by Jeri Taylor
“But the attack on Trebus was sudden and devastating. Apparently there’s widespread destruction. The Federation will send in a humanitarian ship with food and medicine, but Starfleet can’t go near the place.”
“Can I join the supply ship?”
She looked directly at him. “Officially, no. You’re part of Starfleet and your presence would be illegal. Unofficially . . .” Her voice trailed off and he understood what she was saying.
“Captain, I request a leave of absence. I haven’t taken vacation for quite a while and I need a few weeks off. Do I have your permission?”
“Granted. How soon do you want to leave?”
“Immediately.”
“Good luck, Chakotay. I’ll hold good thoughts for you.”
He nodded, unable to get a word past the lump that had formed in his throat. He headed for his quarters and began to pack.
Four days later he was on his homeworld.
Of the village in which he had grown up, nothing was left. Only piles of rubble, some still smoking, gave any indication that once it had been a place where gentle people lived in close harmony with the land.
There had been nothing gentle in their destruction. Thermalite weapons had incinerated the village, creating a firestorm that had raged at sixteen hundred degrees centigrade, a temperature at which iron melted. The stone of their dwellings had been transformed into glass, fused into desperate shapes, gnarled and twisted as though the stone itself were convulsing in agony.
The people were essentially cremated, turned in moments of searing agony from happy, peaceful villagers tending their crops and playing with their children into puddles of ash that scattered in the winds of the firestorm. There would be no good-byes, no burials, no mementos of loved ones. They had simply vanished.
Chakotay stood in the devastation of his home village, absorbing every image that assaulted his senses. A vile odor permeated the air from a smoky film that hung over the site, the residue of the thermalite weapons. He would remember that smell forever.
The grotesque, twisted shapes of fused stone stretched before him, a vast detritus field of contorted forms, an ugliness that stained the earth. He would remember that sight forever.
But what was most painful of all was the stillness. Once, this village had hummed with the sounds of daily activity, of people working, talking, singing. The laughter of children at raucous play was always present, in the meadow and the woods, the shrill, exuberant sounds of young people rollicking with eagerness and headlong daring, witless of the cruel future that awaited them.
He would hear that silence forever.
Though it was a hot day, and the moist film of smoke that hung in the air exacerbated the warmth, Chakotay was strangely chilled. An iciness had penetrated him, had consumed his heart and his mind, a cold steel of determination: I will avenge them.
It had been easy to find Sveta. In fact, she was waiting for his transmission. She had heard of the Cardassian attack on Trebus, and knew Chakotay well enough to surmise that he would be contacting her. The rest was easy. She procured a ship for him, not the most splendid or the most up-to-date, but packed with weaponry and defensive features. It was a guerrilla ship, meant for fast, daring raids, quick battles, and swift escape. He named it the Liberty. The first time Chakotay sat at the controls, he felt at home.
And then Sveta put him in touch with Seska.
He heard her before he ever saw her. He had been sent by Sveta to Bajor, where there were an ample supply of willing recruits for the Maquis, Bajorans whose long subjugation by Cardassia had ignited in them a murderous desire for vengeance. Sveta had learned that a woman named Seska was one of those, and Chakotay was to bring her into the fold.
At the periphery of one of the towns on Bajor had once been a magnificent outdoor arena, a graceful oval built into the side of a mountain that was studded with huge trees, spreading a lacy canopy over the terraced seating area. The Bajorans had used it for celebrations of the arts, and for various rituals of their Prophets. Cardassians, during their occupation, had made it the scene of punishment and execution of dissidents. Now it was in ruins.
Chakotay had been told he would find Seska among those ruins at the moment sunset becomes twilight, and when that time arrived, he approached the now-crumbling arena, which had been all but destroyed by receding Cardassian troops. A ring of columns still stood at the top of the auditorium, proud sentinels of survival on a planet that needed every symbol of courage and resilience it could muster.
From somewhere behind those columns came the sound of a woman’s voice, singing. It was haunting in the sunset haze, a strong, husky voice that had the ability to convey powerful emotions: longing, valor, despair, determination. He didn’t recognize the melody, but he stood for some minutes, rapt, listening as this muscular voice captivated his senses.
When it stopped, he approached, feeling somehow abject, humbled by the intensity of her song. He saw her at last, standing, facing the sunset, which was exploding in a profusion of orange and pink, her body straight and proud, gazing up at the violent sky with a concentration that was almost palpable. It was a moment of potent communion, and he was silent, respecting its sacredness.
Finally, she turned. Her face was as strong as her voice, beautiful in the way a powerful animal is beautiful. Her dark hair was swept back but loose, like a mane, and her black eyes glistened with some inner fire, opalescent.
“You’re Chakotay,” she said simply, and he nodded. “Seska,” she informed him.
And then she walked straight to him, put strong arms around his neck, and kissed him full on the mouth.
It was the most electrifying event of his life. Everything coalesced into that one moment: the brilliantly turbulent sunset, darkening now into slashes of purple, the proud clear voice raised in defiant song, and the anguish Cardassia had inflicted on each of them. Lightning flashed between them, igniting some deeply smoldering eroticism into a raging, heedless lust.
An hour later, they were engaged in a pitched battle about whether or not to venture into Cardassian territory on their first sortie.
And thus was their relationship born, of hunger and need and conflict, and so did it continue, until the time Chakotay realized he could not captain a ship and carry on an affair with one of his crew, but that time was surprisingly long in coming.
The first time he killed as a Maquis, it was with his bare hands.
He and his crew, which had grown now to a small but fierce band of some fifteen hardened, well-trained members, had heard that a rogue Cardassian ship had put down on one of the uninhabited planets in the demilitarized zone. It seemed clear that they were going to establish a settlement there, in clear defiance of the Federation treaty. Chakotay had determined that they would make that decision a regrettable one.
Surveillance had told them that the Cardassian band was small, not more than twenty, and was clustered together in a tropical forest in the southern hemisphere. As usual, Chakotay and Seska were in conflict about just what to do.
“They don’t realize we know they’re on the surface,” she said spiritedly. “They don’t have a ship in orbit and they won’t expect us. We could annihilate them all with one photon torpedo.”
“In the first place, we only have three torpedoes. I’d rather save them for the times we really need them. In the second place, I have no intention of slaughtering them—just letting them know we won’t let them put down roots here.”
She looked at him with unconcealed contempt, an expression she had perfected. “I didn’t realize you were so gutless, Chakotay. Are you willing to be so chivalrous to the people who massacred your family?”
“I won’t sink to their level.”
The argument raged for some time, as their arguments usually did, but in the end Chakotay prevailed. They would quietly encircle the Cardassian camp, spike the perimeter with their own isotane gas, and ignite it. The Cardassians would be forced to transport well away from the area or be asphyxiated. They wou
ld not be injured, but would get the unmistakable message that their presence wouldn’t be tolerated. Seska had acquired enough of the deadly gas on the black market to allow them to repeat this maneuver several times, until the Cardassians abandoned the planet.
Chakotay and five others—not including Seska, whom he left in charge on the ship—transported to the surface under cover of darkness. Their sensors had indicated that the Cardassians were all within the camp, probably eating and getting ready for bed. They had been safely ensconced for several weeks and had become relaxed, assuming that since no one had bothered them so far, no one would.
The group spread in a ring around the small settlement, each armed with canisters of isotane gas. When they were set, the others would transport back to the ship and Chakotay would stay behind a moment longer, in order to ignite them.
The jungle was a fetid place, devoid of animal life, rank with the odor of rotting plants. Why the Cardassians had chosen this location was something of a mystery, but Chakotay assumed it was precisely because it was so unlikely. It took him nearly half an hour to set his canisters, because making his way through the slimy undergrowth was time-consuming. Although the planet had a sizable moon, a cloud cover partially obscured it, and there was little ambient light, making his progress even more difficult.
Finally he had placed the final canister, and received the brief signal from each of the others that they had done the same. He returned the signal that would transport them to the Liberty, and then prepared to ignite the isotane.
It would require activating the first canister simultaneously with the second, after which a chain reaction would set off the others in the huge circle. He had synchronized the transponder on the second unit, and was on his way back to the first, one part of his mind wondering what kind of decaying plant could produce such a malodorous smell.
Suddenly the ground opened beneath him and he plunged straight down.
He crumpled to the floor of a pit that he estimated to be about twice his height. Mercifully, it had contained no spikes, no acid bath, none of the surprises Cardassians had been known to put at the bottom of their traps. He looked up toward the opening, where the faint light afforded by the moon created a small rectangle of gray. It didn’t look so far; he might be able to climb out, which he preferred to contacting the Liberty and having to transport back to the ship. He wanted to ignite the isotane canisters as quickly as possible.
Then he heard something moving in the pit.
Not wanting to guess what it might be, he risked turning on his wrist beacon, and shined it right into the just uplifting head of a large serpent. From his Starfleet training, he identified it as a Cardassian nephrus snake, which had obviously been brought here by the illegal settlers. It was a mottled brown color with an abnormally thick, muscular body and an elongated, wedge-shaped head and one unblinking eye, which now fixed him in its flat gaze. Unlike the reptiles of Earth, it depended on its eye to detect its prey, and it bore some resemblance to alligators and crocodiles in that it had teeth and a powerful jaw. It was known to be a fierce predator, more than capable of crushing a man to death, and had probably been kept hungry by the Cardassians. At the moment, it was about three meters away, at the opposite side of the pit. He wondered briefly if he had developed any special rapport with reptiles now that he had a snake as a spirit guide, but then decided he’d better not put that thought to a test.
“Chakotay to Liberty. Beam me up right away.”
He waited, still eyeing the snake, which was, unfortunately, attracted to the light and was beginning to rouse out of its torpid slumber. But Chakotay had no intention of shutting the light off and staying in the darkness with the serpent, even for the few seconds it took to transport.
Then he realized those seconds had already passed. He touched his combadge again. “Chakotay to Seska. Do you read?”
No answer. It occurred to him that the Cardassians must have done something to mask communications from the pit, but he quickly realized he didn’t have time to try to figure that out because the snake was on the move. Although he had always been taught to value the life of any living being, he drew his phaser. The snake, he was sure, didn’t value his life.
But whatever damping field prevented communications also prevented weapons fire.
He disliked turning his back on the thing, but he had to try to climb. He shone the beacon up one wall of the pit and saw a smooth, graded surface that offered no handhold. He looked back and saw that the snake was uncoiling, wedge head lowering to the ground. He looked back to the next wall, quickly ran the light over it, and found it as smooth as the last one. The third wall, the only other one he could reach without running into the snake, was just the same.
In mounting desperation, he played the light on the pit wall behind the snake and saw his only opportunity embedded there: a stubble of tree root that protruded from the dirt wall.
But that meant he had to get past the snake.
It was moving toward him, now, slowly, its one eye fastened on the beacon strapped to Chakotay’s wrist. He quickly unsnapped it and set it on the ground in the farthest corner from the serpent, light pointed directly at it. Then he moved slowly away from the light.
The serpent kept its eye on the beacon. It seemed mesmerized, confused, heavy body undulating sluggishly along the floor of the pit, as though wary of this bright intruder. Chakotay kept moving away from the light and the snake, inching his way along the wall, ready to make his leap for freedom. When the serpent’s head was less than a meter away from the light, he bolted for the far wall.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the snake’s head turn at the sudden movement, but it was apparently baffled enough to hesitate. Chakotay charged for the wall, but tripped over the coiled tail of the serpent and went sprawling. Heart pounding, he scrambled to his feet and flung himself at the far wall, grabbing for the tree root.
It pulled out in his hands.
He glanced back and saw that the snake’s head was now pointed in his direction, and its long ropy body was in the process of reversing course. He began scrabbling at the wall of the pit, digging into it, looking for something that might hold his weight, but he kept pulling out only handfuls of dirt.
The reptile was beginning to move more quickly now, having refocused on its proper prey. Over his shoulder, as he clawed at the wall, Chakotay called out, “You’re supposed to be my spirit guide!” But the snake seemed unmoved. Chakotay grabbed a clump of damp dirt and flung it at the snake’s head. It landed solidly, right on the eye, and the serpent twisted slightly, momentarily blinded.
Chakotay’s scrabbling fingers suddenly found something solid—another section of tree root, just over his head. He dug furiously at it until it was exposed, and then clutched at it, pulling. It held. Without checking again to see if the snake was heading toward him, he hauled himself off the floor of the pit and drew his legs under him.
He looked down to see that the snake was just beneath him, grotesque head lifted off the ground, peering up at him. Fortunately for Chakotay, its heaviness prevented it from lifting any more of its body; it couldn’t reach him so long as he clung like this to the side of the pit. But how long could he do that?
Light from the beacon still illuminated the trap, and he looked upward, willing another handhold to be present. He saw it in the shape of a rock that jutted sharply from the dirt wall. He was able to get a firm grip with one hand, then another, and to use the tree root as a step for his feet. Now he was well off the floor of the pit and almost within reach of the top.
Beneath him, the snake had begun to emit a strange squeal, unlike the sound of any animal he’d ever heard, something between an owl and a pig. The sound made his stomach clench in a sudden, violent spasm, and he became even more desperate to get out of the pit.
The faint light from the moon silhouetted something on the lip of the pit above, a shadow-shape that formed a loop of sorts. He hoped it was the curling root of a tree, and he hoped it was sturdy. If
it weren’t, there would be no second chances.
The only way to reach it was to jump. He found the sturdiest grip he could with his feet, then bent his legs slightly. With the squeal of the snake growing louder, he sprang upward with as much strength as he could muster, grabbing for the dark circle above.
His hands found it, grabbed, slipped slightly, then held. His entire weight was now supported by the loop, which felt that it must be part of the root of a tree. He hoped it was an old, well-established tree whose root would hold him, or he would plunge back into that dreaded pit and into the coils of the now-angry snake.
It held. He began walking his feet up the wall, and finally was able to fling one hand onto the surface, grabbing for purchase, finding the extension of the tree root and using it to pull himself farther out.
Suddenly a dark shape loomed above him and a searing pain erupted on the back of his hand. A heavy-booted Cardassian soldier had driven his heel into Chakotay’s hand as it clutched the root of the tree. If he let go of it, he would slide back into the pit.
That thought gave him an instant surge of strength. As the Cardassian lifted his leg to deliver a vicious kick at Chakotay’s head, he swept out with his other hand, grabbing at the leg and deflecting the blow, toppling the Cardassian off balance. As the soldier unwound himself and got to his feet, Chakotay pulled himself the rest of the way from the pit, and then rolled quickly as the Cardassian dived for him.
They collided, pounding at each other in a silent, deadly contest, punctuated only by the eerie wailing of the snake’s cry, still emanating from the pit. The Cardassian was going for Chakotay’s eyes, Chakotay for the other’s throat. They kicked and clawed and rolled on the ground, grunting and huffing like water buffalo, each knowing he was fighting for his life.
Chakotay was a big man, but the Cardassian was bigger, and hadn’t just used all his strength trying to climb out of a pit. His blows took their toll on Chakotay, who felt bones shatter in his jaw as the soldier landed a solid punch. Chakotay summoned every reserve of strength he had and shoved the Cardassian off him onto an outcropping of rock, then dived on top, fingers finding the corded neck.