Glancing briefly over the creature’s shoulder, Amanda could see that the hangar was empty. Any hope of escaping this place was instantly dashed. Don’t give up. Not yet, she told herself, forcing her eyes to meet those of the alien being before her.
“I applaud your effort, though it was in vain,” said the Queen. “I am Kerrigan, matriarch of the Zerg. I would know your name.”
“Just go ahead and get it over with,” retorted Amanda.
“Oh, we shall.” The Queen smiled. The girl remained defiant even in the fact of unquestionable defeat. The Queen was reminded so much of herself that for a moment she felt—
There has been a setback, Queen? Interrupted the Cerebrate.
Not at all, she responded. Merely an intriguing turn of events.
I trust the operation will continue to run smoothly, answered the Cerebrate.
Put your trust where you will, returned the Queen. The schedule I adhere to is mine alone.
Just then the warrior arrived. The Queen sent a message. The creature obeyed, wrapping a snakelike cord around Amanda’s throat with one appendage and restraining her arms with the other.
Amanda closed her eyes, hoping that whatever the creature did, it would be quick.
A diminutive, spiked tentacle wriggled out from under the creature’s skin. Amanda felt a prick as the spike-needle pierced one of the tiny veins at her wrist.
The warrior stood still for a moment, then turned its head in the direction of the Queen.
Genetic strain incompatible, it relayed telepathically.
The Queen nodded.
Then the formula will likely be ineffective, offered the Cerebrate.
The Queen knew. Most likely the process would result in failure, stripping the woman of any shred of humanity, rendering her a base, servile mutation for the rest of her days. The brave girl would become a thoughtless, debilitated drone.
You wish to proceed, Queen? asked the Cerebrate.
The Queen hesitated.
Queen…?
THIS ROOM was new. Sarah had not been taken to this place before. She sat abound to a chair with reinforced restraints, facing Lieutenant Rumm, who paced back and forth before a blank wall.
The lieutenant stopped pacing and lowered his somber gaze to the little girl. “I want you to know that you forced me to do this. It was not my intention to take this course of action.”
Sarah stared back, impassive.
With an electric hissing sound, the solid wall behind the lieutenant phased into transparency, affording a view of an adjacent room, not unlike the one Sarah was in. Bound in a chair similar to Sarah’s, and facing her, was the emaciated form of Patrick Kerrigan, her father.
She had been able to visit him only once since “the incident.” He had appeared then much as he did now—staring forward, not looking at Sarah but through her, with wide, unseeing eyes.
Sarah felt her throat swell. Her eyes grew bleary.
Standing next to Patrick was a tech holding a pressurized syringe in his right hand. The sleeve on Patrick’s right arm had been rolled up; veins stood out like ropes along his scrawny forearm.
“The serum in the syringe is the same that was injected into our little friend the kitten,” the lieutenant said in a matter-of-fact tone. “If you do not agree to cooperate with us fully from now on, your father will be injected.”
Sarah’s brow creased, her lips becoming a thin line.
“You do remember what happened to the kitten,” said the lieutenant, drawing nearer. “Death will not come quickly, child—no, not at all. It will be a marathon of suffering, even to such a dull-witted specimen as he.”
The lieutenant was leaning over Sarah’s chair now, both hands plant firmly on the armrests, waiting for a response. Looking in the girl’s eyes, he saw fear, pity, and agony…but not compliance.
“So be it,” he said. Setting his jaw, the lieutenant turned to the window and nodded his head.
Inside the adjacent room, the tech placed the syringe to Patrick’s arm.
“No! If you do this, I’ll use my power to kill him and me!”
Sarah’s wide, furious eyes turned to the lieutenant. “I’ll do it—I swear I will! I’ll kill both of us!”
Suddenly Sarah felt a prick in her wrist. A needle in the arm of the chair had punctured her skin, delivering a powerful sedative into her bloodstream. Sarah felt fire flow in her veins, and the room began to go dark. The last thing she saw was her father’s haggard, uncomprehending face and those wide, oblivious eyes.
The lieutenant breathed a sigh of relief as Sarah’s chin slumped to her chest. He turned and made a brief vertical motion with his hand. The tech nodded and removed the syringe. The wall shimmered and became opaque once more.
The lieutenant stood looking at the little girl, his emotions conflicting. He did not relish the decision that he must now make, but he was an animal of the Confederacy, and ever since he was a child he had always bowed to the wishes of superiors, be they right or wrong. A neuro-adjuster would be employed. He would recommend it. The little girl would never be the same again.
THE QUEEN stood once more overlooking the massive, gloomy chamber, waiting for the cocoon to open. The decision to continue had not been an easy one. But then again, why should she care for the welfare of some human subject, brave or not? Because of the potential, she told herself. There’s still a possibility…
Metamorphosis complete, interjected the Cerebrate.
The Queen watched as the bottom of the sac opened up, spilling its contents onto the floor below. There, huddling and shivering in a fetal position, was what remained of Amanda Haley: a slobbering, malformed, half-Zerg, half-human genetic defect.
The Queen sighed, sending a telepathic message for the creature to stand, which it is immediately obeyed, struggling to an upright position, on shaky, alien limbs.
Another drone, thought the Queen. Her mind belongs to the swarm now. The potential is wasted.
As suspected, the formula was incompatible, offered the Cerebrate.
The Queen nodded. The Cerebrate had a way of stating the obvious. Looking down at her arm, the woman who had once been known as Sarah Kerrigan could see the faintest traces of an old mark—a scar, really, —that still glistened despite the molecular changes her body had undergone. It read “24.”
“So be it,” whispered Kerrigan as she spun on her heel and stepped once more into the long, desolate corridor.