Pathways - Jeri Taylor [101]
“War is always about power. And power derives from the acquisition of territory. The Subu have taken worlds from many species, who acquiesced rather than fight. Then they encountered us.”
Tom nodded. There were usually two sides to any story, even those involving war, but he found himself respecting this tall, proud man who had seemingly come on an errand of peace as soon as the Voyager crew had moved in.
“We take Subu prisoners; they take us. My group will stand a chance of being set free in a prisoner exchange. But other species, such as yourselves, have no such hope. We are also resented for that fact.”
“Has anyone ever escaped from here?” Tom asked casually, returning to his task of pounding the stake.
“There is nothing to escape to. A vast wilderness surrounds this place, thick and impenetrable. Beyond that— more wilderness. The planet is uncivilized.”
“Hmmm.” Tom tried to make his grunt as neutral as possible. But Tassot squatted down to be more nearly at his level, and fastened his dark, unblinking eyes on Tom’s.
“Punishment for escape attempts is brutal. And there are ample rewards for those who turn in potential escapees. Let those facts guide your actions.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Tom looked at the stake, then back toward the huge, dark man next to him. “But it sounds like you’re saying the only way out of here— is to die.”
Tassot was silent for a prolonged moment. Then he said, “Because of the sensor net, there are few options for getting beyond the walls. But if someone were to escape it is unlikely the guards would pursue. They know that one would not survive for long in the wilderness.” He let that sink in for a moment, and then added, “One can die quickly . . . or slowly. Remember that.”
And then he was gone, rising and moving off with surprising grace given his size. Tom considered the warning ambivalent. The man had told him that punishment for the attempt was harsh—but then pointed out that if they got out, the Subu were unlikely to come chasing them. Which message was he sending? Tom thought about it for a while, but then realized they weren’t going to abandon their escape attempts and sit quietly, waiting to starve to death. That was a slow death, too, but worse than that, it was passive. To Tom, that made it intolerable.
The day had been spent searching for duotronic components. By nightfall, they had found nothing except a weak and fading transtator. They were doled their daily rations— a damp and rotting root of some kind, which nonetheless was the best-tasting meal they’d been offered—and hoped tomorrow would be more successful. A fire was lit and they all drew round.
Tom thought Chakotay’s idea of having people talk about themselves was a good one. It had distracted them all from their circumstances—and it was interesting to hear what people would reveal. He’d learned more about B’Elanna last night than he had in over three years of knowing her.
So he turned to Seven, whose life was still enigmatic to all of them. “How about you, Seven?” Tom prompted. “Want to let us in on your past?”
Seven regarded him with her cool poise. She had lost much of the disdain she had exhibited when she was a Borg, but there was still an unsettling remoteness about her. She had yet to fully reconnect to the humanity into which she had been born.
Her beautiful face, clear-skinned but still bearing two Borg implants, blue-eyed, topped with ethereal blond hair pulled smoothly back, grew pensive in the firelight. “There’s little I remember,” she said in her direct way. “We were on my parents’ spaceship. My mother schooled me . . . I read a great deal. But that was long ago. I had my sixth birthday on board. They sang ‘Happy Birthday, Annika.’ And then the Borg took us.”
She looked down and everyone was silent for a moment. Seven was still dealing with the trauma of her assimilation, and no one wanted to push her into recollections that were too painful. She looked up after a moment, delicate shadows from the fire playing on