String Theory_ Cohesion (Book 1) - Jeffrey Lang [116]
“Go on,” the captain said.
“I don’t know if I can. It’s just a feeling. I used to think of myself as very alone, very isolated before…” She shrugged. “You know.”
“Before Tom.”
“Right. But now I know, I didn’t understand what isolated meant. This is what I got from Seven: There’s everything else and everyone else in the universe and then there’s her.”
“Isn’t that true for all of us?” Captain Janeway asked.
“It didn’t used to be,” B’Elanna said. “Not for her.”
“But she chose this.”
“Yes, she did, and I think she would agree that it was the better choice, but, well, I guess I just wanted to say I understand something about what it cost her.”
The captain turned back to the window, reached up, and laid her palm lightly on the barrier. Speaking softly, she said, “Well, then, I guess there’s another thing we all learned.” She did not speak for what seemed a very long time. B’Elanna shuffled her feet slightly, and the captain came back from wherever she had gone. “Your friend Kaytok says he has something he wants to give me. Have you heard of this Key to Gremadia?”
“He told me about it…well, someone told Seven about it, and then after all the excitement was over, the things that Kaytok told me and the things Seven knew all coalesced. The Key was supposedly lost, but not really. Kaytok’s family had it and now he wants to give it to you.”
“Because his grandfather who left the planet fifty years ago came to him in a dream and told him to do it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” B’Elanna said, trying not to sound too skeptical. “That would seem to cover it.”
“And can you, Lieutenant, think of any reason I should accept this gift?”
B’Elanna considered, then replied, “Because I trust Kaytok. He’s a remarkably sane and centered individual. And because we both know this is far from the strangest thing anyone has ever asked us to do.”
Captain Janeway inhaled deeply, then sighed. “Well,” she said, “you have me there.”
Sitting by Tuvok’s bedside, Neelix certainly had to concede that the Vulcan looked as good as ever. “Psychic shock”—whatever it was—didn’t seem to have left any scars. The commander was back to being his usual irascible, punctilious self.
“Doctor,” Tuvok said. “I must protest. I am completely recovered.”
“Fortunately,” the Doctor retorted, “I am the physician. I am not an unreasonable man, Commander. I ask only that you finish out the day of observation. If no further symptoms of your mal de tête become evident, you may return to duty.”
Tuvok folded his arms over his chest.
“Oh, come now, Tuvok,” Neelix said trying to be helpful. “Look on the positive side: a little bed rest, a chance to do some reading and meditating.” Neelix observed the Vulcan’s left eyebrow rise a half-centimeter. Ah, acceptance. “And I’ll make you a special meal. I’ve been experimenting with a new kind of tortilla flour that I think would make an exceptional bean burrito.”
The eyebrow rose another half-centimeter. “With guacamole?” Tuvok asked.
Neelix grinned extravagantly. “I think that could be arranged.”
In their quarters, Ziv, Mol, Shet, Diro, and Jara sat on the floor around a low table set with candles, a loaf of crusty bread provided by the ever-helpful Neelix and a small bottle of thin liquor the humans called vodka. Jara had been the one to suggest the short service of remembrance and thanksgiving, and though Ziv had not felt much in the mood, he couldn’t deny his hara. Now, though, his head spinning in a pleasant combination of drink and weariness, Ziv was glad they had done this.
Jara, ever watchful of his captain’s mood, asked, “Are you all right, sir?”
Ziv clicked soothingly and replied, “Tired, Jara. Mostly just tired.” He sipped a little more of the vodka, and marveled again at how similar it was to Monorhan ahee. He understood from Neelix that it too was distilled from a kind