STAR TREK - VOY - Mosaic

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Star Trek - Voy - Mosaic
By JERI TAYLOR
CHAPTER 1
FOR A FEW, MAGICAL MOMENTS, KATHRYN JANEWAY FELT AS IF she were back home
in Indiana. The air was warm and slightly humid; there was a scent of something that was almost like
newly mown grass; and a gentle insect hum lulled the senses. She could almost forget that she was on an
unknown, unnamed planet in the Delta Quadrant and pretend that she was hiking in the rolling hills of her
home state. Her eye fell on a bank of billowing white bushes-a fluffy mass of fronds that looked almost
like pillows. It was tempting to lie down for a few moments, savoring the warm afternoon. She reached
out and lightly touched one of the thick fronds; it yielded gently, promising a soft cushion. Janeway
glanced around at the rest of her away team, busy scanning for edible foodstuffs: Chakotay, the darkly
handsome first officer, led a group of young ensigns who were clearly enjoying their first time on land in
over a month; the sound of their laughter rang through the lush valley they were exploring. Chakotay, she
knew, was wise enough to let them have some fun. A field trip on a verdant planet was just the thing to
raise youthful spirits after a month of isolation on a starship. Half a kilometer away, near the mouth of the
valley, her Vulcan security officer, Tuvok, led the second contingent, which had been assigned the task of
collecting foodstuffs deemed safe. That determination would be made by Neelix, their Talaxian guide,
cook, self-proclaimed morale officer, and all-around handyman. Janeway smiled, imagining the interplay
between the two. It had become Neelix' obsession to bring joy to Tuvok's life-an effort which the staid
Vulcan greeted with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. But Neelix was undeterred, determined to dispel
what he insisted was the cloud of gloom that surrounded Tuvok. Janeway inhaled deeply. It was so much
like home-the faint scent of moist soil, a hint of floral fragrance on a gentle breeze-that she decided to
yield to temptation. She fell back onto the mound of soft, pillowlike plants and closed her eyes, as if she
were lying on a mound of hay. Back home. The warmth of the planet's yellow star warmed her face.
Insects droned ceaselessly; it would have been easy to drift off to sleep. But she wanted these few
moments to be hers-to daydream, to pretend for this short time that she wasn't sixty-eight thousand
light-years from Earth, that she wasn't carrying the extraordinary responsibility of getting her crew home
safely, that she wasn't struggling to keep alive everyone's hopes that the journey could somehow be
foreshortened. For just these few minutes, she would lie here and imagine that she was back on Earth,
had managed to get voyager home, had seen her crew welcomed as heroes and returned to the loving
arms of their families and friends. Then she had transported home to visit her own family-and Mark.
She had finally managed to resolve her feelings for Mark. It had taken over a year before he wasn't
forever creeping into her thoughts, before she stopped hearing his voice, his laughter, in her mind. She
had put away his pictures because they only helped to keep the wound open; she decided (although she
sometimes doubted it) that after more than a year, he would have written her off as dead and moved on
with his life. And that she must do the same.
Recently she had realized that she didn't quite remember what he looked like.
So this daydream would not be about Mark. It was only about home, about the part of her life spent in
one of the most beautiful parts of the country, the agricultural paradise of Indiana. She thought of her
mother, and imagined their post-homecoming conversation.
"There were times when I didn't think we'd make it," said Janeway. "You can't imagine how hard it was
to keep my spirits up-but I had to, because I couldn't risk the crew losing heart because their captain
did." She was sitting in the sunny breakfast room of the home she'd grown up in, mellow with pine
paneling, sunlight filtering through an ancient sycamore tree that grew outside the window, its graceful
branches swaying in a gentle breeze.
Her mother, wise and warm, smiled at her. "Heaven forbid you ever show the slightest weakness. Is that
what being a captain means? That you're not allowed to have the feelings everyone else has?"
"That's how it seemed to me. I had to set the standard. I had to be confident. And it worked-I did get us
home."
Gretchen Janeway reached out a hand and caressed her daughter's cheek. "And I'm so proud of you."
"Proud enough to bake me some of your caramel brownies?"
Gretchen laughed, started for the kitchen. "I already have. I knew that's the first thing you'd ask for."
Lying on the soft, billowing plants, Janeway smiled to herself. She'd tried to replicate her mother's
browniesthe effort cost her four days' rations-but the result was so disappointing that she couldn't bear to
eat them. She'd run into Jerron, the young Bajoran, and given him the plate of treats; his incredulous
delight was more rewarding than eating the brownies could ever have been. Jerron's pain in the early
days of their journey had been palpable; gradually, he had been losing his anger and was becoming more
comfortable, starting to feel himself a member of the crew. Janeway made it a point to make him feel
cared for, and the young man was responding.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been lying there, drifting and dreaming, when she sensed that something
was wrong. The smell had changed: the fragrant, grassy aroma had altered somehow-it had an edge to it,
a-what? A metallic quality?
Janeway opened her eyes and sat up, saw that both teams were aware of something, were scanning with
an increased urgency, pointing, calling to each other. She jumped to her feet, and in the same instant
identified the odor: ozone. An electrical burning.
And that was the only warning they got.
Suddenly, there was a sizzling snap! A green arcing light pierced the air, and the ozone smell became
acrid. Janeway twitched involuntarily, as though she'd suffered an electrical shock. The air itself had
become charged by the bolt of-what? Plasma? She scanned quickly and detected a hot, electrically
energized field unknown to the Federation database. A hot wind began to stir, intensifying the burning
smell; Janeway's nostrils began to sting. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the cottony white
bushes begin to ripple in the sultry wind, but her mind quickly focused on her crew. Chakotay and his
young group were already on the move, heading toward her, when three or four more bolts of green
sliced through the sky, crackling and smoking. This time Janeway heard herself cry out as pain slashed
through her body. were they under attack? Or were they simply caught in an unexpected natural
phenomenon? It hardly mattered-whatever these strange flashes were, they were clearly dangerous. She
had to get her people out of there.
She hit her commbadge, noting that Chakotay was doing the same, as undoubtedly Tuvok was also.
"Janeway to Voyager... We need emergency transport." She repeated the message several times before
accepting what she had already suspected: that the electrical disturbance was interfering with the
communications system, and it was doubtful the transporters would function through the interference.
Then the air crackled with energy bolts, sizzling and sparking. She heard a scream and saw someone fall
to the ground. The hot wind began to gust violently, and the hissing sound of the arcing flashes became
deafening. Janeway called out to Chakotay, but her voice was swallowed in the noise and the wind. She
waved her arm at him, gesturing him to the mouth of the valley. Ahead of her, she saw Tuvok and his
group already on the run. She began sprinting toward them.
But her body wouldn't behave as it should. Her legs were shaky, uncoordinated, like a newborn lamb's.
She stumbled and then shuddered as another series of green flashes ripped through the air. Now it felt as
though oxygen had been depleted from the atmosphere, and her lungs rasped as she drew stinging air into
them. Reflexively, she began scanning again, and discovered a possible shelter: in the mountains that
ringed the valley were a series of caves; if they could find an opening they might be able to escape this
brutal attack.
Chakotay and his group came stumbling toward her, gasping, struggling against the wind. One of the
ensigns collapsed to the ground; two others immediately pulled him up. All of them looked frightened but
not panicky. Janeway pointed toward the mountains. "Caves," she yelled, but she barely heard her own
voice over the roar of the wind. Chakotay nodded; he understood. He turned and began herding his
young charges to follow Janeway, who was moving toward the nearest outcropping of the mountains,
scanning for a possible opening as she went. Suddenly the tricorder disappeared from view. Janeway
registered that fact, then realized everything had disappeared; she saw only a field of black punctuated by
jagged green slashes. She barely had time to realize that there had been another series of energy bolts
when the pain hit her. She felt as though she were on fire, muscle and tissue seared, bodily fluids boiling.
With an involuntary cry, she fell to her knees, stunned and shuddering. For a moment she was blind,
desperate for oxygen, and in agony. But she forced her mind to take control. She stilled herself, locating
the pain, isolating it, containing it until it began to subside. Gradually, the green slashes in her vision began
to fade, the blackness receded, and she lifted her head.
The young officers were scattered on the ground like deadwood, writhing and moaning. Chakotay had
already begun rising shakily to his feet, assessing their condition. One by one they began to get up, faces
pale with shock, staggering, but on their feet.
We won't survive another round, Janeway thought, and she lifted.her tricorder to scan for the nearest
opening in the mountains. Then, ahead of her, she saw Tuvok's group crowding toward a dark slash in
the cliff side. She realized they had found the mouth of a cave and she whirled to motion to Chakotay;
but he'd already seen and was yelling at the group, gesturing toward the mountain, urging them forward.
The ragged group tried to run, fear of another bombardment of energy bolts propelling them against the
fierce wind. Janeway's legs felt like gelatin, but she forced them to drive forward. The roar of the wind
thundered in her ears; her lungs burned and streaks of green still obscured her vision. The side of the
mountain seemed kilometers away, but she knew it wasn't-it couldn't be more than forty meters now.
Tuvok's group had disappeared into the cave, but her Vulcan friend remained outside, moving toward
them, prepared to help.
Thirty meters... The wind whipped dirt from the ground, making it even harder to breathe. Janeway
glanced behind her to make sure the others were with her; they were, heads down, doggedly forcing their
shaking legs to move. Chakotay brought up the rear, ready to help stragglers. The ozone smell began to
build again, and Janeway realized it was the harbinger of another attack; she picked up the pace, yelling
at those behind her to hurry. Ahead of her the mouth of the cave yawned like a gaping maw; the figure of
Tuvok swam before her, mouth moving, calling to them soundlessly as his words were swallowed in the
wind. And then she was there, Tuvok's arm steadying her, his firm grip infusing her with strength. She
turned and waited as the young people lurched toward the cave opening and tumbled in. Only when they
had all entered did Janeway, Tuvok, and Chakotay turn to follow them. The crackle of an energy buildup
pulsed through the air; the eruption of a massive charge of bolts created a percussive wave that pushed
them through the entrance, and they fell headlong into the cool darkness of the cave.
As soon as they were inside, the roar of the wind receded; the cave was a muffled haven, the air was
clean and cool, and the dreadful energy of the plasma bolts, which they could hear outside, didn't
penetrate the heavy rock. Janeway looked up, squinting in the darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she saw
the entire away team huddled in the cave, drawing soothing moist air into burning lungs. Neelix was
moving among them, comforting them, checking for injury. She turned toward Tuvok and Chakotay, who
were already counting their people, making sure everyone had made it to safety. "All accounted for,
Captain," said Tuvok. She nodded and looked at Chakotay, who seemed to be counting a second time.
She noted a worried furrow on his forehead, slightly distorting the distinctive tattoo he wore on his
temple.
"What is it?" She moved toward him, fearing the worst. He turned to her, and his eyes told her she was
right. "Who isn't with us?"
"Jerron," he answered, and they both hurried to the mouth of the cave. She spotted the young Bajoran
almost immediately, a crumpled blue form in the distance, where they had all taken the first blast that had
driven them to the ground. He must have been separated from the others and left behind when they were
temporarily blinded.
Janeway immediately started forward, only to feel Chakotay's strong grip on her arm, pulling her back.
"I'll get him," he said, but Janeway jerked her arm loose. "Commander, you're to stay with your team.
Tuvok, too. That's an order."
Chakotay held her glance for a moment, not responding, but Janeway didn't wait for his acquiescence.
Taking one last gulp of good air, she hurled herself out the cave opening and into the raging plasma
storm.
It had mounted in intensity even in the few minutes they had been in the cave. Instantly, Janeway's lungs
were burning; the air was bitter and caustic; she began to cough uncontrollably. Her eyes watered in the
swirling dust. Her legs, which had regained some strength in the cave, turned mushy again, and she felt
herself stagger. If she could reach him, get him back before the next round of plasma bursts, she'd make
it. But she wasn't sure either of them would survive another attack. She felt her body begin to go slack,
reluctant to go farther, and she steeled herself again. Jerron was only ten meters ahead; she could reach
him. One step, then another, fighting the brutal, swirling wind, dizzied by the deafening noise, each breath
like breathing flames, she pushed ahead. Jerron wasn't unconscious. He was staring at her with dull eyes,
as though he were looking at something unreal, something his mind couldn't reconcile. His uniform was
scorched, and Janeway realized he had taken a direct hit by a plasma bolt. How had he survived?
As she reached him, he pushed himself upright, reaching out an arm. She grabbed it, and he tried to
stand, but his legs wobbled and he swayed against her. She struggled to stay on her feet until Jerron
steadied himself. Then, bracing each other, they started toward the mouth of the cave.
Janeway smelled the unmistakable odor of an ozone surge. The plasma bolts would hit before they could
get to the safety of the cave. She picked up her pace, urging Jerron on, hoping they could somehow
outdistance the gathering plasma swell. The cave opening yawned ahead, not fifteen meters away; they
could do it.
But Jerron stumbled, and they both went crashing to the ground. Without conscious thought, Janeway
threw her body on top of the young Bajoran's, to shield him from the worst of the blasts. It was the most
ferocious attack yet, filling the air with snapping, arcing green bolts that clutched at the ground like the
tentacles of some hideous beast. Janeway squeezed her eyes shut, but even so ragged streaks of green
irradiated her lids. The fiery pain seemed to sear her from the inside out; she couldn't even hear her own
scream. Her body thrashed as though in the throes of a violent convulsion, bucking and leaping
uncontrollably, and the ragged gulps of air she drew between screams produced even greater agony.
And then her father lifted her up.
She felt his strong arms grip her, pulling her across the ground, his handsome, sturdy face calm and
unworried, smiling down at her in reassurance. Janeway smiled back and relaxed into the journey, gliding
across the terrain, feeling as though she were skimming on a cushion of air like a hovercraft. The air had
cleared, and was sweet and cool; the pain was dissipating. She looked up again, wanting to see her
father, wanting to look into his clear gray eyes just once more.... Chakotay was staring at her, his face
just inches from hers. Her eyes fluttered slightly and she tried to sit upright. "She's all right," she heard
Chakotay say, and she looked around her. She was in the cave again, Jerron at her side, Tuvok and
Chakotay leaning over them, still coughing from their exposure to the plasma-infused atmosphere. They
had rescued her, and Jerron; Chakotay's strong arms had saved her, not her father's.
She looked at Jerron, whose color was returning. "He has suffered no permanent damage, Captain,"
intoned Tuvok, "and neither have you." Janeway nodded. She took a deep breath and leaned back
against the wall of the cave. Death had been cheated once more. Everyone was safe.
"I can't really call them nightmares. But they make me feel... anxious. Sometimes I wake up and my heart
is pounding as though I'd just run five miles."
Janeway sat in the doctor's office, telling him of the strange dreams she'd been having in the weeks
following their experience with the plasma storm-dreams she had had before in her life, though they
hadn't recurred since she had journeyed to the Delta Quadrant. The holographic doctor sat patiently,
listening, brow furrowed, as though puzzled by what she was saying.
"And they're all so similar. I'm always in a house of some kind... a house that has many rooms, and I have
to get into a certain room, because it's dirty and has to be cleaned-but there's a closed door blocking my
way."
The doctor regarded her curiously. "Houses... with many rooms?"
"Yes. Once I dreamed I discovered an entire deck on Voyager that I hadn't realized was there. It had
dozens of rooms, and I knew it was important that I make sure they were all clean. But I couldn't even
get out of the first room because the door to the next one was closed and locked."
"And-are these dreams frightening to you?"
"No... not frightening. But they're-unsettling. I don't understand them."
The doctor crossed his arms and fixed his eyes on her. "I'm not certain what you want from me, Captain.
The dreams don't sound particularly harrowing, and apparently they don't interfere with your sleep. In
that I'm not a practicing psychiatrist, how can I help you?" Janeway regarded him fondly. The
holographic doctor had become one of her favorite people. His acerbic nature had not lessened in the
course of a year and a half, but everyone had learned to tolerate it-even appreciate it. The parameters of
his programming allowed for almost no bedside manner; but in spite of his brusque gruffness, he had an
endearing quality.
"I'm honestly not sure, Doctor. I just thought I should mention it. As part of my general medical file."
"I suspect it's a temporary phenomenon, and unless you find these dreams debilitating, I wouldn't worry
about it."
"They're not debilitating. Just-bothersome."
The doctor didn't respond, and turned away from her, busying himself with a padd. Janeway studied him
for a moment and realized he was taking far more time with the padd than was necessary. The doctor,
she was sure, had something on his mind.
"Is there some way I can help you, Doctor?" His head snapped back at her; he was always surprised at a
demonstration of instinct. He seemed to ponder her question briefly, then, in his matter-of-fact way,
blurted it out. "It's been a full ten months since Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim began working on a
mechanism by which I can leave sickbay. I can't believe they are incapable of solving the technical
problems after that amount of time, so I must conclude that they're not putting their full efforts into the
matter. Probably because I'm nothing but a computer program." Janeway rose, put a comforting hand on
the doctor's shoulder. "Please don't jump to that conclusion. You are valued and respected, and we
couldn't get along without you. Everyone on the ship cares about you. Especially me." Although he would
never admit it, the doctor was a sensitive and vulnerable man. His feelings could be hurt easily. And he
never failed to respond to an expression of empathy. None of this was forthcoming at the moment, of
course; he sniffed slightly, and his mobile face underwent a few ripples of expression, but when he spoke,
he was as terse as ever. "If you say so. But I'll find that easier to accept once there are results. The proof,
I believe the saying goes, is in the pudding."
She smiled. Colloquialisms always sounded a little strange coming from the doctor, but before she could
reply, an ominous hail from the bridge interrupted them.
"Chakotay to the captain."
"Janeway here."
"You're needed on the bridge, Captain. We may have a problem."
"On my way."
When she entered the bridge from the turbolift, the faces of the bridge crew looked grim. Janeway
moved immediately to Chakotay. "We've been hailed by a Kazon ship," he reported. "He was none too
friendly, and insisted we wait for them to intercept us. He didn't make an outright threat, but it was
certainly implied."
Janeway felt a twinge of foreboding. Any encounter with the Kazon was potentially dangerous, although
it had been some time since they had run into any of them; she had hoped that Voyager might possibly
have moved outside the bitterly disputed turf of the various warlike sects. "Did he state his purpose,
Commander? Or identify his faction?"
"He said he was Maje Dut of the Vistik, but didn't give any clue as to what he wanted."
They had never interacted with the Vistik, but Janeway had heard of them. They were a group smaller
than the Ogla and the Nistrim, which seemed to be the most powerful of the groups, but they had figured
in a disastrous alliance that had threatened to coalesce the Kazon into a unified force-a catastrophic
prospect for Voyager, which could deal with individual factions but couldn't hope to survive a massive
and cooperative Kazon armada.
Options: they could make the diplomatic choice and wait for the Vistik ship, hoping there was a
reasonably benign reason for the meeting. And, after all, one Kazon ship didn't pose a particular threat.
What's more, they had detected a planetary nebula nearby that might warrant some investigation. These
nebulae, formed when older stars began to shed their outer atmosphere, were magnificent and
fascinating. Janeway had studied the Alpha Quadrant's Helix Nebula and welcomed the opportunity to
investigate another of these massive phenomena. It could occupy the time while they waited for the
Kazon.
But she found herself rejecting that option even before it was a fully formed thought. The Kazon had
proven time after time that they couldn't be trusted. They were warlike and volatile, and any encounter
could prove hazardous. She knew that they had once been horribly oppressed themselves, but freedom
from their tormentors had not resulted in growth or enlightenment; it had led only to an endless series of
battles among each other, battles that frequently harmed innocent bystanders. Like Voyager. She wasn't
going to jump to the whip of some unknown Kazon Maje; she wasn't willing to delay their journey by
even a day to accommodate someone who more than likely would pose an unreasonable demand or a
vindictive threat. She turned to Tom Paris, the young, sandy-haired lieutenant who was, as he had
promised on their first meeting, the "best damn pilot" she could find. "Mr. Paris, we're not waiting around
for a Kazon that won't even do us the courtesy of telling us what he wants to discuss. Continue your
course for the Alpha Quadrant, warp six."
"Yes, ma'am. was Paris was obviously pleased with the decision. He was still-would probably always
be-a bit of a daredevil, someone who struggled at times against the yoke of Starfleet protocols, but
whose skill and intelligence were such that he could get away with risk-taking that might undermine
others.
Janeway knew, however, that she would hear something different from Tuvok, and before that thought
was even completed, she heard his voice from the security station: "Captain, it is my duty to point out that
the Kazon Maje will be highly insulted by this decision; we risk his enmity by ignoring his request."
"Noted, Mr. Tuvok. But I have yet to hear what might be termed a "request' from a Kazon. They tend to
make demands, and I don't feel like yielding to a demand."
"As you wish, Captain." Tuvok was imperturbable as ever, but Janeway imagined she could sense
approval from him. No one liked being pushed around by the Kazon. In fact, Janeway thought she felt a
general uplifting of spirits on the bridge; on an expedition where they frequently found themselves at the
mercy of their circumstances, it was bracing to take a stand, to thumb their noses at the dark forces of
the Delta Quadrant.
News of Janeway's decision hadn't yet filtered down to the mess hall; if it had, Neelix' mood of
well-being might have dissipated. He frequently failed to share the intrepid-what he would call
reckless-convictions of the Starfleet crew. Neelix had survived in a dangerous quadrant for many years
through guile, cunning, and an instinctive sense of self-preservation, and he didn't fully understand the
adventurous nature of Janeway and her people. They were daring, certainly, and to be lauded for their
courage, but Neelix had learned through a lifetime of struggle that a small step backward could often save
one's life. Plunging into the unknown might be exciting, but he had quite frankly had enough excitement to
last him for a long time. At the moment, he was concentrating fiercely on decorating a large cake. It was
triangular in shape-particularly difficult to achieve, especially in the jury-rigged kitchen he had cobbled
together from odds and ends he had scrounged around the ship-and made from Grissibian nocha. The
closest equivalent in the Alpha Quadrant was a substance known as chocolate, but Neelix found it a
pallid imitation. Nocha was denser, richer, creamier, and of all the nocha he'd tasted, none compared
with the Grissibian variety. He had been saving this nocha since a chance encounter with a trader who
had been willing to part with it in return for a quart of Vulcan ale. Neelix didn't know what Vulcan ale
was; the recipe was in the replicators and many of the crew prized it above any other refreshment. He
had found it a valuable commodity in trade: usually one sample of the brew and the bargain was sealed.
Grissibian nocha was a delicacy that couldn't be described, only experienced. He remembered his first
taste, when he was a boy on Rinax, before the disastrous war that had claimed the lives of all his family.
His father had managed to procure some of the rare treat and brought it home to his family. He had
handed Neelix a square of a mild-looking substance, slightly oily and a pale beige in color. But when
Neelix bit into it, his senses were overwhelmed; the nocha was an intense, dusky explosion in his mouth,
the creaminess of it moistening every part of his tongue, his throat, his stomach. The sweetness was
powerful but not cloying, and seemed to travel directly to his brain, creating an almost narcotic sensation
of deeply felt pleasure. His father had laughed to see his son's expression of utter delight.
It was an experience he had never forgotten. In fact, the night his family had died in the horrendous
explosion caused by the weapon known as the Metreon Cascade, the thought of that brief moment of
bliss was one of the memories that flashed through his mind.
The cake he had made was for two people: Kes, simply because he adored her more than life itself; and
Tuvok, because he was determined to bring a smile to the Vulcan's lips. Somewhere inside, that man had
the capacity for joy, Neelix was sure of it. He had made numerous attempts to unleash it, but Tuvok had
stoically resisted every one of them. Now, with the Grissibian nocha cake, Neelix was sure he had a
winner. No one could resist this nocha, he was certain, not even Tuvok.
He was taking pains to present a cake that not only had an exquisite flavor but was delectable to the eye,
as well. He was squeezing colored icing from a modified hypospray (he had borrowed it from sickbay;
he was sure the doctor wouldn't mind) into an intricate design on the cake's surface, a delicate, looping
scroll that complemented the smooth surface of the nocha. It had required all his willpower not to sample
the nocha, or the cake, before it was presented to his two recipients. He felt somehow that the occasion
would be undermined if he partook of the cake's savory delights before they did, that its potency would
somehow be lessened. Now, as he bent over it, eyes squinting to make the decoration perfect, the
chocolaty aroma wafted over him, through him, permeating his senses with an overpow- ering urgency. It
seemed to beg him to taste, to sample just the tiniest crumb, one that no one would ever notice was gone.
But he resisted the siren call. He was nothing if not disciplined; that was another quality he had developed
in his peripatetic life. He'd learned that giving in to every indulgence was a quick way to lose one's edge;
denial had a tendency to fend off complacency and keep one sharp.
He was so engrossed in his task that he didn't hear the soft footfall behind him, wasn't aware of anyone's
presence until Kes' soft voice was almost in his ear. "That looks delicious. What is it?" He whirled in
dismay. "Kes-what are you doing here?" Her beautiful elfin face, framed by its cap of feathered blond
hair, stared back at him in surprise.
"I just stopped by to say hello. Shouldn't I have?" Her consternation undid him, as always. He hastened
to reassure her. "Of course you should, sweeting, I'm always delighted to see you. It's just..." He trailed
off, wondering if he could still preserve the surprise. "Just what?"
Neelix' mind raced, but he could think of no plausible explanation that wouldn't give away his plan. He
opted for honesty. "It was supposed to be a surprise. For you and Tuvok."
Kes' beautiful face erupted in a smile, and she gave Neelix a gentle kiss. "You're so thoughtful. But-why
me and Tuvok?"
"You, my love, because I want to share an amazing taste sensation with you. And Tuvok because...
because I'm certain this exquisite cake will make him smile."
Kes regarded him fondly. "You just don't understand, Neelix. Tuvok is Vulcan. He isn't supposed to
smile."
"I do understand. I understand that the poor man experiences none of the delight that comes from
pleasure. What a wretched way to live! If he can control his emotions so well, why not just suppress the
negative ones and allow the positive ones to rise to the surface?"
"Don't you remember what happened when he mind-melded with Lon Suder? Anything other than total
control could allow very violent, ugly emotions to overwhelm him. It's hard to imagine that tasting a cake
would be enough to break through his reserve."
"This isn't just a cake. It's an experience. As you'll discover this evening, my dearest."
Kes' smile was sweet as she departed for sickbay. Neelix returned to his ministrations on the cake,
gleefully anticipating Tuvok's response to it, never imagining that the evening would be occupied by
activities far more dire than eating Grissibian nocha cake.
They detected the planet at nine hundred hours, and Captain Janeway was pleased. It was a particularly
fortunate discovery, for they hadn't collected any supplies after the electrical storm on the last
planet-which Chakotay had wryly named "Sizzle." Food stores were dwindling and they had to resupply
as quickly as possible.
The heart of the system was a K7-class yellow dwarf star, rich in helium and perhaps ten billion years
old-a bit of a senior citizen. The fourth planet had an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere and according to
sensors was abundant with flora. The possibility of food was temptingly high. There was no indication of
a population, although Janeway noted that some formations had a curious symmetry that might warrant
investigation. Cautious after their experience on Sizzle, she ordered an exhaustive series of sensor
sweeps, looking for any aberration on the planet or in the atmosphere, anything that might produce an
unexpected phenomenon. Only after she was satisfied that they wouldn't be blsided again did she order
the away teams to the transporter room. Tuvok was to take one group only and make an on-site
inspection before calling for additional crew. He named Harry Kim to the team. She remained on the
bridge as they took their leave, and she chalked up the small chill she felt as they left to a draft from the
turbolift.
Tuvok's team consisted of himself, Kim, Neelix, Kes (at Neelix' request), and twenty Maquis and
Starfleet crew. Kim's presence wasn't strictly necessary, but Tuvok believed that away missions were
good for the young man. They gave him the experience he needed in disciplining his emotional responses
to dangerous and startling situations. Harry always seemed to appreciate the opportunities, though Tuvok
suspected it was more to get out into the open air and release some of the natural energy of youth than to
practice controlling his emotions.
Tuvok's first order of business was to investigate those suspiciously symmetrical formations; he wanted to
make certain there wasn't a population on this planet that had gone undetected for some reason. They
had beamed down within a kilometer southeast of the formations, and would proceed cautiously toward
them, all the while scanning continuously. The landscape of the planet was not so Earth-like as the prior
planet had been (he would not call it by the ridiculous sobriquet Chakotay had chosen for it); the terrain
was shot with volcanic rock and the soil was slimy, with a greenish cast to it. The flora was completely
unfamiliar. It was Harry who first speculated: "Lieutenant, those formations are constructed. I'd bet on it."
"A wager would have no effect on the outcome of your observation, Ensign. Either they are constructed
or they're not." He could never understand the human belief that betting enhanced one's argument. A
ridge separated them from their group and the location of the formations, now only forty meters away.
Quietly, cautiously, the team climbed the ridge and crouched on its rim before raising their heads to peer
over it. Tuvok gestured to the others to stay down, and he slowly crept forward, lifting his head to peer
through thick underbrush at the formation before him.
Even then, he wasn't sure what he was seeing.
A tangle of undergrowth wove in erratic designs over a mound of stone rubble that stretched for nearly
half a kilometer in either direction, and that might or might not have once represented a structure. There
was a vague order to the rubble, but it was so clumped with weeds and bushes that it was difficult to
discern a pattern. One feature, however, identified the mass of stone and brush as having at some time
been subject to intelligent hands: a brilliant, cobalt blue spire rose from the center of the mound, gleaming
in the sunlight which reflected off its glossy planes. Nothing-not mound, rubble, or spire-gave off any
suspicious readings. There was no sign of life. Whatever this mound had once been, whatever the
purpose of the radiant blue spire, they functioned no longer. Tuvok motioned for the team to move
forward; if the mound was the remnants of a dead civilization, that knowledge should be included in
Starfleet's cartographic database.
The team spread out around the mound, tricorders aimed and busily recording data. Kim, in particular,
seemed fascinated by this possible archaeological find, and he eagerly took the point of one wing of the
team. And it was his cry of discovery Tuvok heard first after he disappeared around a large boulder.
When the others caught up to him, they gasped at the sight: an arrangement of delicate skeletons, which
at first glance appeared to be of winged humanoids, was spread in a deep circular indentation in the
ground. The skulls were strong, elongated ovals, with large eye holes. The rib cages were humanoid in
shape, while long, hollow-boned arms ended in hands of six digits, including an opposable thumb. The leg
bones were short and somewhat stubby.
But Tuvok realized it was the wing bones that had caused the collective gasp. Now they were tucked in
close to the body, but clearly when extended they would have stretched two meters or more. These
beings would have had the capacity to soar high into the air above the surface of this planet, dipping and
sailing on the breezes, then coming to land on their short, squat legs, which would have afforded them
locomotion of a much more limited sort. Did they spend most of their time in the air, these winged
beings?
And just how, Tuvok wondered, should this species be categorized: as humanoid or avian? It possessed
qualities of each in a way no one had ever seen before. Kim, speaking excitedly, ran down the
possibilities. "In Earth's development, modern birds began to branch off from reptiles shortly after the first
mammals appeared. It's certainly possible on some planets there could have been a branch of avian
mammals that eventually evolved into winged humanoids."
Tuvok looked at the faces of his group, all of which reflected a reverence for this burial place. It was, he
felt, quite appropriate. He scanned one of the skeletons.
"The cranium of this being suggests a large brain; in all likelihood they were intelligent. I would suggest
this burial grouping was arranged by similar beings, and that these creatures do not represent intelligent
摘要：

StarTrek-Voy-MosaicByJERITAYLORCHAPTER1FORAFEW,MAGICALMOMENTS,KATHRYNJANEWAYFELTASIFshewerebackhomeinIndiana.Theairwaswarmandslightlyhumid;therewasascentofsomethingthatwasalmostlikenewlymowngrass;andagentleinsecthumlulledthesenses.Shecouldalmostforgetthatshewasonanunknown,unnamedplanetintheDeltaQuad...

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