Pathways

by Jeri Taylor

  “We’re investigating a series of explosions we detected about one light-year from here. Did you get any readings on them?”

  “Sorry, Bradbury. I took off from Kripkin a couple of hours ago and came directly here. Haven’t detected any explosions. Frankly, my sensors are in about as good shape as my comm system.”

  “We’re having no trouble hearing you.”

  “Pardon? Repeat that?” Tom had completed his task— entering a deeply encrypted message to the colonists on Selka, giving them the location of the damaged Liberty and requesting immediate assistance. He now entered the transmission command, piggybacking the message onto thermal emissions from the nacelles, which would probably not get the attention of the Starfleet ship. The encryption would also make the source of the message undetectable, meaning Chakotay would never know that Tom had done what he said he would. He would be accused once more of betrayal and Chakotay would undoubtedly, as he had promised, hunt him down.

  But he couldn’t worry about that. The ship was visible now, looming before him. He turned the nose of the shuttle directly toward the Starfleet vessel. The faceless voice was still barking at him, asking questions, demanding answers. “Sorry, Bradbury, you’re still garbled,” Tom muttered, gauging the distance between them carefully.

  Finally within range. “Bradbury, this isn’t working. Let’s do this face-to-face. If you’ll drop your shields, I’ll transport on board.”

  There was a hesitation, and Tom knew they had detected him power his phaser array. Oh, well—shields or not, the result would be the same. He fired a volley directly at the Starfleet ship and then veered sharply away from it.

  The phasers impacted the Bradbury’s shields, jolting it but inflicting no real damage. Nonetheless, it behaved as Tom had anticipated: it changed course to pursue him.

  He pushed the shuttle’s warp engines to their maximum, which was just over warp four. It wouldn’t take long for the Starfleet ship to overtake him. But he was leading it away from the destroyed Cardassian ships, and away from Chakotay’s helpless craft. The colonists of Selka would have time to rescue the Maquis and they would survive to continue their zealots’ cause.

  Tom Paris, on the other hand, would probably be spending time in a Federation Rehabilitation Colony. What do you think of that, Dad? The plummet continues. Not only was your only son drummed out of Starfleet in disgrace, he now has a criminal record. Maybe you’d like a picture of him in a prison jumpsuit to include in your array of family pictures.

  Tom uttered a mirthless laugh, and put the shuttle into a series of evasive maneuvers. He’d prolong the inevitable as long as possible, sending a clear message to the Starfleet officers on the Bradbury that Tom Paris could fly a ship with the best of them. And with that thought buoying him, he plunged into the black void of space.

  New Zealand wasn’t the worst of places to serve out a sentence. The work was hard—restoring ancient ruins for a historical project—but Tom found the physical labor satisfying, especially in that it allowed him to sleep at night. That hadn’t been the case between the time he was taken in custody by the Bradbury and his eventual sentencing to the Federation Rehabilitation Colony. Those were the nights when he lay awake, imagining what his mother was going through as her only son was processed through the judicial system.

  He didn’t wonder about his father; he could hear the admiral in his head, resounding like tympani. But he ached for the pain his mother must be experiencing now, and he fell into a dreadful self-loathing that was worse than any punishment Starfleet could mete out.

  When he was transported to Auckland and began working for long hours on the restoration project, his mood improved. But the burden of his indiscretions was constant. He formulated in his mind a chart of his assets and deficits. Deficits: poor impulse control, manipulating others, self-involvement, recklessness, and of course the granddaddy of them all—the ability to lie. There were others that sprang to mind; the deficit list could go on and on. But when he took stock of his assets, the list was short: he was a damn good pilot.

  Pathetic, if that’s what his life amounted to. Something in him wanted to turn that all around, to formulate a plan that would redeem him; another, elusive part of him sabotaged those instincts and told him he should just serve out his time and then see what happened.

  And so he continued to drift.

  He’d been at the Colony for seven months, and was focused on a new welding technique he’d been taught. The day was warm and humid, but the air was sweet and he could hear wild birdsong in the woods around the ruins. He was so intent on the job he was doing that he didn’t hear anyone approach, and jumped slightly when he heard a woman’s voice: “Tom Paris?”

  He looked up to see standing above him a trim, petite woman in a Starfleet uniform, wearing a captain’s pips. She looked cool and composed even in the sweltering sun, and something about her made him wish he weren’t sweating like a boar.

  “Kathryn Janeway. I served with your father . . .”

  And with those words his life was changed forever.

  CHAPTER

  9

  WHEN TOM STOPPED TALKING, HE REALIZED HE HAD BEEN speaking so softly that everyone had craned closer to him in order to hear. He was surprised to realize that his eyes were wet, and he jabbed at them with his fists, embarrassed. But he didn’t sense disdain or scorn from his comrades; rather, there seemed to be an outpouring of support. B’Elanna’s hand was on his arm, and every eye that he met returned friendship.

  “Well,” he said after a few deep breaths. “I didn’t realize how cathartic that was going to be.” He shook his head, trying to come back into the present. “Wish I’d done that a long time ago.”

  “That was very courageous, Tom,” said B’Elanna, and he heard sincerity in her voice. He felt a lightness of spirit that was completely unfamiliar to him.

  “I believe we should go to sleep now,” said Tuvok in his perfunctory way, and Tom was glad to have this fragile mood broken. “Tomorrow will be arduous.”

  They all rose and filed into the shelter, but Neelix hung back for a moment with Tom. “Tom,” he said hesitantly, “thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “You’ve given me the heart to do something I should’ve done a long time ago.” And then Neelix turned and went into the shelter.

  Tom wondered for a moment what he was talking about, but then B’Elanna took his arm and pulled him inside, then down, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Neelix woke the next morning with a sense of purpose. His belly rumbled with hunger, but he knew everyone else’s did, too, and he tried simply to ignore the pangs. Today he would scour the camp, wouldn’t stop until he’d found some of the components they needed to create their makeshift transporter.

  He ate his morning meal—by now, they were all forcing themselves to save a portion of their rations until the next day, even though they were hungry enough to devour it all as soon as they got it—as slowly as he could, chewing each small bite in order to savor it as long as possible. He believed that process filled him slightly fuller.

  As he chewed, Neelix surveyed the scene before him: the camp, never wholly asleep, never truly quiet, was stirring slowly, like an old dray horse huffing in the early-morning mists, lumbering to its feet and snuffling for its feed. A layer of fog still hung on the tops of the trees that surrounded the camp, but soon it would burn off under the merciless glare of the sun.

  The Rai’ were rising and moving about in resolute activity. Neelix watched them, admiring their discipline, their sense of duty. Those people would persevere, he told himself. Then he realized they were preparing a meal, stirring something into a pot of water heated over a fire. What could it be? How did they get food? If he could tap into a food source, he could greatly increase his group’s chances of survival.

  He chewed pensively, slowly, enjoying the taste of the fibrous root, wishing the chunk he had saved were just a little larger. He thought about the Voyager crew on the o
ther side of the camp and wondered how they were faring. He disliked having the group split up like this and would have far preferred they all be together. But he recognized the necessity of the choice.

  Thoughts of absent comrades drew him inevitably to thoughts of Kes. Dangerous territory. The beautiful Ocampan had been gone from Voyager for almost a year now, but she still haunted Neelix’s mind. Her going had been so sudden—in a mysterious transformation that caused her to vanish—that it left everyone unprepared and sorrowful, even if she herself believed she was going to something better, greater, higher. None of that helped Neelix. To him, she was just gone.

  His pain lay in him like a heavy stone, not severe but constant. Her absence was a palpable thing, the opposite of a vacuum, a dark but invisible actuality that shrouded him like a cloak.

  Neelix rose abruptly, shaking off those thoughts, which, if allowed to gain momentum, would take him to a gloomy place that was difficult to leave. He drew a breath of the damp morning air and then adopted as jovial a manner as he could. He strolled over to the Rai’ complex, where one of the tall aliens was stirring whatever was cooking in his pot.

  “Good morning, my friend,” Neelix called out. “I trust you slept well?”

  The coal-colored man towered over Neelix, shocking white hair ringing his head like a halo. He gazed down at the Talaxian in mild curiosity.

  “Well enough. And you?”

  “As well as one can in a place like this.”

  That seemed to exhaust the small talk. They stood in silence for a moment, the Rai’ stirring assiduously, Neelix savoring the aroma that wafted from the pot. “May I ask, friend, what it is you’re cooking there?”

  “Beans,” said the Rai’ tersely, no doubt thinking Neelix was there to beg some.

  “And where does one get beans in such a wretched place?”

  “There’s a mining detail which leaves the compound every day. If you draw a pass to work, it’s possible to gather edibles from the forest.”

  “I see. Very interesting.” Neelix watched the stirring for a moment more. “What does the mining work involve?”

  “The usual. Scanning for underground mineral deposits. Drilling ore from the veins. Loading it onto antigravity carts.”

  Neelix’s mind was racing with the possibilities. A scanning device might be of value to B’Elanna and Harry. And if the miners used matter-displacement drills for deep digging, they might have phase-transition coils. Things were beginning to look up.

  “Just how does one get such a job?”

  The huge man scrutinized Neelix for a full moment before answering, as though trying to ascertain his motive in asking the question. When he spoke, it was straightforward, as though Neelix had passed some kind of muster.

  “The Rai’ receive work passes. In the event we are exchanged for Subu prisoners, they want us to report that we were treated fairly.”

  “And do you ever include others in this fortunate situation?”

  There was another slight pause before the huge man answered. “It has been known to happen.”

  “Perhaps we could arrange a trade. There are a number of ways in which I could be valuable to you.”

  “I would be willing to consider such a proposal.”

  Neelix was feeling quite encouraged by this conversation, and was ready to begin offering his services, when a commotion rumbled through the camp, distracting them both.

  One of the doors in the far wall was opening, and several figures had emerged. Neelix moved back to his group, and saw Tuvok staring into the distance, tensed and alert. “Vorik,” he said quietly to the young Vulcan next to him, “go at once to Commander Chakotay’s group.”

  “What is it? What do you see?” asked Neelix, who didn’t possess the superior eyesight of the Vulcans.

  Tuvok turned to him and said something that so stunned Neelix that he thought he must have misheard. For what Tuvok said was “I believe Captain Janeway has entered the camp.”

  Chakotay had become aware of the shift in attitude among the prisoners which always heralded the arrival of guards, and like the others, he and his group busied themselves with mindless activity in order to stay anonymous. He caught in the corner of his eye a brief flash of color, and realized someone was with the Subu guards, but it wasn’t until the contingent was almost on top of them that he realized who it was. He heard a woman’s voice saying, “With all these laborers, I’m surprised the price for your psilminite is so high.”

  Reigning in his shock, Chakotay allowed his eyes to flicker upward, and when they did, his heart suddenly constricted.

  Kathryn was walking next to the commandant, old whalehead himself, who strutted officiously in his three-legged gait. She was dressed in a kind of robe of blue and purple, with heavy earrings dangling from her lobes and ornate rings on several fingers. She looked, to Chakotay, like a goddess.

  “Not all may work,” whalehead growled. “Only the trusted ones.”

  Suddenly Kathryn came to a stop, looked directly at Chakotay, and pointed. “Who are those people?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know what they call themselves. They were discovered invading one of our small planets. Undoubtedly they’re mercenaries working for the Rai’.”

  Kathryn’s eyes narrowed and she walked closer to Chakotay. “They’re human,” she said angrily, “or at least some of them are. I’ve run into them before. They’re mercenaries, all right. They attacked my holdings on Grivus and killed members of my family.”

  She was right in front of Chakotay now, staring at him with furious eyes. He had no idea just what was happening, but he trusted her enough to go with her game.

  “Sorry I missed them all,” he said casually.

  Her hand exploded across his cheek, backhand, and he recoiled at the blow. Kathryn had a mean punch. He touched his cheek and felt dampness, and saw that his fingers were red with blood. One of her rings had ripped the skin of his cheek.

  “Commandant, I would hate to think these wicked beings could escape to kill others.”

  “No danger. Many security measures.”

  “I certainly hope so.” She gave Chakotay one last angry glance, then walked on. “Let’s finalize the price, shall we? I’ve lost interest in this filthy place.”

  The small entourage moved back toward the wall from which they had emerged, the prisoners still occupied with busywork. Chakotay and the others stared after them.

  “What was that all about?” wondered Harry.

  Chakotay, still putting pressure on the cut in his cheek, let his mind consider all the possibilities. “She’s in disguise for a reason. Probably to see if we’re here, and what our situation is. Trying to figure out some way to get us out.”

  “But what could that be? And why did she hit you?”

  “I guess to put on a good show.” He looked around at the others. His cheek had stopped bleeding. “Let’s get moving. We have work to do.” And once again they spread out to see if they could find what they needed.

  Neelix spent the day on a work detail with the Rai’, and returned from the experience exhausted but ebullient. “The guards pay no attention to the workers at all. They don’t seem to be worried about anyone trying to escape, and they don’t seem to care much about the mining operation. Mostly they sit around eating some kind of cane plant and yammering at each other.”

  The group was gathered round him, eager to hear about this new development in their lives. Neelix, who enjoyed being the center of attention, was orchestrating this tale with an idea toward saving the best for last. “And so,” he said provocatively, “that allowed me the opportunity to liberate any number of items from the equipment there.”

  He reached into his abundant jacket and began extracting his booty. “To start with, a high-frequency tomographic scanner,” he began, indicating a device similar to a Federation tricorder. B’Elanna immediately snatched it and pried it open. Inside, there was a maze of components.

  “This looks good, Neelix,” she said as s
he inspected it. “These chips look like integrated photonic circuits . . . and there are transtators . . . optical couplers . . . and coherent microwave emitters. It’s a treasure!”

  Neelix beamed his pride, then reached under his coat, behind his back, and with some difficulty pulled out a large disk made of composite alloy coils that were embedded in a cocoon of circuitry. B’Elanna grabbed this as well.

  “Phase-transition coils—and sarium kelleride power cells. This is wonderful!”

  “I got them from the matter-displacement drills. The miners use them to destabilize and displace cores of matter beneath the surface.” Neelix looked at the smiles on the faces of his colleagues and basked in the joyfulness he saw there.

  Even Tuvok seemed impressed. “Nicely done, Mr. Neelix,” he said, and Neelix was sure he even heard some note of appreciation there. “Vorik, take the news to Commander Chakotay at once.”

  Vorik nodded and departed with several containers under the pretense of going for water. B’Elanna continued to inspect the contraband Neelix had provided, and her enthusiasm was palpable. “I can work with these things,” she said eagerly. “This tomographic scanner produces three-dimensional maps of the planet’s interior. If I can combine its capabilities with the phase-transition coils, I think I can fashion a transporter. A crude one, but it should work.”

  Tuvok, as usual, wanted more information. “Explain your theory, Lieutenant.”

  “First, I think I can use the tuning circuits from our combadges to modulate and control the transporter beam. The scanner could be modified to read our molecular structure— and the phase-transition coils would be used to convert our molecules into energy. Then the coils would have to be fieldreversed to turn that energy back into matter.”

  Tuvok nodded gravely. “Are there any contraindications?”

  B’Elanna hesitated. She was so excited about the prospects that she hated to diminish them. But there was no getting around it. “There’s one big drawback. There’s no way to construct a pattern buffer. In a starship transporter, the buffer stores the pattern of the person for a few microseconds while the computer makes sure all the other system components are functioning properly. It’s a valuable safety measure.” She looked around at the solemn eyes of her comrades. “Without it, transporting is risky. It’s like being on the high wire without a safety net.”