Кристи Голдэн - Twilight

She didn't have hours. She wasn't sure she even had an hour, and stared, simultaneously enraptured and horrified, at the ancient ship before her. There were only three of them total, and only one that was capable of anything other than atmospheric travel. They were oddly huge and clunky-looking compared to every other protoss vessel she'd seen before, even the bulkier dark templar ones. They had been kept in a special room below the main grounds of the

temple, and Rosemary was willing to bet a million credits that no one had been down here in the last century. They had been covered, at least, for which she was grateful, but even so they were dusty and ominously still-looking.

"When we were exiled from Aiur," Mohandar said, "the Conclave initially resisted giving us any vessels at all other than the single xel'naga ship. Adun insisted that we have some, that we might be able to travel and explore any worlds we happened upon. Fortunately it seems as though our ancestors left a few here with us when the majority departed for other worlds."

"Yeah, fortunately," said Rosemary hesitantly. She took a step up to one and touched it, feeling the cool metal beneath her fingers. She peered inside. Yes, there was a crystal there, but it was dark.

"What do you think, Rosemary?" asked Vartanil, slipping up beside her and looking down at her hopefully. "You can repair it, can't you?"

"I'm not sure. Is there a protoss who can assist me on this?"

Vartanil ducked his head shyly. "I am a Furinax," he said. "I have not personally constructed any vessels, but I do understand the mechanisms of how such things work."

Rosemary smiled at him. He was not a warrior, like Selendis, nor a politician, like Mohandar, nor a priest, like Krythkal. Vartanil was a humble craftsman—a worker. And that was exactly what was needed now. She was very glad he was here. She again looked at the console, remembering how she had manipulated things when she had shared thoughts with Zamara. "Then get in the driver's seat andwe'll see if this thing has anyjuice left in it at all," Rosemary said.

He nodded, touching the metal cautiously with his four-fingered hand. It had done nothing when Rosemary had done so earlier, but now, under the hand of a protoss, the door lurched slightly, then with a series of jerks slid open. Rosemary and Vartanil exchanged triumphant glances. The young Furinax slipped inside and touched the crystal.

Nothing.

Rosemary mentally swore. "Try it again," she said. Vartanil hesitated, then obeyed. And this time, suddenly, the crystal came to life for a brief second. Purple illumination chased itself around the console and she felt —there was no other way to explain it—the ancient ship come to life for just a moment.

"Well done, Rosemary," came Selendis's mental voice.

Rosemary turned to Selendis, pleased that the executor had witnessed her triumph, confused as to why she was here. "I thought you were with Ethan's little friend?"

"I escorted it to the room, but it does not need to be watched. Ethan would not be foolish enough to permit the hydralisk to kill anyone. He has too much at stake."

Rosemary was forced to agree. Ethan ever looked out for himself.

"I think the crystal might need to be replaced," she continued, "but from what I know about how your ships function, everything else I can get up and running. I'm sure of it."

She let herself enjoy the sensations of pleasure wafting off the protoss for a moment, but then Selendis was all business again.

"This is very good news. We will soon have a second operative vessel. While it is true that Ethan has many zerg here under his command, their number is not infinite. If we can reach Shakuras in time, we can bring in reinforcements, and they will certainly fall beneath a protoss assault."

That much was inarguably true. Also true was the fact that in order to get to the warp gate, whoever took that ship would have to get past zerg piled six thick all around the Alys'aril, both on the ground and in the air. Which was pretty much suicide.

"I will take the vessel we arrived in and—"

"No." Razturul's interruption was blunt, almost rude. "I will go, Executor. I am a skilled pilot, and you are needed here."

"I am a trained warrior," Selendis protested. "It is my duty—"

"Let us not pretend that this attempt to gather reinforcements is likely to succeed," said Razturul evenly. "You are more necessary to the survival of our people than I, Executor. Too... the Alys'aril is a sacred site to the dark templar. Long have we revered and striven to keep it safe and secret. I would ask for the honor of attempting to defend it at what may be its final hour."

Rosemary peered at Razturul. She hadn't been overly fond of the dark templar. He'd been brusque and treated her roughly when she and the other Aiur protoss had stumbled through the warp gate. She hadn't been pleased to learn that he was to accompany them. And yet now he was insisting on undertaking a mission that made the word "risky" seem like a walk in the park.

"Razturul is right," said Mohandar. "You are a strategist, Selendis. He is a dark templar warrior. Let him undertake this mission."

Still Selendis hesitated. "The human and Vartanil can repair this ship," Razturul continued. "Use it to take the crystals and flee once the ritual is complete. I will go and do my utmost to bring reinforcements." His eyes half closed and he tilted his head to the side, laughing a little. "Besides, who knows? I might elude them after all, and bring honor to my people by saving you, Executor."

"Who knows indeed," Selendis said, and with those words, Rosemary knew the executor had given her consent. What Razturul said was possible, sure.

But not likely.

She knelt and unpacked the small kit she'd brought with her, reaching for the tools, and looked up at Vartanil. She'd had enough of protoss farewells, and did not want to watch as Razturul made his. Vartanil nodded his understanding, and Rosemary turned her attention to the dusty relic of a vessel, preferring to focus on a centuries-old machine than a being who would be dead inside of an hour.

"We might all be dead inside of an hour," Vartanil reminded her.

"Shut up and touch the crystal again," Rosemary growled. It didn't make her feel better that everyone present saw through her facade of indifference as she started to work.

ROSEMARY GOT THE NEWS THE MOMENT IT happened.

She had been lying beneath the ancient vessel, her hands and face and leather clothes luminescent with crystal dust instead of greasy with oil, when Razturul sent his farewell.

For a split second, she saw what he did: the sea of zerg roiling beneath him, the cloud of them descending from the air and all sides. The ground was rushing up to meet her: The ship was falling out of the sky. And then nothing.

She also knew, although she had not seen it, that Razturul had been mere minutes from making it to the portal. He had led them on a good chase, had the dark templar. And he'd almost made it.

"Rosemary?" The thought was from Vartanil, and she saw him now through blurred vision as he bent and peered underneath the ship. His concern wafted over her, comforting her, and she dragged a hand over her face quickly.

"Got some of this damn dust in my eyes," she said, although of course she knew he knew it was a lie. "Get back in the cockpit and let's keep going."

Damn the protoss anyway, and damn herself for giving a rat's ass about them. And about Jake for that matter. What the hell was she doing here when—

The light was unexpected and elicited a sudden whoop of delight from her. The ship purred, a pleasant sound, as it awakened like a cat from a nap in a sunny window. Excitement and pride emanated from Vartanil as he gleefully sent to Selendis, "Rosemary has done it! The vessel is operational!"