Pathways - Jeri Taylor [28]
“It’s foolishness. Ancient myth. Those aren’t two sisters in the sky any more than the Milky Way was a canoe. But at least our ancestors didn’t know any better—they didn’t have telescopes and astronomers and space travel to show them the difference between reality and fantasy.”
Kolopak’s black eyes burned into him through the darkness. “Chakotay, you’ve been wounded by your recent experiences. Your soul is troubled—”
Everything his father said was enraging Chakotay. He erupted once more. “My soul is fine because I don’t have a soul. I have a mind, and a body. That’s it. I won’t be endowed with some vague attribute that’s an outgrowth of ancient ignorance.”
“Whatever part of you you care to acknowledge has been wounded. You’re full of rage, and it’s crippling you.”
“If you’d seen what I’ve seen you’d be full of rage, too.”
“I know that. But I would take steps to heal myself.”
“Just how would you propose to do that?”
“I would go on a vision quest.”
Chakotay threw up his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “A vision quest. Wonderful—that would solve everything.” He whirled back to face his father, anger still boiling in him. “Don’t you see that I’m not like you? That I can’t be, I’ll never be? Why do you keep trying to push me into this world that isn’t mine?”
“It is yours. You just don’t realize it yet.”
How could Chakotay respond rationally to a statement like that? How could he carry on a dialogue with someone who could see only one point of view? He shook his head, bitter and weary. “Fine. I’ll be sure to let you know when I get around to realizing it.”
“I know you will.” His father’s voice was as calm as a moonlit night after snow has fallen and everything is stilled. It gave no evidence of ire, or hurt, or condemnation. And that made Chakotay all the more frustrated, because it gave him nothing to feed his wrath.
“Good night, Father. I’ll be leaving tomorrow. It’s time I returned to the real world.”
His father nodded, and Chakotay strode off into the night, continuing the argument in his head with a father who was much more belligerent, and much more satisfying, in that he let Chakotay argue him into chastened defeat.
The next morning, when he was ready to leave, his father was nowhere to be seen. His mother stood with him, her eyes grave and solemn. “Your father is in the forest,” she told him. “He thought it best if he didn’t try to say good-bye to you.”
A ripple of guilt shimmered over Chakotay, but he forced it away. “Please tell him I asked about him,” he said, and she nodded. Then she took his face in her hands and held it tightly for a moment.
“No one can find your way for you, Chakotay, or clear it of stones before you set off. You must find your way. But we will be here, to help, if you need us.”
His eyes stung briefly and he blinked away the sensation. “I don’t mean to hurt you,” he began, but she covered his mouth with her fingers. “You owe us no explanation,” she said gently. “Love requires none.”
He nodded and then touched his commbadge. “Energize,” he said to the starship waiting in orbit, and his homeworld shimmered out of his vision. It was not the last time he was to see it, but it was the last time he cared to remember.
It was years before Cardassia and the Federation were able to finalize a treaty that officially dealt with the disputed area between their territories. It was controversial, creating a demilitarized buffer zone which belonged to neither power, and which ideally would have been unpopulated. But a number of worlds in that zone had already been occupied, generally by hardy pioneering people who were self-reliant and stubborn, and who had no intention of abandoning the homes they’d created. Among these were Chakotay’s people, who had searched for years to find the planet that was most suited to their needs, and with which they were spiritually at one.
And so these people decided to stay where they were, despite the urging of the Federation, and the insistence by Starfleet that they would not be able to protect them from attack.