Mosaic (18 page)

"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.