This is healing ... this . . . Even in this link that bound him so tightly with thousands of long-dead protoss, Jake knew he was in his present. And that he was in extreme physical danger. What he was experiencing called to him; he was loath to leave, but an idea was stirring inside him.
This moment had given the protoss pause at a point in their existence when they tore each other apart with their bare hands. It had saved them. What could it do—
Jacob—this is not for them.
... It can be—
And before a stunned Zamara could even try to intervene, Jake had thought it, and in the thinking, it was done.
Rosemary Dahl froze. She could do nothing but surrender to what suddenly flowed into her... nor could the captain of the Valkyrie Anglia ... or the mechanic on his first deep-space mission... or Elyssa, or Steve, or the frightened guard in the launching bay, or all the others who had served Ethan and Valerian. It hurt, it blazed, it purified, and it stretched them wider than they had ever been stretched before as their limited, unaltered human minds did what pathetically little they could to grasp it all.
We. Are. ONE.
Rosemary felt Ted Samsa's heart beating in her chest. She relived Elyssa Harper's first kiss. Steve O'Toole's first kill. A bite of ice cream. The bark of a beloved pet. The cry of a newborn. The smell of that newborn's skin. Every memory, every feeling, every sense of being that hundreds of people felt and sensed and remembered sang through her mind. The joys that made them laugh were hers. The tragedies that made them weep were hers.
The stings, the slights, the smiles, the wonder, the boredom. All of the things that go to make up a life, an identity, a sense of self flooded her. And she knew that they were tasting her life as she was savoring theirs. While there was hate, and fear, and prejudice, because people hated and feared and prejudged, it could not possibly, possibly be directed at anyone in this link, this circle, this deep and profound pool of unity. For who could hate his right hand? Your hand is my hand. Who could hate his left eye? For your eye is my eye.
For a timeless moment, caught in this never-before-experienced state of ecstatic union, the captain could not speak the order to attack. Rosemary could not enter the jump coordinates. The ships drifted. The moment stretched on.
Jake wanted nothing more than to stay here, drifting in this unspeakable sense of unity and peace and sensation. But he slowly detached himself from it and floated back to the reality of his present. Jake blinked his eyes, not at all surprised to find tears still wet on his face. He felt empty and horribly alone. He struggled with the seat belt and stumbled to Rosemary. Her eyes were wide and glazed, her lips softly moving, an expression of almost childlike delight on her face.
Hating himself, Jake extended his thoughts into her mind. He had to read her thoughts in order to know what to do to make the jump. He sifted through the thousands of minds that were interconnected in this moment and found the glowing, brilliant thread that was Rosemary Dahl in this glorious tapestry of union.
"Oh," he breathed, softly. He felt her pain, shocking and keen and achingly lonely. Her bitterness, her disillusionment. Brief flashes of her history, of cruelty and squalor and horrific violence, of determination and grit and a will that pulsed strong and true and powerful. This, then, was what Zamara had sensed about Rosemary. The protoss had dived in past the walls that a broken soul had erected to protect herself. She had found the Rosemary inside the R. M., the woman inside the killer, and deemed her worthy. Jake had seen only the vaguest glimpses of something other than a coldhearted killer, someone who used every tool at her disposal to further her own goals.
Now he could see her, could feel her, could— He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, gently, without passion, as he might have a child.
No matter what she did, he could never hate Rosemary Dahl again.
Now he pulled out of that connection, searching for the information. Rosemary was going on blind luck here. There was no telling where they would emerge, or even if they would emerge intact. Jake didn't know a great deal about interstellar travel, but he did know that if you didn't plot a jump with great care and precision, you could end up A) dead, B) dead, C) so far away from wherever you wanted to be you'd never get back, or D) all of the above.
He found the information he needed, bent over the console, entered it... and hesitated before he pushed the button. There was a good chance this wouldn't work, and, as he was ever curious, there was some-thing he had to know.
Zamara?
Yes, Jacob?
This changed the protoss. What will it do to us?
That moment was never intended to be shared beyond our own species. The Khala is for us, not you, and it is sacred, not a toy. She was angry with him, but she could not argue with the results. At least, the initial ones. He sensed her softening.
I must admit ... you chose wisely, this time. Truly, Jacob, I do not know what will happen. Your species is ... young yet to grasp the true significance. Most likely, most of those who experienced it will discount it, scoff at it and dismiss it as a momentary fancy.
But ... not all?
No. Not all.
Jake could live with that. He pushed the button.
