Star Trek: Voyager - Pathways by Jeri Taylor

Author:Jeri Taylor [Taylor, Jeri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 1998-06-29T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

9

WHEN TOM STOPPED TALKING, HE REALIZED HE HAD BEEN speaking so softly that everyone had craned closer to him in order to hear. He was surprised to realize that his eyes were wet, and he jabbed at them with his fists, embarrassed. But he didn’t sense disdain or scorn from his comrades; rather, there seemed to be an outpouring of support. B’Elanna’s hand was on his arm, and every eye that he met returned friendship.

“Well,” he said after a few deep breaths. “I didn’t realize how cathartic that was going to be.” He shook his head, trying to come back into the present. “Wish I’d done that a long time ago.”

“That was very courageous, Tom,” said B’Elanna, and he heard sincerity in her voice. He felt a lightness of spirit that was completely unfamiliar to him.

“I believe we should go to sleep now,” said Tuvok in his perfunctory way, and Tom was glad to have this fragile mood broken. “Tomorrow will be arduous.”

They all rose and filed into the shelter, but Neelix hung back for a moment with Tom. “Tom,” he said hesitantly, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“You’ve given me the heart to do something I should’ve done a long time ago.” And then Neelix turned and went into the shelter.

Tom wondered for a moment what he was talking about, but then B’Elanna took his arm and pulled him inside, then down, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Neelix woke the next morning with a sense of purpose. His belly rumbled with hunger, but he knew everyone else’s did, too, and he tried simply to ignore the pangs. Today he would scour the camp, wouldn’t stop until he’d found some of the components they needed to create their makeshift transporter.

He ate his morning meal—by now, they were all forcing themselves to save a portion of their rations until the next day, even though they were hungry enough to devour it all as soon as they got it—as slowly as he could, chewing each small bite in order to savor it as long as possible. He believed that process filled him slightly fuller.

As he chewed, Neelix surveyed the scene before him: the camp, never wholly asleep, never truly quiet, was stirring slowly, like an old dray horse huffing in the early-morning mists, lumbering to its feet and snuffling for its feed. A layer of fog still hung on the tops of the trees that surrounded the camp, but soon it would burn off under the merciless glare of the sun.

The Rai’ were rising and moving about in resolute activity. Neelix watched them, admiring their discipline, their sense of duty. Those people would persevere, he told himself. Then he realized they were preparing a meal, stirring something into a pot of water heated over a fire. What could it be? How did they get food? If he could tap into a food source, he could greatly increase his group’s chances of survival.

He chewed pensively, slowly, enjoying the taste of the fibrous root, wishing the chunk he had saved were just a little larger.

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