The Black Shore

by Greg Cox

  “Hard to imagine running out of dilithium,” he said. Back in the Alpha Quadrant, the vital crystals were manufactured in quantity. Even the Maquis had little trouble getting their hands on black-market crystals. “It’s like living back in the twenty-third century, when the stuff was worth more than gold-pressed latinum.”

  “A pretty primitive state of affairs,” Torres agreed. “We have barely enough crystals to tune the harmonics of the antimatter reaction, and we can’t even take full advantage of the dilithium we do have, what with the damage to the theta-matrix.”

  “Damn,” Chakotay said. “I knew we were running short, but I didn’t realize it was quite that serious.” Beneath his ceremonial tattoo, his face was somber. “B’Elanna, you’re as entitled to some shore leave as anyone else in the crew, but I’d appreciate it if you’d pursue this dilithium matter while we’re here. I don’t want Voyager stalling out the next time we’re being chased across the Delta Quadrant.”

  “Shore leave. Right,” Torres said, rolling her eyes. Apparently, shore leave was up there with sugared fruit drinks in her affections. Chakotay wondered if that was the Klingon or the engineer in her speaking. “I’ve been trying to get some of these Ryol to open up about their power systems, but none of them wants to talk shop. They keep inviting me to look at the stars instead!”

  Chakotay smiled. He could see where the friendly and effusive natives might get on Torres’s nerves. “This is a party, not a seminar,” he reminded her. “Now may not be the right time to exchange technical data.”

  “I guess so,” Torres said grudgingly.

  A single neffaler approached them. For all Chakotay knew, it might have been the same creature he met before; he wasn’t sure he could tell them apart. This one was pushing a cart on which were stacked several empty plates and goblets. Chakotay finished off his drink and handed the glass to the neffaler. “Thank you,” he said.

  The neffaler did not respond. It merely pushed its cart past Torres, heading for the next cluster of partygoers. Was it mute? he wondered, watching the dwarfish creature struggle with its cart, which seemed to weigh much more than it did. The neffaler was breathing hard, clearly exhausted by its task. Chakotay hoped that Voyager’s arrival had not added to the burden of all the neffaler. The more he saw of their sorry state, the less he liked it.

  “Maybe one of these things can tell me about their technology,” Torres said. Her tone suggested that she was already tempted to give up on the Ryol themselves.

  “I doubt it,” Chakotay said. “They don’t seem very talkative.”

  • • •

  “You wanted to see me, Captain?” Tom Paris asked, slightly apprehensively. He was scheduled to start his shore leave in approximately thirty minutes, and the last thing he wanted now was a last-minute emergency assignment. What’s this all about? he wondered.

  Janeway sat behind the desk in her ready room, a serious expression on her face. “Come on in, Lieutenant,” she said. “This won’t take long.”

  I sure hope not, he thought. He and Harry had already made plans to check out the night life on Ryol. From what he’d seen earlier, there were women on Ryol who made even the Delany sisters look like Ferengi.

  Captain Janeway waited for the door to slide shut behind Paris before she continued. “Ordinarily, I like to stay out of my crew’s personal lives. What you do when you’re off-duty is none of my concern, as long as it doesn’t endanger the ship or its reputation. However—”

  Uh-oh, Paris thought.

  “As awkward as this is, I have to ask you to be careful around the Elder’s daughter, Laazia. We don’t want to have another episode like what almost happened the other day in the garden.”

  Paris knew exactly what Janeway was referring to. He remembered Laazia, all right, and the murderous hate in Naxor’s green eyes. “But, Captain,” he protested, “that wasn’t my fault. Neelix provoked that guy.”

  Janeway eyed him skeptically. “I don’t believe that and neither do you. We both know what that was really about.”

  Paris couldn’t deny it. He knew a jealous boyfriend when he saw one. “Laazia, right?”

  “Look, Tom, no one is saying you did anything wrong . . . yet.” Janeway gave him a wry smile. “But you appear to have wandered into the middle of a volatile situation, and I’d like to avoid any unnecessary complications while we’re visiting this planet. Do we understand each other, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Paris said. Oh well, he thought. Easy come, easy go. Laazia had undeniable appeal, but it wasn’t like he was planning to settle down on Ryol forever. “Just one question: what if the Elder’s daughter won’t take no for an answer?”

  “You’re a Starfleet officer,” Janeway said, smiling. “I trust you can defend yourself.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  “OH, NEELIX, ISN’T THIS GLORIOUS?”

  The sun hovered directly overhead as Kes waded into the golden surf. Warm water swirled around her legs, more water than she had ever seen in her short life. In the underground city where she had been born, water was carefully rationed by the Caretaker. Small wonder then that a mere day at the beach seemed so miraculous to her. To think, she thought, the Ryol can go swimming here every day!

  “I’m not sure I’d go so far as ‘glorious,’ ” Neelix said, splashing through the waves behind her. “The Flaming Falls of Fortunata Five . . . now those are glorious. But this is certainly nice, I must admit. It sure beats some of the ghastly places we’ve visited on this voyage. Planet Hell, for instance.”

  Kes didn’t want to think about Planet Hell or anything else hellish for that matter. She dug her bare feet into the sand beneath the surf, letting the tiny beads run between her toes. The sparkling water rose above her waist as she slowly waded away from the shore. She could smell the spice in the air, taste the spray upon her lips. Her fingers trailed behind her, breaking the surface of the harbor. Is there a beach program stored in the memory banks of Voyager’s holodeck, Kes wondered. She resolved to find out at the first opportunity.

  “Careful,” Neelix called out. “Don’t go too far.” He charged through the water, eager to catch up with her, splashing more water with every step. His arms and legs emerged from a striped blue-and-orange bathing suit that covered his entire torso. Soggy, shaggy fur was plastered along the lengths of his arms. Plowing awkwardly through the waves, he stumbled and fell face-first into the water.

  “Neelix!” Kes cried out, momentarily alarmed, but her companion quickly scrambled back onto his feet. He coughed and sputtered, spewing golden sea water from his mouth. Soaked bristles hung limply on his head. Kes couldn’t help laughing; he looked so ridiculous. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Never better,” he insisted, expelling one last mouthful of fluid. “Nothing like a refreshing dip to invigorate oneself. Why, I remember one time when I walked across the entire length of the Great Kanspo Desert just to swim in the Sea of Semi-Sentient Soap.” He drew closer to her, moving somewhat more carefully than before.

  Voyager’s replicators had provided them both with swimming attire, based on designs found in the computer’s capacious memory. Kes wore a simple one-piece garment whose pale green coloring matched her eyes. It was rather more, she noted, than the Ryol themselves wore, but Neelix had blanched at the very idea of her wearing anything more revealing, especially in front of the young Ryol males. He seemed to regard the local men with suspicion, no matter how friendly and attentive they were. Indeed, the more hospitable they were, the more Neelix appeared to distrust them. Kes sighed inwardly. She loved Neelix, but sometimes she wished he wasn’t so jealous all the time.

  She glanced back at the shore, where a handful of Voyager personnel shared the sunlit beach with a few of their Ryol hosts. She spotted Susan Tukwila chasing after an inflatable plastic ball that bounced along the beach. A pair of Ryol also pursued the ball, but Ryolanov’s lesser gravity gave the human woman an edge. Bounding high above the sand, she snatched the sphere out
of the air moments before it would have landed in the waiting hands of a tall Ryol man whom Kes did not recognize. Laughing heartily, all the nearby Ryol applauded Tukwila’s spectacular catch.

  This is the way it should be, Kes thought. Too often Voyager’s encounters with alien races had been fraught with uncertainty and conflict. How joyous it was to get to know another culture without shields being raised and phaser banks armed. The overflowing trust and generosity of the Ryol was a blessing to them all.

  “Isn’t this wonderful, Neelix?” she said. “It’s opportunities like this that make me so glad we decided to join Voyager’s journey.” She strode farther into the shimmering water, immersing herself up to her neck in the warm welcoming liquid. “I’ve seen so much more than I ever expected to, done so many things I could never have done back home.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” Neelix said. A centimeter or two shorter than Kes, he had to paddle with his hands to keep his head above the waves. “But maybe you ought to think about turning back. After all, we don’t know how deep this water gets.”

  He was probably right, Kes conceded. Neelix had traveled far more extensively than she had and knew infinitely more about the dangers of the worlds beyond her own. Still, she didn’t want to retreat just yet, not with so much harbor left to explore. “I want to swim,” she announced impulsively. “Teach me how to swim, Neelix.”

  “Swim?” he said, sounding rather unsure. For a second, Kes wondered if Neelix actually knew how to swim. Of course he does, she thought. Neelix has been everywhere and done just about everything. She watched him paddling to stay afloat. Why, he’s practically swimming already.

  Her companion mulled the idea over for a few moments, then an exuberant grin broke out over his face. “Well, why not?” he declared. “First things first, though. Before you can swim, you have to learn how to float.”

  That made sense, she thought. “All right. How do we begin?”

  “Nothing to it.” He paddled backward until his feet were resting securely on the sandy floor of the harbor. “Come over here.” Kes walked toward him. “Okay,” he said. “Now just turn around and lean backward into the water. Don’t worry, I’ll hold you up.”

  It took her several tries to get it right. The first time she was startled by a stray wave washing over her face and sank, splashing wildly, beneath the water. Neelix kept her from sinking too far, though; as promised, she felt his arms beneath her, supporting her. “Just relax,” he murmured. “Let the water carry you.” It was no use, she thought, extending her arms and legs out as far as she could. Her muscles tensed automatically the moment her feet left the ground. She felt as stiff and solid as an anchor—and just as quick to sink toward the sea floor. “Relax,” Neelix repeated over and over. “Don’t worry about getting your face wet. It’s just water . . . I think.”

  Gradually, she got the hang of it. Relax, she thought, letting her limbs drift limply atop the surface of the water, feeling the liquid’s natural buoyancy carry her along with the waves. It was like one of the meditation exercises Tuvok had taught her to help her hone her nascent telepathic abilities; the trick to emptying her mind was not to think about not thinking. She closed her eyes, feeling the warm sunlight upon her face. The gentle rhythm of the waves murmured in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. She heard Neelix’s voice, but only dimly. He seemed to be speaking from far away. The trick to floating was not to think about floating. She simply drifted with the tide, letting the warm soothing water carry her loose and careless body whichever way it chose. Neelix’s arms fell away. Only the sea supported her now, rocking her gently with its waves, lulling her into a restful, meditative, almost trancelike state.

  She floated aimlessly for some time, savoring the silence and the peace. The crimson sunshine suffused her being with warmth; she could sense its radiance even through shut eyelids. Then she heard a voice, so softly at first that she thought she was imagining it, but the voice persisted, steadily increasing in volume. Neelix? she wondered, but the faint whispering noise she heard did not come from above, but from somewhere deep beneath her. At first she thought there was only one voice, but as the sound grew louder, she realized that there were many voices, calling out in unison. The whisper turned into sobs which rose into a heart-rending cry of fear and despair. There was no mistaking the anguish in that awful keening, the torment and terror in the screaming that went on and on. Stop, she thought desperately, unable to bear the wailing any longer. Please, please stop.

  But the scream only grew louder, until Kes thought her ears would burst. A shadow fell over her face, blocking out the sun. Her eyes snapped open, but, to her horror, the darkness remained. The sun and sky were gone; there was only blackness all around her, an all-encompassing blackness that blotted out every point of light in her universe. Where was Neelix? Where was everything? She tried to move, but her limbs would not respond. The darkness lay upon her like a heavy weight, holding her down, pinning her fast. There was no more water, no more warmth, only the blackness holding her tightly in its cold and paralyzing grip. And still the scream was all she heard, frantic and hopeless and unending, and finally she realized that she was the one who was screaming, but she still couldn’t make it stop. She kept on screaming, adding to her fear and panic. She was trapped. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe . . .

  • • •

  The crimson sun was high in the sky, but the leafy Ryol tree provided Harry Kim with plenty of shade in which to practice his clarinet. His Starfleet-issue boots sat empty upon the lawn a few meters away from him, his bare feet cushioned by the purple moss that carpeted the fragrant ground. Wide violet fronds rustled in the cooling breeze as Kim relaxed, resting his back against the copper-colored bark of the tree, and ran once more through the jazzy melody of “Nightbird” by the famed Betazed composer DuZoinn. It was a tricky piece, with lots of high notes, but Kim thought he was starting to get the hang of it. Certainly this idyllic garden park, one of many scattered throughout the city, provided a lot more inspiration than the all-too-familiar confines of his quarters back on Voyager.

  His fingers danced over the slender black instrument that transformed his vigorous exhalations into a string of rich musical notes. As always, he found it impossible to play the clarinet without thinking of his family back on Earth. Mom and Dad had always encouraged his musical talents, as had Libby, his long-lost fiancée. He wondered what they all were doing now, wishing there was some way to let them know he was okay.

  If I have to be far from home, he thought, looking around the peaceful garden and breathing in the subtle floral scent all about him, there are worse places to be. Indeed, that homesick feeling didn’t seem to hurt quite so much today; his yearning for home felt more bittersweet than heartbreaking. Nothing like a taste of paradise, he mused, to ease those Delta Quadrant blues.

  Deftly manipulating the tiny silver valves adorning the woodwind, he reached for another high note—and produced an alarming squeak instead. Ouch, Harry thought, wincing at the high-pitched squeal. Where did that come from? He removed the mouthpiece from his lips and inspected the business end of the clarinet. As he feared, the thin wooden reed was cracked and fraying around the edges, looking badly in need of replacement. Harry scowled at the broken reed. There goes another replicator coupon. . . .

  His gaze traveled upward toward the drooping tree branches above him, weighed down by pink and purple leaves. He wondered if he could carve a new reed from the oddly metallic wood of these Ryol trees. It might work, he thought.

  Suddenly he became aware of two large black eyes, the size of Terran sand dollars, peering down at him from the boughs overhead. Another neffaler, he realized, although he could barely see the rest of the animal through the lush canopy of leaves. The neffaler stared at him with obvious curiosity.

  “C’mon here, little guy,” Kim called, keeping his voice mild and unthreatening. “Come on. I won’t bite.”

  The neffaler kept watching him, but showed no signs of
budging from his perch. Kim considered the clarinet resting in his hands. Maybe the neffaler was attracted by the music? Kim lifted the mouthpiece to his lips and experimentally ran through some of the easier passages of “Nightbird.” The battered reed gave him some trouble, but held together enough to produce a passable tune.

  The music had the desired effect. Slowly, hesitantly, the diminutive primate descended toward Kim one branch at a time. As the neffaler drew nearer, Kim saw that the furry little music lover was smaller and younger-looking than any of the other neffaler he had seen running errands for the Ryol. It was painfully thin, like the rest of its species, but it also had an amazed wide-eyed quality that Kim associated with children and baby animals. He guessed that this particular neffaler was far from fully grown.

  As Kim kept playing, the neffaler eventually ended up hanging from the lowest branch on the tree, its six-toed feet dangling in the air only a few meters above Kim’s face. Kim took pains not to make any sudden moves, and to keep the music coming, and, sure enough, the tiny neffaler soon dropped onto the manicured lawn in front of Kim. Its shaggy red bristles standing out against the violet moss, the neffaler advanced cautiously toward Kim. It was actually kind of cute, he thought, deciding that the small neffaler reminded him of some baby chimps he and Libby had seen at a wildlife preserve near Starfleet Academy.

  It came to a halt about a meter and a half away from Kim. For several minutes the human and the young neffaler watched each other, the only sound in the park being the music of the clarinet and the rustling of the leaves overhead. Finally Kim decided that he couldn’t bear to play the easy parts of “Nightbird” one more time. He stopped blowing into the mouthpiece and slowly lowered the instrument onto his lap, half expecting the skittish animal to run away the moment the music stopped.