by Mosaic
The doctor crossed his arms and fixed his eyes on her. "I'm not certain what you want from me, Captain. The dreams don't sound particularly harrowing, and apparently they don't interfere with your sleep. In that I'm not a practicing psychiatrist, how can I help you?" Janeway regarded him fondly. The holographic doctor had become one of her favorite people. His acerbic nature had not lessened in the course of a year and a half, but everyone had learned to tolerate it-even appreciate it. The parameters of his programming allowed for almost no bedside manner; but in spite of his brusque gruffness, he had an endearing quality.
"I'm honestly not sure, Doctor. I just thought I should mention it. As part of my general medical file."
"I suspect it's a temporary phenomenon, and unless you find these dreams debilitating, I wouldn't worry about it."
"They're not debilitating. Just-bothersome."
The doctor didn't respond, and turned away from her, busying himself with a padd. Janeway studied him for a moment and realized he was taking far more time with the padd than was necessary. The doctor, she was sure, had something on his mind.
"Is there some way I can help you, Doctor?" His head snapped back at her; he was always surprised at a demonstration of instinct. He seemed to ponder her question briefly, then, in his matter-of-fact way, blurted it out. "It's been a full ten months since Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim began working on a mechanism by which I can leave sickbay. I can't believe they are incapable of solving the technical problems after that amount of time, so I must conclude that they're not putting their full efforts into the matter. Probably because I'm nothing but a computer program." Janeway rose, put a comforting hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Please don't jump to that conclusion. You are valued and respected, and we couldn't get along without you. Everyone on the ship cares about you. Especially me." Although he would never admit it, the doctor was a sensitive and vulnerable man. His feelings could be hurt easily. And he never failed to respond to an expression of empathy. None of this was forthcoming at the moment, of course; he sniffed slightly, and his mobile face underwent a few ripples of expression, but when he spoke, he was as terse as ever. "If you say so. But I'll find that easier to accept once there are results. The proof, I believe the saying goes, is in the pudding."
She smiled. Colloquialisms always sounded a little strange coming from the doctor, but before she could reply, an ominous hail from the bridge interrupted them.
"Chakotay to the captain."
"Janeway here."
"You're needed on the bridge, Captain. We may have a problem."
"On my way."
When she entered the bridge from the turbolift, the faces of the bridge crew looked grim. Janeway moved immediately to Chakotay. "We've been hailed by a Kazon ship," he reported. "He was none too friendly, and insisted we wait for them to intercept us. He didn't make an outright threat, but it was certainly implied."
Janeway felt a twinge of foreboding. Any encounter with the Kazon was potentially dangerous, although it had been some time since they had run into any of them; she had hoped that Voyager might possibly have moved outside the bitterly disputed turf of the various warlike sects. "Did he state his purpose, Commander? Or identify his faction?"
"He said he was Maje Dut of the Vistik, but didn't give any clue as to what he wanted."
They had never interacted with the Vistik, but Janeway had heard of them. They were a group smaller than the Ogla and the Nistrim, which seemed to be the most powerful of the groups, but they had figured in a disastrous alliance that had threatened to coalesce the Kazon into a unified force-a catastrophic prospect for Voyager, which could deal with individual factions but couldn't hope to survive a massive and cooperative Kazon armada.
Options: they could make the diplomatic choice and wait for the Vistik ship, hoping there was a reasonably benign reason for the meeting. And, after all, one Kazon ship didn't pose a particular threat. What's more, they had detected a planetary nebula nearby that might warrant some investigation. These nebulae, formed when older stars began to shed their outer atmosphere, were magnificent and fascinating. Janeway had studied the Alpha Quadrant's Helix Nebula and welcomed the opportunity to investigate another of these massive phenomena. It could occupy the time while they waited for the Kazon.
But she found herself rejecting that option even before it was a fully formed thought. The Kazon had proven time after time that they couldn't be trusted. They were warlike and volatile, and any encounter could prove hazardous. She knew that they had once been horribly oppressed themselves, but freedom from their tormentors had not resulted in growth or enlightenment; it had led only to an endless series of battles among each other, battles that frequently harmed innocent bystanders. Like Voyager. She wasn't going to jump to the whip of some unknown Kazon Maje; she wasn't willing to delay their journey by even a day to accommodate someone who more than likely would pose an unreasonable demand or a vindictive threat. She turned to Tom Paris, the young, sandy-haired lieutenant who was, as he had promised on their first meeting, the "best damn pilot" she could find. "Mr. Paris, we're not waiting around for a Kazon that won't even do us the courtesy of telling us what he wants to discuss. Continue your course for the Alpha Quadrant, warp six."
"Yes, ma'am. was Paris was obviously pleased with the decision. He was still-would probably always be-a bit of a daredevil, someone who struggled at times against the yoke of Starfleet protocols, but whose skill and intelligence were such that he could get away with risk-taking that might undermine others.
Janeway knew, however, that she would hear something different from Tuvok, and before that thought was even completed, she heard his voice from the security station: "Captain, it is my duty to point out that the Kazon Maje will be highly insulted by this decision; we risk his enmity by ignoring his request."
"Noted, Mr. Tuvok. But I have yet to hear what might be termed a "request' from a Kazon. They tend to make demands, and I don't feel like yielding to a demand."
"As you wish, Captain." Tuvok was imperturbable as ever, but Janeway imagined she could sense approval from him. No one liked being pushed around by the Kazon. In fact, Janeway thought she felt a general uplifting of spirits on the bridge; on an expedition where they frequently found themselves at the mercy of their circumstances, it was bracing to take a stand, to thumb their noses at the dark forces of the Delta Quadrant.
News of Janeway's decision hadn't yet filtered down to the mess hall; if it had, Neelix' mood of well-being might have dissipated. He frequently failed to share the intrepid-what he would call reckless-convictions of the Starfleet crew. Neelix had survived in a dangerous quadrant for many years through guile, cunning, and an instinctive sense of self-preservation, and he didn't fully understand the adventurous nature of Janeway and her people. They were daring, certainly, and to be lauded for their courage, but Neelix had learned through a lifetime of struggle that a small step backward could often save one's life. Plunging into the unknown might be exciting, but he had quite frankly had enough excitement to last him for a long time. At the moment, he was concentrating fiercely on decorating a large cake. It was triangular in shape-particularly difficult to achieve, especially in the jury-rigged kitchen he had cobbled together from odds and ends he had scrounged around the ship-and made from Grissibian nocha. The closest equivalent in the Alpha Quadrant was a substance known as chocolate, but Neelix found it a pallid imitation. Nocha was denser, richer, creamier, and of all the nocha he'd tasted, none compared with the Grissibian variety. He had been saving this nocha since a chance encounter with a trader who had been willing to part with it in return for a quart of Vulcan ale. Neelix didn't know what Vulcan ale was; the recipe was in the replicators and many of the crew prized it above any other refreshment. He had found it a valuable commodity in trade: usually one sample of the brew and the bargain was sealed.
Grissibian nocha was a delicacy that couldn't be described, only experienced. He remembered his first taste, when he was a boy on Rinax, before the disastro
us war that had claimed the lives of all his family. His father had managed to procure some of the rare treat and brought it home to his family. He had handed Neelix a square of a mild-looking substance, slightly oily and a pale beige in color. But when Neelix bit into it, his senses were overwhelmed; the nocha was an intense, dusky explosion in his mouth, the creaminess of it moistening every part of his tongue, his throat, his stomach. The sweetness was powerful but not cloying, and seemed to travel directly to his brain, creating an almost narcotic sensation of deeply felt pleasure. His father had laughed to see his son's expression of utter delight.
It was an experience he had never forgotten. In fact, the night his family had died in the horrendous explosion caused by the weapon known as the Metreon Cascade, the thought of that brief moment of bliss was one of the memories that flashed through his mind.
The cake he had made was for two people: Kes, simply because he adored her more than life itself; and Tuvok, because he was determined to bring a smile to the Vulcan's lips. Somewhere inside, that man had the capacity for joy, Neelix was sure of it. He had made numerous attempts to unleash it, but Tuvok had stoically resisted every one of them. Now, with the Grissibian nocha cake, Neelix was sure he had a winner. No one could resist this nocha, he was certain, not even Tuvok.
He was taking pains to present a cake that not only had an exquisite flavor but was delectable to the eye, as well. He was squeezing colored icing from a modified hypospray (he had borrowed it from sickbay; he was sure the doctor wouldn't mind) into an intricate design on the cake's surface, a delicate, looping scroll that complemented the smooth surface of the nocha. It had required all his willpower not to sample the nocha, or the cake, before it was presented to his two recipients. He felt somehow that the occasion would be undermined if he partook of the cake's savory delights before they did, that its potency would somehow be lessened. Now, as he bent over it, eyes squinting to make the decoration perfect, the chocolaty aroma wafted over him, through him, permeating his senses with an overpow- ering urgency. It seemed to beg him to taste, to sample just the tiniest crumb, one that no one would ever notice was gone. But he resisted the siren call. He was nothing if not disciplined; that was another quality he had developed in his peripatetic life. He'd learned that giving in to every indulgence was a quick way to lose one's edge; denial had a tendency to fend off complacency and keep one sharp.
He was so engrossed in his task that he didn't hear the soft footfall behind him, wasn't aware of anyone's presence until Kes' soft voice was almost in his ear. "That looks delicious. What is it?" He whirled in dismay. "Kes-what are you doing here?" Her beautiful elfin face, framed by its cap of feathered blond hair, stared back at him in surprise.
"I just stopped by to say hello. Shouldn't I have?" Her consternation undid him, as always. He hastened to reassure her. "Of course you should, sweeting, I'm always delighted to see you. It's just..." He trailed off, wondering if he could still preserve the surprise. "Just what?"
Neelix' mind raced, but he could think of no plausible explanation that wouldn't give away his plan. He opted for honesty. "It was supposed to be a surprise. For you and Tuvok."
Kes' beautiful face erupted in a smile, and she gave Neelix a gentle kiss. "You're so thoughtful. But-why me and Tuvok?"
"You, my love, because I want to share an amazing taste sensation with you. And Tuvok because... because I'm certain this exquisite cake will make him smile."
Kes regarded him fondly. "You just don't understand, Neelix. Tuvok is Vulcan. He isn't supposed to smile."
"I do understand. I understand that the poor man experiences none of the delight that comes from pleasure. What a wretched way to live! If he can control his emotions so well, why not just suppress the negative ones and allow the positive ones to rise to the surface?"
"Don't you remember what happened when he mind-melded with Lon Suder? Anything other than total control could allow very violent, ugly emotions to overwhelm him. It's hard to imagine that tasting a cake would be enough to break through his reserve."
"This isn't just a cake. It's an experience. As you'll discover this evening, my dearest."
Kes' smile was sweet as she departed for sickbay. Neelix returned to his ministrations on the cake, gleefully anticipating Tuvok's response to it, never imagining that the evening would be occupied by activities far more dire than eating Grissibian nocha cake.
They detected the planet at nine hundred hours, and Captain Janeway was pleased. It was a particularly fortunate discovery, for they hadn't collected any supplies after the electrical storm on the last planet-which Chakotay had wryly named "Sizzle." Food stores were dwindling and they had to resupply as quickly as possible.
The heart of the system was a K7-class yellow dwarf star, rich in helium and perhaps ten billion years old-a bit of a senior citizen. The fourth planet had an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere and according to sensors was abundant with flora. The possibility of food was temptingly high. There was no indication of a population, although Janeway noted that some formations had a curious symmetry that might warrant investigation. Cautious after their experience on Sizzle, she ordered an exhaustive series of sensor sweeps, looking for any aberration on the planet or in the atmosphere, anything that might produce an unexpected phenomenon. Only after she was satisfied that they wouldn't be blsided again did she order the away teams to the transporter room. Tuvok was to take one group only and make an on-site inspection before calling for additional crew. He named Harry Kim to the team. She remained on the bridge as they took their leave, and she chalked up the small chill she felt as they left to a draft from the turbolift.
Tuvok's team consisted of himself, Kim, Neelix, Kes (at Neelix' request), and twenty Maquis and Starfleet crew. Kim's presence wasn't strictly necessary, but Tuvok believed that away missions were good for the young man. They gave him the experience he needed in disciplining his emotional responses to dangerous and startling situations. Harry always seemed to appreciate the opportunities, though Tuvok suspected it was more to get out into the open air and release some of the natural energy of youth than to practice controlling his emotions.
Tuvok's first order of business was to investigate those suspiciously symmetrical formations; he wanted to make certain there wasn't a population on this planet that had gone undetected for some reason. They had beamed down within a kilometer southeast of the formations, and would proceed cautiously toward them, all the while scanning continuously. The landscape of the planet was not so Earth-like as the prior planet had been (he would not call it by the ridiculous sobriquet Chakotay had chosen for it); the terrain was shot with volcanic rock and the soil was slimy, with a greenish cast to it. The flora was completely unfamiliar. It was Harry who first speculated: "Lieutenant, those formations are constructed. I'd bet on it."
"A wager would have no effect on the outcome of your observation, Ensign. Either they are constructed or they're not." He could never understand the human belief that betting enhanced one's argument. A ridge separated them from their group and the location of the formations, now only forty meters away.
Quietly, cautiously, the team climbed the ridge and crouched on its rim before raising their heads to peer over it. Tuvok gestured to the others to stay down, and he slowly crept forward, lifting his head to peer through thick underbrush at the formation before him.
Even then, he wasn't sure what he was seeing.
A tangle of undergrowth wove in erratic designs over a mound of stone rubble that stretched for nearly half a kilometer in either direction, and that might or might not have once represented a structure. There was a vague order to the rubble, but it was so clumped with weeds and bushes that it was difficult to discern a pattern. One feature, however, identified the mass of stone and brush as having at some time been subject to intelligent hands: a brilliant, cobalt blue spire rose from the center of the mound, gleaming in the sunlight which reflected off its glossy planes. Nothing-not mound, rubble, or spire-gave off any suspicious readings. There was
no sign of life. Whatever this mound had once been, whatever the purpose of the radiant blue spire, they functioned no longer. Tuvok motioned for the team to move forward; if the mound was the remnants of a dead civilization, that knowledge should be included in Starfleet's cartographic database.
The team spread out around the mound, tricorders aimed and busily recording data. Kim, in particular, seemed fascinated by this possible archaeological find, and he eagerly took the point of one wing of the team. And it was his cry of discovery Tuvok heard first after he disappeared around a large boulder.
When the others caught up to him, they gasped at the sight: an arrangement of delicate skeletons, which at first glance appeared to be of winged humanoids, was spread in a deep circular indentation in the ground. The skulls were strong, elongated ovals, with large eye holes. The rib cages were humanoid in shape, while long, hollow-boned arms ended in hands of six digits, including an opposable thumb. The leg bones were short and somewhat stubby.
But Tuvok realized it was the wing bones that had caused the collective gasp. Now they were tucked in close to the body, but clearly when extended they would have stretched two meters or more. These beings would have had the capacity to soar high into the air above the surface of this planet, dipping and sailing on the breezes, then coming to land on their short, squat legs, which would have afforded them locomotion of a much more limited sort. Did they spend most of their time in the air, these winged beings?