The Murdered Sun - Christie Golden [57]
A flash of inspiration occurred to Chakotay. "Perhaps a trap was not the right word. What do your tales say about... trials?
Tests?"
At that, Nata's smooth stride faltered, stopped. She glanced down at Chakotay, her great yellow eyes revealing her surprise.
"That... had not occurred to me."
At that precise moment, the corridor darkened suddenly. As one, Chakotay and Nata whirled around. Chakotay had his phaser at the ready.
Behind them, the door had disappeared. Quickly, the two companions ran down the short distance they had walked. Both Chakotay and Nata felt along the hull. The wall was utterly smooth. There was no indication of a handprint opening on this side of the wall. There was no way for them to get out.
The lighting changed yet again. The pale, weak yellow light provided by the lighting strips that lined the corridors suddenly flushed into an eerie blue. They whirled at once.
Directly in front of them, a translucent blue shape floated two feet in the air. It was taller even than Nata, and it seemed more reptilian than she. It sported a ridge of spiny horns atop its head and partway down its long neck. Its eyes bored into them, and it hissed a challenge.
"Who are you, who trespass into the depths of the soul of the K'shikkaa? Speak, and speak truly, or die!"
Chakotay's mouth was suddenly as dry as the dead who lined the corridor walls. It seemed as if he'd been right. The ancestors of the Verunans, as he had thought, did indeed believe in tests and trials of those who entered this most sacred place.
But he'd been wrong, too.
Apparently, the Verunans did have ghosts.
CHAPTER 11
Paris stood in front of a large display console, feeling absurdly like a Starfleet instructor teaching a bunch of raw cadets Starship Tactics 101. Except these cadets were all nearly twice his weight and he was in the strangest classroom ever.
He had in front of him an external diagram of the Voyager. To scale, beside it, were one of the ship's shuttlecraft and the six escort ships the Verunans would be flying. He gazed out at the eighteen eager pilots, some of whom he'd gotten to know slightly.
There was Miweni, one of the older ones who had chosen to follow the call of technology. He had a personal reason: his mate was one of the enslaved Verunans. Another was named Takoda. He was larger than most but quiet, only tending to speak when necessary.
One of the youngest was a lively young male named Rixtu, who tended to compensate for Takoda's silence.
Paris swallowed hard and began.
He explained the concept of the Voyager's shields, pointing out where the Guardian ships would be positioned in relation to the craft. He discussed the methods by which Janeway planned to carry the six ships along, indicated where he, Paris, would be at all times. The graphic ships approached the graphic concavity, entered it, and encountered the graphic planet. Paris talked them through the three scenarios he'd been able to come up with, then called for questions.
There were a few: startlingly intelligent and on the mark. A few of them Paris didn't have ready answers for and was forced to admit he'd need to consult with others aboard the Voyager. At last the little lecture was over, and Paris turned back to the console, ending its program. He was surprised at how drained he was by the presentation.
"It seems you may have missed your calling," came Kaavi's voice at his shoulder.
Paris started. "What do... Oh, no. Believe me, this is not my usual line of work."
"I did not say that it was easy. I said that you were good at it."
She peered past him at the image of Voyager that still blinked on the screen. "What a lovely ship. I cannot imagine anything so large. She must be hard to maneuver."
Paris thought about how easily, silkily almost, the Voyager responded to commands, how she turned and dipped and flew like a bird. Easier, smoother, than a bird. He felt a smile creep