Pathways - Jeri Taylor [100]
“That’s what I’m going to do anyway,” Paris shouted. “And these people are with me.” He looked around at the group behind him. “Right?”
There was an answering affirmative chorus.
“Good,” said Chakotay. “Take one of the shelters and put it up as far from here as you can get. Then don’t get in my way again.”
Tom nodded to his group and they began dismantling one of the shelters. A curious but spare crowd had gathered around them. Tom was sure altercations like this happened frequently, but it was probably still a relief from the squalid monotony of life in the camp. Fortunately, the incident had been minor enough not to arouse the ire of the guards, though they had undoubtedly noticed it. He hoped the brawl would mask their true intent.
Within an hour they had dismantled the shelter and were ready to move. Tuvok stood and made a pronouncement to Chakotay. “Commander, I think it best that I accompany this group to insure they keep their distance. And to keep their volatile natures in check.”
“Agreed,” said Chakotay. “Vorik, what’s your choice?”
The young Vulcan pondered, as though making a decision he had not thought about before this. Finally, he turned to Chakotay. “Sir, I will go with Commander Tuvok. It may be that the presence of two Vulcans would enhance the atmosphere of rationality. But I would like permission to return here from time to time, as well. I have taken no part in this altercation and hope I would be welcome here.”
“Of course,” said Chakotay. “Anytime.” This was the plan they had devised to keep communication between the two groups, and Tom just hoped it wasn’t transparent. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, and turned his back on Chakotay.
In their mapping session of yesterday, Neelix had spotted a bare section of ground at the periphery of the campground, not more than twenty-five meters from the wall, and immediately adjacent to the twenty-meter-wide “free zone,” a band of ground that encircled the camp just inside the walls, and into which no prisoner was allowed to venture.
The unoccupied segment of land was flanked by a sprawling complex of lean-tos that seemed to belong to a cohesive group. There were probably fifty of them, tall, graceful humanoids with skin so black it looked as though they’d been smeared with coal. By contrast, their hair was white, and was pulled back and secured. They had a neatness about them that denoted fierce pride, for staying groomed in a situation like this was nearly impossible. Tom rubbed his own stubbly cheeks, grizzled after several days of not shaving.
Tuvok took charge of the group, directing the setting up of the shelter. It would have to conceal their efforts in constructing a transporter, and so they were careful to make it occupy as much area as possible. A great deal had to happen under that shelter.
Tom was pounding a stake into the ground to secure one corner of a tarpaulin when he felt a presence behind him. He turned and looked up to see one of the lanky black humanoids looming over him, blocking the sun. Tom stood, hoping they weren’t going to have to fight these people. Not only was the Voyager crew outnumbered, but the men of the white-haired species were at least a meter and a half taller, with long, powerful arms. Tom and his group wouldn’t last long in combat with them.
“I am Tassot Bnay of the Rai’.” His voice was impossibly deep, like the roll of distant thunder. “What is your intention in occupying this ground?”
Tom, who was tall himself, had to crane his neck up to look at the man. “We had a falling-out with the rest of our group. Thought it was better to separate than to keep fighting. We have no quarrel with you and we’ll keep to ourselves. Hope that suits you.”
The man nodded curtly, but made no effort to leave. “There are those who blame us for their suffering. We must be on guard against retaliation.”
This intrigued Tom. “Why would anyone blame you?”
“We are the Rai’. It is our war with the Subu that has resulted in the establishment of these camps.”
“Ah.” This was the first Tom had heard of the other players