The Garden - Melissa Scott [68]
"Do you think it makes much practical difference to the animal in question?" Janeway asked.
Chakotay frowned. "Of course it does. Even if an animal can't answer, can't understand, our asking, the act of asking, makes us behave in humane fashion-" He broke off, his frown deepening. "And you know that as well as I do."
Janeway sighed, and abandoned the position. She hadn't had much hope of convincing Chakotay anyway, not with his background, his deeply held beliefs-and I have to admit, she added silently, I'm just as glad I can't. But I also can't give up what I've been taught is my duty. "Chakotay," she said, and groped for the right words, the ones that would build a bridge between them, allow her to acknowledge his beliefs without compromising her own. "I agree with you that the Kirse's treatment of these creatures is highly questionable-it made me queasy to see it, and Paris's story didn't make me feel any better. I also know that you know how desperate we are for food." Chakotay started to say something, and she held up her hand. "No, let me finish. But even if we weren't in need, even if we had a dozen other planets to chose from, we could not do anything here. We have no right to interfere in the Kirse culture-not only do we not understand, we cannot understand, their culture, their problems and their assets, in sufficient depth to decree what they should and shouldn't do, we have no right to even think of doing so. We are too much on the outside, and nothing can be truly resolved by
outside fiat, no matter how well-intentioned that interference might be. That's the Prime Directive, and it's been proved to be a good and a just-even a vital-principle over the entire course of the Federation. And I swore, when I joined Starfleet, to follow the Prime Directive no matter how difficult it was or how wrong it might seem in the short run. I will not break that oath."
She stopped then, unsure of her own words, hearing them pompous, even foolish when spoken aloud, in her cabin orbiting this world that had never heard of the Federation.
She looked back at Chakotay, wondering if she'd said enough, or said too much, if it was wise to try to reach a Maquis renegade with talk of Starfleet, and saw him nodding slightly. She bit her tongue, choking back the other things she might have said, and waited.
"You're right," Chakotay said at last. "And I think I knew you were right. But what they're doing isn't good. It isn't right."
"No." Janeway hesitated, wondering if she'd said too much, betrayed too much of her own feelings.
"So what do I do to live with myself?" Chakotay asked, and Janeway heard the echo of her own anguish from decades before, however much he tried to hide it.
"You live with yourself." She managed another wry smile at the surprise on Chakotay's face. "I asked the same question of someone once, and that's what he told me. I didn't think it was much help at the time, but it ended up making sense. You go on."
"I can't imagine that was what you were looking for," Chakotay said, but he was smiling, too.
"No." There had been a song as well, slow and sad, a woman singer whom she'd long ago forgotten, except for the sweet falling phrase some days you just
do anything you can and get by. She put the memory aside, and Chakotay pushed himself to his feet.
"I appreciate your time, Captain."
The words were formal, but there was a warmth behind them that prompted her next question. "Chakotay."
"Captain?" He paused in the doorway.
"Before you knew this, what did you think of the Kirse?"
"Ah." Chakotay gave her a lopsided grin. "Before-I liked Keyward. I liked them all. Which I guess is part of the problem."
He let the door close behind him. Janeway stood for a moment, staring after him. He was right, a large part of the problem was that the Kirse had seemed likable, and it had hurt to have to see what they were doing to the gardening creatures, especially when there was no way to interfere wit h their system. "I know what