Spirit Walk, Book One

by Christie Golden

  “Paris,” came a rough voice. “You have a message.”

  Tom looked up from the rapidly spreading pool of black ink to see Commander Logt hovering over him. “A message?”

  “Are you deaf as well as foolish?” growled Logt. “A message. From Admiral Janeway.”

  Chapter

  13

  “ADMIRAL JANEWAY,” said Paris, as he stood in the one room of the monastery that permitted modern technology, “you have absolutely no idea how great it is to see you.”

  Janeway raised an eyebrow at the comment.

  “My, my,” she said, smothering a smile. “In that case, I’ll have to see to it that you get back to Boreth quite frequently.”

  His heart leaped. Was she implying…

  “Admiral, if I may speak freely—I’m dying to know what’s going on.”

  “I’ve got good news, Tom,” she replied. “While I don’t have a firm offer of a position for you yet, I can at least take you away from Boreth for a while and introduce you to some people.”

  Paris smiled. “No offense to the Klingons,” he said, “but frankly, anywhere that isn’t Boreth would be welcome.”

  “That bad?”

  “It’s not bad, it’s just—well, there’s an awful lot of lava caves and you have to write on really cute little animals. But the babysitter’s great.” Aware that he was babbling, he adopted a more formal tone. “What is it you need from me, Admiral?”

  “Tuvok and I are getting ready to attend a conference on a neutral planet called Vaan. It’s only a few light-years from Boreth. We’re going to be talking with several representatives from various planets who are considering leaving the Federation.”

  “Why would anyone want to do that?” Tom was genuinely puzzled.

  “The reasons vary,” Janeway replied. “But much of it has to do with the aftershocks from the Dominion War. Some governments feel that the Federation’s policy is too active. That we’re too willing to get involved. Many feel we should be more hands-off, as it were.”

  Tom opened his mouth, but he realized, as an old saying went, that he would be preaching to the choir. Janeway clearly didn’t think it was a good idea for these planets to secede, he knew her well enough to know that she shared his approval of the Federation’s willingness to get its hands dirty to protect its members—and even planets that weren’t members but needed some help.

  “I’m not the quadrant’s finest diplomat, ma’am,” he pointed out.

  She smiled. “You’re not as bad as you think. Besides, if it’s an area in which you think you’re weak, then you should brush up on it. You’ll need the skills if you’re to be a first officer one of these days.”

  She grew serious. “You spent several years with me just trying to survive, to make it home. The pressure made you into a diamond in my opinion, but I think it’s time we added a little polish. You’re first officer material, Thomas Eugene Paris, and I’m going to do everything I can to see you sitting in that chair.”

  He was surprised to find a lump in his throat. Janeway had taken gambles with him from day one. He remembered when they had first met at the New Zealand penal colony, remembered looking up at her as she regarded him thoughtfully, as if running a diagnostic on him with her gaze. He’d been a prisoner, a traitor, the black sheep of a noble starfaring family, and somehow she’d seen something in him that no one else had.

  And she continued to see things that no one else had.

  He swallowed, hoping that his eyes didn’t seem too bright to her. “Thank you, Admiral.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” The twinkle in her eye was back as she added, “You may find yourself longing for the lava caves of Boreth along about the third formal banquet and the fifteenth speech.”

  B’Elanna’s heart stopped for a moment, and when it resumed beating it was at an accelerated pace. With a hand that trembled, she rested her gloved finger on the sentence. She had to reread it, make absolutely sure that it really said what she thought it said.

  Some words in Klingon, she knew, were open to interpretation. Others were as solid as if they had been physically made of stone. She hoped this one was the former.

  Translate it however you want to, B’Elanna, she told herself. Make it read what you want it to read and then move on.

  But she couldn’t. She had to know, even if it meant…even so. Trying to control her trembling, she rose and carefully bore the parchment over to Lakuur. He scowled as he saw her approach.

  “Lakuur, I require assistance in translating this passage.”

  He raised a thick eyebrow. “I am surprised you have gone this long without asking,” he said.

  She ignored the insult and held out the scroll. “The third prophecy,” she said. “Can the fourth word be translated as ‘traveler’ or ‘wanderer’?”

  As anything else but the word that I think it is? she pleaded silently.

  “Foolish mongrel,” he said, sighing. There was no venom in the words, just resignation. “Of course it can’t be. It is exactly what it says it is.” Shaking his head, he returned to his work.

  Slowly, B’Elanna returned to her chair. She sank down without thinking, staring at the ancient parchment, wondering. Worrying.

  The kiss on the back of her neck made her bolt upright. She turned in her chair and found her husband, who had prudently taken two steps back. “Prudently” because her fist was clenched and ready to strike.

  “Hey, you haven’t even heard my news yet,” Tom protested jokingly.

  With an effort, B’Elanna unclenched her fist. “What is it? What did Janeway want?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded steady.

  “She wants me to accompany her on a diplomatic mission,” he said. B’Elanna had never seen him look so happy at the thought of being on a diplomatic mission before, and it made her realize exactly how miserable he’d been.

  “Something about trying to talk some planets out of withdrawing from the Federation,” Tom continued. “She says there are a lot of people there it could be useful for me to meet.”

  “Honey, that’s wonderful!” She meant the words, but her stomach clenched just the same at the thought of leaving now, just when it looked like—

  “When do you have to leave?”

  “Janeway said a ship should be here in a few hours. I better get started packing, and I want some time to say good-bye to you properly.” He looked at her meaningfully.

  At any other time she would have been the one to drag him into their bed, but now…She glanced quickly down at the parchment before she set her teeth and rose.

  As she walked down the twisting staircase toward their room, B’Elanna resolved that she wouldn’t say anything to Tom until he came back. Her news could wait. And this way, she could make sure.

  Could make sure that the scroll she had been examining was genuine.

  Could make sure that it had not been one of the ones Kohlar had had access to.

  Because in examining a list of the so-called prophecies from the Kuvah’Magh, there was a phrase that had chilled her to the bone, a phrase that Lakuur had assured her translated precisely in one way only, and was open to no other interpretation:

  I am a Voyager.

  Tennis, thought Chakotay. Somehow, it fit.

  He couldn’t see Ellis all sweaty and bloody in a boxing ring (too messy); couldn’t imagine his priggish young first officer white-water rafting (too uncomfortable) or swimming (too much exposed skin) or even riding a horse (too smelly). Almost at once, Chakotay amended that; polo would also suit Ellis.

  But tennis seemed to fit the younger man to perfection. Janeway, too, had enjoyed playing tennis, so Chakotay was up on his game. But Janeway played her favorite sport the way she did everything else: with intensity, skill, and gusto. She ran for every shot, lobbed back with everything she had. Sweat flew from her brow, her lungs worked, her muscles tensed. Tennis definitely was a workout with her.

  Ellis met Chakotay on the holodeck in traditional clothing that was as spotless a
s Chakotay had expected it to be. His first officer wore a white, short-sleeved shirt with a collar, white shorts, and white socks with, predictably, the appropriate tennis shoes. The shorts and shirt showed off more musculature than Chakotay had expected. Even as he had the thought, Chakotay realized that he should, indeed, have expected it. Of course Ellis would be in excellent shape. All Starfleet officers were supposed to be, and Ellis would be as by-the-book about that as he was about protocol.

  “Shall we just practice, or would you like the crowd?” Ellis asked.

  “The crowd?”

  Ellis nodded. “Doesn’t the court look familiar?”

  Chakotay looked around, and suddenly became aware of a profusion of purple and green.

  “Is this Wimbledon?”

  Ellis smiled, his lips curving up under his regulation-length mustache.

  “Precisely,” he said. “We can even have strawberries and cream during the break if you’d like. Although,” he added, “I always worry about spilling on these white clothes.”

  Of course you would, Chakotay thought. “I could do without the pressure of performing for an audience.”

  “As you like, Captain. Shall we volley for the serve?”

  Chakotay nodded. Ellis executed a perfect serve and Chakotay easily retrieved it, lobbing it over the net. Moving gracefully, Ellis returned the shot, angling it so that Chakotay had to really run for it. He caught it, and it barely cleared the net. Ellis dove, but missed it.

  “Excellent! Admiral Janeway has clearly given you a few tips,” Ellis said. A holographic little boy with cherubic features, red cheeks, and black hair hurried onto the court and retrieved the ball. Ellis fished in his pocket for another one, tossing it gently to Chakotay.

  “You knew that Janeway was fond of tennis?” Deftly, Chakotay caught the ball.

  “Of course,” said Ellis. “Priggy does his research, Captain.”

  Chakotay looked at him sharply but saw only humor. Maybe he did know about the nickname after all and was choosing to join in the joke. Either that, or he had decided to be a good sport after Chakotay had accidentally mentioned it earlier.

  Ellis continued, “You like to box, Tom Paris enjoys twentieth-century automobiles, the multitalented Harry Kim plays the clarinet and the saxophone, the Doctor is fond of opera, Seven of Nine is a gourmet cook…. Shall I go on?”

  Chakotay laughed a little. “What about Andrew Ellis?”

  “Andrew Ellis enjoys tennis, polo, golf, and, believe it or not, the ancient art of origami.”

  “Actually,” said Chakotay, “that doesn’t surprise me at all. Origami is all about precision. Now, if Commander Ellis was a secret fan of finger painting or mud wrestling, that might surprise me. Love all,” he said, announcing the score, and served.

  Chakotay didn’t have the superior form that Ellis displayed, but he put a lot of power into the serve, and for a brief instant the first officer was caught off guard. He rallied, though, diving for the ball with exuberance, and returned it. They lobbied for a while, then Chakotay narrowly missed a shot.

  As he picked up the ball and bounced it a few times, Ellis said, apropos of nothing, “I eat raw cookie dough.”

  Chakotay’s head whipped up. Ellis was turning a little pink, and not from exertion.

  “What?”

  “I eat raw cookie dough,” Ellis said, sounding embarrassed. “One isn’t supposed to do that, you know. Raw eggs and so forth. But I can’t help sneaking a bite of it now and then. A lady friend introduced me to it. It tastes completely different from the end product.”

  Chakotay stared, then laughed out loud. For Ellis, this was living life on the edge.

  “I see that you’re a devil-may-care rebel, Mr. Ellis, and I’m going to have to watch you very carefully.” Still grinning, Chakotay lifted his racket and announced, “Love serving fifteen.”

  Sekaya paced in her quarters, deep in thought, wondering what she should do. When her combadge chirped and Astall’s voice said, “Counselor Astall to Sekaya,” it startled her so that she gasped aloud.

  She recovered quickly and said in a calm voice, “Yes, Astall, what is it?”

  “I have a patient who’s having some bad dreams,” Astall said. “I’m going to be doing a counseling session that isolates…oh, golly, it’s too hard to explain without naming him and he said that was all right.”

  Sekaya grinned at the Huanni’s bubbly voice. “If he gave his permission to discuss the session, then I’m happy to help. Who is it? One of the colonists?”

  “No, it’s Dr. Kaz.”

  “Really?”

  “His former host was a Maquis who was killed at Tevlik’s moon, and this host is stirring now that we’re entering former Cardassian space.”

  Suddenly, Sekaya felt cold. For a defeated race, the Cardassians continued to hound their victims with shocking perseverance. She rubbed her upper arms and reached for a blanket.

  “Go on.”

  “I wanted to get your advice on the session I plan to conduct with him,” Astall continued. “It’s actually a lot like a ritual, and I thought you might have some insight.”

  Sekaya listened intently, occasionally making a comment or a recommendation, as Astall filled her in. The Huanni was right: the session did have a lot in common with a ritual. “Sounds almost like a spirit walk,” Sekaya said.

  “A what?”

  “A spirit walk. Where we enter an altered state of mind and converse with people or beings on a spiritual plane.”

  “The active imagination technique espoused by Carl Jung!” said Astall. Her excitement came through clearly. Sekaya wondered if the counselor might actually be jumping up and down.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “I like your term.”

  “So do we.” Sekaya realized she was smiling. “Use it if you like. Would you like me to assist you?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. Kaz seems to be more comfortable with scientific rather than spiritual treatments.”

  Sekaya thought about what she knew of the handsome doctor and had to agree. “I think you’re right. If you change your mind, I would be honored to assist you.”

  “You’re sweet to offer! Astall out.”

  Although the conversation had been on an entirely different topic than the one Sekaya had been brooding on earlier, it had helped her clear her mind.

  “Computer, locate Captain Chakotay,” she said.

  “Captain Chakotay is in Holodeck One.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “Commander Andrew Ellis is also in Holodeck One.”

  “Damn,” Sekaya muttered, her newfound resolve crumbling. She wanted very badly to finish the conversation she and her brother had started the other night over dinner, but didn’t want to interrupt anything. Sekaya loved Chakotay and hated lying to him. At the time, she knew she hadn’t been up to the difficult task. Now, though, her instincts were telling her that bringing him into the loop was the right thing to do, and who knew when she’d have a better chance.

  Or was it really the right thing to do? She tugged on her long hair, which at the moment she wore in a braid. It was a nervous habit left over from childhood that only emerged in times of great stress. Should she tell him now, or later? Tell him everything, or just give him the general picture?

  She was second-guessing herself. Sekaya could help others make clear, compassionate decisions, but now, she felt torn in so many directions she couldn’t see the right path.

  But she didn’t need to make this decision alone. She could ask for help.

  Calmed by the thought, Sekaya retrieved her medicine bundle from where she had tucked it in one of the drawers. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and reverently unfolded the fabric.

  Each individual’s medicine bundle was unique. It reflected what they had “seen” during vision quests, or stumbled upon, or received as a gift for whatever reasons. Medicine bundles were also rather private. One was not forbidden to share the contents with another during ritua
l moments, but sharing was a gesture of great trust and affection. Sekaya recalled being surprised when Chakotay revealed to her that he had shared his medicine bundle with Janeway, and wondered a bit about the motivation behind that. Despite his more recent involvement with the Borg woman, Seven of Nine, Sekaya suspected that her brother just might be carrying a bit of a torch for his former captain.

  Her own bundle contained an akoonah, the shed skin of a snake, a fragment of an antler tine, a stone from a lake, similar to one her brother had, and a small tree branch upon which she had carved traditional symbols.

  She took a few long, slow breaths to calm herself, and then placed her hand on the akoonah. It felt warm and tingly, and she closed her eyes and opened her soul to the familiar, comforting sensation.

  “We are far from the sacred places of our grandfathers,” she whispered. “We are far from the bones of our people. I come here seeking guidance.”

  She opened her eyes and found herself standing in a lush forest. Above her, bright sunlight filtered through the feathery branches of evergreen trees, making dancing patches on the needle-strewn forest floor. She knew this place; knew who dwelt here. Sekaya stood barefoot on the loam, sinking her toes into the richly scented earth, the pine needles pliable and softened with rain. She breathed deeply of the pine scent, and heard a soft sound behind her.

  He had come, as she hoped He would. She never knew who would come to her call, as the spirits decided among themselves which of Them was best suited to a supplicant’s particular need. Even so, there were some animal spirits that were particularly fond of their chosen human, and came more frequently than others.

  Stag was such a spirit for Sekaya. He was a mighty white-tailed buck, with large, liquid brown eyes and an enormous rack. On a visit to Earth, she had felt drawn to a discarded antler tine, and had added it to her medicine bundle. He had chosen her. Stag had been coming to her ever since.

  Sekaya walked toward Him now, her heart welling with affection. She permitted all the emotions she was holding to come to the surface: fear, worry, grief, delight. He would take and sanctify them all. Gently she stroked His soft neck, feeling the warmth of His short fur and the strength of His muscles. He brushed her cheek with His soft, moist nose.