Chapter Three: Hallucinations

There he was, lying in his bed. Being second-in-command gave him a slightly better mattress than the rest, but never once did he brag about it. Now, in the dead of the night, he slept. Though near the south magnetic pole, that area of Braxis operated on forty-eight hour Earth-days. Twenty-four hours of sunlight, and twenty-four hours of darkness. It was approaching the time of "night" when it would be the fourteenth hour of black.

It was quiet throughout the camp. The radio and radar had been abandoned for now, and Durhkhan and Phaira-kur had no visitors but each other. But, as once stated, they never attempted to communicate.

Ever since Phaira-kur arrived he had never wanted to communicate. Whether it be he wished to be alone or he was too stupid did not interest the scientists. It was why he acted that way that compelled them. The station had produced nothing new. There were maps, of course, of the Protoss brain, but there wasn't one that mapped the mind of a mentally deficient zealot. That was the plan.

Hopefully, with this new guest, all of that would change. Hopefully, maps and readouts, data and knowledge would flow and come in gusts just as the wind outside did. It would start soon. The men would not be asleep forever. They would awaken in the dark and start to work. Durhkhan knew that. Phaira-kur did not.

But for now, they were safe, and so were the some-odd demons that slept in the barracks. Not all wished for them to suffer, but some had madness that lurked in their mind. It was bound up now, but with a push, a tiny push…

Renaud was sound asleep. His dreams were not dictated by the thought of Durhkhan, nor Phaira-kur. It was channeled to the discovery, more likely the journey to that zone. The four men that were with him most likely dreamt similar dreams. If they were, in fact, not fantasies.

In the cloud of unconsciousness, Renaud saw through his eyes the same scene; outside the camp. He and the four were just about to leave, and Blake and Garrett were seeing them off. As Renaud sat on the back of a vulture, he turned around to see Blake and Garrett go back inside as the wind picked up and the snow flew.

Thurston was driving the bike, and next to them was Snider, riding his own vulture. Van Camp and de Roos were in a siege tank, yet the tank had no extended barrel.

There were no emblems on any of the vehicles. If any real army had stationed them there, it had been the Sons of Korhal. Yet, they did not take good enough care of the stations on Braxis to rightfully be the owner. It was James Raynor that had really gotten this place started; for all the stations on Braxis this was true.

They crossed the snow-barren plains. The temperatures were at a colossal low, as always. Yet they went on. The journey would take several days, about a week, in fact. But Renaud's energy seemed drained already. His comrades looked bright and cheery enough, but there, sitting on the vulture, Renaud was lacking of physical power.

Every now and then, de Roos would contact Renaud via walkie-talkie to update him on the location of the mass, their current standpoint, and the correct navigational points needed to reach the core of activity. de Roos and Van Camp had a radar screen within the tank to watch for updates.

As the day grew on, the sky grew darker. Or maybe it was just the snow was falling harder? de Roos had not indicated any fuzziness in the radar, so maybe Renaud saw darker skies.

Now it was late. The men were growing tired, and they were starting to get very cold. The temperature was about ninety below Celsius. The two bikes swerved and slowed to a stop as the massive tank skid on the solid ice. The set up their thermal tents and went to bed.

The next morning the temperature was the same, and everything seemed in order. They once again set out, and soon were greeted by a small range of mountains. Although most would call it crazy, it was safer to travel on foot. As long as your equipment did not fail you, surviving the elements of Braxis was not that difficult.

The tank and bikes were abandoned, but not forgotten. Renaud had them parked under a small cliff that overshadowed them. This way, they would not be eaten by the snow; only an avalanche could swallow them.

Renaud led the march with de Roos behind him. He had the navigational charts and small radar computer. Van Camp had a duplicate set as well. The mountain passage was not that large, but it had its dangers.

But once again it grew late as they came to the other side of the mountains. Renaud stopped and set up camp once they had come through, and all went to sleep the second day.

That night, the thermometers danced like wild men in the jungle. Like spirits, they crept in and out of their various stages. They were the specters that taunted the area that night, rising and descending as they did. As the instruments played their games, the barometers then awoke from the deep sleep and swung their hands in fast and incomplete circles. These instruments, however, were armed with buzzers that would sound when obscure weather conditions arose. They sounded, and soon Snider was stirred from his dormancy to inspect them.

He rubbed his eyes several times before realizing the madness that the tools lay before him. He chuckled at first, and then realized that a certain doom was in the air. The idea of every implement failing simply flew out of his mind. He knew that it was a ridiculous thought, and awoke Renaud to get another opinion.

Snider shook Renaud violently, and in return, Renaud gave a violent answer. A swing at the face and a few curses exited his mouth. The punch, however, was lazy and missed Snider by nearly a foot. Snider wasted no time in getting Renaud to look at the instruments in a true way, and not half-asleep.

Once Renaud finally accepted that he had to deal with Snider's fantasy, he stretched and looked at the evidence himself. He did it again. Then he blinked hard and did it again. It was undeniable that the thermometers, barometers, all the gauges and guides were spewing something foul, something that was scientifically impossible, especially in an atmosphere such as the one on Braxis.

If all the data was, in fact, correct, then an extremely violent and aggressive storm should have ripped through them and killed them. However, Renaud only heard the wind go in and out. It rose and fell, but did not intimidate. The storm should have been so lethal that even their home encampment would have been decimated, even if the center was directly on top of Renaud's tent.

Renaud and Snider looked at each other in a way that could not be described. The confusion, bafflement, even elemental fear soaked through those glances. Renaud then put on his mask and poked his head outside for a moment. It felt cold, as cold as Braxis should be at night. And at that moment, the thermometer did read ninety degrees below Celsius. But after a moment, the temperature increased. It was so fast that Renaud was afraid the mercury inside the gauge would explode.

"This can't be happening, you know," said Snider as he flipped through a notebook of papers. "This is absolutely ridiculous." Renaud looked at Snider as he continued to search the notebook. He then switched to the thermometer which was slowly but steadily increasing. "It can't be happening."

"I think the instruments have gone berserk," gave Renaud. It was a strange theory. Offbeat, even; still it held the most logical ground. "Look. I say, look at this, Snider! Ha! Eighty-two degrees Celsius! In- oh, what time is it? Twenty-two minutes. No! Twenty-three. That can't happen, Snider; you're right."

Snider finally stopped flipping and then trailed various straight-lined paths with his finger. Renaud quit his gaze upon the thermometer and waited for Snider to finish his research. Snider scoffed and nearly laughed at his discovery.

"A change this fast has never been recorded on any part of Braxis." He looked again. "In fact, the fastest a temperature has ever risen from… oh, what was it? Ninety-two? Yes, ninety-two degrees, to eighty-two degrees… Three days. Three days, Renaud! That's ludicrous for a change of ten units that has a record of three days to be shattered by a mere twenty-three minutes." He closed the binder and set it aside. "This can't be happening."

Renaud smiled cautiously and turned back to the row of thermometers. But to his horror, the temperature had risen further. Though not much, it hadn't stopped its unreal progress. He had not removed his mask, so he poked his head outside again. It was cold, sure; but it didn't feel any warmer in the slightest bit.

Snider massaged his temple and lied down. Renaud crept with his head inwards and sat for a bit. The information that they had recorded was very odd, but perhaps it could be studied. Renaud figured that it was all wrong, that something had caused the instruments to give false data. However, the idea of all these tools failing him slammed another thought into his mind; what if the rest of the equipment was faulty? Was it the cold that was causing it? What if they got off track?

He knew that worrying about such ordeals would not help at all. He would dismiss his woes until morning, and hopefully everything would be back to normal.

Renaud woke up after a brief sleep, though. His first and only thought: check the thermometers. Seventy degrees Celsius. Renaud looked at his watch. It had been three hours since the devices displayed ninety-two. Snider had awoken, too, and both realized that the impossible was being spelled out before them.

"It has to be whatever we're chasing," said Renaud. "That's what it has to be."

"What do you mean? Are you saying that the mass at the epicenter caused a rise?"

Renaud nodded. "If a meteor had come in it could have really shaken things up. The atmosphere of Braxis is pretty thick, you know. Re-entry on most shuttles does a lot of wear and tear."

"And this meteor is still holding the effect after a few days?" asked Snider. Renaud had no choice but to nod again. "That meteor must have been shot from hell, if the devil really does play with fire. I don't know if that can happen, Renaud."

Fatigue took control of them, and the argument had to wait until morning.

Van Camp, Thurston, and de Roos were bright and cheery when they first greeted the duo. They, however, were groggy. Renaud explained what had happened that night, and showed the devices to them. It had now leveled at seventy degrees. The men took it even though it was something insane to think about.

The path was followed, and Renaud kept his fears of a false leading to himself. The equipment had to have some value, so he did not curse it. de Roos and Van Camp then happily reported they were within a thousand feet of the object. Renaud marched as he looked back at Snider, who kept his stare locked to a thermometer. Time seemed to fly after that.

"Within nine hundred feet, sir," reported de Roos. There was no response from the commander. And only a little time after that;

"Within eight hundred feet, sir."

Renaud cleared his throat when he heard a mutter from Snider. He instantly stopped, and Van Camp bumped into him from behind. Renaud pushed him and de Roos aside going straight to the little devil that had taunted him so.

"Watch it, Renaud!" scolded Van Camp. This, however, had no effect on him. The two looked at the thermometer and gasped. Was it now working? Was it a fault in the tool before? Either way, it was both a relief and horror to them. The fever had declined, but then again it had changed. That change is something that they had come to fear. Van Camp frowned and took a look for himself.

"What? What is it?" Van Camp said as he stared at a piece of technology that told him seventy-six degrees. "So it's a tad warmer than yesterday, what's the big deal?" Van Camp had been stationed on Aiur prior to this, and Aiur had a more Earth-type environment. A change in fever did not strike him as a threat.

Thurston and de Roos realized the oddity in the reading. They turned and continued to march. Renaud shook himself of the fiction that raced in his head. This was no time to crack.

The figure in the distance took shape. It was something, a man perhaps? Curled up and laying on the ground. Renaud squinted through the goggles and noticed that it was not a man, but a zealot. Lost, maybe even abandoned. Thurston, de Roos, and Van Camp rushed to it and examined it. Snider had put his toy away and focused on the finding.

Renaud saw that the zealot was alive. Thurston attempted to pull the zealot to his feet, but the creature was too heavy. Thurston stepped back as the monster arose by himself, weakly, and eyed the men around him.

"Are you all right?" asked Renaud. The zealot did not respond, only stumbled. Renaud and de Roos helped him walk. "What's your name?"

"Durhkhan," it replied.

They helped him along, all the way back. Durhkhan was slowly regaining his strength. Renaud saw this and had his psionic blades removed, as they could pose a possible threat. Durhkhan did not resist in any way.

Durhkhan's progress was slow, and caused the entire expedition to dawdle. Several days were spent going through the mountain pass, and each night Thurston had to give the zealot a sedative to keep him asleep for several hours so that he would not awake and attempt to harm anyone.

Once they reached the vehicles, de Roos retrieved a small but helpful device from the tank and brought it to Durhkhan. It was a portable prison cell that was formed of a type of glass. Also, they were fortunate enough to bring mental restrictors. Van Camp had meant to bring those with him, but had forgotten.

Renaud took a bike by himself and had Durhkhan with him. Snider and Thurston were on the other and de Roos and Van Camp in the tank.

All the while, Renaud asked various questions about the atmosphere and such, and Durhkhan did not reply to any of them. Renaud finally stopped and focused on the trail ahead of him.

After a few hours, Renaud heard a strange noise from the glass cell that was riding behind him. He glanced back to see what was happening… Durhkhan was bypassing the mental restrictors.

But no! That hadn't happened! That hadn't happened on the trip they had taken! Renaud fought violently in his unconsciousness, but to no avail. He physically jolted as he attempted to wake up from the nightmare that was about to ensue. Durhkhan ripped off the mental restrictors, broke his glass chamber and grabbed Renaud.

He threw him off the bike and into the ice. Snider and Thurston stopped as they drew rifles to fire. Durhkhan leaped forward and pounced upon the two and took his psionic blades from the back of the vulture. He placed them on his wrists, felt the power within himself and slashed at them. Renaud flipped over to his back on the ice and watched as Durhkhan approached him.

The blade lifted into the air, their eyes met, and then a blue scimitar thrust its way though Renaud's chest.

He thrust himself into the air when he awoke. Sweating, panting… It had all been a dream, just a recollection of what had happened, at least for the most part. But it had been so real. He felt the coldness of the air, Van Camp bumping into him, falling off the bike, the blade piercing his skin…

Renaud then took notice of his surroundings when four more jumped upward with the same motion as he.