some members of his squad had given the
Maje a flawed report of the incident. Miskk, for one, could
be counted on to color the story so that Sittik would
emerge in the worst possible light. Miskk was a sycophant,
shamelessly willing to exploit the fact that young Hekkar
was the Maje's nephew and that his death would
understandably leave the irascible Dut in a vengeful fury.
Miskk would learn that betraying Jal Sittik was a grievous
mistake.
For today he would erase the memory of that prior mishap
and replace it with triumph. Maje Dut would embrace him
once more. Women would ache for his recognition. They would
parade before him, dressed in provocative gowns, oiling and
scenting themselves in their efforts to arouse him,
desperate to be chosen by Jal Sittik.
But he would take his time. He would drive them into a
frenzy of display by not responding to them. He would toy
with them, pretending disdain, until they went to greater
and greater lengths to capture his attention.
By the time he made his selection, there would be nothing
the chosen woman would not do for him.
Sittik surveyed his men. They were edgy and keen for
battle; he had whipped them to a furor of blood lust, and
they were eager to enjoin the enemy. Several were young men
who had not yet earned their names; they were particularly
eager to distinguish themselves, preferably through killing
their adversaries with their bare hands.
Power rippled through his veins; he could feel it, a
palpable energy that was both mastery and desire.
Erotic stirrings coalesced with the anticipation of combat,
a potent narcotic that made him heady with anticipation.
"Today!" he shouted to his men, a promise of victory, and
was rewarded with their resounding war cry.
Was there anything more glorious, he wondered, than the
comradeship of fellow warriors at the moment of battle?
Then he struck out across the overgrown terrain, confident
and eager.
Neelix had been successful in discovering any number of
edible plants-tubers, fruits, and vegetables-that could be
harvested and that showed no toxicity after tricorder
scans. There was an entire grove of a spicy red fruit that
was shaped like a sphere, had a pleasant, crunchy texture,
and appeared abundant in nutritional elements. The grove
was deep and thick, the gnarled trunks and thick leafy
canopy shutting out almost all light.
Nate LeFevre stood next to him, peering into the gloom.
"The fruit might not be good in there," the rangy,
redheaded crewman said. "No light's getting in. I doubt the
fruit would ripen."
"No matter," replied Neelix. "We'll harvest what we can
from the periphery, then move into the interior. If the
fruit's no good, we don't have to pick it."
"I'd like to get as much as we can," proffered LeFevre.
"That's the best food I've eaten in a long time."
Neelix sniffed. He couldn't understand the culinary
preferences of humans. Leola root, prized everywhere as a
rare delicacy, went unappreciated by Voyager's crew. And
this new fruit, while perfectly acceptable, seemed ordinary
to Neelix.
There was no accounting for taste. The group of ten had
seemingly gotten over their initial disappointment in not
going with the archaeological group, and were collecting
the foodstuffs earnestly, talking and laughing with
irrepressible good spirits. Greta Kale was energetic and
good-humored; she set a standard for the others, and Neelix
was grateful for her presence.
He was scanning the fruit grove aimlessly, wondering if
there was any purpose in moving into its dark depths, when
he noticed something disconcerting. On the tricorder there
were ever-so-faint but unmistakable life signs emanating
from within the grove-an animal species, from first
indications.
They might be harmless, but it was one more argument
against venturing into the dark and foreboding forest. He
turned to tell the others to start collecting the fruit
when he detected yet another life-sign
Maje a flawed report of the incident. Miskk, for one, could
be counted on to color the story so that Sittik would
emerge in the worst possible light. Miskk was a sycophant,
shamelessly willing to exploit the fact that young Hekkar
was the Maje's nephew and that his death would
understandably leave the irascible Dut in a vengeful fury.
Miskk would learn that betraying Jal Sittik was a grievous
mistake.
For today he would erase the memory of that prior mishap
and replace it with triumph. Maje Dut would embrace him
once more. Women would ache for his recognition. They would
parade before him, dressed in provocative gowns, oiling and
scenting themselves in their efforts to arouse him,
desperate to be chosen by Jal Sittik.
But he would take his time. He would drive them into a
frenzy of display by not responding to them. He would toy
with them, pretending disdain, until they went to greater
and greater lengths to capture his attention.
By the time he made his selection, there would be nothing
the chosen woman would not do for him.
Sittik surveyed his men. They were edgy and keen for
battle; he had whipped them to a furor of blood lust, and
they were eager to enjoin the enemy. Several were young men
who had not yet earned their names; they were particularly
eager to distinguish themselves, preferably through killing
their adversaries with their bare hands.
Power rippled through his veins; he could feel it, a
palpable energy that was both mastery and desire.
Erotic stirrings coalesced with the anticipation of combat,
a potent narcotic that made him heady with anticipation.
"Today!" he shouted to his men, a promise of victory, and
was rewarded with their resounding war cry.
Was there anything more glorious, he wondered, than the
comradeship of fellow warriors at the moment of battle?
Then he struck out across the overgrown terrain, confident
and eager.
Neelix had been successful in discovering any number of
edible plants-tubers, fruits, and vegetables-that could be
harvested and that showed no toxicity after tricorder
scans. There was an entire grove of a spicy red fruit that
was shaped like a sphere, had a pleasant, crunchy texture,
and appeared abundant in nutritional elements. The grove
was deep and thick, the gnarled trunks and thick leafy
canopy shutting out almost all light.
Nate LeFevre stood next to him, peering into the gloom.
"The fruit might not be good in there," the rangy,
redheaded crewman said. "No light's getting in. I doubt the
fruit would ripen."
"No matter," replied Neelix. "We'll harvest what we can
from the periphery, then move into the interior. If the
fruit's no good, we don't have to pick it."
"I'd like to get as much as we can," proffered LeFevre.
"That's the best food I've eaten in a long time."
Neelix sniffed. He couldn't understand the culinary
preferences of humans. Leola root, prized everywhere as a
rare delicacy, went unappreciated by Voyager's crew. And
this new fruit, while perfectly acceptable, seemed ordinary
to Neelix.
There was no accounting for taste. The group of ten had
seemingly gotten over their initial disappointment in not
going with the archaeological group, and were collecting
the foodstuffs earnestly, talking and laughing with
irrepressible good spirits. Greta Kale was energetic and
good-humored; she set a standard for the others, and Neelix
was grateful for her presence.
He was scanning the fruit grove aimlessly, wondering if
there was any purpose in moving into its dark depths, when
he noticed something disconcerting. On the tricorder there
were ever-so-faint but unmistakable life signs emanating
from within the grove-an animal species, from first
indications.
They might be harmless, but it was one more argument
against venturing into the dark and foreboding forest. He
turned to tell the others to start collecting the fruit
when he detected yet another life-sign
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