by Jeri Taylor
It was a gift he could never repay. Tears of gratitude welled in his eyes, and he put out a hand and clutched Wix’s arm, squeezing it tightly, all he could manage because at this point he didn’t trust himself to talk.
Wix smiled, and cuffed him gently on the temple. “We have to get you up and moving, Neelix. You and I have a business to run.”
And they did, for almost a year. Gone were the Rhuludian crystals, to be replaced by hard work, long hours, occasional chicanery, and a lot of laughter. They didn’t become wealthy, but they always ate well, and if they had to keep moving because sometimes there were disgruntled customers left behind—well, they had no burdens to keep them tied to any one place. All of space was their home, and they enjoyed forging new trails, heading into the unknown, surviving by their wits.
Their once-dilapidated vessel had been refitted and now was tidy and trim. The quarters had been personalized and made into small, cozy havens where they would sit and plan and scheme. Neelix felt, for the first time since the Metreon Cascade, a measure of peace, and the challenges of survival kept him keen and buoyed.
The Ubean incident, which was to put an end to all this, was never anticipated as more than a routine trade negotiation. The Ubeans did have a fearsome reputation, that much they had gleaned from stops at stations along the way, but Neelix and Wix had met menacing species before and discovered that everyone has basic needs: clothing, shelter, food, and the ability to travel through space. They were scrupulous about staying well out of political discussion and maintaining neutrality above all else. In this way they were even able to travel among warring species without being put in harm’s way.
The Ubeans should have been no different. And when Neelix and Wix first met with a scouting party from their homeworld, they were encouraged by the stiff formality of this quadrupedal race, with their long snouts and their small, curious eyes. Although bristling with weaponry, the Ubeans maintained a polite dignity, and Neelix soon discovered that they had a pressing need for microarc thrusters, for which they were more than happy to provide pure tantalum ingots.
Perhaps it was their reserve, their seeming courtesy, that lulled the duo into taking a risk that was perfectly unnecessary but, in their minds, quite acceptable. Neelix and Wix had assembled several crates of microarc thrusters, but didn’t have enough of the necessary magnetic pumps to render the units functional. They could have traded only for the complete thruster assemblies, but they knew the tantalum the Ubeans would be giving them was highly prized in the sector, and they hated to see their profit margin slashed. So they reasoned that they could stack the functional units on the top layer of each crate, so when the Ubeans inspected the merchandise, they’d encounter the complete units and not bother checking the rest.
A bit risky, perhaps, but then all business requires a certain amount of risk, and theirs perhaps more than some. They were confident they’d be collecting their tantalum ingots and speeding off to find a buyer.
The Ubeans insisted that one of them accompany the crates to the surface of their homeworld while the other waited in orbit. Neelix and Wix tossed stones to see who would do what; Wix drew the one marked for the planet.
“No worries, Neelix,” said Wix confidently. “I’ll be back within the hour and we’ll be off for deeper space before they’ve even unpacked the crates.”
Neelix had clapped his hand on Wix’s shoulder, with more certainty than he actually felt. Shameful, he admitted to himself that he was relieved Wix had drawn the colored stone, for he wouldn’t have relished the idea of traveling alone to their fearful planet.
But Wix seemed nonchalant, and grinned as he departed for the Ubean ship. Neelix forced himself to smile in return.
Seven hours later, he was in a paroxysm of indecision. Something must have gone wrong, or Wix would have been back. Prudence dictated that he get out of there before he, too, was taken into custody. But how could he abandon Wix?
Summoning his waning courage, he hailed the planet. Almost instantly, the face of a Ubean official came onto his small screen.
“What is your business with us?” the Ubean asked in a none too friendly tone.
“I’m inquiring about an associate of mine, who delivered some microarc thrusters to your colony several hours ago. He’s late returning, and—”
“The Talaxian is in custody. He’s been convicted of fraud and will be serving time in prison.”
“But—”
“Don’t bother asking to talk to him. He won’t be receiving messages.” The Ubean glared at him, then added, “And I’d advise you to leave our space immediately. There are those who want to imprison anyone who had a hand in this distasteful affair. But I’m willing to give you an hour’s lead.”
Neelix felt his stomach constrict. He had a chance to save himself, but that would mean leaving Wix to bear the punishment for their indiscretion by himself. And yet—what could he do to help him? The Ubeans would simply throw him in prison as well.
Anguished, ambivalent, guts churning, Neelix finally broke orbit and headed away from Ubea, flying blindly into deep space, terrified that he would be pursued and hunted like an animal, sick with guilt over leaving Wix behind.
He didn’t stop for six days. At that point, he had to refuel and find supplies, as the stores on board were dwindling rapidly. He found a friendly outpost manned by the Neklos, where he was able to trade for food, water, and fuel, and then he continued his headlong flight, stopping only when necessary.
Six months later he found himself in the realm of the Kazon.
He hadn’t realized at first that he was entering a part of space dominated by one species. The Kazon, he would later learn, consisted of many sects, or factions, many of them different enough that he was unaware they were biologically related.
Neelix found them vainglorious, strutting popinjays lacking rigorous intellect, moral imperative, or even base cunning. They thought well of themselves but hadn’t even developed their own technology, having acquired it from the Trabe, a race that formerly held them in bondage. Their ships were inadequately maintained, their outposts shoddily constructed. They lacked the resources to improve their lot, and seemed barely to eke out an existence; as such, they provided prime opportunities for barter, because they always needed something to keep ships in repair or to upgrade defensive systems.
Neelix moved with relative ease among the various sects, observing their protocols carefully, wary of creating some unintentional slight, watching his back at all times. And so it was that he came to the planet of the Kazon-Ogla miners.
He had learned that water was more prized than gemstones in this realm. The planet the Ogla inhabited was a vast desert, arid and sere. But it was also a repository for cormaline ore, for which other sects were willing to trade water. Neelix felt this situation of mutual need was an opportunity he must not ignore.
His plan was to insert himself into the midst of this trading opportunity as a middleman. He went first to the Kazon-Sara and offered to ferry water to the Ogla in return for a percentage of the liquid. The Sara, whose ships were in disrepair, accepted—perhaps not eagerly, but not reluctantly, either.
Then Neelix went to the Ogla, armed with tanks of water—including his own reserve supply. He offered to trade for cormaline, returning it to the Sara in return for a percentage of the mineral. After a few loops like this, he had built up a tidy supply of both water and cormaline ore.
He might have become reasonably well off from the Kazon if something completely unexpected hadn’t insinuated itself into his life. He had never counted on falling in love.
He saw her first on a typical visit to the Ogla. He had barrels of water from the Sara, which the Kazon miners needed desperately, as he hadn’t paid them a visit in several weeks. He landed his small vessel near their mining colony, a crude affair set not far from some crumbling ruins that had belonged to prior inhabitants of the planet.
Neelix entered the stone structure the Ogla had built to ward off the cruel desert s
un, and immediately felt the temperature drop by twenty degrees. It was also blessedly dark inside, a relief from the unremitting glare outside. Odd bits of furniture dotted the room, homemade or cast off, and mismatched crates were stacked against the walls. In spite of its respite from the heat, it was a joyless place, and Neelix was glad he had to spend little time there.
He saw Jabin, the powerful and mean-spirited Maje of the mining faction, sprawled in a chair, sweating, every millimeter of his massive body covered with a fine white dust. His matted hair was dotted with what looked like chunks of debris; all the Kazon decorated their hair like this, but Neelix had never wanted to ask if it represented anything more than crude fashion. He tried not to wrinkle his nose at the odor Jabin exuded.
“Did you bring water?” the hulking man growled as soon as Neelix entered.
“Indeed, my good friend, I have seven barrels—cool and pure. It should slake your thirst handsomely.”
Jabin bellowed some unintelligible order at an aide, and Neelix felt, rather than saw, a flurry of activity in the dark room. Almost immediately, one of Neelix’s barrels was carried in and set next to Jabin, who called out yet something else.
There was a brief silence, and then someone emerged from the deep gloom of the chamber, moving quietly toward them. Neelix squinted, for this figure was one he’d not seen before, dainty and petite.
She was a young sprite, a nymph, a vision of ethereal loveliness. Pale wisps of hair curled, unkempt, on her head, framing a face that would cause any man to catch his breath. Large blue eyes, roughly the color of the sky on a spring morning, gazed sadly at nothing. In spite of her breathtaking beauty, she was forlorn, wreathed in melancholy. As she turned her head, Neelix saw delicate, wing-like ears, the mark of a species with which he was unfamiliar. They were unusual, but only added to her fragile beauty.
As she neared, Neelix also saw the unmistakable purpling of bruises on her ivory skin, and his heart constricted. She had been mistreated.
The waif seemed to know her duty: she took cups from a nearby table and, kneeling in front of the water barrel, drew several fingers of the precious liquid into each cup and presented them to Jabin and Neelix.
Neelix realized he was staring at her, but she kept her eyes lowered, deferential. Or—and he thought this was more likely the case—fearful, unwilling to provoke an outburst of wrath from Jabin for even the most imagined slight.
Jabin chuckled, a low, throaty growl that caught Neelix’s attention and made him jerk his head away from the girl and back to the hefty Kazon Maje. Jabin was eyeing him with sardonic amusement, and Neelix felt himself color in embarrassment.
“Quite a beauty, isn’t she? But that’s where her assets end. She’s all but worthless as a slave. Tires easily, wilts in the heat, no strength at all.”
A spark flicked in Neelix’s mind and he tried to appear casual. “I can see that,” he said with what he hoped was indifference. “She’s frail. Probably sickly.” He paused, letting that assessment sink in. “I might find household work for her, if you’d be interested in trading. She’d bring a number of water barrels.”
Jabin’s eyes narrowed and he peered at Neelix through the darkness. “If you’re thinking what I suspect, don’t bother. She’s a cold one as well.”
Neelix shrugged. “I was thinking more of what I could get for her in return. I know some families that would be interested in having a serving girl.”
Jabin snorted and took a sip of the water, a surprisingly delicate gesture from such a brutish man, but the Kazon had learned to ration their water carefully, and to savor each small swallow. “She’s worth nothing to me as a worker, but she has information I’m determined to get. She’s proved recalcitrant so far, but I’m ready to move to more persuasive methods.”
Neelix felt his stomach clutch. The maggot intended to torture this poor child! He had to prevent that somehow. His mind scurried to find a way, even as he bought time by chatting with Jabin. “Information? What kind of information could be so valuable as to bother with a wretched thing like this?”
“Her people live underground, protected by an entity that sends them energy for all their needs. If I knew how to get down there, the Ogla would have that energy. And then, little man, I wouldn’t have need for avaricious barterers like you.”
What Jabin had said seemed quite remarkable. An entire species that dwelt underground? He’d never known of such a thing. And what was this entity that protected them? This tale was becoming altogether fascinating. “If they live beneath the surface, how did you find this one?” he inquired.
Jabin cackled. “She’s too curious for her own good. She wanted to see what was up here. She’d no more stopped squinting at the sun than we had her, and I’m keeping her until she tells me what I want to know.”
Despair clutched at Neelix. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t bear to think of this lovely being suffering at Jabin’s hands. He glanced over at her and found her looking at him for the first time, blue eyes fixed on him in a kind of desperation. He felt a thought stirring in his head, then realized it was more than a thought, it was a sound. “Please. . . help me . . .”
Startled, he realized she was communicating with him telepathically. He blinked, hoping this would tell her that he had received her thought, but kept his face impassive, as though he were simply assessing her.
“Send her away, Jabin,” he said suddenly. “I’d like to talk to you alone.”
Jabin jerked his head and the nymph exited the chamber. Neelix looked at him with a sly confidence. “Let me spend some time with her. By myself. I think I can get the information you want.”
The big man exhaled explosively, a grunt of derision. “How could you possibly do that, Talaxian?” he queried.
“My people have a saying: Sweetness brings the tillah birds, tartness leaves them wanting. You haven’t been able to get anything from her with brute force—why not let me try to win her over? Become her confidant. Her friend. Before she knows it, she’ll be telling me anything I want.”
Jabin was silent, staring down at the floor. Neelix was heartened that he hadn’t negated the idea right away. A moment passed, then Jabin looked up. “How long do you think this effort would take?”
“A few weeks, perhaps. It depends on how quickly I can establish a relationship with her. But I warn you—this information won’t come cheaply.”
Another long silence. Neelix concentrated on looking unconcerned, as though this were nothing more than a typical bartering situation. It wouldn’t do for Jabin to know how important it was to him that he be able to protect this girl, to keep her safe until he’d figured out a way to rescue her.
Finally Jabin stirred, then touched his tongue once more to the cup of water. “All right, then, we’ll try it. But if nothing is accomplished within four weeks, the arrangement is canceled and I’ll resort to my own methods.”
“That’s fine with me. I don’t want to make this my life’s work, after all. I’m willing to try it in hopes of getting a tidy amount of cormaline.”
Jabin seemed to lose interest in him then. He took a swallow of water, and proceeded to swirl it around in his mouth, eyes closed in private ecstasy as he savored the precious liquid.
Neelix walked out to find the pale girl.
She stood quietly in the shade of a stone column, studiously ignoring the taunts and jeers of the lascivious Ogla miners, staring out at the vast desert as though willing herself into its searing depths. Neelix stood at a distance, uncertain about interrupting her intense reverie. But then he heard a husky voice in his head. “I feel I can trust you.”
He approached her, feeling as bumbling as an adolescent. “You can,” he stated simply. “I’m your friend.”
And so it was that Neelix came to know the Ocampan known as Kes, and heard the remarkable story of her climb to freedom and swift capture, of the entity known as the Caretaker, and of Kes’s own indomitable spirit, her intellectual curiosity, her sweetness of manner.
But Neelix made an error, one that threatened to bring their subterfuge crumbling down, sending Kes back into Jabin’s hands for interrogation.
He stole water.
He did it for Kes, of course, and he thought he’d gotten away with it, but one of Jabin’s men discovered the theft and Neelix had ended up running to his ship just ahead of the Kazon pursuers, yelling at Kes that he’d be back for her.
How he intended to do that, he had no idea. He had located the mighty Array that supplied the Ocampa with energy, and he tried to communicate with the entity that Kes said controlled it, but to no avail.
He tried not to think what Kes might be undergoing at Jabin’s hands, and racked his brains to come up with a rescue plan. But he was one man, alone, in a ship with pitiful weapons. What hope did he have?
He decided to revisit a debris field he’d encountered some time back but had never explored. Maybe luck would be with him, and he’d find something he could trade for weapons. He was trawling through the space rubbish when he spotted a ship of a sort he’d never encountered before. Alarm gripped him—this ship was much bigger than his, and undoubtedly intended to collect the most valuable detritus for itself. It wasn’t fair!
His communication system was activated and he sprinted to the small screen, having first to uncover it and then set it at the proper angle. It wouldn’t hold, so Neelix cocked his head and assumed the most confrontational pose he could muster. “Whoever you are, I found this waste zone first,” he said imperiously.
A woman stared back at him. She was small-boned, dressed in what looked like some kind of uniform. Her hair was swept back off her face and her eyes blazed with intelligence. “We’re not interested in this debris, Mister . . .”