Mosaic - Jeri Taylor [6]
Janeway knew, however, that she would hear something different from Tuvok, and before that thought was even completed, she heard his voice from the security station: "Captain, it is my duty to point out that the Kazon Maje will be highly insulted by this decision; we risk his enmity by ignoring his request."
"Noted, Mr. Tuvok. But I have yet to hear what might be termed a "request' from a Kazon. They tend to make demands, and I don't feel like yielding to a demand."
"As you wish, Captain." Tuvok was imperturbable as ever, but Janeway imagined she could sense approval from him. No one liked being pushed around by the Kazon. In fact, Janeway thought she felt a general uplifting of spirits on the bridge; on an expedition where they frequently found themselves at the mercy of their circumstances, it was bracing to take a stand, to thumb their noses at the dark forces of the Delta Quadrant.
News of Janeway's decision hadn't yet filtered down to the mess hall; if it had, Neelix' mood of well-being might have dissipated. He frequently failed to share the intrepid-what he would call reckless-convictions of the Starfleet crew. Neelix had survived in a dangerous quadrant for many years through guile, cunning, and an instinctive sense of self-preservation, and he didn't fully understand the adventurous nature of Janeway and her people. They were daring, certainly, and to be lauded for their courage, but Neelix had learned through a lifetime of struggle that a small step backward could often save one's life. Plunging into the unknown might be exciting, but he had quite frankly had enough excitement to last him for a long time. At the moment, he was concentrating fiercely on decorating a large cake. It was triangular in shape-particularly difficult to achieve, especially in the jury-rigged kitchen he had cobbled together from odds and ends he had scrounged around the ship-and made from Grissibian nocha. The closest equivalent in the Alpha Quadrant was a substance known as chocolate, but Neelix found it a pallid imitation. Nocha was denser, richer, creamier, and of all the nocha he'd tasted, none compared with the Grissibian variety. He had been saving this nocha since a chance encounter with a trader who had been willing to part with it in return for a quart of Vulcan ale. Neelix didn't know what Vulcan ale was; the recipe was in the replicators and many of the crew prized it above any other refreshment. He had found it a valuable commodity in trade: usually one sample of the brew and the bargain was sealed.
Grissibian nocha was a delicacy that couldn't be described, only experienced. He remembered his first taste, when he was a boy on Rinax, before the disastrous war that had claimed the lives of all his family. His father had managed to procure some of the rare treat and brought it home to his family. He had handed Neelix a square of a mild-looking substance, slightly oily and a pale beige in color. But when Neelix bit into it, his senses were overwhelmed; the nocha was an intense, dusky explosion in his mouth, the creaminess of it moistening every part of his tongue, his throat, his stomach. The sweetness was powerful but not cloying, and seemed to travel directly to his brain, creating an almost narcotic sensation of deeply felt pleasure. His father had laughed to see his son's expression of utter delight.
It was an experience he had never forgotten. In fact, the night his family had died in the horrendous explosion caused by the weapon known as the Metreon Cascade, the thought of that brief moment of bliss was one of the memories that flashed through his mind.
The cake he had made was for two people: Kes, simply because he adored her more than life itself; and Tuvok, because he was determined to bring a smile to the Vulcan's lips. Somewhere inside, that man had the capacity for joy, Neelix was sure of it. He had made numerous attempts to unleash it, but Tuvok had stoically resisted every one of them. Now, with the Grissibian nocha cake, Neelix was sure