Pathways - Jeri Taylor [92]
But B’Elanna found that she derived a secret thrill from the Badlands. She loved the roiling, dramatic clouds, the tendrils of trailing plasma that threatened to destroy them. She liked to watch Tom Paris maneuver his way through the storms, brow knit in concentration, skillfully guiding their ship away from danger. He was a good pilot, that she had to admit.
And she suspected that he enjoyed this challenge as much as she did. The whole experience triggered a rush of adrenaline in her—a condition that had always been like a narcotic for B’Elanna. Danger heightened her senses, elevated her mood, gave her a sense of excitement that had always been pleasurable. She sensed the same in Tom.
One day they were mapping the area for future use.
B’Elanna, Tom, and Chakotay were on the small bridge, along with Yuri Terikof, their navigator. Yuri was a wiry, dark-ringleted man with small bright eyes and a prominent nose which combined to give him a strangely avian look. He was also completely fearless, and an inspiration to them all in situations of battle. The ship was being battered by the intense storms, and B’Elanna suspected Chakotay was on the verge of giving the order to retreat from the Badlands.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, they were sailing as smoothly as a child’s boat on a tranquil pond.
She and Chakotay exchanged surprised looks. “Are you an even better pilot than I thought, or did we just leave the Badlands?” Chakotay asked Tom.
“We’re still inside,” replied Tom, “but we’ve come into an area where there aren’t any storms.”
“I can get clear sensor readings now,” added B’Elanna. “It’s an area approximately eight hundred million kilometers across—completely free of storms.”
“Like the eye of a hurricane,” muttered Chakotay, intently scanning his own console. But it was Yuri who spotted the most interesting aspect of their discovery. “What’s this? A belt of planetoids? Captain, this isn’t on any Federation map.”
“Then it looks like you’ve made the find, Yuri.” Chakotay grinned. “How does ‘the Terikof Belt’ sound to you?”
Yuri’s bright eyes sparkled even more as he smiled with childlike pleasure. “It sounds great,” he admitted. “But I don’t think a Maquis discovery is ever going to be entered into Federation cartographical charts.”
“You never know,” B’Elanna replied. “I think you should send a subspace message and register it.” She smiled to herself to think of the consternation this bold gesture might cause the stuffy Federation officials, who might balk at naming a ring of planetoids after a Maquis renegade, but who would feel ethically obligated to acknowledge that he found it first.
“Hold that thought,” interjected Chakotay, still scanning his console. “A couple of those planetoids look like they might be M-class.”
This posed interesting possibilities. If they could form a base camp here, in the middle of the Badlands, it would be far more secure than anything they could ever find in Federation space.
“Shall we check it out?” asked Tom. Chakotay nodded tersely in reply. B’Elanna had noticed lately that there seemed to be tension between the captain and the pilot, though she hadn’t witnessed any specific incident that might have caused it. Tom was irritating enough to cause tension with anyone, B’Elanna thought, and assumed that Chakotay had simply become frustrated with Tom’s cheeky attitude.
Presently they were in orbit of one of the M-class planetoids, scanning for the salient characteristics. “Breathable oxygen-rich atmosphere,” intoned Yuri, “photosynthetic flora is abundant, and sensors indicate substantial bodies of potable water. Sounds like home.”
That last remark produced no response from the people on the bridge, but B’Elanna assumed they all had a similar response: these were people who had no real home, not anymore, not after they decided to thumb their noses at the Federation’s peace treaty and try for a different kind of justice. So that paltry little planetoid in the Badlands would do as well as any.
Chakotay was clearly thinking