The Murdered Sun - Christie Golden [48]
She'd be all right.
Now it was time, past time, for him to start contributing. Viha Nata awaited him outside. She did not like the "closed place" as she called the caverns. Chakotay walked past a long line of computers, catching the eyes of the occasional Verunan engineer and smiling. The cavern narrowed and began to slope upward, gently at first and then steeply.
Soon Chakotay was not walking, but climbing, seeking out finger- and toeholds as he made his way toward the surface.
There was a much larger exit, of course, otherwise the vessels like Conviction could not have been hidden underground. But Anahu had given him to understand that the exits were carefully camouflaged to escape detection from the Akerians. Under no circumstances was anyone, Verunan or human, to draw attention to those exits. Chakotay and the other visitors to Veruna Four would have to enter and leave the same way the natives did: climbing in and out.
But Verunan arms and legs were much stronger than human appendages, and their reach was far longer as well. Chakotay found himself pushing his body to its limits as he climbed, hauled, and scrambled his way toward the surface, but he didn't mind. He prided himself on staying in excellent physical shape.
The workout also helped him release his own deeply controlled anxiety and frustration.
The Indian wanted to help the Verunans. Had he not taken an oath upon being promoted to first officer of the Voyager to uphold the Prime Directive, he'd have beaten B'Elanna in giving any aid he could to these beings who, in so many ways, reminded him of his own people. But he couldn't. He'd taken that oath, donned the uniform, accepted the responsibilities.
Chakotay began to smell the surface--the scent of rot and decay in place of freshness and growth. He grew even sadder as the smell grew stronger until at last, panting with the effort, he heaved himself out of the tunnel and onto the hard-packed earth.
Viha Nata was there, as she had promised, and wordlessly extended a clay gourd of water. He gulped it thirstily, knowing that it was pure and wholesome despite the odd taste and faint odor that clung to the liquid. When he had drained the gourd, he handed it back. She accepted it and gazed at him.
"And I assume you are hungry, friend Chakotay. I do not know of your people's needs, but here, we eat every few hours. Can you partake of our planet's hospitality--what little we have left to provide you--or do you wish to procure sustenance from your ship?"
He thought for a moment as he caught his breath. No doubt, these people needed every portion of nourishing fare they could get.
Probably, the trees and plants were starting to cease bearing edible produce. However, in many cultures, including his own, "breaking bread" was a powerful and honored ritual. The fact that Viha Nata had offered him food seemed to indicate that the Verunans followed that concept.
"If you would not mind me using my tricorder to determine if your food is harmful to my system, Viha, I would be honored to eat with you." He would take the offer this once. Later, he could get rations back on board Voyager and not use up any more of the Verunan supplies.
She nodded and led him over to what was clearly her own hut.
Like all the others he had seen, it was mostly open to the elements. A rug of dried, braided rushes of some sort covered the floor. There were pillows, and Nata indicated that Chakotay should sit. He did so, settling himself in among the many surprisingly soft pillows, and waited in polite silence.
Nata seemed more quiet than usual. Something was on her mind, and though she moved briskly to furnish food for her honored guest, he could tell she was not fully concentrating on the task.
No doubt young Paris would shake his head--How can you tell?
They don't look anything like us!--but Chakotay knew even after such a relatively short time spent among the Verunans. The cock of the head, the movement of