Pathways - Jeri Taylor [93]
And within minutes they were standing in a meadow on one of the loveliest worlds B’Elanna had ever seen. Great forests stretched for kilometers, rich and verdant, rolling into foothills and then mountains which were snow-tipped. Sweet grasses blew on the meadow, producing a heady fragrance that reminded B’Elanna of the jasmine fields on Nessik. The sky was an azure blue, startlingly deep, and an occasional pink-tinged cloud drifted by.
They were silent for a few moments after materializing, taking in the surprising beauty of the place, each indulging in private thoughts that conjured up memories of earlier times, childhood times when the world was not so complicated and the sight of a fulsomely blooming woodland was enough to gladden the heart.
Such thoughts made B’Elanna feel vulnerable, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. She turned to the rest of the group, and her voice, when she spoke, was harsher than she’d intended. “Well, what do we think? It’s pretty, but can it be of any use to us?”
The others reacted as though they’d been jolted out of a reverie. She saw Seska, in particular, flash her an irritated glance. Chakotay turned in a circle, absorbing the grandeur of the meadow and the forests. “I think it can,” he breathed. “If we put up a few structures, we could have a base camp that’s absolutely safe from Starfleet. We could get out of the ship from time to time . . . stretch our legs . . . breathe some fresh air.”
There was a tone to his voice that B’Elanna caught, something that spoke to his appreciation for the outdoors, and she regretted her sharp words earlier. Who was she to spoil their enthusiasm for this halcyon planetoid?
“It wouldn’t take long to put up a few buildings,” she offered. “There’s plenty of wood here, which we could mill with phasers. I’d volunteer to be part of a construction crew.”
She noticed Tom Paris looking bemusedly at her, but she studiously avoided his eye. If he thought there was something quaint about her being able to build a dwelling, let him.
“I think that’s a hell of an idea,” said Chakotay, with noticeable enthusiasm. “You’re all volunteers. You can get started right away.”
“I think I’m needed on the ship,” protested Seska. B’Elanna knew right away that was a mistake on her part; Chakotay wouldn’t appreciate having his order challenged in front of others. And, indeed, he turned to her, tightlipped, clearly displeased. “I’ll make those decisions, if you don’t mind,” he said with his quiet firmness, and it was all B’Elanna could do to suppress a smile.
The morning was uncomfortably hot by eight hundred hours; two hours after that it was almost unbearable. They were all perspiring profusely and had stripped down to minimal clothing. Only the nearby stream, which cascaded from a mountain lake high above them, and into which they plunged several times an hour, made the situation tolerable.
After Chakotay refused to let her accompany the ship to Bajor, where they would resupply, Seska had retreated into a sullen pique, which was fine with B’Elanna. She was finding it increasingly difficult to make conversation with this woman, who was so clearly threatened by her presence.
Yuri, on the other hand, was as unflaggingly cheerful as always, chatting easily, making jokes about “his” belt of planetoids, and generally making the situation as pleasant as he could.
That left Tom Paris for her to cope with.
Tom disturbed her in a way she couldn’t quite comprehend. He always made her feel vaguely like a piece of livestock on display, and she certainly resented his appraising looks. But she’d been looked at like that by men for much of her life. There was something else in Tom that grated on her, but she couldn’t figure out just what it was.
Now they were working side by side in the insufferable heat, building one wall of the structure while Yuri and Seska were off milling logs with phasers. The wood of the trees they were using was dense, and the logs were heavy. B’Elanna