She desperately hoped it would be sufficient.
* * *
The Empress quickly recovered from her shock. “How did you get in here?” she demanded.
“I brought them,” Tialin said simply, as if that would answer everything. “I am Tialin, of the Shepherds. You have been duped, Your Excellency. Duped by a master of deception, the renegade Lhiau. Listen to these people, Empress. Standing before you are no traitors, but quite possibly the most loyal servants you have ever had.”
The Empress narrowed her eyes. “Once, I would have believed you, stranger, but they have since turned on me.”
“How?” asked Jekri, stepping forward. “Before Lhiau came, you trusted all of us implicitly. Think, Empress! Remove the cloud Lhiau has placed over your mind!”
“He asked for help in destroying his enemies, but never told you who they were,” said Telek urgently. “He gave you technology, but would not permit you to analyze it. When disaster occurred, suddenly it was someone else’s fault—mine, or Jekri’s. Never his. We have taken his word for everything, and all we have to show for it are destroyed warbirds and dead Romulans!”
“Don’t listen to the traitors!” Lhiau rushed toward the Empress. If he could touch her, he might be able to penetrate the wall that anger and logic were beginning to erect around her thoughts. But she stepped away from him. He could see doubt forming in her face.
“We, the Shepherds who have been guardians of a delicate balance, are the enemies he would have you destroy—by destroying yourselves. By destroying your entire universe,” said Tialin.
The Empress blinked. “It—it does not make sense—”
“It would if he had a little hole into which he could crawl when this was done,” said Jekri. “Empress, the Shepherds won’t be affected. They don’t live in any universe we understand. It doesn’t matter to Lhiau what happens outside of that hole. He knows that it will just begin again—without any of us.”
“Madness!” Lhiau implored the Empress. “They are speaking madness to you. Send the ships now, Empress. Now, before they try to stop you!”
“They are doing nothing save talking,” the Empress observed. “You are the one pushing me to impulsive action. Why is that, Lhiau?”
He stared, wild-eyed, at the Empress, then at his enemies. He could not think. The lies would not come. He had one chance left. He shoved the Empress to the floor and with a thought erected an invisible but impenetrable barrier between himself and the others.
He ordered his body to shift, and it obeyed. Lhiau, now wearing the face and body of the Empress herself, stepped forward and pressed a button. The face of the commander appeared.
“Begin the invasion!” shrieked Lhiau, in the Empress’s voice.
Stahl looked unhappy, but he would obey his Empress. Lhiau knew he would. At that moment, Lhiau heard a humming noise. He knew what it was and turned quickly, but not quickly enough.
Several dozen centurions materialized in the throne room. They appeared around the fallen Empress, encircling her, protecting her. One helped her to her feet even as the others fired.
Lhiau could not be harmed by the weapons, but they distracted him. His concentration slipped. Energy fire ripped through the borrowed image he wore, and he could feel the shape he had assumed shifting back and forth, from the Empress to the masculine body he had imagined for himself. Over the shriek of weapons firing, Lhiau heard Stahl screaming the Empress’s name, heard the Empress’s voice lifted in rage. His barrier was swept aside as if from the force of the entire Shepherd race. Invisible hands closed on his shoulders, shoving him hard to the floor. He was not able to move.
* * *
Seven of Nine, Khala, Torres, and the whole of Engineering stared at the image that was being played out as if by holograms in front of them. There was no purple light hovering in front of them anymore. Their task was done, and now they had to watch, helpless to interfere.
Oddly, Seven thought of Telek R’Mor and little Naomi Wildman. She wasn’t sure why.
* * *
It happened so fast that it took Jekri precious seconds to even realize what had occurred. She had never been in battle herself, though she had orchestrated many. The noise, the sudden movements, her own frazzled nerves served to paralyze her for just a moment.
The centurions appeared, forming a protective circle around the Empress. Jekri watched, seeing everything as if in slow motion, as the Empress got to her feet, very pale and clutching one arm in an awkward position. Not only had Lhiau dared lay hands on the Empress, but he had hurt her!
Rage flooded Jekri and she surged forward. The barrier was somehow gone, but someone seized her arm, stopping her.
Snarling, she turned to look up into the face of the Praetor.
“No, Little Dagger,” he said. It was only then that the firing stopped. Had the Praetor not grabbed her, Jekri would have rushed headlong right into the line of fire. She’d have been vaporized instantaneously.
She stood, breathing heavily, beside Verrak and Telek R’Mor. Lhiau was on his hands and knees, held there by the delicate-seeming Tialin.
“Excellency, are you all right?” the Praetor asked. Jekri had never been so glad to hear his high-pitched voice in her life.
Obviously shaken, still holding her arm, the Empress nodded. “Your intervention was timely, Praetor,” she said, her voice admirably steady. “How fortunate.” Once again, Jekri’s heart swelled with love and pride for her noble Empress. She had been swayed by Lhiau’s powerful mental controls, but in the end, the Empress herself had broken the spell the Shepherd had cast upon her. She was in all respects a worthy leader.
“Not as dependent upon fortune as you might think. I have been watching you, Empress.”
Despite her obvious pain, the Empress straightened and frowned. “Spying on me?”
The Praetor inclined his head. “Those words are accurate, though harsh. I never trusted Lhiau. There were many who did not.” Now he turned to look at Verrak, Telek, and Jekri in turn. “I did what I could to help those who were brave enough to openly show their mistrust.”
All at once, Jekri realized just how deeply the Praetor had been involved. He had warned her that night of the formal dinner, when the Empress had humiliated her. He had been the mysterious friend who had alerted her to Lhiau’s assassination order before Sharibor had had the chance to act on it. He had contacted her after Sharibor’s attack, sending the untraceable message culminating with her nickname, “Little Dagger.” Other than Verrak, Jekri suspected she had never had a truer friend.
He saw comprehension spread across her face and nodded before returning his attention to the Empress.
“You assisted traitors?” said the Empress.
“Oh, yes,” said the Praetor. “We are all technically traitors here. Telek R’Mor, with his family held hostage, still dared tell the Voyager crew about their danger, so that the true timeline was not polluted. Jekri had misgivings about Lhiau and was open in her suspicion. She then had the audacity to survive an assassination attempt—oh, Lhiau didn’t tell you about that one, did he? When she spoke up against him, suddenly all kinds of charges were levied against her. I know they were false, because I helped make them up. Then I helped to free her. And Verrak, too, would seem to be a traitor.”
“I—I do not understand,” said the Empress faintly. She had turned pale at the news of the assassination attempt.
“Lhiau knew that the dark-matter cloaks were dangerous,” Telek said. “The more we used the technology he gave us, the closer we stepped to annihilating our own universe. He played on our desire for conquest. If it had not been for Tialin and Voyager, who have been doing everything they can to gather up this mutated dark matter, Lhiau would not have been stopped.”
“You keep talking as if you’ve stopped me.” They all turned to stare at Lhiau. He was kneeling, but there was nothing submissive about him. His face was contorted with rage and he radiated defiance. “I can still bring it about. I can do it with a thoug
ht.”
“Lhiau!” It was Tialin speaking, but with a different voice, higher and younger-sounding. Jekri blinked. “You have sworn the Oath.” A third voice issued from her throat, this one masculine and deep. “Would you betray that Oath? Would you use your powers to destroy these worthy beings?” Still another voice. Jekri realized what was going on. All of the Shepherds were speaking through Tialin.
“We never should have interfered! It was wrong!” For the first time since Jekri had met him, Lhiau’s voice was filled not with arrogance and contempt but with raw pain. Whatever he was saying, he truly believed. “There never was a balance! It was artificial. We created it. And then we had to keep it, just exactly right, so that these little things which had evolved under these false conditions could continue living their false lives!”
“We had a responsibility,” said Tialin in her own voice.
“We never should have put ourselves in a position to have that responsibility!” cried Lhiau. “We should have left well enough alone. Chaos is the natural state of things, not this unnatural order that we in our arrogance have imposed!”
Tialin said nothing. Jekri realized with a sinking sense of horror that the Shepherd was listening to Lhiau’s rantings. Would she agree? Would they indeed all be destroyed?
“I was just trying to start over again,” said Lhiau, his head sinking down. “Trying to start fresh. To let the universes evolve as they ought to have, since the beginning of time. Since the beginning of our interference.”
“Not even we can turn back time,” said Tialin gently, in the voice of the young woman. “To kill, to destroy—you would not do that, Lhiau. They have a right to be.”
Lhiau’s golden head rested on his chest. All the fight seemed to have left him. He looked tired, drained. “No,” he said. “I would not break my Oath, even though to do so would be to right a grievous wrong.”
* * *
To right a wrong. The Entity that had once been a corporeal being by the name of Kes knew all about wrongs done, and the desperate desire to right them. But what Lhiau was contemplating would only add to the wrongs, if wrongs there had been. Perhaps that was not the word. Perhaps misjudgments, errors, miscalculations. An overabundance of compassion, if there was such a thing.
The Entity did not know if it, too, would disappear if all the universes were destroyed. There were questions left still, it would seem. But it knew that people it loved would vanish, and for that it grieved, and feared, and hoped that it would not occur.
* * *
Tialin straightened. “I do not agree with Lhiau that what we did was wrong. And I certainly do not think that destroying what exists can possibly do any good. But perhaps it is time to cease our intervention. We, the Shepherds, will retire to that hole you spoke of, Jekri. We will lock ourselves in our own universe, and interfere with yours no longer. Natural chaos, not artificial order, will dictate your futures from this moment on.”
She stepped back. Lhiau rose, and Tialin reached for his hand. “Let us go, old friend,” she said. “Let us leave the beings of this universe alone, at last.”
Lhiau nodded. They embraced, and then their forms shimmered into purple light.
They were gone, forever.
CHAPTER
19
THE EMPRESS STOOD FOR A MOMENT, THEN TURNED AND faced the screen. Commander Stahl stared back at her, his mouth open slightly.
“You will stand down,” she said. “The invasion fleet is to disperse. Who else witnessed what transpired?”
“Only my bridge crew,” stammered Stahl.
“That is good. This was a drill, a practice run. You shall not deviate from that story. What of the Shepherd technology?”
“It is still installed in Engineering, but it now seems to be completely inoperable.”
“You will remove them from all the vessels and return them to the Praetor within two days. Give a day’s leave to the crew of all the ships who participated. Thank them for an exercise completed smoothly.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you understand, Stahl?”
“Aye, Excellency.” His face blipped off the screen.
The Empress turned to her guards. “I do not believe I need tell you to say nothing.”
“Of what, Excellency?” the head centurion replied.
“Good. Dismissed.” They left quietly. The room was in shambles from the energy fire, but Jekri knew that within a day there would be no signs of the desperate fight that had ensued.
There was no one left now but the Empress, Jekri, the Praetor, Telek, and Verrak. She turned and faced them, and Jekri grew cold inside.
“Well, well. What do I do with you? My little band of traitors.” The Empress walked around them, looking them up and down. Her arm must have been causing her terrible pain, but she gave no sign of it other than to cradle it carefully.
“My Praetor, who rules this Empire perhaps even more than I do. The chairman of my Tal Shiar, who commands thousands of shadowy figures. My best scientist. All admitted traitors. It seems I must either kill all of you and invite in the unknown in many key positions … or pardon you.”
For a moment, her regal mien slipped. “And it is not as if I, too, have not betrayed my subjects, albeit unwittingly. I cannot condemn you when you are the ones who have saved this Empire. You are pardoned. Praetor, meet me here in one hour. We have much to discuss. Dismissed.”
He bowed, and left. He did not look back.
“Telek R’Mor. Why did you flee to the Federation ship?”
“I was taken against my will, Excellency. I admit I did contact them to warn them, but only to preserve the true timeline. In that timeline, the Romulan Empire is alive and well. I did not wish to risk harming it.”
“I see. And your time aboard that vessel?”
“Was spent in helping stop Lhiau’s spread of dark matter.”
She nodded. “Your wormholes will not operate without Shepherd technology.” It was a statement, not a question. “But clearly, you understand more about dark matter than anyone else in this Empire.”
Telek looked uncomfortable. “True, but have we not seen the dangers dark matter can pose?”
“It was my understanding that Lhiau used mutated dark matter. Surely such power can be harvested and put to good use without damaging the vessels and those who operate them. We had a superior cloak and wormholes. I want them again. Safely, this time.”
“Excellency,” sputtered Telek. “The Shepherds are as far above us as we are above a kllhe! Much of their technology hinges upon what they themselves are, not what they can build. It would take us centuries, perhaps even millennia, before we can even grasp the basics of their technology!”
“Why then,” said the Empress, a hint of a smile curving her full red lips, “you had best begin. With a larger, more advanced vessel, and as much support as you desire. I think this is the work of a lifetime, Dr. R’Mor.”
Jekri understood what the Empress was saying, and so did Telek. Surprised pleasure filled his face. He saluted, and bowed. As he strode toward the door, Jekri called out, “Telek!”
“Yes?” He turned. The iciness was still there between them, despite all they had been through together, but Jekri thought she knew how to melt it.
“Your family. They live.”
He looked skeptical. “The chairman of the Tal Shiar did not execute her prisoners after all?”
She shook her head. “No. Things happened too quickly … I never got around to it.”
“Consider them freed,” the Empress said. “Speak with the Praetor, and he will reunite you with your family, Dr. R’Mor.”
Slowly, his face softened. Joy glowed in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, and raced out the door.
“Excellency,” said Jekri, after he had gone, “you cannot speak of what happened. It must be wiped from all our record banks. No one must know how close we came to almost destroying ourselves.”
“You speak words I already know, Little Dagger. Do not worry. Our own embarrassment will hold
tongues.” The Empress lifted her head. “I was tricked, and behaved inexcusably. I would not have my people know that. The Senate, too, was duped, and they will not wish others to know how easily they were tricked. Stahl has seen enough, too, to know the value of silence. The troops never knew exactly what was going on; to them, this will be nothing more significant than another drill, forgotten once the technology is removed. If even Dr. R’Mor cannot duplicate this technology, then I feel we are safe. No, Kaleh. Shame begets silence.”
She strode toward the smaller woman. “You have suffered the most, yet were perhaps the most loyal. I have wronged you. I would have you back as my trusted chairman, and will see that your name is cleared. Speak a boon, Jekri Kaleh, and whatever it is, if it lies within the power of your Empress, it is yours.”
Jekri looked full into the face of this lovely woman, saw there mortification, and pride, and power. She thought about her life up until this moment: a series of scrabbling, and fighting, and killing, and climbing.
She had changed too much. She did not want any part of that old life again.
“I cannot resume my duties, Excellency. Too much has happened. I can best serve in another way.”
“Name it.”
“I wish … to disappear.”
The Empress was silent for a long moment. “I trust that, wherever it is you disappear to, you will always serve me and the Empire loyally. You shall have your wish, Little Dagger.” Her voice was tinged with sorrow. “I hope your choice brings you happiness.”
Jekri was certain it would, save for one thing, one person whom she would miss more than she had expected. She turned to Verrak and began to search for the proper words to say goodbye.
He interrupted her. “You shall not disappear alone, unless you wish it.”
Stunned, she stared at him. “Your career,” she stammered. “Your advancement after this incident is certain. You could become the new chairman.”
“What does that mean to me?” His voice was raw, and the power of his emotions humbled Jekri. “I have served at your side for years. I do not care where you go, only let me follow! Perhaps you do not—you cannot feel—but I would be content simply to be with you—”
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