Less so than he appears. Armor is not worn solely on the body.

Zamara returned her attention to Zeratul. He felt the longing to connect, the desperation in her thoughts as she continued talking.

"I will not, I cannot, be silent. I have the memories of so much horror. And yet so much courage—that of Tassadar and Adun chief among them. I know that you are great of spirit. You have made errors. All living beings do, Zeratul. It is arrogance of the highest degree for you to think that—"

"Again you reprimand me with charges of arrogance when you know nothing of what I have done!" With a speed that startled Jake, although he knew he should have known better, Zeratul was on his feet. He was ready to attack if Zamara pushed him too far.

"You will leave this place immediately! Leave me to my meditation and my pain. It is mine; it does not belong to you."

"No. We shall not leave."

Jake braced himself for the burst of outrage, the attack. Zeratul surprised him again by merely giving the protoss equivalent of a shrug.

"Be that as you wish, then. I shall go," he said. He rose from the crouching position, taller than most protoss and more imposing than any Jake had ever seen in the flesh or through Zamara's memories, and strode purposefully toward his vessel. A moment later, he was gone.

Well, that could have gone better. Indeed. We will try again tomorrow.

And they did. And the day after that. Both times, Zeratul was implacable in his icy resistance to engaging in any sort of conversation. Finally, on the third day, Zamara said bluntly, "Are you not at all even curious as to how my essence ended up inside a terran body?"

Zeratul's head turned toward them at that, his eyes glowing. Jake tensed. He knew, of course, the basics—that Zamara had been evading Ulrezaj's assassins, that she had left a note in her own blood and clues as to how someone might find her. But the details she had not shared with him. He was not sure he wanted them.

"I...am curious," Zeratul admitted. The protoss had always struck Jake as catlike—not in how they looked in any way, but their grace, their power, and their overwhelming curiosity about first the world and then the universe around them. "I did not know that humans were capable of containing the essence of a preserver."

"He is not," Zamara said bluntly. "The duty is killing him."

Zeratul's eyes narrowed slightly, and as he regarded Jake, the archaeologist knew that this time, Zeratul was not seeing Zamara. He was looking at Jake.

"Did you undertake this duty freely, human?"

Jake shook his head uncomfortably. "No. But...I've learned to carry it freely."

Zeratul nodded, reading all of Jake's thoughts, catching all the subtle nuances and emotions, some of them conflicting, that surrounded his carrying a preserver. "I understand. I confess, your species is full of surprises. I have met one much like you. James Raynor."

Jake brightened. "Yeah! You said something about him before. You knew him?"

"Yes. I did." Zeratul volunteered nothing more.

"I know about him," Jake said. "He stood with the protoss on Aiur, helped Fenix to disable the warp gate. Zamara and Rosemary managed to get it working again. That's how we were able to come here."

This was the way to break through Zeratul's stony shell— curiosity. The tidbits Jake and Zamara were tossing out were simply too intriguing for Zeratul not to want to learn more.

"Shall I tell you, then, how it is that Jake and I share one body, but two spirits?"

Zeratul turned back to the waterfall. For a moment, Jake thought he was going to dismiss them again. But the prelate said nothing for a moment.

At last, he nodded. "Much I have learned in the Void. Much I have learned in the last four years. But this would be something I have not heard in all my long, long years. Tell me then, preserver, what skill you used to continue to preserve yourself and the memories you carry."

Jake closed her glowing eyes and hung on desperately with her four-fingered hands. It was something she had never expected—an attack by her own people.. .or by beings from another race who had commandeered protoss vessels. She didn't know which; none of the ships had responded to hails. They had only come out of nowhere, encircled the carrier, and with no explanation, opened fire.

The Xa’lor lurched and shuddered, evidence of the severity of the attack it was trying to withstand. Despite everything the skilled pilots could do, the valuable passenger was thrown to the metal plating of the ship. Before she could reach up to grasp the railing and pull herself to her feet, hands were there to assist her. She accepted the help with no arrogance, merely as something that was her due. She was a preserver, and she, more than anyone or anything else on this ship, had to be protected at all costs. Jake felt blood trickling from a cut on her head, right below the jeweled band that held back her nerve cords. She felt the concern of the crew wash over her in a warm wave, tinged with their own fears and the cold set of their determination.

Executor Amur's mind brushed Jake's. "Zamara, I can only think that this inexplicable attack has something to do with the knowledge you harbor."

Jake nodded, grieved but stoic; she agreed. It was the only possible explanation.

"We are outnumbered by our own ships," he continued. "I doubt there will be an escape for us. But you must survive. What you carry must endure. You know where the escape pods are; go there."

Jake felt the deep pain of sympathy wash through her as the words entered her mind. But she also knew that the executor was right. She, the individual named Zamara, was no more important than any other protoss aboard this vessel, but what she carried could not be permitted to die with her. It was ancient, it was secret, and it had to survive. It would be noble to die with her companions on this ship. It would be a good death—but she did not have that luxury. She would have to live.. .live long enough at the very least to transfer her precious burden to another. She had fled from similar encounters before; at least, she remembered doing so.

Jake sent back an affirmative, laced with subtle nuances of care, concern, and grief. Then she fully realized what he had said.

"Escape pods? Surely I would be safer in a shuttle."

"The shuttles are much more heavily armored, that is true, but they are also larger and will attract more notice."

"Yes...I understand. En taw Tassadar, Amur." The executor returned the blessing and war cry in one, then she felt his attention shift. It would soon be time.

Jake hastened down the corridor, her gossamer-fine lavender and white robes that marked her revered status as preserver billowing around her. She had no armor, no weapons; she was not expected to have to defend herself. There was now and always had been a line a hundred deep of those who would die for what she carried. And soon, those aboard the Xa'lor would die. But she would be alone.

I must stay alive! she thought fiercely as she reached the escapepod and eased herself into it. Her long fingers moved over the controls quickly and calmly, the absolute necessity of her survival overriding her instinctive urge to panic.

Soon now...be ready, Amur thought to her.

There was more, but it was not in words, but in images. Jake sensed the activity throughout the vessel. In other bays, the fighters would be soaring into space like golden, glowing insects, darting about quickly and powerfully. The Xa'lor itself, of course, was massively armored, but Jake had had no illusions that a single carrier would be the victor.

Jake knew what the executor was going to do, knew that the timing of the desperate attempt was crucial. She let her gaze go soft, the better to focus her powerful brain, to open her thoughts. Amur was going to let the attackers destroy them, and Jake was to depart mere seconds before the ship exploded. There would be scattered debris littering the area, and the enemy—fellow protoss, the enemy? The thought was agony—would have their hands full for a few precious moments attempting to locate her.