How often had she herself led such a brigade, marching forward with a traitor to the Empire bound behind her? But this time, it was a role reversal that chilled her to her very core, even as she knew that there had been no honorable alternative to this moment.
Tramp. Tramp. Tramp. Tramp.
She saw, as if for the first time, the rainbow hues of the banners of every noble house of the Empire. The colors were almost painfully bright. The chill that permeated this room at all times felt to her particularly cold. Her senses were heightened, but from fear or from weeks of attentive meditation, or possibly both, Jekri could not tell.
And at the far end of the endless-seeming walk, the Empress sat on a throne that had not been moved from this site for centuries. She wore her favorite color, red, today, Jekri noticed with a strange detachment. Hadn’t the Empress worn red the day that Jekri had come with Lhiau at her side? The day that had set the stage for this hour, this moment? Oh, she had been full of arrogance then. She, Jekri Kaleh, had found Ambassador Lhiau, who had brought the flawless cloaking device with him, who had corrupted the Empress’s mind, who had been directly responsible for Jekri’s presence here as a prisoner instead of one of the highest ranking Romulans in the Empire.
On the Empress’s right stood Lhiau. He was clad in soft robes of pastel colors that made his fair features and golden hair look striking. He did not bother to conceal his pleasure at seeing his rival brought so low. To the Empress’s left, in Jekri’s old position, stood the Praetor. His expression was unreadable.
Were you friend or foe, those times when you warned me, Praetor? Jekri wondered. Either way, you had best be careful. Lhiau stands in your old place, on the Empress’s right. You stand where I ought to. If I can fall, old friend, then so can you.
Anger washed over her, and she tasted bitterness. If she could undo that day, she would, but such wishes were futile. She had made the choices that had brought her here. And looking back over them, Jekri realized that she could not have done anything else.
The long walk ended at last. Jekri stood at the foot of a long stairway, looking up at her Empress. A strong hand on her shoulder slammed her to the floor in a kneeling posture. Her kneecaps hurt from the impact of the unforgiving stone, but she did not so much as grimace.
They all waited for the Empress to speak. Jekri bowed her head, but out of the corner of her eye she could see the senators and the Proconsul, staring like puppets.
“Jekri Kaleh,” the Empress said at last, her voice heavy. Surprised, Jekri looked up. There was what appeared to be genuine regret on the Empress’s beautiful face. “Little Dagger. I have known you all my life, and trusted you most of it. You cannot know how deeply it pains me to see you here like this.”
Hope fluttered in Jekri’s heart. If the Empress’s words were true, perhaps there was indeed a chance of reaching her, even though Lhiau hovered over like a predator waiting to strike.
“It pains me to be here,” Jekri ventured, “as I have committed no treason, Your Excellency.”
It was the wrong thing to say. The Empress’s slender brows furrowed and she lifted a hand. Jekri reeled from the unexpected blow of a sword pommel slammed into her temple. For a moment, all went black, then the world swirled back to gray again. She felt a trickle of warm blood down her face, but did not dare lift her bound hands to wipe it away.
This was bad, very bad. She had been through this scene a thousand times, and never had she seen the Empress resort to ordering violence. The prisoner was safely in hand. There was no need to cause pain unless it brought forth information.
“You have committed numerous acts of treason, Little Dagger,” spat the Empress. “How dare you lie to me like this?”
Jekri’s throat closed up, and she realized with horror that she was close to tears. She could not speak, did not dare speak, until the time had come when by all rights she would be permitted to speak freely without interruption. She held her tongue and listened.
Listened to trumped-up charges of treason read aloud in the Praetor’s squeaky voice. He listed contacts with Federation spies and the information she had apparently given them. He spoke of conversations that had never taken place but which, he assured the Senate and Proconsul, had been recorded and would be played at the appropriate time. Jekri wondered if the engineers who had falsified the evidence were still alive, or if they had been dispatched once their usefulness had ended.
There was no arguing against this, and Jekri almost smiled at the irony. Time was when she had someone in her grasp whom she knew to be a traitor, but could not prove it. Once, she had been where the Praetor was, speaking charges she knew were false to ensure an ultimate justice.
Except this time, it was all lies. The only treason she had committed was a mistrust of an imperial ally, one who had pierced her thoughts and—
She blinked, and her silver eyes flickered back to Lhiau. He was frowning now, staring right at her. A tiny flame of triumph sprang to life inside Jekri. He could not read her thoughts! Surely at this moment, his moment of victory, he would be inside her head gloating. But she could feel nothing, hear nothing. The Vulcan disciplines had worked. She returned his gaze, and smiled slowly. This, at least, she had achieved.
Lhiau broke eye contact and gazed at someone who was coming up behind Jekri. Now, he relaxed and smiled, quirking an eyebrow as he regarded Jekri. She did not have to read his mind to know that whoever was approaching the imperial dais would seal Jekri’s fate.
Jekri tried to crane her neck; the movement hurt, but not as much as seeing who her final betrayer was.
Verrak.
He bowed before his Empress and Praetor, and stood stiffly at attention. He did not look at Jekri at all.
“I, Verrak Kamaral, Subcommander of the Imperial vessel the Tektral, come before my Empress, my Praetor, my Proconsul and the Imperial Senate with more evidence to be used against Jekri Kaleh.” They had stopped even pretending that her title was of any value. “I know that she is a murderer, a liar, and a traitor, and I will testify to anything the court demands. I have kept extensive notes regarding her activities and when possible have recorded them.”
The blow to her temple was a love pat compared to the pain that surged through Jekri at these words. Verrak. She had thought he loved her, had deemed him the single person she could trust. And he seemed to be taking a sort of gleeful pleasure in betraying her to the hated Lhiau. All their conversations were now being spoken; all their plans laid bare, naked to the scrutiny of those who had made up their minds about her before she ever set foot inside these halls.
And the final blow: “She has been fraternizing with Vulcan sympathizers.” He turned and looked at her, his eyes cold. “I had her followed. It is unlikely you will be able to extract information forcibly from her through regular methods because of the disciplines”—he sneered the word as if it were something filthy—“she has mastered sitting at the feet of pacifists.”
“There is one final thing before we pronounce your sentence,” said the Empress. “You have the Right of Statement. Do you choose to accept it or waive it?”
“I accept,” she said, her voice sounding thin and hesitant. The centurions helped her to her feet as the recording device was brought to her. The impassive master of the device tapped on the controls, then stood back, waiting.
Now that the time had come, Jekri was at a loss for words. Verrak’s betrayal had taken the last traces of fire, of hope, out of her. She was exhausted, wrung out like a limp rag, and her tongue felt thick and sluggish in her mouth.
She dragged her gaze up to the dais and regarded Lhiau. He was smirking. That gave her the energy she needed.
“I stand before you as a condemned prisoner,” she began. She knew the ritual opening by heart, but had never thought she herself would be speaking these words. “But prisoner or no, I am a Romulan, and to that end I record my final statement. My crime is treason, but, my friends, I am no traitor. I am as loyal a servant to the highest goals of the Romulan E
mpire as can be found on this planet or any other. Everything I have done, and everything I have thought, and everything for which I have striven has been to further those goals.
“There stands before you one who does not have the interests of the Empire in his heart. His name is Lhiau of the Shepherds, who has wormed his way into the highest ranks and spreads corruption and lies wherever he touches.”
There were murmurs, but no one interrupted her. She could speak whatever she liked now. They would not stop her, no matter what she said.
“He comes, bearing a tantalizing prize—quadrant domination. This is achieved solely by trusting him and his technology, technology that I believe with all my heart to be directly responsible for the destruction of our thirteen warbirds and some of the finest warriors the Empire has ever birthed. What do we know about this technology? Why did we choose to implement it so freely? My friends, fellow Romulans, I believe we were duped. Duped by Lhiau.
“He asks us to defeat his enemies. Has he even named them? He takes our Empress, our beautiful, proud, strong Empress whom I honor above all females as what a Romulan should be, and makes her a fvai to sit at his feet and wag her tail at his words!”
The outbursts were loud and angry this time, and the Empress rose from her chair. Jekri continued frantically.
“Empress, I have always served you and this Empire with my whole being. I know that I am nothing without the Empire. Why do you throw it away? I have felt Lhiau’s presence in my mind like a rapist. He can read thoughts, can influence them. You are under his influence even now, and you are too blind to see!” She whirled, facing the senators. “All of you are! We will pay for your blindness, your heedlessness, your self-serving rejection of your duty. We will pay terribly. I, fortunately, will be long dead by the time Lhiau topples the Empire and places the crown of Emperor on his pretty golden head. And for that I am glad, I am glad. But you will have to see, and know, and remember this moment when I, Jekri Kaleh, once chairman of the Tal Shiar, stood before you and warned you of the dire consequences of your misplaced ambition.
“Beware of Lhiau and his conniving ways. Beware those who would lie and falsify evidence. If it can happen to me, it can happen to you, from the lowliest peasant to the Praetor himself. Beware, oh my people. Beware, and remember the words of the Little Dagger before she died.”
She sagged, utterly drained by the passion that had blazed through her. She barely felt rough hands seize her and drag her off. She knew where she was going—to a cell to await her painful execution. They might try torture, they might not. At this moment, she was too drained to care.
But she was not too drained to care when she passed Verrak, and he gazed at her with contempt before looking away.
CHAPTER
17
CHAKOTAY OPENED HIS EYES AND WONDERED IF HE was still dreaming. He saw not the thatched roof of the hut nor the cool hues of Voyager’s bulkhead, but blue skies and bright sunlight filtered through cool green leaves. And that scene was swaying from side to side.
“You’re awake. Good,” came a voice. “You were starting to get pretty heavy.”
Chakotay realized he was being carried on a litter, which was now being set down. He got to his feet, memories coming back to him. He had been asleep, having another one of his confusing and vexing dreams about the mischievous Coyote, when he had woken to the sight of a young man pointing a weapon at him. There had not even been time to inhale for a breath to shout.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “Why have you abducted me?”
The young man who had aimed the weapon at him stepped forward. “It’s not an abduction, Chakotay. It’s a liberation. I am Shamraa Ezbai Remilkansuur, leader of this recovery expedition. We are the Alilann. We’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to get you.”
The Alilann. The very people Chakotay had wanted to leave the Culilann to see. “You have a very odd welcoming committee,” he said.
Ezbai smiled a little. He was wet, dirty, and tired-looking. Chakotay got the impression that he was not used to these so-called recovery expeditions.
“We do not wish to reveal our presence to the Culilann,” he said. “This is standard procedure once aliens have been subjected to the Ordeal and integrated into the village. Please accept our apologies. We would have spared you the Ordeal if we could have. But you appeared so suddenly. We never saw a ship, nor intercepted word of a transport in progress. How is it you did this?”
“It’s a long story,” said Chakotay. “Where’s Paris?”
Ezbai’s face grew somber. “We were not able to locate him. There were signs that you shared your dwelling with someone, but he was not present.”
Chakotay groaned a little. He bet he knew where Tom had gone. Ensign Paris was probably frantic by now, wondering what had happened to Chakotay.
“I’ll bet they’re organizing search parties to comb the jungle,” he said. “They probably think I wandered away and got lost.”
“That’s what we want them to think,” said a woman, striding forward. Unlike her commander, she looked completely at home here in the dense, hot tangles of the jungle. Her face was young to be as hard as it was. Her eyes were like chips of ice. “They’ll start to think they’ve wasted their time trying to be kind to you, to make you one of them. They’ll think twice about bringing any more aliens into their village and subjecting them to the Ordeal.”
“Or they may take to killing aliens on sight,” retorted Chakotay. He did not like the way this woman spoke. “They may just decide that the Ordeal is an inconvenience.”
The woman scowled. “Unlikely. Their gods wouldn’t like that.” Everyone chuckled a little, apparently at the concept that the Culilann had gods and that gods were anything to be respectful of. Which really bothered Chakotay.
“What is your name?” asked Chakotay.
She straightened and performed what was clearly a salute. “Kilaa Ioni Alimankuur.”
“Kilaa Ioni, you have not lived among the Culilann. I have. Their Ordeal is no picnic, but they are essentially a kind and generous people. I would suggest you refrain from insulting something you obviously know nothing about.”
Her pale blue brows drew together and she was about to retort, but Ezbai interrupted her. “You are not thinking clearly, Chakotay. You must be experiencing the aftereffects of our stunner. Let us make haste to leave the forbidden parameter and get you to a proper place of rest and nourishment, hmmm?”
Chakotay nodded and gave Ioni a last, angry glance. He would let the matter drop. It was becoming clear to him that each group held strong, negative prejudices about the other, and an argument with a single individual out here in the steamy rain forest was not going to change anyone’s mind.
He fell in step beside Ezbai. A thought occurred to him. “You didn’t hurt anyone in the village, did you?”
Ezbai looked offended. “Of course not. What do you think we are, primitives like the Culilann? It’s they who abandon their children. If it weren’t for us, they’d have dozens of infant deaths on their hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“Who do you think takes the children?”
A strange relief washed through Chakotay. “The babies aren’t killed by predators?”
“Of course not,” Ezbai said again. “We have a spy planted in every village. This person notifies us whenever a baby is left to die. We come in and take it. Most of the so-called deformities are nothing our doctors can’t fix in a trice.”
“Thank goodness,” said Chakotay. Paris had been right after all. They walked in silence for a while. Chakotay frowned as something stirred in his memory. He turned to look at the sharp profile of the expedition’s nominal leader.
“Remilkansuur,” he said slowly. “Is that a title or a family name?”
“Family name,” Ezbai replied. “My title is Shamraa.”
“Do you have a relative named Khala?”
Ezbai stopped dead in his tracks. “What do you know about Khala?”
�
��It’s a long story, but briefly, she somehow got transported to a planet surface without knowing how it happened. A short while later, Ensign Paris and I were transported in the same manner. The process brought us here.”
“She’s alive? She’s all right?” Ezbai reached to clutch at Chakotay’s robes.
Chakotay smiled. “She was in very good hands when I last saw her. I imagine she’s aboard my ship right now.”
“Where is your ship? Oh, this is wonderful, wonderful! She vanished right before my eyes. It almost killed our parents. Come on, we’ve got to get back and hail your ship right away!” He broke into a trot, and his team followed suit.
“That’s not going to be easy,” said Chakotay. “I have no idea where this planet is in relationship to my vessel.”
“We’ll find out,” said Ezbai gaily. “We’ll find out.”
* * *
Paris glanced at the grief-stricken faces turned toward him. “What happened? How did he die?”
Trima pushed her way through the small crowd that had begun to gather around Paris. Her face was flushed blue and stained with tears, but he had never seen her stand straighter. He realized all at once that with Matroci’s death, Trima had become Sumar-ka’s spiritual leader, and she was clearly ready to accept that responsibility.
“It appears to have been a chosen death.”
“A suicide?” Paris was horrified. What had driven poor Matroci to kill himself?
“The windows were closed tightly. The room was filled with smoke from the Sacred Plant. This was how our previous Culil died, embracing the smoke as a way to reach the Crafters. I had not thought Matroci so ardent in his faith. I am pleased that I was wrong.”
“Pleased? A man has just killed himself and you’re pleased?” Paris couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Trima stiffened, and her sapphire-blue eyes flashed. “You insult us, Stranger. But I will forgive you. You have not been long among our people, you do not yet understand. I grieve for the loss of Matroci. But I am glad that he has gone straight to the Crafters.”
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