Return to Valjiir Stories
Jeremy Paget raised his head, his mind clearing the grogginess of a clearly forced nap. He glanced around, seeing Noel Duhon sitting at a lab table. He rose. “Noel, I….” he began, then stopped dead three steps inside the medical lab where one half of his friend was working. “What are you doing?”
Noel looked up from the odd assortment of plants and powders he had piled on the worktable before him and grinned. “Somet’ing my mama whipped me fo’ tryin’ when I was ten. Come on in, I gonna need you t’ finish this up.”
Paget picked up a small vial that contained six of what looked to be frog eyes. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”
Noel smiled and poured a few grains of an ochre-colored powder into the palm of his hand. “Depends on what you t’ink I doin’,” he replied genially as he ran his thumb carefully over the powder as if to warm it.
Even though this half of Del had identified himself as a priest, Paget’s prior knowledge of the cynical and skeptical engineer rebelled against accepting the sight of his friend preparing a fetish talisman to ward off evil.
“What’s that smell?” he asked to give his mind a little more time to adjust.
“An ol’ family recipe,” Noel answered, mixing the powder in his hand with some beige-colored granules. “My Aunt Rachelle could throw together a mean gris-gris. I tryin’ to get my head ‘round the methodology behind some o’ her procedural strictures. I feel like I got down th’ primary conceptual approach, but…”
“You make it sound like an engineering project.”
“Every solution to any problem involve engineerin’, Jer,” the Cajun answered, sounding reassuringly familiar as he lit the first of a circle of six blue, gold, and rust-colored candles. “Even Voudun is a technology. It has to do wit’ usin’ psychic force to manipulate, re-shape, an’ fuse the energy fields generated by certain types o’ organic matter. A big problem fo’ me right now is that on a starship, we go t’ great pains to limit th’ types o’ organic matter we carry on board.”
“Severin and his loonies were always complaining about the sanitized, sterilized atmosphere we encase ourselves in,” Paget recalled as the engineer dimmed out the rooms overhead lights.
“When you put it that way, it no wonder they always kept so many damned plants on Dreamland, non?”
The Security Officer sighed wearily and shook his head. “I don’t even want to think about that.”
Noel placed the glowing candles on top of the tables and computers around him so that they formed a warm circle. “Our immediate problem is that th’ Enterprise is a far less felicitous atmosphere fo’ alchemy than my aunt’s back garden.”
“Can’t you replicate what you need?” Jer asked as the Cajun beckoned him forward into the circle.
“I can fabricate replicas o’ what I need,” Noel said, picking up a tray full of pebbles, “but the energy signature is… lackin’.”
“I’m not sure if I understand.” Mindblind as he was, Paget could feel the air crackling with energy as he stepped into the Cajun’s charmed circle.
“Humans are imbued wit’ heaps o’ psychic energy.” The engineer-priest gave him a mischievous grin. “Some more ’an others. When we handle organic matter – particularly in states of intense emotions – there a transfer, a fusin’ of energy. Traces remain.” He picked up one of the small stones and pressed against Paget’s palm. “This li’l t’ing has th’ exact same arrangement o’ atoms as it s’posed to, but it has no history. What I need here is items wit’ history. Or… I t’ink we can take a li’l short cut…”
“Xenoneurophene,” Jer answered, feeling the blue energy from Noel’s hand tingling all around the cool grey pebble.
“I t’ink so.”
“You think you can make something that will have an effect on Kam or… the other you?”
“We gotta hope so.” Noel picked up an antique scalpel borrowed from one of McCoy’s collection. “They both winds o’ trouble that could blow us all to th’ edge of Damnation an’ a mile beyond. I done talked to Ruth… ani Ramy. She promised not to interfere no more.”
“For the moment,” Paget added dubiously.
“She a force of nature,” the Cajun agreed fondly as he brought the sharpened edge of the scalpel to his lips and kissed it. “She not be tamed fo’ long.” He pressed the cold steel over his chest as if warming it with his affection for the Antari. “You must now go to Kam.” Noel touched scalpel to his left shoulder as if invoking Kamikaze’s wild spirit. “An’ to the other Del.” With equal deference he touched the blade to his right shoulder. “They have great power over you.” He pressed the steel to his forehead. “But you must not fear it. Let th’ wind o’ their power propel you, but hold onto knowledge that ultimately you steer your own course. Let them t’ink they control you, but remain strong wit’in yourself. Let them speak their minds as they please, never knowin’ that their words sow the seeds o’ their defeat.”
When the Cajun held out his hand, Paget knew without asking that this was the point in the ritual that required a blood sacrifice. “You’re not going to use an extractor?” he asked softly, a little squeamish not at the thought of being cut as much as the thought of all the germs that could have been accumulating on the centuries old medical tool as it sat in its display case in generations of doctors’ offices.
“No,” the engineer traced a slow careful line across his friend’s palm. It bloomed with blood that seemed to sparkle in the candlelight. “Like th’ objects, th’ blood must be invested wit’ emotion – drenched in th’ chemicals th’ body produce in response to th’ fear an’ loathin’…” The Cajun paused to grin at his friend. “…or the erotic delight… of bein’ cut.”
Noel handed the scalpel to Paget and held out his own hand.
“Jeremy Maurice Paget,” he said, as the security man made an identical cut into his palm. “I have known… both o’ me have known you very, very, very well fo’ a very long time now. Kam has known you longer an’ better. The two o’ them are powerful in ways that are hard even fo' them to imagine. Both of ‘em be hurt an’ mad from befo’ you known ‘em. Now they both cut loose fo’ the firs’ time from anyt’ing holdin’ ‘em back from any kind o’ guilt or remorse. You not kid yourself into t’inkin’ they not gonna to get to you, treat you like a ragdoll, make you a slave to their will.”
Paget felt the shiver of mixed dread and delight pulse through his veins.
“But you gonna be like the willow that bend to the storm, then return as strong as befo'. You gonna know we all behind you an’ we all gonna fight our way through this.” Noel clasped their dripping palms together around a handful of pebbles. “An’ it gonna take all o' us workin’ together to see this storm through. An’ they gonna get to as many of us as bad as they can an’ as quick as they can fo’ as long as they can.”
“Yeah,” Jer replied, feeling lines of blue energy converge and flow around their hands and into the stones so clearly that it was surprising that he couldn’t actually see them.
“An’ it gonna hurt,” Noel warned, letting dark red and purple color the energy beams.
“It does,” Paget replied speaking for himself in the past, present, and future.
“Jeremy,” the Cajun said, putting both hands over his. “I t’ink I never say this to you, but you are my best friend. You have saved me more times'an I can count – usually from myself. I cherish you an’ our friendship more'an I have words to express. Maybe that why I never say much ‘bout it….” Noel stopped and smiled ruefully. “That an’ I can be kind of a prick sometimes ‘bout stuff like that.”
“Sometimes,” Paget conceded, returning his smile.
“If you had not come along when you did, found me in that bar an’ got me out of New Orleans… I was headed for all kind of ruination.”
Paget’s smile faded. “And then I took you straight to Ruis Calvario.”
Dark red and green mixed into the lines of energy.
“Mais, we both manage t’ survive.”
“Sulu didn’t,” Jer said, seeing in his mind a picture of green, red, orange, and yellow lines of energy coiled around his love like a dragon. “Seeing how fragile he is and how strong Kam is… As bad as I as I ever thought what that bastard did to him was, it just keeps gettin’ proven to me that it was much, much worse…”
Noel took in a deep breath and pure, cleansing blue began to flow again through the invisible lines of energy swirling around them. “We gotta do what we can fo’ him. Give him our love. Make him whole. We gonna do what we can.”
Paget sighed heavily as his friend released his hand and put the red smeared stones into a small cloth bag along with pinches of powder, dashes of crushed crystals and a few leaves. “Which doesn’t seem to be much.”
The Cajun smiled, a serene wisdom radiating from him that Jer had never seen before. “Oh, you might be surprised what all we can accomplish…” he said, handing his friend the little charm, “…when we got our hearts in th’ right place.”
Pavel Chekov was in Astrophysics, frowning and chewing his lower lip as he went over and over the figures on the spores from the errant comet which had started the whole, frustrating chain of events. So far, he had had no luck at all in identifying the compound in those spores that was interacting with the ore and the xenoneurophene-like biological substance on the Theraxan planets. He had found that the biological substance was part of the Federation-issued fertilizer the colonists had used on their crops, which bolstered the idea that whatever was in the spores had been designed to activate upon contact with Human habitation. He was trying very hard to convince himself that the havoc regarding the transporter was nothing more than a bizarre confluence of events – but Russian pessimism kept getting in his way. Still, he could see no reasonable purpose behind such a thing. Whoever the designers of the compound in the spores were, surely they could not have known about the creation of the amy- and xeno- neurophenes…
“Pavel, may we have a word with you?”
The navigator turned at the voice that was soft, gentle – and undeniably that of the First Officer. He was surprised to see Daphne standing beside the Human Mr. Spock.
“You have news?” he asked, speaking more to his superior than to his lover.
“You’ve been holed up here so long you didn’t hear?” Daffy returned. “I found a solution. Or at least I thought I did.”
When the Russian’s brow furrowed, Spock moved toward him. “Unfortunately, the Antari half of my wife altered the readings from the chemical synthesizers,” he explained.
“But we didn’t find that out until Del volunteered to be a guinea pig,” Daffy added sourly. “So now there’s two of him, too.”
“Two Noels?” Chekov repeated, his brown eyes widening. “Bozhe moi!”
“And one of him’s an evil, powerful schmuck,” Gollub concluded.
“Which is why we’re here,” Spock rejoined. “Mr. DelMonde does not want our efforts to succeed, and to that end…”
“He threatened me, bubee,” Daffy broke in, her voice quiet.
“He what?!” Chekov burst out.
“He destroyed my work, and told me it was in my best interests to stop trying…”
“Where is he!?” the Russian demanded. “He cannot be allowed to get away with such a thing!”
“He’s a very powerful, dangerous telepath, Pavel,” Spock interjected. “While he didn’t exactly threaten her with physical harm…
“Should he not be taken to the Brig?” Chekov snarled, his teeth grinding together.
“…what he did threaten was – well, I guess you could call it emotional blackmail,” Spock went on, his voice more forceful.
“Security should be alerted!” the navigator fumed. “The Captain can order…”
“Pavel, you’re not listening,” Daffy said, moving forward to take his hands. “Please, listen.”
Chekov stopped speaking, his breath coming in short, angry snorts.
“We’re here, Pavel,” Spock rejoined, “because blackmail can’t work if the subject of it already knows what the blackmailer threatens to reveal.”
Pavel stared at Spock, then at Daffy. “What could he tell me that I don’t already know?” he wondered grimly.
“Well, we don’t exactly talk a lot…” Gollub hesitated.
“You talk a great deal,” the Russian countered. “You simply seldom say anything.”
Daffy’s jaw tightened, and Spock stepped in between her and Chekov. “This is what he wants,” he said softly. “He wants you angry with each other. He’ll feed on your insecurities and your fear and your shame. My friends, it is vital that you don’t let him succeed. Daffy had a wild adolescence, and she did many things she’s not proud of, but you have to remember, Pavel, that she did them before she even met you. It’s imperative for you both that you understand that, that you realize that neither of you can hold against her the things she did back then.” He gazed at both of them, his eyes warm and earnest. “Pavel, you have to forgive whatever she tells you, and Daffy, you have to forgive yourself. That’s the only way to destroy the hold DelMonde wants to have over you.”
“So can’t we just agree to that?” Daffy asked miserably. “I mean, I don’t really have to tell him if he’s already…”
“That’s intellectual,” Spock answered. “It won’t help his emotional reaction when DelMonde starts giving him the gory details.”
“Oy geveult…”
Pavel swallowed, then retook Daffy’s hands. “Dafshka,” he said, “I need to know. I need to understand… whatever it is I need to understand. Noel can be most sarcastic and manipulative…”
“I know, I know!” Daffy moaned. “It’s just – after the whole Dreamland thing, talking didn’t go so well…”
“I’ll be here,” Spock offered. “I’ll help you keep the conversation on track.”
Chekov hesitated, and glanced at Daffy. “Is that – I mean, can you be – open – with another person present?”
Daffy flushed. “I think I’ll have to be. Del talked about telling Fleet – and the Captain – and making people do things…”
The Russian squared his shoulders. “I will protect you, Dafshka,” he vowed.
“And I promise to listen and not remember a thing,” Spock said with a wry grin.
”Oy geveult,” Daffy repeated, then took a deep breath, and after a few starts and stops, began talking.
"Now wait a blasted minute!" McCoy growled, physically blocking the entrance to the isolation ward where Sulu was sleeping. "I don't know what kind of half moon-priest you think you've turned into..."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Noel had to smile. "Oh, now let's not get Miss Z pulled into this mess..."
Given the amount of chaos going on with the twinned versions of Sulu, Jilla, Spock, Ruth, and now DelMonde, it was only reasonable that the Enterprise's Chief Surgeon had been extremely alarmed to find that one of his potentially lethal antique scalpels had gone missing. Finding that one half of the Cajun engineer had borrowed the instrument to perform a Voudun rite had not done much to ease his jangled nerves. The thought that Noel now wanted to minister to the weakest of all the twinned selves was near to pushing the doctor over the edge entirely.
Jade Han, none too pleased herself, positioned herself close enough to signal she was ready to join McCoy's blockade. "If you could just give us a better idea of what you plan to do..."
"I not exactly sure o’ that myself," Noel admitted, though he could feel the strong pull of Sulu's tormented soul calling out to him from beyond the door they were barring.
"Now, that I can believe." McCoy crossed his arms. "If you think I'm gonna stand here and let my sickbay be turned into some kind of voodoo shrine..."
"If it all such bullshit, then they no harm in lettin’ me try, non?" Noel shot back. "Keep th’ both o’ us lunatics quiet an’ out your hair fo’ a few minutes, non?"
The Cajun could feel the doctor flinch back with both guilt and concern from his use of the word ‘lunatics.’
"If you think I'm gonna let you bleed him..." McCoy began, undaunted.
"I not gonna bleed nobody," the Cajun replied indignantly. "I not gonna put no leeches on him. I not gonna put on no feathers an’ beads an’ dance naked in no circle ‘round him..."
"What are you going to do?" Han demanded again.
Noel took in a deep breath, using his new-found connection to the power within him to calm his reaction to the turbulence of emotion buffeting him. "I gonna talk to him... gonna try to listen to his heart... try t’ hear what he need an’ see if there somet’ing I can do... that sound familiar procedure to you, Miss Jade?"
He could see the comparison to her own profession register with the psychologist, but she was still frowning. "He's in a very fragile state."
"An’ what you plan to do ‘bout that?" he replied, firmly turning her own argument around to accuse her. "Either of ya?"
McCoy blew out a short, frustrated breath before replying, "We can keep him sedated until Scotty can figure out a way to reverse the malfunction in the transporter."
"How long that gonna take?" Noel countered. "He gonna last that long? He not gettin’ weaker by th’ second? How long ‘fore the mix o’ stimulants ya got him on to keep his heart pumpin’ an’ sedatives to keep him from screamin’ his head off blows his brain apart?"
He could feel Han's resistance weakening, but she still frowned and said, "If you could be more specific about what you plan to do..."
"I gonna talk to him," Noel repeated, naming only the surface form of the only step he was positive of in what he could feel was going to be a murderously painful battle against the forces strangling the life force out of his friend. "Y’all can watch an’ put a stop to it if it look like I not doin’ him no good," he offered, knowing that once he was joined in spiritual battle, there would be nothing they could do to either hinder or help him. He could feel that they suspected as much; however, he had an even stronger sense of the powerful arguments their growing desperation was offering in his favor. "Ya done let ol' Kamikaze talk to him. How much worse can I be?"
McCoy sighed, frowned, then held out his hand. "Give me back the scalpel."
"Give me fifteen minutes wit’ him," Noel countered, making no move to open the bag he carried.
"Ten," the surgeon conceded grudgingly. "And we'll be monitoring every second."
The Cajun handed over the bladed tool. "I be sure to put on a good show fo’ ya, then."
"He'll be groggy," Han warned, her concern for Sulu forming a protective veil over the doorway McCoy unlocked.
"Not fo’ long, darlin'," Noel assured her with a smile, as he gently pushed through it and his own trepidations, wishes, and fears as he entered the room to face the dark forces coiled there.
"Ah, Jeremy, my friend." Del greeted him warmly as he entered the Cajun's cabin.
His smile was symmetrical enough to seem noticeably out of character. The engineer was drinking red wine instead of his usual bourbon. The number of times Jer had heard Del proclaim his undying hatred of red wine was more than sufficient prompting to raise the Security Officer's eyebrows.
"You an’ me need to have a serious talk," the Cajun said, pouring a glass for Paget and gesturing to a chair.
Jeremy was fascinated at the way the two halves of Del exhibited characteristics he'd never seen in the original. The old Del was a very handsome man, but was frequently ill at ease with his own good looks, complaining bitterly about how often they bought him unwelcome attention. ‘Good’ Del had an unselfconscious grace. He simply accepted himself as what he was -- good or bad, convenient or inconvenient. This ‘dark’ Del had a studied elegance about him. He seemed to have gotten the full measure of Del's propensity for arrogance. The quality was so concentrated in him that he seemed almost patrician. Neither half of Del showed any signs of the engineer's scowling discomfort at being openly appreciated as the exquisitely attractive young man he was.
DelMonde gave an indulgent chuckle as he handed Jer the glass as if he'd followed every thought.
A glitter caught Paget's eye. Following it, he saw that the Cajun was wearing a gold signet ring on the littlest finger of his left hand -- indulging in just the sort of understated accessorizing that Jer had never ever, ever, ever been able to convince his friend would look so delicious on him.
"Jeremy, mon ami..." DelMonde smiled and shook his head. "After all th’ time we known each other an’ all we been through, I do believe not’ing would please you more than havin’ me as your own personal li’l dress-up doll."
"I keep trying to tell ya," Paget returned easily as he took a seat. "Clothes can be as fun to put on as they are to take off."
"Don't fool yourself, son," the engineer replied in kind. "Puttin' 'em on is jus’ foreplay to all the takin' 'em off you plan to do."
"True enough," Jer conceded. He sipped the full-bodied red wine. His tongue lingered over the hint of oak in the aftertaste. "This is a good old Southern muscadine wine, isn't it?"
"I foun’ myself in the mood fo’ a li’l taste o’ home," the Cajun admitted cryptically before setting down his glass. "Jeremy, you have always been my friend."
"Yes, I have."
"I gonna need you to keep on bein’ my friend," the engineer instructed him firmly.
"Why wouldn't I?" Jer asked in a manner he hoped would pass as not being too disingenuous.
The Cajun's short laugh was enough to tell him he'd failed. "T’ings gonna change ‘roun’ here," Del informed him as he topped off both their glasses. "I been creepin’ ‘roun’ this place on tippy-toe like a li’l church mouse. Now that I got that ol’ angel bird off my shoulder, them days is over."
A chill ran down Paget's spine. "What are you planning to do?"
"Oh, I not got no big plans," the engineer said in a tone, that while genial, clearly conveyed that any plans he did have were none of the Security man's business. "I jus’ t’ink I been hidin’ my light under a bushel too long. Time t’ shine a little. Time t’ make my influence felt."
"Felt by who?" Jer asked as lightly as possible.
"It might be felt by some smart people who like to ask a lot o’ dumb questions," the Cajun replied sharply, letting an edge of his ferocious temper flash. "So, you best watch your ass, Dr. Paget."
Jer swallowed at the threat of exposure implied by that casually thrown in title. "And if I don't?" he asked.
Del smiled his new, diamond-edged smile. "That not gonna happen," he said, giving Paget's face a light pat. "'Cause we friends. Comprendez? Friends who know each other real, real well."
"I'm starting to get the feeling that I don't know you as well as I thought I did."
The engineer laughed his unnervingly easy chuckle. "Yeah, ya do. You always known me. Always been able to see wit’ your cop eye down into the li’l corner where I lived. I not not’ing new. I jus’ sittin’ out on the front porch now."
"N.C," Jer warned. "I'm not going to let you hurt..."
"Ts, ts, ts," the Cajun hushed him, putting two fingers over his lips. "Let's not talk t’ each other like that. That could lead to some ill feelin’s. An’ it ‘Del.’ Never could abide that ‘N.C.’ shit.” He showed his teeth in a parody of a smile, making it clear this wasn’t a request. “All you need to be t’inking ‘bout is how much t’ your advantage it is to keep me on your side – ‘bout how nice it is t’ stay my friend."
"You're making it sound like I don't have a choice."
"Oh, there always choices, cher," Del replied. "Good choices an’ bad choices."
"Going against you would be a bad choice?"
"A very bad choice," DelMonde confirmed with a velvet smile. "Go on, now. I need to talk wit’ Kam."
Another shivering shudder ran down Paget's spine. "Kam?"
"Yeah, th’ two of us need to have us a li’l confab," the Cajun replied, then smiled cruelly. "Behave yourself, an’ who knows? We might let you come in an’ play dress-up."
"And if I don't behave myself?"
"If ever there was anyone who knew what to do wit’ naughty boys, it me an’ Kam," DelMonde said as half-promise and half-threat. He unexpectedly grabbed Paget by the back of the neck and pushed him forward. A fraction of an inch before their lips met, the Cajun abruptly pulled back. "Go on, now, Dr. Jester," he dismissed him heartlessly. "Fetch me Le Roi."
The most unsettling thing about the malevolent force swirling around Sulu was that it seemed to know him. Instead of attacking, it reached out curious tendrils towards him as if to say, "What's happened to you?"
"Long story," the Cajun replied wryly as he set down his bag. As he drew out the supplies he thought he might need, it occurred to him that this might be the best way to draw the forces out -- tell it a story. Give it what it wanted. It demanded attention and deference. Noel knew that his voice was an even better treat than the little offerings of spice and herbs he'd brought with him.
He began to hum a wordless tune that came to him as he placed a circle of sweet scented candles around the diagnostic bed where Sulu lay tossing and moaning in a tortured dream. Even though the Cajun could tell that the dark force knew what he was up to, it was content for the moment to watch him with the sort of tolerant good humor a spider might extend to an adventurous fly.
Noel tried to transition the melody he was humming to become a lullaby to soothe the troubled rest of his sleeping friend; however, it seemed to insist on remaining in a minor key.
"Oh, so this need to be all ‘bout you," Noel said to the unseen force. "I see. Ca c'est bon. As you wish."
The notes he hummed began to coalesce into a tune dimly remembered from his youth as he placed a stack of metal dishes around the room and filled them with precious treats from his bag. Although he could not recall the words, there was something distinctly bitter about the melody, as bitter as the scent of herbs in the air around him.
"All right, y’all," he announced to the doctors monitoring his progress as he lit the first candle. "Gonna have t’ break th’ fire code a li’l here. I need you t’ refrain from cuttin’ on th’ sprinklers fo’ a while."
Thick smoke began to immediately rise from the candles and little plates of offerings -- thicker than simple physics called for. Noel wondered if McCoy and Han would be able to see it or if their monitor would only transmit the physical reality. The trails of smoke began to circle around him as he sang the words that were suddenly clear in his memory.
T’es pas dans mes bras
Oui t’es dans les bras d’un autre
Donc je m’en vas pour tuer
Ou pour mourir
It was a song he'd learned in the bars of New Orleans after his mother's death -- a song full of bitterness and blood.
You are not in my arms.
Oh yes, you are in the arms of another
So, I am going to kill or die.
The words stung him even more sharply than the fragrant smoke stung his eyes as its wisps curled around him.
Pour tuer ou mourir
Je prends les deux pour la même
Ça seras ton choix
Mais je vas partir après sourire
Noel's soul ached as the words forced themselves from his lips, singing a confession of his lust for another man's wife.
To kill or to die
I think the two are the same
It will be your choice
But I will with a smile
He could feel the loa rising, taking form as the Thunder God around the sweet offering of his forbidden desire. He knew he'd been tricked, but could not stop singing the words of the cajun murder ballad.
Asteure quand j’suis planté
Devant ta maison
Et mes mains sont plein de sang
Et tes yeux plein de larmesNow when I am stuck in front of your house
And my hands are full of blood
And your eyes full of tears
Noel could feel the Thunder God smiling as it linked his soul back to that of his twin, joining them with a poisoned bond of jealousy. Sex and blood were the offerings this force desired, not a few handfuls of sage and cinnamon.
Mais quand même j’après sourire
Parce que je connais que les oiseaux
Vont chanter des belle chansons
Autour de ma force pour toujours
Visions tore at Noel as he sang. He saw himself covered in the green blood of his rival and the golden hair of his love.
Yes, even then I am smiling
Because I know that the birds are singing pretty songs
Around my passion forever
Wrapped in sweet honey-gold and bitter copper-green forever, the smoke dragon promised him. Embraced for eternity in the ecstasy of revenge.
The smoke dragon regarded his agony with Olympian laughter. Give me what I want, my son, it invited him with a smile of a thousand teeth, and be whole.
The spirit gave him a vision of power. Noel was lifted up in the coils of green and gold beyond even the exalted levels he'd visited during his stay on Dreamland. He was transported to the realm of the Thunder God. He was part of the very heart of the deity. Pure, rolling energy saturated every fiber of his being. He was one with a storm in the soul of the Universe.
Almost instinctively, Noel activated the xenoneurophene in his system in an attempt to pull himself back to reality. The sparkling blue lightning snapped to life, adding another level of iridescence to the bonds of green and gold holding him. Instead of weakening their hold, however, the cerulean glow clung to him like a net. Through its strands he could hear singing.
T’es pas dans mes bras
Oui t’es dans les bras d’un autre
Donc je m’en vas pour tuer
Ou pour mourir
His twin's voice joined his, adding the descant line to the melody that he’d improvised to sing along with a blind guitarist in Jackson Square in hopes of getting enough tips from the tourists to split a bottle of cheap bourbon on a rainy afternoon so long ago.
Pour tuer ou mourir
e prends les deux pour la même
Ça seras ton choix
Mais je vas partir après sourire
Be whole! the Thunder God welcomed them/him.
Noel could feel himself within his twin's body, wearing the signet ring his father's mother had left to him in her will, saying he was free to wear it if he ever came to his senses.
Acknowledge you are mine, the force invited, and claim your inheritance!
The wholeness the loa offered was not a mere return to the man he had been. He would instead emerge from this reunion as a new entity that would shine with the splendor of a thousand bolts of blue lightning. He would be reborn as a creature of immense might and sublime wisdom. Anything he wanted in the temporal or spiritual realms could be his. Not only would winning back his beloved Ruth be child's play for him, he'd be able to achieve his earliest most impossible wishes -- he could simultaneously be reconciled to his father and rejoined in communion with his mother.
"Oh, mama..." Tears of sparkling blue spilled from his eyes.
The thought of his mother crushed Noel's soaring heart back to cold reality for a moment. How could he face her after having made such a compromise? How could he speak to her from within the body of a loa of the very sort she had warned him of so often?
He opened his eyes to find that he had slumped over the sleeping body of his friend. His head rested on Sulu's chest. He could feel the wetness of his tears mingling with the nightmare sweat there. As it had when he mixed his blood with Jeremy Paget, there were the faint stirrings of power there as xenoneurophene-tainted gift met xenoneurophene-tainted latency.
"No, no," he groaned, feeling the loa re-group itself for a renewed assault. "Power not the answer. Gift feed it. Power make it strong."
As the smoke snakes began to swirl over them, Noel hugged his friend close, hoping to at least offer comfort as they were both consumed, since it was now obvious he would not be able to provide any protection.
If power feed the loa, his engineer's brain continued to speculate, even as he watched his inevitable defeat gather force above him, then can th’ opposite o’ power defeat it? What the opposite o’ power?
No answer to this riddle came to mind as the Thunder God drew close, singing to Noel in two versions of his own voice. There was nothing that was the opposite of... The Cajun stopped and blinked. His mind suddenly filled with memories of Nothing, the annoying Nothing he'd lived side by side with since his days of the Academy, the curious Nothing that had pulled at his mind so often, the infinitely un-powerful Nothing that had helped defeat the Beast on Dreamland...
"Wake up, mon ami," he said, shaking his sleeping friend. "Somet’ing strong comin’ fo’ us an’ we gotta figure out how t’ be Not’ing."
"I am nothing,” Sulu moaned, still in the grips of his nightmare. "I am nothing!"
As the Thunder God rained down upon him, singing his triumph, Noel took his friend into his arms and pressed him so close that the tears on their cheeks flowed together. Whispering the name of his mother as a prayer, Noel plunged into the blackness of his friend's mind.
Jilla was fitfully asleep, Kam chuckling softly at the images that tormented her dreams. He hadn’t liked the presence of Selar there, and, with a small twist of the power he held, he yanked the Vulcan out of Jilla’s mindscape. Her grief and guilt remained, and Kam found he had to turn the soft, caring image of himself into a more realistic picture within her. It was an annoyance that she found Mr. Pathetique more appealing, but he was certain that would change in time.
Because I’m not going to give her much of a choice, he vowed with a grin.
He felt Jeremy Paget’s approach, and waited a few seconds before pulling the blanket over Jilla’s shimmering body, both liking and irritated by the intense desire that filled the TerAfrican’s mind. He didn’t bother covering his own nudity. There was no irritation with Cobra’s desire over that.
“Something you want, Jer?” he asked casually, then added, “As if I didn’t know.”
“Uh, N.C. – I mean Del wants to see you,” the security man answered.
“He finally tell you off about that initial shit?” Kam returned with a grin.
Jeremy frowned. “You knew he didn’t like it?”
“I knew part of him didn’t.” Kam stretched, enjoying Paget’s involuntary intake of breath, then got out of the Sickbay bed. “I guess that part’s in control now.”
“Only of half of him,” Jeremy acknowledged.
Kam frowned. “Yeah. Where is the priest, anyway?”
“I think he’s in the office.” Paget nodded toward the other end of Sickbay.
“Just keep him away from me,” Kam muttered as he headed for the replicator, calling up a black leather jacket and pants. He could feel Paget’s gaze on him as he put them on, and caught the TerAfrican’s eyes just as Jeremy was licking his lips.
“Much better look than a uniform, right?” Kam said with a wicked smile.
Paget could only nod.
“So what does Mr. Mafia want anyway?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea,” Jeremy answered. “But I can bet it’s nothing good.”
“I like the sound of that,” Kam chuckled. He moved forward, reaching up to pull Paget’s head down for a brief, devastating kiss. “I’ll let you know if it’s anything you can help with, honey,” he murmured, then sauntered off before the security man could fall to knees that had turned to jelly.
He was very aware of the looks he was getting as he strutted through the corridors to the turbolift that would take him to DelMonde’s cabin. The clear longing in most of them pleased him, the disgust in some amused him, and the fear in all of them filled him with delight. The thought of just how much pleasure awaited him now that he had his freedom was nearly intoxicating. The deal he’d made with the Antari would ensure he had all the time he needed to indulge himself with that freedom.
And if Del’s as easy to manipulate…
He stopped the train of thought before he reached the Cajun’s quarters. He put all his shields up and set his gifts to detect any influence from his old friend. He didn’t bother to use the door chime or to knock, well aware that the man on the other side of the door would already be aware of his presence.
“Ah, Kamikaze,” the dark voice said as he entered.
“Cajun,” he replied with silk of his own. He let the door slide closed behind him. “Cobra said you wanted to talk.”
“An’ so I do,” Del returned. He rose from his seat at his small desk. “You care fo’ some wine?”
“You wouldn’t have any sake, would you?” Kam asked.
“I can surely get you some,” was the genial response.
Kam moved to the desk as Del went to the replicator, returning moments later with a large flask and two cups. The hawk watched as the cups were filled, then took the one offered to him.
“Kanpei,” he said, and threw the warmed liquid to the back of his throat.
“À la votre,” Del responded as he, too, drained the small cup, then refilled them both.
Kam downed the second cup as easily, grinning when Del again refilled it, noting that the Cajun returned to his glass of wine rather than finish his own second cup. With a raised eyebrow, Kam gestured to it, and Del gestured back with an affirming nod. Kam swallowed both cups of the rice wine, then sat back.
“You enjoin’ your freedom, I see,” Del commented.
“Not as much as I’d like,” the hawk replied. “Too many pesky interferences. Which might, by the way, hamper your own enjoyment.”
“Oh, I not t’ink so,” Del chuckled. “People always got choices…”
“And you help them see the wisdom of the correct ones,” Kam finished. He poured yet another cup of sake. “Still, one can’t always force people to see reason.”
“I not intendin’ to force anyone into anyt’ing,” the Cajun countered.
“No, that never was your style.” Kam chuckled grimly. “You’re more the ‘let them muddle through on their own’ kind of guy.”
Del smiled. “Mais, when there not’ing in it fo’ me…”
“Sometimes even when there is,” Kam interrupted. “You don’t always take the long view, my friend.” He fixed the engineer with a challenging stare and a falsely genial smile.
“Ts, ts,” Del admonished. “No need fo’ that, Kamikaze.”
“I suppose not,” Kam returned, without changing expression. “After all, the sick-fuck is safely put away now. And there are those around here who believe that if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even exist.” His faux smile went cold. “Unfortunately, I’m not one of them.”
“I know you,” was all Del said.
“And that’s a good thing for both of us, non?” the hawk replied, deliberately using the Cajun’s typical questioning ending.
“It could be,” Del said with a small shrug. He took another sip of his wine, then leaned forward, placing his hands palms down on the desk. “We put our cards on th’ table, non?”
“By all means,” Kam responded, leaning casually back in his chair. Some would have taken it as a sign of retreat or caution, he knew. He also knew, as the Cajun had said, that Del knew him well enough not to make that mistake. He expected the brief but intense test of mental will, confident that whatever DelMonde’s gifts were in this new, doubled state, his own were a match for them. He didn’t delude himself – his weren’t greater. But his shields were pure neutronium.
He smiled as he felt the testing of his mind, then chuckled as the Cajun’s power withdrew.
“I pass the test, Cajun?” he asked.
Del didn’t answer. “What I got t’ say is this,” he said instead. “I find I like bein’ in charge here.” His fingertips went to his own chest. “I also find havin’ a twin is jus’ a li’l bitty bit annoyin.’”
“We’re in complete agreement so far,” Kam said.
“They gonna try an’ force us back together. Now I doin’ what I can t’ prevent that, but we not make th’ mistake o’ t’inkin’ these are dumb people here.”
“Surprisingly, no.”
“So I t’inkin’ it best to have a plan B.”
“Which is?”
“If they not got nobody to combine us wit’…”
Kam laughed. “You think I haven’t thought of that? The opinion of the professionals is that one can’t survive without the other.”
Del studied him for a moment. “An’ you agree wit’ that assessment?”
Kam shrugged. “I know Mr. Pathetic won’t last much longer without me. But Monsieur Duhon shows no signs of weakness.”
The Cajun made a dismissive noise. “All we gotta do fo’ him is let him get hisself trapped in his pretend spirit realm.”
Pretend, hmm? Kam thought. He carefully guarded what followed, that there was nothing ‘pretend’ about it, and if DelMonde was too stupid to know that – well, that will be his problem, won’t it?
“ani Ramy and Ruth seem perfectly stable,” he said. “And the Vulcan version of my wife doesn’t seem any the worse for wear without her Indiian death wish.” He paused, pursing his lips. “Though I’d make the choice the other way if I had my preferences.”
“An’ the Vulcan?” Del asked.
“Haven’t noticed any signs of instability from either of them,” Kam supplied.
“Then they no reason t’ t’ink we not survive, non?”
Kam downed another cup of sake, then stretched. “Well, like I said, my alter won’t last, so we may find out.” He grinned. “A bonus for you, if it turns out they’re right. It’s always so nice to have test subjects, isn’t it?”
He caught the stray ‘a bonus fo’ me either way,’ and schooled his features not to react. After all, if their positions were reversed, he’d feel exactly the same way.
“But, to get back to your Plan B,” he continued. “Assuming you’re willing to take the risk, exactly how do you suggest we ensure that there’s no one to combine us with?”
“Mais, we both got us our ways, Kamikaze,” Del responded with a smile.
That was irritating. The Cajun had said ‘cards on the table,’ and now he was being coy.
“If I recall,” Kam said casually, “your ‘way’ was to sit on your ass, drown yourself in sapphire and bourbon, and ignore what was going on around you. Whereas my ‘way’ was a lot more proactive.”
“But it still not get th’ job done, mon ami,” Del returned, his smile turning diamond bright and diamond cold.
“Depends on what the job was, doesn’t it?”
“We all got choices,” the Cajun murmured.
“That we do,” Kam agreed. He poured the last of the sake from the flask, swallowed it, then rose. “Let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d like me to consider,” he said.
“An’ you do likewise,” Del returned, also rising from his seat.
“Oh, I will, Cajun,” Kam answered. He walked to the door, turning at it. “That is, if I think there’s any likelihood at all that you’ll actually do anything about – whatever it is I happen to bring to you.” He lifted his hand in a mocking wave. ”Au revoir, mon ami.”
When the cabin door closed behind him, the friendly façade dropped away, his face darkening. There were things the Cajun had to pay for, and the Divine Wind would be damned if he was going to forego collection again.
Of course Sulu was completely wrong about being nothing. The interior of his mind was filled with glittering riches. There was depth and beauty within him of astounding intensity and range. Noel could easily understand, however, why his friend might feel empty inside. Sulu's mind was bound up in a manner that was as peculiar as it was tragic.
"Ever’t’ing strung up," the Cajun observed. He had been aware of this odd binding of his friend's mind for some time now. He looked at it with new eyes now, seeing the clear hand of the most malicious possible of twisted magiks at work. "Th’ poor t’ing trussed up like a puppet."
That, Noel knew, was the ultimate purpose. The people and forces who had tampered with Sulu had done so to facilitate his being entered and used so as to better gain access to the incredible treasures within his soul. The most appalling part of the binding was that it was now self-perpetuating. Sulu's base impulses were towards love and generosity. The bindings on his heart, though, had taught him that his desire for attachment was tainted. He believed he was only capable of selfish expressions of affection that would inevitably twist into cruelty. This erroneous belief drove him to abandon the ties of love and connection that could have and should have strengthened and supported him when he found himself under attack.
Instead, at the moments of his greatest need, in obedience to his cruel training, he abandoned all willingly and left himself as open as a sacrificial victim tied to a slab.
Taking a deep mental breath, Noel willed himself to do the same. He must be Nothing. He let himself melt into Sulu's mind. He was Nothing. He felt himself thinning out until he was only a thin, blue covering over the layers of bound treasure.
"Thinner, thinner," he thought, feeling himself grow near to infinitely insubstantial. Everything in his heart had to be put aside -- all passion, all desire... even his yearning for Ruth, even his longing for his mother. He had to be completely still and self-contained. There could be no point of cleavage the dark force could bore into. He had to be as smooth as glass.
You cannot hide from me, my son! the Thunder God roared with laughter as he raged into the still vessel of Sulu's mind. You are mine! You are mine! You are mine!
Noel remained flat and smooth under the assault though every fiber of him ached with the strain. He knew his true self to be much like the Thunder God, full of raw and ragged wild edges, driven by passion and desire. His twin self could never even begin to be small and still like this. His whole self too, could not have managed... at least not yet. He had not learned to tap the deep strength inside himself and put aside passion. He was not yet reconciled to himself.
"Some day," Noel smiled at the whole self he knew he would again be a silent part of. "Some day."
Acknowledge me! the Thunder God screamed in frustration, failing to find a purchase within Sulu's soul. I am your master! Give me entry and I will fulfill your every desire! Acknowledge me! Acknowledge me! Acknowledge me!
Noel was an infinitely strong glass bottle within Sulu's mind. "Hush," he soothed when he felt his friend stirring in reflexive obeisance to the entry of the loa. "Be still, mon ami"
Fortunately, the deep inward passivity his torturer had ingrained into Sulu's mind knew no one specific master. He obeyed Noel as gracefully as he would have submitted to the loa, laying still and slumbering deeply.
Hear me! the Thunder God stormed against the thin blue membrane of Noel's soul. You are mine! You are part of me! Know me and you will know fulfillment as you have never known!
Noel saw without bitterness or regret the truth of what the loa said. This wild spirit was part of what he once had been, still was, and was yet still to be. Yet for this single but infinite moment, the assertion was also not true. The Thunder God did not contain him, he contained it. He was its equal, its master.
Liar! the loa screamed. Liar!
The accusation rolled off the membrane of Noel's soul like rain against glass.
"Time fo’ you to get gone, now," he ordered the spirit as he tapped into all his channels of energy as he remembered Irina had done for his roommate on Dreamland.
The loa's roar of protest was like an explosion as it was expelled forcibly from Sulu's soul like a gigantic blue bottle rocket, shooting stars and bolts of energy upwards in a red, green, gold, and blue glittering chrysanthemum of psychic force.
"Wh... wh... what happened?" Sulu slowly breathed back into semi-consciousness.
Noel could hear the question from both inside and outside the helmsman's head. "It all right, cher," he soothed, smoothing back damp black hair from his friend's forehead. "He gone now. T’ings gonna be all right."
The Cajun could feel the panic of a runaway slave fill his friend. "Who's gone?"
"Who you wanna be gone, mon ami?"
"I don't know what you're saying."
"Hmmm.... I t’ink I best show, not tell."
“What are you trying to do?” The trepidation in Sulu’s voice almost shimmered in the air around him.
Noel gave him a gentle, reassuring smile. “You done been so kind as to lemme be a guest in your mind when I need th’ shelter bad,” he said. “It not be polite if I not try t’ lend a hand to clear up this mess inside here.”
Sulu averted his gaze. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he mumbled.
That made Noel snort. “I see why you an’ T-Paul get along so good. Hard to find anybody as blind an’ bullheaded as the two o’ you.”
"What?"
“Never mind, cher, an’ you not start wit’ th’ ‘I never do.’” The Cajun paused, focusing his intent. "Here. Can you feel this?"
Sulu groaned from the sudden aching in his soul.
Noel made a swift adjustment. "Do this feel any better?"
Although the helmsman didn't answer, his relief was evident. "What are you doing?" he managed.
“Tryin’ to loosen up some o’ these knots,” Noel returned. “I not able t’ completely untie ‘em, though. You gotta decide t’ do that your own self.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Sulu repeated, his jaw tight with frustration.
Noel ignored the verbal camouflage, sifting through the decades of real camouflage in Sulu’s head. He found a particularly dark tangle and picked at it. “Does this hurt?”
The helmsman groaned.
The Cajun pulled a little harder. “You wanna go on hurtin’?”
Sulu hissed in air, letting it out as a guttural “No.....”
“Alright then,” Noel prompted. “Let go.”
“I don't know...” the helmsman began.
“No, don't t’ink,” Noel interrupted. “Jus’ feel what I doin’. Let it go.”
“I....” With a sudden gasp, Sulu sent unvoiced thoughts to Noel’s awareness. What was that?
Jus’ some ol’ garbage you been haulin’ ‘round in tow, Noel replied with a pleased grin. Now feel this...
The helmsman moaned again.
Not doin’ nobody no good, is it? Now let it go...
So, that's what I'm supposed to do? Sulu’s voice answered uncertainly. Let everything go?
Not necessarily. Noel pulled at a bright thread of silver. Here, feel this.
The helmsman took in a deep breath, the obvious pleasure shimmering through him.
You know who on th’ other end o’ this rope, non?
I...
The Cajun gave the thread a sharp twang, and it rang out with a clear, bright note, like a guitar string – or better yet, a lyrette string, Noel grinningly corrected himself. You wanna lose this? he said to his companion.
No! Sulu rasped breathlessly, his mental eyes filling with tears of joy and longing.
All right then. Let her wind back where she want t’ be.
The sudden guilt was overpowering. But I... I...
You not makin’ her do not’ing she not wanna do, Noel promised. Let it take root.
I...
It feel good, non?
Yeah, but...
Not jus’ good, Noel continued before the protest could form. It feel full o’ health, non? Full o’ life?
Yeah, but... Sulu again tried to demur.
The Cajun put mental hands on hips, scowling, addressing the objections that he could feel in Sulu’s brain. Do your touch wither it?
No…
Do your heart poison it?
No…
Do it curl up an’ die? Noel pressed. Or do it grow strong an’ tall?
Sulu’s mental voice was sheepish and full of chagrin. It grows.
Yeah, you know it do.
I don't understand any of this, the helmsman said helplessly.
Yeah you do, Noel countered. Don't know how many times I seen you workin’ elbow deep in a row o’ plants, smilin’, talkin’, drinkin’ a cup o’ coffee, never sayin’, ‘I not know what to leave in here an’ what to throw out.’'
Sudden comprehension dawned in Sulu’s thoughts. Weeding? Is that what we’re doing? Weeding my brain?
Yeah. Noel grinned. Close enough. You always got th’ sharp eye for what healthy an’ gonna grow good. Use it on yourself.
Noel could feel Sulu glance around his own mental landscape. He helped the helmsman ‘see’ the tangled strands and knots as thorns and undergrowth rather than webs and traps. When Sulu began experimentally pulling at some of the easier ‘weeds,’ Noel took a step back, giving more room for his friend to explore on his own.
It gonna work, he thought to himself. He gonna fix this, I gonna make up fo’ all I done wrong all them years ago…
Do you really think it’s going to be that easy? a voice whispered in his brain, and though it was as cold as a northern wind, it wasn’t divine. The ice burned Noel’s mind, carrying colors and patterns that burned as they froze, creating bizarre crystals of greed and hunger, prisms of chaotic despair.
Why do you attempt to weed me out, my jewel? came the insidious whisper in both Noel’s thoughts and in Sulu’s. Have I not given you everything your heart desires? Are you not yet my treasure, my joy, my cherished prince? Do you no longer love me, pet? Why destroy the garden we worked together to create? It blossoms yet, dear one, you can make it stronger, more beautiful, filled with all the colors and scents of blood and pain and power, all that is your purpose, your due…
“NO!” Sulu screamed and his mind pulled harshly away from Noel’s. The Cajun gasped and collapsed to the sickbay bed, trembling at the dormant strength within his friend. The grief of it almost crushed him, for it wasn’t the power the bokor had over Sulu – it was the power of Sulu’s own distorted and twisted love for Ruis Calvario. Until Sulu could confront that, there would be no healing from this, nothing Voudun or any other medicine could do.
And though the usual state of Noel DelMonde’s being would have howled in impotent rage and self-castigation at it, Noel Duhon knew enough – and was strong enough – not to blame himself for that.