by Mosaic
Tom Paris hesitated only a second. "It's always dicey to go to warp from a full stop, but I'll increase power to the inertial dampeners; we might get bounced around, but I think we can do it."
"And the effect on the nebula's gases?"
"That's another matter. There are volatile elements in here, and the sudden energy charge of our warp engines could ignite them. I'd say it's unpredictable."
Janeway hesitated only briefly. "We have to try. Let's do it. "Yes, ma'am." Paris deftly fingered controls and Voyager shot into warp; inertial dampeners held but the crew was bounced around like rag dolls for nearly twenty seconds. Then things smoothed out. "Damage report." Janeway felt like she'd just gotten off a bucking horse, and there was a ringing in her ears. Chakotay was already studying his console.
"No damage to the ship... minor casualties on deck four. Nothing serious."
"Should I set a course, Captain?" Paris was ready, hands poised over controls.
"Fly a random evasive pattern. Let's try to buy some time until we see if that ship intends to pursue."
"Aye, Captain." And once more a troubled quiet fell on the bridge as Janeway risked the game she enjoyed least: playing for time.
Trakis the physician was aware of two sets of eyes: Nimmet's, impatient and glowering, and the captive's, which were just beginning to flutter open. It was regaining consciousness.
The last time that had happened the captive had responded by ejecting a blast of dark fluid from a proboscis on its underbelly; Trakis had just avoided being sprayed by the noxious stuff, and, as he quickly realized, a lucky thing for him. As expected, the secretion was highly corrosive, and began to etch patterns into whatever it touched. It was some minutes before the liquid seemed to lose its potency and stop eating through the surfaces it had daubed.
Trakis was hopeful he had managed to disconnect the internal sac of fluid from the ventral orifice through which it was projected, and seal it shut. He had no desire to test fate again by being anywhere near this creature when it was in a vengeful mood.
Nimmet was watching him, eyes slitted in that ridiculous expression of his. Could he possibly think he looked threatening with his face screwed up like that? Could he be so deluded? Trakis sighed inwardly, remembering the years of his young adulthood on Trabus, when graciousness and civility were the order of the day, when life moved in measured cadences like a well-structured symphony. All that had been lost in the Kazon uprising, of course, but Trakis held to the hope that his people would someday regain their lovely existence, unhindered by the barbarous Kazon, who with any good fortune would eventually kill each other off.
"Well?" said Nimmet, and Trakis wished he could come up with a more inventive opening question.
"I think I've provided a detailed report of the captive's anatomy and physiology, so far as I can tell. What more do you want?"
"I want to know what Maje Dut will want to know: Can this species help us to greatness?"
Trakis resisted a grimace at the inflated language. Nimmet spoke like an overheated orator, mouthing proclamations instead of simply communicating. It was, he ruminated, the mark of the ignorant and the unschooled, who hoped to convince others that they were more intellectually advanced than they really were.
"Exactly what is it that would help you to achieve this greatness?" he asked dryly.
"You know very well!" Nimmet all but shouted. He had low frustration tolerance, Trakis knew, as Nimmet took a breath and continued loudly, face turning a deep crimson in his indignation. "We must know if they can be used as weapons! We must know if they can be trained! We must know if they can communicate and if not what stimuli they will respond to! There are a wealth of questions that must be answered."
Trakis waited for a moment until Nimmet's face had returned to its normal color. He had believed for a moment that he might have to administer to a cardiovascular attack, but Nimmet seemed to have regained control. Trakis proceeded calmly, speaking even more softly in contrast to Nimmet's overblown outburst. "I'm sure you know I can't possibly provide those answers on the basis of a physical examination. And it's not likely this prisoner is going to cooperate long enough to allow me to investigate further." Trakis eyed the captive uneasily; his eyes were beginning to stay open for seconds at a time and he had begun to stir restlessly on the table. "Narcotize him again. Do it until you have the information we need."
"I don't know if he'll survive another injection. The drug is a powerful one and he's already had more than I think is wise."
"No one cares if it's wise-we only care that we get answers." Trakis looked down at the captive once more. Now his eyes were fully open, and he stared dully upward, huge compound eyes protected behind a transparent sclera. Trakis watched carefully for any indication that he was tensing his body-that had signaled the last attack-but he seemed dulled by the drug (and possibly by pain) and lay there limply. The physician felt a twinge of sympathy for what he was enduring, and he made no effort to prepare the narcotic.
Nimmet took a menacing step forward. "The Maje expects answers, Trabe. Need I remind you what will happen if he doesn't get them?" Trakis knew that was an unveiled threat to his family, still at the outpost on Slngsnd. And it was not an empty threat, as all Trabe well knew. The Kazon enjoyed retribu tion against their former masters, and frequently used threats against vulnerable family members to insure cooperation from the scientists, physicians, and engineers that they needed so desperately.
Trakis turned to the equipment that lay on a tray nearby and began preparing the narcotic. As he worked, he could feel the captive's lensed eyes watching him.
Harry and Kes descended deeper and deeper, down the stone stairs, endless circular steps taking them to a depth Harry was finding it hard to imagine. The lower they went, the colder it became, until he could see his breath in the light of his wrist beacon. He had begun to doubt the wisdom of their exploration after a few minutes, but Kes led the way and seemed energized, drawn downward as though summoned by an unheard voice. "Kes, I think we're getting a little far from the others. Maybe we should turn back." Harry's voice was hollow in the stairwell, and the condensation from his breath billowed into the darkness.
Kes turned to him and what he saw made him stop in his tracks. She was transfixed. Her eyes shone with intensity and her brow furrowed slightly, as though she were concentrating on something with every ounce of her tiny frame. It made Harry uneasy to see Kes like this, for he realized she was in contact with something that was hidden to him. "Don't you hear it?" she breathed, those frenzied eyes holding him fast, as though with a physical grasp. He couldn't look away. "Hear what?"
"Clicking. Chittering."
Harry felt a chill envelop him. He heard nothing, only his own breath, which sounded ragged in the cold air.
"It's so odd. I've never heard anything like it. It c't.be far from here."
And she started down the stairs again. Harry hesitated, then hit his commbadge. "Kim to Tuvok."
"Tuvok here."
"Sir, Kes and I have found a stairwell; we're following it to see where it leads. But maybe we're going too far afield."
"Continue your exploration, Ensign. It would be prudent to ascertain if there is another exit from this location."
"Aye, sir." Kim started down the stairs again. He saw Kes far below him, hurrying downward, pulled by whatever possessed her. Shivering, Harry stepped up his pace to catch up with her.
"It's very near. I feel as though I can reach out and touch it."
"Touch what?"
"I don't know."
Harry didn't particularly like the thought of reaching out and touching whatever it was Kes heard. This whole adventure had taken on an entirely different aspect, one that seemed even more immediately dire than the threat of the Kazon. Those enemies seemed far away now, and ineffectual; the clicking Kes heard had taken on a far more portentous aspect. And then they were, at last, at the bottom of this interminable staircase, in the midst of a small chamber that had no apparent ou
tlet. Harry started instinctively searching for a symbol that might lead them to a portal, but Kes had no need. Without hesitation, she moved to their right and back under the stairs; against a section of the stone wall she laid her hand.
And the wall disappeared.
The effect was not unlike that of a transporter, Harry noted. Not magic, he reminded himself, nothing supernatural-just technology. He understood technology, he could cope with that. He moved after Kes into the space that had opened before them, determined to counter Kes' mesmerized state with the rational approach of a scientific investigator. The chamber in which they now found themselves had one unique factor: it was illuminated, although Harry couldn't find just what that source was. But the room glowed-there was really no other word for it-with an incandescent glimmer that seemed to be green one moment, blue the next. He looked for a fixture, a sconce, anything that might account for this ghostly luminescence. There was nothing, and he decided there must be photogenic particles in the air. A rational explanation. Kes was turning slowly in the room, senses heightened, listening, reaching out with her mind. After a moment, she turned to him, a puzzled expression on her face. "I can't explain this, Harry. But-something is coming to life."
Uneasy, he turned back to the entrance through which they had entered the room. There was no sign of it; only a blank wall faced them now. And no matter where they placed their hands, no matter how they pressed, the surface remained solid and unyielding.
CHAPTER 14
A GRACEFUL SUMMER NIGHT'S BREEZE RUSTLED THE DROOPING branches of the weeping willow tree. On its gentle billows was borne the fragrance of Indiana: dusky herbs, heady floral scents, the fresh earthy smell of loam. As a little girl Kathryn had believed those aromas had healing powers; they could banish headaches and heartaches if you breathed them deeply enough.
And now, here she was, an adult of eighteen, still wanting to believe in the curative powers of those comforting scents, sprawling in her childhood hiding place and hoping to recapture some of the solace of those long-ago moments.
She felt dead inside. She was to leave tomorrow morning to report to Starfleet Academy, the first step in the fulfillment of her youthful dreams, but anticipation of the moment held no joy for her. She would go, because she was dutiful, and she would apply herself, because she was disciplined. But she couldn't imagine that there would be any satisfaction in any of it.
The crack of a twig made her jerk upright and peer through the darkness. Had she imagined it? Or was someone walking toward the tree through the corn rows? She squinted, trying to discern a human form among the tall stalks, which rustled in the breeze and cast dancing shadows on the moonlit ground.
She heard the sound again, and was sure of it; someone was coming toward her. She froze, motionless, not fearful because there was nothing to fear, but resentful of having her interlude broken. There was no one she wanted to talk with at this moment.
"Kath?" The voice emerged from the corn rows. "Are you there? I don't want to frighten you."
Kathryn exhaled. Hobbes Johnson. Maybe if she held very still, he wouldn't see her in the tree.
His dark figure emerged from the corn and looked upward. She couldn't tell whether he could see her or not.
"I don't want to intrude. I just thought I'd say goodbye, since you're off to school tomorrow." She was silent, hoping he'd leave. There was a moment's silence.
"Anyway," he continued, "I wish you the best. I hope we can stay friends." There was a moment of silence, then, "Well, so long. I know you'll do well."
And the figure turned and headed back toward the corn. Kathryn sat upright. "Hobbes-?"
He turned. "So you are there. I thought you might be. But if you'd rather be alone, I understand."
Suddenly she didn't want to be alone. She hopped off her branch and jumped down to the ground. "Please don't go," she said sincerely. "I'd love to talk."
She saw him smile in the moonlight and move back toward her. Hobbes wasn't nearly as vulky as he had been as a child, but he would never make anyone's heart beat harder. He was still thin, though his teeth didn't protrude any longer and his skin had cleared up. His hair was still impossible, but then so was hers.
However, he still looked as though he simply didn't care what people thought of him. His hair was long, and somewhat unkempt; he kept running his fingers through it to keep it out of his eyes. "I was thinking about you," he said, "and I remembered how I was feeling two years ago when I left for college. It was kind of scary. And while you don't strike me as someone who's easily frightened, I just thought I'd say good luck."
She felt an unaccustomed rush of gratitude. Hobbes wasn't handsome, and he wasn't exciting, but he was a good and decent person. She plopped down on the ground with her back against the tree and gestured for him to join her. "That's really nice, Hobbes. I guess I am feeling a little-was She hesitated. What was she feeling, exactly? Heartsick? Lonely? Scared? Depressed? She laughed slightly and shook her head.
"I'm feeling something, but darned if I can tell you what it is." He smiled in return. "You've been through a lot this summer." Her head jerked around to him. What did he mean? Was he talking about Cheb? About her father? About school? She didn't respond. "Let me say this-the smartest move you ever made was to get rid of Cheb Packer. You deserve better than that, Kath."
She felt her cheeks burn. Was their breakup the stuff of discussion? She supposed so; it was a tight-knit community, and people genuinely cared about each other. The protracted on-again off equals again romance had probably kindled all kinds of discourse.
"I could have handled it better." She tried to sound neutral, unemotional. "I could have stuck to it the first time I told him it wasn't working, instead of taking him back again and again."
"I know Cheb. He has a silver tongue. If he'd lived four hundred years ago he would've been a salesman."
Kathryn smiled. They'd studied about salesmen in school, about the time in Earth's history when people actually tried to talk people into acquiring things they didn't need, just to make money. It sounded so bizarre that she wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't studied the era and seen examples of the persuasive techniques such people used. Hobbes was right-Cheb would have been perfect in a calling like that.
"When do you go back to school?" Hobbes, she knew, was returning to Indiana University, one of the most prestigious non-Starfleet institutions in the country and one of the hardest to get into.
"In about a week. I'm finishing up an honors thesis I've been working on this summer."
"In what subject?" Kathryn realized that she'd known Hobbes since they were children, but had almost no idea of his interests, his studies, his hobbies. Did he still play tennis?
"Philosophy. That's my major field." He chuckled. "Probably not too thrilling to someone on the science track at Starfleet Academy."
"I've always enjoyed philosophy. It's just-not very active."
"Ah. Then you might enjoy reading Lat Nadeen, a twenty-second-century Bolian philosopher. Let's just say he's not one to sit in an ivory tower. I think you might be surprised by some of the things he advocates."
"Maybe I'll give it a try." An easy silence fell between them. Kathryn was surprised at how comfortable she felt with Hobbes. There were some positive aspects in being with a person in whom you had absolutely no romantic interest. They sat for a few moments, enjoying the late summer evening breeze.
"Did you know my dog died?" She hadn't intended even to mention this, but found the words on her lips nonetheless.
"No, I didn't. You had him for a long time, didn't you?" Kathryn felt her throat tighten. It was still hard to talk about. "Eleven years. But I thought he'd live a lot longer."
"I lost my first dog when I was six. I'm not sure I'm over it yet." Kathryn found herself relieved to hear him say this. She thought she should be able to handle Bramble's death better than she had. After all, he had died peacefully and in no pain, after a long dog's life. But coming as it did in the middle of this tumultuo
us summer it had been almost unbearable for her. "He was my best friend for years. He used to lick my tears when I cried." She stopped, feeling tears well even then. "I guess I'll just have to stop crying."
He reached out and gave her a little pat on the backperfunctory, brotherly, an odd little gesture that made her feel awkward rather than comforted, though she appreciated his bumbling effort. Another silence ensued, and then Hobbes decided to change the subject.
"What does your father have to say about the Cardassian situation?" His question dissolved her sense of comfort instantly. "He doesn't. He won't talk about it. I guess he must be under orders or something." She wondered if the bitterness in her voice came through. That question was answered when Hobbes offered, "Sounds like it's a touchy subject."
Kathryn took a breath. She didn't mean to leak her feelings, and she certainly didn't want to talk about it. But something about the August evening, the fragrant breeze, and Hobbes Johnson's gentle presence overcame her inhibitions, and she found herself opening up.