Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [31]
As they assembled the sheet-metal blade wheel, which B’Elanna assured her could be ordered as a kit from something called “The Montgomery Ward Catalog,” Kes asked, “Is it true that Voyager’s being followed? I haven’t spent much time in the mess hall lately, but I did hear mutterings in the corridors.”
B’Elanna made a face that was usually reserved for Neelix’s leola root stew. “Yes. That ship we detected last week has come right up behind us. Captain Janeway keeps hailing it, but it doesn’t answer.”
“We don’t know who they are or what they want?”
“No.” B’Elanna sounded bitter. “The ship has some kind of reflective shield around it that doesn’t let our sensors see inside. I’ve tried everything I can think of to adjust them, but nothing works. It’s just too different from anything I’ve seen before.”
“You’re not admitting defeat, are you?” Kes allowed a bit of teasing to come through in her tone.
“Never. I’m hoping something will come to me while we’re working in here. Sometimes if I relax, inspiration strikes.” She gave the bolt she was working on one final tightening tug with her wrench. “It just doesn’t usually come fast enough for me.”
“I’m lucky you were inspired to suggest building the windmill.”
“It’s helping, then?” B’Elanna reached for another metal blade and a handful of bolts.
Kes nodded. “Yes. I still think rather… black thoughts sometimes.” Yesterday she’d avoided telling Neelix his main lunch dish looked like the Bolian colon only because Ensign Lang had interrupted to confirm the time of her sickbay appointment. “It would be very easy to hurt people. But then I remember how I feel when I’m here on the holodeck working on the windmill and I can usually settle myself down.” She wasn’t sure whether to sigh or chuckle. “I just wish I could prevent the bad feelings and thoughts entirely.”
“Good luck. I’ve been trying to do that my whole life.”
Kes cocked her head. “You don’t think it’s possible?”
“Maybe if you’re a Vulcan.” B’Elanna paused to hold Kes’s blade in place for her. “I think we each have a dark side. Maybe it took a while for yours to show itself, but it’s natural that it’s there. Try not to beat yourself up over it.”
Kes grinned. “I got enough of a beating playing anbo-jytsu and hoverball.”
“Good point.” B’Elanna smiled back.
Two days later, the alien ship was still following Voyager. B’Elanna had told Kes that the ship, a windowless construct with a smooth, mirror-like surface, stayed five hundred meters to Voyager’s stern even though the position meant it was constantly buffeted by her warp eddies. In addition to constant hails, Captain Janeway had ordered numerous rounds of evasive maneuvers and changes of speed, but nothing deterred it. The little ship didn’t activate weapons or appear overtly threatening, so Janeway didn’t order a full stop-that would seem confrontational-but Kes didn’t need telepathic abilities to sense her worry each time she caught a glimpse of the captain.
Nor did she need them to observe the changes in routine in almost all areas of the ship. A steady stream of engineers came into sickbay for stimulants to help them through long duty shifts, and the pilots, normally a sturdy bunch, were all treated for tension headaches. Several batches of her Talaxian cabbage and Hosi cucumbers went to waste; apparently most of the crew was sticking with replicated “comfort food” rather than their Delta Quadrant substitutes. And the noise in the corridors was subdued, more quiet whispers than the usual chatty gossiping and planning for off hours. It was eerie.
B’Elanna spent more and more time in Engineering and less and less time working on the windmill. Once they’d raised the blade wheel in quarters to the top of the tower with rope and a couple of pulleys, Kes suggested that they take a break for a few days.
“You’re too busy to enjoy the process,” she said. “Plus, the next thing we have to do is make the mill pump water, and I’d like to do some reading about it. I don’t understand how it works, and I want to.”
B’Elanna