“Why, you didn’t tell me you were a telepath, Lieutenant.”
“Not at all. I just had several years of premed. I assure you it’s not what I want to do, but I trust you’ll notify me if you run across anything interesting.”
“Indeed I will. Do you think you’ll be able to rest, or shall I give you a sedative?”
“I’m still pretty tired,” she confessed. “I’ll be fine. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
As she slipped off the table and walked out of sickbay, Kaz found himself wishing all of his patients were so willing to follow doctor’s orders. He looked at the tricorder, smiled a little, carefully set it down, and returned to finishing his report on Patel’s injuries.
She was tiny, fair-haired, with the biggest blue eyes he had ever seen. Eyes that he could easily drown in. When she had first joined his crew, he thought she wasn’t even big enough to hold a phaser rifle. But she’d proven him wrong, time and again. That delicate-seeming frame housed a passionate and fiery spirit. She’d fought on Bajor, as part of the resistance, and refused to be content with simply driving the Cardassians from her homeworld. That wasn’t enough. She joined the Maquis, to track the Cardassians down wherever they might be terrorizing other worlds, other people.
“Vallia,” Kaz said, his voice deep and hoarse with emotion.
As if she were physically present, he could smell her scent, a combination of sweat and the metallic tang of the weapons she always carried and her own unique fragrance; felt the brush of soft, full lips on his—
Kaz made a fist and slammed it down. Vallia was dead, that much he knew from Gradak; was dead, was the lover of someone else, not him, not Jarem Kaz….
Gradak had backed off when there were injured requiring treatment. He’d respected the needs of others that much, at least. But now that there was nothing to really occupy Kaz’s thoughts, Gradak had come right back again, settled down in Kaz’s tall, strong body as if he belonged there.
Kaz looked again at Patel’s tricorder with a renewed appreciation for the information it contained. Patel had managed to take some scans of the creatures. Maybe analyzing the data would be enough to send Gradak back into a sulky retreat.
Kim and the others hadn’t been able to tell him much. Chakotay might have gotten a better look at the creatures, but this was clearly not the time to ask him. There wasn’t much Kaz could surmise from the injuries alone.
It would occupy his thoughts. And it was better than seeing and feeling the lithe, lost Vallia in his arms.
“Computer,” he said, his voice trembling but sounding in his ears like his own again, “transfer data from the tricorder to main computer.”
Chapter 6
THE CARDASSIAN TURNED as she entered the lab. Sekaya looked around curiously. She’d never seen so much technology crowded together in one place in her entire life. She had no idea what most of it was for, and she was almost dazzled by its colorful shininess.
“I’ll be right with you, just a moment.” The voice was pleasant, soothing, and the Cardassian speaking threw her a quick, benevolent smile. Some of Sekaya’s defensiveness abated. This was the first time she had met the head scientist of the project, Crell Moset. She had previously only interacted with lab technicians, underlings who made little attempt to hide their arrogance and scorn. This man radiated a different attitude entirely.
Her people had always been blessed—or cursed, depending on how one looked at it—with an insatiable curiosity about the world around them. Maybe this Moset shared that sentiment. Maybe there really wasn’t anything sinister going on, just a scientist and his inquisitiveness.
Musing on the nature of this man and his possible sense of curiosity helped take her mind off of Blue Water Dreamer. He had promised to show up at her father’s hut last night, ready to sing the chant of Asking, headdress in hand, prepared to formally court her. But he hadn’t appeared. She wondered if she’d done something to annoy him, displeased him in some manner. As soon as the thought came, she dismissed it. They’d loved each other since childhood, though they hadn’t realized it and neither of their tribes would have wanted them to marry. Probably he’d wandered off somewhere and simply lost track of the time. He’d done that before; time seemed to mean little to him when he was caught up in his flute playing or quietly observing birds and animals. That would be more like him than mysteriously and silently being angry with her.
“Have a seat.” The Cardassian looked her full in the eye and smiled. She found herself smiling back. “I’m Dr. Crell Moset.” He extended a hand, and after a brief hesitation Sekaya shook it.
“We’ve been told who you are,” she said cautiously, still feeling him out.
“And I’m sure you’re wondering what it is that we want,” he said. She didn’t answer, just gave him a look. “Would it make you feel better or worse to know that I’m not sure what we want?”
Sekaya had to laugh, charmed by his forthrightness. Maybe her instincts had been wrong.
“I respect your honesty, Doctor.”
“And you’ve avoided my question entirely. A diplomat in the making, I see.”
“What were you singing? I heard it coming down the hall.”
He looked slightly abashed. “An aria from a Cardassian opera. It’s based on a story rather like your human tale of Beauty and the Beast.”
“I’m not familiar with that,” Sekaya said. “But we do have a story about a girl who falls in love with a bear.”
“There are similarities across all cultures, it seems. In this tale a young woman is kidnapped to be the wife of a powerful man. She expects to be ravaged, but instead he woos her gently, and she falls in love with him.”
“A happy ending, then.” Sekaya wondered if they were talking about more than stories.
“I love happy endings, but unfortunately they seem to be few and far between in opera. Tragedy makes for better theater.”
He nodded to two of his assistants, who stepped forward and, to Sekaya’s shock, began to fasten her to the chair in which she was sitting. She gasped and tried to bolt out of the chair, but they were too quick. Frightened and furious at the same time, she gave Moset an angry, accusatory look.
“So sorry my dear, I’ll make sure they’re not too tight. It’s just that some patients inadvertently move during the proceedings, and this prevents anything like that from happening.”
Quickly he stepped forward and pressed a hypo to her throat. Suddenly she couldn’t feel anything.
“There we are,” said Moset kindly. He felt at her restraints and loosened them a bit. “I’m keeping them on just in case the medication wears off before I’m through.”
Sekaya was utterly paralyzed. She couldn’t even move her eyes or close her eyelids. She felt her tongue relax against the back of her throat and with a burst of terror wondered if she would choke on it. Moset was looking at her with concern, somehow wanting her approval for what he was doing.
Blue Water Dreamer was supposed to meet with the Cardassians the same day he was to come to Kolopak’s hut. Great Spirit, thought Sekaya, has this sick man imprisoned him?
Killed him?
Tears welled in her eyes at the thought and spilled down her cheeks. At once Moset dabbed at them with a soft cloth, looking unduly distressed.
“There, there, dear, please don’t cry, I don’t mean to frighten you. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you keep breathing and that your heart continues to beat. Poor child. I’d sedate you if I could, but we really must be able to monitor your brainwaves while you’re conscious or else we will have gone to all this trouble for nothing.”
She watched him, her eyes fixed and staring, as he moved in and out of her range of vision. Humming something. She heard the snip of scissors or shears, she couldn’t tell which, and then the buzz of a razor.
“I like the older tools,” Moset was saying, as if she cared, as if she wasn’t terrified and helpless and being violated. “I like the contact. I think modern medicine and research has wan
dered too far away from that sort of intimacy between doctor and patient.”
In and out of her field of vision he drifted, reaching in to touch her skull, his fingers coming away red, humming, humming the song about the frightened maiden, and then came the descent of agony, not blocked by the paralysis—
Sekaya gasped and tried to bolt upright, slamming painfully against the restraints.
“Sekaya!”
Chakotay—
It took a few seconds for her to remember. She was not aboard Moset’s ship in orbit about Dorvan V. She was with Chakotay, her brother, deep underground on a distant world. Sekaya lay back, trying to gather her thoughts and not let the primal terror overwhelm her. Moset was not a fool. She’d need all her wits about her if she and her brother were to get out of this alive. Even as she had the thought, another came hard on its heels: But you’re not going to get out of this alive.
She looked around. They were alone, for the moment. “Where is he?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Chakotay, keeping his voice soft. “He left just a few moments ago.”
She turned to look at him. Part of his head was shaved and there were glowing inserts implanted in his skull. Sekaya couldn’t feel hers, but she was willing to bet she had them, too. She suppressed a shudder.
“Sekaya, was this what he did to you on Dorvan V?” Chakotay asked.
“Among other things.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “Have you learned anything?”
“Not much,” her brother replied. “Sekky, this is important. Did he perform an analysis on everyone on our world?”
She nodded. “Everyone. He seemed most interested in those from our tribe, though. But even new mothers were required to bring in their infants. The only person he didn’t get was you, because you weren’t there.”
“He knows about the Sky Spirits,” said Chakotay. “Both of them do. Ellis—Katal—the Changeling used the chamozi as bait to get me down here.” He laid his head back down on the bed.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blinking green and blue lights in his skull.
“So much makes sense now. Ellis seemed a bit upset when I ordered him to lead the away team, which puzzled me at the time. That decision was by-the-book regulations. He ought to have been delighted. When I made it clear that I wasn’t planning to visit the surface, he had to think of another way to get me here.”
He turned to look at her again. “Sekaya, I’m so sorry I dragged you along. You shouldn’t be part of this.”
“It’s all right,” she said, and meant the words despite her terror. “I can help.”
Chakotay sighed. “I’m not sure anyone can.” He paused, his face thoughtful. “Our doctor created a holographic simulation of Moset.”
“Yes, I remember you said that.”
“It was based only on the information we had at the time. There was a lot about Moset we didn’t know, that we found out later.”
“How close a version was it, do you think?”
“Very close indeed. The simulation had an ego. He liked to think of what he did as heroic, as advancing the sciences and helping people. He was a classic example of ‘the end justifies the means’ thinking.”
Sekaya recalled Moset’s face hovering over hers, concerned that she like him and approve of what he was doing even as he sliced into her brain.
“Yes,” she said, her voice cold. “That sounds about right.”
“Something’s wrong with the Changeling,” said Chakotay, continuing to share his thought process with her. “I heard Crell say something about him soon being his old self again. I wonder if he’s infected with the disease?”
Sekaya shook her head. “Chakotay, there’s so much going on here that I’m not at all familiar with. I mean, we heard about Changelings. That they were also called the Founders, and pretty much the ones who led the Dominion. I know the Vortas and the Jem’Hadar thought of them as gods.”
Chakotay nodded. “But even gods can die. Starfleet created a bioweapon—a disease that would kill all the Changelings. There was one Changeling who grew up, for lack of a better word, in the Alpha Quadrant. His loyalties stayed with the Federation. He was cured, and after the war he went to the Great Link and spread the cure among all the Changelings.
“But if this Changeling didn’t get back to the link,” Chakotay continued, “he may still have the disease.”
“And Moset’s a doctor,” Sekaya finished, following her brother’s train of thought. “He brought Moset in to help him.”
“That’s a good theory, but maybe not the only one. It could be something else.”
“I know what Moset did to us,” Sekaya said. “But it sounds like he’s done a lot of other things, too.”
Chakotay chuckled humorlessly. “He didn’t get the nickname the Butcher of Bajor for nothing. Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes. I do.”
“He used to be chairman of exobiology at the University of Culat and won the Cardassian Legate’s Crest of Valor. He liked to use live subjects for his experiments, and during the occupation of Bajor, hundreds died because of those experiments.”
Sekaya made a small noise in the back of her throat. When her brother paused, she said quietly, “Go on.”
“He exposed subjects to nadion radiation, to observe how they died. He blinded people to watch how they adapted to their disability. He’s known for curing the fostassa virus, all right, but only because he infected hundreds of Bajorans with it.”
Sekaya turned her head so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. Blue Water Dreamer…oh, Great Spirit, was that how you died?
“The Enterprise captured him during the war. He was performing experiments on Betazoids—trying to see if he could create a telepathic race of Jem’Hadar.”
Sekaya inhaled swiftly. “That’s a terrifying thought.”
“The worst part was, he succeeded. Thank goodness the Jem’Hadar couldn’t handle all the sensory input. Everyone thought he was killed when Picard had him transferred to another ship and that ship had a warp core breach. I think it’s pretty obvious now that the breach was a ruse by the Changeling to liberate Moset.”
“What’s in it for him?” Sekaya asked abruptly. “Why is he doing this for the Changeling? You said it’s been years since Katal freed him.”
“That I don’t know. Maybe a sense of honor; he’s got one, though it’s twisted. Maybe he feels he owes Katal something for freeing him.”
Sekaya shook her head. “I think it’s more than that. There needs to be some powerful reason Moset hasn’t trumpeted his return from the dead.”
“Being a Cardassian mass murderer doesn’t have quite the cachet it did when the war was still going on,” Chakotay reminded her.
“No, but…he has an ego. When he…experimented on me, he wanted me to be all right with whatever he was doing. He wanted to stick these things in my head, to slice open my skull, and for me to like him for it.” The words were like ash in her mouth. Her stomach clenched and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick.
“That rings true with what I saw of the holographic simulation,” Chakotay agreed. “Katal knows he’s committed murder. That he’s doing things society calls evil. He doesn’t give a damn. But Moset always wanted to explain himself. So what about spending three years helping a Changeling heal? Gratitude only goes so far.”
“I wonder if Katal has something on Moset, to force his cooperation.”
“Again,” Chakotay countered, “the man’s a mass murderer. It’s hard to think of something worse than that to hold over someone’s head.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m not much help after all.”
“Sekky, look at me.” She did so and saw her brother gazing at her with love in his eyes. “You’re my sister and I love you. I’m sorry you’re in this situation, but not sorry for your company.”
She forced a smile past the fear in her heart. A noise in the corridor brought that fear back full force. Then the sound that chilled he
r, that had haunted her nightmares for years, filled her ears and turned her blood to ice:
Pretty little maiden, why do you weep
When delight and joy surrounds you?
Fear not, fear not, for the Lord of the Keep
Has wonders to astound you,
Has wonders to astound you.
Chapter 7
ONCE, when Tom Paris was very, very young, he had been permitted to attend an important social function. An ambassador from a planet whose name he tried to block from waking memory even now had specifically extended the invitation to Tom. It seemed that the presence of sons, particularly those who had not yet reached puberty, were considered quite a blessing among this species. Clearly, the son of one of Starfleet’s most famous admirals would bestow much good energy upon the gathering.
Tom remembered his mother fussing over him as he dressed, trying to get a recalcitrant cowlick to stay in place, running after him so that he wouldn’t spill something on his formal suit, going over manners and etiquette until he rolled his eyes. He remembered transporting into a room that seemed bigger than his whole house. Columns of blue lusarite held up incredibly high ceilings that seemed to stretch for meters. The carpeting was so thick that he sank about a centimeter in it. Mirrors, gold trim, statuary, burbling fountains of the pink celebratory liquor, an alien version of champagne, all served to dazzle the young Paris’s senses and make him feel tiny and lost.
He hated feeling tiny and lost. So he did what he normally did when he felt that way.
He misbehaved.
Tom quickly detached himself from his parents and hooked up with a bored-looking Andorian kid about his own age. Before Tom really quite knew what was happening, he, the Andorian kid, and a human girl whose name Tom never learned but whose fragile beauty hid a wild interior, were splashing in the fountain of the pink liquor, having consumed sufficient quantities of the stuff so that this seemed like the logical thing to do.
His father went through the roof, but when Tom and his parents transported home, Tom was so sick from the alien alcohol (“Sorry, Dad, it tasted like raspberry ice cream”) that Owen Paris decided that the crime was its own punishment.
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