Starcraft - The Dark Templar Saga - Firstborn by Christie Golden

Author:Christie Golden [Golden, Christie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blizzard Entertainment
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

for a moment, then, single-minded of purpose, rose

and headed straight for the shower.

F I R S T B O R N

259

•

•

•

Jake emerged from the bathroom to find that

someone had been in his room.

Someone sneaky and devious who had managed to

come in and leave behind a tuxedo, shirt, cuff links,

cummerbund, and a tie. The tuxedo waited for him

patiently on a little hanging contraption next to the

bed. Jake stood, dripping a little bit, the thick, plush towel wrapped around him, and stared.

Was this what it was like to be unspeakably, incon-

ceivably, filthy rich?

The door opened and Randall entered, carrying a

pair of shiny shoes that Jake knew would likely fit

him perfectly. He nodded at Jake, clearly not at all

taken aback to see him in a towel, and began laying

out Jake’s things for the evening. Jake stared at him,

blinking, his mind still fuzzy.

The Professor has probably never even seen a tuxedo.

“I’ve worn a tuxedo twice,” Jake blurted out, sud-

denly annoyed. Randall turned and lifted a gray eye-

brow in mild surprise. “When I was nominated for

Flinders Petrie Award for Archeological Distinction.”

Nominated, but never won, he thought, surprised that even now, even in his current situation, the thought

still vexed him. He was certain that wandering around

with an alien in his head would get him something

from the awards committee. Too bad he’d never get

the chance to find out.

“Very good, sir.”

“So . . . um yeah, thanks for dropping this off.” He

260

C H R I S T I E G O L D E N

smiled at the other man, and waited for him to bow

and leave. Instead, Randall simply clasped his hands

behind his back and stood patiently.

“Randall?”

“Yes, sir?”

Good Lord, what did one say to someone like this?

Randall was intimidating the hell out of him. “Um . . .

you may go now.”

“The Professor does not wish assistance in dressing

for dinner?”

“No, the Professor does not, and the Professor would

also prefer it if you would stop referring to him in the third person.” This current situation was almost as

strange and alien-seeming to him as having the memo-

ries of a long-dead protoss blossoming in his mind every night as though he were actually living them.

But the impeccably dressed—he didn’t even know

the term. Butler? Valet? Servant? Gentleman’s gentle-

man? Jeeves? He decided to just keep it simple and

settled on Randall—Randall didn’t bat an eyelash. He

simply bowed slightly and said, “Very good, sir. Is

there anything else you require, sir?”

Jake suddenly felt very weary, and sighed heavily.

“My life back,” he said quietly.

Randall didn’t answer. He merely left and closed

the door behind him.

Jake stared at the formal wear for a long time. Then

he sighed, climbed into the clothes, used the provided

shoehorn to wedge his feet into the perfectly sized, shiny shoes, and remembered that he was no good at tying a tie.

C h a p t e r 2 0

RANDALL ARRIVED AN HOUR LATER TO ESCORT HIM

to dinner. Jake followed him through several rooms

as opulent as the one that he’d slept the day away in,

their footsteps echoing on the dark green marble

flooring. Jake hoped that Randall would

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