“But I didn’t think it would be…” Zahir trailed off, his ridged nose wrinkling in a frown as he brushed his long black hair from his face. She self-consciously brushed at a few of her own locks, their golden curls gone limp and dull from the sweat that drenched them. She’d stripped down to nothing, alone in her quarters with only her lover to see her, but she was still burning up and panting, and it embarrassed her to look so bedraggled in front of him, even though he didn’t seem to mind watching her pace the room this way. “There’s nothing the Doctor can do to…to treat this? He’s had years to come up with something.”
“You make it sound like a disease! This is it, Zahir. The time is now, or never. And there’s no one else. You’re my only hope for becoming a mother.”
He glared. “And you make it sound like I’m just the one who happens to be around.”
“You know that’s not what I mean. Why do you think I sought you out again? You’re the man I chose to be the father of my child.” Or children, she amended. Ocampa procreated only once, but they often bore twins or triplets; otherwise, their population would have quickly declined.
She had almost gone with him once before, the first time they had met. Fully grown and ready for change in her life, feeling the urge to leave the nest of Voyager and spread her wings, Kes had become captivated with the handsome Mikhal Traveler and his romantic way of life: wandering the spaceways in ones and twos, seeking adventure and new experiences, bound only by the laws of chance and fate. But she had decided that if she was going through changes in her life, it was better to stay with the people who knew her best, those she could trust to keep her anchored.
But she had still cared for Zahir, so after Voyager had been crippled, she had sought him out again. They had shared some wild adventures for a time, but then her augmented powers had made her valuable to the Vostigye Union and she had been compelled to settle down. He had been reluctant to spend too much time in Vostigye space, given the attitudes toward outsiders, but he had chosen to stay close in his wanderings for her sake. She had indulged his need for freedom, not wishing to rush him into anything. But biology had trumped her plans.
Zahir finally found words again. “To be a father…I’m not sure I’m ready.”
She smiled. “Isn’t it the Mikhal way to go where fate takes you and adapt as you go?”
After a moment, he grew resolute. “You’re right. I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“Please hurry. I should begin to secrete the ipasaphor any time now, and after that, we’ll only have fifty hours to conceive.”
“I can make it if I cut through the Myrel plasma drifts. It’ll play hell with my intake manifolds, but…well, I suppose I won’t be needing them if I’m going to be staying in one place for a while.” He smiled. “How long does the mating process last? Six days?”
She chuckled at his excitement. “Oh, at least.”
“You’re a far more robust people than you look.” They shared a laugh. “Though you’ve never looked more enticing. I love you, Kes.”
“I love you too. See you soon.”
But she was distracted as she signed off. Her mention of the ipasaphor, the hormonal secretion from the palms that catalyzed the mating bond, had reminded her—she should have begun to show more signs by now. She should have felt the itching as the mitral sac emerged on her back. She reached back; the bare skin there was as smooth as ever.
Could something be wrong with the process? Could my premature elogium before have affected it now? Or could my other recent changes be affecting it? It was time to see the Doctor again.
“Kes, this is extraordinary!”
“Is there something wrong, Doctor?”
“No, no, you’re in perfect health. But your elogium has completely reversed itself.”
A chill ran through her, but there was a touch of relief to it. “Permanently?”
“I don’t think so. All your reproductive glands are mature, intact, and ready to go—they just aren’t going. It’s as though something is holding them back.”
“Something? It sounds like you have a theory.”
He paused. “The one anomaly is your serotonin level. It appears that the telekinetic center of your brain is exceptionally active.”
Her eyes widened. In the past, her telekinetic ability had proven dangerous when it got out of control—and lethal when under Tieran’s control. “Does it pose any danger?”
“No…in fact, it seems its psionic output is focused through your own nervous system. Put simply, Kes…I believe you’ve managed to postpone your elogium through a sheer effort of will.”
“Is that possible?”
“When it comes to you, Kes, I’ve stopped asking that question. You were expressing concern earlier about the inconvenience of the elogium striking now. Would you have chosen to delay it if you could?”
She thought carefully. “Yes. I do want this—I want to have a family—but this is not a good time for it. In fact…” Her breath caught as she realized something. “I think I was feeling a little resentful that my biology was taking the choice away from me. I would’ve preferred to be able to choose when and with whom I had my children. I just didn’t admit it to myself because I thought I had no choice.” She caught the Doctor staring at her. “What is it?”
“You said ‘when…and with whom.’”
It took a moment to sink in. “You think I’m having second thoughts about Zahir?”
“You’d have to tell me that. It just occurs to me that, in the wake of Mister Neelix, Zahir has been the only romantic partner of your adult life. And until just now, you thought you’d have only one chance to become a mother, and that it would happen within the next few months. Now, it seems, you suddenly have more choices. Your condition seems stable; my best medical judgment is that you can continue to postpone the elogium indefinitely, until you decide you truly are ready. So I suppose the question is, did you choose Zahir because he was Mister Right, or Mister Right Place at the Right Time?”
She glared at him. “That’s an awfully blunt question, Doctor.”
He hesitated. “I apologize, Kes. It’s…different for me now. Before, I always identified myself with a single holographic body. Now, I’m in hundreds of bodies at once, and it’s hard to feel truly attached to any one of them. It’s a different…level of self-awareness. So I fear I sometimes find it harder to relate to…individuals the same way I once did. I need to try harder to maintain my usual, sterling bedside manner.”
She smiled at his optimistic assessment of his usual manner. “It’s all right, Doctor. I’ve always appreciated your bluntness. Maybe I just…didn’t want to hear the question.”
“You mean…we’re not having a baby?”
The disappointment on his face was heartbreaking. Less than two days ago, he’d been frightened of the idea. Now he’d come around to it fully. But maybe that mercurial tendency was part of the problem. “I’m sorry, Zahir. But my options have…broadened. I have a freedom I’ve never known before. The Doctor thinks that my mental control over my bodily functions might even let me prolong my life expectancy.”
“But that’s wonderful! We could have more years together.”
“Maybe we could. But you were right the other day—I chose you because I didn’t think I had another choice. Now I can’t be so sure. I just don’t want to rush into any decision.”
He heard what she wasn’t saying. “Because you don’t want to end up unhappy with the wrong man.”
She wanted to reassure him, but decided he deserved honesty. “I’m sorry. I do love you for what you’ve been to me—a breath of fresh air, an adventure. A free, roving spirit who was nonetheless willing to slow down and stay awhile for my sake. I’ll always cherish you for that. But I don’t think that makes you the man I want to start a family and live out my life with. Certainly not right now. Now I have so much more of my life that I can explore, so many more opportunities I can take. I still want motherhood to be a part of that, but it can be on my ow
n terms now, when the time is right.”
“And when the man is right.”
“I’m sorry, Zahir. You’re a wonderful man. But a young woman’s infatuation is not enough of a basis for a marriage.”
He laughed, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know why I’m upset. This is a load lifted from my back. I was terrified. Of course I’m not ready to be a father—what was I thinking?”
She kissed him. “You were thinking of me. Of being there when I needed you. I’ll always love you for that.”
“But you need to move on,” he said, his voice rough. “Find your own path. I’d be a poor Traveler if I tried to hold you from that. Not when you have the kind of potential you do.”
In his mind, she felt the pain beneath his words—the love he felt for her, deeper than he would acknowledge. But she also felt that it was a juvenile love, the kind that burned strong and then burned out. Fathering her children would have become a trap for him, and it would not have ended well, even if she had lived only four or five years more. Ending it now was better for them both.
But she knew she would be lonelier without him. She relished the new freedom that lay before her, but she missed her old friends from Voyager. She corresponded with them all, of course, but it wasn’t the same.
Would they just keep drifting further apart? Would she keep losing the ones she loved?
5
“Good day, everybody, and welcome to the latest installment of Catching Up with Neelix. I, of course, am your host, Neelix, and, well, I guess you’ve caught up with me. Heh-heh. And just in time, too, for this is a momentous occasion indeed. As of today, it has been exactly six Earth months since my first broadcast. Which is just under four Vostigye ronds. And in just another few days, it will have been forty Talaxian niziks, and—well, that’s the great thing about living in a multispecies community. So many excuses to throw an anniversary party!
“You know, when I started these broadcasts as a way for Voyager’s crew to stay…caught up…on one another as they scattered across Vostigye space, I had no idea they would become so popular with Vostigye viewers as well, not to mention the Nezu, the Bourget, the Ridion, and the rest of the fine folks who make up the Union. I guess it just goes to show that everyone has a hunger to learn about new worlds and new civilizations.
“And not to worry, folks, we’ll have plenty of that today. We’ll get the latest update on the progress of the Tarkan cure from everybody’s favorite, the lovely and charming Kes. We’ve got an interview with Lieutenant Lyndsay Ballard on the ongoing reconstruction of Voyager. And the one and only Doctor—eh, so to speak—will be here with his latest…fascinating medical lecture, ‘Sympathetic or Parasympathetic: The Debate Rages On.’
“As for myself, I’ve just gotten back from my goodwill tour to the Nyrian home system, and I’m happy to report some promising developments on the diplomatic front. Of course, now that everyone in the region’s been tipped off to their little takeover-by-translocator trick—thanks to Captain Janeway and her crew, by the way—the Nyrians aren’t exactly in a strong bargaining position. But they’re not a bad people once you get to know them. And they know they’re as much at risk as the rest of us if the Borg or Species 8472 come this way. So…I can’t say anything official at this stage, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an alliance in our future. In the meantime, we have a fascinating segment on Nyrian culture and history, helping you get to know your neighbors a little better.
“Speaking of which, one of our guests today is the eminent Casciron historian and poet, Garvas Caer. He’ll be here to talk about the deep-rooted cultural issues underlying the current tensions over Casciron immigration policy. We’ll also have Vitye Megon, Subspeaker of the Legislature, as our guest to offer the opposing side. I’m sure that will be a…lively debate.
“But first, some announcements. I’m happy to report that, thanks to your generous contributions, we now have sixty-seven percent of the funding we need to rebuild Voyager’s science labs. Meanwhile, the holodeck reconstruction fund is at, uh, eighty-nine percent. I guess that shows where your priorities lie. Heh-heh. Seriously, we are all deeply moved by the generosity of our Vostigye and other viewers. With your help, we’ll have Voyager flying again before you know it.
“In other exciting news, our favorite Bolians, Chell and Golwat, have finally set their wedding date. Now all we need are something new and something borrowed. Uh, sorry, human joke. And Voyager’s own Lauren MacTaggart has agreed to sing at the wedding…”
Chakotay gazed out at the ruins of the ancient Vostigye city with awe. Despite—or to spite—their planet’s high gravity, the Vostigye had striven to build tall, and many of their ancient towers had remained standing through centuries of seismic instability, thanks to their sturdy, ziggurat-like construction. “Thank you for bringing me to see this,” he told Dobrye Gavanri. “I’m amazed at how untouched these ruins are.”
The Minister of Science answered with a wry grin on her gray-furred face. “Most Vostigye don’t like to come to the Birthworld. Even for those who aren’t superstitious, the smell of death on this place is forbidding. There’s a certain irony in our use of the name.”
Chakotay nodded solemnly. Over ninety percent of a thriving industrial-era population had died in the course of the Catastrophe, when the gravitation of a passing white dwarf had triggered intense geological upheavals. The Vostigye had been at the most primitive level of spaceflight back then, driven by necessity to develop that technology as quickly as possible. They hadn’t known whether their young could develop properly without full gravity, hadn’t known how much cosmic radiation they could withstand, hadn’t even known if it was possible to build a self-sustaining artificial biosphere. Many more lives had been lost on the way to solving those problems. But they’d endured their Trail of Tears against all odds, refusing to give up. Chakotay felt a deep kinship with these people.
He began moving down the slope into the half-collapsed city, grateful for the strength-enhancing armatures the Vostigye had developed to let offworlders cope with unaccustomed gravity. “That’s not the only irony I see here,” he told Dobrye as she loped down beside him.
“Oh?”
“Being here reminds me that the Vostigye are a whole civilization of refugees. So I wonder sometimes why many of you have so much trouble accepting other refugees.”
“We worked hard to create the civilization we have,” the minister said. “We’re deeply invested in it, and justifiably proud. Many fear letting it become diluted or changed.” He heard a hint of defensiveness, hastily quashed, in his friend’s voice. Dobrye had grown up in a staunchly Preservationist family, her love of exploration and novelty overcoming their insularity and leading her to a prominent post in the Progressive government. Though she disagreed with their politics, she still cared for them and strove to understand them. Chakotay wished there were more like her in the Vostigye government, people who could serve as bridges between the ideological factions.
“But isn’t that why so many refugees come here?” he asked her. “Because they admire what you’ve created? Doesn’t it stand to reason that they’d want to help preserve it too?”
Dobrye chuckled. “I’m not the one you have to convince, my friend. But your little speech would play very well on the net. All the more reason why you should accept my offer to run.”
He smirked and shook his head. “Sorry, Dobrye. I already have a constituency to look out for.”
“Your crewmates have adapted very well. They can take care of themselves—especially with a tireless advocate like Neelix. And they’ve proven themselves capable, intelligent, responsible individuals, everything the Preservationists say refugees can’t be. But there are still laws in place that hold them back. You could help to change that.”
“And if a Voyager crewman joins the establishment, it’s a great public-relations win for the Progressives.”
“True,” Dobrye conceded. “It proves that outsiders can assimilate and contribute meani
ngfully. And that can only help in your quest to build a regional alliance.”
Chakotay pondered. “You have a point. But I’d prefer you didn’t use the word ‘assimilate.’”
“Apologies. It was impolitic.”
“No, that’s all right.” The problem was his, not hers. He still lay awake at nights, imagining the faces of Riley and the others in the Cooperative. They were so proud of what they had done, breaking free of the Borg, forming their own new society that allowed both individuality and collective thought, convinced it would bring them the best of both. Chakotay had doubted their good intentions after they had imposed their control on his mind and forced him to help create that new interlink. But he had hoped their innate humanity would let them grow beyond that mistake and build something of value, perhaps something that could keep the Borg in check.
But now they would never have the chance. Six months ago, they had been attacked by Species 8472 as part of the extracosmic invaders’ genocidal war against all Borg. They had applied the creativity the Collective was incapable of, devising a nanoprobe defense not unlike the one the Doctor had developed to cure Harry, though less effective as an offensive weapon. They had succeeded in driving off the 8472. Unfortunately, that had brought the attention of the Collective, which had come in force and reassimilated them, wiping out a whole nascent civilization to protect its own hide. The nanoprobe defense had let the Borg rally and prolong the war past its expected duration. That was a mixed blessing, for it provided more time to build an alliance, and might leave the victor even weaker. On the other hand, the prolonged fighting might force the victor to become tougher and more creative, harder to defeat.
But what kept Chakotay up at night was the question: what if he’d gone along with Kathryn’s original plan? Species 8472 might have been defeated, and Riley and the Cooperative might have been spared. Of course, he couldn’t know that; it was possible that the Borg would have remained a stronger threat and assimilated the Cooperative anyway, along with the Vostigye and everyone else in the region. But he couldn’t help wondering all the same.
Star Trek®: Myriad Universes: Infinity’s Prism Page 21
