Caretaker - L. A. Graf [68]
Chakotay followed Janeway's gaze upward, big fists clenched. "If the Array is the Ocampa's sole source of energy, why would the Caretaker seal the conduits?"
Janeway shook her head slowly. Somewhere impossibly distant overhead, another thunderbolt was on its way down from space.
She felt herself stiffen in anticipation of its landing.
Beside her, Tuvok lowered his tricorder and frowned thoughtfully into the middle distance. "He would seal them if he no longer intended to use them." He looked over in response to Chakotay's grunt of disagreement. "To protect the Ocampa from their enemies." Folding the tricorder shut, he faced Janeway squarely and announced, "Captain, there is now enough evidence to form a reasonable hypothesis. I believe that the Caretaker is dying."
She pulled her eyes away from the ceiling to return the Vulcan's frown.
"Explain."
"First, he increases the energy supply to provide the city with a surplus to last at least five years. Then, he seals the conduits. The logical conclusion is that he does not intend to continue his role as Caretaker."
"That doesn't necessarily mean he's dying," Chakotay pointed out. But he sounded uncomfortable with the suggestion. "He may be leaving."
Tuvok seemed to consider it, but quickly shook his head.
"Doubtful. Not after a millennium of providing for these people.
I believe he owes something to the Ocampa. I believe the `debt that can never be repaid' is very likely a debt to them." He gestured toward the few delicate aliens still left in sight. The rest had vanished into whatever passageways and buildings formed their shelters.
"In addition, there were his frequent references to `running out of time." I think he knew his death was imminent."
Janeway stared at her security chief. "If he dies, how the hell are we supposed to get home?"
Tuvok looked away without offering an answer.
Chapter 17
The first monstrous explosion had actually startled a scream from Kim--it had been so close, pitching the upright tunnel into a tumult that clanged and banged the metal stairs into the stone walls until powdered rock rained like snow all around them.
Clinging to the rail with both hands, he didn't even realize he'd dropped his flashlight until Torres barked a Klingon oath and made an abortive grab for it as it tumbled past. Kim had to close his eyes against the spinning slash of its light through the dust-choked air.
"Come on...!"
Kim opened his eyes with care; they felt like their lashes had been glued together. Torres hovered over him like some sort of hellish Klingon angel, her big knuckles white where she clutched the stair runner under her knees. He wondered if she'd fallen trying to catch his forever-gone flashlight, but couldn't remember. Her eyes burned into him with a desperation that made him want to cry.
Another boom seemed to shatter the world around them.
"Should we go back?" Kim asked. He hurt, worse than these peals could possibly hurt him, worse than he ever had in his life. The thought of going any farther at all--in any direction--was almost more painful than his broken heart could bear.
Scowling with a bitterness only Klingon faces seemed destined to express, Torres spat over the rail and let her hatred fall away into the darkness. "There's nothing down there for us, Starfleet."
And nothing above, either, from the sound of things. This isn't how I wanted things to end. Slowly, they began to climb again.
* The damned tunnels seemed to go on forever. Paris did his best to climb ladders, run passages, and scale newly dislodged debris without ever lifting his eyes from the tricorder in his hand.
The instrument itself remained stubbornly resistant to throwing off a definitive reading. It kept threatening to spike around every turn, past every tunnel entrance, and Paris's heart leapt right along with it until