Pathways - Jeri Taylor [163]
The Ubeans insisted that one of them accompany the crates to the surface of their homeworld while the other waited in orbit. Neelix and Wix tossed stones to see who would do what; Wix drew the one marked for the planet.
“No worries, Neelix,” said Wix confidently. “I’ll be back within the hour and we’ll be off for deeper space before they’ve even unpacked the crates.”
Neelix had clapped his hand on Wix’s shoulder, with more certainty than he actually felt. Shameful, he admitted to himself that he was relieved Wix had drawn the colored stone, for he wouldn’t have relished the idea of traveling alone to their fearful planet.
But Wix seemed nonchalant, and grinned as he departed for the Ubean ship. Neelix forced himself to smile in return.
Seven hours later, he was in a paroxysm of indecision. Something must have gone wrong, or Wix would have been back. Prudence dictated that he get out of there before he, too, was taken into custody. But how could he abandon Wix?
Summoning his waning courage, he hailed the planet. Almost instantly, the face of a Ubean official came onto his small screen.
“What is your business with us?” the Ubean asked in a none too friendly tone.
“I’m inquiring about an associate of mine, who delivered some microarc thrusters to your colony several hours ago. He’s late returning, and—”
“The Talaxian is in custody. He’s been convicted of fraud and will be serving time in prison.”
“But—”
“Don’t bother asking to talk to him. He won’t be receiving messages.” The Ubean glared at him, then added, “And I’d advise you to leave our space immediately. There are those who want to imprison anyone who had a hand in this distasteful affair. But I’m willing to give you an hour’s lead.”
Neelix felt his stomach constrict. He had a chance to save himself, but that would mean leaving Wix to bear the punishment for their indiscretion by himself. And yet—what could he do to help him? The Ubeans would simply throw him in prison as well.
Anguished, ambivalent, guts churning, Neelix finally broke orbit and headed away from Ubea, flying blindly into deep space, terrified that he would be pursued and hunted like an animal, sick with guilt over leaving Wix behind.
He didn’t stop for six days. At that point, he had to refuel and find supplies, as the stores on board were dwindling rapidly. He found a friendly outpost manned by the Neklos, where he was able to trade for food, water, and fuel, and then he continued his headlong flight, stopping only when necessary.
Six months later he found himself in the realm of the Kazon.
He hadn’t realized at first that he was entering a part of space dominated by one species. The Kazon, he would later learn, consisted of many sects, or factions, many of them different enough that he was unaware they were biologically related.
Neelix found them vainglorious, strutting popinjays lacking rigorous intellect, moral imperative, or even base cunning. They thought well of themselves but hadn’t even developed their own technology, having acquired it from the Trabe, a race that formerly held them in bondage. Their ships were inadequately maintained, their outposts shoddily constructed. They lacked the resources to improve their lot, and seemed barely to eke out an existence; as such, they provided prime opportunities for barter, because they always needed something to keep ships in repair or to upgrade defensive systems.
Neelix moved with relative ease among the various sects, observing their protocols carefully, wary of creating some unintentional slight, watching his back at all times. And so it was that he came to the planet of the Kazon-Ogla miners.
He had learned that water was more prized than gemstones in this realm. The planet the Ogla inhabited was a vast desert, arid and sere. But it was also a repository for cormaline ore, for which other sects were willing to trade water. Neelix felt this situation of mutual need was an opportunity he must not ignore.
His plan was to insert himself into the midst of this