"You and the problem you present have brought me back to Shakuras," Nahaan informed her. She got a distinct impression of a dislike of Shakuras and all that it represented. "Rest assured, I will pay close attention to your plight."

The words were not comforting. She'd known she was going to be under tight scrutiny, but Nahaan seemed particularly interested in how things would turn out. Rosemary bowed. Sweat was starting to gather at her hairline and armpits. She wished she could just get this over with.

Three down, three to go.

Zekrath certainly seemed like the kindest of the leaders, a slender protoss whose blue-gray skin seemed paler than most. His garb, bright yellow and orange, seemed even brighter against the white backdrop of his alcove and draped his body simply. He lookedtranquil, calm, and Rosemary found her gaze drawn and held by several small crystals that whirled about Zekrath's head, creating the illusion of a crown. Or a halo.

Even more than the others, Zekrath of the Shelak spoke less in words than in sensations. There was a feeling of pity for all Rosemary had undergone, and sympathy for her cause. Rosemary found herself smiling at Zekrath, thinking that maybe she'd found an ally. She bowed, just a little more deeply than she had to the others, and turned to face the next to last tribal leader.

His name and allegiance came into her head as she regarded him. He was Mohandar of the—no, she had been thinking "dark templar" but now was corrected; not the dark templar, they had taken a new name, Nerazim, for a new tribe that had arisen from the original group that had been exiled from Aiur.

If Zekrath had been bright colors and gleaming white, this being was shadows and darkness. His eyes glowed green in this light, visible even through a veil that obscured much of his face, and his features were more irregular and sharp. There were jutting protrusions on his brow and cheekbones that made him look almost lizardlike compared to the protoss she was familiar with. While both Zekrath and Mohandar were clearly old, they showed it quite differently. Zekrath had that timeless look that Rosemary had sometimes seen in elderly humans—an inner energy, a radiance, that belied any external signs of aging. She had no idea how old Mohandar was, but he bore every year in his face and his bearing. Even his clothing struck her as old; it was strangely tattered and ragged, and twined about his wizened form in a way that reminded her of mummies from ancient Earth.

Yet Mohandar was most definitely not enfeebled with age. The tribal color the Nerazim had adopted was a verdant green, which at first struck her as strange, but then as completely right. She felt her mind being probed and assessed, and then Mohandar withdrew without a single comment.

It rattled her.

"Rosemary Dahl." The mental voice was young and perhaps had once been enthusiastic, but now seemed tempered. She turned toward Artanis, leader of the Akilae and now hierarch of all the protoss. He was clad in armor almost virtually identical to that which Selendis wore, and struck her as the quintessential protoss. Gold and blue draped his alcove, and his dais was slightly higher than the others. His eyes were a calm sky-blue in the light. "It has been some time since the protoss encountered your people. You are only the third terran to visit Shakuras."

Thrown into a comfy prison and forced to wait—some welcome. Rosemary winced; she couldn't stop the thought, and she felt their displeasure rumbling around her. Artanis held up a hand.

"I understand Executor Selendis has informed you of the last time we encountered a terran female," he said mildly.

"Yeah," Rosemary said. Her voice echoed with startling clarity in the hall; for a people who didn't speak, they constructed their buildings with fantastic acoustics. "I know about Kerrigan. May I respectfully remind the hierarch, however, that the first time humans encountered the protoss, you guys incinerated one of our worlds without so much as a by-your-leave, and yet my friend may die trying to help you."

More rumblings, but some admiration was laced in with it. To her surprise, Rosemary felt humor coming from Mohandar. "The female has a point."

"Selendis has informed us all of what she has obtained with speaking to you and those who accompanied you." Artanis was striving to keep the meeting on track. "Yet we would know this directly from you."

Rosemary swallowed hard. So many thoughts crowded her mind at once. Where to begin? Images came—the cave where she and Jake had found Zamara, her betrayal of the archaeologist, his horror at having been used to turn a madman loose on his friends, the stories of Temlaa and Vetraas and Khas and Adun, the Sundrop— oh, God, the Sundrop—the whirling radiant darkness—what anoxymoron that was—that was Ulrezaj, the sudden and unexpected pain in her chest when Jake said he was dying, the living carpet of zerg that just came on and on and on, Ethan's betrayal and resurrection as a tool of this Kerrigan who—

She opened her mouth to speak, to try to begin the linear, calm telling of the tale, when Selendis touched her mind: "Well done, Rosemary."

Well done? She hadn't even started—

"Thoughts are richer and swifter than words. And your thoughts are vibrant," Selendis replied. "You were more eloquent than I—or many others—expected."

"Well, I guess that's good," Rosemary replied.

Artanis leaned forward a little, his bright eyes on Rosemary. "A preserver is precious to us," he said. "All of us. Even the dark templar can appreciate the knowledge she houses. We are a people still reeling from what transpired four years past. A preserver in our midst now could only be a boon."

"Wait—don't you have preservers here?" Rosemary blurted.

"They were ever rare," said Urun. Rosemary turned to look at the martial leader of the Auriga. "When the zerg overran our world, much was lost. Millions of protoss died. Doubtless, among them were preservers. Some may have been killed when the Conclave was destroyed. Others are likely scattered. Do you think that every protoss in the universe is gathered here on Shakuras now, Rosemary Dahl?"

She realized she had been thinking precisely that. "So you don't know where the other preservers are?"

Artanis shook his head sadly. "Always, there was at least one with the Conclave. To have one by my side now would be invaluable."

"Zamara died fleeing Ulrezaj's assassins," Rosemary said heatedly. "That her essence is even around at all is sheer good luck and entirely due to Jake. She said she was one of the last. What if Ulrezaj got to all the others?"

She paused, and looked around the vast chamber.

"Good God, people— What if she's the last one!"

THE HORROR THAT RIPPLED THROUGH THE crowd was most satisfactory to Rosemary. Maybe at last she'd gotten their attention.

"Do not grow insolent, human," Selendis warned.

"Listen," Rosemary said, forging forward, "I know you all don't want zerg here, or Ulrezaj, or anyone else who might cause harm to the protoss. I fought the zerg myself. I know what they are. I saw what they did to your world. But you have to find Zamara. She knows too much that can help you right now for you not to. And—I would ask you—to help Jake. It's because of him that Zamara's survived this long. He's earned your help."

Some of them were leaning toward her side, though for their own reasons. Urun—he was burning to take the fight to Aiur, just as Rosemary knew Selendis was. Artanis struck her as someone who could appreciate the power of ancient knowledge, as well as such an important link with the past. Too, he had met this Jim Raynor, and she sensed from him a liking toward her people. Tabrenus seemed almost disinterested; he represented a group of artisans and craftsmen, not politicians. Zekrath of the Shelak was utterly inscrutable to her, and there was something about the Ara and their leader that chilled her on some level she couldn't quite articulate.