Spirit Walk_ Enemy of My Enemy (Book 2) - Christie Golden [14]
The two had brought out a large, intricately carved, and dust-covered box. When the librarians lifted off the top, B’Elanna saw that the box was crammed full of scrolls.
“Ghargh was a heretic,” Gura said. “He wanted to bring back the gods from the dead. The Kuvah’Magh was supposed to be the one who could do that.”
Lakuur made a guttural sound in the back of his throat, and for a wild second Torres thought he was going to spit in contempt. But then, apparently, he realized where he was, and that spittle was not conducive to the preservation of old furniture and older tomes.
“Why do you wish to see these?” Gura asked. “Surely you do not truly believe your child to be a daughter of prophecy. Especially not this offensive, outlandish prophecy.”
“Do you always interrogate pilgrims seeking knowledge in such a fashion?” B’Elanna had retorted. “Especially pilgrims who come with the blessing of Emperor Kahless?”
That had shut them up good and fast, and they mostly left her alone after that.
She’d held her breath as she touched the Scrolls of Ghargh, convinced they would crumble to dust themselves, but the paagrat hides upon which they were written were sturdier than they looked. The hand that had jotted down the words that had survived over the centuries had been an unsteady one, and the words were spidery and hard to read. But it was without a doubt the same author who had penned the scrolls Torres had read back on Voyager, and she realized she was trembling as she settled down to read.
Libby Webber materialized in her cabin and sat down heavily on the bed, trying to gather her thoughts. She was exhausted, so it was a more difficult task than usual. She got herself a cup of Vulcan mocha, extra sweet, from the replicator and sipped it slowly.
She was on the trail of a mole. A mole who was slippery, whose trails inevitably disappeared. He or she had accessed deeply personal information from a variety of sources, but there were no corresponding leaks.
Captain Skhaa, the avian who enjoyed the Vulcan lyre, had apparently been in two places at the same time: in attendance at a concert, and accessing Voyager’s logs from a site several light-years away. She’d spent the evening doing everything she could to corroborate Skhaa’s presence at the concert, and was satisfied that he was indeed there.
Who, then, had accessed the information?
She jumped, startled, when her computer beeped. Composing herself, she touched a pad. Harry’s face appeared on the screen.
A rush of pleasure rushed though her, followed immediately by worry. “Harry, what is it?”
His face was troubled, and though he managed a smile, she could sense its falseness. “Nothing I can really talk about yet. I just—I just wanted to see your face. Know you were all right.”
Something bad had happened and Libby knew it. She also knew what he needed—light chitchat, giggles, warm smiles. A sense that no matter what was going on in Harry’s life, she, Libby, was happy and carefree and safe. So Libby talked about the concert, about Montgomery sending flowers, about meeting her “fans.” She realized that she could never tell Harry about her real life; he couldn’t handle worrying about her and still do his job properly. He needed her safe and bubbly and in no danger whatsoever.
“Sounds like fun,” Kim said. “You’d better make sure I’m in the front row for your next concert when…when I get back, okay?”
His voice cracked a little. How she ached for them to confide in each other! He was no raw recruit, not anymore. Something very bad must be going on.
“Of course, honey. I’ll let you go. Love you.”
When his face disappeared, so did her smile. She redoubled her efforts. A deep instinct told her that whatever was happening on Voyager was connected to the mole who had accessed that ship’s logs.
She had to find him.
Marius Fortier sat with his head in his hands, his fingers tangled in his curly black hair.
“This world is hungry,