Pathways - Jeri Taylor [7]
The others nodded and spread out. Chakotay noted that there seemed to be a vague organization to the place: it was crisscrossed with several broad paths, upon which no leantos rested, creating roadways of sorts. He set off down one of them, looking for anyone who might be willing to answer a few questions, and spotted a young man, barely more than a boy, cruelly thin, yellow skin shrunken around his bones, sitting on the ground. The boy looked at him with huge, sad eyes. Chakotay squatted in front of him. “Can you tell me where the stream is?” he asked quietly.
The boy stared at him, eyes reflecting a misery so profound it could not be uttered. He didn’t speak, but turned his head slightly to his right, down the path Chakotay was on. “Thanks,” said the commander, but the boy didn’t reply.
Chakotay stood and turned to proceed down the path, but saw that his way was barred by four humanoids. These were huge men, better fed than anyone else he’d seen, but equally filthy. They had a distinctly human look except for the size of their heads, which was about twice as big as his own, giving them a fierce, ogre-like appearance.
“Shoes. Give,” said one of them tersely, gesturing toward Chakotay’s boots. “Clothing.”
“Good morning,” said Chakotay jovially. “Wonder if you could tell me where the stream is?”
The four exchanged glances and then the speaker moved forward, confrontational. Chakotay smiled at him and then quickly, coming off his back foot with a thrust up the legs, whipped his head forward and head-butted the man right in his nose. The man’s legs crumpled under him and he sank heavily to the ground, nose and cheekbones crushed.
The three others started forward but suddenly Tuvok, Harry, Tom, and several of Tuvok’s security guards were there with him. The three paused, uncertain. “Take him with you,” said Chakotay, nodding toward the fallen man. Two of the men grabbed the fallen man’s legs, and they dragged him unceremoniously off, casting dark looks at Chakotay and his friends as they went.
“I think you sent them a pretty good message,” said Harry. “They’ll think twice about bothering us.” Chakotay wasn’t sure they’d seen the last of them, but agreed that in a place like this, it was important to establish one’s pecking order. A strong show against bullies would make things somewhat easier for the Voyager crew. At least for a while.
“The stream is supposed to be this way,” said Chakotay, and saw Tom nod agreement.
“That’s what I was told, too,” Tom said. The group proceeded down the path, taking in the foul sights of the prison camp. Chakotay estimated that the enclosure encircled a total of about forty hectares, laid out in a roughly rectangular pattern. The camp was a long strip between the huge trees, inhabited by some ten to twelve thousand prisoners. All were undernourished, and many were ill, as well. He saw one person lying on a scrap of cloth, hawk-like features shriveled and burned from the sun, skin dotted with open sores upon which insects buzzed and fed. Another lay in a soup of his own vomitus, too weak to lift his head.
Everywhere he looked, there were further examples of misery and suffering, more appalling than anything Chakotay had ever seen. Even the treatment of his ancestors on government reservations was more humane. The sun was relentless, baking them from a cloudless sky. The overwhelming stench of the place was nauseating, and he could hear a chorus of moans from the sick and wounded. It was a vision of hell.
Some eighty meters down the path the ground dipped, taking them down a slope which led to a lower level of the prison yard. There they found the stream.
It was a foul, muddy affair which stretched from one side of the stockade to the other, flowing from their left to their right, where it disappeared under the imposing metal wall. An iron grating at either end prevented anyone from getting under the barrier. The stream was surrounded on both sides by a swampy morass through which anyone wanting water