The rest of the day had passed fitfully for Johnny. He vaguely remembered being debriefed by Jenara about the Horde weaponry, so much stronger and more advanced than what the Borials used. He remembered waking up being towed behind a glap'ta on a travois, as the column moved into Noran. Of the city itself he remembered little.
The last memory he had was waking up later that evening, someone (Jenara?) feeding him some sort of watery gruel. It tasted terrible, but he was hungry, and it seemed at least edible.
Then the Dream came.
Johnny found himself back in the homeland, at the Singing which sent him off to Basic Training eight years earlier: one of the biggest traditional singings in many years, as few of the People ever left Earth, much less joined Starfleet! Suddenly, that scene disappeared, to be replaced by another...
...a year later, on a Maquis world occupied by the Cardassians, Johnny was just a PFC then, led along with his platoon by an officer who was at once officious and incompetent. They'd practically walked into a Cardassian ambush. Johnny saw the battle again as if he were outside it, watching himself return phaser fire, take cover, drag one of his mates out of the line of fire...
...six months after that, as he slit a Cardassian guard's throat with a flaked stone knife. They hadn't counted on the Old Ways, the Cardassians. Once Johnny could get the guard's rifle, however, the Old Ways ceased to be important as he released a torrent of phaser energy against the remaining guards. He and the five survivors of his platoon made a run for it. Johnny didn't look back. Not once. He never saw the other four men again...
...another Singing, this one for his departure for Starfleet Academy. Johnny was only the twentieth Navajo to enter the Academy: mainly due to lack of interest as opposed to lack of ability. But still it was an honor his clan was more than happy to recognize: once Johnny had made up his mind on what he wanted to do, he went as far as he could...
...a few months ago, aboard the Ilion. Johnny was a newly-minted second lieutenant leading his first platoon. It was a routine mission guarding potentially dangerous prisoners: something Starfleet security was more than capable of handling, but which the brass had decided the Marines must handle. It turned out that the prisoners were the least of their worries as the Kelvans boarded the Ilion. Captain Neil had fought the company bravely, but the Kelvans were just too advanced. Johnny was among the survivors who were reduced to crystalline dodecahedra...
...early yesterday morning, in the pass north of the Borial encampment. First Farouk, then Zimasa and Krag. Johnny had led his platoon back just in time to join the column headed for Noran when they were set upon once again by the Horde. Horenn, Zog, the Holy People only knew who else...
...and his descent was complete. He was at the gates of Ghostland. All the fallen warriors, friend and foe, stood there to greet him. Among them was a tall Cardassian soldier: the guard whose throat Johnny had slit. The first sentient Johnny had ever killed hand-to-hand.
"Welcome to the afterlife," the Cardassian announced. "Do not worry, Human; we are all equal in the land of the ghosts!"
Ghosts!!! For a Navajo a ghost represented the most corrupt part of the spirit remaining in the world of the Earth Surface People to avenge a wrong against his person. Is this it? Johnny thought. All the people whom I have killed, or whose deaths are on my hands, have come to avenge themselves upon me?
Milling about the wraithlike procession was a large number of Horde warriors. I didn't properly bury the bodies! Johnny thought with horror.
"Do not worry," another, more familiar voice, announced. Johnny saw Sergeant Zimasa approach him. "We have only come to deliver this message: those whom you serve are not as they seem."
"If we had desired to avenge ourselves upon you you would have felt it long ago, Human," the Cardassian told him. "But we are all warriors, and take the risks of warriors. You will not be poisoned, but you must first take care of the matters at hand. Defeat the Horde and the deceivers, and sing the Enemy Way."
"Be warned, though: your path will not be easy," Zimasa continued. "You cannot do what you have to do alone. There is one who can help you, one who would be willing. You have seen her."
With that, Zimasa and the Cardassian vanished. Replacing the two was another warrior, a Klingon Johnny had never met.
"I am Grak, son of Krang," the Klingon annnounced. "I died on this world long before you were born. It is my bat'leth you have used with honor, Human; Sto'Vo'Kor will always have a place for you. Tell my house what became of me, that my sons may know their father. And heed what you have been told: ghosts can be vengeful things."
Johnny woke up. Jenara was standing over him. "I was told to watch you carefully: the only thing that saved you was the concussion you got from being thrown from your mount before the Horde decided to bash your brains in. You fainted just as he swung at you; he'd have killed you for sure!"
Johnny grimaced. "Thanks for the blow-by-blow. Where are we?"
"We're in Noran. There's a large enemy force setting up camp around the city; they may lay siege, or they may storm the place and kill us all. Lieutenant Wallace is helping to set up the city's defenses; when you're well enough, you'll want to get with him. I'm sure he could use some help."
"I'm well enough now. Where's my weapon?"
Jenara held him down, gently but firmly. "Wait a minute, grunt! You're not going anywhere until I'm assured you're all right!"
Was she the one my dream spoke of? Johnny asked. Even with all that was happening, the dreaming was still at the forefront of his consciousness. "And how do I give you this assurance?"
"What's your name, rank, and number?"
"Chee, Johnny. Salt Clan, born for Bitter-Water. First Lieutenant, Starfleet Marine Corps. 549526582."
"Where are we now?"
"The city of Noran, on Xenon III."
"What is my name and posting?"
"Lieutanant Junior Grade Jenara Tomme, Chief Science Officer."
Satisfied that Johnny was back to full awareness, Jenara let him up. "Okay, I suppose you're in good enough shape to try and get yourself killed again. One thing though: I'm going with you!"
"But you..."
"But I what? Listen, we may be the same rank, but I'm about five times older than you are. And one thing you don't tell a Tanzaran is what to do! I was told to stay with you and that's exactly what I'm going to do!" Jenara found her belt with two short swords strapped to it and put it on. "Oh, the town smithy worked on this for you, got it cleaned up really nice!" She grabbed Johnny's salvaged bat'leth and tossed it to him. The metal had polished up nicely, but Johnny noticed that the rotted targ hide which had covered the handles had been replaced with cured glap'ta hide. The markings on the bat'leth indicated that its owner had belonged to the house of Krang.
This gets more interesting by the minute, Johnny thought. Just then his thoughts were broken:
"The Horde are attacking! Full-scale attack!!!" the town crier had announced in the square outside.
"Do you know where Lieutenant Wallace is?" Johnny asked Jenara. She nodded. "Take me to him. Let's go kick some Horde butt!!!"