"I don't think I've been different at all.
You're the one who's changed-ever since you got rejected by
Starfleet Academy." "Thank you. I need to be reminded of
that."
"But you said . . . just a few minutes ago . .
. you said you were feeling bad. You accused me of not
being sensitive to you."
"I don't remember saying it had anything to do with
Starfleet. You're the one who's been making me miserable.""
She felt blood roaring in her ears. The whole thing was
taking on a surreal air-the pit-darkness, illuminated only
by their headlamps, the fantastical underground cathedral
room, the damp chill of the trapped air-and she began to
feel disoriented. Was Cheb making sense? Was her perception
of the last weeks flawed? Had it all been her fault?
"What . . . are you saying?"
"The way you've treated me. Like hitting a guy when he's
down. I think I could've handled the whole Starfleet thing
a lot better if I'd had any support from you."
"But I thought I did, I was . . . I've tried to help . .
." She felt inarticulate and clumsy. He was staring at her,
disappointment etched on his face.
"If that was your idea of helping, that scares me.
I think you're the one that needs help, Kathryn."
Her head reeled. She couldn't believe she was hearing
this. She tried to calm herself and took several deep
breaths, but before she could say anything, Cheb knelt down
and began reassembling the things he'd taken from his pack.
"What are you doing?"
"Packing up. I'm not spending a week in these conditions
with you." "But-we've planned this for a year.
And I really want to look for more fossils-was He stood up
and his dark blue eyes flashed in the glare of her lamp.
"That's so like you, Kathryn. "I really want to look for
more fossils." You're a true scientist, I guess, if fossils
mean more to you than what's happening to us."
"To us? What's happening to us? Cheb, why are you being
like this-was He knelt down once more and began stuffing
his pack. "I'm going back. You can come or you can stay
here."
"I can't stay here alone, that's ridiculous."
"Then let's get ready to go."
She stared at him for a moment, mind still unable to
accept that he was serious. But as he finished repacking,
she saw that he meant it. He was leaving. And if he did,
she would have to.
Briefly her mind danced over the idea of staying, just to
prevent him from being able to manipulate her; but one
quick look around this caverous room and the prospect of
staying there alone was overwhelming. She picked up her
pack and strapped it on, adjusted her aquadyne torch lamp,
and fit her breathing gill into her mouth. Cheb did the
same, and without another word they both walked into the
water for the long swim back.
THE KAZON HAD BEEN TRAWLING FOR
OVER AN HOUR, PEPPER-ing the nebula with percussive plasma
flares. Sometimes they seemed close; sometimes they were
only a distant vibration.
At one time Janeway thought they had given up and gone
away, as they hadn't felt any jolts for almost thirty
minutes. But then, in the distance, their sensors
registered the distinctive thoop of the bombs growing
closer once more. Chakotay studied his console. "They're on
a direct course, Captain. Heading one-four-nine mark
seven."
This was ominous. Until now, the Kazon ship had clearly
been trawling, sending out flares in a random pattern,
hoping for a hit. Now it was bearing down on Voyager,
seemingly having detected the ship and homing in on it.
"Shields," said Janeway quietly. They had dropped shields
in order to prevent the energy signature from being
detected, but now it seemed wiser to protect themselves
from a possible attack.
The percussive devices grew louder, and Voyager began to
tremble, then shake, from the shock wave of each
detonation. "Bridge to Engineering.
Status."
Torres' voice was brisk and calm. "I've almost got warp
engines back, Captain. I've been concentrating on thatstill
only one phaser bank on-line."
"Acknowledged. Let me know the minute you've got warp
capability." "Aye, Captain."
Chakotay was still studying his console, his forehead
knotted in concentration. "There's no doubt about it.
They're heading right for us." And as if in violent
confirmation, a weapons blast hit Voyager's shields,
jolting the bridge and everyone on it.
"Those weren't plasma flares," said Paris loudly. "They've
shifted to their primary disruptor weapons." "Shields at
eighty-four percent."
"Return fire." Janeway didn't like revealing their
weakened weapons systems, but they couldn't continue to sit
here without retaliating now that the Kazon had definitely
located them.
Phaser fire arced through the nebula, illuminating the
dark gases in eerie patterns, and then lancing through the
Kazon ship's shields. "Direct hit,"
said Chakotay with satisfaction. "They felt that one." But
no sooner had he spoken than Voyager took three more hits
in rapid succession. Smoke from an explosion somewhere in
one of the conduits began to seep onto the bridge.
"Shields at seventy-one percent."
"Return fire. Bridge to Engineering.
What's happening with warp drive?"
"Almost there, Captain," came Torres'
reply.
"I need it now, Lieutenant."
"Understood." In Engineering, Torres was working
frantically, beads of perspiration forming on her ridged
Klingon brow. She had been realigning the dilithiumcrystal
articulation frame, desperately trying to restore warp
power, and she was almost there. Only the antimatter
injectors remained to be reinitialized.
Lieutenant Carey was at her side, calculating parameters
for the warp core ignition sequence, and with luck, they'd
have warp capability in seconds.
"Engineering?" Janeway's voice displayed no emotion, but
the quick repetition of her request
indicated their desperate plight. A huge jolt rocked the
ship, and Carey went flying across the room. "I'm okay," he
called quickly, "don't stop working."
Torres hit the final commands for reinitialization, and
was rewarded with the familiar sound
of the warp core humming to life. "Tomes to bridge. We're
on-line."
"Understood, Engineering. Good work."
On the bridge, Janeway looked toward Paris. "I want to go
to warp from within this nebula, Lieutenant. What's your
assessment of the repercussions?"
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 139
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 coop
eration 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.