Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [0]
sir,” said Kim.
“Yes,” agreed Chakotay,
“a rebel captain of a tiny vessel
that Voyager could eat for lunch.
It’s not quite the same thing.”
Chakotay looked out the shuttle’s windows. They had reached Voyager, and now the viewscreen was filled with the familiar image of the ship that had been home to him for seven years. As always, he admired her sleek lines, but this time, there was something different.
This time, the ship was his.
Chakotay smiled as he heard a familiar voice. “Voyager to Captain Chakotay’s shuttle,” said Lyssa Campbell. “You are cleared for docking.”
Harry smiled a little as well; for seven years, that sort of announcement had been his job.
“Voyager, this is Captain Chakotay’s party on final approach.”
“Voyager welcomes you,” Campbell replied. “Prepare for docking.”
This is the real homecoming, thought Chakotay.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS
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Copyright © 2004 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.
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This book is dedicated
to all those who have felt called
to walk a spiritual path.
Many blessings.
Acknowledgments
Many people were instrumental in the creation of this book. I wish to thank the following individuals: Joe RedCloud, for information on the Lakota language and culture; Malcolm Simpson, M.D., for medical “jargon”; Tom and Amy Gutow, Jeanne Cooper, and Patty Hutchins of Castine, for helping me bring this small Maine town to life in these pages; Mark Anthony for very helpful input at a crucial juncture; and Michael Georges and Robert Amerman, my loyal First Readers.
Any errors contained in this book are entirely my own.
Prologue
2375
THE CARDASSIAN PRISONER of war stretched out on the comfortable Federation bunk, glowered at the uniformed back of the security guard standing outside the force field, and cursed his fortune.
He had been so close. No, not close, he had actually succeeded. If only he’d had more time! So much of what had happened had been just plain bad luck. Timing often was indeed everything, and this time, the timing had been abominable. His colleagues hadn’t helped matters any, either. Idiots. Striking that adversarial attitude when, really, they were all on the same side.
But the Cardassian was intelligent enough to realize that he himself had contributed to his eventual capture. He had been so wrapped up in his work that he’d done some foolish things. Grimacing with embarrassment as he recalled them, he mentally amended that to “stupid” things. Patience was a virtue, a necessity in his work, and he had forgotten that important directive. He had allowed the pressure and the sheer thrill of discovery to push him into making the choices that had led to his present lamentable state.
He sighed, loudly. The guard standing outside his cell shifted her position but didn’t look in. At least he wasn’t going to be executed, and he had Captain Jean-Luc Picard to thank for that. It had been pleasant, chatting about his work with Picard. The captain had been an attentive, intelligent audience. Perhaps, thought the Cardassian, there was some hope after all. Hope that once the Dominion was victorious, there would