Day of Honor - Michael Jan Friedman [30]
Parke chuckled. "Are you serious?"
The Talaxian looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"The Borg were the ones who almost destroyed the Caatati-right?"
He nodded. "Right."
"And Seven of Nine is a Borg."
Neelix smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Of course-Seven of Nine is working in engineering now. What kind of idiot am I not to have thought of that?"
Parke regarded him sympathetically. "As far as I can tell, a very well-meaning idiot." She pointed across the hold at the containers she'd been working on. "So, I've got the mbinda grass, the maqnorra leaves and the snorrla bark packed away. What's next?"
The Talaxian stroked his chin judiciously. "How about the granik roots?"
The ensign smiled again. "Your wish is my command."
And she left Neelix to think about the horrific faux pas he'd almost made. Imagine Rahmin bumping into Seven of Nine, he thought. What a disaster that would have been.
THE CAPTAIN STOOD BETWEN NEELIX AND TUVOK AND watched Rahmin take his place on the transporter grid. As the Caatati did so, he smiled at her.
Janeway had seldom seen anyone as happy or as grateful as Rahmin was at that moment. Of course, as he had told her again and again, the captain and crew of Voyager had given his people more than supplies. They had given the Caatati new hope-and it was hard to place a value on that.
"I cannot thank you enough," Rahmin said.
"You already have," Janeway assured him. "Many times over, I assure you. Good luck, my friend. I hope you find what you're looking for."
Neelix nodded. "Me, too."
Tuvok raised his hand in the splay-fingered Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper," he told the Caatati.
Rahmin inclined his head. "With the help of people like you," he said, "I will endeavor to do just that."
The captain turned to the transporter operator, a blond woman named Burieson. "Energize." After all, Janeway added silently, there's only so much gratitude a person can take.
"Aye, Captain," said Burleson. Her fingers moved over her control board with practiced precision.
A moment later, a corruscating pattern of light enveloped Rahmin. Then both he and the light pattern vanished.
Janeway tapped her commbadge. "Commander Chakotay?"
"Chakotay here, Captain."
"I'm on my way back to the bridge. The Caatati should be going their own way any moment now."
"Ackno*ledged," said the first officer.
"So," Neelix remarked, "the Caatati were everything they claimed they were-refugees in need of assistance." He turned to Tuvok. "You see, Mr. Vulcan? Your fears were unfounded."
Tuvok's brow furrowed ever so slightly. "As security officer, I'm required to take precautions against all potential threats," he explained. "Despite their apparent neediness, the Caatati were unknown to us. Thus, they, too, had the potential to become a threat."
"But they didn't," the Talaxian pointed out.
"But they could have," the Vulcan countered.
"Gentlemen," said Janeway, "the Caatati are water under the bridge. If you don't mind, I'd like to move on."
Tuvok thrust his chin out. "Of course."
"Fine with me," Neelix replied cheerfully.
Chuckling to herself, Janeway led the way out of the transporter room. Tuvok and Neelix were such opposites. She wondered if any other captain had ever had to put up with a bickering pair like that.
Agron Lumas sat on the edge of his bed, in the cramped, Spartan quarters that were the best his ship had to offer, and considered the realizer he had salvaged from the wreck of his world.
The device no longer looked new. Its band had been bent, its sleek, dark metal tarnished in places. But it still worked.
The question was ... did he want to use it? Sometimes Lumas regretted that he'd taken it with him. All it ever brought him was pain and guilt, after all. But if pain and guilt were all he had ...
With trembling fingers, he lifted the thing to the level of his head. Then he put it on and closed his eyes.
Lumas thought of a picnic on the shore of the Aranatoc Sea. His wife was there-not as he had seen her last, but with a smile on