Spirit Walk, Book One

by Christie Golden

  “Without a hitch,” she said.

  “Good. Any likely suspects?”

  The last time the director of covert operations had instructed Libby to search for a mole in the Federation, it had been to throw the young agent off the scent of what was really happening in covert ops. Now, though, Libby and Fletcher were on the trail of the real thing. There was someone embedded in the Federation who was accessing classified information for purposes unknown. Libby and several other agents, whose names she did not know for security reasons, were trying to hunt the culprit down.

  Libby shrugged. “It was difficult to really engage anyone in conversation,” she said, wincing inwardly at her Freudian choice of the word “engage.” “The focus was really on Chakotay and the party.”

  “And of course, since he’s about to leave for several weeks, I suspect our Lieutenant Kim probably wasn’t too keen on your mixing and mingling,” said Fletcher wryly, his gray eyes twinkling.

  “Well, there is that,” she admitted.

  “Not to worry. Now that Harry’s off on a dull-as-dishwater mission, you’ve got some time to follow up on these names.”

  He pressed a button and a list of names sprang up on her console. Her jaw dropped slightly as the list scrolled on and on, and Aidan laughed.

  “I know, it’s a lot,” he said, “but I have the utmost faith in you, Agent Webber.”

  “Thank you so much,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You do know I have a concert to prepare for? Several, in fact?”

  “And you’ll notice that I have thoughtfully given you a list of names of people who are scheduled to appear at said concerts,” he said. “No, no need to thank me. Just do your usual excellent job and we’ll nail this mole.”

  He winked and logged off. Libby shook her head. She looked at the list of names once more, sighed, and retrieved her lal-shak. She wanted to spend a few moments with its soothing music before tackling a list like that.

  Paraphrasing Gilbert and Sullivan, she played and hummed, “A secret agent’s lot is not a happy one, happy one.”

  Chapter

  5

  THE GROUND TREMBLED as if it were in pain.

  Gradak’s eyes snapped open as his bed shuddered. He briefly wondered if it was an earthquake. Months of running and hiding had taught him how to awaken fully in an instant, and he was out of bed and on his feet when the second blast came. It knocked him to the floor.

  No earthquake, this. This was something different, something more dangerous.

  This was phaser fire.

  Gradak always slept in his clothes, another habit born of necessity, and now he seized his weapons and his communicator. The minute he tapped the device, though, he realized that the enemy had put up a dampening field.

  “Bastards!” he cried. Apparently it wasn’t enough to launch what was, by the sound of it, a full-scale attack on a moon that was host to hundreds of families. They had to make sure no one could coordinate escape efforts as well. Still cursing, Gradak raced outside into a nightmare of flame and terror.

  The night sky was lit up with fire. Even as he ran out of his home it was struck by screaming phaser blasts and burst into flames. Shrieks of terror assaulted his ears, and by the glow of the orange, crackling flames he saw figures racing to and fro. Some were running with purpose, as he was; others were just fleeing in panic.

  I told them we needed to drill for this! Gradak thought in anguish. But the three thousand who called this base home wanted to believe it would never be discovered. Wanted to believe they could leave the danger, the risk, the death out there, out in space. Gradak desperately wished they had listened to his warnings, but by their very nature the Maquis were idealists. And this time, their idealism was going to cost them everything.

  There were several dozen small vessels on Tevlik’s moon, all designed for speed and maneuverability as well as attack. On an ordinary base, they would be clustered together. Everyone would know where to go. But here, they were scattered; they made more difficult targets that way, but they also made it harder for anyone to escape.

  More phaser fire. More screaming. The air grew thick with smoke, and Gradak choked on the stomach-turning stench of burning flesh. There were people he loved on this Maquis base. But because of the Jem’Hadar dampening field—it had to be the Cardassians and their new-found allies; the Federation would arrest them and confiscate their ships, but they would never authorize this kind of massacre—Gradak could not contact any of those he loved. He could only hope they knew where to find his ship and would meet him there.

  The Cardassians continued their attack. Gradak watched, sickened, as a long sheet of deadly phaser fire sliced across the soil. There were sounds of explosions; the blasts had struck ships. But the dreadful sounds came from the west, and Gradak’s little ship was to the north.

  Tears stung his eyes—a physical reaction to the smoke, an emotional reaction to the horror that greeted him everywhere he looked. He blinked hard, refusing to acknowledge the pathetic cries for help, refusing to stop to offer assistance, feeling a dreadful ache as he did so. Anyone who wasn’t on a ship within the next few minutes would be either dead or, if lucky, captured. His only hope to save himself and however many souls he could cram onto his small vessel would be to reach Vallia’s Revenge as soon as possible.

  Before it was destroyed. Before everything was destroyed.

  How had this happened? How had the Cardassians discovered the base? It had been operating since the very beginning of the resistance movement, safe and undiscovered. It was the one sanctuary, the one refuge, that no Maquis would reveal. Not even under torture. It was one thing to gasp out military plans and strategies and locations of weapons while being “interrogated” by the Cardassians, but to breathe a word of this place, with the children and the families at risk, to expose it to attack—no Maquis would have done that.

  How, then, had this horrific night come to be?

  Jarem Kaz bolted upright, gasping for breath.

  “Lights,” he called in a raspy voice as he fumbled for a glass of water. He gulped the liquid quickly, but it eased his dry mouth only slightly.

  He looked around at his pleasant, spacious quarters aboard Voyager as his heart slowed to a more normal pace. He wasn’t happy that the dream had returned, but he wasn’t altogether surprised. For the first time since he had been joined with the Kaz symbiont, Jarem was heading back into an area of space that had figured in the war. The colonists on board weren’t Maquis, of course, but Loran II was located in space that had formerly belonged to the Cardassians. It was only natural that Kaz’s subconscious, here on his first official day as a member of this ship’s crew, might seize upon the worst memory of a previous host and gnaw on it.

  His heart and breathing slowed as he sipped the water. The further away he moved from the dream, the less concerned he was. It was a natural reaction. And one bad dream wasn’t worth worrying about.

  He called for the lights again, settled back onto his bed, and waited for sleep for a second time that night.

  The next morning, Chakotay asked Commander Ellis to join him for a private chat. While Marius Fortier might have felt more comfortable being received in Chakotay’s quarters, Voyager’s captain knew that Ellis would deem the ready room much more appropriate.

  Deciding to break the ice quickly, Chakotay handed Ellis a padd the moment the door closed behind him.

  “What’s this, sir?” asked Ellis.

  “The duty roster,” Chakotay said. “I used to hate drawing these up. It’s one thing I won’t mind handing over to you, Andrew. Or do you prefer Andy, or perhaps Drew?”

  Chakotay suspected he preferred Commander Ellis, but the younger man replied somewhat stiffly, “Andrew will be fine, sir. In informal situations, of course.”

  Chakotay smiled. “Of course,” he agreed. “Have a seat.”

  Ellis glanced uncomfortably back at the closed door that opened onto the bridge.

  “Lieutenant Kim’s on d
uty, and believe me, he knows enough to holler for help if he needs it. Have a seat,” Chakotay repeated, a little more insistently.

  Ellis obeyed, perching on the edge of the sofa. If it was possible for anyone to look like he was standing at attention while sitting, Ellis could.

  “You and I haven’t had much chance to talk,” Chakotay began. “I’d like to rectify that.”

  “Captain Chakotay,” said Ellis, his discomfort palpable, “I enjoy relaxing with friends as much as anyone on this ship.” Somehow, Chakotay didn’t believe that. “But I hardly think that while we are both on duty is an appropriate time for such activities.”

  “And you’d be right,” Chakotay said. “We’ll be dining together tonight for that.” Ellis looked startled but resigned at the news. Chakotay had decided that for the time being, he needed to make “relaxing with friends” an order or Ellis would find some reason to object to it. It wasn’t easy for a rising young Starfleet officer to get comments like “works too hard” on his reviews—hard work was expected and usually admired and encouraged—but somehow, Andrew Ellis had managed it.

  “What I wanted to tell you,” Chakotay continued, “is that while I respect your way of going about your job, it’s a job that I myself have held for quite some time. I know what it takes. I’ll give you a lot of freedom, Andrew, but I’ll be watching you.”

  Ellis clearly misunderstood Chakotay’s words and bridled slightly.

  “Captain, with all due respect, I have received nothing but praise for how I have gone about my duties in the past. If you are suggesting that I would neglect—”

  “Quite the opposite,” Chakotay assured him. “I’ll be watching to you make sure you don’t exhaust yourself.”

  “I hardly think—”

  Chakotay set his cup on the table. “Let’s speak frankly. I know you wanted this assignment. I know your record. I know how highly thought of you are in Starfleet, and how capable you are. You know that you weren’t my first choice for first officer, and we both know that you’ve acquired the nickname ‘Priggy.’ ”

  Ellis’s pale blue eyes widened slightly and his face colored. Uh oh, Chakotay thought. Maybe he didn’t know that.

  Barreling on, he continued, “We also both know how those of us who spent the last years in the Delta Quadrant are thought of among certain segments of the population, especially in Starfleet. I can’t tell you how often someone has called us ‘lucky.’ I don’t think the families of those who died trying to get Voyager home believe their loved ones were lucky. I’ve read the reports, I’ve talked to the survivors, I have some grasp of what the Alpha Quadrant has undergone while we were dealing with our own difficulties. It’s been harder for us to reintegrate ourselves into society than you might think. There’s a mixture on board now of former Voyager crew and Dominion War veterans, and that’s reflected in the ship’s captain and its first officer.”

  He couldn’t read Ellis’s expression, but now that he had opened the proverbial can of worms, Chakotay continued.

  “The people I’ve served with over the last seven years are fully capable of focusing their attention and making split-second decisions. We’d never have made it back if that wasn’t the case. But they may be a little more relaxed than you’re used to, a little more casual, and perhaps even a bit irreverent. Don’t make the mistake of assuming that a laid-back attitude in the mess hall or on the holodeck indicates incompetence.”

  “Captain, I believe that making such an assumption would indeed be a mistake,” Ellis said rather pointedly. Chakotay noticed with pleasure that Ellis now looked more amused than offended. Good.

  Ellis said, “You do realize that one of the reasons I was assigned as your first officer was to temper your, um, irreverence?”

  “I do,” Chakotay said, “but I outrank you.”

  Ellis paused before speaking, trying to gather his thoughts.

  “Permission to speak freely?” he said at last.

  “By all means.”

  “I don’t know if this leopard can change his spots,” Ellis said, “or, frankly, if he even wants to. But I understand your meaning, Captain. I respect what those who served aboard Voyager went through. And though you may not believe it, I respect the former Maquis among this crew as well. They put up a good fight long before the rest of the Federation got on board. And once reinstated, they continued to fight well. I’m sure you know by now that those who are left are highly regarded these days.”

  Those who are left. Chakotay remembered receiving the letter from Sveta, the horrible missive that told him that an overwhelming majority of the Maquis had been killed. It had felt like a punch in the gut when he read those words, and had affected him deeply. It had affected every former Maquis on Voyager, perhaps especially B’Elanna, who had resorted to increasingly risky holodeck programs in order that she might feel something, anything. He couldn’t believe it when he stepped onto the holodeck and into a program she’d designed that showcased murdered, bloody Maquis bodies in a labyrinthine cave system, complete with grinning, maniacal Cardassians for her to fight.

  His mind went back to a time even before then, before he and his crew had been snatched by the Caretaker. He saw Arak Katal’s friendly Bajoran face, a pleasant mask that had hidden an evil Chakotay couldn’t even begin to grasp. He wondered again, as he had a thousand times before, what possibly could have driven a Bajoran to betray his own people in such a brutal fashion.

  “Captain?” Ellis’s voice jolted him back to the present. To cover his woolgathering, Chakotay smiled reassuringly at his new first officer.

  “We’re creating something new here, a fresh start,” Chakotay said. “Let’s you and I set the example.” He extended his hand.

  Without hesitation, Ellis grasped it firmly. “I’d be honored, sir.”

  One thing that was SOP early on in a ship’s first few missions was that everyone needed to have a routine physical. It was not a top priority, but since the trip to Loran II promised to be uneventful, Chakotay had issued the order and assumed that Kaz would see a goodly number of people showing up who were simply looking for something to do.

  Chakotay also decided he’d be the one to set the example. When he arrived in sickbay, he was not surprised to see three crew members getting this particular duty out of the way early. He had not met any of them yet and hoped he could use this opportunity to introduce himself and chat a bit. They were all lying on beds, and as one they bolted upright and would have slipped to the floor to stand as he entered. He waved them back.

  “As you were,” he said, trying and failing to stifle a grin. Hesitantly they obeyed, but he could tell his presence here was rattling them. They were all fresh out of the Academy and seemed very nervous. As he looked at the three sets of wide, admiring eyes, he thought, They’re so young they didn’t fight in the Dominion War, and the adventure of Voyager is probably quite appealing.

  After a few awkward moments spent futilely trying to engage them in pleasant chitchat, Chakotay retreated to Kaz’s office, trying to keep out of the way until the doctor had finished with the three recent cadets. When they left, all of them casting furtive, awestruck glances behind them at their captain, Chakotay hopped onto a bed.

  “Looks like you’re the only one on the ship who’s got his hands full,” Chakotay commented.

  “This is a first,” said Kaz, glancing down at his medical tricorder as he scanned Chakotay. “I’ve served on a ship before, and I always practically had to beg the crew to come in for their baseline physicals.”

  “It’s been a pretty quiet trip so far,” said Chakotay.

  Kaz’s blue eyes flickered to Chakotay’s brown ones. “And that’s a problem?”

  “No,” Chakotay replied. “Just unusual. It was hard to be bored in the Delta Quadrant.”

  “I can imagine,” said Kaz. “Borg, Hirogen, Kazon…you had your hands full. Now, lie down and let the good doctor put some cortical monitors on.”

  Chakotay obeyed. There was a comfortable silen
ce between the friends, punctuated only by the occasional sound of the equipment as it hummed and beeped.

  Finally, Chakotay said, “Jarem…I wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Has this mission been stirring up any…any memories for you?”

  Kaz again looked at him piercingly. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it has. This is the first time I’ve been directly involved in anything that has to do with the Cardassians, even peripherally, since Gradak’s death. Since I received the Kaz symbiont.”

  “Same for me,” said Chakotay. “I was talking to Ellis and he brought up the fact that there are so few Maquis left. I couldn’t help but think about Arak Katal.”

  “Bastard,” Kaz said as calmly as if he were ordering tea from the replicator. “I tell you, Chakotay, I truly hope we find him one day. It would be immensely satisfying to testify at his trial. That’s the best I could hope for since the Federation frowns on executions.”

  Chakotay coughed quietly, but Kaz too had heard the sound of the doors hissing open. Two more fresh-faced youngsters stood there, practically gaping at beholding the Great Captain Chakotay.

  “All right, Captain,” Kaz said, “I’ve completed the physical. You may go.”

  Chakotay smiled at the newcomers, who gazed back at him with round eyes. He was all in favor of a crew respecting their captain—hell, no one had respected Janeway more than he—but this attitude was ridiculous.

  Time to start getting to know his crew.

  Chapter

  6

  JANEWAY POURED HERSELF another cup of coffee and settled back down at her desk at Starfleet Headquarters. She sipped the aromatic beverage—even after six months of drinking the real stuff again, she delighted in it—and looked at her “to do” list.