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Sci Fi & Fantasy / Chariot of Santomas
The Chariot of Santomas
Star date: 52806 Personal Log
Katheryn Janeway gazes at the ancient corner café a moment before entering. There isn’t a sign above the door, only an illegible smear on the café’s single large window, yet this café remains a San Francisco institution. Local legends claim the café has occupied the same location for a thousand years. Of course, the legends had to be wrong. San Francisco isn’t that old. Five hundred years seems a more reasonable number. It’s quite possible; however, that the café has stood on the same site from the city’s founding.
Yet, no matter how old the café, Janeway still imagines all the great writers, painters and musicians who might have passed through its small doorway: Twain, Armstrong, Picasso, Lenin (or is it Lennon? She never could keep the names straight in school)—-even Naull who fathered the multi-dimensional fusion arts of the late 22nd century. Today, however, only one name lingers foremost in her mind as she seeks a small table in the darkened interior. Briefly, she wonders if she might have been the first to arrive, then her eyes adjust to the dim light and she recognizes the distinctive headdress and robe of her friend: Guinnan.
Guinnan rewards Janeway’s astuteness with a welcoming smile, then points to a mug of steaming coffee before the single unoccupied chair at the table. “I knew you’d be prompt so I ordered. It’s this café’s specialty.”
Janeway returns Guinnan’s smile as she sits. “A latte. Wonderful. Ancient. Almost as old as this café—-it’s one of my favorites. Thank you.”
Janeway suddenly turns serious. “Have you heard about Harry Kim, one of my officers, and Seven of Nine, the woman I rescued from the Borg?”
Guinnan nods. “A little. They stole a small exploration vessel?”
“That’s right. The Quest. The ship had just been refurbished. Quest can carry a crew of fifty comfortably; but, so far, only Harry and Seven are suspected to be aboard it.”
Guinnan gives Janeway a sharp look. “Do you know where they went?”
“Not exactly.”
Guinnan remains silent a moment. Finally, she smiles. “Not exactly? Katheryn, what do you know about this Quest business?”
The pedestrians strolling past the ancient Café’s window momentarily catch Janeway’s eye as she mulls an answer. They twist and flow like weak video images as they walk. What could be causing such distortion through simple windowpanes, Janeway wonders? She then remembers glass’ liquid nature. Glass flows like water, given centuries, and these panes have counted five. Would she live long enough for the panes to become puddles on the floor, she wonders? Not likely, she corrects herself, unless she lives a full millennium.
Abruptly, Janeway redirects her thoughts to the matter of Harry, Seven, and the stolen Quest. “It’s why I called you,” she says. “I need to tell you a story. It’s one I pledged my crew never to divulge—-and none of them have, to my knowledge.”
“Yet, you’re breaking your own pledge? Why?”
“When I heard about Harry, Seven, and the Quest, I knew I had to tell someone.”
“And, I’m that someone. I’m flattered, but are you certain you want to tell me the story?”
Janeway grins. “As certain as I’ll ever be. I only know if I don’t tell someone, I’ll burst. First, you need to understand the day my story begins. If my memory serves me right, that day began as one the worst of our long odyssey.”
II
The Voyager limps through the Delta Quadrant. It has been pursued for weeks by unfriendly aliens and everyone aboard looks exhausted while morale sinks to an all-time low. Captain Katheryn Janeway finds herself unable to cheer her crew as she suffers the blues herself.
“Captain,” Tom Paris calls out. “I’m receiving a distress call.”
“Do you know where it’s coming from?”
Paris studies his screen. “It appears to be a Viddean vessel.”
“Viddean? Are you certain? We’re hundreds of light years beyond their territory.”
“It’s Viddean,” he answers, “and there appears to be only one aboard. A woman.”
“Only one aboard? Could it be a trap?”
Paris scowls. “Long range sensors detect nothing. Captain, the Viddean ship’s core is overheating. It should explode any moment.”
“Let it explode,” snaps Seven-of-Nine.
Captain Janeway winces. “Sensible advice, but there’s only one Viddean. Beam the woman aboard.”
Moments later, Janeway, Seven and Tuvok wait with weapons drawn as the Viddean woman materializes before them. She colapses to the deck and lies there moaning as the three reach her.
Janeway doesn’t hesitate. “One for sickbay.”
“Captain,” calls the doctor. “Who am I receiving?”
“A viddean woman. I have no idea who she is.”
“I see that. Wait. She seems to be reviving. She says she’s Donela Pei.”
Even as the doctor speaks, Donala Pei peers at him with fevered eyes and babbles incoherently about something that she calls Santomas. “Only Santomas can save me now,” Pei cries again and again. “Help me, Santomas! Please help me!”
Captain Janeway looks from face to face of those gathered on the Voyager’s bridge. “Anyone know anything about this Santomas of Donala Pei?”
No one knew anything. Janeway tries again. “Anyone have any thoughts about Donala Pei?”
“Captain,” offered Tuvok. “She will soon die.”
“True, Mr. Tuvok. Anything else?”
“She shouldn’t be here.”
“Granted. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation. Anyone else have any thoughts on the matter?”
The doctor who has been overseeing the discussion from the infirmary, clears his throat.
“Yes, doctor.”
“I agree with Tuvok. The patient appears to be terminal. Her stolen body parts are failing. Unless she receives new transplants, she will die in a few hours.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Janeway smiles grimly. “Do I hear any volunteers? Anyone?”
“Captain,” adds Seven-Of-Nine. “The Viddians are craven, cowardly and unclean. The Borg have never assimilated species 2904, those you identify as Viddians, and never will. Species 2904 are simply killed. The sooner, the better.”
Tom Paris laughs. “I never thought I’d agree with the Borg. But on Viddians, I couldn’t agree more. I for one vote that we send this Donala Pei back to her ship now, if not sooner.”
“Mr. Paris. We have done many things but we’ve never cast anyone adrift to die.”
“Captain. She’s going to die anyway. Does it matter where she dies?”
Captain Janeway waits for those around her to speak further on the matter of casting Donala Pei adrift. When no one objects to Tom Paris’ suggestion, Janeway sighs. “I have misgivings about keeping Donala Pei aboard this ship, but I have never abandoned anyone in space to die alone and I hope I never will. She has only a few hours yet to live. She can spend those hours in sick bay.”
The doctor clears his throat again.
“Yes, doctor?”
“Captain, I’ve run a few preliminary tests on our patient and I’ve discovered some unusual aspects to Ms Pei’s terminal state. Do I have your permission to continue with those tests?”
“Will it make any difference?”
“Not appreciably, but her condition is most interesting.”
“You have my permission. Does anyone else have anything to add to the matter?’
No one speaks.
“Resume course, Mr. Paris. Warp 5”
“Captain,” Harry Kim calls out. “Intruders.”
“Report. Who and why?”
“They appear to be Viddean. At least a hundred. They’re heading directly for us.”
“One hundred? How far away.”
There was a brief pause. “Verified. Several hours away.”
Janeway doesn’t hesitate. “Maximum warp, Mr. Paris. Maximum warp. We’re faster than them and we have a good lead. We’ll outrun them.”
As she does, B’lanna Torres calls the bridge from engineering. “Captain. The dilithium crystals are badly damaged. They won’t support maximum warp without repair.”
“How long do we have?”
“Perhaps, an hour. Perhaps, less.”
“Mr. Paris? We need some place to hide while we make repairs.”
Paris scans the bridge sensors. “The closest is s a three star system half an hour from us at maximum warp.”
“Any place to hide?”
“Only two planets, Neptune sized. But it has an extensive asteroid belt. One of the biggest I’ve ever seen. There must be millions on millions of asteroids.”
“Perfect, Mr. Paris. Set a course for the asteroid belt.”
B’Lanna Torres, who’d been monitoring the bridge conversation, now offered a caution. “Captain, the crystals need repair now. Half an hour at maximum warp—-it could take days to repair them.”
Janeway shakes her head. “What choice do we have?”
“It is unlikely that the Viddians are chasing us,” Seven advises. “I suspect that the Viddian in sickbay is a criminal and it is her that they seek. Perhaps, if we gave her to them? She’s dying so even a sentence of death should matter little.”
“Seven, this ship will never surrender a person to a sentence of death.”
“Captain, the Viddians are a very long way from their territory, and they must want this Donala Pei very badly. They won’t stop searching for her.”
“The matter is closed. Mr, Paris. Set a course for the asteroid belt. Mr. Tuvok, you have the bridge.”
As the Voyager swiftly leaves the Viddian fleet astern, Kathryn Janeway retreats to her quarters for some badly needed rest, but she can’t sleep. Finally, she closes her eyes. The instant she does, however, someone in her room laughs. She awakens to find Q wearing a smoking jacket and a jeweled turban and smoking a water pipe on a Turkish rug about a meter above her bed.
“Q?”
Q laughs. “You certainly look glum? It’s been one of those days, hasn’t it? I think you need some cheering up.”
“What I need is sleep.”
“No. You definitely need cheering up.”
“What I need is for you to leave. Please?”
However, instead of Q leaving, Janeway suddenly finds herself among a gathering of people. The people cluster around a man who’s joyously preaching to birds, claiming they’re the only creatures truly free.
“Q? Where have you taken me?”
“Haven’t you been trying to get home all these years. Well, I’ve taken you home. Aren’t you glad I did? Don’t you feel better, now.”
“But it’s not home. Not the home I remember. It’s it’s Earth’s—-Europe’s Middle Ages. Are you trying to get me killed. Look at me. I’m in my nightgown. My silk nightgown. They’ll think I’m a harlot and stone me.”
“My pardon. That better?”
Instantly, her colorful nightgown becomes a drab cotten gown, a woolen coat and a broad brimmed hat appropriate for the time which Janeway guesses must be Italy of the Thirteenth Century. And, since she recalls reading about the Thirteenth Century only days earlier, she wonders if Q is truly with her and everything around her is simply a warped dream brought on by exhaustion.
Yet, even as Janeway decides she must only be dreaming, Q confronts her yet again.
“Listen to them. How primitive you humans truly are? A thousand years ago, you still talked to birds? A thousand years? That’s like a minute to me.”
Convinced that she’s dreaming, Janeway decides to enjoy herself. She joins the crowd that is locked in an earnest debate involving the man who’s dressed in a rough, horse hair cassock, a woman at his side who’s clothed in a simple dark habit, and the crowd, all of whom are garbed in colorful finery and expensive jewelry. The crowd demands to know why they should willingly sacrifice for the less fortunate.
“Where’s the profit?” one angry man demands, “if I give my grain to strangers and leave my family to starve?” He then storms from the man in the cassock in disgust without giving the other an opportunity to answer. The man in the cassock, for his part, merely smiles and wishes his adversary a good day.
“I quite agree,” whispers Q, who has chosen to remain invisible. “Family always comes first. But, what do you expect? The man talks to birds making him a birdbrain, too.”
As the crowd drifts from the gathering in twos and threes, Janeway stares in wonder at the man and the woman. Italy of the Thirteenth Century? Taking to birds? Sacrifice for others? The couple had been in her reading. She’s in the presence of Francis and Clare of Assisi. Ever more convinced it must all be a dream, Janeway elects to join Francis and Clare.
Others have chosen to stay with Francis and Clare, also, and three among them draw Janeway’s attention. An imperious older man named Alberto, who exhibits the impeccable attire and the elevated aire of the educated elite, launches into a lengthy sermon on the sins of wealth and property. A large, ruggedly handsome man named Gilles, who’s garbed in the conical helmet, heavy mail armor, and a mantle bearing the great red cross of a Templar knight, remains silent, yet he appears greatly amused by Alberto’s lengthy oration. A gangly, barefoot youth called Thomas, who’s dressed in a ragged cassock even more threadbare than that of Francis, labors mightily to please those near him.
Thomas succeeds only in annoying Alberto. “Thomas,” cries the older man. “Refill my wine.”
Unnerved at Alberto’s lofty aires, Thomas stumbles over a tree root and spills the remains of the wine flask on the ground, splashing Alberto in the process.
Alberto carefully dabs the drops of red from his white blouse with a handkerchief. “Can’t you do anything right, Thomas? When I asked for you to refill my wine goblet, I did not mean for you to spill it on me. Perhaps, we should call you Simple Tom, instead.”
“Thomas” calls Francis, “please join us.”
“But, I have no more wine. Or, Food.”
Francis holds up his half filled goblet. “I hold more than enough wine for me.”
“And my plate,” adds Clare, “More than enough food.”
As Thomas hesitates, Francis and Claire take the boy by the arm and seat him at their side. Encouraged by Francis and Clare’s gracious manner toward Thomas, Janeway eagerly joins her hosts for a simple yet filling meal.
The two soon identify Janeway as a stranger from a far land. “Are you from France?” asks Francis.
Even with her appropriate dress, Francis and Clare know Janeway’s come a long way. “Rather further away than that,” she answers.
“England, then?”
“East. Not North.”
“Ah. Poland.”
Janeway thinks a minute. Not far enough. Russia? No, not Russia. It didn’t exist, yet. “Kiev,” she says finally. “I’m from Kiev.”
“I’ve heard of such a place. It’s very far away.”
“I’ve been there,” offered Gilles. “It is far away. What news do you bring with you?”
Janeway struggles to remember all she’d read about Kiev in the 13th Century. “There were troubles on its Eastern border,” she answered carefully.
Gilles smiles and nods. “I’d heard that, too. Olaf still on the throne?”
“Enough questions,” interrupts Francis. “I welcome you, Lady—-“
“Katherine.”
“—-Lady Katherine of Kiev to our home. Tell us of your travels and why you have come. Certainly, it must be because of our wonderful hospitality.” Francis chuckles and points to the roofless ruin that serves as his church.
“Yes. Because of that.”
“Do you have stories to tell us?” asks Clare. “We like so much to hear stories.”
“Yes,” adds Francis. “Travelers see and hear things. Certainly, you have tales to tell us.”
Katherine Janeway laughs as she imagines all she might tell. But, how to make the tales believable? Perhaps, if she made her stories totally fantastic. “Beyond the stars you see in the sky,” she begins, as she relocates Thousand and One Arabian Nights to her own home planet light years beyond ancient Earth, “lies a land of peace and plenty…”
Janeway is midway through the Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves when the still invisible Q interrupts the story. “I don’t know if it matters to you,” he whispers in her ear, “but red alert is sounding on your little ship. It sounds rather desperate.”
Fearing that she’s not dreaming after all, Janeway begs immediate leave to return home.
“It has been such a lovely night,” she confesses, “but I fear I must go. A matter of great urgency.”
“Yes,” Francis answers. “I sense trouble. Can I be of help in any way?”
“No. I--- I-—.”
“Surely, you can wait until the morrow.”
“No. I leave immediately.”
Francis studies Janeway intently. He finally nods. “Your need is dire. Your face tells us that. As much as we delight in your wondrous tales, we keep you no longer. Only one thing. May we send an escort to see you safely to your home?”
“Oh, I’m quite—-“
“Please,” intercedes Clare. “Please. We live in troubled times. Even one as assured as you needs help.”
Albert, the scholar, immediately offers his services. “I would be honored to escort such as you. I see it as a great adventure worthy of my help. No doubt, there are many heathens in need of my ministry and I know that I’ll bring excellent tidings with me when I return.”
Francis and Clare exchange looks. “We were hoping on something more—-“
Thomas, who’s been busy replenishing the bread and wine of the others, now offers his help. “I’ll go, too,” he says eagerly. “I can leave right now. I can help”
Alberto scowls. “And, pray tell, who helps you?”
Gilles, the Templar knight, now steps into the light. “I’m free at the moment. I’ll accompany the lovely Katherine, also.”
Francis and Clare smile at Gilles offer. “I would seem, Lady Katherine, that you’ll arrive at your trail’s end in good order.”
Janeway protests. “Please,” she cries. “I must leave this minute and I travel so much faster without a procession, even one with only three others—- I have no time.”
III
Janeway’s still protesting loudly as she rides a small donkey on a winding ox cart path hours later. “Please. I travel so much faster on my own.”
“Nonsense,” Albert answers. “We’re making good time. We’ve traveled almost a league and its not yet sunrise. I think we are making very good time, indeed.”
Janeway looks to her other two companions for support, but neither appears to hear anything that’s been said. The Templar knight seems particularly remote. He’s spoken scarcely a word since mounting his great black charger. As for Thomas, the boy does his best to lead Katherine’s donkey but he’s scarcely able to keep his own feet on down the rocky slope.
Janeway repeats her objections but her protest is broken in mid word when she abruptly finds herself once more in her own bed and wearing her silk nightgown. It’s as if Francis, Clare, Alberto and Thomas and Gilles were nothing more than figments of her own dream state. Even Q seems missing.
Yet, not everything is imaginary. The intruder alert is very real.
“Janeway, here,” she calls on the intercom. “Report.”
“We have a most peculiar human on the bridge,” Tuvok says.
“Peculiar?’
“Yes. From his manner and his speech, I believe him to be an Italian of Earth’s so-called Middle Ages.
Italian? Middle Ages? “His name?”
“He calls himself Alberto.”
Hardly believing what she’s been told, Janeway hurriedly dresses. “Ill be right there,” she tells Tuvok. “Do nothing until I reach you.”
“Correction, Captain. There are three on the bridge, not just the one.”
Moments earlier, Alberto’s steps onto the Voyager’s bridge ready to dismiss everything he sees as mirages. His superior scholar’s smirk vanishes, however, when he looks in every direction and sees nothing but strange people, stranger blinking lights and impossible images speaking to him in incomprehensible tongues from shimmering metal walls. And, when Tuvok and Chakotay confront him, demanding to know his name and his purpose, Alberto collapses to the floor where he huddles in shivering terror convinced he’s been cast into hell.
Janeway, who hurries to the bridge to rescue the three from Assisi, finds Alberto’s breakdown understandable. For her, Thomas and Gilles become the enigmas. Both are alarmed to find themselves abruptly transported from a 13th century, Italian ox-cart path to the Voyager’s 25th century bridge; yet, aside from Gilles drawing his blade halfway, neither imitates their woeful companion after Janeway assures them that they won’t be harmed.
“Gilles, Thomas,” Janeway cries as she reaches the Bridge. “Please. Don’t be alarmed. You’re perfectly safe. Please.”
Gilles hesitates, then with a heavy sigh, returns his great sword to its scabbard. Thomas, for his part, looks almost eager as he stumbled around the bridge, trying to understand what he sees.
Janeway turns her attention to Gilles. “Please. Your sword and shield.”
Gilles peers at Janeway, his face inscrutable. Finally, he hands Janeway his great shield.
“And, your sword?”
Gilles’ face stiffens. “No,” he says.
“Please. I can’t guarantee—-“
“On my word, my blade will not leave its sheath while I remain aboard this—-“
“—- my ship’s name is Voyager.’
“—-aboard this Voyager.”
“Captain,” protests Tuvok.
Janeway dismisses Tuvok’s intercession with a wave of her hand. “I trust Sir Gilles’ word.”
“Captain,” interjects Seven of Nine who has just entered the bridge. “He bears a most formidable weapon. Surely—-“
“I have his word.”
In the meantime, while Alberto cowers next to a console too frightened even to scream, Thomas wanders the ship, eventually arriving at sick bay. There, he follows the doctor, volunteering at every opportunity, and generally muddling things.
Thomas touches a lighted screen causing alarms to sounds.
“Thomas?” cries the doctor. “What are you doing?”
“It’s pretty. Like a flower.”
The doctor grimaces. “It’s not a flower. It’s--- It’s-—It’s—- Thomas, don’t touch it, again. Please. Please. In fact, don’t touch anything. Not one thing.”
Thomas slumped. “But, I want to help. I do so want to help.”
The doctor puts his hand to his head and gives out a deep sigh. “I know you want to help, Thomas. I know you mean well. But, you can’t help me. Not if you keep touching things.
Thomas wordlessly turns for the door. As the door opens for Thomas, the doctor calls to him.
“Thomas, maybe you can help. If you promise not to touch anything—-“
The young man turns back, joy lighting his face.
“Thomas, I have a patient in quarantine. You won’t actually be at her side. She’ll be inside a kind of machine but you’ll be able to see her clearly and she’ll be able to see you. I’ll put the machine on remote override so you can touch the machine as much as you want. Her name is Donala Pei.”
“Donala,” the doctor says moments later. “I’d like you to meet Thomas. Thomas, Donala.”
“I do not seek a Thomas. Only Santomas. Santomas: the three miracles. Only the three miracles will save us from our disgrace, our phage.”
“One against one,” she repeats. “All against one. Afterward, one becomes all. All becomes one. Only then will Santomas appear. And, only then, will Viddians be saved.”
As Donala Pei ignores Thomas and continues with her ravings, the Doctor calls Janeway.
“Captain. Donala Pei’s condition continues to surprise me. She changes almost minute by minute.”
“Do you have any idea where this is leading.”
“As I told you, her condition is terminal. She will die and very soon. Still, her condition puzzles me.’
“What about her Santomas nonsense?’
“Just what I’ve told you. Santomas appears to be myth.”
“Myths are often based on fact, Doctor. Distorted sometimes almost beyond recognition but facts, non-the-less.”
“I have only Ms Pei’s word, Captain. I strongly doubt that there’s anything to it. As for her condition, I’ve found nothing in the ship’s data bank that helps me.”
Seven-of-Nine, who follows the Norman knight’s every move, now offers to show Gilles the ship.
She points to the banks of consoles lining the bridge. “No doubt, you think it takes many many people to navigate this ship. Thanks to those consoles, one or two people are all that’s needed.”
“One or two only? And, what of the rest? Are they to ensure that those one or two accomplish their tasks promptly?”
Mildly impressed by the man’s insightful comments, Seven finds herself curious to know the extent of the Templar knight’s martial abilities. She decides to test him by taking him to the holo deck where B’Elanna Torres battles Klingon holo warriors armed with the bat’leth.
For the first time, Gilles appears amazed. He asks to see the bat’leth. Gilles is still making tentative moves with the bat’leth when the first Klingon warrior confronts him with a challenge. Gilles looks curiously at Seven and Torres. “I fight a ghost?”
“Not a ghost, Torres tells him. “It’s a game. Like chess. Only these pieces are much larger and they can hurt you if you let them. But, don’t worry. I have the game at its lowest level.”
“A child’s level?” asks Gilles with a smile.
“Well—-“ Torres answers, trying not to smile.
“No matter,” Gilles says. “On guard, warrior. Lets begin this contest.”
The holo Klingon delivers a light blow that glances off Gilles’ armored shoulder. At the same moment, Gilles dispatches the Klingon with a powerful counter thrust. Increasingly more deadly holo Klingons face Gilles in quick succession and Gilles is soon locked in a brutal death duel with a huge warrior. The warrior uses its flashing speed and enormous strength to drive Gilles to his knees. The two are straining against each other when the warrior suddenly fades.
Gilles stands and glares at Torres and Seven. “Why?” he demands.
“Because,” shouts Torres. “I must have reset the machine improperly when I set it for you. Somehow, the machine took you to Master level. Only one in a hundred Klingon warriors even attempt Master level, much less attain it.”
“Perhaps,” suggests Seven, “it would be fairer if we allowed Sir Gilles to face warriors familiar to him.”
“I didn’t ask for the game to end,” protests Gilles.
“Hardly fair,” says Seven. “Not of your time. Or world. A simple adjustment.”
Instantly, the holo deck becomes a 13th Century Joust and a man-at-arms bearing a mace advances upon Gilles. Gilles accepts the challenge. A moment later, the man-at-arms lies on the ground, dazed and bleeding. Gilles helps the man to his feet.
“Well struck, sire,” the man says. He bows as he speaks.
Gilles returns the man’s bow.
At the same moment, a swordsman charges across the field, eager to match blades. Gilles briefly rests his right hand on the hilt of his sword, then sighs. “Have you a weapon I might use?”
“You have your own,” answers Seven.
“No. I’ve given my word.”
“Computer. A sword for Gilles.”
A sword appears in Gilles hand and he turns to find his opponent already lunging at him. This time, Gilles finds a more formidable opponent. He smiles as his opponent matches blades again and again. Slowly, he forces his opponent to a far corner of the field. Finally, the swordsman throws down his shield and attacks Gilles, wielding his blade with both hands. Gilles wards his opponent with his shield, patiently waiting for an opening.
The swordsman pauses, gasping for air, before once more assaulting Gilles. Gilles’ sword flashes and the opponent falls backward, landing on his back while his blade flies from his hands.
Gilles leans down to offer his hand. “Sir, it would please me to continue this bout.”
The swordsman bowed low even though holding his injured shoulder. “Justly vanquished, sir. You are a worthy champion. Perhaps, we will meet again.”
“Just so.”
A mounted knight now appeared on the field. The knight carried a blunted lance.
Gilles nodded wearily. “You have a horse and lance?”
Seven pointed to a huge black stallion and a squire holding a lance. “If you please.”
Gilles said nothing as he donned his helmet and mounted the horse. Only when he took his stallion to the far end of the list did he speak again. “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
“Sir Archibald of Chester,” cried the knight. “And you?”
“Sir Gilles.”
“Well, Sir Gilles. Shall we dance?”
“It would be my honor.”
The two knights then saluted each other with their lances and closed their visors. A moment later, each knight spurred his mount and lowered his weapon for the charge. The joust was over in seconds.
A minute later, Sir Archibald rose to a sitting position on the dusty field and bared his head. “Well struck,” he cried.
All this time, Seven and Tuvok had been watching closely.
“He is formidable,” said Tuvok. “He’s almost too good.”
“Perhaps. Let’s see how he fares against the most dangerous opponents of his age.” And, with that, Seven changed the scene before Gilles. “Computer. A Welsh longbowman bent on killing.
Instantly, a longbowman sporting the fearsome seven foot bow that had decimated Agincourt and Crecy appeared hundreds of yards from Gilles. The longbowman loosed volley after volley of three-foot shafts.
Gilles gave Seven and Tuvok a curious look, then he spurred his mount and began a measured charge, weaving left and right as he bore down on the longbowman.
Gilles did not cross the field untouched. Several arrows struck Gilles shield with glancing blows. Still, Gilles never slowed until he reached his opponent.
The longbowman, for his part, held his ground steadfastly. Only when Gilles loomed only strides from the longbowman did the longbowman break from his attack stance and begin to run.
Gilles was upon the longbowman in seconds. But, before Gilles could disarm the longbowman, Seven changed the scene again.
Once again, Gilles faced an archer. This time, the bowman was mounted—-the dreaded Mongol warrior of the Golden Horde upon his swift Siberian pony.
Gilles hardly had time to turn his massive charger before the Mongol was in range in his stand-up saddle, loosing arrow after deadly arrow from his powerful Turkish bow. It took all of Gilles skill to guide his heavy mount through the barrage of arrows. Again and again, arrows struck Gilles and his shield quickly resembled a porcupine. Yet somehow, he won his way past the barrage. He was about to strike down his opponent with his lance when the Mongol faded to nothing.
Seven watches in alarm as Gilles easily masters holo swordsmen wielding all manner of weapons. Not even the vaunted Welsh longbowmen and agile Mongol archers defeat him in single combat. In all these contests however, Gilles never draws his sword.
“Captain,” Seven says on her intercom. “I know he gave his word not to draw his weapon but I explained to him that it would be alright on the holo deck. He didn’t. I suspect there’s more to his weapon than he’s told us.”
“I concure with Seven-of-Nine,” Tuvok warns Janeway. “I took it upon myself to study the knight’s blade.”
“And what did you find? That it’s a Toledo blade?”
“I’ve studied much of your Earth’s history and I know of the supposed superiority of Toledo swords. Frankly, I have no idea what Gilles’ sword is. Most of the sensors I used found nothing in the man’s scabbard.”
Janeway’s eyebrows rose steeply. “Nothing?”
“Nothing, Captain. Correction: all but one sensor found nothing. The odd sensor found quite the opposite. If that single sensor is correct, Sir Gille’s blade is actually an abyss so vast the Delta quadrant we’re crossing is miniscule by comparison.”
Only now does Janeway fully recall Q’s behavior
when he first met the Norman. It had only been a furtive sidelong glance. Yet, in that look, Janeway caught sight of something so out of character for Q that she hadn’t credited it until this moment. Inexplicably, she’s seen fear in a being whose power rivaled that of a god.
Janeway frowns. “I think you’re quite right, Mr.Tuvok. We need to know more about Sir Gilles’ sword and Sir Gilles for that matter.”
Seven of Nine wholeheartedly agrees, “I will know the truth of Sir Gilles and his blade. You can count on that.”
All this time, the Voyager plays the fox to one hundred pursuing hounds. Tom Paris slips the Voyager into a narrow gap formed by two asteroids orbiting a larger third. Janeway orders Paris to power-up the ship’s cloaking device even though the ship has only emergency power hoping that the ship’s partial shield combined with Paris maneuver will give them sufficient cover Still, while the fox is smart and agile, the hiding places are fewer and fewer and the Vidiian hounds are relentless.
IV
In the sick bay, Donala Pei remains feverish most of the time. When she’s conscious, however, she’s given comfort by Thomas who tells her to be brave and have hope.
“Santomas! Santomas! Save me! Save me! Santomas!”
“Lady Donala, let me help. Have faith. Have faith. Listen to me! Please.”
“Who are you? I don’t know you? I don’t know you? You are one of them.”
“Have faith! Have faith! Let me help you.”
“No, you hate me. You are one of them. You hate all of us—-and you should! Go away! Doctor, tell him to go away.”
“Please,” the doctor says, coming to Donala’s side.
“Thomas is only trying to help. Thomas, I’m sorry. You only seem to be making things worse.”
The young man stiffens and his chin jutts out. “No. She does need me. She’s not of my church and there’s much between us. But, she must believe. She must have hope. I will not leave with Lady Donala so in need. I will stay.”
“Security.”
“If you call your soldiers and have them drag me away, I will come back. If they imprison me, I will escape. Only if they kill me.” As he spoke, Thomas raised his hands to defend himself.
“Send him away,” cried Donala. “Your Thomas is mad. Send him away. Let me live my last hours in peace.”
“She needs me,” cries Thomas. “I will not leave.”
The doctor turns away from the two and goes to the door to dismiss the security detail. “My mistake,” he mutters. “Things here are about as good as they’re going to get.”
V
Meanwhile, Seven engages Gilles in conversation. She finds him any thing but a brute for all his prowess as a warrior.
“I know so little about your world,” Seven says. “What is it like? Where you come from?”
“What do you want to hear? That it’s dark and ignorant and dirty. It’s all of that.”
Seven studies Gilles intently. Her eyes narrow in concentration. “Not all of it is dark or ignorant, surely. I’ve been many places and I’ve never seen a place like you describe.
Gilles’ battle hardened face relaxes, his brittle voice softens and his guarded eyes dance. “After every winter, there is a summer and for every evil, there is good: that is true.”
Seven leans closer. “And where did you find summer?”
“Only once. In a land further from you than you can imagine.”
Seven touches a closed screen that opens to reveal deep space and the millions of asteroids around them. “Even further from you world than what you now see?”
“In footsteps or the stride of a running horse, perhaps not. But in all the measurements that matter, without question.”
“Surely, you must have found summer elsewhere?”
“Winter has its own beauty and I’ve seen many winters.
“Any that you especially remember?”
“Bits and pieces. I’ve done many things. I’m walked the ramparts of castles that I no longer find on any map. I sometimes sing songs I’ve heard from bards who’s voices I no longer recall, and I’ve been taught the stars from wise men long forgotten. And that’s when I’m not hiring my right arm for a few coins to some remote hamlet besieged by villains or escorting pilgrims to the Holy Land or following wagon ruts that never seem to end. It’s a living.”
“And, your sword?” Seven asks.
Gilles smiles. “Lady Seven. It may seem like very little to you, but it’s been a gift and a burden to me.”
“How so?”
“What does it matter? Neither it or I belong in you world. Now, that I’ve rested, I’m more interested in what you regard as dangerous and how you confront them. Will I find them in your game?”
Seven and Gilles return to the Holo deck where Gilles battles fearsome creatures from the Delta Quadrant. But, instead of drawing his curious blade, Gilles uses the weapons given to him by the holo computer. Not unexpectedly, energy weapon prove difficult for him to master, but he soon grasps the essentials of their use Still, it’s obvious that he prefers hand weapons.
VII
Seven becomes doubly alarmed by what she’s seen. “Captain. This Gilles fellow is impressive. He’s a thousand years beyond his time, but he defends himself ably. He must have special in his own time.”
As for his sword, I scanned it repeatedly. Most scans revealed nothing. Strangely, like Tuvok, one scan showed me a vastness to rival our galaxy. The Borg never encountered anything with such puzzling properties.”
“There is something else. Sir Gilles had me show him how to use the holo deck. He said he wanted to practice against the “demons”—-his word, of our Quadrant. I left but doubled back. I was curious to see which demons he’d chosen and if he might finally draw his sword. I saw no demons or drawn blade. Instead, I saw him with a woman in the dress of his time. They were holding hands. As I watched, Gilles kissed the woman’s hands. As he did, the woman turned and fled, crying with every step. I looked back to Gilles. Never have I seen anyone so alone. When I asked him who the woman was, he said ‘Someone I knew a very long time ago.’”
VIII
Meanwhile the situation aboard the Voyager becomes ever more precarious. The ship is still hidden within a cluster of ice comets but it’s only a matter of time until discovery. Janeway momentarily puts her concerns about Gilles on hold as she addresses this more immediate crisis.
“Mr. Paris, power down shields and weapons. Cut power to all functions aboard this ship except those essential for life. I want the Voyager all but invisible to the Vidiians.”
Paris does as he’s ordered. When he’s finished, he looks back to Janeway. “What if this doesn’t work and the Vidians still find us. What do we do, then?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Paris. I don’t know.”
“After all I’ve taught you,” Q remarks, “I would hope you have better ideas than hiding? What a disappointment.”
IX
At the same time in sickbay, Donala Pei enters her final hour of life. The pain now becomes so great that not even delirium eases her agony. Again and again, Pei screams “Santomas! Santomas! One against one! All against one! One becomes all! All becomes one! Santomas! Santomas! Santomas!”
Yet no matter how loudly she screams, Thomas remains by her side, holding her hands, offering her courage. “Please, pray with me. Don’t give up. Please. Please. There is hope. I will never leave your side. I know you will survive. Please.”
The doctor contacts Janeway. “All Donala Pei’s foreign body parts have failed. Only her own body now keeps her alive.”
“How long does she have, doctor?”
“I don’t know. There is nothing in the data banks to give me a precise answer. If I had to guess, within the hour.”
Janeway sighed. “I shouldn’t feel good about another dying, but it’ll be one less thing for me to worry about.”
X
The hounds finally bring the fox to bay. Upon discovery, Janeway opens a communication to Tonala Pei, Admiral of the Viddian fleet while signaling Paris to power up the ship’s shields and weapons.
“I am Captain Janeway of the starship, Voyager. Who am I addressing,” she calls out when communication is established.
“My name is Admiral Pei. I call upon you to surrender your ship to us.”
“I can’t believe you came hundreds of light years out of your territory simply to capture my ship and my crew. What is it you really want?”
“You have someone aboard your ship that I want. Her name is Donala Pei. Surrender peacefully and give us Donala Pei and I promise your deaths will be quick.”
“Why would you come halfway across the Quadrant chasing a single woman of your race?”
“Donala Pei is a heretic. She spreads lies that weaken our race. I would pursue her to the edge of the Universe if I had to.”
Janeway smiles. “I really hate to disappoint you. You aren’t going to get Donala Pei or anyone in my crew. Donala Pei is dying. My doctor advises me that she has less than an hour to live. I would advise you to leave us as I have initiated the ship’s self-distruct sequence.
Admiral Pei looks visibly shocked. He confers briefly with the others on his bridge, then he steps closer to the screen. “Captain Janeway. Wait. I think I have an alternative. We can decide this matter through single combat. I will send my best warrior to battle your best warrior in a fight to the death. If, as you say, Donala Pei dies and your warrior wins, I will withdraw peacefully.”
Janeway thinks a moment. She sees no advantage in this strange offer. She has only Pei’s word that he would let them go. Still, the single combat gives Torres time to finish fixing the dilithium crystals. She does not doubt Voyager can outdistance the Vidians with full power.
“Admiral Pei. I accept your challenge. Mr. Paris, alert the crew to repell all boarders.’
At the same moment, Tuvok, Seven, Harry Kim and others on the bridge volunteer to be the ship’s champion.
“I have dueled many times,” claimed Seven. “I have even been a gladiator.”
“Vulcans test themselves regularly,” countered Tuvok “I would be the best candidate.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” cried Harry Kim. “I’ve fought for my life and the lives of others many times.”
XI
At the doorway, Gilles, who accompanied Seven to the bridge, listened without comment for several minutes. When Seven demands to be the ship’s champion, he shakes his head and turns away.
For the first time, Gilles is alone and he uses the opportunity to explore. From time to time, he accosts Voyager crewmen and asks them about space armor and combat in space. Most ignore him or tell him they are too busy.
Finally, he challenges an eager young ensign to prove that it is possible to stay alive and fight in space. He demands to be shown.
At first, the ensign hesitates, then makes repeated calls to the bridge. With all the commotion over the choice of the Voyager’s champion, the bridge ignores the calls. Finally, the ensign leads Gilles to a nearby storage locker and leads Gilles step-by-step through the process of donning the suit. The ensign finishes the lesson by activating the suit in a cargo hold to demonstrate its fail-safe features.
Suddenly, while Gilles is carefully maneuvering with the suit through the cargo hold, the suit inexplicably goes haywire. Assuming that Gilles is in distress, the ensign comes to his rescue. But as the ensign struggles to deactivate the suit, Gilles smoothly dislodges the ensign’s phaser from its holster. Gilles then keeps the ensign so distracted that he doesn’t realize his weapon has been lost until he’s returned the errant suit to its locker. In the meantime, Giles retrieves the phaser, which has skidded to a far corner of the hold, and conceals it in a pocket of his sword belt.
Meanwhile, disappointed that Janeway has finally chosen Tuvok, Seven rejoins Gilles. and gives him a detailed explanation of space suits as she opens a suit locker near the main transporter. Then, while she sets the coordinates for the selected combat site, Seven confesses to Gilles that she means to be the one to meet the Viddian.
Gilles follows Seven to the transporter without comment. But, as Seven adjusts the transporter’s controls, Gilles stuns her with his phaser. He then leaps to her side as she collapses and lowers her gently to the ship’s deck.
“It’s not your doom or your atonement that awaits, beautiful lady,” he whispers to her, as he dons a suite from the locker. “or your sin that condemns. It’s mine.”
He smiles sadly. “It’s who I am.”
Finally, giving out a heavy sigh, Gilles stands and hits the power switch, transporting himself instantly to the combat site. Once there, he instructs Janeway to warn Admiral Pei to send his very best.
Gilles’ inexplicable action stuns Janeway. She tries to call Gilles back but the Viddian champion has already arrived. It’s a medieval 13th century broad sword pitted against a 25th century beam weapon. And, even as Janeway protests, the two combatants meet. The laughing Viddian, clad in a huge armored space suit nearly twice that of Gilles’, taunts the Norman while promising a quick death. Gilles, in turn, tells the Viddian (whom he addresses as Goliath) that no mercy will be shown if even so much as one hair is touched on any of the Voyager’s crew.
Goliath hovers just beyond the reach of Gilles’ blade when he fires his weapon. Gille’s blade flashes to meet the blast. Yet, other than an aura of blue-white light that surrounds the blade, nothing happens. It’s as if Goliath’s weapon fires into a vacuum. Shocked, Goliath checks his weapon by firing it into empty space. A bright beam flashes into the darkness. Satisfied that his weapon works correctly, he aims it at Gilles once more. Again, a blue-white aura shrouds Gilles blade but nothing else happens.
Gilles smiles. “From the lake I came and of the lake I’m named and to the lake I must some day return. But, sadly for you, Goliath, not on this day.”
Once again, he tells Goliath to submit or die. Angered, Goliath fires his weapon again and again and again. The aura around Gilles sword writhes and pulses like a living thing yet nothing else happens. Furious, Goliath shouts that the Voyager crew has deceitfully concealed a powerful force field within their champion’s heavy blade as Goliath hurls his weapon at Gilles. The Norman deftly sunders the tumbling weapon with his blade. At the same instant, however, Goliath catches Gilles caught off-guard with a back-up weapon secreted in his suit. Goliath’s second weapon nearly holes Gilles’ suit, but Gilles regains his combat stance in time and parries the next blasts with his sword. This time, when Goliath pauses, confused about what next to do, Gilles closes and lays the razor edge of his blade against the neck of Goliath’s helmet. “Meet the blade of the lake, Goliath,” he grins.
When a gash appears in the outer armor of the Viddian suit, Goliath submits.
XIII
On the Viddian flagship, Admiral Pei accuses Janeway of trickery and declares his promise void. He says he will render the Voyager and its crew as soon as he’s killed its champion. Janeway immediately resumes the self-destruct sequence.
At the same time, Admiral Pei orders his men to use his flagship’s main battery to incinerate Gilles. And to demonstrate his resolve to Janeway, he eases his ship slowly toward Gilles until it’s only a sword’s length from the Norman knight. Pei gives Janeway a look of supreme satisfaction as he orders his men to fire. Gilles, for his part, calmly repeats his own challenge. “As always,” the Norman says as he hefts his strange sword, “evil seeks by foul means what fairness fails to achieve. Still,no matter, Dragon. Submit to the companions of the lake or face our mighty wrath.”
On the bridge of the Voyager, no one can believe what he or she is seeing. A single space suited figure with a crude hand weapon confronts an interstellar warship ten times the size of the Voyager. It’s as if a flea engages an elephant. The incredulous scene causes so much chaos, Janeway can’t hear the doctor’s frantic call from sickbay. He needs her immediate attendance as mystifying changes continue to Donala Pei, his Viddian patient.
Meanwhile, Admiral Pei gives his flagship the order to fire. Once again, the sword’s blade flares, this time diamond white, but nothing else happens. Pei instantly orders another volley. Again, a diamond white aura. Pei screams for his men to fire the huge beam weapon again and again and again. The ship’s rapid fire blazes a broad ionized shaft that stretches two meters to Gilles’ blade where the discharge vanishes. It’s as if Pei’s ship fires into a vast singularity yet there’s no sympathetic leakage of x-rays, only a strange light that blazes so brightly visors of nearby starships darken to save their occupants’ eyes. On the bridges of both ships, people stand in awe.
Not so, Gilles. The instant his helmet visor clears, he seizes the opportunity created by the flagship’s momentary pause, to assault the Viddian ship. He slices a gash in the side of the flagship that penetrates the ship’s armored hull (reputedly far tougher than Federation alloys), causing a deadly decompression of the ship’s bridge. And, as Pei and his officers flee, Gilles’ continues his assault on the flagship, chopping at its fuselage until he carves a hole large enough for himself and his suit. Gilles promptly enters the flagship and systematically demolishes every control console he finds. Pei’s flagship quickly becomes a drifting hulk with Pei marooned between decks, able only to communicate short range with the closest ships of his own fleet.
Unfortunately, one of the ruined consoles controls the ship’s power shield and space suited Viddian soldiers flood the ship the instant the ship’s shield fails. Only the ponderous bulk of the enormous Viddian suits coupled with Gille’s effortless skill with his wondrous blade and a hatch cover he’s torn from a console keeps the knight from being quickly overwhelmed. Soon, however, the Viddians force Gilles into a corridor where he’s cornered with little hope of escape. Still, Gilles stubbornly continues the fight even though his make-shift shield is now mostly memory, his suit is soaked with blood, and his limbs are now so weary he’s fighting on instinct alone. The eyes of the Viddian soldiers gleam as they close for the kill.
XIV
Aboard the Voyager, a husky voiced Seven of Nine confesses to Janeway that the Borg heard of weapons such as Gilles’s sword but never found conclusive proof of their existence. Then, she calls for security to accompany her to the Viddian flagship. Moments later, Seven and her security detail burst in upon the Viddians as they close on the fading Gilles.
Seven races to Gilles side as he slumps to the ship’s deck. And, as the wondrous blade rattles to the hard deck, she snatches and wields it two-handed as she drives the Viddian’s from the hallway. Never before has she ever fought a room full of soldiers with a hand weapon yet its incredibly light weight coupled her super human Borg reflexes make the seemingly impossible effortless. Every blast from a Viddian hand weapon she pares and every shot from a long range weapon she blocks. One after another, the Viddian’s either fall beneath her blade or flee for their lives. The rest of her security detail find little to do other than the disarm the wounded Viddians.
As the last of the Viddians retreat beyond a heavy bulkhead, Seven measures the weapon in her hands. With this sword, the hive could conquer the universe. And as she gazes at the blade, images of a vast armada of Borg warships surging across the cosmos and for a moment she sees herself leading the hive to victory even against the demigods of the Q continuum. Even the Q continuum, she marveled. Then, she saw herself striding through the towns and cities and nations, maiming and killing without mercy, and fear followed in her wake like a irristable dark cloud. And, with every every victory, great and small, she looms larger until she dwarfs Gilles and every other hero who ever lived.
Gradually, Seven hears a new voice straining to be heard over the heavy tread of her victorious boots. “He never drew his blade for himself alone, but only in defense of others. Not once.” Could she be even half as selfless as Gilles, she wonders? Could she even be half as noble?
Suddenly, like shafts of cleansing sunlight after a hideous storm, Seven glimpses the phenomenal inner strength of the man now struggling to stand before her. She held his blade only a moment and she dreamed of laying waste to the cosmos. What would she become in a day? A week? A year? Certainly, not selfless or virtuous.
“This weapon,” she says, as she holds out the blade for Gilles. “Approaches perfection. Irresistible offense. Impenetrable defense. Portable, easily concealed and indestructible. Frankly, I can’t think of a single limitation. Take it, please.”
“Its weight, for one,” the Templar knight answers as he returns his blade to its scabbard. “Its weight becomes tedious with time. Tedious and eternal.”
XIV
Meanwhile aboard the Voyager, Tuvok concludes Gilles’ blade might just be one of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy.
“It’s not what it appears to be,” he says with classic Vulcan understatement.
“Neither is Gilles,” Janeway adds, silently reminding herself of the wide distance Q keeps between himself and the Norman knight.
“Gilles of the Lake,” she says as she initiates the final self-destruct sequence. “Somehow, that doesn’t scan for me.”
But, Janeway has hardly begun calling the distruct code when the doctor and a strange yet incredibly beautiful woman burst onto the bridge. “Wait!” the woman calls out.
“Who are you and why are you on my bridge? Security!” Janeway demands.
“A monster who’s been reborn,” the woman answers. “Summon Admiral Pei.”
“Who are you?” Janeway demands again.
“Please,” the doctor pleads. “Please, do as she asks.”
Janeway hesitates, then gives the order to contact Admiral Pei once again.
Admiral Pei can hardly mask his delight as he looks upon Janeway from the bridge of his new flagship. He promises Janeway that her champion will be dead in moments and, afterward, it will be her turn. He smiles broadly as he tells her he will personally see to her dismemberment. But, even as Admiral Pei gloats, the strange woman interrupts him.
“Who are you?” he demands.
The strange woman laughs softly. “You know who I was, father. I was your daughter, Donala Pei; and, like you, I was damned. I’m still your daughter, yet the curse is gone. See what I’ve become.”
“No!” Admiral Pei screams. “Blasphemer! Blasphemer! Blasphemer!”
Donala Pei turns to Janeway. “To summon all the ships of my father’s fleet, the activation code is 0011000010011.”
Captain Janeway blinks at the sternness of Pei’s order then nods to Tom Paris at the helm. “Do it!”
He does.
Donala Pei addresses all the Viddian fleet. “Look upon me, once the mad daughter of your admiral. I was a hopeless romantic and the last of those who believed in the deliverance of Santomas. Gaze upon my transformation. I’m what we all once were before our foolish pride led our species’ to devise our unholy curse. And, look upon he who did it. I’ve finally found our Santomas. Behold! Santomas!” And, with that outcry, Donala Pei kneels at the bony feet of a bewildered Thomas who nervously clutches his crude wooden cross in his awkward, knobby fingers.
Then, as all on the Voyager’s bridge look to each other in blank astonishment, they hear something over the COM link that begins as a low moan, then rises in volume to become a great cheer. “Santomas!”
Afterward, Donala Pei stands alongside Thomas who still can’t comprehend all that is happening around him. “The prophecy,” she tells Janeway, “has been fulfilled. One against one. All against one. One becomes all. All become one.”
And all of you,” she continues turning to the Voyager’s crew, “will be forever known as the Chariot that brought Santomas to us. Now, if Thomas will only come to our people to do for them as he’s done for me and those of us among the fleet who’ve already begun cleansing themselves of our odious plague.”
“What exactly happened?” Janeway asks.
“I think I can explain,” interjects the doctor.
Donala Pei looks sharply at the doctor. “My transformation’s a miracle,” she declares stubbornly. “Nothing more and nothing less.”
Thomas reaches out to take Donala Pei’s hand. “I shall go with you,” he says bravely. He then looks to Janeway. “I’m sorry. I know I promised to accompany you on your journey and to lighten your burden—-but these people need me more.”
Janeway reluctantly agrees. “I can’t promise that I’ll ever see you again,” she warns.
Thomas straightens. “I knew when I left Assisi that I might never return. Still, I’m doing the work I was called upon to do. I’m only going further than I expected.”
At that moment, Gilles arrives on the Voyager’s bridge supported by Seven and one of the Voyager’s security personnel. Exhausted and bloody, Gilles struggles to free himself from Seven who supports him.
“You should not have gone,” she tells him. “You’re not of our time and you could easily have been killed. Even with your sword.”
Gilles doesn’t answer Seven. Instead, he limps slowly past her to address Janeway. “I’ll be with Thomas,” Gilles promises firmly. “I shall serve as escort.”
“There’s no need for you to go with Thomas,” Seven cries, her voice trembling. “I do not doubt these people will protect him with their very lives.”
Gilles turns to Seven and takes her lovely hands in his. He kisses each hand gently, then, after a momentary hesitation, sweeps Seven into his massive arms and gives her a passionate kiss. Seven briefly struggles to free herself from Gilles, then answers his kiss with equal ardor. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he says, looking deeply into her eyes as they part. “A very beautiful woman. I’ve known of only one other who’s your match.”
He sighs. “But, that was long ago. She loved me yet she belonged to another. So many promises we made to each other over the years yet, in the end, she could not renounce her vows. That realization ended the great folly of my life and led to my self-exile.
“After I’ve seen Thomas to his destiny. And,” Gilles adds, placing his powerful right hand on the hilt of his great blade, “after I’ve seen this named sword to its rightful owner, I will be free and, perhaps, we’ll meet again.”
Seven doesn’t meet Gilles’ eyes. Instead, she retreats from him, her lips trembling, her face flushed. “I do not need you maudlin human sympathy,” she shouts as she marches to an exit. “I am Borg!”
Janeway places her hand on Gilles. “Seven wasn’t raised by humans,” Janeway softly explains. “There are many things about our species that she doesn’t understand.”
“There are many things we humans have difficulty understanding,” Gilles says finally, “no matter how far we travel or how long we live.”
“You always were the first among equals,” Janeway smiles.
Gilles gives Janeway a sharp look, then takes her hand and kisses it. “And, I’ve never denied beautiful women in distress. Even when it was anything but my own best interest.”
And, with that, Gilles joins Donala Pei and Thomas as they walk from the bridge to the hangar where they board Admiral Pei’s launch sent to receive them in honor.
“The Viddians may believe Thomas has transformed Donala Pie,” the doctor interjects, “but he actually did very little. It was Donala Pei’s body.”
Janeway stares at the doctor. “What do you mean?”
“It was something I detected when you brought her to sick bay. Her own autonomic defenses had adapted to the phage and were fighting the disease but her stolen body parts interfered. Donala could not rid herself of the phage until all her the foreign organs were purged.”
“In other words, the Viddians’ stolen body parts are killing them.”
“That’s essentially it,” the doctor said, pleased he could finally explain all that had happened to Donala Pei.
“Then, Thomas had nothing to do with it?”
“No. Not correct. He stood at her side and never abandoned her. He gave her the will to withstand her body’s transformation. She never would have endured the hideous pain otherwise. ”
“Spoil sport,” the still invisible Q whispers in Janeway’s ears. “I was hoping it might really be a miracle by someone other than us. Life has been so boring in our continuum lately. It’s time I left.”
Q sighs as if relieving himself of a heavy burden. “By the way,” he adds finally. “That cretin, Alberto, sucking his thumb on your bridge needs his mother. I think I’ll take him with me. It ought to be amusing to hear him explain why he never left Assisi, never converted any heathens, yet soiled his trousers most indecorously.”
Then, as Q and Alberto depart, Tuvok leans foreword and speaks to Janeway. “I’m curious. You spoke to Gilles as if you know him.”
“Knew of him,” Janeway corrects. “I’ve been rereading a very old book, one I’ve treasured since I was a young girl. And, it opened my eyes. Remember what he said: born of the lake, blade of the lake, return to the lake. The lake. In French: du Lac. In story and in legend, only one knight bore the name, du Lac. Lancelot du Lac—-the greatest knight of the Round Table. The first among equals.”
Tuvok remains unconvinced. “By your logic, then, Gilles’ strange weapon would be Excaliber, the invincible sword of the mythical Arthur, and the woman Seven saw with Gilles in the holo deck would be the beautiful, star-crossed, love of his life, Guinevere. I should state that I spent time studying the myths of your ancient cultures and found few of them based on facts. The Arthurian Cycle—-if I remember correctly, seemed particularly lacking in substance.”
Janeway, silently recalling Q’s careful distance from Gilles’ blade, continues smiling. “Perhaps. All I know is that I’ve always dreamed of meeting a knight in shining armor and Gilles will do for me. As for Santomas, I think I’m on firmer ground. Thomas has an almost saintly aura to him and he gave purpose to an entire species. Others have been sanctified for far less. St. Thomas or Santomas.
“And, I agree with Q. It’s time for us to leave. Mr. Paris, plot a course out of here.”
But as Paris maneuvers the Voyager, the Viddian fleet forms into two long lines. “They’re powering up their forward batteries,” he advises.
“Well,” Janeway says. “I guess we’re about to run an old fashioned gauntlet. Engage.”
Then, from the Viddian fleet, the Voyager receives a last message: “CHARIOT OF SANTOMAS, WE WERE THE BUTCHERS, THE JACKALS, THE SCAVENGERS OF THE UNIVERSE. NOT EVEN THE BORG MATCHED US IN CRUELTY, YET OUR SCOURGE DEVOURED US EVEN AS WE PILLAGED OTHERS. WE POSSESSED NO FUTURE NOR DID WE DESERVE ONE.
THEN, WE HAPPENED UPON YOUR SHIP. YET, EVEN AS WE PREPARED TO DO OUR WORST, YOU BROUGHT US HOPE. NO ONE DESERVED IT LESS YET DESIRED IT MORE. WE WILL NEVER FORGET WHAT YOU HAVE DONE AND WE WILL HONOR YOUR MEMORY BY HEALING OTHER RACES ACROSS THE GALAXY AS YOU HAVE HEALED US. YOU ARE A FRIEND FOREVER. FAREWELL.”
And as the last words ring out, each of the Viddian ships fires a salvo to create a tunnel of multicolored light which enfolds the Voyager as it speeds past them.
“One hundred guns and a rainbow,” says Paris. “Now, that’s what I would call a salute.”
“I wonder what Star Fleet would call it?” Chakotay asks.
“Noisy,” Janeway replies.
However, not all of the Voyager’s officers are on the bridge to see the fantastic Viddian display. On another deck of the ship, Seven is resting and recharging her Borg systems. It’s something she’s done innumerable times. But, never before have tears coursed her lovely cheeks as she did.
IV
Guinnan leans forward, her eyes fixed on Janeway. “Seven was crying when you found her?” Guinnan asks, breathlessly.
“No. She’d stopped but I could still see the stains on her cheeks. Frankly, I was the only one who did because I declared her quarters off-limits and ordered everyone away from her. Later, I revived her and urged her to u
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Harold_P reviewed Version 2 -
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wise2owls reviewed Version 2 -
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This reader has rarely, if ever, read a tale of such hope and mystery. The people of the Voyager series are represented aptly. Captain Janeway, Guinnan, Seven of Nine, Mr. Paris, Tuvok, Harry Kim and others we meet in this story. Q, ever the troublemaker, takes Katheryn to the thirteenth century. She meets Gilles, a Templar knight, Thomas, and Alberto.
Before she meets those 5 people the captain has a distress call from a Viddean ship, its main core is overheating. She rescues the only passenger, a very sick woman named Donela Pei. The Viddean is immediately transferred to the sick bay and cared for there. She is calling for someone called Santomas.
When Janeway gets back, by way of Q; Gilles, Thomas and Alberto come with her. Gilles has a mysterous broadsword that he promises not to draw while on board Voyager. Alberto cowers in a corner. Thomas is a youth who seems oblivious to the amazing things that are happening around him.
This prose definately caught my attention. The style, the descriptions, the hope that bringing Thomas to the 25th century to help save the Viddeans was awesome. The addition of Gilles with his wonderous sword was an added bonus. Thank you for giving me the pleasure of reading something so neat.
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Elven_Vampiress reviewed Version 2 -
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I’m actually not framiliar with the Star Trek Voyager series, nonetheless i was drawn in. a lovely story with a timeless heart. Good luck with this beautiful piece!
neawaia reviewed Version 2 -
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As a “Trekky” fan, all I can say is well done! I can’t wait to read the rest! The way in which you have bought characters from 13th century and of Janeway’s dream into the 25th was great. Their responses immediately upon arriving on the bridge and the detailing the fight scenes without over doing it just kept me wanting to read more. Keep going!!!
spitalsky reviewed Version 2 -
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Curtastrophe reviewed Version 1 -
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“…only an illegible smear…” I’m not sure “illegible” is necessary here because it means “not decipherable”. Smear pretty much means the same thing. I’d cut it because I think it’s redundant.
I’m not sure that the majority of the first paragraph is really necessary. It doesn’t do anything to get the story moving. I’d suggest, “Katheryn Janeway gazes at the ancient corner café a moment before entering. She imagines all the great writers, painters and musicians who might…” The second paragraph should replace the opening one IMO.
She colapses to the deck / collapses
Capitalize “viddean”.
becomes a drab cotten gown / cotton
and the elevated aire / air
I’m not sure switching between addressing the protagonist as “Katheryn Janeway” then switching to “Janeway” is the best thing to do. The narrative jumps back and forth between this constantly. “…fleet astern, Kathryn Janeway retreats to…” In the narrative I’d suggest just sticking to calling here “Katheryn” or “Janeway”. In the dialogue however, I think it’s perfectly fine depending on the relationship of the people talking to her.
“…many many people to navigate…” I’d cut a “many” from this.
I enjoyed following the Byzantine, or complex path of Janeway. That Q always makes for some troublesome, yet entertaining situations doesn’t he? You did a really good job of sticking to just Janeway’s perspective. Later in the story we go to Gilles perspective, but you wait until a scene/chapter change to do this. Good job. I’m somewhat familiar with the series. I used to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation as a kid and all of the references you have seem to be just about what I remember. What I thought shined most about this piece was your dialogue!!! There was a lot of it, but I swear, if someone told me this was written by one of the writers for the series I would totally believe it. Your dialogue is excellent! The storyline is a bit complicated between the ailing Donala Pei, the stolen ship, Q’s mischievous antics, and the like. But the episodes usually are the same way so I can’t fault you for this. That’s a bummer that the story got cut off and is incomplete. Still though, I liked it and I think you’ve got great skill as a fan fiction writer. Thanks for sharing.
-Curt
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