Shadow of the Xel'Naga, page 15
Massively damaged, the Battlecruisers and the remaining Wraiths tried to pull away, but from the other side of the valley, a second High Templar called yet another Psionic Storm that hammered them from the east.
Only one of the Battlecruisers and three Wraiths managed to pull away to the relative safety of the foothills, limping back from the dangerous valley and leaving damaged and destroyed Terran vessels strewn all across the battlefield.
While the Alpha Squadron battleships hovered and tried to assess their damage, a dozen Hydralisks burrowed up from beneath the ground. Before the Battlecruiser captain and the Wraith pilots could ascend out of range, the Hydralisks had lashed out with wave after wave of penetrating needle spines that pierced the Battlecruiser's hull and shredded its engines. The enormous ship crashed down into the rugged foothills, while the three Wraiths were turned into a confetti of metal and blood before they could even fire a shot.
“That doesn't look good, General,” Octavia observed.
“Shut up!” he screamed, scanning the battlefield map and trying to decide what orders to issue.
With the remaining Marines and Firebats cut off from the tanks and Goliaths, they were caught in the middle of a bloodbath. Even as they turned their weapons on the Protoss that stood against them, Zerg minions closed in from the flank and fell upon them.
General Duke recognized the Zerglings and Guardians, but not the group of giant lumbering four-legged creatures with long canine muzzles and spiny blue fur. He had never seen anything like them. The new beasts charged in like rabid wolves, sniffing the ground, turning their eye stalks, and plunging into any weak point of the Marines' defenses. General Duke had observed many types of Zerg before, but these appeared to be a new form entirely.
Octavia Bren stared at the screen, shocked. “Those look like Old Blue! The aliens must have adapted something from him.”
“You know where those things come from?” the general asked, turning to her sharply.
“Those aliens . . . infested a big dog at one of our outlying homesteads. That looks like what was left of him—”
“A dog?” Duke gave a snort of disgust. “You colonists keep pets around here?” He picked up his microphone, though the Marines seemed to be doing everything they could, even without his direct orders. “The Zerg are causing more damage, men. Concentrate your fire and take out those . . . those Roverlisks.”
One of the Marines raised a hand in an obscene gesture, and the General assumed he must be fending off an attack from the sky.
During the melee, eight Protoss Reavers slowly made their way down from the northeast, like huge armored caterpillars intent on reaching the fray. Duke knew that the Marines and Firebats would lose the skirmish unless they could get more air support.
Finally, the Siege Tanks and the towering Goliaths arrived to engage the Zealots and Dragoons. The armored Goliaths used anti-aircraft missiles to pound the four-legged cyborg walkers. One Marine even came forward in heavy, powered armor and smashed open the brain case that was directing a Dragoon walker.
Siege Tanks beyond the range of the Zealots' Psionic Blades pounded and pounded again. The Marines and Firebats never halted in their defense, and as General Duke watched, the battle changed course and finally the Terran forces gained the upper hand.
For the moment.
But it didn't last long. The Protoss Reavers at last crawled within range and released their Scarab Drones, flying bombs that zipped toward their targets and exploded. Two of the Goliaths fell. A handful of Marines were slaughtered in a single explosion. The tanks and Goliaths were forced to turn their attention to the armored Reavers. Then two Protoss Carriers converged from the west, raining down a firestorm with their small, robotic Interceptors.
“This isn't possible,” General Duke said. “Not Alpha Squadron. Not my best forces!”
The blinding light of explosions hurt his eyes as he stared at the tactical screen. Smoke and chaos made it impossible to see any details. The ground was littered with so many fallen troops, the general could barely discern how many of his men remained alive.
The Protoss Carriers seemed to know exactly what to do. They concentrated their aerial attack on crushing the Goliaths, and when the towering armored walkers had all been taken out, the Terran Siege Tanks were left defenseless, like sluggish tin cans with giant targets painted on them.
General Duke could only watch as the remainder of his assault troops got trounced.
His voice was hoarse, and he spoke as if to an empty room. “It seems I have . . . greatly underestimated the alien resistance.”
CHAPTER 35
IN THE HEAT OF THE BATTLE, EXECUTOR KORONIS was too involved with directing his Protoss forces to notice the tiny ripple of disturbance in the air. A stranger, a hidden visitor.
Beside him, beneath the looming majesty of the naked Xel'Naga artifact, Judicator Amdor seethed, mentally spitting insults and fury at the Zerg and Terran enemies who were attempting to steal the ancient treasure. Amdor considered that the artifact belonged to him alone.
As the Zealots attacked the ground forces and massive Carriers flew overhead, dropping deadly squadrons of Interceptors, Koronis finally sensed a cold presence—something familiar yet separate from the Khala, the psychic link that bound all Protoss together. He turned, curious and troubled, just as Amdor whirled around, sensing the same thing.
In the air between them, standing on a raised mound of broken rock and scabrous dirt, a figure appeared. A tall Protoss female shed a camouflage of shadows, like oil dripping off steel. She phased out of invisibility, bending light around her.
“A Dark Templar!” Judicator Amdor reeled, his face and mind squirming with revulsion and disgust. “Foul heretic!” His psychic shout attracted the attention of other Judicators and High Templar nearby.
The female Dark Templar did not flinch from the insult and mental onslaught. “I come bearing a warning for you, for all the Protoss here,” she said. “I am Xerana, loyal to the First Born despite the persecution that Judicators like you have inflicted upon us.” The sinewy gray-skinned female looked squarely at Amdor, who drew himself taller, as if wishing he had a powerful weapon in his hands.
Uneasy, knowing the terrible powers the Dark Templar could use, Executor Koronis signaled for backup troops. He did not hate the Dark Templar, as Amdor did, but he was cautious, especially in this battlefield crisis.
Four Zealots bounded to his aid, Psionic Blades already activated and flashing. One Dragoon turned on its four legs and scuttled toward where the commanders had stood.
“You do not understand what you are doing,” Xerana said, looking to Koronis for understanding. “You have no inkling of the true origin and purpose behind this artifact. You must not interfere with the plans of the Wanderers from Afar. Leave here.”
“We are the First Born of the Xel'Naga!” Amdor said. “You and your traitorous followers have broken from the Khala and turned renegade to our race. You have caused enough damage already. Do not intrude in this place.”
Executor Koronis, though, was more interested in what could have drawn this fugitive into the den of her mortal enemies. She must have known the Judicators would want to punish her. “Dark Templar, what information do you have for us?”
Amdor glared at him, eyes blazing. “Executor, surely you don't mean to listen to the corrupted words of this—”
Koronis raised his three-fingered hand. “I am the commander of this Protoss force. I would be a fool to dismiss any vital intelligence, regardless of its source.”
Xerana leaned closer to the Executor, dismissing Amdor and infuriating him further. “I have a message and a dire warning. This . . . object” —she swept her hand upward to indicate the towering face of the mysterious exposed structure—“is very dangerous. It was created by the Xel'Naga, as you have guessed, and was designed to be more powerful than either the Protoss race or the Zerg. Beware what you would awaken, lest it consume all of you.”
“Lies,” Amdor sneered. “We are the First Born. The Protoss were chosen by the Xel'Naga—”
“And abandoned by them,” Xerana cut in. “We did not meet their expectations. The Xel'Naga made other attempts to create a perfect race. The Zerg were the most destructive and successful of their new breeds, but the ancient race began many experiments and kept many secrets.”
“Then what do you expect us to do?” Koronis said as the battle continued to rage behind them. The Dragoon and the Zealots pressed closer to Xerana, waiting for orders. “Should we let the enemies have it?”
“You must leave this object alone,” she said. “Everyone, of all races. Together, Protoss and Zerg are in the process of awakening a great peril. You must retreat, pull your forces back. You take a great risk by toying with things you do not understand.”
Koronis blinked his glowing eyes in disbelief, and Amdor looked momentarily amused. Then he mentally sent loud orders. “Seize this heretic!” Waves of hatred and revulsion emanated from the Judicator.
The Dragoon and Zealots surrounded Xerana. The Dark Templar scholar stood silent, deeply disappointed that her own people refused to listen to her message.
“It was your foul brethren who corrupted noble Tassadar!” Amdor growled. “The Dark Templar were the ones who opened doorways into the Void, luring other Protoss away from the Khala.”
Even as she was taken prisoner, Xerana did not struggle. The Judicator proudly turned to Koronis. “We will soon take possession of this artifact, Executor. And with this Dark Templar heretic held captive aboard the Qel'Ha, our great expedition has changed from complete failure to a glorious victory.”
CHAPTER 36
PURSUED THROUGH THE ARTIFACT'S WINDING, creepy channels, Lieutenant Scott led his few remaining Marines and Firebats deeper toward the mysterious core. Though the larger battle continued to rage out on the valley floor, here inside the Terran commandos encountered numerous exploratory parties of Protoss Zealots and Zerg minions, all of which seemed to have received the same reconnaissance mission as Scott's team.
It seems to be a race, he thought. And we intend to win it.
The light within the walls became brighter, as if some inner fire were being stoked. The jewel clusters grew larger inside the curved biopolymer structure, deep crimson gems cut in strange facets and unusual shapes, as if they were internal organs.
Scott had no idea what they would find when they reached their destination, but he doubted the Zerg or the Protoss knew any more than the Terrans did. He would secure the information for General Duke and, if possible, prevent any aliens from acquiring the same data.
They did not pause to fight a group of Zerg that slithered and clattered through the hallways. Instead the lieutenant directed his men to sprint ahead, dodging through corridors even though they heard monsters in continued pursuit. The Marines and Firebats were willing to keep fighting, but their bloodlust had been dampened by the severe losses their troops had already suffered. Now they preferred to complete their objective and get back out alive.
The commandos followed the glowing light ahead, descending and curving, remembering to plant “breadcrumb” locators as they raced along so they could find their way back out. Scott hoped the Dropships would be there in time to pick them up. He didn't worry about that, though. The members of Alpha Squadron knew their own duties.
The throbbing light in the walls formed a hypnotic call, like a flame that drew moths out of the darkness. The Zerg and the Protoss seemed to feel the call as well. They followed different passages, but all of them converged toward the central mass as if every creature could find answers here.
Finally, with his Marines and Firebats rushing ahead, Lieutenant Scott and his squad emerged into the artifact's blazing core, an awesome, gigantic grotto filled with a light like a blazing sun. But the fire was cold and electric, and somehow alive.
The walls and ceiling of the grotto reflected the light in dazzling rainbows. Jagged crystalline shards protruded in all directions. Scott stood with his mouth open, transfixed by the grandeur and the sheer power in front of him. But though he had arrived here as ordered, he had no way to explain what he saw, could not begin to draw conclusions or provide any briefing that would be at all helpful to the general.
From other passages, dark bubbly openings in the organic resin walls, Zerg and Protoss emerged, monstrous Hydralisks and heavily armored Zealots. But as they all converged in the grotto, none of the alien enemies made any move to attack. The fiery core of the Xel'Naga artifact was too awe-inspiring, and all three species stood stunned and amazed.
Then the heart-glow grew brighter, as if some sort of ignition had been triggered. Tentacles of light rocketed out, reflecting like lightning from the jagged Khaydarin crystals in the walls, crackling arcs all around the grotto.
One of the Firebats screamed. Lieutenant Scott knew he should call for a retreat, but could not bring himself to form words. His feet were fastened to the floor, his muscles locked in position.
The energy bolts grew more powerful. The pulsing heart of the Xel'Naga artifact blazed into a blinding white ball. Suddenly the lightning struck out, targeting each of the life-forms within reach.
The bolts crashed into the Firebats and the Marines, while at the same time obliterating the Zerg and Protoss spectators. Lieutenant Scott opened his mouth to shout, but the energy washed over him, too, as if it was scanning and absorbing every intruder. He watched the Zerg disappear, uploaded and erased. Soon everything in the grotto was wiped clean—the Protoss, the Zerg, and all of his squad.
Then all vision winked out of his eyes. . . .
The grotto was empty of life-forms; the Xel'Naga thing had gathered every specimen within reach. The Terrans were not necessary, but the rest of these children of the Xel'Naga were exactly what the artifact needed.
In all the chambers and the walls, the glowing light increased to a living blaze. Jewel clusters exploded with the surge of energy. More dirt and rocks fell from the mountainside as a vibrating hum penetrated the biopolymer skeleton.
Powering up, the long-buried Xel'Naga artifact at last began final preparations for its emergence. . . .
CHAPTER 37
AFTER WATCHING HIS FORCES BE COMPLETELY defeated—defeated!—General Edmund Duke was in no mood to listen to panicked rumors from an untrained, dirt-streaked colonial woman. But Octavia Bren insisted on being heard. She told the general about her encounter with the Dark Templar Xerana, a mysterious Protoss scholar who brought urgent warnings about the ancient artifact.
Not that Duke could do anything about it. How did she want him to deal with it? He had just watched his best-planned offensive get stomped into a list of casualties too long to fit on a dozen computer screens. At least now, though, he had a bit more information . . . enough to make him deeply nervous.
When Alpha Squadron had arrived here after tracking down that alien signal and the colonists' call for help, the general had assumed the exposed artifact was just another BDO—a Big Dumb Object—not particularly worth losing Terran lives over, unless he had orders to do so. Weird artifacts and mysterious structures often turned up on backwater worlds, but they usually didn't amount to anything.
In this case, though, it was clear the Zerg and the Protoss wanted possession of the artifact in the worst way—and Duke no longer had the firepower to capture it for Emperor Arcturus Mengsk.
In his professional military opinion, that was bad.
“Thank you for your assessment, ma'am,” he growled, then opened a troop communication link. “I know exactly how to respond to the situation. Call in our best Ghost. I believe MacGregor Golding will do. Send him to me right away.” He looked up to see that the distraught settler remained standing in his office. “Is there anything else, Miz Brown?”
“Bren,” she said. “My name is Octavia Bren.”
Duke scowled, wondering what possible difference this civilian's name could make in the grand scheme of things. “If it's not tactical information, ma'am, it's irrelevant. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a war to win. Not easy to pluck victory from the jaws of defeat.”
Before Octavia could leave, the door to Mayor Nik's commandeered quarters popped open and a slender, armor-clad man walked in. His small face appeared streetwise, and his overlarge brown eyes above high cheekbones looked incredibly old, as if the young man had already seen enough to make him weary of the entire universe. MacGregor Golding stood silent, waiting for the general to speak. Then, as if a nagging distraction tugged at him, the young man turned to Octavia.
Octavia felt as if she were under a high-powered scan beam. Inside the contours of her brain, she sensed a creeping telepathic presence, like a vandal ransacking her house.
“Never mind the civilian, Agent Golding,” General Duke said, breaking Octavia's concentration.
The Ghost turned back to the general. “But she is definitely worth a second look, sir. I was quarantined by the Confederate government and trained to channel my psionic energies. I can recognize the talent. This woman here has a great deal of natural potential. She might make a good Ghost herself.”
Octavia's skin crawled. “Not on your life,” she said. In the brief mental link they had shared, Octavia sensed what this man, this MacGregor Golding, had been bred and trained to do. She had also gained some insight into what the commander of Alpha Squadron had in mind.
“Agent Golding,” the general said. “Command decision. We originally wanted to acquire this artifact for the Terran arsenal. However, given recent events, I must admit that is not likely to happen. Therefore, I have no recourse but to activate Plan B.”
“Yes, General,” the Ghost said. “Plan B. Far worse than simply losing this skirmish would be to allow this object—whatever it is—to fall into the vile hands of the despicable Zerg or Protoss. Given the choice, we must ensure that no one has access to it.”
