Pathways - Jeri Taylor [192]
The next morning Jabin was in a terrible temper, and even his men did their best to stay out of his sight. He took the water rations of several people, including Kes, to slake his heightened thirst.
The second time he became intoxicated—for she now knew this is what was happening to him—was not so easy. He summoned her well before he was ready to pass out and indicated that she should sit next to him on the bench. He had a cup of gannit from which he sipped as he told her long, rambling tales of his valor and cunning.
“One day the Ogla will achieve supremacy over all the Kazon,” he declared emphatically. He seemed agitated, bursting with energy, and Kes was fearful; these were the moods in which he was most volatile. “We have the only supply of cormaline, and if I manipulate the market properly, they’ll all have to come begging to me.” He took a healthy swig of the drink, then put one hand on her thigh as he continued to rant.
“I’ll get off this planet, as soon as the mines are barren, and trade the cormaline for more ships, warships, stocked with weaponry. And then I’ll make my move.” As he spoke, he punctuated his words by squeezing her thigh. Kes felt bile rising in her throat and her mind searched desperately for a way to get away from him.
“You’re very clever, Maje,” she said, sliding off the couch and reaching for his cup. “Let me get you a little more.” She went to the table and poured more of the liquor into his cup, then returned it to him, forcing herself to smile at him. He took the cup and drank, but before she could back away, his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back down on the bench.
“I do get lonely,” he continued. “I had a family once . . . a woman, two sons . . .”
“I know.” He turned abruptly to look at her, puzzled.
“How could you know? I’ve never mentioned it before.”
“Forgive me, Maje, but on another lonely night you told me about them. They were killed by the Nistrim.”
He stared, utterly perplexed. “That’s right,” he said finally, “but I have no memory of having told you. I rarely mention them.”
“I was honored that you would share it with me.” His hand was on her thigh again, squeezing aimlessly.
“Little Ocampa,” he murmured, now trailing his hand up and down her leg, “you’re nothing like her. She was a big woman, strong and passionate. She always told me I was the only man who could satisfy her. You’re such a pallid little thing, it’s hard to imagine you in lust.” His other hand was now on her cheek, her shoulder, her upper arm. His liquor-laden breath stifled her and for a moment she thought she might be sick at her stomach. It occurred to her that a beating might be preferable to this.
He spent some minutes fondling her body, telling her erotic stories about his amorous wife. Kes sat quietly, enduring it, refusing to look him in the eye. Finally he uttered an oath of disgust, shoved her aside, and returned to his cup. “Icy little bird. It would take the heat of a thousand suns to warm you up.”
He took the cup and walked out into the hot desert night; Kes waited for a long time before she dared to venture back to her pallet, where, in spite of the heat, she shivered uncontrollably.
Two weeks after that, Neelix came into her life.
She’d been aware that someone new had visited their camp, a man of a species unlike the Kazon, who brought water in return for cormaline. She had watched from the recesses of Jabin’s room as the two men talked and negotiated, but she kept to her usual practice of staying out of sight unless called for.
She liked the voice of the visitor; there was a kindness to it that Kes hadn’t heard in a long time, and after the man had visited, she was able to conjure visions of home, where compassion and tenderness were so widespread. She found herself looking forward to this stranger’s visits, so she could sit in the darkness in a corner of the room and listen to his gentle voice.
One night Jabin summoned her