STAR TREK - VOY - 19 - Cloak And Dagger

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Star Trek - Voy - 019 - Cloak And Dagger

by Christie Golden

PROLOGUE

TRAMP. TRAMP. TRAMP. TRAMP.

The echoing sound of booted feet striding in unison on the smooth stone floor of the Senate chamber was

a familiar one to Jekri Kaleh. She could not count the number of times she had entered this room to stand

before the gathered Senate, and occasionally, as was the case today, even in the presence of the

Empress herself. Sometimes Jekri had entered in triumph, more rarely in shame.

But always, the Romulan head of the Tal Shiar came with her head held high and her bright silver eyes

gleaming.

Today, her heart pounded with excitement in her abdomen, though her face was nearly Vulcan-like in its

lack of expression. It was not becoming for the head of the Tal Shiar to gloat.

Tramp. Tramp. Tramp-tramp. Tramp.

Inwardly, Jekri frowned. Their honored guest, the reason for the assembly, was out of step. Such things

bothered her, but there was no help for it. And besides, if what her guts were telling her was true, the

ambassador could do skip-and-turns all over the hall and no one would mind.

With perfect timing-except, of course, for the ambassador-the honor guard Jekri led came to a halt

before their Empress, the Senate and Proconsul, and the Praetor.

The Senate chamber was a rainbow of pageantry and old opulence. The heavy stone trapped coolness

here, despite all attempts at wanning the place during the winter months. The acoustics were perfect. Not

a whisper went unnoticed. The huge traditional banners of every important Romulan hfihar-noble

house-hung from the high stone ceiling. No disruptors or other energy weapons were permitted. Only

ancient weapons could pass the scrutiny of the unsmiling guards at the entrance to the long hall. Here was

welcomed the sharpened blade of the sword, the heavy stone of a club stained dark green with blood

spilled centuries before, the slim, elegant lines of the dagger-the kaleh, from which Jekri Baseborn had

taken her name.

The Empress, a slim woman still in her late adolescence, was clad in red. Unlike most of her subjects,

who preferred a practical, short haircut, the Empress wore her thick, dark hair long. The Empress

dictated fashion; she did not follow it. The

ebony tresses were now gathered up atop her head and decorated with precious stones that matched the

scarlet of her long, off-the-shoulder garment. Her father had been a proud warrior. The Empress did not

herself know the ways of weapons, but she was canny in her ability to find and promote those who did.

To her right stood the Praetor-tall, handsome, his black eyes missing nothing. The Proconsul, as usual,

sat with the senators. Normally Jekri Kaleh would take her place on the Empress's left, as was her right

as chairman of the Tal Shiar. But today she stood before her liege, not beside her.

"Welcome, Little Dagger," the Empress said in her cool, husky voice. Only she and the Praetor could call

Jekri so. Not even the senators dared use a diminutive to the leader of the Tal Shiar. "It has reached our

ears that you have brought us a very important visitor."

Jekri stood arrow-straight and brought her clenched right hand to her left shoulder in a precise salute.

"Honor ever to the Empress, the Senate and Proconsul, and to the Praetor. I have indeed found and

brought to you a most honored guest. He is-" Jekri hesitated for the briefest of instants. "He is an

ambassador from a far distant place. Ambassador Lhiau, pray you, salute our Empress and our Praetor."

Ambassador Lhiau strode forward with enough arrogance for twenty praetors. He was tall, as tall as a

Romulan, and similar to Jekri's people in form.

But his hair was thick, wavy, and pale, and there was no distinguishing curve to his ears. When he

bowed, it was almost mocking.

"Greetings, Your Excellency. Praetor. The noble Romulan Senate and Proconsul. I hope my arrival

heralds the dawning of an age of enlightened discourse between your people and mine." The voice was

rich, sonorous even. But the little smirk ruined the otherwise courteous speech.

"And which people might yours be?" replied the Praetor. His voice was high and slightly whiny,

unfortunate for a man who spent so much time in public, but his people knew and respected what he did.

"Your race is unknown to us. I can only surmise," he said, with a sidelong glance at Jekri, "that our Tal

Shiar has learned something remarkable about you. At first meeting, I fear that I can see nothing

remarkable."

Lhiau's smile remained, but his eyes went cold as chips of ice. "Perhaps when I am finished, you will think

better of your Tal Shiar-and of me."

"Perhaps," said the Praetor. "But you had best continue, Ambassador, and not waste the time of the

Senate or the Empress-or myself."

Now the smirk did fade, and Jekri thought curses. She hoped that Lhiau would not rise to the bait and

would instead plainly state what he had come here to discuss. If this conversation degenerated into an

exchange of insults, nothing Jekri said would convince the Empress to hold a second audience with him.

The ruler of the Empire was a proud young woman, almost haughty, and during her reign it had become

obvious even to the most obtuse senator that she would brook no discourtesy to her royal personage.

"My people, as the estimable Jekri Kaleh has said, come from a faraway place. Very, very faraway. We

call ourselves the Shepherds, and you may also use the term, if you like."

"How gracious," purred the Empress. The sarcasm in her voice was palpable. "A faraway place, beings

who call themselves Shepherds. You did hot tell us that your friend was a spinner of tales, Little Dagger.

We would have brought children."

Instead of the outburst of rage Jekri expected, Lhiau merely smiled. "Yes, a tale then, if you like. It's

fantastical enough, as I'm sure you'll agree. What would you say, Excellency, Praetor, Proconsul, if you

could make a wish and suddenly have a flawless cloaking device?"

That got their attention. The tightness in Jekri's abdomen eased a little as she saw the hungry interest

spark to life on the faces of the Empress and the Praetor. Even the Proconsul and the senators leaned

forward eagerly, probably unaware that they did so. Jekri sniffed. She had better control.

"A very special, very magical cloaking device," Lhiau continued, playing out the joke of a story being

told. Jekri saw that the assembled senators were insulted at the condescension, but were too interested

now to indulge their righteous indignation. As she had been....

"A cloak that placed no drain on the ship's energy sources. A cloak that never, ever needed to be re-

plenished. A cloak," Lhiau said, emphasizing this final point, "that did not require deactivation in order to

attack?"

"Why, you are truly a teller of tales, Ambassador," said the Empress. "A good storyteller knows his

audience-and you clearly know a great deal about our cloaking device. How came you by this

knowledge?"

Lhiau wagged a finger at her. "Ah, ah, a good storyteller doesn't tell all his tales at one sitting. I see you

remain unconvinced. Perhaps a demonstration?"

He turned to Jekri and nodded. She tapped the communication device on her wrist.

"Kaleh to the Tektral."

"This is the Tektral." It was Jekri's second-in-command, Subcommander Verrak, who answered. For the

purposes of the demonstration, Jekri was willing to utilize her personal vessel.

"Prepare to engage the Shepherd's cloaking apparatus on my command." She turned to face the

Triumvirate. "With your permission, I would like to activate the viewscreen."

Skeptical, the three most powerful individuals in the Empire exchanged glances.

"You may, Little Dagger," said the Empress.

Jekri bowed, then turned to face the screen that occupied a full wall of the council chamber. The image of

the Tektral, small, green, and graceful, appeared against a backdrop of white stars and black space.

"The Tektral has been fitted with an apparatus given to us by the Shepherds." Jekri gestured, and

one of her centurions stepped forward with the device. He bore it carefully, almost reverently, on a small

black pillow mat set off its deceptively fragile beauty.

The Shepherds' apparatus was like nothing any of them had ever seen. Small enough to fit into the palm

of a hand, it was formed of some sort of crystalline material. It seemed to pulse, as if its energy source

came from within, making soft shadows dance on the pillow. It looked more like a piece of fine art,

carved by the skillful hands of a Romulan sculptor, than anything mechanical. Jekri noted the murmurs of

awe and appreciation, carried to her pointed ears by. the magnificent acoustics of the building.

"At your word, Empress," Jekri said, "I will give the order for Subcommander Verrak to activate the

apparatus."

For a long moment, the Empress could not tear her eyes from the beautiful piece of alien equipment. She

was a fine ruler, but she had her vanities, and it was obvious that she ached to caress the pretty bauble.

"Proceed," she said at length, reluctantly lifting her gaze from the device to the screen.

"Verrak, engage," ordered Jekri.

For a moment, nothing happened. The senators fidgeted, talking among themselves. Jekri was

unperturbed. Let them wait. Then, so slowly that the eye might have missed it, the Tektral began to

disappear, as if bits and pieces of it simply melted into nothingness, until it was entirely gone. It took a

few

seconds for the portent of the spectacle to sink in, but the murmuring ceased and the room fell completely

silent as those assembled realized what was transpiring. Jekri could not remember that ever happening

before.

The Praetor recovered first. "Computer" he said, the word rough. He cleared his throat. "Computer,

analyze the Tektral."

"The Tektral is not in the area of designated space," staled the computer in its harsh, male voice.

Gasps arose. The senators began chatting excitedly, and Lhiau smirked.

"How can this be?" snapped the Proconsul. "You must have fooled us-teleported it somehow!"

"No, Proconsul," said Jekri. "I give you my word, it is still there. Our sensors simply cannot locate it. And

if ours cannot, then rest assured, nothing the Federation can contrive will be able to find a vessel so

cloaked. Verrak, fire photon torpedoes in display pattern alpha-gamma-beta."

From out of empty space, three photon torpedoes surged forth. After a moment, two more torpedoes

were fired from an entirely different position.-Then, finally, from yet a third position, one last volley. There

was not the faintest distortion of space to indicate where the cloaked ship was.

Lhiau had not lied. The cloak was utterly without flaw.

For a long moment, no one spoke. What they had just witnessed was inconceivable outside of

fantasy-yet they had just seen it with their own eyes.

"Ambassador," said the Empress at last, her voice cracking, "What thing is it you will require of us for this

tale made true?"

"Nothing that is beyond the skills and resources of the famous Romulan Star Empire," replied Lhiau. "I

want you to help me defeat my enemies. I've heard that Romulans are very good at things like that."

CHAPTER 1

THE SOUND OF HER OWN VOICE SCREAMING BROUGHT Captain Kathryn Janeway wide

awake. She bolted upright, gasping for breath. Perspiration was slick on her skin, and her nightgown

clung to her.

"Lights," she called in a voice that shook. Her throat felt sore from the scream. She shivered, chilled by

the drying perspiration. The nightmare had been particularly bad this time.

She forced herself to take deep, slow, even breaths as she glanced about, feeling foolish even as she

sought reassurance that the dream was not her reality. All was as it should be. These were her

quarters-home to her now for over five years. There was the huge window. Often, when she had trouble

sleeping, which was not infrequent, Janeway would rise, get a glass of cold water from the replicator,

and gaze out of that window for a long time. The comforting image of white stars zipping past on the

blackness of space sometimes lulled her back to sleep.

But not tonight-or, she amended, glancing at the timecounter, this morning. Her lips thinned and her heart,

which had begun to slow, speeded up again. For when Janeway looked out her window now, she saw

nothing that brought comfort. She could see only the mystery that had been confounding them since they

first began noticing it almost seventeen hours ago-dozens, perhaps hundreds of wormholes.

Like little mouths, they were, she thought; black and mysterious, yawning open for a few seconds, then

closing. It was almost-almost-worse than her nightmare.

"Seven of Nine to Captain Janeway."

"Janeway here."

"Captain." Seven's voice was cool and crisp, efficient as ever. "I have some new information on the

wormhole phenomena which you and Lieutenant Torres should see."

Janeway had already risen and was reaching for her uniform as she replied, "On my way."

The three women stood together, shoulder to shoulder, in Astrometrics and gazed at the bizarre image

Seven of Nine displayed before them.

It was obvious to the captain that the whole thing was starting to get to them. Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres,

the half-human, half-Klingon chief engineer,

had her arms folded tightly across her chest and was scowling at the images as if her vexation alone had

the power to make them disappear. Seven of Nine, who had once been more Borg than human, still had

a cold precision in her manner that made Janeway shudder if she thought about it too long. And Janeway

herself had to admit that she was growing increasingly angry with this mystery that they seemed nowhere

near solving.

A red line wound its way from right to left. Surrounding it were dots of white in varying sizes.

"What are we looking at, Seven?" asked Janeway.

"The red line," Seven said, "is the path that Voyager has been following for the past eighteen point six

days. The white dots indicate lingering traces of verteron particles. I have graphed them in proportion to

the strength of the radiant emanation. By my calculations, none of these wormholes was stable for more

than nine seconds."

"But, we've only noticed the wormholes materializing over the past seventeen hours and twelve minutes,"

said Torres in a voice that was almost a growl. Her temper had been shorter than usual over the last

several days, and that was saying something.

"Correct," replied Seven, utterly unperturbed by Torres's irritation. "I took the liberty of expanding the

sensor's search patterns to focus on verteron emanations and retraced our route over the past several

weeks."

"Good thinking, Seven," said Janeway absently. She always made it a point to acknowledge initiative

and good work when her crew showed it, although right now her mind was racing at a thousand

lightyears a second.

Her gaze traveled the red line that represented her ship's path over the last few weeks. A chill raced

down her back as she looked at that red line. She regarded its position of several weeks ago. There

were no signs of wormhole activity then. But as the line moved toward the left-hand side of the giant

screen, a few of the strange holes in space began to appear, though still far away.

The closer Voyager came to its present position, the more wormholes dotted the screen-and the closer

their proximity to the ship.

"And these are the most recent ones?" she asked, to confirm her suspicions.

"Correct," Seven replied. "The most recent wormholes are the ones closest to our vessel."

The overall effect was that of a twining, crimson snake being pursued by a swarm of insects increasing in

number. It was a fanciful image, one which both Seven and B'Elanna would scorn, but Janeway couldn't

shake it. She didn't have to speak with her first officer, Commander Chakotay, on the bridge to know

that there were dozens of wormholes opening and closing right this very minute-all coming closer to her

ship, all getting larger. She'd seen enough from her window.

"Any new theories?" Janeway asked, not expecting a response. Seven and Torres exchanged glances,

but were silent. The nature of wormholes was still

something of a mystery, though they were certainly not unknown phenomena. But the plethora of

wormholes they were witnessing was unheard of in Janeway's experience. She herself had seen over a

hundred. Now, Seven's graph showed many times that number.

"Perhaps," said Torres slowly, "we're entering some sort of field where the wormholes are more

frequent."

"The elephant graveyard of wormholes, eh?" Janeway smiled. "It's possible. Though I think it's one heck

of a coincidence that our path through this sector is taking us so directly through that field."

She stepped forward, craning her neck, as if simply being closer to the chart would bring her some

enlightenment. "No, B'Elanna. Good guess, but no. It's almost more like... as if it's cause and effect."

"You believe we are being followed by wormholes?" The scorn in Seven's voice was palpable. Her blue

eyes were wide with disbelief.

"When you put it that way, it does sound foolish," her captain admitted, biting back an angry retort. Her

emotions, perhaps because of the nightmare, were more raw than usual. "But look at it. Put aside logic

for a moment and just... look at it."

She pointed. "There-back when they started appearing. See how random they are? Now, let's look

here-just a week ago. Much more precise-the wormholes are almost in a line themselves. And now

they're all over the place. They're literally surrounding us."

She said no more, and let the other two women

see for themselves. B'Elanna frowned even more, and a growing unease spread across Seven's beautiful

face.

They saw it too, now.

And it was scaring them just like it was scaring Janeway, though none of them would ever admit it.

Janeway's headache, banished by her distraction for a few moments, returned, throbbing angrily in the

right temple. She resisted the urge to press her fingers to it. Doing so never helped. Nothing ever helped,

not the Doctor's too-vigorous massages, nor the medicine he prescribed, nor a trip to the holodeck. And

these strange, unsettling wormhole manifestations only made her tension worse.

The mystery was taking its toll on the crew as well, from what Janeway could judge. She'd heard Tom

Paris and Harry Kim, normally the best of friends, quarreling rather bitterly after a holodeck jaunt a few

weeks ago, and even Chakotay-gentle, strong Chakotay-had dressed down an ensign for a minor

miscalculation at the helm the other day.

Torres had been complaining, vocally, about the seemingly endless small things that had been going

wrong with Voyager lately-a jammed coupling here, a sluggish plasma venting there. Tiny things, but

Janeway could sympathize. A thousand little annoyances were sometimes worse than a real crisis. At

least with a crisis, you could focus.

And then there were the nightmares.

Just the recollection made her jaw clench. Janeway had not shared her nocturnal terrors with

anyone else, not even the Doctor, who would never dream of violating patient-doctor confidentiality. Not

yet, anyway. She'd thought about it If they got bad enough, she'd have to talk with him. A captain's bad

dreams could turn into nightmares for her crew if left unaddressed. But right now, Janeway felt that she

could handle it. Some things were just too personal-too intimate.

Janeway took a deep bream, held it, and tried to calm herself. Concentration was what was called for

here if they were to get to the bottom of this.

She tapped her combadge. "Janeway to senior staff," she said. "Everyone meet me in my ready room in

five minutes."

"These late hours are wreaking havoc with my beauty sleep," quipped Ensign Tom Paris as he entered

the ready room. His eyes were bleary and his grin looked forced.

"Yeah," replied Torres, without even looking up. "You look like hell, Tom."

"Why, thank you, sweetheart, and might I return the compliment?"

Tom's voice was hard and there was no humor in it, despite the words. B'Elanna frowned and opened

her mouth.

"Ensign. Lieutenant." Chakotay's own tone of voice was just this side of angry. "That's enough out of you

two."

Paris's head whipped up and he stared at Chakotay. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He

looked as though he might strike the commander. Janeway was shocked. She decided that, after this

meeting was over, she would send everyone on the senior staff down to sickbay for a complete physical.

The strain was taking too great a toll. If her crew was too busy sniping at each other to pull together, they

were going to be in trouble if any real danger arose.

"The wormhole situation is perplexing, granted," the captain said, stepping forward easily between her

first officer and the blond ensign. "But quarreling among ourselves isn't going to solve it. Everyone take a

seat and let's hear Seven's report."

Seven of Nine rose and activated the viewscreen. There, in miniature, was the same graph she had

shown to Torres and Janeway in Astrometrics. Janeway listened with half an ear, more interested right

now in watching her crew's reactions.

Chakotay's expression didn't change, but Janeway could see the subtle tensing in his large body. Tuvok,

as usual, was unreadable. B'Elanna pulled into herself still more, and Paris seemed distracted and unable

to focus. Neelix, their usally chippejack-of-all-trades cook, morale officer, and sometime ambassador,

looked positively glum at the revelations Seven imparted. Harry Kim was monitoring the conversation

from the bridge, where he remained at his post Only the Doctor seemed his normal self.

"Thank you, Seven," said Janeway, rising as their newest crew member took her seat "We know that

wormholes are natural phenomena, and we are far

from the superstitious mariners our ancestors were. There are no dragons in space, but there are

mysteries. And I'd say we've got a prime one on our hands. I don't like Ae look of this. The clustering is

too precise to be random."

"I'm no scientist," began Neelix, almost apologetically, "but wormholes are natural phenomena as far as

we're concerned. Who's to say that someone out there hasn't figured out how to control them?"

Janeway smiled, the first genuine smile to grace her lips in what seemed like an eternity. True, Neelix

wasn't a scientist, but he'd stated something they'd all missed, something quite obvious. Good for him.

"Out of the mourns of Talarians," drawled Paris, but he softened the gibe with a wink in Neelix's

direction.

"Of course," said Chakotay. "We've even got an example of that right in our own backyard, back in the

Alpha Quadrant The Bajoran wormhole is an artificial construct. The so-called Prophets are the aliens

who created it and live inside it Dammit, we should have thought of this before! How could we have been

so stupid, so-" He slammed bis right fist into his left hand.

"Gently, Commander," chided the Doctor. "I would dislike wasting my time repairing any bones you

might damage in your self-deprecation."

"Seven," said Janeway quickly before the sniping could escalate, "have you picked up any signs of

artificial manipulation of the wormholes?"

"Negative," replied Seven. "Although most activity we might be able to identify would occur at the

origin site of the wormhole, not its exit site. The verteron emanations and natural radiation of the

wormhole would likely obscure any artificial signals. It is also likely that if any other technology is indeed

involved, it is technology with which we are not familiar and therefore do not know how to detect

properly. The sensors would need to be reconfigured, and-"

"Does anyone have any idea how sick I am of reconfiguring those damned sensors?" said Torres, her

voice rising.

"Does anyone have any idea how sick / am of-" Fortunately, Paris's comment was cut off by Harry Kirn's

voice.

"Bridge to Janeway."

Alerted by the taut edge in Harry's voice, Janeway was all attention when she replied, "Janeway here.

What's going on, Harry?"

"There's another wormhole, Captain."

"More wormholes? What a surprise," muttered Paris.

Janeway was taken aback by the heat of the anger that rose inside her. The look she shot Paris would

have obliterated him on the spot if she'd had her way. He shut up at once. If nothing else, Paris had

developed an uncanny instinct for knowing just how far he could push his captain. ___

Kim continued, "It's the biggest one yet. You'd better get out here and see this before it disappears."

Her anger evaporated as quickly as it came. Despite the headaches, the bad dreams, the short tern-

pers, Janeway was above all else fascinated by this peculiar display of wormhole activity. And besides,

there always remained the chance that one of them would be large enough to travel through-and would

open into the Alpha Quadrant.

"Dismissed," she told her crew, unnecessarily. As one, they'd all risen and hastened for the door, eager to

see this new development.

Janeway couldn't suppress a swift intake of breath as she stepped onto the bridge. Yawning before her

was a huge hole in the fabric of space. Verteron particles, normally invisible to the naked eye, were

clustered together in such great numbers at the aperture of the wormhole that they formed a purple,

swirling gateway. In all ways, save for the purple tint rather than the blue, it resembled a smaller version

of the Bajoran wormhole back in the Alpha Quadrant. The similarity brought quick tears of homesickness

to her eyes. She blinked them back.

"It is sufficiently large enough for us to send in a probe," said Tuvok.

"It's big enough for us to send in the Delta Flyer," said Paris, slipping into his position at the conn.

'Try big enough for Voyager," said Kim, startling them all. "I've been monitoring it the moment it

appeared, just as I have with all of them. This one's been increasing in size at a steady rate of eight point

seventeen meters per second. And we're well past the nine-second timeframe at which all the others have

closed."

Janeway caught Chakotay's gaze. He gave her a

slight smile. If this led back to the Alpha Quadrant....

"Tuvok, send in mat probe. I want to know where this thing originates." She glanced at Neelix, Seven,

Torres, and the Doctor. "You four, report to your posts. Harry will make all information available to

everyone as we gather it You won't miss anything, Neelix," she added, seeing the Talaxian's whiskers

droop.

Seven of Nine hesitated a moment before following the other three into the turbolift. Janeway knew of the

former Borg's apprehension about returning to the Alpha Quadrant. Here, Seven had a place, a function.

Voyager was, as she had once phrased it, her "collective." Seven had proved herself willing to die for the

vessel and its crew-even to subject herself to Borg control to ensure their safety.

But prejudice was an ugly thing, not completely rooted out even in the twenty-fourth century. Many

humans would look at Seven and see not the woman, but the metallic implants in her body. Seven of

Nine feared for the sanctity of her haven, and Janeway couldn't blame her.

"The probe has entered the wormhole," said Tuvok. The excitement and tension on the bridge was

almost palpable, yet, of course, Tuvok was an oasis of calm. "Preliminary readings indicate-"

He fell silent. Surprised, Janeway craned her neck to regard her security officer. "Yes?"

Tuvok met her gaze. She, who knew that face so well, saw the slight tautness around the brown eyes, the

flaring of nostrils that marked quickened breath-

ing. Her own heart began to race and her mouth went dry.

"Preliminary readings indicate that this wormhole originates in the Alpha Quadrant."

Without realizing what she did, Janeway had reached out a hand to Chakotay. He met it halfway,

gripping it so hard that the small bones in her fingers ground together. She didn't mind one bit.

It was big enough for the ship to traverse. It showed no signs of collapsing.

And it led to home.

Dimly Janeway was aware that her normally controlled bridge crew was whooping with joy. She shared

their delight, but she needed calm in order to continue the investigation. There might yet be dangers

lurking inside that oh-so-tempting wormhole. She recalled the organism that had lured them into its maw

by posing as a wormhole. That "monster" had manipulated their thoughts, made them feel almost ecstatic

about returning home. Only Seven, Naomi Wildman, and the Doctor had resisted its siren song.

Janeway's temple throbbed, and she gasped softly, involuntarily. Well, if nothing else, she knew that what

lay before them was not that same creature. She sure as hell wasn't feeling ecstatic right now.

She opened her mouth but was interrupted by a screeching burst from Kirn's console. The rat-a-tat

sound of static followed, and Janeway winced at the volume.

"Someone is attempting to contact us," Kim told her, yelling to be heard over the noise.

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StarTrek-Voy-019-CloakAndDaggerbyChristieGoldenPROLOGUETRAMP.TRAMP.TRAMP.TRAMP.TheechoingsoundofbootedfeetstridinginunisononthesmoothstoneflooroftheSenatechamberwasafamiliaronetoJekriKaleh.ShecouldnotcountthenumberoftimesshehadenteredthisroomtostandbeforethegatheredSenate,andoccasionally,aswasthecas...

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