Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [10]
And the left hand! Encased in a glove of metal. She flexed it. It obeyed her commands well enough....
Ah, there it was. Surely it had been only her imagination, that her hands were young and hadfivefingers instead of the proper seven. Now those hands curled around the tools and she regarded the stone.
"A self-portrait, I think, " she said aloud to hear the soft rumbling purr other voice. "I've lived long enough.
Come on, Druana. Let's see how noble those wrinkles of yours look. " She moved toward the stone, caressed it, felt the longing within it to become something Other. And then, laughter bumbling on her lips, Druana began to sculpt.
CHAKOTAY STRODE BRISKLY INTO THE TRANSPORTER room, followed by two security guards, Ramirez and Dawson. The door hissed shut behind them.
"Sir, Tamaak Vrs says the Skedans are ready to beam up," said Ensign Lyssa Campbell at the transporter console.
"Then let's get them aboard and give them a proper Starfleet welcome," he replied.
She smiled and bent her blonde head over the console, her long fingers moving with practiced speed.
Chakotay had requested, and been granted, permission to be present to welcome their passengers aboard. Janeway's effusive compliments of the Skedans in general and their leader, Tamaak Vrs, in particular had piqued his curiosity. And, not coincidentally, sent up a warning signal. Captain Janeway was unfailingly courteous and it was not unusual for her to speak highly of those who had commanded her respect. But Chakotay wanted to see for himself how "intelligent, humorous, gentle, and helpful" this little band of refugees really was.
He supposed the skepticism was the Maquis in him still, even after more than four years of wearing the Federation uniform. The thought sobered him.
The Maquis were no more. Dead. Wiped out by the Cardassians, save for a handful lucky enough to be the Federation's prisoners.
The hum of the transporter snapped him out of his melancholy and he smiled despite himself as their guests took solid shape and peered about curiously.
Their large eyes, graceful movements and soft looking fur appealed to the human affection for certain animals-deer and kangaroo came to mind.
It wasn't logical. Appearance had nothing to do with the true nature of an alien, but Chakotay felt the eons-old tug nonetheless. One of them stepped forward, fixing him with those limpid eyes.
"You are Commander Chakotay?"
Chakotay was surprised. "Yes, how did you know?"
The Skedan half-closed its eyes in its equivalent of a human smile.
"Lucky guess." It lifted a foreleg to its own head, protected by a ridge of bone, and tapped the fur above the eye. "Your marking, Commander."
Of course, thought Chakotay, his suspicions quelled. It probably came up in a conversation about rank and markings. He recalled the name of the Skedan with whom Janeway had conversed. "And you are Tamaak Vrs?"
"Indeed I am. Commander, we are more grateful than we can say for your assistance." He hesitated, then confided, "It grows difficult to sustain hope, after so many years, but hope you have again given us that we will reach our destination. The young ones," and he gestured to several smaller Skedans, some of whom were still in their mothers' pouches, "need a home. A place to call their own. A purpose to follow."
"We'll do everything we can," Chakotay assured him. He certainly could identify with the need to put down roots. His own adolescence and youth had been turbulent, filled with a quest to find a place in the universe. Ironically, that quest for individuality, his stubborn "contrariness," had led him in