Pathways - Jeri Taylor [199]
The hollowing out of the underground chamber was a slow process. Harry and B’Elanna worked in shifts, patiently beaming out pulverized psilminite and depositing it in silty layers behind the storage facility in the quarries. Neelix was able to check the progress several times the next day and, just as he’d thought, the guards didn’t suspect a thing. The dust from the ore materialized in the air and filtered to the ground in a fine mist, adding to the layers of dust that had already accumulated.
The quarries were hot, and dirty, and the work, though not physically demanding, wasn’t pleasant. There was no shade from the unrelenting sun, and the clouds of dust from the ore settled on the workers, clogging pores, irritating the nose and lungs, and leaving a bitter, alkaline taste in the mouth.
Neelix tended to work with Tassot Bnay, whose generosity with the work passes had allowed the Talaxian to escape the camp and take advantage of the food—and of course the duotronic components—available to the work detail.
But although the tall and elegant Rai’ had befriended him, Neelix didn’t reveal to him the elaborate escape plans of his group. He could trust no one in a place like this.
“Do you think you’ll ever get out of here, see your home again?” he asked Bnay as they toiled to load the antigrav sleds.
“There have been prisoner exchanges in the past. But none for a long time. I don’t know why.”
Neelix was impressed by the composure of this man, who always seemed to rise above the indignities of his situation, his bearing erect, his demeanor calm. He personified a quality Neelix had long sought, and that was dignity.
“Will the war ever end, do you think?” Neelix inquired.
Bnay shrugged. “My father fought in this war. And his father before him.”
Neelix was amazed. His own experience with war had been horrendous, but short-lived. He couldn’t imagine a strife that endured for generations. “Is there no end in sight? Aren’t there those who are working for peace?”
Bnay looked at him with mild astonishment. “Peace? It’s a concept that has lost all meaning among our people. The war defines us. We are instructed in battle from childhood, and every Rai’ is prepared to endure the prisoner camps, to survive them in hopes of being exchanged.”
“But . . . if you are exchanged . . . will you go right back to war?”
“Of course.”
Neelix pondered this diffident statement. He was often bemused by the behavior of the Federations, who possessed an ethic that he couldn’t quite grasp—though he was trying—but one thing he respected about them was their abhorrence of violence. Oh, they’d fight when they had to, but they clearly preferred to avoid armed conflict, and worked to find nonviolent solutions to problems. Neelix was convinced this was the way to conduct oneself, war having taken from him what he held most dear, and so it was difficult to accept Bnay’s calm acceptance of an enduring state of battle.
The guards, as usual, were lolling about in the only area of the quarries that afforded shade, a rocky overhang that jutted from the side of the hill into which the quarries were dug. They all chewed on a fibrous root which Neelix was beginning to suspect had narcotic qualities, as the guards became first jovial, then relaxed and sleepy as the day wore on. By the end of the day they were short-tempered and irritable, as though the euphoric sensations they had experienced were wearing off. Memories of his days on Rhuludian crystals made him shiver with distaste, and he thought once again of Wix and the loyalty he had demonstrated in forcing Neelix off that pernicious drug.
“I’m going to exchange this antigrav sled,” Neelix announced to Bnay in midafternoon. “It’s a little sluggish.”
Bnay nodded and Neelix guided the sled around the periphery of the quarries to the storage area. It abutted both the hill and the adjacent forest, into which Neelix now peered. If their plan worked,