Marooned - Christie Golden [57]
She tensed as he placed his hands on her shoulders, close to her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of brilliant color from his fingerwebbing.
"Look at this, Kes. I had to pay quite a large sum to bring this one here, but I think you will agree with me that it was worth it."
She moved her body as the subtle pressure of his hands directed, and found herself staring at a tree that might have been the model of the holographic one that had so captivated her back on the space stationthe tree that had been her undoing.
Its bark was as dark blue as she remembered, and the serrated golden leaves moved in the gentle, warm breeze that circulated through the room. A giant, purple blossom, larger than her head, had opened, revealing a pale pink interior.
Almost as if drawn, Kes walked slowly toward the flowering tree. Aren's hands fell away from her shoulders, but he kept pace with her, his eyes fastened hungrily on her face, watching her. She paused in front of the tree, her small hands curling into fists.
"This one's real," said Aren softly. "They're all real. No more illusions, no more tricks with the holograms. I promise you that."
She looked over at him at that, her eyes searching his for the he and not finding it. Kes turned back to the plant, and slowly reached out and stroked it with a forefinger.
Soft, like the skin of a child. Fragile, delicate. Kes knew that she could ruin the bloom with one strike of her hand, a gesture that would certainly show Aren Yashar what she thought of his gifts and efforts on her behalf. Yet she couldn't bring herself to do it. She couldn't destroy beauty, destroy life, simply to defy her captor.
The tears threatened again, and she blinked them back. Kes was not ashamed of weeping-why, even the doctor had lectured her rather lengthily on the positive effects of such a natural release of tensionbut she did not know why, here, the tears came so often. This prison, of flowers and good food and soft beds and bright sunshine, and this captor, a man of grace and intellect and charm, were coming terrifyingly close to breaking her. She knew it.
Kes felt her already tenuous grip on control slip another notch as, unable to help herself, she pressed her face into the flower and breathed as deeply as if she were inhaling life itself.
No moon, no stars. Nothing to mark the difference between night and day save the most basic difference of all, light and darkness.
"It's eerie," said Bokk in a hushed whisper.
Janeway cast a glance up at the sky and nodded her agreement as she finished combing her snarled hair with her fingers. Quickly, she braided it, and tied it off. It would not be unbraided until the quest had been completed-successfully completed, she amended. With long hair, a braid was the only style that worked on long camping trips.
She made a face at the thought of equating this situation with something as comparatively pleasurable as a camping trip. Then, with a grunt, she hoisted her pack. In the flickering flame from the fire, she could see the rest of her crew preparing to embark. Tuvok's pack had been modified to be carried over his right shoulder only, because of his broken arm.
Torres, Paris, and the Sshoush-shin technicians had been able to accomplish more than Janeway had hoped. Two tricorders, three phasers, and three communicators had been repaired. Unfortunately, the tools that were found in the medikit were more delicate and complex than the others and could not be repaired with the tools-and the time-they had. Tuvok's arm remained broken, but he stood straight and confident. A reassuring sight-and she knew that all of them could use a little reassurance.
Janeway fiddled with the crude straps of leather and cinched the makeshift belt tighter, pulling her thick braid free as the pack pressed close on her back. She knew she looked a mess, and probably smelled as bad as she looked, but it couldn't