Shadow of Heaven

by Christie Golden

  She stopped his words with a small hand on his lips. “If you come with me,” she said, her voice husky and trembling, “you shall not serve. You shall be at my side always, as companion, friend … lover. If you choose to come with me.”

  He did not answer. He did not have to. Slowly, Jekri reached out and took his hand in hers, curling her small fingers gently around his strong ones. Warmth and strength was in his touch, and she no longer desired ever to be without that warmth and strength.

  They bowed to their Empress. She shocked Jekri by suddenly flinging her uninjured arm around Jekri’s neck. Jekri felt tears on her cheek and a quick press of lips.

  “Be well, Little Dagger. You will always be in my heart.”

  Jekri felt tears of joy start in her own eyes. She bowed again, and turned with Verrak toward the door. Toward her new life. Toward a peacefulness she had only ever tasted once before, and was eager to feast upon now with her whole heart.

  The Little Dagger was finally free.

  * * *

  The day dawned gray and wet, as if it wished to help put out the last few smoking embers. The inhabitants of Sumar-ka stumbled around in a daze, unable to truly comprehend the depth of what had happened. A few huts still remained, and for whatever reason—luck, perhaps—Ioni and her followers had ignored the most important building of all, the one in which dried meats, grains, and vegetables were stored for a time of need.

  Now was a time of need.

  Once they had apprehended all the rogues from the Recovery team, Ezbai had summoned assistance. There was no point in not doing so. Obviously, the Culilann had seen too much already. Any hope of pretending that there was not Alilann intervention in their way of life had been shattered beyond repair.

  Soliss and the Alilann doctor had worked together to treat the injured. Paris and Chakotay had refused assistance in deference to the more gravely wounded, and Paris was now regretting that. He felt weak as the proverbial kitten up a tree—or was that mixing metaphors? His head was so fuzzy he wasn’t sure.

  There had been anger, and fear, and sobbing and curses earlier. Now, everyone was spent. They were cold and wet and in shock from the events of the night before.

  Trima sat with Paris as he leaned back against the charred trunk of an old tree.

  “Things must change,” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed, looking over the black, soggy remains of what had once been a village. He couldn’t believe no one had been killed other than Ioni, the ringleader. Trima’s timely action had saved perhaps everyone in Sumar-ka, but the way the villagers looked at her, you wouldn’t know it.

  He knew that this was what was troubling Trima. “You did what you had to do,” Paris told her. “If you hadn’t contacted me, fired the phaser—”

  “I know,” she said, sharply. Her voice was tight. “But I still have lost everything. Look at them. They hate me. They think I brought this upon them.”

  From where she sat a few feet away from them, stubbornly refusing to be treated even by her own mate, Yurula stared at them. Her eyes looked like cold pebbles in her pale face. Even Tom felt the hatred in that gaze. This was a woman who had helped him when he was ill, had translated a ceremony for him so he wouldn’t feel left out. And yet, with the cold loathing so plainly on her face, Tom felt as if he didn’t know her at all.

  “Everyone knows now.” She hugged her knees into her chest like a little girl. “They know I’ve been lying to them, they know their gods aren’t real, they know I’ve betrayed them.”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” said Soliss, startling them both. He looked exhausted and was covered in blood and black soot. “I know that you have been responsible for seeing that our children have found loving homes rather than dying. Maybe the Crafters don’t come right down to the mountain, but maybe they are working through you. I know that you’ve helped Strangers find their way home. And you can’t have feigned your sincerity with the rituals, Trima. You can’t.”

  Trima looked up at him. Tom felt hope rising inside him. Tears welled in Trima’s eyes and spilled down her face, two clean streaks in the soot and sweat. “I hated lying to you,” she whispered. “And I never wanted to be Culil. The rituals did mean something to me. Soliss, what do I do? I can’t go back to the Alilann way of life, I can’t! It’s so cold, so sterile—there’s no life to it. My life is here, and yet ….”

  “No one wants you here,” spat Yurula. “You don’t belong. You’ve lied to us all along. We had privacy, but now we learn that you were telling everything we did to people who represent everything we hate. We had a way of life we loved, and you ruined it. We had gods, gods who walked among us and cherished our imperfect children, and now you’ve taken it all away from us!”

  “Yurula,” began Soliss, trying to placate his mate.

  “And you!” Yurula whirled on him, her body tense with her anger. “You worked alongside the Alilann! The Alilann who burned our homes, stole our children!”

  “These Alilann didn’t burn your homes,” said Chakotay, coming up behind Yurula. Ezbai walked beside him, the head injury inflicted by Yurula’s hurled rock completely healed. “These Alilann helped save your lives. They are willing to work with you, to rebuild your village.”

  “Yes,” said Ezbai. “We want to help.”

  Yurula spat on his face. Ezbai’s eyes went wide, but he said nothing as he calmly wiped the spittle off his cheek.

  “Oh, yes. We will rebuild our homes, but not with Alilann help. Not with your help, Trima, or yours, Soliss. You are no longer welcome here. No one who sympathizes with the Alilann is welcome here!”

  Soliss stared at Yurula. “You are angry, and wounded, and exhausted,” he began. “You do not mean—”

  “Yes she does,” said Resul the potter, stepping beside Yurula. “We will purge you from our memories, try to forget your lies.”

  Trima wiped at her wet face. “I never wanted to hurt you,” she whispered.

  “Trima, you can come back with us,” said Ezbai gently. “I’ve seen a lot here tonight that has horrified me, and a lot that’s touched me as well. There’s got to be some middle ground, someplace where Culilann and Alilann can work together. I don’t want to go back to that sterile place any more than you do.”

  “I cannot live in an Alilann dome,” said Soliss. “But I cannot live here again, either. I want to learn your healing technology, but I don’t want to give up my herbs. I know they heal, too.”

  Tom thought fast. “Maybe you can start a third way of living,” he said. “I remember at the ceremony when the traders came, they gave the village a statue of a Way-Walker. You said the Way-Walkers were positive. Maybe you can be sort of Way-Walkers yourselves. Straddling two cultures, taking the best of both.”

  “Yes,” said Chakotay. “Somewhere in between. A place for advanced healing technology and a cup of homemade soup as well. It has worked for us. Maybe it will work for you.”

  “We’ll come with you.” It was Winnif, carrying her baby and holding the hand of her three-year-old. Her eldest walked close to her side. “Paris saved our lives last night. There is no hatred in him for our people. I know that. I had thought I was doing right, to leave my baby …I am so glad that he is all right. Do you think I could see him again? Do you think they would give him back?” She looked frightened and hopeful at the same time.

  Ezbai smiled. “Perhaps.” He turned to Chakotay. “There’s still a lot of fear here, Chakotay. I don’t know how the Implementer’s going to react. But there may be more of us than he thinks.”

  “I believe you’ll find your sister shares your views, Ezbai. On Voyager, she’ll have been exposed to exactly that culture that you want to create here, one that takes the best of both worlds and makes a third culture,” Chakotay said.

  Ezbai sobered. “I hope she’s all right. How will we get her back?”

  “I don’t know. But we have to hope—”

  Ezbai suddenly looked fuzzy to Tom. For that matter, so did Chakotay, and Soliss,
and Trima. He realized that he was being transported somehow, but it was nothing like Voyager’s transporter. He looked over at Trima, wanting to say something to her, to let her know that she was worthy, that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that she was beautiful and that he would never forget her, but she was fading so quickly.

  Then he saw her smile, and knew that it would be all right. She understood without a word spoken between them.

  * * *

  “Chakotay!”

  “Tom!”

  Many voices speaking at once. Chakotay blinked. They were back on the bridge of Voyager, seated in their proper places, as if they had never left. Kathryn was beaming, and reached to place a hand on his arm. He felt completely healed. Better, in fact, than he could ever recall feeling.

  “Are you all right?” his captain asked.

  “Just fine. We miss much?”

  Janeway’s smile melted into a full-fledged grin. “Not really. Just the near-end of everything.”

  “Oh, well, if that’s all….” He allowed himself a grin in return. It was good to be home.

  Behind him, he heard Harry Kim utter a single, heartfelt word before he raced from the bridge.

  “Khala ….”

  * * *

  “Hi, honey, I’m home.” Paris’s voice came through loud and clear. Torres’s heart soared. Tom. He had come back.

  “You missed all the fun,” she said, hiding her pleasure.

  “So I heard. Something about the end of everything.”

  “I’ll catch you up tonight. In my quarters. Bring chocolate.” Her grin faded as the door to Engineering hissed open and Kim bolted in. He looked around frantically. Torres knew whom he was seeking.

  “Harry, I’m sorry,” said Torres, sobering at once. “She’s gone. Disappeared right before Tom and Chakotay returned. I’m guessing that Tialin somehow managed to take her back to her own universe.”

  Harry stared at her, brown eyes wide and filled with such pain that Torres had to look away.

  “I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he said. Without another word, he turned and strode out swiftly.

  Torres looked after him, sorrow in her heart. Poor Harry. They’d all thought this beautiful alien woman, with her sharp mind and warm heart, would be the one. Talk about being from the wrong neighborhood.

  “This need to say goodbye,” Seven said, interrupting Torres’s thoughts. “It appears common to nearly every humanoid species. Curious.”

  Something about her tone of voice caused Torres to look around sharply. Seven’s lip was trembling, ever so slightly.

  “We missed our own goodbye to Telek R’Mor,” Torres said, understanding.

  “And now he is dead.” Seven stated the fact coldly, almost as if forcing herself not to feel. “We did not thank him. That was an oversight.”

  “He has a daughter,” blurted Torres. “Maybe one day we’ll meet her.”

  Seven looked up. “Then we will tell her that her father was a noble man.”

  “Yes,” said Torres, her own throat strangely tight. “We will.”

  * * *

  Janeway sat on her bridge, smiling slightly. It was good to look down at the conn and see Paris sitting there, deft hands maneuvering the vessel with the most delicate of touches. It was good to sense the strong, quiet presence of Chakotay on her left. How she had missed him. She was sorry that he had not been privy to the amazing adventure her crew had undergone, but from the brief chat she’d had with him over a quick cup of coffee, she assumed he and Tom had had an adventure of their own.

  She would miss Khala, but from what Tom and Chakotay had said, Khala and her brother were going to be key players in leading a revolution on their home planet. The best kind of revolution, too—one that involved changing minds and hearts, not firing weapons and taking lives. What was the term Chakotay had used? Way-Walkers? She liked the sound of that.

  There was one who would miss Khala more than anyone else aboard the ship. Janeway had told Harry to take the rest of his shift off. He had thanked her quietly and gone to his quarters. She made a mental note to check on him later.

  More of a loss to her was Telek R’Mor. He had become a friend, and a good one. It was unexpectedly painful to remember that he had died several years ago, when just a few hours ago she had pressed his hands between her own and lied about seeing him again.

  “Captain?” Chakotay, perceptive as always. “Are you all right?”

  She smiled. “Yes,” she said. “And looking forward to that dinner you promised me. Southwestern cuisine, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded, and smiled, as if he had a secret. “Straight from Navajo country.”

  “Captain?” It was Tom Paris. It was good to hear his youthful voice on the bridge once more.

  “Yes, Ensign?”

  “I keep wondering—what’s going to happen to us now?”

  “Without the Shepherds, you mean?”

  “Yeah. I mean, they’ve been doing this for eons. They have to know the equation. Yet Tialin said something about chaos. I would think they would know what’s going to happen if they don’t interfere, but maybe they don’t.”

  Janeway frowned a little, thinking. “As I understand it, we’re on our own. There’s no more artificially perfect balance. A flat universe is almost impossible to conceive. I’d say the universe is either open or closed, now.”

  “So one way or another, it’s going to end,” said Paris.

  “You’re reckoning without the Q,” Janeway reminded him. “Or the fact that perhaps other universes don’t abide by the same laws that ours does. But whatever happens isn’t going to occur for quite some time,” Janeway said, chuckling. “I’d say there are many more-pressing things to worry about than the end of the universe, Mr. Paris.” Her eyes lost focus, imagining the future. “And who knows, perhaps when that day finally comes, we’ll have evolved to the point where we won’t need a universe anymore.”

  “Anything’s possible,” said Chakotay.

  She looked over at him, recalling Telek’s words to her as he stood on the bridge. Truly, anything is possible. Their gazes locked, and she felt a slow, genuine smile spread over her face.

  “Yes,” said Janeway. “Anything is possible.”

  EPILOGUE

  The Entity felt like a ghost. She couldn’t bring herself to leave. She had to know if it would all work out, if her friends Chakotay and Tom, dear Tom, would return safely. Now that all was well, that the disaster had been averted, she found herself wishing she didn’t have to leave. But she did.

  Sadly, she withdrew, leaving this Voyager, which was not her Voyager, behind. She would travel in the spaces between the stars once more, learning, growing, but alone. Suddenly a thought occurred to her, one which filled her with joy.

  This was not her Voyager. But it was out there somewhere. A timeline in which the being named Kes had grown and evolved, had become the Entity, had done no hurt to those she had loved. She had a purpose now.

  The Entity would explore the universes, searching, until she found her old friends. And then there would be laughter, and love, and belonging before a return to the spaces between the stars.

  Her journey was just beginning.

  * * *

  The woman and the man walked hand in hand down the dirt road. Fields and orchards lay to each side, rich with color, heavy with fruits and grains. The small stone house waited up ahead, and its lights were on.

  The pair did not hesitate. The woman strode forward and opened the door.

  At least a dozen faces stared up at them. Recognition mingled with fear and suspicion. But the old woman who was the center of the circle of adults and young children alike merely met the interloper’s gaze evenly.

  “So, you have returned. To arrest us?”

  “To join you, if you would have us.” The woman knelt down in front of Dammik R’Kel, and gazed up into her lined, wise face.

  “I had not expected to see Jekri Kaleh ever take such a position before me,” said Dammik, m
ildly amused but also obviously pleased.

  The woman shook her head. “That name is no longer mine. Name me. Teach me.”

  With great affection, the old woman placed a hand on the younger woman’s sleek, dark head. “I shall,” she whispered, and gave her a new name.

  * * *

  Harry Kim lay alone in his quarters. The lights were off. He liked it that way. He longed for the oblivion of sleep, but it would not come.

  He lay now with eyes opened, seeing dark shapes in the dim lighting. Something bright red and flashing caught his eye. Someone had left him a message. He didn’t want to hear Tom inviting him for a jaunt to Fair Haven, or a turn at Captain Proton. He didn’t want to hear that Neelix had made his favorite dish, and wouldn’t he like to come down to the mess hall and try it. He didn’t want to hear anything. He just wanted to lie here and think about Khala, and all the tomorrows they would never share.

  But finally, his innate sense of responsibility overcame him. It might be something important, after all, and Harry didn’t want to shirk his duty.

  He rose, feeling slightly ill in the pit of his stomach. “Heartache” was an accurate term. He thumbed the control and the small screen came to life.

  His heart contracted. It was Khala.

  “Hello, Harry.” She smiled tremulously. How he longed to touch her. “I’m sorry about the informality of this message, but things are pretty hectic right now and I’m not sure how this will all end. I hope to be able to say goodbye to you in person, but …what am I saying?” She threw her arms up in exasperation. “I don’t hope to say goodbye at all! Maybe there will be some way that I can stay….”

  Her voice trailed off. Oh, Khala, if there had only been a way.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, in case I don’t get to say goodbye in person, I’m recording this.” She laughed a little. Harry loved that laugh. “We might even all be destroyed by Lhiau’s dark matter before you get this. Who knows? I never realized just how important it is to fully live every day, every minute.”