Pathways - Jeri Taylor [168]
“I don’t know, Commander. If the captain has sent you a message, I fail to understand why it would be about falling. Are you aware of other sensations? Images?”
Chakotay seemed to test this thought for a moment. “I feel . . . pulled somehow.”
“Pulled?” asked Harry. “What does that mean?”
“It’s hard to describe. As though . . .” He trailed off, unable to complete the thought.
“As though you want to follow something?” asked Seven.
“Yes. But there’s nothing to follow.”
“It’s a homing pattern, carried by the nanoprobes the implant has deposited in your bloodstream. It will lead you toward a signal which is emanated. You may remember that I responded to such a signal when I rediscovered my parents’ ship.”
Harry remembered this well. Seven had suddenly and inexplicably bolted from the ship, certain she was being called by the Borg. But at the end of her journey was the Raven, the small vessel the Borg had assimilated many years before, when she was just a child.
“The captain’s trying to tell us where to come,” said Chakotay.
“Then B’Elanna had better keep working on that transporter,” said Harry. “We aren’t going anywhere without it.” From Harry’s tone, it was clear that he was frustrated not to be able to help in the process. “Commander, can’t I go to the other shelter? I’m sure B’Elanna’s doing all she can, but I’d sure feel better if I could pitch in.”
Chakotay shook his head. “There’s been too much coming and going between the shelters as it is. I know it’s unlikely that our every movement is being watched—but we’d be better off to pretend that it is. Let’s not make careless mistakes now when we have a plan that seems to be working.”
Harry nodded glumly and subsided, while Chakotay turned to Seven. “For the same reason, I think you should stay here. Minimize the movement between the two groups.”
“Very well.” Seven gazed at him imperturbably. “In the meantime, please describe to me any sensations, any images you feel as a result of the nodule. I might be able to interpret them and add to our understanding of Captain Janeway’s plan.”
“In the first place, it hurts like hell.” Some of the twinkle was coming back to Chakotay’s eyes. “Is this how it feels to be a Borg?”
“If assimilation is complete, there is no further sensation of pain.”
“Great. Either I become a Borg or I feel like my face is on fire.”
“It might be helpful to move beyond this point,” said Seven neutrally. “Is there any sensation other than pain?”
“You’re all heart, Sev,” said Chakotay, clinging to quips in order to help combat the discomfort he was feeling. But he closed his eyes as though to concentrate on whatever sensations he might be experiencing. “There’s nothing strong now . . . not like before, when I was falling . . . I still feel like something’s calling me, pulling me . . . but it’s a less intense feeling now.”
Seven made no comment to this, merely nodding as though storing his statement in a database. Eventually, Chakotay fell into a troubled sleep peppered with dreams about falling endlessly through space.
In spite of the fact that B’Elanna was making real progress with the portable transporter, and the mood of the crew was generally positive, Neelix found himself inexplicably saddened. He continued to accompany the Rai’ on their mining passes, in return for which he prepared an evening meal to be shared by them and the Voyager group, and he was grateful for the activity.
But at odd moments of the day he found himself thinking wistfully about Kes. Telling the others about meeting her had stirred memories that he thought were long buried, and he had to admit that he missed her more than he might have imagined.
When he returned from the work detail that night, his pockets full of food, he made a stew which the Rai’ seemed to enjoy and the