Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle

by Kirsten Beyer

  He passed over dozens of identities she had assumed over the years of acquiring her massive wealth. Even he could not determine at this point who she truly was or once might have been. He glimpsed multiple attacks upon innocent minds; minds she had ravaged in the name of her unquenchable thirst.

  More importantly, Tuvok saw the precise location of the bat’leth he was seeking, along with the codes required to deactivate her security grid.

  He felt her buck beneath him, attempting to reassert her control over the meld. For all of its intensity, her mind was a crude weapon.

  It could never hope to compete with the hundred-plus years he had spent honing his mind to a finely disciplined beam of pure white light.

  Though she had not earned his compassion, he felt obligated to offer it, nonetheless.

  You suffer needlessly, Tuvok assured her.

  It is not my suffering that is of interest, she replied. It is yours.

  Only then did he truly accept the reality that for her, no amount of mental discipline he might be able to briefly impose upon her could ever heal the wounds that separated her from sanity.

  Tuvok knew what he must do. He felt her tremble beneath his hands. The intimacy she so desperately desired was the weakness that would allow him to breach the last of her defenses.

  Though Vulcans did not experience pain in the ways that most humanoids did, it was a part of them. Tuvok brought this buried force to bear, the true depth of agony he had experienced in his life, and gave her every bit of it, everything she thought she wanted from him and had already determined to torturously drag from his mind, the moment he had knocked upon her door.

  Yes, the part of her mind which was still intact cried out.

  Then Tuvok gave her more.

  He felt her utterly abandon what little control she still maintained, even as she realized fleetingly what this abandonment would likely cost her.

  A few minutes later, he terminated the meld. She crumpled to the floor, her beautiful shell now housing a mind which had been forced to retreat in the wake of the fury he had unleashed upon it.

  He carried her gently to a chaise that faced the Light of Amonak. He positioned her so that its flame would be the first thing she would see when she eventually regained consciousness. Its calming force would do much to ease her troubled psyche when she awoke.

  He had no difficulty deactivating the room’s force field or locating the bat’leth. It was housed in one of several storage rooms carved into the cliff beneath the house. Only once he was safely returned to his shuttle and had set his course to rendezvous with Voyager at Qo’noS did he allow himself to reflect on his actions.

  Though he could never condone the wanton destruction of sentient life, he could rest in the certainty that what he had done to her had been merciful in comparison to what her mind had revealed that she intended to do to him.

  His only regret was that at no point in the meld had he actually been able to discover her true name.

  The last few hours had been the hardest for Tom. The Doctor had done his typical, exemplary job repairing the damage done by Logt’s knife. The knowledge that he had once again lost his wife was a wound that continued to fester, and was beyond the ministrations of anyone. He was teetering on the edge of a place he hadn’t visited within himself in a long time: despair.

  Assembled in the transporter room were Chakotay, Admiral Janeway, Seven, the Doctor, Harry Kim, Counselor Cambridge, and the Emperor Kahless.

  Tuvok’s shuttle had just entered the bay, and he was at this moment en route to the transporter room.

  As the group stood in tense silence, Tom overheard Kahless say something in a low voice to the Doctor.

  “It is an amazing piece of technology,” the Doctor replied to the emperor’s query.

  “And it allows you to travel anywhere you wish?”

  “It does.” The Doctor nodded proudly. “I will admit that when I was first activated and was confined to either sickbay or the holodeck, it was hard to imagine what I was missing. Now, I simply could not fathom my existence without this mobile emitter.”

  At last the doors to the transporter room slid open and Tuvok entered carrying the bat’leth, which Tom would have sworn was B’Elanna’s had he not known otherwise.

  “I hope we haven’t put you to too much trouble, Tuvok,” Chakotay said amiably.

  “None that bears discussing at the moment,” Tuvok replied. Turning to Paris, Tuvok said, “Admiral Janeway has advised me of the developments here. Any assistance I may provide in locating both B’Elanna and Miral, I am at your disposal.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Tuvok,” Paris replied, warmed by the sentiment.

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen, shall we?” Janeway asked of the room.

  As those assembled arranged themselves on the transporter platform, Kim, Seven, Tuvok, and Chakotay dividing the twelve bat’leths between them for their journey to the planet, Chakotay turned to Janeway, saying, “Should we advise Chancellor Martok of our impending arrival and request his permission to access the monument?”

  “Why?” Kahless interjected. “It’s my shrine.”

  No one, least of all Paris, seemed inclined to argue with that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  B’Elanna stirred from the deepest sleep she had enjoyed in a long time.

  The baby.

  Miral was crying. She needs me.

  B’Elanna had become most adept at navigating through Miral’s first several months of life. Despite her semiconscious state, she rolled over onto her side, reaching out for her daughter.

  Her fingers met cold, hard stone.

  B’Elanna forced her eyes to open and found herself lying on a smooth stone shelf in a small cell, hewn from solid rock. The faint buzz of a force field met her ears. Lifting her sluggish body, she turned and saw that the cell’s only entrance was blocked by an energy barrier.

  The memories returned. Logt had captured her and taken her from Voyager. B’Elanna had no idea where she was or how long she’d been unconscious. She had set out to rescue Miral and instead become Logt’s prisoner.

  Impotent fury washed over her as B’Elanna was forced to accept the fact that she had, once again, failed her daughter.

  Then Miral cried out again.

  B’Elanna’s heart began to run a thready race. She practically flew toward the doorway of her cell, only hesitating to touch the wall of deadly energy that was the last barrier separating her from her child.

  Her mind worked the problem. The field’s generator had to be buried beneath the rock walls. If she could find a sharp enough edge, she could dig. B’Elanna turned, scanning the room for anything that could be useful. If nothing else, her hands might have to do.

  A shadow fell over her from behind as Miral’s screams intensified.

  Wheeling around, B’Elanna saw Commander Logt standing on the other side of the barrier.

  She was holding a very unhappy Miral in her arms.

  “Miral!” B’Elanna shouted in mingled joy and frustration. Her arms physically ached to assume Logt’s burden.

  She started toward the doorway but Logt stopped her with a brisk, “Stand back.”

  Logt then nodded to someone B’Elanna could not see and within seconds, the force field dropped.

  It took every ounce of self-control B’Elanna possessed not to charge forward as Logt calmly entered the cell. Only once the field had blinked back into existence did Logt extend her arms and allow B’Elanna to take her child, who was literally clawing her way out of Logt’s embrace to her mother.

  The moment her arms were once again wrapped securely around her daughter, B’Elanna sank to the floor, cradling Miral, alternately hugging and kissing her. Though Miral welcomed this at first, soon enough it was clear B’Elanna was practically smothering her, and Miral again began to struggle and cry out.

  B’Elanna released her gently, and Miral pushed herself onto the floor. Once she was solidly on her hands and knees, she did something that
threatened to tear B’Elanna’s still pounding heart from her chest. With only moments of unsteadiness, Miral pushed herself up onto her tiny legs and began to teeter forward and away from her mother.

  After only a few seconds, her unsteady gait toppled her forward, but even finding herself again on the floor, Miral only cried out lustily, not in pain, but in frustration with herself.

  “Oh, my sweet darling,” B’Elanna cooed as she crawled toward Miral. “You’re walking!”

  With a determined scowl, Miral again pushed herself up, and this time, she giggled at herself before clapping her tiny hands together and reaching out for B’Elanna.

  “Your daddy will be so proud!” B’Elanna congratulated her. In reply, Miral barked out a loud “Da!”

  There were many sins B’Elanna intended to make Logt answer for at a more appropriate time. Denying her the opportunity to witness her daughter’s first steps, and from the sound of it, Miral’s first halting attempt at a word, were at the top of that list.

  “As you can see, your daughter is unharmed,” Logt said evenly.

  In a flash, B’Elanna closed the space between them and drove her fist into Logt’s gut.

  As expected, Logt recovered quickly, throwing B’Elanna to the ground. To B’Elanna’s delight, she clutched her abdomen and demanded, “What was that for?”

  “Tom,” B’Elanna said fiercely.

  Logt replied with a weary nod of respectful acknowledgment and said, “You must be starving.”

  B’Elanna was, but her pride reasserted itself.

  “What are you going to do with us?” she demanded.

  Logt took a deep breath, considering the question.

  “If you will refrain from acting rashly, I have much to show you. I can assure you, any attempt at escape is futile. There is nowhere to run.”

  I’ll be the judge of that, B’Elanna thought.

  “Lead the way,” B’Elanna said haughtily, scooping Miral up from the floor.

  Logt started walking, and B’Elanna followed her out into a dimly lit hallway. It was like stepping into the bowels of an ancient dungeon. Apart from the occasional energy barrier, suggesting the existence of more cells like B’Elanna’s, this was as dank and forlorn a place as she had ever seen. She had believed from day one that the qawHaq’hoch were fanatics, blinded by religious obsession. Their prison only solidified her belief that this accursed order was a remnant of the past. B’Elanna tightened her grip on her daughter, swearing she would bury it once and for all.

  Miral squirmed in her arms as Logt led them up a short staircase carved into the rock. B’Elanna shushed her, as they emerged into a vast cavern. Like the chamber below, it had been excavated from rough stone, and it reached over a hundred meters above and in all directions. The stone edges protruding from the walls were the only remnant of the room’s original nature.

  The cavern was a warren of high-tech chambers, from what B’Elanna could see, devoted primarily to scientific research. Embedded in almost every wall of the partitioned space were touch-activated displays. Peeking where she could, B’Elanna glimpsed surgical bays, massive scanners and diagnostic interfaces, and a variety of devices, the purpose of which she could only guess. It reminded her vividly of a Starfleet facility. Every surface was clean, the air had a tinny, recycled quality, and light poured into the chamber courtesy of a ring embedded into the rock over ten meters above her head.

  There were Klingons everywhere she looked. None of them were dressed as warriors, but they wore woven tunics in varying colors, which suggested some division of labor.

  “Not what you were expecting?” Logt asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Not exactly,” B’Elanna had to admit.

  Logt continued on, past this hive of activity. Occasionally someone would look up as they walked and grace B’Elanna and Miral with a reverent nod or slight bow.

  B’Elanna found it mildly distasteful, but managed to respond as graciously as possible with a nod of her own.

  Finally, they emerged into a larger partitioned space. It was filled with tables, not unlike those in Boreth’s library, and the walls were lined with shelves housing scrolls, many of which rested behind energy barriers, no doubt to protect them from the ravages of oxygen exposure. Above these shelves, larger automated drawers had been set into the rock. They stretched all around her and so high into the wall above that B’Elanna could not see where they terminated.

  Groups of workers were collected at a few of the tables, poring over manuscripts, making notes on standard padds. Logt led her away from them, toward an empty table that offered a semblance of privacy.

  “This is our hall of records,” Logt began, once B’Elanna was seated with Miral in her lap. The child seemed exhausted by her earlier exertions and was slowly drifting toward what B’Elanna felt certain would be only a short nap.

  “The qawHaq’hoch were founded over fifteen centuries ago. Our initial purpose was to keep records of all Klingon births, deaths, and marriages. As the great and noble Houses of the empire began to grow and prosper, our work became more valuable. Very few Klingons of so-called noble birth were anxious to see their bloodlines diluted by mixing with commoners. Emperors rose and fell on our watch, and as their interests often diverged of necessity from truth, we were both a blessing and a curse, depending upon who was in power at any given time.”

  “And when did you go from being custodians of history to religious fanatics?” B’Elanna demanded.

  “The faith of our people is part of our history,” Logt chided her. “Very few Klingons still hold that faith in any regard, but it has sustained us for thousands of years. When the prophet Amar was slain at Kahless’s side, his mate joined our order. She brought to us the original scrolls of Amar, and reaffirmed our belief, as expressed by Ghargh, that in time the will of the gods would be made known to us.”

  B’Elanna nodded for her to continue.

  “As you already know, the day came when we were forced to continue our work in secret. Hal’korin, one of our most illustrious members, created this sanctuary for us and provided us with the means to exist undetected for all time.

  “Throughout the centuries, we have kept abreast of all technological advances and put them to good use. We now possess the most accurate records of the genetic history of the Klingon species ever compiled.”

  “How thrilling for you,” B’Elanna observed dryly.

  “You should take care, B’Elanna,” Logt said coldly. “Right now we are all that stands between the Klingon Empire and its downfall.”

  “Because of this curse?” B’Elanna asked disdainfully.

  “Our faith has long foretold the two signs of the Curse of the Gods. Understand that when we say ‘gods’ we are not referring to some noncorporeal entity to be prayed to in times of need or feared in times of peril. It is our belief that long ago, the first Klingons had an interaction with what we presume to be an alien species. These aliens would have been sufficiently advanced at the time of this encounter to appear godlike to our forebears. It is also likely that these aliens were driven out by those they thought to control or abuse. The Klingon heart is now as it has always been, fierce and unbending.”

  “And so the Klingons killed their gods because they were more trouble than they were worth,” B’Elanna said.

  “Our research shows, however, that there was some early corruption of the original Klingon genome, possibly as a result of experimentation or interspecies relations with these aliens. It is slight, and it did result in the adaptation of several favorable traits, our redundant organs, for example. We have long suspected that the Curse of the Gods would be an inevitable expression of this taint. As the Federation Research Institute verified at our request, and as your own friends confirmed, this corruption will result in a struggle between two kinds of Klingons which will tear the Empire apart. Only the Kuvah’magh can save us now.”

  B’Elanna interrupted her harshly. “The scrolls say that the Kuvah’magh will bring the Klingo
n gods back and by doing so will avert this curse. Miral is an infant. How is she supposed to fulfill that destiny, living in this cave in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Miral cannot escape her fate, and the curse, seemingly fulfilled, will take time to come to fruition. Within thirty generations the Klingon species as it exists now will cease to be. Fek’lhr births will gradually outnumber those of normal Klingons, and our destruction will follow. Miral has more than enough time to fulfill the prophecy. But it is of the utmost importance that she be protected until she is old enough to do this.

  “It was never our intention to deprive you of your child,” Logt assured her. “But we have always been cognizant of the threat posed by the Warriors of Gre’thor—”

  “Would the Warriors of Gre’thor have even known about Miral if you hadn’t kidnapped her and forced Kahless to contact them?” B’Elanna shot back, her frustration mounting.

  “The moment Grapk and D’Kang arrived on Boreth, I knew their brethren would not be far behind,” Logt replied.

  Realization struck B’Elanna.

  You and the Kuvah’magh are in danger.

  “You were the one who sent me the warning?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why didn’t you just let me take Miral and leave Boreth?” B’Elanna asked.

  “You fail to consider the peril you would put her in should you ever return to Starfleet, especially as uninformed as you were at the time,” Logt insisted. “Had you applied yourself more diligently to your studies, perhaps—”

  “I get it,” B’Elanna snapped, unwilling to be lectured like a schoolgirl.

  “We are the only ones who can keep Miral safe. And we will die to the last initiate before we will fail in our duty to see that she fulfills the role fate has prescribed for her,” Logt said more patiently, diffusing some of B’Elanna’s hostility.

  B’Elanna sighed deeply. Religious fanaticism was one thing, and quite easy for her to dismiss. But the beliefs of the qawHaq’hoch, substantiated as they apparently were by the science, were a little harder to fault. B’Elanna pulled Miral closer, briefly disturbing the child’s sleep. At the very least, she could relate to the order’s desire to sacrifice themselves, if need be, for Miral’s sake. There was nothing B’Elanna would not do from this point forward, to try and spare Miral this fate, even if it meant finding these mysterious gods herself and dragging them back to Qo’noS.