The Murdered Sun - Christie Golden [46]
Tilting his head to the left, Nelek reached up, unfastened his helmet, and removed it.
"Well, I'll be damned," said Janeway softly in utter amazement.
CHAPTER 9
Chakotay liked it here in the cool caverns below the rapidly perishing surface of the condemned planet. Here, there was no unpleasant foretaste of death haunting the soul. The lichen that covered the rocks glowed, providing a natural radiance that supplemented the artificial lighting given off by the equipment.
The Verunans who worked here were alert, attentive, excited. The three dozen or so technicians who scurried back and forth moved with purpose and enthusiasm. They had something that Chakotay suspected the surface dwellers did not: hope. What they were doing down here just might make a difference.
Just might. The key words, weren't they? Despair was not truly conquered here, merely kept at bay by productive activity. Anahu seemed to be able to put the knowledge that the planet had a quarter of a century or so left aside. Kaavi was noticeably bitter and hostile.
And Viha Nata herself? Where did she fit in here? He'd have to talk with her at length soon.
But first had come enforced sleep. The Voyager crew had been exhausted, and the heat had wiped them out. Chakotay had ordered a rest period of five hours, and not surprisingly he, Torres, and Paris had all managed to get a bit of shut-eye in spite of the exciting new situation in which they found themselves. Nata had led them to a quiet alcove, and they had nodded off.
Now, it was back to work. He walked up the ramp that led into Conviction's interior. It was small inside what served as the operational area. Over toward the back, Tom Paris examined the structure of the vessel with hungry eyes, while Kaavi, her own eyes bright with excitement, pointed various things out to him.
Chakotay turned his attention to Torres, who was at the present moment lying on her back to get a better view of the underside of Conviction's console.
"You look like a twentieth-century Earth mechanic," he quipped, smiling.
She eased herself out and grinned back up at him, waving one of the tools Anahu had given her. "Well, I'll tell you, I almost feel like one."
Chakotay felt his smile falter. "Are the ships that primitive?" he asked, disappointment seeping into his bones. Conviction was so pretty, so elegant in her lines, that he assumed what was inside her was just as advanced.
Torres shook her head. "No, it's not that. It's just--Chakotay, these things are old. Ancient. We're talking millennia here, not just centuries." Her voice was hushed, almost reverent, and Chakotay understood why. He glanced about with renewed respect.
"Anahu tells me that there are five other ships just like Conviction, all hidden in caves like this. Other crews are working on getting them in spaceworthy shape, but it's been slow going. And time--" "--Is the one thing they don't have."
She nodded, her face intense. Sweat trickled along the ridges of her brow despite the cool temperature. "The Verunans are basically relearning how to operate these things."
The first officer squatted down beside her to keep the conversation a bit more private. Part of him wondered why he even bothered; it was clear that Paris and Kaavi were totally engrossed in admiring the ship.
"And how does it look to you?" he asked quietly.
Torres glanced away, then met Chakotay's brown eyes with a level stare that he recognized--and didn't like. She was going to tell him something he didn't really want to hear.
"Frankly, it looks very good." Chakotay narrowed his eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Once you've figured out the basic structure, nearly everything else falls right into place.
There are a few things that are a total mystery to me, though--things I've never encountered before. But they don't seem to be interferring with my understanding of the basic functions. Tom ought to be able to fly this ship right now if she were operational. The