Pathways

by Jeri Taylor

  He vaporized.

  Kes drew a shocked breath, then shut her eyes, believing that the same fate awaited her. At least she would be spared the promised torture. But only silence prevailed, and she opened her eyes again to see Jabin looking at her with what might almost pass as gratitude.

  “My life is yours, Ocampa. That’s a debt no Kazon would fail to honor. I’ll keep you here because I enjoy you, but you have my word I won’t hurt you again.”

  And with that he walked out of the room. Kes sank onto the floor and, for the first time in weeks, began to cry.

  Two days later there were no signs of the battle. The one Ocampa ruin was destroyed, of course, but that was hardly remarkable. Jabin’s men had buried their dead and tossed the bodies of the Sara victims into the desert as feast for the insects—the only life-form to have survived the intense heat of the last millennium.

  Kes had a black eye and a split lip from the last time Jabin had smashed her face, but he had kept his word and not laid a hand on her since the night of the attack. The work, however, was as punishing as ever, the rations as meager, and the heat as stifling. She was torn between trying to escape back to her underground city, and waiting to see if, somehow, Neelix might still be able to take her away from this awful place.

  She knew, of course, that the likelihood of that was slim. He had angered Jabin, and the Maje wasn’t one to forgive easily. Neelix was but one man, in a dilapidated starship, who couldn’t possibly hope to take on this well-armed contingent of Kazon warriors.

  Finding the access tunnel that would take her home again seemed like the only viable option. She began laying plans to escape, noting Jabin’s schedule, the times when most of the men were in the mines, secreting scraps of food and droplets of water to sustain her in her walk across the desert floor.

  She was sitting in the shade, chipping cormaline, pondering the best time to make her escape, when she heard a great outcry of voices. The Kazon were shouting angrily, and her heart constricted with fear as she thought they were coming for her.

  Tentatively, she rose and crept toward a space between two of the compound’s buildings, edging close enough to be able to hear what was happening. She had deduced that the Kazon had taken a captive and were threatening to execute him, when suddenly she heard Neelix’s voice! He was the one they were about to dispatch. Paralyzed, she listened as his dear voice called out, imploring them.

  “Jabin! My old friend.”

  A silence followed. Then Neelix again: “Water! I have water to replace all that I borrowed!”

  Her breath caught sharply. If he could bring them water, they might forgive him, and he might then be able to get her off this wretched planet. She eased forward, closer and closer.

  “Their ship has technology that can make water out of thin air,” Neelix was saying.

  There was another silence, then Jabin spoke. “You have more?”

  And then a woman’s voice, strong and commanding, completely unafraid: “Janeway to Voyager. Energize.”

  Something in the woman’s voice compelled her to move forward, to hear better and even to see who possessed this confident manner. She heard complexities in the voice, richness and compassion and wisdom. And in that moment, she knew it was a voice she would instinctively follow, no matter where it led.

  CHAPTER

  13

  NEELIX DIDN’T KNOW WHEN SLEEP RECLAIMED HIM—IF, IN fact, he’d ever been awake—but he opened his eyes in the morning feeling more peaceful than he had in some time.

  And closer to Kes than ever.

  There was solace in understanding what had brought her above ground, what had precipitated her great adventure. He believed, though he would never say this to anyone, that she had heard his story, and decided to share hers with him. It was an extraordinary gesture, and it buoyed him, draining anxiety and coating him in a balm of well-being. Because now he knew that Tuvok was right: she was still with them.

  The hollowing out of the underground chamber was a slow process. Harry and B’Elanna worked in shifts, patiently beaming out pulverized psilminite and depositing it in silty layers behind the storage facility in the quarries. Neelix was able to check the progress several times the next day and, just as he’d thought, the guards didn’t suspect a thing. The dust from the ore materialized in the air and filtered to the ground in a fine mist, adding to the layers of dust that had already accumulated.

  The quarries were hot, and dirty, and the work, though not physically demanding, wasn’t pleasant. There was no shade from the unrelenting sun, and the clouds of dust from the ore settled on the workers, clogging pores, irritating the nose and lungs, and leaving a bitter, alkaline taste in the mouth.

  Neelix tended to work with Tassot Bnay, whose generosity with the work passes had allowed the Talaxian to escape the camp and take advantage of the food—and of course the duotronic components—available to the work detail.

  But although the tall and elegant Rai’ had befriended him, Neelix didn’t reveal to him the elaborate escape plans of his group. He could trust no one in a place like this.

  “Do you think you’ll ever get out of here, see your home again?” he asked Bnay as they toiled to load the antigrav sleds.

  “There have been prisoner exchanges in the past. But none for a long time. I don’t know why.”

  Neelix was impressed by the composure of this man, who always seemed to rise above the indignities of his situation, his bearing erect, his demeanor calm. He personified a quality Neelix had long sought, and that was dignity.

  “Will the war ever end, do you think?” Neelix inquired.

  Bnay shrugged. “My father fought in this war. And his father before him.”

  Neelix was amazed. His own experience with war had been horrendous, but short-lived. He couldn’t imagine a strife that endured for generations. “Is there no end in sight? Aren’t there those who are working for peace?”

  Bnay looked at him with mild astonishment. “Peace? It’s a concept that has lost all meaning among our people. The war defines us. We are instructed in battle from childhood, and every Rai’ is prepared to endure the prisoner camps, to survive them in hopes of being exchanged.”

  “But . . . if you are exchanged . . . will you go right back to war?”

  “Of course.”

  Neelix pondered this diffident statement. He was often bemused by the behavior of the Federations, who possessed an ethic that he couldn’t quite grasp—though he was trying—but one thing he respected about them was their abhorrence of violence. Oh, they’d fight when they had to, but they clearly preferred to avoid armed conflict, and worked to find nonviolent solutions to problems. Neelix was convinced this was the way to conduct oneself, war having taken from him what he held most dear, and so it was difficult to accept Bnay’s calm acceptance of an enduring state of battle.

  The guards, as usual, were lolling about in the only area of the quarries that afforded shade, a rocky overhang that jutted from the side of the hill into which the quarries were dug. They all chewed on a fibrous root which Neelix was beginning to suspect had narcotic qualities, as the guards became first jovial, then relaxed and sleepy as the day wore on. By the end of the day they were short-tempered and irritable, as though the euphoric sensations they had experienced were wearing off. Memories of his days on Rhuludian crystals made him shiver with distaste, and he thought once again of Wix and the loyalty he had demonstrated in forcing Neelix off that pernicious drug.

  “I’m going to exchange this antigrav sled,” Neelix announced to Bnay in midafternoon. “It’s a little sluggish.”

  Bnay nodded and Neelix guided the sled around the periphery of the quarries to the storage area. It abutted both the hill and the adjacent forest, into which Neelix now peered. If their plan worked, they would have to plunge into that foreboding dark woods, with nothing more to guide them than Chakotay’s instincts. It was a sobering thought.

  Neelix saw that the process of transporting ore from underground was continui
ng. Even as he approached, a cloud of powdery dust materialized in the air and then sifted quietly to the ground, indistinguishable from the silt that was already there. It was a good plan.

  He guided the antigrav sled to the end of a row of several others, then spent a moment selecting a replacement. As his eyes swept the row of sleds, he noticed the footprints he had left in the white dust, and then their gentle disappearance as another load of transported ore dust materialized and settled to the ground. He felt a moment of pride as he reflected on the ingenuity of his comrades, and a lifting of the spirits as he sensed that this escape plan, which had sounded so tenuous at first, was proceeding flawlessly.

  He guided the second sled out of the storage area, leaving more footprints behind, and taking odd comfort in the knowledge that they would soon be covered over.

  That night, after a meal supplemented by the rations Neelix had managed to smuggle from the quarries, B’Elanna made a portentous announcement.

  “We have to find out whether these units will transport a person.”

  This statement brought an energized silence to the group, all of whom were jammed into one of the shelters. Everyone was keenly aware of the dangers of trying to transport anything as complex as a biological organism, especially without the safety factor of the pattern buffer. The units B’Elanna and Harry had created worked just fine on psilminite, but that was no guarantee they would be able to handle the infinitely more difficult process of dematerializing and rematerializing a living person. A moment passed before anyone spoke.

  “It should be me,” said Chakotay quietly. “I’m in command.”

  “That’s exactly why it can’t be you, Commander,” said Tom. “We can’t afford to lose you. Besides, you’re the one with the captain’s message implanted in you. We’ll need that to complete the escape.”

  There was a murmuring of agreement with that statement. “I’ll do it,” said B’Elanna. “Harry can beam me.” She smiled wryly. “I made these things. If anyone’s the guinea pig, it should be me.”

  “You’re another person we can’t lose, B’Elanna,” said Harry. “If something goes wrong, you’ll need to modify the transporters. So you beam me, instead.”

  It went like this for a few minutes, with almost everyone volunteering to be the first transportee, when a deep and determined voice emerged from the back of the shelter.

  “I shall go.”

  It was Vorik, and something in his voice made everyone stop and look at him. “It is the most logical decision. I am the least senior member of this party. Should a mishap occur, my presence will not be missed.”

  “That’s not true, Vorik,” said B’Elanna instantly. She had a fondness for the young Vulcan, even though he’d given her a world of trouble when he went through the Pon farr and declared his amorous intentions toward her. “We’d all miss you.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant, but I meant the statement not in an emotional sense, rather in a practical one. I perform no essential service here and the group would not suffer my absence.”

  There was a quiet moment before Tuvok spoke. “My young counterpart’s logic is unassailable.” He walked to Vorik and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “You do us proud, Ensign,” he said somberly, and only a few blinks of the eye betrayed Vorik’s pride in his mentor’s statement.

  “I’ll want to check out all the components before we try it,” said B’Elanna, and bent to the task as Harry did the same on the second transporter. While they worked, each member of the group approached Vorik to offer words of encouragement and support. The young man accepted them stoically, but there were those who would swear they saw his eyes begin to shine wetly.

  “All right, I think we’re set. Harry?”

  Harry looked up at B’Elanna and nodded.

  “The question is—where do we beam him? We can’t risk materializing him where he can be seen.”

  “Put him into the other shelter,” suggested Chakotay.

  “Good idea,” agreed Harry. “I’ll go over there with the second transporter, and be ready to send him back. That way we’ll have a test of both units.”

  Minutes later, Harry left the shelter with the second transporter contained in a tarpaulin they’d acquired, his arm around Coris, whispering to her as though they were taking this opportunity to get some time alone.

  B’Elanna positioned Vorik in the center of the shelter, directly in front of the transporter. “Ready?” she inquired, and Vorik, eyes straight ahead, nodded briskly.

  Neelix realized that Vorik actually had his eyes fastened on Tuvok’s, a gaze so strong it might have been a forcefield. He could almost sense the strength that Tuvok was willing to the young man.

  “Okay. This is it.” B’Elanna took one quick glance toward Vorik, drew a deep breath, and then said, “Energizing.” And she pressed the controls.

  It didn’t look like a transport any of them had ever seen before. Vorik began to shimmer, which was expected, but then patches of him faded and vanished, only to reappear a second later. He became a strangely undulating figure, as his right thigh went, and then returned, then his left arm and shoulder, a shimmering, half-dematerializing presence that would neither disappear nor be restored to a whole.

  Perspiration broke out on B’Elanna’s forehead. “The annular confinement beam is destabilizing. I’m compensating.”

  Vorik’s eyes, when they were visible, had gone wide with some unidentifiable emotion, but he kept them locked on Tuvok’s. His jaws were tensed from clamping his teeth tightly together. He was clearly experiencing profound distress.

  “All right, I’m reestablishing the confinement beam,” said B’Elanna, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. Neelix himself felt as though a block of ice had settled in his stomach, and he realized he was digging his fingernails into his palms. It was harrowing, watching poor Vorik come apart in bits and clumps. He could only imagine what the young Vulcan was feeling.

  B’Elanna pushed the controls again with fingers that were a little shaky. Then she looked up at Vorik.

  Piece by piece, part by part, he was dematerializing, in a patchwork effect that reminded Neelix of the quilts his mother used to fashion. Foot, arm, eyes, belly—a grotesque, distorted image of a young man dissolving as though by the random splash of acid.

  Finally, he was gone.

  There was a mass exhalation of breath among the group. “Neelix,” Chakotay said quickly, “go see if he made it.”

  Neelix hurried out of the shelter and into the chill night air, into the noisy, braying organism that was the prison camp, with its fetid smells and its fearful sounds, and raced the few steps to the second shelter, bursting in through the canvas that covered the entry.

  Except for Harry and Coris, it was empty.

  Neelix felt as though a fist had been driven into his abdomen, and reflexively, he bent over. “Isn’t he here?” he asked unnecessarily, for it was apparent Vorik was not in the shelter.

  Harry shook his head, looking pale.

  Then, before them, an arm appeared.

  Followed by a pair of feet, a midsection, part of a head.

  It took an agonizing ten seconds longer, but finally, Vorik the Vulcan stood in front of them, fully materialized.

  They stared at him, afraid to speak, afraid to move for fear he would vanish again. Vorik himself appeared to be in shock, and Neelix half expected him to fall unconscious—or dead—at their feet.

  But finally Vorik drew a breath and gazed at them with eyes that were once more imperturbable. “That was a most unusual experience,” he intoned, and then his legs began to wobble and give way.

  Neelix and Harry caught him and helped him to sit, and only after ascertaining that, although somewhat shaken by the ordeal, Vorik was physically intact did Neelix leave to report the good news to B’Elanna and the others.

  “Thank goodness,” said B’Elanna when Neelix had finished. “I see now what the problem was—I’ll have to compensate for the variance in our power supp
ly. That should take care of the problem.”

  “I’ll happily volunteer to let you test that theory,” said Neelix. He felt that only exposing himself to the same ordeal would help to get rid of the icy knot in his stomach.

  And when, minutes later, he was transported to the second shelter, the process was, if somewhat slower than the beam-outs he was accustomed to, reasonably smooth and comfortable. Harry’s transporter was modified to make the corrections B’Elanna had ordered, and both Neelix and Vorik were beamed back to the first shelter without incident.

  It was a unanimous decision that Vorik should get extra rations that night, but if Vorik was to be rewarded for his bravery, he had other ideas as to the compensation.

  “It was you who gave me the courage, sir,” said the young man to Tuvok. “I felt your strength sustaining me during the experience.”

  “If I was able to contribute to the success of the endeavor, then I am gratified,” replied Tuvok with Vulcan modesty.

  “I should like to ask you for something more,” continued Vorik.

  “What is that?”

  “I would like to share in your wisdom and your experience. If you, like some of the others, would speak of your early years—”

  That was as far as he got before Tuvok held up a restraining hand. “I do not care to expose my life in this public company.”

  “Hmmm,” said Neelix with a sly twinkle. “Things in that shady past you’re ashamed of?”

  “Not at all. It is simply unseemly to disclose the intimate details of my life.”

  “That didn’t stop Chakotay, or Harry, or Tom, or B’Elanna or Neelix,” said Seven of Nine, and Neelix could have sworn he saw a glimmer of humor in her blue eyes.

  “That’s right,” agreed Chakotay. “I doubt you could shock us after all we’ve heard already.”