Spirit Walk, Book Two

by Christie Golden

  “Nice little ship you got there,” the Changeling mused as he regarded the Delta Flyer. “Shame I’m going to have to blow it to bits.”

  “Delta Flyer to Carrington, stand down.”

  “Your record has lots of complaints about your attitude, Paris,” said the Changeling mildly. “I’m starting to understand why.”

  Kaz intently watched the being who wore the face of Harry Kim, trying not be obvious. He was both tense and calm at the same time. Inside him, Gradak demanded to be in the forefront, and Jarem let him. A doctor was of no use in this scenario. A rebel fighter was.

  “If you know my record, Changeling, then you know I’m also stubborn as hell,” Tom’s voice continued.

  “That’s gotten you into trouble before.” The Changeling adjusted his features, and suddenly Kim’s body wore Paris’s face. In Paris’s own voice he said, “And it’s going to get you into trouble again, right now.”

  The moment had arrived. The Changeling was having fun, playing tricks, mind games, taunting Paris. His attention wasn’t on Kaz anymore. Deliberately Jarem retreated. The Kaz that sprang, roaring, upon the startled Changeling was Gradak Kaz, not Jarem Kaz.

  Taken by surprise, the Changeling, in his clumsy human body, toppled out of the chair. Kaz did not attempt to take control of the ship; he couldn’t defeat the Changeling and he knew it. But he could hamper the bastard. He brought his elbow slamming down on the weapons controls. Sparks flew upward and he smelled smoke. Pain shuddered up his arm, and then, for a moment, it went numb.

  The Changeling was up now and launched himself on Kaz. Fingers far more powerful than mere human hands closed on his throat. For a moment Kaz couldn’t breathe. Slowly he felt the inhuman fingers contracting, crushing him, and he let go. He surrendered to the inevitable. He had died in a good cause, attempting to save his friends. Both Gradak and Jarem agreed on that.

  And then, suddenly, the pressure eased, and elation surged through Kaz. The Changeling needed him alive. Gasping for breath, he stared into the now-distorted face of Harry Kim and managed, “You need a living hostage, don’t you, you bastard? You can’t impersonate two people at the same ti—”

  He felt pain explode across his head, and then knew no more.

  The Carrington was almost to the planet. Paris didn’t question the stroke of luck that had taken out the shuttle’s weapons but was silently grateful for it. If only that piece of luck had extended to lowering the shuttle’s shields, he might be able to get a lock on Kaz and the Changeling and—

  He swore as the shuttle disappeared into the swirling storm on the planet. All at once, all traces of it vanished from his sensors.

  “Delta Flyer to Voyager. The shuttle has disappeared into the storm system on the planet.”

  “I’m not surprised, unfortunately.” Kim’s voice, still weak.

  “You okay, buddy?” Tom inquired.

  “I’ll tell you all about it once you’re onboard. Dock the Flyer and then join me on the bridge as soon as you can.”

  Paris strode onto the bridge of the familiar vessel a few moments later. Red alert blared, and the bridge was bathed in a scarlet light. Kim sat in the captain’s chair. Blood streamed down his face and a large lump was starting to rise, but otherwise he looked all right. Campbell gave him a quick, tremulous smile of greeting, but everyone was tense. As Paris entered, Kim rose from the chair and offered it to his old friend.

  For a moment Paris just stared at it. He was the highest-ranking officer present, but it just felt strange for him to be in the captain’s chair. His place was normally at the helm, and he stole a quick glance at his old position. The incredibly gorgeous woman seated there gave him a measuring glance, then returned her attention to her duties.

  Cut it out, Tom. Focus.

  With no more hesitation, he slipped into the captain’s chair while Kim took the first officer’s seat.

  “Campbell, open the ship’s channels,” he said, his voice cool and in control. When she nodded to him, he spoke. “All hands, this is Lieutenant Commander Tom Paris. I have taken temporary command of this vessel under orders from Admiral Janeway. We now know that the man who appeared to be Captain Chakotay was in fact a Changeling. He has currently escaped with Dr. Kaz as a hostage and is now on the planet. We’re going to find both of them. All crew prepare for landing on the planet surface.”

  “Landing?” Kim exclaimed. Tom was glad he’d at least waited until the channel was closed. “Tom, I don’t know if you know this, but we’re dealing with Sky Spirit stuff again. You remember what happened the last time we tried to take Voyager down in a storm like this.”

  Tom met Harry’s brown eyes with his ice blue ones. “Chakotay’s probably down on that planet, a prisoner. Kaz definitely is a hostage. What would you do?”

  Kim opened his mouth, closed it, then, strangely, smiled.

  “Take the ship down.”

  “Then let’s do it. Pilot, what’s your name?”

  The incredibly gorgeous woman swiveled in her chair. “Lieutenant Akolo Tare, sir,” she replied in a deep, melodious voice.

  “Lieutenant Tare, I’m sure you perform your duties admirably, but I’m going to relieve you for right now.”

  She raised her ebony eyebrows in surprise and, Tom, thought, anger. “Sir?”

  He rose from his chair and stepped down to the conn. “You heard me, Lieutenant. This used to be my position, and no one knows how to navigate this ship better than I do.”

  “Let him do it, Tare,” Kim said.

  Reluctantly Tare rose from her seat and stepped back. Paris sat down in the familiar seat and gave himself a fraction of a second to enjoy the sensation.

  “Take her down, Mr. Paris,” said Harry Kim.

  Chapter 19

  THE CHANGELING HAD TO ADMIT that Kaz had been right—for the moment, the Trill was safe. Not even a Changeling could be two people at the same time, and therefore, much as he might want to, the Changeling could ill afford to murder his only viable hostage. Chakotay and Sekaya were hostages, too, of course, but he wasn’t about to give either of them up. He needed them far too much. He checked quickly to make sure the doctor was still alive, then returned to the helm, leaving his hostage unconscious on the floor.

  “Ellis to Moset,” he said, using the name that the Cardassian knew best. “I’m making an emergency landing. Get the storms up once I’m down.” He let his face slip easily into the nondescript features of Ellis; it took less concentration to maintain that form than others, as he had held it for so many years.

  “What’s going on?” The normally self-assured, smooth voice was worried.

  “Too much to go into now,” he said. “They’ve figured it out and they’ve sent the Delta Flyer after me.” He checked his readings and saw with a rush of annoyance that Moset had yet to comply. “I said, get those storms up now, and make them big. Voyager’s got the ability to land on a planet, you know.”

  “But what does this mean for me? For us?” the Cardassian wanted to know.

  “We’ve got to leave at once.”

  “But I can’t do that! I’m at a critical juncture in the experiments!”

  “Once the Federation captures us, there will be no more experiments, don’t you understand?” He was shrieking now, at the end of his supply of patience for the trying doctor. “Put Chakotay and Sekaya in stasis. Take my creatures and—”

  “We don’t have two spare stasis chambers. All but one are still occupied.”

  “Then kill one of the occupants!” Why did he have to explain the simplest things to the man?

  “Which one would—”

  “I don’t care!”

  He felt his features slip, reform into who knew what shape. When he lost his temper, he tended to lose control of his shape-shifting abilities as well. He didn’t care, though, not now. With an effort he forced himself to calm down.

  “I have a few things I have to do before we depart,” he said. “We’ll escape in the cloaked ship.” He’d hoped to be
able to utilize the Carrington as well, but now that the jig was up, he would have to abandon it, and a few of the creatures as well. It would be too easy for Voyager to track one of its own shuttles.

  A long pause. “I’ll make the necessary preparations.”

  “See that you do.” He stabbed a golden-hued finger down and terminated the conversation.

  He had planned everything out meticulously. It ought to have gone without a hitch. Instead, everything was unraveling at a shocking speed.

  But there was still time to escape. He’d have to destroy the lab, of course, and Moset would yelp over that. Frankly, he regretted the necessity of it as well. At least he and the scientist would be able to take the prime test subjects and one or two of the creatures with them, along with all the information on the years of Moset’s research.

  They could start over. It was something the Changeling was used to by now.

  “You heard him,” said Chakotay quietly. There was no need to bully the Cardassian now. He had almost completely capitulated, and now the Changeling himself had provided the last piece of proof.

  “I heard him,” said Moset quietly. He turned away from the two prisoners, so Chakotay couldn’t see his face. “He said, ‘Take my creatures.’ Not ‘your creatures’ or even ‘our creatures.’ ” Slowly he turned, and there was commingled pain and anger in his haughty face. “You were right, Chakotay. He doesn’t intend for me to keep them. And I’m beginning to think he never did.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Chakotay asked.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Abruptly he rose and stalked out of the room.

  “What do you think he’ll do?” Sekaya whispered.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Chakotay, “but it might somehow involve our release.”

  Moset was trembling as he went to the beings he had made. Had designed, created, with the same exquisite care and craftsmanship as an artist would employ to execute a painting, or an engineer would design a ship. He had analyzed them, blended their DNA with that of the Sky Spirits, changed direction to follow up on any and every new, startling development. The hours he had spent on them! The devotion. And yes, he named it: the love.

  He was not a fool. He knew how the rest of the quadrant viewed him and his experiments. The “Butcher of Bajor,” they had nicknamed him. They classified him with Kodos the Executioner, Colonel Green, Kesla, Beratis, T’sart, and Hent Tevren, and though he always responded with a cheerful shrug, he knew that this was how history was going to depict him.

  But those who dared to judge him so mercilessly were wrong. They couldn’t see the larger scope, couldn’t understand the profundity of what he was doing. With the Sky Spirit creatures he had created from ordinary lumps of human flesh, he was going to prove them wrong. He was going to wrest his reputation away from those who would condemn so quickly, show them the heights to which a being could rise through the magnificence of so brilliant a mind as his.

  But Ellis—Katal—the Changeling—he was going to take them away. Oh, Moset knew what the exiled Founder would do with such spectacular beings. He’d make his own little Dominion out of them; make them scrape and obey and mindlessly follow him and only him the way the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar had followed their creators. But at least the Founders had had the luxury of seeing the worship in the eyes of the things they had made. Moset would only stand by and watch his creations worship another; another who had no hand in their making.

  If, he thought bitterly, he would even be alive to stand by and watch.

  Moset regarded the ape-like creatures whose telepathic skills were beyond his imagining groom one another. He felt a deep, aching pain that was due to nothing physical.

  He would do anything to keep these creatures; they were his rehabilitation in the eyes of the future.

  And as far as he could reason it, there was only one way to do so.

  When Moset returned to the lab, he found Ellis—looking like Lieutenant Kim—tossing the body of a Trill onto another bed. The Changeling glanced up as Moset entered.

  “There you are,” he said brusquely. “Help me with him.”

  Moset stared for a moment, and then moved to assist the Changeling. “Who is this and why have you brought him here?”

  “Name’s Kaz. He’s the ship’s doctor, and he’s a valuable hostage.” The Changeling yanked on the restraints, cinching them tight.

  “Is he drugged?” Moset asked, slipping into scientific mode.

  The Changeling smiled without mirth, twisting Kim’s pleasant face. “Only as much as a good punch in the jaw will drug someone,” he said. “I don’t want him sedated; we may need him to talk to someone for us.”

  He glanced at Chakotay and Sekaya, who regarded him silently. “I thought I told you to put these two in stasis. Why are they still conscious?”

  Moset bristled. “I told you I was at a critical stage,” he replied testily.

  “You idiot!” “Kim” bellowed. “We’ve got an Intrepid-class starship doing its damnedest to land on the planet! Stop whatever it is you’re doing right now and start packing things up. I don’t want to leave you behind, Moset, but I will if I have to. Don’t push me.”

  How could I not have seen this in him? Moset thought, almost with a brush of wonder. The Changeling had spoken this way before now, but somehow, Moset had always been deaf to it. Now, for perhaps the first time, he truly listened to what his companion was saying. More to the point, Moset was paying attention to how the Changeling was saying it. It had taken a human prisoner to open the Cardassian’s eyes to the truth: He was at as much risk as Chakotay and Sekaya.

  “Point taken,” Moset said icily.

  The Changeling appeared not to notice his ally’s new demeanor. His eyes roamed over the occupied stasis chambers. “Kill anyone but him,” he said, pointing to the humanoid that Moset knew was named Alamys. “I might need him. Finish up in here as quickly as you can. I’ll be concluding some business of my own.”

  Attempting to look industrious, Moset began to gather up some vials and tools. As soon as “Kim” had disappeared down the corridor, however, he turned to the two imprisoned humans.

  “Listen to me,” he said quickly in a low voice. “And listen well.”

  Kaz returned to consciousness and searing pain. He felt the cool press of a hypospray against his throat, and the pain ebbed. He blinked, trying to focus, turned his head—and stared into the face of a Cardassian.

  I know that face—

  He tried bolting upright but was gently restrained by a strong hand. “It’s all right, Kaz,” came a familiar voice. Kaz’s head whipped around and he relaxed slightly as he saw Chakotay and—

  “Sekaya!” Both siblings were standing beside him. Pleasure surged through him. “I thought you were dead. Chakotay—” He broke off in midsentence as more recent memories flooded him and turned again to regard the oddly familiar Cardassian.

  Chakotay smiled. “It’s really me,” he said, “and this is really Sekaya.”

  Still, Kaz stared, not at Chakotay’s face but at his shaved head and the blinking lights that had been inserted into his skull.

  “What happened to you? Who’s he? Where are we? Where’s the Changeling?”

  “It’s a long story. Let’s start with the introductions. Jarem Kaz, this is Crell Moset.”

  And suddenly, quietly, coldly, everything locked into place in Kaz’s memory.

  Crell Moset. The Butcher of Bajor. This was the man who had rounded up Bajorans like cattle, like lab animals, who had performed deadly and brutal experiments on them, blaspheming the name of “science.”

  Vallia. He killed my Vallia! The ones who survived told me that he gave her no relief from the pain, not even at the very end, when she was begging for death, for release from the torment—

  Vallia’s Revenge was what Gradak had named his little ship; was what Gradak had vowed to achieve—

  The Cardassian’s expression went from pleasant to wary as he regarded Kaz. “Ha
ve we met?” he asked.

  Icy hatred seized Kaz’s throat, closing it up. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t; wanted to cry out his fury, but remained silent.

  “You might have,” said Chakotay cautiously, “he’s a joined Trill.”

  A joined Trill who had a Bajoran wife you murdered, you son of a bitch—

  “You’re dead,” Kaz said, his voice as cold as death itself. “You were killed in a warp core breach accident years ago. It was the best news I’d heard in a long time.”

  “To quote one of Earth’s more famous writers, ‘Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,’ ” Moset replied mildly. The jauntiness of his attitude infuriated Kaz. He made an angry noise deep in his throat and tensed.

  “Kaz. Jarem.” Chakotay’s calm voice cut through the red haze. “Whatever’s going on with your memories and Moset, you’ve got to put them aside. Right now I need you to focus.” A gentle squeeze on Kaz’s shoulder. Not knowing how he managed to do so, Kaz dragged his gaze away from the loathed visage of the Butcher of Bajor to the compassionate face of his friend. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Many years ago the Changeling who was impersonating me had his shape-shifting ability taken from him by the Founders as a punishment for going against orders. He rescued Moset, and since then, Moset’s been trying to figure out how to help Ellis get his powers back.”

  Kaz was puzzled. “Ellis?”

  “He was impersonating Andrew Ellis when the Founders took away his powers,” Moset put in, trying to be helpful. He drew back slightly at the look Kaz shot him.

  “It might be best if he hears everything from me, Moset,” Chakotay said quietly. The Cardassian nodded.

  “So we never actually met the real Ellis?” Kaz was trying to follow the complicated story.

  “That’s right. The Changeling had kidnapped the real Ellis and kept his body in stasis.”

  It was all starting to make sense. Kaz recalled the autopsy and the mysteries it had yielded. “Go on.”