Chapter 19

THE CHANGELING HAD TO ADMIT that Kaz had been right—for the moment, the Trill was safe. Not even a Changeling could be two people at the same time, and therefore, much as he might want to, the Changeling could ill afford to murder his only viable hostage. Chakotay and Sekaya were hostages, too, of course, but he wasn’t about to give either of them up. He needed them far too much. He checked quickly to make sure the doctor was still alive, then returned to the helm, leaving his hostage unconscious on the floor.

“Ellis to Moset,” he said, using the name that the Cardassian knew best. “I’m making an emergency landing. Get the storms up once I’m down.” He let his face slip easily into the nondescript features of Ellis; it took less concentration to maintain that form than others, as he had held it for so many years.

“What’s going on?” The normally self-assured, smooth voice was worried.

“Too much to go into now,” he said. “They’ve figured it out and they’ve sent the Delta Flyer after me.” He checked his readings and saw with a rush of annoyance that Moset had yet to comply. “I said, get those storms up now, and make them big. Voyager’s got the ability to land on a planet, you know.”

“But what does this mean for me? For us?” the Cardassian wanted to know.

“We’ve got to leave at once.”

“But I can’t do that! I’m at a critical juncture in the experiments!”

“Once the Federation captures us, there will be no more experiments, don’t you understand?” He was shrieking now, at the end of his supply of patience for the trying doctor. “Put Chakotay and Sekaya in stasis. Take my creatures and—”

“We don’t have two spare stasis chambers. All but one are still occupied.”

“Then kill one of the occupants!” Why did he have to explain the simplest things to the man?

“Which one would—”

“I don’t care!”

He felt his features slip, reform into who knew what shape. When he lost his temper, he tended to lose control of his shape-shifting abilities as well. He didn’t care, though, not now. With an effort he forced himself to calm down.

“I have a few things I have to do before we depart,” he said. “We’ll escape in the cloaked ship.” He’d hoped to be able to utilize the Carrington as well, but now that the jig was up, he would have to abandon it, and a few of the creatures as well. It would be too easy for Voyager to track one of its own shuttles.

A long pause. “I’ll make the necessary preparations.”

“See that you do.” He stabbed a golden-hued finger down and terminated the conversation.

He had planned everything out meticulously. It ought to have gone without a hitch. Instead, everything was unraveling at a shocking speed.

But there was still time to escape. He’d have to destroy the lab, of course, and Moset would yelp over that. Frankly, he regretted the necessity of it as well. At least he and the scientist would be able to take the prime test subjects and one or two of the creatures with them, along with all the information on the years of Moset’s research.

They could start over. It was something the Changeling was used to by now.

“You heard him,” said Chakotay quietly. There was no need to bully the Cardassian now. He had almost completely capitulated, and now the Changeling himself had provided the last piece of proof.

“I heard him,” said Moset quietly. He turned away from the two prisoners, so Chakotay couldn’t see his face. “He said, ‘Take my creatures.’ Not ‘your creatures’ or even ‘our creatures.’ ” Slowly he turned, and there was commingled pain and anger in his haughty face. “You were right, Chakotay. He doesn’t intend for me to keep them. And I’m beginning to think he never did.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Chakotay asked.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Abruptly he rose and stalked out of the room.

“What do you think he’ll do?” Sekaya whispered.

“I’ve no idea,” said Chakotay, “but it might somehow involve our release.”

Moset was trembling as he went to the beings he had made. Had designed, created, with the same exquisite care and craftsmanship as an artist would employ to execute a painting, or an engineer would design a ship. He had analyzed them, blended their DNA with that of the Sky Spirits, changed direction to follow up on any and every new, startling development. The hours he had spent on them! The devotion. And yes, he named it: the love.

He was not a fool. He knew how the rest of the quadrant viewed him and his experiments. The “Butcher of Bajor,” they had nicknamed him. They classified him with Kodos the Executioner, Colonel Green, Kesla, Beratis, T’sart, and Hent Tevren, and though he always responded with a cheerful shrug, he knew that this was how history was going to depict him.

But those who dared to judge him so mercilessly were wrong. They couldn’t see the larger scope, couldn’t understand the profundity of what he was doing. With the Sky Spirit creatures he had created from ordinary lumps of human flesh, he was going to prove them wrong. He was going to wrest his reputation away from those who would condemn so quickly, show them the heights to which a being could rise through the magnificence of so brilliant a mind as his.

But Ellis—Katal—the Changeling—he was going to take them away. Oh, Moset knew what the exiled Founder would do with such spectacular beings. He’d make his own little Dominion out of them; make them scrape and obey and mindlessly follow him and only him the way the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar had followed their creators. But at least the Founders had had the luxury of seeing the worship in the eyes of the things they had made. Moset would only stand by and watch his creations worship another; another who had no hand in their making.

If, he thought bitterly, he would even be alive to stand by and watch.

Moset regarded the ape-like creatures whose telepathic skills were beyond his imagining groom one another. He felt a deep, aching pain that was due to nothing physical.

He would do anything to keep these creatures; they were his rehabilitation in the eyes of the future.

And as far as he could reason it, there was only one way to do so.

When Moset returned to the lab, he found Ellis—looking like Lieutenant Kim—tossing the body of a Trill onto another bed. The Changeling glanced up as Moset entered.

“There you are,” he said brusquely. “Help me with him.”

Moset stared for a moment, and then moved to assist the Changeling. “Who is this and why have you brought him here?”

“Name’s Kaz. He’s the ship’s doctor, and he’s a valuable hostage.” The Changeling yanked on the restraints, cinching them tight.

“Is he drugged?” Moset asked, slipping into scientific mode.

The Changeling smiled without mirth, twisting Kim’s pleasant face. “Only as much as a good punch in the jaw will drug someone,” he said. “I don’t want him sedated; we may need him to talk to someone for us.”

He glanced at Chakotay and Sekaya, who regarded him silently. “I thought I told you to put these two in stasis. Why are they still conscious?”

Moset bristled. “I told you I was at a critical stage,” he replied testily.

“You idiot!” “Kim” bellowed. “We’ve got an Intrepid-class starship doing its damnedest to land on the planet! Stop whatever it is you’re doing right now and start packing things up. I don’t want to leave you behind, Moset, but I will if I have to. Don’t push me.”

How could I not have seen this in him? Moset thought, almost with a brush of wonder. The Changeling had spoken this way before now, but somehow, Moset had always been deaf to it. Now, for perhaps the first time, he truly listened to what his companion was saying. More to the point, Moset was paying attention to how the Changeling was saying it. It had taken a human prisoner to open the Cardassian’s eyes to the truth: He was at as much risk as Chakotay and Sekaya.

“Point taken,” Moset said icily.

The Changeling appeared not to notice his ally’s new demeanor. His eyes roamed over the occupied stasis chambers. “Kill anyone but him,” he said, pointing to the humanoid that Moset knew was named Alamys. “I might need him. Finish up in here as quickly as you can. I’ll be concluding some business of my own.”

Attempting to look industrious, Moset began to gather up some vials and tools. As soon as “Kim” had disappeared down the corridor, however, he turned to the two imprisoned humans.

“Listen to me,” he said quickly in a low voice. “And listen well.”

Kaz returned to consciousness and searing pain. He felt the cool press of a hypospray against his throat, and the pain ebbed. He blinked, trying to focus, turned his head—and stared into the face of a Cardassian.

I know that face—

He tried bolting upright but was gently restrained by a strong hand. “It’s all right, Kaz,” came a familiar voice. Kaz’s head whipped around and he relaxed slightly as he saw Chakotay and—

“Sekaya!” Both siblings were standing beside him. Pleasure surged through him. “I thought you were dead. Chakotay—” He broke off in midsentence as more recent memories flooded him and turned again to regard the oddly familiar Cardassian.

Chakotay smiled. “It’s really me,” he said, “and this is really Sekaya.”

Still, Kaz stared, not at Chakotay’s face but at his shaved head and the blinking lights that had been inserted into his skull.

“What happened to you? Who’s he? Where are we? Where’s the Changeling?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s start with the introductions. Jarem Kaz, this is Crell Moset.”

And suddenly, quietly, coldly, everything locked into place in Kaz’s memory.

Crell Moset. The Butcher of Bajor. This was the man who had rounded up Bajorans like cattle, like lab animals, who had performed deadly and brutal experiments on them, blaspheming the name of “science.”

Vallia. He killed my Vallia! The ones who survived told me that he gave her no relief from the pain, not even at the very end, when she was begging for death, for release from the torment—

Vallia’s Revenge was what Gradak had named his little ship; was what Gradak had vowed to achieve—

The Cardassian’s expression went from pleasant to wary as he regarded Kaz. “Have we met?” he asked.

Icy hatred seized Kaz’s throat, closing it up. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t; wanted to cry out his fury, but remained silent.

“You might have,” said Chakotay cautiously, “he’s a joined Trill.”

A joined Trill who had a Bajoran wife you murdered, you son of a bitch—

“You’re dead,” Kaz said, his voice as cold as death itself. “You were killed in a warp core breach accident years ago. It was the best news I’d heard in a long time.”

“To quote one of Earth’s more famous writers, ‘Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,’ ” Moset replied mildly. The jauntiness of his attitude infuriated Kaz. He made an angry noise deep in his throat and tensed.

“Kaz. Jarem.” Chakotay’s calm voice cut through the red haze. “Whatever’s going on with your memories and Moset, you’ve got to put them aside. Right now I need you to focus.” A gentle squeeze on Kaz’s shoulder. Not knowing how he managed to do so, Kaz dragged his gaze away from the loathed visage of the Butcher of Bajor to the compassionate face of his friend. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I’m listening.”

“Many years ago the Changeling who was impersonating me had his shape-shifting ability taken from him by the Founders as a punishment for going against orders. He rescued Moset, and since then, Moset’s been trying to figure out how to help Ellis get his powers back.”

Kaz was puzzled. “Ellis?”

“He was impersonating Andrew Ellis when the Founders took away his powers,” Moset put in, trying to be helpful. He drew back slightly at the look Kaz shot him.

“It might be best if he hears everything from me, Moset,” Chakotay said quietly. The Cardassian nodded.

“So we never actually met the real Ellis?” Kaz was trying to follow the complicated story.

“That’s right. The Changeling had kidnapped the real Ellis and kept his body in stasis.”

It was all starting to make sense. Kaz recalled the autopsy and the mysteries it had yielded. “Go on.”

“Over the years Moset had some success. Because of experiments with—with my people, he learned about our Sky Spirit DNA.”

Kaz’s blue eyes flicked to Sekaya’s. She had her arms folded tightly across her chest and held her body in a defensive posture. Obviously Chakotay’s sister, too, loathed the Cardassian.

“He was able to get some of the Changeling’s abilities back. He can now shift into any humanoid male form, but that’s it. Moset also crafted a way for him to lock into human form at will.”

“So he could pass medical exams,” said Kaz, looking over at Moset. Despite his loathing of the man, one couldn’t help but admire his brilliance. “Very smart.”

“Moset’s also been experimenting on the colonists, crossing Sky Spirit DNA with human. The creatures who attacked the away team are the result. They’ve got incredible mental abilities, Jarem. They can control the weather, move things with their thoughts—all kinds of things.”

“He told me they were my reward,” Moset said, apparently unable to keep silent despite Chakotay’s gentle warning. “But he lied. He plans to keep them for himself, to create a powerful race of devoted slaves. He’s greedy and ambitious, and he wants to create his own personal Dominion. I won’t let that happen. That’s why I’ve decided to help you.”

“As the old saying goes,” said Chakotay, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And Moset is certainly Ellis’s enemy now.”

“Chakotay,” said Kaz in a thick voice, “I don’t know if I can work with him.”

“Then you’d better know this,” Chakotay said somberly. Kaz turned pained eyes upon his friend and saw Chakotay was deadly serious. “One of the people the Changeling pretended to be was someone we both knew.” He paused, then said bluntly, “He was Arak Katal.”

Kaz’s mouth went dry. His throat worked, but no sound came out. Sekaya sat down on the bed beside him and slipped an arm around him. At any other time he’d enjoy the attention from the lovely human female, but now he was so stunned the gesture barely registered.

“Arak Katal?” he repeated. “We had Arak Katal on our ship?”

Chakotay nodded. “We’ve got to stop him.”

“They’re firing at us!” Ramma, only fourteen, his voice shrill with fear.

“Of course they’re firing at us, they’re trying to kill us,” said Laskan to his twin, the harshness of his voice not quite hiding his own terror. They were so alike, but now reacted in completely different ways; Ramma terrified, Laskan, the elder by two minutes, trying so hard to look brave he only succeeded in looking angry

.

“Quiet, you two,” snapped their mother. Tall, with piercing green eyes and a strong jaw to match her strong body, Tixari continued firing the weapons while Gradak desperately tried to find a clear path out of the hell that was exploding around them.

Gradak heard the soft whimper from the back even over the sounds of battle, and his heart ached. Kemi, only six years old. The blast had torn off her arm and her father had made an old-fashioned tourniquet from the fabric of his shirt. If nothing else, Gradak mused darkly, the Maquis had revived medical techniques that had been left behind two centuries ago. Sticks and fabric and water had been pressed into use when limited medical supplies ran out.

The ship rocked from another volley of phaser fire. A huge vessel passed within meters of them, and Gradak could swear he could almost see the occupants. Not Cardassian, not these ships. Bigger, faster, and deadlier, these were

“Daddy,” breathed Kemi, and Gradak had to blink hard to clear his eyes of angry tears. “Daddy, I can’t feel my legs

.”

“Hang on, sweetie,” the girl’s father said in a broken voice. “Please hang on. We’ll get you to help. Won’t we, Kaz?”

“Yes, we will,” Gradak Kaz rasped. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

He knew that it would, indeed, be the last thing he did. He did not tell them he, too, had been shot. He had told them that the blood was from Amgar and Rekkan, whose bodies now lay quietly in the back; that it was not his own. But even as he got the lie out, he knew that he could not hang on to consciousness much longer.

He had to get them to safety. Had to. From the depths of his brain, a tiny scrap of information floated up. There was a Federation ship stationed in this area of space. If he could just get to it—

“Jarem.” The voice was soft, feminine. Vallia? No, Vallia was dead, had been killed by the Butcher of Bajor, along with so many others. “Jarem, I understand what you’re feeling. Believe me, I do. But we need you now.”

Kaz moaned softly and buried his face in his hands. Behind his closed lids, he saw Gradak, his jaw set, his eyes blazing.

Give me this body. I can take care of everything.

And oh, Jarem wanted to let him.

“No,” Jarem said quietly, to the other Trill. But Chakotay misunderstood.

“There’s a way to stop Katal—the Changeling. Moset thinks he can do it, but it’s going to be risky, and I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you were working with him on this.”

He sighed deeply. The two men he hated most in the universe were both on this planet. The question was, which did he hate more—the man who had killed Gradak’s wife, or the man who had betrayed thousands, including children, to slaughter at the hands of the Cardassians?

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

He gazed at Moset, who gave him back stare for stare.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked quietly.