String Theory_ Cohesion (Book 1) - Jeffrey Lang [34]
Pouring a modest amount, Chakotay asked, “You’ve had this for more than four years?”
“I forgot about it until earlier this year and since then, well, when would I have wanted a drink?”
“I can think of fourteen or fifteen occasions. Easily.” Chakotay swirled the liquor around in his cup and inhaled. Generally, he did not much care for spirits, preferring wines or ales if he was going to drink, but if Kathryn was willing to offer something so rare, he was happy to partake. He sipped, and the whiskey left a trail of liquid fire down his throat as warming vapors rose up into his nasal passages. “Wow,” he said.
Leaning back in her chair, Kathryn lifted her feet up onto her desk, something like a smile on her lips. “Indeed.” She shifted her gaze to the view out her window. “Over fifteen thousand beings died just a little more than an hour ago, Chakotay, and here I am having a drink. Do you think I’m being callous?”
Surprised by the question—almost as surprised as by the drink—Chakotay thought for a moment and said, “No.” Reflecting further, he said, “I think you tend to take things much too much to heart sometimes. Not everything that has gone wrong on our trip so far has been your fault.”
Kathryn looked askance at him and raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Thank you,” she drawled.
“You’re welcome,” Chakotay said, settling back as well as he could into his chair. He briefly considered putting his feet up onto the desk, but decided that might be pushing the situation too far. “Here’s how I see it: We just stepped up to the edge of the abyss and now we’re savoring a moment of reflection. The Monorhans should mourn; maybe at some point we should even mourn with them. But just for now, I say let’s be glad we’re alive.”
Smiling sadly, Kathryn lifted her cup in salute and said, “Slainte.”
Chakotay lifted his in response, then asked, “We are off duty, aren’t we?”
“If I say we are,” Kathryn said, “then we are. I’m the captain.”
Though savoring the moment of quiet companionship, Chakotay couldn’t ignore the question that had been growing in his mind. “Then if we’re off duty, I’m going to ask you this as a friend and not as your first officer.”
Kathryn sighed deeply. “Which means you’re really being my first officer, but you’re trying to be diplomatic about something.”
Chakotay snorted. “Maybe a little.”
“Go ahead,” Kathryn said, then sipped some more of her drink. “Or, no, wait: ‘Permission granted.’ What’s your question?”
Pausing to think, Chakotay realized suddenly how hard the whiskey was hitting his system. He was going to need to find the Doctor before the next crisis occurred and acquire something to sober himself up. Rallying, he asked, “How much do you think we owe these people?” he asked. “What do you think we should be doing for them?”
“An interesting question,” Kathryn asked. “Why do you ask?”
“Because of a discussion I had with B’Elanna earlier.”
“A ‘discussion’? With B’Elanna? I don’t believe you.”
“A tirade. B’Elanna assaulted me with a tirade.”
“You see? Now I believe you. What was her point?”
“Distilling it down for you?” Looking into his cup, he saw that he was almost finished with his drink. Ask for more? he wondered. No, probably a terrible, terrible idea. Then, thinking back on his last statement, he chuckled feebly at the use of the word “distilling.” Absolutely no more. “She worries about ‘her’ ship. This is our home, she says, and the only way we’re going to make it back home—for those who want to get home, she added carefully—is if we take care of her. Sometimes, B’Elanna says, you are…careless.”
Twisting her legs, Kathryn half-turned toward her windows so she could watch the stars slowly slide past. Her words came slowly, as if she was thinking about each one as she said it. “Meaning,” the captain said, “that I stick my nose into other people’s business sometimes.