Caretaker (16 page)

The question seemed rhetorical, and Tuvok, engrossed in maintaining at least an appearance of dignity, was satisfied to let it lie unanswered.

“Nobody around here wastes water in this manner,” Neelix went on, oblivious of his audience’s suffering. “A good sand scrub—that’s the best we can hope for.” He twisted around to drag yet another pitcher from the shelf behind him, and poured the entire contents over his head with a delicious shiver.

Tuvok blinked his attention back to the nowhere spot in front of him.

“I am pleased you are enjoying yourself,” he said, “but we are in orbit of the fifth planet. We need your assistance.”

Springing to his feet again, Neelix swiped water from himself almost gleefully, spraying wetness everywhere. “Could you hand me the towel?”

Cognizant of a length of terry cloth on the very edge of his peripheral vision, Tuvok snatched the towel from its rack without turning to look, and passed it equally blindly to the naked alien.

Neelix snapped it playfully at the Vulcan, then wilted just a little under the force of Tuvok’s cold stare. Tuvok considered preparing a report for the little alien regarding Vulcan philosophy and psychology, with special emphasis on the fact that Vulcans had no sense of humor, nor did they want one. Or perhaps a steady program of negative reinforcement would be more effective—Neelix was already busily toweling himself dry, as though never having tested the limits of Vulcan endurance.

“If you will scan the southern continent,” he said as he stepped clear of the tub, “you’ll find a range of extinct volcanoes.

Follow the foothills north until you discover a dry riverbed.”

He made a sling with the towel to polish his ample backside.

“You’ll find an encampment there.”

Tuvok committed the simple instructions to memory. “Do you believe our people might be at this location?”

“It’s not impossible.” Neelix shrugged and tossed the towel aside.

“Maybe. Perhaps not.” He smiled up at Tuvok as he pushed through the doorway in front of the Vulcan on his way to the main living chamber.

“But we’ll find them. We’ll need several containers of water to bring for barter.” He picked up a mostly fleshed bone at random as he wandered over to the control bank on the opposite wall. “Do these replicators make clothing, as well?”

Hoping to encourage that line of thought, Tuvok said only, “Yes.”

“Will it make me a uniform like yours?”

The thought alone nearly broke through Tuvok’s Vulcan control.

“No,” he made himself say, very clearly. “It most certainly will not.”

Neelix gave a little grunt and turned back to the replicator with the half-gnawed bone sticking out of his mouth. Tuvok directed his attention toward the empty bathroom, studying the fractal patterns made by the puddles until Neelix indicated that it was safe to turn around.

Janeway took in as many details of the place as she could in the instant between first return of vision and the transporter effect’s release. It didn’t take long to absorb what little the landscape had to offer.

Sand. Sand, and more sand. Water had been gone so long from this land that the very skin of the ground had cracked and shrunken, leaving a scaly surface that looked like widely spaced stepping-stones with black fingers of nothing between them.

Kilometers away to left and right, where the banks of this onetime river rose up to make ancient floodplains, broken structures with the height and regularity of artificial constructs sketched out a depressing hint of cities long gone.

Of lives swallowed up by the dryness until only dust remained to chew away at the foundations and drag civilization’s litter back down into the dirt from which it came.

In its place, a rude tent camp had sprung up in the middle of the hard-baked waterway. Spare, sun-darkened people froze and looked up at the transporter’s whine. Their clothes were sandblasted to the same dark tatter, their skin and eyes so burned by heat that it was hard to imagine any expressions but anger and hatred on their lean, wasted faces. Janeway took in the row of out-of-atmosphere ships lined up several hundred meters beyond the last building in the camp, and matched that strange incongruity to the obvious weapons slung across the backs of half the skinny desert people, and she made a note to herself not to underestimate these pitiful creatures. They hadn’t managed to survive in such harsh conditions without knowing how to fight.

“Why would anyone want to live in a place like this?” Paris remarked with an inappropriate amount of disgust as soon as the transporter released them. He kicked up a cloud of powder-fine sand while Janeway watched the dirty aliens at the fringe of the camp boil into activity like a nest of disturbed ants. She wondered if it was their arrival or the deep thrumming she could feel through her feet that had the natives so excited.

Neelix moved up alongside her, following her gaze as he answered Paris.

“The rich cormaline deposits are very much in demand.”

“The Ocampa use it for barter?” Chakotay asked.

“Not the Ocampa.” Neelix seemed vaguely irritated at the stupidity of the suggestion. “The Kazon-Ogla.”

“Kazon-Ogla?” Janeway glanced down at him, and caught a flash of light from the corner of her eye. The pulses from the Array, she realized as she raised her head. They barely stood out in the full glare of the local sun, but she could just make out where they pounded the earth near the horizon, in time with the trembling at her feet. “Who are the Kazon-Ogla?”

Neelix waved down the dry riverbed toward the camp. “They are.”

He started forward without waiting for them, rubbing his hands with excitement. “Kazon sect controls this part of the quadrant.

Some have water, some have ore, some have food. They all trade, and they all try to kill each other.”

They sounded like a lovely people. Janeway motioned everyone to follow on Neelix’s heels as more and more Kazon spilled out into the sun, their weapons drawn. “I thought you said the Ocampa had our people.”

He waved off her question with brusque impatience, and Janeway exchanged a questioning look with Tuvok as the little alien scurried forward to meet the oncoming crowd of growling Kazon.

“My friends! It’s good to see you again!” The Vulcan studiously gave no hint as to what he thought of Neelix’s peremptory behavior, but Janeway hadn’t been his commander so long for nothing. In whatever arcane way Vulcan body language seemed to work, she’d already gotten the distinct impression that Tuvok didn’t care for Neelix overmuch.

Apparently, his dislike of the little alien wasn’t so uncommon a thing.

Kazon surged around him with an angry roar, hefting him into the air above their heads and shaking him the way a dog shakes a well-mangled toy as they chanted and shouted and danced back toward the village.

Janeway put out a hand to stop Paris from drawing his phaser as even more of the natives swept into a ring around the landing party. In another few minutes, she promised him silently, our Universal Translators should kick in.

Then we can talk to them. In the meantime, they had the option of beaming out no matter how many Kazon surrounded them, and there was no way the Kazon could suspect that. Janeway had no intention of starting a war with these people if she could avoid it—not while they might be the only link to finding Kim and Torres. Holding her arms wide to let the Kazon disarm her without a fight, Janeway kept a steady eye on Paris and Chakotay to make sure they did the same, however grudgingly.

A few more minutes …

“Wait! Wait!” Neelix’s cry sounded like a pig’s squealing, although Janeway suspected he was trying for an undertone of friendly laughter.

“Yes, it’s always wonderful to be back with you,” he enthused as the mob carried him roughly into the outskirts of camp, “but I must speak with your Maje, the ever-wise Jabin—!”

One of the Kazon women—a whipcord demon with eyes as black as jet—yanked Neelix by the collar until he fell with a grunt at the base of a crumbling wall, where she could yell at him unobstructed by the others. “Very amusing,” he coughed, scrabbling to his knees. “Very amusing—I enjoy a joke as much as the next man—” He looked up into the line of primitive rifles directed at his face, and an unexpected spasm of happiness flashed across his features. “Jabin! My old friend!”

Janeway turned in unison with the rest of the Kazon, leaving only the black-eyed female to rant at Neelix and slap at his head.

Near the back of the crowd, a tall, big-handed man as dark and cracked as the dirt pushed his way forward. From the hateful glimmer in his eyes, he would have bitten Neelix in half with his own teeth as soon as look at him. Snapping an order to the impromptu firing squad, he smiled thinly across their heads at Neelix and lifted his arm in the universal signal.

“Water!” Neelix blurted, his voice squeezed into a frightened squeak.

“I have water to replace all that I borrowed!”

The Kazon froze, eyes eager at the prospect of slaking their thirst, and looked back toward Jabin. Their leader stood equally unmoving, but Janeway could see the storms of thought raging just behind his eyes.

Sensing a chance for reprieve, Neelix pointed a trembling finger at Janeway. “Their ship has technology that can make water out of thin air!” Which was better than trying to explain the transporter, so Janeway let him have that slight untruth.

Jabin shoved aside two of his people to stalk closer to the captive landing party. He looked like a stick, almost thin enough to snap, and smelled like rotten sweat and salty oil.

Janeway found herself hoping fervently that Kim and Torres hadn’t been locked up with these people—she’d almost rather they were dead.

Without being told, Paris unhooked his canteen and tossed it to Jabin.

Jabin did no more than sniff it before letting the others tear it away.

Janeway never saw a drop of the water escape anyone’s lips. They sucked straight from the mouth of the can, or from each other, scrabbling and shouting like dogs over a bone. Now Jabin met Janeway’s eyes steadily and pointed at the canteen hanging from her own belt.

“You have more?” More than the few mouthfuls any of us happen to carry. Enough to start a full-scale riot, in fact, from the look of things. Tapping her comm badge, she hoped they had guessed rightly about how to present themselves to these Kazon. “Janeway to Voyager.

Energize.”

The vats sparkled into existence back where the landing party had first set down, Startlingly, she could smell the cool freshness of water on the parched air, and the crowd surrounding them gave a cry of desperate hope. They broke apart into a stream of individuals, flowing around and away from Janeway’s people with a readiness that lifted the tension from her heart. Splashes and glad ululations drew even more natives out of their huts, and Janeway watched them converge on their simple abundance for a moment before turning back to Jabin. “There’s more where that came from, if you can help us.”

He pulled his eyes away from the sight of so much water with obvious effort. Anger and fear mixed on his face in that peculiar combination Janeway had learned to recognize in men who fear for their status when confronted with a threat they suspect is their better. “How can we help someone so powerful they can create water out of thin air?”

Maybe Neelix’s lie hadn’t been so harmless after all. “This man—” She pointed to where Neelix now huddled fearfully close to Tuvok’s elbow.

“—led us here suggesting we might find a people called the Ocampa. Do you know where they are?”

Jabin made a face, as though she’d asked him to chew his own feces.

“Ocampa?” Turning, he jerked his chin back toward the sorry hovels, where a small crowd of young and injured Kazon were making their slower way forward. “She is Ocampa.” And Janeway’s eyes caught on a single pale, ghostly figure standing at the back of the gathering.

The girl was fragile and small, and her sun-spun hair still floated in the dry air despite the dirt streaking it with brassy gold. Her eyes were large, her skin as smooth and fine as eggshell, but the angry welts of color on her face and arms weren’t all from sunburn. Janeway felt a fist of anger push against her chest, and fought it down with effort. But she prayed all over again that Kim and Torres hadn’t been found by these creatures who thought so little of savaging such a thing of innocent beauty.

As if to secure her poor opinion of his band, Jabin spat in the Ocampa’s general direction and waved at her as though to banish her from his sight. “Why would you be interested in these worthless creatures? They only live nine years. And they make poor servants.

We caught this one when she wandered to the surface.”

“The surface?” Janeway glanced away from the Ocampa girl—who, despite Jabin’s dismissal, crept silently closer as the Kazon pack moved, her eyes playing across the landing party as though expecting them to transform into something more recognizable.

“You mean they live underground.”

Jabin grunted and shook a fist at the white fire scarring the sky as the Array’s pulses burned past. “The entity in space that gives them food and power also gave them sole access to the only water on this world.” He spat again (dryly, Janeway noted, with only the explosive burst of air through his lips to express his disdain). “Two miles below the surface.”

It seemed the Array hadn’t made many friends at all in this section of space. “This same entity has abducted two of our people,” Janeway told him. He squinted at her with interest, but didn’t interrupt. “We believe they might be with the Ocampa.”

Jabin shrugged. “There’s no way to get to them. We’ve tried.”

As though forcible attack were the only way any sane being would approach the problem. “The entity has established some kind of subterranean barrier we cannot penetrate.”

“But she got out.” Chakotay gestured at the girl, who now stood close enough for them to see the color of her bright eyes, but still outside Jabin’s easy reach.

The Kazon leader shot a glare at her, and the Ocampa moved a few more steps away from him, circling to stand on a line with Tuvok and Neelix.

“Occasionally,” the Kazon grumbled, “some do find their way to the surface. We don’t know how. But the Ocampa always seal the tunnels afterward.”