was
“You bring us weapons and medicine. A few fruits from the trees and the flesh of beasts is nothing in comparison. You and Rosemary Dahl and Zamara are welcome here, Jacob Jefferson Ramsey. More than welcome.”
Jake felt, in a very strange but very real way, that, in a sense, he had come home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE WATER THEY WERE GIVEN WAS STALE AND warm, but it was wet, and Jake drank thirstily. He felt about as stale and warm and wet as the water. The heat coming off the ruins of the city as it baked underneath a sulen sun was almost unbearable. The pro-toss did not appear to be affected by it, but that was to be expected. They had evolved on this tropical world of sun and humidity. Jake’s and R.
M.’s discomfort was noticed and after a short discussion, they were led inward into a jumble of metal and some sort of concrete that provided at least a bit of relief from the heat. It looked strangely familiar to Jake. He glanced around, sipping a second gourdful of the water. Ladranix came to stand beside him.
“Do you recognize this place?” Ladranix asked quietly.
“Sort of. But it’s so damaged I can’t place it.” Jake walked up to the wreckage of a chair, ran his hand along it. Like everything else the protoss made, it had been beautiful once. So had this place been beautiful—and huge; he remembered seeing what looked like a shattered tower and the ruinations of a landscape atop a huge circular disc.
“There are places elsewhere in the city that are not habitable. We were fortunate to find this shelter as intact as it is. What you behold now is the ruin of what was once known as the Executor’s Citadel. Since before the time of Adun, the leaders of the templar dwelt here.”
Jake’s gut twisted. Superimposed on this pathetic wreckage was the image of Adun standing and looking down on Antioch. He had perhaps sat in this very chair. Jake found his hand tightening on the back of the chair, as if he could hold on to the past.
“We like to think that even now, Adun somehow is watching over us,” Ladranix said gently. He touched the broken remains of the chair with a long, four-fingered hand, seemed to recover himself from his emotions, and faced Jake.
“I have sent our best scouts to find you food,” Ladranix said. “It is not without risks, but we are more familiar with how to evade the zerg than you. Night wil fal soon.
While the heat wil not diminish greatly, the winds pick up at night. You wil find it cooler.”
“That sounds great,” Rosemary said. Perspiration sheened her face, and heat had reddened it. Jake thought back to when he had first met her, calm and in control in the shadow of the Gray Tiger. He thought of how stunning she had looked by candlelight in Ethan Stewart’s decadent enclave, her hair perfect, her dress cut down to there at the neck and up to here at the thigh. Right now she was grimy, sweaty, sunburned, and didn’t smel al that good. And she seemed more real, more …
human … than he’d ever seen her.
He felt a gentle mirth in his head and mentaly scowled. It was tiring having every thought of hunger, irritation, weakness, lust, or boredom being read. For a moment he wondered, if this “mission” of Zamara’s was successful and he indeed survived long enough to be a preserver, if al these thoughts would be available to every future preserver who cared to read them. It was an alarming concept and he quickly pushed it out of his mind.
“Please continue, Ladranix. What happened after the gate was shut down?”
The protoss leader inclined his head. “We scattered when the gate closed. Even the most rigorously trained among us knew a dreadful sense of abandonment when we realized that we had been left behind. Although we understood the reasoning—we few were the sacrifice to keep the others alive—it stil hit hard. Most of the templar fel while distracting the zerg as the others fled.”
“Wait—what’s a templar?” Rosemary was
Similar Books
