Shadow Hunters by Christie Golden Page A

followed.
    He immediately thought of a refugee camp. Dozens, maybe hundreds of protoss all turned as one to gaze at him. Large, lambent eyes looked him upand down, seemed to gaze into his very soul. The silence was the main thing that struck him. No cries of infants, no sobs or laughter, no murmurs of conversation—none of the things that one would expect of such a large gathering of people in one place. But then again, while the protoss were most certainly “people,” they were not humans. He knew that if Zamara had not been providing a buffer, his mind would be awash in thoughts that dwarfed human sounds in their detail, their richness, their depth and complexity and interconnection.
    They had erected shelter as best they could, a strange amalgamation of items they had brought in from nature and things that had been taken from the city. A shiny metal beam held up a roof of woven leaves; a second small atmospheric craft was protected by poles made from tree branches. Even in the starkness of their necessity, there was beauty. Doors were made of the fronds of different-colored plants, and the result was not merely functional but lovely. Some things had been painted, other things carved.
    Attention quickly went from the newcomers to what they brought. The protoss who rescued Jake, Zamara, and R. M. placed what they had gotten from the now-defunct system runner on the black, uneven surface. The refugees scurried forward, elegant four-fingered hands taking up the weapons, the bedding, the tools, the precious medkit.
    “They’re taking everything!” Rosemary snapped, and started to move forward.
    “They saved our lives,” Jake reminded her. “A weapon in their hands can only help us. And others need medical supplies more than we do.” At that moment his head throbbed. “Well, not all the supplies; they can’t take any oral medication.”
    “Jake, listen, believe me when I say I’m delighted that we’re not inside a zerg’s belly at the moment. But this isn’t an archeological expedition here. We’ve got to find a way to get off this planet.” She was not looking at the protoss. She was looking at the wreckage that had once been a thriving city. She was looking for anything that might offer hope of a way out.
    She’s right,
Jake thought to Zamara.
    There may be a way. I must speak with the others first.
    “Zamara’s working on it,” Jake said.
    “Good.” Rosemary looked edgy, and he supposed he could understand why. She was extremely competent in her own environment, but now they were surrounded by aliens that they had never beheld until a few moments ago. The technology with which she was so familiar and a master at manipulating had been melted to a puddle of acidic ooze, and she’d come within centimeters of being melted right along with it. They were stuck at the mercy of said aliens, on a strange planet. And she was watching her precious weaponry being examined and parceled out.
    “It’s all right, Rosemary,” Jake said gently, feeling oddly protective. “I know you’re worried and you feel out of place here. But it could be a lot worse.”
    She glared at him, blue eyes cold. “Reading my mind again, Professor? I thought we discussed that.”
    There was a time when her words would have stung. This time, he felt only compassion for her. “No. I just read your face.”
    She looked slightly embarrassed, then irritated, and then she turned away.
    “We understand that humans need to feed upon plant and animal matter,” said Ladranix. “We do not, so at this moment we have nothing to offer you. But we do have clean water for sterilizing instruments and will soon be able to provide you with what you require. Zamara has experienced … sharing a meal with you, Jacob. We will do our best to emulate this food.”
    “We brought rations with us,” Jake sent back to Ladranix, looking him full in his glowing blue eyes. “We do not wish to inconvenience you any further than we already have.”
    The