Shadow of the Xel'Naga, page 9
Executor Koronis hoped such an aggressive posture would prove to be an unnecessary precaution, since he was sure his fleet had arrived here first, before any enemies could have responded to the artifact's beacon. He moved from his command bridge, followed briskly by the tall and imposing form of Judicator Amdor. They marched down the flagship corridors to the launching bays. Koronis climbed aboard the lead Arbiter.
When the ships were launched, flying in the wakes of the fast Scouts, Koronis's Arbiter ship dropped away from his fleet, the Executor feeling uneasy at parting with the magnificent Carrier Qel'Ha. It looked like a long, smooth pod in space, an ellipsoid split into half-closed petals. The Executor had been aboard the giant flagship for decades in his fruitless search, and now his impending triumph, the end of their hunt for knowledge, was tempered by a dim sense of foreboding. Somehow he didn't believe this mission would be as simple as the Judicator claimed it would be.
He transmitted instructions that the descending fleet was to avoid contact with the not-too-distant Terran colony. He had no fear of any weapons or defenses the settlers might bring to bear, but he had learned not to ask for trouble. Koronis avoided distractions and conflicts, concentrating on what was necessary to accomplish his objective.
Surrounded by their blanket of invisibility, the Arbiters, Dropships, Carriers, and Scouts swooped down into the stark valley at the foot of the exposed artifact. Mineral outcroppings and a fresh field of sputtering Vespene geysers showed Koronis that he'd have the resources necessary to build all the Reavers, photon cannons, and local defenses he would need.
After the Arbiters had landed, looking like beetles with broad carapaces, most of the Protoss remained aboard, giving Executor Koronis the honor of being the first to set foot on the soon-to-be-conquered world.
To Koronis the air smelled dry and gritty, as if too much rock dust hung in the air. He paused, just feeling the place. Judicator Amdor strode up beside him so that the two of them stood together at the base of the slope where the massive exposed face of the mysterious Xel'Naga artifact filled the mountainside.
“Magnificent!” Amdor said, his knobby headgear gleaming in the diluted light. “Can you feel the power? Can you sense how great our victory will be when we return to Aiur?” His three-fingered hands clenched into fists.
The Judicator stepped forward and raised his long arms, extending his hands in an all-encompassing gesture. His dark robes curled around his body like a living thing. “I claim this worthy object for the First Born. It is a triumph for the Protoss. Let no one doubt our sole possession. En taro Adun!”
Executor Koronis knitted his craggy brows, thinking that Amdor was premature in his celebration. “En taro Adun,” he responded. He ran his fingers down his long sash of office. Yes, acquiring this amazing artifact was a glorious accomplishment, but he wondered what the strict Judicator bureaucracy would do with it. And how would they excavate something so huge and bring it back to war-ravaged Aiur?
Then, from the Arbiter he had commanded, Koronis heard a desperate signal transmitted on a tight telepathic band. It was Templar Mess'Ta aboard the Qel'Ha. “Executor Koronis! We have detected a large fleet of Zerg Behemoths in orbit, coming around the rim of the planet. They were hiding on the night side! The Zerg have arrived here first.”
Koronis immediately assessed the threat even as Judicator Amdor reeled with anger at the affront of the enemy invaders.
“What is the strength of the Zerg fleet?” he asked.
“A complete Brood, Executor—as many minions as we have ever seen. This is no simple scout force, but a full-scale invasion.”
Koronis remained grim, and Judicator Amdor turned to him, eyes blazing. “They must have responded to the signal as well! Executor, we must not lose possession of this Xel'Naga artifact. The Protoss will defend this.”
Koronis transmitted back to Mess'Ta, “You know what to do, Templar.”
“Yes, Executor. Defenses mounted. Flights of Interceptors prepared and targeted. I have given orders to engage the enemy.”
CHAPTER 19
AS SHE STOOD FACING THE INFESTED MONSTER, Octavia hoped that some primitive part of Old Blue's brain would recognize her and hesitate. But that hope was dashed in an instant as the huge dog-thing lunged.
She ducked and rolled off the corrugated porch so that the giant slavering monstrosity leaped over her. Its additional angular limbs thrashed and flailed to grab her. The razor-sharp claws along its back clacked, slicing the air. The eye stalks protruding from its head swiveled to watch her so the blue-furred dog could see where to strike next.
Her exhaustion and despair forgotten, Octavia scrambled from the porch, tearing open her hands on the rusty corrugated metal. The dog-thing spun about on the broken rocks around Rastin's shack, long claws spraying pebbles.
She ran in the other direction, flying across the stones. “Rastin!” she shouted, but in her heart she already knew that no help would come from the old prospector.
Octavia raced for the meager shelter of the low refinery towers that covered the Vespene geysers. The hideous mutation that had once been Old Blue bounded after her, and she put on more speed than she thought she possessed. Her muscles felt tense enough to snap, but somehow adrenaline held her together.
She reached the small refinery structure and ducked between the laced metal bars of the scaffolding just as the canine horror struck the superstructure. He was too large to fit through, and she felt safe for a moment.
Old Blue crashed again against the metal framework, bending the heavy paristeel. Two of his long, spindly arms lashed forward like striking snakes, trying to reach her. Hot spittle and slime splattered against the framework, where it began to sizzle, releasing corrosive foam.
Wasting no energy on a scream, Octavia backed into the refinery piping and controls. As Old Blue tore two girders apart, she found a release nozzle and wrenched it open, blasting the monstrous dog with a mouthful of concentrated, superheated Vespene gas.
Howling and roaring, the creature thrashed backward, ripping open its hide on a sharp metal edge.
Seeing her chance, Octavia ran again, this time toward old Rastin's beaten-up vehicle. If only she could get inside and start it . . .
When she was halfway across the gap, sprinting headlong with her eyes fastened on the door latch of the field crawler, she realized that the surly old codger might keep his vehicle locked so that no one else could start it. It seemed impossible and foolish on a small colony such as Free Haven, but Rastin was unpredictable.
Her hand slammed against the door handle—it was unlocked! She wrenched the vehicle open and nearly collapsed with relief. Octavia lurched headfirst into the driver's seat and slammed the door after her.
Old Blue was limping now, either injured or exhausted—or possibly dying from the horrific infestation that crawled through his muscular furred body. The dog-thing came toward her with faltering steps. Powerful jaws snapped and slashed at the air, as if chomping on an unseen enemy. Its spiny outgrowths flailed, as if grasping for something, hungry, wanting to tear apart any object within reach.
Octavia fumbled under the field crawler's steering column and found a starter button. She pressed hard with her thumb.
The engine coughed but did not catch. The vehicle seemed to sigh, as if it had already given up. She punched the starter button again. “Come on!”
Old Blue came closer, weaving, snarling.
Just then, the door of Rastin's shack was torn open from inside, literally ripped from its hinges and thrown to the ground ten feet away. A lumbering hulk strode into the faint light that seeped through the murky darkness. But this one was a humanoid form—or at least it had been. The figure looked as if it had been redesigned by a madman who had too many spare parts left over from a variety of species.
Rastin!
Growths and snapping tentacles protruded from the man's ruptured, festering skin. What had been Rastin's face now hung low, sunken into his chest, and the only recognizable features were two wild eyes—agonized, even frightened. But other alien eyes, black and covered with scaly carapaces, peered out from his shoulders and from the top of his skull.
On heavy feet, Rastin plodded forward, his human arms extended, though the muscular bestial limbs thrashed, claws clacking.
Old Blue staggered to a halt near the thin-hulled field crawler. From the way the monster had torn apart the scaffolding around the Vespene refinery, Octavia knew that this monster could easily peel away the scant protection. Old Blue could rip her out of the vehicle like the soft meat of a thin-skinned berrynut.
She locked the door anyway.
But the dog-thing collapsed in front of her, seeming to choose its position carefully. Beneath the dog's blue-furred hide, sores began to boil. His hulk expanded, puffing and throbbing. Old Blue raised his distorted head and let out a long, thin whine.
Octavia punched the starter button again. The field crawler's engine ground and ground, picking up speed, humming, almost catching. . . .
Rastin careened off the porch of his shack and slogged toward her, arms extended. Old Blue shuddered and let out a last animal howl of pain.
The vehicle's engine finally roared, and Octavia did not wait around. She shifted the field crawler into gear and tore off, spraying stones and gravel, racing away from the trap.
Behind her, Old Blue's infested carcass erupted in an explosion of high-powered gases, flying chunks of meat, and splattering slime. The shock wave from the explosion and the rolling fist of poisonous fumes swept outward and smashed into her vehicle, rocking it sideways and rattling the windows. Luckily, the driver's cabin remained sealed, although gouts of ichor spattered the windows and doors.
Under the onslaught, the capricious engine coughed and almost died, but she coaxed it to life again and roared ahead, escaping Rastin's homestead.
Behind her, the infested prospector stood as if in despair, his unnatural limbs thrashing, his human face wailing with grief for his dead dog.
Octavia pulled away, barely allowing herself to feel safe—and then the ground in front of her swirled and split and boiled, as if giving birth to creatures from the depths of her nightmares.
Two gigantic reptilian monsters surged up from the dry, cracked ground in front of her. They resembled enormous cobras with skeletal heads, fangs like daggers, and blazing eyes that held too much intelligence. The creatures reared back, their rounded carapaces gleaming in the starlight, and moved to flank her. They hissed and rattled as they prepared to strike, reaching out with heavily armored limbs.
Octavia swerved the field crawler from one side to another, amazed at how responsive the innocuous-looking old vehicle was. She sped past the two creatures even as the ground broke and surged behind her. More attackers rose from underground.
With a sound like a thousand air bullets, the creatures bent over and unleashed a volley of long, spear-like spines that slammed into the back of the field crawler. Some of them protruded through the metal body.
Octavia did not dare slow down to check for damage. As she raced off into the night, another volley of the deadly spines peppered the vehicle, making it a pincushion.
With every second, her distance from the Vespene refinery increased. She drove blindly into the night, out of the foothills and toward the distant town, eyes wide, throat dry, heart pounding.
It did not yet occur to her that she had survived. She only knew she had to get to Free Haven to warn the rest of the colony. If there was anything left of it.
CHAPTER 20
CHEWING ON IMAGINARY STEEL NAILS—THOUGH he probably wouldn't have noticed if he'd had actual hardware between his molars—General Edmund Duke sat upright in the uncomfortable command chair of the Battlecruiser Norad III. He was ready for action, and so were his men. He had ordered them so.
They had an alien artifact to investigate and helpless colonists to rescue. If they were lucky, the mission might turn out to be even more than that.
He knew better than to rally his Marines by making gruff and patriotic speeches in a misguided attempt to fire them up enough to put their lives on the line for Arcturus Mengsk. The general himself wasn't entirely comfortable with the politics of the situation, but he tried not to dwell on it too much. He knew the appropriate carrot to dangle when he wanted to inspire his troops to give him their personal best.
“Colony world Bhekar Ro on screen, General,” said Lieutenant Scott from the tactical station. “Approaching orbital insertion.”
General Duke nodded.
“I'm extending our sensor net, General,” said Lieutenant Scott. “Scanning ahead for defensive positions.”
Duke gave the handsome young officer a smug look, raising both eyebrows. “I figure our fifteen Battlecruisers can pretty much take care of any little farming trouble, Lieutenant.”
“Sir! Enemy vessels!” the Lieutenant shouted, double-checking his tactical readouts as the Battlecruiser fleet homed in on Bhekar Ro.
On the screen he displayed a full analysis of what lurked high above the colony world. The soldiers on board the Norad III saw the display and muttered in surprise.
Duke clenched his jaw and leaned forward. “I thought those little slimeballs might be laying an ambush for us.” He recognized the smooth-shelled, split-ellipsoidal Protoss Carriers. The general had never been able to determine whether the ships' mottled discoloration was intentional or just ion stains from generations of service in the rigors of space.
“Power up the fleet's Yamato guns,” he said. “We'll go in and ring their bells before anybody even knows we're here.”
General Duke smiled and knotted his hands together as if a scrawny enemy throat were clenched between them. “All right, men,” he broadcast through the long corridors of the Battlecruiser. “Let's go kick some alien butt!”
The men cheered so loudly that the metal hulls rang with their enthusiasm. Alpha Squadron had been born to fight, and Emperor Mengsk had wasted their potential on pointless busywork for far too long. The Marines were as bored as the general was.
“Sir, it's unlikely that the Protoss fleet was just lying in wait for Alpha Squadron,” Lieutenant Scott pointed out. “They have already engaged another opponent.”
As they observed, the Protoss Carriers launched waves of robotic Interceptors toward a hideous swarm of insectoid aliens, monstrous creatures that survived in the vacuum of space.
General Duke had seen those awful things before. “The Zerg and the Protoss! By damn, they've made an alliance!”
Then the Protoss Interceptors smashed into the Zerg minions. In seconds, the alien battlefield turned into a chaos of weaponry discharges and exploded hulls.
“I don't think that's much of an alliance, sir,” Lieutenant Scott said.
“Fine with me if they tear each other apart,” the general growled. “I hate 'em both.”
The Protoss Carriers launched more waves of Interceptors that sought out and attacked all of the Zerg creatures within reach. At first the robotic Interceptors were like a swarm of stinging insects, concentrating on the massive Zerg Overlords. Nearby, they made quick work of the crablike Guardians, whose ability to hurl corrosive acid would have been devastating against ground targets but who were almost defenseless in space. The Interceptors moved fast, striking, destroying, then searching for new targets.
Seeing the carnage, the loss of numerous Overlords and Guardians, a group of flying Zerg creatures known as Scourges broke through and attacked the Carrier itself. Reckless but determined, the group of Scourges careened into the Protoss ship and exploded on impact, sacrificing themselves to take out an opposing alien vessel.
Cheering silently at seeing the loss of each Protoss craft, General Duke said, “I've had a grudge against those alien bastards ever since Chau Sara.” In their first contact ever with the human race, the Protoss had come in giant ships and without warning had killed every living thing on the Terran colony planet, exterminating millions. General Duke himself had barely escaped from its infested sister planet of Mar Sara, the first place he had ever laid eyes on the hideous Zerg. “Serves them all right.”
Duke had no love for the Zerg either. In fact, he hated all aliens on general principle. And now the Zerg and Protoss were tearing each other apart in space. He couldn't imagine a more entertaining sight.
As the alien firefight continued in orbit, General Duke narrowed his eyes. He waited a moment, watching the destruction, then a smile crept over his face. “Attention, Alpha Squadron!” His booming voice broadcast through all fifteen Battlecruisers. “Battle stations! We're gonna come in with all guns blazing and let them alien bastards have it.”
Lieutenant Scott watched the frenzy on his tactical screen. “Sir, shouldn't we wait, send in some reconnaissance to gather tactical data before we make our move?”
The general gestured toward the screen. “You can see with your own eyes, Lieutenant—and I've never been one to sit around on my hindquarters gathering background information when it's time for action.”
He rose from his hard command chair, knowing that standing would give him a more powerful leadership presence. “Emperor Arcturus Mengsk has declared Bhekar Ro to be of vital Terran interest.” He worked to keep a straight face, knowing that none of the Marines had ever heard of the place before now.
“Therefore, it is our duty to protect the colony and all of its resources from any enemy power. The presence of these alien scumbags can only be interpreted as a threat to the Terran Dominion, and we're not gonna let them endanger a single speck of dust on this colony!”
General Duke ordered all of his ships forward. With the Norad III in the vanguard, Alpha Squadron plunged into the fray.
CHAPTER 21
TERRIFIED, BRUISED, AND EXHAUSTED, OCTAVIA had no time to rest or to hesitate. Free Haven was in danger, and adrenaline burned like laser-lightning through her veins.
