Spirit Walk, Book Two

by Christie Golden

  “He doesn’t talk about it much. Something about how they were taken from him. But let’s not dwell on the negative. Things are taking such a positive turn. I’ll soon have the Changeling back to normal, and I’ll have lived up to my end of the bargain. Then I can devote all my time to my little friends.”

  Chakotay felt as if he’d awoken to madness. This couldn’t be happening. It was right out of one of Tom Paris’s Captain Proton scenarios, the one about the mad scientist. Moset was even laughing maniacally at a mildly humorous pun. He was creating monsters à la Victor Frankenstein, attempting to fabricate a master race à la Adolf Hitler. He was helping a murderer recover his ability to murder more effectively.

  And he was using Chakotay’s body to do it.

  Even as the thoughts passed through Chakotay’s mind, Moset approached with a hypospray.

  “Let’s get back to work, shall we?”

  Chapter 12

  KAZ STUDIED THE COMPUTER SCREEN, which displayed the scan he’d just taken of Chakotay. At least he’s all right physically, the doctor thought. The wounds were superficial and easily healed, and a scan with the medical tricorder had revealed nothing serious. But to have lost his sister—that had to have been awful. Well, judging Chakotay’s emotional state was Astall’s field. Kaz at least could pronounce that Chakotay was physically fine.

  While he was conducting the tests, he quickly did a read on himself and grimaced at the results. The damn isoboromine levels were dropping again. He rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them, a shadow had fallen over him.

  “I think it may be time to call in Vorik,” said Astall, very gently.

  Wearily Kaz nodded. He rose and returned to where Chakotay sat on the biobed.

  “Captain, you’re fine physically,” he said, “although I, apparently, am not. With your permission, I’d like to contact Lieutenant Vorik and ask him to perform a mind meld.”

  Chakotay glanced from Kaz to Astall. “What do you think?” he asked the Huanni.

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Astall replied. “Vorik will be able to interact directly with Gradak. Perhaps he can convince him to settle down for a bit.”

  “Very well. And, Counselor, how am I doing?”

  She smiled sweetly, compassionate sorrow in her eyes. “You’re doing as well as anyone could expect.”

  “Good.” Chakotay managed a grin. “I don’t think my ego could take it if young Kim had the run of the ship.”

  As Chakotay slipped off the bed, Kaz asked, “When will you contact Starfleet Command and Admiral Janeway?”

  Chakotay hesitated. “It’s late, and we’re all tired. We won’t get back to Loran II until the morning anyway at this rate.”

  Not for the first time, Kaz wondered why Chakotay was going at such a comparatively slow speed. Maybe to give them time to digest what had happened.

  “I’ll contact her in the morning. In the meantime, this has been a grueling day for everyone. I suggest we all get some sleep.”

  Chakotay headed for the door, but Kaz called after him. “One last thing, Captain.”

  Chakotay froze. “Yes?”

  “I’d like to contact Seven of Nine and the Doctor. Get their think tank going on this.”

  “Tomorrow, Doctor.”

  “But, sir, it’s midday in San Francisco right now,” Kaz protested. “Surely—”

  Chakotay turned and Kaz almost shrank from the anger in his eyes. Maybe Astall hadn’t diagnosed him correctly after all. Almost immediately, though, Chakotay softened his expression.

  “It’s late. We’ll discuss this in the morning, when you’re rested and have a chance to make a good presentation.” As Kaz drew breath to protest, Chakotay added, “That’s an order, Doctor.”

  Kaz stiffened. “Aye, sir,” he said.

  The door closed behind Chakotay. For a moment Astall and Kaz simply stared at the door.

  “Golly,” said Astall, in a heartfelt tone of voice.

  Kaz had to smile; the Huanni gravitated to such amusing slang when speaking Federation standard.

  “Golly indeed,” he said.

  “When we return to Earth, I’m going to insist that he take some time and discuss this with someone. Preferably me,” Astall said. “It’s really tearing him up inside.”

  Kaz shook his head. “I just didn’t think he would take it like this,” he said. “He’s being illogical and not acting like himself at all.”

  Astall nodded. “I agree. But we all react differently to grief, Doctor. Sometimes in quite unexpected ways.” She turned to face him. “Now, are you going to contact Vorik tonight?”

  “No,” said Kaz, and added quickly, to forestall her comment, “Chakotay was right about one thing. It is late. I know Vorik likes to meditate before retiring, and he’s probably already well into it. I’ll head to bed myself and talk to him in the morning. The isoboromine levels are still within normal parameters. I’m in no danger.”

  Astall sighed. “Very well. But if you haven’t done so by 0800 hours, I’ll go down to engineering and fetch him myself.”

  “Understood, Counselor.”

  She reached and squeezed his shoulder. “Good night, Doctor. Pleasant dreams.”

  The dream was pleasant, at first. Kaz found himself walking along a beach at sunrise. The waters, lilac at this time of the morning, lapped rhythmically at his feet. The beach was rocky and it wasn’t warm yet, but it was still relaxing to be here. He breathed deeply of the sea air, and absently reached to toss a stone out into the waves. A breeze ruffled his thick, dark hair and gently made the trees sway.

  “I thought I’d find you here” came a voice, harsh and blunt. It wasn’t unexpected, though.

  Jarem Kaz sighed. “Gradak,” he said. “Not only are you interfering with my waking moments, but apparently now you’re stealing my sleep as well. I’m trying to be patient with you, but I’m starting to resent this.”

  He turned to look at the man who had shared the Kaz symbiont. Gradak returned the gaze with his habitual expression of controlled anger and thinly veiled hostility.

  “Let’s not get into who resents whom here,” he said, “considering you’re alive and I’m not.”

  The resentment melted. “Gradak, I am truly sorry. I did everything I could to save you, but finally I had to save the symbiont.”

  Gradak laughed harshly. “You think that bothers me? No, you idiot, I understand that. But you haven’t heard me out. No one has heard me. And you’re shoving me aside and not listening to me when I’m seeing things that you’re not!”

  That got Jarem’s attention. “What sort of things?”

  “Give me free rein and I’ll show you.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” Jarem answered.

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” challenged Gradak.

  “Either way, it doesn’t matter,” Jarem shot back. “It’s not going to happen. When I have the time, I’ll listen to you. I promised you that and I didn’t lie. But there’s too much going on now for me to just drop everything and put you in charge of this body.”

  Gradak grunted in exasperation. “Even when I spell it out for you, you’re not seeing it. How was it that you thought to test for the DNA? It was my memory of what the Cardassians did to my Vallia that caused that to even occur to you.”

  “True, but—”

  “No buts. Things just aren’t what they seem. I trusted Arak Katal, and he betrayed me. He wasn’t what he seemed, either.”

  It was the raving of a madman, who saw lurking Cardassians behind every boulder, and thought everyone was a traitor. And yet, in this dreamscape, where logic couldn’t quite be grasped and things could shift at any moment, it seemed an appropriate statement to Jarem Kaz.

  “Things aren’t what they seem,” he murmured.

  Gradak leaned in closer, his eyes almost fever-bright. “You know it in your bones,” he said. “Something’s off, isn’t it? You find monsters who used to be human, and someone you trust is behaving oddly. You can’t just ignore this,
Jarem. You have to take matters into your own hands. Our hands.”

  “Into our own hands,” Jarem echoed.

  “If you’re wrong, there’s no harm done. If you’re right, then you have a chance to stop something.”

  “Stop what?”

  But now it was Gradak’s turn to walk along the beach and toss stones into the purple waters. As Jarem turned around, ready to head into his waking stage, Gradak said, “You’re a doctor. Do what a doctor does.”

  Jarem awoke feeling oddly at peace for the first time since this strange mission had begun.

  You’re a doctor. Do what a doctor does.

  It was so simple, so obvious. He had been neglecting his duties—at least, one duty in particular. Even though he had been ordered to so neglect this duty, it had been bothering him. He glanced at the chronometer and realized that it was only 0237, but he felt as refreshed as if he’d gotten a full night’s sleep.

  Do what a doctor does.

  Kaz entered sickbay at 0254. The third-shift doctor on duty seemed surprised to see him. “I thought you were asleep,” Karen Ashton said, concerned.

  “I was,” he said bluntly. “I’m not now. You’re relieved, Karen. I’ll let you know if I need your assistance.”

  “If you’re sure….”

  He smiled. “I’m fine,” he said, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he believed the words. “Really. Go on.”

  “All right, then. Thank you, Doctor. Good night.”

  He watched her go, then went to the replicator and ordered coffee. As he sipped the steaming beverage, he thought of the time he’d met with Kathryn Janeway, the two of them conspiring to help save the world as they knew it, meeting in a little Santa Barbara coffee shop. That seemed like ages ago now, though it had only been a few months.

  He knew what he needed to do. He rose, went to a cadaver drawer, and pressed. Slowly the drawer slid out, and Kaz gazed sadly down at the face of Andrew Ellis. The body would continue to be kept in stasis until such time as a proper burial at sea could take place. The lighting was dim in sickbay at this hour, and by its soft illumination, Ellis’s face looked younger than Kaz had remembered. He didn’t look asleep; the dead never looked asleep. Kaz, in all his incarnations, had seen his share of the dead, and he knew that that conceit was a pretty fiction meant to comfort the survivors. Ellis looked dead, stasis or no.

  Chakotay had told him not to perform an autopsy because there were too many other things going on. Well, right now there was absolutely nothing going on, and Kaz wasn’t about to try to go back to sleep. The autopsy would need to be performed eventually. He might as well do it now. It was his duty, and he was going to perform it.

  Besides, it was likely that he’d be able to find further DNA samples from the creature who killed Ellis, and that would assist in any attempts to return the colonists to their normal state.

  “Full lights,” he called, and winced a little as the computer complied. Another touch of a control panel gently maneuvered the stasis-enclosed body to the biobed. Kaz prepared himself, sanitizing his hands and selecting his tools. Normally, he’d perform an in-depth scan and create a holographic replica on which to conduct the entire autopsy. But this time he was looking for more than cause of death. He was looking for something that might have been left behind, and he’d begin by examining the actual body.

  “Computer, prepare to record audio and visual input.”

  “Recording begun.”

  He gave the time and the stardate, then his name, the estimated time of death, and finally, “Autopsy for Commander Andrew K. Ellis. Computer, perform standard analysis and alert doctor to any discrepancies in previously entered information.”

  “Stasis time incorrect,” said the computer.

  Kaz blinked. “What? Repeat.”

  “Stasis time incorrect,” the computer repeated obligingly. “Estimated time the subject has been in stasis is not nine point four hours, but six years, seven months, two days, four hours, nineteen minutes, and twenty-seven seconds.”

  Kaz stared at the body, disbelieving. He shook his head. Ellis had died only yesterday. The computer had to be in error. It happened, from time to time, and Voyager was fresh out of space dock after having been gutted to within an inch of her mechanical life. Hadn’t Campbell recently said something about “ghosts” in her system? Kaz was supposed to talk with Vorik in the morning anyway. He’d mention the computer and have the chief engineer run a thorough diagnostic.

  Six years in stasis, indeed.

  And yet…

  Ellis did look younger to him. Kaz could have sworn he remembered seeing some wrinkles around the first officer’s eyes and mouth that had seemingly vanished. Perhaps those were just a by-product of the way Ellis held his expressions. But the hair seemed a little thicker, didn’t it, and wasn’t there less gray in the pale gold strands…?

  The computer had to be wrong. He’d seen Ellis just yesterday. And yet…

  Things aren’t what they seem.

  His mouth suddenly went dry. He grabbed a medical tricorder and ordered the computer to drop the stasis field. He scanned Ellis’s body, and his heart sped up at what he discovered.

  Everything on the tricorder pointed to indications of long-term stasis. Certainly longer term than a few hours. Slight tissue dehydration, lack of cellular reproduction—

  “The computer was right,” he whispered aloud, and he started to tremble at the implications.

  There were a variety of hypotheses, of course. One was that they had somehow passed unknowingly through a space-time continuum, and that Ellis’s body, in stasis, was the only thing that revealed the passing of time. Another was that somehow both the tricorder and the computer were malfunctioning…in the exact same way….

  He wasn’t what he seemed, either.

  Could the being before him somehow be an impersonation? A clone?

  “I need all the facts,” he said, realizing that he was talking to himself but not caring right now. He needed to complete the autopsy. Perhaps it would reveal something that solved this bizarre puzzle.

  Kaz would start with the clothing, which had carefully been removed from the body earlier and was in a separate compartment. It was blood-soaked and torn from the attack that had claimed Ellis’s life. With more focus than he thought he’d ever brought to bear in his life, Kaz removed the clothing, spread it on the sanitized surface, and ran the medical tricorder over it.

  Chakotay had said he watched, helpless to interfere in time, as Ellis was attacked and mauled to death by the creatures whom they now knew to be the colonists. Logic dictated that the clothing and the injuries would be teeming with DNA from the attack.

  Kaz found nothing.

  He looked closer, using his eyes and gentle fingers instead of tools. The cuts in the clothing were startlingly clean and uniform, looking little like what a rent from an animal’s claw would produce. If he didn’t know better, he’d say these cuts came from a precise instrument, such as a knife or a scalpel.

  Kaz replaced the clothing in the sealed container and placed it in the cadaver drawer. Now he bent over the unclothed body, examining the actual wounds themselves. Again, there was no hint of DNA-rich dirt from under a supposedly unsanitary claw, no scattering of animal hair that could point toward Ellis’s attacker. It was, in fact, unnaturally clean, as if Ellis had been killed with a sanitized weapon by an assailant who had no DNA of his own to deposit.

  Kaz stood back, wishing with all his might that he could somehow contact Ellis and ask him just what the hell had happened. He knew that on Earth, several centuries ago, it was widely believed even by medical professionals that the eyes of the slain retained the image of their attacker. Would that it were so simple.

  “Autopsy addendum,” he said, “0342. Initial visual, tactile, and tricorder examinations reveal no indication of DNA from alleged attacker.” He cringed as he said “alleged,” but it was the truth. Even if it meant, in a very real way, that he was calling Chakotay a liar. />
  A thought came to him. Holograms had no DNA, yet they were quite capable of causing physical injury. Perhaps the creature who had attacked Ellis was a hologram of a creature, not an actual, physical being.

  A possibility, certainly, but a strange one. For a hologram to exist, someone had to program it. Who would want to create and operate such a precise and peculiar program? Kaz shook his head and continued.

  In more barbaric times the body would actually be sliced up and the organs physically removed, weighed and measured. Even now there were times when such a procedure was warranted, but from here on in, Kaz felt he could utilize a holographic version of the corpse to complete the regulation autopsy.

  “Computer, prepare to construct accurate holographic replication of the body on the biobed. All weights and textures must be exact.”

  The biobed closed over the body, and a lavender beam washed through the form.

  “Prepared and awaiting data,” replied the computer in its cool female voice.

  “Project the subject’s skeletal structure,” Kaz ordered. “Keep it in the same position as it would normally be if held in place by tissue.”

  Immediately the skeleton appeared on the empty bed. Kaz bent over the holographic projection. “Visual inspection reveals a three point four centimeter slash across the clavicle and sternum,” he said. “There is also a second slash entering above the fourth rib and cutting through the costochondral cartilage. Computer,” he said, slowly, carefully, “extrapolate from available data provided on autopsy what caused lethal injuries.”

  “Lethal injuries most likely caused by lacerations from a surgical scalpel, type A-49.”

  Kaz’s mouth went dry, but he continued. “Likelihood of injuries being caused by three-centimeter claws from an alien species?”

  “Statistical odds are 4,298,443.987 to one.”

  Kaz cleared his throat. “Statistics in favor of lethal injuries being caused by surgical scalpel type A-49?”

  “Statistical odds are 1.0043 to one.”

  In a slight daze Kaz said, “Add internal organs.”