711 lines
44 KiB
Plaintext
711 lines
44 KiB
Plaintext
Rain Dance
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by L.R. Bowen
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Tom Paris thought it was about time to take some clothes off. The
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desert air was still cool, in this hour before dawn, but he was beginning
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to work up a sweat. Chakotay was a goddamn slave-driver. And what was the
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point, anyway? He unfastened the front of the jumpsuit and took off the
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top; both of them had used Chakotay's pocketknife to separate their
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uniforms into jacket and pants. He threw it on the sand and glared down at
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Chakotay.
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"It's been three days now. They're never going to find us."
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"Two days. We crashed Monday at 1030, and it's only Wednesday
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morning," Chakotay replied, barely pausing to glance up.
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"Well, we're on the third day."
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"If that's how you want to think about it, go right ahead. Now
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empty out that sand, and give that piece of casing back to me." Chakotay
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stooped into the shoulder-deep hole again, scraping out a shelf halfway
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down. The only tools he had were a small entrenching shovel and some
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curving pieces of sheet metal. He dumped another load of dark sand onto
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one of the pieces that lay on the rim of the hole, and looked at Paris
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expectantly.
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"OK, OK. Why are you working so damn hard, anyway? I'm getting
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tired just looking at you."
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"If you want to finish it for me when you feel up to it,
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Lieutenant, I won't stop you. But I think it's going to be even hotter
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than yesterday, and at a conservative estimate, it was about one hundred
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and twenty-five F at 1400."
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"But it was so damn cold last night--a lot colder than the first
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night." Paris tugged the pieces of sheet metal a few paces away and tipped
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out the sand into the big pile already there.
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"That's because the clouds have gone. No insulation from the sky.
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All the heat escapes at night, and all the sun's radiation hits the ground
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during the day. It's going to be a scorcher, and this solar condensation
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still is going to be even more important when we run out of water."
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"About another day's worth, huh?"
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"Yes."
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They worked in silence for a while. No animals greeted this barren
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dawn. The only sounds were the crisp scrape of the shovel and the soft
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hiss as Paris dragged the sand away. The light was still dim and grey,
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pinkening gradually on the western horizon--the planet had a retrograde
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spin--and the temperature was comfortable at last. After the burning heat
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of the previous day, and the dangerous chill of the night, it was obvious
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that dawn and dusk were the only times the human body could safely take
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any stress or exposure. They had lain in the shade of the ruined
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shuttlecraft and under a tent Chakotay had rigged from survival blankets
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for fourteen hours yesterday, breathing the furnace air with slow pants.
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Each of them had drunk four liters of water despite minimal movement. Even
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so, both of them looked gaunt and dehydrated. Chakotay stopped and pulled
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off his turtleneck, tossing it up onto the surface of the sand. The light
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in the west grew stronger, the faint ripple of warming beginning already.
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"Shit," said Paris. "How close are you?"
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"Another fifteen minutes' work, maybe. Then we'd better hang the
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blankets up again and get under cover." Chakotay's broad back was streaked
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with sweat, glowing faintly in the coralline light.
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"I'll go do that now," replied Paris.
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"Bring me the jug, a clean empty casing, and those extra survival
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blankets."
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"Yes, sir, right away, sir." He resisted the temptation to salute.
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Paris stepped into the open back of their shuttlecraft, gathering
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up the crumpled bedding. The thin, flexible fabric was useful for many
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purposes; opaque, waterproof, an excellent insulator. They had four big
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sheets of it, and a standard set of emergency supplies. Food would not be
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a problem for a week or so, but the extreme amounts of water required just
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to stay alive and coherent in this climate had depleted the reserve
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rapidly.
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He brought the jug and the two unopened blankets to Chakotay, who
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had finished patting the rimmed moat into shape on the shelf that ringed
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the circular pit. One blanket had to line the moat, to hold liquid; the
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other had to cover the top to catch the evaporating moisture, which would
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then condense and drip down into the container.
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By the time Paris had stretched the blankets over the makeshift
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wire tent poles, the first white beams of sunlight were raking the ground.
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It would soon render the sand untouchable where it struck, the metal of
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the shuttlecraft searing hot, the air like the breath of dragons. Paris
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hauled the water containers out of the storage locker and put them in the
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shade of the tent. They would not be able to enter the interior of the
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shuttlecraft for an hour after sunset, or longer, if yesterday was any
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gauge. A great deal of the insulation had ablated away in the descent, and
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the cracks and gaps in the buckled fuselage admitted the heat to be
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trapped in the interior like an oven. He took a pile of food packs as
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well, although neither of them had much appetite in the heat.
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Chakotay put his hands on the edge of his pit and heaved himself
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up in one quick motion. He peeled the transparent waterproof layer from
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one of the blankets, draped it over the pit, secured the edges with stones
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and sand, put a rock in the center to create a point from which the
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condensation could drip into the casing. Catching up the entrenching tool
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and his shirt and jacket, he walked the ten paces to the side of the
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shuttlecraft, ducked under the tent and sat down heavily. The hot smell of
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his skin hit Paris with a slap. He moved his head back, averting his face
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slightly.
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"Sorry if I stink, Lieutenant," said Chakotay, who didn't sound
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sorry. He wiped his tattooed forehead with his turtleneck and tossed it
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aside, then leaned back on his hands and took a deep breath, expanding his
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chest. Geez, he must outweigh me by twenty kilos, thought Paris, and I
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know from bitter experience that it's all bone and muscle. That time he
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punched my lights out in that tavern--OK, I was drunk, and not too steady
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on my feet, but I think he could take two of me any day of the week. I'd
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be afraid of him right now, just the two of us here with a few liters of
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water between us, if he hadn't said his life was mine--
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The groaning metal staircase, the spiraling shaft of the Ocampa
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cavern, the dust and choking smoke, the desperate grip of one corded brown
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arm around his own slim shoulders--
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Thomas Eugene Paris was still not sure why he had insisted on
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saving his old enemy from a painful death. He liked to spite expectation,
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he supposed. Chakotay would have anticipated the worst from him, and so he
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had found his best, just to be perverse. He had done some stupid things
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under those impulses to prove others wrong, but he had done some of the
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things he was most proud of as well. Like landing this shuttlecraft, more
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or less in one piece, and both of them uninjured, after the massive solar
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flare had fried nearly every system and instrument. Chakotay had looked at
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the exploded panel, and grim-faced had tried all the manual backups,
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shaking his head, while Paris held like doomsday to the remaining
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controls, coaxing the last bit of power from the sputtering engines and
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saving them from a quick, fiery death in the atmosphere. The scorch marks
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on the hull testified to just how difficult the task had been.
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Now they could just die a slow, fiery death on the planet's
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surface. What an improvement. Or freeze to death at night, or dry up with
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thirst, or slowly starve. Paris wondered if any of Chakotay's ancestors
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had practiced cannibalism. No more likely than any of mine, he thought
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wryly. He took another glance at the man next to him, who was lying flat
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with one arm over his face, and gave some small thanks at least that he
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was stranded with the Voyager officer best able to deal with the
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situation. Chakotay's experience and cool-headed practicality, coupled
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with serene acceptance of the rough and smooth alike, inspired what little
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confidence Paris had left. Harry Kim would have been a better
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conversationalist, but did he know how to dig a solar still in an hour and
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a half? Would it have occurred to him to use a phaser to charge the
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emergency beacon, after the last of the auxiliary power had faded?
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Another fourteen hours, or more, before they would be able to
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move. Paris lay down as well and drew his knees up. He had stripped to his
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briefs already in hopes of letting the sweat evaporate more freely. He
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wished he had a few holovids to watch, or something. Chakotay spoke to him
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briefly and infrequently, and always with that faint sneer in his light
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voice, that tone of basic disapproval of everything Tom Paris was and had
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ever been. "Good job," he had said when the shuttlecraft had finally
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skidded to rest against a small dune, and the compliment had been the
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first, and last, friendly word between them. "Thanks," Paris had replied
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with an air of entitlement, and Chakotay had looked at him a moment with
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stony eyes.
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"Did you get everything out of the shuttle, Lieutenant?" he asked
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now, not removing his arm from his face.
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"Food and water and medical kit, yeah," Paris replied.
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"How about my data padd?"
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"Uh--no, why?"
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"Because I'm going to need it, Paris. And it will probably get
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pretty hot in there today, and the padd might be damaged."
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"OK, OK, fine." Paris got up and ventured out into the sunlight,
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searing and bright now. Besides the line of distant mountains on the
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horizon, there was nothing to break the full force of the nuclear furnace
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that sat low in the morning sky. The air was probably ninety degrees
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already. He rummaged in one of the lockers and found the padd. As an
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afterthought, he looked in another locker, and found the remaining charged
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phaser. Shit--I can't hide it on me, and frankly it wouldn't help me any
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if he were out of the picture. He's the one keeping us alive, he thought.
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I'd have given up already if I were alone.
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He returned with the padd and handed it to Chakotay. It held all
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the observations they had made on their run through this solar system, and
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the logs Chakotay made every evening, but not a single game or even a
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novel to read. What a serious guy. Won't do anything recreational on duty
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time, and didn't expect to be out even overnight, so there's nothing for
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sheer pleasure on here at all. Paris made a mental note to take along a
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lot of entertainment software the next time he had to go anywhere with the
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First Officer. Why had Janeway picked the two of them, anyway? He had
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nearly groaned out loud at the prospect of spending an entire day--little
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had he known--with the man who was at once his worst enemy and his sworn
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protector. If she had some idea that proximity would smooth things out
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between them, she had some pretty screwy ideas. Even before the solar
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flare had forced them down on the only M-class planet in the system, they
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had been snapping at each other in between the uneasy silences. In the
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enforced closeness of fighting to survive until the Voyager could find
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them, they had grown even more tense.
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Another day, another eternity of listening to each other shift and
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fidget in the sand, breathing uncomfortably. Chakotay put the padd down
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between them and turned on his side, facing away. It was still cool enough
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that they might get some sleep. Paris closed his eyes.
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He woke some time later, from a dream in which he was trapped on a
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desert planet with someone who didn't like him very much. He opened his
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eyes to the searing air and sighed. Chakotay was breathing evenly,
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probably still asleep. Paris tried to conjure up a sexual fantasy,
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something with the Delaney sisters--yeah, the Delaney sisters, and that
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big-breasted redhead down in Engineering--was she ever going to let him
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into that jumpsuit?--in the Holodeck, and a big cool pool of bubbling
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water--
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That sufficed for about ten minutes, since he couldn't do anything
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very physically interesting with the First Officer a meter away from him.
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Maybe he could try writing it down, develop it a little, change the names
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and details, put it on the recreation board in the ship's mail system when
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they got back. He read the postings nearly every day, but they were
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getting repetitive with such a small group. Time to spice it up a little.
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He reached for the data padd, then hesitated. Chakotay would see the new
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file, and probably read it, and have no sense of humor about it at
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all--oh, heck, Tom, you know how to hide a listing. He picked up the padd
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and hit a few keys to create a locked and concealed text file, then began
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to type.
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The Delaneys were just peeling off each other's matching black
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latex wet suits when Chakotay stirred and turned over. He blinked at
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Paris, sat up halfway and reached for a drink of water. His bare chest
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shone bronze in the reflected glare off the sand. Half a liter at a gulp.
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Paris could see the Adam's apple bob in Chakotay's throat as he tilted his
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head back with the canteen. There was no point in trying to conserve the
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water too carefully; it would do them much more good in their stomachs and
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bloodstreams than in containers. They sweated it all out so quickly, they
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would dehydrate to the point of renal failure in a few hours without
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drinking. About a hundred and ten degrees now, and it was only 0800 hours.
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Yep, this was definitely going to be a scorcher. Paris felt the urge to
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pee, and rose to his knees, pulling his penis out of his briefs and aiming
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outside.
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"In the container, remember?" said Chakotay, with a trace of
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exasperation. He lay down again and picked up the padd. Paris grimaced and
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looked for the emptied water jug they were using as a latrine. That was
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the whole point of the solar still; to extract drinkable water from their
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urine and eke out the supply a few days longer. Just putting off their
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eventual deaths? Or saving their lives. He finished and capped the
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jug--boy, it smelled even better than Chakotay--and lay down again. Oh,
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just great. Now he couldn't even type to amuse himself. Chakotay was
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making some notes and calculations--probably figuring how soon he can kill
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me to distill me out--if he does it too early in the day, I'll be a mummy
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before he can get me chopped up and in the pit. Paris chuckled with black
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amusement.
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"Something funny?" Chakotay was looking at him.
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"Nothing at all, Commander." Nope, this is not a joke. We are
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stuck here, and we have some food, and a little water, and an emergency
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beacon that has to cut through some pretty damn powerful interference, and
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a ship looking for us that has its sensors jammed by that same
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interference--no joke at all. I'm going to die here, he thought. I'm going
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to die in a little tent made out of survival blankets, in my shorts, with
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a half-finished dirty story as my epitaph. Will he even bury me, or just
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get out the drinking straws?
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Chakotay was looking silently at the padd, his face somber. The
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screen was not visible to Paris from this angle. Oh, that's encouraging,
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he thought. Probably figures he can last a week if I'm not consuming any
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supplies. That flare will subside eventually, but there's no way of
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knowing how long it will last. Voyager could be circling the damn planet
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now, blind and deaf with all that ionized plasma blasting past--
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The First Officer touched another key, and his face changed, still
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somber, but with a calm light in it that Paris had sometimes observed on
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the bridge. Huh, something's looking up, he thought in surprise. What's he
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got on there that's cracking the Great Stone Face? Chakotay looked at the
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screen a few moments longer, then smiled to himself, turned the padd off,
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and set it down again. Paris waited a few minutes in order to seem casual
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before he retrieved it and punched his story up. Wait a minute--there's
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another hidden file here, he thought. That little chooser window--that
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only shows up if it's deciding which one to load. So the Big C does have
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some girlie pics on here, or something. Paris gleefully set to work. A
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challenge. Perfect. And the prospect of having something to hold over
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Chakotay's head--even better. He threaded through the concealment
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protocols, using the default settings in each case, since Chakotay was not
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much of a hacker. No problem, it's a picture rather than text, all right.
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Oh, geez, maybe it's his mother. Paris suffered a twinge of conscience and
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glanced at Chakotay, who was staring at the roof of the tent, his hands
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under his head. OK, but why hide a picture of your mother? It's something
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he doesn't want anyone to know he has--so, fair game. He continued to
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touch the keys.
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Password encrypted. Sneaky bastard. What would he use for a
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password? Something innocuous, that would show up on here anyway--Voyager.
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Nope--his own name? Nope. His rank--nope. Another rank--the one he
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probably wishes he had--hey, we've got something here. The screen was
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changing, an image brightening--
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A very familiar image. Level blue eyes. Swept-up hair. A confident
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stance and a thin-lipped smile--
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Janeway? What the hell? This looks like something out of her
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personnel record. Why would he hide it on his padd? Who wants to secretly
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look at pictures of the captain?
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Oh, no. You've gotta be kidding me. The Big C? Oh, that's rich.
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Paris wanted to laugh out loud. She goes to arrest him, gets me out of
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jail just for that purpose, follows him to the other side of the galaxy,
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for chrissake--the Voyager always gets her man, yes ma<6D>am--and now he's
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mooning over her personnel record? Truly rich. God, I wonder if she knows.
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He tried to think of ways to use this little tidbit to Chakotay's
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disadvantage, but couldn't think of any offhand. Well, he could drop
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hints, torment him perhaps--but maybe not just yet. He stole a look at the
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formidable man beside him, who hated his guts anyway, who would be a lot
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better off if Paris were not alive just now, who knew more ways to kill
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him with bare hands than he liked to think about. Better hang on until
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they were rescued. He sighed and closed the image.
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****************************
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One hundred and forty. Easy. They lay side by side, barely moving
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except for the shallow vibrations of painful breaths. Every inhalation was
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torture, and would be for hours yet. It was about 1400, 1430. Was it even
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worth living, to go through something like this day after day? Paris held
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a canteen on his chest, dribbling the water slowly into his mouth, too
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weak to sit up. Hail Mary, full of grace. Mother of mercy. Have mercy on
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us...Oh, blessed oblivion. He passed out.
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****************************
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Chakotay was dripping water on his face when he woke up. "Paris,"
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he said through cracked lips. "Drink something. You've sweated away a
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liter in the last hour. You have to drink something." Was it any cooler?
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No. The sunlight on the sand outside was pure white, searing. He gulped
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water while Chakotay held his head up and put the canteen to his lips.
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"1600 hours," Chakotay said. "It'll start getting cooler soon." They
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curled down to the sand again.
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****************************
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God, at last. He could breathe now, and move around, and feel like
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a human being again. They lay on the sand for a while anyway, letting the
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heat seep out into the twilight. Chakotay got up first and went outside,
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heading to the solar still. Paris heard a strange sound after a minute, a
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strangled groan. Chakotay? Who else?
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He rose and looked out. Chakotay was on his knees, staring at the
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uncovered pit. Paris arrived at his side just in time to see the last few
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wormlike creatures wriggle into the sand.
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"It was filled with them," Chakotay said. "Just filled with them.
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Bone dry."
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He was right. Not a drop of anything remained in the moat or in
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the casing. This kind of climate, sure. Anything that needed water was
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going to seek it out pretty aggressively. And such a relatively large
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concentration in one place--hordes of them, of course. He was a little
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surprised that they hadn't been nibbled on themselves. Chakotay rose after
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a moment, walked back to the tent, and began another series of
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calculations on the padd.
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Paris looked at the pit for a while, fighting a scream, then
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walked slowly back to the shuttlecraft. Still too hot to go inside. He
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returned to the tent and took a food pack, ripped it open and chewed
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fiercely on energy bars. Chakotay was staring into the distance, tapping
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on the padd in a steady rhythm that rapidly grew irritating. "Christ,
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knock that off," Paris said. Chakotay looked at him with cold disdain. "So
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what's the verdict? Do we die tomorrow, or the day after that?"
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"There's water for one more day, and the urine."
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"So what are we going to do with that? Drink it straight? All that
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work on the still for nothing--"
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"Not for nothing. If I line it completely, instead of just the
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moat, we can keep those worms out. That will give us some more time."
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"More time to die. We are fucking going to die here. This flare
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could last for weeks, and Voyager will never find us while its sensors are
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overloaded with the radiation. I'm fucking dead." Paris could hear his
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voice crack, feel his face twitch. Chakotay looked at him impassively, the
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dark eyes holding no trace of pity. Paris sat down and gulped another
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energy bar. Goddamn Indian. Goddamn self-righteous, over-principled,
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does-you-a-favor-and-twists-the-knife-in-your-back Indian bastard. He
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hates me, but he's going to keep me alive as long as he can to repay his
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life debt. More merciful to off me now and drink the water himself. He'll
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outlive me in any case, he's tough. If he offers me any of his share, I'm
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going to throw it in his face. Bastard.
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****************************
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The night was even colder than the previous one. They huddled in
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the shuttlecraft, rapidly losing heat through the buckled panels, wrapped
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in the survival blankets. Paris felt his slender body shaking
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uncontrollably with the bonechilling drafts. He had his head under the
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wrap, and all his clothes on, but he could not get warm. The day's furnace
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was a distant memory. Chakotay stirred restlessly nearby, rubbing his
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chest and arms so that the shuttle floor vibrated. "Knock that off, would
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you? I'm trying to sleep," Paris snapped. Chakotay took a deep breath, let
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it out like a hiss. OK, now he comes over and strangles me. Put me out of
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my goddamn misery, he thought. Chakotay was still for a moment, then
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rolled over and said, "We need to sleep together to stay warm enough,
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Paris. Let's combine the blankets."
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"Wonderful," Paris replied sarcastically, but knew the First
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Officer was right. If he had been here with anyone else, he would have
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suggested it a lot sooner, I'll bet, he thought.
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They laid the sheets together and pulled the heavier wrap over
|
||
themselves, lying as close as possible without actually touching. Again
|
||
Paris recoiled at Chakotay's strong smell; old sweat, fresher sweat, dust
|
||
and stale ammonia. Well, Tommy boy, you're not too dainty yourself. He
|
||
doesn't like this any more than you do. Gradually his nostrils grew used
|
||
to the aroma, and he was aware only of a distinctive musk and the creeping
|
||
warmth of the other man's big body. He's doing me a lot more good than I'm
|
||
doing him. Stop doing me favors, dammit. He fell asleep very soon.
|
||
|
||
****************************
|
||
|
||
Chakotay had used all but one of the bedding blankets to line the
|
||
still pit completely, so the tent was cramped today. They had to lie
|
||
twenty centimeters from each other, accidentally touching every time they
|
||
sneezed. Although it was not quite as hot as the previous day, it was
|
||
close, and the radiation from each other's bodies was as uncomfortable now
|
||
as it had been beneficial during the night. They drank almost all the
|
||
remaining water, but produced very little urine; apparently they were
|
||
becoming seriously dehydrated. Paris lay with his back turned, working on
|
||
his story. He put Chakotay into it, just to give himself a laugh--OK,
|
||
which sister? Does he ever fool around, anyway? Oh, yeah, Seska. Boy, she
|
||
always gave me the creeps, but she liked him pretty well, and I wouldn't
|
||
mind having someone who wanted to cook for me...
|
||
At dusk, Paris went with Chakotay to check the still. He held his
|
||
breath while the sheet peeled carefully back--
|
||
A foul odor, a drip into a half-full container. Was it a relief or
|
||
a burden to know they would live a little longer? Chakotay jumped down
|
||
into the pit and decanted the water into a jug. Between three and four
|
||
liters. Conceivably enough to keep one man alive through another day like
|
||
this one. Definitely not enough for two. Chakotay handed the jug up to
|
||
Paris and hauled himself out. He stood scanning the horizon, the fading
|
||
light in the east, the surrounding mountains across the kilometers of
|
||
barren sand and gravel. The gauntness of his face emphasized the bone
|
||
structure, the long, heavy jaw, the broad cheekbones and forehead. Time to
|
||
fish or cut bait, Paris thought. Kill me now, or else forever hold your
|
||
peace. He felt a faint breeze stir his hair, and he set the jug down.
|
||
"Time for the traditional rain dance," he joked hopefully.
|
||
Chakotay looked at him, his face serene and unreadable.
|
||
"That takes more than one person," he replied, and walked back to
|
||
the tent. Paris followed after a moment, confused. Some kind of decision
|
||
had been made, but Chakotay was simply sitting and typing on his padd
|
||
again. I wonder how he'll explain my death? Just hold my head in the sand
|
||
until I choke, and say it was an accident? Or if Janeway does know, or if
|
||
she's after him too, will they cover it up together? Nobody likes me
|
||
anyway. Maybe Harry will miss having a pool partner for a few weeks, but
|
||
who the hell else? I've hardly made anything you could call a friend the
|
||
whole damn time. The Starfleet men all whisper about my record, the Maquis
|
||
hold the same opinion as Chakotay, some of the women are willing be nice
|
||
to me for an hour or two at a time-- Sex appeal, Tommy, that's all you've
|
||
got going for you. That's the only basis on which anyone responds to you,
|
||
or wants to hang around with you. So if I offered him my boyish bod--yeah,
|
||
right. Paris rolled his eyes at the thought. Somehow I don't think that's
|
||
uppermost in his mind right now. What is, exactly?
|
||
Chakotay spoke very little through the twilight hour, and
|
||
wordlessly dismantled the still to retrieve the blankets. When the sky
|
||
began to darken and the air to chill, he made two doubled wraps and rolled
|
||
himself in one. Guess he figures it won't be so cold tonight, Paris
|
||
thought. Indeed, the weather seemed to be moderating a little. So we'll
|
||
die comfortable; how nice. The breezes were cutting through his uniform,
|
||
so he followed Chakotay into the shuttlecraft.
|
||
|
||
****************************
|
||
[Part 2 follows]
|
||
|
||
From alt.sex.fetish.startrek Fri Jun 9 18:13:25 1995
|
||
Path: mars.efn.org!news.uoregon.edu!hookup!gatech!howland.reston.ans.net!news-e1a.megaweb.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
|
||
~From: lrbowen@aol.com (Lrbowen)
|
||
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.startrek
|
||
~Subject: New Story:"Rain Dance"VOY, M/M, C/P, NC-17 2/2
|
||
~Date: 9 Jun 1995 10:15:53 -0400
|
||
Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364)
|
||
~Lines: 276
|
||
~Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com
|
||
Message-ID: <3r9l2p$s3i@newsbf02.news.aol.com>
|
||
~Reply-To: lrbowen@aol.com (Lrbowen)
|
||
NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com
|
||
|
||
Copyright 1995 by L.R.Bowen.
|
||
|
||
|
||
|
||
****************************
|
||
|
||
Both of them woke earlier than usual, disturbed by the sound of
|
||
the rising wind. Chakotay sat quietly for a few minutes, apparently
|
||
meditating, then made a few more entries on the padd. There was just
|
||
enough light for Paris to see him bring up the picture of Janeway again.
|
||
Easily ten minutes passed while he held the little screen in his hands,
|
||
the dim phosphorescent glow on his dark face. Then he hit the delete key,
|
||
and the image vanished. He partly filled a small canteen, picked up his
|
||
blanket and folded it, and pulled his boots on. "I'm going to go take a
|
||
look at the country while it's cool," he said. "I may be gone a little
|
||
while."
|
||
"OK," said Paris absently, and rummaged for a food pack. He was
|
||
halfway through it before he realized what the big lug was up to. Oh shit.
|
||
Oh, God. Mother of mercy. He shot out of the shuttlecraft like a photon
|
||
torpedo. The land was pancake flat here, so Chakotay was still visible
|
||
several hundred meters to the west.
|
||
"Come back here, you bastard!" Paris shrieked. The wind would
|
||
drown him out at this distance. He took off running, desperate. No. I
|
||
won't let him. Stop doing me favors. It's no goddamn favor. Don't leave me
|
||
here--
|
||
It took him a while to catch up to Chakotay's long, purposeful
|
||
strides. Gasping, choking on the dust kicked up by the freshening wind, he
|
||
stumbled in front of the other man to stop him. "What the hell do you
|
||
think you're doing?" Paris shouted.
|
||
"You seem to have guessed, Paris. I'll give you some credit for
|
||
that." Chakotay stepped around him and kept going.
|
||
"I won't let you. You asshole, I'm not going to let you die for
|
||
me. We're both doomed anyway. You're not saving my goddamn life, you're
|
||
just leaving me to die alone."
|
||
"Did it ever occur to you *I* might want to die alone?" said
|
||
Chakotay, and stopped walking.
|
||
Paris felt cold poison in his veins. "Rather than with me for a
|
||
companion? Would that be bad karma? Would you rather have someone you like
|
||
better in this with you? Maybe you'd like to see Janeway's corpse
|
||
withering up in the sand beside you, you selfish bastard."
|
||
The expression that tore Chakotay's face startled Paris so much he
|
||
took a half step backwards. Mouth distorted, teeth sharp as a bone knife,
|
||
the nose and brows drawn together in a wolfish snarl. "Get out of my way,"
|
||
Chakotay said, and shoved Paris hard. Paris balled his fists up and took a
|
||
swing, but connected with nothing; then a heavy blow to the stomach rocked
|
||
him off his feet. Chakotay watched him sprawl for a moment, his face still
|
||
twisted with rage, then turned and strode off again.
|
||
"Nooo..." Paris howled, gasping for breath. "Oh, Christ, no--don't
|
||
leave me here. Don't make me die alone. Kill me. Just don't leave me
|
||
alone. Please..." His voice trailed off, sobbing; he collapsed into the
|
||
sand and cried dry tears. The wind whipped dust over him. Several minutes
|
||
passed as he clutched the ground with trembling hands, heaving with
|
||
anguish. He doesn't give a shit. He's leaving me the water, and his
|
||
goddamn conscience is clear, and he's paid me off at last. He can go to
|
||
the Happy Hunting Grounds and chase fucking herds of buffalo for eternity,
|
||
and Tommy Paris will be just a bad memory.
|
||
I'm gonna haunt him. I'm gonna turn up there, all pale and
|
||
ghostly, and I'm gonna say, "Why'd you leave me, Big C? Why'd you leave me
|
||
on the ground to die alone? Maybe I'd rather you drank all the goddamn
|
||
water and just talked to me for a little while. Treated me like a human
|
||
being instead of something to scrape off your boot. Comforted me a little
|
||
in my last hours, goddammit." God, he hates me.
|
||
There was the crunch of a boot in the sand next to his ear, and a
|
||
hand hooked under his arm and pulled him up. "Come on, Paris," said
|
||
Chakotay. "Let's get back to the shuttlecraft before it gets too hot." He
|
||
held Paris for a moment, looked in his face with an odd expression. I
|
||
think I missed another decision, Paris thought. Then Chakotay let go and
|
||
started back the way they had come, the rising sun sending a long shadow
|
||
out ahead of him.
|
||
|
||
****************************
|
||
|
||
The clouds began to move over the mountains about noon, gathering
|
||
in thin wisps along the edge of the basin. The sun seemed less intense,
|
||
glowing yellowish and hazy through the high dust devils that the wind spun
|
||
up off the sand. At 1400 hours, it might have been a hundred degrees. They
|
||
split the water evenly, and drank the last of it just before twilight.
|
||
Chakotay spoke softly, pointed out the changes in the weather. The heat of
|
||
the previous days was drawing in the wind and moister air from over the
|
||
mountains. Obviously it didn't rain here more than once in a year or so,
|
||
if that often, but at least the temperatures were evening out. The clouds
|
||
would insulate the ground at night as well, and the night would probably
|
||
be warmer. By dusk, Paris could almost call the sky overcast.
|
||
Well, OK. The weather was fair, Chakotay was acting like a decent
|
||
guy for a change, and the tension was considerably less. But the water was
|
||
all gone, and the next day would probably kill them. They were still in
|
||
reasonably good shape, although thirsty and growing lethargic, but with
|
||
nothing at all to drink, death would come quickly. This was his last night
|
||
on earth, so to speak. How should he celebrate it? He'd had fantasies like
|
||
that when in prison, imagining himself in some old movie, Jimmy Cagney on
|
||
death row, spitting at the guards. Then marching down the corridor, grim
|
||
and silent, Pat O'Brien in a priest's collar begging him to show yellow at
|
||
the execution so as not to make a hero of himself to the kids who
|
||
worshipped the criminal life...
|
||
I'm no hero. I can't take it like Chakotay, who has even deleted
|
||
the one comfort he had here, who is sitting like a monk by the shuttle,
|
||
cross-legged and meditating. I'm going to scream, and cry, and beg for my
|
||
life, and beg God for mercy. He tried a prayer, but the words wouldn't
|
||
come. Our Father-- I'm not going to think about my father.
|
||
I was going to ask for lobster, and steak, and really good French
|
||
fries with the skin on them, and strawberry cheesecake, and tomato soup.
|
||
Angel food cake. Really stuff my face for my last meal. And dancing girls,
|
||
in black latex, and some cute little blond with a good figure to drop
|
||
grapes in my mouth. I didn't ask for a big guy with a crewcut and tattoos.
|
||
No way. He didn't ask for me either. What does he want to do to celebrate
|
||
his last night alive?
|
||
Paris looked over at the shuttle, where Chakotay sat with his eyes
|
||
closed, barechested and silent. He had used a few centiliters of his water
|
||
to wash his face and body, and wipe the dust out of his dark hair. Gotta
|
||
face your ancestors looking decent, I suppose. I wish I'd thought to do
|
||
the same. He picked up his canteen and shook it. A few drops tinkled in
|
||
the bottom, and fell out on his palm when he upended it. Paris wiped his
|
||
face, and ran his fingers through his hair, and felt a little better. Hey,
|
||
could be worse. I could be alone. He walked over and sat down next to
|
||
Chakotay. "Hey, pal," he said when the brown eyes opened. "I just wanted
|
||
to tell you--uh, thanks for coming back." Chakotay looked at him for a
|
||
moment, then nodded slowly.
|
||
Paris knew he should leave it at that, but the words kept coming,
|
||
spilling out like raindrops into the sand. "I, uh, I know you don't like
|
||
me, and I guess you've got good reason not to, but I, well, for whatever
|
||
it's worth, I always thought you were a decent guy. A little righteous,
|
||
OK. But you've got principles, and you stick to 'em, even if it kills you.
|
||
Um, that is, you try to do the right thing, and stand by your promises,
|
||
and I've gotta admire that. You probably still think I'm scum, but I'm
|
||
glad you helped me out all this time, and I, um, I'll leave you alone now
|
||
if you want me to." He started to get up, but was stopped by Chakotay's
|
||
hand on his shoulder.
|
||
"That's all right, Paris. You're not bothering me."
|
||
They sat side by side for a while, breathing the cool air as the
|
||
light went, until the sky was dark and the stars showed fitfully through
|
||
the tears in the blanket of clouds. Paris felt warm, despite the chill of
|
||
the night, and he looked at the dim shape of the man beside him, and
|
||
wanted to tell him something, and there were no words for it. He reached
|
||
out to touch Chakotay's shoulder, and met his skin, the smell of it
|
||
familiar by now, and tried to see his eyes in the darkness. Chakotay
|
||
turned to him, and moved a little closer, and let Paris' head fall to his
|
||
chest, and put his arms around him. The rise and fall, the slow heartbeat,
|
||
the knowledge that he was still alive for the moment and able to embrace
|
||
another human being, to feel the smooth warm skin, to raise his head and
|
||
kiss a breathing mouth. The lips were firm, and curved, and after a
|
||
moment, met his with assurance. All right, I guess he knew that was
|
||
coming, even if I wasn't sure myself. So do I owe him now? All bets are
|
||
off tomorrow.
|
||
They rose and went into the shuttlecraft, where the temperature
|
||
was just between warm and cool, and lay down on the blankets spread on the
|
||
floor. Too dark to see much, only the faint glow of the sky through the
|
||
buckled panels, and the blink of the emergency beacon, faithfully
|
||
broadcasting. Chakotay kissed him gently, and smoothed his hair, and
|
||
slipped off what remained of their abused uniforms. His hands measured the
|
||
slender limbs, the wiry muscles and crisp hair, cupped, and stroked, and
|
||
held. Paris slid down and found the patch of straight hair, the half-firm
|
||
penis, and took the glans in his mouth, inhaling the scent and taste,
|
||
strong and familiar, like a friend in the darkness. Chakotay moved and
|
||
breathed deeply, his erection growing more solid. But he sat up and guided
|
||
Paris down, lying between his knees, and put his arms under his thighs,
|
||
and took the younger man's stiff cock into his own throat, stroking,
|
||
pushing deep and closing his lips, drawing the shaft out with his tongue
|
||
sliding against the underside. He wasn't a stranger to this, apparently.
|
||
Paris felt his orgasm building quickly, pulled back to catch his breath,
|
||
couldn't help himself. He held the cropped head in his hands and moaned,
|
||
curling up around himself, tense and concentrated, letting the heat
|
||
gather, waiting. The movement, the warmth, the gift of moisture, the dance
|
||
of connection, the shoulders pushing against his thighs, the lips pressing
|
||
around him--
|
||
Oh. Oh, now. Now-- His body surged, and bucked fiercely, and he
|
||
felt the movement, the pumping forward, pumping his life forward into
|
||
Chakotay's mouth. The arms held him steady, the lips accepting him,
|
||
swallowing the warm liquid like a libation. Paris's heart was pounding,
|
||
his breath fast, drying his throat. It grew more ragged rather than less,
|
||
changing to sobs and coughs. He was panting after something, clutching
|
||
Chakotay's shoulders, pulling him up to kiss him, taste him. Yes, he's
|
||
heavy. Arms like goddamn tree trunks, torso pressing the breath out of me,
|
||
his cock digging into my thigh-- He parted his legs, let Chakotay settle
|
||
between them. Does he really want this? Well, yeah, he's hard as a rock,
|
||
and he's getting bigger--oh, boy. Chakotay's tongue swept through his
|
||
mouth, giving and receiving the warmth, the drink of communion. The thrust
|
||
of his hips--yeah, he wants this. Let him have it.
|
||
Chakotay rolled over and reached for the medical kit, finding a
|
||
tube of ointment, applying something cool between Paris' buttocks.
|
||
Allowing Paris to take the tube, he rested on hands and knees over him,
|
||
giving him access to the jutting shaft. What am I letting myself in for
|
||
here? Paris thought, spreading ointment. He's, um, not small. Okay, all
|
||
greased up, thanks for the thought, pal. Just slow and easy, all right?
|
||
Chakotay sank down and kissed him, knelt, ran his hands under his
|
||
buttocks, lifted him up. Rolled back a little, let the bodies fit together
|
||
naturally, holding the narrow pelvis against him, tense. The push, a
|
||
steady pressure, the relaxation slow, ring by ring, slowly forward.
|
||
Inside. A stretch, a little too much of one, the pressure forward--oh god,
|
||
oh god, he's fucking me, he's actually fucking me, oh Christ, he's inside
|
||
me, it feels like him, big, and smooth, and oh Christ, ow, I want it, even
|
||
if it's too much, he's fucking me-- His penis stirred again, and Chakotay
|
||
sat back on his haunches, supporting Paris on the plane of his thighs,
|
||
clasping his hips, rising up and down slightly with the slow movements of
|
||
his thrusts. Not much back and forth, halfway in, no more. Paris' legs
|
||
straddling him, his feet flat and knees bent, raising himself, pressing
|
||
up, smooth, slick with the lubricant. Chakotay's hand on his cock,
|
||
encircling. Used to it now, relaxed, filled up. Ready for more.
|
||
He let Chakotay pull out, turn him over, put a folded blanket
|
||
under his hips, reaching under himself to stroke his erection. Chakotay
|
||
pressed forward again, a different angle, padded by the upturned buttocks.
|
||
The shock of slow entry again, and the longer movements, the swing of the
|
||
hips. His breath in my ear, his hands on the blanket on each side of me,
|
||
his legs brushing the insides of mine. Fucking me, and I can hear it; the
|
||
tight wet friction sound, different, raspier than the familiar one, the
|
||
groin hair brushing the cleft of the buttocks at every stroke. Oh God, so
|
||
deep, the movement, the push, he's inside me, the rhythm, the beat, the
|
||
chant. He's so goddamn hard, he wants it, his chest is sweating, his
|
||
breathing heaving his whole torso. Not so far off now. The ending.
|
||
Chakotay groaned, shaking, head flinging back. A repeated syllable, like a
|
||
harsh breath. The response from Paris' throat, the tenor voices together,
|
||
the one soft, the other edgy. The movement, the whole body shaking, the
|
||
hands jerking on the blanket, the crescendo. I gave him something, he
|
||
returns it; only fair. Not a man to leave his debts unpaid. Oh Christ--
|
||
Plunging; uneven thrusts, holding himself deep inside, withdrawing
|
||
with a jerk, back inside, pulsing. Spilling over, full, giving himself
|
||
back to me. God, what a howl. Both of us.
|
||
They lay flat, Chakotay on top of Paris, breathing profoundly
|
||
deep, gradually slowing. "Oof," said Paris.
|
||
"Sorry," Chakotay replied, and eased to the side to let him roll
|
||
out, then relaxed to lie on his stomach. Paris dropped his face to the
|
||
broad, sweaty back, threw one arm over it, closed his eyes. "Pull the
|
||
blankets up, would you?" said Chakotay.
|
||
|
||
****************************
|
||
|
||
|
||
They woke to cool air, damp-smelling, the wind slow and whistling
|
||
through the cracks in the shuttlecraft's hull. Paris felt a flick of
|
||
moisture on one cheek, cool and upturned, the other pressed to a warm
|
||
chest. "Hey--" He sat up into the damp air, and heard the soft patter
|
||
beginning. "It's raining! Jesus Christ, it's raining!" They raced out with
|
||
the blankets, spread them on the ground, draped one in the open still pit.
|
||
The fat drops splashed in the growing puddles, their bare skin washed free
|
||
of sweat and dust, of the scent of each other. It rained hard for half an
|
||
hour. The pit filled halfway with muddy water, little gullies started in
|
||
the earth, sand washed in fans over the harder patches of dirt and gravel.
|
||
The grey clouds rolled on and over. They filled all the jugs when the silt
|
||
had settled, filled all the casings, covered the remaining water in the
|
||
pit. Naked, clean, they drank until Paris felt like bursting. The sun
|
||
struck the wet ground, a hiss and crackle of the water settling into the
|
||
sand, the gravel rattling in the tiny streams that were already subsiding.
|
||
Steam began to rise, and they sat in a cloud, eating energy bars for
|
||
breakfast.
|
||
"Nice weather we're having," said Paris. Chakotay chuckled. A few
|
||
more days, at least. And if the flare had been just one event, a single
|
||
massive surge unrepeated, it might have started to die down by now. Here's
|
||
hoping it was a one-time thing.
|
||
The crackling of gravel was louder than before. Paris saw Chakotay
|
||
turn his head, listen carefully, his eyes moving. Suddenly he sprang up
|
||
and leaped into the shuttlecraft.
|
||
"Voyager, come in," Paris heard him say. "I'm receiving--"
|
||
Paris almost collided with the panel before he could come to a
|
||
stop inside. "About fucking time!" he shouted at Harry Kim's fuzzy image.
|
||
"Prepare for transport," said Kim, grinning. Paris realized both
|
||
he and Chakotay were still naked.
|
||
"It's wash day, Harry," he said. "Just hang on a minute, OK? I'd
|
||
rather not give a free show." They struggled into their ragged uniforms,
|
||
dirty and stinking. Chakotay picked up his padd and glanced at Paris.
|
||
"If you want this thing after we get back--" he began. Paris
|
||
jerked upright from pulling on his boots, then realized Chakotay was
|
||
talking about the story Paris had typed on his padd.
|
||
"Oh, heck, just download it to my mailbox," he said, blushing
|
||
faintly, looking at the First Officer with his eyebrows a little raised.
|
||
"It's a souvenir."
|
||
"Fine. I suppose I can go to that much trouble."
|
||
"Thanks, Commander."
|
||
"You're welcome, Lieutenant." He slapped the comm badge on his
|
||
chest. "Chakotay to Voyager. Two to beam up."
|
||
"Oh," he continued, while the transporter room adjusted the
|
||
lock-on, "to be perfectly clear: if I ever hear about--that--" it was
|
||
obvious to Paris what he meant-- "from any sentient being--
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||
"Your life is mine."
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||
The high whine of dematerialization drowned out any response Paris
|
||
might have had.
|
||
|
||
END
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