by Jeri Taylor
“I have friends who’ve done very well for themselves,” said Wix ebulliently, “by collecting discarded items, refurbishing them, and then selling them or trading upward. It’s honest work, and even helps the environment by recycling items which would otherwise molder as trash.”
Neelix nodded his agreement. He found Wix impressive—enlightened and persuasive. “I’ve often been surprised at the things people throw away,” he added. “It’s shamefully wasteful, especially when someone else might get years of use from such a discard.” This statement seemed to Neelix, in his heightened awareness, suffused with profundity.
“We’ll need a ship, of course,” Wix continued. “Nothing big, nothing up-to-date . . . just an old runabout. We can probably find one in a ships’ graveyard. People discard old vessels as casually as they throw out last night’s garbage.”
“We can fix it up, make it good as new.” Neelix was already looking forward to this project, his mind conceiving all the components he’d want on his very own ship: hyper-charged engine power, of course, and chairs lined in tanned libbit skin, the most supple of upholstery. And a communications system with isoacoustic speakers. Nothing like loud, lively music to make the vast distances of space collapse a bit.
That and Rhuludian crystals, of course.
Neelix realized that as his mind had wandered, Wix had continued to speak. Neither seemed aware that the other was essentially communing with himself, a fact which Neelix found amusing. He chuckled a bit.
The more he thought about it, the funnier it seemed, and soon he was laughing out loud, drawing curious stares not only from Wix but from the other passengers as well. He clapped Wix on the shoulder in a gesture of goodwill and solidarity, and was gratified when Wix threw his arm around him in a brotherly hug.
A brother. That’s what Wix would become to him. Neelix felt tears of happiness sting his eyes as he realized the pain of the past was no more, and that he had a family once again. He probably wouldn’t even need the crystals anymore.
They found their ship, a battered but serviceable scout vessel, in a vast graveyard overseen by a huge Wellyump, one of a beastlike species with a reputation for being hard bargainers—a reputation Neelix and Wix soon found to be accurate. In the end, they had to relieve the mountainous, hirsute creature of the battered vessel they wanted through subterfuge: after giving him a few drinks of sokrit, a potent liquor, Neelix engaged him in a game of cards, which Neelix managed to win because he had inhaled crystals and his mind was nimble. The Wellyump’s senses, on the other hand, were muddied by the sokrit, and he couldn’t remember to count his cards. Neelix won game after game, each time collecting a precious gemstone from his opponent’s gradually shrinking pile.
The danger in all this was triggering the Wellyump’s legendary temper, but Neelix wasn’t worried. He was capable of controlling the situation until Wix had made off with the ship. He knew the big behemoth would keep playing, desperate to regain his jewels.
“I’m a fair man, sir, and I offer you the chance to recoup these splendid gems. How about this: one game in which you stand to gain much, and lose little. If I lose—and surely I’m due, don’t you think?—you recover everything.” Neelix spread the sparkling jewels on the table, the light catching their luster. “And if you lose—you owe me only one more.”
The big creature opposite him settled in his chair with a grunt. Rolls of fur-covered fat undulated around his body, quivering. He reached again for the sokrit cup and swigged deeply. Finally he looked up at Neelix through drooping eyes. He nodded.
The sad thing was, Neelix thought, it wasn’t even a challenge. The Wellyump was so besotted he could hardly see the cards, much less play them with any precision. That’s what drunkenness did to you, and he thanked the fates that he didn’t partake of such destructive substances.
He won the game easily, and his opponent sagged in his chair, inebriated and defeated. A wheezing gurgle emitted from deep in his throat, and Neelix wondered if this was a warning. He decided to be politic, and sacrifice some of his gains in order to insure his safe departure from this potentially dangerous being.
“Sir, you’ve been a challenging opponent, and I enjoy a game well played. Because of my respect for you, I’ll share these winnings with you.” He scooped up roughly half of the jewels and shoved them across the table to the Wellyump, who seemed dazed and uncomprehending, but who nonetheless put out a hairy claw to receive the proffered booty. Little grunts emanated from him, though what their interpretation was Neelix didn’t know. Shoveling his gems into his sack, he pretended to quaff a drink from his cup and rose. He backed toward the door, smiling genially and waving.
The Wellyump had passed out, collapsing on top of his recovered jewels, which he cradled to him like a litter of babies.
Neelix moved through a passageway in the station, and saw through an airlock that Wix had the decrepit-looking ship docked and ready, and in minutes they had departed the graveyard, laughing at how easy it had all been, euphoric about the adventure, and eager to continue this unique partnership. It was easy, it was fun, and their future was limitless.
• • •
“Where are they? Tell me where they are, you moldering pile of fecal matter, or I’m going to roast you alive! I swear I will!”
Neelix held his hands around Wix’s throat, driven by outrage, shaking his partner with a fury that fed itself and mounted still higher. Wix struggled in his grip, trying to loose the hands that were tightening on his trachea, but he was unable to pry off even a finger. Neelix’s ferocity gave him inconceivable strength, and it wouldn’t be long before Wix blacked out.
Wix pointed toward the weapons locker of the ship, and Neelix’s response was instantaneous. He released his grip and dashed to the locker, threw it open, and began rummaging through it in a frenzy, throwing out weapons and ammunition in his hunt.
When the locker was empty and he realized he’d been tricked, he whirled on Wix, who was standing at a distance with an electrokinetic pistol pointed at him.
“You’ve got to stop using the crystals, Neelix. We can’t keep going through this.”
“You tricked me! You unmitigated piece of slime! I’m going to kill you!”
“I’m trying to help you. The crystals are destroying you.”
Neelix’s eyes narrowed and he stared at Wix with unconcealed indignation. “I know why you’re saying that. You want them for yourself.”
“Neelix—”
“I’m hardly being destroyed. The crystals are no problem to me. You’re inventing that so you can hoard them all yourself. Well, I’m too clever for you, Wix. And I intend to find your cache.”
The weariness in Wix’s voice was evident. “There’s no cache, Neelix. We don’t have any crystals left. You’ve inhaled them all.”
“Liar!” Neelix’s ferocity returned twelvefold. Did Wix think he was a blind fool? A naive child? It was perfectly clear to him what his supposed friend was up to, and he deeply resented the thought that Wix believed he could be so easily fooled. He flung himself toward Wix in a frenzy, saw the weapon raised, heard the distinctive buzz of an energy discharge, and then blackness enveloped him.
• • •
He ached. Every muscle in his body felt as though it had been shredded with a hasp. His whole body hurt except for his feet, which he couldn’t feel at all.
He tried to turn over, to see if that would alleviate the stiffness, but found that he couldn’t. He opened his eyes to discover the reason for this immobility, and realized he was bound at the wrists and the ankles, tied to his bunk in the ship he and Wix had stolen from the Wellyump. It had been a sorry piece of trash, to be sure, but Wix knew that although it looked like a rusting chunk of space flotsam, its engines were sound. They had restored a portion of the exterior and were eagerly making plans for their salvage business. Then what?
Ah. Wix had hidden the last of the crystals and tried to convince Neelix there were no more. Treachery and betrayal. And now, what was th
is crude imprisonment? What was happening to him?
He looked around the cramped quarters and saw Wix sitting nearby, staring balefully at him. “I’m sorry, Neelix. But I had no choice. You were out of your mind.”
Neelix stared at him, uncomprehending. What was he talking about? Why had he tied Neelix up? Nothing made sense to him, none of these ever more preposterous events. Why was Wix behaving in this bizarre fashion, turning on him, making ridiculous accusations, and now holding him captive—
Then he realized with awful clarity what a serious predicament he was in. Wix was crazy. He wasn’t the friendly, easygoing scamp he pretended to be, that was all a ruse, a façade created to draw in unsuspecting strangers like Neelix. How could he have let himself be fooled like that? And how dangerous, exactly, was Wix?
He looked at the man sitting on the stool near the door. He was good, Neelix granted him that. He appeared to be genuinely concerned, brow furrowed and shoulders slumped, but of course that was part of the ruse. In fact, this man had no real hold on reality, had slipped into some kind of psychosis, and made Neelix a prisoner of his mad fantasy. Neelix knew he had to be very, very careful or he wouldn’t come out of this alive.
“I see,” he extemporized. “Why exactly do you think I’m out of my mind?”
Wix gave a short snort of frustration. “Are you kidding me? Any time you’re not inhaling crystal smoke, you’re out of control. You’re rabid until you get your next batch. It’s got a dangerous hold on you, Neelix, and I’ve got to do something to help you.”
Neelix considered this. It was clear that Wix was unaware of his insanity, and that made him hazardous. Neelix would have to be careful, and clever, to get out of this one. If only he’d realized Wix was this unstable when he met him, he would never have ended up in this perilous situation.
“Let me see if I understand. You’re helping me . . . by tying me up like this?”
Wix nodded. “I’m going to keep you there where you’re safe until the crystals are purged from your system. It won’t be easy. I’m told it’s a painful process. But it’s the only way. I’ll be here with you, and I’ll take care of you.”
Neelix’s mind was racing, trying to come up with a plan, a way to get Wix to untie him. But his mind didn’t seem to be responding; he felt edgy, and nervous. Fear began to invade him, and he felt a cold fist clutching at his stomach. Well, who wouldn’t be frightened to be in the hands of a madman? He tried to reposition himself on the bunk, because his muscles were beginning to ache even more, and he had to move around somehow, get rid of the stiffness.
“Wix, you have to loosen these ties. They’re too tight. I can’t feel my feet.”
“That’s not the ties. It’s your body’s response to the fact that your system doesn’t have a fresh supply of crystals.”
“How do you know so much about this? You inhale as much as I do. You’re the one with the problem.” Neelix was finding it difficult to speak; he could hear his voice ringing in his ears with a surreal quality.
“No one inhales as much as you. I’ve never known anyone who needed the crystals so often. I enjoy them as much as the next person, but I’ve kept it in moderation. You haven’t.”
Neelix could feel himself beginning to get desperate. This was impossible. He couldn’t lie here like a trussed gotha hog while his muscles began to inflame and his mind scramble. Wix had to understand that, he had to find a way to reach this madman.
“Let me go, Wix. If you untie me now, there’ll be no hard feelings. If you don’t, I’ll put a blade in your guts and rip them out of your body.”
Wix’s sad eyes held his. “It’ll be over in a few days. I’ll be here, and I’ll do my best to take care of you.”
Panic clutched at Neelix. He had to get up. He had to move his arms and legs and stop the burning in his muscles. He strained against his bonds and pulled as hard as he could. They didn’t yield.
“Wix, let me inhale just a little, one more time. To ease off. That couldn’t hurt, you’ve got me where you want, I can’t go anyplace. Just one little sniff, to take the edge off, that’s all, and I won’t ask again, I promise.”
Wix shook his head forlornly. “Would you like some water? You mustn’t get dehydrated.”
Disbelief rattled through Neelix’s fragmenting mind. Wix wasn’t going to listen to reason. He was absolutely, unequivocally a raging lunatic, and he was going to sit there and mouth his ridiculous theories while Neelix died slowly in front of him.
“Wix . . . just untie one arm. Let me move it around for a while. Then you can retie it and loose the other one. What harm can that do?”
“It isn’t going to help you to move your arm around. And I can’t risk your finding a way to get loose.”
Neelix screamed, a sudden, violent howling, intended to startle Wix and impress on him how determined Neelix was, and Wix certainly did react, jumping off his stool and backing against the wall in alarm. But after that initial reaction he seemed to stiffen his resolve, and sat down once more.
The screaming hadn’t helped Neelix’s burning muscles, either. Now they hurt even more, as though they were being grated with sand. Hot sand. Sand that had been roasted over flames, tiny pinpoints of fire rubbed into his insides, burning and burning . . .
He burst into tears. He didn’t see how he could bear even another minute of this pain, much less—what had Wix said?—days. Days! He’d never make it, he’d die, he’d rather die than go through this. Tears coursed down his face, and he was sure (well, not sure, not sure of anything anymore, but hopeful) that Wix in seeing his misery would relent and free him. He’d find some crystals, not many, just enough to ease the pain, and then he’d do this his way. He’d break the habit, he just had to do it slowly, gradually, not in this sudden violent way that was such a shock to his body.
But Wix made no move to help him, just sat there on his stool and stared at him with limpid orange eyes.
It was a three-day descent into hell. Looking back, something he tried not to do but couldn’t always avoid, he didn’t know how he survived. He hadn’t wanted to survive. Again and again he’d begged Wix to kill him, to put a weapon against his head and put him out of his misery, but that plea met with no more success than any other.
Every minute was hours long, and the hours lasted for days, nightmares of pain and hallucination, a kaleidoscopic fantasy of demon images shot with blood, punctuated with the sounds of his own screams. He saw ghastly tableaux of wretched souls undergoing every dreadful form of torture imaginable. He saw the poor man he’d found in his hut, an eternity ago, feet being burned with hot coals, shrieking in agony. He saw his family at the moment of vaporization, bodies rent apart at the molecular level, then held there at that moment, in eternal anguish, piteous cries of suffering unheard.
Time did not pass. There was nothing, no reality, no ship, no universe, nothing except pain, which consumed him but would not kill him. He wanted death, wanted oblivion, wanted a nothingness that would spare him this unbearable affliction, but only the pain was constant, ageless and eternal.
He thrashed in his bonds like a fish flopping on dry land, drowning in oxygen. His throat was hoarse from screaming. He was wet from perspiration and urine, alternately trembling with cold and then raging with fever. If he could go mad perhaps the brain would find a way to deal with his horror, but a psychotic snap did not occur. He was Neelix, he was pain.
Occasionally he was aware that Wix was still nearby, sometimes wiping his face with a damp towel, sometimes spooning a bit of cold liquid between his parched lips. At one point he tasted something acrid, burning, which revolted when it hit his stomach and came churning back up his throat in a stream of bile. Blood dripped from his palms, where he’d dug his nails into the flesh as deeply as he could, an instinctual effort to shift the focus of pain, but nothing could get in the way of the burning of his body from the inside out.
All of these moments were fleeting, fragmentary, grace notes to the symphony of pain he was endur
ing. The agony was a totality, an inevitability, a blinding, searing colossus that obliterated everything else. He knew no hunger, no thirst, no fatigue. He was spitted on a skewer of fire, burning, burning.
He had no memory of lapsing into unconsciousness.
He became aware, gradually, that Wix was speaking to him, calling his name. “Neelix . . . Neelix . . . open your eyes . . . Neelix . . .”
Neelix didn’t want to open his eyes. They felt welded shut, crusted with dried matter. He ached miserably, and smelled the stench of his own body. He tried to go back to sleep.
“Neelix! Listen to me—open your eyes.” Neelix felt a warm, moist cloth sponging his eyelids, loosening the crusts, soothing his skin. His lids quivered for a moment, then opened, closed almost immediately as light flooded into widened pupils.
“I think you’ve done it. How are you feeling?”
What an odd question. And an odd statement—what had he done? He remembered nothing . . . but wait, wait . . . that was Wix speaking to him, Wix, his newfound friend, his partner in a salvage business . . .
He opened his eyes again and blinked at the brightness, but saw Wix’s face peering down at him in concern. Neelix struggled to sit up, but every movement brought a protest of pain from his body—what had happened? He felt as though he’d been beaten with boards.
And then he remembered. He propped himself up against the wall and stared at Wix, recalling the horror of the ordeal he’d been through, his rage at Wix and his conviction that Wix was insane . . .
Wix continued to bathe his face with the warm towel as he chattered. “I know it was awful, but you’re through with it. It’s over. We’ll see about getting you bathed and finding some clean clothes . . .”
At last, Neelix understood the extent of the great gift Wix had given him. He had been addicted to the crystals— their withdrawal wouldn’t have been so devastating to him had he not—and Wix had forced him to cleanse his system, had sat patiently and taken care of him, had endured his abuse and his threats, and was there to revive him when the ordeal was over.