The Murdered Sun - Christie Golden [59]
"What you're doing is going to make a difference. I don't know how much of a difference, but it's something. Chakotay and Nata are off looking at your First Place. Maybe there'll be some answers. Maybe your enslaved people know something we don't--something they'll be able to share with us when we rescue--when you rescue them."
The Verunan pilot sniffled, wiping at her streaming eyes with a clawed hand. But she was now looking at him, and that dreadful combination of hatred and despair and premature defeat that had lain like a shadow over her reptilian face was gone. Paris felt his spirits rise a little.
"You're a pilot, Kaavi, a pilot in a world where until recently such a thing wasn't even heard of. You've got one of the prettiest little ships I've ever seen. And you're going to be taking her inside a thing out of legend to rescue innocent people from slavery. Some people live their whole lives never even having the chance to make a difference, to do a little good."
Like me, until not so long ago, he thought. He reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her facial fur was very soft against his hand.
"And," he added, hoping he wasn't about to commit an egregious breach of etiquette, "the hope is here." Gently, he laid his hand on her heart for an instant, then removed it. He punched her gently, playfully, in the shoulder. "Come on, sister, you don't have time to feel sorry for yourself. You've--we've--got a job to do."
Kaavi blinked, gulped, then smiled. He smiled back, unaware that for the first time since he'd laid eyes on a Verunan he truly thought of that gesture as a smile instead of a grimace.
"You are a very good person, Tom Paris. You have a greater heart than you would have others believe."
Paris didn't know what to say to this. Instead, he tugged gently on Kaavi's sleeve. "Let's get back to the Conviction. If we're going to be flightworthy in five hours like the captain wants us to be, we've still got a long way to go."
As they walked back toward the ship, Torres caught his eye. The chief engineer grinned. He'd have called it a smirk, but her eyes were too friendly for that. He desperately hoped word wouldn't get around that Tom Paris was soft on lizards.
"Paris?"
"Yes, Kaavi?"
"What is... a tiger?"
***
At once, Chakotay corrected his first startled assumption. Of course it was no ghost. It was a hologram, an ancient one to be sure, one whose hardware could use a tune-up to give it a full-color spectrum and get rid of that transparent quality. But it was far more dangerous than the spirit of one long dead, he realized a heartbeat later as tiny red lights dickered into life along the corridor. Those lights no doubt indicated a weapons system ready to fire if Nata did not give a satisfactory answer.
And he couldn't take the risk that the passage of centuries had rendered the weapons system as faulty as the holographic system.
Mentally, he wondered if he'd be able to fire his phaser at them before they had a chance to fire back. He might. He hoped he wouldn't have to.
Viha Nata was startled, but almost at once she drew herself up to her full, rather imposing height. When she began to speak, she used the formal words and clipped, precise gestures that Chakotay recognized as a full retelling--practically a ritual.
"Greetings, First Challenger of the Soul. I am no trespasser.
My name is Nata, and I am Viha of my people, the People Who Live by the Standing Stone, the People Who..."
Nata continued with her formalized greeting. Chakotay only listened with half an ear. He was not a man who chose violence as a first alternative, but right now his fingers itched on his phaser. But Nata's response seemed to be working. The blue-tinged hologram settled back, adopting a listening pose.
For a brief second Chakotay wondered at the fact that the