Lotos Days
By Penny A. Proctor

Day 7 Gunrath

Life on the island wasn't that bad, Harry thought as he dutifully followed his supervisor down the street. He had decent living quarters, and already begun making friends. His neighbor, a blonde-furred Minenne named Esla, had taken him under her wing and introduced him to her circle of friends. They were about his age, and a couple of them were musicians. Harry had discovered that he liked music, and was trying to write a song for one his new friends to play. He'd even seen a couple of members of his own species across the lane at the grocer's, but he hadn't met them yet. He figured he would introduce himself the next time he saw them.

Things on the job had just taken a giant leap forward. Initially, he had been assigned to the communications array assembly line, working grueling ten hour shifts with antiquated robotics and waldoes to construct delicate chips. Just this morning, though, his supervisor had told him to leave the line and report to the maintenance team. He was now a trouble-shooter and repair expert, spending his days moving from place to place instead of indoors in the assembly line. Yeah, life wasn't so bad.

Corgish, the pudgy, bald Grevel-Ash prisoner assigned as his job trainer, stopped suddenly. "Here we are."

"Central Administration?"

"Their equipment is just as bad as the rest of the island," Corgish said cheerfully. He was almost always cheerful. "We aren't a priority for the Oligarchs when they approve the annual budget." He led Harry through the lobby to a door of gold-toned filigree, which slid open as his touch and revealed a lift. "Third floor."

Harry looked around the narrow chamber. "This thing is an antique."

"I prefer to think of it as a classic," Corgish said with a grin. "Look, the only way to be successful in this job is to be invisible. I mean, you have to be quiet and kind of blend in with the scenery. Do that, and you can learn a lot. A lot. But if you call attention to yourself, you'll be back on the assembly line before you know it." The lift stopped suddenly, tossing them both off balance. "Third floor. Here we are."

They heard the voices as soon as they stepped off the lift. Harry stopped as he heard the unforgettable cut-crystal voice of Dr. Vela say, "Don't fight me, Hrano."

Corgish held up one hand, signaling Harry to remain quiet. His eyes were dancing with delight.

"I'm not fighting," came the weary voice of the corrections officer. "But you're asking me to approve an unbudgeted expenditure. I just want to understand."

"All you have to understand is that I need a new molecular scanner." Vela's snappish tone softened suddenly, becoming almost a purr. "If you approve it, we can all be happy. If you don't, well, the next time I see the General I just might have to mention how chummy you're getting with the prisoners. I don't think he'd like that. I don't think he'd like that at all."

"She wins," Corgish whispered. "She always wins."

In a moment, Dr. Vela sauntered out of Hrano's office, smiling broadly and carrying a datapad. She passed Corgish and Harry without acknowledging their presence, and Corgish looked relieved. "Like I told you," he said. "Invisible."

He started toward Hrano's office, and Harry followed dutifully. The door was open, and the corrections officer was sitting at his desk, with his head balanced on the palm of his hands. He looked up when Corgish cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"Computer maintenance, sir. You put in a work order?"

"Oh. Right. The stupid thing crashed again. See what you can do for it." He rose, and snatched his jacket from the back of his chair. "I'll be back in an hour."

To Harry's surprise, he stopped directly in front of him. "Harry, isn't it?" Hrano asked. "You just arrived."

"A week ago," Harry said.

"And promoted to maintenance already?" Hrano looked at him thoughtfully. "You must be good."

"Yes, sir," Corgish said. "One of the best we've seen."

Hrano looked at him for several seconds, long enough that Harry began to feel uncomfortable. Then he pulled his jacket on with a jerk and said, "Get to it," and walked out.

"That was weird," Harry said.

"Oh, Hrano's not bad," Corgish said. "Truth be told, I think he may actually give a damn about us, which is more than you can say for Vela or the others. Come on, let's see what's giving his computer fits."

Day 9

The sudden beeping on the shuttle bay control console caused Kathryn to look up. Emanni was sitting on the floor, holding her head with both hands. "What's wrong?" Kathryn asked, hurrying over.

"Nothing – the controls – a shuttle's coming-"

Frowning, Kathryn went to the console and entered the commands to permit one of the robotic cargo shuttles to dock, then knelt beside her friend. Emanni's eyes were normally a deep gold but the shade varied with her mood and now they were frighteningly pale. "Don't tell me nothing's wrong. Your eyes have turned almost white."

"It's just a headache," she whispered.

"That's more than 'just' a headache. I'm going to call the medic."

"No." Emanni gripped her wrist tightly. "Don't."

Kathryn studied her closely. "You're frightened. Why?"

"I – sometimes I remember things, Kathryn. Little things that don't make sense, but I know they're memories. If the medics find out, they'll either transfer me to a different facility or try another wipe. I don't want to lose what I've got here."

"Is that what happened? You just remembered something?"

"Yes. I was on a ship, looking at a navigation console. That's all." She smiled weakly. "Help me up. I'm the supervisor – I can't be taking a break when a shuttle's coming in. I'm all right."

Her eyes were regaining color, Kathryn saw and reluctantly helped her stand. She placed both of her friend's hands on the console. "All right. You supervise. I'll do the work."

The process of loading the transport shuttle took nearly an hour and Kathryn had to concentrate the entire time in order to cover her role and Emanni's. By the time she finished, though, Emanni had recovered substantially. She was able to stand without gripping the console and her eyes were the soft yellow color of butter. As the fully loaded ship departed, she turned to Kathryn. "Thank you. You did a fine job."

"Emanni –"

"Kathryn, I have to ask you to forget what I told you. It is dangerous for me to have said it, and for you to have heard it."

"But surely –"

"I mean it, Kathryn. Now let's get back to work. We have the manifest for tomorrow's shipment. Confirm the inventory."

The clipped tone was so unlike her friend that Kathryn could not be offended. Emanni was obviously deeply troubled.

Chakotay was waiting for her at the end of shift, standing near the factory exit despite the soft, persistent rain. It had become their habit to meet there and walk together, sometimes to stop at the grocers, sometimes to share a drink with others from work, sometimes simply to go far as her apartment building; his was two buildings beyond. She smiled when she saw him. "I thought the rain might scare you away," she said, linking her arm through his.

He wore a waterproof jacket but he was not using the hood and his bare head was soaked. "Feels good, actually. The environmental system was acting up today, and it was hotter than an oven."

"Did they get it fixed?" She frowned; he worked in the fuel pod injection assembly, and heat was dangerous for the volatile liquid.

"More or less. It never reached the red zone." He looked down at her. "What about you? Tough day?"

She hesitated. Although Emanni had begged her not to tell anyone what happened, it didn't feel right keeping a secret from Chakotay. Since that first night, they had met every day after work just to talk. Living without a past, she had discovered, was not merely frustrating but also isolating, and the connection she and Chakotay were forging was increasingly important to her. "Something odd happened," she said slowly. "Emanni thought she had a flash of memory."

He stopped short and looked at her intently. "She remembered something?"

"Possibly. At first she thought so, but then she said it was just an hallucination brought on by a killer headache." She bit her lip. "She was terrified, really terrified, that her memory might come back. Part of it was that she thinks she'll be sent away if she remembers, but part of her is afraid of what she might have been or done before."

"There is that." He began walking again, although more slowly. "Don't you ever worry that you're befriending a serial killer?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she said lightly.

"I asked first," he replied, and she realized he was serious.

"No, I'm not worried. If you were violent by nature or even just plain mean, I'd have seen it by now. " She sighed. "Maybe the Gunrath'u are on to something. If we were forced into bad choices by circumstances, perhaps it's easier to start over with a clean slate."

"You sound like you're accepting this."

"Maybe I'm just getting used to the idea."

He shook his head. "I wish I could say the same. The idea of someone else controlling my thoughts, my memories – it makes me angry. It's not right, Kathryn. No matter what their motivation is, it's just not right. What if they made a mistake? Did you ever wonder if perhaps you were innocent?"

"Sometimes," Kathryn said slowly, "when I try to think about before, I feel ... I can't explain it exactly, but I feel heavier. Something about the past weighs me down. I'm still curious, but I don't feel as desperate to know as I did at first." Then she shrugged. "I'm not explaining it well, I know. Want to stop for a drink and I can try to do better?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to take a chance on my cooking. I went overboard at the grocer's and there's more than I can eat myself before it goes bad."

It would be the first time they had eaten together alone, and she found she liked the idea. "Sounds good."

They walked a bit further without speaking, comfortable in each other's company. The rain let up enough that Kathryn lowered the hood on her jacket and looked up, trying to decide if it had stopped for good. As she did, she saw his expression change. "What is it?"

"Just now – déjà vu, I guess. I felt like I've seen you do that before." He paused, then added, "I had a strange dream last night, and it gave me the same kind of feeling."

"What was it?"

"A man called me 'son' and told me I was lost. He said I had to find my way back."

He seemed so disturbed that she stopped walking. "Lost. We've been feeling that way, haven't we? But I think we are finding a new way."

"I like the sound of that," he said. He let go of her arm and turned to face her. Then he took her right hand in his left and intertwined their fingers. "Finding our way together."

She looked at the way their hands were meshed. It felt right. Nodding slowly, she said, "I think I like it, too."