Ch 2: Dr’ouk
“What else do they want?” Chakotay refilled Janeway’s wineglass.
Janeway wrinkled her nose before answering. “They want my medical records. What could they possibly want my medical records for?”
Voyager was hurtling through space at warp 9.2, following in the Northern Sentinel’s wake to the Aourea system, four day’s journey from the sensor buoy at the breakneck pace. As soon as the ships had entered warp, Dr’ouk had started requesting information. They had started simply enough; what was the Federation they came from, when was it formed, how many planets did it possess, how many species? But then the questions had gotten more specific, more personal. He wanted a copy of Voyager’s logs. Janeway had provided a brief overview of their journey, but Dr’ouk had wanted more information about the Kazon. The Borg. Seska. Chakotay. Her service record had shown up on the last list, and Janeway spent increasing time with her first officer and senior staff trying to figure out which requests could be approved, which denied, and what the purpose was behind it all.
“What does the list say?” The list had a justification for every request now. Dr’ouk had learned quickly that unsubstantiated requests were returned with a why? beside them.
Janeway glanced quickly at the PADD she held. “In order to be sure their ritual doesn’t harm me.”
“It seems reasonable enough, but they don’t really need your specific records for that. What about general information on human physiology?”
She smiled, another battle of wills with Dr’ouk won. She made a note on the PADD to have the doctor compile the pertinent information before setting down the PADD and taking a drink from her glass.
“Why do they want this, Chakotay? What could possibly interest them about my service record, or our time with Seska, or any of it for that matter?”
Chakotay smiled. It was a rhetorical question, one that had been asked by half the crew as the requests for information got more and more demanding, requiring greater resources just to keep up. It had never been satisfactorily answered. He’d suggested a counter request for information on the An’Anaki on the second day of their journey. Twenty minutes later a 100,000-page document had been transmitted to Voyager. Chakotay hadn’t suggested any more questions for Dr’ouk.
Now it was day four, they’d be arriving at the Aourea system late the next day, and still the questions plagued them. Chakotay could tell from the strain etched on his Captain’s face that the unknown she was facing was taking its toll on her. Not having any answers for her, Chakotay shrugged. “Perhaps the answers await us on Aourea.”
“Perhaps.” Janeway turned back to her PADD, but a feeling struck her even as she returned her attention to what Chakotay was saying. It stayed with her, the unshakeable certainty that something was waiting for them on Aourea. If she’d taken a closer look at the feeling, acknowledged its presence and admitted its truth, she would have realized that really, it was something waiting for her.
*
“The Northern Sentinel is hailing us.” The alpha shift was back on duty for Voyager’s arrival at Aourea.
Janeway rolled her eyes and muttered, “What’s new?” to Chakotay before rising from her chair and settling her features. “Put them through, Harry.”
“They’re requesting a private channel, Captain.”
“Fine, in my ready room.” Janeway strode across the bridge with a sigh, seating herself behind her desk. With a flick of her finger, she activated the viewscreen.
Captain Dr’ouk appeared and inclined his head before speaking. “We will arrive at Aourea in a few hours, Janeway. I wish to go over some final details with you.”
“Of course Captain, what would you like to know?”
Dr’ouk paused for a moment, puzzled. “I do not require more information; I wish to prepare you for the ordeal you will face.”
Now he had her attention. “Go ahead.”
“You must arrive on the surface one hour before dawn tomorrow morning, the 17th day of Coldrig. You will remain on the surface until one hour after dawn on the 18th day of Coldrig. Days are 27 hours long on Aourea, so you must be awake for 29 hours. It is possible for your species to do this?”
Janeway was surprised; he seemed genuinely concerned about her well-being. “It is possible, with help.”
“Help?”
“Usually a stimulant of some sort is used if we plan on staying awake for that length of time.”
“I’m afraid no stimulant can be used. Its effects might distort the results of the Judgement.”
No Coffee!
“Staying awake for this length of time will not be detrimental to you?”
Still reeling from the realization that she’d have to be up at some ungodly hour without coffee, and then stay caffeine-free for over 29 hours, Janeway answered numbly, “It’s not good for us, but it doesn’t cause any lasting harm. I’ve been awake much longer before.”
Dr’ouk seemed to relax slightly. “That is good to know. During the Judgement, there may be a physical component.”
“What kind of physical component?”
“I cannot say; the Judgement cannot be known by any who have not achieved the Right of Captaincy. However, you may require minor medical care. Can your doctor keep his silence about what he finds?”
“This physical component, it will not prevent me from performing my job, will it?”
She’d stunned him again. “Captain, what would be the reasoning for the Right to Captain a vessel being given only after an individual could no longer perform that function?”
“Point taken. In that case, yes, I can order my doctor never to reveal anything about the incident.”
“And he will obey, even to your other crew members?”
“If I order it, he will obey.”
“And your logs?”
Of course he’d know exactly how meticulous their log system was after all his questions. “I can have them sealed.”
“Very well, Janeway. Do you have any questions concerning the Judgement?”
A million questions came to her mind, but most of them were about the ritual itself. “Just one, Captain. My regulations require that I be accompanied by some of my officers. Would this be acceptable?”
“They would not be able to enter the chamber for the Judgement, however they could monitor you remotely.”
“That is acceptable.”
“Excellent. I will transmit coordinates to your ship, and greet you on Aourea on the 17th day of Coldrig, one hour before dawn.”
“I await our meeting.”
*
That night, as she lay in bed awake, Captain Janeway’s thoughts turned to the day before her, and what perils it might hold. They’d reached orbit earlier, finding a blue-green marble to match Earth’s magnificence. Pushing aside the longing she’d felt at the sight, she ordered scans of the planet, concentrating on the landing site. A few hours later the report had come in. The planet was a little wetter than Earth, but otherwise quite similar. As for the landing site, it was at the foot of a ziggurat. Looking at the pictures of the high stone walls, the torches lining the way to the main entrance, and especially the massive doors of the entrance itself, Janeway couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps she was about to participate not in the Right of Captaincy, but the Rite of Captaincy. Unfortunately, the thought that she was about to become involved in a religious ceremony rather than a bureaucratic one wouldn’t leave her. As she finally started to drift off, after hours of tossing and turning, her mind wouldn’t let her rest. Her neurons were firing overtime, dragging her into dark imaginings.
She dreamt she was standing in the square before the temple, Tom Paris and Tuvok each on a side. As they escorted her toward the entrance, she gradually became aware that their destination wasn’t the building, but an altar just outside the gates. Firm hands gripped her arms as she tried to turn around; her officers were forcing her forward.
Chakotay was standing behind the altar, calmly watching the proceedings. Once there, she was laid out on the smooth surface, held by Tom and Tuvok with impossible strength. Chakotay came to stand over her. He smiled down at her, his expression full of compassion. Then he raised a long, jagged knife. Janeway looked desperately for a way out, at her feet was Paris, but now his skin was striped, and a pair of fangs snuck out under his lips. Terrified she searched for Tuvok. Her friend’s face held its expression of eternal calm, but he too, sported Dr’ouk’s stripes and fangs. In a last, anxious gesture, she returned her stare to Chakotay. He gazed down on her, sympathetic even with his new face and teeth.
And then he plunged the knife into her stomach.
The pain was intense, taking her breath away. Each cut sapped her strength, draining her until she couldn’t fight anymore, until she was weakened into submission. She felt his hands on her, and then inside the cavity he’d opened in her belly. She could tell he was hunting for something, his search surprisingly gentle. Finally he found what he was looking for, and she could feel him lift it out of her. With a final effort, she forced her eyes to focus on him. In his left hand he held her liver, still blood-red and steaming in the cool air. He looked at it with an expression of curiosity, before finding her eyes. A slow smile spread across his face, filling his eyes with love. She opened her mouth to speak, wanting to know why…
And then her alarm went off, breaking the spell. And she shook off the terror that gripped her so she could get moving and do anything not to think about the fact that she was about to beam into that same square where Chakotay had just vivisected her, and that Tom and Tuvok had been assigned to go with her, to monitor her while she went through the Rite, and that Dr’ouk would be there with his striped face and sharp fangs, and –
She recycled two coffees before finally gaining enough control to remember the prohibition against stimulants. After that she pulled herself together, got into her dress uniform, and choked down a slice of toast. By the time she arrived in the transporter room at 0300 ship’s time – 0500 local – she was cool and composed as usual. The bags under her eyes matched Tom’s and no one thought they were the product of anything more than an aborted sleep-cycle.
*
“I’m surprised you came, after your little lecture.”
“What lecture?” The woman’s robe swished in the cool pre-dawn air.
Yerivat leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “You know. The one where you called Dr’ouk a whelp.”
She pushed him aside in disgust. “Yerivat, I read the reports. This may well be the most important Judgement in a hundred years. You think I’d miss it to just to make a point to you? You overestimate your worth.”
“You’re right, I was treading a path that wasn’t mine, Captain.” His last word was in reference to the white robe she now wore, the dress of a Captain preparing to stand in Judgement. The rough-spun garment was a far cry from the luxurious indigo one she normally sported as a sign of office.
But subterfuge was necessary sometimes, distasteful as it might be, and the woman had even gone so far as to change her face, taking on the stripes and fangs of a female Menkalli. The teeth felt unfamiliar in her mouth, but they served her purpose. Now she was a Captain, one among hundreds expected to be at this judgement. Only the thin indigo piping on her robe would differentiate her from the rest, and would serve to ensure she wasn’t challenged. Her memories could betray her too easily.
“See that you remember to whom it is you speak, Skoudrid. I am an Emissary to the Kaliphts. It wouldn’t do for us to seem too familiar.”
“Very true, Emissary. I was only trying to ease your path.” The square before the ziggurat was starting to fill, and his companion was right; familiarity would be out of place.
“I thank you for your efforts, honoured Skoudrid, but I have all that I need.” And with that she departed for a small side entrance in the temple.
Cold as an Emissary, Yerivat mussed before crossing the temple’s threshold.