Spirit Walk_ Enemy of My Enemy (Book 2) - Christie Golden [16]
“Absolutely, sir. We’ll maintain orbit and wait for your return, and make no contact with Starfleet Command or Admiral Janeway until you give the order.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Notify—” “Chakotay” paused. What the hell was the new transporter officer’s name? Stefan? Stefaniak, that was it. He couldn’t recall the man’s rank. “Notify Stefaniak that I’ll be heading for the transporter room.”
“Aye, sir. Kim out.”
The Changeling sighed. This was much harder than playing “Priggy” Ellis. Nobody here knew Ellis, other than by reputation. And frankly, that reputation had been created by the Changeling himself. He’d been trapped in Ellis’s body for so long, he’d practically invented who Andrew Ellis had become. This was much different. Chakotay was well known by a sizable portion of the crew, including several senior officers. The Sekaya excuse was handy, and he’d milk it for all it was worth. But he had to be careful, too. If he strayed too far away from the essence of Chakotay, the troublesome Kaz would relieve him of duty.
A wave of longing and nostalgia washed over him. Solid for so long…for too long…the memory of the Great Link, the sensations, the powerful feeling of union, was fading with each day. He wondered if he’d ever be able to return. He dismissed the wistful thought the instant it occurred. Even if Moset was able to completely solve his problem and he could contrive to get back to the Gamma Quadrant, he would not be permitted to partake in that union.
As humans would say, to hell with them.
If he could no longer be a part of something greater than a single entity, then he would embrace his uniqueness. There was no Changeling like him anywhere.
When he could, when this was all done, he’d design a special shape to inhabit. He’d pick a name for himself. He’d have his own power instead of this borrowed kind; his own troops and servants and lackeys to carve out a niche in this quadrant that would be his and his alone.
Until then his goal, as it had been for nearly eight years, was to again become what he once had been.
He gathered his thoughts and headed for the transporter room.
Kaz was in his natural environment with a patient to treat and monitor, and for that he was selfishly grateful. Gradak had stepped back, for the moment, and Kaz’s thoughts were clear and focused.
Patel had been pretty badly injured. She had several broken ribs, a bruised lung, and a ruptured spleen. Fortunately, no irreversible damage had been done, and he was able to successfully heal the injuries. Sleep was the best thing for her now. Since things were quiet in sickbay for the moment, Kaz had decided not to continue sedating Patel. She’d wake up on her own, and when she did, he’d send her off to her quarters for a few days to recover.
He watched her sleep, pleased to see the normal color returning to her round cheeks and the steady rise and fall of her chest. As he regarded her somewhat paternally—he couldn’t help it; the Kaz symbiont always made him feel older than and protective of his friends and patients—his eye fell to the tricorder she still clutched in her small hand.
She’d let her phaser go, but not the tricorder. What was so important that she kept such a tight grip on it even when she was unconscious?
Gently, so as not to awaken her, he tried to maneuver her little fingers off of the instrument. She stirred at the movement and her eyelids fluttered open. A slow smile spread across her face.
“Hello, Dr. Kaz,” she said drowsily.
“Hello yourself, Lieutenant,” he replied, grinning back. “How do you feel?”
She didn’t answer at once, but took a deep breath instead. “Decidedly less in agony.”
He helped her sit up. She still held on to the tricorder. “Do you remember