Caretaker - L. A. Graf [53]
A moment's inspection revealed a majority of the stench emanating from the charred remains of some unfortunate creature, whose partially deconstructed skeleton had been displaced across the table, the bedding, the floor. Aware that his distaste for meat was a cultural and species-related bias, Tuvok carefully relocated the associated negative connotations to a portion of his brain that would not interfere with his ability to deal civilly with their visitor. His equally strong preferences for hygiene were not so easily subverted, however. Picking his way primly between piles of clothing, scatters of half-eaten fruit, and pitcher after pitcher of water, Tuvok had nearly dissociated from his physical self by the time he reached the bathroom door.
What he had taken at first for the squealing of heat-stressed water pipes was now more clearly discernible as some primitive musical construction. Tuvok thought it not unlike the wails Xerxes howler bats used to stun the lyre birds that were their primary prey. It seemed unlikely that Neelix had managed--or desired--to smuggle a howler bat onto the ship so far away from Federated space, but a renewed whooping from inside the roiling cloud of steam made it impossible for Tuvok to completely discount this hypothesis.
Pausing on the bathroom threshold, Tuvok spent only 7.05 seconds attempting to see past the wall of steam. Then, when it occurred to him that perhaps he wasn't truly interested in observing whatever went on inside it, he summoned simply, "Sir?," and waited for Neelix to disengage himself from whatever communion he and the howler bat were sharing.
Liquid splashed an instant's clarity through the steam as Neelix surged to the surface in a tub already overfilled with what appeared to be scalding hot water. "Mr. Vulcan! Come in, come in!" He smiled broadly, leaping sloppily to his feet to wave Tuvok forward with both arms.
In that instant, Tuvok learned more about the anatomy of Neelix's species than he had ever wanted to know.
"Please--I can hardly see you!"
How unfortunate that the limitation didn't go both ways.
Lifting his eyes to a point in the steam cloud several centimeters above Neelix's spotted head, Tuvok took a single precise step farther into the bathroom and folded his hands behind his back.
That little bit of capitulation was apparently enough. "I want to thank you for your hospitality," the lumpy little alien enthused. "I must admit, I haven't had access to a... a food replor--replicator before."
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "I would never have guessed."
"And to immerse yourself in water!" He flopped back into his tub with a great splash. Tuvok horrified himself by flinching, however imperceptibly, when a spray of hot wetness lashed across the front of his uniform. "Do you know what a joy this is?"
The question seemed rhetorical, and Tuvok, engrossed in maintaining at least an appearance of dignity, was satisfied to let it lie unanswered.
"Nobody around here wastes water in this manner," Neelix went on, oblivious of his audience's suffering. "A good sand scrub--that's the best we can hope for." He twisted around to drag yet another pitcher from the shelf behind him, and poured the entire contents over his head with a delicious shiver.
Tuvok blinked his attention back to the nowhere spot in front of him.
"I am pleased you are enjoying yourself," he said, "but we are in orbit of the fifth planet. We need your assistance."
Springing to his feet again, Neelix swiped water from himself almost gleefully, spraying wetness everywhere. "Could you hand me the towel?"
Cognizant of a length of terry cloth on the very edge of his peripheral vision, Tuvok snatched the towel from its rack without turning to look, and passed it equally blindly to the naked alien.
Neelix snapped it playfully at the Vulcan, then wilted just a little under the force of Tuvok's cold stare. Tuvok considered preparing a report for the little alien regarding Vulcan philosophy and psychology,