Pathways

by Jeri Taylor

  This was the first time she had seen the visitor closely. He wasn’t nearly as large as the Kazon, and had a series of spots patterned on his head and hands. A fine ruff of hair protruded from the top of his head and spilled down his back, and his eyes, a yellow-orange, were as kind as his voice. A feeling of peace came over her when she looked at him, and she decided that was because he was an innately good man.

  Jabin jerked his head toward the water barrel and Kes understood that he wanted her to serve them. She drew cups of water for both, then withdrew slightly, hoping to stay out of Jabin’s vision.

  But she was intensely aware that the other man was staring at her, as though transfixed. Jabin laughed. “Quite a beauty, isn’t she? But that’s where her assets end. She’s all but worthless as a slave. Tires easily, wilts in the heat, no strength at all.”

  “I can see that,” said the visitor. “She’s frail. Probably sickly. I might find household work for her, if you’d be interested in trading.”

  Kes could hardly contain herself at this statement. Was it possible this man might get her out of the Kazon encampment? Would Jabin be willing to trade her for water? She didn’t quite hear what they were saying next, she was so excited. But when she tuned back in, that excitement shattered, to be replaced by despair.

  “She’s worth nothing to me as a worker,” Jabin was saying. “But she has information I’m determined to get. She’s proved recalcitrant so far, but I’m ready to move to more persuasive methods.”

  He hadn’t forgotten the night before. He intended to do terrible things to her, to force her to reveal the hiding place of the tunnel opening. What could she do? Panic rose and she tried to will it away, tried to keep her mind composed so she could devise a plan. In desperation, she felt her mind reaching out to the kind stranger, the man who had suggested taking her away. “Please . . . help me . . .”

  The visitor turned toward her and blinked. She knew he had received her thought, and was comforted by that. “Send her away, Jabin,” he was saying. “I’d like to talk to you alone.”

  Jabin jerked his head and Kes hurried from the room into the white glare of the sun. She was grateful to be out of Jabin’s presence, if even for a moment. What were they talking about? Why did the stranger have her sent from the room? Was it possible he wasn’t as kind as she thought, and was even helping Jabin prepare torments for her?

  No. He was a good man, she was sure of that. Her mind had told her that immediately, and she trusted the instinct. She could only hope that he had some kind of plan that would spare her from torture, even if he couldn’t get her off the planet. She comforted herself with that thought as the Ogla miners gathered round, making lewd remarks about her as was their wont.

  Presently, the visitor came out of the stone structure, squinting in the brightness of the day, searching till he found her. His sweet eyes locked on to her, and she felt her mind reaching out once more. “I feel I can trust you.”

  The man walked toward her. “You can,” he said with sincerity. “I am your friend. Come walk with me, and let’s talk.” When they had moved out of earshot of the miners, he said, “I’ve convinced Jabin to let me try to befriend you, so that you’ll reveal the opening of the tunnel to your city. We can keep him at a distance for a while, until I can figure out a way to get you off the planet.”

  Kes was so relieved she almost stumbled, her legs suddenly without bone and muscle to support her. The man held tightly to her arm until she steadied herself. “Thank you,” she breathed. “He was going to torture me.”

  “I know. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  She clutched his arm as though afraid ever to let go. “I don’t know what to call you,” she said.

  “I’m Neelix.”

  “I’m Kes. What a good man you are.”

  “I wish that were true.”

  “It is. I knew it the first time I heard you speak. You’re the first good person I’ve met since I came from underground.”

  “Tell me about your city. You’ve lived underground all your life? You’ve never been in space?”

  Kes hesitated. She felt suddenly foolish when she thought of all the circumstances that had brought her to this wretched pass. She wanted this man to care about her, not to discover what a rash and impetuous child she’d been. So she gave the briefest of accounts, ending with the acknowledgment that coming to the surface was a foolhardy thing to do.

  But Neelix patted her hand affectionately. “I think it was courageous of you. And you’re not to worry about it anymore, because together we’ll come up with a way to rescue you.”

  For almost two weeks, Neelix visited the encampment frequently, spending long hours with Kes. He told her about himself, and she ached with sorrow when she heard of the horrendous loss of his family. He talked about being addicted to something horrible called “Rhuludian crystals,” and how painful the process was when he was forced off them by a friend—a friend who was now languishing in prison on an alien world.

  Kes was happier than she’d ever been, and was only vaguely aware of Jabin, who largely left them alone, though he lurked on the periphery. From time to time Neelix would visit him, reporting the “progress” he was making in winning Kes’s confidence.

  Then he told her he had a plan. “It’s risky, sweeting,” he admitted, “but all of life is a risk. I think we can do this.”

  “Tell me.”

  They were sitting on the remains of an ancient wall, part of the Ocampan city that had been here so many generations ago. Kes liked to prowl among the ruins, imagining what it had been like for her ancestors, when the planet was green and cool, and all of life was lived in the sunlight. There was time for such exploration since Neelix had concocted his plan; Jabin was only too eager to give them time alone. Of course, he found other ways to make Kes’s life a torment: he had taken away her water rations that day, and her mouth was parched, her lips cracked and sore.

  “Tomorrow I’ll tell him you’ve agreed to show me the opening—but only me,” Neelix said. “I’ll offer to go with you to the site and memorize its location. What he won’t know is that my little ship will be parked not far from there, so that you and I can run for it and leave the planet before he realizes we’re not coming back.”

  Kes pondered this. It sounded possible. Dangerous, but possible. “But what then? Won’t he try to follow us?”

  Neelix smiled and patted her hand lovingly. “Don’t you worry about that. I know this part of space better than I know my own spots. I know hiding places. I have friends. And I can always whip up a little bad blood between the Ogla and the Sara, which will give Jabin more to worry about than one escaped serving girl.”

  Kes nodded. She was feeling weak from dehydration, and the heat of the sun was making her light-headed. She covered her eyes briefly.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” The concern in Neelix’s voice was palpable.

  “Jabin took away my water rations. I’m a little dizzy . . .”

  “That monster. I’ll go speak to him.” He rose and was starting back toward the camp, but she grabbed his sleeve.

  “No, don’t do anything to provoke him. He’s leaving us alone, let’s keep it that way. It’s only one more day.”

  She saw Neelix squeeze his lips together, as though trying hard not to say something that wanted to come out. Finally he nodded, though his eyes were clouded with misgiving.

  That night, as she lay on her pallet, thirsty and unable to sleep, full of anticipation for the escape attempt tomorrow, she heard a whispered voice call her name. She raised up, and saw Neelix moving toward her in the darkness. He put a finger over his lips to keep her from speaking aloud, then he gave her a canister.

  It was water. Joyfully she clutched it, and reached out a hand to touch his cheek in gratitude. Then he slipped away in the darkness once more. Kes opened the canister and drank greedily, experiencing a euphoria that she thought must be more powerful than that produced by gannit or even Rhuludian crystals. The canister
was still at her lips when she heard the muffled shouts from outside.

  Quickly she hid the water container and moved to the doorway. Angry shouts carried easily through the night air, and with a chill she realized the Kazon had discovered that Neelix had stolen water, and were chasing him.

  She drew back into the room, panicked. She had to find a better hiding place for the water, for if Jabin knew Neelix had brought it to her, he would punish both of them severely. She retrieved the canister from beneath her pallet and stood holding it in two hands, turning in the room, trying to think of a place to secrete it.

  That was when Jabin came to the door. He lunged at her, grabbing the canister and jerking her arm so hard she feared he was pulling it from the socket. He dragged her like that into his squalid chamber, where a solitary light burned. “Did you put him up to this?” Jabin demanded, shaking her roughly.

  “Yes,” she chattered, “it was my idea. Don’t blame him—I couldn’t help it, I was so thirsty. I begged him. He was just being kind.”

  “Do you know what happens to those who steal water?” he challenged, shaking her even more viciously. Kes felt as though her eyes were banging against her brain.

  This couldn’t be happening, not on the eve of their escape. Kes tried desperately to think of a way to placate Jabin, to preserve their plan for tomorrow. “It’s all my fault. Please, it wouldn’t be right to punish Neelix. You and he are friends”

  “No longer!” snapped Jabin. “I’ve been waiting weeks for him to provide me with certain information, but all I’ve gotten are excuses. Now he betrays me by stealing the most important resource I possess. He’ll discover what betrayal costs a man.” Jabin was interrupted at this point by one of his men, who entered the room breathless from running.

  “Well?” the Maje barked.

  “He got to his ship and was gone before we reached him,” gasped the Kazon.

  Jabin brought down a burly fist onto the table, knocking over several glasses. He turned toward Kes, fury distending the ridges in his forehead. “Tomorrow we begin. I think very shortly you’ll be telling me the information I’ve wasted two weeks waiting for. Go to bed.”

  Kes exited as quickly as she could. Desperate thoughts swarmed through her mind: Could she try to slip away under cover of night? Could she find a place to hide, to elude Jabin? Might she even find the opening to the tunnel in the dark and somehow get back to her home? But none of those seemed like viable options. She had no idea how to find the rock outcropping that contained the tunnel; the desert was black at night and she’d have no sense of direction.

  Could she find a weapon and take her own life before morning? It would be preferable to what Jabin had in store, she was certain. But the Kazon didn’t leave energy weapons lying around for anyone to pick up. And the thought of something crude and uncertain, like a knife, made her queasy enough to know she could never bring herself to use it.

  She lay on the rough mat, trying to think of other possibilities. Finally, she decided that she wouldn’t simply submit to Jabin’s torture without a fight. She might hesitate to use a knife on herself, but she’d use one on him in a second. She rose and moved in the darkness to a nearby table, where she knew a knife was used for cutting bread. She fumbled for it, finally felt its sheath, and, running her finger along its jagged blade, wondered how she could hide it on herself until she could use it on Jabin.

  It was at that moment that she heard the first explosion.

  The outbuilding trembled, and the night air was lit by an orange flash as a thunderous sound impacted painfully on her eardrums. Immediately she heard men shouting, running, calling for help. Frightened but curious, she ran to the window and looked out.

  One of the ruins nearby was ablaze. With as little water as was in this encampment, it was unlikely any of it would be used for fire suppression, and the vestige of the ancient Ocampan city would be left to burn to the ground. She felt a small twinge of regret that part of her past would be incinerated in such a fashion. What had caused this conflagration?

  No sooner had that question come to mind than she saw an amazing sight: a small alien ship, similar to those of the Ogla, was swooping through the night, weapons firing steadily, yellow beams of energy lancing from ship to ground, producing explosions and fire everywhere. Jabin’s men were running in all directions, shouting at each other, disorganized, trying to evade the brutal weapons fire.

  Some of them had reached their own ships, and soon she saw several of them rise from the desert floor and quickly engage the enemy fighter ships. The dark night was now brilliantly alight with the incandescent glow of the weapons fire, and Kes could see well across the floor of the desert.

  What she saw was an army of men approaching, running toward their encampment, hand weapons drawn. A loose phalanx of Ogla had drawn a defensive line to meet them, and soon both sides were engaged in fire, and, quickly, hand-to-hand combat.

  Kes drew back into the recesses of the small building, trying to grasp the meaning of this turn of events. Who were these attackers? Would they consider her part of the Ogla camp and kill her, too? Or would Jabin’s forces be strong enough to withstand the onslaught and fight them off?

  The noise level was escalating, as weapons fire erupted in an endless concatenation, and the shouts and screams of men in battle rose in cacophonous counterpoint. It was worse, somehow, to hear the sounds of the melee without seeing it, and she started to move again to the window when the door burst open and a dark figure exploded into the room.

  It was Jabin. He was looking for something, pawing through the detritus on the table, pulling items out of cupboards. Kes shrank back into the corner as far as she could, curling herself into a tight ball so as to be as hard to see as possible.

  Jabin finally found what he was looking for—a small hand weapon. No sooner did he have it in hand than another figure hurled itself into the room and directly at Jabin, who grunted under the impact and lost the weapon, which went skidding across the room directly toward Kes.

  “I don’t need a weapon, you Sara offal,” growled Jabin as the two men scuffled. “I’ll enjoy killing you with my bare hands.”

  “You’ll need four or five others to do that, Ogla scum,” snarled the other man, who Kes decided was a Kazon, but of another sect. He looked not unlike Jabin, but his headdress was somewhat different, though equally outlandish. The two were crouching, circling, looking for an opening, and continuing to hurl epithets at each other.

  “My sister could dispatch you, vermin.”

  “Your sister is only good for one thing—every man in my squad can attest to that.”

  “Your mother spreads her legs in hell.”

  Kes found these interchanges extremely odd. What purpose could it serve to insult each other’s relatives? What did that have to do with anything? If these men had a dispute, why didn’t they resolve it by discussing it; or, if they felt combat was absolutely necessary, why not just get on with it? What sort of strange ritual was involved with these perverse denunciations?

  But it seemed to whip both men into some greater lather, and suddenly they sprang toward each other, collided heavily, and then went sprawling onto the floor, grappling, fists pounding, boots digging into the floor for traction, grunting and swearing and clawing at each other.

  It was quite remarkable, and had she not been so vulnerable she might have found it interesting to observe. But no matter what the outcome of this brutal duel, her situation was precarious. She half-hoped it would go on and on, because as soon as there was a winner, she would be in danger once more.

  Then her eye fell on the weapon which Jabin had lost, and which lay within easy reach of her now. She snaked out a hand and grabbed it, feeling its cold metal in her hand like a balm. Suddenly her situation had reversed itself: not only was she not vulnerable, she held the upper hand. The realization was heady, intoxicating, until she realized she had uneasy choices. Should she wait until this primal struggle was over and there was a clear winner—and kill
him? Kill both of them right now? Would that do any good when there were dozens of other combatants outside, still fighting, the outcome of the overall battle still in doubt?

  Questions, questions. Why did her mind work like that? Why couldn’t things ever present themselves simply, with obvious answers?

  Then she realized that Jabin was taking the worse of it; the other man was seated astride him, one hand around Jabin’s throat, the other holding one of Jabin’s arms away from him. Jabin was choking, clawing at the man’s hand, trying to pry it from his throat.

  “You’re breathing your last, Ogla,” gasped the other man. “You’re heading for hell and it won’t be my mother that greets you there.”

  Suddenly the choice was clear. Kes raised the weapon and, without hesitating, fired it at the back of the man who was choking Jabin. His body jerked spasmodically and he released his hold on his captive, sprawling sideways and onto the floor. Jabin stared at him for a moment, then climbed out from under the inert body and stood, looking in astonishment at Kes.

  She kept the weapon trained on him. “Is he dead?” she asked unflinchingly.

  “He’s just stunned. But you can be sure I’ll take care of that.” He took a step toward her but she raised the weapon slightly to affirm her intent.

  “I didn’t hesitate to use this on him and I won’t spare you either, Jabin.”

  Jabin stopped. “If the Kazon-Sara defeat us and you’ve injured one of them, it will go hard on you. And if my men are victorious and you’ve injured me, it will be worse. Give me the weapon.”

  Kes pondered his words. They made a certain perverse sense, and suddenly she wasn’t so confident anymore. As she hesitated, he suddenly sprang at her and wrested the weapon from her grasp.

  “That’s better. I must go help my men.” He turned to the door only to be greeted by one of his aides, out of breath and bleeding from a head wound.

  “They’ve turned tail, Maje,” the man gasped. “We’ve routed them.”

  Jabin clapped the man on the shoulder. “Water rations for all,” he announced, then turned back to Kes, who shrank miserably back against the wall. He stared at her for a moment, then regarded the figure on the floor. He made an adjustment to the weapon and then fired once toward the fallen man.