Spirit Walk, Book One

by Christie Golden

Kim sighed and looked at the other three. “I’m not overly fond of standard exploration pattern Beta Four Three Four,” he told his team. “I don’t like to separate a group in an unknown situation. But we have our orders, and so far things don’t appear too dangerous. So let’s do it. See you in a couple of hours. Keep on your toes.”

  The lights were bright, almost blinding, blocking the view of hundreds of people sitting in the audience. Libby was always grateful for that. It was best when she could just sink into the music and not have to think about “performing.” And that state was most easily accomplished when she couldn’t see her audience.

  Even so, she often closed her eyes and surrendered to the exquisite sounds of the lal-shak as she coaxed forth its voice with her long, strong fingers. Somewhere between a harp, a cello, and a lute, the stringed instrument produced a sound unlike anything she had ever heard. This was why she had fallen in love with Ktarian music as a young woman; this was what held her even now and made her forget her other, less spiritual duties.

  Sweat beaded her brow, trickled down her sides, dewed her throat. She loved it. Her breathing was deep and even, but her heart raced as it always did.

  Her fingers flew. The lal-shak sang. Libby fell even more firmly under its spell.

  The music spun faster from her hands, faster still in this piece that was a challenge even for native players to perform. There were no coughing or rustling sounds from the audience to disenchant the entranced woman, and she didn’t miss a note or a beat. The piece built to its crescendo, exploded, and then there was silence.

  She opened her eyes at the first sound of the applause. It pattered like rain on her ears, punctuated with whoops and whistles. Shaking with the exertion, Libby rose and bowed to the audience. She was smiling so hard it hurt, but she couldn’t stop grinning. This was the second reason she continued to perform—this profound, heartfelt connection with her audiences. She moved them with her playing, and in return, they expressed their joy and gratitude. It was a satisfying, nourishing cycle.

  She bowed again and again. An assistant came on-stage to respectfully take her instrument so she would have her hands free to wave and blow kisses to the audience that didn’t appear to want to stop clapping anytime soon. Then the flowers appeared on the stage: roses, orchids, bushels of the exquisite sayayan that she once told an interviewer were her favorite. They would all be gathered up and given to the hardworking members of her touring group, as her tiny cabin could hold only so many flowers.

  Finally, the lights dimmed and she left the stage. She gulped the glass of water that her assistant, Stephanie, held out to her and permitted herself to be ushered back to her changing room.

  “You were amazing tonight!” Stephanie said. “You were on fire, Libby. Fantastic.”

  She helped the other woman out of her long blue gown.

  “Thanks, Steph,” Libby said. “I feel absolutely wrung out.”

  “You give everything to your performance,” Stephanie said. “Don’t you save anything for yourself?”

  “Not usually,” Libby admitted. She stepped into the sonic shower and let it remove all traces of dirt and sweat. She emerged a few moments later clean, but not really revived. She was a water baby and preferred showers and baths, where one actually got wet.

  Libby slipped into the fresh, more casual outfit Stephanie held up for her and began to reapply her makeup.

  “What’s the schedule tonight?” Libby asked.

  “Party afterwards at the director’s place,” Stephanie said, brushing Libby’s long, curly hair.

  “Who’s attending?” Libby tried to keep her voice casual, but she always worried that she would give herself away.

  “Let me see….” Stephanie paused in her brushing and quickly examined a padd. “Not a lot of military brass at this one.”

  Inwardly, Libby frowned. She needed every social engagement to forward her investigation, but she couldn’t risk asking too many people to attend such small gatherings.

  “Admiral Montgomery—he sent the two dozen white roses, hard to get here—Admiral Jorgensen, and Captains Skhaa and Nunez.”

  Libby perked up at the mention of the middle two names. These were two on her “list.”

  “Well, that’s not too big a crowd to work, even as tired as I am,” she told Stephanie.

  As she finished applying her cosmetics and permitted Stephanie to play with her thick, wild locks and give them some semblance of order, Libby’s mind worked furiously. She was doing her utmost to remember names and dates and data. If she could determine where Jorgensen and Shkaa were on particular dates, she could exonerate them or else confirm her suspicion that they were somehow involved.

  But she had to ask herself now as she had every day for the last several days—involved in what?

  Sekaya was surprised at how devastated she was when Chakotay gave her the news. They had all been expecting this, even if they didn’t want to say so, but his quiet words made her eyes fill with tears.

  “Those poor people,” she said softly, a shaky hand covering her mouth. He rose and went to her, folding his strong arms around her. She closed her eyes and nestled into him. She had missed him so.

  “This seems to have really upset you,” he said, pulling away from her slightly and looking into her eyes. “Sekky, I know we’ve got a lot on our plate right now, but you’ve got to tell me what happened on Dorvan V.”

  “I will,” she promised him. An image of Blue Water Boy rose in her memory and she almost started crying again. “But that’s history, and Loran II’s colonists are suffering now. I need to talk to them.”

  “They’re all in the cargo bay,” he said. “Astall is with them. They’re expecting you.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go to them. I hope you have some comfort to give them.”

  “I do too,” Sekaya said.

  She had imagined that by this time in their journey, she would be seeing Fortier and the other colonists finally in the place that they had called home, wandering the hills and fields, gathering in the small town they had built themselves. Instead, they were in the impersonal cargo bay of a starship, clustered together as if huddling against a raging storm outside.

  Fortier was kneeling and talking to an older woman when Sekaya entered. Sekaya could tell the woman had been crying, but had now wiped her face and was nodding at something Fortier said. At the sound of the door opening, Fortier glanced up. His dark gaze locked with Sekaya’s, and she saw by his reddened eyes that he, too, had shed tears for the fallen. He’d lost a brother, after all. His show of love and compassion moved her.

  She strode quickly to him and they embraced. Sekaya wasn’t sure how this bond had formed. She barely knew Marius Fortier, but unknown to him, they had a kinship of shared suffering.

  There was nothing in the embrace but affection, compassion, and concern. Sekaya thought this a good thing. She did not want the leader of the colonists to develop a romantic attachment to her. They stepped back and looked up at one another.

  “I just heard the news from my brother,” she said. “Marius, I grieve with you.”

  “Thank you, Sekaya. It’s not as if we weren’t expecting it, but…Well.” He sighed and straightened himself. “I see you’ve brought something,” he said, indicating the bulging pack she had slung over her shoulder.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Some of the things we talked about for the ritual.”

  “Ah, yes. The ritual. Well, I think we know which one we’re going to be performing.”

  “Performing first,” Sekaya corrected.

  “Pardon?”

  She smiled a little, sadly. “We know that first it is time to grieve,” she said. “To mourn your dead and salute them. But then, we’ll need to perform the other ritual we created. The one to say hello again to this place that you love. Am I not right?”

  He seemed startled that she understood him so well. “Are we so easy to read?”

  “Yes and no,” she said. “Easy for one who understands you, perhaps.�
�

  He nodded. “Yes, Sekaya. Yes, you are right. What was it you said? We will grieve, and decide if we want to stay, and start over.”

  He extended a hand. Confused but willing to go along with him, Sekaya took it. He led her into the cargo bay. Seeing the two of them approach, the colonists got to their feet and looked at her curiously. Still holding her hand, Fortier said, “Some of you have not yet had the honor and pleasure of meeting Sekaya. I have been talking with her about ceremonies. Traditions. Things that matter to our people. She has some ideas.”

  Sekaya took a moment before she spoke. She looked around the crowd, at the sad yet determined faces. She felt a rush of warmth, of kinship with these strangers.

  “We humans need ritual,” she said. “We need celebrations, and ways to mark important passages. We need,” she said quietly, “to be able to say good-bye.”

  Damn it, where had they encountered a storm like this before?

  Chakotay was alone in his ready room, hoping the solitude would help him focus. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. He couldn’t remember. But it had been the precursor to something very important. And it was similar, but not exact…. There was something about trying to transport to a specific site and storms appearing precisely at that site….

  He was so lost in his thoughts that he started when he heard Ellis’s voice.

  “Ellis to Captain Chakotay.”

  Chakotay sat upright. There was a strained sound to the commander’s voice.

  “Go ahead, Ellis.”

  “I, uh…sir, there’s something very odd here that I think you ought to see. I’m taking a scan of it and I’m going to try to transmit it to you. I hope there won’t be too much interference. I’m not overly familiar with the customs of our passengers, but this somehow doesn’t look like something the colonists would do, and it’s clearly not Cardassian. But it’s recent.”

  “You are definitely whetting my curiosity, Commander. Go ahead and transmit.” He touched a button. The image appeared on the small viewscreen.

  Chakotay inhaled swiftly, his eyes widening in shock.

  He knew that image. Knew it from when he was fifteen years old, walking with his father on Earth in the Central American rain forest. Recognized it when he saw it drawn on the dust of a moon, many years and several thousand light-years away from that first encounter.

  A blessing to the land.

  A chamozi.

  Chapter

  19

  LIBBY WEBBER STEPPED into her director’s home to the sound of applause. She smiled and waved slightly at the assembled crowd and accepted yet another bouquet with graciousness.

  A large man stepped up to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Admiral Montgomery! How good to see you!” she said.

  “Ken, Libby, Ken. It’s only ‘admiral’ when the pips are there to insist upon it.” Indeed, he was out of uniform and looked quite dashing in his tuxedo, his weathered face split in a grin.

  As far as he knew, they had met only a few months ago at one of her concerts. Kim had introduced them and they hit it off immediately. Libby, though, had once thought that Admiral Montgomery was at worst a traitor to the Federation, at best a cranky old geezer whose ultimate goal in life was to stand in the way of the Voyager crew. He had proven his worth in the end, and thus won Libby’s affections. Now she regarded him fondly as a sort of burly uncle whose gruff manner hid a great heart.

  “Very well, Ken,” she acquiesced. “I understand it was you who sent me the white roses. Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.”

  “You’re very welcome, my dear. Come, let me introduce you around.” Libby threw a wry glance at her director, Philippe Batiste, who shrugged in a very Gallic way. He’d just been trumped by Montgomery—as had so many others—but as his gesture said, what could one do?

  They made the rounds, Montgomery introducing Libby to a truly impressive variety of important personages. Libby had done her research and was able to speak intelligently with each of them. She loved this part of her job; she was naturally a people person and truly enjoyed meeting and talking with others. They always sensed her sincerity, and most of them opened up quickly. More than once Libby had been told that she would have made an excellent diplomat. She had always smiled and expressed thanks for the compliment, claiming devotion to her music.

  “And this is Admiral Leah Jorgensen,” Montgomery was saying. Libby smiled warmly at the wiry, attractive woman who extended both a hand and a grin. She wore her straight gray-streaked hair short and didn’t use a great deal of cosmetics. Her nails were filed short, and while well-manicured, were not polished. This, Libby thought, was what tomboys looked like when they grew up. Their eyes met, and she liked Leah at once. Her instincts were usually pretty good; Libby hoped that she wasn’t a mole.

  But there was something familiar…“Have we met?” Libby asked.

  “We’ve never been formally introduced, but I’m quite a fan of your music,” Jorgensen said. “I’ve attended as many of your concerts as my schedule permits. You may have seen me in the crowd.” Her eyes danced. “I’m a little old to be begging for autographs, so I never approached you.”

  Libby laughed. She knew she’d seen this woman before. Thinking quickly, she said, “I’m sure your schedule doesn’t allow for much concert-going, Admiral. For instance, I’m sure you were expected to be at the Kavlian Peace Conference.”

  She’d seen Jorgensen’s name as an attendee on one of the many documents she’d perused. The admiral sighed. “Yes, I was there. Have you ever met a Kavlian, Miss Webber?”

  “Libby, please. Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

  Jorgensen wrinkled her pert nose. “Can’t say it is a pleasure. Difficult people to negotiate with. They could have a Royal Protocol document all to themselves.”

  Montgomery grimaced as well. “I was at that conference. By the end of it, I was about ready to trade being an admiral for being an ensign, if it meant getting to leave a day early.”

  Libby was enjoying the conversation, but she had now cleared Jorgensen from her list. The woman was where Libby’s research had placed her, and Montgomery had just corroborated her story. Now she was anxious to see the other suspect, one Captain Skhaa.

  She coughed a little and said, “A little frog in my throat. I think I need something to drink. A pleasure to meet you, Admiral. Excuse me for just a moment—”

  Libby scurried off in the direction of a waiter carrying a tray of beverages and snagged a mineral water. No alcohol when she was working. She sipped the beverage and looked around quickly. Skhaa wouldn’t be hard to find, he was probably the only avian here—

  And there he was, talking with two Vulcans. She recognized one of them as an ambassador she knew, which gave her an opening.

  “Ambassador Sular,” she said politely; one didn’t gush to a Vulcan. “I didn’t know you were here tonight.”

  The tall, elderly Vulcan turned toward her, his elegant robes rustling with the movement. He inclined his head. “Miss Webber. The reason for our presence,” he said. “May I introduce my assistant, Korvik, and my friend, Captain Skhaa.”

  The avian humanoid turned toward her. His species was covered in soft, small, downy feathers, much the way that humans were covered with hair that was much finer than that of the apes from which they had evolved. Otherwise, he looked completely human.

  “I was invited to play at the reception for the ambassadors when your world was accepted into the Federation,” she said. “Unfortunately, I had a commitment elsewhere. I’m so sorry I couldn’t attend.”

  Skhaa’s lips parted in a smile. “The Vulcans very kindly took care of the musical performance, Miss Webber. I enjoy the Vulcan lyre, but I’m sure your presence would have been much…livelier.”

  Libby laughed at the little joke, bowing her head slightly to Sular to let him know she respected him and his people even as she indulged in a little teasing. “I love the Vulcan lyre,” she said, “but I do think it sounds the sweetest when Vulcans p
lay it. Were you at that concert, Captain?”

  “Indeed I was.” He launched into a recitation of the musical numbers performed, but Libby listened with only half an ear.

  That night was one of the dates on which someone had accessed Voyager’s logs.

  That someone was allegedly Captain Skhaa.

  But how could he have done so from a concert hall?

  “Come in,” Chakotay said when when Sekaya stepped into his ready room.

  “What’s this about?” she asked, walking over to where he sat. Wordlessly, Chakotay showed her the screen. When she saw the familiar symbol of their people, she uttered a small cry.

  “Great Spirit, how can this be?” she whispered, gripping her brother’s shoulder.

  Ellis had found the chamozi inscribed on a large, flat stone only a few yards from the deserted buildings that made up the central part of the colony. The localized rainstorms had not passed over the area to wash away the chalk blessing.

  It was all starting to add up. Now Chakotay remembered where Voyager had previously encountered a similar, specific “storm system.” It had been on the planet where Chakotay had met with the Sky Spirits, the aliens who had given his people a genetic “inheritance” forty-five thousand years ago. In that situation, the storms had cropped up every time and in every place where Voyager had tried to transport or to land a shuttle. Here, the storm had centered directly over the colony. It was a small difference, but it had been enough to throw Chakotay off track.

  “I don’t understand it, sir,” came Ellis’s voice. “This symbol was drawn in chalk. It couldn’t have been here for more than a few days. Yet there are no signs of humanoids present on the planet, nor do we have any reason to think there are any nonhumanoid species sufficiently developed to have produced this.”

  “You won’t detect anything if the Sky Spirits are down there,” said Chakotay to his first officer. “They won’t want you to.”

  There was a pause. “I beg your pardon, Captain?”