String Theory_ Cohesion (Book 1) - Jeffrey Lang [31]
Ziv inhaled deeply, then exhaled, visibly collecting his resources. “I do not think so,” he said, then fell silent and lowered his head. Ziv’s hara moved closer until they were wrapped tightly around their captain, one or two dropping their heavy hands onto his shoulders. Finally, Ziv raised his head, straightened his shoulders, and continued. “I formally request that you transport me and my hara back to my homeworld.”
“Of course,” Janeway replied. “As soon as possible.”
“Further, I accept your offer to investigate this disaster. With your technical resources, I believe you will be able to help us understand what has happened if for no other reason than to explain it to the loved ones of the dead.”
“Also agreed.”
“And finally, I request that you allow me to contact my rih-hara-tan.”
“I will ask my second-in-command to arrange for the transmission and pipe it in here. Please stay as long as you need.” Rising, Janeway indicated her chair and viewscreen. As she walked around the desk, Chakotay entered the room. “Excellent. Commander, please speak to Mr. Tuvok and ask him to find the correct frequency to contact Captain Ziv’s homeworld.”
“We’re working on it, Captain,” Chakotay said. “There are difficulties, but Tuvok thinks that, as we get nearer, the problems should be resolved.”
“Fine. I think we should give the captain and his…his hara some privacy until Tuvok makes contact.” With that, Janeway walked out the door, never so grateful to be leaving her sanctum.
Disaster plus 25 minutes
Diro knew he was expected to say something, say anything, but he did not know what it should be. In just the short time since Captain Janeway had left the room, all the others, all his fellow haran, had said something heartfelt about the loss of the transport, expressing their sorrow, their anger, their incomprehension, but Diro had remained silent. When the others turned to him, his tongues were as dry as ashes. He felt his haran close to him, felt the link ready for him should he need or desire it, but Diro could not respond. He was isolated.
Staring out the long row of windows in Captain Janeway’s ready room, the only words that came to mind were I’m sorry. If he said the phrase aloud, though, he knew he would repeat it over and over again…how many times? Fifteen thousand? He felt that trying to express his sorrow and horror in one all-encompassing statement would demean the dead.
But were sorrow and horror all he was feeling? He wished that they were, but he owed the dead honesty if nothing else. So, instead of being heartfelt or eloquent, Diro chose to be truthful. Staring out the window, looking at the pinprick stars, he said softly, “I’m glad I’m not dead.” The others waited for more, but Diro was silent.
Finally, Ziv said, as if to bring his remarks to a conclusion, “We’re glad you aren’t dead, too.”
Diro turned to look at his harat, disappointment in his weakness tearing at his soul. “I’m sorry, Ziv,” he said. “I know I should be mourning—I feel their deaths here within me—but more than anything, I’m thinking about what it would be like to die that way, so suddenly, without foreknowledge. Could anyone in the holds have known what was about to occur?”
Rising, Ziv shook his head sadly and joined Diro by the window. “No, my haran. There is no way they could have known. Even Mateo could not have known. I watched the transmission, and the change, whatever it was, was so quick…They were gone before any of them knew what happened. Was this just or merciful? I do