Chapter Four
Amara
Harry Kim
A strong, healthy child. That was what we all wanted for B'Elanna and Tom, and that is what they received. A beautiful boy who's screams were enough to wake the whole camp when he was born.
And though life was tough, tougher now that it had ever been before, as the months went on and we followed our same routine, we began to rediscover some sort of joy. Me? I encountered Ensign Tallerae at the river one morning, after a long time where I had no courage to say anything to her about how she made me feel. And whether it was because the day was warm and the crops were growing, I don't know, but I found myself carrying her across the river. And then she kissed me, and then, well. And then it was beautiful.
We were warned about creating a tribe, the Captain was very insistent that we should be careful about settling on the planet, forgetting who we were and where we came from. Becoming acclimatised, I suppose. But with no way of signalling passing vessels and with no way of leaving, I guess it was only natural that we would settle. And everyone, even the Captain needed someone to hold them when the nightmare faces of those with the Disease haunted our dreams.
Yes, it was not what I had wanted from life. But sometimes you have to make the best of it. And we did. Except for Sam, maybe. The years dealt her blow after blow, and as we all seemed to pair off and begin having children, we all prayed that we would not become like Sam. Selfish, of course..Something I didn't think I was until we were put here. But even so, as much as we helped her, we were family, we were all so relieved it had not happened to us, to our children.
Sam Wildman
She screamed. That wordless noise. She was five now, and had what? Stopped breathing twenty times in five years? At least. Every time Tom fought to bring her back, every time he did, every time she came back a little less. A little more damaged, a little less of herself.
And now she lies there, on that beanbag. It was so kind of Chakotay to make it for her, when he came to see us one day and saw her lying on a blanket on the floor. He had no idea she could no longer sit up by herself, or hold herself up until he saw her. He spoke to her in his kind, soft voice, being happy, telling her nice things. But I could hear the sadness in his voice, I could hear his emotion. And I've felt it myself, so much. My darling, perfect child, now just a shell. No body and no mind, destroyed by the lack of oxygen.
At first it was allright, she lost a little bit, then more. But it was still alright, as long as she could communicate. But Tom didn't know, or maybe he didn't tell me that, as she got more and more damaged, she would be more and more prone to attacks. The last time, the Captain held me so I would not interfere, I wanted so badly for him to stop, to let her go. But he brought her back, and all she does is scream and cry. She is trapped in her prison of a body. My beautiful Naomi, lying on a bag by the fire, waiting to die. And they all help me care for her, they all come in with food and care. But it's not them in the middle of the night who answers her screams. Who sits forcing porridge and mush into her mouth to keep her alive, knowing that if she fails to swallow, it may kill her. It's time for her to go, but I can't murder her.
She screams again. I don't know what she wants, she doesn't know what she wants. She wants to be free. She wants to move her head, she wants to tell me something, and she can't. And sometimes I look in her eyes and I see the same fear that those with the Disease had. I run outside to be sick, it was so, so bad to see that. I take her outside to see the birds, in the hope it makes her less frightened. I'm her mother, I want to fix her, I want to make it all OK. And I can't. Yes, if we were on Voyager, if we were there with the Doctor and Sickbay, she would be fine. She would be perfect again. But we are not, and we never will be again. And so my little girl carries on being trapped in her body.
God, I love her. She's all I ever wanted, she's all I ever hoped for. I was so afraid when I first found out I was pregnant, then it was wonderful. It wasn't supposed to end like this. She was perfect, she was supposed to stay perfect. When she was ill, there was supposed to always be someone there to save her. Even when we were abandoned by the Kazon, someone was there to save her. She was a child of the stars, she was the hope of Voyager. And now. Voyager blown to pieces, her crew dead in the most horrible way and the Hope? The hope lying crippled on a beanbag in front of a fire, like a toy, thrown aside by a spoiled child.
You know, though Earth stopped being religious way back in the 22nd Century, we still read the old books. And Naomi was from one book. Naomi, meaning pleasant. But there was a whole chapter in this book about Naomi. A bitter, angry chapter, but a chapter about loyalty too. But why, why did I forget the one verse which stood out at me every time I read it as part of my Academy studies?
""Do not call me Naomi; call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt very bitterly with me. I went out full, and the Lord has brought me home again empty. Why do you call me Naomi, since the Lord has testified against me, and the Almighty has afflicted me?"
And Naomi is afflicted. And I am bitter, like Mara. Bitter that everything I was promised has been taken away on the whim of a scientist. The whim of a lizard, a dinosaur. If she would come here, the First Minister or whoever she is, I would bring her in here to meet my daughter. I would make her clean Naomi now she can't control herself any more, make her feed Naomi. Make her live my life, the life she punished me with. She never met me, but she has thrown this life onto me without a second thought. My friends are dead, my child is dying and I am lost.
Chakotay
I would hear Sam weep sometimes, and know that there was nothing I could do. I sometimes take Naomi away, just for a while, just to give Sam a rest. We go and look at the birds, at the wild animals. We used to, now I look and she stares blankly into space. Tom thinks she may no longer be able to see, but sometimes I think she sees more than all of us. But her little body is broken, and it can only be a matter of time.
Life seems so cruel sometimes. That Damien, B'Elanna and Tom's child has done so well, but Harry and Aisha lost their child at birth. That some of us survived the Disease which took Tuvok so cruelly. I can't allow myself to feel guilt about this, but every day I wonder whether this was my doing. That the decisions I made when I was with Gagen led to this. My pride, my enlightenment mind was our collective downfall. I fight those feelings every day, I cannot afford to be consumed by them, if I did, I could no longer live, and I am needed here, in some way. Gagen could not resist, and I am sure that his guilt made his experiences as he died so much worse than the horrors seen by others.
It is ending now, that much is certain. The dream that was Voyager is coming to an end. There are nineteen of us now after five years, and three children. I do not know how it will end for us here, I hope it is gentle, for the sake of the children, for the sake of the Captain. Nothing here is gentle, not the rain, not the wind, not the cold, not the illnesses. Nothing. Surely this planet owes us a gentle death, a peaceful resolution? I ask Spirit for guidance, but Spirit is silent. And with Spirit silent, with nothing to guide us, surely we must fall.