THE LOST VOYAGES
The "Star Trek – Voyager" that could have been
by Soledad
CARETAKER
Alternate pilot episode
Disclaimer: All Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry and Viacom or whoever owns the rights at this moment. I don't make any profit out of this – I wish I would, but I don't, so suing me would be pointless.
Rating: PG-13, for some rather disturbing images.
Author's note: Some of the dialogue from the original episode is given to different characters. For a reason. Yes, those lines still don't belong to me.
As always, my heartfelt thanks go to Brigid for beta reading.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: HISTORY LESSONS
Chakotay had barely enough time to greet his sick crewmembers, check on Tamal and Gerron (who were still in the stasis chambers) and to speak with T'Prena and Sito, when the comm system chirped.
"Janeway to sickbay. We've found a breach. Mr. Paris, Captain Chakotay, Kes, meet me in Transporter Room Two."
"On our way," Chakotay acknowledged and looked at the Andorian. "X'siarach, you're with me. Let's go!"
They all darted off to the nearest turbolift, relieved that they could finally do something.
The away team rematerialized in a huge cave with a ceiling so high above their heads that it almost masqueraded for sky. The cave was filled with a gentle, indirect lighting that seemed to cast pale shadows in all directions, increasing the eerie feeling of surreality. When they looked forward, beyond the hydroponics plantage in the immediate vicinity, they found the dramatic view of a distant city outlined against the glowering horizon.
"This is where one of the old tunnels end," Kes explained quietly, "the ones through which our people were brought underground. This is a new colony here, founded by young people who have grown tired of tradition."
The city stretched farther than they could see, arching gradually downward until it disappeared beneath the artificial horizon that was lower than any surface planetary horizon could be. And yet Chakotay's well-schooled eye recognized the same types of structures and broken remains that he had seen near the dried-out riverbank a day earlier. No matter why or how long ago the Ocampa were forced to go underground, they had kept their original architecture under the changed conditions.
The long rows of flowstone containers stretched almost to the borders of the city in front of their eyes. The various plants seemed to flourish under the artificial light sources that had been erected between them every ten meters or so to replace the warmth and brilliance of the real sun they could have no access to. A small group of about a dozen young Ocampa, thin and fairy-like, like Kes, wearing the same colourful, diagonally-cut clothes, was working on the lush vegetable beds. In some of these grew small bushes with berries or even low fruit-trees, their trunks covered with some sort of light green moss. All in all, it was a pleasant sight in the mouth of a bleak underground cave.
Having grown up on a farming world himself, Chakotay – probably the only one of the visitors who could – appreciated the ungodly amount of hard labour the Ocampa had put into this plantage. Carving out the long growing troughs had probably cost a whole generation of their short lives, finding enough dirt to fill them probably another one. Had they brought the seed from the surface right at the beginning or had they taken the risk to get out again and again? Hauling water to the small rows alone must have filled their whole day – and how many of them could be fed by this plantage anyway? Or were there other colonies like this?
Questions, questions, questions. The anthropologist in him longed for answers, but this was not the time. They were here for a purpose. Maybe after they had found B'Elanna, he would have the chance to sit down with a few of these people and have a chat with them. Learning about their lives, their history. The repairs would take a few more days anyway. If the Ocampa were willing, Chakotay would like to learn from them.
"Captain," Tuvok's voice intruded his thoughts; the Vulcan aimed his faintly humming tricorder upwards and frowned. "The pulses from the array continue to accelerate. The intervals between them have decreased another point-eight seconds."
Chakotay tried to listen for the deep thrum that signalled the impact of the energy beams coming from the Array, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat. Apparently, Janeway was in the same situation, because she asked wryly, "And? Is that good or bad?"
Before Tuvok could answer – if he had an answer at all – one of the farmers, a tall (for an Ocampa anyway), dark-haired young man with longish ears that pointed slightly backwards, finally discovered them. He cried out Kes' name in delight, ran to her, ignoring the strangers completely, as if it were the most natural thing to have intruders appear in their sheltered caves, and swept her up in his arms, kissing her on the cheek in a brotherly manner before setting her down again.
A good thing that Neelix isn't with us, Tom Paris thought, feeling some pity for the little alien. He would explode with jealousy – and to no end. Why would Kes be interested in him when she can choose from all these pretty young people of her own folk?
The others carefully set aside their crocks and tools as if those were the most vulnerable items on the whole planet (which, for them, they probably were) and joined Kes and her friend, exchanging hugs and friendly kisses with her. The girl seemed to be very popular among her own kin. Small wonder – even compared with the others, she was fragile, sweet and beautiful.
"Hello Daggin," she smiled, hugging the young man, who had greeted her first, for a second time. "Here I am again."
Grinning enthusiastically, Daggin pushed Kes away from him, holding her at arm's length, stills shaking his head in disbelief as if he couldn't quite accept that she was real.
"We thought we'd never see you again," he said, clearly relieved that he had been wrong. "How did you get back?"
"These people rescued me from the Kazon," Kes nodded toward the landing party. "And now I'm trying to help them find two of their crewmen who have been abducted by the Caretaker." She looked around. "Does anyone know where the aliens are kept? The ones the Caretaker sends here?"
There was a moment of awkward silence, the joyfulness of the young Ocampa blown away in an instant. Could it be that they are afraid of the alien on the Array? Tom Paris wondered. But why would they fear him? The entity seems to go out of his way to protect them…
"I think they might be at the central clinic," Daggin finally said. "At least that's what Pharin tells me… That aliens with strange diseases have been sent to them frequently in recent times." Turning to the strangers, he added. "Pharin is my wife, and she works there as a nurse. But I haven't seen her for several days and don't know if there are any aliens right now."
That he was married surprised Tom, as he didn't look older than a sixteen or seventeen years old boy. But the Ocampa probably didn't have any other chance but to grow up and procreate very quickly, if they didn't want to become extinct.
With renewed hope, Janeway touched Kes' shoulder; the girl flinched but didn't protest. "Can you take us there?"
No, a deep, forbidding voice sounded in their heads, the tone positively angry; it seemed to come out of nowhere. She cannot.
Tuvok alone was able to localize the speaker behind the farmers – two elderly Ocampa males, one as round and grounded as the young people were thin and fairy-like, the other one rather fragile – wearing long grey robes with a strange hood that covered the lower part of their faces as well. The tall and thin elder pushed his way gently through the small crowd and scrutinized Kes with a disapproving frown – one that was returned by the girl in equal measure.
"They can't speak mind-to-mind, Toscat," she said angrily but not without respect; it was an interesting mix. "Please talk aloud."
A whole race of telepaths! Just what we needed, Chakotay thought sourly, checking on his mental shields. Despite contrary belief, it was possible for a non-telepath to shut out mind-readers. It demanded a great deal of mental discipline, of course, but as a result of his spirit walks Chakotay had more than enough of that. Nothing helped against a particularly strong telepath, naturally, but those were rare, even among Vulcans or Betazoids. Most such gifts were pretty average, and he could deal with those.
His gaze met Toscat's pale eyes and he saw respect and surprise in them. As if the Ocampa hadn't expected that someone would be able to block his intrusion. It probably didn't happen often.
"I didn't meant to be rude," Toscat said slowly, obviously not used to speak loudly. "But you should not be here."
"We'll be glad to leave," Janeway replied coldly. "Once we find our crewmen."
The pale cheeks of the elderly Ocampa reddened at once. Despite his own shields firmly in place, Chakotay could clearly feel Toscat's profound unhappiness.
"That won't be possible," the old man finally said, his eyes begging their understanding. "We cannot interfere with the Caretaker's wishes."
Chakotay had had enough. After all the trouble they had gone through to find this place at all, he was not going to back off now. Not before he found B'Elanna.
"Maybe you can't," he snorted, "but we can."
The Ocampa elder shook his head sadly. "You don't understand…"
"That's right," Kes interrupted impatiently, anger colouring her delicate face. "They don't understand. How could they understand? They have no way of knowing that we have been dependent on the Caretaker for so long that we can't even think for ourselves any longer. They don't understand we were once a people who had full command of our mind's abilities…"
"Child," Toscat sighed, "the stories of our ancestors' cognitive abilities are a myth. At the very least, they are greatly exaggerated."
"We lost those abilities," Kes was unwilling to let herself be silenced again. "Because we stopped using them!"
Toscat rubbed his face tiredly, and Chakotay asked himself just how many times the Ocampa elder might have had to lead this very same discussion with younger people.
"We should not dwell on what's been lost but on all that's been gained," he said.
"Yes," for the very first time, Kes' gentle voice lacked all respect and her tone bordered on disdain. "We've gained a talent for dependence. For simply taking what we're given." She shook her head in open defiance. "I'm going to help them Toscat, whether you like it or not. And I think my friends will join me."
"I'll go with you," Daggin offered. "I want to see Pharin anyway, and she may be able to help us find those people."
He looked around expectantly, but the other farmers couldn't find the courage to defy their elder any more than they had already done. Toscat shook his head sadly.
"You defied the Caretaker by going to the surface, Kes," he warned, and Chakotay wondered whether it was the alien's custom to deal out punishment to those who were disobedient. "Learn from the experience. Follow the path he has set for us."
Or else you might make him angry, was the underlying message, and Chakotay could tell that the elder was genuinely concerned.
Kes must have felt it, too, because she smiled at the old man gently. "I have learned very well, Toscat. I saw the sunlight!"
Groans of almost painful longing ran through the group of young farmers, and Tom Paris' heart contracted in sympathy. He could still remember prison very well – how he had volunteered for every shitty job, just to be able to get out of his suffocating cell and to be in the sun, where the wind would move freely. He couldn't even imagine spending his whole life in a cave – even if said cave was huge enough to house a whole city.
"I can't believe our Caretaker would forbid us to open our eyes and see the sky," Kes continued gently. "But if he really does… then he is probably not as benevolent as we have always been told."
"He keeps us here for our own safety," Toscat argued. "Why can't you young people understand that?"
"Oh, we do understand it all right," Daggin answered in Kes' stead. "We just don't want it anymore. He looked at the landing party and made an inviting gesture with his hands. "Come with me. We'll find your people."
He spun with determination, leading Kes, the strangers and a few of his friends who had gathered enough courage to follow him, down through the gardens, towards the city.
Chakotay stopped for the moment next to the elder who wrung his hands in the front of his shape- and colourless robe and shook his head unhappily.
"It is the prerogative of youth to rebel against the rules of the old," the Maquis leader said not without sympathy, remembering the bitter arguments with his own father. Toscat sighed.
"Do you think I wouldn't know that? It has happened before – and it always ended badly. The surface is too harsh for us to survive. We simply don't live long enough to fight the desert. And the Caretaker is unable – or unwilling – to support us in any other way but this. We had to arrange ourselves with what we are given… or perish."
"I'd like to hear more about this," Chakotay said, "Would you not come with us, so that we can talk on the way?" Seeing Toscat hesitate, he added, "At least you could keep an eye on the young ones."
"Very well," after a moment of hesitation, Toscat fell in step on his side, "what do you want to know?"
"I don't even know where to begin," Chakotay admitted. "How long have your people lived underground?"
Toscat sighed, the longing now unmistakable in his voice. "For over five hundred generations."
"But that would be…" Chakotay made a quick calculation in his head, "more than four thousand five hundred years!"
"No," Toscat corrected, "it's about half that time. We don't procreate until shortly before we reach the end of our first cycle."
Chakotay gave him a blank look. "I don't know what you mean."
"A cycle is the time our planet needs for a full circle around its sun," Toscat explained patiently, "and it is half as long as the average life span of an Ocampa."
"So you don't actually live nine years?" Chakotay asked. Toscat smiled.
"Most of us live exactly two local cycles… although there are small differences. The Kazon, however, measure time differently. It was the Kazon who told you we lived nine 'years', wasn't it?"
"Well, I can't be sure how they count," Chakotay said thoughtfully, "but I believe it was our universal translator that calculated your lifespan using our own metric system, based on context."
"That's most likely," Toscat nodded. "In that case it seems that – as you would say – we have lived here for over two thousand years."
"But before that you lived on the surface, didn't you?" Chakotay asked. "We've seen the ruins of your ancient cities along the banks of what must have been once a great river."
"The river Jalad," Toscat nodded with a wistful smile. "Yes, we have lived along its banks, among green fields and lush forests… Until the Warming began.
"The Warming?" Chakotay repeated, seeing that his guess about a natural disaster had been correct."
"When the surface turned into a desert and the Caretaker came to protect us," Toscat explained. They had reached the border of the city, and Chakotay stared with interest at the walkways and ramps and mechanized stairways that glittered back and forth between the buildings. Toscat selected one of the many moving walkways and gestured Chakotay to follow him.
They stepped onto the walkway and it carried them towards the centre of the city with moderate speed. It was barely faster than walking afoot, and Chakotay didn't really understand why these walkways were necessary at all, except for old and sick people; they only consumed energy that could be used for more important things. But perhaps living underground had weakened the Ocampa as a whole, and they needed to save their strength.
"Our ancient journals tell us that the Caretaker opened a deep chasm in the ground," Toscat continued in the routine manner of someone who had told the very same story countless times. Maybe he had. Maybe it was the duty of the elders to teach the young people their own history. "He led our ancestors to this place and has provided for all our needs ever since."
"Or what he considered your needs to be," Chakotay said, looking around. The buildings showed the same odd lack of colour as the entity's control room had on the Array, with the not insignificant difference that the alien himself was able to create any holographic environment he wanted, while the Ocampa were sentenced to live under these rather dull conditions.
Apparently, their arrival provided the Ocampa with some much-needed inspiration, because Chakotay became aware of the presence of other people – and quite a few of them at that. As he stepped down from the moving walkway in Toscat's trail, he discovered a small crowd of Ocampa, wearing he same colourless robes as the elder, staring at him with open amazement. They exchanged quick glances among themselves – Chakotay had no doubt that they exchanged mental messages as well, the same way as non-telepathic species would make audible remarks. Some of them gave him shy, hesitating smiles, and he smiled back at them. It was impossible not to like these quiet, timid people. It was not their fault that the alien – who proclaimed himself their Caretaker – had no sense of ethics.
"Please forgive them," Toscat's pale cheeks coloured in embarrassment. "They know you've met the Caretaker. None of us has ever seen him. This way, please."
"As far as I am concerned, meeting him was not a pleasant affair," Chakotay shrugged, following the elder who pushed his way gently through the long line of people who stood in a queue, silently and patiently. "He is an interesting sight to behold, he and his Array, I would give him that much, but he is neither friendly, nor forthcoming."
"I'd like to hear more about what you have seen," Toscat admitted, leading him towards a softly lighted plaza that was filled with people already. "Would you care to join me on the courtyard for a meal? We could discuss things of mutual interest while eating."
"I'd love to," Chakotay said, "but I have to find my engineer first."
"The others can do that for you," Toscat argued. "And they will come back this way. I'll tell Daggin that they should meet you here, by the food dispensers. Please, it is important that your people and mine reach an understanding."
"Just a moment," Chakotay touched the Starfleet-issue comm badge, borrowed from Voyager for the extent of this mission. "Chakotay to Janeway."
"Go ahead," came her voice.
"Captain, it seems that Toscat, the Ocampa elder wants to discuss matters of their history with me. Could you meet us in the courtyard on your way back? Toscat tells me the young Ocampa will know where it is."
A moment silence, then Janeway answered. "All right, Mr. Chakotay. We'll pick you up there. Janeway out."
Toscat sighed in obvious relief. "Please, follow me. Our food dispensers are right this way.
Chakotay did as he was told, and they slowly made their way through the various lines of people criss-crossing the courtyard. The Maquis leader noticed that some of the lines didn't move at all.
"Is there something amiss?" he asked.
Toscat tilted his head to one side, listening to some wordless mental conversation – then he sighed again, this time in resignation. "It seems that one of the food dispensers has failed again. The service attendant must be busy elsewhere."
"Does it mean that you are actually able to repair your own technology if necessary?" Chakotay asked, not quite understanding why he was so surprised. After all, the Ocampa must have had some technology before the so-called Warming hit them.
"Of course," Toscat replied, a little insulted. "What do you think we are, ignorant fools? If our lives were longer, we…" he switched to mindspeak as if he didn't want anyone else to hear him, we might not need a Caretaker at all.
Chakotay, excellent tactician that he was, understood the dilemma all too well. Facing a completely new situation after the disaster demanded time. A lot of time – for adapting, for finding new ways to survive under the slowly worsening conditions, to preserve water, to grow food. The Ocampa simply didn't live long enough for that. No matter how quickly they learned and adapted, their lives were not long enough to work their ways through the inevitable throwbacks of new experiments. That was why they had become dependant on their Caretaker. And that was the only condition not even the alien could change.
The patiently waiting Ocampa gave way to Toscat – apparently, being in a higher position was an advantage, even among these gentle folks – and the elder went straight to the front of one of the lines, reached around the first person in that particular queue and lifted a sliding door to an innocuous wall unit so he could pull out two trays of moist, textureless food. It looked like guacamole, minus the green colour – it was as grey as most things in this underground city, and if the neutral smell was any indication, it hadn't seen the necessary spices, either.
"Does the Caretaker provide your meals too?" asked Chakotay sarcastically.
Toscat smiled, seeing his lack of enthusiasm, and led him off the plaza towards row after row of neat, grey tables. "In fact, he does. He designed and built this entire city for us after the Warming. The food processors dispense nutritional supplements every four-point-one intervals." He looked at his own plate, his smile fading away, and added with a wistful sigh, "It may not offer the exotic tastes some of our younger people crave these days, but it meets our needs."
Just like this whole place here, Chakotay realized. This has been designed for survival – nothing more. The alien provides all that is necessary to keep their bodies alive but doesn't see – or doesn't care – that their souls wither and die in this underground prison.
"It's not that bad," he said, trying the indefinite food, which was the truth. The food was not bad – that would have probably been better. It had no taste whatsoever. None at all. It was like guacamole without any spices.
"What is guacamole?" Toscat asked, picking up a stray, unguarded thought.
"Avocado paste," Chakotay explained, and seeing the other's blank face, he added. "Avocado is a fruit from Earth, the planet of origin for many of us. The fruit itself tastes bland, but made into a paste and mixed with strong spices it could be a delicacy. In fact," he pointed at the food with his spoon," this could be made a delicacy with just the right spices. My mother had a fantastic recipe for guacamole, and I think this food would work nicely with her additions."
"Before the Warming, our people grew their own food and prepared it according to their individual tastes, or so it's said," Toscat sighed, "but that was when our world still looked like that."
Chakotay looked into said direction and discovered huge monitors, as long and tall as the main viewscreen of a Galaxy-class starship, hanging above the sprawl of tables. They showed in lush pictures the long-lost beauty of the planet: oceans and rivers of exquisite majesty; great forests and grassy planes, reaching from one snow-topped mountain to the other; graceful hers of small, antelope-like animals dancing on the planes; fragile birds sailing over the waters…
All around the eating zone, the quiet Ocampa studied the ever-changing pictures with an expression of almost painful longing on their pale faces. While understanding the necessity of keeping at lest some connection to one's roots, Chakotay found it cruel to remind these poor people constantly of what they had lost, without any hope of regaining it.
"Is this how the Caretaker communicates with you?" he asked with a frown.
"He never communicates directly," a new voice answered, and a middle-aged Ocampa male with a gentle, deeply lined face and thinning grey hair stopped at their table. "We try to interpret his wishes as best we can."
Toscat looked up at the newcomer with a fond, although surprised, smile.
"Bruthir, my dear friend! Please, join us," turning to Chakotay he added, "Bruthir is a doctor and works in the central clinic."
"That comes in handy," Chakotay nodded his greetings to the Ocampa doctor. "Then you might be able to explain to me your Caretaker's reason for abducting our people."
The doctor twirled a fork-like eating utensil in his own indefinable mass of 'nutritional supplements' thoughtfully. "We believe he must have separated them from your species for your own protection."
"Our protection?" Chakotay thought of the heavy casualties on both ships, of the wounded, of Yosa and Chell and Bendera, suffering from some weird illness and suspected that the Ocampa had no idea what was really going on on the Array.
"Why, from their illness, of course," the doctor answered in surprise, confirming his suspicion. "Perhaps he is trying to prevent a plague."
"Our people weren't sick until they met your Caretaker," Chakotay pointed out grimly, now certain that B'Elanna and the young Starfleet Ensign must be suffering from the same illness as Bendera and the others. The poor doctor looked slightly crestfallen, but Chakotay was not in the mood to spare his feelings. "Why would he send our people to you if he thought this was an infectious disease?"
"He must know we are immune," the doctor was clearly guessing. "From time to time, he asks us to care for people with this disease. It's the least we can do to repay..."
"Wait a minute!" Chakotay interrupted. "There have been others before our people? With the same illness?"
The doctor nodded, as if that were the most natural thing he could have asked. "Yes."
"Where are they?"
"This condition is very serious," the doctor sighed. "Treating visitors is always difficult, no matter how careful and clever we try to be. We don't know exactly how to treat it. I'm afraid the others did not recover."
"The head nurse of Voyager has found a cure for the illness," Chakotay said. "Once our people are back aboard the ship, they might be saved. But time is an important factor. We have to take them back, as soon as possible."
Toscat shook his head, the fear emanating from him almost touchable. "The Caretaker won't like that…"
"But I would like to see that cure," the doctor said eagerly. "Toscat, I wish to visit their hospital and learn to treat this condition if I can. Maybe so we could save the next visitors the Caretaker sends to us."
Toscat wrung his hands nervously. "You can't be serious! What if you get in trouble on the surface, just like Kes?"
"I am serious!" the doctor said with emphasis. "If this illness can be healed, I want to learn how to heal it. Besides, these people obviously didn't get into any trouble. I'll be safe with them."
They looked into each other's eyes for endless moments, and Chakotay could only guess what kind of wordless conversation could have passed between the two of them. Finally Toscat's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"I could never talk you out of anything you wanted to do."
The doctor touched his shoulder gently. "I'll be careful. I promise. And I'll be back in time. But this is something I simply have to do."
"In time for what?" Chakotay asked, a little suspiciously. Toscat gave him a strangely forgiving smile that somehow reminded him of his grandfather.
"For my farewell. I have recently fulfilled my second cycle. It's time for me to return to the soil of which the stuff of my body has been taken."
"You mean you are going to die?" Chakotay tried to set things straight. Toscat nodded.
"Most of us don't even reach that age anymore. But those few who do won't burden our society beyond their scheduled time."
"Scheduled time?" Chakotay repeated, not willing to believe his ears. "Does it mean that you are not allowed to live longer than nine years?"
"When we were first brought here, there existed such regulation indeed," the doctor explained, "as the city could only nurture a certain size of population. But that's the past. Our numbers are dwindling dangerously, and every single one of us is needed. That's why we try keeping our young people from endangering themselves in foolish actions."
"Why are you planning to take your own life then?" Chakotay looked at the Ocampa elder incredulously. Toscat shook his head.
"I am not. In most cases, finishing the second cycle is the natural end of our lives. I can feel my strength waning as we speak, even though I seem to belong to a minority that lives beyond two full cycles. We know the signs. I won't live any longer than another brucen. Probably less. Nothing can change that."
Chakotay frowned as the universal translator capitulated against the strange expression. "What is a brucen?"
"A unit for measuring time," the doctor said. "When we still lived on the surface, a brucen meant ten local days. We kept these measures even here, so that we can have an artificial rhythm of daytime and nighttime."
"I see," Chakotay paused, watching the silent crowd for a while. "Then something occurred to him. "Am I imagining things or are there really no older women among your people? I can see girls and young women, but all older people seem to be male."
"That is correct, unfortunately," the doctor nodded. "Living under the earth had weakened our women a lot more than it has us. For example, for the last fifty generations, no woman was able to give birth more than once. A few fortunate ones have twins, but the majority of the married couples have only one child."
"Spirits!" Chakotay had five siblings and couldn't imagine growing up without them. "No wonder your numbers are dwindling!"
"And that's not all," the doctor continued sadly. "Many women aren't even strong enough to survive childbirth anymore. My own wife died by the birth of our daughter, and Toscat was even more unfortunate: he lost his unborn son, too."
"That's terrible! Did you never remarry?"
"No. It's in our nature that we have only one spouse in our whole life. Besides, we have to keep the gene pool as variable as possible, to avoid inbreeding and degeneration."
"So what are you doing?" Chakotay asked. "Spending the rest of your lives alone? That's a sorry existence."
"It would be, if we did so," the doctor agreed. "But few of us choose a lonely life. Usually, when one's wife dies, the widower chooses a male consort after the period of mourning." He smiled at Toscat fondly. "We have been together for half a cycle by now and raised my daughter together."
"This is a spiritual and emotional bond, mostly," Toscat added, "as with the end of the elogium – which is our mating period – our other urges become dormant. Permanently. The rest of our lives is spent with the raising and teaching of our children and in the service of our society."
Chakotay shook his head in amazement, finding the whole concept slightly bewildering, though not completely unheard of. After all, wasn't the Vulcans mating cycle something similar? Before he could find any proper answer, however, his comm badge chirped.
"Janeway to Chakotay."
He touched his badge. "Go ahead."
"It seems that we have a problem," Janeway told him. "Apparently, our people have left the clinic hours ago, in a heroic attempt to break out. We must search the city for them, Daggin says. Ask people if anyone has seen them."
"I see. Where can I join you?"
"Stay where you are right now. We'll pick you up in a minute."
"Understood. Chakotay out." He broke the connection and turned to the doctor. "You work at that clinic. When did you last see our people?"
"We had morning meal together," the Ocampa replied. "In fact, we parted ways with them right here, in the dining zone."
"Where have they gone afterwards?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell. We considered them patients, not prisoners. As long as they were not violent, they could move all over the city freely."
"Not violent?" Chakotay laughed. "B'Elanna? I'm sure she gave you a tough time."
"The female patient was a little… difficult," the doctor admitted. "But her male companion seemed to have a calming influence on her."
Chakotay whistled. "Now, that's something I have to see – a man who can tame B'Elanna Torres. That would be a first."
"I hope you will find them in time," the doctor said gravely.
At the same time Seska stood in Maje Jabin's tent, in the middle of the Kazon settlement – if the unruly arrangement of poor accommodations could be called a settlement in the first place. She had beamed down as soon as Chakotay had left Voyager, not waiting for dusk, despite her Captain's orders. She assumed that everyone would be busy watching the landing party's lifesigns anyway. Besides, she was skilled enough to camouflage the transporter beam, so that it would not set off the alarm on Voyager's sensors. This ship might have been better than anything the crew of the Crazy Horse could ever dream of, but Voyager was a new ship, with a new (and decimated) crew, no match for her Maquis tricks.
She had updated the universal translator with the records of the first encounter with Jabin's people and even made the effort to learn the pronunciation and the correct manner of addressing the Maje in his own language. She had always had a good ear for languages, and experience had taught her the advantage of greeting new people according to their own customs.
And indeed, Maje Jabin seemed impressed, though not a bit less suspicious. At least he declared himself willing to hear Seska out, instead of killing her on the spot. That was all Seska really needed: a foothold.
"First of all," she began, "I want to tell you that we are not all the same. As you have undoubtedly realized already, we are two different groups of people. The uniformed ones are Starfleet people – and though many of them are the species as we are, they are not our friends. In fact, they have been sent out to hunt us down."
"Then why are you cooperating with them?" Jabin asked, his suspicions increasing.
Seska shrugged.
"At this moment, we share the same fate. We all have been brought here against our will by the alien that dwells on that Array in space. We hope to find a way home, and we have a better chance if we unite our efforts. But it does not mean that we think everything the Starfleet people do is right. Like destroying precious water."
She paused, letting Jabin have time to process the information for a while. Then she added in an almost casual manner.
"To show our goodwill, we are willing to replace the water that has been destroyed."
Jabin leaned forward openly. "You, too, have the technology to make water out of thin air?"
"No," Seska said promptly, determinedly. "Nor have the others. That little toad has lied to you. The technology, with which we make water, is an energy-transforming device; and making things with it requires big amounts of raw energy that we have to replace regularly. That is why we don't have unlimited supplies of water, food, clothing… of anything. Just like your ships won't fly without fuel, our transforming devices won't work without consuming energy, either. We have to be careful with their use."
"And yet you are willing to replace our water?" Jabin shook his head, clearly not believing her. "Why would you do that?"
"Because we need allies," Seska replied. "Strong ones – and you are strong, aren't you?"
"We control this whole sector," Jabin said with a shrug. "Is that strong enough for you?"
"I hope so," Seska answered, "because we need our united strength if we want to force the alien to send us back home again."
"He won't do that," Jabin snorted.
"Not willingly anyway," Seska agreed. "But we can work out a plan to trick him into doing so –together. And even if we can't, if we have to seek out another way home, we'll need a strong alliance to get through this sector unharmed."
"And why should I help you?" Jabin asked, completely untouched by her flattery.
"Because if we can get what we need, I'll see that you get one or two of our transforming devices," Seska promised. "I'll teach you how to use them and how to keep anyone else from using them. As long as you can provide enough energy, your people will never lack water again. Or food. Or clothing."
Jabin thought about this for quite some time. He had not become the Maje of his people by being an idiot – in fact, he was a shrewd and merciless man, more so than most. Which meant that not only did he understand what a near-unlimited source of water would mean for his position among the other sect leaders, he also realized that he must not trust this strange alien woman completely. Her eyes made him uncomfortable – they reminded him of a desert snake.
Still, the offer was too good to reject. After the recent near-fiasco, he needed to strengthen his position. He knew the alien woman was trying to use him for her own purposes, but he had the same intention, so finding a worthy adversary didn't bother him at all.
"Very well, he finally said. "I'll give this… alliance a try. But I won't let you make a fool out of me." He stepped to the entrance of his tent and barked out, "Rettik!"
A young Kazon, thinner and even more worn out than the average, stepped in and waited for his orders. Jabin turned to Seska again.
"This is Rettik – a youngster without a sect, without a warrior's name. He is nothing – a Goven, an outcast. He will accompany you on that ship of yours and keep an eye on you. If this alliance is a success, he will be accepted into our sect and achieve his true name. If not, he will die in shame. So, don't even think of playing tricks on him. He has nothing to lose – and everything to win that makes a Kazon's life worthwhile. Try to cheat him, and he will kill you in a heartbeat."
Seska looked into the fiery dark eyes of the young Kazon and knew that Rettik would do everything Jabin had told him – or die trying. She didn't intend to tell Jabin that his little wannabe-assassin was no match for her, of course. It was best if the Maje thought he had her in the palm of his hand.
"Agreed," she said simply. "No tricks. I'll arrange for the water replacement now, and then I'll return to my ship. Rettik can come with me right away."
TBC