Inspired by fan art "Chakotay" by GrayscaleArt, found on deviantart.
Warm thanks to Mia Cooper for blogging the image on Tumblr and to Helen8462 and Killermanatee for skilled and speedy beta work.
My throat was raw from the grit and ash in the air, from thirst, from shouting commands, from just … shouting … into the constant hot wind on this planet.
It was near dusk on our third day here. We'd buried Hogan at midday - what was left of him. Without tools we couldn't dig deep enough in the dry rocky soil. No shortage of rocks here, but it still took five of us hours to gather enough of the right size to construct a cairn, one solid enough to keep animals out. Then we spent what remained of the afternoon catching up with the rest of the crew.
The others were eating a well-earned meal. I couldn't face food yet; I'd been left polluted by the burial work, by the contact with the corpse. I couldn't purify myself here, without water, without my medicine bundle. It was the least of my problems in practical terms, but it weighed heavy in my chest.
I didn't mention any of this when I told Kathryn I needed half an hour to meditate. She gave me an unfathomably weary look as she nodded her assent, and I felt her reddened eyes follow me as I picked my way across our makeshift camp. For safety's sake, all I could do by way of privacy was to put a few large boulders between me and the crew, me and my captain. I knew they'd try to respect it, try not to interrupt me for a time.
As I sank to the ground, I was seized by my own weariness and gave in to the temptation to lean back against a boulder. I closed my eyes, just for a minute.
When I opened them, though, it was noticeably darker; I sat obscured in shadows cast by a rocky outcropping as the sun was sinking below the horizon. Well, a catnap might have done me more good than any attempt to meditate. Without my akoonah, I wouldn't be conducting any vision quests. I thought of Sister Wolf and felt a deep pang of regret and abandonment.
I was about to rise and dust off my uniform when I noticed a large winged insect on my knee. I had no idea how long it had been perched there, quivering slightly in the wind that was calming as the sun set. It put me in mind of a dragonfly - a similar elongated look to it, and an iridescence. Its blue markings stood out vividly against the red-dusted black of my uniform leg, even in the fading light.
Seized by whimsy, I addressed it in the old language. "Sister, I greet you." It quivered, then started walking from my knee toward my foot, tucked up close to my body. I shifted my hand into its path, and after a time it walked onto my palm.
Mesmerized by this encounter with a new life form, so reminiscent of ones from Dorvan, I slowly lifted my hand to bring the insect towards my face, marveling at its vivid coloration in such a visually drab environment.
Halfway there I suddenly remembered basic evolutionary theory. An insectoid this physically fragile should have evolved protective coloration to let it blend in against the brick-red rock and dust of this place. The eye-catching blue of this species probably signaled to would-be predators that it was toxic, maybe poisonous.
By the time I consciously recalled my hundred-forty shipmates mere meters behind me, I'd instinctively cupped both hands around the creature, trapping it between them, still held at chin level. I froze there for two breaths, three breaths, four.
I should kill it. I wanted to kill it. It was a threat to my people. There were so many threats here. I couldn't save Hogan. Baby Naomi was ill and getting worse rapidly. Her mother's haunted eyes appeared before me, and I saw in them accusation. We'd flown into a trap in the name of saving my own child, and now hers was dying. This planet owed me a death. Kill it!
It was likely poisonous. It might sting or bite me as I held it. As I crushed it. How much damage can one insect do to a man? Thoughts of New Earth rose up unbidden, and of Kathryn, and my heart was suddenly seized not with longing for what we had lost but with fury for having lost it. The kind of rage that burned away reason and foresight. My head lowered like a bull about to charge; I could feel the tendons of my neck pop as I clenched my jaw against the impulse to lay waste to everything in my path.
My consciousness rose from my body, putting distance between itself and the coming violence that would blind me to my actions for a time. This had happened to me twice before in my life. Once in my youth during an argument with my father. Once in the Maquis, the first time I witnessed Cardassian slaughter.
As my self-awareness drifted away, though, something called to it.
My mind's eye turned back. I saw myself from outside my body. My posture, head bowed over my cupped fists, exactly mimicked my father's as he held the akoonah.
Then Kathryn touched my shoulder and said, "Chakotay?"
She named me, recalling me to myself, and she touched me, grounding my spirit where it was rooted in hers. I was again who I am, who I have been since the angry warrior laid down his weapons to carry her burdens.
The insect stirred gently against my two palms. It was a wild living thing, no more, no less.
The tension drained from my body as I slowly turned my head to seek Kathryn's face.
"I'm sorry to disturb you. We have visitors. I need your help."
I stood without speaking, opened my hands. A flash of blue - its wings, her eyes - and then I turned to follow her across the boulders.