Marooned - Christie Golden [38]
Good for them, she thought. Trust mingled with sensible precautions was nearly always the wisest pose to adopt when dealing with strangers.
The fire crackled. Janeway wondered what the Mishkarans could find to feed it. Dried animal droppings, most likely, as the plains Indian tribes of the American Southwest had used. She now noticed that what she had taken for a simple metal pot on the fire was actually composed of highly advanced metals, hammered into a usable shape. An odor waited out, strange, but not unpleasant, as one of the Mishkarans, a tiny child clinging to her leg, stepped forward and added something to the pot.
"Oh, boy, I wish I hadn't seen that," murmured Paris. Janeway shared the sentiments. What the Mishkaran cook had tossed so carelessly into the pot had been small, white, legless, and wriggling.
"It makes sense," said Janeway. "Living here has to be brutally harsh. You eat whatever you can." She paused, and added, "Mr. Neelix, I miss your cooking."
"Thank you, Captain!" replied the little man, sitting up a bit straighter.
"I think I've got it," announced Torres, handing the communicator pin to her captain. "We'll need a good sample first."
Janeway brought the communicator up to her lips and spoke into it, locking gazes with Hrrrl. "Talk into it like this," she said, then handed it over to the alien leader.
It seemed so tiny in his paw. Following her example, he brought it to his muzzle and emitted a series of growls, clicks, and grunts. At Janeway's gesture, he passed it along to others, who also spoke into the device. Finally, Janeway extended a hand and Hrrri returned the small object.
"Give it a try," said Torres. "That ought to be sufficient."
Janeway fastened the communicator to her uniform, and her eyes found Hrrrl's. She smiled. "Can you understand me now, Hrrrl?"
Much excited chatter broke out. And this time, Janeway could catch some of it. "At last!"
"Now we'll find out-"
"-ugly, but they seem pleasant enough-"
Hrffl laughed, a harsh bark to Janeway's ears, a merry chuckle as translated through the commbadge. "Your choice of what to repair first tells me much about you, Janeway. And I like what I am teaming.
Tell me," and he leaned forward eagerly, "What was your crime?"
Kes's eyelids fluttered open.
The brightness of the light made her close her eyes again, then blink, gradually growing accustomed to the illumination. She realized she was staring up at the ceiling of sickbay, and had absolutely no idea why she was lying on the bed.
The doctor's face loomed over her and he directed a light into her eyes, checking, she knew, for her pupil reaction. "Excellent," he said, nodding his bald head. "You have made a complete recovery. Not," he added with a touch of pride, "that there was any doubt, under my care."
His voice was like music to Kes's ears. For a moment, she wondered why she was so glad to see him. "Doctor," she said happily, affection turning the word into a caress. "What happened? What am I doing here?"
"Hmm," he frowned at her. "It appears you have not made a full recovery after all. I shall have to run a self-diagnostic later to see what I have overlooked. You appear to have suffered a short-term memory lapse. Not to worry. That's not an uncommon reaction."
"Welcome back, Kes." Captain Janeway was there, looking as crisp and efficient as ever.
Kes reached up and touched her head with gentle, probing fingers. There was no pain, no evidence that