The Battle of Betazed - Charlotte Douglas [38]
Tears sprang to Lwaxana’s eyes. Okalan must have sensed her anguish.
Lwaxana … don’t make me beg you.
Lwaxana turned to Enaren. He had sensed much from hearing her side of the conversation, but when she told him Okalan’s request, the blood drained from his ruddy face. His lips trembled for a moment, then he squared his shoulders and met Lwaxana’s gaze. He’s right. We have no choice.
Steeling herself, Lwaxana held out her hand to the cavat farmer. Give me your blow gun.
Enaren pushed her hand aside and removed his own weapon. Okalan’s my oldest friend. I’ll do it.
Before Lwaxana could protest, Enaren slipped through the underbrush toward the clearing. In what seemed only seconds, Lwaxana felt Okalan’s gratitude and relief that his old friend was ending his life, his pain, and any chance that he might break and betray those he loved.
Okalan welcomed death the way he’d lived, fearlessly, bravely, and with dignity. Wrenching sadness at the loss of a good man tore Lwaxana’s heart. Okalan’s thoughts slowed, emotions dimmed, then ceased for all eternity.
It’s done. Enaren’s grief at the loss of his friend and his rage at the Jem’Hadar were palpable.
Let’s get back, Lwaxana ordered when Enaren reappeared, tears streaming down his aged cheeks. To herself she thought, We have a vigil to hold for a dying child.
Chapter Eight
A S THE TRANSPORTER EFFECT TOOK THEM, Deanna felt certain that the Defiant was shaking under weapons fire. But when she solidified on the planet’s surface, she stood intact with the other members of her team in a field of cavat that towered high above their heads.
Before anyone could move, Vaughn spoke quietly. “Jem’Hadar patrol. Four of them on the road about one hundred meters ahead.”
Deanna heard the heavy boots of the Jem’Hadar tromping closer on the adjacent road. At the ominous rumble, her muscles tensed and her mouth went dry. Above her, high thin clouds rippled across the scarlet sky, and the morning sun hung low and bright on the horizon. A hawk wheeled overhead, and close by, the melodic trill of a songbird provided an ironic counterpoint to the sinister tread of the approaching enemy patrol.
“Act natural,” Vaughn ordered the away team in a soft voice.
“Respectfully, sir,” Data said with a puzzled frown, “how does one act naturally in a cavat field?”
“First, don’t call me sir,” Vaughn responded quietly. “Then try picking cavat.”
Deanna forced a smile and reached for the nearest ear of cavat, a Betazed staple comparable to Terran corn, and tried to ignore the trembling of her hands. Her previous encounters with Jem’Hadar had been at a distance in ship-to-ship fighting. She expected her first face-to-face meeting to be intimidating, to say the least.
Data shrugged, then gamely grabbed a ripened ear, wrenched it easily from the stalk, and glanced around. “We need a container.”
Deanna unwound her wide scarf and held it in front of her. “Will this do?”
“You are very resourceful.” Data dropped the cavat into the scarf and reached for another ear.
“When I was a little girl,” Beverly said in a bright and animated tone with only a slight quaver of nervousness, “my grandmother had a huge garden. One of the high points of the year was the first ripened corn. Grandma Howard would start water boiling on the stove, and I would pick the corn and rush it straight inside to the waiting pot. That hot corn dripping with fresh butter was the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“As good as chocolate?” Deanna asked in disbelief.
“Uh-huh,” Beverly said, “but in a different way.”
“Good,” Vaughn murmured, “keep up the chatter.” Then louder he added, “We should take some cavat back to the city for lunch. As hungry as I am, I don’t know if we can carry enough.” Vaughn’s deep, hearty laugh echoed through the field and sent the nearby songbird into flight, squawking in protest. The others—even Data, who had engaged his emotion chip in order to blend in more easily—joined in the laughter.
Maintaining a patter of meaningless small talk, the team