The doors to her quarters slid open noiselessly. It was not true of course, but the low hum and barely audible bustle on the ship created a sense of silence as Kathryn entered. He watched her keenly; there was a lightness to her step, and her smile was wondrously light. She had not been this happy before. It was in her movements, her gestures, the heightened colour in her cheeks.

He had been waiting for her to return to their quarters after she had been in consultation with Admiral Paris. The afternoon had been a whirl of excitement and making arrangements for Voyager's journey to Earth. His heart quickened a beat when she stepped up to him and took his hands in hers.

"You're happy. I can see," he said gently.

"I am. We're almost home. After seven long years...we're almost home..."

"Home..." he repeated her breathless words.

"Oh, Chakotay!" Kathryn cried as she threw herself against him. She felt warm and soft, and her body trembled a little; she completely knocked his breath away. He stood stunned at the force of her emotion, feeling how her arms clamped tightly around him as if she wouldn't let him go. He was aware of her incredible softness, her perfume, the smell of her hair. He wanted to press her gently away from him, remembering that they kept separate beds. But memories of their renewed friendship, the warmth, the camaraderie, the goodnight kisses, her caresses that he tried to ignore but enjoyed with so much tenderness, came and swamped him.

It was impossible to push her away; Kathryn wormed herself against him, lifting her head to look up into his eyes. She was beautiful, with her eyes large and smoky, and her lips quivering. He didn't want to think whether she was waiting for him to make the first move, or whether she hesitated to move.

Who cared?

There were no winners, no losers. Just equal partners who recognised a terrifying, searing hunger in one another and who rejoiced for once that all boundaries were shattered in those moments. Kathryn's hand came up and he marvelled at the way she concentrated on watching her fingers rise to touch his lips, how her eyes followed the movement of her fingers. She wanted to focus on every spot where her hands touched his face.

He groaned, the sound an entreaty, a plea that she continue. Finally, unable to curb his growing arousal, the thunderous beat of his heart or his heavy, deep gasps for air, he pulled her into him, and let his fingers run through her hair, her glorious, glorious hair.

The whispers of endearments that tore from their throats were affirmed with sound. A gasp, a soft moan, a cry from the heart. Fingers laced in her hair, pulled her head back so that her long neck lay exposed, the lips parted as Kathryn waited for his mouth to descend on hers.

It was a simple touch, a benediction and a promise of what lay ahead as he lifted her up in his arms and carried her to his bed. She clung to him, burying her face in his neck. He wanted to die when her lips burned his skin.

He had loved her for a long time. Almost, he had given up. Now, Kathryn lay on the bed as she pulled him down with her, her hands working at opening his jacket, removing his top. Her breathing came in shallow gasps and the temptation was so great to touch her again that he cried out from the frustration. Yet he knew that Kathryn needed to touch him in every way she desired. So he endured the slow, slow torture as she removed his clothing. Her hands moved across his chest, a tantalising torture of barely touching him, just skimming over his skin. A breeze, hairs on his chest that suddenly quirked to attention, his nipples aching from their heated need to be relieved.

No words.

Yet he knew the exact instant that Kathryn wanted him to touch her. She'd hardly touched him, yet he experienced an excruciating pain of flesh touching flesh. Already his skin felt damp, and when he heard a soft cry escape her as he removed her jacket, he broke. His lips sought hers hungrily, plunging his tongue into her mouth and tasting her sweetness. Light touches interspersed with little gasps, claiming her upper lip between his, licking, sucking, all just gentle, light touches that robbed him of his breath. If anything, she became even softer, more pliant than he thought  possible. Her hand quickly caught his when he slipped his fingers in the top band of her panty. Gently, she guided him as he kept stroking her thigh, finally sliding the garment off her body.

She pulled him up against her so that he lay snugly between her thighs, her welcoming thighs, where  her heat and moistness burned and cooled at once. His fingers dipped between them, investigating the source of the dampness... He groaned out loud this time. She was soft, so wet that he thought he'd die of the sensation as his finger gently stroked her slit. Then, impatiently he removed his hand, caught her hair again and shifted so that Kathryn lifted her hips for him. He thought instantly of afternoons thick with swirling clouds, of mornings filled with flowered fields and the sun just touching the flower heads. Images of mountains, of deep crevices, of what might be heaven and earth fused into one entity, alive with sounds and sensations of smell. He thought of an open ocean, waves so high they touched the clouds. A storm in the process of its birth...

He thought: Kathryn wants me...

I love you, Kathryn...  The words tumbled about in his brain like a drowning man on the open seas. It seemed Kathryn heard those words even though he never spoke them. If anything, her body widened into intense receptiveness. She invited him, made him as if he were home. All this he only felt, sensing with humility that Kathryn's mind, heart and soul joined her body and rejoiced his entry into her realm. In reality, all he knew was that he nudged her core and slid deep inside her welcoming depths, with every word his mind silently uttered, sinking in deeper and deeper until there was no more space to move. He filled her completely and her flesh rallied around his hardened shaft, lubricating him. He stared into her eyes, wide eyes that widened even more as he started to thrust gently. Her momentary surprise quickly made way for pure ecstasy. It was in her eyes, always her eyes. Kathryn did not capitulate to his advances. She became a player, equally ferocious, equally tender. Her hands were on his back, nails digging into his flesh, pain he never felt as she scored him.

I am dying... I cannot any more... It is too much.  The words were desperate pleas for a supreme release that hovered cruelly, causing him to thrust harder as Kathryn arched, her hips bucking in wild encouragement. Remember the words I read you, my love...remember...

...in this immensity

my thoughts are drowned, and shipwreck seems sweet

to me in this sea...

He was losing his grip on reality. He was drowning, dizzily drifting away on a stormy sea where he let the storm toss him madly, wildly. He didn't care. No more was he aware that Kathryn was beneath him for she was part of him. He was part of her. He had no idea where he was, except that he felt he was in the eye of a storm.

Were they two or were they one?

One movement. One moment. One lifetime.

Forever.

The waves tossed him like he was nothing and finally delivered him to the  mercy of the sandy shore. There he lay, sweet shipwreck, gasping, thanking the spirits that he was still alive. Wet and alive. How did he come to lie on his back? Did Kathryn's hands, gentle as a butterfly's touch, roll him on to his back? How could he know? All he saw, when at length he opened his eyes, was that she was staring down at him.

She looked stormy. Beautiful and mussed and stormy. Her blue-grey eyes still smouldered and her breathing was marking down time until it became even, less gasping. Her lips were parted and if he could paint her in those moments, he swore to the gods there would never be a paintbrush to transform his fevered thoughts to canvas.

"We begin here," she breathed, her hair falling forward so that he couldn't see her eyes.

Weak his arms and body were, still heavy in the aftermath of the storm, but he pulled Kathryn to him and held her close, his fingers caressing her hair. Long they lay that way, and from time to time he kissed her hair, her closed eyes...

Then there was a sound, coming from afar...

The intrusion came first as a thin whining sound, like the wail of a klaxon or alarm sounding.  Chakotay, roused from his thoughts as he held Kathryn, came slowly awake. He looked around him, felt the space next to him. There was nothing.

He groaned, sat up in bed with his head in his hands. 

"Kathryn...?"

"Kathryn..."

A second later he cried out in pain. Like a white-hot metal rod, it poked his brain, cleaved into its hemispheres, torturing him blind until he could endure it no more.

Don't think of Kathryn. Don't think of home...

Think only of your place, slave. For here, only the night is yours where you may be allowed to dream. I will determine how you think when you are awake, slave. Dare you not think of home, of your beloved. You have a task...Your task is to serve me...

Chakotay rose sluggishly from the bed. He felt for the source of the pain; his fingers touched a cold metal device attached to his temple. He knew its lights were flickering red. He blanked out all thought of Kathryn, of the home they’d shared, of their nights of love. Always the same dream, the first night they made love. Always, the rude awakening when the claxon sounded. Then it was morning. The pain dimmed until it subsided slowly. Although it simmered still in his head, like an aftermath, he breathed a sigh of relief. Kathryn and home and memories were now safely tucked away. They were there, and that was good enough for him, for now. Now he could prepare for the day.

His mind was clear, purged of his dream. For the moment he'd forgotten all that he'd once known, that had been part of his life.

Kathryn was no more.

****

"Do you think, Maestro, that I will be able to perfect my sculpture?" 

The dark, thin man wrung his hands. Chakotay saw the ravages of pain on Kraf's face. The normally sunken cheeks and beady eyes appeared deeper and darker and the long furrows between Kraf's eyes knitted closer together. Kraf was enduring pain, battling at the same time to curb his thoughts or focus them on something else. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his lips were drawn thinly together. Kraf was going to lose consciousness soon.

"Let me be wise today and instruct you to harness all your thoughts into your sculpture."

"Maestro, I am not well - "

"See here?" Chakotay pointed to the piece on the table. It glowed a luminescent orange, the flower seeming to breathe. He touched the alien's shoulder and steered him to look at the art work. Kraf stared, then after a few moments he nodded. Chakotay expelled a sigh of relief. Kraf's furiously knitted brow smoothed somewhat and the jaw stopped twitching. He cast a Chakotay a glance.

"It is not good, Maestro. Not good enough. My creation is flawed - "

"But is not a small flaw in a masterpiece also what will enhance the work and give it identity?"

"I do not reason as you do, Maestro. Perhaps it is because you are already the best of all the master craftsmen here, therefore you allow yourself a little luxury of being...less than perfect?"

"You should not let Empress Mirah hear you speak such words. She strives to coax only the best from us..."

"I understand. You are also her favourite, Maestro, and she is sometimes kinder to you than to others. But we do not begrudge your art... We all wish to be like you..."

Chakotay sighed. They were all superlative in their various fields. They  had nothing to fear, nothing to emulate. He had himself had those feelings of inadequacy at one time. Kraf was brilliant in his field.

"We each define our own uniqueness. You know that. It's been told to you many times, Kraf."

"But my flower is imperfect. It is from my homeworld and blooms only for two days out of every year. The colour is not right."

Chakotay shook his head in mild exasperation. The beauty of Kraf's flower lay in its very rare aspect. Kraf didn't realise how the pride in his voice, the softness that crept in when he looked at his sculpture, made the glow swell and recede.

"I haven't seen this flower before, nor quite this colour, but I can tell you that you have completed your fifth masterpiece, Kraf. Be glad. You should think of your next project."

"But, Maestro, the Empress - "

"Will be satisfied with your work. Don't be so concerned. As long as you focus, you will not have pain."

Kraf looked at Chakotay with gratitude. Chakotay shrugged inwardly. All the dark alien needed was encouragement and the ability to believe in himself. He had little faith that his work showed merit, and Kraf needed to have that faith restored. Though...

"You know that we have been given these gifts, Maestro, which enhance our natural talents. One day..."

"We cannot go back, Kraf. But yes, one day, should we ever leave here, you will lose the powers of the added abilities."

"So will you, Maestro."

Chakotay smiled. He was satisfied that he could produce works of extraordinary quality no one had ever seen, but when the spell was broken? He had no care about his added creative ability. It meant nothing if it kept him away from known things. 

"Yes," he sighed, "so will I. Now, Kraf, will you continue with your work? I have others to monitor later. I am glad those furrows are straightened out."

Kraf touched his face and smiled.

"I feel better, Maestro."

Chakotay nodded before turning away from Kraf. He had never liked being called Maestro, but since Empress Mirah had given him the task of overseeing everyone else's work, they had taken naturally to deferring to him. He tolerated the address in good spirit. Their deference to him was natural and unfeigned, unlike the way in which they paid homage to the Empress. He walked towards his own work station which was secluded and very spacious. It was situated at the far end of the massive studio.

Environmental controls kept them all breathing and alive. It was hard to believe that they were deep in the heart of a mountain range, and that Empress Mirah reigned here in total isolation. Stranger even was the fact that most of the minerals here resembled closely those of other homeworlds, and the malachite and alabaster that he used as his own medium had the identical composition as that found on Earth. It wasn't even different. It was the same.

It was all they knew of the place. No one had ever been outside and no one had seen any daylight, or moonlight. He was reminded many times of the Ocampans, who lived deep under the surface of their planet and who engineered their survival based solely on what the underground yielded. Where this planet was, or the nature of its land features, remained a mystery to all of them. It could very well be unpopulated except for the poor, stolen souls in the belly of the mountain.

His own last memory of freedom had been walking along a terraced walkway on Elora. He had paused at a small stand where a vendor was selling ornaments and he had wanted to buy one for Kathryn. Chakotay gave a little cry as a sudden fierce pain shot through his head.  Standing still, he allowed the pain to spread and linger until it filled him. Taking a deep breath, forcing himself to allow the pain to be a part of him, he thought of that day on Elora.

The small, crystal-shaped pendant had looked translucent, little sparks shooting off it as he lifted it to get a better look. The vendor had seemed unperturbed by the fact that Chakotay had not asked permission to lift it from its bed of soft fabric.

"It was made by a man from far lands," the vendor said.

Chakotay had been impressed by the artistry of the object and thought Kathryn would love it. He had already been away six weeks from home and he was missing her fiercely. He stifled another small cry.

Let the pain drill through every nerve and jump from nerve ending to nerve ending; let it rally and eat into every thought, every memory of your loved one. Endure it, for you need your memory. Do not cry out. Ride with its onslaught and soon, the pain will be a part of you for those moments you need your memories...

Chakotay's upper lip trembled; perspiration beads glistened as he endured the torture of the synaptic enhancer. It picked up instantly when one had a thought of home, of a loved one, and especially, of escape. Now during the day the enhancer was tuned to full strength. Chakotay heard the groans of the other craftsmen and women and knew they were struggling too, thinking about families they’d left behind. But the second they thought of escape, the enhancer held them down, cruelly bent them double and lanced through the body like a red-hot knife. Weeks after his own capture, after collapsing several times from sheer pain, he had trained his thoughts away from escape.

No one had dared to escape.

When he reached his work station, the nausea that sat in the pit of his stomach rose and he heaved several times, struggling to keep it down. But braving the torture to think of Kathryn, of blue-grey eyes, of a crystal pendant he wanted to hang round her neck, was worth all the drilling in his brain

Dream of Kathryn... Endure the torture. Enjoy it even...

Six weeks away from home on an alien world and he wanted to buy Kathryn a crystal pendant. He remembered thinking that he could easily have tried to make Kathryn one, or the heavens forbid, replicate her one. He had the skill, and although he didn't have the talent like Chell or the great master craftsman from the Udaran Hills on Sepaka IV, he knew he'd try his best. Still, the jewel stared at him and made him think of trying to make one even better. He had  always dreamed of such talent...dreamed of scaling heights such as he never had with his present work...

That was when he felt a strange shiver go through him. It was as if someone heard or read his thoughts over a great distance, across the universe. Chakotay had looked quizzically at the vendor. The little man looked a non-plussed by his expression of alarm. It was at the precise instant he wished that he could have amazing talent and create the most exceptional works of art that he felt that shiver go through him.

Was he scanned at that moment? It had to be, for a second later, before he could hail his ship, he was enveloped in a beam like a transporter and his commbadge  had slipped off. Someone far from him had read his mind or divined his thoughts, his wishes, his dreams... He felt a slight displacement and the next moment he was looking at the most eerily beautiful figure of a tall woman. He sensed her evil, though not of the kind that sought to destroy, but to keep him ensnared. Her hand reached for him and the next instant a cold disc was attached to his temple. He was told it was a synaptic enhancer. Flashing red when he had thoughts of home and family, steel blue when he was focused. Yellow... Only one so far had died...

The first days had been the hardest. He had been demented trying to escape, trying to alert his ship. What made it worse was that he didn't know where he was. Where he was, was inside a series of large caverns. That was all. But he was not alone. There were others of many different races who had been whisked away just like him. All of them had at some point had a desire or wish to have a greater gift than already bestowed on them. They all looked as desperately unhappy and distraught as he had been.

"I am Empress Mirah," the voice of the tall woman echoed in the massive cavern. "You are here

because you all desire to be master craftsmen. You are here because you will become master craftsmen. You will be the best of all artists, the best in the universe..."

The murmur that had gone up had turned to cries of pain. The synaptic enhancers had begun their work. Chakotay bent double when an image of Kathryn flashed in his brain. When he rose to his feet again, the Empress Mirah's eyebrows lifted high. Her lips curved in what he thought was a smile.

"Good, now that you know what the enhancers are for, you are each assigned to a station. Each one will be given the opportunity to explore their creative ability in their field. I will enhance your ability..."

Now, after three years, he had learned to train his thoughts, even endure pain during the day, just to keep alive the memory of Kathryn, her parents and sister who had become his family, and all those on Voyager and the Serengeti.

Was there ever a positive side? With some self-disgust, he admitted that there was only one very dubious benefit.

His first sculpture had been nothing like he had ever imagined, nothing. Once before he had destroyed his own creation, thinking that it wasn't good enough, that it was mediocre and not worthy of being seen or shared. He had wanted to give it to Kathryn, then trashed it before she had even laid eyes on it. He had been disgusted afterwards. Here, the Empress had enhanced his creative instinct, giving him additional artistic flair. It took him a long time to perfect the first stone flower. The moment he looked down on the sculpture  he had so lovingly created out of alabaster and malachite, he knew that the enhancements had not only heightened his ability - they also gave him a deep, mysterious and innate insight into art and the expression of it.

Empress Mirah had been happy with his piece. He had hoped that she would take it to the outside world.

Even a little flaw can increase the value of a work of art, and define its incomparability. He remembered those words during one late afternoon of musing about his life with Kathryn, in which the pain tortured him so intensely that he lost consciousness at times. 

And so he made a mark on his stone flower, a signature that could lead Starfleet, or anyone who could alert Starfleet, to the Mountain of the Great Caves, ruled over by Empress Mirah.

The nausea had subsided. Chakotay grimaced. Mirah had no idea that he had managed to get the stone flower out of the caves. He had trained his thoughts so hard that she had hardly noticed the one thought that lay underneath. One craftsman had become seriously ill as a result of the constant torturing pain.  Chakotay kept a lonely vigil at Raël's bedside until he died. Mirah had been indulgent those few days, in a giving mood, and she had given him permission to keep a vigil. He had his second stone flower, carved in the early hours of every morning, as a decoy at his station... Until Raël died, he had not known why he had secretly made another stone flower identical to the first.

Empress Mirah could enslave them. She could torture them, but a dead artist was of no use to her. His body was disposable, but not in her caves, or her world. Raël's body was whisked away to his homeworld the same way she'd brought him to the Mountains of the Great Caves. With Raël was also transported Chakotay's precious stone flower...

Chakotay's hands gripped the table edge as crystal shards of pain pierced his nerve cells.

"Kathryn, in the name of the spirits... Come to me..." he murmured just before he lost consciousness.

********* 

END PART THREE

PART FOUR