Chapter 8

Louisiana, Earth 1881

The language was a jumble. The fact that the translator was still working was no less amazing to her in that moment than that she remained alive. Finally she heard something that made sense to her.

"She's stirring," said a female voice. There was movement out of her right eye. Her left eye was blind—or at least would not open. Cool hands touched her face, then let go.

Footsteps shuffled nearby and sounds became louder. Something wet and cool, smelling like herbs was placed over the left side of her face. A male voice spoke close to her ear. "What is your name?"

Guinan mumbled something in answer, but wasn't sure if it even made any sense.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Four hundred and eighty-six," she mumbled.

"She's delirious," he said. "Talking nonsense."

"It's a good thing you found her when you did, doctor," said the woman again. "Lord only knows what would have happened."

"You shouldn't have moved her," another male voice rumbled, entering the room. "If the Klan left her there it was to make an example of her. Who knows what she done to get her into this mess."

"What she done?" asked the female voice. "Willie, you know the only thing she probably done is be black and lost on the wrong side of the creek."

Willie grumbled something and walked away, and Guinan heard the sound of someone sitting down heavily. "As soon as you can see to her, Doc, I want her out of this house before she brings the devil down upon us," said Willie's voice from a corner.

"I don't want to be any trouble to you," Guinan said. "I'm just trying to find a place, and no one seems to know what I'm talking about," she said, attempting to sit up. A pair of strong hands pushed her back down. The vision out of her good eye cleared somewhat and she could see several brown faces looking down at her.

The male closest to her had a pair of circular lenses made of transparent material covering his eyes. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and was holding a strange bag with handles. He gently prodded the herbal poultice which was slowly drying on her face. He took out a brownish bottle of something and poured some clear, sharp smelling liquid into a white piece of cloth before wiping it along the side of her face.

"You see she don't have no sense, Mae," Willie implored his wife. "Askin' the Klan for directions…where you from girl? Where's your husband?"

Guinan laughed at that. "I don't have a husband," she said.

"Well then, where's your daddy?" Willie asked from his chair in the corner.

Guinan settled back onto a semi-soft pillow. Her head and jaw were very painful, and talking didn't improve matters. Her father had forbid her from using the device, but she had a task to complete. I have to find the third piece, she reminded herself. "He's far, far away," she said simply. She watched with her right eye as Willie got up and moved to a square opening in their dwelling. He bent his large frame and was looking outward.

The woman, Mae sat down beside her and took her hand. The roughness of the woman's hand reminded her of her grandmother. "Where you from child?" Mae asked gently.

Guinan thought a moment, and then jerked her thumb upward. Mae nodded and laughed glancing over her shoulder at her husband. "She says she's from up north, Willie. No wonder she don't know what she's doin'."

"I told you, she is delirious," the man with the transparent lenses said seriously, straightening his thin form and stepping backward.

"Well, she's lucky," said Mae. "Because if you hadn't found her lying on the dusty road like that doctor, I just don't know."

The doctor closed his bag and nodded silently, once again glad he had seen the dusty figure lying on the side of the road. He knew he hadn't been the first to come upon the anonymous woman, but fear had no doubt caused many to pass her by. Indeed from a distance she had appeared dead.

"Yes you do know, Mae," said Willie, tearing himself away from watching vigilantly out the window. "We all know," he said. He took his shotgun and propped it against his knee as he sat back down.

Somewhere on an open plain…

He was running at top speed. All around him his warriors wielded deadly weapons with expert skill, clearing the way for him. Soon the enemy would be defeated and he would have only one task left. The enemy pursuing him fired another blast from the cannon attached to its arm. The Borg was plodding, slow, like all of the rest had been. No challenge for him and his warriors, even with their less sophisticated weapons. But he was growing tired of this game, because his real goal was in sight. The fortress lay ahead of him just meters ahead. His Borg enemy still pursued him, and a bolt of blue electricity shot past his head singeing the side of his head.

Stopping short suddenly, he spun and swung the long blade over his head and it clanged against a long metal spike protruding from the Borg's arm. The Borg's spike slipped as he spun and it sliced into his neck, through his shoulder blade and down the length of his back with almost agonizing slowness. He screamed in pain and in anger and with a sweeping circular motion, sliced down decapitating the Borg.

"Now," the voice boomed. "You must kill the Old King. You must take his place."