Chapter 8

IT WAS STARTLING, to think how much the quadrant had changed in a mere three years.

When Crell Moset had been transported out of the Adventure’s brig onto the small cloaked ship that belonged to his future friend the Changeling, the Cardassians were still a proud and powerful race. Now, Cardassia was broken, beaten, struggling with idiotic notions of democracy. They were a defeated people.

The thought appalled and infuriated Moset. Once he had thought of a pleasant scientific alliance with some of the more advanced species of the Federation. Now, even if such a thing were possible, he would spit upon the idea. Humans, Vulcans, Trill, Bolians, Bajorans—Betazoids—he had nothing but contempt and hatred for them all. The only value they had was what they could do for him, for his experiments.

Which was why these new beings were his hope.

He cooed to them as they huddled in their cell, staring at him with wide black eyes. One of them ran a clawed paw across a streaming nose.

Moset turned off the forcefield and beckoned to one of them. It was the youngest, one of only a few young ones they had found and the only one that had survived. Moset had named him Kaymar, after his father. Kaymar was his favorite.

Kaymar looked at him and then lumbered forward, placing his forepaw—no, thought the scientist, his hand—in Moset’s.

“That’s my good boy,” Moset said approvingly. “Now, you know what to do.”

Indeed it did. Kaymar hopped onto the slightly raised table and sat patiently, bleating from time to time and scratching at the occasional parasite.

Moset touched the computer, adjusting the proportions of the components for the next treatment. A tweak here, a nudge there—he began to hum, nodding his approval at what he saw. The touch of a padd prepared the hypospray.

“Now, my boy,” he said to Kaymar, “give me your paw.”

Obediently the creature stuck out a foreleg. Moset felt for the soft, fleshy part of its upper arm and pressed the hypo. Kaymar looked at him expectantly. Moset chuckled, went to the replicator, and programmed a Cardassian delicacy—a ripe, juicy ulyu. He handed it to Kaymar, who hooted softly and began to devour the scarlet fruit.

While the little fellow was thus occupied, Moset scanned him with the tricorder. A little better: the DNA from Chakotay seemed to be having a slight effect. But not nearly as much as he hoped.

Kaymar finished the ulyu and sniffed about for more. Gently Moset guided him back to the cell and erected the forcefield. He had had it programmed so that it was visible to the naked eye; the creatures needed to be able to see the barrier or else they would wander into it. And the absolute last thing Crell Moset wanted was to cause these precious children any pain.

Clearly, a simple infusion of Chakotay’s DNA would not suffice. More drastic manipulation was called for.

He turned around, his eyes still on the tricorder, and almost bumped into Chakotay.

Moset gasped and dived for something, anything, he could use as a weapon, but the human was faster. Chakotay reached and gripped both of Moset’s wrists, crying, “Calm down, Crell, it’s just me!”

Though the voice was Chakotay’s, the sense of arrogance that wove through the words was familiar to Moset, and he slumped in relief.

“Don’t ever do that again!” he snapped, rubbing his bruised wrists. “You nearly scared me to death.” Suddenly the full implications of the Changeling’s presence struck him. “Is something wrong? Aren’t you returning to Earth?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just left a shuttle on the surface.” He grimaced. “If I’d been thinking properly I’d have piloted it back. I couldn’t risk anyone else transporting down here, so I came myself. It’s put me behind schedule. On the plus side,” he added, “you can give me another treatment.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Moset had recovered—mostly—from the shock and was in control again. He stepped to the computer. “It has only been a few hours since your last one. I’d feel better if we could wait.”

“Chakotay” shook his head. “I’m not going to let this opportunity slip by.”

Moset thought fast. The real reason for his reluctance was the fact that he’d been working on the creatures, not on the Changeling’s predicament. But he didn’t want his benefactor to know that.

“I don’t know if the treatment will be much different. I haven’t had a lot of time to work on this, you know.” He knew he sounded defensive and that worried him. But he was getting awfully tired of the Changeling’s demands.

“Let me have it anyway. And give me some more for the trip, too,” the Changeling added.

“More?” The treatments Moset had stockpiled were supposed to be used on the creatures.

“More,” demanded the Changeling. He bent his neck to the side to give Moset easier access. Resentful but seeing no alternative, Moset prepared the hypo and pressed it into the skin.

The Changeling closed his eyes as the chemicals coursed through his body. Moset stepped back warily. “Chakotay’s” features blurred and ran together. They reformed themselves into those of Moset. The Changeling grinned at Moset’s annoyed and discomfited expression. Then again he assumed the form of Chakotay. No, not quite; this form was more slender, with long black hair, larger eyes, curved red lips.

Moset’s eyes widened. Was he doing it?

The Changeling growled and suddenly snapped back into Chakotay. He slammed his fist into the wall.

“I almost had it,” he muttered.

“Sekaya?”

The Changeling nodded. “I couldn’t reduce the mass sufficiently for a female humanoid. I don’t dare even try to do an insectoid or anything else.”

“But you came closer than I’ve ever seen you,” Moset said, trying to encourage the Changeling. The scientist wanted him out of here so he could continue with his experiments on his children. When the Changeling and Voyager were safely out of this area of space, Moset would breathe more easily.

“True,” the Changeling said thoughtfully. It extended its hand and the fingers grew smaller, more slender, with longer nails. He smirked a little. “Got her hands, at any rate.”

“You probably shouldn’t delay,” Moset nudged, none too subtly. Chakotay’s dark, intense eyes regarded Moset thoughtfully. Moset stared back, trying not to reveal his unease.

“You’re right. Chakotay’s crew is obedient and they’re fond of him, but some of them are starting to question my decisions. Give me the injections and I’ll be on my way.”

Moset could think of no way to refuse him. Swallowing his disappointment, he stepped to a cabinet and opened it. Inside were several containers.

“How many do you need?”

“All of them. And the reversal ones, too.”

Moset’s heart sank and for a brief moment he was furious. This was a very delicate formula to replicate; the containers he now regarded had taken him weeks to create. Still, for the moment, he needed to let the Changeling feel in control. Grinding his teeth at what he was being forced to do, Moset gathered all the containers and handed them to the Changeling, who had brought a satchel for this very purpose. Moset watched as several years’ worth of research, of trial and error, of long nights spent deep in thought, disappeared into the depths of a Starfleet bag. Almost as an afterthought, “Chakotay” grabbed a handful of hypos and tossed them into the bag as well.

“You have access to hyposprays!” Moset protested.

“It would look suspicious if equipment began disappearing from sickbay, wouldn’t it?” the Changeling countered.

Moset sighed. “Remember, since you’ve just had an injection, you have to wait at least an hour before you can take the reversal formula. Stay away from anything that could scan you at that time.” He didn’t know why he was giving the Changeling all this helpful advice. It might be convenient if “Chakotay” was caught—it could leave Moset free to work in peace.

It was just part of his inherently decent nature, Moset supposed.

“Right, thanks for reminding me.” “Chakotay” shouldered the bag. “How are our guests doing?”

For a moment, Moset was tempted to gush about the exciting discovery he’d made regarding Chakotay’s DNA. He loved to share his discoveries, bask in the glow of impressed regard and comments of “Moset, that’s amazing!” But not this time. Better that the Changeling not know. He might change his plans—again—and decide he wanted to stay here.

“They’re fine,” Moset said after the briefest of hesitations.

“Just fine? I went to all this trouble—”

Hastily Moset said, “I’ve only just begun examining them! You must have patience, my friend. I’m sure they will prove to be worth every risk you took.”

“Chakotay’s” dark eyes flashed. “I have been locked in Solid form for seven years, Moset. You have no idea what—” His voice broke. “I have been patient long enough. I want results.”

“You’re getting them!” Moset’s own voice was high with strain. “You were almost able to take on Sekaya’s form just now!”

“Almost is a very big word, Moset. Don’t forget that.”

Moset swallowed nervously. He’d seen the Changeling murder with a casual ease before, and he had no desire to be next in line.

“You know I am doing everything I can,” he said. “I’m certain that with just a little more time I will make great progress.”

Suddenly, strangely, the Changeling smiled. “By leaps and bounds,” he said.

Relaxing slightly, Moset smiled as well. “Yes,” he affirmed. “By leaps and bounds.”

As he watched the large, powerful form of Chakotay stride back down the hall, Moset sagged in relief. He turned to regard the creatures sitting in their cell.

“Soon,” he promised them, “it will just be us.”

The Changeling stepped out of the holographic boulder, lost in thought. He didn’t like what he was starting to see in Moset. It was a good thing he had taken all the available amounts of the formulas. Moset would make more. There’d be enough for the Cardassian to continue his work on the creatures, which, too, was for the Changeling’s benefit. But his need to be cured came before the creatures’ need to be perfected.

Now that the fruit of ultimate victory was dangling within reach, the Changeling felt almost panicked. He thought he had grown used to living in a Solid body during the many years he had spent locked into the form of Andrew Ellis. But then he’d freed Moset and, after a year or so, he’d been able to change his features, feel, however briefly, like a true Changeling again. The elation that had surged through him at that moment was akin to nothing he’d ever experienced, and he realized he’d only been fooling himself if he thought he could learn to be “content” living as a Solid.

Another year, another development. By this point he could look like any male human of a certain height. And then, just last year, he’d been able to shift sufficiently to broaden his range to other males of humanoid species. That ability had broadened his options, but was not enough.

He wanted to feel again what it was like to have no form, no limbs, no skin, no eyes; to just be. For too long he had valued the ability to shape-shift over simply being what he was. These last, bitter years had taught him how sweet was the simple nothingness he had so scorned.

He clutched the bag more tightly to him in a protective gesture. He could see the rock with the “Sky Spirit” symbol etched in chalk upon it. He wondered if he ought to have Moset give him a nice light rain, enough to wash away the symbol, then decided it wasn’t that important. Just over the rise was the shuttle. He picked up the pace. At that moment his combadge chirped.

He touched it. “Chakotay here,” he said.

“Captain, it’s Kaz.” The Trill’s voice was strained.

“Go ahead.”

“It’s imperative that you call a senior staff meeting the moment you return,” Kaz continued.

“Chakotay” bristled. “Why? What’s so important?”

A pause. “I’m reluctant to say quite yet. I’d like to present my findings to everyone—make sure I’m on the right track.”

A chill went through him. What had Kaz found? Had he gone ahead with the autopsy after all?

“I’ve shown my findings to Astall, and she can see it, too.” A shaky laugh. “I wanted to make sure Gradak wasn’t playing around with me.”

Gradak

the Changeling fought to recover the name. Ah, yes, one of Kaz’s previous hosts, if he remembered correctly. He’d known Gradak when he was Arak Katal, before his punishment. Gradak had been among a handful who had escaped destruction at Tevlik’s moon. But why would Gradak be “playing around” with Kaz?

Was Kaz losing his mind? That would be a good thing. Any excuse to discredit or relieve the doctor of duty would be useful.

“Jarem,” he said, recalling that Chakotay and the Trill doctor were personal friends, “you must understand that I can’t call a meeting unless I know what it’s about.”

Kaz sighed and didn’t continue immediately. Chakotay reached the shuttle. The door slowly opened and he stepped inside, settling himself at the helm.

“Patel took some really good scans of the creatures that attacked her,” Kaz finally continued. The Changeling grimaced. “I’ve been analyzing them, and

Chakotay, I don’t know how it’s possible, but somehow, those things are humans.”

Damn it, he’d figured it out. These Voyagers were too smart.

“There’s got to be some mistake.” He’d do his best to see that the information was discredited. “We’ll discuss this more when I get back. I’m in the shuttlecraft preparing to launch right now. El—Chakotay out.”

He’d almost said Ellis. He’d almost said First Damn Officer Andrew Ellis. The slip horrified him. Quickly, automatically, he went through the launch sequence and lifted off, not giving the planet that had been his secret base so much as a glance.