“Temporal distortion opening directly ahead!” Kim shouted above the noise of exploding consoles. Sparks showered him from behind, but he did not move save for a slight wince.

“Can we avoid it?” Chakotay asked.

“Not with those mosquitoes still biting us,” Paris intoned, eyeing the 20-strong fleet of ships a quarter the size of a class-7 shuttle. The ship rocked again. “Direct hit to the aft shield array. They’re driving us towards the distortion.”

“If we go through it, will we be able to get back?” Janeway called.

“The distortion is a natural occurrence,” Kim replied. “There’ll be no problems getting back.”

“If we’re still alive and in one piece,” Chakotay gritted under his breath.

“We are badly damaged and on a collision course for an unidentified planet, bearing 259, mark 6, just inside the event horizon,” Tuvok warned.

Janeway whirled to Paris, the question unspoken.

“I can’t hold her, Captain,” he said shaking his head. “We’re going down.”

There was a lurch beneath their feet and those standing were shaken to the floor.

“We just crossed the event horizon,” Paris called out needlessly.

“Kim? Where are those ships?” Janeway asked rising to her feet.

“They just jumped to warp, Captain, just as we crossed the temporal threshold,” Harry responded. “They’re gone.”

“What is on the surface of the planet? Is in habitable?”

“The planet is class-M, pre-industrial/iron-age culture, minimal technology. The northern continent is sparsely populated. Seismic activity to the south is rising to dangerous levels, otherwise the surface is stable.”

“Tom, how much time can you give us?” she asked, switching to the familiar. Since they were all about to die anyway, why bother with rank and titles?

“I can give you about twenty-five minutes,” he said, straining under the pressure. The ship began to shudder as the planetary disc swam up towards them in a less than friendly manner. “Give or take twenty-five minutes,” he added.

Janeway opened a ship-wide communication link. “Abandon ship! All hands to your escape pods. I repeat, abandon ship . . .” She took a quick breath. “Escape vector 38 mark 2. Set the landing co-ordinates for . . .” she turned to Kim.

“Best landing site is north 36 degrees, west 80 degrees, six minutes,” he said, responding to her unspoken command.

“Get going,” Janeway continued. “We’ll meet you there and Good luck.”

Within a minute they began to hear the thump of escaping pods.

“The children are aboard pod 5-alpha with the Doctor, Seven and Sam,” Chakotay announced.

Janeway nodded her relief. “Tom, give us the best landing you can. As close as safety will allow to the escape pods.”

“I’ll do my best, Captain.”

“All pods away, all personnel accounted for,” came the calm voice of Tuvok.

With that there was nothing more to be done than to hold on and pray.

It felt like a lifetime later when her head swam and the ache slammed into her. She groaned and opened her eyes.

“Easy,” Chakotay’s voice came to her. “You took a nasty blow to the head.”

“Is that why I can’t see?”

There was a longer than necessary pause. “Tom thinks it’s temporary.”

“He thinks?” Janeway said in alarm.

“Stay calm. Don’t get agitated or move around too much,” he continued.

Janeway reluctantly agreed. “At least I can still get updates sitting down,” she conceded. “What’s our condition? Where did we land? What systems do we still have?”

“Slow down, Kathryn,” Chakotay said, a smile in his voice. “We have landed in an uninhabited region of steep mountains. Tom landed the ship on a high plateau. There was an avalanche, which has covered us completely. We are currently on stable ground, but don’t make any sudden moves or that might change.”

There was snort of cynical laughter to her right. “He’s just kidding you, Captain. We’re quite safe,” Tom responded.

“We have transporters, replicators and environmental systems. Everything else is working, but barely. All engines are inoperable,” Kim’s voice reported in.

“Can we repair the damage?” Janeway asked.

“Yes,” Chakotay replied.

Janeway frowned. “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

“We don’t have the power necessary to leave the gravitational pull of the planet. Our deuterium stores are depleted. There is more in a nearby asteroid filed, but we still need to get off the planet to get at it.”

“Hmm,” Janeway thought about it. “We’ve been in worse situations.”

Chakotay frowned as he looked at her. “In what way?”

“At least we still have the ship. Last time we were stranded, we didn’t even have that.”

Three officers slowly smiled, the fourth lifted a brow at her logic. None of them could question her resolve.

“In that case,” Tuvok rallied. “We should locate the crew and bring them aboard with all speed. Effecting repairs will go a lot easier with more hands.”

“I agree. Get on it.”

“Captain?” Tom spoke up from his console. “I have found several things that you might want to see.”

“See?” she queried with some amusement, despite not knowing whether she would ever see again. She knew that even if she was blinded for the rest of her life there was still a contribution for her to make. Long had the timed passed them when disabilities were regarded as a barrier to a fulfilling life. In fact, she recalled as Chakotay gently helped her to her feet, a captain friend she had known in command school had a blind son. Geordi, she thought his name was, but the pain in her head was making it difficult to think and walk at the same time. She winced, leaning gratefully on Chakotay. “What have you found?”

“Firstly, and this might sound odd. It’s more of a gut feeling than anything tangible. It’s weird, but . . .”

“Go on, Tom,” she coaxed gently. “Anything weird is still part of the job.” Tom shifted and she imagined a smile on his face.

“The planet is earth-like, too earth-like to be a coincidence. The eastern shoreline could, in another several thousand years, be Western Europe, almost. If you tipped part of it round ninety degrees so that east was north and allowed for weather adjustment and erosion and so on.”

“Interesting,” Janeway said neutrally. “What else have you found?”

“I have found a herb that will heal your wounds,” Tom said. “The sap and leaves contain enzymes that enhance the healing processes of skin and muscle. It’s better than any medication I can offer you in sickbay.”

“Where, and how far?”

“About one hundred and forty-nine kilometres due west. It’s a bit of a hike, and we would have to go around what looks like a city of some kind to get to it. But I believe it’s worth it. The medicinal properties of this plant would be invaluable to the ship.”

“Can we send out a sampling probe?” she asked, hoping to avoid walking that far, even in the hope of restoring her sight.

“We can’t. The launcher is currently blocked with snow. If I attempt to clear it, the noise could bring down the entire mountain,” Tom told her apologetically.

“Then we’ll have to walk it,” Janeway said. “Do we have communications?”

“Not yet, Captain,” Kim put in, his voice muffled. “Still working on it.”

Janeway looked up to see what he was doing and where, but she could see nothing but dim light.

“He’s under a console, Captain, rewiring the com-system,” Chakotay whispered helpfully, to save her some embarrassment.

“Ah, carry on, Harry,” she said. “How much power do we have in the back-up batteries? If we can beam out as close to the plant as we can it’ll save time.”

“We could do that,” Tom agreed. “It’s close to the other thing I wanted to tell you about.”

Janeway noted the edge of something in his voice and the gasp from the man beside her, who was obviously looking at something on Paris’ board. “What is it?”

“It is a powerful cloaking device, Captain. Very small, but it contains enough power to make the omega molecule get an inferiority complex,” Paris noted with irony.

“Mr. Paris’ attempts at humour not withstanding,” Tuvok cut in. “It is a form of technology that is otherwise lacking on this planet, save for a few much weaker sources. Some areas of the surface are reflecting our scans. I am hypothesising that it is some kind of rock in this hemisphere that is acting as a natural deflector. Either way, the technology does not conform to anything else on this planet or in this entire system.”

Janeway gaped at the thought. “What is technology of that kind doing on a planet like this?” she asked rhetorically. “Is it Federation technology?”

“Negative,” Tuvok replied. “The configuration matches nothing we have in the database. The energy signature is psionic.”

“Psionic?” Chakotay voiced. “You mean, it’s some kind of mind-control device?”

“It has certain properties that would lead to that conclusion, yes,” Tuvok agreed. “It is approximately two centimetres in diameter, six millimetres thick and activated by covering groves on it’s inner surface with an indirect heat source, such as a finger. It is currently hanging on a chain around the neck of a humanoid travelling in this general direction. If the life form holds this course, he will reach us in approximately four days.”

“I wonder if he knows what he has?” Chakotay thought aloud, watching nine green blips moving on the sensor image to the right of Tom’s main screen.

“More to the point,” Tom spoke. “How do we explain to the local inhabitants that this object could not only get us off their mountain, but home . . .seven thousand times over?”

Flame streaked across the sky as pod 5-alpha hit the atmosphere at an angle. In horrified silence the occupants realised what was happening. They were burning up. Within minutes they would all be dead.

“There is nothing I can do,” Seven told them.

“Don’t apologise, Seven,” the Doctor said softly. “It is not your fault.”

“I assure you, Doctor, apologising was furthest from my mind.”

Sam, seated opposite her, frowned in anger, but realised that it was simply the drone’s nature to be offish and gruff, not a deliberate act against another person’s feelings. “Stay calm, children. We’re together, that’s all that matters,” she said with a smile.

Suddenly the escape pod lurched to one side, throwing them against their restraining harnesses. The lights went out and all that remained to illuminate their final hell was the fire that melted the hull shining through the six tiny portals. As the tumbling ball careened towards the surface it hit a river and bounced, throwing pieces of burned and heat-twisted metal in all directions. Strangled screams erupted from within as part of the hull ripped away as the pod bounced a second time.

As the momentum slowed the pod struck the riverbank and was tossed into the air landing roughly, throwing dirt, plants and small rocks into the sky. What was left of the pod rolled another fifty meters across grassy soil, finally coming to a halt against a large tree. In the seconds that followed, sparks flew from the electrical systems and the hatch gave way, sliding down the ruined outer hull.

The Doctor looked up, hearing breathing. He took that as a good sign. Unhooking his harness he searched for a storage panel. Finally prying one open, he grabbed a palm beacon and activated it. Sam was the first face to blink in the light. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. A little shaken up, but I’m ok.” She turned to the seat to her left. “Naomi?”

“I’m fine mom, but where is everyone else?”

The doctor looked at the other seats, all were empty or missing. “We better salvage what we can and find them, and quickly.”

Sam struggled out of her seat and stood up. “I am only an ensign. In situations of this nature, you’re in command, Doctor.”

The EMH looked at her uneasily, but she was right, even though her experience with procedure would suggest otherwise. “Unfortunately there are only two of us to carry supplies. Naomi, you’re in charge of the med-kit. Collect together everything you can. Sam, divide food rations, blankets and whatever tools are not destroyed between you and me.”

“Yes sir,” they both replied without reservation.

The doctor looked up as blinking lights can into view. Moment’s later a pod seat floated to the ground, its parachute having activated the moment the pod blew apart. The small boy strapped unharmed within its protective force field grinned.

“Wow! Can we do that again?”

The Doctor glared at him. “Azan, this is not the time for fun. The other children are missing, as is Seven.” He deactivated the force field and fended of the parachute as it threatened to smother them both.

Azan sobered. “Sorry,” he said. “Perhaps their chutes opened too?”

The Doctor eyed the broken and blooded harness that hung from what was left of Seven’s seat. “I will not lie to you,” he said. “But salt peddling the truth is acceptable in certain situations. We may find them alive, if we hurry.” Sam, he noted, was already scanning the area with a standard tri-corder. “We will leave a message in case other survivors from the crew find the pod. We should expect to be rescued by morning.” Sam eyed him strangely. “Or at least within twenty-four hours,” he added conservatively. He keyed in a short message into the com-panel and then stepped out to join the others.

Together, they followed the trail of debris back to the river. Moments later another chute landed to their right. Inside the seat was Azan’s twin brother, Rebi. Both boys were overjoyed to see each other. Further down the bank, they found another parachute and a seat that had already landed in the soft mud. The force field generator had blown out.

Cautiously, the doctor stepped around the seat, wondering what he would find. Mezoti lay in the seat, moaning softly, a large gash to her head. The doctor scanned her before opened her harness. “You’re fine,” he smiled. “You did the right thing staying still.”

“I ache all over,” she noted gruffly.

“A few bruises, and a nasty cut to the head, but otherwise nothing broken.” He ran a dermal regenerator over the cut and once done he passed instrument back to his new assistant, Naomi.

Mezoti rose from the seat stiffly and looked at them all. “Where are Icheb and Seven?”

It took another seventeen minutes to locate Icheb. The boy was thrown clear on the second impact and now lay unconscious on the riverbank. The doctor scanned him.

“Partial-thickness burns to the face, neck and hands; abdominal, chest and spinal injuries. He needs surgery if he is to survive, but we cannot risk moving him.” The doctor watched the life signs slowly deteriorate, but said nothing.

“There’s no sign of Seven and the baby within a fifteen kilometre radius of here,” Sam noted, swinging the tri-corder in a wide arc. She did not want to pot words to the fear that rose within her.

The doctor, too, said nothing. “We will keep Icheb warm and wait here for rescue.”

Legolas lifted his head as they rose from slumber to begin anew their journey. They would eat breakfast on the move, out of habit.. “Aragorn?”

“What is it?”

“Læst nô ænasth,” the elf warned. He frowned, listening to a strange sound, his eyes widened. “It is a newborn.”

“A what? Out here?” Legolas sprinted down the hill without answering. “Stay here,” Aragorn told the others and ran after him.

Less than a minute later Legolas stopped running and stood looking down at an infant. He looked up as Aragorn joined him, out of breath from the run. They surveyed the scene with a sinking feeling. There were burned pieces of twisted metal lying about and the mauled body of a blond-haired woman. Both she and the baby were soaking wet and covered in blood.

“They must have fallen from the sky,” Legolas whispered.

“She is too fair to be of Gondor,” Aragorn noted. “But too slight to be of Rohan.”

“Neither of them are elf-kind,” Legolas said, as he knelt to pick the infant from the rubble where she had landed, her pink sleep suit in ruined tatters. He lifted her carefully in his hands. “She is . . .so fair,” he said, unable to keep the awe from his voice. He had never seen an infant so small, in fact had never seen an infant at all. The infant blinked up at him and whimpered a little.

“I do not think this woman was her mother,” Aragorn said. “She has borne no child.”

“She is dead?” Legolas inquired, still wondering what to do with the baby.

“Yes. How is the baby?”

“This infant is unharmed.,” He observed the infants lower lip quiver. “We must find its mother. I believe it is cold.”

Aragorn rose and sighed. “We cannot leave her here to be eaten by wolves. Whoever she was it would be customary to bury her with honours. We will have to take the child with us,” he said reluctantly.

Legolas lifted his eyes. “We do not have time to return to Imladris, but perhaps there is someone in Lothlórien who might know who the child’s father is.”

“The Lady of the Woods will know,” Aragorn agreed. Finding several large rocks he carefully covered the woman’s body and both uttered a prayer to the Valar.

No sooner was it uttered than the child began to cry. Legolas shook it gently, but it did not stop. He held her against his shoulder like a rabbit he had once nurtured back to health, but still the crying continued. “Aragorn?” he said loudly. “How do I stop the noise?”

Aragorn grinned over his shoulder. “You picked it up. You work it out.”

Legolas eyed him with slight annoyance. “You are not helping,” he voiced.

“It is probably hungry,” Aragorn supposed.

They reached the rest of the Nine and the baby was screeching at the top of its lungs.

“Where did you get a baby?” Samwise asked, taking his pack off and rummaging inside.

“I found it by the river,” Legolas replied. “It fell from the sky. Gandalf, what do I do? She does not stop this awful howling?”

Before Gandalf could so much as open his mouth, Samwise tipped some milk into his palm and dribbled it into her mouth. “That’s not howling,” he scolded gently. “My, if you elves aren’t daft at times. She’s hungry, is all.”

The baby started in surprise and sucked at the drops that suddenly materialised in her mouth and grunted. Her little mouth opened hopefully and more drops obediently arrived. Sam smiled a little. “This, here, is goat’s milk. Lord Elrond gave it me for Frodo’s tea, see? But, since we ran out of tea a while back, I still have some milk left over.” He dribbled a little more into the open mouth with amusement. “It’s like feeding a little bird,” he noted, as the other hobbits closed in for a peek.

Legolas, still holding the baby, wished he were somewhere else. He lifted his eyes to look around to see if there was that somewhere else close at hand. All he found were three grins aimed at him and a sceptical wizard shaking his head.

“You should not have brought her back with you,” he said.

“Oh, but Mr. Gandalf, sir, Legolas couldn’t just leave her all alone, being a kind-hearted elf gentleman that he is,” Sam noted.

Legolas did not know whether to cringe or thank him, but at least the infant was quiet again. “We should find out where she came from and return her.”

“She’s so tiny, she must be a hobbit lass,” Frodo said. “At least, she would be, save for the ears, and her hair being so fair.”

“Our journey is far too dangerous for a child,” Gandalf said.

“Besides, what do we fed it with once the milk runs out?” Aragorn asked.

“Say nothing of changing napkins,” Boromir added, and beside him a dwarf growled with a wince.

“Don’t look at me,” Gimli grumbled. “I want nothing to do with babies, whatever their kind.”

“We cannot take the child with us,” Gandalf repeated. “With the constant threats from all sides, her presence will slow us down with her constant need of care and attention. And she will alert the enemy with her cries. No, you must leave her behind. Better that she dies here than on the frigid heights of Caradhras.”

Legolas looked appalled. “Stop it. You are all being selfish. If it concerns you so greatly, I will take sole responsibility for her care.” He noted the guarded looks of the men and the dwarf and continued. “She will be safer with me than in the clumsy hands of men, and harsh treatment of a dwarf.”

In response both Aragorn and Boromir heaved a sigh of relief to have escaped such a burden, neither liked babies all that much. The dwarf sneered beneath his beard.

“Besides,” Legolas continued. “As if it should have escaped you, Gandalf, I am also a child, not having reached the age of maturity yet, the crime of which is poorly placed upon my shoulders.”

“Same here,” Pippin put in with a frown, not entirely understanding what Legolas said, but agreeing all the same.

“My apologies, young Prince,” Gandalf said. “It was not my intention to insult you, but you are hardly an infant dependent on a mother’s care.”

“What about me?” Pippin said, as Legolas bowed his head in acceptance of the apology. Gandalf did nothing save for throwing a glowering look in the youngest hobbit’s direction before turning for the path up the hill. “If it is fed, we should press on,” he said, without turning back.

Sam put away his belongings and Legolas stood looking down into the child’s eyes. She was smiling disarmingly up at him. Without thinking, he smiled back.

“I don’t think you’re going to get an apology, Pip,” Merry noted.

Pippin sank into silence and followed the others. Legolas frowned and rested a hand on the hobbit boy’s shoulder. “Do not concern yourself too much, young Pippin. Gandalf is fond of you. He just does not want to reveal it. You must be brave and this journey will give you the maturity that comes with age.”

“It will?” Pippin brightened. Legolas smiled down at him.

Frodo walked beside the elf, eyeing him as he turned the infant into his shoulder and drew a blanket from a pocket in his tunic. Legolas paused.

“Is something wrong?” Frodo asked.

“I have not enough hands. Would you mind holding her for a moment?”

Frodo grimaced at the thing now placed in his hands. “Is it safe?” he asked, squirming. “I might drop it, or it might have dark magic or something.”

Legolas chuckled softly as he began tying knots in the elven cloth and turned to slip it over the baby’s clothing, lifting her free of Frodo’s hands. “If she had been magic we would have known it already. I would have felt it.” He slipped two long loops over his shoulders and pulled it tight. The baby grunted uncomfortably, two buttons digging into her soft cheek. Legolas slipped a hand in to release the buttons of his tunic and shirt and curled the two halves of his tunic around her, refastening the buttons. “There, she will sleep safe and warm.”

Frodo looked up at him with a certain amount of embarrassment, but decided not to mention how daft he looked.

Janeway leaned heavily against Chakotay as they began to climb up the bank. “Are you sure that was the shallowest point in the river?” she asked. She was wet through up to her chest.

Tuvok turned. “I apologise, Captain. There was no other point in the river where the water is less than a meter deep. Upstream are high mountains, down stream the river widens to thirteen metres wide and in places is fifty metres deep where the water fills a small ravine.”

Tom tapped the Vulcan on the shoulder and pointed to a collection of cut granite blocks no more than ten metres to their left that they had not seen from the far bank. Tuvok sighed and lifted his chin to retain a certain amount of dignity. “It seems, Captain . . .that we missed the bridge.”

Janeway rolled her eyes, or would have if her head did not hurt so much.

“At least it’s warm,” Chakotay said. “Our clothing should dry quickly enough.”

“The pod is fifteen metres in that direction,” Tom spoke up.

“Why couldn’t we have beamed a little closer to it?” Janeway asked.

“The targeting scanners were distorted by the rock formations near here,” Tom said. “They power cells could only beam us out one at a time. I, for one, am glad we made it at all.”

“True, enough,” Chakotay responded. “Don’t worry, Kathryn,” he said quietly. “We’re doing our best.”

Janeway smirked slightly and let out a humourless chuckle. “In other words, silence in the gallery, right?”

“All back seat drivers and peanut gallery observers please remain silent,” Chakotay joked, and was rewarded with the sound of quiet laughter.

“There it is,” Tom abruptly said. “Umm . . .it looks a little smaller than usual.”

The change in his tone chilled Janeway to the bone. “What is it?” There was no reply. “What do you see?” she demanded.

“Captain, the pod disintegrated on impact,” Chakotay informed her. “It looks like the thermal shielding failed as it entered the atmosphere.”

Janeway gulped. “The children,” she breathed in horror.

On peering inside Tuvok first noticed the empty supplies compartments; the flickering panel a close second. “Someone is alive,” he said. “They have left a message on the com-panel.” He activated it and the doctor’s face appeared. He stood back for the captain to hear the message.

There was something in his voice that held a chill to it. Tom lifted the blood-soaked harness of one of the seats and lifted his eyes to the first officer. At least one person had to be dead.

“Are there any life signs in the immediate area,” Janeway said, her voice quivered slightly. She could not accept the implied loss of a member her crew, let alone one of the children. Neither would she allow herself the luxury of feeling the pain that came with that loss.

“There are several life forms about half a kilometre from here, five humanoid and one holographic,” Tom told them.

“That’s a start,” Janeway said. She knew there should have been two more, there had to be two more.

As the party moved off, Tuvok signalled the ship. “Ensign Kim, we have located pod 5-alpha. It is spread over approximately fifteen kilometres due southwest of my position. Locate the wreckage and beam it back to the cargo hold before inquisitive locals discover it. There will be an investigation into what went wrong.”

“Aye, sir,” Kim responded blandly. “Will you require recovery of the bodies as well?” he asked, knowing full well that survivors would be rare.

“I do not believe that will be necessary at this time, Ensign. A number of parachutes were deployed,” he added, eyeing the one at his feet and another a little way off. “We will rendezvous with the survivors in a few minutes. I will contact you again at that time.”

He noted a relieved sigh on the other end of the com-link. “Understood, Voyager out.”

Tuvok joined the others as their journey took them down a gently sloping hillside. With the aid of a tri-corder they were located in less than fifteen minutes, sitting with Icheb by the banks of the river.

“Captain,” the EMH called out as they approached. “You are hurt. What are you doing here? You should be in sickbay, not gallivanting across an unknown wilderness.”

“And I’m pleased to see you too,” she noted with amusement. “Or whatever,” she corrected. “My optical nerve is damaged. Tom says you can’t repair it, but there is a herb that can. It grows not far from here. Besides, there is a powerful energy source nearby. We can’t leave the planet without it. I am on my way to trade for it.”

The irate doctor turned his dark eyes up to the commander hoping to get the man on his side… it failed.

“She’s still the captain,” Chakotay said. “And always will be. Being blind won’t change that.”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t it have been simpler to have sent out a probe and picked the flower from the comfort of sickbay?”

“Sorry, Doc. No can do,” Tom replied in old slang. “The ship is in bad enough shape as it is without starting an avalanche that would crush it. We can beam you all back, but it would have to be one at a time. The power reserves are low.”

The EMH conceded the point and nodded. “Icheb is badly hurt. I’ve done what I can, but he needs IV feeds until he is stabilised enough to survive surgery. Tom or Sam can handle that, but my place is at your side, Captain.”

Janeway winced slightly. “Alright, agreed. But since I need both Tom and Chakotay to walk, and you won’t leave without a fight, I suggest Icheb be sent directly to sickbay, where Sam can tend to his needs.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, Captain,” she agreed.

Tuvok contacted the ship. “Ensign Kim, we have located the survivors. Mezoti, Azan, Rebi and Naomi to beam up, at your convenience.” One by one the four children were whisked away. “Transport Icheb directly to surgical bed one,” he continued. A moment later the injured young man was gone. “And Ensign Wildman to sickbay.”

“What about Seven and the baby?” Kim asked.

“We are continuing our search,” Tuvok replied. “Tuvok out.”

“Captain,” Tom spoke softly. “I should go back and give Sam a hand. You have Tuvok and Chakotay. And the herb is less than five kilometres due north from here, back across the river.”

Janeway nodded. “I’ll see you soon,” she said.

“Tuvok, use the bridge, this time,” Tom advised him. “Paris to Voyager, one to beam up.” There was no response. He tried it again. “Looks like the power drain has increased.”

“Looks like we’re stuck here, until power can be taken from somewhere else,” Chakotay said. “Do you need to rest, Kathryn?”

“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “We’ll just have to hope the ship can beam us back later. If not we will have to walk. In the meantime our priorities are clear. We need to find Seven, and the baby will not last long without milk. First, let’s make for those aliens. They might have seen them.”

It was drawing towards evening. The entire Fellowship was exhausted, having walked further and faster than any of the previous days. Aragorn huffed, wincing slightly at his aching feet. “Are they still following us?” he wondered.

“I can see them in the distance.” Legolas spoke.

“What can you tell us about them?” Aragorn asked.

Legolas frowned. “They are very strange. Their appearance confuses me. While they all, bar one, have short hair and the ears of men, they are in the garb of elves. One is dressed in black with blue across his shoulders. The one with long hair, appears to be ailing. It is a woman, she is relying heavily on another.” Legolas shuddered suddenly and his voice dropped as he trembled. “There is also a shadow that walks with them. It is dark, I cannot make out its form with clarity. They are coming straight for us.”

“We must press on, put some distance between us and them,” Gandalf urged them.

“Wait, Gandalf,” Aragorn said. “What if the child belongs to them?

“We owe it to the child to at least find out,” Legolas said almost questioningly.

At Legolas’ silent plea, Gandalf nodded. “We shall rest here and wait for the strangers to arrive. They seem to be moving far faster than we are,” the wizard noted.

Despite his resolve to return the baby to her people, Legolas became increasingly restless and frightened as they strangers drew ever closer. Aragorn stepped close to him to speak quietly in his ear. “What is it, Legolas? What frightens you?”

“I cannot explain it,” the elf replied. “Something approaches that I do not understand, nor can I be certain that it is good or evil. It frightens me because it is an unknown. He appears to be orc, but his companions are like you. It does not make sense.”

“Perhaps we should judge them once they meet with us,” he said, calming his friend. Aragorn gazed out across the as yet unseen group approaching them. “How far?”

Legolas fidgeted. “Another fifteen minutes,” he said. He sat down, but not long after rose to his feet again to watch the approach. Sitting down a second time, he was on his feet within seconds.

Boromir suddenly laughed at the elf. “This reminds me of the day my brother was born. My mother could not sit still, could not get comfortable.”

Gimli suddenly laughed, finding the idea very amusing. “Legolas, the mother-to-be. Only he has already given birth, but is still getting cramps.”

Legolas was less than amused. “Elven mothers do not get cramps when birthing,” he griped protectively. “They are perfectly poised at all times.

Aragorn smiled widely, chuckling softly. “Yes, they do,” he responded. “I remember the day the last one was born, in Mirkwood sixty-five years ago. I was called to give aid to his mother.”

Legolas stiffened, knowing of whom he was speaking. “I was born at that time. I was the last elf born here.” he intoned. “You are speaking about me. I was not aware that my mother needed help.”

“Elven children are always kept out of earshot to keep them from hearing their mothers cry out in pain,” Aragorn said. “Especially when help is needed.”

“Elves do not cry out in pain,” Legolas repeats strongly, affronted.

Gimli growled, “Shall we cut you open and find out?” He flexed his axe arm, and Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think so, Gimli. You might hit the babe,” Aragorn warned.

The elf regarded him, hands on hips. “Thank you . . I think,” he said.

Boromir laughed.

Legolas turned away from them, paying them no head. He stiffened visibly, and using that as a signal of alarm they grew quiet and tense. “I was right. The dark being has the ears of an elf. Yrch!” he hissed in his own tongue.

“This far from the mountain?” Aragorn questioned, drawing his bow.

Legolas already had his in his bow hand and an arrow pulled back against his cheek. He fired and watched in astonishment as the approaching dark shape twisted his upper body to one side and caught the arrow in mid flight.

Chakotay stared at the arrow that suddenly appeared in Tuvok’s hand. “Where did that come from?”

“I believe the aliens up ahead view us will hostile intentions,” Tuvok supposed.

“Nice arrow,” Tom commented.

“Would you still say the same if it was sticking out of your head?” the EMH wondered.

Tuvok fitted the arrow into his own bow and aimed. “In coming,” he said.

And suddenly a streaking figure broke at full speed from the trees. Tuvok fired, but the alien flipped sideways like a cat, landing on his feet. Suddenly a flash of white metal sliced through Tuvok’s bow. A second blade in the other hand was coming towards his throat at an alarming rate. Tuvok dropped the bow, curled to the right and grabbed the assailant’s wrist, pulling him forward. Bringing up his other hand he grabbed behind his shoulder and neck and squeezed. The unsuspecting alien, with a moment to look shocked at the turn of events, flopped to the ground at his feet.

“Legolas!” a man cried up ahead.

The away team looked up to find the rest of the group they had been tracking standing, horrified, at the edge of the trees.

“What is it?” Janeway demanded. “What’s happening.”

“Tuvok just gave the alien a Vulcan nerve pinch,” Chakotay told her. “The rest of his group has arrived.”

“Legolas?” Aragorn called to his fallen friend, but there was no answer. Suddenly his anger won over his fear. He rushed at Tuvok with sword arm raised and a battle cry on his lips.

Tuvok caught his wrist and held him there, unfazed as the man began to struggle. “Please desist in this venture,” Tuvok told him.

Aragorn, having met his match and been bettered by strength alone, fell backward onto the ground. Lowering his sword he slid over to where Legolas lay as if in death. He cupped his cheek in his hand. “No,” he whispered, his eyes filling with tears.

The dark stranger bent towards the unconscious elf, only to find two swords and an axe levelled at him.

“Touch him, and you will die!” Aragorn sneered.

“I have no intention of touching him,” Tuvok replied expressionlessly. His hands instead went to the bundle tied to the elf’s chest, tucked beneath his tunic.

The dwarf growled menacingly, hefting his axe. “Take the child and die,” he warned.

Tuvok was unimpressed and lifted the infant out of the elven cloth regardless. Turning he pressed her tiny form into Janeway’s arms. “Here she is, Captain,” he said.

Janeway took the infant, at once curling her arms around her, unseeing, and pulled her close. Aragorn rose to his feet and held Gimli back as he stepped forward to kill the dark one. “No, Gimli. It is her child. We made a promise to Legolas to see it done and it is done.” He watched her talking softly to the infant, who squirmed appreciatively in her arms and smiling up at her. “You did not have to kill my friend, dark one” Aragorn said. “Not even a child is worth such a loss.”

“He is not dead,” Tuvok replied. “Captain, I believe we should take the baby back to the ship immediately. She will be hungry and doubtless has not been fed for a time.”

“She has been fed!” Gimli groused at the slight. “You thinks us unable to care for an infant? I’ll have your head for a ball game for the insult . . .”

“Gimli, no. We have already lost Legolas. Do not add yourself to his grave,” Aragorn begged.

The man of Gondor beside him frowned at the strangers. “Who are you? Why do you dress like the elves of Rivendell?”

“I am Captain Kathryn Janeway. This is my first officer, Chakotay; my pilot, Tom Paris, our doctor and the ‘dark one’ is Tuvok.”

“A woman? A blind woman is your captain!” Boromir scoffed. “It is a wonder you have ever left your home port. Men should do the protecting. What dishonour you show by bringing the weak into battle,” he said with disgust.

Tuvok lifted a brow unconcernedly at the strangers. “I must commend you on your care for our missing child. She would have died had you not found her in time.”

“You killed my friend, and you commend me?” Aragorn retorted.

“He is not dead, merely rendered insensible for a time. He will recover in a few moments.”

Gandalf, stooping over the elf, passed a hand across his head and whispering an incantation. Legolas did not respond. “Legolas is, as far as I can tell, asleep, but I cannot wake him. What witchcraft is this?” he asked looking up.

The doctor, still dressed in blue, stepped forward with his tri-corder and scanned the unconscious elf. “He is more than asleep. He is dying.”

“What manner of device is this?” Gandalf asked in wonder and concern.

“I will explain later,” Doc dismissed. “Tuvok, you have outdone yourself. This man’s physiology is too delicate for your nerve pinch. There is deep tissue damage . . .” He peered closer at the screen. “I take it back. He is not a man, he’s . . .an elf . . .” He sighed and folded the tri-corder and stood up. “He needs surgery if he is to survive.”

“Wait!” Aragorn cried out. “Enough of this talk. No one cuts him open until I have answers.”

“And what answers do you expect us to give you?” the first officer wondered, where he sat beside his captain.

“Chakotay,” Janeway silenced him. “I am sorry that we injured your friend, it was unintentional. We only came for the baby. We’ll heal his wounds and leave.”

“You are in my land, stranger,” Aragorn cut in. “Here, no one tells me what to do, least of all a woman. You would do well to remember that.”

The Nine behind him swallowed, none of whom expected Aragorn to be so bold, and yet expecting a fight. Boromir stepped up beside him, sword at the ready should he need help. Gandalf stepped between the two glaring parties and sighed, speaking quietly to Aragorn. “It would be unwise to kill the strangers. They are not our enemies. If they can heal Legolas’ injuries it would be foolish to kill them before hand. Besides, you may be Chieftain of the Dúnedain, but the man with the dark eyes there has a larger tattoo than yours.”

Aragorn regarded Chakotay, wondering not for the first time why a warrior of his tattoo’s standing would acquiesce to another, particularly a blind woman with no tattoo of her own. “Yes, I can see that,” Aragorn whispered back. “But you are a wizard. Can you not turn them into toads, or something like that?”

“There is little a Grey can do against a Sorcerer,” Gandalf replied. “They have more power in a little finger than I have in my entire being. And more than that, we must protect Frodo. He is our priority. Let them heal Legolas and then we can be on our way.”

“We offer better than that,” Tuvok replied.

The Nine looked up in surprise.

“You can hear us?” Gandalf noted.

“I am Vulcan. My hearing is more acute than a humans’.”

“What is it you propose?” Aragorn asked, attempting to hide his unease at this stranger possessing skill he only trusted in his elven friends.

“A trade. We heal the . . .elf . . .and in exchange for a supply of a medicinal plant with small white flowers, and a technological device you have in your possession.”

Chakotay and Tom stiffened behind him. “Tuvok!” Tom hissed. “What are you doing?”

The Nine looked confused. “What is technological?” Boromir asked, having difficulty with the word.

Gandalf frowned and turned to the strangers at once. “What year is this?” he asked slowly.

Tuvok regarded him for am moment. “I do not understand.”

“You do not come from this world. You come from the sky,” Gandalf continued.

The four officers stood looking stunned, as did the rest of the Nine, but for different reasons.

“How do you know this?” Janeway asked.

“I am also not of this world. I am of the Istari Order. Tell me, stranger, what year?”

“2376.”

Gandalf nodded gently. “The year here is 3018 of the Third Age. I believe you are from the future, perhaps the Fifth or Sixth Age.” He regarded their appearance with amusement. “Dressing yourselves as Elves was a mistake, if they had found you first you would have been dead by now.”

“If the Dúnedain had found them, they would have been killed as orc spies, no questions asked,” Aragorn added. “Especially the black one.”

“With your leave, Captain, I will return the infant to Voyager.”

“Yes, Tuvok,” Janeway agreed, holding the infant out for him to take. “Return as soon as you can with a full med-kit and a container. We still need a sample of that plant.”

“Aye, Captain,” Tuvok accorded and walked back the way they had come. Once out of sight he called for transport. Upon arrival, Sam was pleased to have the baby she had adopted in her arms again.

“We have yet to locate Seven,” Tuvok replied. “We have however made contact with the alien who has the power source. We will begin negotiations as soon as it is possible to do so.”

“Is there anything you need, sir?” Kim asked.

“Yes, Ensign. A full med-kit, a sample container and enough blankets and food rations for four people.”

Kim nodded and crossed to a storage locker hidden within the bulkhead of the transporter room. Opening it he took out one backpack, four lidded boxes and four blankets. Pushing them inside the backpack, he reached for a sample case and a medi-pack type one, which was small enough to fit into the backpack. “Weapons?” Kim queried as he slid the panel shut and reached for another.

Tuvok rested his bow and quiver on the top of the control consol. “That will be unnecessary,” Tuvok replied. He turned and took the pack slipping it onto his back. Taking the case in one hand he thanked him. “Return me to the exact co-ordinates you beamed me from.”

“Good luck with the negotiations,” Kim said.

Tuvok nodded and dematerialised.

“You have not introduced yourselves,” Janeway said.

There was silence for a moment, none of them wishing to engage in conversation while Legolas‘ life hung in the balance. Gandalf spoke for them. “This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Elendil,” he said indicating with a hand. “Boromir, son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, Gimli son of Gloin, and the four hobbits are Frodo and his cousins Peregrine and Meriadoc, and his servant Samwise. And I am Gandalf.”

While the men at least nodded in greeting, the hobbits would neither approach nor speak to them, despite Gandalf’s assurances that in spite of injuring Legolas their intentions were for good.

A moment later Tuvok returned to the group. He nodded silently to Chakotay who whispered his arrival to the captain. The EMH had already begun the surgery on Legolas, watched like a hawk by Aragorn. Gandalf, seeing the situation did not require his expert eye, rose and stepped up to where Chakotay sat. “Janeway,” he said. “We must speak, you and I.”

Chakotay tensed, and she patted his hand. “I’ll be alright,” she told him and with much pain, she got to her feet.

Gandalf took her arm, steadying her, and guiding her a short distance to a tumble of fallen trees not far from the rest of the group. He gently sat her down and sat beside her. “This is one meeting I had neither foreseen nor expected,” he noted. “Never before have outsiders come to this world . . .except the time when I peopled it,” he added quietly.

Janeway blinked sightlessly, suddenly understanding as he knew she would. “I have heard of you,” she told him. “The Istari are known to us, by another name. It is one of the descriptions given for the Preservers, a race who took steps to preserve threatened cultures of many worlds, including Earth, and placed them on worlds where their way of life would continue untouched by outside influences.”

“That’s right,” Gandalf nodded, regarding her seriously. “What else do you know of us?”

“Only theories, no one knows where you came from or what happened, only that you vanished, seemingly without a trace. What did happen?”

Gandalf lifted his eyes into the distance. “There was a war . . .a terrible war.” He paused. “Instead of watching over our charges we had to defend them against each other, openly revealing ourselves to the very beings we had transplanted to protect them from change. And others were left to fend for themselves. The evil lords were numerous and their numbers grew almost every day. We could not kill each other ourselves, it was not given us the power to do so, but we can injure each other. You would be surprised what inventive ways an Istari can conjure up to used against another.”

Janeway considered this. “Sounds very much like the Q wars,” she remembered.

“Q?”

“Never mind, please go on,” she said.

“There are few of us left. We were never meant to interfere, but this is our last stand. Sauron is the last of the dark lords, the last evil Istari. But we are not permitted to kill him. We must trust the lesser life forms we placed here to do it for themselves. Now they must show their own strength and qualities, show the Istari once and for all that they are worth preserving. The Qendi, who were here when we arrived welcomed the few we brought here away from the war. They took them in, but now the elves are leaving, and all because of Sauron.”

“But that will also mean that you must leave them,” Janeway said.

Gandalf nodded slowly, remembering Saruman’s last words to him; so you have chosen death. “Yes,” he replied. “In whatever manner I leave, it will be for good.”

“I read about your final journey,” she told him. “It was written in a book, published in the 20^th century.” Gandalf slowly nodded and said, “I know. The Istari Order desired time to pass before permitting our last messenger to put to paper what happened here. He was bidden to keep it silent for ten thousand years to be sure no one would be left alive to remember it. Only he remained after the rest of us had left, long enough to write it down every word.”

Janeway listened to his wistful faraway voice. “You’re speaking of it as if it’s in the past for you.”

“I have foreseen many things,” he replied. “So in a way, it is in the past for me. But for these, the Fellowship of the Ring, it is still their future. For you, it is all in the past, legend and myth, all recounted in the finished works of a man from a time in your own history.”

Janeway turned her sightless eyes to him. “But he didn't finish it.”

Gandalf looked at her, “What?”

“Tolkien died before the last book was finished.”

Gandalf’s shoulders sagged as he sat there in grief. “Then our work here and what we achieve or don't achieve for mankind . . .” He sighed. “Will be lost forever.”

“No. Not all of it,” the captain assured him. “We, in the Federation, hold in high regard the works of Tolkien, and other authors. And what your race have done to preserve cultures and people’s way of life is legendary. Please, don’t think it has ever been for nothing. It’s just . . .I did not expect this to be real. To be sitting here, in this place and realise that it is history . . .I did not consider elves to be anything more than . . .”

“Fantasy?” Gandalf suggested.

“No,” Janeway smirked. “Actually, I thought they were this high,” she said, holding her fingers no more than 10 centimetres apart.

Gandalf suddenly erupted into laughter. Behind him Legolas blinked and sat up, wincing with a headache. “Only parts of us are,” he told her.

Janeway turned pink.

Legolas looked down at the empty pouch still against his chest. “Where is the infant?” he said in alarm

“She is safe, thank you,” Janeway said gently.

Legolas winced slightly, holding his head. He groaned in pain.

“I thought elves didn’t cry out in pain,” Gimli observed, giving him a prod with his axe head.

“Please do not poke my patient,” Doc griped. “He is in no fit state yet to reply in kind . . .why you people must resort to such barbaric behaviour to begin with is beyond me.”

“Is he always so much fun?” Gandalf asked of Janeway.

Despite her pain she grinned, chuckling a little.

Legolas seemed lost with the child gone, he had almost grown used to having her warmth against his chest, but knew she was better off with her family. “We found one of your kind by the river. We buried her seven miles from here.”

“Seven,” Janeway realised and Tuvok opened his tri-corder and then closed it, pocketing it again. “I have located Borg implants thirteen kilometres in that direction,” the Vulcan said. “I have sent a message to Kim. Her body will be retrieved in a few moments.”

“Thank you,” Janeway said to Legolas with a smile.

Legolas returned in, or at least tried. Her sightless eyes disconcerted him. “Tell me about your home,” he said. “What will the infant grow up to see?”

Janeway hesitated. “If we get home, she will see trees and mountains and river. But if we cannot leave your world, I don’t know what she will see.”

“You come from the sky,” Gandalf reminded her. “She will see an eternity of stars, if nothing else.”

Later as dusk drew in Paris wandered over to the fire, where the elf was cooking something in a small pot that hung over the fire. “Smells good,” he praised.

“Thank you,” Legolas replied as he took the herbs the hobbit, Sam, had gone to collect. Sam, as with the rest of the hobbits, would not engaged the Star Fleet officers in conversation. They were too wary of the strangers to even approach them. “It is my mother’s favourite recipe,” the elf was saying.

“My mother loved to cook, as well,” Tom said to break the ice.

Legolas looked up briefly as he stirred the mixture. “You lost your mother?”

“No, she’s still alive.”

“Why do you speak of her as if she only exists in the past?”

“Because . . .” Tom hesitated, wondering how much he should tell him.

“It is alright. You do not have to speak of her if it causes you pain. Gandalf told us you come from the stars.”

Tom swallowed. “It’s alright, really. We have been travelling a long time, but it still hurts sometimes to thinks about it, especially when you’re just a step away from reaching out and taking the one thing that could get you home tomorrow,” he hinted. He hoped Legolas would ask, but he didn’t. “By the time we get home, our families and everyone we ever knew will have been dead for decades,” Tom replied. “We’re facing a journey of at least sixty years. Most likely we will be sending our children home without us.”

Legolas was astounded. “I cannot envision a journey that would take so long,” he replied.

“How long will your journey take?” Tom asked.

“We do not know,” Legolas replied. “It could take many months, one that we may not return from. We face danger at every turn, the allies of Sauron and Saruman are everywhere.”

“What is it you’re trying to do?” Tom asked, in the hopes of getting him to reveal the object they were looking for.

“We are on a quest,” Legolas said. “To reach Mordor and free Middle Earth from the threat of Sauron, once and for all. First of all we need to cross those mountains.” He nodded his head in the direction of the snow-capped peaks now shrouded in the oncoming gloom of night. “The climb will not be an easy one,” he noted quietly.

Without thinking Paris replied, “Why don’t you just fly over them,” forgetting for a moment that there was no technology to achieve such a feat.

Legolas looked at him strangely, a miffed sigh escaping his nose. “I am not a fairy. I am an elf.”

“Sorry,” Tom said. “That’s not actually what I meant, but never mind.” Legolas passed him a bowl of soup ladled from the pot. “Thank you. I can speak a few words of . . .Quendi, is it?”

“Yes,” Legolas replied in surprise. “Where did you learn it?”

“At home, when I was a boy. I did it to impress my father. Needless to say it back fired on me,” he said his voice becoming pained and wistful. He snapped from his distant memories. “Anyway, I suppose you could say I was elf-taught,” he went on, trying to be funny.

Legolas gazed at him, eyes wide and round, his face blank.

Tom smiled at the look in his face, and chuckled a little. “Sorry,” he offered. “I can say lasto beth lammen, and mân rómen, ” he said.

Legolas nodded slowly. “Very good,” he said. “Does it serve you well?”

Tom regarded him a moment. “Not really. There isn’t much call for archaic - that is, classical languages,” he corrected quickly.

Legolas regarded him for a moment more before rising. “You are one strange man, Tom Paris.” Legolas told him and took soup to the hobbits.

“It is not much further,” Aragorn called over his shoulder.

The Doctor followed, sample case in his hand. “Thank you for aiding me,” he said in pleasant tones. He dodged yet another branch that whipped back into his face. He was certain that the man was doing it deliberately, but said nothing. “What is the plant called again, er Prince Aragorn?”

“Athelas,” Aragorn replied. “And please do not call me prince. I am trying to avoid being noticed. Sauron has spies even among animals. If he found out who I am and that I am alive, he would alter that very quickly.”

“Why is that?” the Doctor asked.

“Three thousand years ago, my ancestor, Elendil, stood against Sauron in the great war. He was killed. His son, Isildur, cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand and he was defeated.”

“Then, how is it that you are still fighting him?”

“I said he was defeated, not destroyed,” Aragorn said. “I can still see the images in my mind, still see the horrors that they saw. It was a dark time, and those dark times are upon us again.”

“Is this being immortal?” the doctor asked, copying every twist and turn the prince was making.

Aragorn considered this. “Something like that. The only thing that holds his life force together, is the One Ring. It is his soul, if you will.”

Ring, the Doctor thought. Now we’re getting somewhere. But his mind wandered to matters that interested him more as a doctor. “You have a genetic memory,” he noted.

Finally Aragorn stopped and turned to him, frowning in confusion. “A what?”

“Memory handed down to you from your ancestors,” the doctor explained.

Aragorn shrugged slightly. “Of course. It has been thus for all of my line. I never thought about it. It is simply there.” He stopped, looking down at a small plant with white flowers. “Here it is.”

“Your skill with herbs is also quite astonishing,” the doctor enthused. “Is this also . . .” Suddenly the holo-emitter cut out and the doctor vanished.

Aragorn cried out loudly in sudden terror. Just as suddenly the emitter re-stabilised and the Doctor reappeared as the emitter landed on the ground. Aragorn let out another hearty scream.

The doctor stood up and brushed himself down. “Don’t you just hate it when that happens?” he said.

Breathless with fright, Aragorn stared at him, wide-eyed, about as impressed as a gazelle at the approach of a speeding tiger. He turned and fled, full pelt back to the camp.

The doctor rolled his eyes, and sighed. He stopped long enough to pick up the now broken sample container and follow the fleeing man back the way they had come.

Legolas heard and saw him coming and grabbed him before he could run right through the campfire. “What is it?” he asked. “What has you so frightened?”

The doctor returned in time to hear his reply.

Aragorn stumbled onto his rump, gasping for air. “That man is not a man. He is a spirit of some kind. He vanished right in front of my eyes and then reappeared again.”

“No,” Gandalf said. “More like a genie.” They all looked at him strangely. “It’s a magical being that lives inside a bottle or a lamp,” he explained, to which the doctor sighed loudly and had the other officers amused. Gandalf fingered the holo-emitter and frowned. “Although this is the strangest lamp I have ever seen,” he admitted.

“I am not a genie, I am a doctor. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a patient to treat. Please pass me the plant material.”

Aragorn scuttled away from him and regained his feet. “Healing is my expertise, spirit.”

The doctor rolled his eyes at the address.

“Aragorn,” Legolas soothed him. “He healed me. Let him cure the woman.”

Aragorn passed the plant to him, not daring to touch him, lest something awful happen to him.

“Thank you,” the doctor accorded with an edge of sarcasm. “Now that I have it, what do I do with it?”

“You chew it in your mouth, to mix the sap with saliva, and pack the wounds with it.”

Tom grinned and chuckled. “All yours, Doc.”

The doctor handed the plant back to the future king, pinching his face so that the acidic comment that came to mind did not escape. “Here,” he said to Aragorn. “Your department, I believe. I have no salivary glands.”

“Why does it have to be you, specifically?” Chakotay wondered.

“My blood carries healing. I am the last of my line. There is no other,” Aragorn said, stuffing several leaves into him mouth and chewing. Spitting them into his hand he pressed the ruined leaves into the deep wound on Janeway’s head and pressed more against her closed lids.

Janeway sucked in a gasp. “It burns!”

“It will burn for a while. Do not be alarmed, it will pass. Keep her still,” he added to Chakotay. Breathing heavily, she leaned back against Chakotay, who had not left her side since the crash. “While the athelas does its work, you can explain to me what this spirit is,” he demanded.

In the dark of night, most slept. For a Vulcan and an Elf sleep did not come. Eying each other across the clearing they did not dare take their eyes off the other, distrust burning within one and confusion in the other. Tuvok rose from the log he had been sitting on and approached the elf, but stopped as with lightening speed a white blade was held out before him.

“My wounds have been healed, orc, but my anger has not. Step closer and I will make an end of you.”

“I am not orc, nor do I know what it is,” Tuvok replied evenly.

His apparent emotionless manner irked the elf. “Do you feel nothing?” he demanded. “Not even regret for coming here? Or remorse for almost killing me?”

“I can neither regret circumstances that are beyond my doing or control, any more than I can feel remorse for the same reasons,” Tuvok pointed out. “There was no reason for me to consider you anything more than a being from mythology of a world I do not come from, let alone be of a belief I do not possess.”

Legolas frowned. His blade wavered for a moment. “I do not believe you, orc. There is but one reason that you breathe still, and that is because Gandalf wishes it. Your people want something from us, do not deny it.”

“I deny nothing,” Tuvok replied stepping around the gently glowing fire. “We have traded, and the trade is done. In the morning we will leave.”

“What will you pay for the plant, orc?” Legolas asked, moving to keep the dark creature opposite him, not taking his eyes off him.

“I propose a touch of minds. It is the best way to facilitate an understanding between us, that through speech would take us a lifetime.”

Legolas’ blade arm dropped to his side as he regarded him quizzically. “You can speak with minds? No orc has this ability.”

“As I have said, I am Vulcan. I do not know what an orc is.”

“How can I be sure that you are not trying to trick me?”

Tuvok let his gaze fall, choosing his words with care. “I have no wish to kill you, only to gain an understanding between us. It is your choice to accept the mind meld, or to refuse. I only wish to understand your kind.”

“Why?” Legolas asked.

“I am intrigued by you,” Tuvok revealed. “It is not often that a Vulcan chances a meeting with a being so unusual that his interest goes beyond his own ethics.”

“I do not understand.”

“I do not understand either,” Tuvok admitted. “You and I have similar features.” He saw Legolas flinch. “There are white Vulcans,” he continued. “But I have never seen one with blonde hair. Modern logic dictates that you do not exist, and yet, here you are.”

“And what do I gain from this meld of minds?” Legolas asked.

“You will find that I cannot lie. You will see who I am, nothing hidden,” Tuvok offered.

“And you offer this to me freely?” Legolas noted.

Tuvok nodded. “I do.”

Legolas hesitated again before slipping the blade back into its bed of leather against his back. Stepping closer to the Vulcan he sat down cross legged on the ground at his feet. “Then let us begin, but I warn you. No injuries. If my friends wake to find me dead, you will be also not long after. Aragorn is a tracker. You would not escape.”

Tuvok sank to the ground with equal grace and regarded him gently. “I will not injure you,” he assured him. “If I do, it will go ill for me.” Legolas flinched as the stranger’s hands rose towards his face. “Do not be afraid,” Tuvok spoke within his mind.

Dark fingers touched the side of Legolas’ face, a touch so tender it could have been his mother.

“My mind to your mind . . .” came the words from somewhere. “My thoughts to your thoughts . . .”

Legolas began to swoon, but had not moved. His eyes drifted shut without his consent as images and words that were not his own drifted into his mind’s eyes. Colours, sounds, images of worlds and people so unlike anything he had ever seen or imagined fell into place.

Tuvok concentrated. It was easier than melding with a human, he noted to himself. Elves were telepathic. He allowed the alien’s thoughts, knowledge and memories to drift into his mind with ease, floating along the current of mental power that surpassed his own.

Sitting in the silence, only one pair of eyes watched them, the only other of the group who required no sleep, the EMH. As a hologram, he was tireless, physically at least, but his patience tired very often and very quickly. This was a bad time for a mind meld, and if he recalled the captain had ordered Tuvok not to undertake one except with her express permission. The morning would tell what would happen next. In the mean time, he observed from the shadows.

Tuvok released him gently and watched his eyes open. He lowered his own head, nodding gently, acknowledging the newly acquired information in deep thought. “You are young,” Tuvok replied. “A race of beings who do not die. And yet, you hold a deep pain for the loss of your mother.” He paused. “I can now understand your emotions against me.”

Legolas continued to stare at the Vulcan, silently sifting through the knowledge he had just gained. “I was wrong about you,” he suddenly spoke. “You are not an orc. But,” he added as Tuvok began to relax with relief. “I was also right. I know what is that you want. And I must tell you, I will not let you take the ring. I have given my oath to protect the ring and its barer. You will not get it without the shedding of blood. Yours will be first.”

At first light, the away team prepared to leave.

“What did you find out?” Janeway spoke softly. Tuvok looked pensive or was it gentle? She could not tell.

“I believe that taking the cloaking device is not the wisest course of action,” he advised.

The EMH stepped closer. “You mean, you knew about the mind meld?”

“Yes, Doctor, I did,” she told him tightly. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind?”

The doctor mumbled an apology and walked away.

“You know which one of them has the device?” she asked.

“Yes,” Tuvok replied. “The one they call Frodo has it. But, I do not believe taking the device is in this world’s best interests.”

Janeway decided that it was time to ask for the ring directly. “Gandalf,” she began. “We are in need of something else.”

The wizard was not as surprised as she thought he should be.

“It is a small device that fits on a finger, rather like a ring. It contains the only power source that we can use to get home. I know that you have it, and are trying to destroy it. It would benefit both our needs and yours if we could trade you for it. We could get home, and Middle Earth would be free of Sauron’s threat. Without the ring, there would be nothing for him to fight for.”

Legolas stepped forward, at once angry at Tuvok. “You gave me your word.”

The Vulcan held up his hand to reassure him. “I have kept my word,” Tuvok replied in Quenya, to the surprise of all. He turned to his commanding officer. “Captain, I implore you. Do not do this.”

“My dear Kathryn,” Gandalf said boldly. “As much as it would benefit Middle Earth that you leave for the protection of the time line, you cannot have the ring. It is Sauron’s life force. He cannot be stopped except by destroying the ring which sustains him. No matter where it went, Sauron would survive. Once you are gone, what will the people left behind under his rule do but die without hope of ever seeing the light of day again?” He shook his head. “You are a people of your word. I know you could not take possession of so small a trophy and leave countless thousands to die for your own gain. Your oaths and honour mean more than that. There are regulations and laws for this kind of thing.”

Janeway swallowed. A man long dead, or at the very least from ancient mythology, was dictating the Prime Directive back at her. This was not going well.

Legolas stepped closer, suddenly having an idea. “Wait!” It was a long shot, but he hoped that it would be enough. “I know where there is more of the metal used to create the One Ring,” he said. “I heard my father speak of it once. It is in Dol Guldur, where the Necromancer resided for a time. It is why he returned there . . .to gain more of it in the hopes of forging another ring.”

Gandalf gazed at the young elf with mixed emotions. “Legolas, you cannot . . .”

“Gandalf, you said so yourself, they do not belong here. Why must they remain to be destroyed by Sauron? If we can help them get home, then that is what we must do. They saved my life. I owe them a dept.”

“I healed the woman,” Aragorn replied. “The debt has been repaid.”

“No, it has not,” Legolas insisted evenly. “They have returned the infant to her mother in exchange for your healing art. I have my own debt to repay. I have my life at the expense of one of their own.” Legolas turned to Janeway. “On the far side of the mountains lies the forest of my home. To the south is a dark mountain, its name is Dol Guldur. Within its winding chasms and caves runs a seam of living mithril.”

“Living mithril?” Gimli suddenly spoke.

“It moves,” Legolas said. “It absorbs the emotions of those who touch it. We kept it a secret from the dwarves and they have never forgiven us.” After a long pause, he added, “It is evil.”

“I implore you,” Gandalf said. “Do not go there. Do not touch the silver fire unless you are of a good heart. It will twist you and turn you to its own designs if it has a chance. One careless touch is all it would take.”

“We have to take that chance,” Janeway replied. “There is no other way to get home. But after we are gone, what about these people?”

Gandalf knew what she was going to say. “Oh, do not worry about that, my dear. There are ways to cure an unwanted memory.”

Janeway smiled, not knowing what he meant, but trusting him. He was a Preserver, after all. “Thank you,” she smiled. Standing together by her unspoken order, she pressed her communicator. “Harry? Five to beam back to Voyager.”

With a flash of glittering blue they were gone. Eight pairs of eyes stared at the empty space. Boromir stepped warily closer examining the ground where they had once stood.

“They are gone!” he gasped.

Aragorn frowned, and lifted his eyes to Gandalf. “What unwanted memory?”

Boromir turned. “Yes. That is what I would like to know.”

Suddenly Gandalf lifted his staff and raised his hand towards the knot of frightened travellers. All of them around him blinked in confusion. “What unwanted memory?” he asked with a slight grin. Chuckling, he led them up the hill towards the pass of Caradhras.

“What is the wizard muttering about now?” Boromir wondered quietly.

Aragorn shrugged. “I do not know. He is always speaking in riddles. Most known only to himself, I dare say.”

Legolas held back for a moment, frowning at the knotted elven blanket in his hands. It had three holes in it, one larger than the other two, and two lengths extending from the top. To him it looked like underpants, but far too small for anyone he knew, including hobbits. He lifted it to his nose and drew in the unmistakable aroma of baby. His eyebrows rose and just as quickly sank back into a frown again. The knots were his, and the only other smell on the elven cloth was his. But the child . . .he had no recollection of ever holding a child, let alone carrying one in a sling. “What would I be doing with an infant?” he wondered to himself.

He drew the knots from the cloth and folded it neatly, putting it away for later use. He left the clearing and never looked back, never returning to that place where his head had hurt and his memory had failed him. According to the position of the moon, he had lost two days . . .somewhere. The mystery would remain with him for centuries.

El fin

Læst nô ænasth - there is something out there. Pronounced Lass no ay’nass

Lasto beth lammen - listen to the words of my tongue.

Mân rómen - good morning (blessed sunrise). Pronounced Mahn roe-men

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