The Garden - Melissa Scott [36]
"Hold it, Mr. Paris," Janeway said, and her voice was like the crack of a whip, breaking the spell of the food. Kim blinked, shook his head, the suffocating hunger easing. They wouldn't die if they didn't eat this second, no matter how good it smelled or how much he wanted food that didn't taste of Neelix's spices or the not-quite-perfect products of the replicator. Even the scurvy could wait, could and would be
cured later, after they'd figured out why this banquet had been laid out like this.
"We don't know if this is for us," Janeway went on, "or even if it is, it could be a trap."
"But, Captain, it's just sitting there." Paris waved a hand, the sweeping gesture taking in the table and all its piled contents. "Who else could it be for? God, we may never get another chance like this."
"Chance for what?" Janeway retorted. "To gorge yourself on alien food? That's likely to happen more than once in your lifetime, Mr. Paris, and I'd like to see you survive the experience. Have you forgotten the trees in the gardens?" She shook her head. "We've not been invited to this dinner, Mr. Paris. No one is to touch any of it until we know what's going on here. That's a direct order."
Paris took a breath, as though he would have protested further, and Kim laid a hand on his arm. "The captain's right," he said, and laid delicate stress on the title. Paris subsided, though Kim could feel the muscles still taut under his hand.
"Very good, Captain." His tone still sounded faintly grudging, but Janeway ignored it.
"Right-"
"Captain!" Torres called, looking up from her tri-corder. "I'm picking up a power surge, located just below this room-"
Even as she spoke, there was a sound, deeper and harsher than the familiar treble whine of the transporter, and the floor beyond the table vanished in a haze of dark blue light. A round hole maybe six meters across appeared, and through it rose a group of shapes. For an instant, a blinding light from below obscured the details, so that Kim could see only a cluster of tall bipeds, and curving shapes that might be wings. Then the light winked out, cut off by the
rising platform, and he could see clearly. There were two slim, gray-skinned humanoids, one with wings folded close to its sides, the lower edges curving forward around its thighs, the other wingless, any external indicators of gender concealed by a longer, bright-red tunic, reaching almost to its ankles, that glittered with metal bands like embroidery. At its side stood a human male.
Kim caught his breath, unable for an instant to believe what he was seeing-another human, caught in the Delta Quadrant, a human whose way in might become Voyager's way out-and the man took a step forward, his thin face curving into a grin.
"Congratulations," he said. "You passed the test."
The taller, wingless alien tipped its head to one side, an oddly indulgent expression flickering across its face. It was very human in its features, Kim thought, striving for perspective, but an idealized, genderless humanity, variations smoothed into the gentle planes of the puppet-heroes he had enjoyed as a child. "On behalf of the Kirse," it said, "I welcome you to this planet."
The voice was more male than female, Kim decided, though he knew better than to act on his guess until he knew more about the Kirse.
"You've passed the test," the Kirse speaker went on, "and are clearly worthy of being called people. Once again, I bid you welcome."
"Thank you." Janeway drew herself up to rigid courtesy, not even a glance straying to the man at the speaker's side. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager. We're delighted to meet the inhabitants of this planet."
"As am I to meet space travelers who can be called something more than animal,"