Pathways - Jeri Taylor [157]
Finally her chest rose and fell no more. Neelix quietly gathered his things and left the medical facility, saying good-bye to no one. He shed no tears for Palaxia, or for his vanished family and friends. He did not mourn them at all. It would have destroyed him.
He met Wix two years after that, while he was in a prolonged euphoria caused by inhaling the smoke of burning Rhuludian crystals.
They weren’t really crystals, of course, but dried and ground herbs with a potent narcotic effect. The term “crystals” had been coined because of the amazing clarity one felt after inhaling the smoke. Neelix had first started using crystals after Palaxia died. He knew others in his group often partook of them, but he never had. After the Metreon Cascade, he couldn’t remember why it had seemed so important to abjure their use.
And when he first inhaled the fragrant smoke, he was sorry he’d waited so long.
Why were there such dire warnings about using crystals? Why had his parents and every other adult he knew cautioned him never to consider inhaling them? They’d made a huge furor over nothing. The crystal fumes didn’t make him disoriented, or dizzy, or out of control. Quite the opposite: his mind was never sharper, never more focused than when he’d lit the tightly packed taper and drawn the sweet smoke into his lungs. He gained clarity and insight that were unachievable otherwise.
But most important of all, he could forget what he had seen on Rinax. The dreadful sights that he had thought were permanently etched into memory faded into obscurity. The queasiness in his stomach—a constant since the Metreon Cascade—disappeared. Well-being returned, and he could plan for a future once more.
Why would one not partake of such a therapeutic substance?
He had to be careful not to become addicted, of course. He had to monitor his usage, not let it get out of hand. But that wasn’t a problem. He didn’t have to use the crystals; he could stop whenever he wanted to. He simply chose to use them in order to lessen his pain. Once his life was in order again, he’d quit entirely.
Until then, he had to continue finding a supply. That had become more difficult since Haakon had won the war. They took a rigidly negative view of crystal use, and set out to eliminate the trade on Talax.
And so it was that Neelix left the planet, one of several passengers on a cargo freighter, mind humming with possibility after inhaling a few sniffs of smoke, ready to seek fate and fortune among the stars.
Among the passengers was Wixiban, a young man near his age, who was witty and clever, who spoke beguilingly about the possibilities of scavenging as a career, and who had a copious supply of crystals, which he was willing to share. For a price, of course.
“I have friends who’ve done very well for themselves,” said Wix ebulliently, “by collecting discarded items, refurbishing them, and then selling them or trading upward. It’s honest work, and even helps the environment by recycling items which would otherwise molder as trash.”
Neelix nodded his agreement. He found Wix impressive—enlightened and persuasive. “I’ve often been surprised at the things people throw away,” he added. “It’s shamefully wasteful, especially when someone else might get years of use from such a discard.” This statement seemed to Neelix, in his heightened awareness, suffused with profundity.
“We’ll need a ship, of course,” Wix continued. “Nothing big, nothing up-to-date . . . just an old runabout. We can probably find one in a ships’ graveyard. People discard old vessels as casually as they throw out last night’s garbage.”
“We can fix it up, make it good as new.” Neelix was already looking forward to this project, his mind conceiving all the components he’d want on his very own ship: hyper-charged engine power, of course, and chairs lined in tanned libbit skin,